Vagabonds

by Darcy Pattison

  “Searched? For the Faralone Falls?”

  “Yes. Mama told you the stories?” The hair on Galen’s belly pricked with a sudden pang of loneliness. Mama had often told the beloved stories of their exile and their search for the Faralone Falls, and he yearned to hear his mother’s voice. To know if she approved of how he had raised the Sisters.

  Number One just nodded. She tried to stop and look at a purple flower, but Galen prodded her. “Come on.”

  They pushed on throughout the night until, an hour before dawn, they saw the White Cliffs off to the east and reached the ford of the North Fork River. Galen stood on trembling legs and looked at the water. Spring rains had swelled it, and even here, at the ford, the water was high, running swiftly through a stand of cattails.

  He sighed. They would have to swim after all. But, Galen’s legs felt like massive stones, impossible to move. He flopped onto his armored back and thrust his aching feet upward.

  Immediately, Number Four started digging at a sassafras tree. When the others realized what she was after, they joined in. For the next few minutes, four baby armadillos dug at the tree’s base and chewed on roots, while Galen lay on his back, resting tired feet.

  As he relaxed, Galen wondered again: Why had El Garro called everyone together? It was strange. Galen couldn’t remember another such gathering, but then, he was only two years old. And why, especially, did Galen have to come? There were too many possibilities: his thoughts threatened to scatter in odd directions like a herd of deer frightened by a sudden noise.

  Far away, lazy barks broke the silence of the woods. The Sisters paid no attention, but Galen knew it meant hunting dogs. They were just after a raccoon, he told himself. Still, a shiver of fear ran along his spine; they should move on. He rolled over, feeling clumsy with fatigue.

  A moment later, Galen stood knee-deep in the cold water and looked up at the riverbank. Against the black sky and twinkling stars, the babies stood in silhouette. “We could walk across the bottom, or we could swim—” Galen struggled to keep the fear out of his voice, but he knew the dogs could reach them quickly if they found the armadillos’ scent. Blaze flying over his Sisters was scary but nothing compared to dogs. Hunting dogs could flip an armadillo baby on its back and tear out its stomach.

  Number Three protested. “We’ll drown when the vines on the river bottom catch us.”

  Number Two scoffed, “There aren’t vines in this river.”

  “All rivers have—”

  “Be quiet!” Galen roared. Frustration and fear of the dogs washed through him. Would the Sisters never be quiet? All he needed was a few minutes to explain how to swim.

  The Four Sisters buried their faces and covered their ears. Number Three started to cry.

  Instantly sorry, he said, “I’m sorry I yelled.” He closed his eyes to listen. No barking. The dogs were off in a different direction, he told himself. He had time to be gentle with them.

  Number One nosed her Sisters. “Come on, let’s try swimming so Galen will be happy.”

  They splashed into the river.

  “No!” Galen roared again. He pointed with one claw to the riverbank.

  The Sisters filed out and stood dripping. Number One lifted her head as if she would speak, but at Galen’s glare, she looked at her toes.

  “Listen!” Galen tried to keep his voice calm. “You must swallow enough air so your stomach is twice its normal size. That lets you float. Then paddle your legs and swim for the other side. If the current carries you too fast, try to angle upstream. It’ll carry you downstream, of course, but you’ll come out—what’s that?”

  Muffled barking. Then, louder barking. The dogs were closer.

  “Hurry! Into the water! Swim for the other side!”

  Number One and Number Four took deep breaths and plunged in. Dark water swallowed their grey forms, giving Galen cold chills. A moment later, baby armadillo noses bobbed barely above the surface as they moved swiftly. With each stroke, Galen’s heart lightened. But Number Two and Number Three looked at Galen with puzzlement.

  “Swallow air.” Galen sucked in air and inflated his stomach.

  Suddenly, the barking took on a higher pitch.

  “They’ve found our scent. They’ll be here in a minute and then—Hurry! Oh, hurry!”

