Visions (11 page)

LOSS

“I feel your pain as I have never felt it before. It hurts deeply, yet I never knew him.” Anka put a hand on Pegre’s shoulder, leaving it there to warm him in his grief.

“I hadn’t admitted it, but he was another father to me, responsible for much of what has happened in my life.” Pegre looked at Anka with moist eyes, and saw understanding there, the understanding of someone old who had seen much death and become resigned to its inevitability.

“It isn’t right, but I feel jealousy. There are things you shared with the Hinchai I could not be a part of, and somehow I feel negligent in not giving all I could.”

They were sitting in the little grotto a few yards down-canyon from the main cavern entrance where they always went for private talks. Outside, the sun had risen only an hour before, and the cold made their breath a sparkling fog in the new light. They sat facing each other on a flat rock, Anka draped in a thin robe of deerskin, Pegre dressed in jeans and a heavy wool shirt. Both were shivering.

“There was nothing you could teach me about the Hinchai world, but all else comes from you.”

“You are as your real father, my brother, with the feelings of your mother.”

“Savas was my friend, but he never pressured me to tell where I came from, volunteered little about himself, even near the end when he realized how ill he was. I always felt his past was dark with happenings that caused him anger and fear. If he was threatened, he could be extremely dangerous, but with me he was patient and kind and openly pleased with my successes.”

“I’m sure you were a son to him, Pegre, as you have been to me. You have much to give to others, and I am learning to share you. Was his death a painful one?”

“I don’t think so. He had medicine for the pain; it made him drowsy. Sometimes he didn’t remember to eat properly, and near the end he wasn’t eating at all. I rode up every day or so to see him, and when I found him yesterday he was in bed, quite dead and already stiff. What bothers me is he died alone. I should have been there.”

“One cannot predict the time a spirit chooses to leave, whether Tenanken or Hinchai. You did what you could.”

“The body is being prepared in town by someone who is paid for such things. We will bury him tomorrow in a graveyard near the property he owned.”

“We? You do this with Hinchai?”

“A few who knew him: a banker, those who sometimes drank with him, and two others who do the burial. I got to know the banker because Savas had considerable wealth, and left it all to me. I share it with all Tenanken, Anka, by buying land for our homes and businesses that will make our place in the Hinchai world. Wealth is important to them, and Savas has provided it for us because I told him I wanted to bring my family to live in the valley, and he thought it was a good plan.”

“Ah yes, The Plan. Can such an ambition be realized?” Anka said this with some fear, for the idea of mixing Tenanken and Hinchai in one community was yet abhorrent to him. They were one species, and yet they were not. The cultures, spirituality, life ethics, all had diverged in a far distant past. How safe the Tenanken had been, isolated in wilderness for tens of thousands of years, since before the time of severe cold and great ice mountains only vaguely recallable from The Memories, and then the settlers had suddenly come, driving them fearfully to the caves.

“I will teach Tenanken the Hinchai ways, and it will not be difficult because we are one with them and should never have been separated. It is my intention that the newest generations of Tenanken will feel the heat of the sun as they work, and in this there cannot be opposition,” said Pegre.

“I will use all my influence,” said Anka, nodding sagely.

“Even with your own son?”

“Particularly with him. He will hear me, Pegre, and his motives are honorable. He cares only for the future of the Tenanken.”

“So he says,” said Pegre sharply. “I feel otherwise. Why does he dislike me so? In the years you raised us both, never did I strive to capture your affections only for myself, yet I sense a terrible and dangerous jealousy within Maki. If this is behind his opposition to The Plan I will gladly withdraw, and leave the leadership to someone else. Perhaps Moog. He has great intelligence.”

Anka shook his head. “No, you will not abandon your role in The Plan. I forbid it. Maki’s jealousy is a problem he must deal with, along with his ambition. I fear he expects too much as the only true surviving son of a Keeper, and I share the blame for that. But as you both grew up, I had no favorites, and I have no apologies to offer for that. Do what you must for the Tenanken, and Maki is sure to support you.”

