Four hours later, Blair Sandburg excused himself from the small hut where Dr. Schindler was living. The professor watched his departure through the cracked door, and then smiled when Blair disappeared into his own temporary home. The young fool had been convinced. Totally. A photographic memory definitely had its advantages.

Schindler moved to the bedroom where his belongings were stored. Carefully, he peeled off his mask, smiling at the welcome feel of cool air against his skin at last. He moved to the small mirror hanging on the wall and studied the reflection, turning when Alan appeared at his shoulder.

"Do you think he suspects anything?" the younger man asked, reaching out to take the latex mask from his boss.

The older man shook his head, turning again to study himself in the mirror, flexing his jaw and reaching up to rub a sore spot on his cheek. "Not a bit," he replied, then grinned at his reflection.

Klaus Zeller's cruel smile leered back.

* * * * *

Ellison paused in his march through the woods to stretch his back, looking up at the gray sky. He'd just resumed his trek, heading for the camp where Blair was hiding out, when he heard a cry.

"Jim!!!"

He looked up at the familiar, jovial voice, and smiled as his arms were suddenly filled with an ecstatic Blair Sandburg.

"Oh Jim! Jim, it's you! I'm so happy to see you, man!" Blair was bouncing with joy, looking up at the sentinel with shining eyes.

"Good to see you, too Chief," Jim replied, grinning as he hugged the smaller man to his chest. They were together again, the way they should be, sentinel and guide.

"How did you find me?" Blair asked breathlessly as he pulled back form the hug. Jim just smiled. He'd let the kid wonder for now. Explanations could wait.

"Well, c'mon!" Blair said as he started down the path away from Jim, motioning for the sentinel to follow. "Boy, the tribe is gonna be so glad to meet you."

Jim just chuckled as he fell in step beside his partner. They walked along in companionable silence for a few minutes, Blair looking up to smile at Jim every few steps, as if not quite able to believe he was there. Soon, the sentinel heard the sound of wind echoing, and the far away rush of water. He stopped short as the trees suddenly thinned out, revealing a deep gorge with a fast flowing river lying far below. A narrow, unsubstantial rope bridge spanned the breadth of the gap, swinging faintly in the crosswind.

Blair looked up, and he must have seen the uncertainty on his friend's face. "Don't worry, man. It's a lot safer than it looks!" He stepped out onto the bridge, beckoning Jim with a hand. Taking a deep breath, the detective stepped out onto the swaying bridge and started across. Blair had been living in this place; if he considered the bridge safe, then Jim would trust his judgment.

They carefully made their way across the rickety suspension bridge, hands grasping the flimsy guide ropes on either side. Jim glanced down, but immediately regretted it. The river roared along over jagged rocks a thousand feet below. He closed his eyes as his head swam for a moment. Then he continued on, watching Blair's back as his young friend carefully stepped along in front of him. The student stopped for a moment, turning back to smile reassuringly.

{Boy, he's doing well!} the older man thought in surprise. He remembered all too well that Blair was afraid of heights, but the kid seemed to be handling the treacherous journey over the bridge just fine.

"Come on, Jim! Follow me! We're nearly there!" Blair called back. Jim was about to answer, when his sentinel ears picked up a sound that turned him cold; the sound of wood splintering. His eyes focused on the plank beneath Blair's feet. It was splitting.

"CHIEF, MOVE!!!" He cried, but the desperate warning was too late. The plank beneath his guide's feet snapped, and Blair fell through the large, jagged gap with a startled cry. Already in motion, Jim dove forward and managed to snag the sleeve of his friend's oversized suede jacket, but Sandburg's downward momentum dragged him forward so that his head, arm and shoulder were hanging down beneath the swaying bridge. Jim could hear the groaning of the overburdened old boards as they protested in the wind.

"Hang on, kid! I've got you!" Jim called through gritted teeth, trying to pull Blair back up.

"Jim," Blair gasped. "Jim... help me!"

Ellison strained against the pull of gravity as he clutched the sleeve in iron fingers. His determined blue eyes locked on Blair's as he felt the suede slowly slipping out of his grip.

"No!" he grunted, clenching his fingers more tightly. "No, damn it! NO!" Blair's eyes were pleading, full of terror. The sentinel tried to reach down with his free hand, but quickly gave up when he was nearly pulled down through the gap himself. He grabbed one of the support lines, and spoke down to his terrified friend. "Blair... Blair, I can't hold on. Grab my hand!"

