 
Orphan's Gold

David Loeff

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012, 2013 David Loeff

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# Orphan's Gold

After he milked the cow, but before he brought the pail into the cabin, Virgil reached into the knothole between the barn stalls and removed his father's last letter. He began to read by the late light streaming through the loft window.

Once more, he read his father's comforting words that Mom was in a better place. Once again he read how his father loved and missed him and wished he could have him near. Again he was admonished to study hard and finish school.

Several of his friends had already left school. One had run away from home. Another mined coal. Virgil was nearly 14. He figured he ought to be done with school, too.

Only that morning he'd asked his teacher what else he needed to learn. She smiled and said that the world was full of knowledge and he'd never know all of it.

"I mean in order to finish eighth grade," he'd said.

"Oh... you're about done. Be patient."

He thought about that now. He knew she wanted him to stay until school let out in the spring. But, he reckoned that he'd already read all the books in his town's little library. And, he could spell better and cipher better than any of the other students in his class. Even better than big Gabby who was a year older than Virgil. He ought to call it done. Then he could go to Colorado and help his dad in the mine.

He brought it up at dinner, but Uncle Holden didn't want to listen to it. "You're too young, Boy. And who's got the kind of money it costs to get you there."

"But..."

"Anyways, your papa'll send for you when he wants you."

A tear moistened Virgil's eye when he replied, "Yeah, I reckon he will." There hadn't been a letter since October, and it was already April.

"Maybe your pa don't want you," said Virgil's cousin Clyde, who envied Virgil for being older and a better student.

"Now, you hush, Clyde," said Aunt Mary.

Holden noted Virgil's sadness and Clyde's envy. "Tomorrow's Saturday. I'll meet you boys at school and we'll have a look around town. I heard old Oxnard's got a new shipment in at his store."

Uncle Holden was sitting on a crate talking with two other men when Clyde and Virgil entered Lem Oxnard's general store. "I heard Widow Johnson plans to remarry," said one of the men.

"That's right," said another. "She's moving out to Denver to hitch up with a man she knew from Chicago."

"When's she leaving?" said Uncle Holden.

"If she can buy herself a team and find someone to drive it, she'll join up with a party leaving Rock Island next week."

'I'll bet I could drive for her,' Virgil thought. "Uncle Holden, there's something I need to do. I'll be right back," he said as he ran back out the door.

Clyde caught up with Virgil as he was talking to the widow and ran back to the general store to spill the beans to Uncle Holden. Clyde interrupted a man who was talking about Lincoln's inauguration. "Virgil's planning to run off to Denver," he said.

"Oh, is he?" asked Holden, "We'll just have to talk about that. Gotta go, Gents. Come on Boy, let's fetch Virgil and drive on home."

Although the widow was open to Virgil driving her team, she insisted that Virgil obtain Holden's and Mary's permission. On the ride home, Holden waited silently for Virgil to bring up the topic, while Virgil, finding his uncle lost in thought, decided not to mention it until super. Clyde sat restlessly as if his trousers were full of ants.

At supper, Virgil mentioned Widow Johnson's plans to go to Denver. Aunt Mary frowned and called it reckless for a woman to travel all that way alone. Virgil said that if he drove her team, he could reunite with his father without it costing anything. Aunt Mary was shocked, while Uncle Holden looked thoughtful. Virgil prepared his best arguments and began to lay them out. Clyde waited in vain for Virgil to be in trouble as Virgil talked.

The discussion heated up—Mary told Virgil he was too young, while Clyde laid out Virgil's indiscretions, both real and imagined. Holden looked at the two boys. Although Clyde was younger than Virgil was, he was taller and more sturdily built. He'd be a big man someday. Holden didn't think Virgil would get much taller. He'd always be short, lean and wiry. However, Virgil already behaved like a man, while Clyde was still very much a boy. Holden made his decision and said, "Well, I still think it's foolish, her leaving so soon. Fields still damp and all. What if there's a late snow or it rains heavy like last year? Still, I reckon it wouldn't do for a widow to travel all that way by herself." Mary looked at her husband in disbelief. Then she thought a moment and a look of agreement appeared on her face. Virgil was going to Denver.

The party hadn't traveled far before the lead wagon got stuck in mud. It took a while to free it and find drier ground. Mud slowed them down on a few more occasions. Once they hit a rough spot and sent out a scout. He returned with the bad news that there was nothing but muddy road ahead. They had to wait for several days while the sun dried their route. On another occasion, they waited two days before a flooded river became shallow enough to cross.

But then the rains stopped and other problems arose. It became hot and water got scarce. Virgil's eyes watered from the wagon dust and his throat grew dry. Sometimes there was little drinking water, and once there was none at all. Several people thought they'd die of thirst. But, they didn't die. They found water and arrived in Denver, tired but glad to be finished with their traveling.

During the long crossing, Virgil had done his best to help the widow and he'd gained a reputation among the other travelers as an industrious youth. Once in Denver, Virgil stayed by the widow's side and helped her look for her betrothed. It was a busy place where new people arrived frequently and left twice as often. The only ones who remained for long in that bustling, unstable city, were storekeepers and ladies in the entertainment business. It wasn't until the following afternoon that they located the widow's mister. He and Virgil helped her settle in to her new home and then Virgil took leave of the couple.

Virgil went into a saloon in hopes of a meal and directions to the gold diggings. Directions were easy enough to obtain, but the price of a meal was somewhat more than Virgil had planned to spend. He asked if he couldn't do a bit of work in exchange for a meal, but the innkeeper said there was nothing needing doing. Reluctant to leave, lest the innkeeper change his mind, Virgil spent some time watching a card game. It wasn't all that interesting—one of the players did most of the winning. But the game got interesting when one of the losers accused the winner of cheating. Of course the winner denied it and used a derringer to help make his point. The loser used persuasion of a larger caliber and an argument ensued. The argument ended quickly along with the lives of the two gamblers. Virgil decided to leave the saloon before any more un-pleasantries occurred.

Virgil wandered down the street and found a bit of work keeping a blacksmith's fire stoked. At day's end, the blacksmith invited him to stay for some salt pork and beans, and then he let Virgil bed down on his floor.

In the morning, Virgil set out for Golden City, the town closest to the diggings. It didn't take him long before he came to the ferry dock. He figured he'd rather swim the Platte than pay $2.50 for a short ride across. The current was swifter than he'd estimated. When he reached the other side of the river, he was a good distance from the trail. It took him some time to cut through bushes and bramble before he regained his route.

He'd hoped to make it to Golden City that day, but evening found him bedding down in the open. He'd approached a group in three wagons, but they hadn't been too friendly, so he removed himself a small distance and lay down. His bedroll was still wet from his time in the Platte, though his clothes had dried in the summer sun. It was a warm night, but not so warm that he slept comfortably. He heard some animals prowling nearby and decided that he'd be just as well off walking under the moonlight as wondering what they were up to and if they intended any harm. He hoisted up his pack, readied his rifle, and started walking.

As the sun was beginning to break along the horizon, he stopped to locate a packet of hardtack in his knapsack. The wet paper easily peeled away from the biscuits. Although the biscuits were wet as well, the insides were still solid. Using his cup, he scooped water from the creek. He put a biscuit in the cup so it would soften.

Walking along, and sipping biscuit mush, he began to feel pretty good. It had been a long trip so far, but soon he would see his father again. He wondered how much gold his father had got so far and what they'd buy with it all. Would they go back to Illinois or would they stay here? After Virgil's mother died, his father showed no interest in the farm. Once he'd made up his mind to go prospecting, it seemed like a yoke had been lifted from his neck. Virgil thought his father probably wouldn't want to return to Illinois.

About noon Virgil came upon a wagon that had stuck itself in a rut. He helped lift it out and was rewarded with a ride and a roast rabbit leg. It was a good thing, too, since he hadn't eaten anything that day but biscuit mush. Evening found him in Golden City. He went looking for a meal and got a sandwich at the saloon. He hoped for milk, but they only had beer which he didn't care for. He drank water instead. It was fresh from the creek and very cool.

He asked after his father, but no one seemed to know him. He decided to ask some more people in the morning and bedded down in the livery stable.

In the morning, it took him an awful lot of asking before he found a man in one of the two general stores who knew his father. "Elias Kipp? I haven't seen him in a while. Come to think on it, I haven't seen his partner, Sam Mercer, in a long time either." He spit and added, "Say Caleb, ain't you fixin' to head up Clear Creek? Suppose you could take this boy out to the Mercer-Kipp Mine?"

"Not a problem," Caleb replied. "How soon you fixin' to leave, Boy?"

"I'm at your convenience Sir."

"Alright. Help me load these supplies on my mule and we'll head out."

Caleb led the packed mule up the narrow trail while Virgil followed. For the first few hours Caleb talked about his past—farming, trapping, scouting and prospecting. But then he fell silent and simply walked. Virgil listened to the roar of Clear Creek as it made its swift passage between the high rock walls. He'd always looked out on fields of grain. Walking the canyon was a new experience—boisterous water pushed its way through stern and ancient stone. Virgil looked up the canyon's high walls and felt as if he were very small.

About mid-afternoon, Caleb spoke again. "Boy, do you see where that gully enters the creek?" Virgil indicated that he did.

"Well whatcha got to do," Caleb continued, "is walk up that gully about a quarter mile and you'll come to the mine. There's a log across the creek up yonder. That would be a good place to cross over. Take 'er easy, Boy."

The log wasn't entirely dry and Virgil nearly lost his footing before reaching the other side. He remembered the Platte'swift current, and was grateful he hadn't fallen in the creek. Had he done so, he probably would have come ashore downstream of his goal. He didn't mind getting wet, but he didn't want to waste any time. It had been a long time since he'd seen his dad and he didn't want to delay their reunion.

As Virgil ran up the gully, he slipped on loose gravel and nearly fell. He slowed reluctantly. He heard the distant boom of steel striking rock. The noise grew ever louder as he approached the mine entrance in the cliff wall. He called out, but received no answer. He stuck his head into the entrance and called again. This time an answer came from deep within the mountainside.

He ventured inside the mine entrance, but hadn't walked far down the adit before he was wrapped in darkness and couldn't see well enough to go any further. He stood waiting. Off in the distance, he thought he saw a glint of light. The light grew brighter until Virgil determined it came from the left. Then, suddenly it grew strong and steady and Virgil thought he saw the shadow of a man standing behind it.

As Virgil's eyes adjusted, he saw that the adit ended about ten feet in front of him where it intersected a level running to the left and right. The man stood in the intersection. Virgil could just barely make out the bearded man's torch lit face. It wasn't his father. "Halloo," the man said, "what d'ya need?"

"Do you know Elias Kipp?"

"I do. Who would you be?"

"His son."

"I was afearin' you'd say that. Elias is gone."

"He left?"

"No, Son. He's buried down in the mine."

Virgil wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"Yonder," said the man pointing deeper into the mine. "There was a cave-in. I couldn't get him out. He's still there."

"Show me," Virgil said.

Sam Mercer picked up a torch, lit it, and handed it to Virgil. He turned into the north branch of the level. Virgil followed. After a small distance they came to the piled rocks which blocked the way. Sam said, "This is where she caved-in. I wasn't there at the time, or I'd be buried now as well." He considered a moment. "Sorry, Son. I told him that the vein was played out, but he wanted to look a little more. I told him it was a waste of time, but he wouldn't listen. Hell, if only he'd listened... "

Virgil could barely see to the far end of the level where the fallen rocks were piled. "Help me get him out."

" 'S better just to leave him where he's at."

"I won't do that, Mister. He's my Pa."

"It's a fool's errand, Son," Sam replied. "Foolish and dangerous."

"I want to see him. If he's there, I want him properly buried."

"Son, he's buried about as properly as any man needs to be. I'll not go digging where there's bound to be trouble."

"Then give me a pick and I'll dig him out myself."

"I can't lose another pick and another man down here. He was a decent man. Good picks and good men don't come cheap."

But Virgil insisted, and pretty soon he was moving rocks as fast as he could. He had always been a hard worker, but now he was working harder than ever before. A feeling drove him, a feeling that his father was still alive and that once he'd moved enough rocks, they would be together again.

Sam fetched him at the end of the day and brought him to the cabin that the two partners had shared. A pot of beans was already simmering above a low fire. Sam filled a bowl and offered it to Virgil. In addition to being tired, sad and numb inside, Virgil was hungry. He ate the beans.

Sam didn't say much, reminding Virgil of his father's long silences. Before his wife became ill, Virgil's father, Elias, had been a talker. After her death, he'd grown ever more silent. However, on rare occasions, he could still handle his end of a spirited conversation. Sam didn't seem like he ever said much, not even during spirited conversations. Virgil wasn't sure he cared for Sam. There was something suspicious, almost secretive, about him. Virgil wondered if Sam and his father had got along well. He doubted that they had.

Virgil asked him when the cave-in had occured. "It was back in November," Sam replied. "I woulda writ, but I didn't know where to send a letter."

"Didn't he ever say?"

"Nope, he never gave me no particulars. Somewhere in Illinois, I reckon. Your father was a good partner, though. I miss him. It's good for a mining man to have a partner. It gets mighty quiet here except for the ghosts and tommyknockers. "

In the morning, Virgil left the cabin to relieve himself. When he returned, Sam handed him a tobacco pouch. It was heavy in Virgil's hand. "That's your share of the gold, Boy. About ninety dollars' worth."

"It doesn't seem like much after all that digging," Virgil said.

"Mining don't pay all that well. Expenses run high as well. If'n I was you, I'd take it and head on back. This is no place for a boy. Hell, it ain't even a place for a man."

