Chapter 9
The sun was bright. Birds were singing – not the best time of day for one of my kind. Raindrops clung to the bare branches, reflecting diamonds of color over the awakening forest. The light was intense, so why was it not hurting me? I put on my sunglasses out of habit, but I didn't need them.
Sam walked a small ways into the forest as he had earlier and stretched out his arms. Morning devotions, I guessed, from what I felt from him, then a spreading of his senses. When he returned, he was nodding at his success. "Jacques spent the night in a cave." Sam began to enter the forest. "I know where he is."
"Wait," I said. "I disabled his car. When he finds he can't start it, he'll take yours. One of us has to stay behind to guard it."
"Then we'll both stay here and wait for him. I have a better idea. I should have thought of this last night. I'll make him come to us." I was about to ask how that was going to happen, but then I got it. I could endure the sun because of his blood, and his powers had increased because of mine. He had known this would happen, that it was the only way for us to locate Jacques and bring him home for questioning.
He opened his trunk and found what he wanted. When he closed it, he had two wooden tent stakes held tight in his fists. My body thought for me and I pulled back. I saw Sam smile and shake his head. "Mick. Come on. I would as soon drive a stake into my own heart as yours," he whispered. I sighed at my paranoia.
"Sorry, Sam. Old habits are hard to shake," I said.
Sam approached the fender of the Chevy and began to tap out a beat with the stakes, using them like drum sticks. The sound was metallic, but the hollow fender amplified the vibration. It was the music that had mesmerized me that night outside the Vanguard, the beat of Sam's calling spell to bring someone he needed to him.
He began to add words. As before, I didn't understand the language, which I assume was Mohawk, but Sam's meaning came through. I sensed they were not quite the same words he used when he called to me on Tuesday night. This was Saturday morning. Had I known Sam less than four days? It seemed longer.
He was telling Jacques to come to us and prove his innocence if he could. Either that, or run and prove the opposite. He might not be able to see into Jacques' soul, but that was not his job. Bringing him back was. The sound spread across the patch of forest, calling Jacques to us. I wondered if Jacques was strong enough to resist Sam's call when he had my strength to call upon as well as his own?
The man who walked out of the forest was small in comparison to me or to Sam, about five and a half feet tall. He looked about 40 years of age, so in appearance he seemed older than me. His dark hair was plaited into one long braid that hung behind him. He was compact, muscular and sure of himself. He had strong features and a handsome face. Intelligence and suspicion were evident in his gaze.
"Did you think this was necessary, Sam?" he asked. He looked over to my friend and seemed to grasp that there had been an essential change in him. "I would have gone home anyway. In last night's commotion, no one could think rationally. They were all too ready to blame me. I needed to be alone to hear the spirits."
"Of course," Sam said. He was not about to debate him. He turned to me and said, "Mick, Would you be kind enough to reconnect the wires in Jacques' transmission?" I went to do as he bade me, blocking my thoughts from Jacques' probing. I don't know what he picked out of my brain before this morning, but as of this point, he was butting his head against a stone wall, sealed on the inside with sound proof tiles. He could not eavesdrop on my thoughts. Only Sam could do that. He and I felt each other's feelings and heard each other's thoughts. I thought of Vulcan mind-melds and felt a crooked smile pass my lips. I guess I watched too much television in the '80s. I loved futuristic science fiction. It was fun imagining a universe filled with spectacular advances and cooperation across the cosmos. With luck, if that future ever came, I'd be around to see it.
When I was done, Sam said, "Jacques, please follow me home. The council will take place at 10:00 this morning. I assume you will want to change. Mick, please sit beside Jacques and make sure he remembers the way. I'll go first."
Jacques looked at me curiously. "You're not what you seem," he said.
"I've been told that before," I responded. "Shall we go?"
Sam drove in front and we followed. When we reached the parking place before the ruins of Sam's house, Sam pulled in. Jacques continued down the road a while until he came to his own place. His relatives came out to greet him, including Mrs. Turtle. They said little in my hearing. I departed his car and was soon walking back into Birchtree territory, looking for someone to tell me where to find Sam.
"You're up early for a musician," a man said.
"I was invited to the council. I don't want to miss it," I replied. "Do you know where I can find Sam?"
"He went to talk to the Birchtree elders in their houses. He could be anywhere."
"I'll make you breakfast if you're hungry," a woman offered. "There's eggs and bread. I have coffee keeping warm on the stove if you'd like some."
"Thank you, but I had breakfast earlier," I said. "Please, I'd like to know the best place to wait for Sam."
"The longhouse," she said. "He'll go there when he's ready. It's right up the path." She pointed. I wondered if I'd recognize the longhouse when I found it. I pictured something like a photograph I had seen in my third grade history book in 1930. The structure was fashioned of willow and birch saplings tied together in the shape of a Quonset hut and covered with bark. That's what prehistoric Mohawk longhouses looked like, but there was no reason to assume they still looked that way. This was 2008.
