Les lay still, listening, not quite sure what had awakened him. Then he heard the soft cheerful sound of the flute. Seeing his wife still peacefully slept, he eased quietly out of bed. Padding softly so he wouldn't wake her, he left the room and crossed the hall to the baby's room.
He was prepared for the scene that greeted him as he stood in the doorway. He smiled as any father would at seeing a grandmother rocking her grandson. It did not bother him that his nine month old son was being rocked by the ghost of an ancestor dead for hundreds of years. Nor did the green shimmering ghost sitting cross legged, playing the flute, while he floated a few feet off the floor. It was a scene he had seen many times before. He was used to their caring for young Les Inti White Horse, his son.... Their son.
He smiled again as he thought of how it had all started just over a year and a half ago. The sound of the flute music seemed to change to become a part of his thoughts as his mind drifted back.
He remembered the eerie sound of the flute seemed to come from far away. Its plaintive melody echoed from the sides of the lush foliage covered mountains, floating through the evening mist rising from the floor of the valley. The simple tune caused visions of the ancient ones, their noble faces reflecting a sad seriousness. At the same time it caused goose-bumps to rise on his skin, and a superstitious feeling of fear in the pit of his stomach. There was a sad, yet frightening quality about it.
Les White Horse had come to the mountains of Peru as part of an archaeological research team from the United States. He was only one of seven students on the team.
A gaunt figure, his clothes ragged and torn, Les looked every bit of what he was..., lost. He had gotten himself lost about six weeks ago. Well, actually he wasn't lost. He knew approximately where he was in relation to where he needed to go. And, he reminded himself once more, he had not gotten himself lost either. His sabbatical from the human race, as he had chosen to call it, had been caused by a city girl. He had warned her about the dangers of standing in a canoe. He had no idea what she saw on the riverbank that excited her enough to cause her to jump up, shouting. The roar of the rapids they were navigating drowned out what she yelled. Before he, or anyone else, could react they were all in the water, fighting for their lives.
He had made it. Two of the others, he knew for sure, had not. It became his task to bury what the fish and animals had left. There wasn't much, he found them six days after the accident. He had not found the third, a pretty redhead from Spokane. He had, however, found his backpack and two of the canteens. Giving up his search for the redhead after the second week, he started his trek toward civilization.
Les White Horse had no fear of being alone in the wilds of the South American jungles. His whole life had been a continuous training school on wilderness survival. His father, Carl Proud Elk, and grandfather, Charlie Big Bear, had been his teachers.
They had taught well. Being alone in the wilds of Peru Les found was not much different than being alone in the North Carolina highlands.
He had noticed the flute the last night of his fourth week. It had, of course, caused a tremendous surge of gladness and joy. At first he didn't believe what he heard. He knew approximately where he was, and there wasn't a city, town, or even an Indian village anywhere close. But the flute, and it was a flute, not just the wind blowing through some reeds, kept playing.
Being an experienced woodsman, he knew to pack his gear and extinguish his fire before going in search of the flutist. His training also held in check his urge to run through the dark jungle in search of the first trace of a human he had known since burying his fellow students after the accident. But neither Indian training, nor experience could control his excitement and joy. He was, after all, part white man. Besides, even an Indian got excited now and then.
And so, allowing experience and training to control his emotions, he had packed and donned his backpack and put out his campfire before setting out in the darkness in search of his jungle musician.
His search proved fruitless. The music continued, but it seemed to move as he moved. Hour after hour he trudged through the thick foliage. The elusive haunting melody came no closer or farther away.
His training and caution did pay off when, sometime in the night, he ducked under a tree limb and stepped into thin air. Instinctively, he grabbed the tree limb. If not for the safety string on his flashlight and walking stick, both would have been lost.
He hung there, in a darkness so complete he felt for all the world as though he were floating in the inky blackness of outer space.
He fought down his panic. His swinging flashlight beam seemed to reach into an infinite void below him. By tapping the light with his elbow, he caused it to swing in a wider arc. He wasn't sure, but it looked as though there might be something close on his right. Probing with his foot he finally found something solid. His arms ached from the strain. It seemed he had been hanging for hours. Inching his hands along the limb, he was able to climb back to solid ground, and safety.
