Victor twisted his head to follow Galen’s circling, but kept his feet firmly planted.
Grimly, Galen circled again. “Our leader. He tried to kill me last night.”
“What are you saying?” Corrie cried.
Rafael stepped in front of Corrie and gently pushed her away from Galen and Victor. “Give them some room. Galen has the right to fight him.”
“No. Not here. Not now,” Corrie cried. But Rafael held her back.
“I went looking for Rafael,” Galen said. A dull rage rekindled inside Galen. He stopped to flex his claws, then finished his circle. “I found Victor, instead. Look at him, just standing there as if nothing happened.”
Victor still said nothing, still didn’t move. His dark eyes followed Galen’s movements.
For a third time, Galen circled, but this time, the circle tightened. His voice rose angrily. “I tried to talk to him, but he insisted he would be the first to cross the river, the first to find the Faralone Falls, and the only one to enter the Turi’s cave. We fought. He knocked me into the river and left me for dead.”
Corrie stopped struggling against Rafael. Eyes wide, she asked Victor, “Is it true?”
“Not like he says,” Victor said. “I only wanted to scout the area before we all traveled. I wanted to make it easy for you.”
“But you fought him,” she insisted. “When you found me last night at the cedar, it was no accident. The only accident was Galen falling so conveniently into the water. You didn’t search for him at all.”
Chur-chur. From across the valley came the sound of a bald eagle scolding its chicks in a series of loud chirps. The calls echoed from the hillsides in the still night.
Victor spun. “Eagles?” His voice was hoarse with longing.
Galen said, “It’s time to finish this.”
Corrie accused Victor: “A true leader would have searched for Galen all night. It is his right to fight.” Her eyes widened and her head went up. “What else have you lied about, Victor?” She nodded to Galen and stepped back beside Rafael to watch.
Across the way, pale moonlight showed the white head of an adult eagle. It perched on the edge of the pile of sticks. Inside the nest, another white head bobbed in and out of view, apparently doing something with the chicks. Then, the first adult hopped back into the nest and the eagle family was quiet again.
“Is there a waterfall in this valley?” Victor couldn’t keep the tremor of hope out of his voice.
“It’s time,” Galen said coldly. “You tried—”
Victor interrupted. “It must be here. We’ve made it! Come on.” He raced for the path in the trees.
Galen sped to intercept Victor. “No.” His voice rang with anger. “It’s time.”
At the wood’s edge, Galen and Victor met and reared up to fight. Victor prodded Galen’s defense with short, fast jabs; Galen blocked each one. But the jabs continued. Galen’s forelegs, still sore from falling into the river, were tiring. To escape the onslaught, he hopped backward.
Victor swayed forward, but recovered his balance.
Taking advantage of the momentary slip, Galen stepped in. His right foreleg shot out and connected with Victor’s shoulder. The solid blow felt like one of those moments of great satisfaction—it was payback for the awful moment when Galen had pitched into the river. Urged on by this success, Galen’s anger flared brightly, giving strength to his bruised legs.
Dazed by the blow, Victor wobbled.
Suddenly, Victor dropped to all fours and retreated toward a large oak. He hunkered against it. The tip of his long tail lashed the bark, creating a rattling that sounded eerily like a rattlesnake about to strike.
The position meant Galen could only attack from the front. Undaunted, he advanced.
Glancing sideways, Galen saw that Rafael and Corrie had followed the fighters, staying close enough to see and hear.
Suddenly, Galen hurtled himself toward Victor. Galen hit him solidly. They rolled toward the oak—Thump! Thump!—and slammed into it.
Corrie squealed.
Galen hit the tree harder than he expected. Corrie was beside him, helping him to his feet, helping him to rise. He was dazed.
But Victor was unhurt. He was talking to Rafael. “Come with me,” Victor said. “We’ve found the Turi’s cave, and it’s time for you to lead the way in.”
“Now?” Rafael’s voice held a clear note of hope.
