Chapter 21

 

 

“Finished?” Nathan was putting his empty sandwich wrapper and water bottle in his saddlebag. “I want to go swimming.”

“Yeah, me too.” Zac picked up his trash and added it to Nathan’s. “Is the place very far from here?”

“No. It’ll take some climbing and that’s why we can’t take the horses. But you’ll like it. This is a good place to leave the saddles. Nobody’s going to take them.”

The afternoon had turned hot, but when they reached the hidden pool tucked in between several boulders, there was a nice breeze. The pool was the receptacle for water that cascaded over a piling of rocks some twenty-feet high. There, it defied collection by spilling in a stream, leaving the pond and following a gravitational pull to the pasture below. Zac could see that someone had built a trough to catch water for grazing animals near the bottom of the hill.

Zac and Nathan stripped to their shorts, and Zac didn’t wait for encouragement. He clambered up on a rock overhang and jumped into the water. The shock of the seventy-something degree pool took his breath away and by the time he’d scrambled up onto the opposite bank, his teeth were chattering.

“Hey, that’s cold.”

“Stretch out in the sun, you’ll thaw out.” Nathan was trying to keep from laughing. “It’s good for the blood, my grandmother always said. Aren’t you the one from cold country?”

Nathan jumped in, floated on his back and even dove, swimming under water back and forth across the width of the natural pool before pulling himself out at the water’s edge. Zac ignored him and sat down on a rock, letting his feet barely touch the water. He didn’t care that Nathan was showing off by swimming and pretending that the water wasn’t cold. He was comfortable out of the water. The breeze dried him off and he laid back against the warm granite and closed his eyes. Peaceful. The sun felt good. But that didn’t last long.

“Hey, sleepy-head. Watch this.”

Zac rubbed his eyes, then leaned up on one elbow as he saw Nathan walk right into the waterfall above the pond and disappear. Now that had Zac’s attention. He stood up, waiting for Nathan to return. What was he doing? Why hadn’t he come back out? He slipped his sneakers on and, trying not to slip on the wet rocks at the base of the falls, Zac followed.

When he got close enough to touch the waterfall, he could see there was nothing behind it. A five-foot wide wall of water fell straight down into the pool, foaming and splashing outward as it hit the rocks. Tentatively, Zac stuck his arm through the foot-thick torrent. There was no rock on the other side, only air. He stepped through.

“Hey, you’re okay. That took some guts.” Nathan was standing in the middle of a room which, over centuries, had been hollowed out by the elements and maybe the help of indigenous tribes.

“This place is great. It’s sure not easy to find. How’d you know it was here?”

“My grandmother used to bring me to the pool. She told me about the rooms but warned me never to walk through the water.”

“But, of course, you did.”

Nathan grinned. “Of course.”

“Where’s the light coming from?” It wasn’t bright by any means but certainly more distinct than mere shadows.

“Look above you. Sun tunnels—holes cut in the ceiling of the cave to the ground surface above it.”

Zac looked and sure enough, five, foot-wide round openings were allowing light to filter down into the room. “That’s cool.”

“But I’ll show you the best part. Back here, come with me.”

Zac hadn’t realized that the cave had more than one room, but a dome-like curve to the ceiling stretched above him and continued toward the back. The astounding thing was the ceiling was filled with pictographs. Wall to wall across the ceiling barely fleshed-out stick figures went about daily life.

“Nathan, wait. Look at these.” Zac pointed above his head. The drawings weren’t realistic but easy to interpret. The one that had caught his attention showed two hunters running a deer to ground. Another showed several men fighting with spears. Zac was mesmerized. “Wow. This place is really old.”

“You haven’t seen anything. The best part is back here.” Nathan disappeared into another room. Zac followed, stepped across the threshold, and quickly sucked in his breath. It was all he could do to keep from crying out. He wanted to run. His breath came out in short gasps as he looked around the walls and his stomach was doing some kind of bouncy thing that made him feel sick. But he couldn’t look away.

All around the room there were eight-foot spikes, saplings whittled to points on one end, the other anchored to the floor, and each holding the head of a wild animal. But they weren’t just heads, they were masks with eyes made of glass or some material that made them glow. And every one had its natural teeth, incisors and canines intact and threatening. A bear, a five-point buck, cougar, fox, coyote—their skins hanging slack against the posts, paws and hooves attached. All with mouths open, as if to emit some primal scream before an attack. Zac could almost hear the snarling, howling, growling sounds as each head stared down at him. He wasn’t sure he trusted his legs to stay standing.

“Where are we?” It came out as a strangled whisper.

“This is a part of the Anasazi burial grounds. We’re not far from the ruins.”

“We need to leave. We’re not supposed to be here.”

“Scaredy cat. They can’t hurt you.”

“This place is evil.”

Zac turned to go, but the door was blocked. The Pronghorn Antelope loomed above him, its head tipped downward so the enormous horns were aimed right at his head. But it wasn’t moving. The figure was bent slightly over two canes, femurs ending in hooves, animal skin covering the arms and torso, a tan chamois-like skin hiding its throat and dipping down to drape over the chest.

Zac turned to Nathan and saw the shock. He hadn’t meant to endanger his friend. Zac felt sure of that. What had been a fun exploration of sharing with a pal had just turned possibly deadly.

