Vagabonds

by Darcy Pattison

  Rafael whispered, “The eagle’s nest is the tricky part of the puzzle. Just because there were eagle’s nests someplace a hundred years ago, doesn’t mean they are in the same place today. The Faralone Falls could be anywhere around here.”

  “Yes,” Galen said. “But I can’t leave you.”

  “For a few hours at a time, you can. Take three or four hours each evening and explore.” Rafael hesitated. “Just don’t leave me here to die alone.”

  “Never!”

  “Will you search for the Turi’s cave?”

  Galen felt a prickling at the back of his neck. Then a shiver of excitement spread under his shell, down to the tip of his tail. “Do you really think the Faralone Falls could be near?”

  “Yes.”

  “I might really find it?” Galen said in wonder. But then, he worried about Rafael. “As long as you’re well enough to leave for a couple hours each night, I’ll search.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Galen felt suspended in an aura of excitement. The Faralone Falls—maybe, maybe, maybe, it was close. He touched Rafael’s nose. “You must drink and eat before anything else. Can you make it to the spring?”

  Rafael rose on unsteady feet. “I’ll try. And then, you can push on and search for the Turi’s cave.”

  .

  THE GUARDIAN

  “Corrie.” Victor gasped for air. “I’ve got to rest.”

  Corrie sighed in exasperation. After spotting the animal tracks, she was determined to get over this hill tonight, so she had pushed past Victor and set a rapid pace. While waiting for him to catch his breath, she closed her eyes and ignored her stomach, which ached more from anxiety than hunger or thirst.

  To distract herself, Corrie studied the valley as if she might draw a map rock. Soft, under the full moon, a line of hills stretched east-to-west. To the south were smaller, rounder hills. Following the smooth backbone of the highest hills around to the east, the Ozarks tapered off into smaller hills. Far to the west, a stream cut a channel through the hills and ran southward. Though glints of water reflected in the moonlight, the stream was thin; water was low from lack of rain. The twin peaks lay north of them, but on this side of the hill, they couldn’t see their destination.

  They were high enough that below, a pale owl hovered over a grassy clearing.

  “It’s Blaze!” Corrie cried.

  Victor hurried to her side. The owl dipped, touched the earth briefly, and then rose with something squirming in its claws.

  “It’s bigger than Blaze,” Victor said. “Probably a male barn owl.”

  Blaze’s absence nagged at Corrie. It was one more unsolved mystery that had to wait until after they found the eagle’s nest. She turned away. “Ready?”

  Victor shook out his hind legs, and then nodded.

  The trail wound upward, sometimes along the edge of the cliff, sometimes under the trees which grew on this part of the hillside. They rested again and feasted on a termite nest that Victor found. Corrie’s stomachache eased, but they still hadn’t found water. Thirsty and tired, they plodded upward again.

  Corrie led the way along the cliff face. The full moon had set and they needed to find a place to sleep for the day. Victor followed noisily, his fatigue making him grunt with every step. Corrie warned him to be quieter, but he struggled, and she wouldn’t let them stop until first light.

  She jogged along, and then stopped to wait for Victor. When he caught up, she turned back to the pathway. “Oh!”

  Before her stood a shaggy beast, three times her height; its sharp, ebony hooves ground the dry earth into a fine powder. From its horns, she guessed it was a male; from his angry eyes, she guessed they were invading his territory. It said, “Wha-a-a-at are you?”

  Victor stepped in front of Corrie, shielding her and blocking her view. “We’re armadillos. What are you?”

  “Mountain goat. Never heard of armadi-i-i-illo. What do you wa-a-a-ant?”

  Straining to see around Victor, Corrie could do nothing but stare. She had heard of goats, but never seen one. This one was four times her height, with tan hair and a tuft of white on its chin.

  Victor said, “We want to pass over the hill.”

  “No-o-o.” Behind him, other figures moved, probably the goat’s mate and babies.

  He has good reason to guard the path, Corrie thought.

