Relics

by K. T. Tomb

  The doorway was at his back, so there would be a second column to his right and slightly forward. If they were no further than six feet and three inches apart, then he could touch fingertip to fingertip between them. Keeping his back toward the doorway, he inched away to his right until only the fingertips of his left hand were touching the column. Slowly rotating around the first column with his fingertips, he kept his arms spread wide, in moments, he touched another column. It was enough. As he moved forward the angle would narrow and he would be able to feel for the ladder within his arm span. He started forward, swinging his arms from straight out to straight forward. After a dozen or so shuffling steps, he found the ladder.

  Wasting no more time, he started up the ladder until his hand found the opening in the stone ceiling. He hesitated, thinking of what might be on the other side of that stone slab. It would certainly be better than the darkness. Maybe he should have a weapon. Where would he find a weapon, any weapon?

  “I wish I had the dagger,” he muttered. Suddenly it appeared in his hand, its green hue glowing and casting an odd light into the stone room below. “Shit! Why didn’t I think of that before?”

  So the dagger was magic. He wondered how much magic it had. It certainly transported him into some strange places and this new trick seemed to be a nice added touch, but what else could he do with it? “I wish the stone slab would move,” he ventured. Nothing happened. So, its magic was limited. He pushed on the slab. It was heavy. He stepped another rung higher on the ladder, slipping the dagger into his pocket, placed both hands on the slab and used his legs to lift it and slide it back. Immediately, ambient light filled the round room above him, casting a dim stream of light down through the hole and into the room below.

  He took the dagger out of his pocket and held it up to scan the room. Another empty, round room, but this one was solid rock, like a cave that had been shaped. He noticed a doorway and started to turn toward it, but decided he had better push the slab back over the hole first. That task finished, he moved toward the doorway which was the source of the ambient light in the room. There was a stairway leading upward and above it a rather strange, blue-green circle. He moved cautiously up the stairway and touched the substance. His hand sank into a pool of water.

  What the hell? He drew his hand back and looked at it. How the hell did the water not flood down into the cave? As near as he could tell, it was the only way out. He moved further up the stairway, took a deep breath and moved forward. The instant that he was in the pool, it felt like he was sinking. He rolled over and swam upward toward the light. When his head emerged, nearly 50 goats dashed away from the edge of the pool, bleating at the surprise visitor who suddenly emerged among them.

  The ambient light he had seen in the cave was from the rising sun above the pool of water. He swam toward the shore. Once his feet touched bottom, he walked up out of the water and sat on the fallen stump of a juniper. He turned a full circle, scanning the world around him. There was a cluster of hogans, varying shades of red soil, goats and horses. It looked very familiar, but he wasn’t entirely certain until he saw Chuska Peak. He would recognize that mountain anywhere. He had just traced its details from the photo onto the canvas the night before.

  The cluster of hogans from the photo, the single, finished hogan in the painting; it was all beginning to make sense. He looked toward the place where he had pulled off of US Highway 491 to snap the photo. There was no highway. Maybe he was mistaken. He couldn’t be mistaken. He had an eye for detail and he was near the cluster of hogans; they were right there. Another point in time before the highway existed? Or was he in an alternate dimension? After plunging upward into the pool, turning over and swimming upward to get out of it, he was about ready to accept anything.

  The goats were over their initial start and were beginning to gather back around the watering hole, so he decided to move away from it and started toward the dwellings. He was no more than a dozen strides away from the watering hole when he saw a figure coming toward him. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He would know that shape anywhere. It was Naomi.

  As they drew closer toward one another, he could barely contain his smile, and hers was as brilliant as the rising sun as well.

  “You came,” she said, extending her arms out to him.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  What else was there to say? In a moment, he swept her into his arms and held her warm body against him, then pulled away in order to lower his mouth to hers in a kiss.

  To his surprise, her finger flashed up toward him and touched his lips. She shook her head and he was confused for a moment. She had suddenly become tense and nervous.

  “Wait,” she said, answering the wrinkling of his brow.

  Chapter Six

  The simple hogan that he had seen in his dreams was exactly as he recalled it.

  But there was something wrong. He felt it the moment that he walked in. A confused mixture of warmth and emptiness lingered in the space and though he was where he had desired to be since that first dream more than a month in the past, he felt a heavy darkness surrounding him.

  Once they were inside, she turned back toward him, dimming her brilliant smile when she saw the reaction to what he felt expressed clearly on his face.

  “Parke?” She searched his face with her dark eyes. “What is it?”

  “Something is wrong.”

  “Yes.”

  She turned her eyes downward. The smile was gone from her face.

  “What is it?”

  He sensed tears beginning to form in her eyes.

  “She’s gone.”

  With the admission, the tears came freely and she buried her face in his chest.

  “Your daughter?”

