I trust you. But I cut all of the gaskets even when Miles is here. He says I’m the only one with a steady enough hand.
Allen looked down at the note and then back at Juan for a moment before looking away again.
“I’m sorry Juan, I should have known that you and the old man are pretty set in your ways, you’ve both been taking care of the pump for a long time, and I just got here a few days ago. I just want to help in any way I can,” he said.
Juan nodded and not really sure what else to do, he reached out and put a hand on Allen’s shoulder. Allen nodded but didn’t turn back to look at him, “Okay Juan, you’re in charge; what can I do to help?”
Juan reached over and tapped the paper where he had written before.
I’m going to cut gaskets, you go get us something to eat.
“You got it, you want to try snake again?” Allen asked, and Juan just shrugged in reply.
“Okay, I’ll see what they have, be back soon.”
Without looking back at Juan, the orphan boy turned and left the shack. Juan stood there in the silence for a few moments and listened as Allen’s footsteps faded away. Finally, alone Juan let out a long breath and then shook his head. He couldn’t remember very much from his time before Miles took him in and he didn’t know if he had ever had a friend, at least one that was his own age. But something about Allen just didn’t sit right with him. It was as if the boy was always on edge, always waiting for something to happen. Perhaps it was because the boy had been forced to live alone on the streets for so long? He hadn’t been lucky enough to find someone like Miles. Or Juan considered, maybe the problem was with him, maybe Allen just didn’t want to be his friend. Perhaps all Allen wanted was a place to sleep, water to drink and occasionally a bit of snake meat to eat?
Juan shook his head and considering this he turned and began to move back towards the shelf intent on finding a piece of flat rubber to cut into a gasket. But the boy’s eyes fell upon the stack of papers again, and on a whim, he pulled out the manila envelope out of the pile, the same one Miles had used to present to the city council. Juan frowned and realized that if Allen did want to be his friend if he saw the folder he would know right away that Juan had lied to him and that probably wouldn’t be the best way to start a friendship. Juan glanced around the shack, looking for a place where he could hide the folder where Allen wasn’t likely to stumble across it.
The boy crossed the room to an old three drawer filing cabinet that sat in the corner and pulled open one of the drawers. It was filled with an odd assortment of books and magazines, after losing his personal library when the museum burned Miles had been quick to start collecting books again. Juan considered shoving the folder inside, but wouldn’t the filing cabinet be the first place someone would look for it? And what if Allen decided he wanted to read something? Juan had already shown him the drawers of books. Juan closed the drawer and then glancing down had a sudden thought.
The boy leaned down and put his shoulder against the filing cabinet and then gave it a little shove. The cabinet groaned in response, and the base of it rose of off the concrete just a bit. Juan grunted and then dropping the manila folder to the floor, he slid it under the cabinet with the tip of his shoe before lowering the cabinet back down to the floor.
Juan grinned and nodded, hidden and secure he thought, now there was no way Allen would happen across the folder as long as it was hidden down there and little chance anyone else that may be snooping around would find it either. The boy went back to the bench, he was eager to get started on the gasket and didn’t notice the shadow that slipped away from the shack’s dirty window.
Back Trail
The Seeker walked down Interstate 17 at a casual pace while two of his most trusted slaves walked behind him pulling along his trike. It was an oddly shaped vehicle, with a pair of bicycle tires in the front connected to one another by a set of petals, while a third wheel sat in the rear that could be turned like a rudder to steer. The aluminum body in-between had been cut down to reduce weight and consisted of the single metal seat, a few cross beams for support and a length of cargo netting for storage. Much like the Seeker, the vehicle had been crafted with a singular purpose in mind.
As they neared the edge of the Master’s domain, the Seeker knew that he should be mentally preparing himself for the hunt ahead, but his mind wandered elsewhere. It was on his music and on the Masters and the boy that he had acquired from Wendigo. He realized he was feeling something that he hadn’t in a very long time and it took him a moment to recognize it, it was excitement. His mind was spinning at the possibilities that a pianist could bring to his work. The Seeker had found himself unable to resist, and though he had only intended to return home long enough to collect the tools that he would need for the hunt, he still found himself sitting down at the piano, putting his fingers to the keys and flirting with his latest Sonata. The exercise had ultimately proven futile, at least for now, and while it had wasted a few precious hours, it had him feeling more invigorated than usual.
With the sun nearing its apex the tall man raised a hand and signaled for them to stop. The pair of slaves moved with silent efficiency, they disconnected the lines that they had used to pull the trike along and secured it in place to the vehicle’s frame. Then they removed the length of fiberglass pole from the side of the vehicle, slowly unrolling the length of canvas from it. Then they set the end of the pole into its bracket and secured the 5-foot sail in place. Once the slaves were complete they each stepped back and waited for the Seeker to inspect the little craft. When their master didn’t move the pair exchanged a knowing glance, they had been with the Seeker long enough to read even the man’s silence, and they knew something was out of the ordinary.
