by Steve Curry
That meant she wasn’t foraging as much as she needed to for her own needs. I had little doubt she carried a few dehydrated meals or military surplus MREs. She obviously brought a little water and even some coconut water. Water isn’t light though. Every ounce of water volume weighs an ounce as well. So every sixteen-ounce bottle weighed a pound.
From somewhere she’d produced a heavy-looking pack, and bedroll plus her big satchel full of mysteries. With a few other pieces of survival gear in there, she just wouldn’t have room for a great deal of water and food. The bird and the dog could probably forage for themselves. Ravens and owls lived on small rodents and carrion. I imagine Rafe could make the switch from his preferred prey of domestic cats.
Grimmr was agile and fit enough to run down some larger prey. Back in Louisiana where the Catahoula is the state dog, they are noted hunters. The curs are known for tracking, treeing, herding and even climbing trees after prey that ranged from raccoon to wild boar. He’d be fine.
Maureen would have to hunt for herself though or else go get supplies and help for me. That too would take time I didn’t have. As it turned out, I didn’t have any choice. Maureen made do with supplies from her pack and came back from a few forays with scavenged edibles. I never asked her where she got various roots and plants or berries. Even the eggs made perfect sense. I did however have to ask where she kept getting small game for our protein.
I wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not when she grinned at me and pointed to where Rafe was hopping up and down on my slumbering hound dog. “Your wee companion and the not so wee one yon. They’re a rare treat to watch. Now hush and eat the quail.”
That went on for at least several days. I kind of lost track of time. Every day was more “therapy” with the holistic talents of my own personal witch, followed by my underpowered attempts to speed things up with some minor runecrafting. I was too weak to attempt anything major. Fortunately my innate recuperative powers began asserting themselves. It was looking like I might make it.
The less “dead” I started to feel, the more I started worrying about time passing. Maybe she had some skill to rival my own runic magick? It was time to ask.
“Maureen, I’m getting stronger.” My voice was still a rough croak but at least it wasn’t a whisper anymore.
“Not fast enough though. Gotta get mobile and” cough, “ combat effective ASAP.”
I might be stronger but it still took a second to cough up just a little blood and catch my breath. “ If I had...my gear. I could do in hours... what a hospital does..in weeks...Got anything like that?”
At my first couple of sentences, she frowned. As I continued the frown just got deeper. “Combat effective? You’re almost dead already. What other combat is important enough to risk even more? The last thing you told ME was that you had to run an errand for a friend and would be gone a week or two. An errand that leaves you for me to find half-dead in the desert? And now you want me to slap a bandaid on your multiple fractures, punctured lung, bruised kidney, internal bruising and possible bleeding? I wouldn’t do that even if I had everything I needed to make it happen.”
I knew she was taller than me but helpless on my back with her standing above me clenching her fists straight down at her side made me uncomfortably aware of how very physically formidable she actually was. I’d seen her go toe to toe with a nigh immortal tree witch. She hadn’t won but she’d held her own for an impressive few minutes. It wouldn’t take that long for her to finish the job the bikers had flubbed. After all, the last time we’d fought she had shot me with my own gun hadn't she?
While I waited for her to stomp off or stomp the life from me, we were both made aware of a visitor to our impromptu little campsite. Off to the east, a heavy throbbing beat of drums and bass and electronic instruments reached out to us and proceeded to grow rapidly louder. Whatever or whoever it was had to be closing fairly quickly. In minutes an old beat up half cab pickup bounced into view. The half-cab was boxy and ugly as sin. It barely had enough room for two or three fairly thin and pretty close friends. The dust coated on it helped conceal color but it seemed to be a rust color or else completely rust covered. The ugly truck wasn’t traveling on any trail but making its own path through the rocks and stubby trees or cactus.
Despite the dust kicked up by the venerable vehicle’s passage, a trio of teenage or slightly older kids could be seen in the front seat. Behind them, music piped out of a battered old “ghetto blaster” stereo straight out of an eighties sitcom. The stereo itself was perched on the shoulder of an ageless looking man with golden brown skin and a t-shirt that said Trance in inkblot letters on one shoulder and upper chest. The name Armin was written on the opposite side of the shirt along with a man’s face whom I assumed to be Armin himself.
As they got closer I saw the guy in the back stand up and slap the top of the pickup cab. He must have had some of the best balance in the world. The way that truck was bouncing I’d have bet on him being bucked off faster than an amateur bull-rider on his first trip out of the chute. Somehow he stayed on his feet and made it look easy. When he slapped the roof, the driver rolled his window down. With the electronic music vibrating the air around us we couldn’t hear whatever was said.
Apparently, the driver of the window had better ears. I saw his head swivel towards us followed by the erratic course of the truck. Fortunately, they weren’t quite as thoughtless as I would have guessed. The truck slid to a stop well short of where it would toss gravel and dust on our little camp. Instead, the techno music aficionado hopped out and handed the music in for his driver. “Mantener este en.”
“Keep it on?” My Spanish was rusty but I felt pretty confident of that interpretation. He approached slowly with a glance at everything from the animals and people to the fire and downed log.
