The Tower of Il Serrohe (36 page)

It transported him to his youth when he would escape his father’s drunken rages by hopping on his bicycle and pedaling for hours, working his way along ditch banks, across fields of alfalfa and pasture to coast along the drainage ditch roads with the entangled bosque to his right. Just knowing the muddy Rio Grande was beyond the broken horizon of trees made him feel free of the ordinary world of school, aunts, and his mean-assed father.

Except now, his father was an old broken-down “piece of shit” in another world. Here, the Soreyes and the weirdness of it all assailed his mind.

The trail was broken by occasional trenches washed out by a recent hard rain; big lumps of lava rock from the old volcano, Lunatik Peak, to the west; and gnarled roots of cottonwood and willow.

At last they broke through a willow thicket, reminding him of the Soreye attack on the Kastmin. Stretching a mile from shore to shore, Dream River lay across the land like an eastern United States river.

“
Nersite, this river is beyond anything we have in New Mexico.”

“
Where?”

“
That’s our name for the whole state, or area, where my Rio Grande Valley is. This river is unbelievable!”

The river was muddy along the edges, but out in the vast plain of water in the middle, Don could see dark green water, hinting of great depth.

Nersite looked about and breathed deeply, sucking in the marvelous watery glory of it all. “I love this. I would never trade my root home for a place here, but I always get a feeling I can’t explain when I’m here on the shores of the Dream River.” He looked up at Don with contentment. “You know?”

“
Yeah, little guy, I do. I’d give anything to have the Rio Grande like this. But you can drown in a couple of inches of water, so what difference does it make?”

Nersite looked at him. “You’re hopeless.”

“
So how the hell do we get across to meet your friends, the Ursimin?”

“
We wait. This is near their landing point. See those big dead cottonwoods,” he said, pointing south down the curving shore.

Don spotted the trees. “I could use a nap. You say they come by here once a day?”

“
Yes, they hunt in the bosque on this side. Their side of the river has been over-hunted by them and a family of Loopohmin. A few Linksmin live north of here on the east side of the river also. It’s not good for farming over there because the bosque grows right up to the sand hills that rise to the Mountains of the Sky. There’s no flat land for farming.”

“
Well, this will be our last visit. The rest of the clans can come to Il Mote, and I’ll meet them there.”

Nersite laughed. “Yeah, like you’d want to meet some of them.” He looked at Don’s puzzled face. “You’ll see what I mean. But now the Ursimin, they’re good people.”

“
I could use a nap,” Don said again.

They made their way the last hundred yards to the dead cottonwoods, finding a small pier fashioned of logs tied with a coarse hemp rope.

A pile of dirt and debris from a flood sat about ten yards from the shore. The shade was good on the small hill, so they stretched out and were soon pleasantly sleeping. Normally, Don couldn’t have fallen asleep lying on the ground in the mid-afternoon if someone had held a gun to his head.

He became vaguely aware of leather wings “whapping.” His eyes opened half way. But it was quiet and still and he drifted off again.

After about an hour, someone shuffled along the sandy trail by the hill where they were napping. Don sat up abruptly, eyes wide. Getting to his feet too fast, he fell flat on his face, right in front of a big man who had been looking at them.

“
Har, har! Short one, you got up before your legs were awake! Here, let me help you.”

Don felt himself being lifted as if he were a straw doll. His eyes grew even bigger when he craned his neck, looking up at the man who stood nearly seven feet tall. He was built like a freight train with big muscular arms and legs and a chest like a 55-gallon barrel. His skin was dark and he had a heavy black beard. Hair covered his arms and chest as well as the tops of his bare feet, and he wore heavy dark blue denim pants and a straw hat with an umbrella-sized brim.

Nersite got up quietly and ambled down the hill to the trail beside Don.

“
Don, I’d like you to meet Bernardo,” he said, “chief hunter of the Ursimin. Bernardo, this is Don from the Rio Grande Valley. He is an ancestor of Teresa the Tall One.”

“
Har, har! You don’t say! That’s good news indeed! Those damned Soreyes don’t come sneaking around our village unless they’re stupid, but they’ve captured some of our young ones when they were on this side of the river. They may be skinny little stinkers, but they’re dangerous and even we don’t approach them without a measure of fear and respect.”

Don smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know how much help I can be, but I’ll do—”

“
Of course you will, by the Great Maker of All Things! Come, you must go with me back across the river. There’ll be a huge barbecue tonight.” He showed them a big bag full of game he had captured.

Nersite looked nervous. “What, uh, kind of game do you have in there?”

“
I was hoping for Soreye leg, but I understand they are tough and foul-tasting, so I had to settle for something else. You’ll see when the feast is on tonight. Come on! Har, har!”

He slapped both on their backs nearly toppling them, but he was so good-natured, neither Don nor Nersite took offense.

They piled onto his raft of thick cottonwood trunks and drifted across the wide river. Don marveled at how much it resembled the Mississippi, which he had crossed on the bridge to Memphis on a road trip riding his old Honda motorcycle after graduating college. Until then, he couldn’t imagine a river of such magnitude.

Now, he could not imagine a body of water like the Dream River right here in this alternate valley that was like the Rio Grande, yet so different and more massive in every dimension.

How could this be?

When they arrived at the east bank, the Ursimin village revealed itself from under a canopy of cottonwoods and willows hugging the shore. Sweet-smelling smoke came from a fire in the village center. Anticipating Bernardo’s return, they were building an appropriately big fire for the feast.

The Ursimin poured out of their low wooden huts, joining the others lining the shore around the small pier. Their children were scaled down versions of their parents. Don was amazed male and female alike sported thick, short-cropped beards, but the females were considerably smaller and had more delicate features. He actually stood a little taller than the females while the children scurried around their feet.

