Coyote Horizon

by Allen Steele

  “Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Just listen. I’ve got a message for you…from Walking Star.”

  “From…?” He stared at her in astonishment. “You’ve met him? How…I mean, when did you…?”

  “This afternoon, just after lunch. I’d gone out back to fetch some firewood when he came up to me. I didn’t know who he was…thought he was just another monk, even though they’ve come around the mess tent before…but then he told me who he was, and how he’d just seen you.”

  Hawk felt his heart skip a beat. “There was someone at the site today, a monk, but I didn’t…”

  “I know. He told me.” She moved closer, wrapping her arms around him, and he realized that she was shaking. “Hawk-Hawk, it was scary…I mean, really spooky. Like everything I was about to say, he knew it already.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “He stayed just long enough to give me a message to pass along to you.”

  “What’s that?”

  Melissa looked up at him again. “He told me to tell you that he knows who you are and why you’re here…and for you to come see him tonight. Alone.”

  As luck would have it, the sky was overcast that night, the bearlight dim enough for Hawk to leave camp without being observed. Avoiding the tents and office shack, he quietly went to the fence separating the construction site from the field. It didn’t take long for him to reach the gate, and he’d just unlatched it and swung it open when a cloaked figure emerged from the darkness on the other side of the fence.

  “Hawk Thompson.” It wasn’t a question so much as it was a statement; nor was there any pretense of addressing him as Henry Lewis. Hawk started to reply, but the monk had already turned away. “Please follow me. I’m to take you to Walking Star.”

  A narrow dirt path led through the center of the field, with high grass rising on either side of it. The night was dark enough that, if it hadn’t been for the figure walking before him, Hawk probably would have lost his way. He was relieved when, once they were about thirty yards from the gate, the monk paused to light a battery-powered lamp. “You may want this,” he said softly, handing it to Hawk. “I can do without it, but you might be more comfortable if you can see where you’re going.”

  “Thanks.” Hawk took the lamp from him. In its wan glow, he was able to make out the shadowed face within the hood: an older man, probably in his middle years, with a sparse beard outlining a thin-lipped mouth. “Who are you, anyway…I mean, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  The monk said nothing for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to answer that question. “I’m called Swamper,” he replied before turning away. “Come. He’s waiting for you.”

  Swamper? Odd for someone to be called by the name of one of Coyote’s native creatures. To be sure, Hawk’s parents had christened him after an Earth bird that he’d never seen except in pictures. But why would anyone want to be identified with a rodentlike animal that raided garbage…?

  Then Hawk got a better look at where he was, and forgot all about Swamper. Through the grass to his left, he saw a ball plant; nearly half his own height, it was larger than any he’d seen before. Behind it was another one, and past it, yet another. He glanced at the other side of the path, and froze in midstep. More ball plants to his right, each nearly as big as the others.

  “Don’t worry.” Just ahead, Swamper had come to a halt; he didn’t turn around, but instead looked back at Hawk over his shoulder. “Pseudowasps are dormant at night. So long as you don’t disturb the plants…”

  “Right. Sure.” Careful not to get too close to the edge of the path, Hawk hurried to catch up with him. “I don’t…y’know, why haven’t you…?”

  “Cleared them out? We have our reasons.” A low chuckle. “Besides, they’re great for scaring away pests.”

  Like the people building your monastery, Hawk thought, and for an instant it seemed as if Swamper was about to stop again to say something more. Yet he kept on walking, and Hawk decided that it might not be wise to ask any more questions.

  They reached the end of the path; just past another fence lay the settlement. Now that they were closer, Hawk could see that the cabins were nothing more than faux-birch prefabs much like the office shack, obviously meant to serve as temporary shelter until the monastery was finished. If they were recent, though, he wondered where the Order had been living before the prefabs were airlifted in. Their windows glowed with the mellow luminescence of fish-oil lamps, yet their curtains had been drawn and there was no one outside. Indeed, the settlement was so quiet—no voices, no laughter, no human movement of any kind—that, if it weren’t for the lighted windows and the faint aroma of woodsmoke, he could have sworn that the place was deserted.

