The Man from Forever

by Vella Munn

  Terrified that he’d lost consciousness, or worse, she brought the back of her hand close to his nostrils so she could feel his warm breath. “I live, Tory,” he said.

  Thank God. “You need help. A doctor, hospital.” She stopped as she struggled to think of a way of explaining what she was talking about. The thought of bringing him to a hospital almost made her sick because once he was there, there might be no way of keeping the truth about him secret. Still she would risk it if that was the only way he would survive. “I can’t get you there by myself,” she explained needlessly. “But Black—he’s the Modoc—I know he’d help.”

  “No.”

  “He won’t betray you, Loka. He believes in you. He understands.”

  “No.”

  “Listen to me, please.” She might be wearing him out by insisting on this argument, but he could have a bullet buried in him. He had to have lost a lot of blood. “He’s a wonderful man. He knows about Wa’hash.”

  “Wa’hash?” Loka turned his head just enough that dawn bathed his features and revealed a look of wonder in his eyes.

  “Yes.” She fairly shouted the word. “Stories about its existence have been passed down through generations of Modocs. He says that no one else knows about it, that no Modoc has ever betrayed their heritage.”

  When Loka said nothing, she quickly told him that Fenton had been fired and that Eagle had made sure no evidence of his having been shot remained. “Black and I will take you to the hospital. You don’t have to say anything. We’ll think up something, tell them some story so no one will discover who and what you are.” Even as she spoke, she searched frantically for a way of getting Black here without leaving Loka alone. Maybe Eagle—

  “No hospital.”

  “You don’t understand,” she protested. “They have modern medicine men there, people who will make sure you get well.”

  “No hospital.”

  He said that with such a note of finality that she gave up. If she pressed the issue, he might leave her, and the thought of him out there alone and wounded was more than she could stand. Besides, the moment hospital personnel learned he’d been shot, the police would become involved. They’d ask questions, demand… “All right,” she whispered. “We’ll stay here. Maybe—we have no choice. Loka, I don’t know how to treat you. If the bullet’s still in there—”

  “No bullet.”

  Instead of telling her how he knew that, he rolled over onto his good side and pushed himself into a sitting position. Much as she wanted to help him, she understood how deep his pride ran. Once he’d steadied himself, he took her hand and showed her where the bullet had exited. She hated touching him. Still, sensing that what he was letting her do said a great deal about trust, she carefully, gently examined his injury. What frightened her the most was that he continued to bleed.

  “Let Black look at you, at least. Maybe he knows a Modoc with medical training. They can take you someplace safe.”

  “No. Tory, no.”

  She didn’t want to look into his eyes, didn’t want to see his determination and fierce pride, but she had no choice. Instead, what she found was a look of peace running through his entire body. “Listen to me,” he said. “I belong here.” He indicated their surroundings. “This land knows me and I know it. If I am to die, this is where it must be.”

  “I can’t let you die,” she moaned as tears heated her cheeks. “Without you—Loka, please.”

  She wanted to force him to continue to look at her so he would understand how desperate she was, but he turned his attention to Spirit Mountain. “I must go there,” he told her with more strength than she’d heard since they began talking.

  “You aren’t strong enough. You tried—I know how hard you tried.”

  As if to make a lie of her words, he forced himself onto his knees. He tried to stand, and when he fell back, she placed his arm around her shoulder so they could get to their feet together. The tears she thought she’d never be able to stop cooled on her cheeks as she concentrated on taking the first step.

  Loka was going home. Today nothing else mattered.

  Two hours later, so tired that her legs trembled, Tory stared at the sunlit peak ahead of them. They’d covered more than half of the distance between where she’d found him and the mountain’s base, but it had been at an awful price. Loka dripped sweat and had to stop and rest every few minutes. His deeply tanned features had bleached a frightening white. She would have given anything for more water, but he’d already drunk her canteen dry. The bandages she’d wrapped around his side had slowed the bleeding, but he’d lost a lot during the night, maybe more than he needed for survival. The thought of infection worried her nearly as much. He stumbled too many times and wouldn’t have been able to continue if she hadn’t been there to support him. Whenever she looked into his eyes, they seemed glazed. She wasn’t sure he was aware of her presence. His gaze never left Spirit Mountain.

