The Man from Forever (18 page)

“What you feel, does it make you strong?”

“Strong? No. Anything but.”

He groaned and then kissed her again, the coming together more challenging than before. She should be used to his economy of words, but she needed more from him.

Or did she?

His body spoke of a man who was learning things about himself he'd never expected. He might not yet be able to make sense of it, but he was willing to risk the journey, and she was part of that journey—maybe all of it.

She understood because the same thing was happening to her.

Trusting Loka's keen hearing to warn them of anyone coming, she lost herself in him inch by inch. She'd always been proud of her brain, her intellect, but today those things meant nothing. Sensuality was everything. That and energy and a need as strong as it had been the first time they'd made love. She couldn't stop her exploration of his body and felt as if she might explode each time his fingers touched some new spot. She sensed his urgency and matched it with a like response. Although she was still dressed, he seemed capable of reaching beyond fabric for flesh that couldn't get enough of him. Moving, always moving, they danced discovery's dance until she felt as if she were on fire.

A word, a touch, that's all it would take and she would give him everything. Telegraphing her need, she ran a hand down the inside of his thigh. Sweat slicked the sides of her neck and throat, and she couldn't breathe deeply enough. His breathing was just as ragged, his body just as hungry and yet—

And yet he didn't make love to her, held her apart from him, his eyes smoky. “I do not trust myself.”

“Don't trust?”

“I stand at the edge of a cliff. A single step and I might step off it. You are that cliff.”

She didn't understand and yet she did because she felt the same way. Although her body continued to quiver and burn, she didn't attempt to get close to him again. After taking in several great gulps of air, she felt calm enough to speak. “I know so little about you. I don't know where you live, whether you've kept anything of your former life with you.” She nearly bolstered her comment by telling him that he
knew everything about her, but that wasn't the truth and they both knew it.

By the way he held himself, she sensed he was struggling with the question of whether he wanted—dared—fulfill her request. She could tell him she might not be here tomorrow, that this wonderful and unexplainable thing between them would soon end, but this had to be his decision.

“You will tell no one what you see?”

“I—”

“Whatever you answer, I will believe you speak the truth.”

He trusted her when hard lessons had taught him otherwise.

Feeling both blessed and trapped, she nodded. “You know what you're asking, don't you?” she said. “If I see something that no one else knows about, I'm going to want the world to know.”

“If that happens, maybe they will destroy it. Tory, this is for you alone.”

He turned and took a step back the way he'd come, then looked at her over his shoulder. Every line of his body gave out a single and unescapable message. Her next move would determine the life or death of their relationship.

 

Leading the way, Loka headed toward where he'd stood the day he first saw her. The lonely land called to him to return to the isolation and safety he knew, but with Tory behind him, the entreaty was a faint whisper.

He'd told her only a little about his dream of Grizzly, not because it mattered to him whether she believed him or not, but because the dream still clung to him with sharp claws.

Grizzly had been massive, its great teeth exposed as it emerged from the trees. A fawn had fled; a rabbit had frozen in fear. Ignoring the lesser creatures, the bear had lumbered toward him. Although he'd been awed by Grizzly's magnificence, he hadn't feared the beast because he'd known Grizzly had come to warn of danger, wasn't the danger itself.

Owl, Coyote and now Grizzly, all sending messages that made him clutch his knife with taut fingers.

His heart's cadence put him in mind of a drum being beaten by a powerful man. He didn't look back at Tory, told himself he would not allow the sight of her to distract him from questions asked and answers sought, but it was already too late. She'd weakened him as a warrior, crawled under his skin and into his thoughts until he couldn't remember the solitary man he'd once been.

He'd approached her this morning because, he'd told himself, he'd wanted to study her eyes and body to see if she spoke the truth. Only then would he know whether she was the enemy Grizzly had warned him of.

But then she'd asked him to show her his world, and he'd been unable to refuse. Had wanted to give her this gift as he'd once brought a fox kit to his son.

She turned him around, took him far from the only truth he'd ever known, left him incapable of thinking about anything except her.

