She had to admit it: she was lost.
Her face split into a deep yawn. In spite of the urgency she felt, Corrie decided to nap—just for ten minutes. She half dozed. She must have dreamed: Rafael was coming toward her through the woods. He was lit with a green glow, like he was a spirit. And he was singing.
Slowly, almost without noticing, she began to pick out words, until she recognized the song:
“Rejoice, O, Vagabonds of old,
Your journey’s end has been foretold.”
Rafael was belting out the song at full volume.
She spoke, “Rafael.”
He stopped singing and called, “Corrie?”
It wasn’t a dream. Ironically, he had found her instead of her finding him. Relief flooded through Corrie, and she raced the last hundred feet to him.
“What is that light?”
“Touchwood.” In his right fore-claw, he held a piece of glowing wood. It cast a bluish-green light that produced no heat, just the eerie illumination. “It burns, doesn’t it? I can’t see it, but somehow, I feel it.”
Corrie stared in awe. She had heard of touchwood, rotten wood with phosphorescence. When she went with El Garro to listen to the owls, their storytellers had called it foxfire.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to take you back to the cedar where Galen said to meet.”
“What?” He was crazy again, she thought.
“Come.” Rafael trotted past Corrie.
“Hey, wait,” she yelled.
He didn’t answer, but kept trotting.
“Where are you going?”
“To the cedar,” Rafael repeated, “so we can sleep for the day.” His voice boomed in the green stillness.
Already, Rafael was angling wrong across the woods, she saw. “Wait, that’s the wrong way.”
Rafael ignored her, forcing Corrie to scramble after him. He sped up, almost racing along. Finally, he stopped. He turned his blind face upwards.
They were under the sweet gum that Corrie had tried to use as a landmark to find the trail.
Corrie nodded. Again, the blind Rafael had known more than she.
Following the trail, Corrie was amazed at Rafael’s concentration as he walked steadily just behind her tail. She didn’t know if she was leading Rafael, or he was leading her. When they reached the meadow, the eastern sky was lightening to a dull gray, and it looked like the rain had settled in for the day.
Eager to see Galen, Corrie raced ahead, relying on Rafael’s hearing for him to follow. She pushed under the prickly branches and stopped short. Victor was laying beside the trunk with his head on his outstretched front legs. His eyes were glassy and dull, but he perked up when he saw her.
“Victor! You’re here. But I thought you went on north. I’ve been so worried.”
Victor stood and shook out his forelegs, one at a time, then took a careful step. “Ah’m tired.”
“But where have you been? Did you get to the top? Did you find the eagle’s nest?”
Victor’s countenance brightened at her barrage of questions; then, it fell again as Rafael stumbled under a branch. He still carried the touchwood, and its glow created a den-like feeling under the cedar’s long branches.
Crossly, Victor asked, “Where did he come from?”
“He was lost in the storm. I searched for him, but he found me,” Corrie said. “Come on, tell me about the eagles.”
Victor studied Rafael for a long moment, but the blind armadillo turned and sat with his nose just outside the edge of the branches and starting humming to himself. Victor turned back to Corrie, “Ah made it to the top, but it was a dead end. The nest was deserted. Ah should have gone on. But Ah was—” He closed his eyes and hesitated. “ — so lonely.”
Corrie’s breath caught. Victor had never admitted he needed anyone else’s company. This great trek was forcing them all to face themselves.
She had a sudden impulse to comfort Victor, but he kept talking, finishing in a rush, “So, Ah came back down, and here Ah am.”
In the early morning light, Victor looked flat, but he would hate that she noticed. Corrie looked away and changed the subject, “Have you seen Galen?” she asked. “He was supposed to meet us here at dawn.”
“Here?”
“Yes, under this cedar.”
“Last night, I looked for you in the meadow and along the riverbank, but saw nothing. I only hoped I’d find you before morning. You mean I accidently took shelter under the very tree where you were to meet?”
