Vagabonds

by Darcy Pattison

  When the grass thinned, he found himself under a large oak. “Blaze, where are you?”

  Blinking in the bright light of day, Galen trotted deeper into the wood’s shadows.

  He pitched his voice to carry. “Blaze. I need to talk to you.” His eyelids were as heavy as his armor this morning. Following Victor had made for a hard night of traveling.

  A heavy snore-like call spun him back to the oak. “Blaze, is that you?”

  “Hooo.”

  Galen squinted and studied the oak’s branches, beginning at the bottom and letting his gaze travel upward. About three fourths of the way up, he spotted the barn owl. “What did you mean when you called Rafael a crazy ‘dillo?”

  Blaze flew down, and they stood in the deepest shade. She explained what the raccoon had told her. She ended by repeating, “Digging, but not digging dens.”

  “He fell into the valley? Maybe he’s injured.” Galen’s eyes were dry, itching. He needed sleep.

  “But he digs. Digging is hard work. Not injured. Crazy, the raccoon said.”

  “No!” Rafael had to be injured, not crazy. And that made it all the more urgent for Galen to find him immediately. Galen bent his head to his foreleg and tried to rub his sandpaper eyes. “I’ll go search for Rafael. Tomorrow, lead the others to the valley. I’ll meet you there.”

  “I thought you might try that.” Corrie stepped from under a shrub. At Galen’s look, she said, “I left Victor sleeping soundly. He’s exhausted after last night.” She studied him curiously, as if she’d never seen him. “If one of my quad-sisters was sick or hurt, I’d go immediately, too.”

  “Thank you,” Galen said soberly.

  “But you know, I can’t come with you.” Her dark eyes glittered. “El Garro named Victor leader, and he must have someone to lead. Don’t worry about Victor, though. I’ll explain why you couldn’t wait.”

  Victor? Galen wasn’t worried about the Toad. Except, Galen frowned, that meant Victor and Corrie would travel alone. He asked Blaze, “You’ll lead them, won’t you? So Victor doesn’t go around in circles again?”

  Blaze swiveled her head almost in a complete circle to look from one armadillo to the other. “Hooo! I lead. I know how to find Long Pool and the valley.”

  Satisfied Blaze would guide Corrie, he said, “Tell me where to go.”

  Blaze repeated the raccoon’s directions.

  “Why do they call it valley of waters?” Galen asked.

  Blaze blinked. “Sun too bright.” She blinked again, and then shifted to catch a deeper patch of shade. “Raccoon said water cuts through turtle rocks.”

  With a quickening breath, Galen said, “Does it make a waterfall?” They were searching for lost armadillos, yes, but he couldn’t forget the search for the Faralone Falls.

  “Sun too bright.” Blaze closed her eyes. “When you see the turtle rocks, you can follow the creek. Maybe waterfall, maybe not. Now, I sleep.” With that, Blaze ran a few lopsided steps and took off silently. She still favored her right wing, but flew easily to a thick branch.

  Galen grunted. He wouldn’t get any more information from Blaze until nightfall.

  When he turned, Galen was startled to see Corrie actually watching him.

  “What will you do?” Corrie asked.

  Galen said, “I’ll travel a few hours, then stop in the afternoon’s heat for a nap. That way, I’ll make it to the valley as fast as possible.”

  Corrie tilted her head. In the morning sunshine, her armor was polished wood; she was a creature of the Ozarks, sculpted by the sun and wind and rain.

  Galen saw himself reflected in her polished dark eyes. He was startled to see how lean he had become. He looked like his father, his father who had been madly in love with his mother. Words welled up, but they were words that couldn’t be spoken until their quest was successful. Even then, he didn’t think Corrie would welcome them.

  She shook herself delicately, turned and disappeared back into the bluestems.

  With a deep sigh, Galen put the rising sun at his back and headed west to find Rafael.

  .