  Victor tried to reason: “But we only—“

  The goat charged straight at Victor and butted him. Victor flipped onto his back. The goat rose above Victor, ready to trample his soft belly, but Corrie charged forward and slammed into the goat’s back legs, throwing him off balance. The impact stunned Corrie. She backed away, shaking her head; a dull ache settled between her eyes. Victor lay on his back, lashing about, trying to get his legs beneath himself.

  The goat lowered his head again and caught Victor’s armor with a horn. Victor rolled. The momentum was so intense, Victor couldn’t stop himself, and he tumbled toward the edge. Corrie raced to him, threw herself forward and grabbed his tail. His rough skin slipped through her claws, so she dug them in and held on. They slipped toward the edge until Victor struck a large rock that stopped him right at the cliff’s edge.

  Scrambling up, Corrie and Victor fled down the path. Their armor would protect them from sharp horns; the real danger was that the goat could butt them off the cliff. Running helter-skelter, Victor’s long tail hit Corrie’s face. She jerked backward, but the goat’s hooves pounded behind her. She sprinted and drew even with Victor.

  The goat didn’t follow them far, just to the edge of his territory. There, he paced back and forth across the trail, guarding his home and family.

  Corrie and Victor peered at the belligerent goat from behind the safety of a large rock.

  “What now?” Corrie wailed.

  Victor asked, “Can we go over the hill?”

  Corrie abandoned the trail and headed straight up the hill. She struggled a minute, then returned to the path. “It’s too steep,” she said. “It would take days that way.”

  “But the goat won’t let us pass through his territory.”

  They looked at each other in dismay. Corrie said what both feared. “We have to go back down and find a way around.”

  Miserable, Victor nodded. “We’ve lost a night, maybe two.”

  Corrie’s legs cramped, her underbelly was scratched, her head and stomach ached, and her mouth was as dry as dust. Fatigue held her in a gray fog, but her resolve never failed. They would find Faralone Falls before El Garro took his last sleep. They had to. She turned and scrambled down the hill, ignoring Victor’s groans behind her.

  .

  SEARCHING

  Galen and Rafael rose early in the evening while the day’s heat was still strong. Galen helped Rafael make the slow trip to and from the spring. He had passed through the worst of the illness, but he was still weak. Galen gathered snails, grubs and spiders, then left the food near his brother. He gathered fresh grasses and dug sassafras roots and scattered them about the den, hoping to rid it of the sour smell. Satisfied that Rafael was settled for the night, he went out searching as his brother had suggested.

  Half the night, Galen thought. Was it long enough to find the Faralone Falls? He breathed deeply of the hot night air and let hope fill him.

  He wandered aimlessly, almost due east, fighting through brambles and scrambling over dead logs. He returned with scratched armor and nothing else.

  The second night, Galen decided to plan each night’s foray, taking different directions each time. He followed the trail Corrie and Victor took upon leaving. Galen was sure he traveled farther than the night before, but again found nothing. When he returned, he flopped onto his belly beside Rafael. Bitter disappointment nibbled at his confidence. He was stuck here and would find nothing.

  Galen listened to his brother’s regular breathing. Rafael needed a new den. He felt better and needed out of this place of sickness. Besides, their spring was getting lower each night, and without ra
in, Galen worried about their water supply.

  Excited, he stood and paced. Yes. He needed a legitimate reason to search, not the impossible dream of finding the Faralone Falls. That job had fallen to Victor and Corrie. But he could do a good job of caring for his brother by finding a good den and fresh water.

  Rafael stirred.

  “Are you awake?” Galen asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Ready to go out?”

  “Yes.”

  Gently, Galen supported his brother up the tunnel into the open. Beneath the white oak, a breeze stirred the leaves. “Rafael, I’m going to dig a new den. First, I’ll find a bigger spring.”

  “Yes,” murmured Rafael. His blind face swung from side to side. “A new home is good.” Then, he was quiet as he concentrated on walking straight.

  Even this encouraged Galen: earlier Rafael had leaned heavily against him.

