I nodded. I bade the men to gather some wood for a fire and as they went off, I prepared the leaves, and added a few herbs I carried with me, grinding them in an old Sinaguan metate.
She silently watched my every move.
The dwelling was well-stocked with bowls and pots, all decorated with intricate brown and red designs. One large basin was filled with rainwater. I dipped a cooking pot in it, and then set it on the fire to boil.
We decided to remain in the box canyon for the evening, but it was still early afternoon and the sun was making its brief appearance overhead, so I found a nice sunny spot and took a nap.
I woke to find Bodaway restlessly pacing the canyon, examining the ground for tracks, and the cliffs for another way in or out. He paused for a while by a mortared wall with a sealed door—most likely a granary built by the ancients—and then his exploration drifted toward the row of junipers along the back wall.
The old woman silently stood, watching him.
The late afternoon rays lit up the uppermost rocks for a while, but soon we were plunged into cold shadows. Through the gloom, Bodaway could make out a dark recess between two of the alligator-barked trunks.
The old woman shuffled his way, limping along with the help of a walking stick. She banged it on the ground and shouted at Bodaway.
My husband sat down next to me and began some minor repairs to his bow and a few arrows.
He glanced at me. “What’s she going on about?”
I watched her slowly close the distance until she was just behind Bodaway. “I don’t know,” I replied.
“Hey!” called Bodaway. “There’s a cave here.”
The old woman shouted and gestured madly, and when Bodaway ignored her and bent to enter the cave, she began whacking him on the back with her stick.
He fended her off easily, and then turned and stared into the dark chamber. “You don’t want me to go in there?” he asked. “What are you hiding?”
She began hitting him again, and Bodaway turned his back on her, laughing, and entered the cave.
From our position by the fire, we could see the old woman reach into a fold in her clothing and pull out an ancient Mayan blade; the black obsidian glinted below its jade handle.
I yelled out a warning.
The old woman raised the blade, and was about to plunge it into Bodaway, when my husband’s arrow whistled through the air and buried itself deep in her lower back.
She screamed and sank to the ground.
Both of us jumped up and hurried toward the far end of the canyon, where Bodaway was shaking his head. “Crazy old witch.”
The old woman lay there writhing in pain. The arrow had lodged itself deeply. My husband picked up the knife, and after examining it for a minute, stuck it in his belt.
I helped her move from her stomach onto her side, and then I half-dragged her to the entrance of the cave.
Her eyes were weak, but I could see her desperately watching Bodaway’s movements as he again turned to enter the cave.
“We need a torch,” he said, and my husband quickly returned to the fire and came back with two burning sticks.
Inside, they explored a small alcove on the left first. This room had a low ceiling and was about three paces wide. Along its back wall five bear skulls were propped up, glaring at them in the flickering light. They had been decorated with many of the same symbols I’d seen on the walls.
My husband joined him and asked, “Who killed these bears?”
Bodaway glanced at the old woman who watched weakly. “Not her.”
My husband lifted one of the skulls and whistled softly.
“This must have been one big bear,” he said. “And look how yellowed the bone is. I think this is very old.”
The men ventured into the main part of the cave, where water was dripping down from the ceiling and forming puddles on the ground. Several pots were placed to collect the water.
They bent low under the ceiling and made their way to a dry mound in the middle of this chamber.
I waited by the entrance, with the dying woman, and watched her eyes, trying to understand what motivated her. Why had protecting the cave been worth her life?
Bodaway looked over the walls and noticed a section that seemed to have been plastered over. He walked to it and tapped it with a rock.
The old woman sat up, screamed, and collapsed.
Bodaway began hammering at the plaster until it crumbled before him.
A dry blast of stale air flooded the chamber.
My husband peered into the darkness ahead, which was lit by a soft green glow, and I could see a look of fear creep over his face.
We all sensed a dull hum.
“There’s a tunnel,” he said.
“Let’s see where it goes,” said Bodaway.
The old woman looked at me miserably. “They will never leave that cave if they enter.”
Neither man understood her words, and they wouldn’t have heeded her warning if they did. They were young, and cocky, and turned to push ahead into the darkness.
“Take this,” said my husband and handed me the Mayan blade. “Just in case.” Then he bent forward to follow Bodaway.
Before he vanished in the darkness ahead, my husband turned to me one last time and smiled. It was the last I saw of him as I knew him.
Chapter Ten
As the men disappeared with the torches I was left in the dark. I realized that the sun had now set, and it was cooling rapidly. I had to get warm; I had my child to think off.
I grabbed a few embers from our fire, transporting them in one of the bowls left behind by the old people. In front of the smaller chamber with the bear skulls, I scooped up some earth to make a depression, and soon had a small blaze whose smoke flowed lazily out the cave, to rise into the old juniper branches.
The old woman was pale and shivering by the cave entrance. I didn’t think she’d survive the night. I knew if I pulled out the arrow she would bleed out.
