The Man from Forever (20 page)

I love you. I don't know how it happened, but I've fallen in love with you and everything you represent.

I will never forget you.

Both owls and coyotes were singing their ageless songs
tonight. Remembering Loka's explanation that they warned of danger, she tried to find something to fear in the sound, but coyotes and owls were such a natural part of this land that she couldn't.

She was going back to the Oregon coast where what everyone concurred was the discovery of the century waited for her, but the prospect did nothing to lighten her heart. Although she would again be surrounded by the people who'd become friends as well as colleagues, she would feel more alone than she did tonight.

You have your past, your people's spirits, Eagle and Kumookumts. I have…nothing.

“Tory.”

Although his was the only voice she might ever want to hear, she nearly turned and ran. She'd already said her silent goodbye to him, had somehow found the courage to leave the lava beds. How dare he force her to go through that agony again?

“You leave?” he asked as he emerged from the night, his voice both a shaft of lightning and the faintest touch of a downy feather.

“Yes.”

She waited for him to ask why. When he didn't, she guessed he already knew. To make this easier, she tried to tell herself he must be glad, but that was before he stepped close enough to take the duffel bag out of her hand and drop it to the ground.

The moon—an artist's brush really—caught him in all his wild glory. His form spoke of endless strength, of oneness with his world, but he wasn't just a warrior who had somehow survived beyond his time.

He was also the man she'd fallen in love with.

“I have to.” She hated the telltale emotion in her voice, but she couldn't hide what she felt.

“Because you must go to that other place?”

“No, not that. Not only that.”

She didn't want his hand on her shoulder, his thumb trac
ing the sensitive side of her neck. And yet, this last touch might make the rest of her life bearable. “Tell me.”

Tell you? How do I begin?

“Fenton saw you today. He isn't sure, but if I stay here, he'll keep following me. Eventually he'll know.”

“Today? I did not see him.”

She told him what binoculars were capable of, warning him that from now on he had to be careful of every move he made. He listened in silence, and she could only guess at his thoughts. Did he think she wanted to tell him about yet another invasion on his privacy?

“He's dangerous, Loka.”

“Yes.”

She expected him to tell her he wanted to kill Fenton. When he didn't, she realized he was no longer a primitive warrior. Or maybe the truth was, he'd never been a killer, merely a proud man facing danger and threat in the way he'd been taught, the only way he understood. He knew she abhorred violence, and that one violent act would invariably be followed by another.

Leaning into his hand, she took him in inch by precious inch. That she could have fallen in love with him was utterly impossible, and yet it had happened, and she didn't question the insanity or sanity of that. They—a general's great-greatgranddaughter and a Maklaks warrior—had met across time. Their hearts, hers at least, had learned that his beat the same as hers. That was all that mattered.

Tonight it was everything.

She couldn't tell him more about her hard decision to leave, couldn't break the spell by asking him what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

She could only step toward him.

He'd known she was going to do that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been ready for her, wouldn't be offering his arms and strength. Wordless, they clung together. She swayed with him, not quite a rocking motion, far from being in con
trol. She needed the taste and feel of his lips, but that could wait. For now it was enough to absorb his essence.

Although it was night, his body still held memories of the day's warmth. Afraid to lose herself in him because she might never again find what she'd always been, she nevertheless drank from him. He seemed more than a man tonight, part and parcel of what this land had always been and what it should always remain. He was a bridge to the past, yet capable of existing intact today. If only he'd let her show him—

No. It was too late for anything except this moment.

When his hand strayed from her back to her hair, she realized he'd found the feathers. His hand, so strong and sure, felt like velvet. “You take something of Eagle with you,” he whispered. “Why?”

Because I have to have something to last the rest of my life.
On the brink of tears, she could only rest her hot cheek against his chest. His heart beat scant inches away; she felt as if she held it in her hands. This man, this impossible and wild man, had reached her in ways she'd never imagined. The rest of her life would forever feel empty.

“I have nothing of you,” he said.

Could this leave-taking be as hard on him as it was on her? She straightened and tried to meet his eyes. The moon, behind him now, kept his features from her, but maybe it was better this way. She touched the feathers but didn't try to remove them. “What could I give you? Nothing would have the meaning these gifts from Eagle do.”

Covering her hand with his, he drew it to his lips. She weakened under the gentle assault of his kisses, lost the strength to fight her tears. There was so much she needed to tell him about why she was leaving, but the words wouldn't come. Nothing did except knowing she loved him and would always love him.