  At the spring, Rafael drank, then lay with his nose on a soft bed of moss. “Can we stay for a bit?” he asked plaintively. “It’s so pleasant.”

  They stayed until dawn began to pink the sky. Then, Galen helped his brother make the slow journey back to the den. Rafael slept with the sleep of one just beginning to recuperate; Galen slept the sleep of one with satisfying plans.

  .

  THE RIVER

  The next night, Galen made sure Rafael was fed and content, and then left him beside the small spring for the night. Galen struck out, going toward the west in search of a new place to dig a den. Within fifteen minutes of leaving the old den, the ground sloped downward. The slope was gentle, but definite, and he continued for the next hour. He came to a trail that ran westward, so he followed it and went faster. Here, it was steeper. From the moon’s position—right on the horizon—he should turn back. But the trail opened up on the edge of a ridge, and below, he saw a narrow strip of water.

  The river!

  They had lost track of it the last week as Blaze led them toward the mountains. If he could find a good den or dig one near the river, they would have plenty of water. The river was in deep shadows and the moon was setting. He should get back to Rafael.

  Galen hesitated. It would take him two hours to get back here tomorrow. If he stayed just a bit longer, he might find a den and get ready to move tomorrow. Rafael would understand.

  Galen scrambled toward the river, and fifteen minutes later came out on a gravel bar. He drank, then looked up and down the river. Within a couple hundred feet in both directions, it twisted, hiding the river both upstream and downstream. Where he stood, the water rippled fast and shallow over sections of flat rock. A couple hundred yards downstream, the river deepened, and dark, thick plants waved in the current while dark shadows of trees and shrubs stood straight and motionless. He closed his eyes and let the atmosphere of the river wash over him. He wanted to always live beside running water.

  For the next hour, he walked upstream, parallel to the bank, watching for a den. Around each bend, he told himself that he’d only look around one more. One bend, though, turned into two, which became three and still he kept walking. Digging a den was an option, but Galen hoped to find an abandoned one.

  Suddenly, Galen realized the sky was lightening. With frustration, he realized he’d been away far too long. But another curve in the river beckoned.

  Sprinting, he came up,on a new vista. Ahead, the river valley opened wide to the east—where the sun glowed on the horizon. To the west, it rose higher. The river was wide and deep, and so clear you could see snails on the bottom. A fish jumped, snatching a fly for its breakfast. It was a good place to dig a den and Galen decided that tomorrow night, he would return here first. The golden sun peeked over the lip of the horizon, and he had to get back to Rafael.

  He scurried up the slope and found the trail. He followed it until it connected to one that ran close to their den. Staying on the trail was faster, and he thought it would make the journey to the river only an hour and a half. Three hours round trip. He would still have an hour or two to dig tomorrow night.

  It was over two hours past dawn when, bursting with good news, he ran down the short tunnel and into the den. “Rafael!”

  “Here.”

  Like cold water thrown on him, Galen realized that Rafael was weaker. “What’s wrong?”

  “Couldn’t eat.”

  The pile of insects and snails lay untouched. “Oh, no!” Galen leaned against Rafael and pushed him upright. “You need to drink. What’s wrong? You felt better yesterday.” Galen berated himself silently. Why had he stayed away all night? He should have stayed to coax Rafael into eating.

  Rafael’s head drooped, his nose dragging the ground.

  “Come on. Up you go,” Galen said.

  Rafael shook his head. Galen dug his forelegs under Rafael’s belly and half lifted his brother. Rafael finally stood, but threatened to collapse at any moment. Galen felt a panic rising. Rafael could not die. Galen didn’t waste a breath talking Rafael into the trip to the spring; instead, he simply pushed steadily, forcing Rafael to move one step at a time. It was slow going. For every two laborious steps, Rafael had to stop and rest. Step by step, Galen concentrated on Rafael’s breathing, his steps, his weight. By the time they reached the spring, Galen was exhausted. The midmorning sun was bright and hot.

  He tried to remember why he’d been so excited when he’d arrived home. Yes. The river.

