The idea for this story started about three years ago when I went with a friend of mine to Montana and Wyoming. He knew a Native American that was gay, and when I met him I was amazed how his family completely accepted it. He told me that a person known as a 'contrary' was actually prized by his people. Although this story may have numerous historical errors or be in the wrong locations, the story was thought up by the three of us and I just found my notes. Johnny, Wes, I'm sorry I took so long. I got busy. In fact, if someone hadn't been snooping in my stuff, it still wouldn't be written. Thanks Ross.
Brady York bradysyorktown@hotmail.com
The sons of Morning Hawk 1: A walk like no other
Brandt was used to this type of dream. He'd been having them for many years, starting when he was nine. He walked through the night dressed only in his white leather loincloth and his knee high white moccasins. His nearly waist length blond hair hung free, lifted in the evening breeze, and his deeply tanned skin shown in the moon light, accenting his lean muscular build with silver shadows. His gray eyes looked down the trail towards a fire that burned near a tree. A silver haired old man looked up as he approached and smiled, beaconing him closer.
"Sit my son, and tell me what was along the trail you walk." Brandt's Grandfather said. He set another small log on the fire and reached in the pocket on his shirt for a piece of jerky, handing it to Brandt.
"I was wondering where you've been, Grandpa. You haven't called me for a long time." Brandt sat down near the fire and crossed his legs, accepting the jerky. "Is the hunt so good that you can't get away?" There was a gentle reproach in his tone, but he felt nothing but love and warmth for the old man.
"No, Wyld Cat. I never forget you." The old man chuckled. "Sometimes life is just life, and you don't need me so much."
Brandt nodded. There really hadn't been anything exciting going on in months. Life was indeed just life. "Uncle Hawk said that I should ask a blessing from you, Grandpa. We leave soon for the last trip of the summer."
Brandt's family helped run the Fire City Carnival of fun traveling carnival from late spring until late September, going from town to town with rides and games.
"You always have that." The old man waved his hand over the flames, using pinched fingers to drop sage and other ground items into the fire. "He knows that like you do."
"I think he was just missing you, Grandpa." Brandt smiled and shook his head. "I think you knew that, too." He watched as the tiny ground dust ignited in the fire, changing its color slightly. "What do you show me tonight?"
"Change." The old man looked up at him and his face seemed to become more serious. "There is change for the Puma, my son. The Puma that lives in your heart." He dropped the last of the powder into the fire and looked into Brandt's eyes. "Tell me what the Puma sees."
Brandt looked into the flames and willed himself to relax, opening his mind. The flames danced and changed, and he could see himself standing in a field. His clothes were gone, and his heartbeat changed. He closed his eyes and inhaled several times, sniffing at the breeze. When he opened his eyes he was the Puma, and he walked up a gentle rise towards the tree line.
He stopped, lifting his ears, and crouched. There was another nearby. His whiskers arched forward and he moved stealthily towards the trees. The fur on his back arched, and he felt his muscles bunch up in anticipation of a fight. As he moved around a large rock, he spotted the other cougar. It looked at him, and there was recognition in its eyes, even a longing.
"Where is this Puma?" He heard his grandfather's voice in his head.
Brandt/Wyld Cat looked around, trying to place the surroundings, but they kept changing. "I can't tell, it's moving." He said. He glanced back towards the rock but the other cougar was gone. For reasons he didn't know he was hurt, like being alone. He padded over to where the other had been and sniffed at the ground, but he couldn't tell which way it went.
"Enough, my son." The old man said gently, and Brandt was suddenly Brandt again. Exhausted, he sagged back and felt his Grandpa catch him and lower him back to the ground. "The Puma will consume you if you stay to long."
"Who was the other?" Brandt asked, trying to force his eyes open. "I knew him, Grandpa. I never met him but I knew him."
"You will meet, Wyld Cat, and the world will change." His Grandfather said quietly. He took something out of his pocket and leaned over, placing a necklace around Brandt's neck. It was mostly gray coral beads with two silver beads in the center. Between the silver beads hung a silver Puma's claw. "This will remind you of what's in your heart, Puma. Sleep now, and we will talk again." Brandt felt himself slip into a normal sleep, safe in his Grandpa's arms.
