Qaletaqa (15 page)

Plus, if he could control people completely I
would be in big trouble when it came to secrets and promises I knew
I was probably going to have to break. Lucky for me, his powers
didn’t work on shamans. I wondered why that was. Uriah could have
forced Quaile to tell him everything a long time ago if his power
had been a little more encompassing.

Was that part of the balance as well, or did
the gods simply know that shamans more than anyone were trusted
with secrets and decisions only they were capable of keeping and
making? Did they know shamans would be required to make sacrifices
the Qaletaqa would never want them to make? I sank down in my seat.
If I truly was a member of that group, I was exempt from Uriah’s
convincing power, but could I truly make the right decision on my
own when the time came?

14: A Dark Part

Claire kept reading. We had finally made it
out of Denver and were cruising north on interstate twenty-five.
The traffic was surprisingly light. One or two cars passed me and a
single blue sedan seemed content to trail behind us. Without bad
driving and congested traffic to keep me on the edge of my seat,
there was little left to distract me. I looked at the radio,
begging it to spontaneously turn on. The long ago blown out
speakers in the truck remained painfully quiet. It was better not
to ruin Claire’s focus, anyway.

I knew Claire was right about Quaile not
purposely trying to piss me off by not teaching me what she knew,
but it was hard to think of anything else. I had gone through so
much that I hadn’t needed to. If she would have been honest I would
have been spared near death and multiple headaches.

Claire had been quiet for a long time, and my
thoughts were beginning to cram inside my head so tightly it was
painful. I wanted to shake them all out and forget everything for a
few minutes. The steady hum of tires on asphalt was getting on my
nerves. Even Talon was quiet. I wanted to enjoy the peace inside
the truck, but it seemed so false. This wasn’t a rambling drive out
to the hills. Claire and I may never make it back home. Yet the
monotonous prairie tried to convince me that everything was as it
should be, static and calm. The world didn’t want to believe a
monster was holding a girl captive, baiting me to come to my
death.

It felt wrong that the world could be so
oblivious.

“Hey,” Claire said. Her voice was like a
beacon come to lead me out of dark and dismal thoughts. I latched
onto it and looked over at her. She pointed at the book excitedly.
“There’s a whole section in here about what your parents were
supposed to teach you. They each had an area they were meant to
focus on as they raised you.”

“Really? It mentions them specifically?”

“Well, not their names, but it says the
parents of the Qaletaqa will be responsible for teaching their son
about both spiritual and combat readiness,” Claire explained.
“Quaile wrote in notes later on after she found out you had been
born and saw what you were. She wrote your mom’s name in next to
spiritual readiness, and your dad’s next to combat.”

My dad had certainly fulfilled his roll.
Well, kind of. I wondered if my dad had known how I was supposed to
kill the Matwau. He taught me about fighting, but he died so
unexpectedly. Was there more he had been planning on teaching
me?

“Listen to this,” Claire said. “Quaile wrote,
‘the Qaletaqa’s mother will be charged will teaching him our
traditions and lore. She must instill in her son a strong belief in
the legends of our people. Most importantly she should impart the
wisdom found in the stories of our tribe’s heroes. In these stories
the Qaletaqa will have a model for the path he should follow on his
journey. They will be his mentors even in death. They will teach
him how to complete his quest.’”

I laughed, not cheerfully. When Claire looked
over at me with her brows knitted together, I said, “My mom
certainly made sure I knew the stories, but they didn’t have the
effect the shaman were hoping. The old heroes weren’t my mentors. I
hated them. I hated hearing about them.”

“No you didn’t,” Claire said softly.

“I did. I knew there was something
wrong…different about me. Even if I never wanted to admit it, I
knew I could do things that didn’t make any sense. It scared me to
think I was like them. I didn’t want their lives. I had no desire
to be pushed and prodded like a cow into some harrowing, legendary
quest.” I sighed and took Claire’s hand. “I already knew what I
wanted out of life, and that wasn’t it. I hated that whispering
voice in the back of my head that told me I wouldn’t have a choice
someday.”