  Rafael lay before the spring and stretched out with his nose atop his feet. He inched forward until his toes were immersed, as was his mouth. He sucked water, then propped his head on his feet. Too weak to move, he slept. Galen let him. Though the heat grew intense, they stayed at the spring. Rafael slept fitfully, waking to suck a bit more water before sleeping again. Galen slept little. All he could do was wait and see if his brother would make it through this relapse. He resolutely pushed away thoughts of the Faralone Falls and Corrie and Victor searching for the eagle’s nest. At this moment, Rafael was his world.

  .

  THIRST

  Victor and Corrie had made it around the first mountain and through the valley to the tallest peak. At the peak’s base, Victor had found an animal trail, and though they hadn’t been able to locate a spring in two days, he insisted they climb anyway.

  “Ah know we’ll be thirsty, but we make it to the top in one night and back down, and then we’ll have an answer,” Victor said.

  “What if another goat is protecting his territory?”

  Victor didn’t like the only answer. “Ah guess we’d have to come down and look for a spring.”

  All around them, the katydids sang a pulsing rhythm so loud it threatened to split holes in the sky. The mountain lay warm under the waning moon. It had soaked up the sun’s rays all day and retained the heat against the night’s chill. But this night had no chill, and the mountain radiated so much heat it felt like the sun blazed beneath their feet.

  Thirst consumed Victor’s thoughts. Cool water, blue water, green water, warm water, tepid water, dirty water, running water, still water. Water.

  It was hard for Victor to explain his jumbled feelings. How sad it was to trek and know that your family didn’t care if they ever saw you again. How you longed for your grandfather to be proud of you. How the curse ate at your insides until you longed with all your being to turn towards home, to ease the curse. And yet, how proud Victor was of himself for making it this far. How could you be sad and proud at the same time? And when the sadness was stronger than the pride, it was hard to care about finding a lousy eagle’s nest. For El Julio’s sake, Victor knew he should look harder, commit deeper. He should search because of all it meant for their people. But Victor searched so he could please his grandfather, and grandfather would never be pleased with him. Why search? Victor couldn’t explain that the reason El Julio was a good leader was because he expected so much of each armadillo in his clan. El Julio’s expectations were what Victor loved most about his grandfather.

  If he drank water now, it would be because they turned back, b
ecause they gave up, because they quit. And if he failed to find the Faralone Falls, he would die alone with no chance to return home. Eternally exiled—he wanted to go home. How much longer could he stave off the curse before he went mad? The eagle’s nest had to be at the top of this mountain.

  His tongue was fuzzy, but he managed to ask Corrie, “Are you OK?”

  “How much farther?”

  He didn’t know; it could be an hour or all night. But he tried to encourage Corrie. “We’ll find the Faralone Falls soon.” It wasn’t a lie; it was a hope.

  “Are you sure?” Corrie’s dry tongue licked the outside of her mouth, and she shrugged up her armor, as if she wished she could shuck it.

  “Yes,” Victor said. It would be hard, but they could make it to the top in one night, and then they’d have an answer. He must have an answer!

  Victor led the way up the sloping trail that led through a stand of oak and hickory. The under story was high, allowing moonlight to filter through easily. The minutest breath of wind sent the dry leaves rattling an accompaniment to the katydids’ racket. Moving through the leaf litter added to the noise. Victor had never heard such an uproar. The trail meandered up the south slope, rising higher and higher. As they made progress without encountering any problems, Victor’s hopes grew.

  He stopped.

  Corrie bumped into him. “What are you doing?” she asked crossly.

  Victor had to listen carefully to hear Corrie over the katydids’ song. “Looking for the top of the hill, listening for a waterfall.”

  Corrie sighed deeply. “The treetops hide the top, and with these katydids, we won’t hear a waterfall until we’re on top of it. Keep walking. Wait until we rest to look around.”

  Victor whirled back to the trail and set a fast pace. If Corrie wanted speed, he could walk this fast all night. To his surprise, she stayed at his heels through the next hour.

  The trail led up an outcropping of rock, and when they reached the top, Victor paused, finally, to rest.