The Man from Forever (12 page)

“Because I am the only Maklaks left.”

“No, you aren't!” Her grip increased. She couldn't help it. “A lot of Modocs died when they were sent to Oklahoma. It was tragic, all those lives lost to disease—and to heartbreak. But they didn't all die. Eventually the survivors were
allowed to return here. I told you about the old man I talked to. There are others. They—”

“They are
not
true Maklaks! Their hearts have never known the old ways. They will ridicule what they do not understand.”

She couldn't argue this with him again, not with his life force seeping into her through her fingertips. She should let go, now, before it was too late.

But it was already too late.

Running her thumb over his forearm, wishing it was her lips instead, she said, “I know how you feel. The way they dress and act and talk, I don't blame you. But they carry Mo—Maklaks blood just as I carry General Canby's blood.”

He grunted.

“Loka, I don't want your people's heritage to end with you. You can't want that, either. You keep saying you want to be part of the present. But part of that means you have to bring the past along with you.”

“I will not speak to them.”

“You're speaking to me.”

He stopped her hand's restless movement by clamping his over it. When she tried to pull free, he increased his grip. “What are you—”

“I do not want you.”

“Want? Loka, what are you talking about?”

“You do not belong in my world. Near me. I must walk this journey alone—find my way alone.”

He surged to his feet, pulling her along with him. She tried to fight him as he dragged her to a ledge overlooking a steep drop, but even as she struggled, she knew her strength was no match for his. When less than a foot separated them from the edge, she sucked in a frightened breath. “Loka! What—you can't! Loka!”

He stopped, looking at her as if just now aware of her presence. A groan that seemed to come from the depths of his being burst from him and he shoved her away. She managed to catch herself before losing her balance. Still, her legs
felt so weak that she slumped to her knees. Arms wrapped around herself, she watched in disbelief as he perched on the very edge of the cliff. Her throat filled to bursting with the need to scream, but she couldn't force anything out.

Seemingly oblivious to any personal danger, he lifted his arms to the sky. “
Blaiwas!
Eagle! I cry out for your wisdom. Show me the truth. The way!”

“
Blaiwas!
Hear me. Where do my feet stand? With my people? But they are no more. No more, while I live—while I search…” There was more, a deep torrent of words she didn't understand. As before, she was mesmerized by the sound of his native language, but could barely concentrate because her heart pounded painfully and she was terrified Loka might misjudge his footing.

He stood on tiptoe, eyes half-closed, arms extended as far as they would reach. He seemed to have turned to stone. She wondered if he was aware of anything, or anyone, except the bird he put such faith in.

And why shouldn't he, she asked herself as a distant speck came closer, became larger. She held up her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. She didn't really need to see because she already knew.

Loka's eagle.

Loka's tone changed from a chant to something less singsong and yet just as compelling. She tried to concentrate on him to see if anything in his posture might give her a clue to what he was saying, but the bird continued to command her attention. She'd seen it yesterday, become convinced that it was who and what Loka said it was—his spirit. And yet yesterday had been filled with so many shocks, so much discovery about herself and this warrior, that the eagle's appearance had been relegated to the back of her mind. It seemed larger today, darker somehow. When it shrieked, she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

This was no oddity trapped behind some cage, no picture in a book, not even a distant object brought into one-dimensional clarity with the help of binoculars. This was a
magnificent bird of prey, eyes keener than any other, talons and beak capable of killing anything he captured.

Deadly.

She should have realized it was coming for her, but maybe she'd been hypnotized by the bright, piercing eyes. Loka's voice vibrated against her ears, pounded inside her skull. She heard another shriek, watched the massive wings stretch and then contract as it began its downward dive. Instinctively she placed her hands over the top of her head, but even as she did, she knew they were no defense against those killing weapons.

“Tory!”

Loka's bellow spun her toward him. She saw him catapult himself toward her, started to tense. Then he slammed into her and she felt herself being dragged under him. From the shelter of his body, she watched the eagle make a shuddering halt in its dive. It seemed impossible that the great bird could stop in time; if she'd still been exposed to it, she had no doubt it would have completed its attack. But it couldn't get to her, only Loka, and Eagle wouldn't attack him.

