Vagabonds

by Darcy Pattison

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  What News?

  Traveling

  Answers

  Missing

  Decisions

  Sisters

  A Beginning

  Flood Stage

  Crossing

  the White Cliffs

  the Trek

  the First Clue

  A Decision

  the Owl’s News

  Searching

  Following

  Valley of Waters

  Crossroads

  Search for the Falls

  Long Pool

  June

  News From Home

  Twin Waterfalls

  the Map Rock

  the Festival

  the Scout

  Fever

  Opportunity

  the Old Den

  Loyalty

  the Mountain

  Brothers

  the Guardian

  Searching

  the River

  tHIRST

  EAGLES

  A NEW LEADER

  the STORM

  LISTENING

  MISSING

  MUD

  touchwood

  Crossing the River

  Rage

  A Falling Star

  Rich and Full

  A Good Life

  Home

  One Year Later

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  VAGABONDS

  WHAT NEWS?

  TRAVELING

  ANSWERS

  MISSING

  DECISIONS

  SISTERS

  A BEGINNING

  FLOOD STAGE

  CROSSING

  THE WHITE CLIFFS

  THE TREK

  THE FIRST CLUE

  A DECISION

  THE OWL’S NEWS

  SEARCHING

  FOLLOWING

  VALLEY OF WATERS

  CROSSROADS

  SEARCH FOR THE FALLS

  LONG POOL

  JUNE

  NEWS FROM HOME

  TWIN WATERFALLS

  THE MAP ROCK

  THE FESTIVAL

  THE SCOUT

  FEVER

  OPPORTUNITY

  THE OLD DEN

  LOYALTY

  THE MOUNTAIN

  BROTHERS

  THE GUARDIAN

  SEARCHING

  THE RIVER

  THIRST

  EAGLES

  A NEW LEADER

  THE STORM

  LISTENING

  MISSING

  MUD

  TOUCHWOOD

  CROSSING THE RIVER

  RAGE

  A FALLING STAR

  RICH AND FULL

  A GOOD LIFE

  HOME

  ONE YEAR LATER

  About the Author

  Copyright

  VAGABONDS

  DARCY PATTISON

  Mims House

  Little Rock, AR

  For decades, the southern states have witnessed the relentless migration of vagabonds from Mexico. They are now found as far north as the Ozarks of southern Missouri. No one knows why they keep traveling north, ever northward. Until now.

  In the tradition of Charlotte’s Web or The Underneath comes the American fantasy, VAGABONDS, the saga of El Garro’s armadillo colony, the scouts and pioneers who have always been at the forefront of the migration. Rumors from their original homeland, the jungles far to the south, indicate that El Garro’s colony may be nearing the fabled Faralone Falls, where they will find the answer to why they have traveled northward for decades. Galen must leave the comfort of his den and lead the search party. Accompanying him are Tex, a representative of the southern clans, Corrie, who is El Garro’s daughter, and Blaze, the barn owl. Galen’s quest for answers plays out against the background of the armadillo colony who has never before challenged their nomadic way of life.

  VAGABONDS is an American fantasy set in the Ozark mountains. Like El Garro’s clan, we are a nation of immigrants, people who have known the sacrifice of leaving everything behind in hopes of finding a future and a hope for their families.

  Other Books by Darcy Pattison

  The Journey of Oliver K. Woodman

  Searching for Oliver K. Woodman

  Wisdom, the Midway Albatross

  Abayomi, the Brazilian Puma

  11 Ways to Ruin a Photograph

  19 Girls and Me

  Prairie Storms

  Desert Baths

  The Girl, the Gypsy & the Gargoyle

  Saucy and Bubba

  .

  WHAT NEWS?

  Above the armadillo’s den, the western sky was ablaze with red, coral, and dark purple, while the eastern sky was just dark enough for stars to begin twinkling.

  Galen, the nine-banded armadillo, yawned in fatigue and pushed out into the open. From deep under the oak, his Sisters scrambled up the tunnel after him. Galen breathed deeply, nose quivering, cherishing the smells. There were the freshwater stream down the hill, the hickory tree where he dug grubs yesterday, and the sharp tang of pines. The smells of home.

