She looked at him, puzzled. “Dream?”
“That night I dreamed I was a dragon myself, and I fought the great dragon, the creature that holds the land’s evil magic in thrall. I battled him in the air, and I bit him on the neck, and I defeated him, at least for a while. But only moments after I thought I vanquished him, I was awakened to tend to you and help you deliver your baby.” He furrowed his brows. “But you said you saw me fight.”
Confused, she let the prized artichokes drop from her hand down onto the bank. “But it is not a dream.” She spoke so loudly that he glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that the men had not heard.
He put his finger to his lips to caution her. “But I was in my bed, and it felt like a dream. What else can it be? And how did you see it?”
“It is a…a spirit. A spirit journey. Part of your essence transforms into your dragon. When I was twelve, I discovered that I could turn my spirit into a bird and go wandering. The things I saw were true, and others could see my bird form. It is not a dream, Captain Lewis.”
He didn’t understand. “But if it is not a dream, it doesn’t matter what—”
“But it does!” She remembered to keep her voice low, but the fierce whisper was full of meaning. “You can fight the evil dragon in your spirit form, and you won this time. I expect he underestimated you, and you surprised him. But he can also kill you. It is not just a dream, and if you fought him without knowing it was dangerous—” She looked appalled.
“And if my spirit dragon gets killed?” Meriwether felt too foolish to finish the question.
“You die. Your dream dragon is a great portion of your spirit.”
Though he was quite familiar with the powers and vagaries of magic in the arcane territories, he could not help but think like a natural scientist. “But how can it be both a spirit and a physical entity? And both are part of me?”
Sacagawea shrugged. “Why does the sun rise in the sky? It just does, and it just is.”
He considered explaining the sun, but knew it would be futile. Sacagawea meant that not knowing how something worked did not mean it didn’t exist. Even though he had promised Franklin he would keep detailed journals and send back a wealth of exotic specimens, he knew that the magic that infused the land was not so easily categorized or interpreted. Nevertheless, the magic must have its own sort of science, its own rules. And his dreams were part of them.
Meriwether had suffered the strange dreams as long as he could remember. He had seen his dream self wandering the Virginia woods around his house, but he’d thought nothing of it, because he had known those places so well. But what if he had been spirit walking?
He thought of the night of the blizzard, when this desperate young woman had fought her way to the fort. “You said you came to me because of the dragon. You sensed me, knew me. Is that why? Because you thought I could fight him?”
“I sensed that you could keep him at bay, at least for a little while,” Sacagawea said. “I had no other place to run. The evil had followed me and sent its minions after me.”
Meriwether remembered the voice. “He said he wanted his bird and her egg. He meant you and the baby, didn’t he?”
Sacagawea’s eyes went wide. “I should not have asked you to fight him without knowing how deadly he is,” she said. “But you are strong in a very special way, and I think he is afraid of you. That is why he tries so hard to destroy your expedition, before you can discover who you are.”
Meriwether found the very idea amazing. How could a creature who manipulated magic so well, and who possessed such resources drawn from the land itself, be afraid of any power Meriwether Lewis could wield? Though he might be good at hunting and exploring, had no notable ability in magic, other than dreaming about dragons.
He remembered the dark force’s voice in his head, vowing that they would meet again…and how thoroughly it had knocked him out. Had that adversary rifled through his mind while Meriwether lay unconscious? And what had it found that made it so afraid?
Before she could give him more answers, Captain Clark and his party stumbled back into the camp, carrying a fine buck and a brace of birds they’d shot. The rest of the men gathered with excitement for the feast, and they all spent the afternoon and evening dressing, cutting, and cooking the meat.
That night, as he slept in the large tent of buffalo hides strung over the framework of poles, Meriwether woke to find Sacagawea nursing her son in the half light. Embarrassed, he turned away and tried to go back to sleep.
So much about this woman intrigued him. She knew more about this land than he did, and she had escaped great evil and come on such a perilous journey alone…yet, she had put her faith in Meriwether. When he finally dozed again, he dreamed that she turned into a bird and soared high above the camp, a beautiful eagle, free against the sky.…
Hours later, he woke to an empty tent. When he emerged into the chill, damp morning he accepted coffee and a slice of cold corn bread from Pryor. While he ate, the men broke down the tent and stowed what they’d unpacked the night before.
The men remembered how to pack in a hurry, and they did so with little confusion. Guided by occasional comments from Captain Clark, their operation was like a well-practiced military drill, and even the small group of interpreters’ wives and mistresses showed a hint of discipline.
Sacagawea returned from the river, gliding through the bustle. She wore one of the new outfits of quill-embroidered leather she’d traded for with the tribe near Fort Mandan, probably using berries or medicinal herbs. Her outfit was butter-colored, and the quills had been dyed many colors. Meriwether thought she looked splendid, but her too-young face bore a worried expression. Tied to her back, Pompy played with her hair.
Stepping up to Meriwether, she reported, “It is still cold for our journey into the mountains. The men had to use the paddles to break the pirogues and canoes out of the ice that formed overnight.”
He frowned. The air felt cool, but not bitter on his face. Granted, they had slept in the shelter of the tent, but he didn’t remember the cold being intense enough to justify ice on the river. “Did we really have a hard freeze last night?”
“No,” Sacagawea said. “It is the magic, pulling energy from the river. He is not strong enough yet with the spring just awakening, and throughout the winter he could do little more than keep the revenants from rotting and hold his living slaves in thrall. Even so, he can pull power from certain regions, certain places. And the river is now ever-moving and has a great deal of life and power in its movement.”
Meriwether pursed his lips, trying to hide his anxiety. “So, what should we do? We need to keep moving.”
“I would stay away from the river today, but I doubt you will believe that is possible.”
Meriwether knew not to dismiss her concerns, but after so many months of waiting in Fort Mandan, the expedition needed to push west and explore more territory. “Let me ask Captain Clark.”
His partner was supervising the packing and the breakdown of camp. When Meriwether explained Sacagawea’s concerns about the ice and the draining magical force, Clark considered, then shrugged. “The men say that sometimes the river is colder than the air, and we might find thin ice on it well into the spring. It is no reason to postpone our trip. We can’t delay for every inconvenience.”