pocket door. Beyond it was a chamber with rock walls that looked like the cave of a primitive people. Before stepping inside, he stripped off his modern clothing and laid them on the bed, then untied the leather band that held his dark hair at the back of his neck.
After shaking out his hair so that it hung freely around his broad shoulders, he turned to a narrow closet beside the door and brought out a leather loincloth, leather shirt, and an old-fashioned hunting knife, which he donned.
He closed the door with a leather flap hanging from a pole, then walked barefoot into the primitive environment beyond. Inside the secret chamber, it looked like he had stepped back into the ancient past.
Fur rugs covered the stone floor, and a fire pit with a hidden chimney occupied the center of the room. Fresh kindling and logs were already laid in the stone fire circle. Continuing with the illusion that he was in another time and place, he knelt on one of the buffalo robes and removed flint and steel from under one of the rocks.
Expertly, he began to strike the flint against the steel until he could drop a spark onto the kindling. The dry tinder flared up, and he leaned over to blow on the flame. When the fire was burning nicely, he removed a leather pouch from the same place where he’d gotten the flint and steel.
In it was a mixture he had learned about long ago from the elders of an Indian tribe. He had collected this batch of leaves, bark, and berries from the mountains, dried them on the screened porch at the back of the chalet, and pulverized them with an old-fashioned apothecary mortar and pestle.
He poured a heap of the powerful hallucinogen into the palm of his hand, judging the amount by eye. Then he slowly sprinkled the powder into the flames.
As the herbs hit the fire, pungent smoke flared up, and he leaned over the fire, taking several deep breaths.
The burning mixture made him light-headed, but he took in several more deep breaths before lying down on the buffalo robe and closing his eyes, chanting words from a Native American religious ceremony.
No longer able to speak coherently, he lay with his head swimming, bright colors dancing behind his closed lids. He appreciated the light show, and he let himself drift with it, knowing he couldn’t speed up the process. Finally, the lights began to fade, and he saw an outdoor scene. Trees. A rural area.
He knew that it was night, yet in the vision he could see as well as if it were daylight.
As he watched, the figure of a woman winked into existence. One minute she wasn’t there. In the next, she stepped from the shelter of some rocks into a woods.
She was small and slender, with curly brown hair and light eyes. She was dressed in jeans and a jacket. And . . . sandals.
Had she stepped out of a cave?
No, it seemed as though she had come out of the rocks—from somewhere else.
He didn’t know what that meant. Somewhere else? Where else could there be?
Before he could deal with that, another image assaulted him.
Lightning crackled in the sky above the woman, and he saw her running through the darkness—even though the scene came to him with unnatural light.
Wind whipped the branches of the trees around her. Then a massive oak wavered in the tempest. He tried to shout a warning, but his voice was carried away by the wind as the tree came crashing down on her.
When she disappeared in a sea of leaves, he thought she must be dead. Then, to his astonishment, he saw a pale hand emerge from the mass of green. As she struggled to free herself, he drew in a sigh of relief.
He didn’t know who she was. He wasn’t sure why he should care what happened to her. But his chest tightened as he looked at the massive tree that trapped her.
While the branches rocked, then settled down, she fell back into the leaves as though she had put out a massive effort to free herself.
An animal came
After shaking out his hair so that it hung freely around his broad shoulders, he turned to a narrow closet beside the door and brought out a leather loincloth, leather shirt, and an old-fashioned hunting knife, which he donned.
He closed the door with a leather flap hanging from a pole, then walked barefoot into the primitive environment beyond. Inside the secret chamber, it looked like he had stepped back into the ancient past.
Fur rugs covered the stone floor, and a fire pit with a hidden chimney occupied the center of the room. Fresh kindling and logs were already laid in the stone fire circle. Continuing with the illusion that he was in another time and place, he knelt on one of the buffalo robes and removed flint and steel from under one of the rocks.
Expertly, he began to strike the flint against the steel until he could drop a spark onto the kindling. The dry tinder flared up, and he leaned over to blow on the flame. When the fire was burning nicely, he removed a leather pouch from the same place where he’d gotten the flint and steel.
In it was a mixture he had learned about long ago from the elders of an Indian tribe. He had collected this batch of leaves, bark, and berries from the mountains, dried them on the screened porch at the back of the chalet, and pulverized them with an old-fashioned apothecary mortar and pestle.
He poured a heap of the powerful hallucinogen into the palm of his hand, judging the amount by eye. Then he slowly sprinkled the powder into the flames.
As the herbs hit the fire, pungent smoke flared up, and he leaned over the fire, taking several deep breaths.
The burning mixture made him light-headed, but he took in several more deep breaths before lying down on the buffalo robe and closing his eyes, chanting words from a Native American religious ceremony.
No longer able to speak coherently, he lay with his head swimming, bright colors dancing behind his closed lids. He appreciated the light show, and he let himself drift with it, knowing he couldn’t speed up the process. Finally, the lights began to fade, and he saw an outdoor scene. Trees. A rural area.
He knew that it was night, yet in the vision he could see as well as if it were daylight.
As he watched, the figure of a woman winked into existence. One minute she wasn’t there. In the next, she stepped from the shelter of some rocks into a woods.
She was small and slender, with curly brown hair and light eyes. She was dressed in jeans and a jacket. And . . . sandals.
Had she stepped out of a cave?
No, it seemed as though she had come out of the rocks—from somewhere else.
He didn’t know what that meant. Somewhere else? Where else could there be?
Before he could deal with that, another image assaulted him.
Lightning crackled in the sky above the woman, and he saw her running through the darkness—even though the scene came to him with unnatural light.
Wind whipped the branches of the trees around her. Then a massive oak wavered in the tempest. He tried to shout a warning, but his voice was carried away by the wind as the tree came crashing down on her.
When she disappeared in a sea of leaves, he thought she must be dead. Then, to his astonishment, he saw a pale hand emerge from the mass of green. As she struggled to free herself, he drew in a sigh of relief.
He didn’t know who she was. He wasn’t sure why he should care what happened to her. But his chest tightened as he looked at the massive tree that trapped her.
While the branches rocked, then settled down, she fell back into the leaves as though she had put out a massive effort to free herself.
An animal came
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