“So you is my little bird eh?” He stopped several yards away and looked over the entire campsite again with careful deliberation.
“Well, grandfather pinon said you were a courteous guest. He’s old and napping but you did not disturb that rest much. Even the flames are happy that you didn’t put a bunch of sticks in mad about being broken off. I guess that means you ain’t the ever day asshole wedo.” He dropped on his haunches and tilted his head aside to look at each of us in turn. Of course, he used a different order than most would have expected.
First, he looked at the bird and gave him a carefully respectful nod. The dog received no nod and an even more cursory inspection. Maureen and I were tied for attention and silent expression after the fact. Well, maybe not tied. She received a smile and raise of the eyebrows that made me want enough strength to crawl over and smack the newcomer right in the mouth. I just got an appraisal that lasted awkwardly long before he nodded and spoke again.
“Yea the weird Wedo gonna be ok. We just gotta do a little work. But I ain’t doin a damned thing with that Espiritu bird watchin.” He looked first to Maureen and then to me.
I wanted to tell him several unpleasant things. Unfortunately, I try very hard not to make challenges or threats I can’t back up. I just nodded and then looked to Rafe. “Fara, Utsendari.”
I wasn’t entirely sure how much the bird understood or even how much he would obey even with comprehension. Go and scout. Seemed harmless and useful enough that if he was smarter than a bird should be, he’d comply.
I wasn’t sure if it was more reassuring or awkward for me when he cocked an eye my way then flew up to start a wide arcing circle hundreds of feet above us. Exactly how smart was that damned bird? Or was he even truly a bird? I was still thinking about that when the fellow from the truck approached with a bit of a dancing jerky step.
“Ok Viejo, let's get you on your feet. I ain’t even gonna ask who you pissed off this much. Might ask if you learned your lesson though.” As he worked he glanced up at my face. I thought my responses were pretty neutral considering I had a complete stranger jerking on recently broken legs and turning my rather painful body this way and that.
&n
bsp; Apparently, he could read neutral expressions better than most, “ Nope, you ain’t learned a damned thing.”
He kept talking but it wasn’t in English or any language I could identify. It wasn’t even Spanish or any version of tex-mex I’d ever heard. That took me a little by surprise. It wasn’t half the surprise I felt though compared to when Maureen answered him in the same unfamiliar tongue.
Not only did she answer him, the two of them squatted down just a yard from me and engaged in a long conversation that excluded me entirely. Well, maybe I wasn’t completely excluded. Both of them gave me a glance periodically but that usually ended when they turned back to each other and continued their dialogue. Finally, Maureen turned back to me.
“Well Magnus mo chroi, your luck is amazing. Not only can these fine people give us a ride, but you’ve also fallen into the hands of a certified Yaqui medicine man. Apparently, he’s been looking for you almost as long as I was. It wasn’t until last night though that he had a dream that told him where to look. Something about a sick bird that led him here.” She cocked her head to the side and then nodded when he corrected her.
“Not sick, wounded. The wounded bird bring me. Like the mother bird brings hunters from her chicks.” He flashed a wide grin with rather perfectly capped teeth. “Except this time mother bird brought me right to the nest.”
His grammar was hell. His accent, however, was almost negligible when he spoke English. It went well with the high dollar dental work and the basically perfect tan. His clothes were even clean and wrinkle-free despite his time in the back of a presumably dirty truck kicking dust up all over the desert. This was one man it would be easy to dislike.
From the delighted smile and animated way she kept jabbering at him in the other language, Maureen did not share my judgment. In fact, I wasn’t really keen on the idea of her laughing and clutching at his arm in such a familiar fashion.
I wasn’t entirely comfortable or sure about this “relationship” of ours. In fact, it confused the hell out of me. On the other hand, we’d only known each other for a couple of weeks. Sure we’d spent some pretty amazing time together. But was that any reason for me to be getting all proprietary? For that matter, I’d been avoiding any entanglements for decades. This one had been a little harder to avoid than most, or even any others. But I had no say in who she spent time with or clutched at or smiled so winningly towards.
I stopped grinding my teeth and laid back against the soft pad she’d made for me earlier. It would be better for me to quit worrying about this whole relationship thing anyway. I kept repeating that to myself while I was lying there trying not to hurt.
5
It felt like sleep was never going to come. Not that I generally require sleep. I do however tend to heal just a little quicker when all of my energy could be directed at repairing damage. In this instance, I’d have welcomed sleep if I could have just put those laughing voices and soft conversation out of my mind. At least I managed to divert my attention from it long enough to do some critical thinking.
The first topic for thought was how the hell I got here. The second topic was going to have to be how the hell did She track me down here?? My mind, and maybe those damned voices, kept wanting to make that the priority thought. However, I managed after some tricky wrestling to put my mind back onto the previous problem.
Ok, so Freke sent me down to meet a guide. So far I couldn’t say much for his choice in travel agents. The sneaky little twerp had led me around like a prize dupe though. Late-night boating trips to help him smuggle people had led to obvious chicanery with a fake ambulance and a criminally minded and armed biker escort. In all of that time, he’d managed to give me not a single clue concerning our destination or what the hel I was supposed to do when I got there.
