Conflagration by Mick Farren Read Free Book Online Page A

much about her past, and the shame that she carried with her. She had told them how she missed Argo, and how it had hurt to give him up. She had told them of the strange dreams she’d been having since they had crossed the Potomac and come south, and of the two shining white figures who had walked in those dreams. She had even admitted that the figures scared her, and at that point, Magachee had placed a firm but gentle hand on Jesamine’s forearm. “Dreams may be warnings, but they are to be welcomed, not feared.”
    A sudden electric tingle had passed from Magachee’s hand to Jesamine’s arm and then suffused through her whole body causing her to gasp and then stare. “Are … you and Oonanchek these figures?”
    Magachee had smiled and shaken her head. “We are not in your dreams. We are two others.”
    “Others?”
    Magachee had said nothing. She had simply taken Jesamine by the hand and raised her to her feet. Then Magachee’s hands had gone to the fastening of her deerskins, and, in what had seemed like a single simple motion, the clothing had fallen with a whisper, so she stood naked and painted, facing Jesamine. In the instant, Jesamine had been gripped by a need greater than herself. As Oonanchek had remained seated, cross-legged on the other side of the fire, watching but expressionless, she had slowly unfastened the buttons of her Ranger tunic, and when she, too, was unveiled to the night, Magachee had taken her in her arms and, together, they had sunk down to the dew-damp grass. Jesamine had thrown back her head and groaned as Magachee had crouched over her, her lips brushing Jesamine’s body. Now a second, more powerful shock of contact left her breathless, and she heard her own voice, as if from a distance, sobbing in pleasure at the touch that was so different from the rough hands of men.
    “Ooooooooh…”
    And that was how it had all started. At some moment in the ecstatic darkness, she had opened her eyes to see Oonanchek standing over them, then he, too, had knelt to join them. And that had been the way of it for all of the subsequent days. Jesamine had traveled with the Ohio, only joining the ranks of Albany when duty required her. She knew that many were scandalized by her behavior, but she refused to care. While the sun was up, she rode, a solitary dark green Ranger, among the deerskins, furs, and feathers, the spears and muskets, and the flowing manes of their ponies. After dark, she, Magachee, and Oonanchek communed with spirits and with each other, exploring all of the possibilities of their minds and bodies, frequently under the influence of a quite extraordinary range of aboriginal intoxicants. She had laughed and she had moaned, she had groaned and shamelessly screamed as she had been taken to places unvisited even by The Four. No doubt she was the talk of the mess; the Mosul concubine who had been given a commission and an unprecedented promotion was now spending her off-duty in a three-way liaison with two savages. What her fellow officers would never grasp, as they swilled their gin and sniggered, was that it went far beyond any excursion into the unconventional. Magachee, Jesamine, and Oonanchek were what the Ohio called a takla, a confluence of minds, and among all the natives of America, it was viewed as a rare and special occurrence, and a source of great power for all those involved. Obviously The Four was Jesamine’s principal takla ; serious, unbreakable, and daunting, and Magachee and Oonanchek totally respected this. What they had between the three of them was something entirely different, although, more than once, Jesamine had speculated that the two apparently separate takla might be related, and wondered if the interlude among the Ohio was some deliberately engineered relief from the awful responsibility of being one of The Four, or an auxiliary source of the strength to help her maintain her sanity. If it was such a seemingly fortuitous connection, how had it come about?