Maya woke to the sound of her phone buzzing insistently on the nightstand, the urgent tone cutting through the peaceful mountain silence that had become her refuge over the past few days. The sunrise was just beginning to paint the peaks outside her hotel window in shades of gold and pink, but something about the persistent ringing made her heart race even before she saw Anya's name flashing on the screen.
Her twin sister never called this early unless something was wrong. Maya fumbled for the phone, immediately alert despite having slept fitfully, her dreams filled with fragments of yesterday's encounter with Ouray at the sacred lake.
"Anya?" Maya answered, her voice rough with sleep and concern.
"Maya, thank God you answered." Anya's voice carried a tension Maya had rarely heard before—the kind of raw worry that came from a sleepless night spent imagining worst-case scenarios. "I need to talk to you before you do anything today. Before you make any decisions."
Maya sat up in bed, the medallion falling from her palm where she'd been clutching it unconsciously through the night. Outside her window, the mountains stood in their eternal majesty, indifferent to human concerns but somehow still comforting in their permanence.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I'm not okay, and I don't think you are either." Anya's words came out in a rush, as if she'd been rehearsing them all night. "Maya, I've been lying awake since we talked yesterday, and I can't stop thinking about what you told me. About this man, about the choice you're facing, about the possibility of you leaving your entire life behind for someone you've only seen in dreams."
Maya felt a familiar stirring in her chest—the same defensive reaction she'd experienced whenever anyone questioned her research or her instincts. But underneath it was the uncomfortable recognition that Anya's fears weren't entirely unreasonable.
"Anya, I told you I was processing everything. I didn't say I was making any immediate decisions."
"But you're considering it. You're seriously considering abandoning everything—your career, your life, me—to be with someone you've had spiritual encounters with." Anya's voice cracked slightly, and Maya could hear the pain underneath the worry. "Maya, that terrifies me. That's not rational behavior. That's not the sister I've known my entire life making careful, thoughtful decisions."
Maya stared out at the mountains, feeling the pull she'd experienced every morning since arriving in Colorado. The landscape called to something deep in her soul, something that had nothing to do with logic or rational decision-making.
"I'm not planning to do anything impulsive. I'm flying home today as scheduled."
"Are you? Are you really coming home, or are you going to get to that lake and decide you can't leave?" Anya's question hung in the air between them, carrying the weight of thirty-two years of shared understanding. "Because from everything you've told me, it sounds like this place and this... connection... have completely taken over your thinking."
"That's not fair. You're saying that because you've never experienced it. You don't know how it feels when someone says they love you and you feel the words surrounding your heart, filling up your soul. You're judging me and it's not fair." Maya's voice grew more passionate. "Anya, if you came here, I bet you would feel a pull to this place too. It's a part of us - you and me both. This connection to the land, to the spiritual energy here - it's in our blood."
"Isn't it? Maya, listen to yourself. When you got to Colorado, you were excited about family research and uncovering forgotten stories. Now you're talking about love that transcends time and crossing into different centuries to be with someone who lived and died more than 150 years ago." Anya's voice grew more intense. "Do you hear how that sounds to someone who loves you and is worried about your mental health?"
Maya pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she struggled with the tension between her spiritual certainty and her sister's logical concerns. Anya wasn't wrong—the progression of her experiences in Colorado had been rapid and intense, culminating in claims that would sound impossible to anyone who hadn't lived through them.
"What do you want me to say, Anya? That I'm making it all up? That everything I've experienced here is just my imagination running wild?"
"I want you to acknowledge that you're making life-altering decisions based on experiences that can't be verified by anyone else. I want you to recognize that you're talking about abandoning a successful career and a life you've worked years to build for someone you've never actually had a normal conversation with."
"But I have talked with him. I've—"
"In dreams, Maya. And in one spiritual experience that may have been your subconscious processing everything you've learned about this historical figure." Anya's voice softened slightly. "I'm not saying you're lying or that your experiences aren't meaningful to you. I'm saying that as someone who loves you, I'm terrified you're about to make irreversible decisions based on something that might not be what you think it is."
