A Trail of Two Fates (Preview)

Chapter One

For hours now, Alex hadn’t moved a muscle. Sat atop the shallow hill, he watched unblinkingly at the strange men with their strange practices. Dressed in their wide-brimmed hats, they moved back and forth along a track that stretched far into the hillside, laying metal into the dirt.

What horses they planned to move along them he could not imagine. It was a track made of iron. The men, skin white as his own, had been building like madmen lately. A new bridge, more living spaces. Each day, more and more people seemed drawn to the markets, more horses in the stables.

Things were changing, in ways Alex would never know. Down at the bottom of the hill, it may as well been another world.

Alex arched back his head, leaning against the trunk of the thick sugarberry tree. Up above, hummingbirds tittered among the leaves. Alex smiled. The cold season was coming to a close.

The winter had been mild, but frozen spells had kept the tribe moving more often than usual. He inhaled the air, ripe with grass and the faint smell of the city smoke far away. They would move on again soon. He didn’t want to.

Alex liked having a view on the township, seeing it grow, watching the people going about their strange business. He found any excuse to visit, to help the elders of the tribe communicate with the locals. Alex was the best pick; with the memories he’d retained of his first language, it made sense. Yet, the elders were wary. They could feel that these meetings were more than business. When he ventured in, it was all he could do to spend more time. These visits were quick, and carefully curtailed. The elders kept their eyes open as though anticipating some invisible threat.

Alex let his breath out.

They would move on. As they always did. It was the way. He prepared himself for it, trying to glimpse what he could before slipping back to the camp.

He saw a wagon full of horses snorting the chilly morning air. It saddened him to see them locked up. They could be cruel, these people. He reminded himself of what his elders said about the people in the town, locked in their brick homes, living as far from nature as they could manage. It was sad.

Glancing into one of the brick homes, Alex caught sight of a figure standing by the window.

He crept slightly closer, watching as she ran a brush through her hair. Such hair! It was as red as flame. In the weak morning sunlight, it burned brighter than Alex had ever seen.

Feeling suddenly strange from watching her, Alex tried to pull himself away from the sight. She was beautiful. He felt as though he could make out her every feature.

Such a strange place, the township, full of so much beauty, and so much sadness as well.

“Alex!”

The call came from nearby. Nadua. There was strange panic in her voice. The hummingbirds scattered.

Alex didn’t waste a moment. Springing into a quick run, he jumped the bank and went in the direction of his sister’s voice.

“Nadua? What’s wrong?”

She was standing just by the edge of the forest, urging him toward the plain. Her hair, blacker than the night, whipped in the lazy wind.

“It’s Mother!”

Alex moved even quicker.

Through the trees, he could see many villagers had emptied their buffalo hide teepees and were crowded around his mother’s. Alex pushed them to the side.

“Whoa, there!” said an older man.

“Move,” Alex said.

Nadua remained back behind the crowd, catching her breath. Alex threw open the tent flap, finding his brother and father already awaiting him inside.

Alex kneeled by his mother’s side, his heart thudding in his chest as he placed a hand on her forehead. Her skin was burning, slick with sweat, and her breath came in shallow rasps.

She was worse—much worse than she had been the night before. Her unfocused eyes fluttered open before slipping shut again. Panic surged through him. He stood, whirling toward his father, who was quietly packing up their supplies by the fire.

“What are we going to do about her?” Alex demanded, his voice shaking.

His father paused but didn’t look up right away. His weathered face remained calm as he tightened the straps of a pack. When he finally turned to Alex, his eyes were steady, but Alex recognized a distant sadness in him.

“We’re going to the Peyuhtka people. Their medicine man will know what to do. We leave as soon as the horses are ready.”

“The Peyuhtka? They’re two hours away, at least! What if she doesn’t make it that long? We could head south, to the city. There’s bound to be a doctor there—one of the white settlers. We’d be there right away!”

His brother was sharpening his knife. He looked up, dark eyes flashing with anger. “You’d trust the whites to help her? You think they care about us? After everything they’ve taken?”

Alex didn’t flinch, His brother’s anger was nothing new.

