The Ancient One

by T.A. Barron

  “Help me out,” said Kate. “Please. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

  Consternation showed in the girl’s dark eyes. She drew back from the edge of the pit.

  “Please,” Kate called after her. “Please help me out.” Then, on a sudden intuition, she shouted, “Halma-dru.”

  Tentatively, the girl’s face reappeared.

  “Halma-dru,” repeated Kate in a quieter voice.

  At that, the girl clenched her jaw and pulled back out of sight again, leaving Kate shaking her head despondently. It was no use. She could be stuck in this pit until the end of her days.

  Suddenly the end of a large branch appeared at the edge of the pit. With a groan, the girl heaved it over the lip. It crashed onto the earthen floor by Kate’s feet, showering her with broken twigs and strands of moss.

  The girl pointed to the branch, saying, “Ai-ya, ai-ya.” The dog’s face appeared by hers, and it barked excitedly.

  Without hesitating, Kate started to ascend the makeshift ladder. Placing her feet in the notches where smaller branches protruded, she climbed higher, holding the walking stick between her teeth. Occasionally the notches would break, sending her sliding backward again. Gradually, however, she made progress. When she had climbed as far as she dared without breaking the branch, she raised her arms skyward. Her hands reached barely above the opening.

  The girl clasped Kate’s wrists and heaved, pulling her upward. For a moment she hung there, suspended, her legs kicking freely. A clod of dirt from the edge of the pit dropped onto her head, stinging her eyes. Then the girl pulled again, this time hard enough to lift Kate’s head and shoulders above the hole. Swinging her legs to the side, she caught the edge with one foot and hauled herself out of the pit.

  She lay on her back on the bed of needles, exhausted. Rolling to her side, she found herself eyeball to eyeball with the carved owl’s head of the walking stick. The yellow eyes gleamed at her, and she rolled back quickly.

  She heard the girl also panting heavily, and sat up just as she did. Seated on the verdant forest floor, they observed each other warily. Kate dared not move, lest she frighten her again.

  Cautiously, the brown dog approached Kate, fluffy tail curled up high over his back. Forcing herself to remain still, she nevertheless glanced at the walking stick on the ground by her side. The dog nudged her shoulder roughly, then sniffed her sweatshirt with a thin, pointed nose. Suddenly, he licked her on the side of the neck.

  “Monga,” said the girl sharply, but the laughter in her eyes betrayed her true feelings. “Monga ha-lei shluntah.”

  The dog padded to her side, nuzzling her cheek. The girl giggled, grinning bashfully at Kate.

  “Halma-dru,” said Kate slowly, her brain refusing to accept what her heart told her must be true. “Do you speak English?”

  The girl’s face went blank. Tentatively, she said, “Yiteh neh chi wiltu.” She studied Kate searchingly, as if expecting an answer.

  Kate could only shake her head. Looking from the girl to the walking stick and back again, she patted herself on the chest and said softly, “Kate.”

  A light of understanding kindled in the strange girl’s eyes and she patted her own chest. “Laioni.”

  “Lai-oni,” repeated Kate.

  The girl smiled again. Indicating the dog, she said, “Monga.” In response, it pawed her playfully.

  Keeping her gaze locked on Laioni’s, Kate reached up and touched her own head. “Nice hat,” she said, pointing toward the basketry cap.

  Laioni didn’t seem to register the compliment. Instead, her attention focused on the long blond braid drooping over Kate’s shoulder. Seeing this, Kate lifted the braid. “You like this?” she asked, somewhat puzzled. “It’s just plain old hair, like yours.”

  As Kate lifted her braid, Laioni lifted her own two ropes and giggled again. “Hunneh,” she said carefully.

  “Hunneh,” repeated Kate, knowing she had just learned another word for hair.

  Laioni, however, was not yet finished. She pointed at the braid and said something Kate couldn’t catch. Sensing she hadn’t communicated, the girl looked around for something to help her express the new thought. At last she noticed the walking stick. Taking care not to touch it directly with her hand, she indicated the owl’s head handle.

