Chapter 8 - The Prairiea

If you go down in the plains today,
You're sure of a big surprise.

If you go down in the plains today,
You'd better go in disguise.

For ev'ry bear that ever there was,
Won't gather there for certain, because

Today's the day the Prairie Dogs have their picnic. – An Alternative Folk Song

The rest of that day we said little and paused only to water the mule at a creek we passed around noon. Each of us seemed lost in thought. I could not keep my mind away from Maddy, her morning run, and the gift of her ring.

The ring drew my eyes from our surroundings to the point that I did not notice the creek until we were fording it. It was a beautiful piece of gold. It was elegant. It looked fragile but felt immensely strong. I held it in the palm of my right hand and twirled it about, using my left forefinger.

While our mule drank from the stream, we took lunch. I do not recall eating, though I was not hungry later, so I assume that I must have. All I could think was that Maddy had flown.

It was not until that evening that my thoughts came crashing back down to the real world. It happened suddenly.

“Umph!” grunted Aly, who was sitting on the right side of the cart.

Aly, along with the cart, had dropped a few feet on the right. I had been sitting in the middle, between Jonathan and Aly, but was now lying atop my youngest cousin.

Jonathan, who had caught hold of the left rail in time, stood up. “Kenzie!” he called. “Can you see what’s happened?”

Kenzie, who had been leading the mule, had turned back when the mule stopped walking. She examined the left side of the cart. “Um,” she said. “It doesn’t look good. Hey, Thad! Come here.”

Thad had been walking well in front of us. He trotted over to Kenzie’s side. “That doesn’t look good,” he echoed Kenzie.

“What doesn’t look good?” asked Jonathan.

I had managed to climb off Aly and down out of the cart. I was astonished. “Wheels fall off?” I asked.

“The wheel fell off!” exclaimed Jonathan.

“Yup, front-right,” said Thad to Jonathan, then he turned to me. “Not very often,” he said. “In fact, I’ve never been near one that has, and I am especially surprised that a wheel might have fallen off one of Jim’s carts. He’s a very careful man. He should have caught this.”

I agreed. A chill breeze blew from the southwest, where we had been and where I had been dreaming all day. Something happened back there that I had missed, that we all had missed. Jonathan was the first to notice the sound riding the wind toward us.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered. He was gazing southwest in the direction of the stream we had forded. “It’s some kind of ant or bug… maybe not. It’s a sort of chittering.” He looked to Kenzie for advice.

“I don’t hear anything,” she said.

Jonathan turned his face back in the direction of the breeze. His brow furrowed then rose in alarm. “It’s coming closer!” he said.

Kenzie looked at me, and I shrugged back. “Better safe than sorry,” she said. “Everyone up. Get on the cart. Heppy?” She turned to the bird. “Could you try scouting back? Maybe you’ll see something.” The bird cawed in acknowledgement and flew back in the direction we had come.

The rest of us piled aboard the broken cart and waited.

“Being with you children is certainly a bit nerve-racking,” said Thad to no one in particular. I don’t know why the boss thought I was up for this gig. I’m a poet, not an adventurer.”

Aly patted the man on the head, trying to calm him down. Kenzie said nothing, while Jonathan tried to listen for new noises. I kept my ears open and fingered Maddy’s ring.

For a time nothing happened, and my eyes started to droop. I began to dream, and in my dream I could see Maddy sitting on her bed, her legs swung down and her toes nearly touching the floor.

“Dewey,” she seemed to say.

“Yes,” I said, noting that her voice lacked the laughter that seemed always ready to burst out.

“You will not be with me long,” she said, “so say nothing and listen. The ones you are about to meet are important. You must enlist their aide or all of our efforts will be wasted. Without them even your friend Matt will not be able to stop the angry old man. Do what you can. Trust your cousins. But know that the only one who can truly win them over is the one with the strength to do so.”

I felt confused. What was going on? Was this a dream? “Maddy,” I said. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

She interrupted me. “It’s fading already, Dewey. I’m sorry. I will try to tell you more, later, but for now, just know that I miss you.” She closed her eyes, and the image jerked away.

Thad was shaking me. “Wake up!” he shouted. “Do you hear that?”

I blinked and was awake. The sound that Jonathan had called a chittering was now a rumble. The earth shook around us. “What is that? What’s happening?” I shouted back.

