Rider on Fire. Sharon Sala

the skin above her collar.

      “No, no, no,” she moaned. “I want to wake up.”

      “Not yet,” someone whispered.

      Sonora shuddered.

      “Sssh, pretty woman…you are safe.”

      “Oh God, oh God, I need this to stop. I’m waking up now. Do you hear me? I’m waking up now!”

      She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then opened them, expecting to be anywhere but in a forest, in the dark, with a stranger at her back.

      “Why am I not awake?” she moaned.

      “Because we are not done,” he said softly.

      “Then show yourself, damn it!”

      There was a long moment of silence. Sonora waited—uncertain what would happen first. Either he would disappear, or she would wake up. Then suddenly, her hair was laying against her neck once more, and she thought she heard him whisper something near her ear. She wasn’t sure. It could have been the wind, but she thought she heard him say, “as you wish.”

      She closed her eyes.

      “Look at me.”

      Panic hit her like a blow to the gut. Be careful of what you ask for, she thought.

      “Woman. Look. At. Me.”

      His voice was firm, but she was no longer afraid.

      She took a deep breath and then opened her eyes just as a cloud blew over the moon. In the dark, all she could see were his eyes, looking down at her and glittering like a wolf.

      So he was tall.

      She felt his breath upon her face, or maybe it was just the wind.

      “Do you see me?” he asked.

      The wind blew the last of the cloud away from the face of the moon, and he was revealed to her in the moonlight.

      It was a stunning face—a face that appeared to have been carved out of rock—all angles and hard planes—except for his mouth. It was full and curved in just a hint of a smile. When he saw that she was looking at his lips, she saw his nostrils flare.

      “I see you,” she said.

      “Then come to me,” he demanded.

      

      Sonora woke up just as someone fell against the outside door of her motel room. She heard a burst of muffled laughter and then the sounds faded away.

      “Oh God, what is happening to me?” she whispered. “Am I going insane?”

      She swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked for the digital clock. It was either broken or unplugged, because the digital readout was dark. She turned on a light, then glanced around for her watch. She didn’t see it, tried to remember when she’d looked at it last and failed.

      “Great,” she muttered, then stumbled to the window. It was still daylight outside.

      She glanced back at the bed and then frowned. There was no way she was going back to bed and chance resuming that dream. It was too unsettling. Without giving herself time to rethink the decision, she hurried to the bathroom. The sooner she got cleaned up and dressed, the sooner she could leave.

      She didn’t know for sure where she was going, but that hadn’t stopped her yet. If she admitted the truth, she hadn’t been in control of her life since that day in Tijuana when she’d fallen flat on her face and into what she could only describe as a parallel world. From the time she’d left Phoenix, to right now in this strange motel room in a state named for the Native American Indians who peopled it, she had been led by something more powerful than anything she’d ever known before. As confused as she felt, she had come to believe that something—or someone would continue to lead her in the right direction.

      As she was dressing, she remembered she’d been going to call her boss. She took the phone off the charger and made the call to the Arizona headquarters of the DEA, but when she was put through to Mynton’s office, he was gone. Frustrated, she left him a message saying that she was okay and she’d call him later.

      Within an hour, she was back on the Harley with the sun at her back, trusting in a force she could not see.

      

      Franklin Blue Cat was asleep in his favorite lounge chair on the back porch. The disease he was battling and the medications he was taking to fight it often left his body feeling chilled and old beyond his years. Shaded from the sun, and with the breeze in his face, he reveled in the heat of summer.

      Although he was still, his sleep was restless, as if his mind refused to waste what little time he had left. In the middle of a breath, pain plowed through his body, bringing him to an immediate upright position and gasping for air. He struggled against panic, wondering if he would be afraid like this when his last breath had come and gone, then shoved the thought aside.

      He believed in a higher power and he believed that when his body quit, his spirit did not. It was enough.

      He glanced at his work in progress and then pushed himself up from the chair. For whatever odd reason, he had a compulsion to finish this piece before he was too weak to work.

      Once up, he decided to get something to drink before he resumed carving. He was in the kitchen when he heard a commotion outside in the front yard. He hurried onto the porch. At first, he saw nothing, although he still heard the sound. Puzzled, he stepped off the porch, then looked up.

      High above the house, an eagle was circling. Every now and then it would let out a cry, and each time it did, it raised goosebumps on Franklin’s arms.

      “I see you, brother,” Franklin said.

      The eagle seemed to dip his wings, as if to answer, I see you, too.

      Franklin shaded his eyes with his hand, watching in disbelief as the eagle flew lower and lower.

      Was this it? Was this how it would happen? Brother Eagle would come down and take his spirit back to the heavens?

      His heart began to pound. His knees began to shake.

      Lower and lower, the eagle flew, still circling—still giving out the occasional, intermittent cry. And each time it cried out, Franklin assured Brother Eagle that he was seen.

      Franklin didn’t realize that he’d been holding his breath until the eagle suddenly folded its wings against its body and began to plummet.

      Down, down, down, it came, like a meteor falling to earth.

      Franklin couldn’t move as the great bird came toward him at unbelievable speed. Just when he thought there was no way they would not collide, the eagle opened his wings, leveled off his flight and sailed straight past Franklin with amazing grace.

      Franklin felt the wind from the wings against his face—saw the golden glint of the eagle’s eye—and knew without being told that the Old Ones had sent him a sign.

      Staggered by the shock of what had just happened, Franklin took two steps backward, then sat down. The dirt was warm against his palms. A ladybug flew, then lit on the collar of his shirt.

      He smelled the earth.

      He felt the sun.

      He heard the wind.

      He saw the eagle fly straight up into the air and disappear.

      It was then he knew. A change was coming. He didn’t know how it would be manifested, but he knew that it would be.

      

      Gerald Mynton got back in the office around three in the afternoon. When he heard Sonora’s voice on the answering machine, he groaned. He needed to talk to her and she’d given him no idea whatsoever of where she was or how she could be reached. It was obvious to Mynton that she kept her phone turned off unless she was physically using it, and had to be satisfied with leaving her another message that