He sat for some time, still fighting the urge to panic. All he could hear, over the pounding of his racing heart, was the flute. There was no night animal sounds, no rustling leaves, nothing, just the flute.
Had the playing gotten louder while he was hanging from the tree limb? He didn't think he had been aware of it then. But now it seemed to him that it had gotten louder. Could it have been trying to direct him to safety?
"Probably just my imagination," he said aloud to the black night around him. "Yea," he continued aloud, "I was so scared I could have imagined a flashing neon sign saying, 'Solid ground this way', with a big arrow pointing." The thought caused him to laugh. But his humorous reasoning did not erase the feeling. It still lingered as he unrolled and slid into his sleeping; bag. "I know it was trying to help me," he mumbled, as he slipped into a fitful sleep.
Where was he? Where did all the flutes come from? There were hundreds of them. Glowing an eerie green, they floated in the air, each played by a not quite recognizable specter. He seemed to be falling, slowly, through some thick syrupy blackness. He tried to swim up. He couldn't, the darkness held him down. He struggled, but it was no use. The more he struggled, the lower he sank. The flutes were everywhere, shimmering with that eerie green light. All played the same plaintive tune, that sounded like lost souls crying. Crying for what? Suddenly, glowing green notes began floating from the open end of the flutes. They floated through the thick blackness toward him. They seemed to be forming a cushion under him. He was carried upward, slowly at first, and then, faster and faster. He wasn't aware of the increase in speed at first. He became aware he was moving faster at the same time he first noticed the light. It was a mere speck when he first saw it. He was moving upward, the musical note cushion pushing him ever faster, past more glowing flutes as he rose. Faster..., faster..., the light got brighter and brighter, bigger and bigger. He could feel the inky darkness trying to hold him down. It pressed against his skin, causing a feeling that he was being smashed flatter and flatter, his body spreading like a syrup as he became flatter. The brightness of the now giant light hurt his eyes as he rushed toward it. The green glowing flutes became blurred streaks of light as he rushed past them. Now it seemed he would be consumed by the light....
Suddenly he was sitting in his sleeping bag. He heard the jungle sounds around him, but he could hear the music, still echoing from somewhere close. And the glaring, brilliant light still hurt his eyes....
It was the sun. He put his hands up, shading his eyes. The sun felt warm on his damp skin. His whole body was wet from perspiration. His clothes felt cold and clammy to the touch. He gave an involuntary shiver.
Looking around he saw that he sat about ten yards from the edge of a cliff. Below him stretched a deep valley, miles across. The view in the morning sun was spectacular. The morning mist, a softly swirling brilliant orange cloud, hung over parts of the lush green valley as far as the eye could see. Likewise, the tops of the surrounding mountains were shrouded in orange clouded crowns. Down the valley an eagle slowly glided on the morning air, its lonely shriek reached his ear. It was a sight he would never forget. It betokened a creation by one who loved beauty. A beauty that, if left alone by man, would forever be breathtaking.
All feeling of calm oneness with nature was dispelled as he crawled forward looking for the place where he had fallen. He actually jumped back. His body filled with a chill as he realized how close he had come to death. He inched forward cautiously to peer over the edge.
"0h WOW!" was all he could say as he looked downward. He lay on an outcropping of rock a good two thousand feet above the base of a sheer rock cliff. A little to his right was a large tree, its limbs reaching outward, as though stretching toward the sunshine. It was the only tree close to the edge. He had little doubt it had been his only link with life for a very precarious period of time during the night just passed.
Les was not often given to prayer, but he now looked to the sky, his thoughts filled with prayers of thanks. He weighed the odds that his narrow escape from death could be attributed to luck or Devine intervention. Considering the fact that he could have gone over the edge of the cliff at any other spot, his relation to, and the location of that one tree, he had to rule out luck. Only Devine guidance and protection could have guided his hands to that one limb. Again he said a silent prayer of thanks.
