by Ciana Stone
"I said that Trevor must look a great deal like your husband," he finally answered with the first thing that popped into his mind.
She continued to look at him suspiciously for a moment, then let it pass. "Yes," she said, "actually he does."
New Mexico
Weeks had passed since Cord agreed to build the cart shed. The first step was to level the ground for the structure. Having no tools and not finding anything around Joe's home, Cord considered the problem for the better part of an hour before finally giving in and going to Joe.
"I don't have any tools. No shovel, no rake, nothing. How am I going to level the ground?"
"Well, now, that’s not a problem," Joe replied and walked over to the building site. "Come on over here," he gestured to Cord and when Cord complied, said. "Hold out your hands."
Cord held out his hands and looked at the old man.
"What do you see?" Joe asked.
"My hands." Cord couldn’t help thinking they weren't making much progress on finding tools this way.
"Only hands?" Joe's eyes widened slightly then narrowed. "Aren’t hands tools?"
"Well, yes. I guess so."
"Good," Joe nodded happily, "then your problem is solved. You have tools to level the ground."
"You mean you want me to do it with my bare hands and nothing else?" Cord asked in complete astonishment.
"Yes, that’ll do just fine." Joe nodded.
So, Cord did just that. Day after day he toiled from sunup to sundown, digging out rocks that jutted up from beneath the surface. His hands bled and cracked with the effort.
When he encountered a rock too big to lift, he’d pound it with another rock until he broke it into manageable pieces. Then all the rocks had to be carried out of the way.
Each night when he finally stopped, Joe would have him soak his hands in a mixture of herbs and oils that helped ease the pain and heal the cuts and scrapes. In time his hands became as strong and hard as the stones themselves.
While Cord soaked his aching hands Joe would sit close by, telling him tales of the man who was the ancient warrior, protector of and consort to the all-powerful Queen. When he closed his eyes Cord would see the stories come to life in his mind.
It was a fantastic world where people were magical for lack of a better word. Where the peoples of the Fae, the creatures for whom they had named the Gods of old, the vampires and demons, the shape changers and Angels, all lived.
For each race, seven in all, there was a ruler, but above them all was the Queen. A magnificent creature of unspeakable power and beauty, she was loved by many and feared by all.
The Ancient Warrior and his blood brother were her most trusted advisors, protectors and consorts. They had many adventures, fought many battles and enjoyed many thanks from their Queen.
With each passing day, the Ancient Warrior took on more life in his imagination. He looked forward to the end of the day tales, and often during his days of toil, wished he really could be one of the Queen’s warriors.
He found that laughable. He couldn’t even remember his name. Exhausted from the labors of the day, Cord would struggle to remember who he was and where he came from. But his past was a blank, a dark void. All he could remember, all he could see, was the Ancient Warrior of Joe's stories and images of the mountain and the path that called to him.
And so, time passed while he tirelessly labored in the searing sun all day and listened to the tales at night. He and the great wolf that followed Joe everywhere listened intently as Joe's words took root in the dark void of his mind and the Ancient Warrior came alive.
Cotton Creek, Texas
Morgan pressed the intercom button for the gate speaker, "Yes?" she spoke sharply, irritated to have been awakened so early on a Saturday morning.
"Mrs. Alexander? It's Mark Samuels, FBI. Could I come up and have a word with you?"
Morgan didn't answer, she just pressed the button to open the gate and went back upstairs to dress. The doorbell rang as she was coming back downstairs. She opened the door without a word to Samuels, walked through the house into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.
Samuels followed her as far as the dining table. "So," she said as she reentered the room and took a seat at the table. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Actually, Mrs. Alexander, it's your son I need to speak with. Mind if I sit?"
"Sure, sit, but no, you can't talk to Trevor."
"You do realize that with one phone call I can have a court order here in two hours. But then I'd be forced to take your son into custody. So, you choose. Either we talk here, or I make that phone call."
Morgan's expression darkened even more. She could hear Samuels' thoughts, and for the first time found her newfound ability to be an advantage.. He knew she wasn't at all happy about his attitude or the fact he wanted to talk to her son. He figured she didn’t want Trevor to know the suspicions about his father. But this time Samuels thought he held all the cards.
After a few moments she smiled at him. "Mr. Samuels–Mark. Surely you can find out whatever it is you need to know without bringing my son into all this? He has nothing to do with what you think Cord's up to, and he doesn't knows anything. So why get him involved?"
It wasn't hard to tell that he didn't fall for the friendly act, but was s tempted to play along just to see how far she would go to keep him from talking with her son.
"Your son was with your husband in New Mexico. He’s probably the last person to speak with your husband before Mr. Alexander disappeared."
"How about some coffee?" Morgan asked, rose and headed for the kitchen. "Cream or sugar?"
"Black is fine." He stood and walked over to the bar that divided the kitchen from the dining room and accepted the cup she handed him across the bar.
Morgan walked around the bar and stood close beside Samuels, looking up at him. "My son is having a very difficult time. Do you think you could wait just a little while? Just long enough for him to get used to the idea that his father is gone? I'd be very grateful if you could just give me a few days, Mark."
