Nightrise

seen him. He was lying on his side with a dressing over the wound. The shaman had made some sort of poultice.
    Daniel could smell it and see it, seeping through the bandages. The shaman herself was farther down the slope, on her knees, facing the sun. It was late in the afternoon. The sky was already tinged with red. The campfire was still burning, sending a thin trickle of smoke up toward the clouds.
    "How is Jamie?" Daniel asked.
    Joe turned around angrily. "Stop!" he said. ''You mustn't say his name."
    "Why not?"
    "It's our practice. When someone dies, you mustn't speak their name for four days."
    "When someone…?" The full impact of what Joe had just said hit Daniel. 'You mean…?" He forced himself to finish the sentence. "He's dead?"
    There was a long silence. Then Joe spoke. "We took the bullet out," he said. "The shaman cleaned the wound with yarrow and other herbs. But there was nothing more she could do. He has crossed to the other side."
    Daniel felt the tears well up in his eyes. He looked down at Jamie lying there, at peace. He couldn't believe that it had ended like this. He had met Scott, Jamie's twin brother. The two of them were so alike. But when Jamie had come into the cell the night before, it had been like the beginning of a new friendship, the first chapter in a story that still had pages to run.
    And now…
    "I thought…" Daniel began. His voice choked. He turned away and looked at the old woman who was muttering something, holding the little wand in her hand.
    "What's she doing?" he asked.
    ''You mustn't ask questions," Joe replied. Then, more gently, he continued. "She is doing what she can.
    She is using powerful magic. She is summoning up what we call we ga lay u.
    Her spirit power."

    "What is that? I don't understand."
    Joe's eyes narrowed. "The shamans get their powers from helpers who give them guidance in their work.
    They take many forms — but always animals or birds. This woman may not look it but she is very strong. She is not from-my tribe but she is famous. You saw her wand with the wooden carving. Her spirit power is the eagle."
    "But if he's dead…"
    "The eagle is the only spirit power that can cross over and bring him back. It is so powerful that none of my people will even keep one eagle feather in their house. It can do too much harm. But she has summoned it to help her. Look…"
    Joe pointed.
    Daniel didn't see it at first and when he did he wasn't sure if he was imagining it. A bird was swooping down, flying directly out of the sun as if it had just been born in the flames. As it descended, it cried out, a sound that echoed across the mountains. It didn't land but flew over them in a circle.
    The shaman raised her arms. Her spirit power had heard her call and it had come.
    The eagle circled twice more, then soared back into the sky.
    FOURTEEN
    Scar
    This time it wasn't a dream. Jamie was sure of that much. There was no sea and no island, no seven-foot-tall man waiting to deliver a cryptic message. And anyway, the world he now found himself in was too real. He wasn't just seeing it; he could feel it and smell it too. And it was cold. He rubbed his hands together and found himself shivering. It wasn't possible to feel cold in dreams…was it?
    He looked up. Wherever he was, it certainly wasn't Nevada. The desert sky had been an intense blue by day, the deepest black with a scattering of stars by night. The sky here was a strange mixture of colors, as if someone had spilled a dozen different pots of paint — but it was predominantly gray and red with dense, writhing clouds and no sign of any sun. Jamie took in the ancient trees — which could have been carved out of stone rather than wood — the wild, swaying grass, and the twisted rock formations. Not only was he was not in Nevada, he wasn't in America. Even the breeze was wrong: slow and sluggish and smelling of cinders, wet mud, and…something else.
    Where was he?

    He tried to remember what had happened. He had been standing in the back of a truck that had managed to break through the prison fence, but then he had been shot. He remembered the searing pain as the bullet entered his back, just next to his left shoulder. He had felt his legs failing him and he had collapsed onto the floor of the truck. That was all. He had thought he heard someone shouting but then the darkness had closed in.
    Until now.
    He looked around and saw that he was surrounded by corpses. There were dozens of them, lying broken and twisted