19-year-old Kit Gregory Carson woke up with a gasp sitting straight up in bed. His heart pounded, and he could remember every detail of the dream he'd just had. He never remembered his dreams, which left him feeling almost scared and out of sorts. He willed his heart to slow down and he swiped at the sweat that was on his forehead. It was ten minutes before the alarm would go off, so he turned off the clock and climbed out of bed to go shower.
Kit lived in a one-bedroom apartment near the hospital where he worked as an EMT. He wandered into the living room and kitchen to get a cup of coffee, still digesting the dream. It had been so real he could still smell the mountain air. He had never in his life dreamed of being a mountain lion before, and he was surprised that his shoulder muscles ached from the way he'd walked like a cat. He went back into the bedroom and into the bathroom. As he slipped out of his boxers he glanced into the mirror at the birthmark he'd always had. It was an oval of slightly darker skin in the shape of four small ovals and one larger one about two inches across. It was located six inches right of his navel and just below his waistline, and for a second he could almost imagine that it looked like a paw print.
He shook his head and looked away. "You're losing it, dude." He turned on the water and stepped in, washing quickly so he could get to work. He stepped out and scrubbed his hair dry, thinking about the chart review he was helping with at the hospital when he happened to catch sight of the birthmark again in the mirror. His skin was flushed from the hot water, and the pattern of the markings was more distinct. A shiver ran up his back. It really looked like a paw print.
Twenty minutes later he entered the emergency room main doors dressed in scrubs, his short curly blond hair gelled and spiked. Kit was muscular from bike riding, his passion, and stood right at six feet. His brown eyes were both caring and humorous, giving him an easy edge with people that were seen at the ER.
He clocked in and got busy immediately with Bruce Cabot, the head nurse for the day shift. They had spent the last several days assisting with a reorganization of the patient files, drug records, and lab records under the direction of Mavis Barney, a pleasant Indian woman of about fifty that was hell on wheels for the records department. She was a tiny woman with an easy sense of humor that could frost up and become a fire of anger if a form was missing from a chart or record, and God help the doctor whose handwriting wasn't legible.
Bruce was 29, built on a large muscular frame, and frequently went on long rides with Kit. They were friends off duty as well as on, and it was Bruce that had gotten Kit interested in going for a nursing degree. Kit had just been accepted for the nursing program, and was waiting for class to start in the fall.
"You're quiet this morning." Bruce said, glancing up from the chart in his hand. "Everything okay?"
"I didn't sleep very well." Kit lied. He took the chart from Bruce and put it in the file drawer. "I guess I'm a little off is all."
"Supposed to storm this afternoon. Still want to go out to Karris Ridge?" Bruce handed him two more files.
"My family is going up to that carnival tonight. Sorry, I didn't mean to stand you up." Kit took the folders and sorted them into their new drawers.
"Hardly a stand up if it's going to rain." Bruce chuckled. "Sure you want to get stuck in a down pour at the freak show?"
"No, I'm not, but I told my mother I would go." Kit sighed and sat down. "Bruce, do you believe in the supernatural?"
"Wow, that was a change of topics." Bruce sat down and pulled another box of charts over. "Supernatural like what?"
"I don't know, like having dreams that mean something. A premonition." Kit ran his hand through his hair. "I had this really intense dream last night. It was so real I can still remember it."
"Like a dream about a fire or someone getting shot?"
Kit shook his head. "No, it wasn't a real event. It just felt real. It was way bizarre."
"My Grandma used to tell me if you had the same dream twice it was true." Bruce smiled and shook his head. "She used to freak me out sometimes by telling me something and then it would happen." They both looked up as the ER receptionist, a slender girl with dark hair, stuck her head in the office.
"Ten year old boy was hit by a truck. He's stable but has internal bleeding. Five minutes out." She told them.
They both jumped up and followed her out into the main treatment bay, a long room with five areas that could be curtained off. "Who's on duty?" Bruce asked, heading for the first bay to get it prepped.
"Dr. Menlove." Kit answered, pulling a steel table over to the bed.
"I paged him, Bruce. He's on rounds." Nicole, the girl told him.
"Thanks. Call x-ray and have them standing by, okay?"
"Will do."