“I want to believe that,” said Pegre. “I really do.” He picked up a small stone from the floor, and studied it. “I remember how I used to come here as a small boy, sit by the entrance and look down into the valley, wanting to climb a tree or run in the long grass, or throw myself into that icy stream, and always there was the strict law forbidding any of us to leave the canyon wall, and I’d wonder why we had such a law. What were we afraid of? Why were we hiding in dark and cold like common animals? I was afraid to go near a Hinchai until that first day with Savas, and later I discovered the stories they had made up about the dark skins who were here after us. Their children shivered with fear of strange savages who killed Hinchai without reason. They still tell such stories about a people whose lives they have forever altered. Fear is stupid, and we are all guilty of it.”

“Then prepare the way for us to be together. You have my support, and Tel’s.”

“I’m glad of that. We’ve never really become close.”

Anka offered a faint smile. “The bond between mother and the last son of her body is strong. Grief for Maki’s brothers nearly killed her.”

“I remember. Before that were happier times.”

“They will come again. You will see to it, Pegre. Get on with your destiny. Can you stay with us this night?”

“No, I have to return to town for more business with a man who sells land, and I left my animal some distance from here. If I don’t return soon, someone will search for me. Fear again, you see.”

“Then go, but with a promise. Promise you will never forget you are first a Tenanken, the Keepers of The Memories and The Mind Touch. We are special, Pegre. Not superior, but special. Preserve us.”

“The best I can,” said Pegre solemnly, “and I will never forget who or what I am.”

“One more thing,” said Anka quickly. “This thing you have learned from your Hinchai father, this use of symbols to record thoughts and events for others to see and understand without spoken words, I wish you to use this also for the Tenanken.”

“Writing,” said Pegre.

“Yes. I have concern for The Memories, Pegre. Their keeping is central to our identity, and a fragile thing. Keepers appear with increasing rarity among us, though now there are three: myself, Tel and Maki. I wish you to record The Memories for us, Pegre, with your writing. From this day on, when we meet, I will have something for you to record. Our identity is in The Memories; they must not be lost.”

“I will do this,” said Pegre solemnly, “but Keepers will arrive as they have before.”

“Perhaps,” said Anka, “but when we join with the Hinchai our blood line is certain to be diluted. We are too much alike to prevent inter-breeding with them, and The Memories could be lost forever. That is my fear.”

“I will record them for you,” said Pegre, “when we meet again. But now I must leave.”

They stood up, embraced stiffly, then Pegre turned and went out of the grotto, leaving Anka behind for quiet minutes to recall and put in vision-form a day in his robust adulthood when he felt the long grass beneath his feet, home was an earthen work dugout in a forest filled with running animals and birds, and day was divided between darkness and light.

Before the Hinchai came.

* * * * * * *

The day they buried Savas Parkos all clouds had disappeared from the sky, and an eagle soared above them, lifting their spirits for the ceremonies, a task made easier by the fact that the dead man had lived a long if somewhat isolated life, and his few friends had all arrived to send him on his way. Peter had made the arrangements with the aid of Reverend Nate Burgundy, pastor of Faith Baptist Church, at which a closed-casket service was held at ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning. Of the fifteen people attending the service, Peter knew only three: Burgundy, whose short eulogy he found contrived, banker Ned Bester, whose interest he had sparked with a single deposit, and finally one John Macavee, up from Quincy, having become a good friend of Savas after nearly being killed by him. It pained Peter to speak of the dead man, but speak he did, and gave birth to the story of his journey from Greece and then Reno to live with his uncle, the kindness he had received, the wisdom,
et cetera
,
et cetera
, until he was nearly sick from the lies. He marveled that the Hinchai God did not strike him dead on the spot, wondering if it was passive like the World Spirit of the Tenanken, preferring subjects to solve their problems and suffer their consequences. He spoke simple words with affection and sadness, moving some of his audience to tears, for without knowing it he had touched them all with naked grief directly from his mind.