Isatai sheathed his knife and stepped closer to Alex. “They’d let her die just to watch us suffer.”

“And you think dragging her across the plains, hoping some medicine man from another tribe will save her, is any better? At least in the city of Waco, we know there’s medicine. She needs real treatment, not chants and smoke.”

Isatai’s fist clenched at his side. “You don’t know anything, Alex. You’re always talking like one of them. This isn’t your world. You weren’t even born into our people—”

“Enough.”

Both brothers fell silent, their father’s commanding voice instantly cooling their fury. He stood tall, his gaze sweeping between them.

“We do not fight among ourselves. Not when your mother is lying there, sick. And not when we have hard decisions to make.”

His father’s jaw was tight, his eyes still blazing, but he didn’t say another word. Alex bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue, unwilling to risk disrespecting his father further.

His father took a deep breath, his expression softening.

Alex stormed out of the tent, steps firm against the hard-packed earth. He walked quickly, trying to shake off the frustration that roiled inside him. His mother was getting worse, and all they could do was argue about the best way to save her. He glanced toward the path that led south, the faint line that would take them to Waco.

The settlers there had doctors—real medicine. Alex clenched his fists. In his distant memory, he recalled how quickly those doctors could get a sick person back on their feet.

His brother and father meant well, but there was much they didn’t know. He could be halfway to town by now if they weren’t bound by their sense of tradition.

As his eyes scanned the village, they landed on his sister, a slender figure among the people. She was laughing quietly with some of the other women as they gathered by a cooking fire. She caught sight of Alex and waved, a smile on her face. He smiled back.

This was his family. This was the way. He couldn’t force them to change their minds; he could only hope they would listen to him. Anger would achieve nothing.

With a heavy sigh, he turned on his heel and re-entered the tent. His father and Isatai were still there, sitting in complete silence. Alex swallowed his pride.

“What next?” he asked.

His father nodded.  “You and your sister will take your mother to the Peyuhtka people. Their medicine man will help her,” he said. “Isatai and I have duties to the tribe and will follow soon after.”

He raised his hand, not allowing a retort. Alex pressed his lips together, biting his words. His father had made up his mind. There was no use fighting it. With a reluctant nod, Alex turned to pack.

As he gathered the necessary supplies, Isatai approached him, his expression guarded.

“Why don’t you trust the medicine man?”

Alex hesitated, looking at his brother. “I remember seeing men go from their deathbed to back on their feet in minutes.”

He ushered his siblings close to the door, glancing back at his mother to check she wasn’t listening. Her eyelids were fluttering. She whispered quietly under her breath.

“To the white men, everything is faster,” Alex continued. “Our mother is running out of time.”

Isatai’s brow furrowed. Nadua cut in.

“You remember the story of the boy and the trickster river? He is so fixated on the reflection of the plums he almost dies diving for them, only to see they have been above him the entire time.”

Alex chewed his lip. “What do you mean?”

“Think carefully, Alex.” Nadua looked at him with calm, steady eyes. “Making choices while panicked leads to rash choices. It’s not the medicine man we should trust. It’s the ways of our people. You know this.”

Alex exhaled. His younger sister always had a way of cutting through his doubts. “Alright. Let’s get her ready.”

He began preparing, knowing he couldn’t turn his back on everything they had been taught. Not now. Not when it mattered most.

Chapter Two

The moon shone bright in the velvet sky as Alex and Nadua rode through the open plains, their horses moving swiftly. His mother lay slumped against his chest, her body feverish and limp, her breathing shallow as she clung to life. Every shaky breath she took was like a knife twisting deeper into his heart.

Nadua rode beside him, her dark hair streaming behind her like a banner, her posture firm and composed. She sat tall in the saddle. The night cloaked them in shadows, but the wide expanse of the plains spread out before them, endless and familiar.

Nadua met his gaze for a moment before turning her attention back to the path ahead. She looked calm, but he knew she was worried, too.

