Ancient Forces Collection

by Bill Myers

  “No kidding?” Scott asked.

  “It’s all very sad,” Ryan said, shaking his head.

  Little Creek hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “All Indian stories are sad. I learned early not to ask my grandfather the meanings of the names and locations of things. There were always sad stories behind them.”

  “If you didn’t ask your grandfather, then how did you learn them?” Ryan asked.

  Little Creek laughed. “Grandfather told me, whether I asked or not. We Indians are very big on oral history, you know. It’s another one of our traditions.”

  “So what about these spirits that are supposed to cry out at night?” Scott asked. “Have you ever heard them?”

  Again Little Creek shrugged. “Yes and no. It could just be the wind. No one is certain. Dark Bear claims that they are spirit voices. He also claims that he is the only one who knows what they are saying.”

  Scott and Ryan exchanged looks. Scott knew they both were remembering the eerie sounds they had heard in the wind on their way up to the village.

  “Who’s Dark Bear?” Scott asked.

  For a moment Little Creek said nothing; then he took a deep breath and answered, “He’s the tribal shaman, a very powerful medicine man. I don’t know if you guys believe in that kind of thing, but . . . Dark Bear is the one person you should avoid contact with in our village.”

  “Why?” Scott asked.

  Little Creek cleared his throat nervously. “Because he has the kind of magic that can kill.”

  “You’re not serious?” Ryan asked.

  “Oh yes, I am very serious. Not only does he have the kind of magic that can kill . . . but he does not hesitate to use it.”

  4

  Swift Arrow walked quickly through the heat of the day. He prayed quietly, thinking and meditating as he crossed the canyon floor. He passed a dried-up riverbed and saw the skeleton of a long-dead coyote. He wondered if the animal had died of thirst. Perhaps it had crawled for miles to reach the river, only to discover that it was bone-dry.

  Swift Arrow stopped and looked down at the skeleton. His body grew tense. Carefully, he stooped down onto one knee for a closer look. There was something about the pattern of the bones on the sand . . . It was the same jagged pattern that he had seen in the lightning.

  Suddenly anxiety filled him. He couldn’t explain it, but the need to return to his village seized him. He needed to return at once. Swift Arrow stood and started for home.

  As they moved along the ridge, Little Creek entertained Scott and Ryan by telling them various legends and stories. One of his favorites was the legend of Buffalo Cry, a very strong brave who lived over a hundred summers ago. His tribe sent him to bring the peace pipe to his enemies, but on the way a rattlesnake bit him. As he lay dying, he chanted to the eagle god. After he died, his spirit entered an eagle, which came and took the peace pipe from his hand and flew with it to the enemy tribe. When the rival chief saw the eagle carrying the Apache peace pipe, he declared peace between the two tribes. The peace lasted many years.

  “So you really think Buffalo Cry’s spirit entered the eagle?” Scott asked.

  Little Creek shrugged. “The eagle did exactly as Buffalo Cry wished. Man cannot order a wild eagle.”

  “I suppose not,” Scott agreed. “But maybe God just used the eagle to answer Buffalo Cry’s prayer for peace.”

  “What’s the difference?” Little Creek asked. “Whether God commanded the eagle or the spirit of the brave entered the eagle, it’s all the same. Buffalo Cry’s eagle brought peace between the tribes.”

  “I don’t know,” Scott said, shaking his head. “I just can’t buy the idea of a person’s spirit entering some animal. The Bible says when we die we go to face God, not hang out inside some eagle.”

  “I think it’s kinda cool,” Ryan said. “Just because it’s different from the way we grew up doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

  Before Scott could disagree, Little Creek continued, “It’s the heart of shamanism. Shamans believe that by chanting and using certain herbs they can become one with the souls of animals, particularly the eagle, the wolf, and the lizard.”

  Again Scott shook his head. “Sorry, it’s too weird for me.”

  Ryan didn’t respond, but to Scott his silence said tons.

  A moment later Ryan shouted, “Hey, check it out!” Scott and Little Creek turned, but Ryan was already hurrying down the hill.

