CHAPTER FIFTEEN

NIGHT VISITORS

Pete didn’t see the ribbon of lights moving along a hill to the south of Savas’s cabin. When he looked back all he saw were frightened faces as the wagon bounced and swerved through high grass on the way back to the main road. Once the ride was smoother his passengers seemed to calm down, relaxing enough to smile at the feel of wind whipping their hair. Quite soon it was an adventure, and there were grins. How quickly they adapt, he thought. The intelligence was there; it had always been there. How long since the Tenanken had isolated themselves from their brethren? A thousand years? Ten thousand? Sixty? Even The Memories were vague, distant visions beyond the time of an unnamed Keeper who had enforced the ritual slaying of children favoring their Hanken heritage rather than Tahehto. To purify the race. Followers of these fortunately short-lived horrors had called themselves Tenanken, meaning thick chest, becoming wanderers in exile from the rest of the budding human species that regarded each child as precious in someday populating the entire planet. Then had come the time when there was no place for retreat. The days of the caves began.

Before The Plan.

He was The Plan. Peter, from Crosley. Pegre, from the Tenanken band of Anka, the gentle Keeper of The Memories. It was up to him, now, to bring them outside to sun and trees, back to the race they had rejected and scorned, as if rejecting a part of their own body. The human race: Hinchai, and Tenanken. One people. Coming together. Tonight.

Pete swallowed hard as self-doubt assailed him once again. Surely someone would notice the physical differences. Look in a mirror at that Tahehto face of yours. Do the Hinchai even notice? Has Bernie ever told you you’re ugly?

He thought about Bernie’s beautifully sculptured features.

He wondered about the features of his unborn child.

The road rolled by. Five miles to town, then one. He held his breath as the first buildings appeared ahead, and felt rather than saw heads turn behind him. If somebody stopped him for a conversation....

But the town was empty, both the bar and the hotel dark, not even a dog in sight. What had Jake said? A search party—for critters, he said. More trouble, and at a critical time. He knew the outcome could be deadly. Guns were superior to spears, but only when they had targets to shoot at, and a Tenanken warrior would cut a throat or crush a skull before a sound was heard. The men had gone on a search for Hidaig’s band, and he hoped they would stay together in the dark. But where were the women? As he drove through town, every house was dark, no signs of life. His stomach was unsettled; he wanted to belch, but couldn’t. He slapped with the reins, and the wagon accelerated out of town, darkness closing in on both sides. He took the short cut up the steep hill, two ruts for a road, horses wheezing. When he paused at the top of the hill there was a collective groan of relief from the back, but then they bounced down another hill and across a meadow to more trees surrounding the ranch.

When he drove into his big front yard, he found it jammed tight with horses and wagons.

Dear God.

Every lamp in the house was lit, and through each window Pete saw a horde of women hurrying around. The back door flew open, and four women emerged with stacks of blankets in their arms, bustling through tall grass towards the two, lighted bunkhouses in the rear of the property, one of them veering towards the barn and disappearing inside.

Pete got out of the wagon after finding a space near his front gate, walked around to the back and held up his arms. Among his passengers, there were no smiling faces. He pointed to his right, up towards the darkened hills, and spoke to them slowly in Greek.

“The canyon, and your old home is up there. You can stand in front of the cave entrance and see where we are now. It is very close. If any of you want to go back, it is your choice, and you can leave anytime. I urge you to stay here at least until Hidaig and his band are gone. It will be safer here, but you are not prisoners. Are there any who wish to leave?”

Nobody moved, though worry was etched on each face.

Pete looked towards the house, the excited faces at the windows, a din of noise coming from inside, and then the front door burst open and Bernie came charging down the porch steps to greet them.

“Remember what you’ve learned. These people want you to be happy here, so do what they do, and try to smile a little when I go back to get the others. This is the woman who carries my child. Her name is Bernie.”

Bernie heard her name as she reached him, and put an arm around his waist, her smile so dazzling it seemed to light up the wagon and the ground around it. “Stew is on, there’s plenty of fresh bread to go with it, and the beds are made up. Wouldn’t you know every woman in town helped? Came in over an hour ago, after the men left.” She wiggled her nose at him. “Well, are you just gonna stand there while the baby gets cold, or do I get introduced?”