Peter, John, Ned, and the hearse driver acted as pallbearers, carrying the plain wooden coffin sedately down the steps, and then the little procession of wagons and horses followed the remains to the graveyard south of town, neatly clipped and surrounded by a white, picket fence with a broken gate that creaked in the wind. The graveyard overlooked a meadow where some years later there would be a murder. Nate Burgundy read some words, and the coffin was lowered into the ground while everyone looked solemn. Nate offered condolences, and Peter paid him a ten dollar gratuity for the service, then the rest of the people came by to mumble their sympathies before returning to interrupted lives. Peter stood by the grave, a light breeze blowing black hair over his face as Ned Bester came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“My regrets, Mister Pelegeropoulis. Hardly knew the gentleman, but he must have been a good businessman. You never know about some people.”

“Any problems with the gold?” Peter peered into the blackness of the grave.

“No, the quote is firm. You say the word, it leaves for Reno in the morning. In your position, I’d keep half at least; gold is certain to go up.”

“Send it.”

They walked away from the gravesite, and towards an awaiting surrey. “When can I start remodeling?” said Peter.

“Right now. The business was yours this morning, and a lot of folks are anxious to see what you’ll do with it. I’ll grant you it’s in tough shape, but you
did
get it for a good price.”

“An honest price, you mean.” Peter laughed, and Ned looked at him nervously. “Oh I’ll get it fixed up good, especially in the kitchen. New ovens, and fresh bread every day, Greek style. Every drink you can think of. The Athens Bar and Grill—after Savas. Greek flavors will bring them in from Quincy and maybe even Reno when the word gets around. You like Greek food, Mister Bester?”

“That’s Ned. Yes, I do.”

“Opening night you’ve got a free meal coming at The Athens. My treat, Ned.”

The man laughed. “Why it’s sure nice doin’ business with you, Peter.”

They shook hands as they stopped at the gate, then Ned turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Coming, Bernice?”

A young woman was at a far corner of the graveyard, hunched over a pair of worn, stone markers, picking grass away from them with her hands and replacing some dried up flowers that had been lying there. She looked up at them sadly. “Are we leaving already?”

“I should get back.”

The woman hastily pulled more grass, then stood up. She was tall, large boned but lean-looking. Blonde hair fell down her back and around broad shoulders. She wore a long skirt cinched in at the waist, and a tight, lacy bodice that somehow made her look fragile despite her size. As she walked towards them, Ned turned and whispered, “Her folks are buried over there. Takes good care of everything.”

Her eyes were blue, cheekbones prominent above a generous mouth. As she came up to them Peter suddenly realized he was staring when she looked straight into his eyes and smiled. Ned put an arm around her shoulders, and said, “Bernice, I’d like you to meet Peter Pelegeropoulis, Crosley’s newest businessman. Bought the Granville place, and he’s turning it into a bar and grill. Peter, this is Bernie Ekstrom, and she
is
Ekstrom lumber and hardware in Crosley. Ask her for help, and you’ve got it.”

“Well, I’ll certainly need it with all the remodeling I have to do,” said Peter, fighting a dry throat.

The smile again. “Stock’s limited, but I’ll do what I can. Sorry about Mister Parkos. He came into the store a couple of times for little things. One of the most polite people I ever met. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” said Peter, “and thanks for coming today.” He held out a hand, and she took it in a firm grip that seemed to shoot fire into his arm and chest.

“I’m glad I did,” she said happily, “and I look forward to doing some business with you.”

“So do I,” said Peter.

DECEPTION AND MURDER

Maki arose early, moving quietly from the vestibule so as not to disturb his sleeping father after a continuous night of talking, and sharing of The Memories. His earlier anger and contempt had now dissolved to pity; he was convinced The Keeper did only what he felt was right, but suffered from the delusions of the very old. As future Keeper, he, Maki, had made the decision to be merciful; he would reinforce orders to Hidaig that his father should be spared from injury.