Suddenly suspicious, Corrie peered out. The cedar was the only evergreen in sight; the other trees were white oaks, black oaks, mockernut hickories, sweet gums, or dogwoods. She supposed it was natural to choose a cedar, since it had the lowest branches and best protection from the rain. “You got lucky,” she agreed. “So, where is Galen?”
“Ah don’t know,” Victor said. “Ah haven’t seen him.”
Corrie said, “He should be here soon.”
She dozed off and on all day, waiting for Galen to appear. She woke midmorning, anxiety making the hard knot return to her stomach. Was he hurt? Oh! Maybe the den under the bodark collapsed with him in it. Stop it, she told herself. You can sit and imagine everything, but it won’t help. He’ll come. So, she dozed again. When she woke, the rain was slackening, and evening was near. A bright line appeared on the western horizon, above the hills, and she was sure that by midnight the weather would be clear.
At sunset—brilliant reds and purples staining the sky and lingering clouds—Victor and Corrie argued.
Corrie said, “We must try to find Galen.”
“I saw eagles flying above the peaks to the west,” Victor answered. “We must finish this quest.”
Corrie knew what he meant: she was so weary of searching for a myth. If there really was a Faralone Falls and the Turi’s Cave, she was ready to find it. The thought touched off a quivering in her chest. They couldn’t go without Galen.
“Look, how did you and I find Galen and Rafael?” Victor said reasonably. “He left us a map rock back at the old den. Right? I don’t know why he isn’t here. Maybe he’s decided to take off on his own and leave Rafael in your care.” At Corrie’s snort of protest, Victor nodded. “OK. Maybe he didn’t plan something like that. Whatever the reason, if we leave him a map rock, he should be able to follow.” Victor paced in front of Corrie and Rafael. “We must find the Falls. We are so very, very close, I just know it.”
In the end, Rafael convinced her with one of his visions. “Galen needs our help, and Victor will take us to him. I’ve seen it happen.”
“You’ve seen it? That’s foolish.” Victor said.
Rafael shrugged and repeated, “You will take us to him.”
Corrie whispered to Victor, “I can’t figure out if Rafael really sees visions, or if he just sees what he wants to see. He seems more and more to be in another world.”
They studied the blind armadillo for a few minutes, but Rafael said nothing else.
Corrie sighed. “Either way, I suppose you’re right. We should move on. Let’s look for Faralone Falls.”
Reluctantly, she drew a map rock indicating they would try to cross the river and look for eagles. She propped it beside the cedar’s trunk and put Rafael’s touchwood near it, in hopes it would attract Galen’s attention.
.
CROSSING THE RIVER
Victor led Corrie and Rafael across the valley to the river. Corrie insisted they search the bodark den for signs of Galen, but it was half flooded and no one was inside.
The river ran brown and full, at the very brink of the banks. Another night and day of rain would have sent it over, into the meadows. At the edges, foam mixed with broken limbs and other bits of trash. It would be a week or two before they could cross, Corrie thought. She certainly didn’t want to float across a flood-stage river again.
Corrie was kept busy making sure Rafael didn’t stumble and making sure he was following Victor. She w
ondered why Victor was so confident in where he led them, but thinking back it seemed Victor was always confident—perhaps overconfident—about this trek.
At last, they rounded a curve and saw something shining white and pale. She stopped beside Victor, who gazed at it carefully.
“What is it?” Corrie asked.
“An uprooted sycamore,” Victor said. “Look.” His voice crept upward in pitch as his excitement grew. “Look. The trunk goes across the river. We’ll have to go there, you know, to find the eagles.”
“Are we going to cross that?” Corrie said in dismay. It would be hard enough crossing herself, but with Rafael, how could they do it?
“Yes,” Victor said decisively. He stopped and spat. “Everything tastes like mud tonight,” he apologized. He climbed the roots and stood on the broad trunk, then turned back. “Send Rafael up.”
Corrie explained to Rafael what the sycamore bridge looked like, then asked if he was ready to climb.
“You don’t have to worry,” Rafael told her in almost a whisper. This morning, his voice was back to the odd wavering volume. “I’ll make it,” he finished in a yell.
