Authors: Loretta Sinclair
The PriZin of Zin (9 page)
fo·cus:
noun
\ˈfō-
kə
s\a state or condition permitting clear perception
or understanding
The sky was gray and the ground cold and hard. Hunter felt as though he was in a dream— neither here nor there. Not really anywhere. He could not tell up from down through the thick fog surrounding him. The feelings of peace and comfort were still with him, although all sense of time and place were gone. Still lying on the ground, the only frame of reference he had for his location was the cold campfire surrounded by the log benches, now empty and devoid of all heat and flame, and the silvery string that still attached itself to Hunter’s heart.
He tried to touch it, but his hand went right through, as though the string wasn’t even there. Almost like a ghost, but not. He could see it, and he could feel it, yet he could not grab it.
You cannot touch the Maker; He must touch you
. The words echoed in his head. Again he tried to grasp the silver attachment, and again his hand passed through the string in the mist as though it was water.
Hunter stood. As he moved, the string moved with him. It passed through his body as he turned around to survey his surroundings. Turning a complete circle he saw the same thing. With a visual field of about ten feet in any single direction, beyond that, all was gray. Turning back to the fire, the buck skull was still at his feet, antlers stuck in the dirt. He bent forward and wrestled it loose. Lifting it from the ground, the mist revealed a pile of stones underneath. Hunter felt a chill. These were the very stones he’d used this afternoon to train on the tree. Recognizing the color and the size, he bent to grab one. It was the same smooth finish that fit perfectly into his small hand. Keeping it close, he took a step out into the mist. Walking only a few feet one direction, and then back again, Hunter was afraid to leave the fire pit. Stepping out into the mist, he changed his mind and turned back, panicked.
Next to the fire where he’d just been was a large brown shape. A mound, low to the ground and very blurred, it moved slightly. It had not been there just a second before. Hunter tried to run. He turned back the opposite way, and was met with multiple sets of red glaring eyes. Frozen, he turned back to the fire. Clenching his hands in fear, he gripped the stone harder. With the instinct of a trained huntsman, he raised his arm over his head ready to strike.
The large brown mound made a sound. It wasn’t really a growl, more like a purr, then it moved again.
“Mikey!”
Hunter leapt through the mist and threw himself onto the mound on the ground, hugging his friend. He didn’t even bother to cover his nose this time.
Mikey raised a finger to his lips in a quieting gesture. Hunter nodded and settled back down on the ground at his feet. Together, the two surveyed the multiple sets of glowing red eyes trained on them from every possible angle.
“What are they?’ Hunter whispered. In his heart he already knew the answer.
“Evil.”
Hunter looked up into the air; the circle of dream catchers was gone. Around him, from every angle, was the dingy, thick, gray fog.
“What do we do now?” he asked Mikey.
“Be ready,” was the quick reply. Mikey was in the starter’s position to run. Hunter assumed the same crouching body position Mikey had. Low to the ground, hands out, buck head tucked under his arm, fingers spread as though he were on the starting block of a race.
I wonder what we would have to —
“Run!” came the command. Mikey sprinted through the darkened mist with Hunter on his heels. In their void, the eyes pounced, snarling and snapping at the spot that had once been the safety of the campfire only seconds before.
Sprinting into the darkened forest, Mikey, Hunter on his enormous heels, searched the darkened forest for shelter and safety.
Finding a small cave, the two ducked inside. It went back only a few feet, more like an indentation into the mountainside rather than a full-fledged cave. Hunter realized in a flash that this was a mistake. Now they were trapped. He turned back to the entrance to see dozens of red glaring eyes on them. Moisture dripped from the brush where they hid. Hunter’s stomach sickened at a thought, it might be drool, not rain.
Mikey busied himself pushing a huge boulder toward the opening of the cave to give them shelter. Taking his place behind it, Mikey cowered low to the ground, hiding. From his position, he was able to reach further into some close-by brush, gathering small stones making a pile at Hunter’s feet. Mikey grabbed Hunter’s hand and placed a small smooth stone into his palm.
“Throw.”
Hunter reared back and threw the stone, missing his target altogether. He could hear them moving around, but the thick gray cloud moved with them. Swirling mist and dense brush kept Hunter from seeing his targets clearly. All he could see was the red flash of their eyes as they moved, and the dripping of their sharpened fangs.