For a few minutes Claire said nothing. She
let me stew in my anger for just long enough that I could breathe
it in and then send it away from me where it couldn’t try to poison
me. When she knew I was ready she squeezed my hand and asked, “What
do you think Quaile meant by the old heroes would teach you how to
complete your quest?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. None of them faced
the Matwau. No one in my mom’s stories, anyway. And even in the one
story Kaya found where a man did fight the Matwau, he didn’t kill
him. He fought him off, twice, and then went on with his life. I
don’t have that option. Either I kill him, or he kills me.”

Claire’s nose crinkled as she thought. “What
if there’s really something in one of the old stories that will
help you kill the Matwau? Maybe there’s an answer in one of them
that we haven’t considered.”

“I don’t know, Claire. I know most of those
stories by heart, and you spent months researching them. Did you
ever find anything even remotely related to what we’re facing? I
sure didn’t.” Frustrated again, I squeezed the steering wheel to
vent my rising anger. “If there was a story out there, why wouldn’t
my mom tell it to me? She either chose to hold back on the Twin
Souls stories that included the Matwau, or she didn’t know
them…”

“Or Quaile told her not to tell them to you,”
Claire offered.

I nodded. That was probably the real truth.
The real truth of what Claire was saying sunk into my gut like
lead. “If she left what would have obviously helped me out of the
Twin Souls stories then she may have left out a hero story that
would have taught me how to kill the Matwau.”

It was a sickening admission to make. I had
always viewed my mom as the most honest, heartfelt, and true person
I had ever known. It hurt to know that she had kept so much from
me. I had no doubt it was under Quaile’s orders, but why did she
listen to her and follow so blindly?

“Even if there is a story,” Claire said, “we
don’t know it. How could we not know it after everything we’ve
researched?”

I started to shake my head when a thought
occurred to me. “What if it isn’t one story in particular? What if
it’s something all the stories have in common?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was there something all, or most, of the
heroes did in their stories? Something I should do to prepare
myself?”

Claire thought. Her index finger played with
the pages of the book in her lap as she did. Finally, she said,
“I’m not sure. They were all gifted with some kind of special
ability, which is just like you, and they all had divine guidance
on their quest, but I can’t think of anything specific that they
each did.”

“Wait,” I said, “maybe that’s it. The divine
guidance part. When have I gotten any of that? In the stories I
remember the hero either got help from an animal spirit guide…”

“What about Talon?”

I shook my head. “No, Talon remembers being a
cub. He’s lived on earth as a regular animal. Plus, he would know
more if he was an animal spirit guide. He’s as lost as the rest of
us on plenty of things.”

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. Go back to what
you were saying before.”

“Well, heroes either got a guide, or an
actual visit from one of the gods, though that was usually when
something bad happened. I haven’t gotten any help from the gods at
all. Maybe that’s what I’m missing.”

“But how do you get that? They’re gods.
Shouldn’t they already know you need their help?”

Yeah, probably, but that didn’t mean they
were going to reach out. I didn’t say that out loud because it
sounded too pessimistic even to my ears. The gods of light wanted
to stop the Matwau as much as I did. Why weren’t they helping me
more? I felt like I was missing something.

“There must be something I’m supposed to do
to earn their help, but I don’t know what it is.”

Claire’s hand rested on my arm. “We’ll figure
it out, Uriah. Maybe it’s in the book.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you want me to keep reading?” she asked.
I nodded and she turned back to the book. “So it says that your dad
was supposed to teach you how to fight.”

“Does it say he was meant to teach me how to
kill the Matwau? Maybe that was my dad’s area. I know I can hurt
him, but I don’t know if hurting him is going to be enough. I’m
guessing it won’t be easy,” I said.

Claire shook her head. “It just says fight. I
suppose that could be interpreted either way, though. I’m not sure.
It says he should teach you how to control your enhanced physical
strength. Your strength would develop as you aged, growing stronger
with your commitment to protecting and serving others. He was
charged with teaching you how to defend yourself and others, and
how to take down fierce opponents.”