"No. I'm stayin'.

"Certainly, Son. I didn't mean for you to think you weren't welcome. There's lots of gold still to be dug, enough for two men, maybe more."

"I don't care all that much about the gold, Mr. Mercer. It's my father I want to find."

"You'd be better off leaving him undisturbed and helping me dig gold instead."

"I'll help. But I want to get my father out first."

"Suit yourself, Boy. But, try not to get yourself kilt while doin' it."

Before they left for the mine, Sam suggested that Virgil leave his gold pouch in the cabin. Virgil agreed, and handed the pouch back to Sam. After moving the table slightly, Sam lifted up a floorboard and placed the pouch into a shallow hole. "Since we're partners now, I reckon you should know where we stash the loot."

Just before midday, Virgil cleared the final rock blocking his path. Carefully he made his way to the end of the level, a distance of about 15 feet. His father wasn't there. Sam Mercer wasn't telling him something and Virgil had a mind to ask him what. But if he asked, and Sam decided to lie, Virgil wouldn't learn anything. He decided, instead, to have a look around before talking to Sam.

He looked up the drift running along the vein. The vein had been dug out to a point several feet before the level's far wall. The wall stopped just past a small quartz lined vug. The miners had stopped removing ore from the vein before the cave-in occurred. Peculiar. Virgil wondered what caused them to stop excavating the vein.

As he studied the mine wall, he saw a glint of light coming from within the vug. It reminded him of a predator's eye as it moved in darkness. He approached the light but he lost sight of it when his lantern shifted. Then he saw the light again. He extended his index finger into the vug and felt a smooth protrusion in its center. Adding his thumb, he grasped the object. A glass like rod extended as he pulled. Once the rod had been pulled a hand's length away from the wall, it ceased to move. However, the steady red glint at the end of the rod now changed to a pulsing blue light. A vertical crack began to form in the wall above and below the rod. And then the wall itself began to part like saloon doors—only instead of swinging inward, the doors drew back into the rock walls. And yet that wasn't right either—it was as if the rock itself absorbed a section of itself, leaving something other than rock in its place.

What remained was blue light—like a wall of blue fog. And yet it was clearly a door. Virgil knew this because it beckoned as only a door could beckon.

'This is a door into Hell,' he thought, 'and I should run before a devil sees me.' But he realized that his father must have gone through the door and decided to do the same. 'If Pa ain't afraid of Hell, well I guess I ain't either.' He stepped into the blue fog. He now stood in a circular chamber the size of a circus ring. Its golden walls glowed through the blue fog as if lit from within. The chamber's ceiling rose in a high dome, and its floor curved gently downward, except in the middle where it rose to form a platform. A high, wide bench of crystal and polished silver rested on the platform.

Gingerly he approached the bench from the rear. He didn't want to be seen by any demon that happened to be seated upon it. He slowly circled around to its front, but there was nobody seated there.

He stepped onto the platform, crossed over to the bench, and seated himself. Gazing around at the domed chamber, he wondered where he was. This was like no place he'd ever occupied, and yet, it didn't seem hot enough, to be Hell. So, if it wasn't Hell, what was this place? As he glanced down at his feet, Virgil saw a silver snake rising out of a slot in the floor. As it rose, Virgil realized that it wasn't a snake, but some kind of mechanical object. Once the snake had risen to its full height, a film uncurled from its surface and formed itself into a mirrored panel, angled like a book for reading, just below Virgil's face. He tapped the panel's silvery surface. Shimmering ripples moved away like waves from the point where his finger rested. Then the waves formed themselves into an image on the panel's surface. It was a chart of some sort with words describing each of its sections.

But if the chart meant something, Virgil wasn't able to decipher what it was. The words were in another language, Latin or Greek perhaps, and contained letters that Vigil had never seen before. Certain sections of the chart were marked with numbers—but Virgil couldn't make any sense of the relationship of one number to another. He touched one of the numbers. The screen changed and a map appeared, along with explanatory text. At the bottom of the panel, a question mark was grouped with arrows pointing in several directions and other symbols suggesting alternatives. Virgil touched one of the arrows.

The light in the chamber began to change, as the blue fog became denser, and the chamber's gold walls dimmed. Then the room became a swirl of silver ribbons in an indigo sea.

Virgil tried to form a thought but one wouldn't come. He tried to recall his sense of being, but that wouldn't come either. And then it occurred to him to breath. And as he did, the walls began to reform themselves.

One area of wall was brighter than the rest. He approached it. As he drew close enough to touch that section of wall, it peeled away, leaving blue fog in its place. Virgil stepped through the fog... into a limestone cavern.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark cavern, he saw a fire burning in the distance. He approached it carefully to avoid disturbing the damp stalactites which clung to the ceiling or brushing up against the stalagmites which grew from the floor.

He heard a rumbling like distant thunder. As he approached the fire, the thunder became rhythmical and he knew he was hearing drums and voices. He drew near and saw a group of seated men, some chanting, some drumming. In the middle, another man moved in a slow circle. He wore a bearskin and appeared to be the leader. The bear's head covered the man's own and its forearms covered his arms. He spoke while performing his slow dance and gestured with his hands and arms.

Virgil watched from behind a damp column of calcified rock. He was fearful, but also intrigued. He knew he needed to remain alert and concealed, but the slow, rhythmic beating of drums made him sleepy. Suddenly the drumming stopped. Two of the drummers stood and walked toward Virgil. Before he even knew they were there, each drummer held one of his arms. They led him to the leader and pushed him to his knees.

The bearskin clad shaman addressed him in an unknown, guttural tongue. When Virgil remained silent, the man repeated the question. Virgil responded only with a puzzled look. At last the man spoke to one of the drummers. He and Virgil's other captor led the boy away.

They brought him through several chambers until they emerged into a wide area beneath an overhanging cliff of limestone. Low rock walls partitioned the area into several sleeping and cooking areas. Toward the center of the shelter, a number of people were gathered around a large fire. As they neared the fire, one of Virgil's guards approached a middle-aged woman who was speaking to the gathered crowd. She paused, and looked expectantly at Virgil's guard. He spoke to her quietly. She looked at Virgil and spoke, but he didn't understand her words.

She looked expectantly at Virgil while she waited for his response. Virgil wanted to answer correctly, but was stumped for a response. He thought a moment and said, "I came from the mine behind the cave." But it didn't make sense to him, and he supposed not to her either. The cavern was of limestone, but the mine was mostly feldspar and schist. And the golden domed, fog-filled room was made of something else altogether.

As he looked at her, he realized he'd come a long way and arrived at an unknown place. She was dressed in animal skins. All the people were. Nothing was familiar. These people must be Indians, but he had no idea how he got here or how to find his way back to the mine. Fear and homesickness overcame him. He longed for his mother, his father, his aunt and uncle's farm. Tears began to stream down his face, washing away rock dust from the distant mine.

The woman looked at him sympathetically. Then she rose, took Virgil's the hand and led him to a childless couple at the edge of the circled crowd. She spoke to them briefly and they nodded in agreement. Then the man put his hand on Virgil's shoulder and guided him to a sleeping area toward the side of the shelter. He pointed to an area covered with the skins of several large animals and indicated that Virgil should sit down and rest.

The woman brought Virgil a clay bowl of soup. As he began eating, he realized that he'd been extremely hungry. The soup tasted different than any soup he'd had before. It was flavored with unfamiliar herbs and spices. Still, it wasn't bad. He couldn't tell what kind of dried meat and vegetables it contained, but the flavors blended well. When he'd eaten, he realized he was tired. He stretched himself out on the furs and fell asleep almost instantly.

At first, when he woke in the morning he thought it had all been a dream. But then he looked around and knew it hadn't been. His host offered him some food, and when Virgil had eaten, gave him a tour of the village. Each family occupied an apartment behind a shoulder high wall of piled flat rocks. High above them, a wide rock ledge provided a common roof. The areas in front of the apartments were used for cooking and for performing other work. Several paths led from the shelter into a snow covered valley divided by a river.

The rear of the cliff opened into several caverns. Some were used for storage, others led deep into the mountainside. When they came to the narrow entrance to the cavern through which Virgil had traveled the previous evening, his host indicated with gestures that Virgil was not allowed within. It occurred to Virgil that a cavern that was forbidden as well as dark would make escape difficult. But on the other hand, these people might be able to tell him where his father was—if only he could learn their language.

Virgil soon began to feel at home among these people, who called themselves the Witumbva. By nature, Virgil was open to new ideas and people, and the Witumbva readily accepted him. Several other boys his age kept Virgil busy learning the words and gestures of his new language. They were also quick to include him in their games, and teach him how to craft baskets, spears, and other items. He was kept so busy that he had little time for homesickness. But, sometimes at night as he lay under his sleeping furs, and sleep refused to come, then homesickness came like a cruel hunger.

As the winter passed, Virgil began to learn the basics of his new language. During the days he spent most of his time with boys his own age. They practiced throwing spears, fishing in the river, and fighting wars with snowballs. Sometimes they accompanied the older men when they hunted rabbits and other small game, but generally they stayed close to the village.

One boy, however, refused to accept Virgil. He was Kivael, the chief's eldest son. Unlike Virgil who was slight, open-faced, and wiry, Kivael was tall, muscular, and smug-faced. Whenever he could, Kivael mocked Virgil's unfamiliarity with the tribe's ways and customs. And whenever he did, there were always a few people who laughed at Kivael's remarks. Virgil was too good natured to allow it to bother him much; however it bothered him enough that he avoided Kivael whenever possible.

Most evenings, people gathered before the large common fire. Although everyone was welcome to speak, some only spoke rarely, and others not at all. But some spoke often, telling their stories with sweeping gestures, pantomime, and vocal caricatures. Even though Virgil didn't fully understand the stories, they were always entertaining.

On certain occasions, meetings were held in the forbidden cavern. Sometimes they were attended only by women, sometimes by men, sometimes by adults of both sexes. However, those Virgil's age and younger never attended these meetings. Only those who were initiated into adulthood were allowed to attend. Ouzil, the bearskin clad man that Virgil had met on his arrival, was the spiritual leader of the men of the community. He officiated whenever the men held their secret meetings. Virgil was curious, but also a little afraid, about what occurred at those meetings.

The winter passed. One day, a heavy snow fell and continued to fall all night as people gathered by the community fire. It was nearly spring and the heavy snow ended several days of warm weather. Everyone had enjoyed those warm days. Now most people were feeling restless as the late snow kept them close to home. The stories that evening were no less interesting than on other evenings, however the audience was far less rapt. Some people left early. Others seemed fidgety and unable to get comfortable. Virgil's eyes wandered from one face to another. When he looked at a girl his age named Argoura, she seemed to be looking right at him. When their eyes met, she quickly looked down and away.

The following day, he passed Argoura as he walked to the sandy, willow lined bank where he and other boys often practiced throwing spears. Their eyes met once again and both looked away. Virgil blushed and hoped that no one else noticed.

Two nights later when he took his seat by the community fire he noticed that he was sitting by Argoura. The story they listened to had several frightening incidents. During one suspenseful episode, Argoura reached for his hand. When the story ended she was still holding it as she said, "Thank you Virgil. The story scared me." She paused, "I guess I should give you back your hand now."

Virgil replied, "That's alright, I like it when you hold it." They continued holding hands as Virgil walked her home.

After that evening they talked to each other frequently, and spent a lot of time together. They soon discovered that they had much in common despite growing up with different languages and customs. Virgil enjoyed her open manner, frequent smiles, and the way her dark hair bounced against her high-boned cheeks whenever she nodded her head.

Virgil and Argoura didn't spend all their time together, however. Virgil continued to fish and target practice with the boys, while Argoura continued to help the women with cooking, sewing, and other activities.

One day when Virgil was hunting rabbits with some of the boys, one of them started talking about the manhood rites. The boy's older brother had had his rites two years previously and had told him something about them.

When he was Virgil's age, he'd been taken away by spirits during the night. He returned some days later as a man. Some of the boys were away longer than others, and some never returned, whether as boys or as men.

Other boys told stories and rumors they'd heard about the manhood rites, and a lot of speculation ensued. They wondered which of them was old enough to be taken away for the rites. What would happen? Would it hurt? Who would return?

As spring progressed into early summer, Virgil became skilled at spearing fish and small animals. He often wished he could join the men who sometimes spent several days away from the shelter hunting larger game such as deer and buffalo. But he also enjoyed the time he spent in Argoura's company.

One day Argoura announced that she'd entered her fifteenth year. Virgil wasn't sure how old he was. When he'd entered the mine, it was summer and he was 14, but when he emerged in the shelter it was winter. However, he figured he was about the same age as Argoura, at least within several months.

Now that it was midsummer, people cooled off by bathing in the places where the river formed deep pools. Both the men and women bathed downriver, but the men's bathing pool was further from the cliff village than the women's pool. Virgil and Argoura often walked upriver together. There was a smaller pool upriver where some of the more daring young couples sometimes bathed together.

They bathed there one day and Virgil accidently glimpsed Argoura as she dressed. Before he slept that night, he remembered seeing her softly muscled, slender nakedness. He wondered about how it made him feel and what that meant for their future.

He awoke somewhat later to the sound of screaming. He threw his sleeping furs to the side and started to rise. But he didn't make it to his feet. At least not on his own.

He was grabbed and carried away by two large animals of some kind. He tried to fight his way free, but they only gripped him more firmly.

