Once Again the Same

Later as the day grew old, and they started down the trail, Desert Petal began to explain some of the powers of the medicine bow.

"Show time," Dark River thought to himself.

Following the coordinates of the GPS ping that had come from Rio's instrument before it was destroyed, the Border Patrol came from the horizon in a search pattern. In advance of them, on the ground was the Border Patrol squad of infiltration agents. They moved briskly to warn the aliens.

Ahead of them was a group of aliens who had just come up this way. Now they were headed up the same trails.

Desert Petal stood on a knoll, as each group of joining aliens came she beckoned them onto the path of the hidden valley. Dark River was with her, in the shadows by her, blocked from alien view by boulders, and was sizing up and estimating the total strength of the alien manpower.

With Desert Petal's quickening hand motions, and the sound of the copters getting closer, the aliens advanced on ever more quickly. When she saw the last groups were following on the heels of the others, Desert Petal motioned for Dark River to follow. They came up the trail in the night, parallel with the rim of the hidden canyon. Arriving at an overlook about halfway up the length of the canyon, she motioned for him to stop, and they carefully made sure they were not in the path of the moonlight as seen from below. They watched as the gathering grew below.

Quietly she pointed to a large flat sided dead tree branch above the opening of the canyon. Then she pointed to a similar one at the head of the canyon visible only from the moonlight at an angle.

She whispered, "First you must shoot that one," and pointed toward the opening end of the canyon. "Then shoot that one," pointing to the other, and finally pointing to the middle, "and that one."

Dark River understood. "What makes you think I can hit those?" From all his Special Forces training, he thought he would have a pretty good chance, but still he had no claim to being an archer, much less one at such long distance. Actually, feeling the taunt string, he wasn't entirely sure he could get a full draw.

Almost with a surprised look she said, "You have strong medicine. That bow becomes you. When you start to draw, think and focus on the mark. Feel your back muscles flex increasingly tight, then relax. Feel your focus reach across like a gossamer and straighten to an exact line, watch it glow, turn into a stiff silk thread, glow, and get larger. Feel your arms glow with power generated from your back, and then relax to ready, as you breathe your lungs will fill with power, and your focus will intensify. Without taking your eyes off the target pull an arrow and nock it. Your focus and power will transfer to the arrow as it becomes alive; you are the arrow with a vengeance. You will have concentration of ultimate dimension, and from the draw to the mark, the arrow lives."

Dark River remembered the bow and the rush of wind during the dance. He surveyed the camp below, the canyon walls and rims. With great admiration his gaze came upon her. She kept the stay low signal, and kept watching events below. At some point she motioned him to come forward. In a trance like state he came forward in a crouch. Finally she said with gravity, "It is time. You can not miss."

At the edge of the shadows Dark River stood into his stance. He felt his body tense from head to toe. As if on queue, his back braced and flexed, his arm gripped the bow, firmly at first and then relaxed. When he drew in a breath, his lungs filled, and he felt energy through and through. Desert Petal looked his way, and by her look, he knew he was projecting an aura of energy. She pointed toward the first mark. He felt his aura travel the entire route of his focus, as he drew the first arrow and nocked it. That aura electrified the arrow, and he could see the path the arrow would take as if it were at one with the arrow and the bow, and all his physique. Time was now the element of the arrow path afore described. As he drew the string he was amazed at both the pull of the string, and of somehow his muscles had the power to pull. The time element of the arrow, the pull and the release, was surreal. He felt a strong rush of wind, to which this time he felt a part. When the factor of time was right the arrow embarked upon a remarkable flight that is still emblazed upon his memory. It flew straight and true with hardly a paradox and as if the wind was a neutral factor. Across in a graceful, yet powerful arc, the arrow crossed the entire width of the canyon and with remarkable accuracy center punched the mark. The flat side of the mark took the blow with a spray of splinters, and in seeming slow motion didn't seem to move much at first. But then it began to fall back with the leverage of heavy wood which caused several large rocks to move and roll, finally causing an avalanche of rock.

She motioned him toward the second mark. Dark River drew, still amazed that he could pull such a bow. He was already focused on the new target now. Power and grace at hand, he felt the entire process over again. His concentration was as strong as ever before, and he could see the exact path of the arrow as if it were at one with the universe. With grace and power like lightning, the arrow flew in a great arc. It pounded the second mark with the impact of a cannon ball. Again the mark leveraged the rock. The landslide of rock blocked and covered the end of the canyon.

