The Land of Burned Out Fires

by Vella Munn

  Chapter Nine

  The way True Hand studied her, Kayla was certain he was waiting for her to tell him that she considered what he’d just told her to be nonsense. For one thing, this was hardly the time or place for a religious discussion.

  But what had happened to her was something else.

  Her voice trembled as she told him about Eagle. “I don’t know if what you call Sky Spirit has anything to do with it,” she admitted. “I’m having enough trouble accepting what I saw. But Eagle was real. I know it because someone else saw him, too.”

  “Did Eagle touch you?”

  “No. He came so close that–is it possible that you and I have the same spirit?”

  True Hand didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his attention to the sky. As he looked up, the moonlight settled over his features and softened him. She felt both unbelievably close to him and shut off from this young man from another time and world.

  “Is it the stone?” she ventured. “The stone awakened something in Eagle? True Hand, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “Do not talk,” he whispered as he looked at her again. “Accept.”

  ****

  Kayla had thought the ranch would be larger, but now that she was looking at it, she realized she shouldn't have expected more than a small wooden house and tiny barn surrounded by a lot of grassland. After all, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time, it was 1872. In the world she'd come from, a trip to the exciting and modern city of San Francisco and everything that went with it loomed, not that she could concentrate on that.

  The rancher had chosen a spot near a creek, and there was a large stretch of open land nearby that she assumed fed the cattle. She didn't see any cows. It took her a moment to realize that the land wasn't fenced.

  “Cows are free to roam wherever they want?” she softly asked True Hand. “How do people keep track of them?”

  “Horses. And sometimes dogs.”

  “Oh. Dogs. We’re going to have to look out for them, aren’t we? I'd think that cows from different ranches would get mixed up. I suppose brands make it possible to tell them apart, but wouldn't it be easier and safer to keep them behind a fence?”

  “I do not care about a cow's safety.”

  She nearly told him that wasn't very charitable of him, but he was right. Newcomers bringing cattle had a great deal to do with all the horrible things that had happened to the Modocs. “If only they'd leave,” she told him. She’d never thought she’d be angry at a cow or cared where it lived. “Not everything around here is covered with lava, but this can't be the best place to raise livestock. I mean, what grass and stuff does grow is pretty sparse because the dirt isn't very good. How could it be with all that lava? Except for the lake, there isn't that much water. It gets pretty cold in winter, doesn't it?”

  He nodded. “Once frost touches the land, it does not leave until the days grow long again.”

  How did the Modocs survive then? What did they do about food and warmth? “So—maybe after they've been here for the winter, these ranchers will go somewhere else.” She was surprised by her hopeful, almost desperate tone.

  “They have already been here for many winters.”

  Try as she might, she couldn't think of an argument to counter his simple yet hard words. Up until now, she'd felt so overwhelmed by what was happening that she hadn't given thought to what the future would bring for the Modocs. In the movies and on TV, there were always happy endings, but this was real life. People like Robert Palmer and Carol could answer her questions–if she wanted to know. For now all she could do was live in the present.

  “What if more and more soldiers come? What if they completely surround the caves?”

  “We will leave before we are surrounded.”

  “But where will you go?”

  Instead of answering, he turned his attention to the ranch. She might have believed he'd dismissed her question if his hands hadn't turned into fists, and she could hear his breathing. Obviously he’d given that a great deal of thought. Just as obviously, he had no easy answers.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to...”

  “Tonight is about doing what we must to return my sister's infant to her,” he said. “That is all we have. Tonight.”

  What about the future, she wanted to ask. I know you've thought about the best and worst that could happen. And yet he was right. This was about tonight.

  True Hand had explained that the clothes line was at the far side of the house. She had no reason to hope that the housewife had neglected to bring in her clothes tonight, but they wouldn't know that until they could see the line. In the days before washing machines, doing laundry meant heating water and hand scrubbing every garment. As a result, wash day was an infrequent occurrence. What if the woman had done that chore recently? She might not hang out anything for days.

  Trying to decide what they'd do then, Kayla followed True Hand's lead as he slipped from rock to rock, slowly making their way to the rather pathetic looking house. Seeing the rifle, bow, and arrows strapped to his back forced her to face what tonight was about. He'd explained that when his people were living on the reservation, a number of white men had come and traded rifles and bullets for Klamath and Modoc belongings, mostly animal skins which they said were popular with folks living in California. Although he'd become a good shot with the old, single shot rifle he had, True Hand would never think of discarding his traditional weapons, especially when silence was needed.

  Did he intend to kill?

  Swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat, Kayla nearly bumped into him. To her surprise, he chuckled softly. When she realized what he was pointing at, she nearly did the same. The clothes line was full.

  ****

  Despite her eagerness to get this over with, True Hand had told her they'd need to wait until the moon dipped behind Mt. Shasta because the increased darkness would help protect them. As far as he knew, these people didn't have children, but three men and a woman lived there; the men in particular represented danger. They’d had a dog, but wolves had killed it.

