The whole canyon, from top to bottom, from dirt to monument, was the same rich, gorgeous colour. After the ugly blackish-grey of the treacherous Badlands, this place was so exquisitely beautiful it felt like a different planet. How could nature’s random efforts create such heartbreaking glory?
I took in a deep breath. My fear retreated, replaced by exhaustion. For the first time since I’d left the safety of the Santa Avia Mountains — and despite the threat the Apache warrior had yelled at my back — I felt …
Was that feeling — safety?
I shook my tired head. This was no time to let my guard down.
But as I gazed around, I couldn’t help but feel good … at peace. There was something about this mighty canyon, which so richly displayed the power of nature, that spoke to the deepest core of my soul.
I don’t believe in gods and demons … or supernatural oogie boogie of any kind, and I don’t have a creed that I follow. But if such exquisite beauty could form solely in accordance with the laws of nature, then did that mean there was some kind of order, some kind of web that truly united us all?
Whatever the answer was … this was surely sacred land.
Then it struck me: this place was huge. And that was only what I could see from just inside Coyote’s Fangs. How far back did Big Sun Canyon go?
And there were mesas — steep-sided, table-topped hills and mountains — in every direction. Big, wide ones it’d take hours to walk across; long, narrow ones that I could cross in a bound and were really just giant knife blades pointed at the sky …
But which one was Spruce Tree Mesa?
I could spend days searching this vast canyon.
And for what? I still had no idea how to identify Spruce Tree Mesa. All the Abbess had said was that I’d recognise it when I saw it.
What did that mean?
And she’d never even been in Big Sun Canyon.
There was only one thing to do. I was here to find Hector Kershaw and Ernesto, not the mesa itself. So after resting and watering the girls, I mounted Duquesa and started searching for their trail.
We wended our way into the heart of the giant sculpture garden, but without finding a single horse track. There was no sign to show that Hector and Ernesto — or indeed anyone else — had been in Big Sun Canyon at all. I could only hope that there was another entrance into the great canyon, one facing south to Santa Fe, and that they’d entered that way.
We climbed up onto a hill, crowned by five tall pinky-red spires. I halted in the cool shadow of the nearest spire, looking around for even the slightest hint of which of the five possible routes to take off the hill. I couldn’t find Hector’s tracks, so I had to settle for finding Spruce Tree Mesa. But Big Sun Canyon stretched out as far as the eye could see in all directions and, though it was full of stunning geological features, I could see nothing that had ‘Spruce Tree Mesa’ printed in big letters on the side.
I had absolutely no idea which way to go …
I sighed. I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept at all since we left the Abbess, but kept guard while Incendio, Azucar and Duquesa rested. I surveyed them. On my right, Incendio returned my questioning gaze with an encouraging gleam in her tired black eyes, as if to say, ‘Well, we made it!’ Azucar had her eyelids shut, trying to grab some sleep while she could.
I patted Duquesa and dismounted. It was time for another rest and a water stop anyway. Maybe after that I’d be able to work out which way to go.
I went over each mare with a fine-tooth comb, checking their legs and hooves. Then I unsaddled them so I could check for friction wounds from the saddles and bridles. All three were fine, so I wiped them down and left them loose to forage for food in the shade of the spire. They’d worked hard the past few days and I had to make sure they didn’t get saddle sores or come up lame.
I pulled out the metal pan I used to cook my food and water the girls. Too tired to stand, I plunked it down on a flat, pinky-red rock, and squatted over it with my canteen. I took a swig to wash the dust away, then poured one ration of water into the deep pan. ‘Come on, girls, it’s time for your water.’
They wandered over, Incendio claiming the first ration, and I leant back against a smooth-sided rock to give them room.
When they were all watered, I gave them each a small handful of grain, just enough to give them some energy, but not enough to slow them down. Who knows what we may meet next?
I sat down in front of my chosen backrest and leant back to gaze up at the sky, my tired body shaping to the rock like overcooked spaghetti.