  Swamper brought him to a cabin near the center of the settlement, stopping at the steps leading up to its side door. Hawk expected him to knock, but instead the monk stood quietly for a few seconds, as if waiting for their presence to be noticed. Then, even though Hawk hadn’t heard anything, Swamper walked up the steps and opened the door.

  “Come on in,” he murmured. “He’s expecting you.”

  Hawk followed him into the cabin. It had only one room, with a hemp blanket hanging from a ceiling rafter separating one side from the other. An oil lamp on a low table fashioned from a tree stump cast a dim radiance, and once Hawk’s eyes adjusted to the light, he saw someone sitting in a bamboo armchair beside the table.

  “Welcome, Mr. Thompson,” he said. “I’m Walking Star…Joseph Walking Star Cassidy.” A pause. “You’ve come a long way to find me. I’d like to know why.”

  Cassidy’s hood was pulled back, revealing black eyes that regarded Hawk with curiosity. Now that he knew the identity of the monk whom he’d seen earlier that day, Hawk suddenly found himself reluctant to speak; there was a sublime sense of power to the man that was intimidating. Yet Walking Star was right; Hawk had sacrificed much to be here, and there was even more at stake in this meeting.

  “I…I thought you knew that already,” he replied. “That’s what you told Juliet…Melissa, I mean.” Something else occurred to him. “Come to think of it, how did you…?”

  “Discover your true names?” A sly smile. “The same way I discovered that you were looking for me…and I’m sorry, but that’s my secret. At least for the time being.”

  Hawk was confused. “Then…if you know who we are, and that we’ve been looking for you, then you must also know the reason why.”

  “Not exactly.” Walking Star shook his head. “Your names, yes. That you made your way here in order to find me, yes. The rest…”

  He leaned forward a bit, peering closely at his visitor. “You’re in search of something, I believe. Answers…” Again, a slight pause. “No, more than that. Knowledge. You’ve discovered something, and you’re trying to find a way to make sense of it. And you believe that I can help you.”

  Hawk wondered how he could possibly know these things. Were his motives so transparent, or was there something else going on? Before he could reply, Walking Star looked past him at Swamper. “Would you be so kind as to bring us some coffee? It’s a cold night, and I think Mr. Thompson…Hawk…could use a little refreshment.” Swamper left without a word, closing the door behind him, and Walking Star nodded toward another chair on the other side of the table. “Sit, please. You can begin by telling me how you and your companion learned about me.”

  “Back in Liberty…we were there for a little while, trying to…” Hawk let out his breath as he sat down across from Walking Star. “Look, the whole thing is complicated.”

  “I think I can guess most of it already.” Sitting back in his chair, Cassidy folded his hands together. “While you were in Liberty, you heard rumors about me and my people. A bunch of guys, led by some crazy Indian, who’d up and vanished into the wilderness in search of spiritual enlightenment.”

  “That’s pretty much it, yeah.” Now that he was seated, Hawk found himself a little more at ease. “We asked around and finally learned that you’d
gone north. So we caught a boat to New Boston, and once we got there, we found out that people were being hired for some sort of construction project on Medsylvania. I wasn’t sure until we got here, but when we were told that we were going to be building a monastery…”

  “You knew that you’d come to the right place.” Walking Star sighed, looked away for a moment. “You’re not the first to track us down. We’ve taken precautions to guard our privacy, but I hadn’t realized just how effective word of mouth can be.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.” Hawk hesitated. “I also heard that you were…well, a cult of sting addicts. The ball plants I saw…”

  “Sting isn’t addictive, or at least not in the physiological sense. Yes, we used it for a time, as a means of…shall we say, unlocking the doors of the mind…but since then we found a more effective way to achieve that.” Walking Star looked back at him. “As for the notion that we’re a cult of some sort…no. In fact, we tell outsiders that we’re monks because that’s easier for them to understand. Safer for us, too.”

