Visions (15 page)

Pegre looked perplexed. “I’ve offended you with a compliment, but there’s no time for anger now. I need your help in translating to the others what they need to do. Please?” He held out a hand.

Baela felt a nudge from her mother, then a harder one from her father, and Pegre had that smile again that made it difficult for anyone to remain angry with him. And so she stepped forward and took his hand, and helped translate his instructions to the older Tenanken who had greatest difficulty with the Hinchai language. But when he was finished, and the line of refugees was again on the move, she pulled on his hand so that he looked down at her, and she said very seriously, “I told you before I don’t like it when anyone goes into my head. My visions and thoughts are my own.”

“Ah,” said Pegre, “now it is clear. But I did not violate your privacy, Baela, nor did anyone else. Here is a question for you to think about while we walk; if you wished your vision of the great bird to be a private one, then why did you share it with us?”

Pegre walked away quickly, leaving her with a puzzled expression on her face. Finally she followed the group at a distance, and hurried until she was at the end of the line. The question made no sense. Share? Never. As a well-disciplined girl-child she had worked hard to remain totally private, as expected of her, keeping all thoughts and dreams and other spiritual things to herself. Sharing was for the true Tahehto who possessed The Mind Touch, not a Hanken like herself, and she felt privileged they would share anything with her. She did not feel inferior, but recognized there were differences between Hanken and Tahehto purities that could not be changed. Her mother and father had taught her this, and she accepted it without resentment or self-pity, though at times, when she was happy about something like a baby animal or a flower or the sweet smells outside she wanted to scream it to the world, but could not find the words. So how could Pegre accuse her of sharing a vision of the hunting bird?

Baela thought about the question until they reached Savas’s cabin, coming to a conclusion that could only be impossible—because she was a Hanken child.

Pegre loaded them into the back of the wagon until it was full, everyone crouched tightly together. “I’ll have to make two trips. The rest of you will stay inside the cabin until I return. I’ll lock you in so everything looks normal. If anyone comes by, stay up against the front wall so they can’t see you, and don’t make a sound.”

Baela translated, although she could see that some had already understood. Pegre unlocked the shiny, new lock on the door of the cabin. He opened the door, and inside was inky blackness, like the cave. For the Tenanken, total darkness was an old experience, and they had no fear of it. Pegre motioned Baela, her parents and two others to enter the cabin. Inside, they sat down on the wooden floor and the door closed behind them, the lock snapping shut an instant later. Baela went to a window and looked outside. Pegre saw her face at the window, smiled, and waved to her, then climbed into the wagon. She laughed at the gasps of surprise inside the cabin, the way the passengers in the wagon suddenly grasped each other in fear, and she wondered if they would enjoy the ride as much as she had the first time.

The wagon pulled away quickly and was soon lost from view, leaving them quiet in the darkness. Baela continued to stand by the mica window, watching the dark shadows and silhouettes outside. A few minutes later, something appeared in her peripheral vision. She jerked her head towards it, and saw nothing, then it was there again, flickering on and off. She watched it steadily as it wound its way down the hill through thick stands of trees, a string of small, dim lights—heading straight for the cabin.

NIGHT VISITORS

Pete didn’t see the ribbon of lights moving along a hill to the south of Savas’s cabin. When he looked back all he saw were frightened faces as the wagon bounced and swerved through high grass on the way back to the main road. Once the ride was smoother his passengers seemed to calm down, relaxing enough to smile at the feel of wind whipping their hair. Quite soon it was an adventure, and there were grins.
How quickly they adapt
, he thought. The intelligence was there; it had always been there. How long since the Tenanken had isolated themselves from their brethren? A thousand years? Ten thousand? Sixty? Even The Memories were vague, distant visions beyond the time of an unnamed Keeper who had enforced the ritual slaying of children favoring their Hanken heritage rather than Tahehto. To purify the race. Followers of these fortunately short-lived horrors had called themselves Tenanken, meaning thick chest, becoming wanderers in exile from the rest of the budding human species that regarded each child as precious in someday populating the entire planet. Then had come the time when there was no place for retreat. The days of the caves began.