The five majestic stone spires framed the brilliant blue sky while wispy white clouds played ‘catch me if you can’ with each other …
Not that long ago, I’d been groping my way around the electricity-deprived Rewind offices and dashing between buildings to avoid the pouring rain. I licked my dry lips. If we didn’t find Hector soon, I’d have to hightail it straight to the Rio Hama to fill my canteens.
Where the hell are you, Hector?
My eyes slid shut and I slipped into that twilight zone between waking and sleep, where reality dissolves into a swamp of half-formed thoughts and distorted memories.
I saw the Abbess standing in the cave beneath her church, the pistol at her side ready to shoot me …
Then I was looking down into her strange pool. The sun was melting … a drop of golden liquid falling onto the face of the Earth …
I was slipping deeper and deeper into a boneless slumber …
Ouch! Something bit my rear!
I sat up, almost snapping my neck as I bent around, trying to find the jaws that’d latched onto my skin. I frowned down at the culprit. It was an ant. A huge red one. I flicked it off me and rubbed the bite, cursing.
Incendio wandered over to give a horse laugh at my plight.
‘Yeah, girl, thanks!’ I snarled up at her. As if my rear wasn’t sore enough as it was!
Incendio nuzzled my shoulder, trying to hide her dancing black eyes.
Then I squinted down at the ground. I was surrounded by a throng of big red ants, impossible to miss. I leapt to my feet. They hadn’t been here when I sat down. Then I saw what’d attracted them — the bag of grain at my side, the one I’d used to feed the mares. I grabbed it up, carefully flicking the clinging red shoplifters off as I did.
I gaped at the contents; they’d managed to make off with over half my supply! There was a line of big red ants, leading away from where the bag had sat, each carrying a single grain. I crouched over them, cursing. The line stretched out and across the top of the hill …
I followed it. Incendio, still chortling, trotted at my heels. I was both outraged and mesmerised by the well-organised heist. The line of red ants marched up to the foot of the southernmost spire and then filed up the natural spiral staircase that led to the top.
Incendio nudged my shoulder, as though to say, ‘Aren’t you going to get my dinner back?’
Curiosity made me start climbing. It took me a while to reach the very top. Somewhere along the way the line of ants disappeared.
But by then I was caught by the view that was unfolding before me …
Big Sun Canyon was a rough circle. I checked my pocket compass. To the north lay Coyote’s Fangs. Below me, the hill of five spires sat right in the middle of the canyon. I scanned the view to the north. Had I unwittingly passed Spruce Tree Mesa? But I couldn’t spot anything that seemed to yell, ‘I’m different!’
I scanned my way around the western and eastern compass points … still nothing leapt out at me. But then, high as I was, I couldn’t see every formation … just get a glance at a part of most of the main ones. What if I’d missed the right sign because it faced away from my route?
I crushed that thought.
I turned south, my last chance, and slowly perused every formation within eyesight. Again nothing …
I squinted straight ahead … there was a giant arch. Something black gleamed through from the other side. It wasn’t much to go on — but the wh
ole canyon, from top to bottom, from dirt to monument, was the same glowing colour. Pinky-red.
I frowned. Could that black just be a shadow?
What else was there to head for?
I climbed back down, resaddled the girls and headed due south — for the arch.
We climbed down from Five Spires Hill and into a long gully that led up to the great arch. It looked like it should’ve had a triumphal parade passing through. We mounted the slope at the end and came to an abrupt halt.
Spruce Tree Mesa was straight ahead. It was framed by the great stone arch …
It looked like a giant’s unblinking eye.
And it was watching me.
31
SPRUCE TREE MESA
Spruce Tree Mesa was a high plateau, a wide mesa that brooded out over the surrounding, more brittle formations.