One of them held him close to its fur, blinding him. Although he couldn't see anything, he could hear the cries and whimpers of other captives. Fear made him alert. He tried to understand what was happening to him. Where were the animals carrying them? How many had they captured? Were any people left to help them escape?

He was in a smoky place and he couldn't see. And then he was fighting sleep. And then he slept.

Virgil awoke to a roaring sound. He tried to stand, but something held him down. He tried to see, but it was too dark. He tried to scream, but he couldn't open his mouth. However, he could hear. The roaring continued. And grew louder.

The roaring stopped and he heard a voice chanting. It told a story. A story of the first man. There were gods. And they lived upon the earth. And they were the only ones living upon the earth.

The gods grew hungry and they created the grazing animals so they would have something to eat. And they ate their fill. But they could not eat them all. And the grazing animals multiplied and grew numerous. The gods had enormous appetites, but the animals multiplied faster than even those hungry gods could consume them. And the grass became sparse.

Then the gods created the hunting animals to eat the grazing animals that ate the grasses. And all was good and the earth prospered.

After a time, the hunting animals became powerful and some grew brave and challenged the gods. "These animals must learn fear," said Unkret, foremost of the gods.

"Indeed, they must," agreed Yetrob, who was fond of playing tricks and creating confusion. "What's needed is Man," he added.

"And just what is Man?"

"Man is somewhat like us," Yetrob replied. "Only instead of appearing entirely as we do, he somewhat resembles a monkey."

"What need do we have of a creature like that?"

Said Yetrob, "He will teach the hunting creatures fear and bewilder them with his superior intellect."

"Will not Man come to challenge Us?"

"No, for we are Gods and eternal while Man lives briefly."

"And yet, generation follows generation, and so the threat remains. In time perhaps men will go up against us."

"We will give Man flaws that cause distraction and He will not think to challenge us."

"Of what flaws do you speak?"

Yetrob replied, "I speak of envy, jealousy, greed, violence, and destructiveness."

Unkret pondered a while before speaking. "I cannot allow this Creature to endure a life driven by such ends."

"Then grant them the possibility of salvation," Yetrob replied. "Allow those who would be wise the knowledge of their imperfection and the desire to overcome it. Allow them the knowledge of Us and the desire to worship and adore Us. Allow them to nourish Us with sacrifices and cause them to petition Us."

"Yes, it will be good to be worshiped. And so it shall be. Create you now this Creature of which you spoke."

Yetrob left Unkret then and began to gather shit. He gathered the dung of deer, oxen, and all the grazing creatures. He gathered the dung of wolves, lions, and all the hunting animals. He gathered the shit of birds, and of the small animals. And when he had got all his shit together, he created Man from this big load of shit.

The first man and woman sat up and looked around. Then they stood up and looked at each other. The man looked at the woman and was pleased with what he saw. The woman looked at the man and told him to stand up straight and not slouch. After that, they had a number of adventures together.

The shaman spoke briefly about some of these adventures. And then he began talking about the first couple's children. They had plenty—enough to people the first cave. When the children grew old enough, the first man taught the boys the responsibilities of men, and the first woman taught the girls the responsibilities of women. Both groups knew their roles and they lived pure and honest lives.

However, several generations later, some of the women learned the powers of men and some of the men learned the powers of women. They used their knowledge to work evil magic and gain advantages over one another. Men and women became suspicious of each other and often hostilities arose. The wise ones among the people decided that women should keep their powers secret from the men, and the men should likewise prevent the women from learning their secrets. They decided, too, to expel the doers of evil magic from the caves. Once this was done they realized that they would need a new way to teach the children about their adult responsibilities.

From that time on, the girls were taken to a secret place to learn the responsibilities of women. The boys went to another secret place to learn their responsibilities as men. The boys were then cautioned not to reveal the secrets of manhood to children or women.

The shaman paused then and told the boys to sit up. Most did, but others could not. The shaman told them not to worry. They had been given a powerful medicine, but its effects would soon wear off and then they would be able to sit. Men with torches appeared now and the cave grew brighter. The shaman began talking about the responsibilities of men. Gradually, all the boys were sitting.

And then the roaring began again and the animals appeared once more. They began to circle the boys and then both the roaring and the animals stopped. The torches went out. When new torches were brought, the animals were gone, but more of the men were there.

The shaman spoke of great magic which had transformed men into ferocious animals and then once again into men. A ritual feast was then served.

After the meal, more stories were told. Another meal was served and the boys slept again. Several days passed this way. But then there came a day when no meals were served and the stories emphasized the responsibilities and dangers of manhood. The men and boys drank only water that day. When the evening came, they were told that they needed to seek a personal vision before they could be called men. Cups of rough fired pottery were passed around and everyone drank.

Virgil lifted his cup and tasted a bitter, metallic liquid. He grimaced as he drank. He wasn't the only one. While the men drank stoically or with resignation, the expression on the boys' faces was of revulsion, fear, or horror.

The cavern room became quiet and nearly dark. And then several men began to beat drums and several others to chant. Virgil grew sleepy and his belly rumbled with hunger, and something else like hunger but less pleasant. He watched the dully glowing fire. Occasionally a flame would burst out of the red embers, wave briefly, and then sink back into the glowing coals.

Virgil considered each flame as it appeared. He saw a flame jump up in eagerness, just like when he jumped excitedly from his bed on mornings when something special was happening. The flame pranced from place to place like it had more to do than time would allow. Then the flame sank back into the glowing wood like an old man sinking into death.

And then another flame arose. And died. And yet another. As if each were born suddenly, lived briefly, and then died. 'The lives of flames are like the lives of men,' thought Virgil. 'And the red embers give them life, sustain it, and then withdraw it again, like they were God. Yet the flames are part of the burning log. Does that mean men are part of God?' Virgil thought about that idea. It seemed right and yet it didn't seem to fit with what he'd learned in church. Maybe he shouldn't think that way. Maybe such thoughts came from the devil. And yet...

Virgil realized he'd been dreaming. His eyes had never closed. Still he'd been dreaming. But he was alert now. The drums were beating faster and the fire suddenly burst all over into flame. He looked around the room. These men. These boys. They were a tribe and Virgil was a part of it. These were his people and he had a purpose in the world.

And what was that purpose? And as Virgil thought about it, time began to slow and the chamber became quiet. And Virgil dreamed of a blue fog and a room made of gold and knew there was a place where he had to go. It wasn't just for himself, but for Argoura and the others... and his father.

And then Virgil was once again aware of those around him. They were fewer now. One by one, the boys left the chamber, each escorted by one of the men. Virgil stood up and looked at one of the men from his village. He arose also and together they left the room. He was in another chamber in the cave now and Ouzil, the shaman from his cave, was there. He motioned for Virgil to sit near him and asked him if he'd received a vision.

"I need to go back to the chamber of blue fog," Virgil said. "There's something I have to do"

"What must you do?"

"I don't know yet, but when I get there, I'll know."

"This sounds like a job for a man."

"I can do this."

"You are not yet a man."

"When will I be a man?"

"After your first hunt."

"I have hunted."

"Not as a man," the shaman paused, then continued, "Do you wish to become a man?"

"Yes."

"Leave the cave and enter the world of light."

Men and boys stood together on a peak watching the sun rise over a wide plain. The last of the people emerged from the cave as the first warmth of the day was felt. An elder spoke, "Now we go forth to where the game awaits."

They climbed swiftly and silently for several days occasionally stopping briefly to drink water from cold streams or to pass around stringy bits of dried meat. At night, when they rested, they huddled together for warmth. The few blankets they'd brought were barely enough to share. On the fourth day, they spotted the game.

Virgil was astounded. He had seen elephants once at a circus. They were huge. But these were even larger. There were four altogether. Three younger bulls followed an old bull, their leader. They were hairy and sported long tusks which curved outward before tapering inward again. They ignored the distant men as they grazed in a long valley.

Awed by the size of the animals, the young hunters began to talk loudly and excitedly. However, their elders spoke quietly. The leader of the hunt called for silence and began to outline his plan. The men would flank the elephants from the sides of the valley, but wouldn't disturb them until forward scouts signaled the time for attack had arrived.

The hunters moved forward slowly. They were too tense to be bored, too cautious to be excited. The waiting reminded Virgil of being a small boy lying in bed on Christmas Eve.

Suddenly the signal came. The boys in Virgil's group clustered around the fire bearers. Using the coals in the pottery braziers they carried, the fire bearers lit each boy's torch. When they were through, they waited as those on the other side of the valley assumed one-knee crouches and held their spears positioned outward.

The second signal started the torch bearers running toward the mammoths. The flames and the shouts did their work—the elephants bellowed and began to run. The old bull and two of the younger animals escaped into the pond in the center of the valley. The hunters on the far shore readied their spears in anticipation.

The remaining young bull unexpectedly ran east of the pond and turned to the south. The torch bearers closest to the animal scrambled to get out of its way. In the confusion, one of the boys collided with another, forcing him into the young bull's path. Rather than veer to the side, the bull lowered its head, impaled the youth on its nearest tusk, then flung him to the side, barely slowing as it retreated from the flames.

The hunt leader called for help and two men came running to carry the wounded boy away. They were fast, yet the injury was severe. The shaman and his assistant began working, cleaning and bandaging the leg, and chanting the songs of healing.

The old bull and two younger ones moved across the pond toward its southern shore. As they were about to leave the water, one of the young bulls tripped on a rock and landed on its side in the water. Even before it could regain its feet, spears began to pierce its belly and flanks.

The old bull responded to the younger's cries of pain by turning and facing its hunters. Before it could charge however, torch bearers began to enter the shallow water. The old bull hesitated, unable to decide between fleeing the flames or assisting his companion. His indecision was his downfall. Spearmen began to harass it from all sides and kept it busy removing spears with its trunk. The other young bull continued south to join its unhurt companion.

By the time the mammoths were still, the sun was already behind a distant peak, and a chill was beginning to replace the warmth of the day. The hunt leader assigned tasks to the new hunters, but the experienced hunters already knew what to do. Some of them went to work removing the animals' viscera while others fortified the area so they could camp in relative safety. Once the assignments were out of the way, the leader sought out the shaman to inquire about the boy who'd been gored. He knew by his look, that the shaman had little hope for his patient, but expressed confidence in the healer's skills and praised the hunter's courage.

During the night, the smell of meat attracted wolves. Several men, posted as guards, kept the wolves away by waving their torches. On several occasions, the wolves scattered and then regrouped. Toward dawn, one bold animal charged past the flames and stole a piece of meat. Following its lead, several of the other animals attempted to do the same. They made off with some of the organ meat, but the carcasses were largely left undamaged.

In the morning three men were sent off running to deliver notice of the kill to the closest community. Everyone else helped with the butchering. By late in the day, much of the meat had been sliced and wrapped for transport. They prepared to camp another night, exercising the same precautions.

Half the party left the following morning while the others remained behind guarding the bulk of the meat until enough people could arrive from the villages to help with its transport

Argoura was among the first to greet the returning meat bearers. When Virgil was not among that group, she asked one of the elders if Virgil had shown skill in the hunt. He frowned before he gravely replied, "I cannot speak for those who left to seek manhood. You'll have to wait until all the men return."

'Why wouldn't he tell me? There was something he didn't want me to know,' she thought. She turned then and walked quickly back toward the shelter. Coming to the river, she followed it to the pool where she and Virgil liked to swim. She sat on the same warm rock where they had sat together not so long ago. But, this time she wasn't relaxed and happy. She was worried. 'What if Virgil were one of the boys who failed to become men? What if he had returned to the earth? What if he become one of those demon ghosts, who neither child nor adult, wander through the lost realm. No, he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't leave me alone like that. People would remember—they'd remember him as that odd boy from a strange place. And I'd be marked as one who befriended a demon.' She began to cry. She had risked her status in the tribe to become the strange boy's friend. But if Virgil were dead, she'd lose her status entirely. And that would be too much to bear, to lose both her friend and her place in the tribe. 'Please don't let it be so. I'm not strong enough for that,' she begged of Thuula, wife of the god, Unkret."

She cried with grief and worry under the warm sun until she could cry no more, and then she lay down and slept. She thought she heard the sound of someone sniffing and woke as she smelled the warm breath of a carnivore. As she opened her eyes she saw the back legs and tail of a wolf as it walked toward the bathing pool. She lifted herself into a crouch and carefully watched to see what the beast would do next. It looked over its shoulder at her and then walked down to the river bank to drink. Argoura stood and backed very carefully up the path until she was a good distance from the carnivore.

When she thought it safe to do so, she began walking rapidly toward the cliff under which her family dwelt. Soon she began to tremble in delayed fear. She sat down, wrapped her hands around her knees, and forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply.

Calmer now, she looked up and down the path. The wolf had left the river bank and was walking slowly toward her. She considered her options; should she face it down or try to escape? Wolves were fast, she knew, but this one had a pronounced limp. Perhaps the best course was intimidation, and should that fail, she might be able to outrun a lame wolf.

Those remaining in the hunters' camp worked to complete the butchering and packaging of meat while the shaman and his assistant tended the wounded. One man of thirty summers had injured his shoulder when a misplaced spear thrust had entered bone rather than soft flesh. One boy had twisted an ankle taking a fall. Neither of these were serious injuries. However, the boy who had been badly gored was now feverish and delirious. The shaman listened carefully to his whispered, fractured words hoping that his spirit would reveal a cure. Although, he listened with the acute attentiveness of one who walks in the spirit world, he could not understand the boy's strange utterances. The boy seemed to be speaking of the strange place beyond the chamber of blue fog.

