The Breach (Part 1)

The breach was a small affair.

The violent thrusting of its birth would have passed unnoticed but for the unfortunate circumstances which led to the frequently overworked engine in Chief Mathew Wildcloud's battered old jeep dropping almost all of its vital cooling fluid through an inexpertly fitted hose at the base of its rusty radiator.

Matt Wildcloud cursed loudly as the steam from the tortured engine began to stream up over the bonnet and spread over the dusty windscreen. The temperature gauge had long since ceased to work properly and the florescent needle tip still hung limply downward behind the dull dash glass. He had travelled the road fairly often and knew that he was around seventy miles from the nearest town. Even if it hadn't been close to midnight he would still have difficulty in getting a decent repair done had it happened right on top of the small garage there. He made it a rule to carry two large Jerry cans of water and a plentiful supply of diesel fuel in the rear of the jeep on any long journey he had occasion to undertake. The Mojave Desert was no place to be stranded without water. 

The sky was crowded with stars as he climbed out of the jeep into the still desert air. He paused for a moment to take in the sight before going to the rear door to drag out the heavy Jerry can. It had been a long time since he had actually looked at the sky without the obscuring density of civilisation getting in the way. The stars seemed unusually firm in their positions and almost twinkle free despite the still rising heat from the desert floor. His chagrin faded as he savoured the moment of peace, alone in the wilderness. Ancient blood ties seemed to come to the fore in these rare moments and he almost forgot that the title 'Chief', passed on by his father - and never actually used - was a purely honorary title and meant little any more to the family.

Matt Wildcloud was a university lecturer at Berkely, California. There, he did his best to pass on the accumulated knowledge he had gained during his academic career to, in the main, indifferent and frequently over-indulged students. But for now memories of the university were brushed aside, pushed into forgetfulness by the latent force of ancient right. Old, strangely familiar feelings flooded through his body and sought out his soul. Before he had a chance to think about what he was doing, he stretched out his arms to the stars in a beckoning embrace, allowing the strange feelings wash through him, unhindered by rational thought.

He closed his eyes and let it happen.

He was standing high on a ridge overlooking a fertile valley which stretched out in a narrow ribbon below him. A small stream twisted and turned along its lowest point, tirelessly overcoming the interruptions of jutting rock and intruding banks before fading into the distance. He could make out a huddled settlement spanning both sides of the stream, pointed tents with crossed poles reaching out at each apex. It was much like a Hollywood version of an old 'Red Indian' Village. People moved about the village with no apparent purpose, stopping frequently to talk with neighbours or friends. The sun was high in the sky and it felt like early summer. From his high vantage he spotted small game grazing just outside the village perimeter, unseen by the villagers lower down. A large Eagle with white feathers about its head flew up to his position from a lower ledge and settled on the ground not far from where he stood. It cocked its head to the side and looked directly into his eyes.

'You are Chief Wildcloud.' It said.

It didn't sound like a question so Matt Wildcloud waited for a further address. Strangely, he didn't feel any surprise at all at the fact that an eagle should be speaking to him in the familiar voice of a human being of Northern American origin. Although a part of him felt that he should be amazed at such a bizarre occurrence, somehow it seemed natural that this bird should act toward him in this way. And anyhow, if it chose to speak to him he was sure it must have something important to say, so he waited patiently for it to begin again.

'Why do you not see that which is so obvious to all animals, human?,' it asked.

'What do all animals see?,' Matt asked with a calmness that he was sure was utterly wrong in such a strange situation.

'Your world is in change and you do not see it.' said the eagle.

'How?.'

'Look around you human. Do you not see the changes taking place?.'

The bird spread its wings, hopped around a half circle and then turned back to face Matt Wildcloud.

Matt spread an arm in the direction of the village below.

'You mean that?. That is the change?.'

The eagle jumped in the air and spread its wings in flight. A harsh screeching laugh emitted from its throat.

'That is paradise human, the paradise which is lost to your kind forever. Never again will the souls of humankind pass to such a paradise. The dark one has passed among you and now it is too late. For you, it is finished.'

The mocking laugh of the eagle carried eerily back to Matt Wildcloud as it rose gracefully higher in widening circles. He followed its progress into the distance until disappeared into the high sky.

He looked back at the village down in the valley. It had disappeared too, and where it had previously lain a barren wasteland had suddenly appeared. The bubbling stream had been transformed into a putrid, feeble wash with a trickle of rust coloured water pushing sluggishly past sulphurous outgrowths which reached out of the receding streambed. He thought he could make out the indistinct thrashing of grossly deformed fish twitching convulsively in the shallow putrid water. The settlement had been transformed. Instead of elegant tepees boasting colourful decoration and furs, there stood in its place a collection of rusted tin shanties. He watched despairingly as the now  grotesquely deformed inhabitants squabbled fiercely at the edge of the wash for some fetid morsel of diseased fish.

With a sudden jerk his eyes opened and he was back at the jeep. The stars were as they were before and night once more wrapped him in a cloak of ignorance. He still needed to effect a temporary repair to the hose and fill the radiator with fresh water.

He had had a strange waking dream, he was certain of that, but he felt an almost overwhelming sense of disquiet all the same. The whole thing had seemed so real. He seemed to remember the timbre of the eagles' voice. It reminded him of something he had heard before, long ago, in an earlier dream perhaps?.

After patching up the damaged hose he lifted the Jerry can to the filler cap and began to pour the water carefully into the radiator. He gasped aloud and almost dropped the can and its precious contents onto the engine. The water which poured out from the sealed can had a strange cast to it. He adjusted the hood light and leaned closer to inspect it.

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