  SEARCHING

  It was a hard day of travel since Galen had so little sleep in the last two days and because he hated to travel in daylight. He stuck with it until mid-afternoon when he was almost staggering. By then, he had reached the creek Blaze had mentioned. It was far enough away to be out of easy reach of Victor’s anger for desertion, he decided. He had to sleep an hour or two. He almost sheltered under a shrub, but realized the dirt was sandy, easily dug. Sleep would come faster in a den. Quickly, he dug a shallow den, backed in and closed his weary eyes. The bright sun crept through his eyelids, though, irritating him, until he shifted his armor and buried his nose in the den’s wall where the shadows were deeper. He scrunched his eyes shut and blinked, trying to moisten them. He yawned.

  He remembered the first time he realized armadillos were trekkers. Galen had an image of his mother and father leading the Four Brothers (himself and his three brothers) north away from the Great Clearing. They couldn’t have been much more than three or four months old. At each rise in the path, his father, who always led, paused to look around. His mother, at the rear, did the same.

  One day, he asked them, “What are you looking for?”

  “Home,” his mother said. She gestured toward the wooded valley that lay before them. To their right, a thicket of wild roses sprawled beside the path. She breathed deeply of the sweet scent. “If things were different, your father and I could make our home here, in this valley, under these roses. Instead, we search for a future and a hope.” Her voice was full of passion. “It’s time you learned of the curse.”

  Father nodded his agreement. “We’ll stop here for the day. We have enough time before dawn for stories.” They pushed into the middle of the thicket and sat, surrounded by fragrant rose petals.

  “Listen, then, to the story of the Vagabonds.” With these words, Mother’s voice took on a sad, poignant lilt. It was obvious she had told this story many times.

  “In the jungles of the far, far, south, there once lived a group of armadillos who were peaceful and prosperous. Then, the Grand Reina, the queen mother of armadillos bore twins—”

  “Twins? Armadillos have identical quadruplets. All boys or all girls,” Galen had interrupted.

  “Today we have quads, but not back then. Now, listen. Let me explain.”

  She continued, “The Reina bore twins, Bernardo the Strong and Isidoro the Wise. They weren’t identical twins: Bernardo, the first-born, was a larger triple-banded armadillo like his mother; but, Isidoro, born last, was a smaller nine-banded armadillo. As the brothers grew, competition between them was fierce; as adults, their relationship worsened. Finally, Bernardo made a heartless decision: all nine-banded armadillos, especially his brother, would be his slaves. He recruited fifty other triple-bandeds to help capture Isidoro and his family.

  “But Isidoro had wisely moved to dens across the Tula River. Bernardo sent his troops walking across the river’s bottom by holding their breath, as all armadillos can do.”

  Rafael asked eagerly, “When will you teach us how to walk under water?”

  “At the next river,” Father said. “Now, listen. Don’t interrupt your mother.”

  Mother continued, “Isidoro, true to his name as the wisest of armadillos, had planted vines on the river bottom which caught at the feet of Bernardo’s troops. They turned back to their own shore, lest they drown.

  “Bernardo was furious. From that day on, he swore to capture and enslave every nine-banded armadillo. The outcry of the nine-banded armadillos was great, and the feud grew with each capture and each enslavement, until the entire jungle was consumed by war.

  “Grand Reina, Ema Esperanza called her sons to appear before her. Bernardo, as the first-born and heir to her throne, was chastised, but after all, he was a triple-banded like she was: the kingdom and birthright belonged to him. The Grand Reina was as heartless as Bernardo. Isidoro and his entire
family were banished.

  “Isidoro and his kin set up a wailing and mourning that filled the land. And the Father of Souls heard the cries and answered. He sent Isidoro a vision of a giant armadillo. It was one of the ancient Turi, the armadillo ancestors, who fled south during the time of great cold. Before a tall waterfall, the giant Turi and a nine-banded armadillo danced a joyful bolero.

  “Isidoro sought out Hoefon, son of the Father of Souls, and asked the meaning of the vision.

  “Hoefon said, ‘The dream prophesies that in the land of the Turis, in the valleys and mountains around the Faralone Falls, your family will find a home. Once more, you will be happy and safe.’

  “Isidoro begged for mercy, ‘Don’t send us so far away.’

  “Hoefon said, ‘I can’t change your banishment, but I give you this blessing and this curse: each generation will have quadruplets. The three youngest will find their hearts full with longing for a new home. They will search for the Turi’s land, for their will is not their own. One north, one northeast, one northwest. But the first born of the quad will occupy the land through which you pass.’