As the wolf approached, Argoura felt a sense of déjà vu, and along with that feeling, her sense of calm grew stronger. The wolf, she thought, wanted her help. She extended her hand. The wolf approached and sniffed it. She could see now what had caused the wolf to limp. A thorn was deeply imbedded in its lower foreleg. She reached out and held its leg steady telling it not to worry. With her other hand, she reached around the leg, and with a quick motion, pulled out the thorn. The wolf yelped. Then noticing the thorn's absence, it licked her once and ran off.

That night was one of celebration among Argoura's people, Argoura was anxious for the hunters' return and paid little attention to the jokes and stories people told. She was thinking about crawling into her sleeping furs when someone asked her if she knew any good stories. She thought a moment, and then said, "I spoke with a wolf today."

People were eager to hear her story and although she was reluctant to tell it, nevertheless, she told it well. One of the elders remarked that it was unusual for wolves to travel alone. Another said that such wolves tend to be outcasts, weaker members of their packs who've been chased away for breaking rules. One woman said that she thought she'd glimpsed a wolf while washing clothes a day ago. But she wasn't sure because this wolf was small and had yellow, rather than gray, fur. "Yes, the wolf I saw was yellow," Argoura said. "Strangely, this wolf seemed familiar, but I've rarely seen wolves, and never a yellow one." One of the older women said that unusual sightings, when they follow times of important rites, can be taken as omens. And for someone to speak with, and actually touch, a wolf signified that something powerful had, or was about to, happen.

Argoura was too restless to sleep; thoughts raced through her head. She wondered about Virgil's safety and whether the wolf signified that something lucky would happen. It was well into the night before she found sleep.

Virgil heard the sound of wolves baying in the distance. 'It's unusual for wolves to be so close to Uncle Holden's farm,' he thought. And then as he began to awaken, he became aware of the pain. For a while, the throbbing pain in his thigh overpowered his senses. He was no longer Virgil—he was pain, only pain. In time he realized that someone was talking to him, asking him questions.

He began to answer questions he didn't understand with answers that didn't make sense. However, the shaman must have understood some of the conversation because he stopped asking questions and offered medicine for Virgil to drink.

Whenever Virgil opened his eyes, during the next several days, he was in a different place. He would ask a question, answer a question, drink something bitter, and then sleep some more. He dreamt of a large yellow dog that whined for him to follow. When he tried to follow, he entered a dark painful place and had to go back. Sometimes his eyes would open briefly before the dream began again. Finally he opened his eyes and knew he was home. He looked at Argoura. She asked, "Virgil, have you come back?"

"I think so."

"I was afraid you went to the place where the lost ones go."

"I went hunting."

"You did. And you came back."

"Was the hunt successful?"

"Very. We have lots of meat. All the boys came back men."

"Even me?"

"The shaman hasn't said."

"When will he say?"

"I don't know. Virgil, I think you're a man." Argoura blushed.

"You became a woman, didn't you?"

"I did." She turned her face away.

"Oh," Virgil said and fell asleep.

Argoura was waiting beside him when Virgil next awoke. She gave him food to eat. He ate and they talked briefly. He asked her how long it would be until his wound healed, but she didn't know. She told him that the shaman was caring for him and could tell him more. He asked when he'd see the shaman. She told him it would be soon. He'd been there several times each day. Virgil asked, "How many days now?" She replied that it had been five days since the men returned.

Argoura wasn't there when Virgil next awoke. However Ouzil, the shaman, was. Virgil asked him, "Have I become a man?"

"Do you think you have?"

"Yes, but there are things I need to know. I think I need to go back."

"Yes, you do need to go back. You have become a man but you are not one of the People. You must find the answers to your questions before you can be one of the People. And then there is the other matter..."

"What matter is that?"

"The matter of your health. We'll not talk of that just yet." The shaman paused and Virgil waited until he spoke again. "Arise. We will walk together." Virgil tried to stand. The pain was too much. "You must," the shaman insisted. He tried a second time and succeeded with the shaman's help.

Walking was painful and difficult for Virgil even after the shaman presented him with a sturdy stick. The two walked past the low fires of sleeping families toward the rear of the cliff. With each step, Virgil moved through the pain until he found the strength to take another. After a long, slow, journey they reached the entrance to the cavern.

As they walked between the narrow walls of the cavern, the shaman spoke. "It is well that the mammoth's tusk passed cleanly through your leg without shattering the bone. Had that happened you would not now be walking."

"It still hurts, though," Virgil replied.

"I know it does. Your spirit must be strong to endure such pain. It must be a frightful place, the land from which you come."

"No," Virgil said, "It's just a place."

"You speak lightly of a place ruled by great lizards."

"I don't know about any lizards."

"My great-uncle went there and spoke of such creatures upon his return. And yet you tell me you don't know of them. It is partly because of the great lizards that we avoid the chamber of blue fog. Yet even without the lizards, there is great magic in that place. I cannot blame you for not telling your secrets."

"I don't know any secrets. I was just looking for my father, that's all."

"Enough, I won't ask you any more about it. In any case, we have arrived. Tell me now what you intend to do."

"I want to go back and look for my father."

"Is he in that lizard land?"

"No. At least I don't think he is. But he went somewhere. I looked for him, but couldn't find him. At first I thought he might have come here, but no one has seen him."

While Virgil talked, the shaman located the pinpoint of light which shown within the vug in the cavern wall. He pulled the glass rod and the wall opened.

Once inside the chamber, he produced the clothing that Virgil had worn when he arrived among the tribesmen, so long ago. "Put these on," he said, "It's best for you to arrive among your people dressed as they do."

"You had something to tell me about my health," Virgil said, as he dressed.

"I will tell you now," the shaman replied. "You slept many days before you woke. For much of that time I sat by you and listened as you wandered through the dream world tottering on the edge of the lost realm. Much of what you said I didn't understand. You spoke a tongue that was strange to my ears. But sometimes you spoke of gold, and those words I understood. You said it is the cause of all your trouble, that where your gold is, that place is where your family is. And then you cried out to be led to that place. Of course I could not lead you there, but I felt a presence, and I believe you tried to follow. You tried to go into the lost realm. I called you back. It wasn't easy to persuade you to return. You badly wanted to follow the one who called you."

"I don't remember any... "

"No, I'm sure you don't. However, he still calls you."

"Who?"

"The Walker from the lost realm. That is why you must leave. If you stay here, He will call you to the lost realm and your life breath will go out of you. Perhaps when you arrive in your own land His call will not be able to reach you."

"Is it that bad?"

"You are not healing. Your wound is closed but your leg is filled with poison."

Virgil thought he wouldn't heal any quicker in Sam Mercer's cabin, but he didn't say so. 'Everybody dies,' he thought. "Does Argoura know I'm that sick?"

"I haven't told her," the shaman responded. "I will wait as many days as there are fingers on my two hands counted twice. Then if you haven't returned, I will tell her."

When they reached the bench, the shaman motioned for Virgil to sit. The mechanical snake rose from the floor and its mirrored panel unfurled. Leaning over Virgil, the shaman tapped its silvery surface. Once again the strange chart appeared. The shaman pointed to one of its lower areas and said, "My great-uncle showed me this. When you touch here, and then when the picture changes, touch the spear point, you will travel once more to the land of the giant lizards. Touch nothing until I leave, for I will not travel with you. May you be favored by the gods. Farewell."

When Virgil was alone in the chamber he began to study the chart. He had no desire to travel to any place populated by fearsome lizards. An area toward the top of the chart seemed familiar. He touched it and a map appeared. It seemed to depict the area around Sam Mercer's cabin, but not entirely. He made his choice and touched one of the arrow icons. The room dimmed and ribbons of liquid silver swirled around him. Once again, he forgot to breathe and his thoughts left him as the mercury shadows swirled in their indigo sea. And then his breath came and the room brightened. The chamber's gold walls were once more visible through the blue fog.

Using his walking stick for support, Virgil stood and crossed the chamber to its brightest section. As he touched the wall, it parted, and a doorway of deep blue fog took its place. Virgil stepped through the fog into a cement walled courtyard under a malevolent sun. Virgil gasped when he first breathed the hot air. And then he upbraided himself for neglecting to bring along water.

A domed roof supported by columns extended into the courtyard from one of its walls. Virgil headed for its shade. The pathway led to a steel door. Virgil reached for its knob but found it too hot to turn. He pulled his sleeve down over his hand and turned the knob. The door opened into a large room, empty except for a pile of rubble and a bench on its far corner. Virgil slowly approached the corner, allowing time for his eyes to become accustomed to the dim light. When he drew close enough, he could see that the rubble consisted of bones, cloth scraps, and cracked leather boots. Virgil recognized the boots. They were his father's.

And if the boots belonged to his father, then the bones must be those of...

Virgil wasn't ready to accept that thought. Just past the bench was another door. He opened the door and looked down on Clear Creek's now dry bed. A broken road of black slabs ran parallel to the creek. Beside parched rock there was nothing there, not even a blade of grass. 'The world is dead now' Virgil thought, 'and I will be, too, if I stay here.' He returned to the chamber of fog and sat down once more at the pilot's bench.

Clearly he couldn't stay here, but his chances weren't any better back in the mine. To die in the mine would be a horrible death. At least his father didn't die in the mine, he thought. He could try to return to Argoura's people, but Ouzil couldn't do anything more for him. He doubted if he could navigate the dark cavern alone in any case. Anyway, if he was going to die, it would be better if Argoura didn't have to watch. He might as well die here, but then who would bury him? At least he was still alive to bury his father.

Leaving the cool of the golden-walled chamber, Virgil returned to his father's remains. 'There are so many pieces, I don't know where to start,' Virgil thought 'And the heat...'

It was too much. If he stayed here the heat would finish him before his poisoned leg had the chance. He begged forgiveness of his father's spirit and once again crossed through the doorway of fog.

Exhaustion overcame him as soon as he entered the cool of the chamber. He slept. When he woke he was feverish once more. He made his way to the pilot's bench and studied the chart on the silver panel. He wished he understood what the words and images on the panel meant. He felt as if he almost held the key to its meaning, but not quite. If only he had more time, but if he didn't act soon he'd die. The chamber had taken him to two different places. The land of giant lizards was a third place, and the mine was a fourth. He wondered where else he might go. He chose a point on the graph that lay midway between here and the mine. It showed a map similar to the one that had taken him here. He selected an arrow and the chamber filled once again with silver swirls.

This time when he emerged through the fog, he had to brush away the branches of a juniper that was growing out of the cliff wall. He couldn't see the mine entrance, but he saw Sam's cabin poking through the trees. There should have been a path, but there wasn't. Travel was difficult. Moving through the tall brush with a bad leg required effort. When he drew near to the cabin, he saw that several of its walls had fallen in. It looked as if it had been abandoned years ago.

Virgil made his way downhill to the creek and cooled his fever with its cold water. He could see vehicles like small detached train cars speeding along a gray roadway. Finding a bridge, he crossed over. He stood by the road watching the traffic pass him by and wondering what to do next. 'This place is even stranger than the last and I'm even sicker than before,' was the last thing he thought before waking to the sound of a shrill whistle, and a man's clean-shaven face looking down into his own.

"Are you back with us, Buddy?"

"Mister what is this place?"

"You're riding in an ambulance. How are you feeling?"

"My leg's hurting awful bad again. Where'd you say this place was?"

"You're on your way to a hospital. What happened to your leg?"

"An elephant got me. I didn't get out of its way in time."

"Do you know what day this is?"

"No Sir."

"What about the president's name? Can you tell me that?"

"It's Mr. Lincoln, Sir. Honest Abe."

"How about the year. What year is it?"

"It must be 1862, maybe 1863."

"Uh huh." The man stopped talking after that and Virgil fell asleep.

Virgil woke from a vivid and frightening dream. He and Kivael were running to escape a charging elephant. They had a good lead and safety was just ahead. Then Kivael veered to the side and shoved Virgil into the elephant's path. As its tusk pierced his thigh, he was lifted high into the air. He was falling, and then he landed inside a fast moving farmhouse on wheels. He heard a banshee shriek and knew it portended someone's death. And then Virgil awoke.

His eyes opened on an unfamiliar room with pale blue walls. He tried to sit up, but found he couldn't move. He was tied to a bed. A narrow hose was attached to his arm. Another was threaded between his legs. And a third was clipped on his nose. He screamed.

"Is something wrong," asked a woman in a white gown.

"I can't move," Virgil said.

"You were thrashing around a lot. We had to restrain you."

"Can you set me loose now?"

"I'm sorry, not yet. We've got to wait until your condition stabilizes."

"Why is there all this stuff stuck in me?"

"We're just giving you a little extra oxygen to help you breathe better, and some saline solution so you don't dehydrate."

"Huh?"

"I'll be back to check on you in a little while." The woman turned and left the room.

Sometime later, a doctor paid Virgil a visit. "I'm Dr. Lathan. I'm the weekend internist on the ICU, and your name is... There's no name on your chart. What's your name?"

"I'm Virgil Kipp."

"Well, Virgil, that's some wound you've got. I thought perhaps we were going to have to amputate your leg to save the rest of you. But, it looks like you're out of danger now. How did that happen?"

"An elephant did it."

"An elephant, huh? Tell me Virgil, how can we contact your parents or guardian?"

"M' Ma and Pap are both dead. I'm kinda on my own."

"Alright, where do you live then?"

"Well, I was living under a big rocky ledge, but I left that place. I guess I'll need to find another place."

"Alright, Virgil we have a social worker here. She can help you with that. I'm going to want to keep you through the weekend at least just to make sure your infection doesn't come back. I'll visit you a little later."