Those who actually run a carnival, or carnies as they're called by some, are generally looked on with a mixture of fear, silent disgust, and even some envy. They roll into town on Thursday, set up the rides, booths, and food trailers, run the show for Friday and Saturday, and Sunday morning they roll out. In some cities and towns they may stay as long as a week, but rarely more than a weekend. They play for fairs, holidays, civil annual events, and miscellaneous events.
As luck would have it the weather forecast for the weekend of the Billings, Montana Rodeo Days Celebration was rain. It was still hot during the brief showers, making for a miserable afternoon and a potentially dangerous set up.
Leonard Morninghawk watched as the Cosmic Looper trailer was backed into place, his large muscular arms crossed over his barrel chest. He stood 6'4" tall and weight 285 pounds, a giant by his family's standards. His raven black hair hung in a ponytail down his back, and his noble red skinned face never flinched or twitched as one of the new candy asses moved the ride into place. He hated new hires, even if they were desperately needed.
For the time being the rain had let up, and it looked like the storms were moving south, meaning that the Fire City Carnival might make a little money after all. He sighed and took the cigarette out of his mouth, flicking it into the gutter as he headed for the ride trailer.
Brandt walked around from behind the trailer wearing his new necklace, a pair over almost shot cut off jeans, and a battered pair of sneakers. His flowing blond hair was pulled back like his uncle's, and his tanned chest and back was wet from the rain. He bounded up onto the trailer and began pulling the clamps to release the sections of the Looper even before they had the trailer leveled.
Leonard, called Hawk by everyone that knew him, watched his nephew with a sort of quiet pride and even a little reverence. When Brandt's dad, Harmon Brandt Wyld, a tall muscular white man of European stock married Hawk's sister, Mary, it had been a family scandal. No one in the family had ever married or had a child with a white before. Mary stood a very real chance of being disowned because of her lack of judgment.
All that changed when their father, Richard Morninghawk, had not only accepted Harmon but had shown genuine warmth towards him. Richard was a medicine man with the Cheyenne, and his opinion carried enormous weight. If Harmon was good enough for him, he was one of them.
Mary had one child from Harmon, a boy that everyone expected to have Native American features and coloring from his mother. Brandt surprised them all. He was bronze colored, like a deeply tanned white man, and had pale blond hair. There was no doubt however that he had Cheyenne eyes, pale gray searching eyes. His father never got to see him. Harmon was killed in a car accident on his way to the hospital.
From early on everyone that knew Brandt knew that he had Morninghawk blood.
The boy started talking about dreams as soon as he could talk, and often talked about his conversations with his Grandfathers. Richard Morninghawk encouraged him and taught him everything he would learn. A few days after Brandt's ninth birthday Richard died, leaving the boy heartbroken. Mary had gathered him up and joined her brother Leonard and his partner in the carnival business to get away.
Now, as Hawk watched, Brandt scaled up the side of the sections of the Looper as they were moved in to place. The kid seemed to defy gravity as he leapt from one section to the other placing and tightening the large bolts that held the rig together and made it safe for riders.
Brandt hung from one hand thirty feet in the air and slung his body to push the final section into place with his feet. Hawk groaned and closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. He opened one eye just in time to see Brandt pull the last bolt tight and then swing hand-to-hand down one of the steel supports, dropping to the ground from fifteen feet up and landing in a crouch. He stood up and sauntered towards his uncle with a smirk on his face.
"Why the long face, Hawk?" Brandt teased, knowing full well that his uncle hated watching him set up equipment. "You taught me that, remember?"
"I was young and stupid then." Hawk shook his head. He noticed the necklace Brandt wore and his eyebrows went up. "That's sharp. Where did you get it?"
"Grandpa gave it to me. I had it on when I woke up." Brandt said simply and tossed the tools in the chest.
"He came to you last night? It's been a long time." Hawk was very aware that Brandt dreamed of Richard fairly often. Brandt didn't know it, but a lot of people already looked at him as a sort of holy man, although they would never outright say so. "How's he doing?"
"He says you know damned well that he watches over all of us, and that you should know better than to doubt him." Brandt smiled as Hawk put his arms around his shoulders.
"Yeah, I do. If you talk to him again tell him I miss him." Hawk smiled. Brandt nodded and was about to say something when there was a loud crash not far away. The ground shook as something heavy hit. They both looked up, and Brandt took off running followed by Hawk.
