by J Gurley
Shouldering their packs, the four set off with their captors watching their every move, one in front and two in back. Their captors did not bind them, but there was no mistaking who was prisoner and who was guard. Their leader’s pace was rapid and punishing. By the time they had reached the meager shade cast by the mountain peaks ahead of them, Hramack was breathing rapidly and stumbling over the uneven ground. Anseer was too tired to complain. He fell onto the ground exhausted, unable to get up. Travin stopped, ignoring the not too gentle prods of his captors.
“Our companion can go no farther,” he said. “Nor will I.”
Hearing this, Grey Eagle grunted and called a halt. Kena and Hramack collapsed gratefully on the ground. Their captors sat down around them, trying to mask their own exhaustion. Travin stubbornly remained standing, refusing to betray his fatigue to the others. Though they would not admit it, Hramack could see their new companions were clearly afraid of Marauders. Perhaps it was a wise move to remain with them, since north was both their goals.
They rested for half an hour, then Grey Eagle stood. “We must continue.”
Hramack groaned from aching muscles as he stood. The long journey was wearing him down. They pushed on at a brisk pace toward the peaks thrusting skyward before them. Hramack thought the mountains were beautiful, the tallest one with an almost sheer vertical rise of over 700 meters. Hardly a blemish marred its reddish surface. Flanking it were two smaller, but daunting, massifs. Unlike the former, eons of wind and rain had scored their grey faces into a series of channels and cracks. Piles of debris marched up their flanks, and great boulders lay strewn about like marbles scattered by a giant. Dark scars in its sides marked the location of caverns and deep clefts in the rock. It was towards one of these openings that Grey Eagle led them.
“The Wall,” Grey Eagle said, as he pointed at the sheer wall of red rock. “But we go there,” he pointed to the grey mountain to the right, “the Cavern of the Dead. The Marauders fear this place. We will be safe. There we will find kuuyi, water. Come.”
The cave was larger than Hramack imagined, as they emerged from the five-meter deep slit that was the entrance. He noted that the narrow entrance was easily defendable. Inside, the cave was cool and dark. Grey Eagle lit several torches he picked up from a pile beside the entrance and set them around the cavern. Their flickering light dappled the cavern’s ceiling a dozen meters above their heads. The rear wall stretched beyond the pool of light.
One of Grey Eagle’s men removed a large urn of water from a cleft in the rock and passed it around. Hramack had difficulty refraining from draining it in his thirst. As a gesture of good will, he took out a package containing dried fruit and travel bread and laid it on a rock in front of him. Seeing this, Kena added a handful of vegetables from his pack. Grey Eagle nodded at the offering and produced a pot into which he poured water, their contributions, and added meat from a hare from his pack.
Hramack noted that the men of Pueblo Nuevo did not use any type of water recovery system. He watched the steam rise from the open pot with dismay, but soon the tantalizing aroma of stew filled the cavern, making Hramack’s mouth water.
As they rested in the safety of the Cavern of the Dead, refreshed by cool water, eagerly waiting for the stew to cook, Grey Eagle and one of the men came to sit and talk with them. They passed around tobacco to show that they did not consider Hramack and his companions as enemies. Grey Eagle’s younger companion offered his name.
“I am called White Elk,” he said in halting English. A slight smile quivered on his lips before disappearing.
“Why is this place called the Cavern of the Dead?” Kena directed this question at Grey Eagle.
Grey Eagle knocked the ashes from a small soapstone pipe and filled it with tobacco before answering. “About thirty years ago, a large band of Marauders trapped a small group of our people here – twenty men, women, and children. My father was one of those twenty. They fought bravely, the wounded binding their wounds and returning to the fight. The Marauders were convinced the dead were coming back to life and fighting alongside the living. Eventually, all our people died, but Marauders are a superstitious lot. They now fear this place and avoid it at all times. We will be safe here.”
He lit the pipe with a burning sliver of wood from the fire, inhaled deeply, and then slowly exhaled a stream of smoke. Hramack noticed that his teeth were yellow with tar.