  Loka hadn’t spoken for so long that she’d almost become accustomed to the silence, except it wasn’t silence because he labored with each breath and his heart beat so loudly that she was afraid it would break.

  He stopped, leaned on her. Used to his need for frequent rests, she broadened her stance in an attempt to support his weight. He wasn’t the only one who was played out, but she was determined to be as strong as humanly possibly for him; it might be the only thing she could give him. “Loka, please, rest for a while. I’ll try to find some water.”

  “No water. Done.”

  Done. Terrified, she turned slightly so she could look up at him. Pain and exhaustion etched his features. She expected to find defeat in his eyes and struggled to steel herself for that. Instead, he looked as if he’d turned in upon himself, was trying to get in touch with a part of himself she couldn’t fathom. Taking a deep and shuddering breath, he pushed away from her. Although he swayed, he managed to stand straight and tall, his arms lifted toward the sky. The sight of his injured and yet proud body took away her own breath and made her forget her thirst, even her fear for his life. Silhouetted against his world, he seemed such a part of it that she couldn’t begin to separate the two.

  He started chanting, and with each word his voice grew stronger. The sounds were both harsh and hypnotic. She wanted to join him in his song, but he was Maklaks and her ancestor had helped end his way of life. Maybe she’d been wrong to come to him; maybe her presence would keep who or whatever he was trying to call from coming to him.

  Made sick by the thought, she forced herself to step back from him. He didn’t seem aware of what she’d done. The sounds and syllables of his childhood echoed around her until she could no longer hear the birds and other creatures that shared the wilderness with them. Feeling more alone than she ever had, she could do nothing but watch.

  Every few seconds a shudder coursed through his body. The rest of the time he remained motionless. He’d somehow summoned enough strength to keep his arms reaching for the sky. The lines of his body looked as strong, as magnificent as they’d always been. As long as she didn’t look at his side or take note of his bloodless face, she could believe he would live forever.

  That nothing, or no one, would ever touch him.

  Time lost all meaning. She sensed the sun on the back of her neck. Thirst made it nearly impossible for her to swallow and yet she couldn’t put her mind to that, either. She felt as if she now existed outside of her own body. Nothing mattered except him.

  Alone. With a start she realized that although he’d been calling for someone or something, it was still only the two of them. Eagle had guided her to his side, but after that was done, Loka’s spirit had left him. He must be calling for Eagle now. Why wouldn’t the creature come?

  When Loka’s arms dropped by his side, she feared his thoughts paralleled hers. She wanted to walk over to him so she could offer him her love and strength, but even as she fought a terrible battle with herself, she knew her love wasn’t enough. Loka wasn’t an ordinary man. His life had always been g
uided by forces she was just beginning to understand. Without those forces, without proof that what he believed in existed, he might lose hope. And without hope, he wouldn’t have the will to fight his injury.

  He would die out here.

  To her horror, he sank to his knees. He still looked out at Spirit Mountain, his gaze so fixed and intent that she knew nothing else existed for him. He continued to chant, his voice that of a man who’d been gravely wounded. Unable to stop herself, she stumbled over to him and dropped beside him. She tried to wrap her arms around him, but his body remained stiff and unresponsive. She felt the words he kept saying rumble inside him and wondered if he would continue to chant until life seeped out of him. Head pounding, she stared fixedly at Spirit Mountain.

  Listen to him. Eagle! Kumookumts! Hear him! Help him.

  His voice slowly became a whisper. One hand clutched his knife. The other lay limp at his side. Sweat poured off him. For a moment she thought he’d begun a rocking motion, but that was only until she forced herself to face the truth. He was shaking from exhaustion.

