The thunder horses took the trail with ease, as if they knew it as well as the trails I knew around Whispering Cedars. No one spoke as we rode into the early evening’s violet sky.
Although I’d ridden bareback, it was never without reins. I found the mane worked pretty much the same. Little tug here, little tug there. No different really, only horse hair in my right hand instead of worn leather.
Glooscap glanced back once in a while, as he’d been doing when we were on foot, like a shepherd checking his flock. I found myself doing the same. It wasn’t until the violet sky changed to purple and the air cooled a few more degrees that we arrived at a small clearing next to the trail, like a campsite. In the center, there was a firepit with charred remains.
“Are we going to stop?” said Anna, her voice tired. More locks had come undone, changing her last vestige of haughtiness to one of girl-next-door.
“We will spend the night here,” said Glooscap, sliding from his stallion. “Leave at first light.”
I got off my mare. I patted her flank a few times. “You did well,” I said. “We both did.” And with that, she whinnied and nudged my hand gently a few times.
“’Bout time we stopped,” said Colby. “My ass aches.”
“Wasn’t as rough as I thought it would be,” said Tabby.
After we all dismounted, the horses moseyed over to the edge of the clearing and began to munch on high green grass.
Brodan and Glooscap started collecting twigs and small branches for a fire. Simon and I dropped our bundles and cleaned out the charred remains from the firepit. The others all plunked down and began rooting through their bundles.
Within a few minutes, we amassed a large pile of firewood. Cawop built a small tepee of twigs in the firepit. Then he struck a piece of flint, shooting sparks against tattered strips of white bark. A small flame leapt to life. He blew on the flame until it grew. Then he added some of the larger twigs and the flames grew even higher. As the night darkened around us, the fire’s glow pushed it back from the clearing, pushed it back from us.
It’d been a very long time, over a year, since I’d been out in the wilderness with horses and companions around a fire. There were so many times in the past, too many to count, where I’d been in a similar place, a comfortable place, where there were no distractions, like cellphones or video games or Internet or TV. These were places where all that you could hear were the natural sounds around you, the sounds people had been hearing since the dawn of humankind. I smiled sleepily, longingly. I sat there for a minute holding onto that smile. God, everything, all of it was beautiful right then.
The warm lick of flames echoed through that nature cathedral, the breeze shaping around those primeval trees, caressing my cheeks, playing that harpgrass somewhere in the night. I was in the present moment, like I couldn’t ever remember being, totally amazed at that world I’d woken into the day before, which, sitting there like I was, thinking like I was, didn’t seem all that different from Earth really.
Maybe it was me trying to come to terms with what had happened, to try to make things less frightening. Or maybe I was unwittingly preparing myself in case we didn’t find a way home. In case we were stuck there, wherever there was.
I thought of the European explorers and the first time they stepped foot on the rugged coastline of the Pacific Northwest, with its snowcapped mountains and towering redwood cedars, and the native people they came across. They probably experienced that same initial shock and awe and wonder that we had. But then this was a different world, in a different solar system, not reached by sailing across an ocean. How did we end up here? I hadn’t thought too hard on that question since we arrived, hadn’t really had the chance to with the way we’d been constantly on the go making decisions. There’d been so much happening, so much to process every hour. There in that clearing as the fire warmed my face, I pondered. The Sawnay had come through some door, a stargate of sorts. Had our journey been a fluke? A one-in-a-billion event? Had we accidentally been sucked through some rift in time and space? I’d always heard of things like that happening. You know, planes and ships vanishing in the Bermuda Triangle. That type of thing. I heard about military planes and commercial passenger planes that seemed to vanish without a trace––there one minute, gone the next. But I never truly believed anything like that could really happen. I always assumed there had to be a reasonable explanation and that stuff was simply crank TV to watch on the History or Discovery channel, when nothing else was on. It was the stuff delusional quacks promoted, as old ranch hand Jerry would say. It was conspiracy theories, unexplained phenomena, events people tried to explain away with the fantastical. None of it had any bearing in the real world, where you could see, hear, touch, smell, and taste. The world I lived in. Yet, there we all were, a bunch of sleepy faces sitting around a fire on another world.
I tilted my head back, my breath wispy, and began to search for constellations that I knew I’d never find.
“Are you looking for Starpeople?” said Glooscap, sitting down beside me.
“Stars, not people,” I said, a little confused. “What are Starpeople?”
“People who live among the stars and travel between them.”
“Like UFOs? Flying saucers? Little gray men who abduct people?”
Glooscap smiled and laughed softly to himself.
“Hey, why did Poowasan call those three planets the Three Brothers?”