“Do your people know much of the tunnels under the ground?” Hramack asked.
“Yes, we know of them, but we avoid them. They are dangerous. Each spring they run with swiftly moving water. They are dry now though.”
Kena spoke up. “Yes. Our people suffer from lack of water as well. We seek the reason for the water’s failure to return. Will you help us?”
Grey Eagle glanced at White Elk before replying. “We must bring you to our Chief, but if you speak aaniigoo, the truth, we will help you. It would serve our needs also.” He looked over at Anseer lying alone away from the group. The woodcarver had fallen asleep almost immediately after collapsing. “What of this one? He is almost beyond his limits now.”
Kena eyed Anseer. “He is unused to hard travel. Perhaps he can remain in your village while we continue our journey.”
“Perhaps so,” Grey Eagle agreed. “If Chief Kosono agrees.”
Hramack smiled. At last, a bit of luck. They would need all the help they could find in this inhospitable country. “We did not know of other people still alive until we met you. Are there many others?”
Grey Eagle took another long draw from his pipe. This time he let the smoke trickle from his nostrils. Hramack thought he was stalling before answering. “Our village is the only I know of. The Marauders are nomads scavenging the ruins and stealing from us when they can. They are like wild animals nipping at our heels.” He spat on the ground to show his contempt. “Are there many men in your village?”
Hramack started to answer, but Kena shot him a fierce look. “Too many for the water we have left,” Kena answered.
Grey Eagle raised his heavy eyebrows. “You think we might attack you?” he asked harshly; then he softened his voice and nodded.
“Ya’ateeh. It is good. It was a wise answer between strangers. Later, perhaps, we can speak to each other as friends.”
He tossed a stick on the fire and watched it catch. Then he settled back against a rock. “Rest now. We leave at sunset. It is still two days’ march to our village.”
With renewed hope, Hramack lay down to sleep, the most restful sleep he had managed in weeks.
*
For two days, they traveled only by night, keeping to the shelter of the mountains as protection against any Marauders that might be lurking. Little by little, Hramack learned of their new friends’ ways and of their village. He also picked up a few of their words. They were Pueblo Indians, a mixture of Diné, Hopi, and Zuni whose ancestors had refused to enter Denver Dome. Diné was the most prominent language among themselves, but most spoke at least some English or Spanish, passed down the generations by their ancestors as had their own language. It astounded him to learn that people had lived for hundreds of years less than two weeks’ journey north of Ningcha.
The people of Ningcha, including himself, had arrogantly believed themselves the last bastion of civilization on Earth. Once they returned, their discovery to the contrary would irk Chu Li. If wereturn, Hramack corrected himself. He especially liked the group’s leader, Grey Eagle. Though almost as old as Kaffa, he retained the stamina and vigor of one used to surviving in harsh conditions. A union of their two peoples would benefit both cultures. It would take new blood to repopulate Earth.
Near dawn of the third day since encountering Grey Eagle’s small band, the sky became red and hazy, obscuring the distant mountains that had been prominent the day before.
“The Devil Wind comes soon,” Grey Eagle warned. “We cannot remain here. We must seek better shelter.”
Hramack looked at the sky. “How can you tell?” he asked.
Grey Eagle pointed to the red dawn and line of haze that seemed to be getting darker as he watched. “Dust colors the dawn. The winds can be strong and the dust can kill. We must hurry.”
They picked up their pace and jogged for almost an hour. The heat was unbearable, their pace relentless. Travin supported Anseer with one arm as he stumbled more often. The wind steadily increased in intensity and dust swirled around them, stinging Hramack’s skin even through his shirt. The flinty smell reminded him of the mine tailings of the Red Valley. Visibility was now less than half a kilometer. A wall of rocks loomed out of the dust cloud, the shelter Grey Eagle had promised, but it looked impossibly far away. The wind tore at Hramack’s feet, threatening to trip him. He feared that if he fell, he could not rise again.