The Abbess had been right — I certainly knew it when I saw it. It was a completely different colour to the surrounding earthy pink-red monuments. Spruce Tree Mesa was whitish-grey with two semi-circular midnight-black layers in the middle that outlined another layer of yellowish amber. And in the centre of that was a broken layer of black, almost circular in nature. Together they formed a coyote’s golden eye — the central black layer dotting the pupil in the middle of the amber iris … forever gleaming out on the landscape, forever curious and intent.
The burning sun made the amber iris glow like a hot coal, as though with interest at such a strange intruder. For a brief moment it felt like I stood before a curious giant. A cloud passed overhead and the shadow caused the eye to … to blink.
That stopped me in my tracks. Duquesa picked up on my fright and shivered beneath me.
No wonder everyone was terrified of this mesa. I patted her neck. ‘Don’t worry, love, we’ll be out of here as soon as I find that damned son-of-a-bitch Hector.’
But there was not a trace of living creatures along the path I took to the foot of the mesa. Not even the slithering tracks of snakes or the sound of twittering birds. Just the song of the wind blowing a melancholy hymn through towering monuments to the splendours of a world long gone.
It was as though Big Sun Canyon existed outside of time.
Close up, Spruce Tree Mesa was even more impressive. The surrounding pinky-red rocks sparkled with quartz crystals but the grey of the mesa seemed to actually absorb light rather than reflect it. I found a natural staircase leading up to the top of the mesa, exactly below the giant black and yellow coyote’s eye.
But again there were no tracks.
If Hector and Ernesto had beaten me here, then they must’ve taken another route up. I could only hope I caught up with them on the plateau. At least from there I’d be able to look around for them with my binoculars.
I reluctantly left my beauties at the base of the mesa. I watered and fed them, leaving them more of both. I made them as comfortable and safe as I could. I didn’t tether them — they’d come if I called and if someone or something came after them they had to be able to do what they needed to defend themselves.
Now to find Hector, or at least his and Ernesto’s tracks. I slung my water and my bag of tricks over my shoulder and headed up the stairs.
I was panting by the time I made it to the very top … I scouted along the cliff perimeter, searching for tracks. After about twenty minutes I found another rough stairway winding up from the base. There were tracks at the top of the stairs, but only one set — moccasins — and they were leading down off the mesa, not up onto it. They were recent, less than a few hours old.
I stared down at the dusty imprints.
The moccasins could be Ernesto’s — which may mean Hector was still somewhere on the plateau. I started backtracking the moccasins, cursing as I went. I’d had it with this bloody chase. After this I was sticking to Hector like a second skin until I found out what the hell he did with his effing diary.
Then, I mused angrily, I was going to steal it from him and sit down with a whiskey to read the bloody thing!
That cheerful thought kept me upright. The horses were not the only ones who needed a rest.
Seymour had specifically ordered me not to read the diary. Using his most pompous tone, he’d informed me that Hector’s diary was his ancestor’s personal business and that privacy should only be broached by his own family. My mission was merely to confirm whether, in fact, it existed and from where it could possibly be retrieved by Seymour in the present time.
Stuff that!
After all that’d happened, I was reading that bloody thing from cover to cover!
The moccasin tracks led me into the centre of the plateau and up a steep, rocky-sided hill towards a huge stone formation made of the same material as the amber eye on the side of the mesa. It glowed like gold in the rays of the setting sun.
I squinted up at it. It was in the shape of a giant coyote or maybe a dog baying at the sky. Yep — together with the giant eye on the side of the mesa it was easy to see why the locals associated this place with their canine trickster god.
The moccasin tracks led around the base of this Coyote Rock to its front paws. I studied the footprints as I went — bloody hell, there was still just one set of moccasins here. No prints of Hector’s boots anywhere …
Then I heard the voices … many more than could just belong to Hector and Ernesto. They were close — and they were furious, almost howling with outrage.
Damn! I dived behind the front elbow of the stone coyote.
Had Hector been captured by incensed natives and the moccasin tracks were Ernesto fleeing to safety? Whoever it was, they were using a weird melange of nearly every local Native American dialect I’d programmed into my translator, combined with Spanish and English.