"No, Jim, I can't... I CAN'T! Please Jim... HELP ME!!"

Jim strained downward. "Yes, you can, Chief, come on! Just reach up and grab my arm! Hurry, buddy, I can't hold on to you much longer!" Jim winced as he felt the sleeve sliding through his fingers. "C'MON, BLAIR!!!" he shouted impatiently.

Sandburg never took his eyes off Jim's as he nodded, slowly reached up his free arm... and slipped out of his jacket.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!" Jim wailed, as his guide slipped away. His strong sight gave him a crystal clear view of Blair's eyes as the anthropologist fell soundlessly into the gorge....

"BLAIR!!!" Jim gasped as he sat bolt upright, panting, his stomach churning with the vision of his best friend falling to his death right before his eyes. He looked numbly at the young woman sitting in the airplane seat beside him, her hand on his arm, asking if he was all right. Jim realized his trembling hands were stretched out, groping in desperation at the phantom image of his falling partner, and quickly lowered them.

"Yes..., just a nightmare," he said, his voice shaking slightly, as he ran a hand over his brow to wipe away the cold sweat. He looked around the rest of the cabin, apologizing for disturbing the other passengers on the flight to Juneau. As his pounding heart slowly settled, he tried to convince himself that it had been a dream... just a dream. Blair wasn't lying broken... dead... at the bottom of a gorge.

Or was he? Suddenly, Jim remembered Burton's theory of the 'connection' between a sentinel and his guide. A mental connection that helped the guide detect zone outs in time to stop them. He felt his chest tighten with dread. What if the dream wasn't a dream? What if he'd just tuned into Blair's mind there, for a minute?

What if...?

Ellison sat back in his chair and looked nervously out the window, his desperation to find his guide increasing with each second. He tried to calm himself through rational thought. OK, he'd been with Blair on the bridge. So what he'd just seen in his mind couldn't have actually happened. He wasn't there. His friend wasn't dead... yet. But, perhaps the dream was a premonition, a warning of what was to come.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember if there were any suspension bridges in this part of the state. His mind continued to work as the small plane began its final approach, bringing him into Juneau and hopefully, back to his guide.

* * * * *

"And so it's my conclusion that, while the tribe has adopted many of the modern white men's ways," Blair said as he jotted notes, "They have managed to retain nearly all of their traditions, especially with regard to their artistic creations." He dotted the end of the sentence with a flourish and tucked the pen behind his ear. As he began to re-read the opening paragraph of his report, the flap of his hut suddenly whipped back, and Professor Schindler ducked in.

"Hello there, my young friend," said the older man, and once again Blair felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. What was it about this man that disturbed him so?

"Hey," he said, burying his feelings under a welcoming smile. {Stop being stupid, Chief,} he scolded himself as he offered his counterpart a seat. As the professor sat, Blair suddenly realized it was Jim's voice he'd just heard inside his head, and not his own. Would he ever hear that beloved nickname again? He sighed as he was filled with loneliness once more.

As the days passed, he'd thought he would think less about the big detective, his sentinel. Instead, just the opposite was happening; more and more frequently he found his thoughts drifting back to his former partner. How nice it would be to spend a night in his little bed back at the loft on Prospect, instead of on the hard cot in a cold, drafty hut.

"Hello? Simmons, are you there?"

Blair came to himself with a jolt as a hand gently squeezed his arm. He looked up to find Schindler staring at him, and gasped at the coldness in the man's pale eyes. It was looking into the eyes of a snake, and he quickly apologized as he drew his arm out of the strange man's grasp. He quickly got to his feet, muttering about needing to get some air. He left the hut and Dr. Schindler behind, mind racing, trying to shake the chill that had crept into his bones at the other man's touch.

{What is it about that guy?}

* * * *

A few hours after his arrival in Juneau, Jim was shivering in a tiny seat in the back of a small, drafty supply plane. The pilot was one of the many that made monthly supply runs to the less-inhabited areas of the region. He and his comrades provided supplies for many of the local tribes, including the one with which Blair was reported to be living.

Ellison shifted again, trying to get comfortable in the hard seat, one of two in the stark storage area of the plane. He leaned forward to glance out the tiny, dirty window, catching a glimpse of the snowy terrain.