His mother moaned softly in his arms, her head lolling to one side. Her skin was still burning, the fever relentless, and her face was drawn and pale under the moonlight. Alex tightened his hold on her, whispering quietly, trying to keep her anchored, though he wasn’t sure she could hear him.

“We’re getting you help.”

He felt Nadua’s eyes on him, a brief glance of reassurance, though she said nothing. Words wouldn’t change the situation. All that mattered now was reaching the Peyuhtka people in time.

The land beneath them rose and fell like the waves of a frozen sea, the tall grasses brushing against the horses’ legs as they galloped across the prairie. Alex’s black mustang, Shadow, moved like a true wild horse, never shaking the hills from his gait. He responded to Alex’s commands as though reading his thoughts, darting nimbly between rocks and avoiding uneven ground without faltering. Nadua’s horse, Dust, kept pace easily, a younger but powerful horse.

Even as they pushed forward, Alex’s thoughts circled back to his mother. He could feel her slipping away with each passing minute, her body growing heavier in his arms. The Peyuhtka medicine man was still far away, and doubt crept in again, sharp and insistent.

Will this journey be enough? Can we save her in time?

Nadua urged her horse faster with a yip, and Alex met her pace. He tightened his grip on the reins and leaned forward, determination flooding him again. They had no choice.

The night was deep and dark as Alex and Nadua reached the edge of the Peyuhtka territory. The landscape had changed subtly; the land was all hills and brush, the ground harder, less forgiving.

Alex saw something that made him shiver.

A skull on a wooden post. Human.

The Peyuhtka people were not fond of unannounced strangers. As Alex and his sister approached, the air felt thick with tension.

Nadua glanced at Alex, her eyes wary. “Careful, brother.”

Alex nodded, his jaw clenched. He glanced down at his pale skin.

As they went over a small ridge, they saw them—three Peyuhtka warriors standing tall, spears in hand. Their faces were painted with bold red and black designs, marking them as protectors, and their gazes were sharp, suspicious. One of them raised a hand, signaling them to stop.

“Who comes here? Why do you cross our land without word?”

Alex slowed his horse and raised his hands in a show of peace. His heart raced, but his mind remained steady. This would be difficult, but they had no time to waste. His mother’s life was on the line.

“We come seeking the help of your medicine man. My mother is gravely ill. We mean no harm to the Peyuhtka people.”

The warrior narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping over Alex, lingering on his pale skin. “You are not one of us. You are no Comanche. Why should we trust you?”

Nadua’s horse shifted beside him, sensing the unease in the air, but Alex held his ground.

“I was raised as Comanche. By Tall Bear of the Nokoni band. You know my father. My sister and I follow the old ways, as you do. But we need your medicine man. My mother has been struck by a sickness we cannot heal. I know you value your borders, but I come with no deceit. If there’s any way to save her, it’s through your people.”

The warriors exchanged glances, their faces impassive but clearly considering his words. The leader looked back at Alex, his eyes narrowing again. “We do not trust easily. Even if you were raised among the Comanche, your blood speaks differently.”

Alex felt his frustration rising but swallowed it down. He needed to stay calm. “I am not asking you to trust me because of my blood. I’m asking because we have no other choice. We bring no harm, no weapons. Only our mother and our hope.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the warriors studying Alex and Nadua with hard eyes. Finally, the lead warrior gave a curt nod.

“We will take you to the medicine man. But be warned, if there is any sign of trickery, you will pay with your lives.”

Alex gave a respectful nod in return, relief washing over him, though he kept his expression neutral. “We understand.”

The Peyuhtka warriors led them through the rocky paths of their territory, the land becoming more enclosed, more guarded, until finally they reached the heart of the tribe’s camp.

At the center stood a figure that immediately drew Alex’s eye.

He was draped in layers of animal skins with thick feathers, beads, and bones. His face was painted with white and black streaks. His long, wild hair, streaked with silver, framed eyes that seemed to pierce everything around him.

The Peyuhtka medicine man stood still, almost as if he had been waiting for them, rooted in the earth itself. His presence was commanding, like even the wind bent to his will. When he finally moved, it was slow and deliberate, his staff—a tall stick carved with intricate symbols—tapping against the ground with each step. His gaze fell on Alex first, then Nadua, before settling on the frail woman slumped over the horse.

