Called to Gobi

by D. I. Telbat

  I reached high with my hands, gripped tightly, and hopped upward on my good leg. When I placed my foot on a gnarled mushroom, it held. My hands reached higher and I focused on my next foot placement. Hop! Already, I was six feet off the ground. The leaning tree was much steeper than a forty-five degree angle, so I rose quickly. Of all the crazy stunts I'd pulled growing up, I'd had the sense to avoid unpredictable trees—until now. There was a measure of insecurity at every handhold or footstep where the limbs were cracked, the moss was slippery, and the bark was loose.

  The climb made me dizzy, but I lied to my fear, trying to convince myself that it was the altitude's thinner air. There was truly something enchanting about the upper regions of the forest—any forest. It was a bird's eye view. But I wasn't sightseeing. My leg throbbed and my heart pounded.

  Behind me, I heard voices. They'd be coming into view of me in seconds. Almost frantically, I hopped upward twice, my triceps and forearms burning from the strain as I held on. Stretching out my hand, I touched the giant cedar tree where the rotten log intersected at a height of thirty feet.

  Dangerously, I stood upright on my good leg. A single, warty mushroom supported my two hundred pounds. I reached high and wrapped my hands around a branch as thick as my leg.

  The mushroom on which I stood suddenly slipped away like jelly beneath my boot. I dangled from the branch and felt the blood drain from my face. Far below, the mushroom hit the ground with a thud. The sound brought several soldiers at a run toward my tree. Around the branch, I interlaced my fingers and closed my eyes, daring not to move. As I was in my stained, filthy coat, I couldn't help but wonder if I blended into the foliage around me, a tapestry of moss to be ignored . . . And I prayed.

  I hung there for forty seconds, which was harder than I'd imagined. The soldiers turned in circles below me and asked each other, "You heard it, too? And, "Yeah, I heard something around here, I think."

  If I hung any longer, I wouldn't have the strength to pull myself up. And if I was going to do something besides fall, it had to be now, soldiers present or not. Back in the States, I'd known a boy who'd climbed a tall tree, but he'd fallen and broken his back. Falling out of a tree seemed worse than getting shot out of the tree at that moment, so I swung my good leg up around the branch on which I clung.

  From my upside down position now, I saw the three soldiers below, their rifles at the ready. Farther back in the forest, a formed line of the other soldiers swept from east to west. None of them were searching the treetops for me, though.

  Twisting around, I pulled and clawed at the tree itself to right myself on my branch. That's when I came face to face with the largest and smelliest owl I'd ever seen in my life. I imagined it hooting or emerging from within its massive burrow. If its body weight didn't knock me off my branch, the soldiers' attention would certainly be drawn by the commotion.

  But nothing happened. The owl didn't move. It didn't even open its eyes. Peering down at the guards, I saw that more were gathering below me. In just a matter of time, one of them would look skyward, or check the sun's placement, and notice me. My options were limited: ascend into the tree higher, or fight the owl over its burrow. I decided I couldn't climb any higher. There was no cover above me like there was right there where the section of the tree was hollow.

  With a finger, I poked the owl. Something wasn't right about the feathered creature. The owl didn't move at my nudging. It was winter. Did owls hibernate? I thought not. Feeling through the creature's feathers, I found him cold to the touch. Owls are warm-blooded. So the appropriate question to ask now was: what happens to owls that die of old age? This owl was two feet tall and part of the horned species. Though it hadn't been dead long, on closer examination, I noticed a few ants and beetles nosing about the feathers.

  Carefully, I lifted the big bird aside. It was an easy eight or ten pounds. Then I climbed into the burrow next to it. I sat on a nest of animal bones and hair and feathers, and above me, the ceiling disappeared into darkness. With some exhaling and hushed grunting, I worked my shoulders around so I could pull my legs into the hole, though not without crowding the owl of its insect-infested space. My whole body was finally inside the burrow except for the toes of my right foot as I sat cross-legged.

