by Stu Jones
But she was not superhuman, and as she lay there tossing and turning on her military cot, her mind turned back to her baby brother. She had murdered him—at least that was how she felt. She tried to tell herself it was a mercy killing, that she had not violated the purity of her weapon, that she had done what was necessary, but she wasn’t sure she believed that anymore.
She shuddered in the grip of the dream, her body quaking as she saw the blue-faced bandit sawing at Aviel’s neck, and she listened in horror as her brother gurgled her name for the last time.
Ari sat bolt upright in her bed, her chest heaving with exertion. She put her hands to her face and exhaled, saying, “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I swear I will, Aviel. I swear it.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and breathed deeply. “I will avenge you, my brother.”
There was no more sleep to be had. Ari stood from her bed, slipped into her clothes and shoes, and made her way silently out of the barracks. It was early, just before sunrise, when she exited the women’s barracks and moved to slip into the men’s housing.
It only took a moment for her to find Kane, his still form twitching restlessly under the thin, military-green wool blanket. She stood for just a moment, watching the pained expression on his face, noting each twitch and muscle spasm, knowing full well what it meant. She had just endured the same.
She reached out and nudged him. In a movement so fast she didn’t have a chance to react, Kane snagged her wrist and produced a GLOCK from beneath the blanket, which was presently pushed flush against her face beside her nose.
“Excellent,” Ari whispered.
“Good grief, Ari. I could’ve killed you.”
“You wouldn’t have had a chance to pull the trigger,” she said and smiled.
“At least you’re not cocky,” Kane said with a huff, setting the weapon down.
“Come on; let’s go,” she said and motioned.
“Go where?” Kane sat up.
“Anywhere. How about for a run? If your dreams are anything like mine, then you’re ready to get up.”
“Yeah,” Kane sighed, “you got me there. A morning run it is then.”
“First things first,” Ari said, pulling her knife and lifting Kane’s shirt in the front.
“Whoa, hold on there,” Kane quipped.
“Relax, cowboy. It’s time for these to come out,” she said, gently swiping the top stitch with her knife and pulling the thread from his skin. She repeated the process until she had removed all of them.
The scar would be ugly, but Jenna had done a solid job. Kane arched his back, testing the new scar with a wince. It held.
“Better?” Ari smiled.
“Oh yeah, much better.” Kane smiled back. He quickly shrugged into the rest of his clothes and boots, and together they headed silently out into the dawn of a new day.
The early morning light stretched across the sky; small rays of sunlight, like spiritual pillars of hope, pierced through the dark cloud cover and scattered across the central buildings and courtyard of Camp Navajo.
Courtland had long since been the first to rise and was now hard at work on a large batch of biscuits and gravy for everyone. He paused, pulling a worn photograph of a teenage girl from his pocket. He gazed at the picture with nothing short of sheer admiration. It was a photo of his Marissa, the teenage daughter he had lost just before the end had begun.
“One day soon, sweetheart,” Courtland whispered to himself, a lump of emotion firmly lodged in his throat. “When this is all done, I’ll see you again.” He smiled and lovingly touched the photograph, its worn and ragged edges speaking volumes about how often this ritual was performed. “I’ll fight the good fight, and I won’t ever give up. I know I’m here for a reason. I know. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I love you, baby girl. I’ll see you and your mother soon.” Courtland tenderly kissed the photograph and carefully placed it back in the pocket of his flannel shirt, patting it gently.
He paused and glanced up to see Ari and Kane running back up from the woods. They were both covered in sweat and worn out from their morning jog. Ari was giving Kane a good-natured ribbing for being “too slow.”
“What’s going on there?” Jenna asked as she entered the kitchen and glanced at Kane and Ari.
Courtland smiled faintly. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think they’re…”
Courtland ducked his head to level his eyes with Jenna. “I don’t know, Jenna. I don’t think it’s that serious. Kane just lost his wife. I don’t think it’s like that.”
