Visions (16 page)

She felt wind pulling at the small feathers along her head, the tension as giant feathers in her wings tilted and spread to change speed and altitude, her body wobbling from side to side as updrafts came and went, and she spotted something moving across the valley in a rhythm telling her it was a rabbit. She steadied herself, wings outstretched and motionless, focusing keen eyes on the target, then suddenly folding her wings tightly and dropping like a rock from the sky, the ground rushing up at her before she deployed a wing to brake and maneuver as the rabbit changed direction, then she was dropping again, her victim coming towards her in a blur, and—

“Ohhh!” cried out somebody in the cabin, and was instantly shushed into silence by the others. Baela was startled from her vision, Eagle and rabbit popping out of existence and leaving her shaking in the cold room. Quick breathing in the darkness, some of it her own in frustration and anger at the intrusion of the outcry. Her pleasure had been ruined. Heart pounding, she bit her lip to force back her anger, hugged herself tightly, and pouted—

At that instant, the familiar clattering of Pegre’s wagon came to their ears.

They all rushed to the windows, crowding each other for a look. Pegre hurried to the cabin, the door rattled, opened, and they streamed outside, babbling wildly in the Tenanken tongue while Baela sulked in the background. Pegre looked at her for help, but she offered none, and so he understood only a little about what had happened to them. It was enough.

They climbed into the wagon, Baela still pouting, sitting at the back and facing away from the others. She endured her mother’s squeals of fear and surprise until they reached the smoother road back to town. Mercifully, she was left alone on the long ride back to the ranch house, but out of the corner of her eye she could see the others watching her silently. Suddenly, she missed her hidey-tree where she could sit and see everything around: waving grass, trees, roiling clouds, and the animals. It was the place where she could dream her dreams. Alone.

By the time they reached town she was feeling better; her stomach growled, and hunger made her forget the anger. Her companions dozed, back-to-back in a huddle, and she watched their heads flop back and forth with each bump. As they finally approached the ranch, a tightness was again in her chest, and her breathing quickened at the sight of all the animals and carriages around the house filled with noisy Hinchai. Was there no need for privacy here?

Pegre parked outside the fence because there was no room left in the yard. The noise in the house came out through an open door, spilling over them in waves. Pegre smiled when they were standing together by the wagon, putting an arm around a young boy newly named Stefen, and taking Baela’s hand in his. “This is your new home, and these are your neighbors. See what a good time they’re having? Relax, and eat. Everyone wants you to be here.”

He led them inside.

People hardly noticed them come in.

Everywhere they looked were Tenanken surrounded by chattering Hinchai women, listening politely with little understanding, answering haltingly and using hands to help make a point, concentrating intensely but without fear. Pegre dragged them to a table filled with food, where a blonde woman, happy-faced and very pregnant with his child was pouring stew from a metal kettle into a giant crock, enveloping herself in steam. Baela’s smile was spontaneous, for she saw again the goodness in this woman, and had liked her the first instant of their meeting.

“And here’s Baela,” said Bernie, ladling out a bowl of stew for her. “Be sure to try one of these, too. Every little girl loves chocolate.” She popped something dark into Baela’s mouth, laughed when her eyes widened in delighted surprise at the taste, then led her, Pegre and her parents to a relatively quiet corner of the big room. While Baela shoveled food in her mouth, Pegre made the introductions to Bernie. Moog and Deda had become Michael and Dee Astosis, also from Rhodes, and like their daughter they were well rehearsed, falling easily into a halting conversation with the blonde woman. It was an interesting hour for Baela: stomach full of good foods, tastes she had never experienced, animated conversation. Exciting.

Someone shouted, “Hurry up, it’s gettin’ cold!” The front door had banged open, letting in a burst of cold air and several haggard-looking men wearing heavy boots and jackets. Faces burned red by wind chill, huffing and puffing dramatically, they removed gloves from their hands and stamped their feet on the hardwood floor. Gradually they paired up with women in the room, except for one, the thin, sharp-featured man with sad eyes who stood alone for a time by the stew crock, eating slowly and neatly until he saw Pegre and elbowed his way over to him.

“Hi, Jake. You’ve met Baela. These are her folks, Mike and Dee Astosis, and this is Jake Price, a close neighbor to us.”

Jake nodded politely at everyone. Baela sensed in him a desperate loneliness, a need to be close to someone. It made her sad.

“See anything?”

“Naw. We got as far as Cascade Creek, and the trail disappeared. Pretty sure they followed the creek before coming out again, so we’ll have to start all over in the morning. Bad cold out there.”