  He was amazed that he was able to see so clearly what was causing her pain and the empty feeling in her home. Had he suddenly become a psychic? Images rushed through his mind as he began to search the pictures that suddenly began to swirl before him.

  “No husband. Rape. An infant daughter. Khaera. Taken in the night. Tall men with big eyes and claws.”

  He said each word as it came to his understanding.

  “Yes,” she answered, when the psychotic slide-show had finished.

  “How did I know?”

  He had to be out of his mind. He had never had such an odd feeling and clarity rush over him. The feelings that assaulted him as he entered his home, the vision and the unquestionable knowledge that he suddenly had were almost too much for him.

  “It is your gift. It is why you were called.”

  “My gift.”

  He repeated the words, trying to make them seem more real. He knew all that had happened and even knew where she was, though he knew nothing beyond the blackness of the kiva below the watering hole. She was in that dark world.

  “You know where she is.” She read his thoughts as well. “She’s in the dark world.”

  “Yes.”

  His mind was racing, trying to catch up with the magic of the dagger, his new-found psychic powers, her powers to read his mind and what it all meant. He felt her hesitate to ask the question. He was amazed that he already knew the question as well as its answer before the words came out of her mouth.

  “You will bring her back?”

  “Yes.”

  His destiny seemed to be propelling him forward without control. What sort of magical world had suddenly changed a simple painter into a reckless adventurer with psychic powers and a magical dagger? What sort of dream was he having? He was certain that he had been awake and standing in the studio in his home. Surely he would wake up soon.

  “You are confused and yet, very aware.”

  She voiced his own thoughts.

  “I know nothing of the dark world.”

  Admitting that did not seem to let him off the hook, even in his own mind. He had to help her and he would help her. He remembered his dream.

  “Yes, Hosteen John can help,” she said.

  Why did they even bothe
r with speaking when they seemed to know one another’s thoughts immediately?

  “Because it is what we are used to,” she replied. “And the sound of your voice comforts me.”

  “We are one then?”

  “We are.”

  “But how?”

  “How is anything possible?”

  “There are so many mysteries.”

  It was all very strange, exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. His thoughts were not his own and yet, he felt no threat that she was privy to them. After a few moments, he had to admit to himself that it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he at first thought. If he was going to trust anyone with his thoughts and emotions, it would be her. His thoughts went back to Khaera, Hosteen John, the dark world, rescue… He was hungry.

  “You must eat first,” she said.

  She had already prepared fry bread and mutton for him and she served it to him in a clay bowl. The conversation about the magic, the gift, the fact that they needn’t speak to converse, the visit to Hosteen John, the danger of the dark world, his experience in the dark, coming up through the hole into the watering hole and more, but without a single spoken word while he ate. It was strange, but he was beginning to get more comfortable with it, though he treasured the soft, sweet sound of her voice and the mixture of nasal, short, guttural and interrupted speech of her native language which he understood completely. It was completely impossible and completely real at the same time.

  When he finished eating, they left the hogan, caught the two horses in the pasture and started on their journey into the Chuska Mountains and the home of Hosteen John.

  ***

  The summer arbor beneath the juniper tree was exactly as it had been in Parke’s dream. The deep lines of the old man’s face gave him the exact same impression and he heard Naomi stifle a giggle when the thought passed his mind that the old man could as easily be a thousand years old as he could be a hundred.

  After they practiced the traditional greetings and introductions, Parke settled in for a deep conversation with the ancient hitali, a healer.

  “Tell me about your journey to come here, Parke.”

  His dark eyes burned into him, as though he was already reading the story from within his soul.

  Parke related the dreams, buying the dagger, the vision and the dream of him the night before, or whenever it was in time. When he was finished, the old man waited. It was considered impolite to speak too soon, just in case the other person was thinking of something else to say. When the silence had grown almost unbearable for Parke, the old man spoke again.

  In an extremely peculiar way, the words and thoughts from the dream began to take shape in exactly the same way as the dream. It was beyond déjà vu, it was exactly the same. A few hours before, Parke might have been surprised, but the things that he had experienced since purchasing the dagger had slowly worn away the element of surprise and nothing stayed a shock to him for very long.

  “A dagger made completely of jade?” the old man asked.

  Indeed, he was a thousand years old if he was a hundred. The lines of his face were deeply carved into his face. His white hair was as brilliant as sunshine on snow. The chiseled features of the Navajo in the trading post and those of Naomi were shared by him, but in an ancient, eternal way. Though everything about him spoke of the withering away of winter, his black eyes were brilliant and alive. There was laughter in them.

  “Yes, Hosteen John,” Parke replied. “The blade, hilt and handle were all formed from the same stone.”

  “I must see this dagger.”

  Parke produced the dagger and placed it into the wrinkled hands of the old man.

  “Ummm,” Hosteen John groaned as he turned the dagger over in his hands. “It is becoming very hot.”