  Eagle! Kumookumts! He’s the only one who still believes in you. Understands you. Without him…

  Once before she’d echoed Loka’s prayers. She did it again, not thinking about how to form the sounds. Nothing mattered except that he not die, that Eagle and Wolf and Kumookumts and Kiuka and the others who’d been here for him and his people heard him today. Eyes closed, holding him, she imagined Eagle floating into view. She thought, briefly, of the feathers in her hair, but in order to touch them, she would have to let go of Loka, and she wouldn’t do that.

  Eagle. You gave names to all other animals, answered Loka’s prayer for a guardian spirit. He needs you, needs you as you have never been needed. Bear, your intelligence is that of humans. Think of him, understand him. Help him. Wolf, you came to us before. Do not desert him now.

  She remained lost in her thoughts while her mouth and tongue formed sounds that made no sense and yet felt as if they lived and breathed inside her. Finally she became aware that Loka had fallen silent.

  Opening her eyes, she stared at him. His own eyes were half-closed, unfocused. His head sagged. After a moment he lifted it, but she wasn’t sure whether he could see Spirit Mountain. Calling on strength she didn’t know she had, she helped him lie down. Even at rest, he looked like what he was: a warrior.

  Eagle. Please…

  Unable to continue her thought, she bent over Loka and covered his mouth with hers. He returned her kiss but didn’t lift his arms to embrace her. His breathing was no less labored.

  Eagle! He needs you. We need you.

  Even as she sheltered Loka’s body with hers, she became aware of a presence behind her. Terrified that someone had found them and praying that Black had followed her, she straightened and turned. Her hands remained on Loka’s chest.

  There was no one. But the sensation of being watched continued. She concentrated on giving her surroundings a thorough look. Belatedly, she realized that the presence came not from the ground but from the air.

  Eagle.

  “Loka,” she whispered. “He’s here. Can you see him? He’s…” Horror washed through her when she saw that Loka’s eyes were closed. His breathing had slowed. It seemed to her that he was sinking into the earth, becoming part of it. “No! Don’t die! You can’t! You—”

  Eagle’s cry shattered the words she hadn’t wanted to say. Her attention again drawn to the bird, she watched it make circle after circle above them. Mesmerized by its graceful movements, she closed her mind to everything else for as long as she could. Finally though, she was forced to ask herself if Eagle had delayed its appearance because it was incapable of miracles and hadn’t wanted to see Loka die.

  Die. Still staring at Eagle, she drew unwanted comparisons between its movements and that of a vulture. She’d seen them a couple of times during the past several days but hadn’t given them much attention beyond acknowledging that they were a necessary part of the environment.

  Not Loka! No, not Loka!

  Again she bent over the warrior, her warrior, and pressed her mouth against his. Praying for some reaction from him, she nearly allowed herself to believe he’d kissed her in return, but when Eagle screamed again, she was forced to face the truth.

  Loka was unconscious—maybe worse.

  A need she didn’t understand built inside her and forced words—sounds—from her throat. She was saying what Loka had a few minutes ago, the foreign syllables coming from a source that might be nothing more than instinct. Still, her heart had recorded them.

  “Kiuka. Blaiwas. La’qi. Sloa. Kiuka.”

  Frightened that Eagle might leave her and Loka, she watched every movement he made. He was now no more than twenty feet above them. Although she’d seen him this close before, her awe was no less this time. His wingspan was so great that he hid her view of Spirit Mountain. When he lifted his proud head, morning light glinted off the pure white feathers. His pristine tail caught the same light and half blinded her. If she put her mind to it, she would be able to count the feathers on the tips of his wings. “Sloa. La’qi. Tusasa’s.”

  Eagle dipped one wing low enough that it grazed the top of her head. A thrill shot through her at that, tempered almost immediately by her concern for Loka. Still, the despair she’d felt earlier didn’t return. Either that or she’d become mesmerized by Eagle and the sounds coming from her throat. “La’qi. Sloa.”

  Again Eagle touched her. “Kiuka,” she whispered. “Blaiwas. Blaiwas, I love you. He needs you.”