“Take this,” Grey Eagle shouted as he handed Hramack the end of a rope. Hramack wrapped a loop around his body and passed the rope on to Kena. With all seven bound securely by the rope, Grey Eagle planted his feet firmly and, with the aid of his spear, began to pull the others through the screaming wind to the safety of the rocks.
Sand filled Hramack’s mouth as they struggled forward. Twice, he fell and felt someone’s arms pick him up. They reached the wall of rock and collapsed on its leeward side. Out of the cutting wind, breathing was easier. The roar of wind around them sounded like the thunder of long-vanished herds of bison as they roamed across the plains in search of food. Hramack had often thought of these great beasts. He had seen pictures of them in books and even had an ancient coin with an image of one of the shaggy beasts stamped onto it.
The group huddled together out of the wind for hours. At times, the shriek of the wind increased until it hurt Hramack’s ears. Dust swirled until it was impossible to see. Hramack placed a scarf over his face, and still the fine dust penetrated the cloth and worked its way into his eyes and throat. He wanted badly to take a drink of water, but knew if he opened the water skin, it would almost assuredly become contaminated with the all-pervasive dust. Then, the wind subsided as quickly as it came, leaving them in silence.
“Does the wind often do that?” he asked Grey Eagle as he shook the dust from his clothing.
“Many times each year,” Grey Eagle replied. “This was but a breeze. I have seen winds strong enough to flay the skin from a man unlucky or unwise enough to be caught in it. Such winds are called The Hammer of God.”
“Will we encounter more?”
Grey Eagle pointed to the mountains. “We travel there. As we go higher, the winds will be lighter, but breathing will be more difficult.” He looked up at the sun. With no dust cloud to temper its fury, the heat had returned like a blast furnace. “We must hurry before the sun passes its zenith or we will perish.”
By noon, they had reached the foot of the mountains. The mountains rose slowly at first, like folded blankets, and then shot abruptly into the air sheer-sided until they almost touched the sky. Hramack stared at them, hoping they would not have to climb to the top. The day’s heat was sapping his strength. To his relief, Grey Eagle called a halt in a narrow defile shaded from the sun.
“Climbing will be more difficult at night,” he said, “but the moon will help. We would never make it in the heat of the day.”
Hramack was glad for any chance to rest. The company was too tired to cook. Chewing on a piece of dried meat as he rested, he surveyed his companions. Grey eagle, White Elk, and his companion were economical in their movements, using as little energy as possible as they removed their packs and chose spots to sleep. Kena, though exhausted, was examining the walls of the ravine. Travin brooded as he stared at their captors. Of them all, only Anseer’s condition disturbed him.
The young woodcarver had stopped his usual complaining. In fact, he had not spoken all day. He slept fitfully, moaning and his legs thrashing. His breathing was ragged. Hramack was concerned about his poor health and the climb they faced, but he could do little about it.
Hramack managed to doze a few times but did not sleep soundly. He awoke once to see his father bending over Anseer.
“Is he all right?”
His father shook his head. “He is very weak.”
“Will he live?”
“I don’t know. If we can reach Grey Eagle’s village, perhaps.”
Sometime before sunset, he fell asleep. He dreamed of Teela. She stood beside the wooden bridge in the village with the moonlight shining through her golden hair, but she did not smile. Her tearfilled eyes pleaded with him. He ran toward her, but she seemed to retreat farther with each step. Exhausted he fell to his knees and called out to her. “Teela!”
Her voice, faint and trembling, answered, “Come to me, Hramack. I need you.”
He awoke with a start, troubled by his dream. Around him, the others were stirring. He picked up his pack and joined them.
Grey Eagle led them up a well-worn game trail, climbing higher hour by hour, often scrambling upwards on hands and knees up loose slopes of scree. Hramack felt the change in altitude in his chest, laboring for each breath. The thin air forced the group to halt more often than Grey Eagle obviously liked, but he did not complain.
“Once, a man could once climb Mt. Everest in Asia without oxygen,” Kena said, “albeit at great risk, and it is many times the height of this mountain, over 8800 meters. Today, he could climb less than 3500 meters without suffering from oxygen deprivation. The atmosphere is much thinner now. With the forests gone and the ocean’s plankton vanished, there is less oxygen.”
