The Gorge (The Others Book 1)

by Joe Zeigler

  Perhaps Danijel will stop at the old trading post long enough for the People to rest. Micaela, just fourteen years of age and strong, was faring better than some. This stretch and the last six days were the hardest part of the migration, other than the high drop to come, which was even more dangerous.

  As she walked on, her mind wandered elsewhere, and suddenly she was looking down at a man standing in a clearing below. He had a bow in his hand and wore no upper garment. He stood very still, and moments passed slowly. Then she saw the young doe, a mule deer, at the edge of the clearing, picking at tree leaves, unaware of the hunter so close. It must have been early morning, as the Sun glinted off the still-moist leaves. She looked again at the hunter; he was as still as the trees, the deer unawares. Micaela wanted to shout to the deer—run. Instead, she prayed to the Spirit for the handsome hunter’s success. Handsome…Where did that thought come from? I am not in the habit of noticing men.

  The hunter quickly drew the bowstring back, and the deer sensed the sudden motion and turned. Seeing the hunter, she perceived the danger and turned to run—too late as the arrow pierced her heart, dropping her helpless to the ground.

  Micaela’s eyes snapped open wide. There was a strange feeling in her stomach, an ache that called to be massaged out. She could see that the structure before her had gotten larger. Much larger. Her walking daydream must have lasted longer than she had realized. They would make camp soon, and Ohad would want his dinner.

  She need not have worried. Once again, Danijel’s hunters had provided. Dinner tonight consisted of desert tortoise baked in the shell, prickly pear pads, wild carrot, and saguaro and sweet fruits at the end of the meal, enabling the full stomachs to pack a bit more to fuel the next day’s exertion.

  ***

  They were in the abandoned lands east of the Smoking Mountains. There was no water here and no longer any people. There were no rivers or streams, for it seldom rained in these lands. The only water available came down from the mountains—usually violently—after rain. With few exceptions, they had built their pueblos and villages near the flash-flood washes. When the water flowed, the occupants would capture as much as they were able, using as little as possible for themselves and saving the rest to irrigate the crops.

  The methods for trapping water were ingenious for such a primitive people. They built structures such as the crescent-shaped water trap where the People camped. Another village resided on the cliff edges of a small box canyon, where a wash passed its face. The people from long ago had built a berm across the wash to direct the water into the box canyon south of the mesa where their village was situated, so each new flood trapped and replenished it; the reservoir often lasted the season.

  They had also built a large, three-story trading post with over one hundred rooms on a large rock in the center of a broad wash. When the water came, it flowed on both sides, carving the stone into the shape of a canoe’s bow, exposing the flow to many hands.

  But all of this was abandoned now. For when the mountains exploded, stones and fire rained down, and rivers of molten rock flowed, forcing the occupants to flee to the safety of the canyon cliffs to the south. Black gravel, condensed from the gasses expelled by the volcanoes, had fallen like rain for days and covered the ground for miles.

  Besides safety from the flaming mountains, they discovered other advantages to living in the cliffs. They were safe from enemies, and for the first time in their collective memory there was a constant supply of water. The river, which had created the canyon over millions of years, still flowed through the bottom. The Cliff Dwellers had devised numerous ways to get the water to their dwellings and the top of the plateau for the crops. The most successful device was a long loop of hemp rope, with baskets attached, that extended from the top level down to the river. This scheme made water available at any level.

  The crescent-shaped water trap just northeast of the two-story structure—erected of stone in the center of the large wash by the area’s earlier inhabitants—still held water. The wash was dry most of the year. But when rain fell on the mountain, water roared down the wash, overflowing the water trap to become a good-sized, man-made lake. The water would then last the rest of the year. The walls of the trap were thick—made of mortared stone forming two circles, one inside the other, creating an eight-foot thickness filled with sand and stones. Though long abandoned by its builders, it still functioned and was appreciated by the transients.

  Uggla Is Captured

  Micaela had to set camp and ensure that Ohad was comfortable. Where is Uggla? she wondered, looking up-trail as the last of the column arrived. To set up camp, she needed some of the equipment he carried. No Uggla. She approached one of the late arrivals and asked, “Have you seen Uggla?”