But Virgil never saw him again. However he did get to see a social worker, a cop, and a psychiatrist. All of them, but especially the social worker, asked Virgil a lot of questions. "Virgil, I know we've gone over this before, but you and I both know that an elephant didn't do that to your leg. We need to know how that happened so we can protect you."

"Yes, Ma'am, I wish I could tell you different, but that's what I think happened."

"There are no elephants in Colorado. Virgil why can't you trust me."

"I do trust you, Ma'am, but... Well maybe I don't rightly remember."

"That's progress, Virgil. What about your parents? What about your home? Virgil did you run away from home?"

"I... I... I guess I don't remember nothin' much before the elephant—or whatever it was.

Over the next few days Virgil talked with a number of people. Most of them plied him with endless questions. Virgil soon discovered that the best answer to most of their questions was that he couldn't remember. When he talked about elephants people thought he was crazy, but when he told people that he couldn't remember, he got their sympathy. Just the same, people didn't treat him like he was a normal person. And that's how he ended up in a facility for emotionally disturbed adolescents.

Virgil tried to fight it at first, but it didn't do any good. Nobody was impressed that he'd finished eighth grade or been initiated into manhood by the Witumbva tribe. In fact, when he mentioned such things they began to treat him as if he were crazy. He quickly learned that the best answer to questions about his past was that he didn't remember.

The place where they sent him wasn't too bad. The food was alright and plentiful, but there were too many rules to follow. Not that the rules were hard, it was just that Virgil didn't like being told how to run his life. After all, he'd driven a team of oxen from Illinois to Colorado and hunted with men. Here they told him when to get up, when to go to sleep, and what to do in between times. He wasn't even allowed to leave the grounds because he hadn't yet earned the privilege to do so. And they kept asking him questions. For example, they wanted to know how old he was. Virgil reckoned he was 15, so that's what he told them.

Ouzil, the shaman, was waiting for Argoura when she returned from gathering roots and grain with some of the other women. By the way he caught her eye she knew he had something to say. "Twice as many days as there are fingers on my hands have passed," he said. "And yet another day has passed as well. Virgil has not returned. Do you yet wait for him?"

Argoura suddenly felt cold. "He will return, won't he?"

"I tell you this now. I did not wish to say before the passing of this many days. Virgil was walking between two worlds when he left to find his old place. Perhaps he will return, but a strong voice was calling him to the realm of the lost. Perhaps he is now walking its paths."

She turned, not wanting to display emotion before this strange and holy man. "I will wait a bit longer," she said, and then walked off crying.

When it was almost autumn they wanted to put Virgil in school. He protested that he'd finished school, but they made him take some tests and told him that he wasn't done. In fact, they said, his grammar was poor and his vocabulary was even worse. But the tests also showed that he did okay in math and so they put him in an algebra class.

Thankfully, the math was interesting because just about everything else was challenging. Virgil had heard that the south seceded from the United States, but he was stunned to learn that the ensuing Civil War had gone on so long and that Lincoln had been assassinated. He also learned that the Roaring Twenties and Great Depression were sandwiched between two World Wars. But the Cold War, which came after the Second World War, baffled him entirely.

Certain students teased Virgil when he mispronounced a word, or failed to understand what they thought should have been obvious. But Virgil was easy to get along with and most of the students didn't tease him. Some even liked him and tried to become friends. Still, he felt a bit like he didn't fit in.

The days passed and each was filled with discoveries. In his spare time, Virgil used one of the community computers to look up words and concepts on the internet. Within a few months he was doing well in several of his classes, and catching up in the rest.

One weekend afternoon, the staff took the kids on an outing to see a movie. As the van passed the Federal Center, Virgil wondered at the rows upon rows of windows mounted a few feet over the ground. Usually, he tried to hide his ignorance, but this time his curiosity got the better of him and he asked a staff member what they were for. "Those are solar panels. They collect sunlight and turn it into electricity. It's called renewable energy. It doesn't pollute." Virgil was intrigued. He could barely wait to get back on the internet to learn more about them.

Automobiles also intrigued Virgil. He appreciated their speed, but marveled at the way they fouled the air. If you can get electricity from the sun, why bother to pump oil from the ground? That question took Virgil to the internet for another history lesson. Oil based technology, he learned, has been around for a while. Efficient solar technology is only beginning to emerge.

The topic one afternoon in biology class was about how animals adapt to their environment through evolution. Father Ryan's example was elephants. At one time wooly mammoths were adapted to harsh ice age winters. Today, elephants are found in warm climates. Virgil excitedly exclaimed, "That's what it was—a wooly mammoth. That's what cut my leg!"

The other students laughed and Virgil blushed. Father Ryan said, "That's enough. Everyone has issues and we all know there are a few things that Virgil doesn't remember clearly." He continued his lecture as if it hadn't been interrupted, but after the class was dismissed he took Virgil aside and suggested that they meet later in the afternoon.

Virgil stood before the door to Father Ryan's office wanting to knock but hesitating. Although he worried about the trouble he'd put himself in with his talk about elephants, he also hoped that Father Ryan could answer some of his new questions. Calming himself, he knocked.

Father Ryan didn't get down to business right away. First he asked Virgil how he was doing, if he liked his classes, if he'd made any close friends. Virgil gave brief answers to the first two questions. The third he answered, "Well not yet, but I guess I'm kind of different."

"How are you different?" asked the priest.

"Well, I can't remember anything," Virgil responded.

"You remembered the mammoth."

"Uh, yeah, I did." Virgil thought a moment. "Can you keep a secret?"

"I'm a priest."

"I really did get hurt by a mammoth."

"Um, hm. How'd that happen?"

"We were hunting them. I didn't get out of its way in time."

"Virgil, you know mammoths have been extinct here for ten thousand years."

"You don't believe me."

"I want what's best for you."

"It might be true."

"It might."

"If it's not true why do I remember it?"

"I don't know, Virgil. According to the hospital report you talked about some unusual things at first. And then you said you couldn't remember anything. Why did you say that?"

"Nobody believed me. What else could I say?"

"Do you ever hear voices without seeing the speaker?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. You know, Virgil, sometimes when people can't remember things clearly they make up memories."

"I didn't make these up. Please promise me you won't tell anyone."

"I can keep secrets as long as they're harmless."

"Okay. Thank you." There were questions Virgil wanted to ask, but the time didn't seem right. "I should go now—I need to do my homework."

"That's fine, Virgil. Would you like to talk again tomorrow?"

Most people were spending more time under the high rock ledge now, but not Argoura. She didn't want to be around others. They wanted to talk about Virgil, his accident, where he came from, and where he went. She just wanted to be left alone. And that's why she was far from the shelter by the bathing pool she'd shared with Virgil. Sheltered from the river's main current, a thin layer of ice had formed on the pool's surface. Argoura tested it with a rock. The surface held. Then she tried another rock, thrown a little harder. The surface broke. Sometimes things look solid enough, but they're actually quite fragile. Like plans—people make them, but they don't always work out.

She looked up. The little, yellow wolf was looking at her. It began to wag its tail, then it took several steps toward her. "What do you want?" Argoura cried out. It let out a yip, and then trotted away.

Today Virgil didn't hesitate before knocking on Father Ryan's door. "About the mammoths... "

"Yes."

"You said they went extinct ten thousand years ago."

"I did."

"One of the guys in my dorm room... well, he said evolution was bullshit. Uh, excuse me."

"Why's that?"

"Well, he said according to the Bible the world just isn't that old. And, I've read the part with the begats, and there just weren't enough people begat for the world to be so old."

"I believe the Bible is a true and holy book, but I also believe that science has much to teach us about the world."

"Even if they contradict each other?"

"Perhaps the contradiction is only apparent and not real at the core."

"That's hard to understand."

"Yes, it is."

"Like my hunting mammoths... I think it really happened? But I don't think you believe it."

"That's hard for me to say. Sometimes our brains play tricks on us. Other times we encounter things we know to be true, but can't believe. If you ever study quantum physics, you'll encounter many such things. Maybe in time we'll get to the bottom of your elephant hunt."

"I hope so. I don't think I'm crazy. And I don't like others thinking I am."

The days passed and eventually Virgil earned all the privileges that the facility granted. He was allowed outside the grounds now and occasionally he and a friend went out for a cheeseburger or milkshake. He still didn't feel entirely at home, not like with his parents, or Uncle Holden and Aunt Mary, or even among the Witumbva. In fact, he felt right at home among the Witumbva. He missed Argoura especially and often wished he was back with her. And really there was no reason that he shouldn't be, except he still thought he needed to do _something_ before he went back to where the Witumbva were. But what that _something_ was—well he couldn't quite say. He thought _it_ was finding his father, but that wasn't _it_. He'd done that—at least he'd found his father's bones and boots. And he'd grieved—was grieving still. But school kept him too busy for grieving too much. Still _something_ needed to be done, and he wished he knew what _it_ was so he could do it.

Argoura shouldn't have been walking in a snowstorm by herself. She should have turned back when the snow first started falling, but she hadn't and now she was blaming herself for her mistake. Last night after she left the story tellers and their listeners at the community fire, Kivael approached her. He asked her if she'd like to go somewhere quiet and talk for a while. She had gone and she'd found his conversation interesting. Toward the end, he'd sat close to her and tried to put his arm around her. But she stood up and said she had to go. He asked if they could talk again tomorrow and she replied with a maybe.

She'd begun walking to the swimming hole as she did most days, but then it had begun to snow. Argoura took little notice at first. She was lost in thought. She knew Virgil would come back. She had always known this. Yet, what if she were wrong? What if Virgil was wandering in the lost realm? It would be good to become friends with Kivael. His living animus could help protect her if Virgil sought her as an evil ghost. Besides, his conversation was interesting, even if he did brag about himself a little. But, Virgil had been really important to her—it would be best to wait for him a little longer. 'But, I've been so lonely,' she thought.

She felt like her thoughts were moving in circles and she longed to move them in a straight line again. It was snowing hard now and she was having difficulty following the path. Perhaps she wasn't even on the path. She wanted to lie down and sleep for a minute, but she might not get up again. The cold was intense and she was becoming numb and tired. She felt like crying, but it was too cold for tears.

Something brushed up against her. It was the yellow wolf. It let out a low growl, and then it tugged on the sleeve of her fur. It pulled gently, and she let it lead her. Even though she feared the wolf, she knew it had never harmed her, and was simply too tired to resist it.

She smelled smoke but could only see a wall of snow. Then her feet stepped on the familiar sandy ground beneath the high ledge. "I'm so tired," she said and lay on the ground. The yellow wolf lay next to her and whimpered softly.

It wasn't long before someone spotted her and called for help. Several people chased the wolf away while several others carried Argoura to her family's fire. She slept through the late afternoon and early evening, waking briefly to drink some warm broth.

During the night the yellow wolf returned. Argoura was surprised to see the wolf looking at her when she woke the next morning. Even more surprised when it licked her face. And then she realized how close she had come to freezing to death. She put her arms around the wolf's neck, buried her face in its fur, and began to cry. "Thank you," she said.

In the morning, her mother woke, saw the wolf, and screamed. People hurried to pull Argoura out of danger. One of the first to arrive, however, was Tompska, a trader who was wintering with the Witumbva tribe. "That's not a wolf," he exclaimed. "It's a dog. And I don't think it means any harm."

Most of the people were nervous around the animal, but Argoura soon found herself becoming used to its company. When it was time to attend the story telling, the dog tried to follow. She pushed its neck down several times while telling to stay by her sleeping furs, but it wasn't until she gave it a bone to gnaw on that the dog remained behind. "On one of my trading journeys I met a people who lives to the south," Tompska said. "This people keep many dogs. The people use them for hunting and warning against predators. A dog such as the one that led Argoura home in the snow would be highly valued among those people."

Argoura flushed with pride to have acquired such an animal. But when she later talked with Kivael, he voiced his suspicions about the dog. "How can you trust such a wild thing?" he asked. She sensed he was becoming protective and jealous—and with too little reason for doing either.

Even though there was plenty to keep him busy—friends, Father Ryan, the internet, and mathematics—Virgil still felt restless, especially during the two days when it snowed so much that school got cancelled. He knew that he belonged elsewhere. The twenty-first just wasn't his century. He'd pieced it together now. He was a time traveler. He was convinced of that now, and he'd said as much to Father Ryan, although he didn't expect Father Ryan to believe him. They'd been talking about his weird recollections, as they sometimes did, when he brought it up. "Suppose there was a time machine ... "

"Is there?"

"Maybe. Could there be?"

"You already know my answer."

"That there are things we know to be true, but can't believe... "

"Do you recall what Sherlock Holmes said?"

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"

"Yes, that."

"Then you believe me?"

"I have for some time now. The question _is_ what are you going to do about it?"

"I should go back to the time of the mammoths."

"Why?"

"Well, there's someone there I want to see again."

"Someone you want to see again? Admirable, but is that a sufficient reason?"

"I... I don't know. I guess so. Should I have a better reason?"

"Virgil, have you considered the big picture?"

"Big picture?"

"Well, suppose you go back—will that change anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"What did we talk about in my class today?"

"Global warming. But, that's in the far future... "

"And your father?"

"He died in that awful, hot place... Was that the future? Oh. Can I change that?"

"I don't know, but wouldn't it be worth trying?"

"Yes. What could I do?"

"Hm, yes. We'll need to think about that. Won't we?"