“You come with the weight of death. But death does not frighten me. What do you seek from me?”

His voice sounded like crunching rock.

Alex slid down from his horse, carefully cradling his mother as he approached the medicine man. He could feel the eyes of the Peyuhtka on him, watching his every move.

“We seek your healing. She’s burning with fever. Nothing we’ve done has helped.”

The medicine man stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. He reached out, his fingers gnarled and rough, touching her forehead lightly. The firelight from the nearby torches flickered across his face. He muttered something under his breath in a language Alex didn’t understand.

Finally, the medicine man looked back at Alex. “You must trust in the ways of the spirits. They will decide if she stays or goes. For now, I can do nothing.”

Alex held his breath, knowing this was the moment he had dreaded. Trusting in the medicine man meant accepting the unknown. It meant surrendering to a power beyond his control.

He nodded slowly, swallowing his doubts because, in that moment, there was no other choice.

“Then we wait.”

Chapter Three

Kate sat hunched over her desk, a copy of Gray’s Anatomy before her. Her fiery red hair was pulled back loosely, a few rebellious strands falling into her face as she squinted at the intricate diagrams of muscles and tendons. The quiet of the early morning enveloped her, a rooster announcing the morning.

She traced a finger over the illustration of a surgical procedure, her mind absorbing every detail. It was all fascinating.

Surgery was an art and she was determined to master it. Her father had always sent her from the room before he began work. It seemed that to get out of books and into the real world, she needed to take matters into her own hands.

Closing the hefty book with a resolute thud, Kate stood and stretched, shaking off the stiffness in her limbs. She glanced out the window at the bustling street below. The town was already coming to life—shopkeepers setting out their wares, children chasing one another, the clatter of wagons on cobblestone. It was now or never.

Grabbing her satchel, she headed downstairs, boots clicking purposefully on the wooden steps. Her father was already gone, tending to patients at the clinic. That suited her just fine; she didn’t need another lecture.

Stepping onto the porch, she took a deep breath of the crisp morning air. She walked briskly, her eyes fixed ahead. She knew just where she needed to go.

The butcher shop stood at the corner—a sturdy brick building with a wide window displaying cuts of meat neatly arranged on ice. A wooden sign swung gently above the door, the painted image of a plump pig.

Kate pushed open the door, a small bell jingling overhead. The air inside smelled sharply of raw meat and sawdust. Behind the counter stood Mr. Thompson, a burly man with a thick mustache and forearms like tree trunks. He looked up from his work, a cleaver in hand, surprise flickering across his face.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Kate,” he greeted, wiping his hands on a bloodstained apron. “What brings you to my humble establishment this fine morning?”

Kate smiled politely. “Good morning, Mr. Thompson. I was wondering if you might spare some pig skin for me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Pig skin? What on earth do you need that for?”

She squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze steadily. “I wish to practice surgical techniques. Pig skin is quite similar to human skin, and it would provide an excellent medium for suturing and incision practice.”

For a moment, the butcher simply stared at her. Then, a slow grin spread across his face, followed by a hearty chuckle.

“Practicing surgery, are you? That’s a new one. What do you really need?”

Kate cleared her throat. “I’m serious, Mr. Thompson. As you know, my father is the town doctor, and I’ve been studying medicine to one day take over the practice.”

He leaned on the counter, still grinning. “And what does your father think about this… doctoring?”

Kate felt a flush rise to her cheeks. “He’s supportive of my education.”

She didn’t blink. She didn’t want him catching her lie.

Mr. Thompson let out a belly laugh, slapping the counter. “Well, isn’t that something? A lady doctor! What’s next? Tell you what, Miss Kate, why don’t you head over to the bakery instead? I hear Mrs. Jenkins could use some help kneading dough. Might be more suited to your… delicate hands.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I assure you, my hand is anything but delicate when it comes to handling a scalpel.”

“Now, now, no need to get riled up. I’m just having a bit of fun. But honestly, medicine is no place for a woman. Best leave that to the menfolk.”