"Sir?" The pilot called back over his shoulder. "Sir, you should gather your things, we'll be landing shortly."

Jim nodded to the Inuit pilot, and reached down to secure his duffle bag. In his desperate hurry, he'd only packed a single change of clothes for what he hoped would be the last leg of his journey. The rest of his things were locked in a hotel room in Juneau.

He'd left his credit card, and told the staff to charge by the day until he returned. He didn't know how long it would take to find Blair and convince him to come home, how many days he would have to pay for his none-too-cheap room. Frankly, he didn't care. He would gladly go back to Cascade penniless, as long as his guide was with him.

The little plane shuddered and bucked as it came in for a landing, and Jim sat back in the seat to brace himself. Soon, there was a gentle bump, and the pilot taxied the plane around, bringing it to a stop.

Jim gathered up his bag, undid his seatbelt and stood up as the pilot unlatched the plane's hatch, and lowered it. The sentinel stood in the doorway for a moment, looking uncertainly out at the desolate view that met his eyes. There was no sign of civilization.

"Where are we?" he asked, turning to the pilot. "I thought you were taking me to the camp?"

The Inuit merely shrugged. "Sorry, sir," the chunky man said. "Pilots are not allowed to cross into the Metlakatla's land, it violates their traditions. This is as far as I can take you." He smiled a semi-toothless grin at Ellison.

Jim just stared at the cheerful little man in disbelief. "As far...," he sputtered, gazing around once more at the barren landscape. "Well, what am I supposed to do now?" He reluctantly jumped down onto the hard packed snow, and looked up at the pilot, waiting for his response.

The Inuit chuckled as he hopped down beside Jim. He laid a hand on the big man's shoulder and pointed toward the far distant trees, dark green against the gray horizon.

"Just head for those trees," he explained, patting Jim on the back. "When you reach them, you'll see the path. Just follow it through, then head south around the lake, and you're there! Easy." The little man smiled again before climbing back into his plane.

Jim just stood there with his bag at his feet, watching with a slack jaw as the plane turned, taxied away, and took off. He watched the tiny aircraft become a tiny dot, grow even tinier, and vanish at last into the low gray clouds.

With a heavy sigh, the sentinel turned, taking in his surroundings. In any other direction but the trees, there was nothing. Barren. "The things I do for you, Sandburg," he muttered. Jim sighed again, this time in resignation, hefted his bag on his shoulder, and started toward the trees. Toward his guide.

* * * *

"Neko?"

The old man looked up as the young one hesitated at the door of his hut. His deeply wrinkled face broke into a wide welcoming smile, and he gestured with a gnarled hand for the young man to enter.

Blair returned the smile and ducked around the sealskin flap that kept the cold air out of the hut. He sat where the old man patted, on a bearskin, and warmed his slender hands gratefully at the fire. Blair was certain that even if he remained in Alaska six years instead of six months, he would never become accustomed to the bone-chilling cold.

He just sat there, rubbing his hands together, staring silently into the flames. He could feel Neko's dark eyes studying him, and he glanced over at the old man.

"Apaa Tunu-Kingu has much on his mind today?" Neko asked softly, moving closer to the fire.

Blair chuckled as always at his nickname. All the children called him 'Kingu', now, the joyous cry going up whenever Blair crossed the camp, begging him to join in their games.

He loved the tribe. He was happy here, and truly felt he belonged, but...

"But... it still is not enough.... Is it?" The soft, wise voice took Sandburg by surprise. Had he spoken his feelings aloud, or had it been the old man reading his mind?

Blair's head shot up as Neko voiced his thoughts. He turned to see the old man nodding sagely, brown eyes twinkling with an inner, ancient light.

The guide took a deep breath and turned his eyes to the flames again. He barely noticed as Neko stood and approached him, one wrinkled hand dipping into his pocket.

The old man held a handful of ground caribou teeth in his weathered palm. He chanted a brief spell over the dust before sprinkling it over the head of the young man seated before him.

Blair stiffened as he felt the powder surrounding him, settling on his skin, and infiltrating into his lungs. Almost immediately, his head began to swim, his eyelids growing heavy. The room began to spin, twirling and whirling all around him, and then he was falling....

"Blair?" A voice, unexpectedly familiar, called out to him.