  “Yes, I passed him just as we turned east. He had set down his load and was resting by the side of the trail. He asked me, and everyone else, I believe, to share his burden. He said he was tired.”

  Micaela smiled sadly; Uggla would never change. “Yes,” she acknowledged, “that would be Uggla.” She continued to search the trail with her eyes but saw nothing. Moving to the spot she had selected for the campsite, she started to set up what she could. She saw Ohad sitting in the lengthening shadow of the primary structure, speaking with some other men while he consumed his dinner. Hungry, Micaela approached the cooks and was handed an inverted turtle shell filled with succulent meat.

  She had just begun to eat when Ohad approached and demanded to know why his shelter was not yet erected.

  “The boy, Uggla, has the other half of the shelter,” she replied. “And he has not arrived.”

  “And where might he be?” Ohad asked scornfully.

  “I do not know. I asked one of the stragglers if she had seen him. She passed him at the spot after the Virgins, where we turned east. He was resting.”

  “Resting?”

  “Yes, he was tired,” she replied. She resented being blamed for Uggla’s laziness. After all, Ohad had arranged for Uggla’s help and presumably was paying him well—or not. She smiled, which further angered Ohad.

  Disgusted with both of his servants, Ohad walked up the hill to Danijel’s campsite, set up beside the south wall of the old ruin. He noticed that Danijel was not displaying wealth. In fact, Danijel’s camp was much less ostentatious than his own. It occurred to him that he should tone it down—at least the parts that people could see. If people perceived him to be too wealthy, they would bargain harder.

  “Danijel,” he called, and continued as Danijel’s head swung around, “that boy I hired to portage my goods, Uggla, has not arrived. I’m concerned since I’ve much invested in my trade goods that he was carrying.”

  “When was he last seen?” Danijel asked.

  Ohad explained that Uggla had been seen at the end of the column, resting. “The women came in some time ago. He should be here. Please,” he pleaded, “do something. I cannot afford such a loss.”

  “I will look into it, Ohad,” Danijel said with a tone of dismissal. As soon as Ohad was gone, he summoned Cuidightheach. “Have you eaten?” Receiving an affirmative reply, Danijel suggested that he gather two others and backtrack to the place where they had turned east, and search for Uggla and Ohad’s goods. He knew of Uggla and suspected that the delay was simply due to the boy’s laziness. He hoped so, as Danijel did not want to wait there another day. They had lost too much time during his absence. He wanted to spend some time with the Cliff Dwellers, but it was essential that they stay ahead of the cold.

  Later that night, the scouts returned. Cuidightheach reported signs on the ground of a group of strangers arriving from the north, mingling around, and then departing to the south. They had not turned east. It looked as if Uggla had been attacked and captured by the Raiders and Ohad’s goods were also taken.

  Danijel had anticipated that the Raiders, after two major defeats so close together, would give up their new frontal assault strategy and go back to their old ways of harassing stragglers and hunting par
ties. He had not considered that they would adjust so quickly, though, for he imagined they would spend more time licking their wounds, resolving, and then planning. Danijel had hoped to be far south before they became active again. It was most likely accidental, he thought, that they had happened upon Uggla resting by the side of the trail as they retreated from Gedeon and his men. The thought was reassuring. Still, he knew the raids would come.

  Flood

  The camp was quiet, dimly lit by the quarter moon, when Danijel was awakened by a vibration in his skull, just behind his right ear. A soft female voice spoke a warning to him. “It’s raining in the mountains.”

  Danijel arose quickly, covered himself, and moved down the wash, shouting, “Clear the wash. Clear the wash. The water is coming!”

  The People woke, some instantly ready, some groggy and confused, and started to break down their campsites. It was still dark, and many wondered why they were moving so early. Then the sound of thunder in the mountains to the west urged them on. They rushed to break camp and gather their belongings.

