Page 37 of Badlands (Nora Kelly #5)

M ARIA’S FAMILY HAD risen in the dark, and as a result Nora, along with the older of the two young boys, set off at first light.

To her surprise, now that it was necessary for him to provide directions, the youth proved to speak decent English.

He would guide her for the first ten miles or so himself, then explain the rest of the route—or, at least, to a point where she could find others who knew more.

Nora protested at his having to walk back such a distance, but he said it was nothing; the road was good and he’d be home again before dark.

The road was not good.

It was a one-lane track with no guardrails chiseled out of the sides of mountains and cliffs, winding up and down in a terrifying manner.

It also crossed and recrossed other, identical-looking roads until she was not sure she’d ever find her way out again.

It took two hours to travel the ten miles.

Then the boy got out; pointed out the road that, supposedly, would take her where she wanted with no further forkings; then turned and began scampering back to San Luis.

Nora watched him for a minute as he grew smaller and smaller in her rear-view mirror.

Then, with a deep breath, she continued along the dreadful road.

She wound her way around several more heart-stopping cliffs, but as she’d been told, there was only one road, and after another two hours and ten additional miles she finally emerged into a hanging valley high in the mountains.

The climate here was much cooler, the slopes clad in pine trees, and a few farmhouses were scattered among the emerald patchwork fields that clung to the steep slopes.

She stopped at the first house she came to and asked directions.

To her consternation, here too nobody professed any knowledge of Oskarbi or any other white man in residence nearby—but they knew Benicio, and she was directed to a little white hut clinging to a promontory above the valley so far up a distant hillside as to be barely visible.

The road—such as it was—ended on the far side of the farmhouses, and she was forced to get out of the Jeep, shoulder her pack, and climb the last few miles to the little white hut.

After a few false turns, the steep, rutted trail came out onto a clearing.

The simple house had a portal overlooking the yawning chasm of Copper Canyon and the mountains beyond.

An old man was on the porch, sitting in a rocking chair, wearing a straw cowboy hat, a clean white shirt, and dungarees.

A large mongrel dog lay at his feet, and upon Nora’s appearance leapt up and began barking frantically.

She hesitated. But when the dog made no aggressive moves beyond the terrible racket, she approached slowly.

The man’s eyes were closed, the chair still.

Was he sleeping? It hardly seemed possible.

A few feet from the porch, she stopped, assumed the least threatening pose she could imagine, then said over the barking and baying: “Disculpe, es Usted el senor Don Benicio?”

The lids slowly opened to reveal two brilliantly black, large eyes.

“Sí, soy yo. Yes, it is I .” He spoke sharply to the dog, who instantly went silent.

Nora stepped guardedly up onto the porch and extended her hand.

“My name is Nora Kelly. Enchanted to meet you.”

“And I also.” He took her hand.

Given her recent discoveries, this was becoming more promising than Nora had hoped.

If nothing else, the old man was still alive.

She paused a moment.

“Don Benicio, I am here to seek your counsel.”

“You are the first in many years to do so.”

Once again, she felt a vast surprise.

She did her best to conceal it.

“ Maestro , I’ve come looking for Carlos Oskarbi.”

Now it was Benicio’s turn to pause.

He gazed at her for a long time.

“And?” he finally asked.

“I understand he may be here.”

There was no reply.

At last—when Nora felt certain this was not simply a pause, but that the old man had no intention of responding—she continued.

“He was a professor of anthropology in New Mexico. He left the position twelve years ago, to return here once again, as a discípulo .”

There was another pause, but after a time Benicio responded.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Nora said.

The man stood up and went inside with the dog.

Nora, who had intended to follow him, found the door shut in her face.

She told herself this was not rudeness; it must simply be the old man’s way.

After about ten minutes he came out again, carrying two mugs.

He sat down, handed one mug to Nora, and nodded for her to sit on the only other seat available—a woodpile on the far edge of the porch.

She sat down and an unhurried silence ensued.

He did not ask any questions or even evince any curiosity.

Finally, Nora cleared her throat.

“It is good to meet you in person, Don Benicio.”

At this, he said nothing.

“I read all about you in Professor Oskarbi’s book. I’m looking for him. I expected he would be here, but if not, I hope you can tell me where I can find him.”

Benicio remained silent, taking the time to sip from his mug, then sip again.

And then finally he spoke.

“Is the coffee to your liking?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Thank you. Now, about Oskarbi—may I speak to him?”

“No,” he said.

“You may not.” And with that, he rose, nodded gravely, then disappeared again into the hut with his dog.

After the door had closed behind him, Nora remained in her seat on the woodpile, recovering from this sudden surprise and trying to understand what had just happened.

Was Oskarbi inside—perhaps as an immured disciple, currently undergoing a spirit journey?

Had he taken a vow of silence?

Had he moved on, or up, somehow?

The people in the farmhouses below professed not to have seen him—but then again, Oskarbi would have come here twelve years ago.

A lot could have happened to him in that time.

He might well have changed under the tutelage of Don Benicio—the tutelage that Maria’s father had warned her against.

It was now late in the afternoon and the sun was about to fall behind the mountains.

She considered knocking on the door, or calling out…

but something told her this would not help.

He clearly knew she was still there and was ignoring her.

If Benicio would not speak to her willingly, there was no way she could induce him.

She rummaged in her pack and pulled out a couple of protein bars and her canteen.

It was cool, but not chill, and she took out her jacket not so much for warmth as for something to sit on.

She rose, draped the jacket over the lone chair, then sat down, rocking back and forth as she ate the protein bars, watching rather idly as the landscape darkened around her.

She felt a strange, and most unexpected, sense of peace settle over her: now that she was here, she found herself in no hurry.

Que será, será.

In time, as near total darkness enveloped the clearing, she placed the jacket on the hard wooden floor of the porch and lay down upon it, making herself as comfortable as possible.

She’d expected to find sleep even more difficult to come by than it had been the night before, at Maria’s house.

But all the recent surprises, and the questions arising from them, seemed—mercifully—to be somnolent as well, and she soon found herself nodding off to the chirruping of crickets.