Page 12 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)

Chapter ten

O’Neill tamped down his surprise at Wolf’s sitrep.

This was the first time since he’d arrived at Shadow Mountain a cycle ago that Wolf had spoken so freely with him.

But nothing the Betanee revealed surprised him.

Of course the Old One had known the apocalypse had started.

Of course he’d known the bot weapon zombified its victims. As the mouthpiece to the Shadow Warrior, the Taounaha knew many things unknown to the waking world.

The real question was what information he hadn’t known.

What knowledge were they missing? How long had it been since the Old One had the strength to cross into the Tabenetha and communicate with the Shadow Warrior?

If the Old One hadn’t crossed over in a while, they could have missed key information.

At this stage in the war, every scrap of intel was crucial.

“When was the last time Benioko shadow walked,” O’Neill asked, his voice quiet, yet echoing along the stone walls enclosing them.

It took great strength to cross into the Tabenetha, and then back into the waking world. The Old One’s death proved his strength had failed him. When had his life force weakened?

Wolf was silent for several boot steps before offering a weary sigh. “I am unsure...many moon cycles... perhaps. A moon cycle ago, he spoke of the Shadow Warrior walking his dreams.”

O’Neill’s steps faltered. “He was not summoned? The elder god came to him?”

This was unheard of—the mouthpiece went to the Shadow Warrior, not the other way around...unless the mouthpiece could not cross over and the information was critical.

His pace picked up again at Wolf’s nod. If the elder god had visited Benioko a full moon ago, that would put the timing about when the Thunderbird left for Karaveht to rescue Winchester and save the future mouthpiece.

It irritated him that the squid had been chosen as the next Taounaha.

While Winchester obviously had great spiritual strength to unwittingly cross into the Tabenetha and mingle with the elder gods, he was still a Woohanta.

One who looked down on the Kalikoia culture.

One who refused to walk the Hee'woo'nee path. For Shadow’s sake, there had to be someone more appropriate, someone just as spirit strong, but more flexible.

“Thinking back...” Wolf’s footsteps paused, as though he couldn’t think and walk at the same time. “The last time I aided the Old One in crossing to the Tabenetha was five moon cycles ago.”

Five months ago?

O’Neill froze. Benioko had been too weak to shadow walk for five months and he hadn’t noticed?

His breathing hitched as guilt splintered through him.

His footsteps halted as well. How had he missed the death signs?

Sure, he’d noticed Benioko looked frail, even weak, but he’d thought he’d have more time with his old friend.

..his only friend. He’d thought the Shadow Warrior would leave his Taounaha in the waking world until a new mouthpiece was trained. He’d been wrong. Obviously.

Sorrow knotted with guilt. Loneliness joined in, until the three emotions were indistinguishable—just a jumbled knot inside his gut and chest. He’d spent his entire life in the shadows—both on the Brenahiilo and off.

Benioko was the only light in that darkness.

The only person to see him and recognize his potential.

Yet he’d let his old friend, the only person in his life who’d offered unhesitating support...he’d let him die...alone...on a cold stone floor.

Perhaps Winchester wasn’t the only one being punished by the elder gods. Perhaps they were punishing him too, for his apathy towards Benioko’s welfare. Why else would they give him a son only to take him again in the same breath?

He’d lost Daniel before even knowing him. A terrible punishment, far worse than the nightmares Winchester was enduring. The squid’s nightmares would end...eventually. But O’Neill? His punishment was eternal.

O’Neill would never know his son...his only child.

Would never hear him speak, share his dreams, or show him the warrior ways.

He didn’t even know what spirit gift Daniel was given.

The only thing he knew for sure was that the youngling was claimed by the raven, like his Anisbecco and Muriel’s anestoo.

Raven claimings were common in the Ravensblood family.

But each claiming came with a different gift. ..and different responsibility.

What had been Daniel’s?

“Daniel was of the Raven clan, was he not?”

Wolf scanned O’Neill’s face and inclined his head. “He was.”