And again she motioned, and the last arrow was loosed like a released tiger. Traversing the canyon, the arrow hit the last mark which created a great plunge of rock masses. One group of men below had spotted them and with powerful guns had started shooting at them.

They ducked as they heard the ricochet around them. The rocks tumbled and finally silenced the guns.

Dark River and Desert Petal began to walk back to camp. First they went back toward the trail crossroads. When they approached the cross paths there was a squad of Border Patrol and National Guard. One of them a General from the armed services, walked up to them. He recognized Dark River. "I should have known! Behind the lines, behind the scenes, again. I am still wanting to find out what happened to that army of Cambodians at station two."

Smoothly Dark River replied, "Do I know you? Where is Cambodia?"

"Right!" The general asked, "Have you seen a group of terrorists or aliens around here?" In the starlight he could see a rising dust cloud.

Smooth as silk, "No aliens here. Did you say terrorists?"

"Why is it everytime I come across you, I can no longer find bad guys?"

"Maybe you are chasing ghosts."

"Maybe now!"

Bidding farewell, they departed ways. When they got back to camp there was an array of gifts of food. An Indian bedroll was laying by the bike and a new quiver stocked with arrows was with it.

Desert Petal seemed weaker as they had come into camp. At first he thought she was fatigued from the day. Then he began to sense that something was wrong. Dark River fetched her some water. She drank gratefully. Talking in third person again, "Desert Petal saw the completion of her mission. Her village became safe again." She was telling the story. "Dark River came with great power and strong medicine. He went up the dark path to the hidden canyon." Realizing they had company, Dark River heard some of the villagers who were at the edge of the camp, repeating Desert Petal's story in chorus.

"Dark River shot the great medicine bow and the gods of the arrow carried it across and sent great masses of rock upon the enemy. Tonight Desert Petal's village sleeps peacefully, and the seasons turn a new leaf."

As she told the story she seemed to get weaker. Desert Petal fell over on her side.

In a great panic Dark River came to her side and held her up. When he did, he saw a bullet hole in her vest ringed with blood. It was a deep wound apparently from the ricochet of a powerful bullet. Her eyes found his. She smiled for minutes. With eyes clouding, she fell limp.

Rivulets of tears flowed from Dark River's eyes. He hugged her. "Don't go, please don't go. I..., I love you."

At their side, the mountain lion appeared. She gazed at Desert Petal knowingly, and at Dark River understandingly. She laid down by Desert Petal loyally.

The shaman and the chieftain showed up and performed preliminary rights.

After the funeral, Dark River began to break camp and pack the bike. Villagers came in a steady stream and brought gifts and provisions. He gratefully packed what he could, and shook hands with all the men, and nodded in gratitude at the women. He visited with the children.

Finally with great hesitation, he put the key in the ignition, but in the off position. He pulled the choke knob, cracked the throttle full open and kicked three times. In a few seconds he pushed the choke knob back, barely cracked the throttle, turned the ignition to on, and with a great heave, thrust his leg down on the starter. The engine started with a vengeance, and settled to a loping idle. As the engine warmed he fastened his helmet, put on his vest with new fur lining and edges, tugged on his new deerskin gloves, and waved goodbye.

Villagers lined the path as Tucson picked its way back toward the road. Barely above idle the bike gained speed until he finally had to upshift. The ruts receded in the mirrors, and he nodded and waved at the chief and shaman when he came through town. The engine had an impatient feel to it. As he picked up speed and turned on to a country highway he shed a tear that couldn't be held back.

Looking down at his tank, for the first time since leaving, he noticed a new addition to the paint job on the top where he could see it while riding. It was a beautiful likeness of Desert Petal on the trail by the river. Streams of tears came out his eyes and the wind carried them away.

Thinking of Desert Petal as he gained speed and challenged the curves, he thought, "Once again the same, all I've left behind is a trail of broken dreams..."

Author's notes:

This is sort of a historical fiction capturing the Southwest USA. The motorcycle described actually can make a sound as described. There are still reservations, and some of them are almost overrun by smugglers. The time frame of the story depicts a post Vietnam era up to GPS digital technology. Elements of archery shooting are included in the story. The language is meant to reflect southwestern speech. The story is not meant to be technically accurate in every way but to reflect a flavor of the times, and make a nice story. It contains some modern issues of drugs and immigration common to almost every country. The motorcycle depicted in the story would be a 1974 Harley Davidson 1200cc SuperGlide 74 cubic inches Shovelhead engine, with many, many miles on it. In this part of the country there are still places where you sometimes can hear Native American drums at night. All copyrights apply.

Friday, August 17, 2007

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