Stormfeather Ch. 05

She stared at him, but did as he asked. He leaned over to let the ball roll onto her palm. It stayed there and tingled warmly. Amy was afraid to move. She didn't want it to leave her palm or go out.

"Very good," he said with some surprise, "Any of the men who lie dead back there would have already had their hands burned off. Even a good man cannot hold it for long, yet you can. You have a very good spirit."

She sat fascinated, looking at it, but then turned to him, "What do I do with it?"

He shrugged, "You can roll it from one hand to the other and back. When you tire of it, toss it up into the air."

Amy tried it several times and laughed, "This is wonderful!" she looked at him and winked, before looking back at the ball and tossing it upward, where it suddenly grew and grew until it was spread so thinly that it just disappeared among the joists of the upper floor.

She looked at him, "I've never seen anything like that. How can you do that?"

He shrugged, "My mother told me that my father's people over the sea had magic, and I know that her own ancestors had much. She said that in me, there was much power from both. I make them with my mind as I have the need."

Amy nodded, reaching for the second folder of sketches. "I do have some idea of what you are, but I didn't want to say much, because I wasn't sure if I'd only imagined it. Look at these ones."

He looked at them for a long time before looking up, "Then you have seen."

She nodded, "And I'm still not afraid - unless you tell me that I really need to be." she looked around, "And if you tell me that, well I guess that I'm still in trouble. I really don't think this place could keep you out. But you said that you don't want to hurt me."

"I will not hurt you," he said earnestly, "I just do not understand why you have dreams of me. Twice now you have called me friend. I have not had a friend since I was a boy. If you wish for my friendship, then you have it and I am happy for that."

"If you stand on the porch and look around," she said, "you can see all of my many childhood friends. My brother was gone from when I was about ten. The last time that I saw him alive, I was twelve. So from this you can see that I understand you. How soon will you leave here to go where you said?" she asked.

"I feel that I only have to go one day," he said, "I do not feel that it must be right away. If I now have a friend, then I want to know you before I go."

"You have a friend," Amy said with a nod as she reached into the large envelope and very carefully pulled one drawing from it. She couldn't help the yawn which came to her, but she managed a smile which hit him with some effect. "I think that I'd like for you to stay a while longer too."

She looked at the sketch in her hand for a second, "Most of my dreams are of things that I know have happened. They're in your past, though most are not more that the four years that you mentioned. But not all of what I've dreamt about is from the past," she said, "Some of them look to me like they lie ahead, and here is one drawing that I really hope that you have answers for, because I was beginning to think like Ximena about it."

She saw his uncomprehending look, "Ximena is my friend in Santa Fe. She thinks that all of the things that I draw from my dreams are just the fanciful wishes and fantasies of a lonely woman. She says that if I had a man, I wouldn't have the dreams."

"What do you think?" he asked her.

"As strange as it might seem," she said, "I'm almost glad that I don't because of them." She laid the one in her hand down in front of him and turned to unpack some things from her saddlebags.

"You are a lonely woman?" he said with a surprised chuckle, "I cannot see it. To me, you are more than lovely. You must have many men fighting for your attention."

She shook her head with a smile, "The only young men fighting for my attention soon learn to regret their foolish wishes."

He was just turning the sketch over, but stopped to look at her in some confusion, "That cannot be true," he said with a warm smile, "unless you shoot at them."

Amy found herself laughing, "I may wish to at times," she said, "but it's not allowed. I am a teacher. The young men are really very young."

She looked at him with a smile which faded as she saw his expression while he stared at the drawing and Amy suddenly felt quite foolish to have shown it to him.

It was a very powerful image. The scene had them both almost side by side, tensed as though facing a threat of some kind. The sketch was drawn looking from almost the viewpoint of that threat. He stood dressed much the same as he was at the moment, but pointing a short double-barreled firearm. His older weapons were in their usual place on his back. There next to him stood Amy with her old Colt drawn and pointing in the same direction. She wore none of her usual clothing. She had a breechcloth on over what looked to be deerskin leggings and she wore fur-lined moccasins on her feet. Over the breechcloth, she wore her gun belt and the holster was strapped to her thigh. Like him, there were leather thongs on her biceps and she wore a fur vest of some kind. The wind in the drawing blew at least somewhat, as shown by their hair, and in the far background, there were beasts of some variety which now did not roam the earth.

