Disclaimer: The characters in here probably remind you of some very talented ladies, but other than that, they're mine. Plot, names, on and on. Let me know if you want to borrow anything.
This work is Copyright ©2001 C. E. Gray
Naughty language disclaimer: Nope, not too bad in here. Maybe a word or two.
Other language disclaimer: One of the main characters in here speaks Apache, and while it has taken me a long time to find the materials I needed to get this as accurate as possible, there is a very real chance that I messed up somewhere. This is my first attempt at doing a historical piece of Uber fan fiction, so if you notice anything, please let me know. If I have offended anyone with a mistake, I apologize now.
I used the "Western Apache-English Dictionary" edited by Dorothy Bray to find the Apache words. Also, the poem mentioned in here is "Tomorrow" by Peter Blue Cloud. Not mine, unfortunately.
Violence disclaimer: Yeah, there's quite a bit of that in here. Mention of rape and its aftermath, as well as some physical abuse in general. If that kind of stuff bothers you, just close your eyes over those parts.
Sex disclaimer: Well, this is an alternative story, so the two main characters do happen to love each other… and they're both women. (gasp!) If that isn't your cup of tea, you may not wish to read this, or you can give it a try – won't hurt, I promise. Nothing is real graphic in here, anyhow.
Author's note: A big thank you to my friends Charlene, Tina, AJ, and Amanda for being there for me, and to everyone else that I can't begin to name for supporting this little bard. The feedback I get from you readers means more than you can imagine. And, of course, more thanks and love than I can say in words goes out to my beta and best friend, Amber. Always.
If we were to take the time to look into the secret history of our enemies, we would find there a longing and a sorrow enough to disarm all hostility.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And now, the story:
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Blue Fire
by: C. E. Gray
In the year 1868, a time known for most Americans' fierce prejudices against all people not of the same heritage, a circumstance of pure chance brings a white woman and an Indian woman together.
She is called Blue Fire; an apache warrior destined to somehow make a difference for her tribe. Everything tells her not to trust the white that has taken her in, and yet her heart gives her no other choice. Often torn between the ways of the white man and the ways of her ancestors, she struggles to satisfy both the calling of her soul and the calling of her people.
A strong warrior, stubborn and proud, loyal to those she deems friends, nothing but danger to those who would dare cross her…
This is her story.
Part One:
The Dwarf and the Giant
The dwarf sees farther than the giant, when he has the
giant's shoulder to mount on.
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Friend
Prologue
Alicia Winters sighed as she wiped the beads of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, smearing dirt across her forehead and into her short blonde hair. "Come on, Mystic," she said, softly, her green eyes pleading. "You can do this, girl." The mare snorted, as if to agree, and Alicia watched her muscles contract once more, as the horse attempted to birth the young foal.
Suddenly, the chestnut mare let out a loud grunt of pain, and tossed her head. "Whoa, girl," said Alicia, trying to calm the horse. "Okay, sweetheart. You're gonna make me do this the hard way, ain't you?" Glad she wore her sleeveless shirt, Alicia reached into the birth canal, much to Mystic's discomfort, and moved the small horse around, so the foal was now turned in the right direction.
"There you go, Mystic," coached Alicia. "Now give it another try, girl. You can do it, I know you can." A few minutes later, a small foal came out into the world, landing softly in the hay. "Hey, it's a girl!" exclaimed Alicia, smiling as Mystic cleaned her newborn.
Once Alicia was sure mother and daughter were all right, she patted Mystic proudly on the neck, and walked tiredly into the house. The young blonde's head hit the pillow just as the sun rose over Tombstone, in the western territory of Arizona.
Meanwhile, just a few miles from Alicia Winters' farm, Escape Ranch, the Indian urged her mount on. Her horse was just as tired as she was, but the woman knew they had to keep going. Praying to her Spirit Guide, the wolf, the tall Indian did all she could to outrun her captors.
