He had not traveled that narrow trail since he was a small boy. His heart was thundering in his chest, and he felt he was being yanked back in time. He almost expected his father to ride out to greet him.
On the other side of that passage through the desolate-looking Mountain of the Moon was a wide river feeding a lush, green valley, and an Indian tribe that lived in peace and plenty.
He would soon be reunited with the Perdenelas, would soon be their chief. He had been gone for such a long time, surely the elders who had pledged their loyalty to him that night his father had brought him before them were all dead. How would the other tribe members receive him?
He set his gaze on the seemingly solid mountain, its granite face rising inhospitably toward the heavens. He knew where the entrance was located-the memory was burned into his mind.
He slowed his pace when he entered the narrow gorge that wound for over a mile through the mountainside. He felt the cool breeze that came from the valley, and, gazing down at Makinna lying against his chest, he felt her breath on his neck. The medicine woman, Huara, knew all the healing herbs. Soon Makinna would be safe and well.
When he reached the end of the passage, he reined in the horse and stared at the valley below.
At last, after so many years, Tykota had come home.
When Makinna awoke to sunlight, she tried to move, but she was too weak. She dimly realized she was on horseback, encircled by a strong pair of arms. "Where am I?"
"You are safe, Makinna. No one will hurt you again."
She gazed up into Tykota's dark eyes. "That Indian called you his brother."
"He was my brother. My half brother, Sinica."
Tears came to her eyes. "I am so sorry you had to fight him. To kill him. It was all my fault. If I hadn't-"
"Say no more," he interrupted her. "Sinica had to die, Makinna, or he would have gone on marauding and killing. Someone had to stop him."
"I am sorry," she said weakly.
He urged the horse forward.
Makinna frowned. She'd thought they were still on the mesa, but this place was different. There were steep inclines on either side of them, and a mountain looming up to the sky. "Are we going back to Biquera?"
He shifted her so she could see ahead. "No, Makinna, we are not. This is my home, Valle de la Luna."
Her first view of the valley was breathtaking, with the sun breaking through a mist. The valley was so green, it almost reminded her of New Orleans, but there the similarities stopped. A wide, serene river cut its way though fields and pastureland, and deer and elk wandered about unafraid. Makinna gasped when she saw that many dwellings had been carved into the stone mountain itself. It was like nothing else she had ever seen. And it seemed only right that Tykota should have come from such a singular place.
"It is beautiful," she said softly.
"Yes. It is just as I remembered it." His gaze moved over every inch of it, as if he were taking account of each bush and tree.
Abruptly they heard riders, and three armed Indians appeared, blocking their path. They aimed rifles at Tykota, and one of them spoke in a language Makinna did not understand, but from the angry tone she gathered that they were not welcome.
"You have crossed into the land of the Perdenelas, and you must die," one of the men said.
"I am here by right. I am Tykota, son of Valatar, and your new chief."
The warrior frowned and cocked his rifle. "I do not believe you. Our chief would not have a white woman with him."
"This woman is injured and in need of Huara's medicine." Tykota had expected to return with Mangas at his side. Now he had to face skepticism from his own people. "Look into my eyes, and see the truth there."
One of the Indians cried out with joy, and his cry was echoed by the other two. "We have waited for this day. Is it really you, my chief?"
"I am Tykota."
There was a commotion behind them, and Mangas came riding up, a reprimand in his voice when he spoke to the three guards. "Is this how you welcome your leader? Go, tell everyone the chief has come home!"
One warrior reluctantly rode back to guard his post, while the other two raced ahead to alert the village. Tykota watched them cross the river, their happy voices carrying as they called for everyone to gather to greet the chief.
"How does it feel to come home after all these years?" Mangas asked.
Tykota wanted to tell his old teacher how unsure he was that he could be responsible for the well-being of the Perdenelas people. He had been born to lead, but had he the wisdom? Had he the desire?
"I do not know how it feels. My father was a wise man. I am not."
Mangas's sagacious eyes settled on his chief. "You are Valatar's true son. His blood runs in your veins; you will know what to do when the time comes."