  I couldn't help but smile and mouth my thanks to the Creator. Somewhere around two hundred years ago, the tree had started to grow. The other leaning tree had been blown over and rotted with mushrooms. Fifty or more years ago, the owl had been born, perhaps in that very same tree. Something had built the nest. Then, the owl had died at a ripe old age, but right in time—evidently within days—of my arrival. Tell me God doesn't coordinate everything in creation!

  Owl or no owl, God had put that burrow in that cedar for me, and I would've been a fool not to recognize God's handiwork then, as well as so many other times.

  A shout rose up through the forest and I heard running feet. Peering out of my hole and down to the left, I saw the soldiers tromping to the east. I guessed they'd found the remains of my fire. That was fast. Perhaps there was a tracker among them, maybe even a Mongolian. They would know one of us was wounded and couldn't travel fast without transportation. How much of a trail had I left to my present location? Silently, I chastised myself for worrying about things I couldn't change now. In fact, I couldn't climb out of my cedar without falling over thirty feet down, that's how securely I was tucked away. The owl's burrow may as well have been my own coffin!

  But I relaxed while the soldiers were gone—for now at least. In the Northern Hemisphere, owls make their homes facing south whenever possible, and I was grateful for this as the smallest sliver of sunlight shone through the heights above. As the cedars in the north, this one reached as high as two hundred feet. And though my hollow place was barely the size of a grown man, the trunk's base was larger than most round dining tables.

  When I heard voices again, I dared not look out as the soldiers returned. They were tracking me, following sign across the forest floor. I hadn't been too crafty, lunging across the ground like a wounded dog. The soldiers would see everything I'd disturbed, if they knew what to look for—a trampled blade of dead grass, a handprint in soft moss . . . A handprint? That would confuse them, but it wouldn't slow their advance. There would be other sign, too, since Chong and Sembuuk had come that way. Was the tracker good enough to tell that our party had split up and I'd stayed behind?

  The Chinese voices were close now—so close, they were sure to be at the bottom of the leaning tree. They would see my boot prints on the mushrooms, and they'd circle the cedar, staring up at its branches. The branches were so far apart, they could see nearly to the top of the tree and discern if I was up there or not. But, they couldn't know I was inside the tree. From below, the owl's home was out of sight, hidden by the thick branch just outside the opening.

  I stared at the owl in silence, a smile on my lips like I was a toddler hiding in the closet from my peers, too excited to move lest my position be found.

  My stomach growled and I picked at the moss inside the hole. I nibbled on the rot and reminded myself that health nuts in some civilizations made milkshakes out of such horrible tasting fungus.

  The Chinese continued to discuss their plans below, yet even if I knew what they intended, I couldn't do anything about it, so it was best, for worry's sake, that I didn't understand much Chinese. Eventually, they parted, and I spied them noisily marching together back to the east.

  But wait. My eyes narrowed. It was a trap. Two soldiers crept into different hiding places. One between three saplings and another in the ditch left behind by the roots of the leaning tree.

  They felt so certain I was nearby, yet had no sense to realize they were hiding in such plain sight that I could count the buttons on their uniforms in the fading light. I decided to keep my nose inside my hole, though, and wait them out. After a couple of hours of silence, I assumed they'd be thoroughly chilled to the bone and depart, figuring whoever had been there was now long gone. As long as the
y weren't there when Sembuuk returned to fetch me.

  However, as the hours slipped past—with me dosing, nibbling on moss, and counting spots on the owl—I realized the two soldiers below weren't leaving any time soon. This was sure to become a problem for me since I had bodily needs. I couldn't move while they were down there listening to every sound the forest made.

  The sun blinked, then faded behind the western range, and I watched the sun's rays diminish from the treetops until they were gone altogether. Almost instantly, the temperature dropped. If the owl wasn't crawling with its assortment of creepy-crawlies, I would've cuddled a little to stay warmer, its feathers making an excellent insulator for heat. As it was, I could only rotate my shoulders and twist my torso in an attempt to generate some heat and avoid cramping.

  The wind whistled through the trees and I shivered. Didn't owls know anything about doors? Dusk settled, then the first stars winked above. The green and brown forest took on a shade of gray until it was nothing but shadows—and an owl that was still alive began to hoot.