I recognize that voice
, thought Baela.
You were very close to me earlier tonight.

“Sorry I couldn’t go with,” said Pegre, “but I didn’t have much warning about my relatives arriving.”

“No problem. We’re meetin’ at the hotel seven in the morning, if you can come along. Personally, I think it’s a waste of time. Whoever we’re followin’ knows trackin’; for all I know, they was followin’
us
tonight. Spooky out there.” Jake looked at Baela with the trace of a smile on his thin lips. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” said Baela, lowering her eyes.

Jake shook his head. “Never heard of a blonde Greek before. Learn somethin’ new every day. I’m ready for more coffee, How ’bout you?”

“I’m fine, Jake,” said Pegre.

“Well—nice talkin’ to y’all. I’m gonna get a cup.” He turned suddenly, and shuffled back to the table.

“Nice man,” said Bernie, “but a lonely man. Wish I could fix him up with someone, but he’s cautious now about getting involved.”

But Jake’s caution lasted only a few minutes.

They were still talking, Baela’s back towards the door, Bernie looking past her. Baela watched the blue eyes moving back and forth across the room, taking everything in, every face, every gesture, reading her guests by sight alone. Her eyes widened, lips curving into an expression of delight. “Oh, did you see that?”

“I saw,” said Pegre. “That’s Diana, and as far as I know she’s unattached.”

“He just said hello to her, and she hit him with a smile that would reduce most men to quivering jelly. What a
beautiful
smile.”

“I think he’s paralyzed,” said Pegre, and they both chuckled.

Baela looked slyly over one shoulder. The one they called Diana was leaning against the wall by the door, looking up at Jake Price bending near her, his one hand on the wall, trying very hard to smile. To Baela, the expression on Diana’s face was clear; she had looked into the man, and liked what she saw there. Jake was trying to relax without success: face flushed, eyes darting, coffee sloshing in the cup he held in a shaky hand. He mumbled some words, and then Diana touched him without moving. The wrinkles of tension in his face seemed to fade. His hand became steady, and he even laughed at some little thing she said. Baela watched all of this fascinated.
I wish I could touch someone like that, but it may never be—because I was born a Hanken child.

The evening wore on, and yawns appeared. Gradually the crowd thinned to reveal Pete’s relatives sprawled in chairs, some asleep. Bernie hustled the rest of them out, tugging at Jake’s arm to finally pull him away from Diana and send him on his way with the promise of another visit soon. The door banged shut, and Bernie flopped into a chair, letting out a deep breath.

“Hoo, I can’t take much of this with the load I’m carryin’ around.”

“I’ll clean up,” said Pete.

“Pegre—I help,” said Baela enthusiastically.

“What did she call you?” Bernie looked curiously at Pete, then Baela.

“Pegre. It’s a kind of pet name from the old country. I don’t know what it means.”

“Oh. Well, it’s fine with me if you want to clean up. I’ve really had enough. Good night, all.” She stood up, walking over to Pegre and kissing him full on the mouth. “You too, whatever your name is. I’m glad your people are here.”

Bernie shuffled out of the room, looking tired, rubbing the back of her neck, and stretching tall.
Her time is near
, thought Baela.
Very near.

Pegre had already settled those few Tenanken who were staying in the house. The rest, including Baela and her parents, would sleep in a single bunkhouse fifty yards up a grassy slope leading to rocky cliffs and the high maw of the canyon from which they had come only hours before. Pegre took them there, showed them how to work the lamps, a pump for running water, the indoor privy, all of which they found both fascinating and amusing, and the whole time they were getting settled someone was either pumping water or fiddling with a lamp while the rest murmured approvingly. When at last they had distributed themselves among the beds and figured out how to sleep in them, they sat down wearily and began removing their clothes. Pegre stood at the door, smiling, looking from one to the other, then suddenly surprising them.

“You see,” he said in the Tenanken tongue, “we are all together again.” And then he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. The feelings of love, affection and unity washed over all of them. Baela strained mightily to project something wonderful in return, but all that seemed to come was a beautiful smile, and she was satisfied that Pegre saw it, for there was delight in his eyes. He turned down the lamps and closed the door softly behind him. In only minutes the exhausted refugees were sound asleep.

Baela hovered at the edge of consciousness, hearing the deep breathing sounds, the unfamiliar squeak of a bedspring, the rustling of sheets and blankets as someone shifted position. The bird-vision came to her again, and she circled lazily, lazily, gaining altitude, soaring until she could see to all horizons.