  Number Two imitated Galen’s deep breaths and a moment later she was swimming to the opposite bank, where her Sisters had pulled out and were encouraging her, “That’s it! Run through the water. It’s fun!”

  Number Three stared calmly at Galen. “I don’t understand.”

  This was no time for Number Three to be overly cautious; the dogs were scarcely a hundred feet away. They snuffled around the spot Galen had lain a few minutes ago. Then one dog threw back his head and bayed. Massive black shadows leapt toward them.

  How fast were these dogs? How vicious? Galen goaded Number Three into the water. “Hold your breath!”

  She inhaled, and then Galen prodded her under with his nose. If they walked across instead of swam, the dogs wouldn’t see them. He hoped the other Sisters were smart enough to hide. The river water was murky, and the night was dark; Galen had to guess where he was going while still shoving Number Three forward. Water muffled the cruel yelping, but the dogs still hunted. Galen struggled to keep his footing in the shifting gravel.

  Number Three kicked violently for the surface and air. Galen scrambled faster—while still holding her firm—but her wrestling threw him off balance. His nose buried itself in the jumbled rocks and sand. Spluttering, trying to spit sand, he gulped. Galen gagged.

  Air! He needed air.

  But he couldn’t give up on Number Three. Desperately, he thrust her forward. Another step and they were in shallow water and hidden in a stand of cattails. He heaved Number Three onto the riverbank. Water and sand and spittle dribbled from Galen’s mouth. Afraid he was too noisy, he spun to face the opposite shore. Dogs milled about, apparently baffled by the disappearance of the scent. Galen and Number Three scrambled into the bushes.

  “Over here,” Number One called softly.

  “All safe?” Galen collapsed in relief.

  “Yes!” Number Two laughed. “Isn’t this fun?”

  “No!” Number Three said glumly. “I didn’t get to swim.”

  Galen spat, and then drew a deep quavering breath. Four sets of eyes watched him, waited for his next move, almost drowning him again, this time with their trust. Oh, how he wished for help. Could he do this? Would they make it to the Great Clearing in time?

  “Next time, I’ll teach you to swim,” he told Number Three. But to himself, he resolved to allow no more risks or dangers or frights for the next year.

  He shepherded them away from the river and pushed hard for an hour before letting them stop to eat and rest. Galen barely ate; instead, he watched the Sisters’ tiny claws rip into soft loam in search of worms. Sadness gripped him: their lives were being ripped apart, too. Where would they be next year?

  Only his sense of duty made him rise. “Time to go.”

  The Sisters chattered happily as they fell into line again.

  “Look!” Number One pointed east, where the sky was growing lighter above the White Cliffs.

  “Hurry,” Galen said. “We must reach the Clearing and a den before dawn.”

  “Will we eat there?” Number Four asked, which caused the others to turn expectantly for Galen’s answer.

  The Sisters were so trusting, so innocent, so beautiful. Galen had almost done the impossible by getting them this far. What was so important that El Garro had commanded his presence? Why did El Garro want Galen—especially—at this meeting? Especially. That word was worrying him.

  “Yes, we’ll eat at the Great Clearing.” They would find food and much more at the Clearing, he hoped.

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  The White Cliffs crouched black and heavy against the rising curve of the sun. The growing light revealed Galen and his Sisters, opened them to attack. Galen n
ervously steered the Four Sisters through the long forest shadows. He angled northeast to avoid a Black Road, and then back southeast, searching for the path. Finally, he found it and sighed in relief.

  “Look sharp!” Galen warned. “We shouldn’t be out during the day.”

  They laughed and trotted faster, even Number One, until Galen could barely keep up. He put on a burst of speed and took the lead.

  Suddenly, he was alert. There, off to the right. A rustling noise. Something was coming.

  His anger flared. They were traveling too fast and being too careless. Galen hissed, “Sisters! Hide!”

  Behind him, the armadillo babies scrambled off the trail and took refuge under a large shrub. Number Two’s crooked tail stuck out, while Number One’s eyes glittered from the midst of leaves. They were in plain sight!