In the end, it had been his mistakes or maybe they were supposed to be jokes? Well, his little tricks and jokes had gotten me more than half-killed and abandoned in the middle of a mountainous desert. Probably Sonora or maybe the Chihuahua Mountains. I was a little vague about the geography in the area. In fact, I’d barely touched on Chihuahua since I thought I was crossing into Mexico at Acuna or Del Rio.
I knew that west of that range would be the Sonora and I was guessing it was close to Sedona. The problem was I had no idea how long or what direction I’d been driven across the border other than southish. It could have been a couple of hours and it could have been most of the night. It had certainly been longer than I wanted to spend having a good chunk of my skeletal system and internal organs rearranged. From what little I’d understood between Maureen and her new buddy, we were definitely south of the border. Other than that I had only guesses.
The next problem was, even if I knew where I was, I had no idea where I was supposed to go. In fact, the only directions I’d had were to meet my guide. He was supposed to get me to the theater of action and hopefully give me some more information. All Freke had said was “disrupt my brother’s plans.” How in Hel’s name was I going to disrupt plans I didn’t know at a location I hadn’t been told?
Somewhere in the middle of that thought my mind shut down and let all of that energy work on my battered body. At least I didn’t have to lay there and listen to the two people who had taken their “discussion” into one of two tents someone produced from the disreputable-looking truck.
Instead, I drifted off into one of those semi-aware sleeps. The desert was still around me. I could hear normal night sounds and the muted buzz of conversation from the tent. I just couldn’t make out any words or even be certain who was speaking. I was just faintly aware that someone WAS speaking. Laying there in a haze of slowly diminishing pain, I barely registered the shadows when they first crossed between the moon and my half-closed eyes.
I know part of my mind wanted to investigate those shadows. The bulk of my awareness though was quite content to lay there passively and let the pain subside. That was probably why I found it so annoying when something started rustling around in the haversack at my feet.
Finally, it was too much to sleep through. I cautiously raised on an elbow and looked down to find myself facing a large and somewhat menacing polished black beak. Before I could overreact thought, I remembered that Rafe had been with my unexpected savior nurse. “You scared me half to death Bird. I forgot you were with Maureen. And I can’t help wondering WHY you’re helping her.”
Of course, no bird would answer such a comment or musing. Then again Rafe had done some decidedly odd things lately. It seemed unlikely that his use of Icelandic commands would just by coincidence save my dog’s life. But it had done just that when a zealous cop had come close to putting several nasty gunshot wounds in old Grimmr. So I could probably be forgiven for wondering whether he might answer even obscurely.
Swift of wit and known for savvy,
Stout warrior and fearsome thinker.
These were why you spurned thoughtbane,
Threw off shackles, knew your own will.
Where has gone the thinking warrior,
When did those brains turn to pudding?
For a minute I half thought those words in skaldic poetry were just in my head. After all, skalds used that weird alliteration instead of rhyming when I was just a young man. Always in couplets, always in an even meter, and always the first syllable alliterated with the next to last of line one as well as the first in line two. Why would my aching head revive a centuries dead poetic style?
But then the beast stepped out of the shadows. This was not Rafe. Rafe is a Brown-necked Raven...really more of a large crow in some respects. He’s a great pet and I probably owe him my life, him and the aforementioned dog Grimmr. A Brown-neck is larger than most crows but smaller than some of the true ravens. The beast that hopped over to peer eye to eye with me would have made two or maybe even three of Rafe.
I found myself “rabbiting” as I’d heard it called by a master sergeant back in Ia Drang. Rabbiting is something that tends to happen when new recruits freeze under fire for the first
time. Then again I suspect that facing a supernaturally large and intelligent Raven can qualify as a new experience despite having been in more fights than a full platoon of Marines usually counts. This is undoubtedly truer if one has spent a few decades trying to avoid the attention of just such a being. This one seemed to have more than its fair share of abilities and boosts. It picked my thoughts right out of my surprised rabbity brain.
“Right you are I’m no pet Raven.
Wroth should I be for the mistake?
Forgotten have you all you fought for?
Friend nor foe can you call Hugin.
Though perhaps I’ll aid you this time.
Think you well, can you remember?
Gifts you had that once were greater.
Gone are memories that were once yours.
My raven twin some call Munin.
Made to stay far out of your reach.
To succeed you must clasp to you
Times and lives that you lived ere now.
I was about half-convinced it was all a dream. Even though it was fairly detailed, it might have just been my subconscious using symbols. Far behind and above the bird talking, was an equally large looking shadow silhouetted on the moon behind. That must have symbolized Munin or Memory. So somewhere in the spotty memories from other missions was there help for me? Something to show me where and what I needed to do? That was the logical conclusion if this was any kind of prophecy, communication, or just a clue from my slumbering conscious.
I saw the representation of Hugin bounce his head eagerly as that thought crossed my mind. So I guess I was on the right track. Then again, a minute later he drove his ominous-looking beak down at my leg and flew off with that irritating humanlike laugh/caw of his.