“
Blaiwas!
No! Do not kill her.”

The eagle screamed, the sound even more chilling than it had been before. It made an impact deep inside her; she knew she would ever forget that primal cry. A rock dug painfully into her side. She squirmed under Loka, trying to get him to move, but he only grabbed a flailing hand and caught it against his side. She stared up at him.

“
Blaiwas.
Eagle!
Nu-nen-wade-hanoks. Sho-te-tonko. Kasker. Sho-te-tonko.
”

The eagle hovered for a moment before shooting skyward. As it did, two large tail feathers floated to the ground just out of her reach. She thought the bird must be leaving and dared to take a breath. She'd just begun to try to free her hand when Eagle began a slow and absolutely graceful circle above them. One rotation became another and then another. She had no doubt the bird was staring at Loka and him at it. There was something almost sensual about the unspoken
communication. She felt lonely and frightened because Loka understood something she didn't, accepted what couldn't possibly be, and it had become reality.

“Sho-te-tonko. Kasker. Nu-nen-wade-hanoks.”

Sho-te-tonko.
The sounds were anything but musical and yet she didn't want them to end. If they did, she would have to seek the answer to whether Eagle had tried to kill her.

“W
here are you going?”

Loka looked down at her. “Home.”

“Where is that? Please, I don't know where you live.”

He nodded but said nothing. She should be used to that by now. After all, in the hour it had taken them to descend Spirit Mountain, he hadn't said a single word to her, and she hadn't known how to break the silence. He'd taken her within a hundred yards of where she'd left her car yesterday. She had no doubt he meant to leave her—maybe forever.

“Loka? We can't end it like this.” She hated that her voice sounded as if she were on the verge of crying, but how could she deny the truth? “At least tell me what happened up there.”

“Eagle.”

“I know Eagle.” Her hand hovered over the two feathers she'd woven into her hair. “But that isn't enough.”

“He answered me.”

Answered what, damn it, what?
“Please tell me. I have a right to know, don't I?”

His right hand began fingering his knife. She tried not to think about that, but it was impossible. This man frightened her as she'd never been frightened in her life, and yet the prospect of never seeing him again was more than she could bear. He made her feel so alive! “I won't tell anyone. If that's what you're afraid I'll do, I promise you I won't.”

“It does not matter.”

“Why? What are you talking about? Loka?” She grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away from the knife. Turning his hand over, she studied the deep lines in his palm, imagined herself tracing them over and over again, covering them with kisses. “I have a right. Damn it, I have a right. Why did Eagle do what he did?”

“I asked if you could be trusted. That was his answer.”

Legs threatening to collapse under her, she clung to his arm for strength. “He wanted to attack me.”

“Yes.”

Yes.
“Loka, how do I make you understand? I—” She heard a car. Although the sound was still distant, it might mean someone was planning on coming to the site of the Thomas-Wright Battlefield. “I would never hurt you.”

“Eagle does not lie.”

“Neither do I!” She hated the desperation in her voice. “Won't you please listen to me?” She tried to turn him so he was forced to look at her, but he resisted; he was a rock, a massive tree. “Why would I want anything to happen to you?” she demanded. “You're the most incredible human being—”

“You want me to show myself. To tell the truth of the ancients to disbelievers.”

She couldn't deny that. And she wouldn't lie and tell him that she'd changed her mind, not when he was the only link to an entire tribe's heritage. “If they knew the truth, they would believe.”

“Do you?”

He was asking if she believed Kumookumts had created the world and put skunks here because his ego wouldn't al
low a medicine man to best him? “I believe in Eagle—” was the best she could give him. “Loka, you stopped him from attacking me. Why?”

“I do not know.”

Didn't he? She hadn't imagined his sexual energy, his need for her.
“That wasn't the only thing you said to him.” She shut her eyes, trying to concentrate. “I can't remember the words.
Nu-nen-wade-hanoks.
What does that mean?”

Loka's body stiffened; she pushed away the sound of the wind and concentrated. Still, when she heard a car door slam, she knew their time together was almost over.

“I gave Eagle another question. I asked if I could forgive you for carrying your ancestor's blood.”

“And?”

“He gave me his answer.”