Glooscap poked the fire with a stick and watched an ember rise up in the night sky. “A long, long time ago, a Starwoman came to World of Dawn. She had three sons. She taught them the ways of the world. After she went back to the stars, her sons could not live in harmony with World of Dawn’s other children. They were banished to the skies, to look over what they lost. Only when they learn to live in harmony can they return again. It is said they will be needed at this time.”
I stared at the planets for a moment, then said, “Where’s Cawop gone to?” He’d left a few minutes ago, hadn’t returned.
“He watches,” said Glooscap. “Brodan will go after, then me.”
“Watching for what?” I said quietly.
“Man-eating beetles?” said Colby, piping in. “What else is out there? Thought the route was safe?” He plunked down between us.
“To watch is wise,” said Glooscap, tossing the stick on the fire.
“What else is out there that you ain’t telling us about?” said Colby.
Calmly Glooscap said, “There is a whole world out there.” And then he got up and left like he didn’t want to debate with Colby. For that, he was a good judge of character.
Anna stood up holding a black fur that she’d removed from her bundle. She held it out in front of her, as though she was trying to decide where to put it. She turned to me. “I’ve never slept outside without a tent before.”
“Me neither,” said Colby. “Park bench one time after a party. But that was downtown Detroit.”
“I don’t think any of us have, except maybe the bush boys,” said Tabby. I knew she was referring to me and Simon; he had already stretched out on a fur beside me. Fact being, I’d slept outside more times than I could count, on the open grasslands of Montana, up in the rocky high country. I’d experienced it all, embracing every second of it from the very first time to that moment. I’d felt the calm and freedom and serenity of knowing there was so much more to life than the majority of people in the civilized world were led to believe. So much more.
I looked around at my companions. Some I’d known for months, others for only days. But I felt close to all of them right then. I dragged my bundle in front of me, untied the hide thongs, reached inside, and took out some of the dried meat. I passed a piece to Simon, then placed my bundle behind me and leaned back, chewing a strip of meat that tasted as scrumptious as steak. And to think, I could’ve been stuck eating a giant man-eating beetle with the innocent––yet somewhat appetizing––name of doda. But then maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, and right then I promised myself, if the opportunity arose again, I’d try it out, no questions asked.
A hand landed on my shoulder, Anna’s hand. She used me for support as she sat down beside me. “What were you humming?” she said.
“Humming? I was humming?”
“Yeah, humming a song?”
I hadn’t even been paying attention, but I knew what song. “A song my dad and I used to listen to.”
“What song?”
“It’s classic rock, from way back.”
“He’s dead?”
“Who?”
“Your dad?”
“Don’t know . . . why do you ask?”
“Because you never talk about him. Just like my uncle doesn’t talk about my Aunty Win.”
“I guess because he’s been gone such a long time.”
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
“I don’t know, don’t know if he’s dead or maybe lives someplace else––maybe with a new family.”
“That sucks,” she said. “Maybe you’ll find out one day.”
“What happened to your Aunty Win?”
“You don’t know?”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
“She was killed . . . well . . . murdered while my uncle was in Iraq. I can’t believe you don’t know the story. That’s why he opened Halton House. That’s why he does what he does.”
“You don’t talk about some things either,” I said, making a conscious effort not to look at her stomach.
“Like what?”
She eyed me suspiciously, and said, “Like what things?”
I didn’t reply.
“Like what? Tell me what you mean!”
“Forget it,” I said, and turned away. I didn’t think it was the time or place to mention the text messages that I’d read on the bluff.
She waved her hands about dramatically. “What? Is it one of your—not the time or place?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, wishing I hadn’t hinted at anything.
We both sat there silently for a minute, as if we both knew she’d gone a little too far, and then she got up. “Good night, Tanner.”
“Hey, I would’ve carried your purse,” I said.
“You never offered to––Brodan did,” she said. She went to leave, but stopped. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I said.
“The river,” she said, then she bent over to peck me quickly on the lips. I could smell perfume faintly on her, even after all we’d been through. “We’re old souls, you and I,” she said, then rounded the fire to rejoin her sister, leaving me baffled, wondering what the heck had just happened. I tried to remember when I last kissed a girl.
I caught a flash in my periphery. A green light streaked across the dark sky. I watched what I thought was a shooting star, until it came to a dead stop. It paused there a moment, then it changed course and streaked in the other direction to become lost among the billions of stars. Gone in a flash. Then, without a sound, Glooscap sat down cross-legged.
“Did you see that?” I said.
“See what?” he said, tossing a stick on the fire.
Pointing to where I’d last seen the light, I said, “That green light.”
“Starpeople.”
“You’re pulling my chain.”
“Pulling your chain?”
“Yeah, you know, you’re joking around,” I said.
“I don’t joke about Starpeople,” he said, deadpan.
I gazed up at the sky again in wonder.
“If we leave at first light, we will reach Ambrose’s by nightfall.”
“It’ll be a long day,” I said. “Hard on the others.”