“Why did you come back?” she managed. “I thought I'd never see you again.”

By way of answer, he placed her hand over his heart. She waited for more, waited for the words she would carry inside
her forever. Instead, he let the night speak for him. Coyotes and owls continued their haunting songs. Above and beyond and through those familiar sounds came another.

Wolf had returned.

Crying openly now, she stood in front of Loka while they both stared at the distant white light that was the moon glinting off Mount Shasta, off Yainax. Loka's body, maybe even his heart, became motionless as he absorbed the wind-brought message. She tried to match him, but her breath came in unsteady gulps.

Wolf.

Eyes on Yainax, she could almost swear she saw a single line of warriors heading upward. They carried bows and arrows, their bodies naked except for loin skins. They followed an elderly man who, despite his slow gait, showed no sign of stopping. She knew. The leader was Kiuka.

“Loka?” Her voice was little more than mist. She wanted, not for him to tell her that such a thing was impossible, but that he saw the same thing.

He bent his body toward her, and although she tried to draw his attention toward Yainax, he only looked down at her. Captured her thoughts and touched her heart again.

Wolf.

Wolf hadn't finished his song.

“You carry magic in your eyes,” he whispered. “I gaze into them and forget everything except you.”

“I—”

Harsh, sudden light struck her, shattered the magic Loka had just spoken of. Terrified, she whirled in the direction of the glow.

“Don't move! Don't either of you move!”

Fenton!

T
o Tory's horror, instead of doing what Fenton had ordered, Loka started toward him. Blurting out something unintelligible, she tried to grab hold of Loka, but he was already out of reach.

“I mean it! Stay where you are.”

Silent, Loka stalked closer. His right hand moved to his waist. He slipped his knife free and gripped the handle, the blade aimed at Fenton.

“Loka, no!” she sobbed.

“Stop. Don't move!”

Tory lunged for Loka. She collided with her duffel bag and tripped over it, barely catching herself in time to prevent a fall. Off-balance, she saw that Fenton, too, was armed. He held a pistol in his free hand, the barrel pointed at Loka's chest. “No!”

Neither man gave any indication that they'd heard her. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed that the pistol trembled in Fenton's grip. By contrast, there was no hesitancy in Lo-ka's action. Oblivious to any danger, he continued to advance.

“Stop it.” Her voice sounded weak and ineffective. She again started after Loka, but too much distance separated them. Fenton was obviously trying to blind Loka by keeping the flashlight aimed at his eyes. How much Loka could see she didn't know, but he seemed guided by an instinct for survival that existed beyond the need for vision. Why he didn't run she had no idea. Maybe he thought he was protecting her as well as himself.

“Loka.”

Before the word was fully out of her mouth, Loka catapulted himself at Fenton. At the same instant, a blast split the air. She saw Loka continue to lunge, hoped against hope that Fenton had missed. Then, all too soon, the strength went out of the warrior's body. He sank to his knees, head still uplifted, attention still concentrated on the man who'd just shot him.

“Loka! No!”

She reached him but for a split second couldn't make herself touch him. If he'd been killed—

He hadn't. As she watched, he slowly gathered his legs under him. He managed to stand, blood running from the wound in his side. Thinking of nothing except the need to stop the flow, she started to cover the wound with her hand. He stumbled, and she offered him her body for support. He held on to her for no longer than it took him to draw in a deep breath, then pushed free and again started toward Fenton. It was then she realized he still held his knife. She grabbed for it, but he held it out of reach. Afraid she would hurt him more if she wrestled him for it, she turned her attention toward Fenton.

The flashlight now dangled from Fenton's fingers, its beam illuminating some brush off to the right. The pistol was still aimed at Loka.

“No, damn it! You've shot him! Damn you, damn you.” She sounded hysterical but didn't care. For a moment she fought a terrible battle with herself. Loka needed her; she
couldn't think of anything except him. But if she didn't first disarm Fenton—

“Put it down,” she ordered, approaching Fenton. He was trying to split his attention between her and Loka. Despite the dark, she knew he was on the brink of losing self-control, irrationally terrified of a wounded man. A warrior with a deadly knife.

A sense of movement behind her forced her to glance back at Loka. His eyes looked wild and determined, an animal intent on only one thing—self-preservation. She would feel the same emotion, but instead of running as she would have done, Loka was walking toward his enemy.

“Stop!” Fenton bellowed. His gun stopped shaking, became deadly again. “I mean it. Stop!”