"Dinyaa, Moonbeam," she said, begging her palomino stallion to go. They had to get away from the dozen white bounty hunters that would much rather have the woman dead than alive. And, now, the tall Indian warrior had no doubt she would have a bounty on her head not just for being a native, but for murder, no matter why it was committed.
Suddenly, a shot rang out, and the woman was thrown from the stallion's back as her horse stumbled. "Moonbeam!" she cried, when the wound in her steed's flank made it apparent that the horse would soon be gone. Taking a few precious moments to bless the animal's spirit, and thank him for his loyalty, the Indian ran off into the night.
The woman ran as fast as she could with a bullet wound in her thigh and an arrow in her shoulder, and more cuts and bruises in the rest of her body than she could count. If fleeing from the white man's tent had been hard, than hiding from their posse was damn near impossible.
It wasn't long before the woman's pain overtook her, and she stumbled, rolling down a hill into a ravine. Finding it difficult to get to her feet, the Indian laid there in the ditch, offering herself up to whatever the Great Spirit had in store for her. Closing her eyes, the tall dark-skinned woman slept as the sun came over the hill, and a dozen mounted men rode past, searching for their lost Indian.
Alicia yawned as she awoke to a new day, and debated hiding under the covers until breakfast. But, at the remembrance of the new addition that lay in her stable, the blonde shot out of bed, and quickly got dressed. Pulling on a pair of pants, which her father always complained of her wearing, claiming "it wasn't proper for a young lady to go traipsing about the land in a pair of men's pants and chaps", Alicia slipped on her boots, and buttoned up her shirt.
I'm sorry, father, she thought, sending a silent prayer to the loving man, who she was sure was watching over her from the heavens, but ranch work cannot be done in a dress!
"I guess it's time for breakfast," she sighed, as her stomach grumbled. Grabbing a knife, stick of butter, and a loaf of cornbread, the woman headed out to the barn. She decided to have her meal with her animals, where she could keep an eye on Mystic's filly, as well as her other twelve horses.
"Hey, there, sweetheart," greeted the rancher, and the mare snorted at her. "How are you feeling, hm? And how's the little one?" Alicia checked on both horses, and gently felt the young foal all over, examining the youngster for any problems, as well as accustoming it to her touch.
"Look what I got," she said, pulling a cube of sugar from her pocket, and giving it to the mare. "Good girl. Well, ya'll are probably just as hungry as I am, aren't you?" Her soft southern drawl kicked in, and the woman gave each horse a bit of hay, as well as some oats.
Well, each horse except one.
The Palomino mare bounded about in the outside corral, not used to being caged in by wooden planks. Alicia gave the mare some food, but doubted the animal would take it. The rancher had tried her best for the past three days to get close to the horse, but the wild mustang wouldn't allow her to get within ten feet of her, before she skirted away.
Rubbing her sore arm, Alicia was reminded that getting too close to the animal was dangerous. The woman had a purple bruise the size of a silver dollar, where the mare had nipped hard at her skin, two days prior.
When everyone on the ranch that wanted food had been fed, Alicia mounted one of her geldings, since Mystic would be unable to ride for at least a week, and decided to do a quick perimeter check of her land. It had been rumored that outlawed cowboys and angry Indians were roaming the surrounding area, so Alicia took her Winchester rifle along, just in case.
Thunder, the black gelding beneath her, suddenly decided he wanted to wander down into the ravine. Thinking that perhaps the horse was thirsty, and wished to drink some of the cool water from the creek below, Alicia let him have his head.
The blonde gasped when she saw the unmistakable form of a person lying on their side in the ravine. When Thunder was just a few feet away, Alicia pulled him to a stop, and dismounted in a hurry. Going to the person's side, Alicia quickly discovered two things: one, it was a woman, and two, she was badly injured, but alive.
With the strength that comes from years of ranch work, Alicia lifted the fallen woman onto the back of her horse, mounted, and urged Thunder home as fast as he could go, without harming the injured woman even more.