“I’m sorry,” I said, ashamed of the terrible consequences of simply smelling her fire.
She peered into my eyes, and something in hers softened.
“We are sisters, you and I,” she said. “You are not to blame.”
I glanced at the tunnel. “And my husband and Bodaway?”
Her face sank. “They will pay for their actions.”
I added a handful of twigs to the fire, and we sat there silently listening to them take to flame.
“Is there anything I can do to ease your suffering?” I asked.
She moaned and gave a weak half-smile. “I would like to see the sun again, but I am not sure I will make it.”
With some difficulty I moved her inside, dragging her backwards. In the cave with the bear skulls, I broke off the arrow´s shaft, so she could lean back, propped up between two skulls.
She must have been in great pain, but she barely winced, and her only concern seemed to be the tunnel where the men had disappeared.
A distant shout emerged from the passage, and instinctively I moved toward it, but she raised her arm and feebly gripped my shoulder.
“No,” she whispered. “Your child will not survive.”
She labored greatly to lift one of the bear skulls and reveal a white stone encircled by a gold band. Her hand was covered with blood from when she first had tried to extract the arrow, and as soon as it touched the stone, it began to glow.
I stepped back in alarm.
She could barely lift the glowing stone, and I stood transfixed as she placed it against her lower back. For a moment she appeared to relax, but then she slumped.
“It is too much for even the stone,” she said.
The muddled sound of angry shouting emerged from the tunnel, a dark rage echoing off the walls.
The old woman didn’t look surprised at all, like she’d been expecting it.
I picked up the Mayan blade and crept toward the tunnel. She stopped me once more. “Wait,” she pleaded. The desperate tone in her
voice made me pause, and I stared at her.
She said, “Take the stone. And do not set foot in the chamber at the far end of the tunnel or you will doom your child.”
And then she tried to take the blade from me.
She said, “This will not help you in there.”
I wanted to keep it. She was weak and could barely lift her hand, but her warning made my blood run cold, and I reluctantly let the blade go.
The frantic screams continued to echo in the tunnel, and I couldn’t remain and listen. I grabbed the stone and quickly scrambled into the long darkness.
It wasn’t easy to fit through the narrow shaft in my current state. I prayed for the safety of my child as I held the stone against my belly. A dull luminescence lit my way, emanating from lichen that grew in the cracks, and I seemed to be crawling through a fine powder.
I passed their abandoned torches, extinguished on the ground.
The tunnel seemed to be buzzing, and I was overcome with a feeling of dread as I neared the opening on its far side. The closer I got, the louder the screams, and by the time I reached the end I was frantic.
In the dim light of the chamber, I could vaguely make out a small pond circling a steep little island. On the island the men were fighting. I couldn’t tell which one was which. They each held stones in their fists, and they were smashing them against each other while trying to climb to the top of the island.
All breath seemed to escape me as I watched, desperately trying to make out my husband among the two raging fighters. Their screams were so terrible that I couldn’t match them with either of the men. Not the men I knew.
Horrible, dark feelings were overcoming me, but I couldn’t turn away. The men were on their knees now, pummeling each other with the last of their energy. One went down under a savage blow to the head, and then the other collapsed on top of him.
A sudden silence descended on the chamber.
I stared, transfixed. Were they dead? Was my husband dead?
Why had Bodaway betrayed him? Why had he betrayed me?
As I edged closer into the dark chamber I was suddenly overcome with a mighty lust for vengeance.
My mind was darkening, all fear for my child faded, when suddenly I heard the song. Through the tunnel, and barely discernable, a wordless melody was floating toward me. The song was almost a whisper, but it spoke of trickling water, and fresh wind, and sunshine, and love.
And as I listened, I could not help but slowly back up.
Chapter Eleven
Back in the cave where the water dripped, the old woman watched me return. There was a radiance coming from outside, and as I stepped out, gasping for air, a full moon stared at me from just above the eastern wall of the canyon.
“You see the moon?” she whispered to me.
I nodded, lost in grief. I collapsed beside her.
We sat there quietly as our little fire dwindled.
Eventually she nodded at the tunnel.
“Men must never go in there.”
I stared at her, wishing we’d heeded her warning.
“Someone must be here,” she said. “Someone must watch.”
I didn’t really hear her words. I just wanted to sleep.
Draped over one of the skulls was her necklace of bear claws. More than twenty claws adorned it.
She dragged it to her lap, and then held it up to me.
“You will wear this tonight,” she said.
She slid the necklace my way and I accepted it. Tough leather thongs held it together, and it had some weight to it—like it was a collar more than a necklace.
I slipped it over my head. With that she seemed to relax, and she only watched the fire. I slumped to my side, and within minutes was asleep.
And in that slumber from which I hoped never to awaken, I dreamed I was a large bear. I dreamed I left the cave, and the box canyon, and I wandered through the West Fork looking for something to eat.
In the dream I was not heartbroken—I was only a bear.