Argoura had her doubts about Kivael. He was nice enough, and certainly entertaining, but he tried too hard. Being with him didn't feel natural like it did when she was with Virgil. Not only did h brag too much, but Kivael wanted everyone, and especially her, to believe every word of it. Sometimes Argoura felt more like an audience than a friend. Some of her friends, however, encouraged the friendship. Kivael was, after all, the chief's son and someday would probably lead the tribe. But did she want to be the wife of the tribe's leader? True, it would bring her enormous status, and she didn't mind taking on added responsibilities, but what would she have to give up? Kivael was already acting a bit bossy toward her, even though she had never seriously expressed her feelings towards him. He still didn't like her dog, and Argoura sometimes wondered if she had to choose between them, whether she'd choose the dog instead of Kivael.

Today, however, the dog was nowhere in sight. That wasn't so unusual. Even though she considered it her dog, it seemed to have its own ideas. It left whenever it felt like it and could be gone for a day or more. But it wasn't just the dog who enjoyed a spring morning—as they walked, Argoura enjoyed the newly bloomed flowers, while Kivael, as usual, bragged about himself.

She'd been thinking wistfully about Virgil, and when Kivael invited her out, she was glad to go. The flowers, budding leaves, and fresh scents, helped gladden her thoughts somewhat. But, her mood remained pensive and she wasn't fully paying attention to the things Kivael said. When they tired and stopped to drink from the river, Kivael attempted to kiss her. Although she'd resisted such an attempt several nights ago, today she surprised herself and allowed the kiss. Kivael kissed with such urgency that she felt like he was swallowing her. And that was alright. She was spending too much time thinking about Virgil, who she'd probably never see again. She needed to surrender herself to the moment. But only for a little while... When Kivael attempted too much, she insisted he stop. They walked home then and he asked her to walk with her again tomorrow. She agreed.

Virgil and Father Ryan discussed preparations for a trip through time. If people had adopted solar, rather than oil, technology, Virgil reasoned, global warming could have been prevented, and Virgil would not have found his father in that dry, baron place. The action of sunlight on a semiconductor, such as silicon, can result in the release of electrical energy. But silicon generally isn't found in a pure state—it requires a lot of heat to obtain pure silicon, about twice as much heat as it takes to turn quartz sand, or silica, into glass. However, the Romans made glass, and their technology was fairly undeveloped. What if glass making began far earlier than that? Would early men be able to develop a solar based technology, and bypass petroleum based technology completely?

What could a man take to the past to recreate the future? If Virgil could show the Witumbva glass and tell them how it was made, perhaps they would begin to manufacture it. Agriculture, too, would be useful to the dwellers in the past. Virgil prepared a backpack for his trip into the past and kept it under his bed. In addition to spare shirts, socks, underwear, and jeans, he'd filled his backpack with, a mason jar full of seed wheat, writing materials, and some books on first-aid, math, and science.

Father Ryan approved of his choices, but then he added that Virgil had plenty of time to develop his plans.

"What do you mean?" Virgil asked.

"Well, of course it will be several more years before you finish your education."

"I'm ready to go now."

"Virgil, be realistic. There's so much you still need to know."

"I already know way more than they do."

"Yes. But is it enough?"

"In 1862 it would be."

"Virgil, you're not even an adult yet."

"The Witumbva say I'm a man."

"I can't approve of this."

The argument continued. Virgil continued to maintain his readiness. Father Ryan compelled him to wait. Although Virgil itched to leave, he respected Father Ryan too much to disobey him. And, to tell the truth, Virgil enjoyed the novelty and comforts of the twenty-firstt century. Yes, he'd travel to the past, but first there were interesting things to try out and learn. But the itch grew stronger when summer came and school let out. The summer learning program he attended didn't challenge him enough, and Argoura haunted his thoughts constantly. Then one morning he got the news that father Ryan had had a massive heart attack, and that settled it for him.

After the death was announced, a long stretch of shocked silence preceded the questions that followed. Yes, no one had expected it. Yes, students will be allowed at the funeral. No, a date hasn't been set yet. Yes, there will be early dismissal today...

Virgil returned to his room and sat numb and unmoving for most of the afternoon. And then he made his decision. He'd leave as soon as possible. He wouldn't even wait until after the funeral.

The following morning he arose before dawn and was gone before anyone noticed his absence. He had checked online the night before—Golden City was now simply called Golden. The online map showed him how to get there and to the spot along Clear Creek where the Mercer-Kipp Mine had been. A short walk brought him to Colfax Avenue and he thumbed a ride toward Golden. He got out where Colfax intersected the highway and thumbed another ride into the canyon. He had difficulty gauging distance since he had first travelled on foot, rather than by pickup truck, and in the early light, he got out too soon. By the time he had walked up the canyon to the mine site, the sun was well on its way to its zenith. It was with relief that he sighted the cabin ruins. But finding the cloud door was more difficult. It was getting close to sunset when he finally located and pulled the glass rod.

Virgil seated himself on the pilot's bench and once again viewed the silver panel. He thought he was beginning to understand the chart now. It indicated geological strata. The panel's maps showed both times and the associated locations which drifted over the great ages. He reviewed the previous times he had sat at the time chamber's controls. On those previous occasions, there had been danger, either imminent, or nearly avoided. Today's urgency wasn't one of danger, but of pleasant anticipation. Still, a mistake could be just as costly. He studied the panel, prayed, and touched its icons.

He had arrived, but when? Hopefully, he was on time. He exited the doorway of blue fog and entered the darkness of the cavern. He switched on his flashlight and studied the damp walls. Nothing looked familiar.

He found a likely passage way and followed it. He was growing weary when the passage narrowed; sharp stalactites hanging on its ceiling made the route impassable. He rested then and drank some of the water he carried in his backpack. He turned around and followed the passage the way he had come. He couldn't tell if he had passed the cloud door, and when his flashlight dimmed, he began to worry. He tapped the flashlight and it became bright again, but it made him realize that light was a precious commodity.

When the flashlight dimmed again, he unscrewed its top and retightened it. Once more he had light, but he couldn't be sure how long it would last. He had spare batteries, but they were at the bottom of the backpack, and in any case he didn't want to use them needlessly.

When he finally caught a glimpse of light he turned off the flashlight and put it in his shirt pocket. It was slow going but gradually, the details of his route became clearer. When he stepped out into sunlight at last, he suddenly felt more alone than he could ever remember feeling. However, he only had to walk a little way before a group of children spotted him and ran up to greet him. Some wanted to know where he had been while others didn't recognize him. One of the older ones said that Ouzil would want to see him. "Where can I find him?" Virgil asked. The same child offered to lead Virgil to the shaman. Virgil followed as they took a route that didn't entirely seem familiar. Along the way, a crowd began to form around Virgil and the children as people he knew welcomed him back and joined his escort. But when they arrived at the shaman's fire, everyone dispersed. Virgil alone approached the wise man and his apprentice.

The shaman looked older and more careworn than Virgil remembered. His health had deteriorated over the long winter. Although he smiled broadly when Virgil greeted him, he did not speak in return. His apprentice asked Virgil to be seated. "I see you have healed," Coswarr, the apprentice, said.

"I did. Ouzil was right, if I had stayed here, I would have died." Virgil looked at the shaman. "Thank you. Ouzil." Once again the shaman smiled and said nothing.

"The winter took his voice," said Coswarr. "Now I must speak for him."

A moment of awkward silence passed. A woman brought beverages, then left again. "Where have you been and what have you seen?" Coswarr asked.

"That chamber," said Virgil, "doesn't just lead to different places. It leads to different times. I did not return to my own time but to a time later than my own—as many as three lifetimes later. I have seen things you would marvel at. And I have seen how it ends for us—men mistreat their home and destroy it. If we make the right choices now, perhaps we can prevent that from happening."

Coswarr continued to ask questions and Virgil continued to answer them. He explained that men would need to harness light and power from the sun and that this could be done if men first learned to turn sand into a water-like substance. Coswarr said he didn't understand. Virgil removed the wheat filled mason jar from his backpack and handed it to Coswarr. "Why is it filled with grain?" he asked. Virgil briefly explained agriculture. "This is powerful magic," Coswarr said.

"I want to show this to Argoura," Virgil said, reclaiming the jar. "Where is she?" Coswarr excused himself briefly, leaving Virgil alone with the shaman. Once again the shaman smiled. But then a tear left his eye and traveled down his cheek. Coswarr returned and said it would be best not to seek Argoura, but to wait for her to return. Virgil pressed him but Coswarr wouldn't say any more. Becoming impatient and worried, Virgil ignored Coswarr's advice and left hurriedly. As he walked toward the river, he stopped several people and asked after Argoura. None would tell him her whereabouts. Finally one of the children told him that she'd gone up the river with Kivael.

When she woke up that morning, Argoura's memory was full of ripe berries and her belly full of hunger. She longed to go berry picking with her friends, but had already told Kivael that she'd walk to the bathing pool with him. She wondered why she was spending so much time with Kivael while growing so weary of his company. He rarely seemed interested in her attitudes or feelings and mostly seemed to care only for himself. At first she'd enjoyed his kisses. Now they seemed more like obligations. More and more, he acted as if he owned her. And more and more, she didn't want to be owned.

Still everyone needed a place where they fit in—and it was better if that place were a high one. Being Kivael's woman would guarantee her a high place and the respect of others. But at what cost? Was it really worth it to exchange her individuality for status in her tribe?

Argoura's heart was troubled when she and Kivael set out on their walk. But Kivael didn't seem to notice. He spoke about his ambitions, about how the tribe would prosper when he became its chief. And the more he had to say about himself, the lustier he became. He couldn't seem to keep his hands of Argoura, and today she simply wasn't in the mood for it. Was this what the rest of her life would be like? Would she spend it as the plaything of a selfish man? Argoura decided she needed to end the relationship, and soon.

But they had arrived at the bathing pool and Kivael wanted to swim. She told him to go ahead—that she would wait. But, he was insistent and finally she disrobed and entered the water. It was a hot day and Argoura felt better once she was out of her heavy leather clothing. She had always enjoyed bathing in the cool river water. But her enjoyment didn't last long. Kivael paddled up to her and held her. She told him to stop, but he held her more tightly still. She decided it was time to be done with him. Pushing herself off his chest, she swam to the shore side of the pool. She'd barely had time to grab her bundle of clothes before he was there beside her. He pulled her down upon the hard ground and began to fondle her.

"Stop it," she cried, knowing he wouldn't. "I'll have you respect me or I'll have nothing more to do with you."

Kivael laughed harshly. "Respect you? This is a gift. You should be grateful."

"I don't want your gift. I want my freedom. And I want it right now!" she said, as she struggled to her feet.

"I'll show you who needs to respect who," he said while pulling her down again. She struggled against him while he attempted to straddle her. At his core, Kivael knew he was wrong, but that sensible part was no match for the strength of his anger and lust. While Kivael frantically tried to control her four limbs simultaneously, Argoura found her quiet center. She began to search for a weapon, and found it when her fingers felt a loose rock. Grasping it firmly now, she forced her screaming muscles to relax, and just as Kivael thought he'd overcome her resistance, she struck his temple. She freed herself while he lay stunned, found her clothes, and began the long walk back to the shelter.

Argoura wasn't expecting it when Kivael's powerful hands struck her in the back and knocked her off the path into a large yucca. Her landing had flattened its sharp leaves and now she carefully lifted herself off the bush. But, Kivael wasn't done with her. He pulled her toward him with one arm while attempting to strike her with the other.

Kivael's blow failed to connect. Virgil's hand was around Kivael's wrist. He pulled him away from Argoura. "You!" exclaimed Kivael. "I thought I'd seen the last of you." Kivael freed one wrist from Virgil's grasp and struck him with the other. "Well, you were gone too long. Argoura belongs to me now."

"I think she should decide for herself," Virgil said as he recovered and prepared to strike back.

"Why don't you go back to wherever you came from," Kivael shouted, blocking Virgil's blow with his upper arm while kicking at his thigh. The impact took Virgil by surprise. Pain shot through his tusk-gored leg. As Virgil hit the ground, the mason jar shattered.

Kivael was on him instantly, pinioning Virgil beneath his knees. The fall had knocked Virgil breathless and Kivael's hands around his neck were keeping him from refilling his lungs. It wouldn't be long before he lost consciousness. Virgil gripped Kivael's strong wrists, but they held tightly to his throat. Argoura's scream reminded him of the ambulance's siren as his vision dimmed. 'Have I come all this way to die like this?' As he lost consciousness, his hands fell away from Kivael's wrists. One came to rest against the jar lid.

Argoura shoved Kivael with all her strength and his grip on Virgil loosened briefly. He delivered a kick to her belly and she flew sideways, gasping for breath. Then he was back on Virgil once more. The pause had been long enough for Virgil's lungs to fill with air and consciousness to return. The hands were around his neck once more and Virgil knew that if he didn't fight now, he'd have no future opportunity to do so. He struck at Kivael with both hands. One did no damage, but the other held the remains of the mason jar. The glass shards attached to the lid found their way into Kivael's neck. Virgil's hand came away covered in blood.

In horror, Virgil realized that Kivael was bleeding abundantly from several places. He and Argoura tried to stop the bleeding, but the wounds were too deep. Kivael died several minutes later. "We've got to tell the chief," Virgil said.

"He'll kill you," Argoura replied.

"Not if we explain what happened... "

"No. They'll kill you for sure. And if they don't kill me, I'm ruined. My virtue is gone. I'll be exiled. Don't make me go into exile alone, Virgil."

"I'll go with you. We'll find another tribe."

"No. We have killed. We can no longer live among men."

"I'll take you back to my time. No one will bother us there."

