The others were all inside sitting at a large square wooden table on which rested a burning oil lamp. When they saw us at the entrance, they leapt to their feet and rushed to greet us.
“Look who finally showed up,” said Colby. “Thought you both were goners, man. Thought you blew through the rest of those nine lives.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Anna. She hugged me.
“Yeah, we knew you’d show,” said Tabby. “Ambrose had no doubt.”
Simon grabbed me by the shoulders, looking me up and down. “You got to stop doing this to us,” he said.
It felt awesome to be there right then, surrounded by those people I cared for, those people who cared for me. Their friendship meant everything to me at that moment, more than any friendships I’d ever known. There was this electric-like sense of trust, of belonging, of togetherness. Although it had been there to a small extent at Halton House, it was nothing compared to how it was right then in Ambrose’s cottage, having faced death together mere hours ago, with an uncertain future still ahead. With my entire body tingling, I beamed for the first time in a long time. And I didn’t want the feeling to end.
Chana and Maroona stood at the door, yet to filter inside as the rest of us had. They hadn’t received as warm a welcoming as us and seemed unsure, as if they were outsiders who’d intruded on a gathering of close friends. And in a way, I guessed they had.
“This is Chana and Maroona,” I said.
“Ain’t those the two from the river?” said Colby.
“That would be them,” I said.
“Was it their screams we heard in the swamp?” said Simon.
“A snake attacked them, got their horse. A giant snake, like an anaconda but only bigger––Titanoboa––made a real mess of it, and then the Wendo attacked us.” The words rushed out of me like Niagara Falls.
“The same Wendo from this morning?” said Tabby.
“The same ones,” said Glooscap.
“Big birds, big trees, big beetles, crazy-ass cannibals hunting us down. Big snakes,” said Colby. “What’s next?”
“What did you do?” said Simon.
“We managed to fight the snake off. Then those Wendo attacked us. Another snake swallowed Dejunga whole, took him into the swamp.”
“They come back again, we’ll take care of them real good,” said Colby, putting on tough.
Glooscap rested a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think they’ll be back.”
“Luckily, you two arrived when you did,” said Ambrose. “Those snakes have a ferocious appetite, a sniffer twice that of the best bloodhound. It would have eaten the horse whole and then you after. They’re not picky. They’ll eat whatever they can fit in their gullets.”
“How do you know so much about them?” said Colby skeptically.
Ambrose stepped his left foot onto a stool and tugged his pant leg up to show a knee-high snakeskin boot. Colby leaned forward to examine it. Then Ambrose gave me a wink and dropped his pant leg. “They taste similar to frog legs.”
“I need to get a pair of those,” said Colby, looking down at his still bare feet.
Everyone began laughing.
At the door, Tooney pawed and whimpered.
Ambrose opened the door, and said, “Shoo-shoo, go on, get outside you little scallywag.” Tooney darted out the door. “He’s the reason I had to make new boots after my last visit to Sawnay. It seems bones aren’t his preferred chew toys.” A deep laughter broke out among the group, and when it subsided, he said, “You’ve all had a long journey––let’s break bread.” He gestured to the table. “Give us a chance to talk.”
We all sat around the table, which took up pretty much the entire side of the cottage. It was very similar to the harvest table in Vince’s small barn where he and my mother used to lay out vegetables from her garden––potatoes, corn, radishes, beets––to prepare them for storage.
Ambrose removed his slouch hat, revealing a mop of curly gray hair. He hung it on a peg against the far wall near a desk on which sat wooden models––a bridge, castle, and some sort of catapult. A dozen or so worn hardcover books sat on a wooden shelf, their old pulpy smell hanging faintly in the air. Ambrose crossed the cottage and disappeared into a door beside a stone hearth, leaving us to talk at the table.
He appeared a minute later, carrying a large wooden tray with some type of tubers and bulbs, dried meats, and a wheel of beige cheese neatly cut into wedges. He set it down in the center of the table.
“Help yourselves,” he said, then headed back to the open doorway.
We started picking at the food. There were some banging noises. When Ambrose appeared the second time, he carried a wooden mini-keg under his arm.
He plunked it down on the table, the spigot facing Simon. “My wild berry cider. A little sweet but it sits well in the belly.” He went over to a shelf, took down some earthen mugs, and then passed them to Simon, who began to fill them up and hand them around.
Ambrose scanned the table, as if he was making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. When satisfied he hadn’t, he sat down next to Glooscap.