A night cry startled her back towards consciousness. An agonized cry. Some animal—wounded. The sound had come down from the canyon, and she wondered why it vaguely disturbed her, but then she was soaring again, spinning dizzily, slipping into a sleep filled with visions of trees and sunlight, as seen through the eyes of a great hunting bird.

HIDAIG’S DAY

Occupation of the caverns took place at dawn.

Hidaig moved swiftly and boldly, anticipating little opposition from the female-heavy band of his former Keeper, and though his warriors were not battle hardened, they had developed the hungry look that had to be dealt with if he were to maintain leadership. He sent forth one scout, a slender, rat-faced teenager named Dougal, who reported back that the caverns were quiet with no guards near the entrance, and so at dawn they pulled aside the entrance cover and marched inside without resistance. This was disappointing to the warriors, and particularly to Kretan, whole bloodlust was running hot after the slaying of Han. They turned into the tunnel without bothering to search Maki’s sleeping place, and marched straight into the main cavern dimly lit by torchlight.

It was empty.

Cold fire rings were scattered around the shelves, along with small caches of personal belongings, food, a few sleeping robes. Hidaig’s first thought was that Anka’s followers were hiding in the many fumaroles leading off in several directions, but search revealed only a few old ones who had reached the point in life at which one separates from family, and awaits death. No warriors there. Hidaig’s troops dragged them out in a line along the top shelf of the cavern, where their leader marched back and forth, mustering up his fiercest look and snapping his questions.

“Where did the others go, and when did they leave? Tell me, and I’ll spare your miserable lives and treat you well until your spirits soar. It is more than you can expect from Anka.”

No answer. There was silence in the great cavern, except for the sound of water dripping far back in a fumarole.

“Say something quickly, or you will die many times. Where did they go, and when?”

Silence. Not an eye moved. The old ones stared ahead as if blind. Hidaig pointed to one small female, wrinkled and bent, making a random choice. He chose Ba, grandmother of Baela, only to make a point, because he had no time for lengthy inquisitions. He looked at Kretan, and made a chopping motion with his hand. “This one,” he said dramatically.

Ba raised her eyes sorrowfully, never to see her grand daughter again, as Kretan stepped behind her, swinging his war axe horizontally against the base of her skull with a loud pop. Fragments of bone and brain splattered on the floor as she pitched forward on her face and lay still. The old ones began keening, tears in their eyes, wringing their hands in grief over the body.

“Once more,” said Hidaig, “I want to know where they went, and how long ago. Tell me, or you will all die like this one.”

They cried and screamed, going down on their knees, but not one would say a word. Hidaig repeated his question over and over in higher and higher tones, face reddening with anger. Still, they would not speak, and finally he could stand no more and screamed at Kretan, “ALL OF THEM!” The big warrior obliged his master with a grin, swinging his axe in roundhouse arcs as someone began to scream.

“STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!”

The screams continued until the last old one had crashed to the floor. Hidaig jerked around to see Tel glaring at him from the entrance to a fumarole, teeth bared in a snarl, fingers entwined in her thick hair. “Murderer! You come here to kill the sick and helpless because you haven’t the courage to face a true warrior! Murderer! MURDERER! Your spirit will wander in torment, and I will spit on it when it passes me in the night! You disgrace all Tenanken left alive; their faces will turn away from you, and you will be Tenanken no more!” Her voice was a shriek, eyes twin beams of fire, face a hideous mask of something half Tenanken, half wolf as she stepped towards them, claws outstretched.

Hidaig stumbled backwards a step as she came at him. Kretan leaped to the line of warriors staring open-mouthed at the spectacle, and snatched up a spear, drawing back his arm to heave it at Tel.

“NO!” cried Hidaig hysterically. “NO! PUT IT DOWN!” Spittle flew from his mouth, his eyes rolling. “SHE IS A KEEPER!”

Kretan hesitated, holding his position, eyes locked on Tel, legs quivering with the tension of coiled muscles as he turned to follow her progress.

“Throw your weapon!” she screamed. “Kill me, too, and spend a spiritless eternity after death as a blind cave lizard licking bugs from the dirt. IT IS MY CURSE ON YOU!”

The huge warrior blanched white, lowering his spear ever so slightly, but holding his position while Hidaig stumbled out of her way as she knelt beside the bodies of the old ones.