Maya felt tears starting, frustrated by her inability to convey the reality of what she'd experienced to someone who hadn't been there. How could she explain the absolute certainty she'd felt when Ouray spoke her name? How could she describe the recognition that went beyond ordinary meeting, the sense of coming home to someone her soul had always known?
"Anya, what if I told you that every important decision I've ever made in my life has been based on instinct rather than logic? What if I told you that trusting my gut has led me to everything good I've ever achieved?"
"Then I'd say this feels different. This feels like obsession rather than intuition. This feels like you're running away from your real life toward something that can't possibly be real."
The words hit Maya like a physical blow, not because they were unfair but because part of her feared they might be true. Was she running away from something in Chicago? Was her attraction to Ouray and this place really about love, or was it about escaping responsibilities and expectations that had begun to feel suffocating?
"What do you want from me, Anya?"
"I want you to promise me that you'll come home today. That you won't make any life-altering decisions while you're in that place that's clearly affecting your judgment so profoundly. I want you to promise me that you'll talk to someone—a therapist, a doctor, someone objective—about what you're experiencing before you do anything irreversible."
Maya felt the weight of her sister's love and fear in the request. Anya wasn't trying to control her—she was trying to protect her from what looked, from the outside, like a psychological break from reality.
"I'm not crazy, Anya," Maya said firmly. "I know how this sounds, but I'm not having a breakdown or losing touch with reality. I'm experiencing something extraordinary, and just because it doesn't fit into conventional understanding doesn't mean it's not real."
And maybe, Maya thought with uncomfortable honesty, her sister's perspective deserved consideration.
"I promise I'll come home today," Maya said finally, the words feeling both like a relief and a betrayal. "I promise I won't do anything impulsive or irreversible. My flight is this afternoon, and I'll be on it."
"Thank you." The relief in Anya's voice was immediate and palpable. "Maya, I'm not trying to dismiss what you're feeling or experiencing. I just... I need you to be safe. I need you to make decisions from a place of clarity, not from being overwhelmed by something you can't fully understand yet."
"I know. And Anya? I love you too. That's why I can make this promise—because I know you're coming from a place of love, not judgment."
"I love you too. And Maya? When you get home, we're going to talk about all of this properly. I want to understand what you've been going through, and I want to help you figure out what it all means. But we're going to do that together, in Chicago, where you have access to people and resources that can help you process these experiences safely."
After hanging up, Maya sat in the quiet of her hotel room, processing the conversation and the promise she'd just made. Part of her resented Anya's intervention, feeling like her sister was dismissing experiences that had been the most real and meaningful of her life. But a larger part recognized the wisdom in Anya's concerns and the love that motivated them.
Her phone chimed with an email notification, pulling her from her brooding. Grace's name appeared in her inbox with the subject line: "Spiritual Communication Guide - As Promised."
Maya opened the email, her pulse quickening as she read:
Maya - As we discussed yesterday, I'm sending you the information about how to use Chief Ouray's medallion to communicate with him safely. This method allows you to call his consciousness to your time without requiring him to risk the dangerous spirit walking he's been doing.
You'll need:- White candles (for purity and spiritual cleansing)
- Blue candles (for spiritual communication and opening channels between realms)- Sage (for cleansing negative energy and preparing sacred space)- Sweetgrass (for calling spirits and honoring ancestors)- Cedar (for protection and grounding)
Set up the candles in a circle with the medallion at the center. The white candles should be placed at the cardinal directions (north, south, east, west) with the blue candles between them. Burn the herbs in a small ceramic bowl, allowing the smoke to cleanse the space and carry your intentions across the spiritual boundaries.
Hold the medallion and speak his name while focusing your energy on pulling his consciousness across the distance between your times. Visualize a golden thread connecting your hearts, and use that connection to call him to you.
The connection should feel different from dreams—more stable, more real, more like having a conversation with someone in the same room. You'll be able to communicate while both fully conscious, and he won't suffer the physical strain of spirit walking.