Over the next hour, the lively conversation was broken only by the chewing of food and swallowing of drink. Everyone seemed appreciative of being safe, of Ambrose’s hospitality, of being around good company. We were like a group of friends together on Earth being in the moment, experiencing that wonderful thing called friendship.
The longer I was there, the more the worry, uncertainty, and anxiety fell away. I knew everyone was safe, that I was safe, no longer at the whimsy of an environment that I was learning could be viciously savage and unforgiving. Like that angry, violent F5 tornado that had picked up the truck my mother had been in and flung it like a toy, taking her life, and robbing me of the person who’d brought me into this world or, I should say, the world I’d left behind.
And there at Ambrose’s, we’d all stepped into yet another time and place. Instead of five hundred years ago like at the Sawnay village, it was more like a hundred and fifty: the earthen mugs and wooden keg and the other items I’d taken in as we ate––brass spyglass, faded map of Earth, inkwell and feather on the desk––reminded me of stuff that I’d seen at a museum.
For a spilt second, I caught Ambrose’s eyes peculiarly fixed on me, noticing they were gray, like Conroy’s. And I remembered reading that all the best marksmen had gray eyes. I wished Conroy was there with us right then. I felt a pang of regret for agreeing to go on without him. But it was a fleeting pang, because I knew Conroy was right in his decision to stay.
All the girls were getting on just fine, like they were longtime friends. And it struck me then: I’d never seen Anna and Tabby around girls their own age, only Carol and us boys and some other part-time staff at Halton House. Tabby seemed to be leading the conversation. Anna had taken off her puzzle ring, passing it around. Chana was showing her ring. Maroona sat at the far end of the table, her wide almond eyes taking everything in, silent, reserved, like she’d been every time I’d seen her. But I noticed something which I hadn’t seen in her before: a quiet intelligence, a quiet confidence, as if she knew what was what but didn’t feel the need to proclaim it to everyone.
Colby was telling Simon that if he could go back and do it again, he’d have stayed and fought the Wendo with us. Glooscap joined in and said that Brodan would be remembered by the Sawnay as a brave warrior and his spirit would be honored for generations. He said that Cawop would be branded as a traitor. And if he ever returned to Sawnay, he would be dealt with by customs that stretched back generations. What they were, he never said, leaving it to our imaginations to draw their own conclusions.
We ate until the platter was bare and drank until not even a drop of wild berry cider dripped from the keg’s spigot. We conversed for hours until the mood was sleepy, the conversation waning. Ambrose must’ve sensed it too, because he stood from the table and began to collect the mugs. When Tabby and Chana stood to help, Ambrose said that he was fine and then directed the girls to the small cottage on the right side of the main cottage, saying they’d find blankets and pillows inside.
He told them there was an outhouse out back, and they needn’t worry about their safety as no creature was on the property unless he wanted it to be. As they all slowly got up to leave, Ambrose handed Tabby an oil lamp, asking her to shut it off before they went to bed.
Glooscap spoke in Sawnay to Chana as she passed to leave. She didn’t reply, or even look at him for that matter. The girls left. I saw Tooney’s tail whisking off before they shut the door. We could hear their voices for a moment. Then a creaking door was followed by a loud thump of wood on wood.
“You got an outhouse?” said Colby, sounding relieved he would be able to relieve himself in something close to civilized.
“One designed using an underground plumbing system, rudimentary yet efficient. An underground stream carries waste into the swamp on the other side of the wall.”
“How’d you get the wall to open up like that?” said Simon.
“Simple, really. I trained it to respond to commands.”
“You’re saying you trained it like a dog, to obey commands?” I said.
“This isn’t Earth. The longer you’re here, the more you’ll learn, my boy.”
“Hope we ain’t here that long,” said Colby, tossing a piece of cheese down.
“We’re hoping you can help us get home,” I said.
“Poowasan asked me to help you,” said Ambrose. “Let’s save that discussion, however, until after breakfast, shall we? You’ve all had a long day, some of you more than others.”
Tired as I was, I wasn’t about to argue. I hoped that neither Simon nor Colby would try to push him for answers tonight. They didn’t. Thankfully. Everyone stood from the table. As we filed to the door, I read the worn title of a book that was sitting on the shelf. C*bw**s f**m an E***y *ku*l.
“Here, before I forget,” said Ambrose, handing Colby a pair of roughly-made snakeskin boots. “These were my first attempt. They’re not as refined but they’ll do until you find something else.”
