Walker interpreted Flute Maiden’s words. Tag started to protest. At the sound of his reluctant voice, Flute Maiden put her hands on her hips and gave Tag a look that he understood well.
“I’ll be back,” Tag whispered to Small Cub, stroking the sick child’s flushed cheek. With his knees creaking, he rose and walked stiff-legged to the door. Reaching the door, he turned again to stare back at the small child.
Walker’s heart twisted with pain at the look of anguish on Tag’s face. He rose and followed his friend out the T-shaped door.
Outside on the moonlit path, Walker reached out and touched Tag’s shoulder. Tag paused, his eyes riveted to the ground.
“Tag.” Walker felt Tag’s shoulders shudder, then sag.
“It is not fair, just not fair!” Tag’s voice sounded intense, bitter, hurt. Staring at Walker, he continued, “It all seems so stupid, so senseless, so unreal. People are dying of vomiting and diarrhea.” Tears slipped down his freckled checks and glistened in the moonlight. “Here we are, products of the twentieth century with all its vast medical knowledge and technology, yet we can’t do anything for them!” Tag’s angry voice echoed off the canyon walls.
“We are doing all that can be done under these circumstances and it has helped.” Walker tried to keep his voice low and smooth, despite the feeling of frustration that was raging through him. “There have been only a few new cases of the sickness since the people started to use the boiled water and take the other precautions. Flute Maiden said these people are not nearly as bad as the first ones. Her medicines are working well on them. She expects them to recover fully.”
“What about those that got sick first?” Tag’s eyes glared in the moonlight with a hopeless bitterness.
Walker shook his head. “It was just too late to help them.”
“What about Small Cub?” Tag cried, brushing the tears off his face. “Is it too late for him, too?” Sensing that Walker could not or would not answer his question, Tag pulled away from him. “Useless. I feel totally useless!” He threw his arms up into the darkness. “You know, it’s all really useless anyway. History has already written these peoples’ fate. They will vanish, just disappear off the face of the earth, leaving very little behind. What is left will be destroyed by curious bahana Sunday picnickers out for some ‘good, clean fun’—knocking down the homes of some dead Indians.” Tag’s arms fell limp against his legs. A deep sob racked his body. Silence filled the night air.
Sniffing, Tag clenched his fists at his sides. “Anything the bahana vandals find in the ruins will either be carted off or smashed to smithereens.” With a jerk, he pivoted around to face the darkened canyon. “There will be laws passed that will make it illegal to steal any ancient artifact or destroy any prehistoric site. But even with these laws, and people like my Dad fighting to protect what little is left of the ancient ones, it won’t be enough. The money-hungry grave robbers will still come in, digging up every burial spot they can find, looking for the pottery that the ancient ones bury with their dead. Those thieving vultures won’t care if the bones they are scattering and desecrating were once a living person—a person with a name who laughed and cried, a real, live person who had a mother, a father, a brother . . .” Tag gasped for a breath of air. He pointed a long, thin finger toward Walker. “There is not one thing you or I can do about it, Walker of Time. Not one thing. We cannot change a blessed thing!” Sobbing, Tag turned and stumbled down the moonlit path.
Tag’s words rang true to Walker and filled his heart with an overwhelming despair that he had never known before. His heart seemed to pump this hopeless feeling into every cell of his body, even to his very soul. Closing his eyes, he drew in the cooling night air. Even the air seemed tainted, stale, oppressed with an inescapable death. He felt as if the walls of the canyon were slowly squeezing closed on him.
Walker stood in the middle of the path, his hands clenched in tight fists at his waist. He lifted his face to the great, yellow moon hanging in the star-speckled night. “Why, Náat? Why, Uncle, did you send me here?” he asked in a deep whisper. “Tag is right. Nothing can be done. It is already too late for these people.”
Silence filled the air, the sky, the canyon.
Releasing his clenched hands, Walker let them fall to his sides. They dangled lifelessly. His body felt like lead. He turned to look down the path. Maybe he should go with Tag. They could just keep going until they got out of this canyon of death. There was nothing left to do here except help bury the dead. It would be better to admit failure and leave before the ones he had grown to love died. Flute Maiden’s lovely face flashed through his mind. His blood felt as if it were ice. He simply did not have the courage or strength to lose another loved one to Masau’u.
