Walk the Sky (10 page)

“But they ... once were?”
 

She ignored this. “Where is Joe?”
 

“Who?” It took him an extra second, and then he remembered the Reverend’s man. “Why do you care where he is?”
 

“He is a friend.”
 

Clay shook his head angrily. “He’s with that crazy Reverend, is what he is. He’s a murderer.”
 

The girl’s face did not change. “Joe is a friend,” she repeated.
 

Clay spat at the ground, disgusted. “Well, then I’m sorry to tell you,” he said with no remorse in his voice, “but Joe is dead. He was killed this morning.”
 

For the first time the girl’s face fell. She looked down, looked back up, and said softly, “I worried that might happen. Without him, it will not be much longer.”
 

 
Clay’s breathing had gotten under control again. He said, “It’s because of your friend Joe that a boy was killed last night. It’s because of Joe that I was almost killed tonight. And it’s because of Joe”—here Clay’s voice broke—“that my friend George will no doubt be killed tomorrow night.”
 

The girl was indifferent to this news. She simply shook her head and whispered, “Joe is a friend.” She paused. “Joe
was
a friend.”
 

Clay didn’t know how much more of this he could take. The girl just wasn’t making any sense.
 

He said, truly angry now, “Damn it, girl, who
are
you?”
 

Again the clouds shifted, revealing more moonlight, revealing the softness of her eyes and the few tears trailing down her cheeks.
 

“I am Witashnah,” she whispered. “I am the last woman of the Tachucua tribe.”
 

“The last woman,” Clay echoed softly. The sight of her tears had drained him of his anger.
 

“Only Akecheta and I remain. The rest ... they have all vanished.”
 

“Where”—Clay spoke softly—“where did they go?”
 

But the girl only shook her head. She motioned him toward her.
 

“Come. We must not wait here any longer. We must hurry.”
 

And again, before he knew it, she took his hand in hers and led him deeper into the dark.

16.

It did not take long before Clay became disoriented in the night.
 

Behind them, the town faded into the shadows of the desert and the surrounding hills and disappeared altogether. In front of them, the terrain gradually grew steeper as they journeyed through a series of small canyon trails that took them to higher ground.
 

Eventually, as they rounded yet another bend, their surroundings opened and Clay was able to look down on the desert again. Far off in the distance, he could see the dark outline of what he thought was the town. It was little more than a few black, block-shaped patches in the night, but it stood out from the rest of the terrain like an anvil in coal dust.
 

They continued onward, through patches of manzanita and mesquite and scrub oak. Near an outcropping halfway up the mountain, surrounded by thick underbrush, was an opening in the earth.
 

“This way,” Witashnah said, leading him into the opening, which was three or four feet wide and five feet high, causing them to duck. “We will be safe here.”
 

The tunnel gradually expanded as they moved deeper into the mountainside. Two minutes later Clay found himself standing at the mouth of a large chamber, illuminated by a fire in the middle.
 

An old Indian man sat alone on a block of granite at the edge of the fire.
 

He looked up at them, his eyes clouded and unseeing. He cocked his head slightly to one side.
 

Witashnah spoke quickly and softly in what Clay guessed was her native tongue. She crossed the chamber and stood next to the old man, one hand on his shoulder.
 

“This is Akecheta.”
 

Clay approached the fire. “Hello,” he said, then immediately felt simple, because he remembered the old man couldn’t understand him.
 

But Akecheta slowly nodded. In the firelight, the face of the old Indian was marked with the deep lines of time. One end of a wool blanket was wrapped around his waist, the other end hanging over one shoulder.
 

“Akecheta was an elder of our tribe. We are all that are left.”
 

“What happened?”
 

“Those That Walk The Night came and took them all.”
 

“What are those things?”
 

A small breeze blew in from the mouth of the cave and Clay felt a chill ride up his spine. He moved closer to the warmth of the fire.
 

“Evil,” Witashnah said. Her voice was strong, yet gentle. And in the firelight her features reflected that voice. Her face was thin, her cheekbones high and prominent and dignified. Black hair framed her face, turning to braids that fell below the line of her breasts. The braids were tied at the end with strips of leather. Her earrings were made of three rows of bones and feathers, held together by more leather. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old.
 

Clay could sense she wasn’t going to tell him any more about the creatures—at least not on her own—so instead he asked about Joe.
 

Her face fell again. “What about him?”
 

“You said he was a friend.”
 

A slow and sad nod. “He was.”
 

Clay shook his head, anger rising because he felt they were about to start talking in circles again. “But he wasn’t. He was one of the Reverend’s men.”
 

“Joe left us food. Every day by a certain tree, he would toss it in the bushes for me to find. He did not leave much, but it was enough to satisfy our stomachs and made it so we would not have to rely on game. As it is, there is not much game around here anymore.”
 

“Why would Joe do that?”
 

“Because he and Marilyn understand how Akecheta must be protected.” She paused, catching her use of tense, and whispered, “Joe
did
understand.”
 

“Marilyn? The Reverend’s wife?”
 

Clay didn’t know why this should surprise him. After all, the Reverend’s wife had helped him escape.
 

“They were lovers,” Witashnah said. “Joe and Marilyn. Their love was secret. She is right now with his child.”
 

“Okay,” Clay said after a long moment, trying to wrap his mind around all of this. “But if Joe was a friend, then why would he lock me and my friend up? Why would he allow that poor boy to die?”
 