So it didn’t say for sure that my dad had
left anything out, or that there was anything more to killing the
Matwau than simply fighting with him. But I still doubted. Shaman
liked their secrets too much for me to trust everything they said.
Plus, even though in the two fights I’d had with the Matwau I had
done a great deal of damaged to him, he healed so quickly that I
feared I could never do enough. I wasn’t even convinced physical
damage alone could do the trick.

Whether my dad had taught me everything he
needed to before he died or not, I looked back on those lessons
with smile. I had been looking at a picture of my dad in his army
fatigues when I asked him what exactly he did in the army. My dad
told me about boot camp, long hikes, combat, and rifle training.
When I asked him to show me what he had learned he was happy to
oblige.

Of all his training, I had begged him to
teach me how to shoot a rifle. Unfortunately my mom put her foot
down at that. Nine years old was too young for guns in her mind. I
settled for the fighting lessons instead. I loved those times with
my dad. He taught me how to punch and defend, how to take down
someone bigger than me, and when I would actually need to use what
I learned, which was almost never. Protecting myself, or defending
someone were the only two reasons I was ever allowed to use the
skills my dad taught me. I wished I could honestly say that those
had been the only reasons I had ever thrown a punch. I didn’t think
a couple schoolyard fights marked against me too badly, though.

I may not have appreciated my mom’s efforts
to prepare me for this, but my dad’s lessons were treasured
memories. I remembered sparring with him, practicing shooting in
comfortable silence, talking about technique and girls and
everything in between. That was always the best part. Either during
or after, we always took the time to talk about whatever was on our
minds. When I was younger it was about the animals or my friends.
As I got older we talked more about Claire and how to deal with her
father, and what our plans for the future were.

Even more than fighting, my dad’s lessons and
words of encouragement shaped me. I learned compassion by watching
him with the animals. His touch was always gentle. He respected
them and they respected him. They held a mutual bond of friendship.
I wanted to emulate him because I felt the animals’ love for him,
and his for them. There was a sweet innocence to their interactions
I recognized even as a child.

It wasn’t until I was a little older that I
realized he treated people the same way. I couldn’t think of a
single person who disliked my dad. He had disagreements with
people, but people still respected his opinions even if they didn’t
agree with him. My dad was my true mentor, not some long dead hero
in a story.

In that moment, I missed my dad more than I
had in months. Tears pricked my eyes as I thought about how much
less fear I would have right now if I had him by my side. Next to
my dad, I felt like I really could do anything. He had always
supported me and loved me no matter what decisions I made. As I
thought back on the days that had passed since approaching the
Elders, I wondered what he would think about everything. No doubt
he would not have approved of some of my decisions, but I hoped
that overall he would have been proud of me.

I wanted to settle into memories of my dad
and stay there as long as possible, but my mind was too cluttered
to allow it. The responsibilities for teaching and preparing me had
been broken up and handed out to three people. I already knew
Quaile had failed miserably in her responsibilities. It bothered me
to think that one of my parents had as well. Was it my mom? Had she
kept back the secret of how I could gain help from the gods out of
fear of Quaile or my safety? She followed Quaile’s lead in so many
other things that I had a hard time believing she wouldn’t have
obeyed in this as well.

But when Quaile had given up the book and its
secrets, why wouldn’t my mom tell me what she knew as well? I
wanted to believe there was an easy answer only a phone call away.
Deep down I didn’t think there was. I had talked to my mom earlier.
I told her what I was about to do. She had cried for several long
minutes, clearly terrified of my destiny. If she knew, I was sure
she would have told me then.

So that left my dad. If he had the knowledge,
I could see him holding it back until he thought I had reached my
full potential. I knew I hadn’t been to that point before he died.
One of the last times we sparred he had gotten frustrated with me
for not being more aggressive. He knew I was strong and talented,
but I think he worried I wouldn’t be able to really hurt someone
when the time came to defend myself. He was probably right at the
time, but I had learned a lot since then.