Remember what I said about things needing to fall into place. This is part of the process, part of helping you understand the full scope of what you're dealing with. Some knowledge can only be gained through direct experience.
Be careful, trust your instincts, and don't be afraid of what you might learn.- Grace
P.S. - There's a shop in town called Mountain Sage that carries everything you'll need. Tell Sarah I sent you.
Maya stared at the email, feeling torn between the promise she'd just made to Anya and the overwhelming desire to try this communication method before leaving Colorado. Technically, she told herself, speaking with Ouray once more wasn't making an impulsive decision about her future—it was gathering more information before making any choices about what came next.
She had hours before her flight. There was time to get the supplies, try the communication method, and still keep her promise to return to Chicago. It wasn't abandoning her life—it was exploring a connection that deserved to be understood fully before she walked away from it.
Maya dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater, tucking the medallion into her jacket pocket where she could feel its warmth against her chest. The morning air was crisp and clear as she walked through the quiet streets of Willow Springs toward the small downtown area where she'd noticed the spiritual supply shop during her previous explorations.
Mountain Sage occupied a narrow storefront between a coffee shop and a used bookstore, its windows displaying an eclectic mixture of candles, crystals, herbs, and handmade crafts. A small sign in the window read "Traditional Plant Medicine and Spiritual Tools - Honoring Ancient Wisdom in Modern Times."
The interior of the shop was dim and aromatic, filled with the scents of sage, cedar, and other herbs Maya couldn't identify. Shelves lined the walls, filled with carefully labeled jars of dried plants, books on spiritual practices, and an impressive array of candles in every size and color imaginable.
Behind the counter stood a woman who appeared to be in her sixties, with silver-streaked hair braided down her back and the kind of knowing eyes that suggested she'd seen many people come through her shop seeking answers to questions they couldn't quite articulate.
"You must be Maya," she said before Maya could speak. "Grace called this morning and said you might be coming by. I'm Sarah."
"Yes, Grace sent me. I need some specific supplies for... spiritual communication."
Sarah smiled, moving around the counter with the fluid grace of someone completely comfortable in her environment. "Ah, working with someone across a distance. Let me guess—white and blue candles, sage, sweetgrass, and cedar?"
"How did you know?"
"Grace and I have been friends for more than twenty years. I've helped her guide quite a few people through spiritual transitions, though I have to say, your situation sounds particularly unique." Sarah began gathering items from the shelves. "She mentioned that you're working with some very old energy, very powerful connections."
"What else did she tell you?"
"Just that you're exploring a relationship that transcends ordinary understanding, and that you might need support as you figure out what it all means." Sarah selected several white candles, examining each one carefully before adding it to Maya's growing collection. "She also said to make sure you understand that this kind of spiritual work can be... intense. Life-changing, even. And she wanted me to add a protection stone for you." Sarah moved to a display case filled with various crystals and gemstones. "Would you like it as a necklace or a bracelet?"
Maya considered for a moment. "Actually, what you're describing - calling someone's consciousness across time - that's opening a spiritual door, isn't it? Other spirits could be drawn to that energy."
Sarah's expression grew more serious. "You're absolutely right. When you open channels for spiritual communication, you're essentially creating a beacon. You want all the protection you can get. I'd recommend both the necklace and bracelet - double protection for the kind of work you're attempting."
Maya watched as Sarah gathered the blue candles, each one a slightly different shade ranging from deep navy to bright sky blue. "Have you ever heard of someone communicating with... someone from a different time period?"
Sarah paused in her gathering, turning to study Maya's face with those penetrating eyes. "I've heard of many things that most people would consider impossible. Time isn't as linear as we like to pretend it is, especially when it comes to matters of the heart and spirit."
"So you don't think I'm losing my mind?"
"I think you're opening your mind to possibilities that most people are too afraid to consider. But Maya, I also think you need to be very careful about what you're getting into. Spiritual communication across time... that's not something to approach lightly."
