The Ancient One (24 page)

Kate, feeling drained of hope, stood leaning against the trunk of the tree. Her right hand felt strangely naked now with no shaft to grasp. Moving stiffly, Jody sat down on a root near her feet.

“You all right?” he asked, looking up at her. “I mean, are you hurt?”

Kate shook her head and managed to say, “I wish I’d picked up his spear when he dropped it. We’ll never get another chance like that.” She glanced at him, adding, “Thanks for trying to help.”

Jody frowned. “I wasn’t really helping you. I was just trying to get the stick back.”

Laioni approached them, followed by Monga, who was limping slightly. In her hands, she carried the body of the dead owl. Carefully, she laid it in the fold between two wet roots. Arc’s reddish feathers, still fluffy and soft, nestled easily within the wooden cavity.

As Laioni knelt by the owl’s side, Kandeldandel’s music ceased. The final flair of his flute melted into the continual patter of rain on the branches. With sagging wings, he emerged from the forest and strode solemnly to the grave of his friend. His crooked mouth twisted lopsidedly, no longer seeming to smile.

“I’m going to miss that little guy,” said Kate.

“He’s been on my shoulder since he was just an owlet,” said Kandeldandel, the laughter gone out of his voice. “His whistling wasn’t like real talking, but I never mistook his meaning. He was always there whenever I needed him. But the one time he needed me—where was I? Off playing my flute.”

Kate nodded despondently.

The rain grew heavier, splattering the earth with large droplets, as though the air of the forest itself had condensed into tears. Then Kandeldandel lifted his deep bass voice in gentle song. Lost in her own thoughts, Kate did not listen carefully to his words of mourning, but heard only one small part:

Farewell old friend
I will miss your song
Your laughing voice
Is now so still
As quiet as I feel
As quiet as death.

In time the song came to an end. Kandeldandel bent low and ran his finger slowly over the length of the fallen owl’s whisker feathers. Finally he stood up again, rigid as a tree. He remained there, motionless, eyes fixed upon the grave.

Meanwhile, Laioni rose and walked purposefully toward a cedar nearby. A few minutes later, she returned with a handful of green needles, which she rubbed briskly between her palms until they gave off a strong scent of cedar. She spread the crushed needles over Arc’s plumage, taking care to distribute them evenly.

Laioni then stroked the feathers of the owl’s chest, lightly and lovingly—once, twice, three times. Lifting a large section of moss from the earth at the base of the fir, she laid it gently over the body like a blanket.

Jody gave a muffled gasp, and Kate turned to see him watching the ceremony intently. He seemed deeply moved, touched by this ritual whose ancient origins made it feel no less familiar. His mind, Kate knew, bore the image of another fallen owl.

Spotting a few stems of maidenhair fern, Laioni walked over and bowed her head in gratitude to the plant. Then she picked some shafts and carried them over to the tangle of roots next to Jody. Positioning herself on one of the larger roots, she plucked off the fronds and began to bite along the full length of each stem, moving each one methodically through her mouth. When the stems were pliable she laid them lengthwise beside her.

Monga approached, limping. He watched her working with melancholy eyes, then curled into a compressed brown ball by her feet. Kate followed her motions absently, as did Jody. Meanwhile, Kandeldandel paid no attention to her, continuing to gaze at the final resting place of his friend.

Carefully, Laioni ran her fingernail along each black stem. The pressure flattened the fibers and created a slit running the full length. She separated the sections, then began to twine them together, using her teeth as well as her fingers to hold them in position.

Kate, watching her work, grew gradually more curious. “What are you making?” she asked at last.

Laioni answered without raising her head. “Something for Arc.”

Before long, the object took enough shape that Kate recognized it: a miniature version of the round basketry cap that Laioni had been wearing when they first met. Biting off the uneven ends, Laioni held the small woven circle in the palm of one hand. She examined the little black moon thoughtfully. Then she carried it to the owl’s resting place and laid the gift gently on top of the blanket of moss.

The rain slackened, falling more as mist than as droplets. Laioni stepped again to the cedar and reached for one of the burly branches protruding from its trunk. From the underside of the branch she pulled a small section of fibrous bark and stretched it apart until it was a mass of thin threads in her hands. Then she snapped two sticks, one thinner than the other, from a dead limb overhead. Swiftly, using her fingernails, she peeled the bark from the thicker stick. When she tried to do the same with the thinner one, however, she caught a sharp sliver under her fingernail.