If she was a lie, if he learned that she was using her woman's power to weaken him, he would kill her.

 

“Here.”

Tory looked where Loka pointed. At first she saw nothing different from what she'd been looking at all day. Then she realized that what she'd thought was a dead bush was instead a pile of dry branches. Obviously, it had been put there to hide whatever was under it.

“That's where you live? Down there?”

“Not there, but this is how I reach Wa'hash.”

“Wa'hash?”

“The sacred place. My home.”

She couldn't imagine anyone willingly going down there, let alone making that their home, but Loka's people had lived like that when they were hiding from the soldiers. Even now, long after the war, he believed no one should know of his
existence. Wa'hash was sacred, a link with his time and people.

“Will you show me?” she asked.

He hesitated, but then, she'd expected him to. She could only wait him out, wondering whether he'd changed his mind about trusting her. If he had…

Instead of answering, he moved the brush aside and lowered himself into the hole he'd uncovered. When he disappeared, she looked down and discovered a pole-and-rope ladder. He stood at the bottom of the ladder looking up at her. Despite her apprehension at going into such a small, dark place, she planted her feet on the top rung and began a slow descent. When she felt his hands on her ankles, she let him guide her the rest of the way. Stepping away from the ladder, she looked around. It was cool but not cold down here. The air lacked freshness, but it didn't bother her that much. After a few moments, her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and she realized she was in the middle of a tunnel. When he reached down, picked up a flashlight and handed it to her, she didn't ask where he'd gotten it. She turned it on.

Loka pointed. “This way leads to Fern Cave.”

Remembering that she'd seen him in the cave when it should have been impossible, she took a few steps in that direction. Then she turned back around. Loka hadn't moved. He pointed down the other corridor. “Wa'hash,” he said.

Wa'hash.
A place of mystery and wonder, of proof that Loka had created a home for himself. Thinking about that, it was easier to tell him she first wanted to see how he'd gotten into Fern Cave. If he trusted her with that, it might make the rest easier—for both of them. Trying to keep her tone calm, she told him she wanted to experience Fern Cave through his eyes. Nodding, he slipped around her in the narrow space. As he did, their bodies brushed. Much as she wanted to feel his arms around her, her sense of urgency was stronger. Their moments together were so precious, so limited. She
had
to have everything she could of him.

The tunnel wandered in one direction and then another. A
few times she had to crouch low to keep from hitting her head, but most of the time the opening was high enough that even Loka could stand upright. Occasionally she held her arms in front of her to keep from scraping them on the sides. Twice the tunnel widened out so that it was almost like being in a room. She'd studied the map the park personnel had done of every known cave and tunnel at the lava beds. This one hadn't been discovered. Considering that there was only that small access hole out in the middle of nowhere and that Loka had concealed it, she wasn't surprised.

When Loka stopped, she saw he'd reached a large boulder, which blocked their way. He placed his hands on it, muttered something which made no sense to her, then pushed it effortlessly forward and to the side. Her flashlight revealed the far reaches of Fern Cave.

“That—that's how you—but…” She set her shoulder against the boulder and shoved, but it refused to move a fraction of an inch. “Loka, what—”

“Cho-ocks.”

“Cho-ocks?”

“When the army men came, the shaman placed the rock here so the enemy would not know that this tunnel leads to Wa'hash.”

“Placed it here?” Again she tried to move it. Her second attempt was no more successful than the first. “Loka, that's impossible.”

“I told you, Cho-ocks's medicine was strong. He blessed the rock so that only a Maklaks can move it.”

Cho-ocks was the shaman who'd given Loka the sleeping medicine. Knowing he could keep life suspended, why couldn't she believe that he could render a mass of granite weightless, at least to a Modoc? Unnerved by the realization of how little her generation would ever know about an Indian medicine man's power, she peered at Fern Cave. It was open to exploration only once a week and under strictly controlled conditions. That would change if Fenton had his way, but for now, it remained serene and yet haunted.

