by James Axler
“Seems our friend doesn’t know what we speak of,” the smaller man interjected wryly, taking note of the ex pression on Jak’s face. Although as impassive as ever in many ways, there was perhaps the slightest flicker of puzzlement at the larger man’s words.
“Perhaps not. The prophecies never said that the messengers would know the message that they carried. I wonder if it’s possible that they aren’t permitted to know.”
“That to know would somehow break the spell?” the smaller man asked. He shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”
Jak was starting to get angry at the way they were talking. It was as though he wasn’t there. Worse, it was as though he were some animal being bought and sold at market. Or a slave. And Jak Lauren was no one’s slave.
“Hey, talk about me like I’m dumb shit? Fuck you.”
Jak turned to leave. Deep down, he knew that there was no chance of his being able to make a break for it. As he made his move, he could see that the whole of the tribe—men, women and even the children—were now facing him. In the manner that they looked at him there was nothing but expectancy. And he had no idea how he could fulfill it.
But that was unimportant for the now. Beyond the faces, he could see only that the densely packed mass of flesh would be a wall of resistance that it may prove impossible to pass, particularly as he could see that male warriors among the crowd had picked up on the change in his posture. His body language now said nothing more than flight. They wouldn’t be amenable to that, he was sure.
The bandanna-wearing warrior who had ridden with him stretched out a hand—a large ham of a fist—that encircled Jak’s biceps with ease. The grip was loose, but definite. It threatened to close tight at the merest behest.
Jak looked around, his eyes meeting the dark brown orbs of the warrior. In a second, he could see many things in there: the reluctance to violence; the hope that it would not come to conflict; the longing of one who has waited long for a prophecy to be fulfilled. The man did not want to fight, but would if he it was required.
That initial reluctance was all that Jak needed. Slippery like an eel, he jerked his arm from the warrior’s grip before it had a chance to tighten. Reflexes just that fraction of a second too slow, the man was left clutching at air as Jak snaked behind him, a leaf-bladed knife palmed to his right hand while the left closed around the warrior’s throat. A booted foot to the calf caused the man’s leg to crumple, and he dropped to one knee, Jak driving a knee into his back to further bend him to his optimum position.
Red eyes darting around the crowd, seeing the warriors stiffen as they reach for knives of their own, Jak also flicked his gaze toward the chief and the shaman.
“You want him chilled? Be easy,” Jak said softly. Then he let the man go so that he slumped forward onto the ground. His constricted throat now freed, he gasped for breath, coughing hard. Jak stepped back, palming the knife once more so that it seemed to simply vanish, its hiding place within the patched camou jacket impossible to ascertain.
A small patch of empty ground had opened up around the albino hunter. The whole tribe had moved back, unwilling to either precipitate the chilling of their warrior or to risk the wrath of the man for whom they had waited so long. Jak stood in the center, aware also that the chief and the shaman had moved back.
“Could easily have chilled him. No need. Tell me what you want, and mebbe we can talk.”
The chief, with a sideways glance at the shaman, stepped forward, slowly, hesitantly, unwilling to cause any further problem.
“Ok, Red-eyes, maybe we shouldn’t have sounded like we were talking in riddles. Let’s start again.” When Jak nodded, the chief gestured to the gathered tribe. “We’re what used to be called the Pawnee, back before skydark. We moved onto these plains not long after the white-eyes came. They brought us the horse, and we used it to find new pastures on which to graze. We settled where we hadn’t been able to before, because of what we’d gained.
“But the white-eye was greedy. Always wanted more. We existed alongside them, but they acted like they wanted us gone. They fought us, drove us into smaller and smaller areas. They called them reservations, which were prisons. All the while, the white-eye ways did nothing but destroy the land and bring the end of all life that much closer.
“Before skydark came, some of us had decided to return to the old ways. We had the jack that the white-eyes had forced us to use, to fit in with their ways. So we used it against them. Took it off them, used it to stockpile things that would help us, determined that we would go back to the ways of our fathers.”
“Pretty story,” Jak sniffed. “Can’t see where I fit.”
The chief snorted. “You need to understand why we see you as important, For that you need to know how we got to this point.”
“Hurry up, then.” Jak shrugged.
Undaunted, the chief continued, although the look given him by the shaman did not escape Jak.
“When the nukecaust came, we had already started to separate from the world of the white-eyes. We had left the lands to which we were sent by the old governments, and we had come to this place. We found shelter, and so we were able to wait out the worst of the nuke winter before the spring of a new life came to us.”
Jak was starting to get bored. A lot of stupe talking had never, as far as he was concerned, ever got anyone to anywhere. But he was hanging on, hoping that some sense would soon come out of this, something that would give him some clue as to why he was seemingly indispensable. And who, perhaps, was the “other half” they spoke about.
He knew he’d have to be patient. The chief was speaking as though this was something that had been committed to memory and passed down. It would end only when it had always ended.
One thing that did strike him as amusing, though: it would seem that the shelter from the ways of their enemies had come via the redoubt. Built, of course, by those they professed to be against. He figured that it was not the time to raise this anomaly.