Hunter started to cry. There were so many of them. His eyes darted from one to the other. He tried to take aim at one, when another started to charge. He turned to throw, and another snarled at his side. They ducked and turned all around him, confusing his senses and shaking his new-found confidence. All Hunter and Mikey could hear was the scuffling of feet, rustling of branches, and the unearthly growl of these demonic creatures. Hunter’s hand shook. He looked to Mikey for help. The enormous creature crouched behind the rock, as far as he could be from the vicious fight that lay ahead. He tossed another stone at Hunter. “Throw,” he said again in a weak and shaking voice.
Hunter wanted to run. There was no escape. He spun around again to look for an escape. As he flipped around he caught sight of the thin silvery thread, still attached to his heart. He had forgotten. The Maker was still touching him.
“Why is this happening?” he screamed upwards. “Help me!” Again crying, the old feelings of hurt and pain crept back into his soul.
I can’t do this. I’m not good enough
.
The string stirred. Hunter’s heart tickled, but he did not laugh.
I can’t
, he thought again.
The string stirred once again. Hunter’s heart stirred with it. A second thread from the string unraveled and hovered over the top of the deer skull that he had worn earlier in the day. Hunter stared, trying to figure out what it meant. The rustling and snarling continued, moving closer with every second. Now he could see the fangs and their elongated, snarling snouts clearly through the brush. Their nostrils flared each time they caught wind of their prey, making them drool more with each breath.
The string wiggled again, like a finger pointing the way.
Hunter dropped the rock he was holding and reached for the mask. Lifting the heavy animal head over his shoulders, he seated it back onto his head and rested it against his shoulders. Hunter felt as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Blinking hard through the tears, his heart stirred again. String still visible through the mask, Hunter felt the Maker’s touch deep inside.
His focus narrowed through the eyes of the deer mask. His neck muscles rippled from the weight of the skull, the antlers keeping his head steady and straight. Neck taught and head steady, Hunter’s focus narrowed to what the deer would have seen— to see what evil sees. He now saw only one set of glowing eyes in front of him. Kneeling down to grab a stone, Hunter, perched on one knee, reared back and threw, hitting the zombie right between the eyes with a single throw. It fell to the ground in front of him. A haunting wail emerged from the brush to his right. Hunter grabbed another stone from the pile at his feet. Turning his head, he focused his gaze on the one single threat. Lunging from the brush at him, Hunter reared back and threw again. A second shadowless target hit the ground.
Again and again, as the scuffling and wailing zombies in the brush attacked, Hunter zeroed in on them one by one, picking them off as though they were bottles on a fence. Slowly the rustling lessened. Hunter looked around the forest. From his vantage point in the cave, he could see nothing. Still, his heart stirred uneasily. He sensed a trap.
Removing the deer head, he scanned the brush. He saw nothing, but his heart told him he was not finished. Hunter looked at his feet. The rocks were gone. Mikey still hid as far from the fray as he could. Wedged into a ball in the corner of the rock formation, he didn’t even look Hunter’s direction any longer. He merely cowered.
Hunter looked back to the dense brush, eyes centering between two large redwood trees directly in front of him. Still seeing nothing, he sensed that evil was still there, lurking, waiting for a chance to pounce.
Slowly, the branches of the trees began to rustle, but not low to the ground. The branches moving were higher up on the tree, taller than Hunter. The eyes were the first things he saw. Glowing red orbs, they were the size of the dream catchers that had hung over them at the campfire. Antlers the size of small trees came into view, mounted on a head bigger than his bike back home. Jolts of electricity sparked in the air and arced between the points above the giant head. Snarling, dripping teeth the size of Hunter’s arm were bared as the creature inched its way closer and closer, making no attempt to hide. Hunter could feel the weight of its stare bearing down on him. The sense of evil permeated the entire cave and forest.
Hunter’s heart stirred yet again. He could still feel the Maker. He did not need to look for the silvery string, for somehow he knew it was still there. Instinct told him to reach into his pocket. From there, he pulled out his gift, the quartz rock that was given to him, and the tiny yellow seed. Holding the seed in his hand, it jumped as his heart did.
This is all you will need. Believe just this much, and you can move mountains
.
Hunter tightened his grip on the rock and focused on the enormous presence of evil lurking right before him. Rearing back, he felt the rock tingling in his hand. The closer the giant source of evil came, the hotter the rock in his fist became. The growling of the creature corresponded to the burning of the quartz. Narrowing his focus, eyes dead-center, hand steady, heart confident, Hunter drew back and hurled the rock forward with every ounce of his strength.