"Okay, Thunder," said Alicia, "let's get her into the house, hm?" Practically dragging the woman by her arms, the young woman managed to get the tall, bloody form into the house and put her on the sofa.
First of all, I'd better get that arrow out of her shoulder, the rancher mused. Oh, thank heaven it went all the way through. Breaking the head of the arrow, Alicia grabbed on to the shaft, and pulled as hard as she could, quickly cleaning the wound. The arrow had passed just under the woman's collarbone, and exited just above her first rib in the back. Alicia couldn't tell enough to be sure, but she hoped there was no permanent nerve or muscle damage from the arrow, as the small blonde bandaged the wound.
Upon closer inspection, Alicia knew she would need a lot of clean cloths to wipe the blood from the woman. Gathering a handful of clean rags, and soaking a few of them in cool water, Alicia returned to the sofa. Cleaning the red substance from the dark-haired woman's face, neck, hands, and especially her leg, Alicia frowned when fresh blood poured forth from her thigh wound. The rancher's green eyes widened when she realized the tall woman suffered from a bullet wound.
Sighing, and thanking God that the woman was passed out, Alicia plunged her fingers into the wound, and felt around until she withdrew the small caliber bullet. Even more blood came out of the hole, and the blonde was quick to tie a bandage around it, in an effort to quell the flood.
The next step, Alicia knew, was to get the woman some new clothes to wear, since the garments she currently had on - torn up leather pants and an old ratty cotton shirt with a leather vest - were covered in blood, and completely ruined. Noticing a knife at the woman's hip, Alicia carefully withdrew it, recognizing the craftsmanship immediately as Apache Indian.
She's Indian, thought Alicia. That means she probably won't wear the clothes I've got. Not that anything I've got will fit her… but some of Bill's clothes might! Deciding that her deceased brother wouldn't mind his clothes going to help a wounded woman, Alicia figured she would strip the woman, dress her wounds, and then lay the clothes out for her to wear, if she wished.
Using the knife to cut away the tattered clothes, Alicia stood and folded the old clothes, placing them in a pile just outside the kitchen, figuring she'd wash them later. When she returned, she was struck by the beauty of the body before her. The woman's muscles were evident in her arms, abdomen, and legs. Even injured and unconscious, the woman's tall and sleek form demanded authority.
Alicia, out of pure respect, directed her attention solely to the woman's wounds, and did not allow her eyes to wander, as difficult of a chore as that was.
When the cleaning was done, Alicia sewed up the cuts that needed a needle and thread, and then put a bandage around each scrape.
By the time all of the woman's wounds were taken care of, Alicia realized it was past two in the afternoon already. The tall, nameless, and still unconscious woman that lay before her had occupied her entire day.
But the rancher didn't mind. She could only hope no one would come looking for an Indian anytime soon.
Everyone was out to get the natives, for one reason or another, although Alicia had yet to figure out why the people had to be bothered at all. As far as she was concerned, there was no reason to put a bounty on all Indians' heads, just because they were different.
If anyone asked her if she had seen any Indians, she knew what she'd say: no. There was no way she would turn the injured woman over to the authorities, nor would she allow them to take her if they found her. The feisty blonde decided then and there, as she covered the hurt woman with a light blanket for privacy from her nude body, that she would do everything in her power to help her.
Several hours later, at dusk, as Alicia came in from feeding the horses, she was surprised to see that her guest was moving. The woman still seemed to be unconscious, but she was thrashing about in her sleep, mumbling angrily.
Unsure if it was wise to approach the stranger during a nightmare, Alicia finally said, "Oh, forget it!" and went to the woman's side.
"Hey," she soothed, brushing the dark hair back from the bronzed face, gently. "It's okay. You're safe here." Repeating the phrase several times, Alicia smiled when the woman quieted down, and seemed to sleep a little easier.
Alicia threw a blanket on the ground, covered up with a sheet, and slept on the floor next to the couch, determined not to leave her guest alone if she was prone to nightmares. Closing her eyes, the blonde fell asleep quickly, listening to the even breaths of the woman above her.