Maki had been suitably contrite in conversation with Anka, and they had coolly discussed the relative merits of Tenanken integrating with Hinchai in common communion, an act which he now admitted privately had already been done by most Tenanken many tens of thousands of years in the past, for the features of so many Hinchai enemies would pass anywhere as Tenanken. For Maki, the issue was not racial, but cultural and spiritual. It was Tahehto blood which carried the genetic memories binding the Tenanken together, a union intensified by exchanges of the mind-touch in which Hinchai perhaps received, but returned nothing. At the rate they were arriving, Hinchai would be dominant and the Tenanken culture would soon be extinct.

When he entered the main cavern, he saw only two cooking fires were burning, most of the band still sleeping after the feast of the previous evening. He walked around the top of the chamber, stopping and bowing formally as Tel came out of a fumarole, stooping over to avoid cutting her head on a crystal crust.

“Good morning, Mother.”

“Ah, you’re up early. I presumed you and your father would still be in conversation and memory, so I went outside to watch the sun rise. We will allow the children to play on the bluff today.”

“Do you think that’s wise? They might be seen by Hinchai who hunt the antlered ones this time of year.”

“It’s a risk, but they will wear Hinchai clothing, and a guard will be posted. It’s necessary they spend some time in sunlight to give their skin a more natural color.”

“I suppose, but the color fades quickly. Why not wait until they’re to integrate with the Hinchai? Surely that time is soon.”

Something flickered in Tel’s eyes for an instant. “That decision is up to Anka and Pegre. I have no idea when they will be leaving, but they become anxious. Even now they cook Hinchai foods over our fires; the odors are so delicious from many herbs and spices, and the variety of tastes is marvelous. The cooking skills of the Hinchai have developed far beyond ours, it seems. The caves and our isolation have held us back, yet in several ways I’ll miss this place: the coolness, quiet, the sparkle of firelight on the crystal ceilings. But it’s not a far distance, as long as my legs are good; I’ll return here when I can for my meditations, and your father for reinforcement of The Memories.”

Maki’s head was pounding. “I don’t understand,” he said, voice quavering. “You mean you’re
leaving
with the others? I thought you were staying here?”

“Oh, no, that’s all changed, now. While you were gone, your father put it to a vote of all Tenanken. The children and a few others are the first to leave. But thereafter, within a season or two, all else may join them if they choose to. It was put to a vote, Maki. Only a few have chosen to remain: the very old, near death, those who could not survive the climb to the bluff and down again. If you wish to stay, it’s your choice. Didn’t your father tell you that?”

“He said nothing about any of this! I assumed only a select few would be leaving.” Maki recognized the excitement in his voice, and fought for self-control. “I’m disappointed my father didn’t tell me about his own decision to leave; after all, I have returned to be near my parents, and now find I must make a new decision about my own future. It’s a surprise, Mother.”

“But it
has
upset you; I can see that. Your poor father, so happy to see his son again, and then forgetting to tell him about a major decision in our lives. It could not have been deliberate, and you will have time to consider your own future, with or without us. You control your own destiny, Maki. We might disagree with you, but we respect your right to choose your own way.”

She was probing his mind, digging for a response, but he had closed himself tightly, covering what was there with the vision of a waterfall. “I ask only that your choices will not interfere with the lives of others, or put them in danger of harm.”

“I’ll think about it, Mother. The caves are a dreary place, and I was thinking about that when we were camped outside in coolness, waking up to morning light and the smells of the trees. It’s a better life out there, especially for the children, but still I fear the Tenanken ways disappearing with our absorption into the Hinchai culture. That is the issue I must debate, and it will take some time. Father and I talked a lot about this, and in some ways he shares my fears. Surely you know this?”