But now he could see that the chief was reaching the end of his long peroration. It was time to find out what the hell he was here for…or so he hoped.
“As the lands were ravaged by the dreadful terrors of the nuke, and the life that had been given by Mother Earth had been distorted by mutation, it was hard for us to adapt to the new land and the new ways. But we were driven by the knowledge that this was just, in the view of the great spirit that guides us, a way of cleansing. So that the world would be made afresh for us. Then, when this was so, and we were in the right place at the right time, as defined by the stars, then two people would come out of nowhere, delivered unto us so that we could be the people to lead the world.”
“An’ you figure I’m one of ’em?” Jak questioned.
The shaman nodded. He answered instead of the chief, and when he did, it was clear why.
“Wakan Tanka speaks to those of us who have been blessed with the gift of vision. We are few, and we are just vessels of the spirits, but we are the mouthpiece by which the wise words of Wakan Tanka are delivered to those who would be his chosen people. To my predecessors he spoke of a time when you and the other half would come across our people. You are the ones who will lead us. It is only in my time that he has spoken of the nearness of this event. The stars are in the patterns that he showed me in the dust. The shapes are right.”
“And we’re supposed show you what?” Jak asked. It sounded like a bunch of crap to him, and his patience was wearing thin. Maybe they could give him shelter on a hostile plain, but was it worth this shit?
The shaman smiled sadly. “That is what you are supposed to know. But perhaps you do without knowing that you do. Such are the ways of Wakan Tanka.”
“Sounds like crap,” Jak said.
“It would if you had been sent as the unsuspecting messenger.” The shaman shrugged. “Perhaps it is part of the great plan that you must discover for yourself before we can discover.”
“For now,” the chief added, “rest up here and let us show
you that we mean you no harm. The answer lies on the plains from which you came. You and the other half, who was also delivered to us by accident. Perhaps if you meet him, then that will mean something to you.”
Jak said nothing. It sounded yet another stupe idea to him. It was lucky for whoever the “other half” might be that he had been saved from wandering the plains until he bought the farm, but Jak couldn’t see that it would mean squat to him. On the other hand, he had nowhere to go. Play along, and at least he would gain food, shelter and rest for a short while, while he considered what to do next.
“Okay,” he said simply.
The chief stepped forward and indicated that Jak follow him. The crowd parted as the barrel-chested warrior strode through, heading for a wigwam that stood on the far reach of the small ville. The shaman brought up the rear. Some of the crowd followed, driven either by the need to witness this momentous event or simply by curiosity.
It didn’t escape Jak’s notice that in among them were a few men whose hands hovered close to the sheathed knives that hung from their belts. He had noticed the small hand gestures exchanged between the shaman and the warrior he had earlier bested. They may not be overtly hostile, but they were certainly in no mood to take risks.
Jak would have been the same.
At the entrance to the wigwam, which was the farthest from the open redoubt entrance, and faced onto the empty plain, a man and woman were waiting for them. Its location suggested that if trouble were to start, then none of the tribe would be at much risk. The man was armed in plain sight, just to reinforce the message. The woman, on the other hand, had her long sleeves rolled up and looked as though she had recently been washing something…or someone.
“Is he awake?” the chief asked.
The woman shook her head.
“We will look upon him anyway,” the chief decided.
As the man and woman stood aside, the chief and the shaman ushered Jak into the wigwam. It was dark inside, the tallow candle casting only the dimmest of light. It took the albino teen a few moments to make out the shape that was huddled on rush bedding.
“By Three Kennedys…” Jak breathed, almost to himself.
Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Three days and nights. That was how long Mildred and J.B. rode with the tribesmen before they reached the cluster of wigwams and tepees that defined the tribal ville. During that time, they had learned very little of who their traveling companions were, and why they had been waiting for them. In truth, the subject had been broached only the once: during a rest period on the second day.
For most of the first day they had traveled in silence, which had suited both Mildred and the Armorer; both were still at the point of exhaustion after struggling against the effects and aftereffects of the storm. Although both had many questions to ask, these could wait. By the same token, they were relieved that the silence of their fellow travelers saved the effort of having to answer potentially awkward questions for themselves.
The first night, as the sun fell and the cold cloak of dark descended upon the plain, they had halted at a signal from the rider at the head of the party. It had seemed arbitrary, but perhaps he had determined visibility too poor to continue. For both Mildred and J.B., riding behind warriors in the middle of the party, it was impossible to know. All either of them could say was that the rest of the party concurred with his opinion. Indeed, by the way in which they had dismounted and struck camp with only the barest of verbal communication suggested that the unit worked like a well-oiled piece of machinery, with every wheel and cog fitting perfectly into a place that they knew only too well.
When a fire had been lit and tepees had been erected for the night, food was cooked, and bowls presented to both Mildred and J.B.
“Eat. It’ll help you through the chill of night,” intoned the bronzed warrior who handed them the wooden bowls. He waited until they both took a mouthful before nodding, then returning to his compatriots.
The food was good: spiced meat that had been heated in a thin stock, with dried beans added. They were astounded at how hungry they actually were, neither having given the matter much thought since the desultory breakfast of the morning.