“So what then?”
“I think they get each other. They understand each other’s loss. They’ve bonded over it.”
Jenna shrugged.
“I’m happy they get along. Kane needs more than an old man to take care of him anyway,” the giant said and smiled gently.
“I guess so. Hey, have you seen Dagen? I can’t find him.”
Courtland pursed his lips.
“What?” Jenna questioned.
“I saw him leave in a Hummer early this morning.”
“What!” Jenna gasped. “Left…the base?”
Courtland nodded.
“You didn’t try to stop him?” Jenna seemed desperate.
Courtland shook his head. “He was at the gate and then gone before I had the chance to say anything. Surely he’s coming back.” Courtland seemed unconcerned.
Jenna bit her lip. “Oh no, this is my fault.”
“What’s your fault?”
Jenna couldn’t suppress the tears as they welled in her eyes and splashed down her cheeks. “I had a bad moment. I said some stuff…”
“Jenna, what did you say to him?” The giant became stern.
Jenna wiped her face. “Courtland, I’m so mixed-up. He murdered my family, watched as I was…as they…”
“Shh…” Courtland grabbed Jenna in a viselike hug, and she erupted into a geyser of tears. “It’s alright, dear. Hey, I know you’ve got a lot on you.”
“OK, yeah, I do, but I also said some hurtful things to him before I thought them through. If he’s gone, if everything we’ve done to show him God’s love has been ruined by me being stupid and selfish—I’ll…I don’t know if I could forgive myself.”
“OK, look, let’s not go there yet,” Courtland said encouragingly.
Jenna nodded and wiped her face.
Courtland let her go and caught her eye. “We’ll just hope he’s blowing off some steam and that he’s coming back—that’s all we can do. Alright?”
Jenna sobbed. “OK.”
“We need to pray for him though, right now, Jenna. We need to pray for his heart.”
Jenna wasted no time, bowing her head and begging for forgiveness for her own faithlessness. Courtland placed his arms around her, and they joined in petition on behalf of a man broken by life and lost to the pages of time—a man who now had an opportunity to choose his own fate. For better or worse, for good or for evil. He was a man whose final choice would ultimately affect them all.
21
THEY RODE AT a trot through the night and into the next day. The morning now gave way to midday and stirred a restless wind with it as Queenashano’s war party continued to ride northward, farther into the snowcapped mountains.
Tynuk had awakened the day before after the fight with Neraquassi and the end of the trials. Upon rousing he’d found himself lying in Queenashano’s personal shelter and tended to by his wives and his people’s healer. At first confused and frantic, the boy calmed when he remembered the events of the day and how he had finally prevailed. He graciously accepted water from the women and salve from the healer. The latter was pressed into his wounds, after which they were wrapped with clean dressings. Queenashano had let him rest but woke him later in the day and told him that it was imperative that they continue on if the boy was to finally understand his purpose. They had then traveled through the night and into the present day. Strangely, even now, upon horseback, traveling with these p
eople to an unknown location, he felt rejuvenated, renewed, and supremely relieved that he was moving on from the nightmare that had preceded this moment.
Tynuk looked down at the clip-clopping dappled mustang between his legs. He was amazed at the resilience of the ugly unshod beasts. He had never seen horses so fast and maneuverable and yet so robust in constitution. They were, and had been, the Comanche’s choice of steed for hundreds of years—capable of handling long hauls over very rough terrain while also remaining quick and highly agile in battle. Now he could clearly see the Comanche’s affinity for them. They had covered a remarkable distance on horseback, and though they were all exhausted, he had a feeling they were finally drawing near to their final destination.