“No way they gonna fit me––I’m eleven-and-a-half.”
“I know, so am I,” replied Ambrose.
Colby slowly took them from his hand, studying them as he did. “What’s the chance an old white dude got eleven-and-a-half for shoe size?”
“I’d say pretty good,” I said.
“Everything you need is in the cottage on the left,” said Ambrose.
I tried to blink the rawness from my eyes, but failed to soothe them. I decided the only way would be a good night’s sleep. When we started following the cobble path to the guest cottage, Glooscap wasn’t with us. I turned back. He and Ambrose both were whispering in Sawnay to each other near the door.
We rounded the cottage, Simon leading the way holding an oil lamp Ambrose had given him. In the far cottage, a light glowed inside and shadows moved on the walls. The girls’ hushed voices made it seem as if the shadows were speaking to one another.
The Three Brothers were now brighter than any phase of the moon that I’d ever seen from Earth, their light shimmering off the dew-glistening grass. A sloped roof slanted down from one side of our guest cottage. On the wall underneath, there were pegs at shoulder height upon which hung tack and harness. Below that, on a wooden bench, rested a leather saddle and several horse brushes.
The horses were still at the far end of the property, near another large pond that reflected the planets. I paused and waited for the others to enter the cottage. They failed to notice that I wasn’t following them. I went under the sloped roof, dropped my bundle, and took the largest of three brushes.
As I neared the animals, they stayed calm. They didn’t feel the need for vigilance in Ambrose’s sanctuary. That strengthened my belief even more: We would be totally safe on his property. The herd of goats was lying down, eyes all closed, surrounded by the gaggle of geese, whose heads were craned back under their wings. The mule and palomino that I spotted earlier mingled with the thunder horses. I reached out a hand and touched my mare’s neck. She turned to me, her black eye widening. Then she nibbled at my hand as if she was searching for a snack.
“Sorry, darling,” I said. “No treats. How does a brushing sound though?”
She neighed happily. A neigh was as good as yes from a horse.
Hardened dust and grime covered her coat. With every long sweep of the brush, motes drifted into the air, into the night and into my nose and mouth. Shining my love light––what Vince called tending to the horses––I worked her from head to hind with long gentle strokes, one side and then the other, taking my time to do a thorough job.
When I finished, I began to brush Anna’s mare. I found myself singing that song again, the song my dad and I used to listen to when it was just the two of us cruising in his blue Dodge pickup, windows down. The August sun would twinkle the Ram’s head on the hood and beat down on my arm hanging out the window. God, how I missed that feeling. It had been so long ago, but seemed like only yesterday.
I thought about all the brushing that I’d done in the big barn at Whispering Cedars. A yearning panged inside of me for Vince who’d been like a father and the ranch hands who’d been like uncles and older brothers. God, I missed them something fierce, too, more than ever before. And with all this missing, my eyes teared up and streams ran down my cheeks, soothing the rawness which earlier I thought only sleep would remedy.
“What are you singing?” said Chana.
I wiped my hand quickly across my eyes before turning around. “Just a song.”
“It sounds like a song I know,” she said. She stood a horse’s length away from me, hands behind her back
I chuckled to myself, wiped the last tears away. “Doubt that.”
“Why are you not sleeping?”
“Horses needed a brushing.”
“This will take us all night,” she said, and she brought her tiny hands out in front of her. In the left, she held one of the horse brushes. She smiled, revealing teeth like ivory in the night.
“We better get a move on then,” I said.
She walked over to Glooscap’s stallion to brush him, her gold ring glittering.
“How’s your sister?” I said.
“I think she will feel better after she sleeps,” said Chana.
“For twins, you two are sure different.”
“I do not know. We are the only twins I have ever known.”
“My cousins are twins,” I said. “My Uncle Hanker’s sons, but I don’t see them much.”
“Why do you not see them?”
My aunt took them to Los Angeles after she met a guy on the Internet—a guy named Mohamed.”
“Mohamed?”
“Yeah, Mohamed.”
“Internet?” she said inquisitively.
“Oh, guess you’ve never heard of it. It’s a place where you can find pretty much anything––books, clothes, movies, songs, recipes, old friends or new friends, family history, you name it. You never got to leave your home now, if you don’t want to.”
“Sounds like a big place,” she said.
“Colossal.”
“And it fits inside your home?” she said.
“Sort of . . . it’s hard to explain.”
“Do you go there?”