Their traveling companions talked among themselves in low, soft tones, yet there seemed to be no secrecy, no desire to keep the newcomers out of the loop. Rather, it seemed as though a quiet, contemplative manner was their natural bearing. In the same way, there was no attempt to mount a guard on the two outlanders. The horses were tethered nearby and left unguarded; neither did any of the warriors seem to even notice when Mildred, and then J.B., rose to move nearer the warmth of the fire. It was only when the warriors made a seemingly mutual—and unspoken—decision to retire for the evening that a guard was mounted.
With the rising of the sun, camp was struck and the party headed off once more with, yet again, little verbal communication.
As they traveled across the plains, Mildred and J.B. were acutely aware that every hour took them, in all likelihood, farther away from their friends. The chances of coming upon them by mere coincidence grew less and less. Yet, at the same time, there was a nagging feeling—unspoken by either—that they had not seen the last of their companions.
The land around them changed as they traveled, so slightly by degrees that it was only noticeable if they stopped to think about it. The flat and arid plains had been replaced by a more verdant landscape. Small groves of stunted trees began to appear at intervals, with spiky, high grass scattered between. This alone spoke of a higher water table, and a more fertile soil, which was confirmed as they rode into a small dip that was too shallow to grace with the term valley, yet provided enough shelter from the elements to harbor some small rodents and mammals along with the lizard forms that had occasionally shown themselves along the way. Trees with overhanging branches, their heavy greenery seeming to drink from the shallow but clear stream that ran between them, provided shelter.
As the warriors halted and dismounted, J.B. could see that the stream emerged from one end of the dip and disappeared into the other. The dip had been not been hol lowed out by erosion, but appeared to have been engineered at some point to allow access to the stream. By these tribesmen? The growth of flora suggested that it had been settlers long before the dark of nuclear winter that had originally dug here.
He said as much to the warrior who had brought them food the night before. If nothing else, he wanted to see if the man would open up on this subject: if so, then it was possible that he may be able to find out more about the status Millie and himself shared as people who had been “expected.”
The warrior nodded, and said nothing for a moment. He cupped his hands and drank from the stream, as did many of the others. After he had splashed his face with the cool liquid, he drew breath and nodded once more.
“There are many stories and legends about the plains. For many hundreds of years both our people and the white man tried to tame the land. Neither was truly successful. Mother Earth has to be lived alongside, not broken in like a young stallion. There are those who say our people made this. Others say it was the white man. I figure that as wrong. We never try to make changes in the land. That’s what the white man did. Where he went wrong.”
“You might not be wrong there.” J.B. nodded. “Still, we should be grateful for it right now. Although I guess if it wasn’t here, you could still find water.”
The warrior smiled. “Smart man. Also man with a lot of questions you want one of us to answer.”
J.B. chuckled. “That obvious?”
“Only to those who care to see,” the warrior replied. “But the answers are not ours to give. That is why we want you to travel with us. When we reach our home, then our medicine man will speak with you. He is privy to the secrets that Wakan Tanka shares only with those who have the ability to speak directly to him. That is how we found you.”
J.B. looked at the man, one eyebrow raised. He pushed back his fedora and scratched at his forehead
. “You’ll excuse me if that makes no sense to me,” he murmured.
The warrior shook his head. “Those are the ways of the spirit world. Few of us understand. We are directed by the spirits to do their bidding, and it is only when each has played his part and the patterns are drawn in the dust that the real shape emerges.”
“Meantime we have to trust you?”
“Only if you wish to. All I will say is that the spirits told our medicine man that two we have been waiting for would be found in the dry parts of the plain, having been on a vision quest.”
J.B. pondered that. He had no idea what a vision quest was as such, but the idea that it suggested to him fitted pretty well with the weird shit and discomfort that he and Mildred had endured only forty-eight hours before. Maybe—just maybe—there was something in what the warrior said.
“I think your medicine man can tell me and my friend much that we would want to know. Mebbe we can tell him something in return. Something we might not know we know.”
The warrior returned the Armorer’s previous expression of bemusement. “You sound like him, so you might be right,” he said with a wry humor.
As the party made ready to leave, J.B. relayed the conversation to Mildred. Remembering she knew of Native American lore from her old, predark life, she still erred on the side of believing it to be a pile of crap. However, there was something in what J.B. was saying: and it was true that they had no better option open to them. With a certain reluctance, she concurred with the Armorer.
And so they set off once more. The rest of the day followed the pattern of the first. They rode until the sun began to fall, finally stopping to pitch camp as the darkness curled around them. The next morning, they rose and began their journey with the rising of the sun.
The land was now much more lush. Scrub grass grew around the trail made by generations of riders, both before and after the nukecaust. The mountains and hills that had once been hazed with blue mist like wreathes of smoke now came into sharp relief, and grew in size with every mile that was traversed by the riders. Now there were herds of cattle upon the plain, fenced in by wire strung along a series of wooden posts. The enclosures were large, but were nonetheless enclosures. Mildred was certain that this hadn’t been part of the Native life back in the days of the old west she recalled from movies. Maybe they had learned more from the white man that perhaps they realized.