By midnight they were halfway across and a sense of uneasiness came across Juan. He was certain they were being observed. “Quiet!” Juan whispered.
The men stopped their march. They did not unsheathe their swords for fear of the blades reflecting in the moonlight but they gripped the handles and loosened them in their scabbard. The only sound was the faint resonance of their breathing and the occasional creaking of leather as the men repositioned for a better combat position.
Juan looked around, his head on a slow swivel. They had reached a part of the valley filled with a small groves of trees and there were many places an ambush could happen.
The stillness dragged on and the moon broke free of a cloud, flooding the woods with moonlight. Juan looked to his left as a man stepped out from the trees. The men drew their swords and Eduardo charged but Juan raised his hand in a command to stand down.
The man was very old. His skin, darkened from the sun, looked black in the night. The moonlight shadowed his wrinkled face, making it look fierce. His hair was black and almost unseen in the pitch. He displayed no emotion as he stared at them.
Juan and the old man studied each other for several moments. Neither spoke. Finally, the old man nodded and the valley was filled with warriors. Juan cursed at how easily they had been ambushed.
The warriors were armed with bows and their faces resembled wraiths. Juan was not afraid but he could see how a man could be terrified by the sight of these warriors. If it had been daylight, Juan would have observed that each warrior, including the old man had the same cold gray eyes.
No words were said as Juan and his men were taken to the village.
CHAPTER FIVE
The ascension of the sun over the mountains marked their entrance into the village. Canoes moved them across the river and they were met by additional hardened warriors. Juan was intrigued at their uncanny resemblance to one another.
They reached the center of the village and the group stopped. There, Juan was separated from his men and the old man guided him down a path that continued beyond the village with three armed warriors in tow. At the end of that path, a small clearing breached onto the Snake River.
In the clearing, time seemed to slow and the sound of the river invaded his awareness. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of the water. It reminded him of the open sea. He opened his eyes and for the first time, Juan noticed a small hut. The other buildings of the village housed at least twenty men but the hut was built for just one.
The old man led Juan behind the hut and then he saw it; previously obscured by the hut was a fountain.
Juan’s breath caught in his throat. It appeared as though from some other world or time and was cleverly hidden between the hut and surrounding trees. It was assembled entirely of stone and amassed around the fountain were chiseled animals also of stone. Among them was a creature Juan had first seen as an ambassador to the land of Ethiopia: a lion.
Juan turned and faced the old man. He felt very vulnerable and confused. Then, to Juan’s surprise the old man spoke Spanish, “This is what you seek?”
Juan paused for a moment and considered the question. “Aye.”
“Ah,” the old man replied, “so it was foretold.”
“Foretold?” The old man had Juan’s attention.
“By your friend,” the old man smiled, “Christopher Columbus.”
Juan stiffened and glowered at the old man. “Christopher Columbus?” he demanded.
The old man continued to smile which had a disarming effect. He gestured towards the hut. “Please come in.” Juan looked down the trail they had come. “Your men will not be harmed. You are safe here,” the old man assured Juan. He nodded and the warriors marched back down the trail to the village.
“Please.” He gestured towards the hut again before ducking under the low doorway of the hut and disappearing inside. Juan followed.
Inside, Juan was overwhelmed by the tang of smoke from a single fire. Pungent leaves were bundled and hung from the walls; the combination of the smoke and sickly sweet leaves left Juan lightheaded.
The old man invited him to sit on the earthen floor and began speaking softly. “Christopher Columbus first came here many years ago.”
Juan could not believe what he was hearing. Christopher had never mentioned anything of the island, the village or the fountain. The old man waited patiently for Juan to process what he had told him. “Was it he who taught you to speak Spanish?” Juan asked.
The old man laughed. “Columbus was just as surprised as you that I spoke his language.”
“Then where…?” Juan began.
“I speak many languages – some men still speak and others died ages ago with their people.”
Juan was not sure what to ask next so he solicited a simple question. “What’s your name?”
“I have many names. Perhaps something in your tongue? Would Abuelo suit you?”
“Abuelo will be fine,” Juan replied. The old man smiled and Juan felt the smile was genuine.
“May I ask how old you are?”
“You may,” Abuelo answered. His gray eyes glinted in the fire as he reflected. “I remember the moon being very young. I have watched the moon from this village for many years. But we have not always been here. We come from a land far from here. Far even from your land of Spain.