  Without looking back, Galen ambled down the slope, stopping now and again, to root for bugs in the leaf litter. The Four Sisters would take their time stretching their tiny claws and waking up. Maybe, he could steal a bit of privacy and get a quick bath before—

  A dark shadow swooped toward the band of armadillos.

  “Down!” he yelled.

  On the hillside above him, the Four Sisters instinctively hunched, curling as far as their armor allowed, protecting their soft bellies. Galen swelled with pride at their silence, pride at how still they held themselves. They were almost invisible in the dusk—except for Number Two twitching her tail. Oh! Fear stabbed him in the gut: his Sisters were too little to protect themselves.

  Be still, he wanted to cry. But silence was their best defense.

  Half-curled himself, Galen anxiously scanned the canopy of trees, looking for the intruder. From a nearby pine came a soft hoot.

  “Hoo, hoo! Galen?”

  “It’s OK.” Galen called in relief. “It’s only Blaze.”

  Then, a deeper restlessness twisted inside him, and Galen uncurled and scurried downhill toward the pine where the light-colored barn own was easy to spot in the twilight. She was large for a female, with creamy white feathers, except where the darker tufts framed her face.

  “What news? Good? Or bad?”

  On wide wings, the owl flapped silently to the lowest branch. “News and more news!”

  “Garcia and Rafael?” Galen rose and waved his forelegs in anticipation. His brothers had gone north last month with all the other two year olds. Galen should have joined them, would have joined them, except—

  The Four Sisters tumbled, somersaulted, shrieked and squealed down the slope in a blur of gray. They smashed into Galen and flipped him into the creek.

  He sputtered and scolded, half in annoyance and half in relief that the danger hadn’t been real. He kicked and slapped his tail until he cleared a space around him; then he stood very still. Caring for his sisters, the responsibility of it all, weighed heavy on Galen sometimes, especially the older they got and the farther they ranged from the den. But moments like this lightened the load.

  Number Three charged, then danced back, cautious as always. Galen waited. The Sisters circled closer. He waited, feeling the Sisters gather themselves for the attack. Closer. He waited. Then Number One inched too close, and he pounced. He shoved her under the water in a powerful dunking.

  She came up, ready for a mock fight.

  But Galen backed away. “Not now! I need to talk to Blaze.”

  His tone was serious enough that the Sisters obeyed. They turned to play in the shallows, splashing away the fu
zziness of the day’s sleep, leaving Galen and Blaze to talk.

  Galen shook the water from his armor, and then dug his claws into the gravel bar to stop his shivering. He repeated, more urgently, “What news?”

  Blaze chirped a couple times, as if she had to swallow laughter, before she could discuss anything serious. “Garcia and Rafael. Fast travelers. Gone already from my territory.”

  “But your cousins watch them?”

  “Hoo, hoo. They try.”

  “Gone from my territory,” Galen repeated. Gone. Magical words. Without warning, the curse of his people bubbled up and spun him around to face north. The ancient curse decreed that they travel north until they find their ancestral home and the Faralone Falls. They had already crossed the southern continent and were far into the northern continent. But still they traveled north, with no answer to the question of how much farther they must go.

  All Galen knew was that he wanted, he needed—more than anything else, to follow the stream northward. His wedge-shaped face lifted from the creek to the trees. The owls told tales about streams and rivers winding through the wooded hills of the Ozark Mountains. Galen longed for a home where he’d never have to trek, but the curse was stronger than his longing. When he did get to trek, he would see new things every day, wake in a new den each evening, walk north, ever northward. For now, his Sisters kept him so busy. It wasn’t common, but armadillos were able to resist the curse, for a time. Galen felt the pressure building within, the longing to travel growing ever stronger. Sooner or later—Sisters or not—he must go north.

