~oOo~
Max Wilder no longer shed tears for the dead, but he did shed them for himself. Staring up at him from a lonely dirt-covered track in the middle of nowhere was the reason for his tears. Robert was dead and without Robert he was lost, eternally lost; even the barriers put up by his drug-addicted mind couldn't shield him from the horror of that.
Nor could they shield him from the revulsion of what his son had done. He knew all too well that Lucas was a troubled boy and had seen some horrific things in his life, but no manner of suffering would cause a normal human being to rip another's throat clean away from his neck. Max couldn't even begin to fathom how Lucas had physically managed to do so, but he was beyond the point of trying to work out the violent nature of his son's volatile personality.
Moving away, Max picked up the rifle that lay a few feet away from his brother's fallen corpse. It was time to take responsibility for not only his baby's death, but for Robert's. Lucas had proven that he couldn't be changed by love. If life had taught Max one thing, it was that if you didn't have love, you had nothing to live for.
Cocking the rifle and swinging it over his shoulder, Max sent up a silent prayer that in his next life, his son would find that love.
~oOo~
"I can walk."
Despite Lucas's improvement since they'd reach the shore, Jim had no intention of letting go. He'd already heard Incacha talking to Blair, but still he glanced downstream to get a fix on his son. Once satisfied Blair was okay, he turned his attention back toward Lucas. "You sure?"
"I'm fine." Lucas's actions betrayed his words, as his knees gave out.
"Right, so I'm guessing you mean fine as in 'flat on your ass'," Jim said, following him down to the ground.
Lucas broke into a brief, half-hearted smile for the first time in what seemed like a very long time. "You know that 'f' words have more potential than 's' words, don't you?"
"And you know just because you have a few minor bumps and bruises, that still doesn't get you out of the dishes if that 'f' word finds its potential."
"Yeah well, the dishwasher will get me outta that." Lucas paused. "We do still have a dishwasher at home, don't we?"
Deciphering the real meaning behind Lucas's words, Jim gently squeezed his shoulder. "No, currently he's sitting with his lazy ass on a rock contemplating the 'f' word – and if it does happen to slip outta his mouth, when he does get home, I can guarantee he'll have a shit-load of dishes waiting just for him."
"You know, maybe those 's' words do have more potential after all."
Jim smiled. "I'm actually starting to find the ones that start with 'h' a whole lot more appealing." He pushed Lucas's wet hair away and studied his eyes. "Time to fess up, kiddo. I need to know what's going on." The evidence of a concussion was there, and Jim moved his attention to Lucas's ribs. "Where does it hurt?"
Lucas pushed Jim's hand away. "Everywhere," he answered honestly.
"Daddy!" Blair came racing up the riverbank with Rahma hot on his heels and Incacha now nowhere to be seen. He launched himself at his father and wrapped his arms around neck. "We all safe and sound," he announced.
"We sure are, Chief." Jim pulled his son into a tight hug and kissed his cheek, amazed at the little boy's power to cope, despite the horror he'd been through.
Blair reached out for Lucas's hand. "Are you still sick?" he asked.
Jim looked over Blair's shoulder and gave Lucas a questioning glance.
"You want the 'f' word again?" This time the pain on Lucas's face betrayed the attempted humour of his words. He held out his hand for Jim to help him up. "We better get this show on the road."
Jim knew they had two choices. They could attempt to make the trek back to the cabin or they could wait and see if Lucas's condition improved. And that was it – his only two choices. Leaving Lucas alone while he went for help was out of the question. Robert may have been out of the picture, but Max was still out there somewhere, and he had no idea of the man's current state of mind. It could be that Max had taken off, but there was also a chance he hadn't. While that chance existed, they all stayed together.
"Jim," Lucas squeezed the older man's hand, "it's nothing that can't wait until we get back to the cabin."
"You sure?"
"Help me up," Lucas pressed again, avoiding Jim's eyes. Unsuccessfully stifling a groan as he became vertical, he changed the subject. "Speaking of cabins, you gonna tell me what happened back there?"
Blair, now preoccupied with chasing the wolf pup around in circles, was out of earshot and not paying attention to the conversation. "Your uncle's dead, Lucas."
Their eyes now locked and Lucas nodded his understanding. "And Max?"
"I haven't seen or heard him, but my best bet is that he's taken off." Jim positioned Lucas's arm around his shoulder and snaked his hand around his waist. "As soon as we're in cell range, I'll get word to Simon to get the local crew up here and moving on a search."
Lucas nodded, but didn't say a word.
"Lucas, I'm so sorry that you had to get dragged into all of this sentinel stuff," Jim began.
The teenager cut him off. "It's not your fault," he answered. "None of this is your fault; it's just something that had to happen."
'Bullshit' very nearly graced Jim's lips, but he held his tongue, content instead to focus his anger on Incacha, not only wanting to kick his butt for getting his kids involved in this hellish situation, but also for obviously filling Lucas's head with a load of crap.