  “Thus, Hoefon saved one-fourth of each generation. Throughout the decades, the eldest has rested from the wandering life, while the youngest three were continually vagabonds, traveling in the land.”

  Mother’s voice deepened and her eyes gleamed. Galen thought she was teasing, trying to give the Brothers a small fright. He drank in the sweet rose scent and leaned closer.

  “Have you not heard the tales of the long and treacherous Trek of the Vagabonds?” Mother intoned. “The attack of the Jaguars, the deadly traps of the Mexicans, the lassos of the Texans, the agony of the Roadkill Machines and many other dangers are told and retold. Decades upon decades have passed since Bernardo the Heartless tried to enslave Isidoro the Wise and his family. Still, los vagabundos long for a new home. After decades, they are still compelled to search—north, northeast, northwest—for the Turis and the Faralone Falls.”

  Galen called softly, “A curse and a blessing?”

  “Yes, both,” his mother said.

  Though the exile angered him, Galen could understand why the Grand Reina sent Isidoro away: fighting amongst family was unthinkable. But why would Hoefon curse them with the compulsion to travel northward? Why not let them move a distance away, or forbid them to enter a certain territory? Trekking was a curse, for sure. How could it be a blessing to live as vagabonds, always moving, unable to establish a home, a community?

  Mother continued, “Our people are vagabonds, strangers in a strange land. But there is coming a day when we’ll be as others around us, raising our children with the knowledge they will live in the land near us. We will have the precious gift of time. Days and months to learn to love our grandchildren and great-grandchildren because they won’t be compelled to trek.”

  She tilted her face to the stars, and her voice intensified. “You must find the Faralone Falls. If your father and I fail, each of you must try. And your grandsons and granddaughters after you must try. We can’t stop trekking until we find the Falls and all our people have rest.”

  Rafael blurted out, “I will find the Falls. By myself.”

  He was rewarded with a great, echoing laugh. “I believe you will.”

  Galen was struck with a pang of jealousy. He wished he had said that. “I’ll be there, too,” he said. But his parents had already turned away.

  His mother’s words came back to him now with a new poignancy. Home. Her voice had held such longing. Would she have been worried since all the trekkers had disappeared? Or would she think it was a sign they were close to the Faralone Falls? No matter how much Galen might want to spare his baby Sisters from their fates, he was helpless. He yawned. Well, he would search tomorrow for his brother, not a legendary waterfall.

  At last, Galen slept, his dreams full of battles between triple-banded and nine-banded armadillos. Sometimes, Bernardo, the triple-banded, had Rafael’s face; sometimes, his own.

  He woke still tired, restless, the question of Rafael’s craziness hanging over him. It was still an hour before sunset: he would get a good start searching for Rafael. He dug again, this time for grubs. With his hunger slackened, he splashed in the creek, washing away the travel dust. He allowed himself the briefest pleasure of chasing a crawdad beneath its rock. Then, he shook himself and trudged north along the creek.

  The beauty of the Ozarks tried to creep into him, tried to ease his fears. The riverbanks were mostly wooded, with clumps of trees leaning out over the river that sparkled silver in the fading light. Branches grazed the surface while leaves caught in swirling eddies. Eventually he came to an area where mounds of gray rocks crowded the water’s edge. Away from the bank a bit, the rocks joined into an irregular shelf of smooth rounded shapes, which gave way again—the farther east he traveled—to a small plateau. Rough gray-green lichens and ragged mosses clung to the stones. Small shrubs sent down insistent roots, finding shallow footholds, but no trees grew on these rocks. During the day, lizards would bask in the hot sun.

  The water gouged narrow, deep channels through the soft stone. At the widest, two grown armadillos could stretch across it; at the narrowest, it was an easy jump for a baby armadillo. But it was deep. Galen judged the depth at ten or twelve times his height. Far below, long strands of water plants undulated, revealing strong currents.