Sarah moved to a section of the shop devoted entirely to herbs, selecting small bundles of sage, sweetgrass, and cedar from glass jars. "These are all ceremonial grade, harvested with proper protocols and blessed according to traditional practices. They'll provide protection and clarity for whatever work you're planning to do."
"Protection from what?"
"From getting lost in the experience. From letting the spiritual connection become more real than your physical life. From making decisions based on spiritual euphoria rather than genuine wisdom." Sarah wrapped the herbs carefully in small cloth bags. "The kind of love you're exploring—love that transcends time—it's incredibly powerful. But power can be intoxicating, and intoxication can lead to poor judgment."
Maya felt an uncomfortable echo of Anya's concerns in Sarah's words. "Grace seems to think this connection is... meant to be. Part of some larger spiritual purpose."
"Grace has great wisdom about spiritual matters, and I trust her guidance completely. But she would be the first to tell you that even meant-to-be connections require careful navigation. The fact that something is spiritually significant doesn't mean it's automatically going to be easy or safe."
Sarah added a small ceramic bowl to Maya's collection, along with a book of wooden matches and a piece of black cloth for wrapping everything safely. "How long have you been experiencing this connection?"
"About a week. Since I arrived in Colorado."
"And before that? Any unusual dreams, spiritual experiences, sense of being called to this place?"
Maya thought about the dreams that had been growing stronger in the weeks before her trip, the sense of anticipation that had built as she'd planned her research journey. "Some dreams, yes. But nothing like what I've experienced since getting here."
"That's common with connections like this. The physical place acts as an amplifier, making spiritual bonds that might have remained dormant in other locations become active and urgent." Sarah began packing Maya's supplies in a canvas bag. "Maya, can I ask you something personal?"
"Of course."
"What are you hoping to accomplish with this communication session? What do you need to know or understand that you don't already?"
Maya considered the question, recognizing its importance. "I need to know if what I'm feeling is real love or just spiritual fascination. I need to understand what choosing him would really mean, and what choosing my current life would cost me. I need to know who he really is as a person, not just as a spiritual connection."
Sarah nodded approvingly. "Those are good questions. Wise questions. And they're the kind of questions that can only be answered through extended, honest communication." She handed Maya the bag of supplies. "Just remember—spiritual communication can be incredibly seductive. It's easy to get caught up in the magic and lose sight of practical realities. Make sure you stay grounded in both worlds."
"How do I do that?"
"By asking hard questions as well as romantic ones. By talking about daily life, mundane concerns, the challenges and difficulties that any relationship faces." Sarah's expression grew more serious. "And by remembering that choosing love across time isn't just about the two people involved—it affects everyone who loves and depends on you in this time."
Maya paid for her supplies, feeling the weight of both the physical items and the wisdom Sarah had shared. As she prepared to leave, Sarah placed a weathered hand on her arm.
"Maya, whatever you learn during your communication session, whatever you discover about this connection, promise me you won't make any major life decisions today. Give yourself time to process what you learn. Talk to people who love you about what you're considering. This kind of choice deserves careful consideration, not just spiritual certainty."
"I already promised my sister I wouldn't do anything impulsive."
"Good. Hold onto that promise, even if what you experience today makes you want to abandon it." Sarah's eyes held deep compassion. "Real love—the kind that lasts—is patient enough to allow for wisdom alongside passion."
Back in her hotel room, Maya spread the supplies out on the small table by the window, following Grace's detailed instructions. The arrangement felt ceremonial, sacred, as if she was preparing for something that would fundamentally alter her understanding of what was possible.
She placed the white candles at the four cardinal directions, using her phone's compass app to ensure accuracy. The blue candles went between them, creating an eight-pointed circle around the medallion, which she positioned carefully at the center. The herbs went into the ceramic bowl, ready to be lit when she was prepared to begin.
Maya showered and changed into clean clothes, feeling as if she was preparing for the most important conversation of her life. She arranged her hair simply, applied minimal makeup, and chose a dress that felt both comfortable and respectful—as if she was preparing for a first date with someone whose opinion mattered deeply to her.
