The Land of Burned Out Fires

  Land of Burned Out Fires

  by Vella Munn

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  THE LAND OF BURNED OUT FIRES

  Copyright © 2012 VELLA MUNN

  ISBN 978-1-62135-009-5

  Cover Art Designed by Elaina Lee

  Edited by B.G. Lashbrooks

  One spring day three very special women, a teenage boy, and I went to the Lava Beds National Landmark near the Oregon/California border. Interest in writing had initially brought the women together, but we now considered each other dear friends. The boy was there because he going through a rough patch in his life, and his mother didn’t want to leave him alone. Sometimes we walked as one over the starkly-beautiful ghost-filled land. Sometimes we broke off for some solitude because the compelling elements were speaking to us.

  I dedicate Land of Burned out Fires to those precious friends, Lance, and the Modoc Indians who left their spirits behind for us.

  Chapter One

  Is this really me?

  No doubt about it. The neon blue silk coveralls Kayla Stephens had been directed to wear this afternoon would stand out in any crowd. She loved the soft fabric and delicate white boots, and the thought of the looks she'd get at school made her wish she could keep the outfit. But it wasn’t practical; coveralls that wouldn't hold up to any manual labor and spanking new boots weren't what any sane person would wear out here.

  Careful not to move, Kayla took in her surroundings for the umpteenth time. What was it they called this desolate mass of rock and sage just south of the Oregon/California border? Lava beds? Yes, the Lava Beds National Landmark.

  It was a good thing they'd turned it into a landmark because it wasn't suitable for anything else. There were hardly any trees, and the few there had been beaten up by the wind. Short, hearty shrubs had found a foothold in the poorest soil she’d ever seen. At least the shrubs provided shelter for an amazing variety of birds. If it wasn't for the countless boulders, the land would be pretty flat.

  Even with all the rocks and boulders, she could see what seemed like half the world, but she couldn't imagine anyone wanting to come here unless they had to. Sure, a lake was just over what passed for a hill, and on the way here, she'd passed several ranches. Ranches? What in the world did the people raise or run on the land?

  The land made her exposed and vulnerable as if she was being watched.

  “We're ready again, boys and girls,” the photographer called out. “Time to talk to the camera.”

  Kayla didn't have to pose yet, so she could study the two high school seniors as they followed photographer Rory Morgan's direction. The guys had had considerable modeling experience. Although it was hot and windy, they smiled at the camera while striking poses that said they hadn't had this much fun since Disneyland. So far, all Rory and Virginia Blush, who handled advertising for a small chain of teen clothing stores, had asked of her was that she move in certain ways when she was told to, but she had the suspicion they'd soon want her to figure out some things on her own.

  I'm trying. I'm really trying. And you have to know I want to do this so badly I can taste it. This gig, as her friends and cousin Megan kept telling her, was the Big Time.

  It was; no doubt about it. There probably wasn't a sixteen year old girl alive who didn't want to be a model. But if she didn't get a drink of water or find some shade pretty soon, she wasn't going to make it. And the insects, yuck! The other two girls were, like her, just old enough for drivers' licenses, but Carrie had been in front of cameras since she started winning cute baby contests, and Amelia wanted to become an actress. Kayla was the newcomer, the novice. She also seemed to be the only one overwhelmed by their surroundings.

  Hello. Is anyone out there?

  “Kayla,” Ms. Blush called. “Kayla dear, come here.”

  Kayla did as she'd been ordered. No matter how hard she'd tried to walk on rocks and not dirt, dust now coated the expensive boots. Ms. Blush frowned. “Rory, you have a towel, don't you? Kayla, you're going to have to clean them before we can do anything.” She looked up, seeming to see Kayla for the first time.

  “You really are striking, my dear. All that hair—” Reaching out, she brushed long, light blond hair away from Kayla's neck. “And those big blue eyes—“

  Ms. Blush went on and on, making Kayla feel like a poodle the woman was considering buying. She gave fleeting thought to jumping up and down like an exuberant puppy, but that sure wouldn't help her modeling career. Still, her imagination allowed her to briefly forget the insistent wind and buzzing flies.

  By the time Ms. Blush had decided the outfit met her standards and told her to stand with the guys on either side of her, Kayla had her impulses under control. No matter how thirsty and wilted she felt, she wouldn’t forget she was being given the chance of a lifetime. Ah, the glam and luxury of a modeling career! All except for the insect part. And maybe someone spying on her.

  “You gotta be kidding!” her twenty-one year old brother Chuck had bellowed into the phone when she told him she'd been selected from more than fifty other hopefuls to help promote the clothing chain’s winter line. “My scrawny, bony-kneed sister, a fashion model? So when are they jetting you to Paris?”

  “You'll get to wear the most beautiful clothes,” her cousin had sighed. “Have your hair done and someone do your makeup? I wish...” Megan hadn't said more than that, but Kayla had read her mind. If Megan, at eighteen, didn't have a baby, there'd be more to her life than a closet-sized apartment, no high school diploma, and more bills than her part-time job as a waitress could cover.

