LOYALTY

That day, when everyone should have been sleeping, the den shrank into cramped and confining quarters. Rafael refused to eat and neither Galen nor Corrie knew what to do. He was sick, hot with fever. Galen lay beside his brother, but couldn’t sleep. Listening to Rafael’s harsh breathing, Galen wondered if Rafael would make it to the Turi’s cave. Certainly, he couldn’t travel tonight.

On the other side of the den, far from Rafael, Victor was snoring lightly. Galen tried to shut out the sound, but he found himself anticipating, waiting for each snore.

Wait, wait, wait. Wait. The toady snore filled the cave making it even smaller.

Galen tiptoed to Victor and poked him. Victor shifted slightly.

Wait, wait, wait. Wait. Maybe moving him had stopped the snores.

The toady snore resounded even louder than before.

Galen sighed, rose, turned in a circle and tried to settle down. At the back of the cave, Corrie slept, breathing normally. A wave of resentment washed over Galen; then, he was ashamed as he recalled how badly she had slept the previous month. She needed to sleep well.

Heat shimmered at the den’s entrance. Galen suddenly longed for a drink from the tiny spring, but couldn’t face the idea of the searing heat and blinding light. He slept fitfully. The long day had drawn to a close.

Galen was already awake when Victor stretched his legs and whipped his tail about. With Corrie’s help, Galen woke Rafael and they shoved the blind armadillo up the tunnel and covered the short distance to the spring. The evening heat was still intense. Rafael guzzled water, stumbled back to the den, and immediately slept again. Victor had gone out alone.

Galen and Corrie hunted for food, then stood guard outside the den; the evening deepened into a soft darkness, and the full moon—the fourth of their trek—rose majestically over the Ozarks. About midnight, Victor finally reappeared.

“Ah’ve been searching for signs of Blaze but can’t find her,” Victor said. “Let’s face it. Blaze is lost. We must push onward. Ah talked with a bat, just like Blaze did. He said there are eagle’s nests on those peaks ahead. Ah think there’s a pass over the first one, and beyond that are two more peaks. The leather wings said there’s a nest on the eastern one.”

In the moonlight, fine hairs stood out above Corrie’s armor like an imprecise halo. “Shouldn’t we wait until tomorrow?”

Victor stamped his forelegs. “No. We need to move on. Blaze has had time to scout and return. Besides, we won’t be able to climb the first peak tonight. We’ll have to bed down at its base and wait for tomorrow. She’ll find us if she’s not lost.”

“You’re right,” Corrie said. “We must move on.”

Since they had lived as vagabonds for decades, the armadillos had developed traditions for situations like this. The allegiance of every trekker was to the goal of finding the Faralone Falls; their secondary allegiance was to other trekkers, family or not. When an armadillo was sick — like Rafael — they could not be left alone. But tradition demanded only one armadillo stay with the injured or sick one. All others pushed onward.

Tradition said Galen should stay with Rafael while Victor and Corrie trekked. But Galen didn’t want Victor and Corrie to leave. “We told Blaze we’d wait three nights,” Galen protested.

“No! You told Blaze we’d wait three nights.” Victor turned to Corrie. “How long can we afford to wait?”

“We could wait another day,” Corrie said.

Victor said nothing; his steady gaze held Corrie’s until she had to look away.

Corrie turned dark, serious eyes to Galen. She swung back to Victor, and then looked down. Trembling, she traced lines in the dirt. “What choice do I have?” she whispered.

She was going to leave, Galen mourned. He didn’t blame her, but—oh!—he didn’t want her trekking alone with Victor. Galen dashed down the short tunnel to check on Rafael. Maybe he was better.

Where the tunnel opened up, he stopped short. The den smelled wrong. Not like a skunk smell, which was, in its own way, a clean smell. This was the smell of sickness. Maybe, of death.

Emerging, Galen appealed to Victor again, “This is a chance to do what’s right, not what leads to glory.”

“You forget Corrie’s father.”

“You aren’t rushing this for his sake. I’ve watched you, humming as we go. I recognize the melodies. You’re constantly writing and rewriting a ballad. You’re figuring how to put yourself in a ballad as the hero.”

“OK. Ah’ve got lots of reasons to push on and not wait for Rafael. Ah want a place in the ballads, yes.” Victor thrust his chest up and out. “But also, our people need an end to Ema Esperanza’s curse. If we find Faralone Falls, we won’t have to search for missing trekkers. Ah want to find the Turis so El Garro can pass on to the Father of Souls in peace. What’s wrong with having lots of reasons? All the reasons Ah can think of lead me to this decision.”

“There’s a good reason not to push on. Rafael is sick and might die.” Galen gulped at his own words. Though he had been thinking how serious the illness might be, it sounded far worse put it into words. He knew it meant he had to stay behind, but it made him even angrier about the curse, about how it tore apart friends and families.

“But Ah must leave you and continue the search. Ah can’t stop. Not till we find the Turis and the Faralone Falls.”

Galen breathed deeply, accepting his fate. He solemnly walked to Corrie’s side.

Her eyes were glazed with emotion, and Galen knew this was hard for her, too.

“We knew the whole group might not make it,” Victor said softly, as if the tragedy had softened even his heart.

His unexpected kindness almost broke Galen’s resolve. But he spoke the necessary words to Victor and Corrie: “You must go. I must stay.”

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