  The rustling noise was too close for Galen to do anything. He was forced to shrink behind a tree trunk himself. The intruder came closer and closer.

  Number One called to Galen, “What is it?”

  Galen whipped around to warn harshly, “Shush!”

  When he turned back, another armadillo stood before him. She was small and lean with bright black eyes, shiny armor, sharp claws, and the loveliest ears Galen had ever seen. He stepped from behind the tree.

  “Galen?”

  Puzzled, Galen asked, “Who are you?”

  “Corrie.”

  “Corrie!” Galen said. The last time he’d seen her, Corrie was barely half grown. Here, she was a two-year old in full bloom, like a flower bud that had opened to reveal surprising colors. This couldn’t be the plump baby he remembered from last year.

  The Sisters tumbled onto the path, surrounding the two with chatter and laughter.

  Galen tried to speak over their clamor: “Corrie! How are you?”

  “These must be your sisters. They’ve grown!”

  “Who’s that?” Number One asked Galen.

  He shook himself. “Let me introduce everyone. This is Corazon, El Garro’s daughter. Corrie, meet the Four Sisters, Number One, Number Two, Number—”

  “Galen, surely you don’t call them by numbers! How could you?” Corrie swung around. “What are your real names?”

  “You mean like Mama called us?”

  “Galen doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just a Brother.”

  “Stop!” Number One yelled, “Let me.” She took a deep breath, then continued at a normal volume. “Corazon, daughter of El Garro of the Diego family, meet Alva, Belinda, and Dulcinea. And I’m Marta, daughter of Raulo of the Diego family. Don’t be mad at Galen. He’s taken good care of us and not gone off on his trek and left us alone, and we love him, and he got us here in time for the meeting even though we had to cross the river—”

  “Hey,” broke in Number Four, “you don’t get to tell everything. Let me tell about the dogs.”

  “No, let me,” Number Three said. “I’m the one who almost drowned.”

  Corrie laughed. “Come, Four Sisters, and welcome to the Colony. I’ll introduce you. Let’s see, you’ve got a crooked tail, so you must be Alva—”

  “Marta and Belinda stepped on it—”

  “Did not—”

  The five female armadillos rambled down the path, tails swinging. At a bend in the trail, Corrie looked back and winked.

  A moment later, they disappeared, leaving Galen surprised and speechless. Corrie had taken over the Four Sisters as if they weren’t difficult at all.

  And suddenly, Galen wondered: would he be able to take the changes that were ahead?

  .

  ANSWERS

  Soon, a thick stand of post oak, black oak and mockernut hickory trees opened out into a huge clearing where the early morning light showed the tiniest things: red soldier lichens, emerging fiddle heads of a fern, and aphids on the buds of a wild rose. Galen had been just a baby the last time he was here and didn’t remember these details. The roses, yes, because his mother always stopped to smell them. But not the variety of trees, lichens and other plants. Well, he was old enough to be a trekker, so he should notice more.

  Off to one side of the Great Clearing, several females had gathered around the Four Sisters; the Sisters were already content without him. Seeing this, a wave of longing hit Galen: he wanted to turn around and march north. He had held off the curse for a couple months, but soon he would be forced to tell his Sisters good-bye. A pang of loneliness hit him. Without his Sisters, any den would be too silent.

  The females had gathered grubs, berries, and snails, and Number Four was already eating. Food! Galen’s stomach grumbled. But answers came first.

  “El Garro? Has he already gone to his den for the day?” Galen asked Corrie.

  She pointed a foreleg toward a large stone that lay in the Clearing’s center. Half was covered with a fine gray lichen while the other half was cleared, and a map was scratched into the surface. Each armadillo Colony bore responsibility for such a map rock, and the location of the next map rock was one of the most important items shown. It was said an armadillo could travel all the way to the jungles of the southern continent by following one map rock to the next. Not that the curse let anyone try.