  Kayla forced her mind off Megan, her tiny apartment, and the sweet but fussy baby boy, but before she could figure out what she was supposed to do next, her parents' advice echoed inside her.

  “It isn't the real world,” her father had said when she told them she'd be joining a crew for four days and three nights of posing and outfit changes—once he'd signed the consent form. “I don't want you getting the idea that clothes are what the world is about.”

  Her mother had pointed out that being selected as a model was an unusual end to summer vacation, nothing else. If her mother could have gotten away from her real estate business, she would have come along. Her father was under so much pressure as a hospital grants administrator that he couldn’t take any time off. If they were here she wouldn’t be looking over her shoulder.

  “Kayla? Are you with us?”

  Glad for the distraction, she muttered, “Yes.”

  “Then let the camera know it.” Rory wiped sweat off his balding head. “Your outfit stands out against the background. Something this, uh, bright will get customers' attention. Imagine being so in love with what you're wearing that you could care less about your surroundings.”

  I wish I could. Smiling the faint smile she'd seen the other girls use, Kayla tried to do as Rory had suggested.

  “You're getting there,” Rory encouraged as he snapped shots. “Work on the faraway look. As soon as school’s over for the day, you and your friends are heading for the mall where that cute boy from chemistry works afternoons. You're imagining the look on his face when he sees you.” There hadn’t been a cute boy in Kayla's chem
istry class last year, but just thinking about closing the school door behind her was enough to...

  Not sure what had caught her attention, she squinted. To her left and quite a distance away were some rocky outcroppings with bits of sagebrush and other stuff growing in and around the lava deposits. Maybe a bird had just landed. Maybe some small animal—

  No, not an animal.

  Disbelieving, she blinked. She started to rub her eyes, then stopped when Rory told her to hold still. He didn't tell her to look into the camera which meant she could go on trying to make sense of whatever was out there.

  It couldn't be a person. No one would have a reason to stand out in the sun like that. And yet she was half convinced someone had climbed one of the boulders and was standing at the top, looking at her.

  The monument was managed by the National Park Service, so probably she’d spotted one of the employees. But why would he or she be staring like that? All right, not a ranger, or whatever they were. Maybe some hiker.

  Come on down and join us. Maybe they’ll hire you.

  Restless, she divided her time between doing what was expected of her and sneaking glances. When the watcher didn’t move on, she tried to tell herself that whoever it was didn't give a darn about her personally but was simply curious about what was going on. The argument would have held more water if it hadn't been for the rock.

  The rock, more specifically an ebony stone about the size of a silver half dollar, only fatter and with a hole in the middle, had been one of her brother's spontaneous gifts to her a couple of months ago.

  “It's a quirk of nature,” he'd written in the note that accompanied the smooth, glossy rock. “But we can pretend it's been waiting a million years to be found. I stumbled upon it while hiking along the Pacific Crest Trail. It had your name on it, a remembrance from your worthless but happy vagabond of a brother. Wear it in health and remember, life’s too short not to grab hold of it.”

  Right away, Kayla had known what to do with it, string a silver chain through the hole and make a necklace out of it. Every time she started to take it off, she changed her mind. It was almost as if the rock wanted to be part of her. Because she was wearing jewelry from the clothing store, she'd tucked her brother's gift under her top. The rock had gotten hot.

  Well, not really hot. But warmer than it should be.

  “Hold on boys and girls,” Rory announced. “I want to look at what I’ve done so far.”

  Brad, the taller of the two boys, walked over to an ice chest and pulled out a bottle of water. “Want some?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said, not giving Brad more than a glance, although a while ago she'd been trying to think of something to say to him.

  After taking a long, welcome swallow, she held onto the bottle and started toward the distant watcher. Someone—it might have been Rory—said something, but she paid no attention. With every step, she felt more removed from what she'd come to the lava beds for. It wasn't possible of course, but she'd almost swear the watcher had placed a spell over her.

  Oh, yeah, right. What is it with you and your imagination? Get with the program. At least don’t tell anyone what you’re thinking, or they’ll lock you up.

  The shoot had been set up within throwing distance of a narrow, well-maintained road. But she now had her back to it and the van that had brought all of them here from the campground where they were staying. Her boots kept slipping on the eons-old lava, and she was aware of the birds flying high overhead. She supposed they'd been attracted to this otherwise barren area by the nearby lake.

  Kayla couldn't pinpoint the moment she realized the watcher was about her age. A girl dressed like an Indian, or what she guessed an Indian would have worn a long time ago. Maybe she could have concentrated more if her necklace wasn't all but burning her. The girl had on a simple, straight brownish dress with short sleeves and a hem that came to her knees. There wasn't any fringe or beads, but Kayla was pretty sure it was made of animal hide.

  The girl held something, her grip so tight it turned her knuckles white. Her thick black hair had been cut to shoulder length and framed large dark eyes and high cheekbones. Her nose was a little on the large side. What struck Kayla the most was that the girl was barefoot—at least that's what held her attention until she'd come close enough to see the stranger had been crying.