O’Neill hesitated, then pushed the question out. “May I ask what his spirit gift was?”

This time Wolf was the one to hesitate, before stepping forward again. “This answer should come from Muriel. Not me.”

Fair enough. A spirit gift was an intensely private and spiritual thing. It was not something shared with strangers. And O’Neill was essentially a stranger. But mannerisms and traits, those were observable and could be shared...hopefully.

O’Neill lengthened his stride to catch up, his follow up question bursting from him without though. “What was he like?”

Wolf’s step caught. He shot O’Neill a quick glance and started walking again. “Daniel?”

O’Neill cleared his throat, but his voice still emerged rough…even gritty. “Yeah.”

Wolf was silent, but it was a thoughtful silence, as though he were thinking the question over, rather than the icy silence of indifference.

“As a youngling he was…bright. Cheerful. The sun everyone revolved around,” Wolf finally said, his boots an even beat against the stone walkway.

“As a novice warrior he was quick, clever, well-versed in skill, strategy, and bravery.” For the first time, he glanced at O’Neill. “Samuel taught him well.”

O’Neill’s chest tightened, regret surging. He should have been the one to teach the youngling the warrior ways. Such skills were passed from father to son.

Wolf cast him an assessing look. “Have you spoken to Muriel since the clinic?”

“Not yet.” O’Neill’s voice slowed, even as his feet picked up. “The past two days have been...difficult.” A pathetically weak description for the crushing blow of Benioko’s death. “I’m headed to the clinic now. She’s probably visiting Samuel.”

For several seconds only the dull thud of their boots hitting stone reached his ears.

Then Wolf spoke again. “She will not be there. She’s down in The Neighborhood, sleeping while Olivia sits with Samuel.

She is staying with Samuel and Oliva.” He paused, then added.

“The Black Hawk has not yet left. You are chipped, are you not?” He didn’t wait for O’Neill’s nod.

“Then you can get through the shield. You can still make the next flight down.”

O’Neill absorbed that information, surprised that Wolf wasn’t throwing up roadblocks.

“When will the bird go skids up?”

“Soon.” Wolf shrugged. “You best hurry.”

O’Neill took his advice and broke into an easy jog.

His t-shirt was damp by the time he reached the air hangar.

He dropped to a walk, weaving his way through the parked aircraft until he reached the helicopter.

He joined the line waiting to board the bird, ignoring the antagonistic glances directed his way.

The closest vacant seat was next to Rawlings, which was doable. At least the squid was annoying, rather than icy, and his never-ending questions would give O’Neill a chance to ignore the reason behind this sudden flight.

He shouldn’t feel this fucking anxious, his guts all twisted and aching. It was just a conversation with someone he’d know his entire life. Nothing she said, nothing he said, would change their past or future.

Not with Daniel dead.

“Gotta say, this is a surprise.” Rawlings flashed him a pearly white smile. “Moving into town, are ya?”

“Nah, just down for a quick visit.”

Rawlings’s smile brightened. “Can’t be that quick. This is the last flight tonight. You’ll be stuck ‘til mornin’.”

Shit. The chopper must be heading back to base after dropping off its passengers.

Why the hell hadn’t Wolf mentioned that?

Where did the bastard expect him to bunk?

Far as he knew, The Neighborhood didn’t have a motel.

He scowled when the helicopter’s lift rumbled to life and started to rise.

Vibrations coursed through his seat, numbing his ass.

Too late to hop off now. This endeavor had turned into a frustrating waste of time.

Rawlings sunny blue eyes narrowed. He hesitated, then shrugged. “You need a place to stay? I got an extra bedroom. You can hang with me and Faith after this visit of yours.”

“Appreciate the offer,” O’Neill said. Did the thank you sound as rusty to Rawlings as it did to him? “But the pilots can bring me back. I can visit later.” Or catch her at the clinic.