Tynuk was still having trouble wrapping his head around all of it. He had gone from fleeing and fighting for his life to suddenly simply being accepted. No, it went beyond being accepted; it was more like being honored. This stood in stark contrast to the fact that Queenashano had just left Neraquassi’s body where it lay. There was no burial, no last rites, nothing but a buffalo robe laid over Neraquassi’s ruined body. Queenashano left the body of his own son to unceremoniously rot upon the desert sand. That’s how important their current mission was to him, whatever it was. Queenashano had said it was time for him to learn what his destiny was. Maybe that meant someone finally had some answers to his many questions.
Breaking the silence Tynuk looked to Queenashano. “Where are we?”
“Nearing the home of the ancients.”
Tynuk’s confusion did not seem to dissipate.
Queenashano smiled. “Northern New Mexico, approaching the Carson National Forest.”
“But how is this the home of the ancients? Wasn’t this Pueblo territory?”
“Yes, most recently, but long ago, before white men roamed this continent, it first belonged to our ancestors.”
“Our ancestors?” Tynuk raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Yes, our ancestors, all of us. Is it such a hard concept to grasp that many Native American people originally came from the same place?”
“Central and South America?”
Queenashano gestured dramatically. “Naturally. There were several influxes of indigenous people into this land, but one of the largest came from the south. We are ultimately the descendants of the Aztecs and Mayans and other South American cultures, and while the Comanche are the strongest and most pure, the other tribes, factions, and peoples we have allied with and fought against for hundreds of years are, in truth, not so different from us in ancestry.”
“So this ‘home of the ancients’ was where the original native settlers from South and Central America stopped initially in their push north, then,” Tynuk said.
“Yes, and then over time, rifts and divisions occurred, and the larger group separated and became many.”
“Sounds so simple.”
Queenashano smiled. “That part is. What comes next is a little more…supernatural. Much like your Great Spirit. Tell me more about this.”
“It is difficult to put into words.”
“Try. My uncle, your mentor, Nuk’Chala, taught you of it?”
The boy bobbed his head. “He did.”
“And this Great Spirit is the same as our Big Father?” Queenashano gestured at the sun hidden in the covered sky.
“Yes and no. The knowledge of the Great Spirit was taught to the most ancient of our people by foreign missionaries—some of the first white men on the continent.”
Queenashano balked. “You speak of the white man’s Christian God?”
Tynuk inclined his head. “In a sense, yes, but this way may have migrated some from the white man’s traditions. The spirit is not simply the God of one race or one people. He is three separate beings, and though there is only one way to him, not all men may view him the same.”
Queenashano looked on in thoughtful silence.
“The Great Spirit created everything. It breathed life into all of creation, but unlike Big Father, it is deeply interested in us—in each one of us. It knows that we have the capacity for great evil, but it still loves us enough to sacrifice itself for us, to enter our hearts—if we so allow it.”
Queenashano made a face and touched his chest. “It lives inside you?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. It is a guide and a teacher. It is a nudge that pushes you in the right direction when you falter.”
“How do we bring this spirit into our chests?”
Tynuk smiled. “You just have to truly desire it and then ask.”
They rode on in silence for a spell, the flat red-rock valley ending before them in magnificent, towering mountains that pushed straight up from the earth thousands of feet into the sky. The dingy, snowcapped mountain peaks towered high above them, the lowlying clouds swirling like dark halos about their summits. Though the weather was quite mild, grayish pockets of snow still hugged together in nooks and crannies, nestled in the shade of the great mountains.
“Queenashano,” Tynuk said and turned to the war chief, “I must ask you…about…”
Queenashano finished the boy’s sentence. “Your father, one of my lost brothers.”
Tynuk nodded and did not raise his eyes, afraid the war chief would see his shame.
“Your father was not a bad man, but he was full-blood Comanche and prone to the excesses of our people. During the days before the End War, Nachona grew weary of our people and our ways. He felt that he had to leave us to join the civilized world—just as he would later feel that he had to leave you and your mother. He was always this way. His name among our people had even been Restless One.”
“So, after he left my mother and me…”
“He did not return to us. That is all I know. He may still wander, out there, somewhere.”
