“You could tell the counter guy to watch me and bang on the bathroom door if I took off,” GT said. “I wouldn’t get twenty feet.”
He reached over and pulled the wrapper from under the seat, using the fingers of his right hand to spread out the paper and press it flat. The blast furnace blowing through the open car windows masked the soft rattle of the paper.
“Forget it.”
GT grabbed the top of the sharpie with his mouth and pulled the pen free, glancing up at the top of the front seat. Asshole remained focused on the road.
“I gotta go, too.” GT said.
He scrawled a brief message. The paper squirmed around under the heel of his hand.
Shit. No one’ll be able to read this, even if I can leave it without getting caught.
“Whoopie-damned do. I guess I can allow that,” Robert Lee said. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
GT held his breath, folded the paper, concealed it in his hand, and rolled onto his back. After another check to confirm that Asshole was ignoring him, he shoved the wrapper into his jeans pocket and started breathing again.
A couple minutes later, they pulled into the Gas n Go lot and parked at the side of the mini mart.
They walked inside and went straight to the men’s room. It was what Robert Lee called a one-holer, with no cubicles; just a urinal and toilet in a small room. It was clean though, which gave GT hope that a candy wrapper on the floor might get noticed. He stared at his black eyes in the mirror, enduring the grunting and stink, and didn’t turn around until the toilet flushed.
“All yours, sport.”
GT finished and stepped to the sink to wash his hands. Robert Lee was leaning against the door, waiting for him.
This all depends on Asshole being an asshole.
When GT turned from the sink, Robert Lee swung open the door and marched in front of him into the mini mart. GT followed, slipping through the closing door as he pulled the wrapper from his pocket and tossed it on the floor. His heart was pounding again and he desperately needed to lie down.
1842
36
Big Horn Mountains, Wyoming
Two hours of light remained when Still Water left his father and the dome-shaped wikiup where they had completed the sweat purification ritual.
He stood quietly, facing east, where Father Sun, the source of all life, rose. He was dizzy from the smoke of the ritual. The sky was clear with a blue so intense that it rivaled the brightness of his Shúaneaxe eyes. Naked except for the medicine pouch that hung around his neck, he shivered in the light wind as the sweat dried from his skin.
He’d left a blanket, a skin pouch containing stones to start a fire, and his moccasins next to the fire pit that had been used to heat the stones for the bath. He slung the pouch over his shoulder and wrapped the blanket around him, happy for the warmth it held from the still-glowing fire. Breathing deeply, he turned to face west and began his journey.
He’d been to the Medicine Wheel on top of Sheep Mountain twice before with his father and a group of warriors. His solitary journey to the Wheel would take a night and a day and he would cross two high ridges that extended above the trees before he arrived at his destination.
As he walked, he prayed to the Great Spirit and to his mother, and wondered if his quest would be successful.
Will I find the wisdom and guidance to be a healer for my people?
His father had explained that not all quests were answered. Some men made several journeys before they were granted a vision. Some never succeeded. Only those with pure hearts could hope to receive the Great Spirit’s guidance.
He marched until Father Sun dipped below the mountains, stopping only to relieve himself or to drink from ponds or streams. When it grew dark, he built a small fire, pulled the blanket tightly around himself, and lay down under a tall fir. He was exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come. He thought only of food and saw only visions of roasted buffalo. He smiled, thinking of the small animals and birds that sometimes carried messages from the Great Spirit to those on their quest.
Maybe the real secret of the vision quest is that men eat the creature who brings them a message.
He shook his head and pushed the thought aside.
I wonder if the Great Spirit laughs.
Eventually the whispers of the evergreens sang him to sleep.
Clouds had climbed the mountains during the night and he was awakened by a light rain mixed with snow tapping at his face. Father Sun was hidden, but he could see well enough to walk. He resumed his journey.
This day ends at the Medicine Wheel.
He’d climbed for several hours when he realized that he was not as hungry as he had been the day before. He felt empty and the world spun around him if he moved his head too quickly, but the desire for food had released its hold on his mind.
His thoughts returned to his prayers, and after a while, he started talking to his body so that it would cease its complaints.
“All boys make this quest to become men,” Still Water explained. “The journey is difficult, but there is no other path.”
“There will be no journey unless I permit it.” His body sounded like a sullen, angry child.
“You are strong and serve me well. I know that you will not fail me.”
“I am not as strong as you think. We must rest.” Now the child was whining.
Still Water pictured the Medicine Wheel in his mind. “Here is the place we will rest. We will have a fire and climb no more. The Great Spirit will honor you for bringing me to this place.”
His body fell quiet, but Still Water could feel its unhappiness.
The rain changed to snow as he climbed higher. Toward midday, he moved beyond the trees that were highest on the mountain and fought his way across the slick, loose rock until he reached the saddle that offered passage to the other side of the ridge. He slid down the other side, half-walking, half-falling until he reached the tree line.
