AFTER BEING DISMISSED FROM Sunny’s chambers, they found themselves in a section of living cave they had not yet seen. A low table of rock carved from the floor ran the length of the narrow cavern. Dozens of Kickapoo were gathered there for an evening meal.
Chancho’s stomach growled. Welcomed as family, they ate roasted bat, a hardy bread, and a paste made from beetles which tasted like ground chicken and pecans. Some members of the tribe, preferring days on the surface, were elected as farmers, hunters and gatherers. The conflicting schedules meant the evening meal was the one time of the day and night when everyone in the tribe could gather around subterranean tables to break bread. For some, it served as breakfast while for others, it was supper.
Nena fetched dried fruit from their supplies. The Kickapoo received it enthusiastically. After eating their fill, everyone broke into smaller clusters, talking among themselves. Several curious cave-dwellers surrounded Nena, detaining her with questions of her heritage and life on the surface. Muddy entertained a huddle of small children by making funny faces, even before the meal finished. Afterwards, they assaulted him, climbing up and down his massive frame like the trunk of a tree.
In the midst of the after-meal frivolity, Chancho remained mostly by himself. At first, he gazed around the room basking in what he considered his new family—his stomach full and heart happy. Eventually, he wandered from the main cavern into smaller tributaries. Most of them ended in small pools of crystal-clear water or living walls covered with mesmerizing rock formations. He found a darkened corridor that tapered into a small opening with no light on the other side.
He stooped, putting his head close until he felt the breeze created from the narrow opening. He sniffed a faint odor of sulfur and something else even more noxious. Having totally forgotten his previous anxiety for small spaces, he stuck his head into the mouth. Instantly, a hand grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Bats. It is not safe for you,” said the same gravelly voice from before. Chancho turned, standing before the man who hours ago had attacked him. Tall and slender, the man could have easily been younger than Chancho, but he did not look it. He smiled, the gesture ill-suited for his hawkish face. “Now you know me. I am Rock With Eyes.”
Chancho bowed.
“I am sorry, for how we met.”
“I did not know you then.” Chancho shook his head. “But now you know me. My name is Chancho.” The two men embraced and started back toward the room with the long table. “Why are the bats dangerous?”
“It is not the bats, but the beetles, and the gas. The beetles live off guano. The guano produces a poisonous gas known as ammonia. When mixed with water, it creates ammonium hydroxide.”
“But how have you learned—”
“We know many things.” Rock With Eyes attempted another smile. Then he indicated the red irritation of his skin. “We have grown somewhat accustomed to the gas. I can tolerate very high amounts, but it is eventually lethal. Some of my people believe the gas is what causes our eyes to change.”
Chancho looked more deeply into the strange yellow eyes. “Is it just the color? You know, that changes?”
Rock With Eyes shook his head. “If any light is present at all, I can see clearly in it. My eyes are the sharpest in the tribe. It was the reason my parents named me. It is natural for me to watch.” The two men arrived back at the table where Muddy and Nena were still engaged. “Now it is time to return to the surface. The sun is rising, and your horses will not be hidden from anyone with keen senses.”
Chancho had lost track of time and forgotten the reality awaiting him on the surface. All the chupacabras of the Anglo’s world had seemed miles away, when in reality only a hundred yards of rock separated them. Thoughts of the rinche settled like a stone in his stomach. The caves were wonderful, but he needed open space and stars at night. Still, he regretted leaving so quickly.
They gathered their things, packing the gourds and medical kit in their bundles, and began the journey out from under the hills. For what seemed like miles of pitch black caverns they followed Rock With Eyes. Finally, they reached a small room dimly lit with natural light. Their movement kicked up a light, choking dust.
“I cannot accompany you to the surface. It is much too bright for my eyes.” Chancho peered toward the opening. It looked to him that the sun wasn’t even up. “There is a watchman standing guard over your horses. Ask him and he will point you in whichever direction you would like.” In the dark he embraced each of them before they turned to go. “Wait.”
Chancho squinted in the darkness as a blue glimmer emerged from Rock With Eyes’ clothing.
“Take this. An apology.”
The crystal blade hung suspended in the air. Chancho hesitated. “You don’t need—”
“Please.” Rock With Eyes tilted the hilt toward him until Chancho received it with silent thanks. Before they stepped out into the world above ground, Rock With Eyes called out to them. “When you return, make sure you introduce yourselves by the names which we know you. I would not want to make the same mistake twice.”
Chancho peered toward the two glowing, yellow eyes. “Thank you, and don’t worry.”
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