by Vella Munn
The world looked both ageless and newborn, as if waiting for the day's heat to wake it. She’d never thought of land itself going into hibernation, but didn’t something approaching that happen in winter? A few clouds hung in the distance, and although she couldn't see them, she heard birds singing. They sounded so happy to be alive, so carefree.
“Morning Song? Please. We need to talk.”
Something moved off to her right. Ready to run if she needed to, Kayla concentrated. The movement was repeated. Something slowly took shape.
“Morning Song,” she said as the girl came into view. She tried but didn't quite succeed in shaking off the thought that the young Modoc hadn't so much walked toward her as materialize. “I hoped—I don't know what I'm doing here.”
“Yes,” Morning Song whispered, “you do.”
She wasn't going to touch that comment with a fifty-foot pole. “Where are the warriors?” she asked instead.
“Watching.”
Resisting the urge to look around, Kayla settled for a nod. Of course no one had any intention of hurting her–did they? Morning Song looked just as she had yesterday—same clothing, same dried tears on her cheeks, same little doll clutched in her hands. If she didn't know better, she'd swear the young Modoc hadn't moved since the last time she'd seen her, but that was impossible. Wasn't it?
“They're watching me?” she managed because no matter how she tried, she couldn’t dismiss the silent, hidden observers.
“No, me.”
“You? Why would they—you mean, they're looking out for you?”
“That, too, but mostly they want to make sure I do not again try to get my son back.”
She'd come this far; it was too late to pretend they weren't having this conversation. “You've tried before?”
“Yes.” Morning Song wiped at a fresh tear. “I couldn’t just do nothing. I couldn’t.”
“Of course.”
“But I failed. The newcomers keep him in their wooden house. They do not bring him outside, and I do not know where to look for him in that place. Their walls–they are so strong.”
“They have a big house?” She'd forgotten how insane many of Morning Song's comments sounded; that all came flooding back now. She must be crazy to simply take what she said at face value. Why hadn't she thought to ask if the men she’d seen on horseback yesterday were movie extras? What had possessed her to refer to them as warriors? The questions, and possible answers, were giving her a headache.
“A big house, no. They spend their time caring for their cattle, keeping wolves from them.”
Wolves? There were no longer any wolves in California, Oregon either. “They—those people leave the baby alone?”
“No.” Morning Song's mouth sagged. “The woman and her child stay in the house. The men always have rifles with them.”
Kayla pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “This isn't making any sense. The men go around armed? Why?”
“To keep my people from rescuing my son.”
The words were simple, and yet they struck Kayla with the force of a blow. “If you haven't seen him, how do you know your son is there?” Please, do or say something that’ll turn all this into nonsense.
“I heard him crying. I know my son's cry.” Twin tears ran down her cheeks.
Kayla tried to reassure her by pointing out that the woman rancher had to be taking good care of the child. “She must have formula, bottles. You said she has a young child of her own. Maybe she's using his diapers.”
“Formula? I do not know what that is.”
“Of course you do,” Kayla insisted as if arguing would make all the difference. “Milk, kind of. I just hope she doesn't run out of diapers.”
“Diapers?”
Morning Song had to be mentally slow; there was no other explanation for the stuff she was saying, was there? Maybe not.
“I tell myself I must thank her for nursing my son,” Morning Song went on. “If she did not, he would be dead. But if that woman was not here, the others would not have taken him.”
This line of conversation wasn't getting them anywhere. Mindful of the limitations on her time, Kayla told her that she'd thought about her all night. “Maybe if I knew more about you it would help,” she finished. “Where do you live?”
“My heart is at Sweet Water, but the soldiers have forced us into the caves.”
“What's that like?”
“It is safer than in the open. If my mother and her sister had remained hidden as our men ordered, my child would not have been ripped from their arms. But no one can spend all their time in darkness.”
“Your son was with your mother? Where were you?”
“Looking for my husband.”
“You're married?” How old are you two, she wanted to ask but didn't.
“Maybe. And maybe he is dead.”
Bar none, this was the most confusing conversation she'd had in her life, and yet she could have no more stopped prompting this sad-eyed girl to continue than she could turn her back on her. No longer concerned with the time, she sat cross-legged on a clump of grass and waited for Morning Song to do the same.
Morning Song started slowly, haltingly, but soon words tumbled from her. She'd been playing with some puppies last spring when her parents came to her and announced they'd chosen her husband for her. She hadn't been surprised since she was all of fifteen summers old, but when she met her husband-to-be for the first time on the day of their marriage, she'd been so nervous she couldn't look him in the eye. Then she'd realized he was just as nervous, and that helped. Before he'd joined her family, Slolux had lived in his village on the south side of Medicine Lake and was an accomplished fisherman. He'd already built two bark and reed canoes, and those who knew him spoke of his patience and laughter.
“I remember his laughter.” Morning Song sighed. “When our son was born, he said he had never been happier. He loved to make our son smile by making funny faces and blowing on his stomach. Their laugher was so much alike.” Her head dropped forward, and she curled herself around the doll. “I fear neither my son or husband will laugh again.”