Instead of him releasing the rock, the rock released him. Hunter was sucked back through the mist and forest. In the blink of an eye, he was seated back at the campfire. The fire dancers whooped and hollered, Bigfeet cheering, Hunter was back among friends. Abornazine still stood in the center of the circle, head high with the unicorn horn pointing upwards, arms raised, fingers no longer burning, praising the Maker for delivering their young friend back to them. He raised the fatted portion of the meat that had been set aside as an offering of thanks. High up over his head, tears of joy pouring down his jowls and around the single horn in the center of his head, Abornazine smiled at Hunter.
Hunter looked down at the quartz rock still in his hand. It glowed a bright glistening white. Closing his hand, he spotted the tiny yellow seed.
If you can believe just this much…
Rest: /rest/ Noun;
refreshing ease or inactivity after exertion or labor; relief or freedom, especially from anything that wearies, troubles, or disturbs; mental or spiritual calm; tranquility.
“Welcome home, Pahana.” Quiet Cloud was the first to reach Hunter. “The Great One smiles on you today.”
Hunter opened his mouth to speak, but was assaulted by many more congratulations. He was slapped on the back so many times the deer skull slid sideways on his head.
Feeling it being lifted off, Hunter came face-to-face with a smiling Mikey.
“What happened to you out there?”
“Must learn when to fight,” Mikey said. “Not my battle.”
“You could have helped me,” Hunter’s voice began to rise slightly as he tried to swallow his anger.
“Stop whining,” Mikey slapped him on the shoulder. "You did it!"
Pride at his accomplishment won out as more and more congratulations came at him.
The sea of bigfeet and Indians soon parted and Hunter was face-to-face with the tribal elder, Raging Bull, once again.
“You are a man now, Pahana. The Spirit in the sky showers His blessings down on you.” He turned to face the small crowd around the burning campfire. The mist cleared and Hunter could see everyone and everything clearly. “You are one of us!” Raging Bull's voice boomed. “Warrior!” Over and over the crowd cheered. Hunter was hoisted up and thrust on the shoulders of one of the elders, and paraded around the campfire as though he were a trophy. After a quick trip around once, he was lowered back down at the feet of Raging Bull.
“What does it mean, ‘Pahana’?” he asked.
“Lost White Brother,” Raging Bull smiled. “Come.” Raging Bull and the other elders stretched their welcoming arms back toward the village. Hunter led the way.
“Now I can find my father?”
“Now you rest.”
“No, I have to find my father.”
“Rest.” It sounded more like a command than a statement.
“No,” Hunter protested. “I had only three days. It might be too late already.”
“Not too late,” Quiet Cloud said. “Still time.”
“But I need to go,” Hunter continued. “I only had three days.”
Mikey placed his hands squarely on Hunter’s shoulders and turned his body to face him. “Still time. Need rest.”
Raging Bull was there, too. “You cannot help your father, or any other, if not ready to fight. Must rest now. Journey on tomorrow.” Not waiting for a reply, the tribal elders turned and began walking back to the village. Hunter and Mikey followed.
“You still could have helped me,” Hunter snapped.
Hunter’s face burned bright red. He felt heat emanating from his entire chest. Looking down he saw that his chest and arms were bright red, too. He was so embarrassed he thought his entire body would turn purple.
“Why do I have to do this?”
Raging Bull laughed out loud. “It is part of the Rite of Manhood. You are a man now, Pahana. It is your right.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“To not choose will be an insult. You will shame them all, and us. You will shame me.”
Hunter felt horrible. He didn’t want to do this, but he also didn’t want to insult his teachers, or shame anyone. He knew all too well what that felt like.
The line of young girls in front of him giggled again, as they had done throughout the day. “Who are they?” he asked, pointing to a row of older women lined up behind the younger ones.
“Mothers. Teachers. Squaw elders. As you became a man today, so they are eager to learn the ways of their mothers. It is their destiny. They have waited for this moment.”
“But I don’t need anyone to tend to me. Really, I can take care of myself.” Hunter looked to Mikey for help. Once again, Mikey turned his back and crouched in the corner, shoulders shaking slightly. This time it was not from fear. It was from suppressed laughter. “Coward,” he whispered. Hunter turned back to the line of pretty young maidens in front of him. He would have to go it alone, again.
Scanning the gathering of young girls, he spied young women of all sizes and shapes. Most of them were about his own age, he guessed. They looked similar, all having long brown hair, most braided and tied in the back. Some had beads and feathers tied to their silken tresses; others wore their locks loose and flowing. All were dressed in tanned animal hides, stitched together into dresses or skirts with vests. Beading and paint adorned their clothing, making each outfit individual. Tanned skin, hands rough from work, they all smiled at Hunter, eager to take on the next task that life had to offer. Dark brown eyes followed his every move. Hunter felt as though he were being hunted again. Scanning the crowd, his gaze froze on one maiden. There in the back. His finger raised and he pointed at a tall young girl in the back row. She peered back at him through brilliant blue eyes.