Kate’s eyes flashed with anger. “And why is that, Mr. Thompson? Because you think a woman lacks the intelligence or the steadiness of hand?”

He shrugged. “I can’t be giving away pig skin for… pretend surgery. It’s wasteful. Now, unless you’re here to buy some chops for supper, I’ve got work to do.”

Kate stared at him, her jaw set. Arguing further would get her nowhere. “Thank you for your time,” she said curtly, turning on her heel and marching toward the door.

The bell jingled overhead as she stepped back onto the street, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and fury. Lost in thought, she nearly collided with Mrs. Potter, a woman with proper ringlets of silver hair.

“Oh! Pardon me, dear!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Potter,” Kate replied distractedly.

“Are you alright, Kate? You look a bit flushed.”

She forced a smile. “I’m fine, thank you. Just frustrated.”

Mrs. Potter patted her arm kindly. “Well, don’t let it ruin your day. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be frowning. It’ll give you wrinkles!”

Kate nodded absently, moving past her. As she walked away, she could hear the whispers begin—murmurs about her odd behavior.

She clenched her jaw. Let them talk. She wouldn’t let their small minds hinder her dreams.

She almost didn’t notice the commotion up ahead until a loud crash snapped her out of it.

A horse-drawn cart had veered off the road, its wheel caught in a deep rut. An older man struggled to calm his spooked horse, the animal’s eyes wide and nostrils flaring. The cart teetered precariously, and as Kate drew closer, she saw a young boy lying on the ground, clutching his leg.

Without hesitation, Kate rushed forward. “What happened?” she called out, dropping to her knees beside the boy.

“The wheel hit a hole, and Tommy fell off! He won’t stop crying about his leg.”

Kate placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Tommy. I’m here to help.” She examined his leg carefully, noting the swelling just above the ankle.

“I think it’s a sprain,” she said reassuringly. “We need to wrap it to keep it stable.”

The man hesitated. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we wait for the doctor?”

“I’m Doctor Thompson’s daughter. I’ve assisted him many times. Trust me.”

She pulled a spare handkerchief from her satchel, folding it into a makeshift bandage. Carefully, she wrapped it around the boy’s ankle, securing it snugly.

“That should help. Come in and visit my father after some rest.”

Tommy’s sobs quieted to sniffles. “Thank you, miss,” he said.

“Bless you, Kate. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

Kate offered a modest smile. “Be sure to have him rest and keep the leg elevated.”

As the man helped his son back onto the cart, Kate felt a swell of pride. This was what she was meant to do—help people, make a difference.

When she arrived home, her father was waiting on the porch, hands pressed on his hips.

“Father!” Kate said. “I should tell you, I came across an accident in town, the Cartwright boy. I bandaged him up and told him he should visit soon.”

Her father’s face slackened. She paused, feeling her proud smile drop.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

“That wasn’t right, Kate. I’ve told you before not to get involved.”

Her heart sank slightly. “I helped him, Father. He was hurt, and I couldn’t just leave him.”

He sighed heavily. “You should have fetched me. You could have made his injury worse.”

“I assessed the situation and acted accordingly. He needed immediate attention.”

“That’s not the point. You lack the formal training and experience to make those decisions. What if you’d been wrong?”

Frustration bubbled up inside her. “Father, I’ve been studying tirelessly. I know more than you think.”

“Books aren’t the same as real-world practice, Kate. There’s a reason we go through years of apprenticeship.”

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. “Then let me apprentice with you. Teach me, officially. Let me gain the experience I need.”

He looked away, a hint of discomfort crossing his features. “We’ve discussed this. It’s not appropriate—for you, for our family. People might talk.”

“Let them talk. I can do this.”

He met her gaze, his expression softening just a touch. “It’s not about belief. It’s about reality. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Hurt?” she echoed. “This is what hurts. Your cowardice.”

Her father’s expression melted into rage. “That’s enough.”

Kate knew he wouldn’t hear another word. She swept past him, making her way to the door and slamming it behind her.

