Walker of Time (8 page)

Being accustomed to climbing the rugged terrain of the canyon, White Badger and the others moved with remarkable speed and agility. Lagging behind, Walker and Tag followed with less ease and grace.

“Why did Gray Wolf accuse us of being witches?” asked Tag, his worried voice audible to only Walker.

Walker wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He turned his head so the warm breeze carried his words back to Tag. “For some reason we are . . .” Walker reached up to touch the eagle pendant hanging on his chest. “That is, I am a threat to Gray Wolf. He wanted to kill me the minute he saw my pendant. But he couldn't in front of the others, not without a good reason. So he gave them an excellent one, hoping they would kill us.”

“Wonderful! What happens if this Great Owl person decides we are witches?” Tag sputtered, trying to keep up with Walker.

Walker took a deep breath and let it out. He had been studying that, along with other questions. Why did the name of Great Owl summon the mysterious, haunting feeling? Why did it have a strangely familiar sound to it? Walker shook his head in confusion. “Flute Maiden said Great Owl is a Seer. True Seers can peer into one's heart, into one's very being. If Flute Maiden is correct, then her father will see us for what we are.”

Tag slipped on a loose rock and caught himself. Shaking his head, he asked, “Do you think he will see my empty stomach?”

Twenty feet ahead Walker saw an enormous, fifty-foot cliff rising straight up. White Badger strode to the limestone wall, then disappeared into the cliff's face. Directly behind him, Flute Maiden also vanished into the cliff, as did each man after her.

Walker moved quickly up the path, straining to see. Gray Wolf stood at the head of the line. He turned to stare at Walker. Pulling his lips back into a snarl, he turned and disappeared into the base of the cliff.

“Neat trick. Too bad he can't just disappear for good,” Tag stated.

Walker stepped up behind the last man in line. He could see the spot where the people seemed to be melting into the cliff. A
passageway
, thought Walker, watching the next man slip behind a huge, flat slab of limestone leaning against the bottom of the cliff. The slab was about twenty feet long. Rising about twelve feet into the air, its top rested against the cliff's face. Walker's mind took in every detail of the slab's location, realizing that the passageway could also serve as an escape route.

Walker felt Tag's breath on his neck. The bahana looked over his shoulder and watched the next two men slip into the passageway. Walker turned his head to look at Tag. He could tell from the expression on Tag's face that he was thinking the same thing.

“Come,” said the man with the deep scar running down his cheek. They were the last ones on the path. From the tone of his voice and the caution in his large, black eyes, Walker knew that Scar Cheek was still uncertain if they were witches or not. Yet he had had the courage to walk just ahead of them, Walker realized. His opposition to Gray Wolf had taken great inner strength. Such a man would be a good friend to have, Walker noted.

Walker nodded at Scar Cheek. The man turned sideways and stepped into the narrow opening between the rock slab and the base of the cliff. Walker followed, with Tag right behind him.

“I guess they don't have to worry about any fat enemies getting up this way,” Tag mumbled. “If this gets any narrower, I won't have any skin left on my back or my nose. There's got to be an easier way up to the ruins—I mean to their village.”

“I am sure there is. But this is probably the fastest way up to Great Owl,” Walker whispered.
And to our deaths?

About five feet into the passageway, Scar Cheek stopped, pointing upward. Walker saw a path of chiseled notches leading up the side of the cliff and ending just below the top of the slab. At that point, a deep crevice in the limestone began and continued up to the top of the cliff. Using the grooved path of toeholds, Scar Cheek scaled the rock to the crevice. Looking down at Walker, he swung his thin body into the crevice and disappeared.

Walker slipped the toe of his moccasin in the first notch and lifted himself up. He heard Tag mumble, “Mountain goats. You have to be a mountain goat to live here!”

Walker could tell by the depth of the notches that much time and effort had been spent chiseling them out. Climbing up to the crevice wasn't difficult using the deeply grooved notches.

When Walker reached the last notch, his head was about four inches below the top of the limestone slab, his back rubbing against it. He stretched his head around the edge of the crevice and looked up. The natural shaft was about six feet deep and three feet wide. Forty-five feet above him, Walker saw the bottom of Scar Cheek's feet climb over the top edge of the cliff.

He looked down at Tag. “You okay?”

Tag nodded. “Pretty ingenious, I have to admit. Great defensive planning, to say the least,” he added, pulling himself up to the second set of toeholds.

“Wait till you see what comes next,” Walker exclaimed, swinging his body into the crevice. On the left side of the crevice, notches had again been chiseled out of the limestone. Walker realized that the crevice was so deep and narrow that it would be almost impossible for anyone on the ground to see him climbing up.

Even with the deep toeholds, scaling up the sheer cliff took all of Walker's strength and concentration. Hot air blasted into the crevice. Sweat ran down his body in little streams. He heard a raven's mocking cry as he carefully inched upward. Resting, he turned his head to look out of the limestone ravine. The cloudless, blue sky seemed harsh. The canyon's cliffs were hostile.

“Great Taawa, guide us, your sons, in this time of long
ago. Help us to find harmony with the people of this canyon. Guide our minds and hearts,” Walker prayed, starting up the cliff again. “And our feet.”

He heard Tag following below. “I can't believe I'm doing this!”

Looking up, Walker could see the top of the crevice. Scar Cheek's square face appeared over the edge, staring down at him. Walker felt the hair on his neck stand on end. As Walker lifted himself up onto the last toehold, Scar Cheek's hand reached down toward him.

If he lets go
, Walker's mind raced,
the ancient ones won't have to worry about any witches
. He looked up into the black eyes above him. They were filled with apprehension toward a stranger as well as concern for another human being. Walker had seen this same look hundreds of times in the eyes of his Hopi people.