Galen blinked. There were two Rafaels. Galen closed his eyes, and then opened them again. Only one Rafael appeared, but a blurry one. Time blurred, too, and Galen thought of Rafael.
Over the last month of travel, Rafael’s injuries had healed. His skull was still misshapen with a large dent on the right, and his broken armor had a worrisome black edge. But, overall, Rafael was healthier. And Galen had learned anew to appreciate his brother. His gentle courtesy, his dry humor, his stunning ability to dig dens, his acceptance of the vagaries of the trail as normal life. It was a comfort to have Rafael trekking with him. Why did trekkers always have to be alone? Love for his quad-brother filled Galen, and he longed for Felix and Garcia, too. But there were two Rafaels. No, just one.
“Yes, now,” Victor insisted. He pushed Rafael toward a trail that led through the woods.
“No.” Still dazed, Galen didn’t know if he had thought the word or shouted it. Victor mustn’t take Rafael away. What did he hope to gain? In the end, they would finish this fight.
“Sit still,” Corrie said. She peered intently at him.
“They’re leaving,” Galen said.
In spite of his garbled speech, Corrie must have understood. “Do you see doubles of anything else?”
Careful not to shake his head, Galen said. “Just one of everything.”
“Do you need to rest?”
“No, where is Rafael?”
“Victor asked Rafael to lead him to the cave. Rafael has been acting strange all night. Sometimes, he knows what is happening, but sometimes, he’s in a muddle.”
Galen lurched to his feet. “This isn’t over.”
He started after his brother, shambling at first, but gaining coordination and speed as his head cleared. Corrie followed.
The trail led along the side of the cliff, and he realized it would follow the semicircular valley around to the eagle’s nest. They should avoid their nest, but that might be where Victor wanted to take Rafael: the Faralone Falls was supposed to be below the eagle’s nest.
Victor and Rafael had a good lead. Galen pushed hard, hoping to catch them soon, and Corrie stayed right behind his tail.
Galen felt let down, empty of air and life and laughter. He had been ready for the fight with Victor, ready to fight long and hard, ready to endure aching muscles, ready to gasp for the breath needed to defeat Victor. Instead, he had to chase Victor—such a disappointment. When he had to face Victor again—and it would come to blows again—would he once more find the determination needed?
The path was a poor, seldom-used one and was littered with loose leaves and sticks. Faced with a sudden wall of shrubs, Galen stopped, unsure of where the path went next.
“Back here,” Corrie called. And she took the lead along a side path.
“Rafael,” she called. “I need you.”
Ahead, they heard a scuffling and there stood Rafael. “I’m here.”
Galen looked at Corrie with admiration. “You knew that if you called him, Rafael would stop to help you.”
Her eyes glinted. “Yes.”
“Thank you.” They smiled at one another for a moment, and then Galen pushed past her to his brother. “Rafael, stay with Corrie. I need you to protect her. Keep her away from the fighting.”
Rafael’s long nose wobbled. “But hurry. We need to find the Turi’s cave.”
“Wait—” Corrie called.
Galen ignored her to rush down the path. Abruptly, he stopped. The leaves here were undisturbed. Backtracking, Galen found where Victor had left the path. Following broken twigs, scattered leaves, and Vic
tor’s scent, Galen plunged into the undergrowth. Low growing cedar limbs slapped at his face while grasses grabbed at his claws.
Then he was out, onto bare rock at the edge of the valley again. Just a hundred feet away, he recognized the hillock of sticks that marked the eagle’s nest. But where was Victor? Why was he risking coming so close to the nest?
A rock rattled down the hillside at Galen. Looking up, he saw Victor standing on a boulder twice his size. It was balanced on a small shelf amidst a steep slope full of rocks, boulders and sharp gravel.
Victor chanted:
“The Turi’s narrow mountain way
Will lead you home that very day.
Rejoice, O, Vagabonds of old,
Your journey’s end has been foretold.”
