Authors: Unknown
“Holy crap!” I jerked back in the chair so hard that I toppled over backward in the dirt. I struggled to my feet and stared at the spiral of smoke transforming into a man. Something about him looked familiar. I knew this man. “Grandfather?”
“Who are you taking to?” Paul asked.
“That’s my grandfather.” I pointed to the man contorting within the column of smoke. The billowy gray cloud revealed his face and upper body. His long hair hung down his back and over his shoulders. A blue bandana folded into a band and wrapped around his forehead held back the gray–streaked hair from his face. His hands rose up and his arms moved like the sails on a slow moving windmill rotating and fanning the flames higher. The column elongated and the man rose from the fire. No longer part of the smoke or flames, he stood in the center of the stone circle—a man of flesh and blood although I knew he was an illusion.
He wore the same clothing I remembered from my childhood. Although shades of black and gray, the colors appeared in my mind. Faded blue jeans, and a leather vest over a red and white plaid shirt. He motioned for me to join him by the fire. I walked closer without hesitation. He’d been dead for almost ten years, but I knew, even in death, he would not harm me.
His hands fanned at the flames, letting the smoke bathe his body. My hands moved in a similar manner, cupping the smoke and washing my chest and arms as if I stood in the mist of a cool waterfall. His hands reached skyward. His mouth opened and a humming noise rumbled in his throat. He chanted in a dialect I didn’t understand, but knew its meaning. He called to the spirit who had power over every living thing and asked a blessing be bestowed upon me.
His head bowed, his body hunched forward, and he leapt from the center of the flames. With his arms spread outward like a giant gray eagle, he swooped around the campfire and danced in a slow, rhythmic motion.
Somewhere in my mind played the slow beat of a drum and the jangle of bells. My feet moved with his, and we both danced in circles around the campfire, singing and chanting like ancient warriors speaking a forgotten tongue.
He bent lower until he came to rest on his knees in the dirt. I knelt in front of him. “Grandfather.”
“Yes, it is I, young warrior.”
Too many years had passed since I last heard the nickname he used for me. His words warmed me. “How can this be?”
“I heard you calling to me.”
I shook my head in denial. “I never called you.”
“Your cries of pain reached my ears. Your words, like dew on an eagle’s back, rose up to me. You have many questions. Only when you receive the answers will you grow as a man, but I can only answer one. What council do you seek from me?”
So many questions swirled in my mind that I couldn’t think straight. Thoughts of the nightmares that plagued me and the horrible memories of my father’s death mingled in my skull, along with plans for the future and my feelings for Lisa.
But how could I move forward until I knew where I’d been. My mother’s secrets tore at my sanity. She kept so many things about the past hidden from me. I needed answers, but Grandfather would only give me one.
My father’s death still tormented me even after six years. But was his death as important as how he lived? I remembered him as a father, but not as a man. I didn’t know what killed him, but I knew how he died—with courage, protecting the ones he loved. In his death, I understood him as a man.
Grandfather came to me in the smoke, but my father was always with me in my heart. I put my hand to my chest, expecting a dual beating against my palm, but instead I touched something else: the raised flesh of the burn on my skin.
Memories stirred inside my mind. I glanced at Grandfather and noticed the rawhide cord tied around his neck. A silver medallion dangled from it and touched below the hollow in his throat. I grabbed my shirt with both hands and ripped the front gripper snaps apart. My fingers traced the outline of the mark on my bare chest. “This scar is the same as the medallion you wear. I know you put it on me. What does it mean?”
“Wise choice, young warrior. Yes, I put the symbol on your chest, but it was not my intention to burn the image onto your body. You were a young child, perhaps two years old. There was a fire in the house. I wrapped a wet blanket around my body and dashed through the flames to find you. The smoke was thick. I had to crawl on my hands and knees in the search.” His hand swept across the medallion. “This hung away from my body and absorbed the intense heat of the fire. When I found you, I gathered you up and held you tightly against me. Not until I had you outside and safely in your mother’s arms did I realize the heated metal had burned into your skin. As you grew, so grew the branded symbol on your chest.”
“What is its meaning?”
Smoke swished around Grandfather as he moved his arm. He pressed his hand to the medallion tied at his throat. “This is a symbol of the sun. It holds the power of light over darkness. To the possessor, the medallion gives strength to overcome evil.”
“What do the markings on it mean?”
“The circle in the center represents the sun. The long points reaching outward are the rays emanating from the sun and represent the seasons of the earth. The shorter points are feathers blown by the four winds. The other points represent smoke and the four wisdoms.”
“And what are the four wisdoms?” I asked.
“That is for you to discover.”
“Then I’ll never learn them.” I looked down at my hands resting on my thighs so Grandfather wouldn’t see my shame. “I used to think I was intelligent, but I feel so stupid now. All I know is what I’ve read in books.”
“Ah, but you are wise, young warrior. You see with your mind and feel with your heart.”
“I don’t feel wise, only confused.”
“You have yet to read from the book that will bring you knowledge for the path you must choose.”
I wondered why Grandfather put such value in books. He was one of the smartest men I’d ever known, but as I recalled, he could barely write his name. “From what book should I read?”
“Your father’s book. The one he left for you.”
I shook my head. “He left me nothing.”
“John Tall Alexander left you many gifts, but you must seek them out.”
“Where should I look for them?” My forehead wrinkled while I thought.
“You already know the answer.” Grandfather rose, but not as a man. He transformed into smoke and swirled above the ground. A breeze caught the billowing cloud that was a moment ago my grandfather. The smoke curled around my body before lifting skyward. The last puff lingered in the treetops.
“Grandfather,” I called out. “Will I ever see you again?”