  Scott looked to the bottom and saw a bunch of stones carefully laid out in some sort of pattern, almost as if they were spelling out words or forming crude stick figures. Intrigued, Scott also started down the hill.

  “Wait,” Little Creek called to them as he followed after Scott. “Be careful not to upset the stones. This is one of Dark Bear’s holy places.”

  But Scott had already reached the bottom and began hopping on the stones, jumping from one to the other. “I’m not hurting them,” he said. “I won’t mess them up.”

  “Scott,” Ryan said, “you should really show more respect. I mean, what if somebody saw you?”

  “Oh, all right,” Scott sighed. “If it’s that big of a deal, I’ll get off.”

  He’d barely hopped off when they heard a loud cracking sound toward the top of the mountain. All three spun around to see a huge cloud of dust and debris billowing down the slope — directly toward them.

  “It’s an avalanche!” Little Creek cried. “Run!”

  No one had to be told twice, but it was too close and coming too fast. In a matter of seconds the first of the boulders descended upon them.

  Ryan was the first to be hit. A boulder the size of a basketball grazed his thigh. He let out a cry but continued running.

  Scott was luckier. He dodged an even bigger rock that crashed into the ground immediately beside him. Soon rock and sand and dust surrounded the three. Through the thick, hazy cloud, Scott saw another boulder, several times larger than any other that had fallen. He leaped out of the way just as the two-ton rock bounced past, missing him by inches.

  It ended almost as quickly as it had begun. Except for their coughing and gasping for breath, everything grew quiet.

  “Everyone all right?” Little Creek called.

  “Yeah,” Scott answered, choking.

  “We’re okay,” Ryan coughed.

  The guys climbed out of the gravel and rocks, then looked back at where they had been standing. It was covered in rock. Coincidence? Maybe.

  After a few moments, Ryan said, “Well, I guess we should probably be heading back.”

  “Yes.” Little Creek’s agreement was quick. “I’m afraid we’ve offended the spirits. It would not be safe to continue.”

  “ ‘Offended the spirits,’ ” Scott scoffed. “You don’t really believe that.”

  But Little Creek said nothing. Nor did Ryan. Instead, they turned and started climbing back up to the path. As they walked, Ryan turned around several times and looked back down at the pile of rocks. Scott couldn’t be certain, but Ryan seemed strangely drawn to the place. Over the months the two of them had become good friends. And, like most good friends, each could often tell what the other was thinking. It was becoming more and more obvious to Scott that Ryan was getting caught up in the Indian myths and legends. And, while Scott knew this wasn’t wrong, something about Ryan’s fascination caused him concern.

  “Hey — ” Ryan stopped abruptly and pointed toward the top of the hill — “look.”

  Scott stopped and turned but saw nothing. “What?” he asked.

  “He’s gone now.”

  “There was somebody out here?”

  Ryan nodded.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know . . . but he had something coming out of his head.”

  “Horns?” Little Creek asked. “Did they look like horns?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Then we’d better hurry.” Little Creek suddenly broke into a trot.

  “Why?” Ryan asked, jogging beside him. “What’s going on?”
>
  “If what you saw were horns, then we’d better get out of here. Fast.”

  “But why?”

  Little Creek didn’t answer. “Come on,” he insisted, continuing to run. “Come on.”

  Scott didn’t press the issue and neither did Ryan. Whatever it was that Ryan had seen had made Little Creek pretty nervous. And whatever it was, neither Scott nor Ryan felt inclined to stick around and find out why.

  An hour later as they approached camp, Little Creek said a hasty good-bye. He still would not tell them the reason for his concern, but it was obvious he was anxious to get away from them. Scott and Ryan wished him farewell and headed toward their tent.

  As they walked up, a tantalizing aroma filled the air. “What’s that smell?” Scott called. “I’m starved.”

  “You’re always starved,” Becka said as she stooped over the grill to check on the thick, sizzling hamburgers.

  “You boys are just in time for lunch,” Mom called.

