Vagabonds

by Darcy Pattison

  Time for the next one, another who wasn’t suited to lead. El Garro called, “Juan.”

  The brown armadillo stepped forward and felt a surge of excitement. Everyone focused on him, so he stood straighter and looked more solemn.

  El Garro said, “Your storytelling is strong and exciting. You challenge us with stories of the ancients and our neighbors alike. In fact, you only seem to come to life when you are telling stories. But I have this against you: you need the family more than the family needs you. Still, the family does need you and your strength and your stories.”

  His eyes puzzled, Juan looked around. Here and there in the crowd, a head nodded. Seeing this, he nodded, too, and managed a pretty speech. “I am devoted to the family, no matter what the circumstances, and will do my best to compose songs and collect stories to help the next Colony leader.” He stepped off the rock and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Kemen,” El Garro called.

  From his left, Felix gasped. El Garro ignored him and turned to Kemen on his right.

  Though it was obvious that Kemen wasn’t the new leader, he stepped forward.

  El Garro said, “You charm us with the voice of the earth itself. In your words are the power of thunder and the beauty of a dandelion. We need you to remind us to consider the land. But I have this against you: you understand the seasons of the earth more than you understand the moods of the family. You look outward, but a leader must look both outward and inward.”

  Kemen stepped off the map rock and dug a claw into the dirt. “As this earth is witness, I pledge my strengths to the new Colony leader.”

  Now, El Garro turned to his left and confronted Felix.

  Felix stood unmoving, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

  El Garro said, “I have this against you: you aren’t the strongest of the family; you aren’t the best storyteller; you aren’t the best steward of the land. But this I know: you love the family more than any other. These are exciting times. We are close to Faralone Falls. If we find it, we will become inhabitants of this land, instead of vagabonds. You will see, in your lifetime, great changes.”

  Then, El Garro closed his eyes and gave a weary jerk of his head.

  Felix seemed to understand. “I accept the title of Colony Leader.” His voice was strong, carrying across the Great Clearing—just as a leader’s voice should be.

  A cheer arose.

  Felix smiled in return, a shy smile.

  Around the clearing, armadillos had wet, shiny eyes like those of their new leader.

  Felix’s eyes scanned the crowd and focused on one armadillo, “Nalda.”

  She joined him on the map rock, which set off another round of cheering, for she was well liked among the family.

  While everyone cheered Felix and Nalda, El Garro backed away from the front of the rock, where attention focused on the young armadillos. He stepped backward off the rock, and continued to walk backward, until he felt a shrub behind him. He turned and dashed into the undergrowth. Parting a branch, he peered out. No one had noticed his absence, yet. He was, at long last, a vagabond on a trek.

  .

  THE STORM

  After the eagles flew away, Galen found a shrub to sleep under—no rose thickets here. Galen clawed at the dirt, trying to make a soft area in which to bed down. He was so excited at the sight of the eagle, he couldn’t be still. He clawed until he kicked up so much dust Rafael started sneezing.

  “Sorry,” Galen said.

  Looking at his brother, though, Galen had a sudden impulse to shout with joy. Rafael had seen the bird with his second vision. They were very, very close to the end of their trek. Galen patted the dirt with his front claws, around and around, in smaller circumferences, around and around, until he worked his way into the center.

  “You sleep here.”

  Rafael sniffed at the dirt bed, turned around a couple times and settled down.

  Unable to calm himself, Galen started clawing a new area for his own bed. The raccoon had told them to follow the river, and they had strayed from it because of Blaze’s interpretation of the Turi’s map rock. Maybe the geography had changed, or maybe she was too stubborn to admit she didn’t know where they were. Apparently, they should’ve kept to the river all the time; they had accidently stumbled into the right place to search for the Faralone Falls. Galen regretted the time lost: they were taking a broken road to their goal.

  He finished his bed and tried to lie still, but his legs twitched with anticipation. He wanted to be off searching right now.

  The next evening, Galen woke late. He found Rafael under a tree, scratching at a green ball.

  “Lunch,” Rafael said happily.