Haunted? Would Modoc spirits leave this special place if too many of the enemy invaded it? Not wanting to disturb essences she'd come to believe in, she backed away. “I've seen enough,” she explained in response to Loka's puzzled look.

He again placed his hands on the rock, his chant echoing against the rock walls and sides. Then, while she watched in disbelief and shock, he clutched a couple of projections on the boulder and pulled it back into place.

T
hey were back at the cave opening before Tory could bring herself to speak. Down here, with him, she felt cut off from the rest of the world. She'd had the same reaction while they were on Spirit Mountain, but up there she'd been aware of sights and sounds, vast space. Being in the dark was a form of sensory deprivation with the result that her entire being was forced to focus on the only other living creature within reach.

Loka wasn't just a man. Knowing who and what he was, she couldn't put such a simple label on him. Watching him move a boulder had brought that fact home to her. It was so simple. He believed in his shaman's magic. Because he did, he was capable of rendering tons of rock weightless.

“Wa'hash,” she whispered.

“Wa'hash.” He stood with his hand on the ladder, his attention on the small amount of sky they could see. His body language gave away everything of his struggle. It had been hard enough for him to show her the Modoc entrance to Fern Cave, but the enemy had long invaded that place and it was
no longer wholly his. Wa'hash was different. Whatever it was, it belonged to him alone—unless he shared it with her.

Unless he trusted her enough.

Pulling his hand off the ladder, she spread it over her throat. “You hold the power of life and death over me,” she told him. “If you think I can't be trusted, you know how to keep me silent.”

She prayed he would draw away. Instead, his touch remained until she felt completely under his power. “You do not fear death?”

Didn't she? She couldn't put her mind to the question. “I'm not afraid of you.”

“Maybe you should be.”

Maybe, but with him towering over her and his world surrounding her, those things were her only reality.

 

Eagle. Hear me. Answer. Did you send Grizzly to warn me of her?

Stopping, Loka strained to hear. Eagle would never come down here, because his great wings were made for flying, but if he'd heard his prayer, maybe the sound of his fierce scream would penetrate. There was only silence.

Tory waited behind him, but he couldn't tell her he was asking his spirit if he'd jeopardized everything by heeding her plea instead of the warning that had come to him in the night.

Eagle. She tempts my body. Makes me forget my vow to safeguard my heritage. She lives; everything else is dead. Tell me, can I trust her? Can I walk in today?

Silence pressed around him. It was broken by his heart's beating, nothing else. He tried to imagine what Eagle's heart sounded like, but how could he when Tory stood so near?

Eagle. Do not desert me.

“Loka? What is it?”

He ignored her, but her question was enough of a distraction that he could no longer bury himself in prayer. Making his way instinctively, he thought about the world above him.
Rabbits and deer, lizards and birds, maybe even a lone coyote would be about. Even if the enemy ventured close, the creatures who belonged here would simply wait until the intruders had left. He had tried to use their wisdom for himself, but because he was a man, he knew anger—anger at those who had destroyed everything.

Anger, he'd learned during the lonely months of his new life, ate at his soul, but he was only one man. He could not chase the intruders from where they didn't belong. All he could do was protect and shelter all that was left of the Maklaks, ask himself if past and present could ever unite.

Today he was bringing one of the enemy to what was most sacred.

Eagle! Who was Grizzly warning me of? My heart will not believe she is evil. My body needs to join with hers. My head—my head is silent.

Unable to deny the truth, he closed his ears to the sound his heart made and again took his thoughts to the land above him. In his mind he saw the endless sky, but no matter how intently he swept his eyes over the horizon, he found no sign of Eagle. Heard no cry. When, exhausted by the effort, he returned to where he walked, he became aware, not of his heart again, but of the essence of the woman behind him.

The first time he'd seen her, he'd thought she was so thin that she wouldn't survive a winter here. That was before he'd discovered the strength in her arms and legs, the soft challenge of her breasts and belly and thighs. His wife had never reached for him in joy and need, and he barely remembered that other time when he'd lain with a woman because he wanted to, not because it was expected of him.