Before The Plan.

He
was The Plan. Peter, from Crosley. Pegre, from the Tenanken band of Anka, the gentle Keeper of The Memories. It was up to him, now, to bring them outside to sun and trees, back to the race they had rejected and scorned, as if rejecting a part of their own body. The human race: Hinchai, and Tenanken. One people. Coming together. Tonight.

Pete swallowed hard as self-doubt assailed him once again. Surely someone would notice the physical differences.
Look in a mirror at that Tahehto face of yours. Do the Hinchai even notice? Has Bernie ever told you you’re ugly?

He thought about Bernie’s beautifully sculptured features.

He wondered about the features of his unborn child.

The road rolled by. Five miles to town, then one. He held his breath as the first buildings appeared ahead, and felt rather than saw heads turn behind him. If somebody stopped him for a conversation....

But the town was empty, both the bar and the hotel dark, not even a dog in sight. What had Jake said? A search party—for critters, he said. More trouble, and at a critical time. He knew the outcome could be deadly. Guns were superior to spears, but only when they had targets to shoot at, and a Tenanken warrior would cut a throat or crush a skull before a sound was heard. The men had gone on a search for Hidaig’s band, and he hoped they would stay together in the dark. But where were the women? As he drove through town, every house was dark, no signs of life. His stomach was unsettled; he wanted to belch, but couldn’t. He slapped with the reins, and the wagon accelerated out of town, darkness closing in on both sides. He took the short cut up the steep hill, two ruts for a road, horses wheezing. When he paused at the top of the hill there was a collective groan of relief from the back, but then they bounced down another hill and across a meadow to more trees surrounding the ranch.

When he drove into his big front yard, he found it jammed tight with horses and wagons.

Dear God.

Every lamp in the house was lit, and through each window Pete saw a horde of women hurrying around. The back door flew open, and four women emerged with stacks of blankets in their arms, bustling through tall grass towards the two, lighted bunkhouses in the rear of the property, one of them veering towards the barn and disappearing inside.

Pete got out of the wagon after finding a space near his front gate, walked around to the back and held up his arms. Among his passengers, there were no smiling faces. He pointed to his right, up towards the darkened hills, and spoke to them slowly in Greek.

“The canyon, and your old home is up there. You can stand in front of the cave entrance and see where we are now. It is very close. If any of you want to go back, it is your choice, and you can leave anytime. I urge you to stay here at least until Hidaig and his band are gone. It will be safer here, but you are not prisoners. Are there any who wish to leave?”

Nobody moved, though worry was etched on each face.

Pete looked towards the house, the excited faces at the windows, a din of noise coming from inside, and then the front door burst open and Bernie came charging down the porch steps to greet them.

“Remember what you’ve learned. These people want you to be happy here, so do what they do, and try to smile a little when I go back to get the others. This is the woman who carries my child. Her name is Bernie.”

Bernie heard her name as she reached him, and put an arm around his waist, her smile so dazzling it seemed to light up the wagon and the ground around it. “Stew is on, there’s plenty of fresh bread to go with it, and the beds are made up. Wouldn’t you know every woman in town helped? Came in over an hour ago, after the men left.” She wiggled her nose at him. “Well, are you just gonna stand there while the baby gets cold, or do I get introduced?”

Pete helped everyone out of the wagon, introducing them one by one, Bernie putting a hand on each shoulder and hitting them with that smile again. He watched the fear disappear from their eyes, felt it leave their minds.
Oh, my darlin’ Hinchai bride, you have your own, special Mind Touch, and they feel it.
His mind raced to keep the new names straight, but when it was over he was certain a couple of them had been incorrect. Everyone mumbled something in return, a few smiling shyly, then clustering around the wagon while Pete tied the horses. When Bernie noticed some of the women looking at her swollen stomach, she patted it happily, and said, “It’s gonna be a big one.”