He pointed to the animal that took up some of the space between the two figures, "Who is this?"

Amy shook her head, "I don't know, to be honest. I just knew that she was there. I don't have any idea why, but it looks to me as though she's facing the same thing that we are in this."

"When did you draw this, Sheena?"

"Two nights before I left, so five days ago," she said, "I saw our packs on the ground behind us. I left them out so as not to clutter the scene. I also left out our horses, the same ones that we have now."

"He is the only horse I have ever had, and the only beast who can stand to be close to me. What is it that we are facing, you and I?" he asked.

"I never saw it from my own view," she said, sitting down with him, "I only saw us, and I know that we were travelling together, but I have no idea where it might be or where we were going. I get feelings from my dreams. The feeling that I had in this was that I was where I belonged, for some reason. That's why I drew this one. The dream was very short, Stormfeather, but I got a lot from it all the same."

"What?" he asked.

"I'd rather not say right now," she said shyly, "I feel silly enough for showing it to you as it is."

He looked at her and shook his head, "Do not feel badly here." He set the drawing down almost reverently, "This tells me much, though you may not see as much as I do from it. You feel foolish because from what you have drawn, we travel together?"

"Yes," she nodded, "I swear that I didn't draw it as a silly notion."

"I know this," he nodded, "I also think that I know why you feel foolish. I feel no offence here, and I mean none to you, Sheena. I feel much honor from it to be beside you here in this drawing. I see that you draw this only from your memory of the dream. By this I know the power of your dream-walking. I can even show this to you."

Amy was amazed, "You - you can? How?"

He pointed to himself, "Look at my hair."

She looked at his long black hair, but whatever significance he'd wanted to show her was lost on her at the moment. Stormfeather saw this and chuckled, since it proved something to him.

"You cannot know this, but you have drawn it anyway." He pointed to his hair in the sketch, "Do you see these braids that you have given me here?" He pointed to the two thin braids near the front.

Amy nodded, "Yes, so? You've always had a few braids when I've seen you in my dreams. You have the braids right now, most of them."

Stormfeather shook his head, "Look at how you have drawn me in the other pictures. In your other pictures, I have the same braids that I have always had, the same braids that come back whenever I change. I can untie them, I can even cut my hair off here and now, but as soon as I change, it comes back. Everything about me remains as I was when I was bitten. Wounds heal, bullets fall out," he shrugged, "These scars are always here."

Amy tried to fight off the yawns which now came to her almost one after another, but she looked as he'd asked. To her surprise, none of the other drawings showed braids where she'd drawn them in the scene where they were together. She looked at him in some astonishment, "I never drew braids there before. Does that mean something?"

He took the last swallow of his coffee and stood up, "You are very tired, my friend. You should get at least a little sleep. I have things which must be done now, and there is the old one of my kind who stands sometimes as a guard for the passage, as I have said. I wish to see him now. Please rest yourself. I will stay nearby while you sleep."

Amy knew at once that he was hiding something, or he was being at least a little bit coy. He hadn't jumped out of his chair suddenly, or anything quite that abrupt, but she had a sense. Anyway, she was much too tired right now to want to probe him for an answer.

"Please tell me that you'll be here later," she said, "I love talking with you." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how tiny she'd sounded. It was the way that she felt in her weariness, but she hated that it had come out that way.

He laid his hand on her shoulder and she felt better instantly, though her heart pounded strongly for a few beats, "Sheena, you trusted me in the old town, and again while I led you away from it in the night. I do not lie."

She sighed, feeling genuinely foolish now, "I know that, Stormfeather. I'm sorry if you think that I'd doubt you now. Other than feeling alone the last time that I was here, I didn't mind it at all. But now I don't want to find myself alone, not after finally meeting you. I guess that's all that I'm saying."

