Vagabonds

by Darcy Pattison

  She swallowed hard. She vaguely remembered Blaze giving Galen directions, but she’d been so sleepy. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “Blaze mentioned the valley had water yesterday when she told us about Rafael.” But Victor had been too tired to notice, tired from slogging through the woods without a trail, tired from fighting with Blaze instead of trusting her.

  “Water,” Victor repeated. He slipped his long tail back and forth like a whip. “And will this Valley, by any chance, have a waterfall in it?”

  That’s what he’s worried about, Corrie realized. He thinks the Faralone Falls might be in this Valley, not just Galen’s brother.

  Galen was going to find his brother, she thought. Bianca, Luz, Alicia—she longed to see her own lost sisters. It’s funny, she thought, what I remember about my sisters: the warmth of their snug den and the slightly sour milk smell.

  Blaze circled overhead, then landed near Corrie.

  “Blaze, where is this Valley?” Victor’s voice was low and insistent. “Is there a waterfall there?”

  “No waterfall,” Blaze said. “I think. Old Raccoon didn’t say waterfall.”

  “But you haven’t seen the Valley?” Victor insisted.

  Corrie stifled her disappointment. Maybe Victor was physically tired; she was. “Galen isn’t trying to cheat you out of finding the Faralone Falls,” she said in a level voice. “He only wants to find his brother. What’s wrong with that?”

  “He’s hiding something. And you’re protecting him.”

  “It’s a waste of time to worry about Galen. He’ll probably find us before daybreak, and he’ll have his brother with him.”

  “Maybe,” Victor said. “But I’d still like to look at that valley.”

  “At least send Blaze ahead to scout for Long Pool. At dawn, we can meet at the turtle rocks.”

  “Blaze, what do you think?” Victor asked.

  “Hoo, hoo! I scout ahead,” Blaze said. “Meet you at sunrise.”

  .

  VALLEY OF WATERS

  Galen huddled in a small crevice between stones and crunched a beetle. Ugh. It was a stink beetle, which tasted as bad as it smelled. He was so worried about his brother, he hadn’t noticed what he was eating. He spit out the bits of beetle shell and beetle legs.

  Galen’s throat was thick from calling continuously for Rafael for the past hour. He stared at the still pool. Galen remembered swimming for the first time with Felix, Rafael, and Garcia. The creek near their childhood den was usually shallow, but a spring storm had filled it from bank to bank. Father made them wait a day until the water started to recede, which made it calmer. He pushed them into the water, then stood on the bank and sang his favorite ballad, “The Crossing of the Rio Grande,” while they learned to swim. Galen and Rafael had instinctively known how to swim. They paddled around Felix and Garcia, teasing and laughing. At last Father came in and taught them to paddle. Galen ached to hear his parent’s ballads, his brothers’ laughter.

  If Rafael was hurt—or even worse, dead—Galen would find out. Full of foreboding, Galen rose and started a methodical search. Starting on the north side, he looked behind each stone and slowly moved southward. He no longer called for Rafael, no longer had much hope of finding him alive, but he would not stop.

  So thorough was his search, that an hour later, he had only made it through half the stones in the small valley. Burning with frustration, Galen paused and watched the near-quarter moon rising over the waterfall. Pale silver light streamed like a waterfall itself into the valley, deepening the shadows under the limestone boulders. Galen ran a tongue over his teeth, trying to dispel the lingering bitter aftertaste of the stink beetle. Where was his brother? He breathed deep, searching for Rafael’s familiar scent. There was the smell of recently disturbed earth and exposed roots, but no armadillo.

  Suddenly, Galen sneezed.

  “There you are,” a voice drawled from behind him.

  Instinctively, Galen jumped sideways and twisted around, trying to avoid an attack. He landed facing the voice. Victor! Corrie was right behind him. Galen sagged in relief.

  Before Galen could speak, though, Victor demanded, “What have you found?”

  At Victor’s hostile tone, Galen rose wearily to his fullest height, dug his claws into the soft earth, and stood there, rigid. “Rafael won’t answer me.”

  “No,” Victor said. “All this digging. What did you find?”

  “Where is Rafael?” Corrie asked.