The sound of feet hitting the hard ground filled the air. A chill raced up Walker’s back. His scalp began to tighten, but not from fear. The haunting feeling filled his mind and body. Even as Walker turned, he knew what the approaching messenger had to say. He had just seconds to decide whether to escape with Tag or risk facing death himself.
The runner, a man he had never seen before, was trotting up the path toward Great Owl’s house. The moonlight reflected off the tiny beads of sweat on the man’s face and chest. His breath came in ragged pants. His eyes concentrated on the rocky path. Just a few feet away from Walker, he lifted his eyes. He jerked to a stop, startled to see a stranger on the path. His hands flew to the knife at his waist.
“I am a friend,” Walker spoke in a warm but shaking voice. “White Badger, whom you seek, is in the home of Son of Great Bear.”
Standing in a defensive position, the man stood clutching his weapon, unsure what to do next. After a few seconds, keeping his eyes on Walker, he moved up to Son of Great Bear’s door. “White Badger,” his voice was low, his eyes never leaving Walker. “White Badger, it is Dark Cloud. I must speak to you.” White Badger appeared at the door. Dark Cloud entered, leaving Walker alone on the path.
The mysterious feeling filled the air. “Now. Now begins what you were sent here to do,” Náat’s familiar voice whispered as if it were sung by the stars.
“What is it that I am to do?” Walker asked himself, the moon, the stars. “What can I possibly do?”
A deathly silence filled the rocks and cliffs of the canyon.
A minute later, Walker sat down next to Great Owl in his house. Great Owl’s eyes met Walker’s. From the look in the Seer’s eyes, Walker could tell he, too, without having been told, knew that Lone Eagle had returned.
Great Owl’s eyes searched Walker’s. The old man’s wrinkled face showed no emotion as his eyes seemed to probe deep within Walker. Just a few days ago such eye contact, such intense searching, would have made Walker squirm and turn away. Now Walker looked back at Great Owl without hesitation.
Great Owl’s face softened. “Yes, it begins. You are ready. But your path is not clear. You must be careful at all times. There are those who would do anything to stop what must be done. Guard your trust always. There are those who will turn against you now.”
“I will,” Walker said, knowing Great Owl’s words to be true.
“Now, I must go to our chief.” Using his carved staff, Great Owl struggled to his feet.
“I will go with you,” said Flute Maiden, starting to get up.
“No, my daughter. Stay here with Small Cub. What care Lone Eagle needs, I alone can give.”
White Badger came through the door just as Great Owl was ready to leave. He spoke quietly to Great Owl, then crossed over to Small Cub and knelt. He reached out and stroked the dark hair. “Keep fighting, little one. We need you as a good hunter and a mighty warrior.” Then Great Owl and White Badger were gone.
Tag tumbled through the door. “Is Small Cub all right?” He knelt beside Flute Maiden. Tag’s dirty, tear-streaked face was pale. His hair looked like a cross between a bird’s and a rat’s nest. His eyes had a haunted, lost look to them. There was panic in Tag’s voice, “I saw White Badger and Great Owl lea
ve—I thought . . .”
Walker explained the situation to Tag.
The small fire popped and crackled. The shadows on the wall were still. The air was thick with smoke and sickness.
Tag stared down at Small Cub’s deathly white face. Tag’s body began to shake as if he were cold. Was Tag getting sick? The thought shot through Walker like a hot bullet. Did Masau’u have his fingers around Tag?
Turning to Walker, Tag said in a ghostlike voice, “I have the strongest feeling that this is the beginning of the end for all of us.”
22
Walker, Flute Maiden, and Tag sat huddled together near Small Cub. Each was silent with thoughts, questions, and worries. Small Cub was lost in a deep sleep. His small body lay peaceful at last.