After several minutes the Seeker finally turned around and began his slow and methodical walk around of the vehicle. He inspected the sail looking for any signs of stress or wear. He inspected the petals and chains, spinning each repeatedly, making sure each was well oiled. The tires themselves were solid rubber, but he inspected them for damage and signs of dry rot nonetheless. And when the Seeker was satisfied he dismissed the slaves with a wave of his hand and the pair turned and obediently headed for home at a steady trot.
Once his slaves were out of sight, the Seeker opened his long patchwork coat revealing the wide leather belt he always wore when he went out hunting. The belt was thick enough to turn a knife blade and boasted a dozen dark leather pouches. Additionally, a large Kukri knife in a black sheath now hung from his left hip while a glass jug of water hung from a carabiner on his right. Unhooking the jug, the Seeker carefully secured the jug of water in the trike’s cargo netting. Then from one of the pouches on his belt, the seeker removed two long strips of black rubber, each about 3 inches wide. These the Seeker meticulously wrapped across each of his palms and down his forearms. The thick rubber straps would provide some protection for his arms in a fight, but the Seeker had discovered that they had a far more advantageous use.
The tall man walked around to the right side of the trike and leaning down removed one of the three dark metal shafts that rested there in a specially designed rack. He lifted the spear up for a moment feeling its weight in his hand. It was barely 5 feet long, and while its center was thick enough to comfortably fill a man’s hand, both of its ends narrowed considerably, with its tip ending in a point not much larger than an arrowhead. With the weapon in his hand, the Seeker felt his mood lighten and he gave the spear a few quick thrusts, then moved into a series of defensive slashes, followed by a vicious swing. Then he brought the spear back in gripping it like a staff with two hands practiced a few strikes in that form. He felt his body begin to perspire and he cut short his set, but the quick exercise seemed to renew him a bit, and he felt the familiar pull building in his chest, the urge to slip out into the wasteland and hunt. The Seeker was about to return the spear to its place on the trike when he paused and for a moment considered the simple weapon he now held in his hands.
“P
erhaps mankind’s oldest weapon,” he said.
Then with a flip of his wrist, the Seeker let one of the rubber loops coiled around his forearm fall free. He set the butt of the spear into the loose strap and then pulling the rubber taunt he gripped the spear tightly around its midsection. Then the Seeker spun and in a single well practiced motion he raised the spear, picked a target and simply opened his hand. The rubber strap launched the spear from his grip, and the 5-foot length of steel flew more than a dozen feet before embedding itself into a car door.
“Of course, there always remains room for improvement.”
As Little Bird shuffled her way down street after street she felt more frustrated than she had in years. More and more she was beginning to realize just how easily she had had it, first with Laughing Bear as the nation’s chief for years and then under Red Bear, as short as his reign was. The old woman had spent the entire morning visiting anyone she could think of, anyone that had a young son recently named a warrior. And after sitting down and talking with almost a dozen families, some of which she had known for years, she was nowhere closer to discovering Two-Steps’ plan. What she had learned was that nearly all of them were as concerned as she was, though none of them would dare to say it. Time after time, the mothers and fathers she spoke to would turn away at her questions, suddenly change the subject or simply stand up and walk away from her. Little Bird wasn’t sure if they were afraid of Two-Steps, afraid of somehow disgracing their sons, now newly minted as Braves or something else entirely.
She had never seen her people like this before, not even in those early years, the starving times. Even then her people had shown a strength, a dedication to each other and to their families that had seen them through. But now that strength was gone and while she had found no one willing to talk to her about it, as she visited teepee after teepee, she had noticed one thing that all of the families shared. Not a single one of them knew where their sons were now. All that they could say for certain is that they had returned home at dawn to announce their new status as Braves of the Indian Nation. Then the young warriors had gathered a few things, clothes mostly it seemed and then walked out of their parents’ homes. One mother after another had told Little Bird that she had begged her son to tell her more, tell her anything. Where are you going? How long will you be gone? What are you doing? But it seemed that in every case the young Braves had refused to say anything else.
“Where in the hell do you hide more than 30 teenage boys?” Little Bird wondered aloud.
The old woman chewed on that riddle as she slowly walked back in the direction of her family's teepee. Though she hated to admit it, her feet hurt and she was looking forward to sitting alone in her old kitchen for a while. But Little Bird’s path took her past the old school that was now only used as a stable. She paused for a moment and looked at the single-story brick building. It was the largest in town, even larger than the church, could it be that simple? She wondered. The old woman let out a sigh, and with a shrug, she turned and walked across the deserted parking lot towards the large building. All of the doors had been removed years ago, along with all of the windows and the smell of horse manure quickly became overwhelming as she reached the doors and she raised a hand to cover her nose. Most of the Indians in the Nations would tell you that horsemanship was in their blood and that a true Indian was as at home on horseback as they were in their mother’s arms. Bullshit, Little Bird thought. Horses were dumb, they smelled bad and they liked to bite, she had a scar to prove it.