A long section of the kiddy coaster, a miniature roller coaster, had fallen over and had pinned one of the carnies underneath it's frame work. Brandt jumped over the coaster cars and bent to lift the section. Three guys ran over to help him, and they raised it up a foot, their muscles bulging and their faces straining. Hawk grabbed the kid that had been trapped and dragged him out, and as they went to set the section down one of the supports broke loose, swinging wildly towards them. Brandt's eyes went wide and he shoved the guy next to him away. The support hit him in the ribs and hip, pinning him to the framework. He screamed and went out like a light.
Kit turned away from where he'd just finished cleaning one of the exam areas to see Nicole come in from the desk. "Kit, where's Bruce?"
"He went to get a coke. He'll be right back." He answered. "Why, what's going on?"
"A guy was helping set up some ride at the carnival in Billings. They had a bus wreck so they're sending him here. The ride collapsed and pinned him.
They're bringing him in. He has possible broken ribs, lacerations on his side and stomach, possible internal bleeding, and a possible dislocated hip.
He hasn't regained consciousness." She rattled off. "Go find him and tell him ETA is eighteen minutes on Life Flight, and I paged Dr. McMurphy."
Kit nodded and ran out the door and down the hall towards the cafeteria. The Cody Hospital wasn't huge, and it didn't take much time to find him. A few minutes later he and Bruce and Dr. McMurphy went out to the helicopter pad to meet them.
"Brandt Wyld, nineteen year old male. He's stable." The flight nurse shouted over the sound of the engine. "He got hit in the left side real hard with a sort of framework of steel pipe. His vitals are good, and I think that he's not bleeding internally. Possible head wound, though. He hasn't opened his eyes since they got him out of the rig that trapped him." She jogged along side the gurney giving them his vital signs. They wheeled him into the ER and pulled a curtain around the gurney.
"Kit, hang another bag of normal sodium." Bruce pointed at the IV in the guy's arm. The bag the flight crew had started was over half empty. Kit nodded and went to the cabinet.
"We're going to need to get him into x-ray." McMurphy said, looking at the already dark bruises on Brandt's side and hip. "Pupils are responsive." He flashed a little light in Brandt's eyes and then let them close again. "Call Dr. Jordan and see if he can come up and do a Neuro."
Bruce wrote furiously on the nurse's notes and nodded. He glanced up as Kit changed the IV bag. "Get some scissors, Kit. We need to get those shorts off so he can go to x-ray." Kit nodded and took a blanket off the rack and spread it over Brandt's legs.
"Get the blood draws and I'll see if I can find Jordan." Dr. McMurphy said. He wrote something on the chart and set it on the small silver table never to the gurney. "Kit, put his personal effects in one of those seal able bags and check it at the desk, okay? Take that necklace off and put it with his wallet and stuff."
Kit found one of the pairs of large safety scissors and went to work on Brandt's shorts. He was surprised but not really surprised to find out that their patient didn't have underwear on. He looked up at Bruce and grinned, shaking his head. Kit, who leaned heavily towards gay, got a real good look at Brandt's trim build as he worked. Bruce shrugged and helped him slide the now ruined shorts out of the way without moving Brandt's hip.
Kit undid the necklace and went to move away when he happened to look down at Brandt's tight washboard stomach and waist. He froze, feeling his heart beat stutter. Six inches to the right of Brandt's navel and just below his waistline was a birthmark. Because of the contrast from Brandt's tanned skin to where he wore his cutoffs and had no tan, the mark was very clear. It was four smaller ovals and one larger oval of darker skin. It looked like a paw print, and it looked almost identical to Kit's.
"Holy shit." He gasped and staggered backwards, knocking over the exam tray in the process. Bruce's head snapped up as Kit met his eyes, shocked. "Look at that." He stammered. "It's not possible."
"Kit, get a grip, okay? What's not possible?" Bruce demanded.
"That mark. It's not possible." Kit pointed. "No fucking way." He looked up at Brandt's unconscious face and felt a cold shiver run through him. "It's the other cougar."
"Jackie!" Bruce called over his shoulder towards the desk. "Nicole, call Jackie to come and give me a hand." He turned back to Kit and said in a not to unkind voice. "Kit, I think you need to go sit down for a minute, okay? I think you need a break."