"Then you will find me here." He smiled back at her and turned to walk away.

Amy walked to the door and watched him go. For the first time in a long while, Amy felt really good to have made a friend. It was a rather pure feeling to her heart, and one that came very seldom in her life. When the thrill of it passed, she found herself grinning, as tired as she was. It helped a lot that her new friend was a wonderful–looking, kind-hearted man who seemed to be able to manage almost superhuman things, ride all night, and still somehow smell rather nice to her. She shook her head to clear it. That really was starting to sound like the fanciful wishes and fantasies of a lonely young woman, she admitted to herself. But then she shrugged to herself as her grin returned.

She didn't give a damn how it sounded.

She closed the door and looked at the picture a bit more carefully. If what he was alluding to was correct, then she was drawing more than she knew. She squinted through her bleary, tired eyes at it some more, searching for details.

She may have been squinting to begin with, but after another minute, her red and tired eyes flew open as she looked at herself again in the picture. What she saw made her sink down to sit in one of the chairs as she thought of it for a few moments. She hurriedly reached for the envelope and pulled out a pair of drawings that she'd have never shown him to save her life, though she'd so enjoyed drawing them from her memories of those dreams. These two had been the source of Ximena's comments when she'd seen them and admired the way that they'd been drawn. Amy had doubted herself as she drew them, but she'd missed the significance of those little details. The drawings showed them making love.

After a good long look, Amy sighed and carried the last two sketches to the stove and tossed them in, making sure to watch them being consumed. They had a lot of importance to her, but...

She went back to the drawing where they stood facing the unknown threat. She looked at him and those thin braids for a moment before looking at her own image again - as though the detail might have disappeared in the meantime.

Well it hadn't, and Amy suddenly knew at least one reason why he might have felt that he ought to let her sleep. What she'd unwittingly drawn had surprised the hell out of him. She knew how she felt about them together in the drawings, but even Amy had thought that part really was just at least a little fanciful imagination. If her guess was correct, she'd just surprised the hell out of them both.

In the scene where they stood together, she wore the same two thin braids in her hair, in exactly the same places as she'd drawn them on him. There were the same braids in their hair in the sketches which were now ashes in the stove. Now that the door was closed and he was off somewhere, Amy was at least a little perturbed. That was nothing compared to how she felt remembering what came to her of what he'd said.

"You cannot know this, but you have drawn it anyway," was what he'd said.

She was beginning to have at least an idea what he'd meant as she walked up the stairs to hopefully have at least a nap, though now she doubted somehow that it would happen. Lying on the bed, she thought over what he'd said and what she'd drawn. She found that she was able to place it within the context of her dreams and their - direction – for lack of a better word. When she thought of it that way, it wasn't hard to just relax and drift off.

------------------

He smiled as he worked, trying to manage several tasks at the same time, and sometimes failing. He couldn't help the smile and he really didn't mind about getting behind. If he got behind in one, he'd stop and catch up a little before continuing. Finally, he looked at the sun and judged that he'd better get a few others started, and walked down below with his arms full. He'd been to the cave entrance hoping to find the silver-haired one, but found no one there. His question would keep for a later time, he thought.

He stopped in front of the house and listened. Hearing nothing, he let himself in and set to work there as quietly as he could manage it. The stove had almost gone out, but with a little wood and a thought from him, he had it burning well enough for what he needed and drew his knife to begin the work there.

His blade was a long and heavy one, suited to many tasks. In Europe, it was known as a seax, and had been around for centuries. The tang was set into a haft of horn and the blade was over a foot long, and to a European blade-smith would be known as a broken-back seax, the front third of the blade drooping below the spine. It gave the thing a bit of weight for chopping, and had been a gift to Stormfeather from his father. As such, it carried intricate patterns in the steel. It was years before he'd been large enough to wield it for more than a few minutes at a time. Now, it felt as though it was an extension of his hand when he worked it.

He'd caught a pair of rabbits earlier that morning in his snares and brought them along with everything else and now set to cleaning them. It took only a few minutes and he was washing and cutting the pieces for the meal.