  He did not seem to register any discomfort from the heat of the dagger and continued looking at it.

  “Is it magic?” Parke asked.

  “Anything is magic in the hands of someone who believes.”

  Parke wondered if he simply hadn’t believed enough.

  “It is indeed formed from one stone. This is a stone that is not present in Dinetah.”

  “It must have come from the orient,” Parke replied. “Perhaps it was carried over the Bering Strait from the orient and that was how the Navajo who sold it came to own it.”

  “Why would it have come to him in that way?”

  The wrinkles on the old man’s brow wrinkled further.

  “Because Native Americans crossed the Bering Strait Land Bridge to come here.”

  “Perhaps some did,” the old man admitted. “But the Diné entered this world from the first world. When it became too corrupt, first man and first woman came from the womb of mother earth into Dinetah.”

  Parke knew the significance of the kivas which were found in the ruined lodges of Mesa Verde, but he had no idea that the Navajo had the same view of how they came about. His thoughts were interrupted.

  “Do you think it is magic?” Hosteen John asked him.

  “I don’t know. One time, I think I saw a vision when I was holding it. Other times, it helped me recall portions of a vision for my painting.”

  The old man continued studying the dagger without speaking. It began to glow in his hands just like it had in the dream before he was rudely awakened by the sound of his alarm. He braced himself for the end of the dream or vision, but the end did not come.

  “Perhaps it is magic. You say that it came to you when you wished for it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it glowed in your hand like this, creating light in the kiva?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmmm…”

  The dagger stopped glowing in his hands and he continued to examine every detail. He tested the edge for sharpness. He sighted along it from every angle. It was indeed an incredible demonstration of someone’s craftsmanship.

  “This dagger brought you here from another world, another time or another dimension?”

  “I think so, but that isn’t all.”

  “There is more?”

  “Yes, it seems that Naomi and I are one and the same. Our thoughts are exactly the same and we could actually communicate without speaking to one another. How is that possible? More importantly, why has it brought me here?”

  “The need to know the answers to how and why is your prison, Parke. What difference does it make? You are here, the dagger is here, Naomi is here and I am here. Is it so bad to be one with another person, someone as beautiful as Naomi?”

  “It is not bad at all.” He glanced over toward the brilliant smile of Naomi. “It fact, it is very much like a dream come true.”

  “And yet, you are still concerned with why.”

  Parke wasn’t sure how to respond to the statement. It was truly wonderful to be intimately attached with her in such a way. Maybe it was better not to worry about the why and how. He should just be glad of it.

  “It is better to think of what you will do with these new discoveries.”

  The old man glanced from one to the other.

  Parke waited for several minutes to make certain that the old man was finished. He or Naomi – or both – started to consider the dark world and how to get Khaera back.

  “I must journey into the dark world. Khaera, the daughter of Naomi, has been taken by those men that I described to you or some like them. I know nothing of the dark world. Can you teach me about it and prepare me for my journey?”

  “I only know the old stories about the dark world. I know that many men speak of seeing witches and that these witches change shapes. Many men also believe that these witches come from the other world. Many say that they come into this world through holes in the ground that are filled with magic, just like the hole that First Man and First Woman came through when this world began. Some say that they come here in order to take girl babies and raise them so that they can create another generation because the old world has no women in it. Maybe these things are true and maybe they are not.�
��

  He stopped speaking, closed his eyes and sat entirely still for a very long time. It was such a long time that Parke was certain that the old man had fallen asleep. He and Naomi both began to stir after a time, asking each other in their minds if he had indeed fallen asleep.

  His eyes opened suddenly and he looked deep into Parke’s eyes.

  “Yes, I will prepare you.”

  “Thank you, Hosteen John.”

  “Perhaps you will not be so thankful once you are in the dark world.” The intensity of his gaze increased. “It is dangerous there and you will be alone.”

  “I understand.”

  Naomi’s thoughts rose up in protest within his mind. She would surely go with him. He answered her negatively and then listened to the rambling disappointment that suddenly overtook him. He had discovered the first drawback to being able to read one another’s thoughts.

  “It is not always dark there.”

  He interrupted the argument that was going on between the two of them in Parke’s mind. The statement stopped the discussion instantly.

  “They say that the sun rises, but only for a few hours of the day, as though it is always winter. There is no moon and there are no stars in the night sky because those were brought into this world. There is a great city built into the side of a mesa. It is made of perfectly crafted stones and it was once the home of a million people before the world became corrupt. They killed one another because of their greed. They passed around diseases through their immorality. Men began to despise women and killed them, taking other men into their beds instead. There were no new babies born. First Man and First Woman were hidden there until the magic hole was found. They came through it and brought many creatures with them, as well as the moon and stars…”

  Hosteen John continued with the story which matched most of what Parke could remember from the stories of Navajo mythology he had read online. The old man told the story to its completion and then he abruptly stopped.