The Pronghorn stepped into the room and right behind him was a wolf. Slightly smaller in stature and frame, but nonetheless threatening; this creature circled to stand behind Zac. His teeth were yellowed with one incisor chipped, and his eyes glowed red. He wore hairy gloves with long nails and his legs were bound with strips of wolf hide, hair intact.

Instinctively, Zac moved away from the creature’s hot breath only to have a clawed hand grasp his shoulder, holding him in place by pinching the skin.

“Let him go.” Nathan stepped toward the wolf. “I said, let him go.”

The Pronghorn motioned with a hoof to the back of the cave and the wolf twisted Zac’s arm up between his shoulders, moving him forward and pushing past Nathan. And then Zac saw something he hadn’t noticed before—a cage. Iron bars marked a five-foot by five-foot enclosure in the farthest corner of the room. Floor to ceiling, the bars maybe six inches apart and the door three-feet wide. The wolf kept one hand on Zac and opened the cage with the other, then pushed him inside. The clanging of the cage door sounded deafening in the closed space of the cave.

Zac turned to look at Nathan. Zac felt totally at a loss, but he knew that Nathan understood what was happening. Was that why he wasn’t doing anything? He might have called Zac a scaredy cat before, but now it was Nathan’s turn to look traumatized.

The next thing to happen mystified Zac. The Pronghorn got down on his knees—slowly and carefully, like an old man, before turning and dragging several pots and tightly woven baskets from along the wall toward the center of the room. And then he started. The small containers held crushed sandstone, pollen, red minerals, blue and white crystals. Using his hand as a funnel, the Pronghorn began to outline, blend, and scatter pigment as a pattern started to emerge.

It was a sand painting. Zac’s father had said there might have been one at the dance last weekend. They were used as medicine, to heal, but to also seek out spirits and commune with those who had passed before. The Pronghorn was methodical as he slowly chose colors and began to lay out the design. Zac watched as several figures began to form—Skinwalkers. And the Pronghorn chanted as he worked.

Did Nathan know that this cave was home to Skinwalkers? He remained frozen in place.

Zac couldn’t see the sand painting clearly, but it seemed that the figures were circling another figure on the ground in front of them—a person, someone not in animal dress. He watched as a spear was being formed in the hand of the painted cougar. A sacrifice? Yes. That was exactly what the painting represented. Zac didn’t need to ask someone, even he could figure out what was depicted. It had taken almost an hour to form the tableau on the floor, but the sand painting meant the Skinwalkers were making an offering—of a live human being.

Suddenly, his attention was diverted from the painting as he realized that the Wolf in front of him had a spear. And he was handing that spear to Nathan. In a language that he couldn’t understand, Zac knew that the wolf was telling Nathan to kill him. The chanting from the painter on the floor had risen to a crescendo. A drum had materialized and the painter was rhythmically beating out a cadence that was getting louder and louder.

Nathan pulled open the cage door. The wolf was standing right behind him, almost touching. Zac couldn’t have cried out if he’d wanted to. He opened his mouth, but there was no sound. He just stood, arms at his sides, and faced his friend. Whatever was meant to happen, would happen. Nathan raised the spear and then using his height, swung in a half-circle away from Zac to face the wolf—with both hands on the spear’s shaft, he thrust upward and buried the sharp point in the wolf’s neck.

There was no chamois covering to deflect it. Nathan’s aim was spot on. The point of the spear hit the carotid artery. The wolf grabbed his neck as blood bubbled through his fingers. Then, lightning fast, Nathan jerked the spear head back out and thrust it into the wolf’s neck a second time. Blood sprayed three feet away to the cave’s walls. The wolf fell backward, still clutching his neck and making gurgling noises before falling silent. Nathan stood over him until he knew the Skinwalker was dying and wouldn’t threaten them. He then turned to Zac.

“Run! Go to the road, and follow it to camp. Do not tell anyone what you’ve seen here. Your life and your father’s life depend upon you keeping this secret.”

“Come with me.” Zac found his voice.

“I cannot go with you. This is my destiny. I belong here. When you can, leave this land—go back to your home. But know you always have a brother.” Nathan placed his closed fist over his heart.

Zac nodded, stepped out of the cage, and bolted for the cave’s opening beneath the waterfall. He slipped and fell twice in his frenzy to get away. And he never looked back but just kept running.

The sand painter stayed hunched over his painted circle on the cave’s floor. He let the Native boy go. There was no need for him anymore. It took the spirits to show the old man the perfect ending—an outcome better than he could have imagined.

Nathan belonged to him now and his mistake, the grandson who mocked the ways of the ancients and diminished the powers of the spirits, was dead. The one who would inherit, who proved he had the strength to kill a family member, stood tall in front of him—ready to put on the mantle, to learn the secrets of the past and carry them into the future.

Tonight, there would be a meeting of The Witchery here in the cave. He would present the initiate. He knew his nephew would be accepted openly and without question. Welcoming him into the society strengthened the K’e or kinship of the group and guaranteed a future. But K’e was more than just the mark of togetherness, it was a unifying thought process among his people. K’e was a gift from the deities. The way a fine rug is woven without a stitch out of place.

The deity who created the Navajo people, Changing Woman, divided them into four clans—Towering House clan, One-Who-Walks-Around clan, Bitter Water clan, and Mud clan. This was her gift to his peoples before the deity went back to the West.

From those four original clans, his tribe formed many clans, each with its own meaning and story. A clan became more than a name; it was a history, an identity and offered a sense of belonging. As a society, The Witchery Way would offer all those things to Nathan. It would become his family.