After spending some time contemplating his good fortune, his stomach told him it was time to think about food.
"No sense in the Almighty keeping me from breaking my dumb neck, and then me starving myself to death," he said aloud as he busied himself digging into his backpack for his snare string.
A short search into the woods revealed a wellworn animal run. He didn't know what kind of beast he might snare, but food was food. He just hoped it wouldn't take all morning. He had been taught the patience of the hunter, but an empty stomach knows no patience. So he occupied his time by looking around for wild fruits and berries. His every minute was accompanied by the mournful melody of the flute.
His search and snare had served him well. He dined on fruits he could not name by sight or taste and a very small animal that looked and tasted like wild boar.
His belly full, he made ready to continue his search for the elusive flute player. He wasn't sure when he had first come to think of the flute playing as beyond mere mortal, but that was his thought now as he packed his gear. No one person could play day and night without stop. Yet the style and tone indicated one player. There were other reasons that led to his understanding that the music was supernatural. Reasons he could not put into words. He guessed it was just a gut feeling.... No, it was more than a feeling..., he knew. It was not just a guess or feeling, the player and his music was not of this world. What he did not know was what compelled him to follow this mysterious music.
But following it he was. He could see no harm. After all, his compass told him, he had not deviated from his course toward civilization.
He was still following the music now, three days later, as he stood facing the remains of some ancient Inca Havacas. Havacas was an Inca word for a sacred site or temple. His trip down the face of the cliff where he had almost become a person of the past had brought him to this place. His descent, though precarious at times, had really been easy.
Following the realization that he was being led somewhere by his elusive flutist, Les noticed something else. The music told him when he was making a wrong turn, or going the wrong way. If he deviated seriously from his course the music became softer, and it seemed to him, more sad sounding. Like-wise, it speeded up and got noticeably louder if he was in danger. This revelation came when he had come too close to the edge of the path down the cliff, and again when he had, inadvertently, almost walked into quicksand on the second day after his near fall.
Because he was a student of archaeology the ruins excited him. And because he was Indian, his excitement was mixed with a feeling of sadness for, and a kinship with, those ancient people who had built this place of worship. He spent the hours of daylight left exploring this fascinating architectural masterpiece. He wondered at the sheer determination that must have existed to build this magnificent tribute to Inti, the sun god of the Inca.
Night was coming, and his thoughts had turned toward something to eat, when he found the room. He was not consciously aware that the flute had guided him to it.
Les was not easily surprised, but what he saw as he entered through the low doorway did, in fact, more than surprise him. It astonished him.
There, sitting at what could best be described as a stone table filled with food and drink, was the pretty redhead from Spokane. Strangely, she did not look out of place. She looked as though she were some mystical part of the room around her. He stood flabbergasted, unable to speak, so complete was his surprise.
She, however, reacted totally different. When she saw him, she jumped up and, with a squeal of delight, ran to him. She literally leaped into his arms, and covered his face with kisses. She was, after a short time, reduced to soft sobbing and exclamations of joyful thanksgiving.
Snapping out of his surprised trance, Les held her close, murmuring soft comforting words and gently stroking her flowing red hair. He was amazed at how glad he was to see her. They had not really known each other, yet he felt a joy in knowing she had not perished at the river that one would normally only feel for a lover or very dear friend.
Finally, after she had regained her composure, she led him to the table, chattering like a Magpie.
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you. I thought I was the only one left. I should have known you would make it. Oh, I must look a mess...." On and on she went.
Until, at last, Les put his hand gently over her mouth. "Shhh, shhh..., it's alright. You're safe now. We'll make it back to civilization together." Removing his hand, he looked at her. Her clothes were dirty and torn. She had scratches and small cuts on her arms and legs. Tear streaks in the dirt on her face let him know she had cried much more than her crying for joy at seeing him. Despite all this, to him, she was extremely beautiful.
"How on earth did you get here?" he asked.
She started chattering again. And again, he put his hand over her mouth. "Whoa, slow down, take your time," he told her gently.
