Now I looked up into the tree and took another drink. The undersides of the cottonwood leaves were turned up, flashing silver, a sure sign of the approaching storm.
“Cricket?”
I scrambled to her side, all tiredness forgotten. “Do you need anything?”
She shook her head slightly. “Is the circle complete?”
“I finished setting the pathway just a little while ago. Umpahtah is telling the Elders we can move across now.”
“And it’s holding?”
“For now, yes.” I exhaled sharply. “But I don’t know how long the anchors will hold. Everyone needs to cross soon so we can tie off the circle.”
Grandmother watched the leaves overhead. “There’s a big storm coming, isn’t there? Will you watch it with me?”
I smiled. From early childhood, I loved the feel of a storm. Grandmother was the only one who would sit out and watch them with me. I took her hand, her papery skin cool against mine. “Of course.”
She brushed back a tendril of hair from my cheek. “Perhaps the rain will clean you up a bit then, hmm?” She started to chuckle, then winced in pain.
“Do you need the healer?”
“No, Cricket. I just need to rest.” A cold gust of wind blew through the shelter. “You should rest too. You still need to tie off the circle.”
“Don’t worry about me.” I tucked the skin around her to protect her against the cold. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you inside the circle.” Kissing her forehead, I rose and left.
Umpahtah waited outside for me. The wind was getting stronger and the cords on the path created an eerie sound. Midnight clouds, streaked white with hail, obscured the distant mountains. I prayed we could get the tribe moved to safety before the storm hit.
“Cricket, come walk with me.” Umpahtah took my arm and led me past the path. “You told me walking on the folds was like walking on rapids?”
I nodded.
“Well, there is a section of the circle that doesn’t feel like that.”
Even as we approached, I could feel a difference. Alarmed, I ran to the Earth-cord. “It’s starting to fray.” The earth under my feet shifted uncomfortably. “Run back and get one of Grandmother’s Earth-cords. I’ll use it to strengthen mine.”
He hesitated. “Go!” I shouted.
A fat raindrop struck the dust next to the cord. One glance at the darkening sky convinced me I didn’t want to be caught outside. I bent to the cord again. It couldn’t have frayed this fast. Unless it was tampered with. Sure enough, there was a knife cut near the anchor.
“I know you’re there, Firewind,” I called as I stood.
“I see the Elders’ messenger boy has been busy playing guard.” Firewind rose from behind a grassy hillock.
Wary of his approach, I tried to step back, but a gust of wind pushed my forward. “What are you doing here?”
“I was thinking about the benefits of your retreat. I’d just need to split a cord and create my own pathway. Then I could come and go as I please and the White Man will never find me.” Madness crept into his eyes again. “I could kill them, one by one, and your world would be my refuge.” He took another step and crushed my Earth-cord into the ground.
The cord sang out in fear and the land roiled under me. Firewind couldn’t tell, but I knew the cord was close to breaking. If it snapped, I had no idea what would happen. Where was Umpahtah?
Thunder rolled in the distance and the cold wind rippled my tunic. I had to do something to free the Earth-cord. I rushed forward, intent on knocking him off balance, but he had been ready for me. He spun me around and laid his knife at my throat. Panic darkened my vision. How could I be so stupid? If the cord wasn’t repaired soon, the earth would break free and create a rift, dragging all my people into the depths.
Another raindrop splashed on my face, bringing me back to my senses. I had to get away from this madman. “What do you want from me?”
His chuckle rumbled across my back. “What I’ve always wanted. Power to make the decisions and not take orders from a bunch of dried up old men.”
“None of this will bring Red Deer back.”
His knife tightened against my throat. I could feel its bite against my skin and a thin stream of warm blood mingled with the cold rain trickling down my neck. “Don’t say anything you might regret later, Cricket.”
“You can’t kill me, Firewind. I’m the one who controls the land.”
He seemed to consider that for a moment. Perhaps I could still reason with him. His next words killed any hope.