Lucas stumbled slightly and Jim took more responsibility for the kid's weight. "You sure you can do this?"
"Yeah, I'm sure." His head was spinning and black dots were dancing in front of his eyes, but Lucas was determined to make it back under his own steam.
The going was slow and in parts became near impossible, but Lucas somehow managed to keep his grip on consciousness. They'd taken a different path back, avoiding the clearing where Robert lay, and were both sweating heavily by the time the cabin came into sight. Blair, who had been trying to help, broke into a run, excited to be greeted by the jaguar and the young cougar, which were pacing a relentless track, back and forth outside the cabin door.
Keeping a keen eye on his son, Jim didn't fail to notice the agitation in the cat's behaviour; he was about to call Blair back when a movement behind him caught his attention. Letting go of Lucas, he twisted around just as a small muskrat scuttled across the path. Feeling slightly stupid, he turned back around to give Lucas his aid once again, but he never got the chance. Standing directly in front of them with a rifle aimed, ready to shoot, was Max. Jim didn't have time to make a move before a forceful shove on his arm sent him stumbling sideways. The rifle, however, didn't change trajectory and, in staying steady, Max made his intentions very clear. Lucas was in his line of fire and it was Lucas who was the intended target.
"You hate me that much?" Lucas rasped.
"No." Max fingered the trigger. "But you're incapable of love, and without that, you have nothing to live for."
A Chopec warrior's speared sailed through the air, hitting its target with deadly accuracy and, in doing so, not only eliminated the danger to the guardian, but reminded the Council of Peers that Incacha was indeed a force to be reckoned with.
The time had come, not only to stand strong and tall by the side of his sentinel, but to bring his tribe together to defend that power that had been entrusted to them all.
The forces may have weakened the body of the guardian, but they had failed to break his spirit. In that failure, Incacha had what he needed to challenge their claim. In his eyes, the test was over and, fail or pass, those who were not worthy to hold such a position would no longer judge the boy. A difficult path still lay ahead; the boy had suffered badly and needed time and a safe haven to gather his strength, and the sentinel needed to have his eyes opened – once and for all – to the true meaning of what had been placed into his hands.
Without remorse or guilt of conscience, Incacha retrieved his spear from the chest of his enemy. He moved quickly to gather the young guide into his arms and shield his eyes. "You will forget, little one," he whispered into Blair's ear. As the spirit guide of one so young, he would not allow the child to remember. Visual memories would soon begin to fade and, while the emotional trauma of everything Blair had witnessed would never return to haunt him, the feelings of bravery, devotion and love he felt toward his father and his brother would remain intact and would act as powerful allies to guide him through the rest of his life.
The guardian, however, could not have the same luxury. He needed to remember, for remembering would serve to make him stronger.
As Incacha carried the guide toward the cabin, his heart could not help but grieve for the guardian's pain. If there had been any other path to take, he would have taken it but, as with all things in life, sometimes choices were not free to make. He had done what needed to be done and only hoped the sentinel would see this too – because without the sentinel, the triangle would not survive.
~oOo~
"I can't love." Lucas swallowed hard. "They all died because I didn't know how to love."
"No." Jim moved to place himself between Lucas and the body of his father, effectively blocking the teenager's view. He took Lucas's face within the palm of his hands. "No," he said again, this time forcing Lucas to look at him. "Don't you play this game, Lucas. Don't you dare let them win and make you doubt who you are."
A tear trickled down Lucas's cheek. "But he was right, Jim, my father was right. I don't feel anything. The man's dead and I don't feel a thing," Lucas blurted in anguish. He roughly swiped at the tears that continued to flow. "Max was right ... I can't love."
Finding it nearly impossible to breathe, Lucas's chest constricted and he was no longer able to deal with the pain. His eyes rolled back and Jim moved to catch him before he hit the ground. "You have absolutely no idea what you're capable of, do you?" he whispered.
Lucas absolutely knew how to love; it was the ability to hate that he didn't have – at least not with the depth that he had every right to. The boy might have been growing into a man but, deep down, he was still just a kid who was desperate for the love and approval of a man who had turned his back on his son such a long time ago. In Jim's eyes, it didn't make Lucas a fool; it only served to reinforce what a truly beautiful soul the boy had, and he felt privileged that he'd had the chance to watch this soul grow and blossom into the remarkable young man that was Lucas Wilder.
It also served to prove to Ellison how much hate he was capable of harbouring. Even in death, Max was hurting his son, and if there was a fate worse than death, Jim hoped it would be bestowed upon the bastard with all its might.
"Come, Enqueri." With a face mirroring Ellison's thoughts, Incacha addressed his sentinel. "We do not have much time." He entered the cabin with Blair still in his arms. The ceremony needed to be prepared and the sentinel needed to be convinced of its necessity. The guardian was still in danger and the longer he stayed in this dimensional plain, the graver that danger became.
Lighting the fire on the stone hearth, Incacha set about preparing the herbs; he was setting the wheels in motion to take his tribe back home to where they belonged.
~oOo~