  Rustling below drew my attention. Leaning out, I stared at the ground. Someone was moving down there. The soldiers had to be getting cold. I was freezing. It was already below zero. Or was it not the soldiers moving at all, but Sembuuk and a couple of others returning with horses?

  I noticed one of the saplings move. It was the soldiers getting restless. In hushed words, the two conversed. Then they slung their rifles over their shoulders and walked out of the forest to the east.

  Not sixty seconds had passed before I heard a new sound. It was a snort, maybe a sneeze, from the south. Had other soldiers hidden themselves out there, too?

  My eyes were well-adjusted to the dark and I trained them on a stand of trees to my right. Movement! Something dark, graceful, and of considerable bulk moved like an animal, but it wasn't an animal. It was a man who came into sight—silent, stalking, crouching, even sniffing the air. He knelt to listen and watch the forest for a minute before he moved toward my tree.

  Gan-gaad. He'd moved like that when he'd prowled up the trail to the cave. The clan was wise in sending the man for me since his every skill was in demand for my recovery. The ex-clan leader stalked closer. He surely knew there were soldiers near. Maybe he could smell them. The snort I'd heard was probably from his aduu, which he'd abandoned not far away.

  Pressing himself against my cedar, he paused to measure every shadow, any bulk that could be a sulking enemy.

  I dropped a chunk of bark down at him, nearly landing on his shoulder. His face turned upward. When I waved my white palm, he seemed momentarily stunned at my position, perhaps surprised to see me alive, then noticed the leaning tree and how I'd gotten up there. He motioned something I didn't understand, so I guessed.

  "They went east a few minutes ago," I whispered just loud enough.

  "Can you come down, Pond? There's no way I'm coming up there to get you."

  "Um, I don't—" I'd been dreading this part. "We need rope!"

  He waved at me, then like a ghost, he slipped through the woods and out of sight. My ears burned for any sound. Where'd he go? A few minutes later, he walked back to me from the east. He'd prowled after the soldiers to make sure they were indeed gone. Without a word or glance upward, he crept below and beyond my tree in the direction from which he'd first arrived. While he seemed to take his time, my bladder was ready to burst. I needed out of the tree, now!

  Several forms approached the tree. Zima and others were on horseback. Gan-gaad pointed me out to them in silence. She waved frantically, her whole face a smile. For nearly two weeks, they'd surely assumed Sembuuk and I had been killed. Sembuuk was below as well, though he was hunched over in the saddle, maybe dozing. It had been a long couple of days for us both.

  Gan-gaad and Bolor connected reins and lead ropes together and threw one end up to me. After the third toss, I caught it. I hooked one knotted end into a crack of the owl's burrow, a place from which the rope could be freed when whipped hard enough from below.

  My legs had fallen asleep hours ago, and it took some coaxing to get them fired up again. Carefully, I climbed out onto the limb. Straddling the limb, I reached back and set the owl back into the center of its burrow. I nodded my thanks and farewell, and slid down the rope.

  Zima practically dove off her horse and tackled me, smothering me with kisses and hugs. Bolor had to pull her off as Gan-gaad whispered criticisms into my ear—because we were making too much noise and frightening the horses. But in moments, we were all on horseback riding south.

  *~*

  Chapter 30

  "Ever since you two were captured, they've been searching the woods north and south—all around us," Kandal said as he poked a stick into the coals. "The only reasonable explanation why they haven't found and captured us is because God has hidden us from their eyes."

  Kandal and I, and a few others, were gathered around the fire, forming an inner circle. Those who preferred to follow rather than lead sat behind us. And behind them, everyone else stood—the women and children, mostly—listening and biting their nails nervously. Duulgii stood in the back, having lost the right to speak at gatherings.

  The entire clan from all three camps were there in Middle Camp, gathered the night after my return. I was rested and had a pair of crude crutches lying beside me.

  "How long has Dusbhan been gone?" I asked.