  It was a bodark, Galen saw. The tree was known for its thorns and its fruit which was sour and hard to eat. But Rafael was ripping off small chunks of one fruit and chomping away.

  Rafael’s claws and face were covered with a milky-white juice. Maybe his recent illness had thrown off his taste again. Galen curled his lips. In any case, he wasn’t eating a bodark.

  Galen studied the tree. It was high on the bank over the river, and its long thorns discouraged any casual visitors. Towering forty or fifty feet, it was taller than any other trees nearby, except for a sturdy sycamore, and would be a good landmark. Best of all, the ground would be softer near the river; if he had to dig the den without Rafael’s help, he wanted the softest dirt. It was so dry they didn’t have to worry about water rising. Yes, he decided with satisfaction, under this bodark, he would dig their den.

  Rafael, surprisingly, cooperated and didn’t insist on helping to dig. By the end of this night of fresh air, plentiful water, and good food, he was looking almost normal. He still tired easily, but he was cheerful and cooperative. Before they slept, they hid under the tree’s long branches and watched the eagles fishing for their chick’s supper. The nest couldn’t be far away, exulted Galen. Tomorrow night, he would start searching.

  On the following night, Galen started by swimming across the river and trying to walk the western shoreline. Rounding the first bend, he had to return to the water and swim since the banks were too high. Where he could walk, there were odd gullies and cracks in the cliff that sloped steeply off to the west. Even in this first survey, Galen realized some cracks would run with tiny streams in the wet season, while others would lead up into the heart of the hills. During this drought, he wouldn’t know which one might have a stream fed by a waterfall. It would take days to explore methodically.

  Maybe he could follow the eagle. If I could fly, he thought wryly. But if I could fly, none of this would be a problem. It reminded him to wonder about where Blaze was. Was she injured or dead?

  And thinking of Blaze led his thoughts back to Corrie. Where were Corrie and Victor? At the thought of them trekking together, a restless anger flared. Vagabonds. He may never see them again.

  Galen pounced in the water and snatched up several snails and sucked out the insides. The physical action took his mind off the anger, so he foraged another fifteen or twenty minutes.

  When it was time to get back to Rafael, he gathered snails in one claw and started back. He rounded a turn of the river, and a brisk southwest wind hit his face. Overhead, a cloud raced across the sky, blocking the moonlight. He wondered if the weather could be changing. Since their den was right beside the water, he had almost forgotten how dry everything was; rain would be welcome in the Ozarks.

  Just before dawn, he popped inside his new den, presented Rafael with a snack, and the two fell asleep for the day.

  * * *

  Someone shoved Galen, rudely waking him from a deep sleep. He didn’t know how long he had slept, but a cool wind whistled down the den’s entrance tunnel. Wildly, he looked around and saw Corrie.

  “Wha—“

  Corrie interrupted. “Hurry. It’s storming badly, and the den may flood.”

  Surprise took his breath away: he had missed Corrie. Galen couldn’t take his eyes off her face. Impossibly, the young armadill
o of spring had become hardened, mature, and far from detracting from her beauty, it enhanced it. She still had bright black eyes and the loveliest ears Galen had ever seen. But this trek had pulled something out of her; she had strength of will and a physical stamina that exceeded his own. In short, she was the trekker he had always hoped to become. Facing the north with courage and, yes, with joy.

  “I found Rafael outside. He’s waiting for us,” Corrie insisted. “Come on!”

  Galen shook himself awake and followed Corrie up the tunnel. They huddled with Rafael near the tree trunk. Lightning streaked. The storm was blowing from the southwest, as it sometimes did in late summer. Even protected by the bodark, Galen was quickly drenched. Outside the tree’s canopy, the rain fell in sheets. If it continued, the river could flash flood—all those cracks and gullies he saw last night would send runoff into the river—and who knows how high it could rise, or how fast. Galen raged at himself: he was a fool for digging a den along a riverbank.

  Another lightning flashed. Crack! On a hillside opposite them, it struck a tree, which exploded in a shower of sparks.