  They were interrupted by the door opening again. Swamper walked in, carrying a tin pot of coffee and a couple of ceramic mugs. He placed them on the table, then quietly turned and left once more. Walking Star picked up the pot and poured coffee into one of the mugs. “The truth of the matter,” he continued, “is that we’re more like a commune.” He paused to offer the mug to Hawk. “If you want to call us anything, you can use the name we’ve chosen for ourselves.”

  “The Order of the Eye?” Hawk couldn’t help but smile. He’d been wondering about that. “Which one? The left or right?”

  “The third, actually.” Walking Star didn’t seem to take offense; there was a wry grin as he poured coffee for himself. “The one that looks inside the mind itself, perceiving one’s own soul. Which is what we’ve endeavored to do here, and which is why we’ve decided to isolate ourselves as much as possible from everyone else.”

  “I see.”

  “If that’s a joke…” Walking Star started to smile, then he shook his head. “No, it isn’t, is it? But, no, you’re wrong. You don’t see…nor will you ever, unless you answer my question. You’ve told me how you and your friend came here, but I still haven’t learned the reason why.” He stopped. “If you’re trying to find God, or the meaning of life, or anything like that…”

  “That’s not why I’m here.” Again, Hawk found himself hesitating. He covered his reticence by taking a sip of coffee; it was hot and strong, and somehow gave him the courage to go on. Putting the mug down on the table, he took a deep breath. “Until a couple of months ago, I was a customs inspector in New Brighton. Lonesome, depressed, and pretty much waiting to die. And then…well, something happened.”

  Shortly before sunrise, Hawk returned to camp. Although he went across the field by himself, he no longer dreaded the ball plants as much as he had earlier. He’d spent the night in conversation with Walking Star, and he’d learned from him of their significance to the Order. There was nothing there that could harm him.

  The camp was just beginning to wake up when he closed the gate behind him. The other men in his tent had already noticed that he hadn’t slept there that night; a couple of them asked where he’d been, but he ignored them as he began to gather his belongings, shoving everything into his bag. His money was where he’d concealed it, a rolled-up bundle of colonials in the bottom of an old sock; he wouldn’t need it, but neither was there any point in giving it away. After a few minutes, the others realized that Henry was up to something; one of them hurried out of the tent, and Hawk knew that he was probably on his way to the office shack.

  It didn’t matter, though. His time with the construction crew had come to an end. Pulling his bag across his shoulder by its strap, Hawk sauntered over to the mess tent. As he expected, he found Melissa in the kitchen, stirring the vat of oatmeal that she was about to carry out to the chow line. Her eyes widened when she saw him enter, and she was even more surprised when he told her, openly and without any subterfuge, to drop what she was doing and pack her bag.

  “We’re leaving?” Melissa’s voice was little more than a whisper; she glanced warily at the two other cooks, who stared at them in astonishment. “What…you mean, now?”

  “Yes. Right now.” Hawk gently took the ladle from her hand, placed it on the counter next to the stove. “We’re done here. No reason to stay any longer.” He smiled at her. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. But it’s time for us to leave.”

  “But…” Bewildered, she glanced at the vat. “What about breakfast? I was just about to…”

  Her voice trailed off, and Hawk had to keep from grinning. He hadn’t appreciated just how important the job had become for her; over the course of the last month she’d found an occupation that didn’t require lying on her back. It might not be much, but at least it had given her a measure of self-respect that she didn’t have before.

  “If you don’t want to go,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to. You can stay here, if you really want. But I’ve talked to Walking Star and he…” Realizing that the others were listening, he shook his head. “Look, I think he’s got the answer…or actually, a way for me to find the answer. So I’ve got to go.” He paused. “I’d like for you to come with me, but if you don’t…I mean, if you want to stay behind…”

  “No. I’m with you.” Melissa turned toward the chief cook. “Sorry, Deb,” she said, reaching back to untie her apron, “you’re going to have to finish up without me. I quit.”