Pete helped everyone out of the wagon, introducing them one by one, Bernie putting a hand on each shoulder and hitting them with that smile again. He watched the fear disappear from their eyes, felt it leave their minds. Oh, my darlin’ Hinchai bride, you have your own, special Mind Touch, and they feel it. His mind raced to keep the new names straight, but when it was over he was certain a couple of them had been incorrect. Everyone mumbled something in return, a few smiling shyly, then clustering around the wagon while Pete tied the horses. When Bernie noticed some of the women looking at her swollen stomach, she patted it happily, and said, “It’s gonna be a big one.”

Nobody except Pete understood what she’d said, and the remark bothered him. Not too big, I hope. Not as big as I was when my mother nearly died giving birth to me.

Pete and Bernie led them in a line to the house, where it seemed the entire town was waiting.

“Where’d the men go?”

“I guess they left about the same time you did. Headed south to Ezra Pike’s place armed to the teeth, I hear, and God help those critters if they find them. Shouldn’t we have sent for the sheriff in Quincy?”

“Later, maybe. Let’s see what they find, first.”

“I still think we should have called someone when Tom was killed, Pete.”

“Later. We’ll talk about it later. Here are the ladies.”

They had reached the porch, and the women had spilled out onto it, pulling here and there on themselves, fussing with their hair. Pete was suddenly conscious of how bedraggled the Tenanken looked, like refugees from a distant land, which, in a way, was what they were, looking lost and scared and confused by all the attention. Nobody heard any names in the babble that followed, Bernie herding them into a warm house filled with mouth-watering odors of stew, fresh bread and a dozen perfumes.

They crowded around a huge, oak table covered with festive cloth in blue and yellow. The table was heaped with bread, rolls, chunks of butter on a plate, cookies and bars, baskets of apples, oranges and pears, and in the center an enormous crock filled with steaming stew. Bernie ladled out stew into bowls for her foreign guests staring open-mouthed at the table, and Pete suppressed a grin. Never in their lives had these people seen so much food in one place, for meat taken by the hunters was usually not displayed before the entire band, and such fruit was virtually unknown to them. They timidly held out their bowls, while Bernie gleefully filled them to the brim and added a wooden spoon.

Everyone ate standing up, chattering noisily, their quiet, dignified new neighbors carefully mimicking every move with spoon and cup. Pete smiled at them one by one, proud as a father, amused by their intense concentration. They gobbled cookies and bars and pears, sampled punch and coffee and tea, and learned the love of buttered bread in seconds. When the eating was over they awaited permission to belch, for it was a Tenanken custom after a feast, and when they realized none was forthcoming Pete thought some of them might burst.

Pete glanced at his watch, then called to Bernie over the din, “I’ve gotta pick up the others, now! Save some food for them!”

“There’s enough here for all the men, too, if they ever get back tonight,” she shouted back.

Already the Tenanken seemed at home, fitting right in despite the obvious language problems, looking pretty much like everyone else except for being disheveled. Tenanken and Hinchai—together at last. When Pete neared the door a young Tenanken woman, new name Diana, was answering the question posed by grandmotherly Charlotte Gable, who ran the tiny post office in Crosley. “I come—out—Rhodes,” she said painfully. “Is—island.” The older woman nodded her head knowingly, for she had heard of the Greek island called Rhodes.

“Is—poor,” said Diana.

“Well, you’re gonna do just fine here, dear,” said the woman.

Pete banged the door behind him, feeling good. He hurried to the wagon—to bring the rest of them home.

* * * * * * *

“Somebody comes,” said Baela, and there were startled gasps from the darkness. Peering through the rippled mica windows she counted eight lights, close together, and moving slowly but surely towards them. Still far away; perhaps they would turn, and go another direction, but on they came, descending a small hill, suddenly disappearing from view behind trees and thick brush. She held her breath—hoping, but then the lights flickered much closer, now, one bursting forth from the brush to show tall grass near the cabin, and she saw dark figures moving towards her before she jerked herself away from the window and sat down on the floor beneath it, pressing up against the wall.

There was no sound in the cabin, and she felt everyone’s mind go blank, an instinctive Tenanken defense against detection. Her own mind whirled, and then she heard voices, and a dog barked. She crossed her arms over her chest, and squeezed hard.

“Hey Ezra, maybe you’d better feed that dog to the critters, too. He didn’t even see the Jack till it jumped, and I can do better’n that.”

“Hell you say, Jake. Ol’ Roy sticks to the scent, and we ain’t trackin’ no Jacks here. They come by this way. You can be sure of it. What’s that over there?”