She told of her harrowing escape from the raging rapids. Of how she had searched for days for any survivors, without luck. "But I did find a backpack with food and water. And then the strangest thing happened. I heard the most beautiful music...." She paused. Taking a drink from an ancient goblet on the table, she seemed to be searching for words.
Les noticed how lovely she was as her copper colored hair seemed to shimmer in the soft fire light.
"It was a flute," she continued. "Well of course, I was really excited. And I took off into the jungle looking for the person playing the music. Let me tell you, I'm lucky I didn't kill myself." She went on, telling of days and nights filled with danger, excitement, and exasperation at not being able to find her elusive flute player.
"Well, anyway, I don't know when, or how, but it finally came to me that I was being guided by the music." She stopped again. This time she was listening. She was, it seemed, calmer. Les, listen..., there are two flutes now. There was only one before...."
He had become aware of the second flute as she talked. After hearing her story he understood.
"Yes", he said, "one led you, one led me. We each had our own


guide. And, we were both led here, to each other." He said it matter-of-factly. There was no surprise or alarm. It seemed this was as it should be.
He put his arm around her, drawing her close, as he took another drink from his goblet. He had not been aware he was drinking from the ancient container. He, also, had not been aware of the strange feeling of calm contentment that had overcome him. He had, however, noticed his feelings for the girl. It was as though he had loved..., no, love wasn't the word, he had adored her forever.
He also noticed, as the girl melted into his arms, in a long lingering kiss, that the music now had a softer, more gentle quality to it.
They both became aware the music had stopped. Looking up they saw two glowing figures before them. But no feeling of fear entered their calmness. They felt only a calm acceptance that these two apparitions should be here. They were expected.
These two new arrivals were beautiful. The man was young, well muscled, an aura of nobility pervaded him. The other was a beautiful girl with the body of a goddess. Both seemed to glow a soft, shimmering green. They wore the sacrificial dress of the ancient Inca. Their gold armbands gleamed in the fire light. They both smiled.
Les was aware that he should be alarmed, scared, his mind told him this. But he was not. All he felt was a strange calmness and the all consuming love for the girl beside him. He was aware of all these things as the glowing visitant warrior prince pointed toward them and spoke.
"You are the chosen descendants. You will produce and bring forth our seed. He will carry out the curse of the ancient ones on the descendents of those who destroyed our people." He spoke in an authoritative, though soft voice. There was no malice in the way he spoke. "The time is now. We have waited centuries." As he spoke, he and the female specter floated toward Les and the girl.
The two living beings felt no alarm as the two long dead ones seemed to become a part of them. The glowing figures flowed into their warm living bodies.
All the two humans felt was an overwhelming passion and love for each other as they embraced one another. They made love with an urgency far beyond human need. It was an urgency wrought by centuries of waiting for this moment.... At last, in the early hours of the new day, they slept. They held each other close, even in sleep.
They did not see, or were they aware of, the glowing spirits leaving their bodies. The shimmering couple floated away without looking back. They penetrated, and seemed to become a part of, the wall of the ancient temple. There was the sound of two flutes playing a cheerful tune. And then, this too, slowly faded away. All was quiet as the lovers slept, and the embers of their fire died in the morning light.
Then, weeks later, back in the civilized world, it all seemed like a dream to Les and Shari. He had finally asked her name the next morning after they had made love again. They knew it was no dream because, aside from being very much in love, they were extremely rich.
The two of them had roused themselves from their bed of love to find two small, very old, brass chests beside them. According to the experts, the jewels the chests contained would leave the two of them extremely wealthy. Of course they had to pay the Peruvian government their cut, but still they would not want for anything during their lives.
All was well in their lives. They both knew they were to be parents. They discussed the baby and wondered how he would avenge the wrongs done the ancient ones. But for some reason the happenings of the past and those to come caused them no alarm. Les and Shari often wondered aloud about the contents of those beautiful old goblets....
Les scratched his sleep messed head and smiled at the ghosts of the Inca Prince and Princess as he turned to go back to bed. They would care for little Les through the night.
"Yes," he said aloud, softly, as he climbed back into bed, "I wonder what was in those goblets."
-END-

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