Corrie watched anxiously as he climbed the roots and stood next to Victor. She scrambled upward, too, and soon stood beside them. In single file, tightly aligned for Rafael’s sake, Victor inched outward. Beneath them, Corrie saw a leaf spinning in a tiny whirlpool. It escaped and sped downstream. The water was racing along.
Branches blocked their way. The first two were simple to ease around, but at the third, Victor stopped and studied it. It was a thicker branch, which left little trunk on either side. Corrie studied it, too, over Rafael’s back. Alone, she would’ve scrambled up the branch a couple feet, scooted around to the other side and climbed down.
Victor tilted his head in an unspoken question; she shrugged in answer. She didn’t know if Rafael could make it, but they had to try. Victor climbed up, around, and down, almost in one fluid movement. Corrie explained to Rafael that he had to climb again and he reassured her he could do it. And climb, he did. Up and up.
Corrie called. “Stop! Don’t go any farther, or the branch will break!”
The branch swayed out, over the murmuring water, then back over the trunk and out over the water on the other side.
“Rafael, come down. Slowly,” Corrie called.
Rafael’s blind face turned toward her. “I’m OK.”
He maneuvered around until Victor yelled that he was squared up with the trunk, and then he started down. While the branch swayed, Corrie held her breath. Each of Rafael’s claws clung to the branch; to move downward, he loosed his hold, slipped a bit, then tightened his grip to slow down. It allowed him to descend without having to look below.
At last, his hind legs landed on the trunk, and he was down.
It was Corrie’s turn. She quickly climbed over, and they were able to move forward. Another large branch was crossed the same way and by the time Rafael climbed over the third, he was doing it easily. Finally, they emerged on the other side of the water.
“Look,” Victor said with satisfaction. “There’s a gully to follow and it leads up, toward the eagle’s nest.”
And Corrie wished with all her heart that Galen and El Garro could share this moment.
.
RAGE
Galen struggled to lift his eyelids. Light pierced him. His eyes snapped shut. He tried to move, but he lay on sharp gravel and each shift of position started a sharp pain or a dull ache. His hind legs were impossibly heavy with bruises. Moving his tongue around, he only found a mud taste that threatened to gag him.
A katydid suddenly started shrieking; Galen winced.
He lay still and let the events of the night before come back to him—the storm, Corrie arriving, Rafael missing, fighting with Victor—until he was left with two emotions: gratitude that he was still alive, and anger.
It was the anger at Victor that made Galen move, blinking lowered eyelids against the dull red sky and slowly shoving to his feet. Still, he did nothing but stand, moving nothing, except for the tottering he struggled to control until he found his balance. For long minutes he waited, letting the anger rebuild. He took a slow step. And another. Each step away from the pale gravel bar revealed a new ache. Anger filled his hollow core, inhabiting each movement, as he inched up the riverbank and away from the water.
He was overcome with pure rage. It limbered his limbs and he swung a few experimental punches; every muscle ached. It sharpened his vision until he saw the red sky was overtaken by a line of darkness moving across the sky’s dome. Fortunately, the dark sky of the east lay across the river and Galen was on the western riverbank. Eagles nested somewhere in the hills above him; that’s where he would find Victor.
Victor. At the name, anger sent another surge of energy through Galen. He would find him tonight, and they would finish their fight once and for all.
No. Galen had to find Corrie and Rafael.
He shook his head, trying to sort out what to do next, then had to pause while the dizziness passed. He considered his next steps carefully, but it was clear that he had to take care of Victor first. It wasn’t just revenge. The armadillos, his families and all the Colonies to the south; they must know why they had been forced northward. And Victor would never find the answer to that riddle because he wasn’t looking for it.
After Victor, Galen would backtrack to find Corrie and Rafael and together they would search for the Faralone Falls and the answers it held.
First, though, Galen had to care for his hurts. He arched his back, cracking the caked-on-mud. River water still churned, but on the down-river side of the gravel bar, he found a calm eddy. He splashed at the edge, cleaning off his armor, his feet, his ears, his eyelids. He felt spotless, reborn.