“Dyani,” Raging Bull said. “Interesting choice.”
“Why?”
“Her name means Deer.”
The Indian girl stepped forward and nodded in respect to her charge for the evening. Alongside her, stepped one of the elder women. Angry, her teeth clenched, fists balled, and eyes shooting fire his direction, Hunter tried not to run. “Your mother?” he whispered to Dyani.
She nodded, and extended her arm toward a teepee down by the river.
Hunter started forward following Dyani, his maiden’s mother right on their heels.
“Why does she hate me?” Hunter whispered.
“Does not hate Pahana,” Dyani answered.
“She’s staring at me.”
“Job is to protect me. What you call - - - chap-a-one.”
“Chaperone? How do you know that word?”
“My father is not of this place.” Dyani motioned for Hunter to sit on a rock in the river. Once there, she took some loose animal skins and began washing off the war paint that had been applied earlier in the day. Each wipe was a cool relief from the scorching heat that he had felt. As the paint washed away, Hunter realized that part of his redness was also sunburn. The paint had protected his skin where it was applied, but he had sunburned in the unpainted areas. He now sported bright white racing stripes against the red backdrop of his sun damaged skin. Dyani giggled as she washed off the paint from his shoulders. Oh, well, he thought. This is better than before. He smiled at her, but quickly wiped the smile from his face at the glare of her mother.
“Tell me about your father.”
“He fell from above when the earth shook one day.”
“Your father came from above?” Hunter’s heart leapt.
“When he returned, she followed him up to his world.”
“What happened?” Hunter was mesmerized by not only her story, but by her gentle ministrations on his burning skin. The cool water and her light touch in the light evening breeze felt as soothing as her soft voice.
“They, as you say, married, but family could not accept her, so she returned.”
“She came back down here alone?” Hunter was confused. “How did she get back down here?”
“Warriors brought her.”
“The warriors can get up there?”
Dyani nodded. “This is why you seek them.”
Hunter stared into the deep blue eyes of his new maiden friend. “I can’t believe he let her go. I would never - - -,” he broke off at her knowing smile, shades of red creeping back up his neck.
“Ran away,” Dyani said. “He knew not where.”
Hunter felt a sadness for her.
“So you never knew your father?”
“He knows not of me.” Dyani bent low, ringing out the animal hides in the river. Walking to the side of the bank, she laid them out on the branches of some brush to dry. Pulling a knife from her belt, she walked over to a plant and sliced off some spiky leaves. Taking three or four back into the river, she laid all but one into Hunter’s wet lap.
“Looks like cactus,” he said.
“Aloe,” she said. “Healing plant.”
Slicing open the leaves, she laid the slimy, oozy inside against his burned skin.
Hunter felt instant relief from the burn. “Oh,” he muttered as Dyani slid the leaf across his shoulders and upper body. Every spot on his bare skin where the slimy leaf touched was numbed against the searing pain. Dyani followed the aloe with more soothing cool water, making Hunter feel almost normal again. He smiled at her tending to his aching limbs, but wiped the smile away when he caught another glimpse of her mother.
“Is your father why she hates me?”
“Does not hate,” Dyani said. “Protects me.”
“What is your mother’s name?” Hunter asked.
“Mahala. Means mother.”
“Mahala?” Hunter called to her on the side of the river bank a few feet away.
“What will you do?” Dyani asked.
Face your enemies head on. Focus. Do not run.
“Make friends.” Hunter stood in the river and turned to his adversary. “I’m very hungry. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had anything to eat. Can you bring me some food?”
Mahala grimaced and pointed to her daughter, behind him in the river. Hunter looked back and winked at Dyani. “Stay here,” he whispered, then struck out toward her mother.
Reaching the riverbank, he lowered his head toward the elder woman and whispered. “Please. I am far from home and I miss my mother above. No one can cook better than my mahala. Dyani tells me that you are a great preparer of food for her and for the tribe. Please,” he whispered close to her. “I need a meal from a mother.”
A great smile cracked on the face of the elder woman, changing her appearance immediately. The glow that emanated from her face transformed her from a creature of anger and fear, to one of joy and pride. She stood, waving at her daughter. Shouting something in a language that Hunter did not understand, she turned and ran back toward the village. Hunter started back toward the river when he heard snickering from the bushes. Reaching out and parting the branches, he saw a large brown mound shaking and rolling on the ground out of view from the main path.
“Shut up, Mikey.”
Dropping the branches, he walked back to the river.