When everything was ready, Maya settled cross-legged on the floor within the circle of candles, the medallion warm in her palms and the bowl of herbs positioned where she could easily light them. She took several deep breaths, trying to quiet the nervous excitement that made her hands tremble slightly.
Following Grace's instructions, Maya lit the herbs and watched as aromatic smoke began to fill the space around her. The scents were unlike anything she'd experienced—earthy and sweet, with undertones that seemed to speak directly to something ancient and primal in her consciousness.
"Ouray," she spoke his name aloud, focusing all her energy on the idea of calling his consciousness across the impossible distance of time. "I'm calling to you. I need to speak with you, to understand what we share, to know you as more than just dreams and spiritual encounters."
For several minutes, nothing happened except the steady burning of the herbs and the gentle flicker of candlelight. Maya continued to focus on the medallion, visualizing the golden thread Grace had mentioned, imagining it stretching across more than a century to find the man whose spirit had been calling to hers.
Then the air in the room began to shift, becoming charged with the same electrical energy she'd felt at the sacred lake. The medallion grew noticeably warmer in her hands, and Maya felt a presence forming in the space across from her—not visible as he had been at the lake, but unmistakably real and focused.
"Numa." Ouray's voice came from everywhere and nowhere, filling the room without echo, clear and present in a way that dreams could never achieve. "You called to me."
"Ouray." Maya felt tears spring to her eyes at the sound of his voice, clearer and more intimate than it had ever been in their previous encounters. "It worked. Grace's method worked."
"I felt your call like a rope thrown across churning water. Your energy pulled me here without the strain of spirit walking, without the danger of becoming lost between worlds. How is this possible?"
"Grace taught me a way to bring your consciousness to my time instead of you having to cross to reach me. We can talk like this without you risking your health or your connection to your own time."
Maya could feel his amazement and relief through their spiritual connection, as if his emotions were flowing directly into her awareness. "My grandmother will be greatly pleased to know there are safer ways to maintain our bond. The spirit walking took enormous energy and was extremely dangerous - my grandmother feared I might not survive another attempt. But Numa, how long do we have?"
"I don't know. Grace didn't specify how long these connections can last." Maya's voice caught as she remembered her promise to Anya. "I'm supposed to leave today, to return to my time. My sister is worried about me, about the choices I'm considering. She made me promise to come home."
"Your sister loves you and wants to protect you. That speaks well of both her character and the life you've built in your time." Ouray's spiritual presence grew stronger, more focused. "But Numa, now that we can communicate like this, perhaps the separation won't be as difficult. Perhaps you can return to your life while we learn more about each other through these spiritual connections."
"I want to know everything about you," Maya said, settling more comfortably on the floor with the medallion warm against her palms. "I want to know who you really are, beyond the dreams and the spiritual encounters. I want to know the man I'm falling in love with."
"And I want to know the woman whose spirit has been calling to mine since I was old enough to understand what longing meant." Ouray's voice carried warmth and tenderness that made Maya's chest tighten with emotion. "Tell me about your life, Numa. Tell me about the world you come from, the work you do, the dreams you hold for your future."
For the next hour, they talked with an intimacy that went far beyond their previous interactions. Maya told him about growing up with Anya, about the special connection that came from being twins but also the challenges of always being compared to someone else. She spoke about her relationship with Grandmother Aiyana, how her stories had shaped Maya's understanding of family and heritage in ways she was only now beginning to appreciate.
"She always said that some people are born with their souls pointing toward home, even if they've never been there," Maya shared. "I never understood what she meant until I came to Colorado. Until I felt what it was like to recognize a place my spirit had never visited but somehow knew."
"Your grandmother sounds like a woman of great wisdom. What happened to her?"
"She died when I was in college. Cancer. But even at the end, she kept telling stories, kept insisting that the important things about our family lived in the connections between people, not in the documented facts." Maya felt tears starting as she remembered. "I wish she could have known about this, about us. I think she would have understood it in ways that other people can't."
"Perhaps she does know, Numa. Perhaps the spirits of those who loved us find ways to guide us toward the connections we're meant to discover."