"Grateful?"
"Very."
She thought he was going to go for it, but he surprised her. "Look, Mrs. Alexander," he put his coffee cup down on the bar. "I know this is hard on all of your family. But I have a job to do, and to do it, I have to talk to your son."
Morgan blew out a breath and took a seat at the table, "Okay, but can I ask just what it is you hope to find out from him? Exactly what do you think he knows?"
Samuels sat across from her. "We’d located a site where we believed they stored the waste after it was taken, Correct?"
"Yes, I’ve been told an awful lot of things lately."
"What you weren't told," he leaned forward, "is that the material had already been moved out by the time we located the site."
"To where?"
"That's what we're trying to find out. The bureau working in a joint operation with the CIA on this, and we've also brought Interpol in on it. Over the past few weeks there has been, let's say, more activity than normal among various dissident groups around the world."
"Dissident?" Morgan looked at him sharply. "Do you mean terrorists?"
"Yes. we suspect the material is being auctioned off at various locations. So far, our efforts to infiltrate the factions hasn't been successful. But we must stop the material from falling into the wrong hands. Surely you realize the implications?"
"Yes," she looked down at the table, "I do." Then looking up again, she pinned him with an icy stare as she heard Cord's name ring in Samuel's mind. "But you haven't told me everything have you? You and all the other government boys want to pin this all on Cord."
"Who else do you think we should suspect? All the evidence points directly to him. You can't honestly tell me that you still think he’s innocent? After all you know about him, and him trying to have you killed, surely this can't come as a surprise?"
"No, it doesn't come as a surprise to me. But it will to my s
on."
"What will to your son?" came Trevor's voice from behind them. "And who is this guy? Another friend?"
Samuels rose and pulled out his identification. "Mark Samuels, FBI. I'd like to have a talk with you."
"Me?" Trevor's attitude of hostility was immediately replaced by one of surprise. "What do you want to talk to me about?"
"Your father," Samuels said, gesturing to an empty chair.
Trevor sat down beside his mother and cut a look at her. She shook her head, said nothing, then leaned back and stared at Samuels, trying to push back the simmering anger that threatened to boil over.
New Mexico
The walls of the stone shed were finally in place. All that remained to be built was the roof. But there were no trees growing at this level of the mountain and what small growth there was wouldn’t be sturdy enough for a roof.
"I'll have to go down into the valley to find timber to construct a roof," Cord told Joe. "But I don't have an axe." Then holding out his hands, he added, "and I don't think these will work. What should I do?"
"Do?" Joe repeated the last word. "Do as men have always done. When the tools you have won’t suffice, make a tool that will."
"Make an axe?" Cord looked at Joe like he had lost his mind. "How am I supposed to do that?"
"Come on," Joe directed and lead Cord over to a pile of stones. He showed Cord how to select and shape a stone into an axe head. Once the ax head was properly fashioned, Joe showed him how to make a handle from a short thick branch. The handle was attached to the blade with strips of dried grass.
Cord used the technique Joe had shown him but it took a good bit of time. He found it odd that he couldn't remember his name but could remember modern technology and tools and wished he had some of that now
He used a thick oblong rock to bore a hole into the head and inserted a short piece of wood into the center. Soaking the hammer in cactus milk caused the wood to swell, thus securing the head firmly to the handle.
Supplied with his newly made tools and a small pouch of roots and berries, along with a gourd of water, Cord started out early one morning into the valley in search of material with which to build a roof.
Cotton Creek, Texas
Morgan shut the front door, leaned back against it and heaved a sigh. She dreaded facing Trevor after all the things Samuels said and the relentless questioning the FBI agent had put him through. She allowed herself a few moments to collect her thoughts then pushed away from the door and walked back through the house to the dining room.
Trevor's chair was vacant. She looked out the windows of the dining room and saw him standing by the edge of the pool. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans and his head drooped. He didn't look up from his unfocused stare at the shimmering surface of the water as Morgan walked out and stood beside him.
He looked so much like Cord at that moment, her heartache doubled. "Want to talk?"
After a moment he turned toward her, and his face wore the look of someone who'd just lost all he believed in. "You don't believe them, do you? Dad wouldn't do of that shit."
Morgan looked away and sat down at the edge of the pool, letting her feet dangle in the cool water. "I have a hard time believing it too," she said finally. "Your dad is the most honest, peaceful person I've ever met. In all the years I've known him I've never seen him say or do anything dishonest or mean. I don't understand any of this, to tell you the truth."
Trevor sat down beside her. "Why are they saying all these things about him, Mom? Why can't they understand that Dad just wouldn't do stuff like that?"
"I don't know, Trevor," Morgan looked at him. "I've gone over the evidence, the circumstances, everything. And I still haven't been able to piece it all together. It's like a puzzle with the crucial pieces missing. The only person with the answers is your dad and I have no idea where he is or even where to look for him."
"Have you tried?" he looked at her, his eyes compelling her to answer truthfully.
"No," she admitted and met his eyes straight on, "I haven't."
"Why not?" his voice rose. "for Christ's sake, Mom, you haven't tried at all? Don't you care?"