Stormfeather wondered about her as he worked. What did it all mean, if anything? He kept remembering the picture of them traveling together and facing a threat. What sort of threat could it have been that it would be such a common one to them all and provoke such a reaction from the figures in that scene? He thought about the animal there between them in the drawing and wondered again.

He had no idea, he thought, but he'd try to make some preparations regardless. It was better to be prepared than not. If he was correct in recognizing the place, then she would need some things if indeed they'd be journeying together by some strange turn of events. As pretty as the pictures of her in his memory were, he did his best to push the thoughts of the braids out of his mind. She was the one who could dream-walk, after all.

Amy awoke to the smells of some sort of food cooking in the house. She sat up and stretched for a moment, wondering. With no answers coming to her, she followed her nose downstairs and found him working at some kind of craft on the floor near the kitchen. It was very late in the afternoon.

"What are you cooking?" she asked, "It smells wonderful."

"It is only, ..." he searched for the word and smiled as it came to him, "stew," he said, "rabbit stew. You have not eaten anything all day." He shrugged, "Sometimes I have trouble with words. I know many languages and I can learn them quickly, but sometimes one simple word gives me trouble."

She smiled and went to her pack, "Then I have some bread for that simple word," she said. A quick look in the pot on the stove and her stomach reminded her that it had been cruelly forgotten. She saw vegetables and meat there and stirred it a little, more to waft a little of the delicious smell to her nose than anything.

Amy found herself pleased to listen to him, "What tribe are you? All of the men that I've seen usually have their hair tied, but you don't. You don't look like the ones that I've seen anywhere before."

"A good question," he smiled at her as he pulled a thin length of deerskin taut. A minute later, he said, "I do not belong to any tribe anymore. I come from far away from here as I have said. I am a tribe of one these days."

She sat down in a chair to watch him, "I've wondered for a little while now how you got your name."

"My mother gave the name to me. I was born in bad weather," he shrugged with a smile.

Amy thought that for one who always seemed to be traveling somewhere alone, he hadn't developed the long-distance stare that she sometimes saw on the faces of people who spent long periods of time on the road to or from somewhere. He did have a somewhat stern look to him at times, but when he spoke to her, she found him smiling readily, and she so liked his smile. It made her want to engage him even more.

She smiled back at him, "It smells like it's ready to eat, Stormfeather. Aren't you hungry yet?"

He nodded, "Sometimes I think that I was born hungry in the storm when I was named, but it may be that my mother was too kind to tell me what caused the feathers to blow in the wind. I think sometimes that I must have eaten all the birds. The feathers were all that I left of them."

She filled a pair of bowls and set the table with her loaf of bread cut quickly into rough slices, "I don't believe it. You're just trying to get me to let you eat in peace and not pester you with my questions while I have you near."

His soft smirk almost caused her to laugh as he set down what he was working at, "I always have no one to talk with, Sheena. I enjoy this, I have not spoken this much in a while."

They ate quietly for a while after Amy told him that it tasted really good. She looked at him and to her surprise he spoke, "I just knew."

"Knew what?" Amy asked.

"I knew that you must be Sheena as your father said. I had a picture of you clearly in my head from his words, - I saw you in my mind before you left to travel. I cannot say it well, but I sometimes get thoughts from people and animals, even the dead sometimes."

"You're telling me that you can read the minds of others?"

He nodded, "Sometimes, and sometimes not."

She filed it away for the moment and changed the subject, "How do you make the little balls of fire in your hand with your mind?" It was something that she'd had on her own mind since she'd seen him kill the man in the street with one. His little test of her that morning had really only increased her curiosity.

He looked at her, "Why? Do you fear me for this now?"

She smiled, and to his mild astonishment, she said only, "No."

"I do it with my mind as I have said," he shrugged, "There is some of what you might call magic to it, but for one such as you, I think that you could learn it yourself with practice and control over wandering thoughts in a place where there is magic around such as this. That is the hardest part of it, to keep your mind in that one place, even as you do something else. I learned it from my mother. I am sure that it is easier for a woman to learn than a man. It took much of my mother's patience to teach it to me."