  Resting on the lichen was El Garro. He was massive, perhaps twenty-five or thirty pounds. His armor was scarred, chipped and yellowed with age, and his nose was partially deformed from leprosy that had begun to cripple him. Dark, coarse hairs were scattered across his scarred leathery legs. On his right foreleg an open sore oozed; one claw was missing. At twenty-five years old, he was ancient, twice the age of most of the Colony. All his quad-brothers were dead, and El Garro’s leprosy was spreading. No one dared wonder aloud how much longer he would be with them.

  “Ah, good. You made it. I have been waiting for you.” El Garro’s deep voice drew Galen toward the rock. “Come, speak to me. Then we’ll find a den for you and the babies.”

  Galen hastened to the map rock with a thudding heart. “El Garro, we have come at your bidding.”

  “Welcome, nephew,” El Garro said. To the Colony leader, all armadillos were his nieces or nephews. “We have worried about you and your sisters for many days. Why didn’t you bring them here so the family could help?”

  Formalities first, then, Galen thought with frustration. They would talk of family before he could ask his questions—his important, all-consuming questions, the ones that would determine the rest of his life. He clenched his jaw and answered, “I knew what to do with the Sisters.” He often thought about getting help but his parents taught them that trekkers must be self-reliant. They had done fine by themselves.

  El Garro tilted his head and studied Galen. “And bringing them here tonight was easy, I suppose?”

  “We had adventures, but we made it.”

  With gentle promptings, El Garro soon had Galen telling his story. While talking, Galen was engrossed, not just in the conversation, but in the aura that surrounded El Garro; a space of rarified air extended from El Garro to enfold him. His frustrations fell away, like a fog burning off before a bright sun. Time blurred. Galen found it impossible to judge how long he and El Garro talked. They spoke of how Galen had cared for his Sisters: what they ate, how well they slept, and how they had grown. They spoke of Galen’s brothers: the day Garcia and Rafael started their treks and left Galen behind; the news Blaze brought weekly from the trekkers. They spoke of Galen’s journey that night: the dogs and the river crossing. They spoke of changes in the Colony: many had gone trekking; others had gone missing, some had passed on to the Father of Souls; and many babies—including Corrie—had grown up. El Garro asked gentle questions and listened raptly to Galen’s answers.

  El Garro finally said, “Be quick, now, and eat. Corrie will show you to your brother’s den, where your sisters have already gone. Tonight our whole Colony will gather.”

  It was Galen’s chance. “Why did you tell Blaze I had to come?”

  “Ah.” El Garro leaned closer and locked eyes with Galen. “Do you want to trek?”


  To hide his confusion, Galen shifted his gaze to the sky. Of course, he must trek—wanted to trek. But he suddenly saw just how special those days with his Sisters had been. His slavery to the curse had been strangely suspended for a space of time. Maybe it had been a gift, those small moments of sharing sassafras roots or leading the Sisters to a termite tree. The morning was growing warm, his eyes growing heavy. Number One—no—Belinda and Dulcinea and Alva and Marta—his small family was already in a borrowed den, sleeping. Tomorrow, he would have to set aside family for Colony business; tomorrow, there would only be the open road and dust and rumors that trickled back from the north. A puffy cloud drifted in a sky so blue it hurt his eyes and made them water. Even the morning star had disappeared. With a gulp, he avoided the question by asking his own. “Where will you send me?”

  “Trekking is dangerous,” El Garro murmured. Then, his voice grew stronger. “Though the compulsion to travel north is strong, trekkers know we need information. Some have always come home to report, stay for a few months or a year, then move on again. For the last three years, no one has returned. This year, we’ve asked the owls to help us keep track of those trekking for the first time.”

  With his emotions under better control, Galen nodded. Blaze and his owl cousins knew exactly where his quad-brothers were.

  “Tomorrow, the owls will report about our trekkers. I’ll leave the details for them,” El Garro said. “But I expect we’ll need trekkers for a special journey to wherever the owls direct. By the time I realized this, all the others were gone. I was comforted these last few weeks knowing you were still here caring for your sisters. Don’t worry, Galen. You are a trekker, and you will have an assignment unlike any other.”