“We’ve argued about it since the first days of The Plan. It is only in recent years Anka has become truly convinced integration is the only way to secure a future for the Tenanken. And certain sacrifices will be necessary. I have known that from the beginning, but it has seemed right to me. I have always been the advocate, while your father has been the scholar, relentlessly pursuing justification of The Plan and all the consequences. A great deal of thought, debate and planning has gone into this, Maki. I fail to see how anyone could ask for more.”

“As you say, individual decisions have been made. I will take more time to make mine. This conversation has been most helpful, Mother.”

“Good, then let us eat something to begin the day properly.” Tel put an arm around her son’s shoulders, and walked him around the top terrace of the great cavern until they came to a fire burning brightly within a ring of stones, sitting down cross-legged before it. Others had begun emerging from their sleeping quarters, and a heavy odor of wood smoke was in the air. The fire burned quickly into a pile of glowing embers, into which Tel placed yams and powdered sage wrapped in green leaves. Heating stones brought tea to a boil in minutes, and they drank it in silence as life stirred around them.

At a neighboring fire, Baela and her parents cooked their morning meal quickly, the little darting one running to and fro getting sticks and water and various seasonings for her mother, blue eyes ever wide and alert, blonde hair forever falling over her face. Maki watched her with more than casual interest, noting the lengthening, coltish legs, and budding breasts she made no efforts to hide. He caught her eye twice, but she turned away, embarrassed. Her father, Moog, noticed this the second time it happened, fixing an eye on Maki until the younger man returned his gaze to the fire, thinking,
not for you, this little one, not even for a Keeper’s son, but for a tall, Hinchai male to make Hinchai babies when her time has come.
He looked again, but now Baela’s mother Deda was also watching him. He shrugged his shoulders, and smiled feebly.
No matter. When the time comes, I will be sure both of you are dead, and your daughter will bear the children of Tenanken warriors.

Tel quizzed him about his friends he knew she disliked so intensely. He explained that Dorald had been smitten by a female in Hidaig’s group, and was probably even now in her arms, while Han had decided he would seek a mate among those living near the point where the sun disappeared each evening. He had returned with Maki only to obtain his few personal possessions, and would leave within a day. Maki could see this news pleased his mother, for she had long despised his companions for their unkempt appearances, low intelligence and poor manners, and would now be rid of them forever.

When her meal was finished, Baela raced from the cavern for another day in the sun. Tel smiled as the lithe figure darted past her, shaking her head in mock exasperation at Moog and Deda, who simply smiled back. But Maki was suddenly struck with a disquieting feeling urging him to move. He excused himself, making his way across the cavern and up the exit tunnel to the small grotto which was his sleeping area. Han’s traveling roll lay by the exit, neatly tied, but he was not there. Still feeling uneasy, Maki crawled into the grotto and checked his own belongings: skins and furs for a bed, all neatly in place, the pointing weapon rolled up in a skin to one side of the bed, the hand weapon in a bundle beneath it. All seemed undisturbed, and the feeling left him as quickly as it had come. But he had sensed something, a thought or feeling, something dangerous. From whom?

At that instant he heard the crackle of branches as someone pushed their way through the entrance, and he scrambled quickly from his quarters to find Han tying his traveling bundle at his waist. “Ah, it’s you. Did you see anyone outside?”

“Only Baela, up that way, climbing on the rocks. Nobody else, but mostly I was getting water in the lower grotto. Why?”

“No reason,” said Maki quickly. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. I’ve enough food here for three days.”

“I’ll deliver more to you. Be sure to stay out of sight, but keep on constant watch for Hidaig. They will travel by night. As soon as they arrive, come to me here in the grotto, but only then. Understand?”

Han nodded vigorously. “I’ll come at night, and call you from outside.”

Maki grasped him by both shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. “We are brothers. Go, now.”