  Galen let himself collapse back to all fours and clawed the mound of dirt around a hole. He didn’t want to answer Corrie. “I found rocks,” he said to Victor’s question. “What do you think?”

  Victor growled. “You know what I mean.”

  Galen didn’t want to explain about his brother. “Rocks. I found rocks.”

  Victor’s teeth ground together, and he jabbed his pointy face toward the waterfall. “You fool! Is that Faralone Falls? Are there clues in this valley?”

  That’s what Victor was worried about! Corrie shrugged up her armor, as is to say, “Victor was at it again.”

  Galen lifted his nose and sniffed. Victor smelled of sour fear. Let him be afraid.

  Restlessly, Galen shoved the next stone and looked behind it. No one. He moved to the next rock, but found Victor blocking his way.

  Victor thrust his square chest against Galen’s nose. “What did you find?”

  Galen shoved past Victor, but barely: Galen had forgotten Victor was a head taller and much heavier. “Rocks,” Galen repeated. “Why are there just rocks here?”

  Victor reared up, then slammed downward, his shoulder connecting solidly with Galen’s shoulder. Victor roared, “What are you hiding?”

  The blow shook Galen from head to tail, and the world spun crazily. The silver moonlight wavered and joined a new constellation of stars. Galen closed his eyes and stayed very still. “I’m hiding nothing,” he whispered. “Look around. There’s nothing here.” He cautiously opened one eye. The world was calmer. “Not even Rafael.”

  “Stop!” Corrie said. “Fighting amongst ourselves is foolish!”

  Victor’s hackles were still raised. “Why didn’t you tell me about the waterfall?”

  The ache for his brother, along with disrespect for Victor, hit Galen full force and filled him with sadness. “This isn’t Faralone Falls. I’m searching for my brother, and I don’t need your help. Leave. Now.”

  Victor’s teeth snapped together, but he spoke with satisfaction. “Ah’ll leave. But not till we finish the fight that El Garro stopped.”

  Victor leapt for Galen, crashing into him and sending them both into the dark pool.

  Spluttering, Galen paddled the few steps back to where his feet touched the slimy bottom, all the while wishing that he was full of fight like Victor, wishing he could find reasons to fight. But all he felt was an emptiness.

  Corrie stood frozen, as if unsure what to do. But Victor was already out of the water, shaking vigorously, then hopping slightly, ready to spar again.

  Water dripped off Galen while he took a deep breath. And then, his head cleared, the cold water from the pool making him shiver in the night air, waking him out of his despair over Rafael. Galen knew he would have to fight Victor. He knew he approached life with caution; he tried too hard to keep peace. And now, Victor had pegged him as a cautious fighter, a pushover. Galen had to do something unexpected. The valley was a poor place to fight, with the pool taking up one end and the rest of it littered with either boulders or the recently dug holes. Corrie still stood to the side of the pool, just staring.

  Despite the poor terrain, Galen turned and immediately charged Victor, ramming his side. Galen’s forward momentum carried them both to the ground. Galen flipped head first and upside down over Victor and landed on his back, his legs waving in the air. Anguish swept over him. Why had he attacked? Then, his frantic leg movement unbalanced him, and he fell on his side. He braced himself for a rush from Victor, which was sure to come.

&n
bsp; Thump! What was that?

  Turning, Galen saw Victor tumble into a hole. An armadillo stood on the hole’s edge with his tail toward Galen. Who was it? Galen stumbled forward, dizzy.

  The intruder pivoted. “Galen, are you OK?” The voice was weak.

  The armadillo’s head was noticeably dented on the right side, and a large chunk was taken out of his armor over his right shoulder.

  “Rafael?” Galen’s voice trembled.

  “Where are you?” the injured armadillo said.

  Galen moved closer. It was Rafael all right, but something was wrong. His right eye drooped lazily.

  Rafael’s nostrils flared. “Ah! I can smell you.”

  “Smell?” Galen had a growing sense of disaster.

  Behind Rafael, Victor climbed out of the hole. Despite Victor’s awkward clatter, Rafael didn’t turn.