The trees opened to a wide, grass-covered high valley that connected the slopes of one ridge to the next. The open land was silent, as if the birds and animals that lived there had been called away. His blanket was soaked from the continuing rain, but, like his hunger, the cold no longer threatened to overwhelm him.
He crossed from the downward slope of one ridge to the ascending slope of the next. Father Sun peeked out from the overhead clouds but offered little warmth.
By mid-afternoon he reached the top of the ridge and yielded to his body’s demand for rest. This was the last mountain he needed to climb to reach the Medicine Wheel’s sacred ground. He sat facing west, toward his destination, on a flat stone surrounded by an open pasture of short, wiry grass. Father Sun had vanquished the clouds and bathed the land in a feeble warmth. Exertion and altitude conspired to steal his breath.
His body’s voice returned.
“We cannot stand. We can go no farther.”
The bugle of a distant elk called to Still Water and stirred his spirit. He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his blanket from the ground where he had spread it to dry. He started across the pasture, first one small step at a time, then longer strides. “See? Even the Great Spirit marvels at your strength.”
At the bottom of the mountain slope was a pasture covered in lush grasses as high as his waist. His father had explained that tribes from many distant places camped on this ground. No battles were fought here; it and the Wheel on the mountain above were sacred to the Apsaalooke, Arapahoe, Cheyenne, Crow and others, even the Blackfeet. The People had been coming to the Wheel to pray since Old Man Coyote had created the earth.
Still Water recalled his father’s instructions and crossed to the northern edge of the open ground and began his final climb, up a narrow trail along the side of the mountain.
He reached the Wheel as Father Sun dipped to the horizon. Twenty-eight rows of stones radiated outward from the central cairn, like the hub and spokes in a wheel used by the whites. The spokes connected to a ring of stones
that was twenty-eight paces across. Other smaller cairns were spaced along the ring; two pointed to the rising and setting of Father Sun when the day was long as night, the others to the brightest stars in the sky.
Still Water laid his blanket aside. He would remain naked until the quest was completed. “Humble yourself before the Great Spirit,” his father had said. “This is the only way you can receive something of value from your quest.”
He knelt and wept at a feeling of peace and wellbeing unlike any he’d ever experienced. He prayed to the Great Spirit, asking that his mother be received and revered in the camp of the dead, that his father would continue to have the wisdom to guide their tribe, and that his quest would grant him the wisdom to follow in his father’s steps.
He listened in his heart for a response, but heard nothing.
Rising, he moved a respectful distance from the Wheel, gathered wood, and started a fire. He found water leaking from an outcrop of stones next to the trail and quenched his thirst. He returned to the fire, lay down, and slept. No spirits visited his dreams.
The day after his arrival passed in unanswered prayer. The only sound was the buzz of insects. No birds or animals visited with a message. At the end of the day, he fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep that offered little rest.
When Still Water rose the following morning, his hands shook so severely that he was unable to start a fire. He shrugged and put the stones away.
Being warm is no longer important. Food is no longer important. The Great Spirit is not going to answer my prayers.
He sat and stared at the Wheel as the shadows shortened, then grew longer. His vision was blurred, like he was looking at the world through water. He felt his spirit leave his body and climb high into the sky, watching the shimmering stones and the abandoned man below.
I must end my quest or I will no longer have the strength to return to the camp. I have one thing I must do before I leave. One last decision to make.
He thought of his father’s final counsel when they sat together in the sweat bath.
“Whether or not you receive a vision, the Great Spirit has marked your eyes with the lavender color. You must utter the Shúaneaxe words of passage into manhood. Your heart will tell you when the time is right.”
All children knew this and were taught the ritual as soon as they were old enough to think. He’d wondered why his father was telling him again. What he’d said next had been a frightening surprise.
“There are hidden words to end Shúaneaxe that are only given to a Healer’s male children by their father. These secret words have the power to change the world if the Great Spirit chooses to honor them. If the Great Spirit does not answer, these words kill those who utter them. Our healer’s tradition says that most all who utter these words die. You must decide for yourself if you wish to use them during your quest, but I beg that you do not so that you can return home to me.”
Let the Great Spirit tell me whether to use the secret words, and if I do, what I should use them for.
Still Water’s spirit-self fell from the sky and filled his body. His mind cleared and he began chanting the Shúaneaxe ritual:
"I invoke my birthright to the Power granted by the Great Spirit. I beseech this Power to grant my request. I honor the requirements of Shúaneaxe and affirm…"
An iridescent lavender glow surrounded him and the Wheel. A cold more intense than frozen water engulfed him. His teeth chattered. It was difficult to speak.
Does this mean the Great Spirit hears me?
He leaned toward the Medicine Wheel and concentrated on the cairn at the center of the great wheel.
"That I make my request with reverence and humble myself before the Great Spirit…
"That my heart is pure…"
The color deepened. His body grew numb from the cold.