Tory brought him to life. With her under him, he felt strong. With her, he no longer asked himself why he'd been forced into this world not of his making. With her, he had a reason for being.

Eagle! I cannot reach you. There is only her, blinding me to everything except her.

 

A sliver of unexpected sunlight ahead caught Tory's attention and pulled her out of the mist she'd been wrapped in. Looking around Loka's shoulders, she spotted a long, thin slit in the rock ceiling. They were entering a room, smaller than Fern Cave but larger than the wide places in the tunnel. Barely aware of what she was doing, she aimed the flashlight at the floor so she could see the room in its natural light. She couldn't make out any details beyond what must be his bed placed a couple of feet to the right of the slit. Staring at the bed, she realized it consisted of dark fur. It was so large, she couldn't imagine it having come from anything except a bear. A bear pelt for sleeping when she'd always had a mattress and blankets.

“This is it?” she asked. Her voice was the barest whisper. “Wa'hash?”

Disappointment slammed into her. She'd expected where he lived to look more dramatic, although what she meant by dramatic she couldn't say. From what she could see, there weren't any artifacts, nothing that hinted at the people who had considered it sacred. Still, there might be something in the corners.

When she stepped into the room, Loka remained where he was. Taking that as his cue that he didn't care what she did, she aimed the flashlight into one of the corners. She instantly recognized a number of spears, several bows and more arrows than she could count piled together. A sense of discovery began to grow in her. If Loka had preserved the weapons his people had discarded once they had access to rifles, what else had he kept?

Tule rush baskets.

Tule moccasins and mats, even clothing made from bulrush.

Two-horned mullers for cracking wokas seeds.

Fishing nets and hooks, dip nets, long, narrow gill-net seines, harpoons.

Deerskin shirts and leggings, an incredibly ornate dress decorated with what must be pounds of shells. Snowshoes.

Hairbrushes made from a porcupine tail.

An infant's bed created out of soft tule, several board cradles.

Her gaze fixed on the bed. Although she was in awe of everything she'd seen and things she'd just begun to be aware of, that small bundle made the most impact. The Modocs were known as the tribe that went to war against the United States and murdered a general. In all that history, factual and otherwise, the simple fact had been lost that they were also men, women and children—families.

She knelt near the basket and ran the back of her hand lightly over the fragile creation. Loka might have brought it here because it was what his son had used, but even if it had belonged to another child, the fact remained that someone had gone to the effort of gathering and working the tule plant so their newborn would have something to snuggle in. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked several times in an attempt to clear her vision. Although she wanted to ask Loka about the basket, she didn't yet feel strong enough to face him. Instead, she focused on the nearest wall.

It was covered with drawings.

Picking up the flashlight again, she trained it on the drawings. Their richness and clarity, their unbelievable abundance took her breath away. Trembling a little, she stood and moved a few feet to her left. No matter where she looked, there wasn't a stone surface that hadn't been etched or painted.

She saw stick figures of hunters going after a herd of deer, more figures seated in a tight circle with a costumed figure in the middle. There was a depiction of a large village complete with fish-drying racks, canoes, even children playing in front of a sturdy-looking wickiup.

Crouching a little, she studied twelve separate and yet interrelated scenes. In one a man was standing under a tree while what must be leaves fell around him. In the next, a heavily bundled figure looked up at snow. Others showed women standing in hip-deep water while they gathered tule. Twelve scenes, all of them showing people involved in their
environment and the weather. Could this be the Modoc calendar?

Her shaking increased. Still, she managed to face Loka. No matter what she started to say, they all seemed like the words of an idiot. No, not an idiot. A woman who has discovered the heritage, the tradition, the past of an entire people.

“Loka. This—this is what has kept you going, isn't it?”

By way of an answer, he walked over to the nearest wall and pointed at something. She joined him. He'd drawn her attention to a petroglyph of an eagle with its wings spread over a man wearing a fierce-looking mask. “The first Kiuka.”