I snuck a look out from between the paws of Coyote Rock.
Holy hell. So this was why the legend the Abbess told me mentioned the city built by Coyote’s companions …
Coyote Rock looked down on a vast ancient pueblo city. It was massive, spreading across acres of land. According to the legend, it was supposed to have been deserted centuries before but the buildings still looked pristine, perfectly intact, as though everyone had just gone out for pizza and a beer.
I’d seen photos of other ancient southwestern pueblo cities before: in Chaco Canyon, high up in the canyon walls of Mesa Verde, even close by here at Bandelier … But this was nothing like them.
This city was much, much bigger, more ornately decorated — and with startlingly real pairs of coyote’s eyes painted across the facade of each of the five largest buildings. It felt like I was being watched by a hunting pack. But the strangest part of all was that the whole city was built out of that same glowing amber rock.
It was luminous, radiating a kind of yellowish-red light.
Five great houses, resembling massive apartment blocks and reaching four and five storeys in places, faced each other around a giant semi-circular plaza laid out at the base of the hill that held Coyote Rock. In the paved plaza between the five coyote-eyed, great houses, there were five round kivas.
Kivas are the pueblo equivalent of churches — sacred meeting rooms for spiritual rituals. Four of the five were built below ground with each of their round roofs perforated by an entry through which leant a wooden ladder. The four sunken kivas were clustered around a great circular, above-ground kiva. It rose to more than three storeys in height and had a strangely textured green roof.
The whole city glowed a fiery gold in the hot sun.
Unfortunately the furious voices weren’t coming from the ancient city below. They were much, much closer.
I dropped my gaze.
Just down the hill from where I hid in between Coyote Rock’s front paws, a band of maybe thirty desperados were gathered.
Their faces and clothes were a mix of too many Native American nations and European nationalities to yield one single label. They wore everything from feathers and buckskin to Western clothes, including a motley mix of Civil War uniforms from both Union and Confederate side
s. Captain Bull had said Coyote Jack’s band was made up of every malcontent in the territory … and it looked like they’d come from every corner of it too.
In the very centre their leader gestured and everyone listened to him respectfully. He pointed back to the great three-storey kiva in the centre of the plaza and then up to Coyote Rock as though tracing a line on the ground. Their leader wore only a ragged pair of blue Union army trousers, exposing his tanned, strong body. A blood-red headband tied back his long, midnight-black hair …
Flaming damnation. Was that Coyote Jack?
I got my binoculars out.
It had to be. He kept moving around so it was hard to get a fix on his face, but he was lean and well muscled, just like his descendant, River. His commanding voice carried. He demanded an explanation and he was pointing to the ground.
Oh no!
Coyote Jack and his band were following the same set of moccasin tracks I had — only in reverse. They were climbing up the rocky incline to Coyote Rock …
And me.
Coyote Jack bounded up the rocky incline well ahead of his human pack. He sprang from rock to rock, moving in a blur, as though the light couldn’t quite keep up with him. He seemed beyond agile, almost boneless …
I scanned the surrounding area. Bloody Hector! If these were Ernesto’s tracks, where the hell was he? Was he hiding somewhere around here, watching like me?
I only had time to slide into the crevice behind the coyote’s elbow, carefully stuffing my bag of tricks behind me.
Coyote Jack reached the level area directly below the front paws of Coyote Rock just as I got into position. He came to a sudden halt, his nostrils quivered and he sniffed the air. Then he glared at the towering rock, searching. Coyote Jack stared straight at me, hidden deep in the shadows. It was him all right. But I got a shock; his eyes were yellow like a coyote’s … no … more like molten gold.
As he stared they began to bore into mine like lasers on full beam.
But how could that be? There was absolutely no way Coyote Jack could see me from down there. I was safely shielded by the rock and its deep shadow.
Coyote Page 21