The Boy closed his eyes and drank. Foam and suds raced up into his nose. But the drink was cold, ice cold. It tasted of the fields.
When he opened his eyes the Weathered Man was smiling at him, as if saying “See,” and then, “What do you think?” all at once.
A warm flush rose up in the Boy.
And he was not so cold.
And he was not so alone.
“Pee Gee Oh,” said the Weathered Man, holding the bottle up.
“Pee Gee Oh,” said the Boy, and drank again. The Weathered Man smiled and drank.
They each considered the bay, watching the whitecaps roll and disappear across its waters. There was still daylight now as winter faded and spring appeared.
‘The days were growing again,’ thought the Boy.
He drank and looked at the little village by the bay. It was a collection of weathered clapboard buildings and steep roofs, growing out of the tall green grass among the curvy stunted trees whose limbs gathered in bunches like hats. All around him the Chinese talked seriously or laughed or whispered. Some played games with rectangles of stone.
He thought of their apple cheeks, bright red from the cold water and the wind.
He thought of their oysters hidden each day beneath the waters.
They were kind.
They were a village of kind people.
If he could mark things on the map he would spell this as the Village of Kind People Who Will Give You Food.
And Pee Gee Oh.
Whatever that was.
It was good.
He took the last drink from the bottle, feeling warm and fuzzy. He considered the hills to the east, on the other side of the bay, the lands there broken and bent, mired in destruction and overrun by the swollen rivers he’d crossed.
He thought of MacRaven and Dunn and all the tribes.
Those people, those Chinese, were like these.
And now they were dead.
He went to his saddlebag and took out his sack of charcoal. He looked around.
I need a place to draw. But the charcoal won’t show on the sides of their shacks.
He found a patch of concrete back toward the road. Weeds and grass grew up through the broken spaces.
He made a small fire.
He drew the courthouse first.
He saw the Chinese watching him from afar, standing around their tables, enjoying the last of their Pee Gee Oh.
He drew the dome of the courthouse, sketching the part of the dome that had been sheared off by the giant crossbow bolt.
He could hear the singing twang as it launched.
He drew the streets as he remembered them, mainly the intersection where he’d seen the bodies riddled with arrows.
He heard the villagers muttering over him as he worked on all fours drawing the fire and the smoke and the carnage.
He heard them and forgot them all at once.
He drew the ramparts, the pine logs burning like the breath of evil monsters, as the tribes, feathered and in war paint, crawled over the spiked tops. He drew Escondido firing into something unseen.
He drew smoke.
He drew falling arrows.
He drew fire.
He drew the woman lying in the street, staring at the sky.
He could not draw the crying of the baby or all the other screams he seemed to remember now.
He stood back.
He could feel the weight of the Chinese watching him. He could hear their breath escaping through their open mouths.
Someone dropped a bottle and it exploded with a crash.
No one said a word.
There was one more thing.
He stooped to the drawing once more. His side was not stiff. He didn’t feel anything here by the bay. He was there at the outpost, on that golden morning just after dawn.
The smell of burning pine.
The screams and bullets and smoke appearing in the windows of the old courthouse.
He was on the median of grass astride the great highway.
MacRaven told him: “I’ll conquer the world.”
MacRaven, his wolf’s face smiling like a child’s, his eyes shining. MacRaven, in armor, staring out at the Chinese.
The Boy stood, letting the last of the charcoal fall from his numb fingers.
And someone began to cry.
Chapter 37
They gave the Boy and Horse a shack to sleep in for the night. It was small and it lay next to the road and the ocean, its only furnishing a baked clay brazier with hot coals. The wind beat at the shack in the night, and once, when he stepped outside to urinate, he saw a clear night sky and the moon riding high over the bay. He saw the dark shapes of birds crossing the waters in the night toward the broken shadows of the ruins of San Francisco.
He was so tired and so comfortable from the meal and the Pee Gee Oh that he almost could not sleep.
But then he did.
Later the Boy was not sure if he was dreaming or awake when he heard the hooves of another horse disappear off into the night.
HE AWOKE TO the hands of the Weathered Man gently shaking him, giving him a cup of tea, beckoning him to come outside into the morning light.
The Boy wrapped himself in his bearskin and led Horse out into the gray mist, drinking the tea, his withered hand holding the lead. Horse would only go as far as the Boy went and when he stopped, so did Horse.
The Chinese soldiers wore the same uniform as their comrades in Auburn. They also wore cartridge belts about their waists and carried long rifles.
One of the soldiers turned from inspecting the concrete pad and the charcoal drawing.
Their leader, a bright-eyed thin man walked toward the Boy, speaking in Chinese. When he realized the Boy did not understand, he turned back to the others, speaking rapidly.
They mounted their horses and made signs that the Boy should come with them.
The Weathered Man nodded in agreement.
THE TROOP OF Chinese horse soldiers, along with the Boy and Horse, rode away from the village a short while later, following the coast road. Just before the village was lost to a bend in the landscape, the Boy turned