“I don’t know. He hasn’t come back yet!” said Thad, his eyes seeming to roll around in his skull as he glanced around.

“Who?” I called.

“His bird,” said Jonathan. “His bird isn’t back.”

“Where is he?”

“We don’t know,” said Kenzie. The rumbling had grown steadily louder. I could barely hear Kenzie’s voice now. “He’s been gone a half hour, at least,” she yelled, and then there was silence. The word “least” echoed through the plains around us. The rumbling had stopped.

We all looked at one another, confusion written plainly on our brow.

“What…” began Jonathan. He was silenced by the appearance of a prairie dog in front of us. This one was, however, like no prairie dog that I had ever seen. It stood at least three feet tall on its hind legs and with lidded eyes examined us in our cart. Its black-tipped tail waved calmly back and forth. We gaped at the animal. Thad was making choking sounds.

I do not know how, but I could sense a vast age in the creature before me. His whiskers were graying and his back sloped mildly, but something more existed. This prairie dog was a grandfather and a leader. His eyes spoke of sadness and wear. In a slow, measured voice that was both masculine and nasal and that exuded wisdom, the prairie dog spoke. “You have ridden over our land,” he said. “You have rumbled the caves and frightened the pups.” His sentences were accusatory, but his tone was more confused than angry. “What is worse, you have brought a machine, a… vehicle,” his voice trembled at the word, “into a peaceful place. Why? Why have you done this?”

His question was a weak one, a pitiful one. I could feel a hidden strength in his spirit that had somehow been crushed away. What was happening to the people of this world?

Kenzie climbed down off the cart and stood before the ancient prairie dog. Though Kenzie was a tall girl at nearly six feet, the prairie dog did not back away. He stood as though the two were equal in every way. I did not know what Kenzie would say. I did not know if she would take the small creature seriously.

“My name is Mackenzie, and I am sorry,” she said in a voice nearly as measured as the prairie dog before her. “We did not know this was your land. In another world and another time we might never have taken a vehicle across and above your homes. Such was not an option today.” Kenzie turned away from the prairie dog and indicated me. “This boy is named Dewey. A great conflict approaches. He, along with myself and my brother and sister, has been sent by Abraham to the place where the Kansas and Missouri rivers meet to help a boy named Matthew in the coming struggle. Even now, the battle has begun. It is with this terrible assignment in mind that we travel across and over your land.”

Jonathan and I exchanged glances. Kenzie had never spoken like this before. “Weird,” murmured my cousin.

The ancient prairie dog stood silent, appraising the woman in front of him. Then he smiled. “You are wise and courteous. You do your party honor. My name is Herrenfeld. These are my people. These are the Prairiea.” Out of his throat came a chittering call, then the world quaked around us.

From the fields in every direct hundreds of prairie dogs emerged from unseen burrows. Each stood at least two feet high, though none quite managed the height of the wise Herrenfeld. Thad fainted. Aly squeaked with delight. The vast sea of prairie dogs surged in a joyful tide toward us, calling out in a high pitched, brassy language that I could not understand, but thought sounded beautiful.

Herrenfeld made another sound, and the masses quieted. “I know about this conflict. Even we sheltered Prairiea have heard the rumblings in the earth.” He turned toward the west. “The sun sets. The night begins. Take shelter here, and let us speak of these matters.”

Kenzie nodded and thanked Herrenfeld. I felt frustration at the need to stop again, but quashed the urge to lash out. I could still hear the voice of Madison in my dream. Were these the creatures of which she spoke? This night might be an important one.

After Kenzie and Herrenfeld had finished complementing one another and shaking hands, we began setting up the tents. Thad had come out of his faint and was bullied by Jonathan into lending a hand. When the first tent was almost set, a loud caw filled the air. Thad looked up and released the brace he was holding. The tent collapsed. Thad did not care. He was running toward the sound. I followed. At the edge of the encampment he and Heppy were reunited. The crow landed on his shoulder and made a second caw.

“Really?” said Thad. “You don’t say.” I was curious and asked Thad to translate. “He says,” said Thad, “that the sound is just some prairie dogs. They’re friendly, so we shouldn’t worry.”

I looked at the bird on Thad’s shoulder who was preening himself for a job well done, and sighed.