Wrinkling her nose, the old woman stepped through the doorway and walked down the wide halls of the building. The floor was covered with several inches of sand, intended to protect the animals from the hard floors and make mucking out the stalls easier. Little Bird wandered down the hallways of the building, ducking her head into each open doorway and checking all eight of the once classrooms. In each case, she found troughs for water, bundles of wild grasses for feed and lots and lots of horse shit, but no hidden warriors and as the old woman considered it for a moment, no horses either. Perhaps they were all out in the corral she considered and moving down the hallway stepped outside in view of the converted baseball field.
Looking out across the dusty field she could count only ten horses, most of them resting in the shade provided by the old dugouts. For some reason, the scene struck her as odd, and she walked down to the field and then followed the edge of the fence around towards the viewing stands. How many horses did the nation have? She wondered. It had been nearly six months since she had sat upon the Council of Elders and even then, things like the number of horses the nations were well outside of the group’s purview. But she was certain that the last time she could recall, the Indians had over 80 horses and perhaps even more. Was it that simple? Had their newly minted chief simply christened 30 new Braves and then given each a horse and sent them off somewhere? And if so to where and why?
“What are you up to you bastard?” she mumbled to herself.
Little Bird glanced over towards the bleachers, straining to see if Daniel Strongbow was sitting there in his usual spot. She could make out a half dozen figures sitting on the benches, as usual, watching the horses, but between the sun’s glare and her old eyes, she couldn’t tell for certain if the man was among them. So Little Bird continued around the field following the fence, but when she reached the bleachers she didn’t find Daniel Strongbow, she found Two-Steps sitting in his place instead.
“Greetings Little Bird,” the Chief called to her.
The old woman’s heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him, her eyes were wide with shock but then quickly narrowed with anger. As she watched him, the Chief reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a chunk of dried meat. He cut a narrow strip of it off with his bone-handled hunting knife and then stretched out his hand offering a piece to Little Bird. For a moment the old woman just stood there and then she slowly reached out and accepted the bit of meat.
“Thank you, my chief…and hello to you.”
The chief nodded, and he cut himself a strip of meat which he took it between his teeth, before sliding his knife away into the sheath at his belt.
“Why don’t you sit for a moment Little Bird?”
“Well…I was just on my way…” she began.
“I know where you’re going, and I know where you’ve been all day. I can tell your feet are sore, just sit down for a minute, I want to talk to you.”
The old woman eyed him suspiciously for a moment and then quickly glanced over at the other Indians sitting in the bleachers. He wouldn’t do anything here, not in front of witnesses, would he? The sudden line of thought sent a chill up her spine, had she really reached this point? She wondered. Do I think my own Chief, a man I’ve sworn to serve would do me harm? She shook her head and then quickly sat down on the row below Chief Two-Steps.
“I hear you have a lot of questions,” he said, his eyes on the horses.
Little Bird suddenly found her mouth dry, and she swallowed, before replying, “I do.”
“Questions for me?”
“Some.”
“Then ask them. You’ve been away with the whites for a time, it’s only natural that you would try and catch up on everything that you’ve missed, all the changes that I’ve made,” he said.
The old woman took another long breath, the Chief’s tone seemed polite and almost casual, but she couldn’t help but sense that something else lay underneath. Not for the first time she had to remind herself who this unassuming man was and who his family is. She had seen Coal in the heat of battle, splattered with blood and wearing nearly the same expression that Two-Steps wore now. She had to be very careful, witnesses or no.
“I heard that you changed the Rite of Passage ceremony,” she began.
“No offense intended Little Bird, but that’s a man’s ceremony. Doesn’t seem like that’s any of your business,” he replied.
“My Chief, but all traditional, spiritual, and family issues are overseen by the Council
of Elders. We mark the calendars, plan the events, record and oversee marriages and even approve adoptions. The rite of passage…”
“Is a matter that should fall to the War Chief, since only men can be counted amongst the Braves of the Nation.”
The Chief said the words in a tone that made it clear the matter was closed for discussion, but Little Bird was just starting to find her courage again.
“And who would that be?”
“I haven’t decided yet, and in the meantime, I’ll wear both hats, Chief and War Chief,” Two-Steps explained.
“I understand my Chief, forgive me for saying so, but perhaps if you had consulted with the Elders before making the changes to the Rite of Passage, well…”
“Well what?”
“Perhaps, we could have avoided any confusion, on the Council’s role and on the role of the parents,” Little Bird said.
“Confusion? Is that what the parents have been telling you today?”
The old woman paused for a moment, a little taken off guard, “Well not exactly…”
“Have they complained? Has anyone complained that I’ve taken their son’s and turned them into men?” he pressed.
“Not exactly,” Little Bird admitted.
“Then it doesn’t seem like you have much to be concerned with, I mean if no one is complaining. If anything, perhaps it’s just another example of how the Council of Elders is no longer needed.”
The old woman’s mouth fell open, and she turned to look back at Two-Steps, her anger suddenly building inside of her. But she found the young Chief was now standing and she watched as he casually stretched and then stepped down from the bleachers. Two-Steps paused for a moment with his back to her now looking out across the field towards the village.
“You can’t be seriously considering disbanding the council…my Chief,” she said.
“I’m considering just that,” he replied.
The old woman got to her feet now, her blood was up, and she was now struggling to keep her temper in check.
The Road North Page 22