“On your journey, young warrior, our paths will cross many times.”
Staggering to my feet, I thrust my fingers through my hair, hoping to clear my mind. My legs wobbled under the weight. I stumbled to the canvas chair and collapsed into it. When I looked up, Carson and Paul stood in front of me.
“X–man,” Carson said. “That is the last time I give you a beer.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You were acting crazy, man. Singing and dancing around the fire like some Indian brave doing a war dance.”
“It was a war dance. I was fighting for my birth right. And my destiny.”
Chapter Twenty–Four
“That’s the one, Vanetti.” I pointed to the blue house trimmed in white on my side of the street. “You can let me out here.”
Instead of pulling to the curb, Vanetti steered Paul’s compact car into the driveway behind the orange Hummer. “Do you want me to wait for you?” he asked when I opened the car door.
“No, thanks.” Telling Lisa what I thought of her wild accusations wouldn’t take long, but when I finished, I’d want to be alone. “I’ll walk over to Paul’s house and hang with his dad until the party’s over.”
“Cool.” Vanetti waited until I stepped out of the car before shoving the gearshift into reverse. “You want me to drop Carson off at Paul’s too?”
“Yeah.” I stuck my head back into the opened doorway. “But you might want to transport them separately. They can turn belligerent if they’re stuck in a little car together. You don’t want two guys slugging it out while you’re trying to drive.”
“Got you.” Before I could close the door, he stopped me. “Alexander, you didn’t drink that much tonight. How come you’re not driving?”
“I only had one sip of beer,” I confirmed. “But I didn’t want to chance it. Friday night after the football game, the cops are out in force. If they pulled me over, even a trace of alcohol would get me busted.”
“Right, see you later.”
I waited until he backed out of the driveway before walking to the front door. In my mind, I went over the reasons I’d come here to see Lisa. I was going to tell her I didn’t like her distrustful nature, her childish behavior, and her lack of faith. If she didn’t believe in me, that was her problem. She needed to move on with her life and let me get on with mine. I pushed the doorbell and waited.
As the door opened, I sucked in a deep breath, determined to put an end to whatever invisible thread still bound us together. But instead of Lisa, her mother stood in the doorway. I forced the stiffness from my stance. “Mrs. Stratton. Is Lisa here?”
“You certainly have your nerve coming here after what you did to my daughter.”
I hadn’t done anything, but I ignored her remark. I figured she’d take her daughter’s side of the story. “Could I talk to Lisa?”
“No, you may not.” She braced her hand on the door jamb, as if to block any attempt I may make to dash past her and run into the house. “I’m not going to let you smooth talk your way back into her life after the way you hurt her.”
If Lisa’s pain was anywhere near mine, then I knew how bad she hurt, but none of it was my fault. “I only need a minute.”
“And I’ll give you exactly one minute to leave before I call the police.”
“It’s all right, Mom.” Lisa pushed past her mother. “He won’t be staying long.” She stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her. “What do you want?”
In the soft glow of the porch light, the baggy white tee shirt she wore reflected light onto her face and gave her skin a translucent glimmer. She looked so fragile, so delicate, and I could see her pain. I didn’t want to hurt her more, but I had to end this. All the things I planned to say whirled around inside my skull. I opened my mouth to speak, but my brain shut down and my heart took over. “I miss you, Lisa.”
Her lower lip quivered, and her body trembled. She wrapped her arms over her chest. “I miss you, too.”
I slipped my hands around her waist and urged her to me. “All I ask is that you trust me.”
She threw her arms around my neck. “I do.”
I pulled her against my body. My hands smoothed down her back. “If we don’t have trust, then we don’t have anything.”
“I agree.” Her lips pressed against my neck for a brief kiss. “I’m sorry I acted like such a jealous idiot.”
“That’s over with. We don’t need to talk about it anymore.”
“Good.” She sniffed back a sob. “Otherwise, I’d be apologizing all night.”
“I wouldn’t mind as long as I get to hold you like this.”
“This is nice.” She snuggled deeper into my embrace. “I guess we survived our first fight.”
“Does that mean we get to kiss and make up?”
“Sounds good to me.” She glanced up at me.
Even with the dim lighting, I caught her gaze brush across my mouth. My palm slid up her back. She had her hair pinned up. My hand cupped the back of her head. I leaned closer while tilting her head to the side. Just as I was about to touch my lips to hers, her fingertips pressed against my mouth.
“Not now. My mother is probably watching us through the peephole.”
I glanced at the little glass eye in the door. Nothing was visible, but her icy stare penetrated through the tiny hole. I moved my hand from Lisa and stuck my finger over the peephole. “How about now?”
“No,” she said between giggles. “But come in for a while.”
She reached around me and turned the doorknob. There was a dull thud and a muffled yelp. The door opened wide. Her mother stood in the entryway, one hand to her forehead, her other on the door handle.
“Sorry, Mom.”
Monica glanced at our joined hands. “Am I to assume you forgave him for what he did to you?”
“He didn’t do anything.”
“You wouldn’t tell me what happened, but you were in tears the entire evening. He had to have done something,” she insisted.
“It was all my fault,” Lisa said. “I saw him talking to another girl, and I got jealous.”
One of Monica’s penciled eyebrows arched higher. “I’m certain you had good reason.”
“No, Mom. You’re wrong—and so was I. The girl he was talking to has a bad reputation. She likes to steal other girls’ boyfriends.”
“Boyfriend?” she said in a shrill voice. “You do not have a boyfriend.”
“Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.” Lisa glanced down, but out of the corner of her eye, she snuck a peek at me. A little smile tugged at her lips. “May Brendon come in?”