“I am quite sure that I can manage without you now. After all, you’ve set the anchors and cords. All I need to do is split a cord and step through.” To demonstrate, he pushed his toe into the cut cord, and stepped into the gap.
In that moment, the earth buckled. With one foot precariously placed in the sinew, Firewind struggled for balance. Seizing the opportunity, I slipped down to the ground to save the cord. It was raining in earnest now and the wind whipped my hair into my face.
Something whistled past my head.
Firewind landed hard on me. I fought to get out from under him. I heard my name and the weight of Firewind rolled off me. I sat up and fingered the blood staining my shirt.
Umpahtah crouched down, bow in hand. “Are you hurt?”
Realization dawned. The blood on my tunic was not mine. Firewind lay behind me, an arrow through his throat.
“No, I’m fine.” I reached over and yanked the offending foot from the cord. “How did you get a clear shot?”
“Your grandmother pulled a fold out from under you both. When you went down . . .” He shrugged, leaving the statement unfinished.
“My grandmother?” Through the rain I could see a small figure huddled on the ground. I lashed out with my fists at Umpahtah. “Why did you bring her out here?”
I ran to her side. She was pale, so pale. Wet strands of hair straggled across her face. “Grandmother, what were you thinking?”
“Take the cord.” She struggled for breath. “Replace the one Firewind split.”
I glanced down at the cord in my hand. It was one of mine. “Where did you get this?”
“I thought Firewind would tamper with the circle.” She paused for a moment to catch her breath. “When Umpahtah came back, I had him take me to the pathway and replaced one of yours with one of mine.” She closed her eyes as another spasm of pain passed through. “Your Earth-cords must form the circle, Cricket. Mine will never hold.”
“Umpahtah, take her back to camp. Take her to the healer.” I ran back to the cord. Glancing back, I saw my grandmother cradled in his arms.
Lightning streaked above me. I had to make the repair and get to safety. I knotted my new cord through each anchor and then whispered a prayer that the anchors were still secure before I removed the damaged one. The land sent up another quiver of protest, but held fast.
Rain slashed across the sky. The muddy quagmire sucked at my feet. I half-ran, half-slid to the circle entrance. The sky lit up around me. I could see hastily erected shelters near the camp center. I hoped everyone was there; there would be no second chances. At the pathway, I reached my Earth-cord first. This was the cord I would use to tie off the circle. Then I’d just release my Grandmother’s cord and we would be separated from the world around us. I struggled with the knot, my hands icy cold. The ground slid from under me as the pressure on the folded earth released.
I needed to tie off the circle before the land broke free. I knotted the Earth-cord through the near anchor, pulling it as tight as I could. Then with a prayer for forgiveness, I rammed my hands into Mother Earth.
She wailed at my demands. The land under me slipped and bucked, but I held strong. Slowly, I pulled the land toward me, reaching for the final anchor in the circle. Hailstones stung my body as Father Sky had joined in the protest. My muscles burned with pain and exhaustion.
Finally, the anchor was within reach. Numb fingers tied a clumsy knot. I fell back on my heel
s, swiping at the strands of hair plastered to my face. Now my grandmother’s worn cord was the only thing connecting the circle to the world outside. The land beneath me twisted, yearning for freedom. Mother Earth would not be restrained much longer.
I crawled through the mud back to the anchor at the entrance to the pathway. The rain ripped fibers from the worn braid and the wind screamed though its length. I started to undo the knot. The ground twisted beneath the anchor.
I froze, hands on the knot, realizing my mistake.
If I released this anchor first, I would have no way to control the folds. With the pressure and strain they were under, the energy would slam into the circle, ripping through my Earth-cords. The land would be rent asunder.
It would have to be the anchor point on the circle to be released first. Then I could step backwards, slowly playing out the folds like a fishing line. The circle would be safely separated from the world.
And I would be outside the circle.
Tears mingled with rain on my face. I would be cut off from everything I held dear. But I had no choice. The survival of my people depended on me.