  “We’ve got to move,” Galen yelled above the storm. “This is a tall tree and lightning could strike it next.”

  Corrie nodded. Rafael stood and faced the river, then uncertainly turned east. Galen saw the rain’s loud pattering was confusing his brother’s sense of direction. Galen put his shoulder against Rafael and helped him navigate toward the meadow.

  Amidst lashing rain, they raced for the cover of distant trees. Galen found himself wondering how Corrie found them, and where was Victor, and what had they found on the peak?

  .

  LISTENING

  In the lightning flashes, Victor watched the soggy armadillos running across the meadow. The eagle’s nest had been a false lead, and the group needed to talk about what to do next. For three nights—since he had stumbled down the mountain and found a spring—he had pushed to find the others. Anger was his only shield against the frustrations of the past week: anger at finding nothing, anger that his foolishness had forced Corrie to leave him, anger at the whole trek which was nothing but a failure.

  Last night, he’d found the map rock at the orange-mushroom-spring. Driven by frustration, he followed the trail westward. From Corrie’s scent on the trail, she was just a few hours ahead. Then, the rain had washed away all scents, and he’d lost track. Until now. Somehow, she had found Galen and Rafael. And they were coming almost straight for him.

  With fragile emotions, Victor watched them draw closer. Should he rejoice Corrie was safe? Or should he lash out at Galen for leaving the spring?

  Before they reached him, Galen dashed under a cedar, and Corrie and Rafael followed. From the relative safety of thick branches, they watched the storm gust and rage around them.

  Victor shook water from his face. Though he hated such hard rain, he crept across the open space to the cedar. Silently, he drew close to the trunk behind which they sat. He wanted to hear what they were saying before showing himself. Perhaps he was paranoid, but he didn’t trust Galen to tell all that had happened in his absence.

  Corrie was talking loudly about the search for the eagle’s nest.

  “You found nothing?” Galen said.

  “Nothing. Thirst made Victor do strange things,” Corrie said. “By the time I found water, I was stumbling myself. He was stubborn, foolishly so. I had no choice, I had to leave him on the mountain and find water.”

  So, she mistrusted him, Victor fumed. He had made it to the top of the peaks as he had promised.

  Corrie continued. “I don’t know where he is and I’m worried.”

  Victor’s anger melted into a sudden joy. Corrie was worried about him. He almost stepped around the trunk, but Corrie wasn’t alone. Victor rubbed his eyes; they ached from so little sleep, and everything was so jumbled in his mind.

  Galen spoke in a too-calm voice. “After the storm, do we need to look for Victor?”

  “Maybe. But what about Rafael?”

  Victor saw that either Galen or Corrie would have to stay with Rafael. He exulted. Corrie would look for him, and he would talk to her alone.

  “It’s OK,” Galen said. “Rafael can stay alone for a couple hours at a time.”

  “Of course, I can,” Rafael said.

  A lightning bolt spread distorted claws across the black dome directly over them; almost immediately, a tremendous thunderclap resounded. The storm was right over them. Treetops thrashed about as the wind ripped off small limbs and sent them tumbling across the meadow. The rain blew under the cedar so strongly that Galen, Corrie and Rafael huddled with their faces together, exposing only their armor to the wind.

  Victor’s face was wet and cold, his claws sticky with mud. The storm was too wild to venture out from under the cedar. Should he join the others? Why? Corrie had deserted him.

  For a time, the storm settled in over their meadow and refused to move. Slowly, the wind lessened and the storm receded into a strong rain without the lightning and thunder. Victor peered around the trunk; this was a good time to sneak away.

  Galen leaned toward Corrie and spoke above the storm. “I’ve seen eagles.”

  Corrie cried, “Eagles! When? Where?”

  Eagles! Victor’s lungs were about to burst. He gasped, and then halted—rigid and unmoving—afraid they had heard him. When nothing happened, he crept back, making sure he was well hidden. It all took the space of a couple heartbeats, but with his future hanging in the balance, it seemed like hours to Victor.