Witashnah had a beautiful face—nearly as beautiful as his own daughter’s had been—but now fear clouded it. She shook her head slowly.
 

“Akecheta must be protected from Those That Walk The Night.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Those That Walk The Night are searching for him.”
 

Clay closed his eyes, placed a hand to the bridge of his nose. His head was beginning to hurt.
 

He walked back a few paces to the cave wall and leaned back against it and lowered himself into a sitting position. He stared across the dancing flames at the old man who seemed to stare back at him.
 

“Doesn’t he ever talk?”
 

“Not since he called forth the god. After that, he cut out his tongue so he would never speak again.”
 

A flurry of sparks exploded from a pitch pocket in the fire.
 

The old man gave no reaction.
 

Clay watched him, thinking about George alone back in town, the Reverend’s next victim, and how Clay needed to do whatever it took to save him. He even wanted to tell Witashnah this, how he needed to return, but before he could Akecheta grunted softly. He turned his head toward Witashnah, extended his hand, and motioned her to come closer to him.
 

Witashnah leaned forward and placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder.
 

The old man took her hand, squeezed it two times. Witashnah seemed to know what this meant, for she began to help the old man to his feet. It took nearly a minute, the old man’s bones no doubt very frail, and then once he was standing he slowly began to shuffle toward Clay.
 

Clay rose to his feet, watching as Witashnah led the old man around the fire.
 

“What’s happening?”
 

Witashnah didn’t answer and continued to help the old man as he walked forward, step after unsteady step, until they reached Clay. Then he let go of the girl’s hand and reached out toward Clay, his hands searching for Clay’s face.
 

Clay’s first reaction was to step back, move out of the way, but his back was up against the cave wall, and besides he didn’t think the old man intended him any harm. So he stood still as the old man’s hard and dirty fingers touched his face, moving around his cheeks and nose and chin and forehead.
 

The old man gave another soft grunt, and lowered his head as he kept his hands on Clay’s face.
 

“What—” Clay started to say, but all at once there was a flash and the world was gone.

17.

One second, maybe two, and then it was over.
 

Clay’s eyes snapped open and he pushed the old man away. It was a slight, jerky push, just putting some distance between himself and Akecheta, and thankfully the old man did not fall back into the dancing flames. Instead he stood there for another moment, staring at Clay with his milk-hued eyes, before he turned away and reached out his hand. Witashnah took it and helped him back to his place beside the fire.
 

Clay realized he was breathing heavily. He was sweating, too, as if the temperature had suddenly risen forty degrees. In his ears he could hear his heart thumping rapidly, and he leaned back against the cave wall, worried that he might be dying.
 

After several minutes when he realized he was okay—when his breathing slowed, when the temperature dropped back down and the pounding in his ears subsided—he looked at Witashnah and said, “You’re his granddaughter.”
 

Witashnah said nothing.
 

“And they—they killed her. That’s what this is all about. They raped and killed your mother, and that’s why your grandfather called forth the god.”
 

Still Witashnah said nothing.
 

“I saw it,” Clay whispered. “I saw everything—his entire life. I saw his childhood and I saw ...
everything
.”
 

Another flurry of sparks exploded from the fire, causing Clay to start. He was still on edge, despite his now normal breathing and heartbeat. He couldn’t get over the simple revelation that, for just a second or two, the old man had managed to transfer all of his memories into Clay. Everything the old man had experienced—
everything
—Clay now knew.
 

“There’s no way to stop it—the god. But you knew that already.”
 

The girl didn’t look like she was ready to speak quite yet, but slowly she nodded and whispered, “I began to suspect.”
 

Witashnah, Clay knew, had spent much of her life around the white settlers. This was why her English was so good. Her grandfather had never approved of this, fearing the settlers would eventually take over their land. He had met many kind white men over the years as they passed through on their way to California, but he had also met a fair share of devious men who wanted nothing more than to cheat Akecheta and his people out of everything they owned.
 

And this had indeed happened only a few months ago. A group of white men had come to trade but had instead stolen. Not only that, two of them had had their way with Akecheta’s daughter, Witashnah’s mother. (She had been defenseless because her husband had died the previous year of small pox.) They had beaten her so badly she could barely see out of both of her eyes. Akecheta had been filled with a rage he did not know existed, and demanded the warriors of his tribe hunt down these men and kill them. The warriors started out the next day in search of the evil white men. They never returned. Word did not come back until two weeks later that they had been killed, each and every one of them. And so Akecheta began to pray. He prayed first to one god, then to another, awaiting a reply. None came.
 

By that point Akecheta had not eaten in days. He believed his grief was so great that his body did not deserve any food, not until things were made right. Things, however, became even worse when his daughter, who had faced shame and depression ever since her violation, ended her life. When Akecheta learned this, his knees collapsed and he fell to the ground, releasing a scream that some said could be heard for miles.
 

Finally he journeyed many moons to another tribe to speak to their eldest holy man. Akecheta explained the terrible things that had happened and how he wanted vengeance. He told the holy man how he had prayed to the gods but received no answer. The holy man told Akecheta that there was still one more god he had yet to try, a long forgotten god who only came out at night. This god was a trickster with no name, but a god who just may do Akecheta’s bidding ... for a price.
 

What was that price?
 

“He gave up his eyesight,” Clay whispered, staring at the old man sitting by the fire. Then he shifted his gaze to Witashnah. “And you knew the reason why.”