Nobody except Pete understood what she’d said, and the remark bothered him.
Not too big, I hope. Not as big as I was when my mother nearly died giving birth to me.

Pete and Bernie led them in a line to the house, where it seemed the entire town was waiting.

“Where’d the men go?”

“I guess they left about the same time you did. Headed south to Ezra Pike’s place armed to the teeth, I hear, and God help those critters if they find them. Shouldn’t we have sent for the sheriff in Quincy?”

“Later, maybe. Let’s see what they find, first.”

“I still think we should have called someone when Tom was killed, Pete.”

“Later. We’ll talk about it later. Here are the ladies.”

They had reached the porch, and the women had spilled out onto it, pulling here and there on themselves, fussing with their hair. Pete was suddenly conscious of how bedraggled the Tenanken looked, like refugees from a distant land, which, in a way, was what they were, looking lost and scared and confused by all the attention. Nobody heard any names in the babble that followed, Bernie herding them into a warm house filled with mouth-watering odors of stew, fresh bread and a dozen perfumes.

They crowded around a huge, oak table covered with festive cloth in blue and yellow. The table was heaped with bread, rolls, chunks of butter on a plate, cookies and bars, baskets of apples, oranges and pears, and in the center an enormous crock filled with steaming stew. Bernie ladled out stew into bowls for her foreign guests staring open-mouthed at the table, and Pete suppressed a grin. Never in their lives had these people seen so much food in one place, for meat taken by the hunters was usually not displayed before the entire band, and such fruit was virtually unknown to them. They timidly held out their bowls, while Bernie gleefully filled them to the brim and added a wooden spoon.

Everyone ate standing up, chattering noisily, their quiet, dignified new neighbors carefully mimicking every move with spoon and cup. Pete smiled at them one by one, proud as a father, amused by their intense concentration. They gobbled cookies and bars and pears, sampled punch and coffee and tea, and learned the love of buttered bread in seconds. When the eating was over they awaited permission to belch, for it was a Tenanken custom after a feast, and when they realized none was forthcoming Pete thought some of them might burst.

Pete glanced at his watch, then called to Bernie over the din, “I’ve gotta pick up the others, now! Save some food for them!”

“There’s enough here for all the men, too, if they ever get back tonight,” she shouted back.

Already the Tenanken seemed at home, fitting right in despite the obvious language problems, looking pretty much like everyone else except for being disheveled. Tenanken and Hinchai—together at last. When Pete neared the door a young Tenanken woman, new name Diana, was answering the question posed by grandmotherly Charlotte Gable, who ran the tiny post office in Crosley. “I come—out—Rhodes,” she said painfully. “Is—island.” The older woman nodded her head knowingly, for she had heard of the Greek island called Rhodes.

“Is—poor,” said Diana.

“Well, you’re gonna do just fine here, dear,” said the woman.

Pete banged the door behind him, feeling good. He hurried to the wagon—to bring the rest of them home.

* * * * * * *

“Somebody comes,” said Baela, and there were startled gasps from the darkness. Peering through the rippled mica windows she counted eight lights, close together, and moving slowly but surely towards them. Still far away; perhaps they would turn, and go another direction, but on they came, descending a small hill, suddenly disappearing from view behind trees and thick brush. She held her breath—hoping, but then the lights flickered much closer, now, one bursting forth from the brush to show tall grass near the cabin, and she saw dark figures moving towards her before she jerked herself away from the window and sat down on the floor beneath it, pressing up against the wall.

There was no sound in the cabin, and she felt everyone’s mind go blank, an instinctive Tenanken defense against detection. Her own mind whirled, and then she heard voices, and a dog barked. She crossed her arms over her chest, and squeezed hard.

“Hey Ezra, maybe you’d better feed
that
dog to the critters, too. He didn’t even see the Jack till it jumped, and
I
can do better’n that.”