“Nah, waste of time. You miss out on living.”
I rounded Anna’s mare, began to brush her other side. “It was a bad idea, you and your sister traveling north by yourselves.” Our backs were to each other as we brushed. “Makes me think you were chasing after us.”
“We were not chasing anybody.”
“Sure seems that way.”
“Two people on the same path does not mean they are on the same journey.”
I turned her words over inside my head a moment, and said, “That’s deep, really deep.”
We spoke no more, brushing in silence for the next little while. By the time I finished the mare, I was dog-tired. I turned around. All the cottages were dark and Chana was nowhere in sight. She’s a strange one,” I said to myself.
I walked over to my mare. “You were awesome today,” I said, giving her a scratch behind the ears. “I think I’m gonna call you Starla.” She whinnied softly, soothingly.
“You do know horses,” said Ambrose. He stood directly behind me without his slouch hat, his gray hair like silver tinsel.
“Why’d you come out here after everyone went to bed? Well, almost everyone.” He looked back toward the girls’ cottage.
“Why’s everyone so surprised that I came out to brush the horses? Figured it was the least I could do after the hard riding we put them through.”
“Communing with them under the waxing moonlight,” he said.
“Moonlight?” We both looked up at the Three Brothers.
“I was faced with the same puzzling question. What to call the light from the brothers? I struggled for a few years, but finally settled on ‘moonlight’.”
“How long you been here?” I asked.
“Earth years or World of Dawn years?”
“Earth years, I guess.”
“One hundred and three.”
“You don’t look a day over sixty,” I said.
“As I said, there is much to this world, my young Tanner. Much to this world.”
“So, you found the fountain of youth?”
“More of a root.”
“A root? Where are we?” I said. “I mean really––where are we?”
He took a moment, then said, “Different cultures have called it different names over the millennia––Paradise, Dreamland, Nirvana, Utopia, Never-Never Land, Shangri-La, El Dorado, Happy Hunting Grounds––”
“You mean like the Garden of Eden?”
“Not like the Garden of Eden––The Garden of Eden.”
A long silence followed. And it was there under the moonlight that I realized two things: the first being that I’d never been so tired, and the second being that Ambrose had something special about him, the kind of special that I’d only seen in a few other men.
Like Vince.
Like Conroy.
Like my father.
“Who are you?” I said.
He outstretched his arms and looked down at his body. “Why Ambrose, my boy.”
“I know, but Ambrose who? From where? Why are you here?”
“If I were to answer all those reasonable questions, I doubt you would remember the answers, tired as you are.”
“I guess it isn’t the best time to ask how we get home then?”
“Be plenty of time to discuss the matter tomorrow.” He turned, and then over his shoulder he said, “Good night, Tanner Paul Kurtz. Enjoy your dreams, and always remember, the fates lead him who will; him who won’t they drag.”
“Hey, hey, how do you know my full name?” I called after him.
Ambrose rounded the girls’ cottage and disappeared.
Had Simon or Colby, maybe Anna or Tabby told him my full name? It was yet another “reasonable” question that, I figured, would have to wait until tomorrow to be answered.
“Well, glad I could take care of you guys,” I said to the horses.
A chorus of low whinnies sounded. A whinny was as good as a thank you from a horse.
I trudged back to our guest cottage, even more wiped but satisfied, and picked up my bundle and went inside. Colby, Simon, and Glooscap all slept on bunk beds. I kicked off my shoes and climbed up above Colby. I lay down, not shedding a single piece of clothing, and pulled the fur out of my bundle and curled up under it, shutting my eyes. The smell of sawn wood, pine-like, was strong.
“Don’t go getting any knight-in-shining armor ideas––we going home ASAP,” whispered Colby. “Remember what Conroy said?”
“Thought you were asleep,” I whispered.
“Man, I never sleep. I’m lucky to get four hours a night––and don’t go trying to change the subject, like you always doing. I heard you talking to Simon last night, cowboy. I know whatcha thinking.”
Then he went silent. I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. I was glad he didn’t.
Before I fell asleep, there were usually some conscious moments––even dog-tired as I was––but that night there were none. A dream greeted me immediately, not like the nightmare from a few nights before where it felt like I’d been a puppet. No, it was one of those dreams of my father, my mother, and I together. It was the kind that I wished for all the time, the ones I never wanted to wake up from, the ones I always remembered every detail of, the kind that let me know my father and mother were still with me, in some strange way.
And Ambrose was right, I did enjoy it.