  “What happened?” Galen said. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  Rafael’s eyes reflected the moonlight; they were silver eyes, so shiny that no light could reach past the surface. But Rafael had deep, black eyes; Galen remembered them well.

  “What do you mean smell?” Galen cried. “Can’t you see I’m your brother?”

  Grimly, Galen waved a foreleg at Rafael’s face, but his brother didn’t flinch.

  Rafael was blind.

  Anger washed over Galen: anger at the Reina of armadillos who had cursed his people so that their young must trek into unknown dangers, anger at Rafael for letting this happen, anger at himself for not being with Rafael when it did. For a third time that night, dizziness swept over him, so that Galen had to hold himself very still. He wanted to go back to the days when he was one of the Four Brothers, and life was carefree and sweet. Impossible.

  Victor, too, appeared to realize something was wrong. He walked in a semicircle around the brothers, studying them. Galen moved closer to Rafael so he could protect him if needed. Corrie had also come around the edge of the pool, to stare at Rafael.

  “I’ve been calling for hours.” Galen battled between the utter joy of seeing his brother alive and the frustration of the search. “Why didn’t you answer?”

  “I sleep behind the falls where I hear nothing.” Rafael lowered his nose and passed a foreleg over his eyes. “Some nights ago, I was trekking when I heard singing. I came and stood on the edge of this valley. Below me, a giant armadillo bathed in the waterfall. I knew it was only a dream, a vision.” Rafael lifted his chin and turned his silver eyes toward the waterfall. “But I stared and stared. She was—it’s hard to describe—she was neither young nor old, neither beautiful nor ugly. Perhaps, she was all that at the same time, the way a forest is all of that at once.

  “Remember Father’s ballads? One came unbidden into my head. I sang the ballad about Bernardo and Isidoro and our banishment. At the first word, the armadillo turned. She listened. Then, she sang a song for me.”

  Rafael began to sing. The words were slurred, the melody uncertain:

  “Rejoice, O, Vagabonds of old,

  Your journey’s end has been foretold.

  Seek the placid watering hole

  Where creatures go to rest their soul.

  In a bright mountain stream find wide

  Waterfalls, that tumble side by side.

  Search well, for ancient Turis tell

  Of the lands where they once did dwell.

  Climb hills where eagles build their nests

  And guard the Turis’ secrets, lest

  Unworthy folk should find their home

  And Vagabonds must always roam.

  The Turis’ narrow mountain way

  Will lead you home that very day.

  Rejoice, O, Vagabonds of old,

  Your journey’s end has been foretold.”

  Corrie couldn’t stop shaking her head. “You heard this ballad from a giant armadillo? You think she was a Turi?”

  At Rafael’s nod, Galen drew in a sharp breath. Could he trust his brother’s vision of the Turi? Rafael had no reason to lie. A sense of wonder filled Galen, and he felt momentarily blind, too. The Turis were real? Could it be true?

  “She was a Turi,” Rafael said. “She sang, then disappeared.”

  “Where did she go? Just disappeared like a ghost?” Victor mocked.

  “The moon, this valley—it was as if I was looking into the past. I thought she was the spirit of an ancestor who walked these woods before the big cold came. It was as if this waterfall and that stream of moonlight made it possible to connect with the land that once was. But the effort of seeing and hearing another time was too much. I was overcome with dizziness and fell. When I woke, I was in this valley and something was wrong with my eyes.”

  Galen closed his own eyes against Rafael’s silver eyes, as if he could deny them if he didn’t see them. “But why do you dig?”

  Rafael’s claws scraped the earth. “She’s here somewhere; I hear her singing. She’s just hiding. When I touch the land, the dirt—I feel her. If I can only dig deep enough—it sounds crazy, but the Turis are here in this land. She’s so close. Sometimes, I hide from the song; I sleep behind the falls to block her voice. Other times, I must hear it. If I could only understand what the ballad means, I’m sure we could free our people from the curse.”

  Victor crept nearer, his tail whipping about.

  “Stop,” Galen said. But he didn’t know if he meant stop moving your tail or stop stalking my brother. He didn’t think Victor would do anything, but— “Victor. Would you attack a blind armadillo?”

