Pools of Yarah

by J Gurley

  Anseer had watched Hramack’s near fall with horror. “No way,” he protested when Travin waved him forward. “I’m no acrobat.”

  Travin ignored Anseer. He removed a second coil of rope and tossed one end to Kena. He then made a loop in the middle and slipped the loop over Anseer’s head, tightening it beneath his arms. “You won’t fall,” he said.

  Anseer moaned and complained loudly as he stepped out onto the ledge, but he quickly scurried across, buoyed by the rope held securely in Travin and Kena’s hands. Travin crossed last, but first he secured all their packs to one end of the rope. Once across, they hauled them across the chasm.

  “Even if we return the water, it will spill into the pit,” Hramack said. He had been studying the pit as he rested from his ordeal. In his mind, the pit presented as great an obstacle to the water as it had to them.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Kena mused. “The pit will eventually fill and the water will continue to flow.”

  His father spoke with confidence, but Hramack still had doubts. “How do you know?”

  “The pit is old, far older than you or I, yet the waters flowed last season. It failed to stop the water.”

  Hramack could find no flaw in his father’s logic. “I guess you’re right,” he conceded.

  Travin stood up and brushed himself off, unperturbed by the hairy crossing. “We should continue,” he said stonily and picked up a torch. Without waiting for the others, he began striding down the tunnel.

  Hramack heard Anseer muttering under his breath. “What?” he asked.

  “I said Travin acts as if he has a bug up his rear,” he repeated loudly.

  Hramack started to respond acidly to Anseer’s unkind remark, but Kena stopped him with a glance.

  “Perhaps Travin likes this tunnel even less than you do,” Kena suggested.

  Hramack smiled as Anseer glared at Kena but said nothing as he picked up his pack and followed Travin. Here, the tunnel was less smooth. The rock surrounding them was mostly loose shale and gravel, deposited many eons earlier when the area had been the bottom of a great inland sea. The walls and floors were pitted and irregular, making walking difficult. There were many false tunnels and small caverns, but Travin continued unerringly down the main tunnel, his hunter’s sense as accurate below the earth as above it. They marched without rest until early evening.

  “Look at this,” Kena called out eagerly as he pointed to one small niche in the wall. A pile of dried straw and feathers indicated an abandoned bird’s nest. Hramack soon spotted several more, many looking less abandoned.

  “We must be near another opening. Feel the air moving?”

  Hramack nodded. He had spotted a dim glow coming from around the next bend in the tunnel. As he turned the corner, he saw an almost circular opening in the ceiling. Just below it ran a ledge with a series of irregular steps that descended to the bottom of the tunnel. He pointed it out to Kena.

  “It looks manmade,” Hramack observed excitedly.

  “It looks like an ancient well,” Kena exclaimed. “Someone used it to draw water from the river when the water was flowing. Look,” he said. Kena’s face betrayed his excitement. “There is a piece of broken pottery.”

  Hramack picked up a shard. It bore a depiction of a colorful stylized wading bird, long-legged and graceful. He recognized the bird from an old text of his father’s.

  “It’s a crane. It must be ancient.”

  “No,” Travin replied. “It would be buried by debris falling in from above. It was lying on the ground exposed and barely dusty.”

  “Who left it there?” Hramack asked. Travin’s observation perplexed him, but had too much respect for the experienced hunter to doubt his word.

  Kena shook his head absently as he stared at the opening. “I don’t know.”

  “Perhaps we should investigate,” Travin suggested. He pulled his knife from its scabbard and began to climb the stone steps. Curious to see what lay above them, Hramack followed.

  They emerged in a bowl-like depression similar to the cactus garden that he and Kena had found earlier. This one was smaller, less than fifty yards in width, but the ruins of a rough stone building nested into a rocky shelf along the edge of the depression. A few saguaros grew in the center of the bowl, along with several stunted mesquite and pinion pine trees.

  “People once lived here,” Kena marveled as he examined the depression.

  Travin had been studying a pile of ashes in a small rock-lined pit as Kena had walked the circumference of the bowl. “They have been here recently,” he commented warily, keeping one eye on the horizon.

