The J'Argon

Much later, in the hubbub of a press reception, Terry had taken her aside. "The new Pope is aligned with the Confederacy. Beware the Inquisition, J’Argon. The question was theirs, not mine."

The memory triggered foreboding as she skied through the sparkling winter wood. Terry remained a close friend and ally. The question had been a trap set by a very patient hunter.

V

The J’Argon was distracted from her reminiscence by the sight of the lake visible through the trees. She skied out into a clearing that contained log-constructed buildings scattered amid rolling acreage. She stopped at the edge of a bluff overlooking the lake for a few moments, savoring the stillness and the winter wonderland. Five White Pines towered on the bluff, like sentinels, each approximately 400 years old. Below them, Bear Paw Lake lay frozen and partially covered with drifts of snow. The lake had been named for its shape - a rounded lake of about a half mile in diameter, with five finger bays extending like bear claws into the forest. During the 20th Century, the lake and its surrounding forest had been owned by the Nicolet Area Boy Scout Council, with headquarters in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and was used as a camp. After the overthrow of the United States and the expulsion of the north-central tier of states in 2045, the Bear Paw Band of the Wisconsin Winnebago had reclaimed their ancestral neighborhood, and offered the camp and the surrounding forests as a retreat center for the Tribes of the Dakota Federation.

The sun on the snow in the cleared central area of the camp was dazzling. The J’Argon took sun goggles out of her pack and paused for one more look out at the lake and back toward the forest trail. At that moment, a white owl flew from the upper reaches of the tallest of the sentinel pines, skimmed low above the way she had come, and disappeared into the forest. The J’Argon’s body shimmered with power. She remained frozen in place for several heartbeats.

"Death," she thought. "Death."

But Death for whom? or What? Not the Twins-at least not in the present moment-no-it meant death for something far more profound than just a couple of kids escaping tyranny-regardless of their pedigree. The frozen landscape around her became ominous. She wished she didn’t have to ski the last three kilometers out to the rendezvous. Time seemed to be falling in on her.

She set off for the entrance to the camp, moving as fast as possible over the snow. She reached the access road and paused once more. She still felt the ominous urgency. She let herself through the gate, and turned south along the road. It was a well-traveled route from village to village in the lower area of Wisconsin’s "thumb," but maintained for foot, ski, dog sled, and horse rather than personal vehicles. The surface was packed snow. She reached the rendezvous point in record time.

The rendezvous point was a crossroads with a trading post, restaurant, and a few rooms for stranded travelers. Shenandoah and his dog team were waiting out front, ready to leave immediately. She had long ago stopped wondering how he knew when to meet her, and how urgent her return.

The dogs got to their feet, ready to take off at the slightest signal from Shenandoah as she skied up to the sled. Their eyes met, and exchanged a greeting that echoed back over millennia of shamanic association. He clasped her arms much as the Horned God had done.

"Mairi!"

"Shan!!"

"It is late!"

"Yes."

He took her pack and placed it on the sled while she unfastened the skis. He loaded the skis while she took her place in the front of the sled. He climbed in behind her, straddling her body with his long legs and she leaned back against his chest. He barely had to whistle to the dogs before they were off at top speed. They stopped after a half hour, but the dogs seemed not to want to rest, so after a moment they continued and this time they didn’t stop until they reached the village of Bear Paw an hour later. They halted in front of a hotel straight out of an old American Western film, except for the sun-powered sno-cars belonging to the world media lined up at the railing along the front porch.

"I need a few minutes to prepare," the J’Argon said.

Shenandoah said something to the dogs in their own language and they all relaxed and sat or lay down. The two humans extracted themselves from each other and climbed off the sled. Shenandoah handed her the pack. The J’Argon walked quickly up the steps, crossed the porch, and entered the hotel lobby, Shenandoah right behind her.

"There she is!" a red-headed woman among the reporters waiting at the bar called out. The J’Argon recognized her as Caitlin Flowerchild, Bureau Chief from the San Francisco Sanctuary News Group. She scanned the small crowd of 10 or so reporters and found Terry. He winked at her and set his drink on the counter.

"The J’Argon will speak with us in 30 minutes," Shenandoah announced.

The hotel owner, a tiny Winnebago woman named Dove, came from behind the bar right on cue. The J’Argon wished she had time to stay, time to relax. Dove smiled and reached for the backpack. The J’Argon let her carry it up the central stair case to the Bridal Suite-reserved every year for the J’Argon’s use after the Death Trance. Sometimes she stayed for a week, sometimes for only a few hours. Today it would be a matter of minutes.

Dove unlocked the door and stepped aside to let the J’Argon in first.

"I’m sorry, Dove. I’ll need a subspace chopper to pick me up here in ..." she stopped and considered. An abrupt departure always bred the direst of speculation-well it couldn’t be helped. "... one hour."

Dove’s eyebrows arched in surprise, "Will anyone be traveling with you, J’Argon?"

"As a matter of fact,yes-perhaps two, maybe three. Tell the dispatcher there will be no more than four passengers and light luggage."

Dove smiled. "I’m sorry you can’t stay. Shall I pack your trunk while you are speaking with the Press?"

"Yes, but you will have to ship it to me later today or tomorrow by regular air transport. You’re so good, Dove. Thank you."

Dove closed the door, leaving the J’Argon alone to collect her thoughts, and prepare to meet the press.