In the snow an animal jumped and rolled, its fur a fiery gleam against the whiteness. Howell gasped in delight: a fox, tossing the snow and crunching it between its black jaws. Then something else moved. The old man shook his head in disbelief.
“Festus.”
Clumsily, sinking over his head in the drifts, the spaniel tumbled and rose beside the fox, the two of them playing in the moonlight. Clouds of white sparkled about them as the fox leaped gracefully to land beside the dog, rolling until it was only an auburn blur.
Howell held his breath, moving away from the window so that his shadow could not disturb them. Then he recalled the boy sleeping in the next room.
“Andrew,” he whispered loudly, his hand against the wall to steady himself as he walked into the room. “Andrew, you have to see something.”
The window seat was empty The door leading outside swung open, banging against the wall in the frigid wind. Howell turned and walked toward the door, finally stopping and clinging to the frame as he stared outside.
In the snow lay a green hospital gown, blown several feet from the door. Bare footprints extended a few yards into the field. Howell followed them. Where the shadows of the house fell behind him, the footprints ended. Small pawprints marked the drifts, leading across the field to where the fox and dog played.
He lifted his head and stared at them. He saw where Festus’s tracks ran off to the side of the house and then back to join the other’s. As he watched, the animals abruptly stopped. Festus craned his head to look back at his master and then floundered joyfully through the drifts to meet him. Howell stepped forward. He stared from the tracks to the two animals, yelled in amazement and stood stark upright. Then stumbling he tried to run toward them. When Festus bounded against his knees the man staggered and fell. The world tilted from white to swirling darkness.
It was light when he came to. Beside him hunched the boy, his face red and tear streaked.
“Major Howell,” he said. “Please—”
The old man sat up slowly, pulling the blankets around him. He stared for a moment at Andrew, then at the far door where the flagstones shone from melted snow. .
“I saw it,” he whispered. “What you did, I saw it.”
Andrew shook his head. “Don’t—You can’t—”
Howell reached for his shoulder and squeezed it. “How does it work?”
Andrew stared at him, silent.
“How does it work?” Howell repeated excitedly “How can you do it?”
The boy bit his lip. Howell’s face was scarlet, his eyes feverishly bright. “I—it’s this,” Andrew said at last, pulling the amulet from his chest. “It was my mother’s. I took it when she died.”
His hands shaking, Howell gently took the stone between his fingers, rubbing the frayed string. “Magic,” he said.
Andrew shivered despite the fire at his back. “It’s from here. The Indians. The Tankiteke. There were lots, my mother said. Her grandfather found it when he was little. My father—” He ended brokenly.
Howell nodded in wonder. “It works,” he said. “I saw it work.” Andrew swallowed and drew back a little, so that the amulet slipped from Howell’s hand. “Like this,” he explained, opening his mouth and slipping one finger beneath his tongue. “But you don’t swallow it.”
“I saw you,” the old man repeated. “I saw you playing with my dog.” He nodded at Festus, dozing in front of the fire. “Can you be anything?”
Andrew bit his lip before answering. “I think so. My mother said you just concentrate on it—on what you want. See—”
And he took it into his hand, held it out so that the firelight illuminated it. “It’s like all these things in one. Look: it’s got wings and horns and hooves.”
“And that’s how you hid from them.” Howell slapped his knees. “No wonder they never found you.”
Andrew nodded glumly.
“Well,” Howell coughed. He sank back into the chair, eyes closed. He reached for Andrew, and the boy felt the old mans hand tighten about his own, cold and surprisingly strong. After a minute Howell opened his eyes. He looked from the flames to Andrew and held the boy’s gaze for a long time, silent. Then,
“You could fly with something like that,” he said. “You could fly again.”
Andrew let his breath out in a long shudder. ‘That’s right,” he said finally beneath his breath. He turned away. “You could fly again, Major Howell.”
Howell reached for the boy’s hand again, his fingers clamping there like a metal hinge. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I think I’ll go to sleep now.”
The following afternoon the plow came. Andrew heard it long before it reached Sugar Mountain, an eager roar like a great wave overtaking the snowbound bungalow. The phone was working, too; he heard Howell in the next room, talking between fits of coughing. A short time later a pickup bounced up the drive. Andrew stared in disbelief, then fled into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
He heard several voices greeting Howell at the door, the thump of boots upon the flagstones.
“Thank you, Isaac,” wheezed the astronaut. Andrew heard the others stomp into the kitchen. “I was out of everything.” Andrew opened the door a crack and peered out, glaring at Festus when the dog scratched at it.
Howell motioned the visitors into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Andrew listened to their murmuring voices before storming back into the living room. He huddled out of sight on the window seat, staring outside until they left. After the pickup rattled back down the mountainside, he stalked into the kitchen to make dinner.
“I didn’t tell them,” Howell said mildly that evening as they sat before the fire.
Andrew glared at him but said nothing.
“They wouldn’t be interested,” Howell said. Every breath now shook him like a cold wind. “Andrew … ”
The boy sat in silence, his hand tight around the amulet. Finally Howell stood, knocking over his glass of scotch. He started to bend to retrieve it when Andrew stopped him.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “Not like that.” He hesitated, then said, “You ever see a drunk dog?”
Howell stared at him, then nodded. “Yes.”
“It’s like that,” said Andrew. “Only worse.”
Festus followed them as they walked to the door, Andrew holding the old man’s elbow. For a moment they hesitated. Then Andrew shoved the door open, wincing at the icy wind that stirred funnels of snow in the field.
“It’s so cold,” Howell whispered, shivering inside his flannel robe. “It won’t be so bad,” said Andrew, helping him outside.
They stood in the field. Overhead the full moon bloomed as Festus nosed after old footprints. Andrew stepped away from Howell, then took the talisman from around his own neck.
“Like I told you,” he said as he handed it to the old man.
Howell hesitated. “It’ll work for me?”
Andrew clutched his arms, shivering. “I think so,” he said, gazing at the amulet in the man’s hand. “I think you can be whatever you want.”
Howell nodded and turned away. “Don’t look,” he whispered. Andrew stared at his feet. A moment later the flannel robe blew against his ankles. He heard a gasp and shut his eyes, willing away the tears before opening them again.
In front of Andrew the air sparkled for an instant with eddies of snow. Beside him, Festus whined, staring above his head. Andrew looked up and saw a fluttering scrap like a leaf: a bat squeaking as its wings beat feebly, then more powerfully, as if drawing strength from the freezing wind. It circled the boy’s head—once, twice—then began to climb, higher and higher, until Andrew squinted to see it in the moonlight.
“Major Howell!” he shouted. “Major Howell!”