Maya found herself sharing things she'd never told anyone—her fears about her career, her sense that success in publishing had come at the cost of writing about things that truly mattered to her. She told him about the pressure she felt from her editor to write commercially viable books rather than following her instincts toward more personally meaningful stories.
"I've been successful according to external measures," she said. "But lately, I've felt like I'm living someone else's version of my life. Like I'm writing the books I'm supposed to write rather than the books my heart wants to write."
"What books does your heart want to write?"
"Stories about connections that transcend ordinary understanding. Stories about love that changes everything it touches. Stories about people who choose truth over safety, even when the truth challenges everything they thought they knew about reality." Maya paused. "Stories like ours."
"There is nothing wrong with documenting our love, Numa." Ouray's response came without hesitation. "If our story can help others believe in the power of connections that transcend ordinary understanding, then sharing it becomes a sacred duty. Love like ours shouldn't be hidden—it should be celebrated, preserved, remembered."
"You wouldn't mind? Having our most private moments become part of a story that others could read?"
"Our love is bigger than privacy, Numa. It's proof that the spiritual realm has power over the physical world, that some bonds are stronger than time itself. If documenting our journey helps even one person trust in love over fear, then our story becomes a gift to the world."
Maya felt a profound sense of rightness about his response. Her career as a writer wasn't separate from their love—it was part of it, part of how their connection could impact the world beyond themselves.
"Now tell me about your world," she said. "Tell me about your life, your people, the responsibilities you carry as a leader."
Ouray spoke about his childhood in the mountains, about learning the traditional ways from his grandmother and other elders, about the weight of responsibility that had come with leadership during increasingly dangerous times for his people.
"The white soldiers grow more numerous each season," he said, and Maya could hear the concern in his voice. "They make treaties that promise one thing and then break them when it becomes convenient. My people look to me to find ways to preserve our way of life, but the choices available to us grow fewer with each passing moon."
"Is that why you began having dreams about me? As an escape from those pressures?"
"No, Numa. The dreams began when I was still a child, long before I understood the challenges my people would face. If anything, the spiritual connection to you has made my responsibilities more complex, not simpler."
Ouray described the difficulty of leading his people while being pulled toward spiritual experiences they didn't fully understand. He spoke about the tribal council's concerns about his increasing preoccupation with matters that seemed removed from their immediate survival needs.
"But my grandmother has helped them understand that spiritual calling and leadership responsibility are not always in conflict. Sometimes following the path the spirits set before us serves our people in ways we cannot immediately see."
"How do you balance both? The calling toward me and your duties to your tribe?"
"By trusting that love which transcends ordinary understanding serves a purpose larger than just our personal happiness. By believing that our connection exists for reasons that will benefit both your world and mine, even if we cannot yet see how."
Maya found herself sharing her conversation with Anya, her sister's fears about the choices she was considering, the promise she'd made to return to Chicago and seek outside perspective on her experiences.
"She thinks I'm having some kind of psychological break," Maya admitted. "From her perspective, I'm talking about abandoning my entire life for someone I've only just met."
"What is a psychological break?" Ouray asked, the unfamiliar term clearly puzzling him.
"She thinks I'm going mad. That my mind is... damaged somehow, making me believe in things that aren't real." Maya struggled to explain modern mental health concepts to someone from 1869. "In my time, when people experience things others can't see or understand, they're often considered to be ill in their minds."
"And what do you think, Numa? When you listen to your sister's concerns, do they resonate with any doubts you hold yourself?"
Maya considered the question carefully, appreciating that he was asking her to examine her own feelings honestly rather than just dismissing external concerns.
"I think she's right that this is happening very quickly. I think she's right that I should be careful about making irreversible decisions based on experiences that are... unusual." Maya paused. "But I also think she's wrong about the depth and reality of what we share. This isn't infatuation or psychological projection—it's recognition of something that has always existed between us."