Not thinking, she flung herself at Fenton. At the same time, she made a fist of her hand and used it to hammer the weapon aside. Fenton immediately tried to raise it again. She clamped her fingers around his wrist and squeezed with all her strength. Gasping, he tried to shove her away, but she refused to let go. Locked in battle with him, she discovered she was stronger than him. Either that or Fenton was in shock over what had happened and unable to concentrate. Taking advantage of whatever was going on inside him, she grabbed the barrel with her other hand and tried to yank it out of his hand. She knew the gun might discharge, hitting her this time, but her world had narrowed down to nothing except the need to protect Loka.

For several seconds Fenton fought her. Then, suddenly, he released his grip. Off-balance, she had to struggle to keep from falling. She held the gun in her hand.

Feeling its weight, she whirled to face Loka. She couldn't see him.

“Loka! Loka! Where are you?”

“Gone.” Fenton sounded hysterical. “Gone. I didn't mean—please believe me, I didn't mean—he came at me. He was going to kill me. I had to stop him.”

Shutting her mind to Fenton's babbling, she hurried to
where Loka had last stood. She strained to see if drops of blood indicated where he'd gone, but the night protected him and the moon wasn't bright enough.

Gone.

“Why?” she demanded of Fenton when it really didn't matter. “I knew he'd come to you. I watched, waited. I
knew
it.”

She should have been aware of that possibility. If she'd been capable of thinking beyond heartache today, she would have realized Fenton wouldn't blindly buy her contention that his imagination had gotten out of control. Now it was too late.

“You shot him.” Her legs were taking her back to Fenton because Loka belonged to the night. Because she didn't know how to find him.

“I had to. He was going to stab me.”

“Shot him.” Her throat felt raw. Her eyes were on fire. Her heart felt as if it had been torn open.
Loka. Hurt. Gone.
“You shot him.”

A sound, new and yet already a part of her, pulled her back around. Eagle, his size hiding her view of the moon, swooped down out of the sky. He hovered just about the ground, his great wings moving in a furious rhythm that stirred dirt and small rocks and leaves into a whirlpool of activity. Fenton babbled something. She didn't care. Eagle had come. “Find him!” she sobbed. “Please, find him. Take care of him.”

Instead of heeding her desperate plea, Eagle continued his attack on the ground where Loka had fallen. Landing and bringing his claws into play, he raked through rocks and roots. Fenton, his voice laden with disbelief, demanded an explanation, but she ignored him. “Find him. Eagle, please!”

As quickly as he had appeared, Eagle soared upward. For a moment he was silhouetted against the sky. Then he disappeared. Silence briefly settled over the land to be broken a few seconds later by the whisper of approaching footsteps.
She turned, terrified that more people meant added danger to Loka. Through blurred vision, she recognized Black Schonchin.

 

Hours later, Tory slipped out of her cabin. She guessed it would be morning in two or three hours, not that the time mattered. Black, his eyes locked on her, had been the first to arrive. From what little he'd said, she realized he'd seen Eagle. Why he was there she didn't know, and before either of them could say anything more, others had started arriving, drawn by the sound of gunfire.

Fenton was gone, fired.

Drawing refreshing air deep into her lungs, she tried to recreate what had happened. When park personnel demanded an explanation for why Fenton had discharged his gun, he'd told them about Loka—about being attacked by a ghost or spirit or madman or something and having shot in self-defense. Her thoughts locked on Loka, she'd been unable to think of anything that would discredit Fenton, but in the end she hadn't had to.

There'd been no proof that Fenton had shot anyone. That's what Eagle had been doing, stirring up dust and debris so not a single drop of Loka's blood remained.

Fighting exhaustion, she trained her flashlight on the ground beyond where Eagle had done his work, but if Loka had left behind signs of where he'd gone, she couldn't find them. She wished she could feel relieved because Fenton had been fired for discharging an unregistered gun on park property. Maybe she would later, but now all that mattered was that Loka was out there, wounded and alone.

Except for Eagle.

Standing, she scanned her surroundings. There'd been so many people here, all of them talking at once. Now that they were gone the silence seemed out of place. When she realized Fenton had broken a law and that his job was in jeopardy, she'd actually considered saying he'd tried to harm her to add weight to the charges against him, but in the end she'd
only insisted she had no idea what had brought him here tonight.