The path led me up a small hill and straight to a long building with brown shingles. It had a row of windows and a chimney. Before the door, I saw Pete and Walter tied with their hands behind their backs to poles. From their faces and the look of their clothing, they had been there all night, through the storm. Mohawk justice, I assumed. It was not my business to interfere.
I knocked. To my surprise, Mrs. Birchtree opened the door, still wearing her night clothing with a warm robe tied around her middle. It must have been one of her daughters'. Seeing me, she opened the door wider and invited me inside.
"Come in and sit down, Mick," she said, bringing me to a bench. "I'll be leaving shortly for one of my daughter's houses. It's where I left my regalia. I wanted to sleep here last night. Sometimes our ancestors send us dreams, and their influence is strongest right here." She gestured to the room with its many chairs and benches. There were three cots before the fireplace.
I nodded to say I was following, so she went on. "The men will come soon to collect the cots. They'll be putting out the burning coals in the fireplace shortly. The clan mothers will relight it for the ceremony. Your supplies were burned in my house. Is there anything you need? Anything at all?"
"Not now," I said. I was sure I could manage to last until I got back to Los Angeles, thanks to Sam. After the meeting, I'd have him drive me to the airport. I didn't like to fly in daylight, but I could book my flight and wait until boarding in the shade of the terminal. I thought of my requirements for darkness and blood, but I felt strong enough to keep them at bay for the present. They would not overcome me again.
Mrs. Birchtree said. "There is more blood."
I had forgotten to shield my thoughts. She knew what I was thinking. "Good," I said. "I'll be grateful for it later. Knowing what you do about me, you are not concerned about my presence. That means a lot."
"You're here for us. I believed you yesterday when you said you would not harm any of my family, and by extension, anyone in this community. Therefore, you are safe from us. Now that you've met Jacques, what was your impression?"
It took me a moment to catch up with her. Her mind was quick for an 85-year-old. I had to smile. Then, I thought back to the shaman. "I don't trust him. I wish Matthew were strong enough to face him, and maybe get a glimpse into his intentions. He came with us peacefully, claiming his innocence. Whether he put his two cousins up to bombing your house, I don't know. I just don't think he puts the community first. I would not like to see him in a position of authority."
"Thank you." Mrs. Birchtree regarded me fully and carefully. "I value your opinion. There's something different about you today. I won't pry into what happened between you and Sam. I saw him for a short while earlier. He seems well and happy, more sure of himself. Will you allow me to take your hand, Mick?"
I reached my right hand out to her. She took it into both of hers and held it for a moment without speaking. I had to ask her. "Why?"
"It helps me hear you. Trust me. I mean you no harm." She compared both her small hands and mine, hers wrinkled and aged, mine smooth and supple. "It's amazing isn't it?" she asked. "You and I?"
So she knew. I didn't have to think of the year I was born. She just knew. "Yes," I agreed. "It is amazing."
"Mick," she said. "You'll be gone from us shortly. This is the last chance we'll have to speak alone. Sam told you about dreams. Often they are messages from our ancestors or hints of the future. I dreamed about you last night. Will you listen?"
My hand was still in hers. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what her dreams told her about me, but maybe there was something I needed to hear. I came with Sam because the two people I loved most in the world had shut me out. Just possibly, there was something more for me to learn. "I'll listen."
"I'm not a fortune teller. I won't guess at the meaning of this or ask for anything in return. There were quick pictures and impressions. All say for sure is that in my dream, I saw you eat a donut. What could that mean?"
"A donut?" I smiled. "The last time I ate a donut, it was 1952. It's impossible. People like me, we don't eat donuts or anything else."
"I don't know what it could have meant then. Do you dream, Mick?"
"Not for a very long time," I said. "Not since I became what you call a Protector. It's good I have you and Sam to dream for me."
"Even if my dream meant nothing, I'm going to tell you my impressions of your future, if you'll allow me." I nodded. I found I wanted to know her thoughts, whether or not they would come true. "You will have at least one more great loss to endure, shortly after you return." Coraline, I thought. She was in the hospital.
"There will be a murder. You will be powerless to prevent it." Not Beth or Josef. Not Sam! I thought.
"It won't be someone you love, but that death will have consequences. You will avenge the victim. In the end, your patience will bring you closer to someone else, someone of great important to you." Beth? I wondered. "That's all." I thanked her for sharing her thoughts. "It must be lonely being a Protector," she said. "You live for others but seldom for yourself."
I liked her word for me far better than the other. No monster connotations. "My existence can be very lonely, but sometimes, there are compensations. I was thinking of Sam. "I'll be all right if you want to get changed for the ceremony. I'll just close my eyes and rest here in the shade until you and Sam and the others come."
She let go of my hand, nodded to me and walked out the door.