"Then perhaps your sister's wisdom and our love can coexist. Perhaps the choice to cross between times shouldn't be made quickly or lightly, even when the spiritual connection is genuine."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that we have this method of communication now. We can learn about each other, build our connection, explore what a life together might really mean before either of us makes irreversible decisions." His spiritual presence grew more focused, more intentional. "Numa, I want you with me more than I want my next breath. But I also want you to choose our love from a place of certainty and wisdom, not just spiritual overwhelm."
Maya felt a mixture of disappointment and relief at his words. Part of her had hoped he would convince her to stay, to choose their love immediately and completely. But his patience and wisdom made her love him even more.
"So what do we do?"
"We use this gift Grace has given us. You return to your life, I focus more intentionally on mine, but we communicate regularly through these spiritual connections. We learn about each other as people, not just as spiritual mates. We explore what crossing between times would really mean for both of us."
"And if I decide I can't live without you?"
"Then you'll cross to my time knowing exactly what you're choosing and what you're leaving behind. And if you decide the cost is too high, then we'll find another way to honor what we share."
They continued talking as the candles burned lower and the herbs reduced to ash. Ouray told her about daily life in his village, about the rhythms of the seasons and the traditional practices that structured his people's relationship with the land. Maya shared stories about modern life that amazed and sometimes troubled him—the speed of communication, the scale of cities, the complexity of global connections.
"Your world sounds overwhelming," he said after she'd described Chicago and the publishing industry. "So many people, so much noise, so much distance from the natural world that gives life meaning."
"It can be overwhelming. But there are also wonderful things—music and art from all over the world, stories and knowledge shared instantly across vast distances, medical advances that save lives, technologies that connect people who would never have met otherwise."
"Like the technology that allowed you to learn about me and find your way to our sacred lake?"
"Exactly like that. The research that brought me to Colorado, the communication that connected me with Grace—none of that would have been possible without modern technology."
"Then perhaps your time and mine both have gifts to offer. Perhaps crossing between worlds means bringing the best of both, not abandoning everything from one for the other."
They talked about practical matters too—what life in 1869 would really mean for someone accustomed to modern conveniences, what challenges Maya would face adapting to a completely different way of living. Ouray was honest about the difficulties: the physical demands of traditional life, the lack of medical care Maya was used to, the isolation from family and friends she'd leave behind.
"It would not be an easy transition, Numa. Even with my people's welcome and support, you would be giving up comforts and connections that have shaped your entire life."
"And what would you be giving up if you somehow came to my time instead?"
"My people. My responsibilities. The land that has shaped my spirit and the traditions that give my life meaning." His voice carried sadness. "I have considered whether the crossing could work in reverse, whether I could find a way to exist in your world. But I am too tied to this place, these people, this time. I am who I am because of when and where I exist."
"So the choice is really mine alone."
"The choice is ours together, Numa. But yes, the physical crossing would have to be yours. I cannot abandon my people during their time of greatest need, even for love that transcends understanding."
Maya felt the weight of that reality settling over her. If their love was to become physical rather than just spiritual, she would have to be the one to leave everything behind. The sacrifice would be entirely hers.
But as they continued talking, as she learned more about his world and his character, the idea of that sacrifice began to feel less like loss and more like adventure. Not abandonment of her life, but transformation into a life that might be more authentic to who she really was.
"There's something else I need to tell you," Maya said as she felt their connection beginning to waver. "My sister made me promise to talk to a professional about these experiences. A therapist or doctor who can help me understand whether what I'm experiencing is... healthy."
"And will you keep that promise?"
"I think I should. Not because I doubt what we share, but because Anya deserves to know that I've considered her concerns seriously."
"That shows wisdom and love for your sister. And Numa, if speaking with someone helps you understand your own heart more clearly, then it will serve our connection as well as your family relationships."
The spiritual connection began to waver more noticeably as the candles burned lower and Maya's energy waned from maintaining the spiritual focus required for their communication.
"I have to leave today," she said, fighting back tears at the thought of separation. "I promised Anya I would come home."
"And you should keep that promise. But Numa, this isn't goodbye. Now that we know this method works, we can maintain our connection across any distance. When you're ready to speak with me again, when you need to hear my voice, call to me the way you did today."
