Sylvie was the first of the two to open her eyes. She had expected a rough hewn cave with dark corners and meandering caverns decorated with cobwebs and guttering torches. What greeted her instead was smooth cut walls of stone with murals and reliefs that depicted a variety of scenes. Some depicted furious battles, while others showed pastoral scenes of life in harmony with nature.

One scene showed a young brave who stood on a mountain with a red robe around him. Adorned in thick furs, he held a hammer to the sky and was surrounded by a nimbus of lightning. Looking down at the floor, she saw a series of rugs and runners in tasteful, muted colors that matched the whites, blacks, and greys of the rock that surrounded them on all sides. The whole complex seemed to be lit with indirect fixtures embedded in channels in the walls.

Marting could not choose just one thing to look at. His eyes wandered over everything. They were in a large open foyer. Hallways led off in each of the four directions in the center of each wall.

“We have fresh, filtered air through secured ductwork. Our power is supplied with solar and geothermal as well and wind turbines. We probably need to update those, but we have been using them for years,” said Uncle.

“Who is the guy with the hammer, Uncle?” asked Sylvie.

“That one was odd. He ended up going and spending many years in Scandinavia. They told me he was revered there for a long time. It was said he could throw the hammer really far and with great accuracy. I suspect he became part of their legends. When one of us dies, sometimes the feather stays transformed. We recovered his hammer in 1962. Would you like to see it?”

“Can we?” was Martin’s immediate response. Sylvie seemed neutral on the matter, so they fallowed Uncle into the hall directly in front of where they had arrived.

As they moved into the hall, the lights behind them turned off, leaving dim, emergency LED lighting still holding total darkness at bay. As they moved forward through the hall, alcoves carved into the walls were illuminated to display an assortment of tribal artifacts and different weapons that were made of what seemed like metal but contained a Damascus like ghostly design of feathers and almost seemed translucent. Swords and spears from many cultures and eras were displayed in these small alcoves. Soon, they entered a larger room through the center of a wall. The chamber was thirty feet tall. It was sixty feet wide and fifty feet deep. In the center of the room, sealed in a plexiglass box, with a light coming from above, was a massive warhammer. The hammer was not a blocky and inelegant object with no redeeming qualities. The hammer was done in  a beautiful design, adorned with the same translucent feather motif as the other displayed weapons. On pedestals around the room stood other weapons in the same style.

“Can these weapons still be used?” asked Martin.

Uncle answered, “They can, but results can be unpredictable. There is an echo of the original owner in the weapon. It can reject a new person using it. Nobody has been able to use the hammer in our history.”

Sylvie could not help but keep staring at the hammer. Such an implement of war crafted with such beauty was a contrast that she had trouble ignoring. A staff on the far wall was the only thing that caught her attention away from it.

“I see you noticed the staff. The warrior who used that was a very unique person. Their abilities were quite unique, as was their personality.”

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“Martin, each of those who accept the gifts can get additional abilities. You have both traveled with me using the portals I can open. Sometimes people get the ability to travel, but not in the same way.”

Sylvie began wandering around the weapons in the room. As she took in the depth of her family history, she began to wonder how much more there was to absorb. He father was gone, and she was now surrounded by the hidden history of his family, her family. If only her sister were not gone too. They should have eventually shared in this epiphany.

“Who wants to visit the other areas?”

“What’s next, Si… Uncle?” piped up Martin.

“How about we go see the ridgepole?” was Uncle’s response.

He led the little trio back to the central room and, from there, to the room to their left. The light went out behind them as they went down that hall and illuminated their way down the hall. The security lighting was comforting as they moved into the next area.

The alcoves along this hall displayed clothing from many tribes and showed the colorful ceremonial garb in all of the splendor of the oldest people of the Americas. When they reached the huge room, they found a single pedestal in the center of the room. There was no plexiglass case. All that stood on the pedestal was a single multicolored crystal. The crystal was twelve inches in diameter and stood two feet tall. There was a light from above, but it seemed like the crystal gave off a greater light than the one from above.

Martin was the first to speak upon seeing the glowing object. “How is THIS a pole?”

“The name is for its function, not the shape. This object holds the universe away from collapse. It balances the opposing forces of the structure of the universe. It is responsible for allowing us to open portals to other places. There are legends that it also exists in other universes and keeps them all from crashing into each other and breaking all that is…”

Sylvie looked at him questioningly, “Is what?”

“Just is. The gist of it is that, if the ridgepole fails, or is corrupted by our enemies, everything could be destroyed.”

Before Uncle could halt it, Sylvie and Martin both, seemingly in a strange trance, reached out and touched the crystal. It was warm to the touch and left a tingling sensation on their hands. “No! Why did you do that?!” he cried out in anguish.

They both seemed to wake from their altered state with a start. Looking around, Sylvie was the first to find her voice, “There was a voice asking me to. I could not resist,” she said with a furrowed brow. She looked like she was trying to solve a complex riddle by brute mental force.

“Sorry, Sir. I heard the voice too. I don’t know what came over me. It was a man’s voice. It laughed a little at the end.”

Uncle shook his head in disbelief, “Some things can’t be undone. Just as one can cross a stream in many ways, but can never step onto the same bit of water twice.”

Both kids looked at him in confusion. The looks on their faces clearly said, “Huh?” 

“Never mind. I guess we should go to the other two rooms. First, we should go to the sacred corn. It is in the room directly across from this one. Let’s go. I will have to fill you in on the tradition you both just joined,” said the suddenly tired-looking adult.

As they made their way from the room of the ridgepole, they all went across to the opposite room. The areas they left continued to darken after them as their path was illuminated. This hall had alcoves that depicted images and carvings of Corn Woman. Each work of art was done in the style of a different native tribe. Sylvie especially liked the robe that used feathers and beads that showed Corn Woman feeding a starving tribe.

When they entered the room, they found barrels that held what looked like corn kernels, but the kernels seemed to be made of polished silvery metal. The room had at least fifty barrels that could hold fifty-five gallons of water each. They were all full of corn. 

“Uh, I hear the voice again…” came Martin’s shaky voice.

“Me too…” Sylvie said in a weak and faraway voice.

“Just do it. That jerk is not going to give up until you do it,” Uncle shook his head in disgust and frustration as he shook his head. Each of the teens reached out and took one kernel of corn and ate it. They were moving as if in a dream state until they had swallowed.

As they, once again, seemed to stir from a waking dream, they looked at each other in confusion. “What did we just do?” asked Sylvie.

“You just accepted two of the three gifts of the Thunderbird. All you need to do now is accept the feather when it arrives, and you will be stuck like I am. Let’s skip the last room for now.”

“And what if I want to accept a feather?!” she answered with her quick temper.