A light gleamed through the window of the cabin. Baela held her breath.

“Shit,” said someone, “we’ve come near three miles. That’s Savas’s old cabin. Can’t be more’n an hour or so to town here. That dog moves.”

“Well let’s keep movin’,” said another man. “This whole thing is a waste of time in the dark, and we’re out here freezin’ our butts off while the wives are partyin’ it up at Pete’s place. I say we go straight back to town, and start this again in the mornin’.”

“Look, we don’t know what these guys will do next. For all we know they’re killin’ someone right now, while we stand here arguing. Or stealin’ the town blind, while everyone’s over at Pete’s.”

“Oh hell, Ned, you don’t really have any money in that bank, do you?”

“Come on, men, another hour or two, and we’re back in town, then we pick up the trail here tomorrow. Hey Ezra, where you goin’?”

“Dog’s nervous,” said a man so close it seemed he was in the cabin. Baela’s heart was thumping hard, and there was whining and a snuffling sound right at her back. “Real strong scent over here.”

A clanking and clacking of weapons being readied for action was something Baela had heard before.

“Better get away from there, Ezra. They might be in the cabin.”

The dog whimpered at the door, then suddenly started barking. Inside, five Tenanken hearts froze in fear as the animal howled and barked, deep throated.

“Stop it, Roy. Stop it! Naw, they’ve been here for sure, but not inside. Brand new lock on the door. See?” The door rattled hard in the dark. “Can’t even shoot the thing off. How’s the windows, Jake?”

There was a face at the window above her, blocking out the faint light of night, and then the bright glow of yellow light suddenly in the cabin, spilling over walls and furniture, a table in the middle of the room. The light flicked off as quickly as it had come. “Looks okay. Nice table. Wouldn’t mind havin’ it in my place.”

“Make Pete an offer, It’s his, now.”

“Since when?”

“Since Savas left the cabin to him. See anything else in there?”

“Just old furniture and some dishes.”

“Let’s go. I’m gettin’ cold standin’ here.”

“I gotta piss,” said another man.

“So use the privy. Pete won’t mind.”

The dog was still barking and whining, but had been pulled several paces away from the cabin. A door banged outside.

“Watch out for the snakes in there!” Somebody laughed.

“They come after me, I’ll drown ’em,” came the muffled reply.

Baela let out her breath in a silent whistle, then the door banged again, and the voices were growing fainter along with snuffling sounds from the dog and the crunch of heavy boots on dry grass.

“Come on, let’s go. Damn dog can’t smell anything.”

“You’re just in a hurry to meet those Greek women, Jake. We’ll get back in time. They’re probably all fat and ugly, anyway. See any of them?”

“Just a little kid.”

“Jake likes ’em young,” said someone, and everyone laughed just as the dog let out a yelp and a howl.

“Here we go. They went up the hill right here. Come on, Roy!”

“Shit, I do hate climbing.”

The noises of crunching grass and breaking brush faded with the whining of the dog and muffled voices of the men, until the only sound was that of air caressing pine needles, and the ever so faint breathing of five Tenanken refugees locked in a darkened cabin.

They sat in silence, afraid to speak, wondering if Pegre would return before morning, but prepared for a long wait. They thought of sunlight, and the cave, tried to imagine standing in long grass in a valley they had seen only from a distance.

Baela shared their visions, quickly becoming bored with them because she had spent much time outside, had actually stood in the places they dreamed about. Her own thoughts returned to the great hunting bird, and this time she tried something new. She imagined she was the mother bird, felt herself springing from the nest with powerful legs and a down stroke of whistling wings pushing air beneath her. She arose in lazy circles, higher and higher, imagining the land dropping away until the trees were green dots on yellow rock, and the canyon was a dark gash leading to a valley of rippling green and gold.

She felt wind pulling at the small feathers along her head, the tension as giant feathers in her wings tilted and spread to change speed and altitude, her body wobbling from side to side as updrafts came and went, and she spotted something moving across the valley in a rhythm telling her it was a rabbit. She steadied herself, wings outstretched and motionless, focusing keen eyes on the target, then suddenly folding her wings tightly and dropping like a rock from the sky, the ground rushing up at her before she deployed a wing to brake and maneuver as the rabbit changed direction, then she was dropping again, her victim coming towards her in a blur, and—

“Ohhh!” cried out somebody in the cabin, and was instantly shushed into silence by the others. Baela was startled from her vision, Eagle and rabbit popping out of existence and leaving her shaking in the cold room. Quick breathing in the darkness, some of it her own in frustration and anger at the intrusion of the outcry. Her pleasure had been ruined. Heart pounding, she bit her lip to force back her anger, hugged herself tightly, and pouted—

At that instant, the familiar clattering of Pegre’s wagon came to their ears.