Kit nodded, looking at Brandt again, and then turned and fled. He stopped outside the ER and leaned against the wall trying to get control of him self. The dream came back to him in vivid detail, and he almost ran down the hall towards the break room. It was empty for a change, and Kit sat down at one of the round tables. He sighed heavily and opened his hand, revealing the necklace he'd taken off Brandt.
Suddenly the feelings of panic receded and he felt very tired. He closed his hand around the necklace again and rested his forehead on his arm on the table. It had been an overwhelming experience and he closed his eyes, intending to rest for few minutes.
He fell asleep without meaning to do so. A dream came to him, one so vivid that he could feel the temperature of the air, smell the forest and the smoke from a small fire nearby. He looked down and was surprised to see that he was wearing what looked like one of Tarzan's leather loincloths. It was very soft white leather and passed under his ass and up the front to his waist. It hung about two and a half feet in the front and the back, and had intricate beadwork sewn on it in what looked like the shape of a paw print, the same as his birthmark. Due to the way it was held on by a thin leather strap around his waist, his birthmark was clearly visible. There was nothing covering his hips or the front of his legs. On his feet were tall moccasin boots laced up the front, also white leather.
"What the hell?" He mumbled and began to walk towards the fire. There was a faint breeze, and he could smell wild flowers and sage. As he came to the top of a small hill he could see the fire, and there were two people sitting near it. An old man, tall and with a straight back had long silver hair, and the other person was the kid that had just come into the ER. His long blond hair flowed down his back, and he sat with his legs crossed opposite the old Indian guy. They both looked up, and the old man smiled and waved at a place on the ground between them. "Come and sit down, my son. We have a lot to talk about."
Kit wasn't afraid, which really surprised him, and as he went to sit down he noticed that Brandt was dressed identically to him. He opened his hand and found the necklace lying in his palm. "I think this is yours." He offered it to Brandt.
"Thanks." Brandt smiled and took it, putting it around his neck.
"This one's for you. That one is for Wyld Cat." The old man smiled and pulled a necklace out of his pocket and handed it to Kit. Kit held it up to the light and examined it closely. It was almost exactly like the other one, but the beads were a gray blue color instead of gray. He put it around his neck and fastened it.
"You know why you're called Kit Carson?" The old man asked, offering him some beef jerky.
"He was my great great great great grandfather." Kit answered. "My dad really looks up to him."
"A brave man." The old Indian nodded. "He had a son with a woman called Little Sparrow." The man put a log on the fire and smiled at Kit. "She gave him a son, but they never saw each other. He was called Morning Hawk."
"Never knew about that. It's not in our genealogy." Kit offered.
The old man snorted. "It happed a lot in those days. Your ancestors don't talk about mixing their blood." He used his teeth to tear off a piece of the jerky and chewed it slowly. "Your mother's great great great grandfather was Morning Hawk, Kit Carson. They probably didn't tell you that either." He grinned.
"No, they didn't." Kit looked at Brandt. "Why are you in my dream? Why do you have the same birthmark I do?"
"Ask Grandpa." Brandt pointed at the old man.
"I realize I'm dreaming, but this doesn't make any sense. Why am I here?" Kit asked, exasperated.
"There is a legend, a legend about two cubs who would hunt together, share the world with each other." The old man sprinkled some ground herbs in the fire as he spoke. "This was known to the wolf, who hated the puma, so he plotted to kill the cubs. Before he could, the mother puma marked he cubs, giving them protection from the evil wolf. He was angry because of this and killed her instead."
"The wolf is a strong friend, Grandpa. Why did he do that?" Brandt asked.
"A wolf doesn't do that."
"I was getting to that." The old man smiled. "It wasn't really the wolf, my son, but he who walks the dark trail. He still hunts for the cubs, and only together can they live through his attacks."
Kit's jaw dropped open, and he stared in open shock at Brandt. Brandt shook his head and looked down at his hands. "I'm confused, Grandpa. I don't understand."
"You will, my son. We three will meet again." The old man smiled and waved his hand.
Kit sat straight up from the table, his eyes blinking wildly as the surroundings of the break room settled into focus. He reached up and touched his neck, finding a necklace around it, and he went to one of the lockers in the corner, nearly falling over one of the chairs. He yanked the door open and stared into the mirror. The necklace was blue, not gray, and he no longer had the gray one with him.