In her room, she sat by the window, gazing out at the fading light. Kate didn’t care what he said, the man was wrong. She was meant for this work.

If the world wasn’t ready for her, she’d just have to change the world.

Chapter Four

Alex was surrounded by nature as far as the eye could see, but he had never felt more trapped. His mother’s fate lay in the hands of the medicine man now, and all they could do was wait. He and Nadua sat near the Peyuhtka fire, staying warm. The smell of roasted meat drifted on the breeze, but Alex had little appetite. Nadua ate quietly beside him, lost in her own thoughts.

He glanced at her, wanting to say something, but his thoughts were too scattered. He was about to stand when he noticed an elder approaching from the far side of the fire. The man’s face was weathered like cracked earth. He sat down slowly across from them, his movements deliberate, and began eating without a word. After a few moments, he looked up at Alex, studying him.

“You ride well. Not many ride like that unless they’ve been doing it their whole life.”

Alex shifted, slightly uncomfortable under the man’s gaze. “I have.”

The elder raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Your father, Tall Bear? A respected warrior. A man of this land. And yet, you… you are different. You have the look of the cities in your eyes.”

Alex exhaled, nodding slowly. “I’m born of the white man, it’s true. And I’ve spent some time in towns. Learned some of their ways. But this is my home.”

The elder studied him a moment longer, then nodded as though he understood more than Alex had said. “How did you come to be here, then? With your people, if you were not born to them?”

Alex hesitated, feeling Nadua’s quiet presence beside him, waiting. He picked at the food in front of him, letting the story come slowly. “I was young. I don’t remember much of it, but my family was attacked while crossing a river. Settlers, trying to make a new life. I got separated in the chaos, and I must have fallen in. The river took me, carried me miles downstream. My family found me—unconscious, barely alive. It was a miracle I survived.”

The elder’s eyes flickered “The river didn’t take you. The spirits let you live. Perhaps it was not your time.”

“That’s what they said. The elders told me I must have the heart of a warrior to survive such a thing. My mother… She raised me as her own.”

“As family?” the old man asked.

Nadua crouched forward. “He is. He’s family.”

The elder nodded, chewing slowly, as if digesting more than just his food. “I believe it, young one. All I can say is I see your brother still wonders about the world beyond.”

Alex looked at him. “Do you know that?”

The elder chuckled. “I see it in your eyes. You carry the land with you, but there’s another shadow there. The pull of another life.”

Alex flinched. He did wonder, sometimes, about the life he’d lost. He’d heard the stories, seen glimpses when he passed through towns on the edge of the Comanche lands. The life of settlers, of cattlemen and storekeepers. A different world, one that was foreign to him but somehow still felt tied to him.

“I’m Comanche,” Alex said quietly.

The elder nodded again, his expression unreadable. “You carry both worlds in you. That’s a burden, but it’s also a gift.”

Alex didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. They all sat in silence, the fire crackling between them, and the distant sound of chanting coming from the medicine man’s tent.

*

The rest of Alex’s tribe approached the Peyuhtka camp at sunrise, their horses moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm across the rugged plains.

The Nokoni warriors arrived in silence, their faces impassive, but there was a tension in the air that Alex couldn’t ignore. His father led the group, riding with the quiet authority. Ahote rode at his side, scanning the Peyuhtka camp for any signs of danger.

As they neared the outskirts, a Peyuhtka elder approached from the camp. His father dismounted slowly, motioning for Alex and the others to stay back, and strode forward to meet the elder. The two men greeted each other with solemn nods. They spoke for several minutes, their words carried away by the wind.

After a long pause, the elder nodded, gesturing toward the camp.

“The Nokoni will stay, for as long as the medicine man is willing to treat her.”

A nervous chatter emerged in the group.

As the tribe settled in, Alex made his way back to the medicine man’s tent. The air inside was thick with smoke and the smell of herbs, but the moment Alex stepped in, a heavy dread settled in his chest. His mother lay on a pile of furs, her body drenched in sweat, her skin pale and clammy. Her breathing was shallow, and each breath rattled as though it took every ounce of her strength to keep going.