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Authors: Dinah McCall
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unnoticed, but their presence was not questioned, not even when they scattered grazing sheep.
The motorcycle engine was a steady roar in her ears. Although she was now wearing the bike helmet and Niyol’s hair was bound into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, her skin was sere; her eyes dry and wind-burned.
The first time they passed a site of pueblo ruins, the drums were suddenly loud in her ears and she wondered what that meant. Niyol heard the thought.
The Old Ones acknowledge your presence.
Layla gasped. You mean they know who I am?
Both sides of the veil know your name.
The burden of what she’d been given was finally sinking in. It was both a frightening and sobering thought to know so many lives rested on her ability to survive what was coming.
Remember, I am with you.
And just like that, the burden lifted. He was right. She wasn’t in this alone. A Windwalker makes anything possible.
It was nearing dusk when they finally stopped. Niyol brought the motorcycle to a stop in a canyon deep between two massive walls of rock towering above them on both sides.
The canyon valley was both narrow and flat, peppered with sparse scrub brush and a thin line of small trees running through the middle where a thinner ribbon of water flowed.
The canyon looked like Mother Nature had taken a cake knife to the land and carved out a huge slice for herself. Except for a couple of shallow caves along the canyon floor, the walls on either side appeared impenetrable.
“We stop here,” Niyol said, pointing to a small pool beside the nearest cave. He pushed the motorcycle inside and began unloading it.
Layla dropped to her knees beside water and drank until she had quenched her thirst. After she splashed her face and neck to wash off the dust, she stood, relishing the quick breeze. As soon as she carried her backpack inside the cave, she went back to help.
They worked together until the bike was unloaded, and then she went to gather dry wood for a campfire while Niyol began setting up camp.
He stopped once to watch her, satisfied she took the initiative without complaining or being told what to do. He knew how Jackson Birdsong had raised her. Long before she’d proven herself worthy, he’d known everything there was to know about her, but he’d forgotten how much he would love her again. When she started back to the campsite, he turned away, a little confused as to whether it was appropriate to let so much of his feelings show. Being human was, at times, also confusing.
“This should be enough to get the fire started,” Layla said, as she dumped the armload at his feet. “There’s more dry wood down by the trees along the wash.”
He glanced up at the sky. “It will be dark in a few minutes.”
She shrugged. “We’ll need the fuel. It will be cold when the sun goes down. Light the fire and I will have a beacon to follow back.”
As she strode off in the direction of the trees, he gathered up some dry grasses then began building the fire near the front of the shallow cave.
He started with a four-foot circle of loose rocks gathered from inside the cave, then twisted the dry grasses into knots before laying them on the bottom. He covered the grass with small sticks, then larger ones, until he had a decent-sized stack ready to light.
He paused, looking out in the twilight. She was on her way back. He put a match to the woodpile, watching intently as the flames began to eat through the grass, then the smaller sticks, to the larger ones on top until they had fire. Night had officially arrived as he walked out of the cave. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she was near because he could feel her heartbeat.
Layla’s vision adjusted to the dark as the light slowly faded. The canyon wall went on forever. It was so high it would have been easy to believe it was where the world ended.
The cave to which she was headed was an even darker shape against the night until she saw a glimmer of light.
The fire was alive.
The
The motorcycle engine was a steady roar in her ears. Although she was now wearing the bike helmet and Niyol’s hair was bound into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, her skin was sere; her eyes dry and wind-burned.
The first time they passed a site of pueblo ruins, the drums were suddenly loud in her ears and she wondered what that meant. Niyol heard the thought.
The Old Ones acknowledge your presence.
Layla gasped. You mean they know who I am?
Both sides of the veil know your name.
The burden of what she’d been given was finally sinking in. It was both a frightening and sobering thought to know so many lives rested on her ability to survive what was coming.
Remember, I am with you.
And just like that, the burden lifted. He was right. She wasn’t in this alone. A Windwalker makes anything possible.
It was nearing dusk when they finally stopped. Niyol brought the motorcycle to a stop in a canyon deep between two massive walls of rock towering above them on both sides.
The canyon valley was both narrow and flat, peppered with sparse scrub brush and a thin line of small trees running through the middle where a thinner ribbon of water flowed.
The canyon looked like Mother Nature had taken a cake knife to the land and carved out a huge slice for herself. Except for a couple of shallow caves along the canyon floor, the walls on either side appeared impenetrable.
“We stop here,” Niyol said, pointing to a small pool beside the nearest cave. He pushed the motorcycle inside and began unloading it.
Layla dropped to her knees beside water and drank until she had quenched her thirst. After she splashed her face and neck to wash off the dust, she stood, relishing the quick breeze. As soon as she carried her backpack inside the cave, she went back to help.
They worked together until the bike was unloaded, and then she went to gather dry wood for a campfire while Niyol began setting up camp.
He stopped once to watch her, satisfied she took the initiative without complaining or being told what to do. He knew how Jackson Birdsong had raised her. Long before she’d proven herself worthy, he’d known everything there was to know about her, but he’d forgotten how much he would love her again. When she started back to the campsite, he turned away, a little confused as to whether it was appropriate to let so much of his feelings show. Being human was, at times, also confusing.
“This should be enough to get the fire started,” Layla said, as she dumped the armload at his feet. “There’s more dry wood down by the trees along the wash.”
He glanced up at the sky. “It will be dark in a few minutes.”
She shrugged. “We’ll need the fuel. It will be cold when the sun goes down. Light the fire and I will have a beacon to follow back.”
As she strode off in the direction of the trees, he gathered up some dry grasses then began building the fire near the front of the shallow cave.
He started with a four-foot circle of loose rocks gathered from inside the cave, then twisted the dry grasses into knots before laying them on the bottom. He covered the grass with small sticks, then larger ones, until he had a decent-sized stack ready to light.
He paused, looking out in the twilight. She was on her way back. He put a match to the woodpile, watching intently as the flames began to eat through the grass, then the smaller sticks, to the larger ones on top until they had fire. Night had officially arrived as he walked out of the cave. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she was near because he could feel her heartbeat.
Layla’s vision adjusted to the dark as the light slowly faded. The canyon wall went on forever. It was so high it would have been easy to believe it was where the world ended.
The cave to which she was headed was an even darker shape against the night until she saw a glimmer of light.
The fire was alive.
The
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