Chapter 4: Out of the West
The meeting that changed Decca's life occurred where chance encounters rarely did. She found him walking out of the west on a lonely road worn by horse's hooves. No shoes, no luggage. Just a dark-haired boy in blue denim and white cotton. How did someone travel so far into nowhere without shoes? She did not make a habit of investigating mysteries because mysteries usually meant trouble, but she reined Hermes in to take a closer look at this puzzle as he passed.
He didn't look at her, didn't even appear to notice her presence. He walked slowly, eyes on the ground, strands of longish hair falling over his face. She did not make a habit of talking to strangers because strangers usually meant trouble, but on that hazy October afternoon she found herself turning from the setting sun and calling out to a lost boy.
"Hey. Kid."
She had just about concluded that the horse was fine but there was no one in the saddle when he paused and turned around to look at her. She reined Hermes in again and, for a moment, she simply looked back. It was easy to just look. Easy to settle slowly into the depths of those large eyes. There was something unfathomable beneath their surface and before her practical nature asserted itself, she felt a compulsion to keep staring until she explored those deeps.
Something strange about him. And strange usually meant - what else? - trouble. She felt she ought to have turned away. Instead, she spoke to him again.
"Where you headed?"
He appeared to consider her question, his pale eyes fired like emeralds in the dying light as he looked at her. She could almost see him grope for an answer and try to find words for the emptiness he found instead.
"You looking for work?" she asked gruffly.
He considered this too, in his vague way, but appeared no closer to a reply. Decca fidgeted uncomfortably in her saddle, wondering why she had said that. She'd had very few positive experiences with hired hands. In fact, there were several negative ones buried on the east edge of her property. Having a stranger under your roof meant sleeping even closer to your gun and Decca had decided that, on balance, the extra sleep was worth the extra work. She sighed. Apparently she made exceptions for bootless boys of quesitonable sanity.
"Look, my place is back that way, five kims," she said, pointing in the direction he had been walking. "I've got some business to take care of at the Millers', but you can wait for me at the gate. I can't pay you nothing right now, but you'll have a roof, a meal and plenty to do."
Her offer did not elicit any more of a response than her questions had. He took it in but could give nothing back. Decca bore his silent gaze for a few moments more, then kicked Hermes into a westward trot.
The boy stayed in Decca's thoughts while she bartered some syncho off Jack Miller and started back. It was quite dark by the time she reached her own property. The ancient wooden gate leapt out of the darkness as she trotted up with a battery-powered halogen in one hand and Hermes' reins in the other.
He was waiting for her at the gate.
She pulled up short, startled. Hermes snorted indignantly and side-stepped. Decca stared.
Her dat pack had gathered at the fenceline, as they were supposed to. But they were not baying at the intruder. They had gathered along the property line and were standing stock-still. The alpha, an enormous bitch named Naia, was looking straight into the crouching boy's eyes, her leonine head ducked slightly, wary.
Decca watched the strange scene for a moment, then dismounted and barked a release command. The pack stirred from their strange pose and milled around her as she led Hermes through the gate. The dark-haired boy followed and for the first time she realized how incredibly tall he was. Decca didn't consider herself short, but he was at least a head taller than she was. And shoulders to match. Jesus. He'd be hell at baling.
"You got a name, son?"
He gave her another aching, soulful look. Foal's eyes. Foal's eyes on a stallion's body.
"Kal-El."