He jumped over the over turned chair and crouched under the table, looking to see if he'd dropped it, but it was nowhere to be found. He dodged out of the room and down the hall towards the x-ray department. Two of the floor nurses were wheeling Brandt towards the main floor when he caught up with them. As he slowed down, he looked at Brandt's neck and saw the gray necklace there. He was suddenly light headed and his knees buckled. He hit his head on the wall as he fell.
Kit woke up lying on a gurney in the ER with an ice pack on the side of his head. He opened his eyes and blinked, bring Bruce's worried face into focus. "What happened?" He asked, rolling onto his side.
"That's a damned good question. Are you through freaking out, or would you like a little more time?" Bruce asked. "The nurses that were taking the Wyld kid to his room said that you ran at them, looked at the guy on the gurney, and passed out, smacking your head on the way down. Sound familiar?"
"I don't know why I did it, Bruce. I think I'm a little tired." Kit tried to sit up but felt a wave of nausea wash over him.
"I checked a theory while you were having your nap. Do you know how many double shifts you had during the last ten days?" Bruce folded his arms and leaned back. "Four, Kit. I realize that you're getting your school money together, but damn, are you wanting to die before you use it?"
"I just needed the money. I don't work any more than you do." Kit sat up and set the ice pack on the gurney.
"Well, I called Norma Blue Creek, and you're taking some time off, bud." Bruce stood up and looked at the small bump on the back of Kit's head. "Today is Friday. I don't want to see you back before a week from Monday, got it?"
"I only come in when they're short, Bruce." Kit said irritably. "They're always short handed."
"You're exactly right, they're always short handed." Bruce made a note on a clipboard. "I told the girls that they are not to call you. You have a week of vacation time, and you're on it, bud."
Kit resigned from the argument, knowing that when Bruce made up his mind it was over and headed home. The day was still warm and clear with no storm yet, so he changed into cycling gear and got his bike out of the little storage shed. Maybe a ride would clear his head.
He headed north towards Karris Ridge. Before long he started to get into the ride, letting his body do its work. His thoughts drifted over his dreams, and he remembered the feeling of being a cougar in the woods. Every muscle relaxed but ready as he made his way towards the big rocks, every scent carefully processed by his nose.
It was like his mind shifted, and he was the cougar. A rabbit moved not far away, and Kit ran after it, his tail arcing from side to side for balance. As his mind raced so did his body, and the bike screamed along the side of the road at top speed. His heart remained in an even rhythm, and he controlled his breathing as he neared the rabbit.
Electricity and desire surged through him as the rabbit dodged and evaded him. His large gold eyes followed every move the rabbit made, and Kit could feel his enormous powerful paws snaring his prey. There was a loud blast of sound, startling him, and he snapped back into the real world just in time to narrowly miss the front of a very large truck. He coasted into the lot surrounding a truck stop and pulled his helmet off.
His heart pounded as he climbed off the bike and sat on the curb. He lowered his head between his knees and breathed deeply, trying to figure out what the hell was happening to him. He looked up and scanned the faces of the people getting gas and checking their vehicles, wondering if it was obvious to them that he was completely fucking insane.
After several minutes he went inside and bought a power bar and a bottle of water. He returned to his place at the curb and unzipped his shirt. It was muggy as hell, and he found himself wishing he was home under the air conditioner.
An old Indian man walked towards him, and Kit smiled, trying to appear friendly. The Indian was skeletal thin, could easily have passed for a hundred years old, and was missing several teeth. A boy a little younger than Kit was with him. The look on the old man's face gave Kit chills. It was almost murderous, and he was glaring directly at Kit.
The old man said something in his own language, waving his hand and pointing at Kit. The boy with the old man translated for him. "He says that you're no cougar, that you need to take that off, white man." He pointed at Kit's throat, at his necklace.
"What?" Kit was bewildered. He reached up and touched the silver claw. "What the hell are you talking about?"
The old man again spoke rapidly, apparently getting very upset. The boy sighed. "He says you're messing around in shit that isn't your business. Give me the necklace, whitey. It won't protect you."