“Hell you say, Jake. Ol’ Roy sticks to the scent, and we ain’t trackin’ no Jacks here. They come by this way. You can be sure of it. What’s that over there?”

A light gleamed through the window of the cabin. Baela held her breath.

“Shit,” said someone, “we’ve come near three miles. That’s Savas’s old cabin. Can’t be more’n an hour or so to town here. That dog moves.”

“Well let’s
keep
movin’,” said another man. “This whole thing is a waste of time in the dark, and we’re out here freezin’ our butts off while the wives are partyin’ it up at Pete’s place. I say we go straight back to town, and start this again in the mornin’.”

“Look, we don’t know what these guys will do next. For all we know they’re killin’ someone right now, while we stand here arguing. Or stealin’ the town blind, while everyone’s over at Pete’s.”

“Oh hell, Ned, you don’t really have any money in that bank, do you?”

“Come on, men, another hour or two, and we’re back in town, then we pick up the trail here tomorrow. Hey Ezra, where you goin’?”

“Dog’s nervous,” said a man so close it seemed he was in the cabin. Baela’s heart was thumping hard, and there was whining and a snuffling sound right at her back. “Real strong scent over here.”

A clanking and clacking of weapons being readied for action was something Baela had heard before.

“Better get away from there, Ezra. They might be in the cabin.”

The dog whimpered at the door, then suddenly started barking. Inside, five Tenanken hearts froze in fear as the animal howled and barked, deep throated.

“Stop it, Roy. Stop it! Naw, they’ve been here for sure, but not inside. Brand new lock on the door. See?” The door rattled hard in the dark. “Can’t even shoot the thing off. How’s the windows, Jake?”

There was a face at the window above her, blocking out the faint light of night, and then the bright glow of yellow light suddenly in the cabin, spilling over walls and furniture, a table in the middle of the room. The light flicked off as quickly as it had come. “Looks okay. Nice table. Wouldn’t mind havin’ it in my place.”

“Make Pete an offer, It’s his, now.”

“Since when?”

“Since Savas left the cabin to him. See anything else in there?”

“Just old furniture and some dishes.”

“Let’s go. I’m gettin’ cold standin’ here.”

“I gotta piss,” said another man.

“So use the privy. Pete won’t mind.”

The dog was still barking and whining, but had been pulled several paces away from the cabin. A door banged outside.

“Watch out for the snakes in there!” Somebody laughed.

“They come after me, I’ll drown ’em,” came the muffled reply.

Baela let out her breath in a silent whistle, then the door banged again, and the voices were growing fainter along with snuffling sounds from the dog and the crunch of heavy boots on dry grass.

“Come on, let’s go. Damn dog can’t smell anything.”

“You’re just in a hurry to meet those Greek women, Jake. We’ll get back in time. They’re probably all fat and ugly, anyway. See any of them?”

“Just a little kid.”

“Jake likes ’em young,” said someone, and everyone laughed just as the dog let out a yelp and a howl.

“Here we go. They went up the hill right here. Come on, Roy!”

“Shit, I do hate climbing.”

The noises of crunching grass and breaking brush faded with the whining of the dog and muffled voices of the men, until the only sound was that of air caressing pine needles, and the ever so faint breathing of five Tenanken refugees locked in a darkened cabin.

They sat in silence, afraid to speak, wondering if Pegre would return before morning, but prepared for a long wait. They thought of sunlight, and the cave, tried to imagine standing in long grass in a valley they had seen only from a distance.

Baela shared their visions, quickly becoming bored with them because she had spent much time outside, had actually stood in the places they dreamed about. Her own thoughts returned to the great hunting bird, and this time she tried something new. She imagined she
was
the mother bird, felt herself springing from the nest with powerful legs and a down stroke of whistling wings pushing air beneath her. She arose in lazy circles, higher and higher, imagining the land dropping away until the trees were green dots on yellow rock, and the canyon was a dark gash leading to a valley of rippling green and gold.