"That my request is worthy…
The secret words started from this point. He had to decide whether to use them. He threw his mind open and begged for guidance. For a moment, nothing happened. Then he was stunned to see an eagle feather drift slowly past his face and settle on his crossed legs. The lavender mist was deeper around the feather and pulsed to a rhythm he couldn’t hear. He lifted the feather and it warmed his fingers. He would use the deadly words.
"That no request like mine has been uttered since time began...
"That this is my own true wish…
"That I willingly surrender my life if I am found unworthy or my request is found wanting…"
Am I about to die?
"Hear me: I ask for nothing. May the Great Spirit bless our people.”
A voice deeper than any he had ever heard claimed his mind and Still Water thought he had gone mad.
DO NOT FEAR. BY ASKING FOR NOTHING YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED ALL. YOUR ENEMIES WILL AVOID THE LANDS ON WHICH YOU LIVE. YOUR PEOPLE WILL LIVE IN PEACE.
The mist fell away and the air was as warm as a summer day. After a time, he struggled to his feet with the feather in his hand, gathered his blanket and pouch, and started home.
Bighorn Nation
Extract from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, 2015
The Bighorn Nation, home to the Apsaalooke people, is located in the northwestern United States. It borders Canada and the American states of Minnesota, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, Oregon, and Washington, with a total area of 493,000 square miles (about 1.9 times larger than the US state of Texas).
When the United States pushed westward, the area settled by the Apsaalooke and related American Indian tribes was not contested. The geography of the Bighorn Nation was considered unfit for American settlement, an assessment that is still widely held even though the Bighorn Nation is the United States’ second largest trading partner.
2015
37
Le détroit du Lac Érie
Major Andrews flew them back to the truck stop, where he gave John a note with his wife’s name and phone number. “The army said they’d let her know that I’m working on a confidential assignment, that I was okay, but I don’t trust them. Maybe they’ll get around to it, maybe not. Would you call and let her know that you talked to me and that I’m fine? That’s all. That can’t do any harm, can it? Please?”
John considered refusing his request, then took the note.
He’s right. A call won’t do any harm and we can’t let this horror rob us of our humanity.
Stony handed Ron Hammer the keys to the Ford and climbed into the back seat without saying anything.
John looked at Hammer. “Guess you’re driving.”
He got into the passenger seat and used his phone to check for flights to DC from both Toledo and Cleveland. Toledo had nothing until the next morning. He pulled up a map. “Take I-75 south to 280 south, then east on I-90 toward Cleveland. We’ll be able to get back to DC faster from there. I’ll get reservations, then I need to call Akina.”
“Okay, but I also need to brief my boss,” Hammer said.
“How about we get them both on a secure conference call after I get the tickets? That’ll insure everyone is dealing with the same information.”
Hammer nodded, started the car, and pulled onto the road.
John looked back at Stony. “That work for you?”
She shrugged and said nothing.
He was pretty sure what was going through her mind—that her failure to apprehend Wells had led directly to the Detroit disaster. That thought would be eating him alive if he were in her shoes.
The longer I wait to talk with her, the worse it’s going to be. Hammer will just have to shut his ears and keep his eyes on the road.
John made reservations on a Delta flight that left Cleveland’s Hopkins airport at six that evening. That task disposed of, he called Major Andrews’ wife and relayed the message from her husband. She started asking questions, but John pled ignorance. Major Andrews would have some explaining to do when he got home.
He then called Ms. Beane, Akina’s assistant, and asked her to arrange for the conference call with Akina a
nd the secret service director.
“Who will be on the call from your end, Agent Benoit, and will you be located in a secure environment?”
“Yes to the secure environment,” John said. “We’ll be using a speaker phone in our rental car. In addition to myself, Stony and senior special agent Ron Hammer of the secret service will be on the call.”
“Very well. Expect my return call shortly.”
The more John dealt with Rose Beane, the more impressed he was. She could be playful in a “take no prisoners” kind of way, but was efficient and all-business when that was needed.
Fifteen minutes later his phone rang. “I have Director Pearl and Director Adam Sly of the Secret Service, as you requested. You may proceed.”
“John?”
John had linked his phone with the car’s speaker system. Akina’s voice was clear and had recovered its usual calm and assured tone.
“Hello Director. Director Sly, are you with us?”
“I am. If you’ll allow me the indulgence, I’d like to check with my guy. Ron, you hanging in?”
Ron Hammer took a second to answer. “Pretty much the same as John and Stony, Director. We’re a long way from okay, but we’re coping.”
“Understood.”
John resisted the urge to look in the back seat.
He summarized what he, Stony, and Ron had seen as they’d flown into the disaster area, to what had been the center of Detroit, and shared his observation that the area had been sent back in time.
“That fits with the preliminary military reports,” Akina said. “They have archeologists and other scientists on the scene, taking samples of the vegetation, water, and air. They may be able to establish an equivalent historical period, but from the first reports the area is like it must have appeared in the late 1600’s or early 1700’s.”
The Ebony Finches: A Transition Magic Thriller Page 22