Victor nodded toward the eagle’s nest. “All my life, I’ve wanted to be in a ballad. Here we are. The Turi’s path must be here somewhere. We’ll be home before this night is done.”
With trembling knees, Galen faced Victor. Even now, he admired this southern armadillo: he had lied, but never stopped; he had insulted, but also praised. Was there nothing Galen could do except destroy him? The Colony needed strong trekkers like Victor. “You can’t go alone. For our peoples’ sake, take Corrie with you.”
“No.” Victor’s voice rose. “I’ll take Rafael. That crazy ‘dillo knows something, but no one can get it out of him. Rafael. Only Rafael.”
A sudden sadness filled Galen. If Victor was willing to work together, if he would just set aside his own ambitions, they needn’t fight. No! Sympathy wouldn’t give Galen the strength he needed. Searching for his anger, he pulled up memories of the river: falling, falling, falling, cold water snatching him, gasping, paddling, unable to dodge that chunk of wood—Ouch!—gasping, gasping, gasping. He pulled the dull anger about him like a second skin of armor.
Corrie and Rafael burst out of the shrubs and onto the bare rock.
“Where’s Victor?” Corrie asked.
Above them, Victor grunted. A stone rattled down the slope.
Galen looked up. Time slowed.
He blinked once: the boulder Victor had been standing on started to roll toward him; it bounced high, then slammed into the sharp gravel and tumbled straight for Galen.
He blinked again: he saw that Victor had shoved the rock from behind, and then Victor lost his balance; he tucked in his head and rolled downward following in the boulder’s path. Something struck Galen, shoving him sideways. Rafael. Galen’s mouth started to bleed.
He blinked a third time: Rafael stood in the boulder’s path; he half-curled; his silver eyes reflected Galen’s face: “Remember. You are the only trekker left,” Rafael said; the boulder struck him, carried him, pushed him off the cliff’s edge, suspended him in midair; he disappeared. Then, another armadillo ball—Victor— tumbled over the cliff’s edge, hung in the air, uncurled, fell head first; the long, long tail disappeared inch by inch until the air was empty.
He blinked a fourth time: a clattering of smaller boulders hit him, knocking him to the ground. Then, it was all over.
“No!” Corrie cried. “No, no, no, no!”
Below, there was a hollow crack, like that of a melon breaking open. Was it Victor or Rafael?
Galen rushed to the edge, but a shadow swooped overhead.
Corrie screamed, “Eagles! Look out!”
He curled up, giving the eagle no place to sink its talons. For long moments, he stayed in the protective position. His mouth was rapidly swelling where Rafael had slammed into him, and his left foreleg was weak where a rock had hit him. At any moment, he expected to be struck by the eagle. As the minutes lengthened, he cautiously opened an eye. No eagles in front of him. He whirled back toward the trees, then curled up. Silence. He opened an eye. No eagles. Corrie was curled beside him.
“Where are the eagles?” he mumbled through his hurt lip.
She whispered. “Soaring.”
“I’ve got to check on Victor and Rafael.”
“Be careful. The eagle sees everything you do.”
In one swift motion, Galen spun back to the cliff. He paused. Ignoring his hurt leg, he crept forward—inch by inch—until he could look over the cliff. Galen gasped, but couldn’t look away.
On a ledge some fifteen feet below the cliff, Rafael’s body lay limp and unmoving, his head at an awkward angle. He must have landed head first and broken his neck. Beside him, Victor tried to stand. As Galen had feared from the earlier sound, his shell was split open between the fourth and fifth bands. Like a cracked melon, his insides were visible. He moaned.
“Rafael’s gone. Victor’s alive,” Galen called back to Corrie. “But hurt badly.”
An eagle, larger than Galen imagined, swooped to land beside Victor. It probed Victor’s insides with a sharp beak.
“No!” Galen roared in horror.
His shout startled the eagle. It flapped its great wings; when the wind caught them, the eagle returned to a watching position.