  “The stick?” muttered Kate. “What does that have to do with—” Then suddenly she understood. Laioni did not mean the handle itself, but rather the eyes. The yellow eyes. “Yellow,” declared Kate. “You mean my hair is yellow.” She paused, then lifted her braid again. “Hunneh yellow.”

  Laioni’s eyes glittered. “Hunneh yell-ow,” she replied, laughing.

  Guess she doesn’t see too much yellow hair where she comes from, thought Kate, laughing herself. Then she wondered: Where does she come from, anyway?

  At that moment, Laioni rose to her feet with effortless grace. Pointing at Kate, she said, “Ka-teh.” Then she beckoned, apparently asking her to come. She walked backward a few steps, Monga dancing about her feet, before turning into the forest.

  Full of uncertainty, Kate took the walking stick, stood up, and started to follow. There was something distinctly familiar about this utterly unfamiliar girl. Yet what could it be? Where was Aunt Melanie when she needed her? She would know where this girl came from, maybe even speak some of her language. Perhaps she was one of those modern descendants of the Halami who lived somewhere in the region, keeping the old ways alive. But was it possible that included not learning to speak English? In any case, she knew enough of the old ways to have figured out how to get into the crater.

  Kate shrugged, deciding to save her questions for later. As they strode through the forest, she spotted a moss-covered boulder she had seen near the place where she had first met the girl. Sure enough, a few steps later Laioni picked up her basket of ferns, hardly slackening her pace. She continued to lead Kate into the forest, Monga at her heels, moving confidently despite the heavy mist. It was clear she knew these woods well.

  Some distance farther, Laioni stopped. Kate came up to her side and saw, to her surprise, that they had arrived at the redwood grove. Laioni lowered her head briefly, indicating Kate should go forward.

  Hesitantly, Kate stepped into the clearing. Once again she felt the indefinable difference in the great trees. Her gaze fell to the Ancient One, and with a start she realized that it looked smaller than before. Or were the other trees in the grove larger?

  She glanced at Laioni, standing at the edge of the clearing. Kate motioned for her to come, but she remained there, both wonderment and fear written on her round face. Monga sat expectantly by her side, tail wagging.

  What does she think I am, some kind of tree spirit? Kate grinned morbidly at her own humor, trying to dispel the queasiness in her stomach. Something about this place was just not right. She turned again to the Ancient One and approached it gingerly, her sneakers crunching on the needles.

  Placing her left palm on the gnarled trunk, she lowered her head to look inside. She realized that she had not thought about Jody since leaving the tree. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dark, but when they did, the scene stunned her.

  Jody was gone.

  Whirling around, she scanned the grove for any tracks, any signs. There were none to be seen. He couldn’t have gone far, she reasoned. He wasn’t even in shape to walk.

  Uneasiness swelling steadily inside her, Kate walked back across the grove toward Laioni. As she came near, she spied a small, rounded boulder at the edge of the clearing. Her spine tingled. It was the same warning stone she had seen before, or one just like it. Yet something had changed. Not the expression on the face, still screaming some silent admonition. Not the depth of the lines carved into the surface. Not the position of the stone, warning anyone who might dare to pass too near.

  Then in a flash she knew. The stone bore no moss. The lines seemed freshly cut, as if carved only yesterday.

  Catching her breath, she looked to Laioni. Who was this
girl dressed in Native American clothing who spoke no English and watched her with eyes as alert as an eagle’s? At once, the answer came clear. She did not want to believe it, but the trees and the warning stone and the girl herself told her she must.

  She darted back across the redwood grove and dove headlong into the Ancient One’s hollow. Biting her lip, she lifted the walking stick and struck it hard against the wooden wall. Once, twice, three times.

  Nothing happened.

  She held the owl’s head in front of her face, but no illumination glowed within the yellow eyes. It was merely a shaft of lifeless wood. “Take me back,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “I don’t belong here.”

  After waiting for an endless moment, she lowered the stick reluctantly. Outside, Monga gave two sharp barks. Kate leaned toward the light. Through the shifting mist she saw the dog sitting, as before, next to Laioni, a living member of the Halami tribe.

  And she knew that she had traveled back in time.