  Still barely comprehending what she'd agreed to, Kayla contemplated the relationship between the four ranchers; it helped her stay awake. She figured that one of the men must be married to the woman. Maybe the other men were her brothers, but they could just as well be his relatives. Either way, the woman had her hands full feeding and otherwise caring for the men's needs. It was hard to imagine the woman not resenting all those hungry mouths, but easy to believe she looked forward to company.

  That thought gave rise to another one, namely what pioneering had been like for women who’d gone west in much fewer numbers. Up until now, she'd thought of the westward movement, complete with covered wagons pulled by horses or oxen, as some grand adventure, but surely it hadn't felt like that for the women and girls who'd had to walk for weeks, even months on end. Back then, men must have made most of the decisions, so when the husband or father said to pick up stakes and head west, their women had little say in the matter. Sure, it had been dangerous and hard for the men, but they hadn't been the ones caring for babies and small children, trying to maintain something that vaguely resembled a home in the middle of nowhere. Was the woman who lived here lonely for another woman to talk to?

  Kayla's head fell forward. She jerked upright, more than a little irritated to see that True Hand was wide awake.

  “Don't you ever get tired?” she asked. “How can you go so long without sleeping?”

  “I am used to it. It will not be much longer.” He indicated the moon.

  No longer concerning herself with the trials and tribulations of pioneers, Kayla tried to determine how long it would take the moon to dip behind snow-capped Mt. Shasta. The mountain must be awfully high; otherwise, there wouldn't be any snow left this time of year.

  Snow. Time. Night—endless night.

  What time was it in her world? If it was night, people would be looking for her. Ms. Blush might tell everyone tha
t her absence was further proof of her irresponsibility, but Rory and the others would be worried. They might have launched a search, maybe involved the landmark's employees and area Forest Service personnel. What would Robert Palmer and Carol think? Maybe Joel was out there looking for her. What if the police had been called?

  What if someone had phoned her parents?

  “True Hand, as soon as this is over and we have your sister's baby, I have to go back.”

  “Back?”

  “To where I belong.” Now did that sound insane or what? “My family is going to worry about me.”

  “They do not know where you are?”

  “How can they?”

  “You are right. I am sorry I did not think about that.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Kayla, I do not understand what brought you here. Only spirit magic could... Still, that is not all.” Scooting closer, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I will not forget your courage.”

  “Courage?” So tired she couldn't hold up her head, she rested it on his shoulder. He didn’t smell what she would call clean, but she didn’t mind. “I've made a decision, haven't I? To see this out.”

  “You do not want to?”

  Oh no, she wasn't going to open up that can of worms again and take a chance on his leaving her here while he took all the risks. His chance of being killed was far greater than hers, and there was a baby out there who deserved an uncle, a tribe in need of a hunter, a girl who loved her brother. “Of course I do,” she whispered. She hoped she sounded confident. “For Morning Song and her son. And for you and the rest of your family. This—“ she indicated her necklace. “This is proof that the spirits are with me.”

  Neither of them said anything for several minutes. By then, their world had grown darker. Kayla's heartbeat increased as she pondered possibilities and choices—and as her too-active imagination got caught up in movie adventures she'd seen. Maybe it was easier for True Hand. All he had to deal with was personal experience.

  “Have you ever been in a fight?” she asked. “A battle?”

  “Yes.”

  Yes. “What happened?”

  “Eagle flew with me. I was not injured.”

  Eagle, please do the same for me. “I'm glad. Did you injure anyone?”

  “Yes.”

  Shaking, she forced the next question. Had he killed anyone?

  “I do not know. I was hunting with three other hunters. We had killed a deer and were preparing to take it home when we were attacked by Klamaths. My arrow found a home in a Klamath's leg. If it became infected, he may have died.”

  “But you've never had to fight soldiers?”

  “Not yet.” He stood and stretched his back. “It is time to go.”

  Not yet. True Hand anticipated, expected that eventually he'd battle the army. She couldn't fathom looking at someone and knowing that that person was her enemy and would kill her if given the chance. Today’s soldiers in Iraq and elsewhere learned to accept that, which meant things hadn’t changed much with the years.

  No longer the slightest bit tired, she listened as True Hand explained that they'd use the dense shadows to creep close to the ranch house. Then, while he watched for danger, she'd grab what clothes she needed. Once she'd done that, they'd run.

  Having never so much as shoplifted a paper clip, she could hardly believe she was going to steal some of the few clothes the woman owned. However, things had been set in place; there was no turning back.

  Mom, Dad, I really, really need to talk to you about what I'm doing. Only there's no way you'd understand—no way I could explain.

  Close behind True Hand, she tried to calm herself by thinking about her parents, but they'd become vague memories. Only what she and True Hand were doing was real.

  They'd covered a little more than half the distance to the ranch with the open and exposed clothes line ahead of them when True Hand let her know with gestures that he intended to crouch behind a large clump of weeds so he could stand guard while she went on alone on hands and knees. Grateful that he'd loaned her some leggings before they left the cave, she dropped down on all fours. She’d put on the moccasins because if she was caught, at least they’d believe she was from their time.