“Oh—oh—ohhh,” she wailed. “What have we done to bring such evil among us? De? Ba? Show me a vision of my innocence, or invite me to soar with you....”

“What have you done?” The voice was soft from behind him, so that Hidaig twirled, nearly falling.

Anka’s moist, amber eyes gazed at him, full of sorrow. Maki came out of the darkness of a fumarole, from where he’d been awakened with his father. A spear was in his hand. While Tel keened her grief and anger, Maki stood by his father’s shoulder, eyes darting, suspicious, sensing betrayal.

“If you seek treasure, then take what little there is to find, and go your way. If you were a worthy leader, you would know it is not necessary to kill those too old or weak to oppose. You would know mercy, but it is not within you. It is one reason I was pleased by your leaving. Why have you returned to share your evil with us in such a way, when we have done nothing to you?”

Hidaig put a hand on one hip, posing. “I have been invited to come here—by your son.” He looked at Maki, and smiled.

“So, it’s
your
ambition that has brought this to us!” shouted Tel. “I was a
fool
to think you had changed, even after all the talk with your father.” She gave Maki a baleful stare, gratified when he could not look at her.

“I did not invite Hidaig here to do this thing,” said Maki, touching his father on the shoulder. “Father, please believe me. I did not want this to happen.”

Anka shrugged his shoulder, so that Maki’s hand fell away from him. He looked at Tel with wet eyes, lips pressed tightly together. “You were right all along, but I refused to listen. Forgive me.”

Tel sobbed, and bent herself over the bodies of the old ones.

Anka only glanced at his son. “Stand away from me. At this moment, I wish that you had died with your brothers.”

Maki winced, as if struck, then turned on Hidaig, who still regarded him with amusement. “I told you to notify me when you arrived. If I’d been with you, this stupidity would never have occurred.”

Hidaig made a bowing motion. “Oh, Great Keeper, I do not follow your orders, or those of anyone else.”

“And where is Han? I sent him to guide you here.”

“Ah, Han. He had an unfortunate accident, a fall—on someone’s spear. I must report he is dead.”

There was death in Maki’s eyes, but he was holding a single weapon and surrounded by Hidaig’s warriors, in particular the giant Kretan, who watched his every move. Better to bend with the wind, for if he could reach his sleeping quarters his chances to kill Hidaig would surely improve. Still, he could not suppress a complaint. “I should have known you could not be trusted, should have known you would betray anyone for your own gain,” he grumbled.

“Gain?” Hidaig threw back his head, and laughed. “And what do I have to gain here? Riches? Power?” He waved an arm around the cavern. “A few rotten rags, piles of cold ashes, and dead old ones who didn’t matter alive. This is my gain? Tell me, Maki, where are the others? Where are the females, and the treasure you said were here? Where are the Hinchai to kill, and the little Hanken brats you protect?”

“They left last night,” said Tel, calmer now, “when Pegre came to get them. They are in the valley, with Hinchai protection and powerful weapons. If you go down there you wish a quick death; I hope you will do it, and my son with you.”

“Mother!”

“I hear the voice of a stranger. You are not my son. Do what you must, and get out!” Tel lowered her head and Anka came to her, folding his arms around her shoulders as she pressed her face against his chest to muffle her sobs.

Maki looked from face to stony face in the eerie silence surrounding them. Even some of the warriors shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, avoiding his eyes, minds jumbled with dark, passionate and fleeting visions that came from outside of themselves. Hidaig mocked him with a pouting face as Kretan returned the spear to a warrior, picked up his axe and came to stand at the shoulder of his leader.

Hidaig spat on the ground near Maki’s feet. “Just look at your face, you, who would be Keeper and warrior king. When you first came to me, I almost believed you could do it, but the more I thought the more I realized you would be raised soft by old ones such as these, vision-heads full of spirits, but no stomach for fighting. How could I or my followers serve such a king? Where are your battle scars, Maki? Hmmm?”

Maki’s eyes were wide, and streaked with red, breath coming in short gasps as the humiliation was heaped over him like dung. His body tensed, hands opening and closing as Hidaig watched him carefully, but it was Anka who attacked, ancient Anka, Keeper of The Memories, the gentle, spiritual leader who suddenly pushed away his mate with a war cry that thundered from the walls, rushing towards Hidaig with heavy arms outstretched, groping for a throat.

Tel screamed, “Anka, no!”

