The longer we were on that new world, and the more that I saw, the more I recognized elements from Earth. It was as if Earth had inherited certain qualities, as a child inherits eye color, shape of hand, traits, and mannerisms from his or her parents. But then that made sense, because the Sawnay had called the World of Dawn Earth’s mother, and so maybe everything on Earth came from the planet we were now on. I remembered thinking to myself, what else did that world have in store for us? We’d only been there for a day––towering trees, enormous birds, unicorns, and a swarm of giant beetles. If someone from another world were to visit Earth for one day, they’d only see an iota of what lived on the planet, maybe only a small fraction of an iota. And so why would it be any different for us here?
Who knew? Who knew what lay ahead? If I were to jump ahead a week or a month to carry on with the story, nothing would make sense to anyone. And so I won’t. You’ll just have to listen patiently as it unfolds.
We resumed our steady pace, the line stretching out long, and at other times tightening. I had ample opportunity to ask myself many more questions, things like: Who else lived here? Were there more people from Earth? How big was the planet? Were there more villages, or towns, or cities? I stored them away hoping Glooscap or Ambrose would be able to answer them at some point.
Come late afternoon, we reached a wide, flat rock that ran into the river like a ramp. Glooscap said we would stop to rest awhile. Scattered over the rock were shell fragments. Glooscap knelt down and cupped water to his mouth to drink.
I picked up a handful of shells. They were like acorn shells, only fragile from exposure. There were a few river-washed stones, which I picked up and dropped into my kangaroo pouch.
“Whatcha gonna do with those?” said Colby.
I removed one of the stones, then stood and rolled it in my hand until it felt right. I winged it at a tree. It thumped the trunk dead center.
“Let me guess, you learned it on the farm?” he said.
“Birds smash open the shells on this rock. They eat the meat inside, use the shells for nests. World of Dawn provides all for her children,” said Glooscap.
I thought of blenders, microwaves, flat-screen TVs, cellphones and notepads, game systems, and all the other man-made devices that I’d been using most of my life, up until yesterday. The Sawnay didn’t have any of it, but life carried on anyway. Kneeling down beside Glooscap, I removed the skin from my bundle to fill it from the creek. He looked back at the others. “We need to travel faster,” he said uncharacteristically low, low enough that no one else heard.
“Not everyone can move like us,” I said, noticing Brodan and Anna––she, breathing heavily and him, carrying her Gucci––walking beside each other. She was flushed, locks of hair hung across her face. Trying to decide what I thought about him carrying her purse, I took another drink from the creek. Why hadn’t she asked me?
Simon snapped his head around to look north up the trail, as though he might’ve heard a sound but wasn’t quite sure. “Did you hear that?”
“You have good ears,” said Glooscap. “They sense our arrival.”
Brodan spoke in Sawnay, nodding to Simon, and smiling for the first time since I’d met him. Glooscap and Cawop chuckled and said a few words to each other.
“What’d you say?” said Simon inquisitively, eyes wide, like he thought maybe he’d been the brunt of a joke.
“I said your Indian spirit is still strong,” said Brodan. He patted Simon on the shoulder to assure him he meant no harm.
“He also said you remind him of his brother,” said Glooscap.
“Man, you got elephant ears, Simon,” said Colby. “You’d think all that music would beat up your eardrums, but no way. I bet you hear a mouse fart a mile away.”
Tabby finished filling her waterskin. She was composed, as if she hadn’t been hiking all morning. From what I’d seen, she seemed to be in her element, the outdoors. I’d never seen this side of her before, and I felt a newfound admiration toward her. Out of all the others, she looked to be the most unstrained, like she was taking it all in stride.
Even though we only met the Sawnay yesterday, and we were from different cultures––five hundred years apart––I could sense a camaraderie forming between our two parties. We were united, brought together by a mystery too complex to solve, a riddle too complicated to answer—us by a need to return home, and them driven by a need to save their home. The one common denominator: a need to survive. Earlier, Brodan and Cawop had started talking with the others in English, and I’d even heard a few laughs on the trail. Everyone was lowering those personal walls, no longer so suspicious of one another.
Not long after we set off again, we came to a steep part of the trail. Twisty roots as thick as a person’s arm protruded from the hillside, running down the trail like arteries. We hiked slowly over the next half hour, navigating up through the tangled root system, all the while neighs and whinnies––unmistakable and so very comforting––grew increasingly distinct and louder. They were sounds that I heard in my daydreams, in my nightdreams, sounds that brought me comfort, wrapping me in an inviting blanket of memory. Those sounds were like a mellifluous song that I’d known my entire life, which only sounded better each time I heard it. I’d been around horses all my life, been around those sounds since even before I could remember. My father had made his living as a first-rate bronco buster, and my grandfather as a cowboy.
“They don’t sound like broken-down mules or ponies,” said Colby from behind me, relief in his voice.
“No broken-down mules or ponies––thunder horses,” said Glooscap.