They all rushed to the windows, crowding each other for a look. Pegre hurried to the cabin, the door rattled, opened, and they streamed outside, babbling wildly in the Tenanken tongue while Baela sulked in the background. Pegre looked at her for help, but she offered none, and so he understood only a little about what had happened to them. It was enough.

They climbed into the wagon, Baela still pouting, sitting at the back and facing away from the others. She endured her mother’s squeals of fear and surprise until they reached the smoother road back to town. Mercifully, she was left alone on the long ride back to the ranch house, but out of the corner of her eye she could see the others watching her silently. Suddenly, she missed her hidey-tree where she could sit and see everything around: waving grass, trees, roiling clouds, and the animals. It was the place where she could dream her dreams. Alone.

By the time they reached town she was feeling better; her stomach growled, and hunger made her forget the anger. Her companions dozed, back-to-back in a huddle, and she watched their heads flop back and forth with each bump. As they finally approached the ranch, a tightness was again in her chest, and her breathing quickened at the sight of all the animals and carriages around the house filled with noisy Hinchai. Was there no need for privacy here?

Pegre parked outside the fence because there was no room left in the yard. The noise in the house came out through an open door, spilling over them in waves. Pegre smiled when they were standing together by the wagon, putting an arm around a young boy newly named Stefen, and taking Baela’s hand in his. “This is your new home, and these are your neighbors. See what a good time they’re having? Relax, and eat. Everyone wants you to be here.”

He led them inside.

People hardly noticed them come in.

Everywhere they looked were Tenanken surrounded by chattering Hinchai women, listening politely with little understanding, answering haltingly and using hands to help make a point, concentrating intensely but without fear. Pegre dragged them to a table filled with food, where a blonde woman, happy-faced and very pregnant with his child was pouring stew from a metal kettle into a giant crock, enveloping herself in steam. Baela’s smile was spontaneous, for she saw again the goodness in this woman, and had liked her the first instant of their meeting.

“And here’s Baela,” said Bernie, ladling out a bowl of stew for her. “Be sure to try one of these, too. Every little girl loves chocolate.” She popped something dark into Baela’s mouth, laughed when her eyes widened in delighted surprise at the taste, then led her, Pegre and her parents to a relatively quiet corner of the big room. While Baela shoveled food in her mouth, Pegre made the introductions to Bernie. Moog and Deda had become Michael and Dee Astosis, also from Rhodes, and like their daughter they were well rehearsed, falling easily into a halting conversation with the blonde woman. It was an interesting hour for Baela: stomach full of good foods, tastes she had never experienced, animated conversation. Exciting.

Someone shouted, “Hurry up, it’s gettin’ cold!” The front door had banged open, letting in a burst of cold air and several haggard-looking men wearing heavy boots and jackets. Faces burned red by wind chill, huffing and puffing dramatically, they removed gloves from their hands and stamped their feet on the hardwood floor. Gradually they paired up with women in the room, except for one, the thin, sharp-featured man with sad eyes who stood alone for a time by the stew crock, eating slowly and neatly until he saw Pegre and elbowed his way over to him.

“Hi, Jake. You’ve met Baela. These are her folks, Mike and Dee Astosis, and this is Jake Price, a close neighbor to us.”

Jake nodded politely at everyone. Baela sensed in him a desperate loneliness, a need to be close to someone. It made her sad.

“See anything?”

“Naw. We got as far as Cascade Creek, and the trail disappeared. Pretty sure they followed the creek before coming out again, so we’ll have to start all over in the morning. Bad cold out there.”

I recognize that voice, thought Baela. You were very close to me earlier tonight.

“Sorry I couldn’t go with,” said Pegre, “but I didn’t have much warning about my relatives arriving.”

“No problem. We’re meetin’ at the hotel seven in the morning, if you can come along. Personally, I think it’s a waste of time. Whoever we’re followin’ knows trackin’; for all I know, they was followin’ us tonight. Spooky out there.” Jake looked at Baela with the trace of a smile on his thin lips. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” said Baela, lowering her eyes.