“Eh!” she cried, shaking her hand.

“Here, I’ll do that,” said Jody, taking the stick from her. Pulling a small knife out of his pocket, he opened the blade and sliced off the bark in a few swift strokes.

“That is a beautiful tool,” said Laioni gratefully as she took back the stick.

“What did she say?” Jody asked.

“She said she likes your knife.”

Jody closed it and replaced it in his pocket. “It’s my granddad’s. He let me borrow it.” He wrinkled his brow. “Hope I get to give it back someday.” Glancing at Laioni, he asked, “What’s she doing now?”

“Making a fire, I think.”

“Good idea,” he replied. “I’d sure like to warm my hands.”

“I’d like to warm my everything,” said Kate. “This rain is making me really cold.”

“You took a swim too,” added Jody.

Laioni, having bitten a small notch in the thicker stick, placed it on top of the shredded cedar bark. Bending over to keep the rain off, she placed one end of the thinner stick in the notch and started rapidly rolling it between her palms. As the stick twirled, glowing hot dust fell onto the cedar bark tinder.

As Kate and Jody watched expectantly, a thin trail of smoke started to rise from the shredded bark. Laioni then ceased twirling the stick and lifted the tinder, blowing on it gently. Nothing happened. She replaced the pieces and resumed the operation until the tinder again began to smoke. Once more, she blew lightly across it until, at length, it burst into flames. She dropped it to the ground and placed a few small dry twigs on top.

“I’ll get some bigger sticks,” said Jody.

As he moved away, Kate whispered to Laioni, “Guess he’s not as bad as I thought.”

“I feel pain in him,” she replied. “Great pain,”

Blowing over the growing flames, Kate tried to recall what Aunt Melanie had said about his past. Something about losing his parents . . . and about Frank, his grandfather. Before long, the fire crackled vigorously on the forest floor, and she stood up to warm herself.

“Come over here,” she said to Kandeldandel, still standing dejectedly beside Arc’s grave. “Come on,” she repeated with a wave of her hand. “It feels good to get warm.”

Monga, who had already shifted his location to be nearer the fire, sighed contentedly.

“Good idea,” said Jody, emerging from the trees with as many dry sticks as his one arm could hold.

As he dropped the pile of sticks, Kate reached for a downed limb nearby. She snapped it in two and tossed both halves into the flames.

Kandeldandel approached, ruffling his wings, and settled himself by the fire next to Kate. Jody stepped warily aside but the Tinnani did not even look at him. Lifting his wooden flute to his lips, he began to play a slow and simple melody, permeated with sadness.

Eyeing the winged creature cautiously, Jody stretched his free hand toward the fire. Suddenly, the flames extinguished, dying out completely. Only a few smoldering coals remained where an instant before fire had burned strongly.

“What the heck happened?” the boy moaned. “I didn’t even get near enough to feel it.”

“I don’t know,” answered Kate. “There wasn’t any wind.”

Kandeldandel’s eyes widened, and he quickly put down his flute. The music ended in mid-note, but the fire instantly burst back to life.

Laioni smiled. “That was a clever trick.”

“Not so clever,” lamented Kandeldandel. “Happens to me all the time, whenever I play near a fire.”

Jody, who could not comprehend any of the Tinnani’s words, said, “Don’t be surprised if my being here puts it out again. I’m just a jinx.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Kate.

The boy shook his head dismally. “Because every time I start feeling a little comfortable—not even happy, really, just comfortable—something always happens to spoil it.”

Kate sighed heavily. “Same thing happens to me.”

Jody glanced at her skeptically.

“What do you mean?” asked Laioni.

Kate gazed for a while into the orange flames before responding. “Every time,” she started, then swallowed her words. “Every time I get close to somebody, anybody—I lose them. Anybody important to me. First it happened to Grandfather, and now it’s happened to Aunt Melanie too. I’ll never see her again, or Mom and Dad either.” She turned toward Laioni as tears began to cloud her vision. “Just when Aunt Melanie needs me most, we get separated.”

Laioni reached for Kate’s unbandaged hand and brought it to the leather bib covering her chest. Placing the hand over her heart, she said quietly, “You won’t lose me. I promise.”

Kate studied her, then replied, “I hope you’re right.”