He grabbed her arm tightly and jerked her back and forth as his words grew more and more excited. "What's wrong with you? This is Dad we're talking about! My father, your husband! Remember?"
Morgan pulled her arm away as he continued, "or are you so hung up on this Victor prick you just want to forget about Dad altogether? That's it, isn't it?"
"How can you even say that?" she jumped up and looked down at him. "Look, Trevor, I'll say this once and I don't want to have to repeat it so listen up. I love your father. You can't even imagine how I feel about him. As far as I knew, everything was wonderful between us until he left and went to New Mexico. I had no idea he was unhappy or dissatisfied. And I sure as hell had no idea he was having an affair with someone and planning on leaving me for her. So, don't give me that crap about not caring!"
At that moment she didn’t much care how hard the words hit, she let them pour out. "I care. I guess that's my problem. I've been so busy caring and thinking my love for him was enough, I lost track of who he was and what he was doing.
"And for your information, just so everything will be clear, the reason I didn't look for him is that I didn't feel like he wanted to be found. If he wanted us to know where he is, he would have gotten in touch with us!"
"So now you're blaming him too!" Trevor stood and faced her.
Morgan shook her head, realizing that nothing she said had gotten through to him. "I'm not blaming him for anything but leaving," she said tiredly. "That's all."
"Yeah and you waited a long damn time before you jumped in the sack with that son-of-a-bitch Victor, didn't you?" Trevor shouted at her, his fists clenched by his sides.
"Hey! Hold on, buster. I won't stand here and listen to your shit! I know you're upset and hurt, and I really want to help. But I can't if all you're interested in doing is getting in my face about Victor. What goes on between him and me is my business and no one else's. And if you want to get hot under the collar, then go ahead. But I'm not going to take the heat because I started seeing someone after, I repeat, after your dad left me for another woman. So, drop it!"
Trevor glared at her for a moment. "Fine. I'm outta here!" he snapped as he headed for the door.
Morgan followed and after another hour of shouting and arguing she talked him into going to stay with Cable until things settled down.
While he was packing, she called Cable and talked things over with her, filling her in on all the latest news and developments. As she fully expected, Cable was very upset about what was going on, but unlike Trevor she didn’t blame Morgan for her father's disappearance.
Cable and Trevor had always been close, and Morgan hoped that by being together they could help each other deal with the situation. She sure wasn’t getting anywhere with him and it seemed that maybe some time away would be good for both of them.
New Mexico
At long last the shed was finished. For weeks Cord felt the pull of the mountain tugging at him and growing stronger every day. He had to follow the path. Now the time had come when he couldn’t resist the pull. He went in search of Joe to tell him he had to leave.
Joe was sitting outside in the warm sun, grinding herbs in the hollow of a flat rock. When Cord walked up and sat on the ground in front of him, Joe paused and folded his hands in his lap.
"My debts are paid," Cord said. "It's time for me to go."
"Where is it you need to go?"
"I have to follow the path up the mountain," Cord's eyes looked upward toward the summit that was lost in the afternoon clouds.
"That’s a mighty long and difficult journey. Are you sure you’re prepared?"
Cord thought about the question for several minutes before he finally answered. "I don't know. But prepared or not, I have to go."
"Well, your body is strong and may survive the journey. But the spirit is still tro
ubled. Which makes its perils greater. Make sure you’re willing to pay the price for what lies above."
"And what is it that lies above?"
"Truth," Joe said and stood. From beside the rock on which he’d sat, he picked up a blanket that covered something on the ground. A pouch of dried fruits and vegetables, roots, and hard corn meal cakes had been prepared. Three large gourds of water were strung together and tied to the pouch.
Joe handed Cord the pouch and the blanket, patted him on the shoulder, then turned and went into the small dwelling.
Cord tied the pouch around his waist with a leather strap. After rolling the blanket, he tied it with another strap and slung it across his shoulder. His stone axe and hammer were tucked in the rope that held up his rough pants.
He looked around the small encampment and felt as if he were a young boy leaving home for the first time. This was the only home he could remember since he’d not been able to recover his memory.
The wolf came out of the dwelling and walked over to Cord to lick his hand. Cord knelt and rubbed him, feeling sad to leave the wolf. "Take care of the old man," he spoke to the wolf who gave him a short yap and a lick on the face in return.
Cord rose and walked over to the path that led up the mountain. Taking one last look back, he saw the old man and the wolf standing in front of the small house. With a deep bow to them he turned and started up the path.
Cray County, Texas
Morgan watched Trevor's plane climb high into the sky. Tears fell as she stood beside the car, watching the plane disappear. For several minutes she stood staring out into space.
The ride to the airport was been spent in silence. Trevor was unwilling to try to make peace with her and whenever she tried to say anything to him, he’d cut her off, saying he didn't want to talk.
When she pulled up beside the door for departures, she hoped they could at least part without harsh words. "Have a good flight and call me when you get in, if you think about it. I love you."
Trevor got out of the car without a word, then turned back to her. Putting his free arm around her he gave her a short hug then left.