Jake shook his head. “Never heard of a blonde Greek before. Learn somethin’ new every day. I’m ready for more coffee, How ’bout you?”

“I’m fine, Jake,” said Pegre.

“Well—nice talkin’ to y’all. I’m gonna get a cup.” He turned suddenly, and shuffled back to the table.

“Nice man,” said Bernie, “but a lonely man. Wish I could fix him up with someone, but he’s cautious now about getting involved.”

But Jake’s caution lasted only a few minutes.

They were still talking, Baela’s back towards the door, Bernie looking past her. Baela watched the blue eyes moving back and forth across the room, taking everything in, every face, every gesture, reading her guests by sight alone. Her eyes widened, lips curving into an expression of delight. “Oh, did you see that?”

“I saw,” said Pegre. “That’s Diana, and as far as I know she’s unattached.”

“He just said hello to her, and she hit him with a smile that would reduce most men to quivering jelly. What a beautiful smile.”

“I think he’s paralyzed,” said Pegre, and they both chuckled.

Baela looked slyly over one shoulder. The one they called Diana was leaning against the wall by the door, looking up at Jake Price bending near her, his one hand on the wall, trying very hard to smile. To Baela, the expression on Diana’s face was clear; she had looked into the man, and liked what she saw there. Jake was trying to relax without success: face flushed, eyes darting, coffee sloshing in the cup he held in a shaky hand. He mumbled some words, and then Diana touched him without moving. The wrinkles of tension in his face seemed to fade. His hand became steady, and he even laughed at some little thing she said. Baela watched all of this fascinated. I wish I could touch someone like that, but it may never be—because I was born a Hanken child.

The evening wore on, and yawns appeared. Gradually the crowd thinned to reveal Pete’s relatives sprawled in chairs, some asleep. Bernie hustled the rest of them out, tugging at Jake’s arm to finally pull him away from Diana and send him on his way with the promise of another visit soon. The door banged shut, and Bernie flopped into a chair, letting out a deep breath.

“Hoo, I can’t take much of this with the load I’m carryin’ around.”

“I’ll clean up,” said Pete.

“Pegre—I help,” said Baela enthusiastically.

“What did she call you?” Bernie looked curiously at Pete, then Baela.

“Pegre. It’s a kind of pet name from the old country. I don’t know what it means.”

“Oh. Well, it’s fine with me if you want to clean up. I’ve really had enough. Good night, all.” She stood up, walking over to Pegre and kissing him full on the mouth. “You too, whatever your name is. I’m glad your people are here.”

Bernie shuffled out of the room, looking tired, rubbing the back of her neck, and stretching tall. Her time is near, thought Baela. Very near.

Pegre had already settled those few Tenanken who were staying in the house. The rest, including Baela and her parents, would sleep in a single bunkhouse fifty yards up a grassy slope leading to rocky cliffs and the high maw of the canyon from which they had come only hours before. Pegre took them there, showed them how to work the lamps, a pump for running water, the indoor privy, all of which they found both fascinating and amusing, and the whole time they were getting settled someone was either pumping water or fiddling with a lamp while the rest murmured approvingly. When at last they had distributed themselves among the beds and figured out how to sleep in them, they sat down wearily and began removing their clothes. Pegre stood at the door, smiling, looking from one to the other, then suddenly surprising them.

“You see,” he said in the Tenanken tongue, “we are all together again.” And then he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. The feelings of love, affection and unity washed over all of them. Baela strained mightily to project something wonderful in return, but all that seemed to come was a beautiful smile, and she was satisfied that Pegre saw it, for there was delight in his eyes. He turned down the lamps and closed the door softly behind him. In only minutes the exhausted refugees were sound asleep.

Baela hovered at the edge of consciousness, hearing the deep breathing sounds, the unfamiliar squeak of a bedspring, the rustling of sheets and blankets as someone shifted position. The bird-vision came to her again, and she circled lazily, lazily, gaining altitude, soaring until she could see to all horizons.

A night cry startled her back towards consciousness. An agonized cry. Some animal—wounded. The sound had come down from the canyon, and she wondered why it vaguely disturbed her, but then she was soaring again, spinning dizzily, slipping into a sleep filled with visions of trees and sunlight, as seen through the eyes of a great hunting bird.