"How often can we do this? How often can I call to you without it becoming dangerous for you?"
"I will need to speak with my grandmother and the other spiritual leaders about this new method of communication. If you can call my consciousness to your time safely, then perhaps they can teach me ways to ground my spirit so I can respond without the dangerous strain of spirit walking. But I must learn from those who understand such things - this is not knowledge I possess myself."
Maya felt the medallion cooling in her hands as Ouray's presence began to fade back to his own time. "What if talking to a therapist makes me doubt what we share? What if outside perspective convinces me that this is all psychological projection?"
"Then you will have learned something important about the nature of your feelings, and we will face that truth together." His voice was growing fainter but remained clear. "But Numa, I do not believe that will happen. What we share is too real, too consistent, too transformative to be dismissed as fantasy. Trust in that, even when others question it."
"I love you," Maya whispered to the room that was beginning to feel empty as his spiritual presence withdrew.
"And I love you, Numa. Until you call to me again, carry my heart with yours. And remember—love that is real and meant to be will survive any test, any doubt, any challenge others might place before it."
Maya sat in the quiet hotel room surrounded by cooling candles and the lingering scent of burned herbs, feeling both fulfilled and bereft. The conversation had been everything she'd hoped for—intimate, real, building the foundation for a relationship that could grow and deepen over time. But saying goodbye, even temporarily, felt like losing a part of herself.
She carefully extinguished the candles and packed the remaining supplies in her luggage, along with Grace's detailed instructions. If she was going to maintain this connection from Chicago, she would need these tools.
The hours leading up to her flight passed in a blur of checkout procedures and final glimpses of the landscape that had become so meaningful to her. Every mountain peak, every glimpse of distant water, every breath of thin, clean air felt like something she was leaving behind rather than something she would return to.
The drive to the Denver airport felt surreal, as if she was traveling between two different worlds that operated according to completely different rules. The bustle and noise of the airport, after days in the peaceful mountain environment, felt overwhelming and artificial.
Maya found herself studying the faces of other travelers, wondering if any of them had ever experienced love that transcended ordinary understanding, connections that challenged everything they thought they knew about reality. She felt like she was carrying a secret too large and precious to share, yet too important to keep entirely to herself.
The flight back to Chicago felt endless, the landscape passing below a reminder of the vast distance she was putting between herself and the place where everything had changed. Maya stared out the airplane window at the dramatic peaks giving way to rolling hills, then to the flat prairies of the Midwest, watching as the geography of her transformation disappeared behind her.
But the medallion remained warm against her chest, hidden beneath her shirt but constant in its presence. And in her carry-on bag, carefully wrapped and labeled, were the tools she would need to maintain the connection she'd discovered—white and blue candles, sacred herbs, the ceramic bowl, and Grace's detailed instructions.
As the plane began its descent into O'Hare Airport, Maya closed her eyes and made a silent promise to herself: she would explore this connection fully and honestly, but she would also honor the life she'd built and the people who loved her in this time. She would speak with a professional as she'd promised Anya, not because she doubted what she'd experienced, but because wisdom meant considering all perspectives before making choices that would affect everyone she loved.
The choice between times, if it came to that, would be made with full understanding of what she was gaining and what she was giving up. But for now, it was enough to know that love had found a way to bridge the impossible distance between them. She had Ouray's love, a method to communicate with him, and the promise that whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.
Maya touched the medallion through her shirt one more time as the plane touched down in Chicago. Whatever happened next, whatever choices lay ahead, she was no longer navigating this journey alone. Love had transcended time itself to find her, and now it was up to her to decide what to do with that extraordinary gift.
The medallion pulsed warm against her skin, a tangible reminder that some connections were stronger than distance, stronger than doubt, stronger than every practical consideration that would soon demand her attention. Chicago spread out below her like a map of the life she'd built, but her heart remained connected to mountains and sacred waters where impossible things became possible.
Everything else could be figured out one day, one conversation, one spiritual connection at a time.