  Eagle might have been doing nothing more than stretching his wing to make sure he remained airborne, but she would always believe there’d been more to the movement. As he did, two large feathers separated themselves from the others and fluttered to the ground next to her. She picked them up, feeling Eagle’s body warmth in their velvet surface. She held them so that Eagle could see what she’d done, but the bird was already heading upward. Not daring to breathe, she waited for him to return, but he didn’t. Instead, he flew toward Spirit Mountain until he became part of the few clouds.

  She became aware of the vastness of her surroundings. A few distant birds sang. A wasp darted toward her and she brushed it away, only then remembering that she still held the feathers. She ran her fingers over the glossy black, feeling something—something beyond her comprehension. Opening her mouth, she tried to chant again, but the sounds that had come so effortlessly a minute ago now deserted her. Frightened, she looked down at Loka, thinking to ask him to help her. If he’d seen Eagle, he gave no sign. His eyes remained closed. She didn’t breathe herself until she saw his chest rise and fall. Although she was able to protect his face and chest from the sun, his legs were exposed. It was still morning, but before much longer the sun would punish him with all its strength-sapping fierceness. She had to drag him into the shade and then find water and help for him.

  Only, water was miles away, and he wouldn’t let anyone else touch him.

  “You can’t die.” She wanted to be strong for him because maybe then he would continue to fight, but she felt played out, frightened and sick at the thought that he might not see tomorrow. When a wasp tried to land on his chest, she waved it away with one of the two feathers.

  Two feathers.

  Although her eyes remained fixed on Loka, an image began forming inside her and her thoughts went back to when Loka had shown her Wa’ash. There’d been so many wall drawings that they all ran together in her mind.

  Except for one.

  Concentrating, she waited for the drawing to become clearer. There had been two figures, one a man lying on the ground just as Loka was now. The other represented a shaman—Loka had told her that. In his hands, the shaman held two eagle feathers. The patient’s eyes had been opening because they were sacred feathers and the patient had believed in their power.

  Loka believed.

  She held the feathers in front of her. Eagle had come, not just because she and Loka had called to him, but because
he wanted to give her a piece of himself. If she never understood another thing in life, she understood that now. She wasn’t a shaman; she would never have a shaman’s knowledge. But she loved Loka, and that was all she could give him.

  Love. Placing the feathers on the ground beside Loka, she carefully drew the other two out of her hair. She kissed one and then the other, briefly held them up toward Spirit Mountain. Then, acting out of an instinct older than anything except maybe the land itself, she placed them on top of Loka’s head and held them there. She closed her eyes so she could concentrate on chanting, but after a few seconds, the need to see Spirit Mountain and beyond that a glimpse of Mount Shasta made her open them.

  His life is in your hands. He can’t die; he can’t. He’s all that’s left—the last warrior. I need him. Everything he knows about the Maklaks can’t die with him. He deserves a tomorrow. Please.

  She didn’t know who she was praying to, maybe Eagle, maybe Kumookumts, maybe Kiuka, maybe every entity the Modocs—Maklaks—had once believed in. Warmth swirled around her; she knew it didn’t come from the sun. Giving herself up to the warmth, she imagined that she and Loka were again heading toward Spirit Mountain, only they weren’t walking as they’d done before. This time they floated on the same wind currents that sustained Eagle. She heard or thought she heard Wolf howl, crickets, a whirling, whispering sound that must be the wind. Although she listened carefully, she didn’t hear either Owl or Coyote, proof that all danger was gone.

  In her mind, someone waited for them on the butte. When they were finally close enough, she took in the figure’s painted mask, leathered hands clutching pristine eagle feathers. Kiuka, the first shaman.

  After breaking free of the image long enough to assure herself that she still held the eagle feathers exactly as they’d been in the ancient drawing, she again concentrated on Kiuka. He stood with his arms uplifted as Loka had done before he collapsed. The sounds coming from his throat were those Loka, and she, had used.