Walker tried to relax his tired body, but every aching muscle was tense. He willed his weary mind to float free from the present situation. Instead, it stubbornly began focusing with clear and accurate sharpness upon each incident of the last few days. He struggled to place each happening together in a meaningful way, as he would put a complicated jigsaw puzzle together. Nothing seemed to dovetail securely or logically. Something, some basic information that would tie things together, was missing. The present ceased. Only the past existed as Walker arranged and rearranged everything he had seen and learned, trying to piece things together.
“Walker!” White Badger’s sharp voice startled him. Tag and Flute Maiden also jerked with surprise. Walker turned to see White Badger standing just inside the doorway. “Lone Eagle wants you now.” There was something in White Badger’s tone that made Walker’s scalp tighten. White Badger’s face was like cold granite, impassive and unfeeling. He stood rigid, his fist clutching the sharp knife at his waist.
What had happened to cause such a radical change in White Badger? A foreboding feeling swept through Walker. This was not the White Badger he had hunted with this morning or worked with side by side all day long. Something was not right. Had Gray Wolf gotten to Lone Eagle first and convinced him that the strangers were witches who must be killed? Was White Badger just obeying orders? Or had he turned against him as Great Owl had forewarned? Walker’s heart began hammering against his chest. Keeping his eyes on White Badger, he started to his feet.
Tag broke the thick silence, “What’s wrong with White Badger? What’s happened?”
“Lone Eagle has sent for me.”
Tag started up. “I’ll go with you.”
Walker shook his head. “I must go alone this time.” He flashed a quick half-smile. “Tag, whatever happens, I think that you will be safe.” He hoped that what he had said was true, but he could not be sure.
Walker caught Flute Maiden’s eyes. They glistened with tears and spoke of some deep emotion. Anxiety, worry—or was it fear he saw? Flute Maiden lowered her dark eyes before he could read them clearly. Everything suddenly seemed unreal, like a hazy nightmare. What was really happening here?
The warm night air seemed almost too thick to breathe. As Walker followed White Badger down the narrow path, his heart thundered in his ears. His palms were as wet as his forehead and chest, which were covered with sweat. He felt the spirit of death reaching its bony, black fingers toward him.
White Badger has turned against you! the walls of the canyon seemed to whisper to Walker. Push him off the next ledge before he leads you to your death! Save yourself now before it is too late!
Fear, with its accompanying adrenaline, surged through Walker’s body. Panic began taking over his mind. He reached up and touched the eagle pendant hanging on his chest. “Taawa . . .” he prayed silently.
White Badger stopped, turning to face Walker. In the moonlit shadows, his eyes looked like deep, empty holes, his cheeks sunken and fleshless.
Strike now! Escape now, or die! a cool burst of air from the canyon sang in Walker’s ears. The rank odor of death swirled out of the nearby doorway. Walker’s heart hammered, and his throat constricted. His knees felt weak, yet every muscle in his body was poised, ready to fight or flee.
White Badger pointed to the door. His hand grasped his stone knife. He waited like a guard for Walker to enter.
Walker clenched his fist into a tight ball. He drew in a deep breath of the death-filled air. Looking up to the stars, he whispered in a deep, desperate voice, “Help me, Náat!” His plea died in the stillness before it reached White Badger’s ear. Yet in his heart, Walker knew that he must enter this house of death. He had to do what Náat had sent him to do.
Releasing his fists and moving toward the door, Walker looked again into White Badger’s face. It was masked in dark shadows. “I’m sorry, my friend,” White Badger said in a harsh, raspy voice, “that there is nothing I can do.”
Walker realized that whatever was about to happen had been taken out of White Badger’s hands. If White Badger, the Warrior Chief, could not help him, no one could. He was totally on his own now. Walker tried to swallow the fear knotted in his throat but found he couldn’t even swallow. He stooped low and entered the dwelling.
Great Owl was sitting near the center of the room with his back toward the door. Walker could see a small, seated figure, wrapped in a blanket of skins, hunched over next to Great Owl. Was it Singing Woman? Yes. She turned to whisper something to Great Owl. Her wrinkled face was pulled tight in worry, or was it grief? With uncertain feet, Walker took another step into the room. The low sound of a man’s weak voice floated like smoke toward him. Walker realized it had to be Lone Eagle’s voice that he was hearing. He stopped, trying to make out the words.