  “Great,” Ryan said.

  “But look at you — you’re filthy. What happened?”

  “Oh, we just had a little run-in with a falling mountain,” Scott quipped.

  “You what?”

  “We just had a little — ”

  “Never mind,” Mom interrupted. “Go wash up. When you get back you can tell us all about it.”

  Becka watched the burgers carefully, making sure they didn’t burn. When Scott and Ryan returned from washing up, she grinned. “It’s about time! These things are ready to serve up.”

  “What do you boys want on them?” Mom asked.

  “Oh . . . anything’s fine,” Ryan said.

  “Yeah,” Scott agreed. “Whatever you got.”

  “Whatever we’ve got?” Becka repeated, laughing. “That sounds pretty suspicious coming from someone who complains about everything.”

  “Who? Me?” Scott asked, pretending to sound indignant.

  “Yeah, you.”

  The guys each grabbed a plate, bun, burger, and some chips before settling down at the picnic table near their tent.

  “Still no sign of Swift Arrow,” Becka sighed. “We checked, and he hasn’t come back yet. Nothing to do but just keep waiting, I guess.”

  “That’s okay with me,” Scott said. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  “It’s okay with me too,” Ryan agreed. “I’d say the longer we can stay here, the better.”

  Becka glanced at Ryan. The guy was practically beaming. As the sun reflected off his jet-black hair, she couldn’t help thinking how gorgeous he looked . . . and how lucky she was. For the past year their friendship had been growing stronger. Oh, sure, they’d had their disagreements, but something was growing between them. Something deep. When Ryan looked at her a certain way, Becka felt herself become weak and trembly inside.

  Now she crossed over and sat beside him as she had so many times before. But instead of turning to smile at her, he barely seemed to notice her.

  “I’m really starting to enjoy this trip too,” she said. “It’s different from the others. So quiet, so peaceful . . .”

  Ryan nodded, but when she glanced into his eyes, hoping for that special connection they always shared, she saw that he wasn’t even looking at her. Once again he was off somewhere. And once again she felt a twinge of jealousy. Was it her imagination, or was he purposely ignoring her? She tried to push the thought from her mind, but it kept returning. Finally, she asked softly, “Ryan, is everything okay?”

  As if coming back from a dream, Ryan turned to her and smiled. “Okay?” he asked. “Sure, everything’s fine. You’re right — this place is incredible. There’s nothing the matter at all.”

  “Unless you count the avalanche that almost killed us,” Scott said with a chuckle. “Other than that, Ryan’s right, nothing’s the matter.”

  Becka looked at him, startled.

  “Avalanche?” Mom asked. She seemed equally startled — and concerned.

  “Yep,” Scott replied. And then, obviously enjoying his role as storyteller, he began to explain all that had happened to them . . . from Little Creek’s warnings about Dark Bear to Scott’s playing on the holy stones to the avalanche and finally to the horned figure Ryan claimed to have seen on the top of the ridge.

  “You saw a guy . . . with horns?” Becka asked, feeling a sense of cold dread fill her.

  “Yeah,” Ryan answered. “I mean, it was pretty fast. One second he was there; the next he was gone. But I’m sure he had horns.”

  “I’m not sure what all this means,” Mom said slowly, “but I think you kids had better be a lot more careful in the future.”

  The guys nodded, but Becka didn’t respond. Ryan’s last phrase had sent a chill shooting up her back and through her shoulders. It was part of her built-in warning system. One that she’d grown to trust through their many encounters with evil. She shifted her weight, trying to shake off the feeling, but it would not go away.

  “What’s wrong?” Ryan asked. “Are you all right?”

  Becka swallowed hard and looked out at the rocks. “Yesterday . . . when I almost fell off that rope bridge . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “When it was all over, I looked up. And, well, I thought it was my imagination, but now . . .” She looked down. “When I looked up, I saw somebody standing on the ridge above us.”

  “Really?”

  Becka tried to swallow again, but this time her mouth was bone-dry. “It was like you said — he was there only for a second and then he was gone.”