They were sitting too far apart for Kayla to embrace Morning Song. “I hate to ask this but you said your husband might be dead. Don't you know?”
“No. Maybe it would be easier if I did. I keep thinking of him out there somewhere, hurt or wounded, alone. Maybe he has been taken captive.”
“He went somewhere?”
“With three other men. They left one night saying they needed to get close to the army camp so we would know how many weapons the enemy had. My husband was chosen because his eyesight is keen, and he walks without making a sound when he must. He–he is not a great hunter and has never fought, but he did what a Modoc man must. Two days later the others returned. He did not.”
“They didn't know what happened to him?”
“There was no moon. The men decided to each go their own way once they neared the enemy so they could not so easily be seen; this the others told me. My uncle thought he heard a struggle, but it might have been the horses. The others waited one whole day and another night, praying and looking for him when they dared.”
“How awful.”
“Then more soldiers came, and it became too dangerous for them to remain. They returned home with nothing, not even his knife.”
It belatedly struck Kayla that Morning Song was speaking without emotion. Could it be because this was the only way she could keep from falling apart? “When was that?”
“Three days before my child was taken from me.” She lifted her head, revealing too large eyes. “I could not think or eat. Except to nurse him, I forgot about being a mother. Nothing mattered except finding my husband—or his body if he was dead. I wanted—I wanted to bring him home so his spirit would know peace.” She started to stand, then sank back. “So his spirit would always be near me and our son. My mother begged me to remain with her. I tried—for my son—but then my cousin who nurses her own child said s
he would care for him for a little while. I left.”
“You didn't find your husband,” Kayla said softly. “And by the time you returned, your son had been taken?”
Morning Song nodded. “My mother's tears equal mine. We cling together, crying. She blames herself for putting her grandson in danger, but she wanted to have him with her while she searched for birds' eggs. She had sat doing nothing for too long; we needed the food. She–she was worried about me. Her fear made her keep her grandson at her side.”
In her mind, Kayla imagined Morning Song's mother putting her grandson on the ground while she worked nearby. Intent on finding as many birds' nests as she could in a short period of time, she'd briefly neglected to remain alert to her surroundings. Maybe some ranchers had surprised her and chased her off. Maybe she’d run because she was trying to draw the ranchers away from the baby. It no longer mattered that that kind of thing didn't happen in today's world.
“Was your mother hurt?”
“Her heart is broken.”
“Of course. What a horrible thing to have happen. Uh, do you blame her?”
“Blame will not bring back my son or dry her and my tears.”
“No, it won't.” The last of the morning's chill had been replaced by warmth. Everything seemed so peaceful—except for the conversation. “Morning Song, you and your mother are incredible people. I can’t imagine going through what you did. If it was me, I’d be hysterical. I’d–I’d have called 911 and insisted the police–never mind. Thank you for telling me. It wasn’t easy.”
“You need to know these things,” Morning Song said. “I did not want to speak the words that tear at my heart, but you must understand.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Now you know what you must do.”
“Me?” The tingle of alarm she'd almost forgotten about returned. She felt trapped.
“My child must feel my arms around him. I have lost the man I love. I cannot lose my child. Without him I am as dead.”
Kayla could only study her trembling hands.
“I need you.”
“Morning Song, I'm sixteen years old.” Trembling, Kayla scrambled to her feet and tried to orient herself. If the Indians she'd seen yesterday reappeared, she'd what? “You need the authorities, not me.”
“Yes, you. Sacred Stone has spoken.”
As if on cue, her necklace heated. Snatching it away from her skin, but not trying to pull it over her head, Kayla looked wildly around. To her disbelief, she saw men on horseback coming her way.
Without so much as a word to Morning Song, she raced downhill as fast as she dared. Although she shouldn’t be out of breath, her heart felt as if it might explode. She hadn't come far after leaving the bicycle. It had been right there, right at the side of the road.
What road?
What bicycle?
Chapter Five
“Do not be afraid.”
On the verge of panic, Kayla whirled on Morning Song. Remembering how fast she’d run, she couldn’t believe Morning Song had kept up. She opened her mouth, maybe to scream; instead, she felt herself being drawn into the girl’s dark eyes.
“We are destined to be together,” the young Modoc said, her tone soft. “What Sacred Stone sets in place will be. I understand, and so will you. There is nothing to fear.”
Nothing’s set in place! No way. “Nothing makes any sense,” Kayla whispered. She now felt the way she sometimes did when she was coming down with a cold, as if she was half asleep and wrapped in cotton.
“Listen to me, please,” Morning Song begged. “The spirits said you would not understand at first. You have walked one way all your life.” Her voice took on a sing-song quality. “It is like it was for us before the strangers came. Everything was the same. Nothing changed, and we were content. You see only your road, do not know there are others.”
Although she hadn't known she was going to, Kayla nodded.