Tynuk screwed up his face and pushed his mind from the subject. There was nothing further to say about the honorless man who was his father. The boy looked down; the wound in his side had been superficial. And now, though thoroughly tended to by Queenashano’s healer, it had begun to ache during the long ride. He touched it unconsciously.
Hours passed as they ascended farther into the perilous, craggy mountains on horseback. Above them, lone boulders stood, jutting from the rock-covered hillsides that towered high above the ravine. With an ancient omnipotence, they seemed to watch the meandering train of men and horses, threatening to topple in a massive landslide at even the slightest disturbance.
“We’ll dismount here,” Queenashano said, breaking the silence and pointing, “and go the rest of the way on foot.”
Tynuk nodded and dismounted with the others. Before them, a considerably large group of mustangs already stood, rooting and foraging in the short scrub, an indication that a sizable force was already here, possibly awaiting their arrival.
The climb up the mountain was strenuous and, several times, nearly perilous. Tynuk hiked, the strong, lean muscles of his legs pushing and pulling as he followed his uncle, and the rest of the war party followed him. It was the work of several hours to climb hand over foot, well up into the crevice of the mountain to the base of a large bald face that extended upward to the snowy peak above.
The path below their feet was worn into the rock from years of use by pilgrims journeying to this place for some unknown but immensely important purpose. As Tynuk looked ahead, he saw where the path disappeared, twisting into the rock itself. He couldn’t imagine, for the life of him, what secrets this place held or, moreover, what such secrets might mean for him.
Slipping into the rock passage, they then began a short ascent into a hollow chamber lined with torches. The ceiling of the cavern rose above them, towering in the flickering light.
Arriving on the floor of the cavernous sanctuary, Tynuk saw a large group of warriors, what he assumed was the other part of Queenashano’s group. They had clearly been instructed to meet here in this place.
Queenashano raised his arms as he approached a squat but heavily muscled man. “Pena
teka! How are you, my brother?”
“Far better than I deserve, War Eagle,” Penateka responded, clasping Queenashano’s arm and slapping his shoulder. “Where is he?”
Queenashano turned and gestured to Tynuk. “I present to you Wolf Born. Tynuk, this is my brother, Rolling Thunder.”
Penateka marveled for a moment. “He is just a child! Are you sure this is him?”
“He is the son of Nachona, and he has been extensively trained by Nuk’Chala. I will recount the story to you in its entirety, but yes, there is no doubt in my mind,” Queenashano replied. “You have seen his likeness in this very place—have you not? You tell me.”
Tynuk looked back and forth and suddenly realized that all eyes were now upon him. He looked around in anticipation as the numerous warriors looked on with silent reverence.
“Are you ready, Tynuk? Are you ready to see what you were brought here for?”
“Yes,” Tynuk said, hardly able to contain himself.
“Then look at your feet,” Queenashano replied.
In all the strange newness of this place, Tynuk had never noticed the floor. The many warriors stepped back to reveal an elaborate mural painted on it. Tynuk stepped back, his mouth dropping open, his tongue sticking in his throat. Below him, just beyond his toes, a part of this massive floor painting, was the image of a wild-looking, breechclout-clad warrior boy, who clearly and unmistakably bore the image of his own face.
There was no question that the base was a beautiful reprieve from the unknowns and the fear of the outside world. Rested, clean, and with full stomachs, everyone in Kane’s group was undoubtedly in better spirits than they had been in months. They’d been able to replenish their arms and had the ammunition to actually train with their weapons for the first time since the mutant siege. Under Kane’s direction they had fired over five hundred rounds each that morning, working accuracy, speed, malfunction, and magazine-change drills for rifles and handguns. He now had all the confidence in the world in his people.
It would be all too easy for them to stay here in this place. Which was why they also knew with the cold sting of reality that their purpose was not yet complete. Kane’s dear children were still out there somewhere, grasped in the clutches of a demonic despot. They had waited here long enough.