  “I—are you all right?” Kayla asked.

  The girl jumped back a step. Her red-rimmed eyes widened.

  “Don't be afraid,” Kayla said, more softly this time, although she was a breath from turning and running herself. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

  The girl's grip on whatever she was holding tightened.

  “You were watching us.” She didn’t know whether to be scared or concerned about the girl’s sanity. What about her feet? Between the heat and rocks, how could she stand it? “Would—would you like to come watch?”

  The way the girl kept looking at her with her head tipped to one side, Kayla wasn't sure she understood what she was saying.

  “What's that?” Kayla pointed at what was in her hands.

  A gust of wind blew hair over the girl's eyes. She wiped the strands away. As she did, Kayla saw what she was gripping. “A doll?” she asked, unable to keep disbelief out of her voice. “It looks handmade. Can I see it?"

  Gasping, the girl took another backward step. She started to take another but stumbled. Thinking to keep her from falling, Kayla grabbed her elbow.

  Sobbing, the girl jerked free and ran.

  Chapter Two

  Kayla had never considered herself particularly brave. Oh sure, she'd seen her share of horror movies while babysitting, but nothing in those movies or babysitting experiences had prepared her for today. For too long she stared at where the girl had stood, then turned her attention to the boulder she'd run behind and stared some more. Seriously strange didn't begin to describe the crying Indian with the doll.

  “Well, that was rude,” Kayla muttered. “Rude and weird.” She started to turn to go back to the others, but an image of the girl's tear-streaked features rose in her mind. That and the handmade doll.

  Something she'd never felt before shifted inside her. She understood sympathy for another person. She listened when her mother complained about prospective buyers who insisted on being shown dozens of houses, then say they'd get back in touch but didn’t. She did the same with her father who often brought up his work pressure. Things got even more intense with Megan who cried every time she got another bill.

  But in each of those situations, Kayla felt as if she was standing off to one side, not really knowing what they felt. How could she? She didn’t know what it was like to go to work every day. And although she loved rocking and feeding the baby, she didn’t have total responsibility for him.

  This time she felt.

  “What's the matter?” she asked as she walked toward the boulder. “Please, don't be afraid of me. I want—is there anything I can do?”

  The boulder was large enough to shelter two people if they stood close together. Kayla couldn't be sure the girl was behind it, but wouldn't she have seen her run off? She supposed she could walk around the rock, but if she did, she might scare the girl and herself. Besides, what if someone else was back there?

  Like who? Jack the Ripper? Maybe Freddie Kruger? Get real.

  “Did I say something wrong?” she asked on the tail of her pep talk. “If I did, I'm sorry. I just didn't expect—shoot, I'm not sure what I expected.” Not this. “I can't do much more walking in these boots. They'll fall apart, and I’ll really get into trouble. You wanted to talk to me, didn’t you? You acted like it. Can't you—I really do want to get to know you.” She took a deep breath. “Learn why you're crying.”

  From somewhere high overhead, a bird shrieked. As long as the creature didn't drop a deposit on her, she didn't care what it did. A hot gust of wind heated her face, but she didn’t take a drink.

  “You look so alone out here,” she continued. Just like me. “Don't
you want to talk?”

  Unable to think of anything else to say, Kayla spread her arms to show the girl—if she was watching—that she didn't have anything remotely capable of hurting anyone on her and could offer her a drink of water if she wanted. The heat reflecting off the rocks was intense, and she had to work at convincing herself that the faint rustling sound came from the wind rattling the brush and not some rattler. This country was seriously intimidating; she couldn’t remember ever feeling this small or insignificant.

  She'd just lowered her arms when the girl stepped into view. Although she was startled, Kayla also felt satisfaction. She had gotten through. Now what?

  “I need you,” the girl said. She spoke with an unfamiliar accent.

  “You need—me?”

  “Only you can help.”

  “Me, help?” Stop that! You sound like an idiot.

  “You were sent...”

  “Sent?” Kayla started to repeat, then clenched her teeth. “I wasn't sent—I mean, I'm here to model clothes. That's all.”

  Frowning, the girl shook her head.

  “I'm Kayla Stephens. I live in Medford. You know where that is, don’t you? What's your name?”

  “Morning Song.”

  Yeah, right. “Morning—Song?”

  “I must change my name. It no longer speaks of me.”

  What are you talking about? “You can do that? Change your name?”

  “I must. I no longer sing.”

  Morning Song's face wasn't as tear streaked as it had been earlier, but Kayla could still see the sorrow in her eyes, the slump to her shoulders. She wanted to embrace her, but when she'd tried before, Morning Song had run away. Besides, the teen struck her as seriously strange. “Why not?”

  Morning Song's lips trembled. She clamped her hand over them and briefly looked at the horizon. “My heart is broken.”

  “I'm so sorry.” Was that what she was supposed to say? “What was it? You have a fight with your folks, break up with your boyfriend?”