The first medicine man. Feeling hot and cold at the same time, she tentatively touched the rock. Instead of the cool she expected, she felt warmth—the same warmth she thought she'd sensed when she touched the drawings in Fern Cave. Unable to accept the impossible, she briefly withdrew her hand, then brushed her fingertips over it again.

Warmth? Heat?

Her mind stumbled over possibilities, all of them more incredible than the last. She knew firsthand how unbelievably powerful Cho-ocks had been. Somehow the Modocs had been able to keep their shaman's skills from whites, but this drawing clearly showed Kiuka controlling an eagle.

It wasn't simply a drawing. The bird, she realized, wasn't just any eagle. It
had
to be the one the Modocs credited with naming all other animals. Until this moment, she'd believed it to be yet another part of Modoc legend and superstition, an interesting story, nothing more than that.

She no longer did.

“Kiuka?” she whispered. “Please tell me about him.”

Loka's gaze slid from her to the petroglyph. “You want this?”

“Yes. Yes. Please.”

His shadowed features contorted. She felt his inner struggle, could only wait. “Kiuka lived in the time of Kumook
umts,” he said after a long silence. “He lived more than a hundred winters. Part of him still exists—here.” He indicated the drawing. “And at Fern Cave, on Spirit Mountain, wherever he once walked.”

I believe you.

“Kumookumts entrusted him with great knowledge, warned him that he must safeguard that knowledge and share it only with those who are worthy.”

“Like Cho-ocks?”

To her surprise, Loka shook his head. “Cho-ocks did not have Kiuka's wisdom. He had walked too long in the white man's world, ate his food, used his weapons. He answered when the army men called him Curly Headed Doctor. His heart forgot how to beat as a Maklaks.”

“But Cho-ocks kept you from dying. He did—he did something to that boulder.”

“Yes.”

A simple yes wasn't enough, but she wanted the explanation to come from him willingly and not because she begged for more. Waiting for him, she gave the eagle figure a closer look but didn't touch it or the one of Kiuka again. Many of the drawings were crude; these two had been done by a craftsman. Even the eagle's feathers were clearly detailed and something had been done to his eyes to make them shine. Kiuka's eyes, too, looked alive.

“Cho-ocks told me something,” Loka went on. “I asked why he did not take the sleeping herbs himself. He said there was only enough for one warrior. Kiuka had come to him in a dream and told him he had to die a human's death so the enemy would not know of ancient truths. Kiuka chose me because Eagle and I shared the same heart. Because my love for my son was so strong.”

This was too much for her to absorb. Needing distance from him, she began a systematic examination of the petroglyphs. It was more than a random selection of scenes, drawings that had been put here simply because they satisfied someone's whimsy.

“This is incredible,” she whispered. She didn't care that she must have already said the same thing a good dozen times. No other words could possibly express what she was feeling; she couldn't keep her reaction to herself. “Absolutely incredible.”

“It is Wa'hash.”

Wa'hash. His people's legacy. How right he was!

“I had no idea.” She went back to the drawings of those brave Indians who'd been the forerunners of the Modocs. “No one does.”

“I know.”

His voice held a warning note, but she was so overwhelmed by the richness that surrounded her that she couldn't concentrate on it. Nearly everything of what the Modocs had been before outsiders arrived had been lost to history. Only, it was all here. She now understood an incredible amount about their religious structure, their belief system. More than that, she knew beyond any doubt that Kumookumts wasn't simply a folk figure. He had once existed for the Maklaks. He
had
left his massive footprints in the earth. Even more incredible, he'd empowered the first shaman, not with useless bags of bones and feathers, but the knowledge of how to take herbs and plants and other native materials and turn them into something capable of keeping a human being in a state of suspended animation.

Loka was the living proof of that.

Shaking her head again at the wonder of it all, she moved over to a series of petroglyphs that showed various domestic scenes. When she had time to study this in more detail, she would better understand ancient Modoc family structure—something else that had been lost to so-called progress. She wanted to ask Loka to explain what the women were doing. Obviously they were preparing food, but the figures were so small that she couldn't make out what they were working on.