  He dropped his head and drank deeply, pulling himself back to the cold water of the creek and his noisy Sisters and the silent Blaze. Looking up, the color had already drained from the sky and the evening crickets and cicadas had taken up their strident calls.

  Galen gulped and whispered, “What other news?”

  “Hoo, hoo. El Garro sends greetings to all of his Colony. Bids you come to the Great Clearing near where the South Fork and North Fork rivers come together. Tomorrow night.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Big things afoot. Hoo, hoo!” She flapped in excitement.

  “What?”

  “You must come and see.”

  Galen spun away in frustration at the owl’s evasive answer. “No. That’s too far to travel with four babies!” Fear throbbed in his throat. “Tell El Garro I can’t make it.”

  Blaze tilted her heart-shaped face. “You must come! El Garro said, ‘Be sure he understands. Galen, especially, must come.’”

  “No!” Galen spoke to an empty branch.

  Winging away overhead, Blaze called, “When the full moon rises. Tomorrow. The Great Clearing.”

  With dismay, Galen watched his Sisters tromping through the creek. How would he get all four of them safely to the Great Clearing? Ever since his parents were killed by the Road Machines six weeks ago, he’d been both mother and father to them.

  He had visited his parents’ den that night to say a tearful goodbye since he planned to go the next day to El Garro for his trekking assignment. Once he started trekking, he might never see his parents again. Besides, he hated to be alone on the dark nights of the new moon. They invited him to sleep over, just as he had expected. They took advantage of his presence to watch the babies so they could take a romantic stroll. For some reason—did they get lost in the new moon darkness?—they crossed the Black Road, and the glaring lights of a Road Machine startled them. When his parents didn’t come home, Galen discovered the horrible accident. It was the worst death an armadillo could suffer: Black Road and buzzards.

  While he mourned their ignoble deaths, Galen thought deeply about the situation of his people. Armadillos were vagabonds, compelled to move on by the ancient curse. It had forced the armadillos to leave the jungles of the far south and travel across a continent in search of the Faralone Falls. Their children were forced to always look northward for their future, as he must do from now on. He would have only temporary homes until death brought a final home. When would the lives of his people change? When would the curse—the pull toward the north—be lifted?

  Galen had scant time for such thinking, though. The Four Sisters hadn’t quite been weaned, and the first few days were awful, grieving for his parents, trying to get the babies to eat solid foods and keeping them together. With so little sleep, he found himself dozing at odd times: he was terrified that a baby or two might wander away and stumble onto the Black Road. For safety, he moved them farther into the woods to his own den and did the best he could for them.

  When the Sisters were old enough, Galen had always planned to take them to meet the rest of the family. He still thought they needed to grow for another full moon before they traveled, but when El Garro called a family meeting, no one dared be absent. If they traveled all night without stopping, they might make it before dawn. What would he feed them as they traveled? Where would they sleep if they didn’t make it to the Clearing that night?

  “Gone from my territory,” he murmured with longing. If they made it to the Great Clearing, someone else—perhaps, Felix, the oldest brother of his quad—would take responsibility for the Sisters. Galen could start his trek.

  He doubted they would make it in time for the meeting, but they’d have to try. When El Garro called, Galen obeyed.

  Turning back to the creek, he called, “Let’s go.”

  Instantly, the Sisters lined up on the bank. They were beautiful armadillo babies, or so Galen thought. When they batted their long eyelashes and wiggled their pointed ears, every annoyance disappeared. Galen could easily tell them apart, even though they were identical quadruplets. Number One was so curious it took her twice as long to go anywhere, which was just as well since the first-born of a quad wasn’t compelled by the curse to trek. Number Two’s tail had been broken once and healed crooked. Number Three wasn’t scared exactly, but just cautious to try anything new: no strange foods for her. Number Four was always hungry; Galen felt a special bond with her since he was fourth-born of his quad, too.

  Number Four gnawed desperately on an old sassafras root while the others danced about. “We’re hungry!” Still babies, each was five or six pounds of pure energy, which meant they needed food. Lots of food.