  11

  ebony eyes

  NOT knowing what else to do, Kate rejoined Laioni and Monga, whose foxlike tail wagged energetically as she approached. For her part, Laioni seemed surprised at first that Kate had not simply vanished altogether into the redwood grove. After a few seconds, however, she beckoned shyly for Kate to follow her into the forest, apparently concluding that this visiting spirit had decided to stay with her for a while. Reading her expressions, Kate solemnly trudged after her.

  Laioni led her purposefully through the woods, without any visible signs of a trail to guide her. Monga, meanwhile, ran around them in wide circles, returning occasionally to brush Laioni’s leg with his tail before darting off again. The fog seemed to be lifting, and soon Kate could see shreds of deep blue through the branches ahead. The trees soon thinned and they passed into a verdant meadow, much like the one where Kate had almost lost her sneaker with Aunt Melanie…was it just this morning? Or several centuries in the future? Kate noticed little of her surroundings this time, stepping mechanically over fragrant flowers and brightly flowing rivulets. All she could think of was the white-haired woman who was anxiously waiting for her to return with the walking stick. She hoped Aunt Melanie was all right.

  As they neared the shore of the blue lake, Kate’s lingering doubts that she had indeed traveled back in time disappeared. For there by the lake she saw what could only be an encampment of Halamis. Seated beside a fire pit were two women, one much older than the other. They seemed to be preparing food, singing softly as they worked. They were dressed much the same as Laioni, wearing woven hats, loose leather tops, shredded bark skirts, and three lines on their chins.

  Near the younger of the two, a shallow cradle made from woven willow shoots held a sleeping infant, laced into the cradle with a long strip of deer hide. A few paces farther from the lapping waters of the lake stood a brush hut, appearing rather temporary, conical in shape with a dense covering of grasses and tree limbs. Tools of all descriptions lay scattered on the ground: a pouch made from some kind of bladder, a scraping implement carved from an antler, a gouging tool that had what looked like a beaver’s tooth for the blade, a comb and a sewing awl that gleamed like polished bone, a gray stone dish holding some oily substance, a spoon sculpted from a seashell, and other implements.

  When Laioni and Kate came within ten feet, the two women halted their singing. Seeing Kate, they dropped their work and leaped to their feet, fear clearly visible on their faces. The younger woman, probably Laioni’s mother, barked some stern words at the girl that caused her to frown. Laioni then stepped nearer and engaged in an animated exchange during which she pantomimed Kate’s rescue from the pit. Grimly, her mother took Laioni by the wrist and placed herself between Kate and the girl. She faced Kate, scowling, and spoke sharply, motioning with her hands for Kate to go away and leave them alone.

  “Believe me, I’d go if I could,” muttered Kate. “Do you have any bus tickets to the twentieth century?”

  Suddenly, the woman’s eyes focused on the walking stick. At the sight of it, she cried out and took a quick step backward. The older woman behind her, who was rubbing her hands together nervously, released a long, low moaning sound.

  It struck Kate that somehow they seemed to recognize the walking stick. Perhaps they might even know enough about it to show her how to tap its strange power so it could take her home again. She tried to think of some way, any way, to win their trust.

  She scanned the camp, racking her brain. Her eyes fell on the fire pit, ashes glowing orange, and an idea flashed into her head. Moving slowly and deliberately, she took off her day pack and removed the thermos. Then, as the three Halamis watched with a mixture of dread and curiosity, she unscrewed the top, poured half a cup of steaming hot chocolate, and drank a sip herself. Then, bending down, she placed the cup of brown liquid on a flat stone near her feet. Backing up a few paces, she pointed to the cup and said, “Halma-dru.”

  Monga scampered over to the cup, sniffed it for a few seconds, then reached his long tongue into the hot chocolate. Lapping it into his mouth, he shook his bushy tail vigorously and barked twice.

  With that, Laioni darted out from behind her mother, evading the woman’s grasp. Ignoring her worried chattering, Laioni reached for the cup. No sooner did she touch it than she swiftly drew back her hand, yelping as if something had bit her. Turning to her mother, she said in amazement, “Chu. Chu tkho.”

  “Chu,” echoed Kate, guessing she had just heard the Halami word for hot.