She remembered Eagle's graceful circling, the way its beak had closed. The talons had been pulled back against its body.
Thank you, Eagle. Thank you.
“In other words, Eagle told you to put the past behind you?”

“Yes.”

“And have you?”

“All I have is the past, Tory. I look at the present. I study it. I try to understand. But the step from one to the other is so great. Maybe too great.”

How could such simple words hurt this much? She longed to pull him against her, to make love to him, and have her body show him that he wasn't alone. But would their lovemaking change the simple and harsh fact that the world he knew and loved and embraced no longer existed? “It doesn't have to be.” Did she believe what she was saying?

“Go.” He indicated the trail leading to the parking lot.

No!
“Where are you going? Please, at least tell me that.”

“I seek Bear.”

“Bear?”

“His wisdom runs along the same river as Eagle's.”

Did he have any idea how beautiful some of the things he said sounded, the imagery of them? She could now hear the
sound of approaching footsteps. But instead of leaving, Loka leaned toward her and drew the feathers out of her hair. Then, the gesture achingly gentle, he placed them in her hand. “Go to your place, Tory. When I am done with Bear I will come to you.”

 

I will come to you. I will come to you.
No matter how many times the words echoed inside her, Tory was incapable of reducing their impact. A little while ago she'd been terrified that she would never see Loka again, but he'd made a promise and she believed him.

She couldn't be sure, but she thought she'd at least acknowledged the four elderly people trudging along the path leading to the battlefield. They'd kept staring at her until she realized they'd been trying to figure out how she'd gotten out there so early in the morning. It didn't matter. Nothing did except waiting for Loka.

That and cleaning up, she thought as she pulled into her parking slot at park headquarters. There was a tour bus nearby, but fortunately she saw no sign of whoever had been in it. She spotted the vehicle Fenton had been driving and looked around, hoping to hurry out of sight before he spotted her.

Unfortunately, before she could reach her trail, the bus door opened and Fenton and a distinguished-looking gentleman with long, thick gray hair stepped out. Fenton stared at her, puzzlement and what might be suspicion etched on his features. A thought, half-formed and maybe impossible, took root inside her.

“You're just the man I want to see,” she said, hoping her smile didn't look as phony as it felt. “I've been thinking. You remember that Modoc man you introduced me to yesterday? Do you have any idea how to get in touch with him?”

Leaving the other man to stand beside the bus, Fenton walked over to her. “You're still here? When I didn't see your car this morning I thought you must have taken off—
without giving me a chance to talk to you again. Sure am glad you didn't. I'm serious. If there's any way you can get me an in with Dr. Grossnickle, I've got some ideas on how he can make this hassle from the Indian council work to his advantage.”

“I'll see what I can do,” she said, although that was the last thing she wanted. “How about a trade? That Modoc lives in Tulelake, doesn't he? Do you happen to know where?”

The way Fenton kept staring at her, wariness flickering in his eyes, made her uneasy. She held his gaze and after a moment he said he thought he had Black's address somewhere. Then he pointed at her hand. “What's that? Eagle feathers?”

Feeling like a thief caught in the act, she had no choice but to acknowledge them. “I found them,” she explained lamely. “Eagle? Is that what they are? I wasn't sure.”

“You'd better believe it. It isn't legal for anyone except an Indian to have them in their possession, you know.”

Fenton certainly expected her to hand them over to him, but knowing what they represented, needing the memory, she couldn't. “I'll be going out later today. I'll just leave them where they won't be disturbed. That ought to get me off the hook,” she said with an easy grin that took more work than Fenton could possibly guess.

“Later today? You're still not leaving?”

“Leaving?”

“Yeah, leaving.” His scrutiny of her intensified. “There was a piece on last night's news about the Indians' appeal. We have satellite dishes, you know. We're not as out of touch with the rest of the world as people think. 'Course, being out in the boondocks the way you were, you missed it.”

“Missed what?”

“They interviewed Dr. Grossnickle on prime-time news. This hassle over the Alsea site is really capturing national attention, you know.” He hung on the words just long enough to make his message loud and clear; he didn't understand her agenda and was determined to learn more. “He
said he and everyone else involved in the project were determined to make sure the court decision was upheld. It sounded as if there was a high-level summit being planned.”