Lightning cut the sky and I saw a misshapen figure coming toward me, huddled downward against the rain and hail. Another flash revealed the figure. Umpahtah carried my grandmother toward me.
“What are you doing here?” I yelled to make myself heard over the storm.
“She insisted. Said it was her job to finish.” He set her down next to the anchor and she crouched over the knot.
“Has madness taken both of you?” I pushed Umpahtah out of my way and knelt by Grandmother, covering her hands with mine. “You have to stop, Grandmother. Please, let him take you back to shelter.”
She looked at me, her face drawn in pain. A sad smile played about her lips. “You said you would watch the storm with me, Cricket.” She shook her head and cupped my cheek in her palm. “I’m not sure that being out in the rain has cleaned you up though.”
I touched my face. Matted hair and mud met my fingertips. My laughter turned to sobs. There, kneeling in a river of mud, I clung to my grandmother.
“Shh. Hush now, Cricket.” Her gnarled hand stroked my head.
I pulled back, longing for the sight of her face. “You knew, didn’t you?” I whispered. Her eyes, bright with unshed tears, gave silent assent.
She glanced over my shoulder. “Umpahtah, take my granddaughter home, please.”
Strong hands gripped me. “She’s right, Cricket. We must go.” In response to his words, the ground lifted sharply, causing us to stagger.
One more tearful kiss and then Umpahtah and I withdrew, away from the immediate danger of the circle’s edge. Rain continued to pound against us.
Lightning sporadically illuminated the scene. I watched Grandmother untie the anchor and wrap the Earth-cord around her waist. I could feel the land shift, straining for a new balance point. Each step she took seemed to move us further downward, as if we were being lowered over the edge of an invisible cliff.
The sky exploded to my right. A bolt of lightning struck the cottonwood tree, shattering its heart. Grandmother stumbled and fell. I ran to help her, but landed hard in the mud, tackled by Umpahtah. The land swayed crazily back and forth, suspended only by the single cord, wrapped around a dying woman.
“You can’t go to her, Cricket.” His weight pressed me into the ground, his voice harsh in my ear. “Let her last memory be that of you standing proud, honoring her warrior spirit.”
He was right. I only made her task harder by clinging to her. I nodded my understanding and staggered to my feet, unbalanced by the land. In the next flash, I saw she too had regained her footing but was bent double in pain. I ached to run to her, to take her burden. Instead, I stood tall, keeping watch, as she stepped out of my life.
Once at the end of the cord, she touched her hand to her heart, then raised her arm in farewell.
She knelt to untie the last anchor.
The land fell away from my feet in a dizzying blur. I shrieked and grasped for Umpahtah. Pain exploded behind my ear, and I fell, unconscious.
“Cricket?” A voice carried across the darkness, full of concern.
I cracked open one eye. I was in the healer’s tent, warm and dry. Umpahtah sat by my side, holding a steaming cup of liquid. “Willow tree bark,” he said, following my glance. “For your head.”
I pushed myself upright. “Did it work?”
“Yes. The Earth-cords are lost somewhere in the folds. Our world is now separate from the White Man’s world.”
“I need to see it.”
He nodded and set down the cup. He steadied me as we walked to the burnt-out husk of the cottonwood tree. The storm was long past. White clouds scudded across the clear blue sky. The river meandered along through the grasses. Everything looked the same. Everyone was safely here. Except one.
Umpahtah pulled me close. “She was right, you know. The metal tracks would have made it impossible to survive if we had stayed.”
Tears slipped unheeded down my cheeks as I looked out at the valley that had become our forever home. “I know, Umpahtah. I know.”
Pony Up
Linda A. B. Davis
Henry had only stumbled a little bit on the tricky words when he read the advertisement posted by the front door of the general store out loud. “Wanted: Young, skinny, wiry fellows, not over 18. Must be expert riders, willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred. Wages $25 a week.”