Blair turned, mildly surprised to find himself in the woods. He could've sworn a moment ago he'd been in Neko's hut. But none of that mattered, because coming toward him through the trees was the man he'd been aching to see for weeks.

"JIM!"

The big man laughed as Blair ran to him and flung himself into his welcoming arms. Blair clung to his friend, his sentinel, and laughed aloud as Jim hugged him, lifting him up and swinging him around.

"Jim, how on earth did you find me?" Blair asked breathlessly as the big man set him down. The only answer was an enigmatic grin and a rolling of Jim's eyes. Blair didn't ask again. How his sentinel had located him didn't matter. Didn't matter at all. All that mattered, all Blair Sandburg cared about, was that they were together again. From the look of pure joy on Jim's face, that was all he cared about as well.

"C'mon!" Blair called, motioning for Jim to follow him through the trees toward the camp. He glanced back to make sure Jim was following.

Blair led the way along the familiar trail, ducking under and climbing over all the usual branches. He looked back every few feet to make sure Jim hadn't lost him and fallen behind. Soon, the trees thinned out, and they were at the edge of a gorge. The roar of the river far below drowned out all other sounds, enveloping them in its primal roar.

Blair saw the uncertain look in Jim's eyes, and chuckled. He patted the big man's arm reassuringly, and stepped out onto the narrow rope bridge that was the only way across the void. "It's okay, Jim. Just follow me." He watched as his friend took a deep breath before stepping cautiously out onto the bridge. Soon, they were both moving briskly along the rickety wooden structure.

Blair paused to let Jim catch up. He was just turning to call out encouragement to his partner, when there was an ear-splitting crack. Sandburg watched, horrified, as the board beneath Jim's feet gave way, and the sentinel fell through the ragged gap in the ancient boards.

"JIM!" Blair shrieked, charging toward where the Sentinel clung to the next plank with only his fingertips. The young man dove forward and snagged Jim's wrist just as the detective's grip slipped. Blair yelped as he was dragged halfway through the gap by Jim's weight.

"Blair!" Jim gasped, looking up helplessly at his partner. "Blair... help me!"

"Hang on, Jim! Just hang on!" Blair cried, frantically trying to keep his hold on Ellison's wrists. It was no use; he wasn't strong enough to hold the big man. Jim's fingers were slipping through his own, sliding away.

"No!" Blair cried, clawing desperately at Jim's fingers. "No! Jim! Hang on! Please!"

"I can't, Blair... I CAN'T!" Jim shouted up, eyes wide with terror. "You're not strong enough by yourself!"

"But, there's nobody else, Jim!" Blair countered. "It's just me! I'm alone!" He closed his eyes as Jim's fingers slipped away. Falling backward, Blair curled himself into a trembling ball and covered his head to try and block out his sentinel's death-screams as he tumbled down into the gorge far below.

Blair came awake to the feeling of strong hands gripping his shoulders. He was being pinned to the cold ground by iron hands fighting to keeping him still. He continued to struggle, trying to grab at the phantom image of Jim as the sentinel fell to his death.

"No! Nooooooo, Jiiiiim!!!!!!"

"Kingu! Apaa Tunu-Kingu! BLAIR!!! Be still!" Neko was shouting helplessly. He tried to restrain the hysterical anthropologist, regretful that the induced vision had generated such an upsetting affect on the young man.

The guide seemed to be calming, wide blue eyes taking in his surroundings. Neko knelt and wrapped an arm around the narrow shoulders, helping the younger man sit up.

"What...," Blair gasped breathlessly, as he realized the frightening ordeal was just a vision. "What does it mean? How...?" His eyes searched the old man's, seeking wisdom, guidance.

Neko just studied the anthropologist for a long moment before replying "What do you think it means?" He stood up and gave Blair an arm, helping him to his feet. He directed the young man to his cot, where he sat him down.

"I... don't know," Blair said, shaking his head slightly, looking at the floor, still trying to clear the sight of Jim's terrified eyes from his mind and the sounds of his dying screams from his ears. He leaned forward and held his head in his hands. What could it mean? Was Jim in some kind of trouble? Did the sentinel need his absent guide?

Neko chuckled low in his throat as he settled onto the cot beside his young friend. He laid a bony hand on Blair's shoulder, drawing the young man closer as he said softly, "I believe that you do know what the vision meant, but your heart does not want to believe it."