Glooscap glanced around the fire. “Hard on Colby and Anna. They do not like horses.”
Colby had lain down on his side, with his back to the fire, his eyes closed.
“They don’t ride a lot of horses in Detroit or San Francisco,” I said.
“De-troit?”
“A city in the state of Michigan.”
“Ah, cities––San Francisco, Washington, New York.”
“Yeah, cities like those. Hang on a sec, how do you know about San Francisco, Washington, and New York, but not Detroit?”
Glooscap shrugged his shoulders. “Ambrose taught the Sawnay much about the United States of America. Many Sawnay know the names of all states and cities. Ambrose gifted Poowasan and the elders with maps made by white men.”
“So, Ambrose must be from the United States?” I said. “Why do the Sawnay bother to learn anything about Earth? I mean, if you’re never going back, that is.”
Glooscap was silent for a second, as if he was putting a lot of thought into his answer, and then said, “The Sawnay know it is important to be prepared.”
“I guess that’s smart.”
“Have you ridden on a steam locomotive?” he said.
“Locomotive? Not one of those, but a subway,” I said. “Pretty much the same thing.”
Glooscap tossed a few sticks onto the fire. “Mother Earth is a very strange place now.”
I chuckled softly. “You should watch a Lady Gaga video on MTV.”
“Lady Gaga?”
“She’s a performer. MTV is music television. It plays music videos by artists––bands, singers, rap groups, that sort of stuff. You watch a screen and see images of people and hear songs . . . and don’t even get me started on YouTube.”
“Songs, as you heard in the longhouse?”
“Kinda, but different. The performers record their songs so they can be replayed. People can see them over and over again.” That was the best I could do to explain it right then, the way sleep was clawing at my mind. Besides, it was a conversation that could’ve went on for hours, a conversation which would probably never happen, I thought, because sometime over the next few days, we’d be going our separate ways. The Sawnay would head north, and we would head home to Earth. Hopefully. “How many of these stargates exist?”
“I am unsure. My people left our land in what is now called California, to travel south into Mexico. That is where we traveled from.”
The talk around the fire had died down. Anna and Tabby were walking over to some bushes at the edge of the clearing, headed to the washroom. I was about to call out and ask if they wanted me to go with them, but they looked like they were fine without a chaperone.
“Good night, Tanner,” said Glooscap. With that, he stood and rounded the fire to sit beside Brodan, Cawop still nowhere in sight. I took the fur out of my bundle and unfurled it on the ground beside Simon, far enough away from the fire so that I wouldn’t get burned by any stray embers. Other questions I had would have to wait.
“Did my eyes deceive me or did I just see Anna kiss you a few minutes ago?”
“Your eyes deceived you,” I said, and then changed the subject. “They have maps. Know about the U.S. and Canada, locomotives, names of cities. They said Ambrose taught them. But why wouldn’t he teach about cars or TVs or airplanes?”
“Maybe he didn’t think those were important,” said Simon, shrugging. “He actually said locomotives?”
I nodded and lay back. “Doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Maybe Ambrose is Amish or Mennonite.”
“I don’t know––it’s odd.”
“Yeah, but then everything about this place is odd,” he said, and yawned. “I swear I saw Cawop talking to a raven earlier when we stopped.”
“I think I saw a UFO.”
He chuckled, and said, “You’re tired, that’s all.”
“What if we could help the Sawnay? I mean, what if we could make a difference here. Balance out the scales for all the bad we did, for what we did back home.”
“Wowowo––balance the scales?” he whispered harshly, leaning into me.
“Yeah, balance the scales.”
“Are you gonzo? Where’s this coming from, man? We almost died twice––and we promised Conroy we’d go home the first chance we get. Remember? Look, if something happens, we can’t call 911. If we get into trouble, there’s no cavalry coming to our rescue. That’s it, we’re done.”
“I’m just thinking that maybe this would be a way to . . . I don’t know . . . make things right.”
“Don’t start preaching––please don’t start preaching,” he said.
“They could use our help.”
“Okay, let’s just say I was to say yes, which I’m not saying, but let’s just say.” He tossed his chin to Anna and Tabby who had just emerged from the bushes. “Are you willing to risk their lives for some romantic idea of . . . being a hero?”
When I didn’t reply, he quickly rolled onto his side so his back was toward me and pulled the fur over his body.
“Simon.”
He turned his head slightly to better hear me. “Yeah.”
“Good night, Simon.”
“Good night.”
I nestled my head into my bundle. In the distance, wolves were howling. The Three Brothers shone brightly. The stars glittered dazzlingly like jewels, and I tried to recall if I’d ever seen them in such a way. As I counted them, I found myself imagining that there was someone on one of those planets counting me right then.
I only reached twenty-two, before my eyes shut.