Hidaig dropped into a crouch, twisting to grab the war axe from Kretan and jabbing it hard into Anka’s stomach with one sharp thrust. Anka let out an agonized groan, and collapsed in a heap at Hidaig’s feet, grabbing at his own stomach with soft hands never used in anger. He rolled around on the floor, grasping at legs and groin, panting as Tel rushed to him, dropping to her knees at Hidaig’s feet.

“He could be dead,” said Hidaig, “and remains alive by my choice. I give mercy, Tel, but only because Anka shows courage for one so old, and I have no good reason to kill him. See, his breath returns already; had I used the blade of my axe, his guts would now be spilling out on the floor. Now, get him to his feet.”

As Anka rose to one knee, he clutched his stomach and gave out a groan. Something was badly broken inside of him, but he kept this to himself, arising in dignified fashion, making a gesture of dismissal to Maki as the son stepped forward to help him. Maki stepped back, looking stricken.

“I mean you no harm, Anka,” said Hidaig, no longer amused. “There is nothing here for me, and what I want is in the valley below us. I will tend to that in a day, and rest here until then. You must not try to leave the cavern, but can wander wherever you wish within it. I need females for my band, and I intend to have them. Gold is decorative, but useless to me.”

“There never was any gold,” said Tel, but Anka’s eyes betrayed the truth.

“I don’t believe you, but it’s still not important. It’s the females I must have, if my band is to survive. There are many males to provide for them, and they will be safer than where they are now, close to the Hinchai devils you insist are our relatives. It is foolish notions like this that have brought pain to you.”

Anka hung on to Tel as breath returned; a sharp ache was in the center of his stomach, and he felt nauseous. Hidaig’s band was indeed in trouble if these were all his warriors. For the most part they were an emaciated-looking bunch, without spirit, slouching on the butt-ends of stone-tipped spears. He counted twenty of them, but only one, Kretan, stood out as a classic Tenanken warrior, reminding him of Pegre in appearance. Pegre had never been tested in battle. What use for war these past fifty years? There were no tribes or nearby bands left to make war against.

Except the Hinchai.

His son had betrayed the band, the very thing he had been raised to nurture and protect. How had he become so infected with ambition, and why could he stand there watching while his father was beaten to the ground? Anka felt Maki’s sorrow and dangerous anger, but still the young man did nothing. Anka wanted to tell him all was forgiven, but a part of him wouldn’t allow it, the part of him that felt betrayed, and despised the betrayer.

Hidaig was still babbling his reasons for attacking the settlement in the valley with a confidence Anka found childlike. His courage came from talk, rather than thought, and Anka ignored him, focusing instead on the steady pain deep inside him. Something was seriously wrong there, but at least the nausea was subsiding. Hidaig was in the middle of a sentence when Anka broke in on him.

“I’m tired. Please, no more talk.” He closed his eyes, and leaned against Tel.

“Please let us go—over there—his sleeping chamber,” said Tel, holding him and feeling the thump, thump of his heart against her shoulder.

Hidaig was annoyed at the interruption, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. “Take him there, but do
not
try to leave the caves. Kretan! Send two out to find fresh food. I don’t care what it is, or how they get it. I’m hungry enough to eat Hanken.”

The warriors laughed without humor, for they were all hungry, and now it appeared the booty they had been promised was a lie. To hunt was a chance to get out and see what lay in the valley below. What was there would have to be worth dying for, or Hidaig would find himself fighting a battle alone. Two warriors, carrying spears and slings, stepped forward as volunteers, and Kretan sent them out with orders to return before darkness.

They were never seen again.

Tel remained at Anka’s side the entire night, except for two hours near dawn that nearly took her life.

* * * * * * *

Their private grotto ended a twenty-meter fumarole leading from the rear of the great cavern. Extending from the grotto, with its tiny pool and piles of sleeping furs were several smaller fumaroles, all of which dead-ended after only a few meters. But one curved sharply in a helical way to a passageway, more a subterranean crack than a tunnel, leading to the upward slanting corridor to their favorite ledge from which they often watched the outside night. It was the place at which three of their now dead children had been conceived.

Over the years the passageway had become their special secret, giving them a way to escape the cavern for a private moment. Tel thought of this as she watched the labored breathing of her mate-of-two lifetimes, hearing the faint wheeze at the end of each exhalation. In the great cavern nearby, warriors slept, sprawled out on ledges, spears at hand while Hidaig talked, pacing back and forth, anxiously waiting for his hunters to return. Tel could think of only one way to send a distress signal. Fire. Any light coming from the cave area would be a sure sign of danger, if seen by Pegre, giving him time to prepare for fight, or to flee.