And I relished this dream, where I could simply be a bear, not a woman of barely sixteen summers who was pregnant with a dead man’s child.
I woke on the cold stone floor of the box canyon as the day broke. My hands and feet were filthy, and my face was covered with blood—not my blood.
I staggered to the cave where the old woman sat against the entrance, bathed in morning sunlight.
She was dead. She had a slight smile on her face, and I wondered if she’d seen the sunrise. I also wondered how she’d found the strength to move her wounded old body.
I entered the cave and placed the bear claw necklace on top of one of the bear skulls.
Then, before I could really think about it, I made my way to the tunnel and began to rebuild the wall that had concealed it.
Chapter Twelve
This is how I came to be alone here in this canyon. I won’t leave it. My husband is here, close. On some nights I can hear him whispering to me, begging me to break the rock wall that seals him inside.
Is it really him? I don’t know.
Someone must stay and hold watch, the old woman said, and it might as well be me.
In the coming years I would learn that others knew about the box canyon with the cave, and the dark chamber beyond it.
They would visit alone, or maybe there might be two of them—never more.
They were always older women.
They would enter my box canyon timidly. They seemed afraid of me, and I liked that.
It’s best that they remain afraid, or better yet, stay away.
When they noticed I was with child, and then later, when I held a baby girl, they asked who the father was.
I wouldn’t give them his name any more than I gave it to you. He was my husband, that’s all you need to know.
I also refused to give my name, and they took to calling me Cocheta, the Unknown.
I later learned that they believed there was no father, that I’d become pregnant when a drop of water in the first cave fell on me.
Let them believe what they want.
When my daughter had seen her second summer, they talked me into allowing her to live with the rest of our people. It broke my heart to let her go, but I was glad to get her away from the evil cave.
I have no desire to raise a child here, and any love that was inside of me died inside the cave.
So, I remain.
Chapter Thirteen
Act III
1521
(December)
Yaotl stood on the edge of a small mesa and looked at an abandoned pueblo in the near distance. It was perched on the edge of a sinkhole, just as he’d been told. He had come a long way to reach the pueblo, and the fact that it was uninhabited left him perplexed.
He was a Mexica, although history would know his people by the name Aztec. Yaotl was solidly built, in his prime at thirty-five, and his stern expression was supported by a prominent nose and strong jaw.
He wore a lightweight, close-fitting breastplate, which left his battle-scarred arms exposed; and his legs were protected by leather strips that served as shin guards.
The moon had not yet risen, and he held a torch to light his way. The reports from his scouts suggested that not a soul resided in the crumbling adobe structures on the next mesa, but he still felt a presence out there in the darkness.
Another scout appeared out of the gloom and knelt before him.
“Speak,” ordered Yaotl.
“We located a camp, not far from here,” said the man, his eyes cast to the ground. “There are about twenty women and children—it looks like the men are away hunting.”
“Make sure no one leaves,” ordered Yaotl, and the man scurried off.
Yaotl turned away from the ruin and looked down at the valley below him, peering through the darkness, at a long line of men bent down under heavy burdens. By the dim starlight of early evening he couldn’t make out much, but he could hear their moaning and the snap of the lashes of the men who drove t
he line forward.
They had left the capital, Tenochtitlán, nearly two months earlier, just as the Spaniards were closing in on the city. Initially more than two hundred slaves had accompanied Yaotl on his mission, but they had died like flies over the grueling march. His soldiers—of which there were only twenty—had captured new slaves along the way, but most were in shock or wounded, and they didn’t fare well.
He’d decided to push forward with those he had, rather than taking a chance of being caught from behind by the Spanish soldiers. The foreigners had great magic, and cast disease upon the land wherever they appeared, so he threw caution to the wind and drove his procession north, relentlessly.
Whatever the human cost, he thought, it will be worth it.
He had left Tenochtitlán as the battle between Montezuma and Cortez had only begun. He hoped his king would prevail, and he knew of the gravity of the orders he had been given: The sacred mission he was on would turn the tide of the war, after all.
But now, as they neared their destination, he feared they would stall. He had made this last push with over one hundred and fifty slaves, and they were down to half that.
He still had the Blue Men, he thought: Twenty-five hand-picked slaves who had been tortured and beaten into submission, and then trained to do whatever he needed.
They were merciless and immured to hardship.
On the outset of the journey, still on the outskirts of the capital, they had come upon a Spanish supply train, and his men captured a true treasure: weapons, chains, and other apparatuses, made from what the foreigners called steel. These were far superior to Aztec tools.
And the chains came in very handy with the slaves.
Yaotl left the mesa and walked down to the line where his soldiers were busy unloading the crates and bundles carried by the slaves. A dozen torches on poles lit up the area.
The slaves each wore metal collars on their necks. These were connected by chains, whose bights clinked rhythmically as they stumbled forward with a deathlike indifference.
The Sirens of Oak Creek Page 6