When camp had been made and a fire lit that could comfortably warm my cousins, Thad, Herrenfeld, and myself, the wise and ancient Prairiea spoke.

“You have come far, and yet traveled very little,” he said, staring into the flames. “Your journey is barely begun, yet Change already wraps the four of you in her protective chrysalis. I do not see an easy time to come.” He sighed. “However, that is not what we shall speak tonight, is it?” He turned his eyes from the fire, skipped Kenzie, and looked directly at me.

I felt trapped in the headlights. Until he spoke, I had not realized my intentions. Now they were as clear to me as they obviously had been to Herrenfeld.

Kenzie followed the prairie dog’s gaze to see me squirming on the other side of the fire. “What is he talking about, Dewey? Is there something I don’t know?”

I looked down at my hands and was startled to discover how small they still were. I was a kid. How had all of this become my responsibility? Slowly, I nodded. “Herrenfeld…,” I blinked. Calling the leader of the Prairiea by his first name seemed inappropriate right now. I interrupted my sentence. “Is that what we should call you?”

“You may if you choose,” he said. “There are those of my children who call me the Patros, though I rarely attend to such formality.”

I nodded. “Patros Herrenfeld,” I began. “Though such was not our intent as we traveled over your land, I find it is my duty today to ask you for a gift you have every right to refuse.”

Jonathan, who had been dozing off, jolted up at this. He gazed suspiciously at me. I could not meet his eyes.

“As you have said, the earth rumbles. Forces are mounting. Our friend Matthias stands at the center of something larger than any of us, but he cannot afford to stand alone. He needs us. And he needs you.”

A burst of air escaped Jonathan’s lungs. I do not know how, but he could see where this was going.

“He needs the Prairiea.”

The Patros Herrenfeld stared into the fire and said nothing. Then he turned to me. “I feel you have been misinformed, lad. The Prairiea have heard the distant thunder. They have witnessed the trampings of the multitudes. Yet we stand alone. We are sheltered in our homes. The battles above the surface do not affect us in our burrows. We are peaceful and intend to remain so. We do not take sides.” Having said his lot, the Patros returned his gaze to the fire.

I turned helplessly to Kenzie who only shrugged. Thad, who sat between Jonathan and me, whispered, “This is the way of these creatures. They have stood alone for centuries, perhaps millennia. They take no sides, have never taken sides, and will never take sides. They exist with the earth, shiftless and resolute. They are the Prairiea.”

With nothing left to discuss, the gathering fell away. Kenzie stayed to contemplate the fire with the Patros Herrenfeld. Aly attempted to befriend the many young Prairiea girls, who found her giggles and ability to talk about anything fascinating. Though these creatures had a language of their own, they all seemed entirely conversant in ours.

Feeling embarrassed and frustrated at my failure in turning the mind of the Prairiea leader, I walked back to the broken cart and sat up front. The mule sat in the grass, fast asleep. I heard a rustle behind me, then Thad’s voice. “Don’t feel disheartened, kid,” he said. He sat in the seat beside me. “It was not meant to be. No matter how hard you talk, these people will not change. I’m a little surprised the boss gave you this task.”

At that, my shoulders and head slumped. Thad looked at me curiously. “He did give you the job, no? Kid, tell me you didn’t decide to do this on your own.”

“It wasn’t on my own,” I said, “but it wasn’t the boss, either. You know how I just sort of fell asleep, right before Herrenfeld showed up?”

Thad nodded.

“Well, I had a dream. In my dream, Maddy was calling to me. She told me we would need these people. She said I needed to trust my cousins. I don’t remember it very well now. I think I remember something about strength, but I can’t place it.”

“Oh Dewey,” Thad said, “Did you ever think maybe it was just a dream? Not everything is magical here. Look at Jonathan over there, wrestling with those prairie dog pups. Do you think a few tumbles are going to change any minds? And look at Aly. Did you think adolescent prairie dog girl giggles were going to alter the world?”

I looked at Jonathan and then at Aly and looked away. Thad was surely correct. Herrenfeld had sounded implacable. There was nothing we could do.

Thad rambled on for a time, sounding nearly depressed enough to write another poem. Then his voice changed, and his words trailed off, mid-sentence. I had nearly fallen asleep, but was startled awake by his silence. I looked at him and saw that he was staring off at something. I followed his eyes.

