Part 1 (2/2)
Ha.s.sun stared into Nukpana's eyes as he lifted the stone from around his neck and let it hang from his upturned palm.
”Yes, throw it to me and there will be peace between us.”
”No.” Ha.s.sun wrapped the cord around the stone and closed his fist around it.
”One more chance. Tell me where the Stories are or give me the stone. Either one and you will live. Now.”
Ha.s.sun closed his eyes. ”For You, I choose.” He opened his eyes and gauged the distance between Nukpana and the edge of the cliff. Three paces, maybe four. The distance might be short enough. Nukpana would not shoot to kill, only to maim. ”As I have told you already, it is not possible.”
”Is it worth your life?”
Ha.s.sun drew in a deep breath and whispered, ”Yes.”
”So be it.”
Nukpana drew back fully on the bow at the moment Ha.s.sun lunged forward and sprinted toward his friend, little puffs of dust rising from where his feet dug into the ledge above the cliff.
Nukpana's fingers loosed the arrow and time slowed.
As Ha.s.sun hurtled toward the arrowhead streaking toward him, he hurled the stone over the edge of the cliff.
Nukpana's head snapped to the left to follow the arc of the stone against the blue sky, shock splashed across his sun-browned skin. ”No!”
The arrow entered Ha.s.sun's chest just above his heart, making him stagger, the darkness of unconsciousness rus.h.i.+ng into his mind. No, he wouldn't give in.
Two paces to go. Yes. He would make it.
Nukpana turned back the moment Ha.s.sun slammed into the bigger man, driving him back, then over the edge of the cliff.
Sound vanished as Ha.s.sun wrapped his arms around his friend and the forest floor spread out below him.
”I have protected that which was entrusted to me. Now I come.”
CHAPTER 1.
Cameron Vaux stepped into his dad's room and tried to push the regrets into a dark corner of his mind. They'd never go on the backpacking trip he'd planned for his dad's fiftieth birthday. Never take the sailing trip from Seattle to Alaska. The cruise around Italy would be a grand intention never fulfilled.
The what-should-have-beens had vanished.
Just like his dad's mind.
It had been a year since his dad knew who Cameron was. The doctors said the grains of sand still in the top of the hourgla.s.s were few, which made the call he'd received that morning from one of the nurses surprising.
”Your dad is more coherent than we've seen him in a long time. He keeps saying, 'I need to see him now. Right away. I must tell him.' But when we ask who 'him' is, he says he doesn't know. We're guessing it's you.”
Cameron stood just inside the door, stared at the back of his dad's graying head, and watched him study the business section of the paper as he'd done his whole life. Pouring over the stock charts to see who was up and who was cras.h.i.+ng. Ready to steer Cameron's economic choices down the straight and financially rewarding. His house and his healthy IRA were due to his father's fiscal acuity and pa.s.sion to share what he'd learned with Cameron.
He sighed. There would be no more lessons on navigating the investment waters.
”Hey, Dad, how are you?” Cameron eased over to the windows and pulled open the beige curtains. Early May suns.h.i.+ne filtered through the emerald leaves on the maple tree outside and filled the room.
His dad sat next to the window in his dark blue leather chair, feet propped up and covered with the Was.h.i.+ngton Huskies slippers Cameron bought him last Christmas.
”Well, I'm still alive. It's so good to have you here.” His dad adjusted his gla.s.ses and squinted. ”Now tell me again who you are... ?”
”It's me, Cameron. Your son. You asked for me?” He couldn't help hoping the tumblers inside his dad's mind had magically clicked back into place, and he could have one last conversation where his dad knew him. Please? Please?
His dad set aside the business section he'd probably read twenty times already that day and stuck out his hand. ”Put 'er in the vise, pal.”
Cameron took his dad's hand and cried out in mock pain. ”Ahh, wow, you haven't lost your strength, Dad.”
His dad smiled, a hint of water in his eyes.
”You know, sometimes I look in the mirror and say, 'Hey, you old buzzard, what are you still doing here?'” His dad's eyes lit up and he laughed like stones skipping on a pond.
”You're not old.” Forty-nine was not old. Certainly not old enough to have a disease that made Swiss cheese of his dad's memories.
”We'll be home before dinner at this pace.” His dad nodded. ”Yep, we're making good time.”
The familiar sadness tried to rise from Cameron's heart and smother his mind, but he blocked it. He didn't need the emotion. He didn't need tears right now. There had been enough of those over the past six years to fill Puget Sound.
”The nurses said you needed to see me.”
”Well, it is so very good to see you.”
”They said you needed to tell me something, Dad.”
His father lifted his gla.s.s of orange juice and toasted Cameron. ”Have I told you how proud I am of you?”
Cameron smiled, closed his eyes, and let the words sink in. His dad used to say those words ten times an hour two years back, but the frequency had dwindled to almost nothing. It was a gift to hear the phrase again.
Cameron glanced at the pictures on the walls. Of family. Of friends. Of his mom and dad playing tennis when they were first married. Cameron picked up a photo sitting on the coffee table of his mom and dad swimming across the Smith River in the redwoods and drew his finger across the surface of the gla.s.s.
”I miss her so much.”
”Who?”
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