  Waving her mother back, Laioni cautiously picked up the cup and sniffed its contents. After a moment of deliberation, she took a small sip. As she swallowed, her face burst into a broad smile. She turned to her mother and said something in an excited voice.

  Laioni then carried the cup to her mother, who refused to try it. After repeated urgings, all of which were rejected, Laioni brought the cup over to the elder woman. With unsteady hands, the old Halami raised the cup, then faltered as Laioni’s mother spoke to her harshly. She answered back in a gruff voice, then brought the cup to her face. She inhaled once, chirped in surprise, and took a small taste. Like Laioni before her, the old woman smiled from one high cheekbone to the other. She took another swallow, smiled again, then held the cup out to Laioni’s mother.

  Hesitantly, the woman took the cup, glanced doubtfully at Kate, then inserted her index finger into the cup. Fear melted into wonder as she felt the liquid, warm without the aid of fire. With another glance at Kate, she brought the cup to her lips and, after smelling its contents, swallowed the remaining hot chocolate. The creases on her forehead relaxed and she nodded at Kate, her eyes still afraid but somewhat accepting.

  The rest of the day was spent around the encampment. The two women resumed their work, singing together, pausing only when the infant needed to be nursed or cleaned. The men of this group, Kate learned through Laioni’s energetic pantomimes, were away for some time, perhaps on a hunting expedition. Laioni seemed to be concerned for them, almost afraid, though she gave no indication why.

  Using her own pantomimes, Kate kept the conversation going, hoping she might eventually learn something useful. She tried to find out whether the Halamis hunted with arrows, with spears, or by digging pits like the one she herself had fallen into. Then she tried to learn whether their prey was elk, deer, rabbit, or squirrel. But she succeeded only in making Laioni laugh.

  “So you’ve never seen a rabbit that looked like that?” Kate asked, giggling herself. “How about like this?” She hopped around the campfire, doing her best imitation of a kangaroo. Laioni laughed again, while the two Halami women glanced worriedly at each other.

  Deciding to try another line of questioning, Kate pointed across the lake toward the wall of sheer cliffs surrounding the crater. “Is that where your father went?” she asked Laioni. “Past the cliffs and down into the forest?”

  The Halami girl’s expression swiftly darkened. She looked toward the cliffs, frowning, as if some grave danger lurked beyond them. She s
aid a few sentences and then kicked angrily at a clump of grass.

  Kate did not need to understand her words to know that something was wrong in the forest outside the crater. Yet she had no clue what it might be. Aunt Melanie, she felt sure, would know. But Aunt Melanie was somewhere very, very far away.

  Then Laioni gestured toward the walking stick, a look of awe on her face. She asked Kate something in a soft voice, but Kate could not make sense of her words. Yet the impression was clear: Laioni, like her mother, knew something about the stick. With luck, if she waited for the right moment, Kate might learn something from them about its secrets.

  Later that afternoon, Laioni showed Kate a simple game of throwing polished sticks at a stake planted in the ground. Since Kate had often played horseshoes with Grandfather, her aim was impressive, though not as good as Laioni’s. Whenever Kate missed a throw, Laioni would look at her strangely, as if she thought Kate was not playing as well as she could.

  Next, Laioni led her to the confluence of two bubbling rivulets that emptied into the lake not far from camp. Revealing three miniature carved canoes resting in the hollow of a nearby rock, she carried them to the flowing water and placed them in a small whirlpool formed by the meshing currents. The canoes, shaped with pointed bow and box-like stern, were each carved from a single block of wood. They reminded Kate of the dugout canoe she had seen once with Aunt Melanie in a museum close to the airport.

  Airport, mused Kate. She had never thought about life without one within an hour’s drive. Cars, too, she had taken for granted all her years. She doubted she could ever explain to Laioni that people, ordinary people, would one day cruise faster than the swiftest deer and fly higher than the soaring eagle. And she wondered whether Laioni’s intimate knowledge of this place, her place, would be possible in the age of automobiles and airplanes. Motion and speed were so addictive, crowding out the calmness and focus needed to know one special place well. Then, with a pang, she wished she could simply board some time-traveling airplane that could bring her back to Aunt Melanie.