The chief, an old, gray-headed man slimmer than Bernardo, heartily greeted him and the guests. Everyone was outgoing, laughing constantly even when nothing particularly funny was said.

They were invited to rest beside the growing fire. As they made their way among the enthusiastic crowd, Don turned to Nersite.

“
I noticed Bernardo said something about the ‘Maker of All Things.’”

“‘
Great
Maker of All Things.’” Nersite corrected. “I know. It doesn’t make sense to me or anyone else in the entire Valle. These Ursimin are a fun people and great defenders of the clans, except for maybe their neighbors who are more like hunting rivals. I would trust them with anything, but they are big and kind of scary with their roaring laughter. And when they’re mad you better, as you say, ‘get the hell out of the way!’ But they have funny customs.”

“
So, I take it, this ‘Great Maker of All Things’ is not something the rest of you believe in?”

“
Believe? What’s that? We just don’t know what they’re talking about. They explain, but it doesn’t make sense except that it does seem to be part of ‘The Way It Is.’”

Don sighed. Y
ou may not get it, little guy, but I think I do. Clans of the Valle aren’t religious. Not even to the point where they might grasp the concept even if they aren’t believers. I wonder how Teresa dealt with it?

As the fire grew, Bernardo brought out the game he had captured in the west bosque. Puzzled, Don couldn’t figure out what the game
was.
He had expected things like rabbits, pheasant, fish, maybe even muskrat.

The women deftly skinned the creatures, tossing aside their innards. The children quickly grabbed them and ran off as if they had just found great treasure. The creatures, now speared from mouth to anus by thick, stripped branches serving as spits over the fire, were still unrecognizable to Don.

As he turned this over in his mind—beast or fowl, four-legged or two?—Bernardo came over to them, slapping their backs and laughing.

“
Har, har! You best get your mind off the barbecue. We Ursimin like our meat well done, so it will be a while before it’s fit for eating!”

Now I really need a beer. I like meat, but I’m not so sure about this.

“
Bernardo, what kind of—”

“
Forget the Bernardo business! Call me Bernie. Come with me, I’ll show you our sanctuary. You’ll not see another in the whole of Valle Abajo.”

He led them to a hut that had a roof twice as high as the others and was bigger by about three times than the family huts. Inside, it was dark and smelled of dried flowers and honey. A huge fire pit occupied its center, with four heavy branches supporting a flat stone shaped like a wok.

In the stone wok was a pile of flowers and a golden liquid.
Must be honey,
Don thought, as he watched the liquid bubble gently as it mixed with the flowers.

Bernie was unusually quiet, his look changing from lusty hunter to monk-like. Walking slowly to the stone wok, he dipped his fingers into the steaming concoction.

“
It’s warm, not burning hot. Here, dip your fingers, and then taste the sweetness of the Great Maker.”

Nersite hung back but Don did as asked. It was sweet and fruity just like he expected. He saw Bernie look up at a hole in the roof directly above the wok as he mumbled something unintelligible, bowing his head and seeming to hold his breath.

Don looked around. He saw little stone tables around the perimeter of the large room—could they be altars? On the wall behind each table hung a crude wooden shape. Nothing was recognizable to Don. Were those statues of animals or something in nature?

Who knows? This is stranger than the other apparently ‘godless’ clans. I hope I don’t do anything to offend Bernie. I was never good at respecting religious ceremony. More than once the priest would cast me a disapproving look as I tried to carry out my duties as altar boy. All to please my aunts. Dad didn’t give a shit and never darkened a church door. I can believe in God, but I’m not sure what he has to do with the stupid goings on of humanity and this world… or, at least, my other world.

Bernie raised his head and smiled broadly at Don and Nersite. “The Great Maker is pleased at your respect and will be with you in your endeavor. It is my duty and that of my chief and people to assist you however we can to drive out the Soreye bastards. I use the term bastards to mean they are fatherless and motherless because who would claim giving birth to such vermin!”

And that, my friends, is the most enthusiasm I’ve heard yet to kick some Soreye butt!

“
That’s good to hear, Bernie.” Don looked at Nersite. “My little friend here and all those of the Valle will be glad to have you on our side. We’re meeting tomorrow in Il Mote.”

“
Enough of this! Har, har! Come on. Let’s warm up by the fire.  The smell of the cooking will stir the appetite.”

As they walked out, the sun had set and the fire sat in the center of a large impenetrable darkness: the only burning star in an empty universe.

Don looked at Bernie’s heavy-featured face, its creases defining him more than anything else. “You wouldn’t happen to have a beer, would you?”

fifty nine

Unlike at the
Càhbahmin dorm or Raquela’s place—where he had slept as if he were dead—Don had trouble nodding off. It wasn’t like that night in Nersite’s root home, which amounted to about an hour and a half of half-assed sleep during an eight hour-period, but, still, he was restless.

Every sound in the surrounding forest grabbed his attention. He could hear the Ursimin snoring in their huts. He concentrated on ignoring Nersite’s little whistling sounds. Occasionally, he realized he’d slept for a while. No clock, no idea what time it was.
How long until sunrise?

He was just dozing off again when a horrific cry rang through the trees—reminding Don of a rebel yell from a Civil War movie.

Then came the shouts: “Soreyes! Soreyes! Arumph! Arumph!”

It was the Ursimin calling in response to the Soreye yells, though it sounded weird. Don couldn’t recall anyone last night making
a
sound like that during the rowdy feast.

Bernie burst into the hut. “Get up! Arumph! Soreyes are attacking. Hide quickly. We’ll deal with those scummy bastards!”