“I was that way once myself.” Morning Song took Kayla's hand and gently laced their fingers together. “I and everyone else. As a child, all I saw and knew was this land. I believed when the storytellers told us of how Kumookumts, the Creator, wove the earth out of a hill on the lake's sunrise side. This is the center of the world. Everything converges here. It is beautiful.”
“It is.”
“Long before the white men came, Kumookumts walked among us and showed us where to hunt for antelope and deer and mountain sheep, how to hide from our enemies the Klamaths and Snakes. We were children who cared about nothing except gathering enough camas, wocus, chokecherries, and wild plum to see us through the winter. Other tribes fought each other whenever their paths crossed, but that has never been the Modoc way. We are peaceful and fight only when we have to.”
“You've never been on the warpath?”
“What is that?”
“When Indians took their bows and arrows or rifles if they had them, got on their horses, and rode off to kill whomever they'd gone to war with, mostly whites.” She cringed at her simplistic explanation.
“If we are attacked, we will defend ourselves. We are not deer who flee instead of using their hooves to strike out. But this is the only time we have done battle with the army.”
“Oh. Then…” She couldn't bring herself to say warpath again because it didn't fit the Modocs. Where was the bicycle? What had happened to the road?
“Fighting over land given us by the spirits has never been our way. There was no need because other Indians had their own lands. They did not want ours.” Morning Song actually chuckled. “The wind is not gentle in winter. When snow falls, it does not melt until spring. To outsiders, our home was worthless. But we understood it. Before the white men came, we celebrated when men trapped elk. Great fish came to the rivers, and we celebrated that too. Those things were what we cared about.”
Morning Song had smiled as she said that, but now she again turned somber. “The elk and fish and wild plum may always be here, but there is no longer reason for joy and thankfulness.”
“Because your son—“
“Not just my son. Everything has changed.”
“Like the road.” Kayla could hardly believe she was saying this. “It's gone.”
The young Modoc nodded and stared at her for a moment. “Because you are in another time.”
“Another time?”
“Yes, but as long as you and I stand here, you will not understand.”
Kayla couldn't argue with that any more than she could extract her hand from Morning Song's. A niggling reminder of why she'd come to the lava beds and her responsibilities to the rest of the modeling crew prodded at her consciousness, but the need to comprehend why this strange girl had come into her life and what she was trying to tell her was much more powerful.
“Everything that’s happening is like a movie,” she admitted. “Jumping all over the place. Keeping me confused.”
“I do not want you to be confused, Kayla.” Morning Song squeezed her hand. “For you to be what I need, you must have wisdom.”
Wisdom you possess.
Kayla had almost no memory of walking beside Morning Song as the sun burned into her back, and the wind tossed her hair about. The thoughts she’d had about her co-workers faded, and she couldn’t remember what her parents looked like. She thought they’d walked for a long time, and that the ground had consisted almost entirely of lava, but she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t imagine calling Morning Song her friend because their relationship was too new and complex for that. Still, in a strange way, she’d never felt this close to another human being.
She’d become aware of a tightness in her calves by the time Morning Song led the way over a slight rise. Morning Song stopped, indicating their destination with a nod of the head.
They’d nearly reached a cave. Well sheltered by a solid circle of lava, sparse grasses, and a little dirt, it lay in a depression. Because the shadows were so dense, Kayla could only guess at the size of the opening, let alone the cave it
self. It seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.
Morning Song tugged on her hand, but she held back. “I’m not big on dark places,” she admitted. “If I had a flashlight—”
“Flashlight? There is nothing to fear, Kayla. Trust me in that.”
She didn’t have a choice, not just because she’d never find her way to civilization without Morning Song’s guidance, but because the bond between the two of them was growing with every minute.
“They do not know of you, yet,” Morning Song said. “But they know of my search, my prayers.”
“They?”
“My family.”
Kayla couldn’t think of anything to say after that, and she couldn’t begin to protest what Morning Song was doing to her. As a result, she meekly trailed behind as Morning Song picked her way along the narrow trail leading to the edge of the cave. Now that her eyes had adjusted, Kayla realized that just ahead, the ground dropped away, revealing the entrance. From what she could tell, the cave didn’t go down far before angling back and under a stone hill. Brush grew throughout what formed the roof and helped shield it from unwanted scrutiny. Last night Joel had said that the area’s countless caverns had been formed as molten lava from ancient volcanic eruptions cooled. Although the eruption had taken place thousands of years ago, little looked as if it had changed.
“We all live here,” Morning Song said as they stood near the top of a crude-looking wooden ladder. “My father found this two days after we fled the reservation. It is not the same as the sturdy winter lodges we once dug into the earth, but it is better than nothing. Wind and snow cannot reach us, and our fires keep the walls warm.”
Kayla came close to arguing that since she couldn’t imagine anyone living inside a cold, dark, rock-walled enclosure. And yet, still feeling as if she was under some kind of spell, she waited until Morning Song started down the ladder and then did the same. Fortunately, the reeds used to lash the steps together felt secure. Her father had been so pleased with the fiberglass extension ladder he’d bought last year, saying it would last forever. Just the same, this one would impress him.