That decision was easily made. The decisions that followed took more time. The first was whether to leave things as they were or hide Kivael's body where it would not be found too easily. Virgil wanted to go back to the cavern immediately and be long gone before the body was discovered. Argoura wasn't convinced that they'd be able to avoid suspicion if they returned without Kivael. Virgil had to concede the point, but he didn't like it.

They hid the body well off the path and tossed the blood soaked seeds and glass fragments in another direction. When they had finished, they returned to the bathing pool and washed themselves free of blood. Virgil removed his shirt and washed that as well. When he took his flashlight from its pocket, he discovered that the lens was cracked. He switched it on. It still worked, however its light was very dim. As he put his damp shirt on again, he remarked that it didn't feel right to be hiding the truth from Argoura's people. He felt bad enough to have killed a man and it made him feel worse to act sneaky about it. Argoura reminded him that it wasn't his fault, but Virgil wasn't convinced. "If it's not my fault, why do I have to hide it from everyone?"

"Don't expect mercy from the chief. You killed his son and you're a stranger—not even a member of our people. He'll treat you exactly like he would an enemy warrior. First you'll be tortured, then you'll be killed. We deserve better, Virgil."

"Alright, but it just doesn't feel like we're doing the right thing."

"We're doing what we must."

Next, they had to decide what route to take back to the village. The path they were on was used frequently, but any deviations from that path would cost them time. It was already well into the afternoon and people would be returning from various activities. They needed to use a route where they wouldn't be seen. But they also needed a path that was well enough marked that they wouldn't become lost in the approaching dusk. Virgil trusted Argoura to make this decision: she knew the area better than he did. She led him to a spot where the river became shallow. They crossed over and took a path mostly travelled by antelope and those who hunted them. It took them through a valley filled with scrub oak, tall enough to hide their passage, but sparse enough not to obscure the wider view of the land.

The sun went beneath the mountains leaving lone rays to light the dusk. Virgil and Argoura sat in a stand of scrub oak studying the village beneath the high ledge in the distance. They watched as the cooking fires began to brighten the living area beneath the cliff. Occasionally, the smell of cooking meat would reach their nostrils, triggering hunger that they could not appease. As they waited, Virgil told her of the world he had left behind. He told her how he'd walked and rolled across the wide prairie until he'd arrived at an undisciplined frontier where a man was free to do as he pleased, so long as he didn't act unwisely and get himself killed. He told her how he'd arrived in that same place a century and a half later and found a changed world filled with marvels but far fewer choices. He hoped, if all went well, to arrive somewhere in-between: a balance of marvels and freedom. Argoura wasn't sure she believed everything he said, but after Kivael's bragging she was willing to let that go.

The two listened to distant singing as the fires burned down to glowing embers. Finally the singing stopped and they decided the time was right to move. Only a quarter moon shown in the sky and movement was slow under that dim light. They moved carefully and silently and at last crossed the river once more. Now there was no tall scrub to hide their movements and they moved cautiously. A dog began to bark. They leaned into the cliff wall and hoped they weren't seen. They heard a rustle in the underbrush and Virgil felt something nudge up against him. He gasped when he saw the dog

Argoura reassured Virgil, shushed the animal, and the three approached the village. Slowly they made their way past sleeping families until they reached the shaman's abode. Virgil cautiously passed Coswarr who was sleeping in the outer room. Then he entered Ouzil's chamber. It was too dark to see, so Virgil switched on his flashlight. His backpack was laying next to the sleeping shaman. As he reached to pick it up, the man's eyes opened and looked reproachfully at Virgil. He left quickly and guided Argoura to the cavern entrance.

They hadn't been in the cavern long before the flashlight dimmed several times and finally died. Virgil changed batteries and they continued. As they approached the third chamber they spotted firelight. A group of elders was holding a late meeting. Virgil switched off the flashlight and drew Argoura silently around the corner. When they were out of sight, Virgil switched the light on again. "What's that dog doing in here," said one of the men.

"You're seeing things in the dark that aren't really there," said another.

"No. I clearly saw the dog. I want to go have a look."

Virgil led Argoura more quickly now as first one, and then several, of the men came looking for the dog. When they reached a place where a wall of selenite crystals divided the passage, Virgil knew they were close. He took the farthest division. The doorway was only a short distance further.

Virgil held onto Argoura with one hand. With his other hand, he felt along the wall. Virgil could see the glow of the search party's torches through the wall of selenite crystals. Hoping they wouldn't be seen, Virgil sought a faint point of light within a quartz lined vug. At last he spotted the glass rod. It began to pulse as he pulled it toward him. When the wall opened, he guided Argoura through the blue fog into the gold-walled chamber. The dog yipped and followed.

Just as they reached the navigator's bench, light from the men's torches shone through the blue fog of the doorway, accompanied by a low rumbling of voices. Virgil didn't hesitate—any time was better than the present. Intuition, rather than memory guided his hands as he touched the controls.

The sun was barely in the sky when they stepped into their future. The mine was gone, but the cabin, and all its walls, was still standing. They headed for the cabin while the dog loped off on an errand of its own. As they looked around the bare cabin, the dog returned with a pheasant in its mouth. Virgil had started a fire in the potbellied stove and now Argoura prepped the fowl and started it cooking. The meal was barely satisfying, but it was better than bedding down with empty stomachs.

Virgil woke first and looked around the cabin. He remembered the loose floorboard beneath the table's leg. He lifted the board to find two tobacco pouches resting on a sheet of paper. Both pouches were considerably heavier than the one Sam had given Virgil. But Virgil was more curious about the paper. It was a letter which read:

Dear Virgil,

I reckon if you're reading this, then you've found the gold. I regret it ain't so much as you'd like, but sometimes a man's hopes are bigger than his gettings. Of course, if you ain't Virgil, then you got the gold anyways and Virgil must be dead. I hope it's you, Virgil, what's reading this.

I reckon I didn't know you any too long, but I knew your pa and he often spoke about how proud he was of you. I've had time to do some thinking and I've got some regrets. I should never have let you go digging around in the mine. I should have spoke the truth and dealt with where it led. I been a selfish man, a fearful man, and a foolish man. I'm sorry about that now. I hoped you'd get tired of digging around those rocks and give your dad up for lost.

Of course I knew there wasn't any cave-in. I put those rocks there myself. I didn't want no demons coming through that doorway to Hell. That's what it was and I told your pa as much. But that didn't stop him none—he had to know what was in there. And so he went. After the door shut and your pa didn't come out, I closed up the passage and tried not to think about it. But it became a botheration and I never did get a good night's sleep after that.

I worked the mine a bit longer, but then half the cliffside came tumbling down and took the mine along with it. I guess I was lucky I wasn't inside when that happened, but I did hurt my foot real bad, and it just don't want to heal. I wish I'd headed back to Golden City before winter set in, but that can't be helped now. If I don't see you again, Boy, good luck to you. Hope you have better luck than mine.

Yours,

Sam Mercer

Virgil finished reading and looked over at Argoura who was just waking up. He had her put on one of his extra shirts and a pair of jeans. They fit her loosely, but she made them seem natural and almost stylish. They set out for Golden not long after that. As they headed down the gully toward the river, they passed a marker noting that S. Mercer was buried beneath. A set of train tracks ran alongside Clear Creek. Argoura had trouble understanding Virgil's explanation of the purpose they served, and Virgil wondered what sort of train ran along tracks so narrow. It wasn't long before he found out. Argoura screamed when she saw that huge iron beast bellowing smoke. Her scream caught the brakeman's attention and they became passengers when he stopped the train. At first Argoura was reluctant to step aboard, but Virgil assured her it was safe. After a short time, she calmed down and enjoyed the ride into town.

Golden had changed since he'd passed through it on the way to find his father. Concrete, steel and glass structures had replaced those built from logs and boards. Yet these structures were constructed differently from those he'd seen in the 21st century. They looked elegant yet efficient.

They located an assayer's office within the hour and converted the gold into currency. Then they found a hotel, and after settling into their room, sought out its restaurant. While they waited for their meal to arrive, Virgil bought a newspaper in the lobby. He saw a story about a patent issued to a Denver inventor and skimmed the article below its headline. The man had invented a silicon-based photovoltaic film and hoped to begin manufacturing soon. Virgil remembered the array of solar panels he'd seen at the Federal Center and understood the invention's possible use. Perhaps he'd ask the inventor for a job. He folded the newspaper and set it on an empty chair. Later on, when he had time to decipher its odd words and symbols, he'd finish reading it.

It was August 18 and the year was 1920. Looking across the table at Argoura, Virgil realized they had a lot to look forward to.

# A note from the Author

Readers have said that they'd like to know what Virgil and Argoura did after they arrived in 1920. Orphan's Gold is intentionally short and I intentionally left that question unanswered. Some of my most memorable reading experiences were shorter works that forced me to extend the story or to rewrite its ending in my imagination. I encourage my readers to do the same. Tell me your thoughts about the couple's future and perhaps I'll write more about them some day.

The Roaring Twenties were an exciting time and no doubt Virgil and Argoura had their share of adventures during that period. Of course, when they arrived in the future, it was a different period than the one history tells us about. Virgil's actions in the past had changed the future and his actions in the 1920s changed it even more so. Had he changed it enough to prevent global climate change? That's a good question, but I don't know the answer. An even better question might be, what can we do now to slow and ultimately reverse climate change. One reason little has been done so far is that some people want to first answer related questions, such as: How much of climate change is manmade? How much is occurring naturally? Is climate change a real problem or just the invention of worrywarts?

I believe that climate change is both real, and (at least partially) caused by human actions. Colorado, and other western states, have had hot, dry summers in recent years, and severe forest fires have resulted. In other places, high temperatures have been associated with severe storms and floods. This could be coincidental, but I don't believe it is. However, in order to solve the problem of climate change, more people need to become convinced that it is both a real problem and an urgent one.

Dave

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# About the Preview Story

As a child, I was fascinated by Scheherazade and by how she forestalled death by telling stories for 1,001 nights. As an adult, I learned that the familiar stories, like those about Aladdin and Sindbad, represent only a fraction of the Arabian Nights Entertainments. Only a few translators have attempted to present the entire collection in English. Sir Richard Francis Burton was one of these and his ten volumes comprise the best-known complete translation.

Many of the adult themed stories in Burton's translation were considered lewd and vulgar in his day. These, of course, don't appear in collections intended for children. Nevertheless, some are quite entertaining. Some are brief, only a page or less, while others are quite lengthy.

I've decided that these stories deserve to be retold and am rewriting some of them. My stories take place in the far future and on other planets. Some of my stories resemble the Arabian originals only slightly. I've included one of these stories as a preview from my next book, "1,001 Lightyears Entertainments". I value your feedback—email me your thoughts.

Thanks for reading—Dave

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# The Dog's Golden Dish

It is told of Kasiya that he appeared before King Pawara in beggar's dress and requested the return of his property. None claimed to know him—the courtiers scoffed him, and the king, himself, was astonished. Yet, this beggar was undeterred and told his story from beginning to end. Kasiya spoke these words —

I stand before you dressed in rags. But I didn't always dress in this manner. True, I have known times of poverty, but I have also known those of wealth. Seven years ago my business affairs went badly. So much so, that I was overwhelmed with debts I could not pay. My future promised more debts still, or prison for want of paying them. From dawn until late at night, creditors demanded payment, but my funds were so low that I could not appease this multitude—I couldn't pay a single one.

In those days, I didn't know which was worse, my poverty, or my shame. Surely one or the other would cause my death. There came a day when I thought my troubles would never cease and that death was preferable to the life I was living. That night after the most persistent of my creditors finally departed for the soup on his table and the warmth of his hearth, I determined it were best to die anonymously in the forested wilds, rather than to die shamefully in the city.

I didn't mind the chill when I left. It was barely colder outside than in my cottage. I walked briskly, thankful to be facing the horrors that lurked in the forest rather than the shame I faced at home. I soon reached the edge of the city and passed through its gate. Soon the road narrowed, becoming no more than two ruts worn into hard dirt. The trail wound through fields and past occasional farmhouses, finally becoming nothing more than a footpath as it neared the forest.

The few scattered trees multiplied into many, and touched me on all sides. The dark was so total that I could not even see the stars. I walked on through the night, stumbling over exposed roots, ducking under branches, and combing viscous filaments off my face and out of my eyes. I was so afraid that unseen fangs would rip out my throat that I dared not even think of resting.

I've never waited longer for dawn to arrive than I did in that dark wood. When at last, dawn arrived, light, like thick honey, dripped slowly through the upper branches and the thick fog below. Amber warmth began drying the damp leaves beneath my feet. Still, I kept walking.

Before long the morning had reached its full warmth. I sat upon a rock and rested for a time. I'd had nothing to eat and my belly rumbled. Further ahead I found a brook and its cool water soothed me somewhat, yet a trace of hunger remained. At noon I lay down and dozed. I awoke somewhat later, startled by my solitude. Not once since leaving my home had I seen another traveler. Perhaps I would never meet another of my kind again. Thinking this, I knew I'd never truly experienced loneliness until this moment. I felt chilled even though strong sunlight touched me through high leaves.

I felt the first intimations of dread then—a sense that I'd been fatally rash, that I'd allowed my frustration to blind me to possible solutions. Now I will depart the world without ever learning what alternatives were overlooked. But then, I reflected some more and decided that I'd made the best choice, even though it would soon result in an anonymous, and probably painful, death.

The sun set and I walked on wrapped in darkness. Sounds rose out of the night. Fearsome sounds that I'd never heard before. Still I walked on.