“My ears,” Hramack complained. “They popped.” He rubbed his ears with his hands.
Kena smiled. “Mine also. It is the change in air pressure as our bodies adjust to the height.”
As the ache in his ears slowly subsided, Hramack looked at Travin. The hunter had grown even more taciturn than usual since their capture. Hramack hoped Travin would not try to escape. They would need his strength later. Anseer was too weary to attempt an escape. The lower oxygen did not help the woodcarver’s breathing. Travin fussed over him as if he were his own son. Hramack thought the hunter’s concern for the woodcarver was the only thing preventing him from escaping. His guilt at bringing Anseer with him weighed heavily on his conscience.
Finally, they were able to look out over the valley floor from a ledge some 700 meters above it. Hramack felt dizzy as he looked over the edge back down the way they had come. Though it was no cooler even at that altitude, a slight breeze helped ease their heat burden somewhat. The view was spectacular.
The land was awash with moonlight, softening the harsh terrain. Somewhere below them far to the south lay the valley in which Ningcha safely nestled in its canyon rim. Hramack could see for scores of kilometers. The cactus grove of their capture was clearly visible, as were other small copses of cactus or trees dotting the horizon running in a straight line above the underground river. The flow of water that allowed Ningcha to survive also provided life for many others, including Pueblo Nuevo. They must see their mission to its end. Ningcha, Pueblo Nuevo, and the land itself depended on them.
Reluctantly, he turned away from the riveting view and followed Grey Eagle towards a small flat mesa some ten kilometers across the plains on the other side of the plateau upon which they now stood. Grey Eagle pointed towards a small speck at the mesa’s base, barely visible in the distance.
“Pueblo Nuevo.” He beamed proudly as he spoke. “We will be there abinigo, before sunrise.”
From the edge of the plateau, Hramack could see several points of light flickering around the base of the distant mountain. “What are those?” he asked Grey Eagle.
“Some choose to live away from the village in their own hogans. They grow their own crops but help the village as needed. They are protected from danger by the steep cliffs surrounding the village.” He lit a torch and waved it a few times before extinguishing it. “They will know we are coming.”
Their path wound down the side of the mountain, curving westward until their destination vanished from view. Large slabs of rock ha
d cracked and slid down the mountain, leaning against its flanks like stone buttresses. Their path led them beneath several of these splinters of stone. One such passage contained carvings of long-vanished animals men had scratched onto its surface. A large spiral dominated one wall. Hramack stopped to rub his hands appreciatively across the spiral, knowing that those who first settled the land centuries ago had carved them.
“These were carved by the adaadin, our ancestors,” Grey Eagle said proudly. “Long before white men came to this land my people lived here among these mountains.” He touched the spiral almost reverently. “At certain times of the year, a sliver of light entering through cracks overhead bisects the spiral markings or touches its outer edges. My ancestors knew in this way when to plant crops or when the snows would come.”
Hramack noted the pride with which Grey Eagle spoke of his ancestors. Such a calendar was a great accomplishment for a civilization that had neither wheel nor machines and saw the stars above solely with the naked eye.
“There are many such places throughout the lands,” Grey Eagle continued. “Some have hundreds of animals carved or painted on the rocks. They were an artistic people.”
“I see your people decorate your clothing. You are the inheritors of your ancestors’ artistry.”
Grey Eagle smiled at Hramack’s words of praise. “Some things should not be forgotten,” he said as he walked away.
The terrain at the base of the plateau was uneven, and small clumps of cacti thrust upwards between cracks in the rock, reaching out to prick him as he passed almost as if on purpose. Hramack envied the men of Pueblo Nuevo their leather britches. Dozens of small quills stuck him through his thin trousers. He plucked them out, but the small punctures still burned. As they descended one steep arroyo to a well-worn path below, Grey Eagle observed the shadows apprehensively. His companions also seemed uneasy.