Anger swarmed up through Kit's stomach and his face went red. He stoop up and put his hands on his hips. He easily out weighed the other boy, and was in a lot better shape. "Why don't you take it?" He snarled, glaring at the kid. "You want it, take it off me."
There was a long pause as the old man glared at Kit. He stepped forward and lifted his hand almost high enough to touch the necklace. Kit was just about ready to step back when the old man stopped. "One Puma makes room for the other." He said in broken English. "One Puma will die." His hand dropped, and he turned away, letting the boy lead him away.
Kit swallowed hard and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He'd had just about all of the mystic bullshit he was going to take. He knew someone that might have the answers to what the hell was going on, and he climbed on his bike and headed for the hospital. The closer he got to town the angrier he got, and the angrier he got, the faster he pedaled.
Brandt looked out the window of his room at the clouds forming to the southwest and let his mind drift. At times like this he felt very alone. Because of his abilities, or what everyone perceived as his gifts, he hadn't had a lot of friends or been allowed to play with other kids. He'd been treated like a little adult his whole life, and the other kids had been ushered away from him so as not to disturb him. It had been really hard to get used to being either with adults or alone. The worst part had been the names he heard people call him. He wasn't white or Indian, and only his Grandpa had known how much he'd been hurt by insensitive comments about 'The albino Indian'.
He knew he had some purpose, some destiny to fulfill, and he'd spoken to Grandpa about it, but it was clouded; not yet taking shape. All he really wanted was to disappear, to be just one of the billions of people on Earth and not have a purpose. He sighed and took a sip of the soda the nurse had brought for him.
His last dream had been puzzling. Who was Kit Carson, and why was he so familiar? His Grandpa knew him, called him son, like the newcomer was as much his Grandson as Brandt. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the pillows, picturing the other boy in his mind.
Kit rode up to the bike stand and climbed off his bike. His shoes were designed for being attached to the pedals, not for walking, and he pulled them off and tied them to the handlebars. No one would stop him from walking in wearing only his socks. He'd done it several times.
His mind was still chewing on the old man at the truck stop, and he nearly collided with someone as he entered the building. "Excuse me." He said automatically and looked up into the eyes of an enormous Indian. The man looked down at him and smiled, and then caught sight of his necklace. His face changed, and Kit expected a similar scene to the one he'd just been through. His hand closed over the claw protectively.
"Nice claw. Where'd you get it?" The huge man's voice was deep and resonant, but was free of malice. His brown eyes met Kit's and he smiled again.
Kit responded sarcastically and without thinking. "An old man gave it to me in a dream. Is that what you wanted to hear?" He was surprised by his own anger.
"Easy, man, I was just asking." The man held his hands up in surrender. "What did the old man look like?"
"What?" Kit blinked at him, thrown off by the question.
"The old man, what did he look like?" The tall Indian reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He flipped it open to a picture of Richard and a very young Brandt. "Is that him?"
Kit's heart pounded and he had to remember to breathe. It was obviously the kid from the ER and from his dream, and the old man was unmistakably the man from his dream that had given him the necklace. "Who are you people?" Kit demanded in a harsh whisper.
"Call me Hawk." Hawk stuck out his hand and Kit shook it automatically. "I don't know why you have a cougar's claw there, or why you know who my dad is, but I'm guessing you're a friend."
"Are you here to see Brandt?" Kit asked, following the guy into the hospital.
"You know him?" Hawk wasn't very surprised.
"I was in the ER when he came in this morning. I work there." Kit had to hurry to keep up.
"A healer. That explains it." Hawk nodded knowingly. He turned down a hall. "Dad was a healer."
"Can you tell me what the hell is going on?" Kit followed him towards a room.
"No, but Wyld Cat can." Hawk looked back at him and smiled.
Kit stopped in his tracks. The old man had called Brandt Wyld Cat in his dream. Dislocated reality swirled in his mind as the man disappeared into the room. He swallowed hard and went through the door.
Brandt looked up as they entered, and a broad grin came to his mouth as he saw Kit. "Kit Carson. Why did I expect you to show up? What's up?" He pushed the button to make the back of the bed rise up. "You guys already meet, Hawk?"
"Sort of. He almost mowed me down coming in." Hawk went to the side of the bed and carefully hugged his nephew. "Butch is fine, and the show is on. Thought you'd like to know. I brought you a change of clothes." He set a plastic grocery bag on the side table.