  “No, no,” Danijel shouted as he moved back across the wash, “leave everything! Get out of the wash! There is no time! Move!” He gripped lingerers and propelled them bodily toward the edge of the wash. First came the whisper of the water, a whisper that built rapidly in volume. Danijel recognized they had but seconds. The People were moving now—but too slowly, and the distance too far. Many had set camp close to the ancient, soon-to-be-refilled reservoir to enjoy the blessed nearness of water, not having to haul it a far distance. Some had already reached the edge of the wash, but too many were still in danger. They had camped in the wash and were about to pay the price.

  “Join hands,” Danijel shouted to be heard over the sound of the approaching water. “Lock hands—now!” he ordered. They did this quickly and efficiently; the People were well versed in grasping another’s hand to save them from a fall, let them down from a tree, or descend a steep drop. They all knew how to do it right, grasping one another’s wrists in an overlapping double-lock. This had the added benefit of forcing them to drop whatever belongings they still were stubbornly trying to save. The line, now locked together, moved faster toward the edge of the wash. The ones who fell were dragged along by the line until they could regain their footing.

  They might make it, Danijel thought, but it’s going to be close. He considered what else could be done and thought of nothing. It was an old wash that flooded regularly—all loose material would have been washed down long ago—so it was unlikely there would be much debris. He hoped that was true. Just one tree trunk or even a large branch running with the water would inevitably break the line, and they would lose many people.

  Then the roar reached a climax, and the water rounded the last bend and was upon them. Danijel, standing at the edge of the wash, was instantly up to his knees in water. The center of the line of people disappeared under the water, whose surface was confusing in the darkness. Screams came from the People still ashore as the weight dragged them backward into the wash. Danijel wrapped his arms around a man in the line and dug in his heels. More people, not camped in the wash, were arriving, and they quickly did the same. But the waters of the flash flood kept coming, and the situation seemed hopeless. By the light of the moon, Danijel saw an old woman on the right side of the line collapse. The waters then dragged the two on either side of her downstream.

  Suddenly, Maxtla rushed past, diving into the rushing water. He surfaced just behind the potential break and flipped so he was heading downstream on his back, feet first. He slammed into the old lady, instantly wrapping his legs around her and simultaneously grasping the wrists of those on either side. Danijel was shocked to see the line hold and Maxtla maintain his leg-lock on the woman.

  He can’t hold her long, he thought.

  Then it was over. Much to Danijel’s astonishment, the line had not broken other than in the one place that Maxtla had repaired. It had been a plan of desperation. The light of the Sun rising in the east illuminated what had saved them. The wash was higher in the center, and the waters had split, flowing on either side of the resulting island. The far end of the line was anchored there, where the People on the drier land had the traction necessary to avoid being pulled into the maelstrom.

  Micaela, who had been the first to arrive after Danijel, said, “Danijel, we didn’t lose anyone! Your plan worked. Praise Sun!”

  “Thanks to Maxtla,” Danijel said with some irony. Maxtla had been trying to work his way up in the political hierarchy of Danijel’s group. His goal was not an easy one, for there was no apparent political authority. So he strove to create one, with himself second only to Danijel.

  “Maxtla?” Micaela exclaimed.

  “Yes, Maxtla. He was a real hero whose swift action saved everyone.” And the secret of ship in orbit above watching over us. If lives were about to be lost, they would intervene, and that would be that. It is unclear if they would rescue the natives. But, they would come down for us.

  Micaela looked toward the wash in wonder. She saw Maxtla helping an old woman out of the now dry depression and wondered. Is he the one?

  “Sun spoke to Danijel,” Şule said. “I was nearby, just coming back when I saw a sudden movement. It was Danijel coming out of his shelter. He looked half-awake, and his hand was cupped over his ear. Sun was speaking to him. I know it.”

  “I doubt that,” Micaela replied. “Danijel simply was awakened by the thunder. Then he heard the sound of the rushing water coming down the mountain. Or he simply knew what the noise meant.”

  “Well, no one else was awakened or heard the water coming. It was Sun watching over us. He cares for us even as I am a sinner, a blasphemer, and lay with men for profit.”