  Already, stars glittered coldly across the entire sky. Galen fretted at the time it would take to eat, but he had no choice. Without food, the Sisters would tire easily and couldn’t make the trip to the Great Clearing. He led them to a termite-infested trunk that he’d been saving for a special occasion. It lay buried in leaf litter, smothered in moss and lichens.

  The Four Sisters raked claws through the soft bark, exposing the nest that teemed with clear, almost see-through larvae and darker adults. Number Four pushed the others away, greedy as usual. Number One peeled strips of bark, examining the sponge-like wood closely, before starting her breakfast.

  Number Three caught a single larva and, with a shudder, crunched it delicately and swallowed. She shrugged at Galen. “Not too bad.” Then she caught up a mouthful and chewed methodically.

  “Eat fast,” Galen said, but the warning was mostly for himself. He flicked his own sticky tongue, hungrily ground the insects with his peg-like molars, and then took another rapid bite.

  Galen’s stomach was still woefully hollow when Number Two wandered off. He abandoned his meal and, with an inward tremble, herded the Sisters together. In spite of the urgency, Galen led them one last time to the large oak.

  “Wait here.”

  Sensing his solemn mood, they laid in front of the den’s entrance.

  Galen trotted down the tunnel and stopped in the large room of his den. This den, deep under the largest white oak on the hillside, was his first home after leaving his parents. Looking at it now, he saw that the ceiling sagged badly. But it was his.

  Dug with his own efforts, his claws had enlarged the den after his parent’s death, digging around the large root on the back wall to open up more space for his Sisters. His feet had tram
pled and packed the dirt floor to make it comfortable for them. His hard work had made this a safe place for his Sisters.

  His home.

  Galen vowed to himself: someday, I’ll have a home that I’ll never have to leave.

  Then, with his heart full of both hope and fear, Galen trotted out to the Sisters and led them south along the streambed.

  .

  TRAVELING

  The Four Sisters were still so self-centered. They argued over who had to sleep closest to the den entrance where the light was brightest and who got to claim the darkest—and warmest—spot near the back wall of the den. They knew only the den and the stream and a tiny patch of woods around their hillside. Tonight, Galen knew, this journey to the Great Clearing, it would shake them out of their small world. What would they think of the Colony?

  When Galen led his Sisters south toward the Great Clearing, he put Number One in front where she couldn’t stop to look at things and Number Four in back where her constant hunger would drive them onward. Two and Three were always in the middle, a place they griped about but didn’t really mind.

  Galen set a fast pace at a steady trot, which meant he covered twice the ground when he ran back to speed up Number One—she had stopped after all to examine a curious spring flower—or forward again to show Number Four—she had pushed forward to be the lookout for an ant nest— where to go. Three months ago, Galen might have traveled this much every night, but caring for the Four Sisters had kept him homebound and out of shape.

  Despite Galen’s worry, they made good time. Within an hour, they reached the North Fork River and turned southeast, where the way was easier due to the deer track along the river. The armadillos’ claws clicked on the packed dirt.

  Galen congratulated himself on the choice of trails. The Great Clearing lay almost due south, but that land was farmed, and farms meant dogs. No, they would follow the river southeast until they were almost due east of the Great Clearing and then turn back west and ford the river. The river was his only other worry. They needed a shallow place to ford; he didn’t want to take the time now to teach the Sisters how to swim.

  “Who is El Garro?” Number One had fallen back to run beside Galen. “Papa talked about him, but I forget.”

  Customs, traditions, stories, ballads—these were the armadillos’ way of passing along their history to the next generation; it meant they knew how to listen. Galen loved this part of caring for the Sisters; just as he had enjoyed listening to his parents, he loved watching the Sisters learn to listen with their hearts. “El Garro is the head of the Diego family. We cover a large territory and sometimes you can go weeks without seeing another armadillo. When El Garro calls, you must obey,” Galen instructed. “And when it’s time for the three youngest Sisters to trek, he’ll tell you where to go. He talks with other Colonies and will know where we’ve searched and where we haven’t.”