As I walked, morning came once more. I was now so tired that each footstep seemed to require a month. I didn't dare to stop, for if I did, the things of the forest would destroy me. So, I walked on, step after painful step. I walked thus the entire day and slowly climbed a vast ridge that seemed never to end, nor open its leafy canopy to the light above. Not once did I encounter even a rivulet of water. I became so thirsty that I chewed leaves for relief.

The sun became low in the sky and I lay down. I tried to resist sleeping for I feared what the forest would do to me. As soon as my eyes closed, I opened them in alarm. When they closed a second time, I opened them again, less easily, but with just as much alarm. I forced my eyes open a third time, telling myself that I must not sleep. And yet I had. I stared at low beams of sunlight piercing the trees. It was early morning once more. I felt tightness in my hand and encountered resistance as I lifted it. Something held it to the ground. Lifting my hand up to my eyes, I saw that it was covered by purple tendrils. I soon discovered that tendrils tied my other hand, my face and my neck to the ground as well. I freed myself with difficulty for I was weak.

I began walking once more, slowly now, for I ached from both exertion and thirst. After a time, the path began to slope downward. Early in the afternoon I left the trees and descended a rocky path unto a broad plain. In the distance I saw a tower surrounded by high walls. My narrow path soon intersected the road that led to the tower and beyond.

As I neared the tower, the path dipped into a gully with a narrow stream running through it. Before crossing it, I drank deeply from the stream. As I ascended the far side of the gully, I saw a cloud of dust rise above the ground. Once I stepped out of the gully, I learned the source of the dust. Up ahead, men on horses were passing through a gate in a tall wall. I followed the horses toward the gate, through the dust raised by their hooves. A thought rolled slowly, yet repeatedly, through my mind. I need to be cautious. I may not be welcome here. But, I was too tired for either fear or caution. As I shuffled through the gatehouse and into the bailey, I spied a stack of hay. I lay against it and stared uncaring as the gatekeeper closed the gate and the horsemen dismounted.

The high lord raised a signal and three great dogs came to his side. He shouted orders and a page ran into the tower. Soon he emerged again accompanied by a maiden. She carried two large bowls while the page carried another. Crossing the bailey, the two approached three small structures built against the curtain wall. Each was in the shape of a miniature cottage, complete with door trim and decorative lattice suspended from the roof truss. The maiden set her bowls down by two of the small cottages while the page set his down before the third. The lord released the dogs and each ran to his own small cottage. However, the third, the most magnificent of them all, gave a short whine and looked in my direction. Paying no heed, the lord left the three to their meals and entered the tower.

The two dogs, which had been fed by the maiden, began eating—one from a pewter bowl, the other from a bowl made of brass. The third dog barely glanced at his bowl as he continued to watch me. Then he walked slowly toward me. But, rather than betray me to his masters, he gripped my hand gently between his teeth and urged me to rise. Then he led me to his bowl. His was the largest of the three and formed from solid gold.

He looked from me to the bowl and back again. And I thought, surely the dog can't want me to eat his food. Then I decided that he did. Still I hesitated. I'd been brought low in the world, but I still considered myself above eating food intended for a dog. And yet, my hunger was great, greater than I'd ever previously experienced. For never previously had I traveled several days without eating. But, a dog's food? I can't eat food fit for a dog. Yet it looked appetizing and smelled savory. I reconsidered. It is in a golden bowl, after all. Just a taste—just enough to show politeness to the animal. That one small taste was the best I'd eaten in years. I looked at the dog. He seemed to urge me on. Before I had time to consider what I'd done, I'd eaten the bowl's entire contents.

I realized then that I'd live another day, that the dog had saved my life. I spoke words of thanks as he listened silently. Then he pushed the bowl with his nose until I understood and picked it up. Then he led me toward the gatehouse. The dog barked thrice and the gatekeeper opened the gate. The gatekeeper seemed surprised when he saw me following the dog. However, he said nothing. The gate closed once more and we went on our way.

The dog walked down the road and I followed. We descended the mountain and entered a bank of fog. It seemed we'd been walking a long time when I finally spotted a light in the distance. It was much later that I realized that the dog had gone. As I approached the light, I learned that its source was a farmhouse. When I knocked upon its door, a couple met me and said only that they rarely had visitors. They served me supper, asking no questions. Then they showed me where to bed down for the night, again saying barely a word. When I rose the next morning, I saw that they had already left. I bid the farmhouse a silent farewell and continued my journey.

It was afternoon when I entered the city. Soon after, I sold the bowl and received its worth in local currency. That night, I dined well and slept in the city's best inn. Soon I became a merchant again, only now I managed my business more carefully. In a few years I've become more prosperous than I ever could have imagined.

That was nine years ago. Two years ago, I felt a longing to revisit Pilak, the city of my birth.

Here the king interrupted, "What city did you name?"

"Pilak," the beggar replied.

"No such name appears on any of my maps."

"Yet, that was what we called my home," the beggar insisted.

"Odd, indeed. Continue your story then," said the king.

At first, I tried to put the urge to visit Pilak far from my mind. Should any recognize me, I would be disgraced once again. However, I considered that I had left half-starved and would return well fed. I wore a beard now and was formerly beardless. I wore rich clothes and formerly wore rags. I decided then that my present appearance was sufficient disguise and that I would make the trip.

When I mentioned my plans to other merchants I knew, they told me not to go—that the path through the mountains was too dangerous. However, my desire to return home outweighed their warnings. Throughout the city, I sought for a guide to accompany me, but found none willing to make the journey. And, so, I determined to travel alone, as I had before.

This time, I planned carefully and took along plenty of rations, water, warm clothes and bedding. I left early in the day and reached the farmhouse as before. This time, however, no pleasant aroma of simmering stew greeted me. The door hung half-open on its leather hinges and no fire burned in the hearth. It seemed no one had lived there for a long while.

I wondered what had happened to the quiet couple, but I didn't stay to investigate. I continued along my path until I felt the cool of approaching evening. Then I lit a fire, bedded down, and watched the stars until sleep found me.

My climb the following morning seemed as long, possibly longer, than the descent I'd previously made. Just after midday, I saw the tower and its high walls. However, when I drew nearer, I learned that it was no tower, but a lone butte formed of sheer, unclimbable walls. I hadn't seen the butte during my previous journey and wondered if I'd become lost. Yet, how could one become lost when there's only a single path on which to travel?

I decided that I must have missed seeing the butte while I walked through the fog. I ascended through the mild, barren plain until I walked among trees once more. Now I feared that I'd become lost again. Yet, I continued. I thought, why give up now after I've already come so far?

The trees grew so thickly that I could barely see the path. I frequently ducked to avoid low-hanging branches. On one occasion, I failed to duck low enough. The branch snagged my pack harness and pulled it from my back. The pack began to fall and I reached out to grab it, but my foot caught on a root. That was lucky for me because the path came to an end only a few feet ahead. My pack rolled beyond the cliff edge into an endless expanse of water far below, but the root saved my life.

Now I was convinced I was lost and turned to retrace my steps. The dense forest was dark and coagulated clouds had made it darker still. I wandered I don't know how long, not sure whether I was on, or off, the path. Rain poured down, soaking my clothes. Still I walked. What else could I do? It grew so dark that I could no longer see. The ground was uneven and I couldn't trust my feet alone without assistance from my eyes as well. I was forced to stop.

I couldn't sleep on the cold, wet ground. Instead, I shivered and thought about my life and the turns it had taken. Should I die here in this forest, all I'd worked for over the last nine years would be for nothing. Then again, had I remained in my old land, I'd now occupy a cell in the debtors' dungeon. The rain stopped after several hours, but I grew no drier and no warmer. I tried to force myself to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come for me. I was grateful when I saw the first rays of day.

As I began walking once more, I soon discovered that I'd lost the path. I retraced my steps, but found no path behind me. Nor did I find a path on my right or on my left. Surrounded on all sides by deep forest, I followed the sun instead. I couldn't know if the dim rays penetrating the high canopy guided me truly, but what else had I to follow?

I walked all day hoping to find a way out of the trees, but my hope was never realized. Only toward evening, when the terrain began to descend, did I begin to feel hopeful again. I stopped then in an open area between two tall trees. I wanted a fire, but my fire starters were in my lost pack. A long, cold night lay ahead of me. I faced hunger as well since my provisions were also in that pack. I pulled a few leaves from a nearby shrub and began to chew them. My tongue tingled and I spat them out. But the tingling continued and spread throughout my body. My thoughts became confused and I forgot everything—who I was, where I was, and when it was. And then I slept.

I dreamt my creditors had finally captured me and brought me before a judge in his great marble hall. In the hall's dim light, he appeared statue-like on his high throne—stony, straight and unmoving. My accusers loudly clamored for severe punishments—torture, captivity, dismemberment. To silence their cries, the judge slammed his staff upon the floor. At that moment, a beam of light entered through a high window and its illumination provided my first clear view of the judge. His head was that of a dog, and I knew him for the god, Anapa. The god spoke. "You money lenders have no claim on this man. You all knew the risks you took when you loaned him money. You hoped to profit through your usurious rates. He will know justice, but it is not for you to know its nature. Be gone." As he finished speaking, the lenders vanished, but the dog-headed god remained. "You..." he said in a tone that carried both authority and blame. I looked at the harsh god and shook in fear. And, then I awoke.

I was hungry and thirsty, and unable to move. Once again, purple tendrils had grown over me, however on this second occasion they'd had time enough to become thick vines and now held me tightly. I don't know how long I'd slept, but it may have been for several days. I felt weak and my pants fitted loosely. I struggled a great while to free myself, tiring myself while doing so. If I hadn't found a sharp edged rock with which to slice through the vines, I would be in that place even today. I was dizzy, so I rested briefly before attempting to stand.

Standing required a great effort, but once I had done so, finding my way out of the forest only required taking a few more steps. I was weak from hunger, but optimistic due to escaping the forest. By evening, I found the butte once again.

I decided to spend the night on a flat expanse of rock beneath the butte. As I walked across its otherwise flat surface, I almost stepped into a small hole scooped from the rock. The hole was filled with rain water, upon which I slaked my thirst. The branches on a nearby bush drooped from the weight of ripe tazlit berries. After I took my fill of fruit and water, I rested. I slept deeply until a dream awakened me just before dawn. Again I stood before Anapa in his judgment hall. He lectured me long and thoroughly concerning the nature of being and eternity, but of those topics, I remember nothing. I remember only his final words, "You've been given much, and you've squandered it. Nor, have you considered your responsibility toward others. For this, you are hereby banished. To return is forbidden. Go now. Prosper if you can. Learn compassion and be deserving of grace."

Then I fell from a great height and awoke startled. I began walking again until I arrived at the farmhouse. In my eagerness to return home, I rested there only briefly before continuing. As I walked through the night, I stopped to rest several times, but never for long. I arrived at the city shortly before dawn. After waiting a short while, guards unlocked the gates and I entered the city.

Soon I stood before my front door. Although I knocked loudly, my servants failed to open my door. I was still beating upon my door when two soldiers arrived and demanded to know why I was abusing the king's property.

"King's property? This house belongs to me."

"To you sir, and who might you be then?" I told them. "Yes, sir, a man of that name lived here once, but that was well over a year ago. This estate belongs to the king now."

I attempted to argue my case, but my efforts nearly got me jailed. I found myself walking to my store in the market. Another did business there now. He said he'd been renting for almost a year. By evening I was already begging money to buy food.

Over the next few days I sought old acquaintances, but I found none who recognized me. When I went to the hall of records to redeem my property, I was unable to prove my identity—there was no record of my birth, and only the sketchiest evidence of my death.

I entered a dark despair and remember little of the days that followed. I wandered. I begged. I ate this and that. I slept here and there. One day I found myself prostrated upon the stone floor of Anapa's temple praying fervently for his aid.

I could pray no more and rose to stand. But, I had grown so faint that instead of standing, I swooned and fell upon the floor. I had a dream then...

The king interrupted once more. "I don't care about your dream, finish your tale. I grow weary."

Kasiya thought momentarily. He remembered being awakened by Anapa's priest. After telling the priest his dream, the priest had said, "Don't be a fool. It's folly to tell dreams to kings. And, with this king, if you bore him, you'll find yourself without a head." Yet, he ignored the priest's advice, and on the strength of a dream, sought an audience with the king. He remembered, too, his long wait among those seeking an audience with the king. When it was nearly his turn to speak with the king, he witnessed the fate of the man ahead of him. The man had barely begun speaking before the king became irritated and ordered him whipped. The dog at the king's feet opened an eye, blinked once, and went back to sleep. Now the king demanded that Kasiya end his story. Kasiya wondered, had he already earned the king's ire? He didn't want to be lashed, or worse, beheaded.

"Quickly, man, finish your tale. I've no more time to spare you." Kasiya resumed his story.

"I dreamed that I should put my case before you and now I have done so."

"Remove this man's head."

As Kasiya knelt before the king, soldiers appeared at his side and held his arms. They were about to lift him to his feet when the king's old dog walked up and began licking Kasiya's face.

"What have you done to my dog?" the king demanded. But, Kasiya was too afraid to answer. The dog answered for him with three short barks.

The king was nonplussed, "I haven't seen that dog so excited in years," he muttered. He made the sign of Anapa, then he issued a new order. Release this man. Restore his property. See to it that his needs are met. He rose and left the court.

From that time foreword, Kasiya lacked nothing he desired. However, ever hence, he desired little but to ease the lives of the poor, and to be of service to both strangers and friends. He never again left the city, though on occasion he wondered what parts of his life were memories and what parts dreams.