  “Does this mean you are going to reform, change?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far just yet.” She smiled. “But I’m thinking about it. Maybe I’ll reform in my heart. My body will follow later. In the meanwhile, Sun will know what’s in my heart, and I’ll be saved.”

  ***

  “Organize some men and search downstream for salvage,” Danijel ordered.

  Maxtla, moving quickly to accomplish Danijel’s wishes, thought, This is real progress. I am in charge of a group…a good first step.

  The group spent the day recovering from the flood and reorganizing. Maxtla’s men recovered a surprising amount of belongings from downstream. Or not so amazing, Danijel reconsidered, because there is no place for the stuff to hide in the desert downstream; it’s simply a matter of how far it was carried. If you just follow the wash downhill far enough, you will eventually find all that was carried away. Still, he was anxious to resume the journey. They were still behind schedule, and he hoped to spend some days with the Cliff Dwellers. Ohad harangued Danijel all the long day to send a party to rescue Uggla, as well as Ohad’s belongings.

  Cliff Dwellers

  The next day, the People resumed their journey, walking on a bed of black stones left over from the days when the mountains had exploded, and it had rained stones of all sizes. They made their way higher through the ruins of dozens of spent volcanoes and more than a few that made no promises. They marched for two hours beside a river of angry, tortured black stone that in its active period, had been molten lava flowing from the conjoined twin volcanoes to their west. Danijel realized that despite what the Cliff Dwellers thought, the molten missiles had not been directed at the inhabitants. They actually had gone in random directions.

  Nothing personal, he thought as an ironic smile slowly passed across his face. Pretty personal to those struck, but random and without meaning nonetheless. Perhaps the fickleness of death was more frightening.

  The forest was becoming denser, the vegetation more abundant. The young women were gathering herbs and vegetables, darting a few yards out of line to select from the bounty before rejoining the line, until they saw another opportunity. Danijel had sent two hunting and scouting parties out at first light. They would select the next campsite and have th
e meat cooking when the main body arrived. Not that the next campsite would be a surprise. Danijel was reasonably sure they would select the flat clearing beside the stream just southeast of Mount Staff, this highest mountain of the group.

  Maxtla was basking in the praise for his accomplishment during the flash flood. He had seized an opportunity with little risk but with the potential of great reward, which he was currently realizing. His currency had advanced considerably among the People, and he found himself hoping, with Micaela.

  Micaela, for her part, was considering that very subject. Maxtla’s heroics had surprised her. Perhaps he was not the self-centered, self-involved dandy that she had thought. Against her conscious will, she found herself intrigued.

  Ohad had been buzzing around the day before, harassing Danijel, checking inventory, and in the end, he had been much relieved to discover that Micaela had been carrying most of his inventory, especially all the high-value items. All the flint products, the beads, and the precious stones were in Micaela’s possession. Micaela had hesitated to trust Uggla with the most valuable items, and as they progressed, he had pushed more and more of what he had been tasked to carry on her. Ohad slowly realized he was in pretty good shape, considering. And his customers would understand his slightly increased prices, as the losses had to be covered. He might even come out ahead of where he would have been if Uggla had not been captured.

  He felt awful about Uggla’s misfortune, of course. He was, after all, a humanitarian. But self-interest came first, and in the aggregate, he was satisfied. Ohad knew that others were more altruistic than he was, and he had given that much thought over some years. He feared that appearing greedy and selfish might cost him customers or make them suspicious of the terms. In his heart, he was a kind and extremely generous person. But charity was a slippery slope; too much could spoil people for life. They would start to feel entitled to the help and demand more and more while putting out no effort themselves. And after all, who was he to decide who was deserving and who was not? It was very likely that in providing undeserved charity, he would be thwarting Sun’s plan or some god’s plan. He didn’t feel qualified to hold an opinion about that either. So, in the end, he decided to judge his potential actions or decisions on their benefit to himself and to himself alone. What was good for him, he felt, was the only moral thing he was qualified to have an opinion about. This philosophical rule provided for him to be charitable and generous when behaving as such was to his benefit, of course.