“That won’t go over well. The boys flyin’ this bird live in The Neighborhood. They shut this little beauty down at night and fire her up in the mornin’.” Rawls offered a sympathetic shrug. “Askin’ them to fly you back to base instead of headin’ home to supper and a cold brew might get...sticky.”

Damn. O’Neill scowled. The pilots of this bird were not fans of his. They wouldn’t step up to do him a favor, not when it would make them late getting home.

Wolf had to be messing with him. The asshole must have known O’Neill would be stuck down there for the night.

“You sure crashing with you won’t put your wife out?” he asked Rawlings, accepting the lesser of three evils. He sure wasn’t asking Muriel if he could bunk with her. And it was too cold to sleep outside without his cold weather gear.

“Nah.” Rawls settled back in his chair as the grinding sounds of the lift stopped. “Faith embraces the unexpected.”

O’Neill strangled on a scoff, his eyebrows lifting. Seriously? Did Rawlings know his woman at all? Faith was one of the stiffest, most buttoned up personnel on base. Embracing the unexpected was not a strength of hers.

The Thunderbird’s engines ramped up and the overhead rotors beat the air. The noise made it impossible to continue the conversation. He’d have to hash his bunking arrangements out when they landed.

The thirty-minute flight seemed to take forever. When the bird finally set down, O’Neill waited impatiently for the rotors and engine to fall silent. Finally, one of the warriors thrust the cargo door back and the debarking began.

O’Neill scanned the landing field as he hopped down, snow crunching beneath his boots.

A triangle of overhead lights illuminated the dark field, and the cluster of automobiles awaiting their owners.

As the rotors shut down and the engines went silent, an icy wind skated across his bare arms, raising goosebumps.

The sweat from his run to the hangar bay had long-since dissipated, leaving a chill in its wake.

Too bad he hadn’t had the time or opportunity to grab a jacket.

Rawlings hadn’t been messing with him. Not only had the bird shut down, but its pilots were fast tracking it across the field toward the cars. Had Wolf warned them O’Neill would be asking for a ride back tonight? Was that the reason behind their Speedy Gonzales impression?

A heavy hand fell over his shoulder. “Don’t ya worry that pretty little head. I got ya covered.”

Pretty little head? What the hell? Did the bastard think they were in some regency drama with O’Neill as the virginal debutante?

“You’re gonna regret taking him up on that offer,” Mackenzie growled, stalking past them, his boots abusing the snow with each thunderous crunch.

“Don’t mind him,” Rawlings drawled. “He’s just wishin’ he was invited to our party.”

O’Neill sincerely doubted that.

Across the field in the parking lot, car doors slammed and headlights burst on.

He was surprised Wolf allowed the Bell to sit there all night, out in the open with no guards or fencing.

He certainly trusted Faith shield’s to keep outsiders away.

But what of those who lived in The Neighborhood?

No concerns one of them might fuck with the machine?

“Who you visitin,’ anyway? I’ll drop you off. You can call when you’re done chattin.”

O’Neill was about to reject the idea and walk to Samuel’s place, only to realize he didn’t know where the Caetanee ’s house was located. He sure hadn’t thought this trip out well. Which was unlike him. His tendency was to over-plan, over-organize, overkill.

Damn...he’d have to accept the squid’s offer.

“I’m headed to Samuel’s place.” O’Neill fought against rubbing his arms to fight the chill. He was tougher than that. Mind over matter and all that shit. “You know it?”

“Samuel?” Rawlings stopped walking so suddenly, O’Neill sailed a couple of feet past and had to wheel around. The gaze that met O’Neill’s was suddenly chilly. “Samuel’s still in the ER. Why you headed to his place?”

The dude’s voice was as cold as his eyes. What the hell? Did the asshole think O’Neill was on his way to ransack the place, or put the moves on Samuel’s le'ven'a ?

Yeah, fuck Rawlings and fuck the kernel of disappointment unraveling inside him. While the squid might not be a friend, he’d thought they’d developed enough of a rapport over the past year to give him the benefit of the doubt.