Visions (22 page)

Anka shook his head wearily. “You go. It is not meant for me. I’m tired, and I want to rest here for a long time. I want to rest here forever.” He closed his eyes.

“No!” shouted Tel. “I cannot leave you!” She grasped his hand tightly in hers.

“Then I must leave you,” said Anka, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

The vision dissolved to blackness, and she heard Baela’s gasp from nearby. Tel opened her eyes to the light of a morning sun, Anka slumped heavily against her, head on her shoulder. One look at his face, and she knew he had left her forever.

She cuddled his body until it cooled, until the agony was too much for her to hold, and then she screamed her grief to the universe: streams, trees, hills, animals in early morning sleep, the Hinchai who now gave her children shelter. She screamed until Pegre came out to tenderly lift the lifeless form and take it back down the tunnel, giving her what comfort he could, and then she stayed on the ledge, moaning and keening her sorrow until the sun was high overhead, and she was dizzy from the unaccustomed heat. When she crawled into the tunnel, Baela was waiting for her, eyes swollen and red from a burning of tears. The girl took her hand, and looked straight into her eyes. “I felt him leave—like the bird,” she said, and exploded into tears.

Tel took the little face in both hands. “Oh, Baela,” she said, “you are so very special, and soon I must tell you of another who has soared.”

They clung to each other as they walked down the tunnel, the shadows of Pegre and his burden flickering ahead of them. And by the time they reached the cavern, Tel understood the meaning of Anka’s last vision.

HOMECOMING

Bernie stood at the kitchen window and looked out at the season’s first dusting of snow reflecting orange in the twilight. A line of happy Greeks was coming towards her from the bunkhouse, holding hands and pulling each other playfully down the hill. It was a carnival atmosphere, crackling with excitement, and she expected any moment to hear music and see dancing in the house.

A blast of cold air hit her as the back door opened and Jake came in with an armful of wood, smiling at Diana standing at the sink, peeling potatoes. He kicked the door closed, and stomped snow from his boots.

“Not here yet?”

“Nope, but pretty soon, I hope. Roast is nearly done,” said Bernie. “Get that fire stoked up good, Jake, so we can leave it alone tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Jake, grinning again.

Bernie turned back to the sink, noticed Diana’s eyes follow Jake. She whacked at a potato with a knife a couple of times, and nudged Diana mischievously with an elbow. “Do you like him?”

“Oh yes,” said Diana. “Jake a gentle man. I make good wife for him.”

Bernie laughed. “Does he know that yet?”

“He will,” said Diana, and then they laughed together.

Outside, the Tenanken gathered in a cluster to share warmth, facing an orange sky left by the departing sun. There was among them a sense of completion, the end of a journey that had taken thousands of years and would continue with a new beginning when the sun rose again. Tonight, with the return of The Memories, they would be spiritually whole in the new world they had hidden from for so long. They waited impatiently, stamping their feet and milling around, smelling the food cooking in the house but refusing to go inside for fear they would miss first sight of Pete’s wagon. The wait was not long before they saw it.

There was murmuring, and someone went into the house to tell Bernie her guest was arriving. Diana came out of the house, walked over to Jake to stand beside him, and there was more murmuring when he put an arm around her shoulders. Bernie came out a moment later with the baby in her arms. Peter Savas, the beginning of a new race and recently fed, peered contentedly from the folds of his blanket, then yawned mightily as the wagon bounced towards them.

The wagon rolled into the yard and clattered to a halt. Pete got out first, smiling and waving, walking to the other side. When Baela got down there was excited chattering among the group about the huge, quartz crystal hanging from her neck, and then it got quiet again. Very quiet. Pete leaned over a sideboard, and slowly lifted an old woman down to the ground.

To say she was old was somehow not enough, for this woman was truly ancient: a thousand wrinkles covering her face, shoulders hunched, amber eyes reflecting an eternity of hardship and sorrow. Here was the family matriarch, uprooted and far from home after losing her husband of a long lifetime, yet despite her bent body she held her head erect, and her eyes were alert. Pete steadied her on one side, Baela the other as the old woman shuffled on a line towards Bernie and the baby. People called out to her. Tel? Her name was Tel? The rest was gibberish. Bernie doubted she would ever understand the Greek they spoke.

They came together as the happy throng closed in around them. Bernie towered over the old woman, and slouched a little to show her the baby.

“Bernie,” said Pete, “this is Telesa Samos. For many years she was mother to me, and in many ways has been a mother to all of us refugees. Now we will take care of
her
.”

“Welcome to our home,” said Bernie graciously.

Amber eyes scanned the child and its mother. A gnarled finger touched a fuzzy cheek. Peter Savas cooed, and kicked his feet. The old woman stared intently at the child, probing his stomach, checking each tiny finger and toe, then looked up at Bernie. Tears were running down her face when she took a step forward to hug Bernie and Peter Savas to her with surprising strength. “Good baby,” she said in a deep, guttural voice. “Good woman—my Pegre.”

Baela let out a squeal of laughter, but the rest were somber.

“Let’s go in to eat,” said Pete, “to celebrate Tel’s first night in her new home—and all of us being together again.”

Old country ties, family ties
, thought Bernie, happy for all who would sit at her table. And then the most incredible thing happened as they walked towards the house. It was as if Bernie were suddenly swept up from the ground to soar far into the sky, so high she could see the sun already below the nearby hills. Higher and higher she went, gasping with surprise, then plummeting back to earth.

“Ahhhh,” said a collective voice around her.

Pete opened the door, and they went inside for the welcoming feast.