Kit stopped at the end of the bed, unsure of what to say or do. He felt like he was in the twilight zone, and right in front of him on the bed was the same Brandt that had been in his dream, and the gray necklace was still around his neck. Brandt grinned at him and motioned him closer. "You okay?"
"Yeah, an old bastard at the truck stop tried to take this." Kit touched his necklace. "I told him to fuck off, through his translator of course." He tried to smile but he knew it looked forced. "What the hell is going on?
Why do I know you, and how the hell did I get this?"
"Long version or quick and dirty?" Brandt asked with a chuckle.
"I don't care. I need to know what's going on. I feel like I'm going crazy." Kit stopped at the side of the bed. He met Brandt's crystal eyes, and for a second it was like he could fall into them. He blinked.
"Give me your hand." Brandt said gently, and he took Kit's in his. The world wobbled and solidified, and they were mountain lions, standing next to each other on a rocky outcrop. The cougar that was Brandt/Wyld Cat touched its nose to Kit's, and then rubbed his face affectionately along the side of Kit's head. Kit rumbled a deep purr and licked his ear and then rubbed all along his side.
His heart felt like it was going to burst as they both stood up and took their human forms. Kit caught his breath as he gazed at Brandt's chiseled form and angular features, his hair billowing on drafts of air. His skin was golden bronze, and he wore the familiar white leather loincloth and boots. Kit could see his birthmark on his hip, but in here it was as distinct as a tattoo.
The sight of Kit standing before him in identical attire stunned Brandt. Kit was muscular and tanned, and the mark of the Puma stood out like a challenge on the front of his hip. Kit surprised him by stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Brandt's shoulders, and suddenly it made sense.
He wasn't alone, didn't have to be alone. That's what the change was. He put his arms around Brandt and laid his head on his shoulder.
And then reality flashed back into focus and Kit sagged against the rail on the bed. "No!" He gasped, struggling to pull himself up. "Don't stop!"
"It's okay, Kit Carson." Brandt fell against the pillow breathing hard. He smiled and touched the side of Kit's face gently. "The pumas are together."
"You two okay?" Hawk asked. He stepped to the door and closed it after glancing into the hall. "Anybody want to clue me in on what that was all about?"
Kit sat heavily in the chair next to the bed and held his head in his hands. Brandt looked up at his uncle and smiled. "Grandpa told me he was coming. He finally got here."
"Why is he here? Did the old man say?" Hawk sat in the other chair.
"No, just that he was coming." Brandt closed his eyes. He was in a little pain, and he couldn't heal himself like he usually could. "Hawk, I need to get out of here. I can't trance in here."
"How bad is it?" Hawk stood up and went to the left side of the bed. Brandt pulled the covers away and lifted the hospital gown. Dark purple and blue mottled bruises extended from his ribs down onto his leg and across his stomach.
"If I trance they'll think I'm dying." Brandt smiled up at him ruefully.
"If you don't see the doctor the insurance won't pay, Wyld Cat. You have to stay near by for at least a little while." Hawk returned to his chair. "Maybe you should go home after this and heal up there."
"How the hell are you going to let me know where you are?" Brandt said irritably. "You go to Idaho Falls next, right?"
"Wyld Cat, you aren't listening. You need to go home." Hawk crossed his legs. "Grandma and your cousins can look after you, and maybe Kit Carson here might want to visit."
Kit looked up at the mention of his name. He was still reeling from the intense emotions he'd been feeling. "Stay with me for a couple of days." He said simply.
"You live here?" Brandt asked.
"Three blocks away." Kit cleared his throat and sat up, looking from one to the other. "You can make your follow up appointments, and when you're released I'll drive you home."
Hawk smiled knowingly and nodded. "Good plan, nephew. Kit Carson is wise beyond words." He grinned at Brandt.
"One thing though." Brandt looked tiredly at Brandt. "Its just Kit, okay?
Not Kit Carson. Just Kit." He looked over at Hawk. "Since I have no control over anything else right now at least I can get you to say it that way, alright?"
"Okay, Kit." Hawk chuckled. "Kit the Healer it is."
"Jesus." Kit shook his head and fell back in the chair. "Indian humor. I love it."