  As the creek led upwards toward a distant cliff, it widened and became shallower, until at last, its dimensions were reversed: it was ten or twelve times wider than deep. Here, the surrounding stone mounted higher with each step. Stubborn blocks of limestone created a confusing, irregular maze through which Galen threaded his way. He circled one towering boulder but had to struggle over the next. The sides slanted enough so he could scramble to the top, then, panting from exertion, slide down the other side. He made headway slowly.

  The greenish haze of late afternoon slid into purple shadows of early evening. Faced with yet larger blocks, Galen squeezed between a stone and the cliff’s wall and came out into a valley. Before him lay a stagnant pool; its surface was ruffled by an unseen wind. Ripples traveled across the surface only to die at the water’s edge under his feet. Beyond, he heard a small waterfall, but it didn’t fall directly into this pool. Deep shadows filled the valley, and moonrise was hours off. Keeping close to the wall, Galen inched forward, looking for signs of life.

  He stopped at a mound of sand. Climbing up, he saw a shallow hole that had been dug down a foot or so before it hit bedrock. Circling, he found another hole. Then another. His eyes had adjusted to the growing dark, and he found holes dotting the ground on this side of the pool. Digging. That’s what Blaze said the crazy ‘dillo was doing. Digging, but not dens. Just digging. Galen’s heart thumped in the silence.

  He called softly, “Rafael. Are you there?”

  .

  FOLLOWING

  When Corrie came out of her tiny den at sunset, Victor still slept. His head was curled under, and he had pulled several cedar branches over his head to keep out the light. Rhythmic snores sent the cedar branches up and down. How far had Galen gotten, she wondered, while their leader slept?

  She roused Victor and explained. “Galen couldn’t wait; he went to find his brother.”

  Victor’s expression was sour, but quickly brightened. He stretched and yawned. “We don’t need Galen, anyway,” he said. “We’re fine by ourselves.”

  The shadows were deepening under the cedar and dusk was moving in from the east. Uncomfortable under Victor’s intent gaze, Corrie scampered across the bluestems and called for Blaze. When she and Blaze arrived back at the cedar, Victor decided to set out without eating. The armadillos would wait until Blaze was ready to hunt before eating, too.

  They traveled west for an hour before Corrie stopped and sniffed a patch of plants. “Wild strawberries!” she cried with joy. The berries smelled warm and ripe. “El Garro’s favorite,” she murmured. Would her father find strawberries this spring? She fondly reme
mbered a day when El Garro brought a strawberry for her mother, Anabel. He gently carried it in his mouth and laid it at her feet. El Garro always treated his mate and their daughters with great respect.

  Corrie had thought all armadillo homes were happy. When she turned one year old, she began to wander about and visit other dens. It was hard to believe that many mated for just one season, and then moved on. Not all families, she realized sadly, were as stable as theirs. She vowed that when she chose a mate, she would, like her father and mother, mate for life.

  “Blaze, are you ready to hunt? We’ll eat these berries,” Victor called.

  Corrie looked around in surprise. Victor was trying harder to get along with Blaze.

  “Whoo!” Blaze landed and pecked at a berry, but quickly spit it out. She shook her heart-shaped face. “Strawberries. Food for rabbits. I hunt.” She flew off noiselessly.

  Corrie stifled her irritation. Why did Blaze fuss about what the armadillos ate? The owl ate so erratically herself.

  Victor pulled berries from the low-growing plants and ate with a funny, smacking noise. Corrie curled her lip at his sloppy eating, then worried he might see her disapproval. She moved to the opposite side of the patch. She liked a good grub or earthworm as much as any armadillo, but berries were a nice change.

  Eating slowly, she moved toward the middle of the patch until she looked up and was almost nose-to-nose with Victor.

  Stretching, Victor yawned and said, “And where did you say Galen would meet us?”

  “At the Valley of Waters.”

  Victor clawed the ground, and then thrust his nose right in Corrie’s face. Grunt-grunt-grunt. The angry sounds came from deep in his chest. “Water? No one mentioned water. Where is this Valley?”

  His aggressiveness flustered Corrie. She stepped backward, half-turned, and nibbled another berry. Why was Victor angry all the time? He was handsome and a good traveling companion. In many ways, he reminded her of El Garro. Except for his constant anger.