  Hramack joined him. “How can you tell?” he asked, stirring the ashes with the tip of his boot.

  “The ashes are still black.” He picked up ashes from a second pile. “These are older. They are bleached by the sun.”

  Hramack noted the difference, intrigued. “How old are they?”

  Travin thought a moment before answering. “Three days, perhaps four.”

  Four days. “There were people here four days ago?” he stammered. He turned to his father. “If there are others out here,” he almost shouted, “we must find them.”

  “They could be some of the people Kane mentioned in his journal, the cannibals,” Kena cautioned.

  Hramack’s smile quickly vanished at the thought of being eaten. He helped Travin scan the horizon. “Should we leave?”

  “I think we can risk a small fire and hunt for game,” Kena conceded.

  They set out several snares and Kena discovered some edible fruit growing on the saguaros. With much effort, he managed to knock down several of the sticky, sweet fruits with his spear. Hramack got down on his hands and knees to follow the trail of a quail through the brush and down a small arroyo. Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. Before he could look up, a blow to his head sent him reeling into darkness.

  14

  Tempers Flare

  Teela rose early each morning and walked to the rim of the canyon hoping to see some sign of Hramack, even though she knew his return could mean his death. Her heart conflicted with her mind, trying to dismiss any thoughts that she might never see her love again. If he and Kena failed in their task in returning the springs, the village was doomed. Since Chu Li’s return to the village, it felt as if all hope had died. A morbid air of despondency had settled over the village like dust from a storm. No one sang anymore. The children no longer played. They sat at the doors of their homes as if afraid to venture outside.

  When the three men sent out to fetch the water Chu Li’s party had discovered returned, a score of women demanding water for their families mobbed them. Their frustration quickly turned to anger, and then blind rage. They fought among themselves; then, when others came to break up the scuffle, they quickly became embroiled in the melee. Chu Li stopped the fight by wading into the middle of it wearing his full robes of office as High Priest complete with staff and miter. Reminded of their faith by his presence, the fight ended with only a few bruises and scratches. The biggest wound was their pride. As penance, he urged everyone to meet near the Pools of Yarah each morning and each evening for prayers, but his manner left little doubt that attendance was compulsory. Since Kaffa’s resignation from the Council and Kena’s absence, it might as well have been a crown. Chu Li now controlled all aspects of village life. No one openly opposed him.

  She left her vigil and joined the others as they gathered for prayers. Teela noticed the High Priest wore the white conical goldtrimmed miter atop his head like the crown he sought. Each day, his prayers became more ardent, often returning to Kena’s blasphemy and his murder of Eithan as the root of their suffering. The fact that the pools had been dry for months had no bearing on his rants. Surely, no one believed Kena, a Healer, capable of murder. To her horror, many of the villagers mirrored his sentiments, even blaming him for the deaths of Artimeer and Won, instead of Chu Li where the true blame lay. She was appalled that people, her friends, could blame their ills on the man who had so
selflessly strived to save them when they were ill or injured. It was as if all reason had fled, replaced by a kind of religious fervor that ignored the Teachings and focused on the High Priest.

  Today, he had added a new spectacle. As he stood before them, two men brought a goat, its legs bound together, to the edge of the canyon. Its pitiful bleating seemed to delight the High Priest.

  “Yarah demands blood,” he said. “Kena shed innocent blood. Until he is apprehended and punished as Yarah wills, we must offer a substitute.”

  She waited for someone to rush up and free the hapless goat, but no one did. “Have we come to this?” she cried.

  Faces turned toward her, faces she no longer recognized, subtlety changed by fear, frustration, and doubt.

  “Your betrothed placed us in this position,” Chu Li replied.

  “Hramack? How?”

  “Kean is a Healer. It has been suggested that perhaps he is incapable of murder, that blasphemy is his only crime.”

  Teela was confused. “Then, what . . . ” Chu Li’s meaning suddenly became clear. Her heart caught in her throat. “You cannot believe that Hramack would . . .”