"Believe what?" Blair asked, a touch of irritation becoming evident in his voice. "Ever since I met you, you've been so... so cryptic!" he huffed, and abruptly stood up, running an impatient hand through his curls.

"If you know what I'm supposed to be feeling, Neko, then please...," Blair knelt before the old man, looking beseechingly up into the ancient eyes. "Please... tell me."

The old man was silent for a long time. Then, a serene, wise smile crossed the thin lips, and he slowly got to his feet, nodding in gratitude as Blair gave him a helping hand up. He turned and crossed to his tapestry, not needing to look behind to know the boy was following.

"You are the Guide," the old man began, reaching up to trace one finger across the figure of a small male painted onto the fabric, "The one who searches." He ran his finger along the series of line that radiated outward from the figure. "You have many false paths, but only one path that is the correct one, the one that will make you complete." A bony finger followed the longest line leading across the tapestry, terminating at the shape of second male figure. "You cannot be complete without the other half of yourself."

Blair just watched with wide eyes as the old man knelt, and retrieved an object from a basket on the floor beside the tapestry. Neko brought the long item, wrapped in cloth, over to his speechless young guest and, urged Blair to sit down beside him on the floor.

The protective layer of cloth was unfolded and, in Neko's gnarled hands lay a walrus tusk, nearly three feet long. He laid it across their laps, running his fingers reverently over the figures etched there, then darkened with black ink. The figures appeared nearly identical to those on the tapestry. "Apaa Tunu-Kingu is a guide," the old man began again, his fingers gently tracing those of the smaller figure once more. "But, a guide requires his watchman to be complete. Just as the watchman must have his guide in order to survive." His finger moved to the etching of a taller male, standing apart from the guide figure. "Life without purpose is meaningless. It is the guide's purpose to protect his watchman. To stand at his side is his greatest calling."

Blair studied the intricate scrimshaw work. "And without his guide, the watchman falls... What is this between them, Neko? What is separating them?"

The old man nodded in appreciation of Blair's observation. "It is ice. A frozen river. But, I do not think it is the water that separates them. I think that it is the cold which keeps watchman and guide apart."

"The cold..." Blair murmured. "Do you mean the coldness of the ice?" His blue eyes studied the old shaman's face carefully. "Is that the coldness which keeps them apart?"

A crooked smile crinkled the old man's wrinkled skin even more deeply. "Ahhh, Apaa Tunu-Kingu, it is not for me to interpret everything you see in the carving. You, too, are a shaman, are you not? How else will you learn unless you practice seeing with your own eyes? What other coldness could there be than the ice? What other coldness could ever separate guide and watchman?"

What other coldness indeed? Blair's gaze flickered back to the carving. He found he could no longer meet the old Inuit's eyes. "The coldness of the heart, Neko. The coldness of a guide who abandons his watchman. The coldness that could make the guide doubt his place in the watchman's life. And in his heart."

The old man's hand covered his and squeezed gently. "If the guide truly believed that by leaving, he would be protecting his watchman, then perhaps it was not coldness at all. Perhaps, then it is only the river which divides them after all."

Blair looked up, his eyes hopeful. "And rivers can be crossed?"

Neko nodded, his wise eyes sparkling. "Rivers can indeed be crossed. From both banks, they can be crossed. The crossing is often difficult, sometimes dangerous, but yes, it can be done." Then, the old man stood up slowly, placing the carving on the soft blanket covering the cot. "I must rest now. Go. Think about all you have seen and heard. Listen to your heart, Blair."

Sensing that he was dismissed, Blair turned to leave. Halfway outside, he turned. "Thank you, Neko," he said softly. "You have given me a great deal to think about."

The old man was already stretched out on his narrow cot, his eyes closed. Waving a hand in the air, he turned his back to Blair and slept.

It was only after stepping back into the arctic cold that Blair realized the enigmatic old man had known his real name. He shook his head in bemusement, but continued on his way. He glanced at Mirake's hut, longing for the warmth that waited within, then shook his head quickly. He needed time alone to absorb this new information, these new ideas which the old shaman had given him. Instead of returning to the warmth of the fires in the hut of his host family, Blair turned away, toward the solitude of the frozen lake.

* * * * *