Page 43 of Fated Mates

Then I would return to the blackboard and tack black and white photos of ravaged families and leveled cities during World War II. Then Holocaust victims. Finally, one of Adolf Hitler with shaking fists behind a podium and swastika banner.

“What if you could go back to a time before this man was in power?”

I would point at a specific boy or girl, adding,“What would you do, if teenage Adolf was your neighbor? Or best friend. Or fellow student?

“Would you warn this boy of the future consequences of his growing dark opinions and actions and try to convince him to change? What would you do to help stop the grown man from coming into political power that would end in murdering millions of people and affecting the world for generations?”

“Would you stop this monster, if you could?”

The room always ignited passionate discussions and arguments that would last until the period bell clanged.

Academic questions at best, of course.

Until now.

“About that,” I said, biting my bottom lip. “Dove-caller, I’m a school teacher myself, and I’m always in favor of children learning new things, new ways. But there’s also—”

“Flying Deer wishes to see you, lady!” one of Dove’s daughters burst into the shelter and raced out. “She knows you are here!”

“Eeesh! Bright Flower, you are spilling mud everywhere!” Dove said with exasperation as she twirled the girl back out of the house. “Out with you!”

“But Flying Deer wants to see the white lady!”

“Go to the river and wash! Did I not send you to retrieve food for our visitor?”

Dove-caller marched her daughter outside, while rattling off orders in their language, then returned a few minutes later with a long breath.

“Follow me, Callista,” she said, slapping mud off her palms. “We must go. It is not usual for Flying Deer to speak to another without the approval of the elders.”

“I am honored then,” I said. “I’m eager to speak with her myself.”

As we walked through the busy village, I fully expected to be taken to another shelter. But Dove-caller led me to the edge of the clearing, up a forested hillside, finally stopping on its wooded plateau. There, an elderly Indian woman with gray braids sat in front of a deerskin covered lean-to and crackling campfire.

Her heavily lined brown face broke into a tooth-gapped smile as she motioned for us to sit beside her. She said something in their native tongue, then reached into a leather bag at her waist, bringing out herbs that she tossed into the flames that sizzled and sparked aromatic embers into the air.

“Flying Deer welcomes White Lady,” Dove-called translated. “She has dreamed of you for many seasons.”

My mouth dropped, fixing the old woman’s rheumy eyes with mine. Before I could ask my own questions, she spoke again in a cracking, aged voice.

“She says you have come far, but your journey is only at the start.”

A vague fortune that could be taken several ways, of course. Close enough though.

“Can you ask her if she knows of a cave on this mountain, one that...that holds secrets?”

Dove-caller spoke to the old woman who returned her answer.

“Flying Deer knows of this,” she answered. “The power there is great.”

Yeah, no kidding.

But it was nice confirmation that I wasn’t the only one who knew about it. To what extent was still to be determined.

I turned to the old woman, asking, “The symbols in the cave. They brought me here from...my world. Can they take me home again?”

Dove-caller spoke quickly, then translated the old woman’s answer. “The magic of the earth is strongest when the sun is brightest or darkest.”

“The summer and winter solstices we call it,” I said, nodding. “Only then? Are there other times during the year?”

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