  “At the river,” Galen said. “They fish at dawn and fly back to feed their chicks. They are nesting somewhere in the hills to the west.”

  “Why does it have to rain?” Corrie moaned. “We need to find them.”

  Galen’s voice was soothing. “I know. I was planning to go tonight or tomorrow night to find their nest. But the flood will make it hard to cross the river. We’ll have to wait several days.”

  “No! We’re so close,” Corrie said.

  This new information made Victor rethink everything. Somehow Galen had managed to find the right area in which to search. Victor had to keep Galen from finding the Falls first. No one must find the Falls except Victor himself. A shudder ran down his spine, making his armor itch. He wasn’t thinking straight, was he? What did it matter who found the Falls first? Then, his eyes felt like they were burning again. The Falls was his to find, not Galen’s.

  Galen’s weakness was his compulsion to take care of others. Somehow, Galen had to be forced to focus on something for Rafael or Corrie. It needn’t be anything dangerous, just something to delay Galen a night or two.

  Though he worried about being caught behind the tree trunk, Victor dared not sneak away from the cedar yet; ,the rain had slacked off and visibility was good again. Night was falling, though, and he could try to slip away when it was dark enough.

  Peeking around the trunk, Victor saw Galen and Corrie standing near the edge of the cedar branches, looking at the steady drizzle.

  “It may rain all night and all that runoff will raise the water level. We can’t go back to the bodark tree,” Corrie said. Her silhouette was slumped, her voice, despondent. “We should look for a new den to wait it out.”

  “How did you find us anyway?” Galen asked.

  “Rafael was already outside the den listening to the rain. But I also figured you’d want the softer ground near the river to dig in.”

  Galen changed the subject. “You woke me just in time to escape before the den flooded.”

  Victor smiled. Galen was embarrassed that Corrie had pegged him so easily. It was good to have someone else embarrassed for a change.

  The blind armadillo was still hunched beside the cedar’s trunk. He was singing under his breath, a broken tune Victor couldn’t make out.

  At Galen’s nod, Corrie said, “Rafael, we’re going to hunt for a den. Can you stay here? Under the cedar?”

  They were going to leave the blind one here while they searched. Vic
tor gloated: it was a perfect opportunity.

  Rafael’s blind eyes turned toward Corrie’s voice. “I’ll stay here.”

  “We’ll be back in an hour,” Galen assured Rafael.

  Corrie trotted north along the tree line at the meadow’s edge, while Galen trotted south.

  Nervously, Victor waited half an hour. Rafael stayed exactly where they left him.

  Victor came around the tree trunk. “Rafael,” he said softly.

  The blind one turned his face toward Victor. “Ah, Victor. You’ve come for me. Where’s Galen?”

  Bravado—or was it madness?—carried Victor through the next few minutes: “You have to come with me.”

  Obediently, Rafael let himself be led eastward, deep into the forest. Looking back, Victor was satisfied the rain would wash away their footprints so Galen would be confused. Likewise, their scent trail would be impossible to follow. Victor found another cedar deep in the woods and left Rafael in its shelter.

  “Galen said he will meet you here,” Victor lied. “Stay under the cedar, or Galen will be mad. Can you do that?”

  “Corrie will find me,” Rafael said, then started humming.

  For a moment, Rafael’s certainty unnerved Victor. He shook his armor vigorously, but it ended in an involuntary shudder. He remembered the eagle’s nest. When the last star had been lost to daylight, Victor collapsed in despair. When he woke in the abandoned eagle’s nest, thirst was so strong he almost tried to leap off the cliff to the reach the distant river. Instead, he gritted his peg-teeth and started downward. It had taken him all day. How he hated being out in daylight! But he made it. And he wouldn’t give up now. Faralone Falls was too near.

  With a last look, Victor left Rafael alone. This should give him a couple days head start, he thought in satisfaction. Galen would think Rafael went off exploring on his own. Galen would search for his brother, and without any footprints, it would take a long time.

  Meanwhile, Victor would search and find Faralone Falls himself. He had to; he couldn’t allow himself to fail.