  “One is a murderer: father or son.”

  “No, you are wrong. Neither would kill anyone.”

  Chu Li opened his hands wide. “And yet Eithan is dead.”

  She realized he was playing her, using her as a foil to manipulate the crowd. “You are wrong.” She waved her hand at the bound goat. “This is wrong. We are better than this.”

  His voice became cold. “Do you dispute the word of Yarah?”

  “I dispute the word of Chu Li,” she returned. She heard mutterings in the crowd and realized she was attacking their faith, the same faith that she once followed.

  Chu Li smiled. “I will forgive your transgression. You are young and distraught, concerned for your betrothed. Your loyalty is admirable but sadly misplaced. Who but Kena or his son would murder Eithan and release them from their confinement?”

  She held her tongue. The High Priest was making veiled accusations toward her. Or Grandfather, she realized in horror. As she stood there, afraid to speak up for fear of making matters worse, Chu Li removed a dagger from his sash, raised it, and plunged it into the goat’s heart. It shrieked and kicked madly for a few moments, and then he sliced its throat. Finally, it was still. Blood ran from the wounds and pooled around the goat’s body like a crimson robe.

  She was in shock. She had watched goats and sheep being slaughtered and understood the necessity for the life of the village. Their meat sustained them and the cured hides provided material for boots, belts, and other items. The wool provided clothing. Their slaughter was accomplished with reverence and as little pain as possible, not the brutal butchery the High Priest had just performed. What troubled her most was the reaction of the crowd. They stood silent, expectant, watching the High Priest.

  Chu Li dipped a silver goblet into the blood and lifted it above his head. “This blood we offer to Yarah.” He then spilled the blood into the canyon below.

  She had seen enough. Almost in tears, she raced across the bridge to the home of Kena and Hramack, now empty. She wandered through the house, touching objects she knew Hramack had touched, hoping to feel some connection with him as strong as the one he had confided lay between father and son. She felt only a deep sense of loss.

  “Don’t despair child.”

  She whirled. Kaffa stood in the doorway. “Oh, grandfather, we are lost!” she cried.

  He nodded sadly. “I watched the spectacle. It was Chu Li at his best.’

  “He accused you or me of murdering Eithan.”

  “Yes, he knows that I know the truth, yet he cannot move openly against me. I am no longer Precept, but people still trust me.”

  “Then he accused me.”

  “He wishes to draw attention from himself by providing other probable suspects. All know of your love for Hramack and believe youth is impetuous. Many think me too old and weary to best a man like Eithan.”

  “Why not simply tell them that you spoke with Eithan, and he gave you the key?”

  “It would be my word against that of a dead man. Chu Li will speak for him. It would sound too much like an old man trying to protect his granddaughter. Such an admission would give Chu Li all he needs to confine me and take away my ability to sway others.”

  “You are indeed wise, grandfather. It is better that I be suspect than you. People will forgive a heartbroken youth, especially a girl.”

  “You must not confront Chu Li again,” he warned. “He has grown too powerful.”

  She knew her grandfather was right. “What of Travin and Anseer? What if they find them? Will Kena …”

  “You wonder if Kena will kill to remain free. I do not know. Travin is an honorable man. He is also Kena’s friend. I have faith in his judgment.”

  “Faith?” she questioned. It was an odd word to use for a hunter sent to track down and capture Kena and Hramack.

  “Travin chose Anseer because he has no wife. He fears that he will not return, or he believes in Kena’s cause. He knows that if Kena is right, his family is at risk, as is the whole village. He is no friend of Chu Li.”

  “I pray they are safe.”

  “Yes, pray for their safe return, but they are safe for now.”

  She looked at her grandfather. His eyes were closed, and he looked lost in thought. “How do you know?”

  He smiled and touched his heart. “Because there is no emptiness here.”

  His words and his certainty gave her renewed hope.

  “Now, Teela, fetch some of our water. Kena’s herbs need tending.”