Galen felt curiously empty. Death was part of life. Rafael had saved Galen’s life and lost his own. Thoughts crowded in: Rafael chasing beetles, Rafael carrying a rosebud in his mouth, Rafael digging so fast he threw dirt in great arcs behind him. He had dug his last den. Now, he was in a new home with the Father of Souls. Was Rafael already telling stories right now about Galen and Felix and Garcia to the Father of Souls? Galen realized he needed to climb down and do something with Rafael’s body so the eagles wouldn’t take him.
“Galen.” Victor’s cry was weak.
Galen would take care of Rafael, but he should leave Victor, just like Victor had left him in the river.
Victor moaned.
Corrie inched to the cliff’s edge and peered over.
Galen called, “Victor, we’re here.”
“Help me.”
Galen drew a deep breath. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Victor had waited too late to ask for help.
“Oh,” Victor moaned. “It’s that bad.”
Honesty forced Galen to admit, “There’s nothing I can do.”
Corrie gently agreed. “Nothing.”
Victor’s head moved weakly from side to side in denial.
With an eye on the sky, Galen lay at the cliff’s edge. Emotions battled within him. No one would fault him for walking away—not with eagles overhead, not with Corrie and the quest to think about. Victor hadn’t searched for him in the river last night. He had tried to kill him with the boulder, but he killed Rafael, instead. Galen tried to get back the feeling of anger, but all he could feel was pity. And pity wasn’t enough for him to risk his own life.
He peered down again. Amazingly, Victor was standing. He started to sing to Rafael’s still body. “Rejoice, O, Vagabonds of old.” Victor raised his head. “Sing with me. For Rafael.”
Corrie joined him and sang the entire ballad, as a farewell to Rafael.
“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.”
Galen’s throat was so thick, his swollen mouth so large, he couldn’t sing. Goodbye, brother, he thought. Your untimely death is one more reason, in a long line of reasons, why we must find the Faralone Falls and the Turi’s cave and end the curse that makes us forever vagabonds.
When the song ended, he whispered to Victor.
“Your trek is almost done.”
Victor sank to his belly and closed his eyes. “I know. Almost done.”
Then his eyes fluttered open. “Please. Don’t let me die a bad death. Not eagles. There’s a ledge here. Help me get under it, where they can’t reach me.”
Galen had to choose: would he walk away, or would he find a way down to Victor and help him hide, so that his last trek, his journey to the Father of Souls would be peaceful? Galen looked up, past the eagles, to the stars which formed a heavenly waterfall. Too many stars to count, too many specks of light. Did this one life matter to the Father of Souls?
A falling star streaked across the sky. Oh! What a beautiful thing, even if it was so brief a display. And he realized that Victor’s life—and death—did matter.
With a start, Galen turned his face to the cliff and searched for a path down. Two feet below, a narrow shelf traveled west a couple feet before petering out. Below that point was a jutting rock. Visually, Galen traced a path down to Victor’s ledge. It might work. He traced it back upward. A bit awkward in a couple places, but he thought he could make it.
Turning, he clung to the rock with his front claws and walked his hind legs down until his tail dragged on the shelf. He dropped onto it, wincing at the pain in his foreleg. Carefully, he sidestepped until he had to drop to the jutting rock. The trail was difficult, but he made it to Victor’s ledge, followed by Corrie a few moments later.
.
RICH AND FULL
Corrie couldn’t hold back the tears. They were right—Rafael was gone.
Victor’s dark eyes watched them step around Rafael’s body. That he was in pain was obvious: the crack in his armor wasn’t as clean as it had appeared from above and the sharp edges cut into him so that blood oozed.
“I’m here,” Galen said. In front of Victor, he lay down with his nose resting on his front legs, so they were almost nose-to-nose.
“Thank you,” Victor nodded slightly toward the cliff face. “Hide me. In there.”
Corrie looked skyward. The eagles were circling closer, as if they sensed Victor’s weakness and Rafael’s stillness. First, Corrie and Galen pulled Rafael’s body under the shelf and shoved until it was far enough back that no eagle could reach it.
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