The Breach (Part 3)

Struggling through the tangled morass of wire thin branches, Matt felt the stinging kiss of long thorns along the flesh of his upper arms. Despite the chill of the desert air, he soon felt the sweat of his efforts running down the line of his jaw. Finally, He pushed his way through to the other side to where the old man was waiting. He gestured impatiently to Matt, exhorting him to catch up. Matt wiped the sweat from his brow and hurried to the old mans side. The old man looked just as he had before the trip through the thorns. Matt peered closely at his face, squinting in the darkness in search of any sign of discomfort in the old mans demeanour. He had not broken into sweat. In fact, the old man seemed eager to get going once more.

'C'mon.' He grunted. 'Not far now.'

He led Matt unrelentingly along a trail that only he could see. To Matt this looked like virgin country, but the old man seemed sure of his direction. The ground began to rise under his feet making progress even harder but the old man never faltered in his brisk stride. Matt was tiring rapidly. They were a long way from the road when Matt suddenly realised that they had brought no water with them. He stopped, spun around in shock and looked back the way they had travelled, looking for some sign of the jeep, or the road. He could see neither. In near panic, he reached out toward the old man.

'Wait!'

The old man turned to face him.

'Water………we need water.' Matt gasped, leaning forward to gulp air into his tortured lungs.

The sly smile which spread from the old mans eyes down to his mouth revealed toothless gums, jutting out as though to take the place of long forgotten teeth.

'Plenty of time for water later.' Grinned the old man. 'C'mon, be light soon if we don't hurry.' He immediately turned and continued effortlessly on up the side of the hill, leaving Matt floundering on unsteady legs. Still breathing heavily but determined to keep up, Matt once again followed without question.

After what could have and hour or an eternity as far as he could tell, the old man signalled for Matt to stop. The ground had been getting steadily worse for the last mile or so, small rocks twisted treacherously underfoot as Matt struggled to keep the old man in sight in the fading silver light of the setting moon. The unsettling realisation that the pre dawn hour would be as black as pitch without the moon to light their way gave way to grateful relief as he slumped ungraciously to the ground at the old mans gesture.

They had stopped at the foot of a vertical cliff which ran from East to West across their front. It looked to Matt in the fading moonlight to be at least a hundred feet tall. The old man seemed to be inspecting the wall of sandy coloured rock at around head height,  searching for some sign perhaps?. It occurred to Matt that if the old man suddenly disappeared, and why not on this strangest of nights?, then he would be left out here in the desert with no way of finding his way out. He needed water badly, and the sun could be no more than a couple of hours off rising. He had stopped sweating some time before on the forced march, he knew enough to take that as a sign of dehydration. 

The sound of the old mans voice seemed to float on the air without reaching him. It swam around in a fog of uncertainty, rising as it neared him and fading as it travelled further away. Then it pierced the veil of mist and commanded.

'Here, come here, drink.'

He had fallen into sleep the minute his tortured limbs had slumped him to the ground. He fought his way up out of the shrouding mist and gazed myopically at the old man. He was still at the base of the cliff. Matt heaved himself wearily to his feet and made his way over to the cliff face. Where the old man was standing, just above head height in the face of the cliff, a tiny stream of crystal clear water poured out from the dry rock. It came out horizontally for an inch or so before gracefully curving downward to the ground where it raised small dust coloured balls in the dry earth. The dust balls rolled away down the slope and disappeared into the desert sand.

Immediately Matt had drank his fill the stream slowed to a trickle and finally stopped. Matt inspected the rock from where the water had emerged. It was once again dry desert rock.

The refreshing water cleared his mind instantly. He looked around the 'camp' and tried to get his bearings once more. If he kept the cliff face to his back, he might find the jeep. He started determinedly out in that direction.

'There's no way back.' The cold affirmation of the old mans statement stopped him dead. Somehow he knew it was the truth. He turned back and faced the old man squarely.

'I know.' It was all he could think of to say.

The old man grinned fiercely, saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth making small rivulets in the grime plastered over his chin. He spread his arms and spun around, ducking his head and lifting it again in time to some inner rhythm. The movements of the dance reminded Matt of the eagle that had appeared to him in his dream.

'It has begun.' The old man chuckled and repeated the words over and over.

'It has begun.' He danced and crowed while Matt stood transfixed by the strange dance. Eventually the old man collapsed, finally showing the signs of exhaustion which Matt had felt much earlier on the trail. He lay on the sand, panting, his breath rasping obscenely through mucus filled lungs. Matt moved closer to the old man so that he was standing over the prone body.

'OK, so what now?' He asked. 'You'd better start answering some questions old man, I'm getting really pissed with this voodoo stuff.'

Matt leaned closer to reinforce the seriousness of his words but the old man brushed the implied threat contemptuously aside with a cackling chuckle which grew steadily into a fit of phlegm choked coughing.  Anger welled fiercely inside Matt Wildcloud. He wasn't accustomed to being treated this way by anybody. Belonging to a minority in what he considered to be his country had earned him a few knocks down the years. But he had always managed to come back, stronger. He used the knocks he had  endured, and learned from them. The effort to constrain his rage showed in the bulging veins around his neck and the white line along his steadily reddening cheeks. He clenched and unclenched his fists in automatic release.

'One more time old man, tell me, what the hell is going on here?.' The murderous glare he directed at the old man finally seemed to have some affect. He stopped coughing and looked into Matt's eyes. Nodding in reply to an internal question, he contemplated Matt's threatening stance above him.

'Yes…………you could hurt me if you got mad enough, maybe even kill me if you tried. But then, how would you get back to your jeep?.' He spat a large globe of phlegm into the dust at Matt's feet as if to confirm his position of absolute necessity in Matt's world at this particular time.

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