Releasing her hand, Laioni added, “You’re not the only one who has lost someone you love.”

Kate glanced toward Kandeldandel, whose yellow eyes merely stared at her blankly. Turning back to Laioni, she said, “You mean your friend Toru. Do you really think he’s dead?”

Laioni’s gaze fell. “I don’t know.”

“The hardest part for me is not even saying good-bye,” said Kate.

“I know what you mean,” agreed Jody. He shook his dangling locks. “My folks just went out for an errand. Back in two hours, they said. Ha. Some joke.”

Kate felt a surge of empathy. “That’s the worst, no warning at all. At least when I lost Grandfather, I knew it was coming.”

“The same with Toru,” said Laioni.

“How did you know?” asked Kate.

“Monga told me.” Laioni turned to the dog peacefully curled up by the fire. “He spoke to me.”

“You mean the way he acted?”

“No,” she answered firmly. “I mean he spoke to me.” She looked again at Kate. “My people know that when an animal speaks with a human voice, then someone’s death is near. Just before Toru left our village to follow his dream, Monga barked—but instead of a barking sound, he spoke words. Real words. I was standing right beside him, so I know. No one else heard him, so as hard as I tried I couldn’t persuade Toru to stay.”

“What did Monga say?”

“He said,
It is time
.” Laioni threw another chunk of wood on the fire, sending sparks into the air. She motioned to Jody. “The boy, did he say he lost both his parents at once?”

“Yes,” replied Kate.

Laioni moved to Jody’s side. “I am sorry for you,” she said, her voice so filled with sympathy that he seemed to understand. He looked at her for a moment with both sadness and gratitude, then turned away, embarrassed.

As the fire continued to warm the companions, Kate lifted her head to scan the trees rising like steeples on every side. The rain had stopped. Gray sky above the treetops glowed dusky peach with hints of purple. The forest, darkening toward the end of the day, creaked and stirred with new sounds. She saw the shadowy shape of a small animal scooting between two massive trunks, beginning its evening prowlings. Monga must have caught its scent, for he suddenly raised his head, ears alert, sniffing.

“What do we do now?” asked Kate, not sure whether she was speaking to anyone in particular. “Maybe there’s nothing left to do, now that the stick is gone.”

“You mean we’re stuck here for good?” questioned Jody.

“Looks that way.”

“I have an idea,” said Laioni softly. “It won’t return the ones we have lost, and it won’t bring back the Stick of Fire, but it might help somehow.”

Stooping low, she retrieved a broken cedar bough from the ground, its needles wet from rain. Carefully, she placed it on the fire, creating a thick column of smoke that smelled of cedar. She cocked her head, then said, “I need just one more thing.”

“What?”

Slowly, Laioni’s head swung toward Kandeldandel, still holding his flute. “A feather.”

“Now, hold on,” protested the musician, covering his chest with his wings as he backed away. “Just because I put out your fire doesn’t mean you can pluck one of my feathers.”

“I wasn’t going to pluck one,” she replied. “I thought you might have one that’s ready to drop.”

Kandeldandel’s fluffy brows came together. “Oh, all right,” he hooted. “But you should face it, you’re finished. Whatever chance you had to find the Touchstone, let alone the missing piece, it’s gone now. And without Arc . . . well, all the fun’s gone for me. So I’m leaving.” He pulled a white feather from under one of his wings, twirled it once, then handed it to Laioni. Spinning his head toward Kate, he added, “This is the last you’ll ever see of me. Good-bye.”

He vanished in a puff of white light.

Kate gazed sadly at the spot. “Just when I thought he was maybe going to stay with us for a while, he disappears.”

“Count your blessings,” muttered Jody.

Laioni raised the feather, as big as her hand, high above her head. Then she lowered it to the flaming cedar bough and said, “Cedar, rain, and feather. Earth, water, air. Join with our fire to call the four directions.”

She waved a puff of scented smoke toward the stream. In a low voice, she chanted, “
North, origin of weather, color of white, we ask you for wisdom.
” Again she swept the feather through the rising smoke, this time toward the forest, singing as she did, “
South, birthplace of new life, color of green, we ask you for wonder.
” Then, waving in another direction, “
West, source of our dreams, color of blue, we ask you for vision.
” And, last of all, to the opposite side, “
East, home of the sun, color of yellow, we ask you for strength.
”