Now, after deciding he fit the requirements, he stood in front of the hiring man who studied him and Mazie with unreadable eyes and a tight mouth. Henry swallowed hard and bounced lightly on his heels, hoping he’d be up to snuff. He wasn’t worried about Mazie, his stout, painted Pegasus pony. She was on the small side, but she was strong of body and heart and would thrive in the dangerous employ of the Pony Express.
The hiring man finally spoke. “Are you sure she’s of Pegasus stock? Her wings aren’t in yet.”
“Sure is,” Henry replied. He couldn’t help but puff his chest out a bit. “Check the glow on her brand. It’s official Cheyenne Pegasus.”
“How did a boy your age get a real Pegasus?” The hiring man lowered his brows in suspicion. “She’s not stolen, is she?”
Henry gasped. “No, sir. My grandmother’s a Cheyenne medicine woman. She gave Mazie to me.”
“Well,” the hiring man said. “You look about right. You’ll have to take a land route until her wings come in. See the station manager for your assignment. You can water the horse out back.”
Henry couldn’t help but smile as he led Mazie through the small group of young men and their horses, some Pegasi. Spirits were high here in the warming March sun, the boys almost giddy with the anticipation of adventure. Henry wondered if they’d still be smiling when the rigors of the trail hit. Death would be more real then, not just a word meant to challenge their sense of immortality.
Henry ran his hand down Mazie’s muzzle as she drank, feeling the strong bone beneath and the coarse hair atop. She was his love, her heart being big and her strength beyond. The only thing he’d change about her if he could would be to give her wings. She’d be a real Pegasus then, and he’d be a real man.
The station manager reminded Henry of a turnip, round and rather ruddy. He swaggered over as Henry threw Mazie’s reins over the post.
“Kind of a runt you’ve got there, boy. My name’s Landy.” He sucked some air through a spot between his crooked, yellow teeth.
“She’s fast as she needs to be,” Henry replied. He pulled himself up as tall as he could. “The hiring man said to see you for an assignment.”
Landy waved his hand the way of the station. “Come on, then. Let me check my schedule.”
The Kearney, Nebraska, station was small and dark, dust dancing with abandon within the few streams of sunlight that dared to peek in. The wooden shack housed a few cots and a table with two rickety chairs.
Landy shuffled through the papers on the table. He spoke as he s
earched. “You’ll leave at dawn with an experienced rider to learn the route. Then you and that runt of yours are on your own. I hope she’s better than she looks. You, too.”
“What? The poster said young and skinny.”
Landy laughed. “It also said wiry. That means lean and mean.”
“Well,” Henry protested. “I can be mean.”
“Like a pup, I bet,” Landy said with a smile. “Be here at dawn, ready to go.”
Henry cleared his throat. “Sir?”
“Hmmmm?”>
“I don’t have anywhere to be tonight.”
“Orphan, huh?” Landy sucked more air as he thought. “Stay here tonight then. You’ll get paid after your ride, and then you can make arrangements in town.”
Henry nodded. “Many thanks.”
Dobytown, the nickname for Kearney, was noisy that night. Party music from different adobe-type buildings mingled in the streets to create a nonsensical rhythm. Women of disrepute laughed loudly as lonely men dragged them through the streets. Henry even heard shouting several times, mostly followed by gunshots.
He was grateful to be here, though. This was the start of a new life, a place where he could finally belong. It wouldn’t matter here that he was of both white and Cheyenne blood. He would fit in as long as he did the job.
Henry figured he had nothing to lose by trying. His father had always said, “You can’t win if you don’t play.” He’d said it right up to when a sore loser shot him at the poker table. Stanley Orr lost big that day, but it didn’t make the theory any less sound.
“We can do this, Mazie,” Henry whispered, the sound almost lost in the cold, gentle breeze. “You and me. We can be heroes. They’ll write about us in those dime novels.”
Mazie whinnied softly and shook her head, her glossy mane hair brushing Henry’s cheeks. He laid his head against her neck, feeling the warmth of her body join his own. He could see the moon behind him in the reflection of her eye, and he wondered how close she’d be able to fly to that moon once she got her wings.
Ages of Wonder Page 19