The haunting feeling washed over Walker, and he swayed on his feet. Again the low tones of the strangely familiar voice reached his ears. The feeling sucked at him, like a giant whirlpool pulling him deeper and deeper. His hands battled their way up to his pendant. Grasping it as he would a life line, Walker fought to stay conscious.
“Walker,” Great Owl’s stern voice reached through the encroaching darkness that was pulling at him.
Walker’s eyes were blurred. It took every ounce of strength for him to concentrate on Great Owl’s voice. He was guided by it as a ship is guided by the moans of a foghorn in a thick fog.
He felt Great Owl’s dry, leaflike hand on his arm. At the old Seer’s touch, air finally reached his lungs. The ferocious pounding of his heart slowed. Walker’s eyes and head began to clear.
Great Owl stood in front of him, holding Walker’s tensed arms. Great Owl’s face was calm, his eyes shining. “You must sit.” He turned so that Walker could see a man, who had to be Lone Eagle, lying in a bed of furs on the floor.
Walker dropped to the hard ground. Lone Eagle’s face was hidden in the shadows of his fur coverings. With a slow, determined movement, a dark, wrinkled hand raised out of the skins. “Come closer,” his low voice held great authority.
At the sound of the words, the haunting feeling again threatened to overcome Walker. He strained to keep his eyes in focus, moving his leaden body next to Lone Eagle, who was struggling to sit up.
The small fire nearby flickered and brightened as if it had been suddenly fed. The shadows over Lone Eagle’s face faded away. The overpowering feeling broke over Walker like a violent thunderstorm, leaving him shaking to the quick.
“Qeni Wayma, Walker of Time,” Lone Eagle’s warm voice said, reaching through the raging storm to Walker. “Welcome home, my son.”
“. . . my son.” The words filled Walker’s panic-stricken heart with calmness. The magical veil that had hidden Walker’s memories for so many years slipped away. The haunting feeling dissolved into sweet, warm memories of this home and this kind and loving man.
With tears blurring his vision, Walker slipped into Lone Eagle’s open arms. “Father!”
23
This is incredible!” exclaimed Tag, his tired eyes now wide. He and Walker sat at Great Owl’s fire. “I can’t believe it!” He shook his head, his tangled hair looking like an abandoned hawk’s nest.
Great Owl had stayed with Lone Eagle, and White Badger wa
s next door with Son of Great Bear. Flute Maiden, sensing Walker’s need to talk to his friend alone, had excused herself to go check on Morning Flower and the baby. She had kept her eyes lowered, never letting them meet Walker’s, as she quickly left. Walker appreciated her kindness. He was not sure he could have looked into her face and read what was written there. He had to first sort things out in his own mind and heart. He needed time to totally accept what lay ahead of him.
Tag rubbed his chin with a dirty hand, leaving smudges on his face. “It is all amazing. Unbelievable actually.” He paused, looking around at the one-room dwelling, the mat-covered floor where he sat, the small, flickering fire in front of him, and the sick child sleeping next to him. With a wide, sweeping motion of his hand, he continued, “Actually all of this, not to mention just being here, is totally unbelievable. So what you just told me should make perfect sense.”
Walker smiled at Tag. He knew that Tag was having as difficult a time as he had had comprehending and accepting what had happened—as he still was having, in some ways.
“Okay. Let me make sure I got it all,” Tag stated. He pinched his lips together, thinking. “Years ago when your uncle, Náat, was a young man, he came here to Walnut Canyon looking for eaglets. It started to storm, so he took refuge in the same cave we did. Zammie! Somehow he was zapped back here the same way we were.”
Walker nodded. “Yes, but this was many years ago. Great Owl and Lone Eagle were also young men then.”
“Sounds logical to me,” Tag said, pumping his head. “He starts to climb down from the cave but falls, gashing his head and hurting his leg. Boy, it’s easy to accept that part.” Tag chuckled. “Along comes Singing Woman and finds him. Singing Woman is the friendly, blind lady who weaves the mats, right?”
Walker of Time Page 14
