Sharon Sala: Rider on Fire & When You Call My Name

Sleep took him to the day he had learned that Leila’s family was moving. She’d been twenty-two to his thirty—old enough to stay behind. He’d begged her to stay, but there had been a look on her face he’d never seen before, and instead of accepting his offer of marriage, she’d been unable to meet his gaze.

His heartbeat accelerated as he relived the panic. In his mind, he could see her face through the back window of the car as her father drove away.

She was crying—his Leila of the laughing eyes was sobbing as she waved goodbye. He could see her mouth moving.

Franklin shifted on the bed. This was new. He didn’t remember her calling out. In real life, she’d done nothing but cry as they drove away. It was the way he’d remembered it for all these years. So why had the dream been different? What was it she was trying to say?

He swung his legs to the side of the bed and then stood, giving himself time to decide if he had the strength to move. Finally, he walked out of his bedroom, then through the kitchen to the back porch. The night air was sultry and still.

He stood for a few moments, absorbing the impact of the dream, waiting for understanding. At first, he felt nothing. His mind was blank, but he knew what to do. It was the same thing he always did as he began a new piece of work. All he had to do was look at the block of wood until he saw whatever it was that was waiting to come out. Only then did he begin carving.

Following his instincts, he closed his eyes, took a slow breath, then waited for the words Leila had been trying to say.

It was quiet on the mountain. Almost too quiet. Even the night birds were silent, and the coyotes seemed to have gone to ground. There was nothing to distract Franklin from watching his dream, letting it replay in his head. He stood motionless for so long that dew settled on his bare feet, while an owl, feeling no threat, passed silently behind him on its way out to hunt.

And then understanding came, and with it, shock. Franklin turned abruptly and looked back at his house, almost expecting Leila to be on the porch, but there was no one there.

He turned again, this time looking to the trees beyond his home. He’d been born on this land. His parents had died in this house, and soon so would he. But there was something he knew now that he had not known yesterday.

Leila had taken something of his when she’d left him.

His child.

Right in the middle of his revelation, exhaustion hit.

Damn this cancer.

His legs began to shake and his hands began to tremble. He walked back to the house, stumbling slightly as he stepped up on the porch, then dragged himself into the house.

What if he could find his Leila—even if she was no longer his? He wanted to see their child—no—he needed to know that a part of him would live on, even after he was gone. Tomorrow, he would call Adam Two Eagles. Adam would know what to do.

* * *

Adam Two Eagles rarely had to stretch to reach anything. At three inches over six feet tall, he usually towered over others. His features were Native American, but less defined than his father’s had been. His mother had been Navajo and the mix of Kiowa and Navajo had blended well, making Adam a very handsome man. His dark hair was thick and long, falling far below his shoulders—a far cry from the buzz cut he’d worn in the military. But that seemed so long ago that it might as well have been from another life.

This morning, he was readying himself for a trip up the Kiamichis. There were some plants he wanted for healing that grew only in the higher elevation. It would mean at least a half day’s hike up and back—nothing he hadn’t done countless times before—only today, he felt unsettled. He kept going from room to room, thinking there was something else he was supposed to do, but nothing occurred to him. Finally, he’d given up and prepared to leave.

If he hadn’t forgotten the bag he liked to carry his herbs and plants in, he would have already been gone when the phone rang. But he was digging through a closet, and ignoring the ring would have been like a doctor ignoring a call for help.

“Hello.”

“Adam! I was beginning to think you were gone.”

Adam smiled as he recognized the voice.

“Good morning, Franklin. You just caught me. How have you been?”

“The same,” Franklin said shortly, unwilling to dwell on his illness. “But that’s not why I called.”

Adam frowned. The seriousness in his old friend’s voice was unfamiliar.

“So, what’s up?” Adam asked.

“It’s complicated,” Franklin said. “Can you come over?”

“Yes, of course. When do you need me?” Adam asked.

There was a moment of hesitation, then Franklin sighed. “Now, I need you to come now.”

“I’m on my way,” Adam said, and hung up.

In less than fifteen minutes, Adam was pulling up to Franklin’s house. He parked, then killed the engine. When he looked up, Franklin had come outside and was waiting for him on the porch. He smiled and then waved Adam up before moving back into the house. Adam bolted up the steps and followed him.

A few minutes were wasted on small talk and the pouring of coffee before Adam urged Franklin to sit down. Franklin did so without arguing. Adam took a seat opposite Franklin’s chair and leaned back, waiting for the older man to begin.

“I had a dream,” Franklin said.

Adam set his coffee aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair.

“Tell me.”

Franklin relayed what he’d dreamed, and what he believed that it meant. When he was finished, he leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest.

“So, can you help me?” he asked.

“What do you want me to do?” Adam countered.

Franklin sighed. “I guess I want to know if I’m right, if Leila and I had a child. I want to know this before I die.”

Adam stood, then paced to the window, absently staring at the way sunlight reflected from his windshield onto a wind chime hanging from the porch. He knew what Franklin was asking. He just wasn’t convinced Franklin would get the answer he desired.

“So, will you make medicine for me?” Franklin asked.

Adam turned abruptly and asked, “Will you accept what comes, even if it’s not what you wanted?”

“Yes.”

Adam nodded shortly. “Then, yes, I’ll help you.”

Franklin sighed, then swiped a shaky hand across his face.

“What do you need from me?” he asked.

“Something that is remarkably yours alone.”

Franklin hesitated a moment, then left the room. He returned shortly carrying a carving of an owl in flight.

“This was my first owl. Would this do?”

“Are you willing to sacrifice it?”

Franklin rubbed a hand over the owl one last time, as if imprinting the perfection of the shape and the feathers in his mind, then handed it over.

Adam took it. The wood felt warm where Franklin had been holding it, adding yet another layer of reality to the piece. Then he took out his knife.

“Are you still on blood thinner?” Adam asked.

Franklin nodded.

“Then hair will have to do.”

Franklin sat down. Adam deftly separated a couple of strands of Franklin’s hair from his head and cut them off, wrapped them in his handkerchief and put them in his pocket.

“Is that all you need?” Franklin asked.

Adam nodded. “I will make medicine for you.”

Franklin’s shoulders slumped with relief. “When will we know if it worked?”

“When someone comes.”

“When? Not if, but when? How can you be so sure?”

“I know what I know,” Adam said, and it was all he would say.

For Franklin, it wasn’t enough, but it would have to do. “Then I will wait,” he said.