  As if sensing there was more, Ryan asked, “And . . . ?”

  “And — ” Becka finally raised her eyes to meet Ryan’s — “on top of his head were two large horns.”

  5

  It was early in the morning when Ryan awoke — around four o’clock, according to his watch. He listened carefully, sure he’d heard something. Of course, camping out in the New Mexico mountains meant you were bound to hear lots of strange noises during the night — the howl of a coyote, the hoot of an owl, the rhythmic buzz of countless, unknown insects. But this was slightly different.

  Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

  There it was again. Very nearby. Almost animal, but strangely human.

  Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

  Now Ryan was wide-awake. He decided against waking Scott. After all, the sound wasn’t particularly threatening — and he didn’t want to seem foolish or afraid.

  Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

  Quietly, Ryan unzipped his sleeping bag and crawled out. He slipped on his jeans and grabbed a long-sleeved shirt for a jacket. Ever so silently, he unzipped the tent flaps and stepped out into the shadows.

  The air was cool and slightly sticky. And the smells. Sage and dust and a hundred others he couldn’t recognize. The moon was nearly full, filling the desert and mountains with its light. Everything was so peaceful, so silent, so —

  Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

  Ryan felt his heart beat a little harder. It was definitely no animal he’d ever heard. And although he couldn’t explain why, he felt it calling.

  Calling to him.

  He crossed the dozen or so yards to the entrance of the campground.

  Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

  It sounded like it came from the side of the road. Slowing to a stop, he paused to peer into the moonlight.

  Nothing. It sounded so close, and yet there was nothing.

  He took in a breath to steady himself, then kept going. Maybe it was a raccoon. Or maybe it was some kind of weird bird.

  Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

  No, that was no bird. And he was nearly on top of it.

  He had reached the side of the road when he saw it. Something in the shadows. Something big. And it was moving!

  “I knew you’d come.”

  Ryan let out a gasp as Little Creek stepped into the moonlight.

  “You scared me half to death!” Ryan exclaimed.

  Little Creek smiled, his white teeth glea
ming in the light. “I summoned you the Indian way, and you came. You have the heart of an initiate.”

  “A what?”

  “A potential brave. I have seen that you are someone who may truly understand and appreciate the ways of my people. I want to show you someplace special. Will you come with me?”

  Something told Ryan to refuse. It was like someone tugging at his mind — a kind of warning. But Little Creek seemed so excited . . . Before he knew it, Ryan was nodding. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Again Little Creek smiled. Without another word, he turned and started down the path. Ryan joined him.

  An hour later they were walking past Dark Bear’s holy place, the location of the avalanche. Ryan felt a slight chill as he looked down at the pile of rock and stone. Instinctively, he glanced up to the peak where he had seen the man with the horns, but no one was there. Maybe no one ever had been.

  “This way,” Little Creek called as he disappeared into some tall weeds.

  Ryan turned off the road and followed.

  “Be careful — the ground drops off here.”

  Ryan was grateful for the warning as the ground began such a sudden slope that he had to struggle to keep his balance.

  At last Little Creek called out, “Over here.”

  Ryan looked up to see the boy standing at the entrance to a small cave.

  “It looks small now,” Little Creek said, “but after a few feet inside you can stand up.”

  Once again Ryan felt that small tug, that sense of caution, of warning. And once again, he brushed it aside. What was wrong with checking out a cave?

  “Come on.” Little Creek motioned for Ryan to follow him inside. Ryan obeyed. He had to stoop to enter. Immediately, he felt a coolness — a good fifteen to twenty degrees cooler than outside. What’s more, it was pitch-black. Fortunately Little Creek had a small flashlight, and its light reflected off the walls and ceiling. The walls rose rapidly, and after half a dozen steps Ryan was able to stand.

  “How far does this thing go?” he asked.

  “A very long way,” Little Creek replied. “This, too, is a holy place, so I must ask you not to show it to anyone. I’m showing it to you because I believe you have the mind to understand.”