  True Hand laid his rifle within reach and then pulled several arrows out of his quiver and put one in his bow. This is me, she kept telling herself as she started crawling. Me, Kayla Stephens, doing the bravest and most insane thing I've ever done, something I never imagined in my wildest dreams.

  Even with the deerskin leg coverings, more than once she winced when she knelt on something sharp. She'd gotten several stickers in her fingers. Down where she was, it was hard to keep her goal in sight.

  There was hardly any wind tonight; she could hear the night creatures. She loved owl hoots and tried not to let the coyote howls bother her. Before, she hadn't given that much thought to bugs and other assorted insects, but now she was down on the ground with them.

  Concentrate, she chided herself when their din, and it was nearly that, got to her. Do what you came here to do. Nothing else matters.

  Nothing, not even her parents and brother, or her budding modeling career.

  After what seemed like forever, she looked up to find she was almost directly under the wash line. Whoever had built it had driven a pole into the ground and then used rope to lash several smaller poles at right angles to the big one. At first some bedding and a small rug were all she could see. If these things had been left out because the woman had no immediate need for them, then she and True Hand had come all this way for nothing.

  No, they hadn't. Sighing in relief, she positioned herself under a slip that couldn't be called white under any stretch of the imagination. Next to that was a dress meant for someone a lot bigger than her. Everything had been draped over the poles, and when she tugged on the dress, it fell into her arms.

  She'd done it! Actually done it!

  Without giving the slip a thought, she rolled up the dress and tucked it under her arm. Although the sky fairly bristled with stars, their light didn't reach where she was. How was she going to find True Hand?

  Clenching her teeth against the fear gnawing at her, she forced herself to crawl. It was awkward with the dress, but even more nerve-wracking was her loss of confidence in where she was going. She was a high school soon-to-be junior, a B student who enjoyed biology lab most and history least and now, here she was, living and breathing history.

  Ow! And getting beat up along the way, she amended as yet another sticker imbedded itself in her left palm. Rocking back on her heels, she tried to pull it out with her teeth. She thought she'd gotten it and was running her tongue over the spot when a flicker of light caught her attention.

  Light didn't make sense; no one had electricity out here—back here.

  No, not a light bulb or flashlight, but something that wasn't part of the night now bobbed up and down, coming closer.

  Not daring to breathe, Kayla concentrated. She couldn't be sure, but she thought the light had come from the vicinity of the barn. Someone was carrying it, moving slow, thank goodness. It was a lantern. Yes, a lantern in the hands of someone who'd been in the barn.

  True Hand! I have to get to True Hand. He'll know what to do.

  Heedless of further damage to her hands, she scuttled over rocks, dirt, and weeds. Several times she glanced over her shoulder to see that the light was still there. She wanted to scream.

  Finally, partly because she told herself she'd never spot True Hand down where she was and partly because she was on the brink of terror, she scrambled to her feet. As she did, the moccasin struck a rock and dislodged it. The resultant sound seemed horribly, terribly loud.

  “What—who goes there?” the lantern-man called out.

  Kayla shut her mouth, biting her tongue in the process. Her eyes instantly watered, blinding her.

  “Get down,” someone hissed. The voice was close.

  Terror clawed at her. She held onto the d
ress with every bit of strength in her as if the waded fabric could protect her.

  “Down, Kayla. He must not see you.”

  True Hand. Oh, thank goodness, True Hand!

  Her legs must have heard him because she immediately collapsed. She landed on something thorny and scooted off it. Before she could decide what, if anything to do, True Hand yanked her against him and clamped his hand over her mouth. He whispered into her ear.

  “You make too much noise. No more.”

  She might not be thrashing about anymore, but her heart made enough noise that maybe it didn't matter. The lantern-man might be coming this way! She had to be free, had to be able to run!

  “No,” True Hand ordered, his grip tightening. “Do not fight me.”

  That made sense. Trying not to think too much about her racing heart, she nodded and mouthed, “I'm sorry” against his hand. He didn't immediately release her, allowing her to take both comfort and direction from his calm.

  “He did not see you, but he knows something is different,” True Hand whispered. “He will call the others.”

  Instead of wasting time apologizing, Kayla waited for him to tell her what to do next. The lantern-man was now running for the house and yelling. No sooner had he opened the door than someone else stepped outside. That person was followed by another man. Thanks to the lantern, Kayla knew that much, but not whether they were armed.

  True Hand no longer stood beside her. Alarmed, she spun around. Here in the vast night she couldn’t make out his shape. She wouldn’t have known what he was doing if she hadn’t heard sounds that left no doubt that True Hand was readying his rifle.

  “No!” she gasped, too late realizing how her voice must carry. “You can’t—“

  She was distracted by men yelling. Still torn, she turned her attention toward the ranchers. They were running toward her and True Hand, the lantern bouncing along with them.

  Although she nearly fell over something, she managed to stumble into True Hand. “Run! Now!”

  “We cannot.”