Stretching up, Walker grasped Scar Cheek's broad hand. With amazing strength, Scar Cheek lifted Walker up and over the edge of the crevice.

Scrambling to his feet, Walker said, “Brother, thank you.”

Scar Cheek nodded, turned, and crouched down, reaching over the edge again. Tag came flopping out of the crevice like a fish being hauled onto shore. His sweaty face was flushed. He sat panting on the dusty ground. He smiled up at Scar Cheek. “Walker, please tell him thank you for me,” Tag said, struggling to his feet.

“Vaava, kwa kwa,” Walker told Scar Cheek.

Scar Cheek grunted, turned, and started up another narrow path among clumps of dry beeweed, yucca cactus, and boulders. Walker turned to Tag. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Come on.”

Within minutes, Walker heard noisy excitement. The sounds of nervous men explaining, worried women questioning, and anxious children whinnying reminded him of his Hopi village. He had heard this same kind of commotion each time something dangerous or strange had occurred in his village.

A small, dark face with jackrabbit eyes peered out at him from behind a boulder. Another round face with curious eyes under a curtain of long, straight bangs peeked out from the other side of the boulder. Walker winked at them. The frightened faces disappeared.

The path curved around a large outcrop of limestone. Walker saw a group of women huddled together at the entrance of a cliff dwelling. They were dressed in skirts and mantles similar to the ones Flute Maiden wore. One woman clutched a wooden cradle board with a tiny, sleeping infant strapped inside. Two small, identical, naked children hid behind the legs of the pretty woman in the center. Their thin faces peeked around their mother's legs. The last woman held a large, white, ceramic water jug on her hip. The women stopped whispering to each other, lowering their eyes to the ground. Walking past them, Walker felt fear in the air.

The face of a young girl appeared at the entrance of the next rock house. “Come away from the door. They are witches!” exclaimed a harsh voice from within. The girl's curious face vanished.

Gray Wolf had wasted no time in spreading the word about witches. Of course, such news would always travel like the wind, thought Walker. They passed three more clusters of rock dwellings, each with women and children around them. Walker realized that he had not seen any
men. Were they all with Great Owl?
Waiting for us!
Walker thought, with fear tightening his stomach. He turned to look at Tag.

Tag's eyes were like bowling balls gawking at the ancient ones. Walker frowned and shook his head. “It is rude even for a witch to stare so hard,” he whispered in a firm voice.

A man with a long, yellow cape that came down to his knees rushed out of a dwelling. With a lopsided limp, he hurried up to Scar Cheek. The man's words came in quick, excited spurts. “Scar Cheek, the others are at the meeting place.” he exclaimed. His dark eyes darted back at Walker and Tag. “You must hurry. Gray Wolf is trying to . . .”

Scar Cheek touched the man's shoulder and mumbled something to him. With a nod, the man limped down the path in the opposite direction and disappeared into a dwelling.

Turning to Walker, Scar Cheek stated, “We must hurry.” He started up a path wedged between two cliff dwellings.

“Why do I feel as if I am about to be put on trial?” Tag asked, following close on Walker's heels.

The hair on Walker's scalp tightened as a shiver raced up his back. “Because you are.”

The rocky path wound up to the top of the long limestone overhang under which some of the homes were built. Then it traversed the overhang for two hundred yards. It climbed again at a very steep grade till it reached the rim of the canyon. Here the path ended at a narrow, limestone bridge with sheer drop-offs on each side. The well-worn limestone spanned a good five feet to a broad ridge extending out from the canyon's rim.

“The fort! They're taking us to one of the forts!” exclaimed Tag upon reaching the natural bridge. “The forts were built on top of wide, flat promontories like big islands that jutted out from the rim. There were five in all, each built directly above a different group of ruins—I mean homes,” stated Tag, sounding like a tour guide. Walker stopped to listen. “Grave robbers and pot hunters had pretty well destroyed the areas before any real studies could be done. Dad said no one was sure what the forts had been used for.” Pointing to the steep cliffs surrounding the ridge
in front of them, Tag continued. “Since there is only one way into and out of each island, the forts could have been built for protection. Or they could have been used for ceremonial purposes. They are—or they were—in restricted areas, so the tourist couldn't get to them. But my Dad took me to one once. I'm not sure if this is the same one or not. It all looks so different.”

“Shh,” hissed Scar Cheek from the other side of the short bridge where he stood waiting for them. He motioned for them to hurry.

“All right, all right, we're coming,” Tag answered with a perturbed sound to his voice.

Walker realized that Tag still did not understand the gravity of the situation. How could he? All his life he had lived in an advanced, complex society with an intricate legal system that guaranteed liberty and justice to all. Walker's hands were wet. His stomach twisted in knots.
Here
, he thought, taking a deep breath to calm his thundering heart,
one person can have the power of life or death
.

Crossing over the limestone bridge, Walker saw an eight-foot-tall rock wall. Guarding the only entrance into the wall were two of Gray Wolf's men. Walking toward them, he felt their eyes glaring at him, and as he passed by them, the smell of death filled his nose.

As Walker stepped inside the entrance, the haunting feeling shot through him, and he swayed slightly. He stopped short, every nerve in his body taut. Blinking his eyes, he tried to focus on what he saw.

The high, thick wall followed the contour of the triangular-shaped island. Ten rock dwellings were built along the inside of the protective wall. They were small shelters with no windows and unusually low, narrow
T-shaped doors. Walker realized that they were not used for daily living.

In the middle of the enclosed island, about fifty armed men sat on the ground. They were in four neat rows with their backs toward the entrance. All faced a stagelike platform made of rocks mortared with mud. It was about three feet high, five feet deep, and ten feet long.