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“Greetings,” he said in the tribal language of the Kumeyaay. “I am Father—” He corrected himself. “I am Gregorio Salva— ”
    “I know who you are.” The Old One didn’t speak in his tribe’s tongue, but in Spanish.
    “You know the language of my country?” The fire snapped, echoing through the cave.
    “I know many languages,” the Old One said. “Why have you come?”
    32 LISA KESSLER
    Hot, stagnant air choked him and sweat trickled down his back.
    “To become a member of the tribe.”
    “No. You came for answers that might heal the pain in your heart.” He stoked the fire without making eye contact.
    Gregorio frowned. “How do you know this?” The Old One’s gaze rose from the flames to meet his, and a strange realization formed in his mind. Deep in the old man’s eyes, he saw wisdom that appeared far older than the man. Only his pure white hair betrayed his age. His face bore no lines or wrinkles. It made no sense. Gregorio rubbed at his eyes, sure he was mistaken, but the man’s youthful face remained a contradiction.
    The Old One ignored his question. “You seek vengeance. But vengeance will not bring you the peace you seek. Only love will heal your wounds.”
    Gregorio bit back the pain and loss that were his constant companions. “I will never love again.”
    “You will. When she lives again.”
    Gregorio’s gaze shot up to meet the old man’s. “I will never live to see that day.”
    “You seem certain.” The Old One ceased poking the fire, resting the long stick against the side of the cave. “Are you so sure of the world around you that you would give up a chance to see her again?”
    “I would have offered my life to save hers, but I did not get that chance,” Gregorio said.
    “And now you would kill those who took her from you.”
    “They deserve no better.”
    “Perhaps not.” The old man tossed another log into the flames.
    “You were once one of them, an outsider. You came on a ship to this land and laid claim to something which did not belong to you. What makes you a better man than them?”
    “I was naive. My intentions were only to help these people. The warriors tell me you can look into a man’s heart. Surely you can see I speak the truth.”
    The Old One went silent, and his eyes seemed to glow in the dim firelight, as though the old man wasn’t simply looking at him but Night Walker 33
    rather through him.
    “You loved Tala,” the Old One whispered.
    “With all my soul.” He wondered how the old man knew her name, but perhaps the Shaman from the tribe informed the Old One of her death.
    “Enough to wait for her to walk this earth again?”
    “You believe she will?” Gregorio struggled to keep his voice controlled when everything in his body wanted to beg this medicine man for any kind of magic to bring her back.
    “Do you always answer with more questions?”
    “Forgive me, but I have been raised to believe when a soul is laid to rest, her spirit dwells with the Lord in Heaven. How can you be certain this is not true?”
    “How can you be certain this Heaven you speak of exists?” Gregorio clenched his fists to keep from shaking the white-haired man. “Now it is you who answers with questions.” A small smile curled on the Old One’s lips, briefly giving his face the lines of an older man. “I have given no answers. Not yet.” His stare mesmerized Gregorio until he was lost in the Old One’s eyes. “First you must answer my question. Is your love for her strong enough to see you through the years until her soul finds you again?”
    “It makes no difference.” Gregorio met his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “No man lives forever.” The Old One’s laughter echoed through the cave. He shook his head. “You know nothing, Father Salvador.”
    “Father Salvador no longer exists. Only Gregorio remains.”
    “Is that so?” The Old One’s eyes twinkled in the firelight. “A man can change his name, his title, but he is still the