  Her heart was much lighter as she walked back across the canyon, that is, until she saw Chu Li standing outside the temple staring at her with a smile on his face. Then, her heart went suddenly cold and her steps faltered. Putting on her best façade of indifference, she went home for the water for Kena’s herbs. He would need them when he and Hramack returned.

  15

  Grey Eagle’s Band

  When Hramack came to his senses, his vision was blurry, but he saw the images of three men standing over him. One held a bow on his father, Travin, and Anseer, a razorsharp, metal arrow point glinting in the sun. As his vision cleared, he saw the men all wore leather britches with cloth shirts sewn with intricately crafted beaded designs over their hearts and along the sleeves. Over this, they wore heavy leather vests with armadillo shell pieces connected by wire over shoulders, chest, and forearms. Even this protective garb bore remarkable painted likenesses of animals and plants. The care given to their garments made him ashamed of his plain, woven outfit and loose outer robe. All three men wore their long, black hair in tightly woven braids that fell loose around their shoulders.

  “Taadoo Nahi nani,” one of the men said, giving Hramack a kick to the ribs. The words meant nothing to Hramack. When he ignore the man, he drew back his foot to deliver another blow. The oldest of the three stopped him. Hramack vaguely heard his father’s voice through the pounding in his head and the ache in his ribs. “We didn’t know we were in your territory. Take your food and let us return south.”

  “Bilaganna she’ enaii,” the bow holder said to the older man.

  “I don’t understand your language,” Kena said.

  The elder man said, “He told the young one not to move. He thinks you are the enemy, pale Marauders from the south.”

  Hramack was glad the man spoke English even if the enunciation was strange. “We come in peace.”

  “We shall see. We will take you to our nihinahdodekaad, our leader. He will decide your fate.” He carefully looked Hramack over, noting his clothing. “You do not dress like Marauders, but I have not seen your kind before. Where are you from?”

  “South,” Kena replied, “Six days’ journey from here. We are bound for the ruins of Denver Dome.”

  The three made a quick sign above their heads with one hand. “Never mention that place,” the oldest said. He seemed to
be the group’s leader. “The Marauders come from there. It is a most evil place.” Again, the three made the sign, thumb and pinky fingers extended from a closed fist held above the head.

  “What is your name?” Kena asked.

  The eldest stared at him a moment before replying. “I am Grey Eagle, the leader of this band. The others will remain nameless for now. You now know my name. What are you called?”

  “I am Kena, a Healer in my village.” He indicated Hramack. “This is my son, Hramack. The other young one is Anseer, a woodcarver. Travin is a hunter.”

  Grey Eagle looked Travin up and down. His survey appeared casual, but Hramack was certain the group’s leader was making careful note of Travin’s bulging muscles and great size. He came to a decision.

  “I think you are not Marauders, but you are strangers. We will take your weapons, but will not bind you if you give your word not to escape. We travel to Pueblo Nuevo, our home three days north of here. There, our Chief will judge you. I do not wish to bind you for that length of time should you prove a friend.” Seeing the angry look on Hramack’s face, he added. “These are dangerous times, and I will take no chance with the safety of my people. Our Chief will hear your words. At any rate, you will be safer traveling with us than alone. We have seen signs of a small party of Marauders nearby. Come, we must hurry. The day grows hotter, and we must reach the Wall soon and find shelter.” He pointed towards the mountains north of the grove.

  Kena spoke, “We can find shelter there.” He pointed towards the tunnel entrance. “There is a cavern, an old river channel.”

  One of the three exclaimed, “What! Into the o’ann. You expect us to walk with the chindi. Better to face the Marauders or to burn in the desert.”

  The leader of the group explained. “We know of the tunnels below ground, the o’ann. Usually they run with water in the spring. This place is an oasis, a way stop for our southern patrols. The tunnels are near our village also, but we do not venture into them. They are dangerous, and some of our people have died in them. When the water flows, this well is the only source of water for many days’ march. Many of the foolish think them haunted by chindi, the spirits of the dead.” He looked towards the one who had first spoken with a look of disdain. “I went down into one once. It was … disconcerting.” He turned his back and began to walk away, deflecting further conversation.