  Regardless of us initially keeping his mission hidden, the whole clan was now aware that Dusbhan had left to scout out a northwesterly passage that avoided the plain.

  "Nearly two weeks." As the eldest, Kandal was best informed.

  "Then he's on his way back now," I said, calculating.

  "No one's ventured into the plain for days. Food is growing scarce. We may need to slaughter the older horses soon."

  "My eagle . . . has anyone seen her?" Sembuuk asked.

  "Yes," Jugder said. "I'm sure it was your raptor, though I don't know where she's lighting. I think she looks for you."

  "Instead of the plain, I'll go onto the mountain and try to draw her to me," Sembuuk said. "Our food stores will be replenished soon."

  "When Dusbhan returns, we'll leave," I said. "God has been faithful to protect us while we were separated. We need not tempt capture."

  "The journey will be hard," Kandal said. "The clan outnumbers the horses. But I agree: to stay much longer would mean disaster. We can see them coming this time, and if we do nothing to avoid the enemy, none of us may survive the next slaughter."

  "Let me go hunt over the mountain before we leave," Gan-gaad requested from behind Sembuuk. "I know the land better than anyone."

  "I'm not opposed to that," I said, since Gan-gaad was essentially under my watch.

  "But only early in the morning when there are fewer soldiers about—in case there are patrols on foot or flying over," Kandal said. "That goes for any movement."

  "Should we organize anything else before the journey?" I asked.

  The instant I asked it, I realized what a foolish question it was. These people always knew what needed to be done. They were born ready to travel. Nevertheless, Kandal was thoughtful, and we all waited for the old man to speak.

  "Perhaps . . . some will walk. Others will ride." He looked at me as if to say, "Is that enough organization for your Western mind?"

  I smiled and nodded. Yes, everyone knew what lay ahead. Their coordination was natural. The whole situation was foreign only to me and Chong, both of us having been born and raised in massive cities. But she was adjusting nicely, I'd heard from Olz, who lived in South Camp and spoke fluent Chinese. Naturally, Chong was preaching Christ to everyone through him as interpreter. After so many near-miraculous events witnessed by the clan, their eyes were open and their hearts were ready to have God's plan for their lives fully revealed. The Gospel was no longer foolishness to these people.

  There was no question that we were leaving. Either that, or we'd be caught and probably killed, whichever came first. Everyone did their best to sm
ile and lightheartedly attend their many chores, but our nerves were on edge. If I could have, I would've been out chopping wood just to pass the time—not that we needed any more wood, though. As it was, I was restricted to the camp on my crutches or on horseback in the woods. In camp, I was only in the way, and on horseback, there was a risk of straying into a Chinese search party. But riding into the mountains to the west was a relatively safe venture, and Manai escaped the camp on horseback with me to scout and explore the cave valley, and where Gan-gaad was hunting. Though Manai was barely six now, his horsemanship skills were better than mine. Kazakhs and Mongolians, during summer months, love to race their horses. Since horse racing is a test of the horse and not the rider, the youngsters are often used as jockeys—the smaller and younger, the better.

  While we rode through the mountains and threw rocks at pine cones, Sembuuk spent four days whistling and waving for his eagle, but it seemed the winged predator had returned to the wild, and we all felt Sembuuk's loss. The bird had been our sole source of meat at times. Now, we counted on Gan-gaad and a couple others who had set snares in the woods.

  Gan-gaad didn't disappoint us. He brought in a buck on his second day out and a medium-sized doe on the fifth. Like Native Americans, the Kazakhs use every bit of the deer: skin, stomach, bladder, bones, and so on.

  After a week since my return, Sembuuk called me out of my ger before we'd even risen to stoke the fire that morning. I shushed him so Zima and Manai weren't disturbed, and quickly dressed. Judging by the urgency in his voice, something had happened. Maybe his eagle had returned, I hoped.

  "The clan knows you and I do things for them that are too dangerous for anyone else, right?"

  Smiling, I didn't like the way he'd started, but something told me I'd participate. I had already crutched my way over to him as he saddled two horses, so I knew he was up to something wild.