  “No, no,” Victor said. “In fact, I want to help you protect him until tomorrow night when you’ll be starting home. Of course, you’ll want to escort him to the Colony, where he’ll be cared for.”

  “Oh,” Galen groaned. “Of course.” His stomach churned: a fierce desire to protect Rafael from further injury battled against the curse which, even now, tried to push him northward.

  But Victor was right. Emotions aside, they had found one missing trekker and must take him to El Garro. Rafael couldn’t return to the Great Clearing by himself. But one trekker wasn’t enough to call off the search for dozens of others who were missing. That meant Corrie and Victor would continue the search.

  “No,” Rafael said. “I won’t go back.”

  With a gulp, Galen realized he had to convince his brother. “Rafael, you must go home. You’re not in shape to travel. It’s important we find the rest of the trekkers.”

  “You don’t understand,” Rafael said. He seemed to have trouble steadying his voice. It randomly wavered from too loud to too soft. “Did you hear the ballad? We are close. We need to search for the Faralone Falls. Not for missing trekkers. If we find the Falls, we’ll end the curse, and trekkers will return home. And you need me. When we find the Turi’s cave, I’ll be the only one who can see, the only one who can understand. You think I’m blind, but that isn’t exactly true. I see the shadows of this world and the shadows of the Turi’s world, and not knowing which vision is true, I must walk as if blind. But when we reach the Turi’s cave, I will see truly. If you want to find Faralone Falls, if you want our people’s journey to end, you must take me.”

  .

  CROSSROADS

  Victor and Galen agreed on one thing: the ballad sounded like a map in song.

  “What does it mean?” Victor asked. “Where is the pool within mountain streams? Could that be Long Pool? How will we know if we find the right eagle’s nest?”

  Galen’s answer was slow coming; he realized they were at a crossroads. In his excitement, he fell headlong into a shallow hole. With a grunt, he pulled himself out. He couldn’t be still; his short legs moved quickly as he paced back and forth.

  Abruptly, he stopped before Victor. “You’re thinking too small.”

  Victor looked down his nose at Galen. “I think small?”

  “Compare possible ballads: Victor finds missing trekkers or Victor finds Faralone Falls. Which ballad do you want your grandfather to write?”

&n
bsp; “You’d risk everything?”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Of course, they should take Rafael back to El Garro and let him explain what he saw, let him sing the ballad. El Garro would send out more searchers. That’s what they should do. But Galen saw another route.

  Victor avoided an answer. “We need to get out of this valley.”

  Corrie objected, “Rafael’s blind. He can’t travel.”

  Quivering inside, Galen studied Rafael’s silvery eyes. They could take Rafael at his word: that the Faralone Falls was near and Rafael’s ballad could help find it, thus ending decade upon decade of trekking forced on them by the curse.

  Corrie said again, “We can’t change the point of our search. We must find the trekkers first; that’s what El Garro sent us to do.”

  His pulse throbbing, Galen whispered, “Think of it: the Ballad of the Faralone Falls.”

  “I saw her.” Rafael’s voice rose on a crescendo, then waned again. “She sang a ballad.”

  Corrie glared at the other three. “El Garro needs to know we found Rafael.”

  Victor looked sideways at Galen. “El Garro needs to know?”

  Galen asked, “Why create a false hope? We have no idea if any other trekker had an experience similar to Rafael’s.”

  Rafael swayed as if to music that only he could hear. “In the moonlight, she sang.”

  Corrie stamped a front foot. “You’re blind!”

  Galen suddenly shrugged. “Let’s see how he travels. Victor, lead the way.”

  This suggestion to move on pleased both Corrie and Victor. They began the slow journey out of the valley maze. Galen took extra care to stay right in front of Rafael. His brother walked close enough that Galen’s tail often swept gently against Rafael’s front legs, which left Galen acutely conscious of his brother’s condition. Galen chafed at the situation. He wanted to be on his way, looking for Faralone Falls, and he wanted these complications to go away. If any chance existed of finding the Falls, of freeing his people from the curse of trekking, of saving the Four Sisters from their own dangerous trek—a sliver of joy shot through him. Could Rafael’s vision be true?