Im home dear, Timothy brushed his mouth against Mariettas hair to wake her. She turned toward him, a slight smile answering his touch, and murmured in half sleep, Did you find your Manitou on the mountain?
M-m. He laid his blue veined hand on her beloved face. No matter what happens, know that I love you more than life itself. Go back to sleep. Im going to stay up a while longer. Ill be in my study. How could he tell her of the exhilarating, exhausting encounter with the shape-shifter? How could he explain the ending of his world?
The silk Aubusson rug hushed his footsteps down the hall. Hearing the old shelf clock chime the midnight hour, he eased his aging body into an upholstered rocker near the east side of his windowed walls and sighed. Stars were brilliant diamonds flung in wild abandon across a black velvet sky. It seemed possible to snatch a handful; thieving from a hoard so vast that heaven would not miss a few. So easy, he whispered, to rob the night. From his pocket he pulled an golf-sized glass ball. Cradled in his palm, it caught the winking lights in its heart, setting his fingers aglow. From this vantage he could see the faint silhouette of his Spirit Mountain. Pikes Peak, the Whiteman named it for the explorer who declared it could not be climbed. Sun Mountain, the Yutas called it, for it caught the first rays of breaking day. Today, for the last time, he would watch the sun explode over the summit where just a few hours ago he had asked the Chronicler, Which of us is real, you or I? Her reply, Perhaps each of us has our own reality, echoed as she disappeared from sight.
The Great Manitou had sat on the log with him, a black widow spider this time. She showed him the red hour-glass of Cronus on her belly and spun him sans mercy through a terrifying rift in Time. Had it been nothing but illusion? Only the Glass Ball, his life long companion, had held his sanity in tact.
His nurse, a tall, young woman of mixed race entered the room carrying a candle against the darkness. Her dusky skin glowed behind the flickering light. Are you all right, Mr. Collins? her soft French accent queried.
Im fine, Gloria. Impatience lined his voice. Josthe chauffer will take you to the airport in Colorado Springs this morning. Your ticket to Santa Fe is in that top drawer, he motioned toward his desk, and the map to Pumas na-gun-tu-wip. He no longer needed her care, if he ever had, and Timothy knew her real purpose in offering it was to get to America. Somewhere in this Wild West lay the bones of the grandfather she had never known. Only he could direct her to them.
Merci. Thank you, sir. She retrieved the papers and left him.
His thoughts turned again to his meeting with the Great Spirit on the mountain. Your time is up, my beautiful Skyhawk, the voice of the Manitou spoke through the spider, and you kept your part of our bargain. I will take back my world as you have altered it, for you have seen infinity. At last you understand the meaning of Manitou.
Yes. He understood. And for the first time since Tonys death, he knew a peace, a harmony far deeper than any he had known before. Now, in the old Victorian Mansion in Cripple Creek, he grinned wryly, sensing the absurdity of humanitys narrow view of life. Cheers for us, he said to the Glass Ball, the day cometh. In that moment, the curve of the sun blazed over the craggy peak, flaming his room scarlet and shattered into precious jewels of light. Amethyst, emerald, topaz, showered down on him as the magic ball pirated the suns treasure, changing shimmering color to flashing gems of splendor for its master. Timothy Collins smiled and closed his hand around the Glass Ball to hold the spell. Resting his head against the back of the chair, he slept. Under his fingers, the array of magic faded. For now, it was just a plain glass ball.
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