It was a lie—if not a bold-faced fabrication, a deliberate evasion. She
had
lied when the park director asked if she'd seen the eagle Fenton kept talking about. No, she'd said, sounding vague. No bird had appeared. She certainly would have remembered if it had. Black hadn't said anything. Instead, the old Modoc had only regarded her with quiet eyes.

Spirit Mountain. Would Loka go there? The thought of him where so many of his people had gone during their vision quests filled her with a short-lived sense of peace. There was somewhere else he could go where he'd be assured of more privacy. How could she possibly find the small opening that led to Wa'hash? If he died in there—

Sick at the thought, she moved toward where she'd left her car. What she'd do once she got there she had no idea, maybe nothing except wait for morning. That and pray. When she made out the silent figure staring at her, she stopped. Waited.

Walking slowly, Black put an end to the distance that had separated them. Although, admittedly, she'd given it little thought, she'd simply assumed that the Modoc had left with the others. Looking at him now, she again asked herself what had brought him here earlier, and why he hadn't said anything about Eagle.

“He isn't here,” Black said. “If he was, I would know it.”

With all her heart, she wanted to trust him, to confide in him, but until she understood more she would keep what she knew to herself.

“You're going to try to find him, aren't you?”

“Him?”

“The man I saw yesterday.”

Black wasn't calling Loka an illusion. His tone left no doubt that he believed in the existence of what—who—he'd glimpsed. It was possible he'd followed Fenton out here ear
lier tonight and had seen everything. “What are you doing here? Nothing happened. You said so yourself.”

“Because the others don't need to know.”

“Know what?” she asked because the time of evasion was over.

“That he exists.”

He exists.
The words sounded so calm. Filled with conviction. Too tired and worried to play any more games, she took in the first hint of daylight on the horizon.

“I want you to hear me out, Tory,” Black said. “From the time I was old enough to care about such things, I heard my parents talk about an underground place where our people's heritage remains. As a boy, my friends and I tried to find it. I've studied the maps of the caves around here, explored. I'm not the only Modoc to have done so. It's not something we tell outsiders—non-Indians—about.”

“I see.”

“You're not sure how much you should say, are you? It's all right,” he continued when she said nothing. “Actually, your silence tells me a great deal. You've seen it, haven't you?”

“It?”

“Wa'hash.”

There was a warmth to his voice when he said the word, a caress even. Maybe it was the sleepless night and unrelenting worry for Loka that broke down the final barriers, and maybe it was simply the way that one word sounded coming from the lips of a Modoc. “It's wonderful,” she managed. “Incredible. Like looking at the entire history of the Modoc people. There are things—mystical things…”

“Like Eagle?”

“Y-yes.”

“And Wolf. I heard him tonight.”

“Did you?”

“Don't be afraid of being honest with me, Tory,” Black whispered. “I'd never betray him.”

Never betray.

“Fenton—if he'd had his way, he would have put him on display. Exploited him. He—”

“I'm not Fenton. I'm Modoc—I don't want you to ever forget that. No matter what you tell me, I won't betray your confidence.”

Dawn had found Black's features. She studied him. He returned her steady gaze. “I believe you.”

“What's his name?”

“Loka.”
Loka!

“Ah. And you love him, don't you?”

She didn't answer; she couldn't speak.

“It's in your eyes, Tory. I saw it yesterday when I told you that I'd seen him. That's why I stayed here today. Tried to keep an eye on you. And when I saw Fenton sneak off toward your place, I knew he had the same suspicions. I didn't know what I should do. Loka knows who I am—I'm convinced that's why he revealed himself to me yesterday. And yet he chose not to do more than that. I thought—well, I'm not sure what I was thinking, except that I felt like a man on the brink of an incredible discovery, one that maybe I'd never know more about than I already did. And then I heard Wolf and followed my instinct to you.”

“And to Loka. You saw?”

“Everything.” He pointed in the direction of Spirit Mountain. “That's where he headed.”

Knowing where to start looking for Loka drove all other thoughts from her mind. She'd already filled her backpack with her first-aid kit; nothing kept her from taking off. Nothing except for Black.

“Listen to your instincts, Tory. Them and your heart. They'll take you to him.”

“I wish I could believe you. What if he dies?”

Something of what he was feeling reached her. They shared the same fear, the same desperate hope that Loka was still alive.

“Listen to me.” Stepping up to her, Black placed his hand
on her shoulder. “You're the only one who can possibly reach him. The only one he trusts.”

“Does he? Maybe—maybe he doesn't want anything to do with me.” Her shoulders sagged under the weight of what she'd just said. “Maybe he's dead.”