Chapter 1: The Land that bled
The land smelled wrong. Taza Black Elk, Apache warrior, stood still at the edge of the trees. His hand rested on his knife, not because he planned to use it, but because it reminded him who he was.
The wind carried smoke. Not cooking smoke. Not campfire smoke. Burned earth.
Taza Black Elk lowered himself to the ground and pressed his palm into the dirt. It was warm. Too warm. The sun had not been strong enough today to do this alone.
Behind him, Ashkii Silent River waited. The scout did not speak unless needed. He watched. He listened. He remembered.
Taza Black Elk looked up. "This place fed three families."
Ashkii Silent River nodded once. His eyes followed the black trail that cut through the grass. Hoof marks. Boot prints. Wagon wheels.
White men.
Taza Black Elk stood slowly. He did not rush. Anger made warriors loud, and loud warriors died early.
"They did not come to trade," Taza Black Elk said.
Ashkii Silent River pointed toward the hills.
More smoke.
Taza Black Elk felt it then. Not rage. Something colder. Something heavier. The kind of feeling that sat in the chest and refused to leave.
"They are testing us," Taza Black Elk said. "They want to see if we will bleed quietly."
Ashkii Silent River finally spoke. His voice was low, like water over stone.
"They already know the answer."
---
The hunting grounds were gone.
What had once been tall grass and open land was now ash and broken wood. A dead deer lay near the stream, its body untouched, its eyes open.
That was wrong.
Hunters took what they killed. Only men who wanted to send messages left bodies behind.
Taza Black Elk knelt beside the deer. A bullet hole marked its side.
Not a clean kill.
He closed the animal's eyes with two fingers.
"This is not hunger," Taza Black Elk said. "This is warning."
Ashkii Silent River moved to the edge of the trees and crouched. "Tracks go east."
"Toward the neutral camps," Taza Black Elk said.
Ashkii Silent River looked at him.
Taza Black Elk stood. "Jonah Pike."
The name tasted bitter. Jonah Pike was not a soldier. He was worse. A militia leader who wore law like a mask and violence like a second skin.
"He wants war," Taza Black Elk said. "But not with his hands."
---
They returned before the sun reached its peak.
The Apache camp was quiet, but quiet did not mean calm. Warriors stopped sharpening blades. Children were pulled closer. Elders watched without speaking.
Nantan Chayton, village leader, waited near the fire.
He did not ask questions. He read faces.
Taza Black Elk stopped before him and lowered his head in respect. "The hunting grounds are burned."
A murmur moved through the camp.
Nantan Chayton lifted one hand. Silence returned.
"Who?" the village leader asked.
"Settlers," Taza Black Elk said. "But not alone. Militia tracks. Jonah Pike's men."
At the name, Mato Red Hawk stepped forward.
Mato Red Hawk was broad, scarred, and loud. "Then we strike first," he said. "We show them we are not prey."
Nantan Chayton's eyes did not move. "And then?"
Mato Red Hawk clenched his fists. "Then they learn fear."
"And then soldiers come," Elder Kiona said calmly. "And then more land burns."
Mato Red Hawk turned. "So we do nothing?"
Taza Black Elk spoke before anger could rise higher. "We watch. We choose when blood is worth the cost."
Some warriors nodded. Others did not.
Nantan Chayton looked at Taza Black Elk, Apache warrior, for a long moment. "Take scouts. Stay close to the neutral camps. Jonah Pike likes shadows."
Taza Black Elk bowed. "I will return with truth."
---
Night fell fast.
Too fast.
The moon had barely risen when the first scream cut through the dark.
Taza Black Elk was already moving.
The neutral camp burned bright against the black sky. Flames climbed tents. Gunshots cracked like breaking bones.
"Too late," Kale Grey Wolf shouted beside him.
Kale Grey Wolf was fast, reckless, brave. Sometimes brave enough to be foolish.
Taza Black Elk raised his hand. "We do not rush."
Another scream.
That was when Taza Black Elk saw it.
White men. Militia coats. But the bodies falling were not Apache. They were neutral tribes. Men who had tried to stay invisible.
Jonah Pike's work.
"Frame us," Kale Grey Wolf growled.
Shots rang out again. A tent collapsed.
Then something unexpected happened.
A gun fired from the trees.
One of the militia men fell forward, dead before he hit the ground.
Another shot. Another man dropped.
Taza Black Elk froze.
"That is not our fire," Ashkii Silent River whispered.
A lone figure moved through the smoke. Tall. Fast. Wearing no uniform, but moving like someone trained to kill without noise.
A white man.
He fired again, saving a woman pulling a child from the flames.
"Who is he?" Kale Grey Wolf asked.
Before Taza Black Elk could answer, the militia turned.
"Ranger!" one of them shouted.
The word cut through the chaos.
Texas Ranger.
The white man cursed and rolled behind cover as bullets tore into the dirt.
Taza Black Elk made a decision.
"Cover him," he said.
Kale Grey Wolf stared. "He is white."
"And tonight," Taza Black Elk said, drawing his blade, "he is not the enemy."
They moved as one.
Apache arrows flew from the dark, silent and deadly. Militia men panicked. Shadows betrayed them.
The white man fought like a cornered wolf. Efficient. Controlled. Deadly.
Then a shot rang too close.
Kale Grey Wolf cried out and fell.
"Taza!" he shouted, blood soaking his side.
Without thinking, the white man ran toward him.
Taza Black Elk almost stopped him.
Almost.
The white man slid beside Kale Grey Wolf and pressed cloth into the wound.
"Stay awake," he said. "Do you hear me? Stay awake."
Kale Grey Wolf looked at him with hate and fear mixed together. "You are wrong color," he whispered.
The white man met his eyes. "Tonight, I am the right one."
Boots thundered closer.
"Move," Taza Black Elk ordered.
They vanished into the trees as soldiers arrived too late to save anyone.
---
By dawn, the land was silent again.
Too silent.
Mato Red Hawk stood over the captured white man, blade drawn.
"He brings death" Mato Red Hawk said. "Kill him."
The white man did not beg. He only looked at Taza Black Elk.
"My name is Ethan Cole," he said. "Former Texas Ranger."
Nantan Chayton studied him.
"Why are you here?" the village leader asked.
Ethan Cole swallowed. "Because men like Jonah Pike deserve worse than prison."
Mato Red Hawk stepped closer. "And because of you, more blood will come."
Taza Black Elk looked at Kale Grey Wolf, pale but breathing.
Then he looked at Ethan Cole, former Texas Ranger.
"This land was burned before he came" Taza Black Elk said. "Do not lie to yourselves."
Nantan Chayton raised his hand.
The blade stopped.
"Tonight," the village leader said, "we do not kill this man."
Gasps spread through the camp.
"He will live," Nantan Chayton continued. "And we will see what his life costs us."
Ethan Cole closed his eyes.
Some debts began with blood.
This one had already started.
---
End of Chapter