There was Aly and her gaggle of girls. But they had stopped giggling. In fact, the prairie dog children were totally silent. Every last one of them was staring in wonder and astonishment at Aly, who had begun to sing. Even Jonathan’s rough-housing had ceased. The entire camp was silent, save for the crackling of the flames, the slight gusting of wind, and the beautiful sound of a little girl who sang with the breathy whisper of a child’s heart.

I had never heard the song before, and I knew that I never would again. It was far too perfect to be reproduced. At first, Aly sang of simple things: waves of grass and wheat, the glorious dawn and vivid sunsets.

Then her tone changed. Her words became stronger; her song became a tidal wave. She sang the stories of children and parents, of husband and wife, of cousins, of connections seen and unseen. She sang a story that began with a lone infant and ended with the world, with the universe, with the family, with the windswept plains of Kansas.

And just I began to feel crushed by the enormity of this world that we live in, Aly’s tone changed. It grew hollow and empty and cold. It spoke of creaks and cracks, of lost connections, of homeless children, of empty societies that have lost touch with the world and in the same breath with themselves.

Once again, Aly’s melodies changed. The empty societies truly emptied. Lives were lost, senselessly. Murders happened in the night. Parents never came home again. The world had been lost, not by those who had fought to keep it, but by those who had chosen to let it go.

Tears fell into a puddle at Aly’s feet as she sang of a loss more tragic and bitter than the loss of the moon or the stars. The loss she sang of was that of love, of beauty, of empathy and understanding. She sang of a race that could lose its soul.

But as her words and her tune sharpened and stretched taught that bleakest moment, the hope in her eyes and in her own heart fought back. The melody struggled with itself, for a soul once lost is almost impossible to find again by any ordinary individual. Aly, though, was no ordinary individual.

In our minds, we witnessed a pitched battle, as Aly struggled – cut, bloodied and bruised – with the shadows of emptiness. Her song was thick with the cries and screams, for nothingness does not like to return what it has claimed.

Then we felt it. A tear across the fabric of everything bit into us. From the shadows of separation, of loneliness, of despair and hatred, Aly pulled a brilliant sliver of light and love, joy and exultation. Aly had managed pull back a small patch of soul with her song and her compassion. And as the shadows slunk away and the emptiness drew back, the soul in her hands grew in an explosion of rejoicing and light.

As the light sped to eternity, it was possible to see for a moment what had been hidden within that soul. It was a lone infant, and it was a world.

Aly’s song ended as it had begun, as a breathy, childlike whisper that grabbed at the heart and would not let go.

The camp stood silent, save for a few sniffles coming from Thad. As if in a dream, I stood and walked back to the fire. Every eye followed me. As I approached, Herrenfeld stood, his brilliant eyes reflecting the firelight and tears streaming down his furry cheeks.

I said nothing as the Patros wept, unaware that I was weeping as well. When the ancient Prairiea had collected himself, he said, “My people are your people. My people are the world’s people. We shall reach out. We will help.”

I held out my hand, and he grasped it with his own. “Please,” he said. “allow me to adopt you as my own. From this moment on, I and the world shall be honored to know you all as one with the Prairiea.”

Off in the distance, one of the pups that had been tumbling with Jonathan let out a joyful call to the moon, and the silence was shattered by the celebration of all.

The festivities lasted past midnight. Drunk with happiness, I failed to notice Thad until the merriment had died away. Wandering back to the wagon, I spied him shaking his head. I returned to the seat I had occupied several hours before and asked him what the matter might be.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just, well, your cousin has shamed me. How can I continue to be a poet, when I know my ventures can never approach the beauty that she brought us tonight?”

For a time I said nothing, choosing only to consider Thad’s words. Finally, I said, “That isn’t really what poetry is for, is it?” Thad gave me an uncomprehending look. “What I mean is,” I continued, “that poetry is never intended to be beautiful itself. It is meant to reflect the beauty of the world around it.”

We both considered Aly, who was once again giggling with a few of the Prairiea girls. “You know, you might be right,” said Thad. He shook his head as he continued to stare at all. “And, if so, there sure is an awful lot of beauty to reflect out there.”

I looked up at the stars and then at the plains around us. “Without question,” I said.