He didn't have to say anything more; she knew exactly what he was thinking, that there was something very suspicious about the fact that she was still here. Keeping her attention resolutely off Spirit Mountain—she could never imagine calling it anything else—she told him she wouldn't be here much longer.
Leave? How could she? How could she not?

“Hmm. You spent the night out there, didn't you?” Fenton waved vaguely at the wilderness.

“Oh, yes.” Surely he didn't know exactly where she'd been, or with whom. “It's so peaceful. Nothing except owls and a few coyotes.”

“I guess. Me, I'd much rather have a bed. I didn't think you brought any camping equipment with you.”

His probing was beginning to make her nervous, and more than a little angry. What she did was none of his concern. Only, how was she going to convince him of that? “It was a kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing.” She shrugged and smiled again.

“Fortunately, I had my sleeping bag in my trunk and was able to find a level spot to spread it over. Look, I want to get cleaned up and have something to eat, but there are Modoc artifacts in storage here, aren't there? I'd like to see them.”

“Artifacts? Today?”

“Yes, today,” she said, determined not to be trapped into explaining further.

“Yeah, some.” He frowned, the gesture leaving no doubt of what he was thinking. “You've got to have seen artifacts that would put these to shame. What do you want to look at them for?”

“Curiosity. Busman's holiday. If I'm at headquarters in a little over an hour, do you think someone could show them to me?”

Fenton consulted his watch. “I'll get the key. I'll be in the director's office. The man is so damned entrenched—pounding a new idea in his head is next to impossible. He doesn't care whether this place dries up and blows away. Fine, let the lava beds go to ruin. I'd much rather work with someone who knows the meaning of commercial potential.”

He didn't say it, but he didn't have to. He'd already indicated he believed Dr. Grossnickle to be such a man. He was right; she just didn't feel up to reinforcing his belief—not with the reality that she would soon have to leave staring her in the face.

 

A little over an hour later, clean and finishing the last of her granola bar, Tory walked around to the back of the visitors' center. Before she reached it, she heard angry male voices coming from behind the closed director's office door. For a moment, she debated turning around and walking away, but this might be her only opportunity to see the Modoc artifacts. That possibility had given her something other than Loka to focus on. She knocked on the door, then stepped back. A moment later it opened and the park director poked his head out. “Fenton said you'd be coming by,” Robert Casewell said as he shook her hand. “Too bad you didn't introduce yourself when you first checked in. I could have arranged a tour that would have shown you much more detail than the tourists get.”

She wondered how he'd react if she told him that last night had been more revealing than anything anyone could ever imagine, so revealing in fact that she knew she would never get over it. Instead, she acknowledged Fenton, who now stood beside the middle-aged but athletic-looking director. Neither man glanced at the other, not that she blamed them. The air between them fairly dripped hostility; obviously each man wished the other would disappear, forever.

After a moment, Fenton reached in his front pocket for a handful of keys. “It's going to happen,” he muttered to Robert. “I've already talked to my uncle, Senator Baldwin. He
agrees that opening up Fern Cave is a step in the right direction, a necessary financial step. He wants a formal proposal of all my ideas just as soon as I can get them to him. He says that the timing for getting additional appropriations couldn't be better, what with budget sessions going on, but we've
got
to make people aware of this place. That's the problem—not enough legislators know it exists.”

“The lava beds are the responsibility of the National Park Service. There's no way they'd allow that kind of exploitation. The destruction—”

“The National Park Service's budget is set by Congress—a Congress that is feeling a severe financial crunch. Look, Robert, it's a basic matter of the squeaky wheel getting greased.”

Guessing the two men had had this argument several times before, Tory waited to see who would come out with the upper hand. To her discomfort, the director had nothing to say in reply to Fenton's sharp comment. After a moment, Fenton touched her elbow to indicate which direction he wanted her to go. She followed him, not sure she wanted to be anywhere near the ambitious, determined man.

The small, climate-controlled storehouse consisted of little more than a series of metal drawers in addition to several glass-enclosed shelves. From the way Fenton opened and closed drawers at random, she guessed he hadn't spent enough time in here to be familiar with the contents. How dare he be so willing to jeopardize the lava bed's future integrity without first learning all he could about its past!