  Melissa had even less to take with her than Hawk did. She was in and out of her tent in only a few minutes, carrying her bag under her arm. By then, a small crowd of workers had gathered nearby, watching the two of them as they prepared to depart. Melissa had just joined him again when Jerry appeared. Apparently the project supervisor had been caught taking a morning shower in the bathhouse, because his hair was wet and he was still buttoning up his shirt.

  “Henry, what do you think you’re doing?” Despite his irritation, it was clear that Jerry was confused more than anything else. “Who said you could leave?”

  Again, it took a lot of self-control to keep from laughing out loud. “Didn’t know I had to ask permission,” Hawk replied. “Sorry, boss, but I quit. Thanks for the job, but…well, I’ve got something else to do.”

  The supervisor stared at him, speechless for a moment. Hawk realized that this was probably the first time anyone had walked off the project of their own accord. “Your contract…”

  “Says I can terminate my employment anytime I wish, so long as I notify you.” Hawk shrugged. “Sorry for the short notice.”

  “You know, of course, you’ll be forfeiting your bonus…”

  “I can live with that,” Hawk said. Melissa remained quiet, but reluctantly nodded. “Like I said, thanks for the work, but it’s time for us to go.”

  Hawk started to turn away, but Jerry still wasn’t satisfied. The supervisor planted himself in front of him and Melissa. “I don’t know where you think you’re going, but if you think I’m going to call in a gyro…”

  “Don’t need a ride. Just our own two feet.” Hawk nodded toward the fence. “We’re headed that way. Got an invitation from the—”

  “You spoke with them?” Jerry became angry. “I thought I told you…”

  “Yes, you did. Right after we got here.” Hawk grinned. “Guess that means we’re fired. Same difference. Excuse me…”

  He moved to walk past the supervisor. Jerry started to raise his hands to stop them. He seemed to realize that further argument was pointless, though, because he lowered his arms and reluctantly stepped aside.

  “All right, go on,” he muttered. “Do what you want. But if this is some kind of joke…”

  “Believe me,” Hawk said, “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” And then, with Melissa at his side, he continued toward the gate, and the destiny that awaited him.

  Hawk sat on the front step of Walking Star�
�s cabin, idly watching as the members of the Order went about their afternoon chores. Once again, he was struck by how uncommonly quiet the place was. Although everyone was busy with one task or another—washing clothes, gathering and stacking firewood, planting vegetable gardens, making minor repairs to the cabins—they seldom spoke to one another, instead working in silent unison, as if they shared the same consciousness.

  Which, indeed, they did. If what Cassidy had told him was true, then the Order had discovered a way to become telepathic. Hawk didn’t know which was more unsettling: the idea that someone could read another person’s mind, or the notion of someone deliberately allowing himself to be stung, again and again, by swarms of pseudowasps. But even that thought, in itself, was enough to convince him; a passing acolyte paused to glance sharply in his direction. Hawk stared back at him, and received a faint nod from within a raised hood. Yes, he’d been heard…

  Unnerved, Hawk stood up from the steps. When he’d last seen Melissa, she was unpacking their belongings in the vacant shack that had been set aside as their temporary quarters; perhaps she might like some help. But he’d just begun to walk away when the door opened, and he looked back to see Cassidy step outside.

  “Going somewhere?” There was a knowing smile on Walking Star’s face, as if he’d just shared a private joke with someone else. Perhaps he had. “Not having any second thoughts, are you?”

  “Even if I was…”

  “There’s not much you can do about it now. Jerry wouldn’t take you back even if you asked him.” A pause. “Not that you really intend to do so,” he added, “but it did cross your mind. About five minutes ago, in fact.”

  Hawk felt his face grow warm. “Do you really have to do that? I mean, couldn’t you give me at least a little privacy?”

  “Sorry. Can’t help it.” The smile faded, replaced by Cassidy’s usual stoicism. “None of us can. To us, it’s as if you’re some poor guy with Tourette’s syndrome, unable to control himself from saying out loud everything that comes into his head. That’s why I had you sit out here while I was studying this thing you brought me…even then, I could hear your thoughts.”