His stomach grumbled. With a tiny smile, he decided he might live if he could find some supper. For the next hour, he foraged, which allowed him to limp about and work out more kinks. His tail and nose ached horribly, but the pain in his legs began to ease. By the hour’s end, he moved easily.
A spangle of fireflies led Galen into the hills. He moved at a steady pace that he hoped he could maintain. The river had carried him so far downstream, he was past the highest cliffs. To reach them, his trail was a slope which rose and rose before him to the north-northwest. Though the slope’s steep pitch grew tedious to climb, it was manageable. Better, he thought, than trying to scale the cliffs. He wouldn’t have thought to come downstream to find an easier route, but he was glad his aching body had the easy way up. He only wished he knew where Victor was. And whether Corrie had found Rafael. Were they together? Were they waiting for him at the cedar tree? Wherever they were, his job was to concentrate on catching Victor before he reached the eagle’s nest.
As he ascended, damage from the storm grew more apparent. Broken limbs were strewn about, and jagged splinters were pale against the dark trunks. When they lay across the path, he clambered over, barely seeing them. Sometime after midnight, he looked up wearily to find the stars were very close. It was time to take his bearings.
The sharp-pointed crescent moon was just rising, revealing a clear sky. Galen was near the top of a ridge; above him, the waterfall constellation glittered. He climbed a bit more until he stood on a bare rock giving him a good view of the Ozarks. To the west, just beyond a valley, was another ridge line. Movement—a sudden shadow—made him look up. A dark form floated over the valley and disappeared over the far ridge.
An eagle? They rarely flew at night, but Galen was sure it was a bald eagle. This was it! Its nest must be nearby, exulted Galen. If he found the nest, he’d find Victor.
He quickly traversed the valley and came out, cautiously, on the next ridge. To his right, the ridge fell away sharply to a steep valley; on the valley’s other side, the ridge continued to run north as far as he could see. Far below, he thought water ran through the valley. He let his gaze follow the valley westward, but a thick forest and the dark night hid it from view. He debated whethe
r to follow the valley’s edge or try finding the eagle’s nest. The ballad said eagles guarded the way to Faralone Falls. This was really it—maybe. But it could wait until Galen dealt with Victor and brought Corrie and Rafael here. He decided to look for the nest, sure that he’d find Victor near there.
Galen scrambled down the western slope and found himself in a heavily wooded area. A faint trail led through the oaks, hickories and pines. As the trail wandered around tree after tree, Galen grew more impatient. The slope gave way to a plateau. The undergrowth had thinned, so Galen raced eagerly. Suddenly, he came out of the trees and bare rock lay before him; beyond the rock, it dropped off, so only the valley below was visible.
Here, the cliff curved away to the left in a semicircle before continuing straight south, parallel to the opposite side of the valley. At the juncture of the semicircle and the straight cliff, another rock jutted out. On it was a dark clump, the eagle’s nest. With thumping heart, Galen searched the valley’s edge for a waterfall. Nothing. That didn’t mean it wasn’t here, though. It only meant he couldn’t see it from where he stood. Surely the Faralone Falls was here somewhere.
He turned.
A pale-armored armadillo was trotting toward him. Behind that armadillo was a smaller one. The small one was trying to step in front of a third. Rafael! He’d been found. And Corrie was beside him. And in front, the pale one, was Victor.
.
A FALLING STAR
Galen and Victor glared at each other. Speechless.
Corrie had enough words for all of them. She rushed at him. “Galen! Are you all right?” She sniffed him and walked all around him before she stopped to demand, “We waited so long at the cedar. Where have you been?”
Galen stepped sideways to see around Corrie. “Ask him.”
Corrie flattened her ears and looked from Galen to Victor. “What’s going on?”
Galen marched on stiff front legs toward Victor. “Do you want to tell her? Or shall I?” He circled around to Victor’s back. Victor must have slept: his eyes weren’t bloodshot as they had been the night before.
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