When Han had left, Maki went back to the grotto, changing the position of his bed so he could lie facing the entrance with ears to hear the slightest sound. He found a few pebbles, and was sprinkling them in a pattern on the floor, a pattern that could be disturbed by an unknown intruder, and then the uneasy feeling was on him again like an invisible hand, speeding his heart so he grunted in surprise, standing up and banging his head against the low ceiling. As pain spread over his scalp, the clutching sensation inside him was gone again, leaving him troubled. He sat down and breathed deeply, willing the pain away, and trying to think. Never before had he experienced such symptoms, yet there was something familiar about them in a subtle way, something close to his everyday life, the power of it misleading him to think—

It was there again, only now there was no disquiet because he had discovered an intention, and with effort he forced into his mind the image of first the tunnel beyond the great cavern, and himself climbing the sloping floor, torchlight showing the way, then the sight of the valley in full daylight as if he were sitting on an outside ledge. Beads of sweat burst forth on his forehead with the effort, but then he felt release, and scrambled from the grotto to a wide fumarole across the tunnel, sloping upwards, from which he could see his sleeping area. He crouched there and waited, ready to spring, ready to kill, holding an image of the valley firmly but easily in his mind.

Waiting seemed eternal. He had hoped for something to happen quickly, but there was not even a sound save distant laughter and shouting from the great cavern. His legs became cramped, and he shifted his weight. Twice he thought he felt something, but both times it was gone quickly, leaving him feeling frustrated and a bit silly curled up in his tiny hideaway. All feeling has ceased to exist in his legs, and he was about to shift his weight again when he heard a twig snap, then branches moving against each other as the entrance opened, and a narrow beam of sunlight fell on his sleeping place. A shadow moved in and out of the light, and then the entrance was again closed.

Maki kept his vision firm, and stifled a cry of surprise.

It was Baela.

She moved towards the grotto hunched over, eyes wide with excitement. Her bare feet made no sound on the rock as she pirouetted on one foot to glance down the tunnel and back again, then she was down on hands and knees, scrambling into his sleeping quarters and somehow avoiding the pattern of pebbles he had placed there. Carefully, and silently, she searched his bedding, finding both weapons and then rewrapping them, leaving nothing apparently disturbed. He waited for her to take something, and felt disappointed when she did not, but the invasion of his privacy and discovery of the weapons was enough to kindle a dangerous anger in him, and so when he moved it was like a mountain cat striking for the kill, and she only had time to turn her head slightly before he was on her, one hand clamping down tightly over her mouth, the other pulling her arm far up behind her back and driving her face-first into his bedding.

“What brings you to my bed, little one?” he growled into her ear. She made a muffled groan, and breath exploded from her nostrils, but otherwise there was no motion beneath his heavy weight, no panicky thrashing about, and so he held her down with a knee while reaching for a small, hide bag ordinarily used for carrying dried meat. When his hand came off her mouth he heard a sharp intake of breath as she prepared to scream, then crammed the hide in as hard as he could and tied it in place with a leather thong crushing her golden hair to the back of her head. With another thong he tied her hands together at the small of her back, then flipped her over and straddled her feather-light body as she looked straight up into his eyes, drowning him in their blueness, and his groin was instantly aching from the hardness of an erection. He spread her legs, pressing against her, but there was no reaction; the blue eyes looked steadily into his without sign of fear or panic.

“Little darting one, they call you, now you don’t move so fast. Have you been introduced to adult pleasures yet? No? Perhaps you aren’t yet old enough to bleed, but no matter to me. Shall I initiate you, then slit your throat so you won’t get into other’s possessions anymore? Hmmm?”

He pressed harder, feeling her little mound, and for an instant imagining her rising to meet him, but then she shook her head slightly from side to side, still without fear, and something inside him opened up, releasing the anger, calming him. Sudden realization came that as future Keeper of The Memories, what he was doing was a pardonable but undignified act with a female barely beyond childhood, yet she was of Hanken purity, and weren’t they all to die? Perhaps, but not just yet, and besides, some selectivity might be wise. She was intelligent, resourceful and attractive to him, despite her age and heritage, otherwise why would he be straddling her with his organ hard as a spear, and her throat still intact? She would grow up remembering the mercy of her elder, and giver of The Visions. Maki. Her master.