Pools of Yarah

by J Gurley

  Grey Eagle spoke up. “He will accompany us. He has said so.”

  To Chief Kosono, Kena said, “When we met, you said the stars move for us. What did you mean by that?”

  The chief closed her eyes as if deep in thought before replying. “I am not sure. Many things I see on my dream walks are unclear. You and your son are our village’s best hope. This I see clearly. Without your help, both our villages will die. I see the stars falling to the earth to aid you. This I do not understand. A woman with a head of fire will come to your aid.” She sagged as if exhausted by this interpretation of her dreams. “I am old and weary,” she apologized. “I must rest.”

  Chief Kosono and Grey Eagle exited the room, leaving Kena alone with his thoughts. “I hope I know what I’m doing,” he said to himself.

  17

  Nightmare

  Teela awoke crying and struggled with the covers of her bed. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her trembling body. A nightmare, one so vivid and clear that Teela had watched as if there by Hramack’s side, had roused her from her slumber.

  Hramack was crawling along a shallow arroyo. She could hear the sounds his body made on the sand. She could even taste the flinty dust he kicked up at the back of her throat. Suddenly, a wildeyed man leaped from the brush and attacked him. It was at this point that she cried out her useless warning and awoke screaming. Kaffa entered her room. “Are you all right, granddaughter?” he asked with deep concern, breathless from his hurrying.

  As realization came to her of where she was, she fought to control her racing heart. “Yes, Grandfather,” she moaned. “I had a terrible dream, a nightmare about Hramack.” She sat up on the edge of her bed. “I fear for him. He is in terrible danger; I feel it.”

  Kaffa brushed her hair with his hand. “There will be danger, yes, but I feel he is equal to the challenge. He is under the protection of Yarah. Help will come from an unlikely source.” He smiled. “I too have dreams.”

  Teela looked at her grandfather, studying his face. He seemed so certain of the truth of his words. His visions had often guided the village through difficult times. Is he just trying to comfort me, or does he speak the truth?

  “Go back to sleep, Teela. Hramack will return to you soon. His love will see him through.”

  Kaffa pulled the door closed behind him as he left, but left it open just a crack, as he often did when she was a child awakening from a nightmare. She listened to his footsteps recede as he returned to his room. Sleep did not come for her. She lay there thinking about Hramack until the first light of morning.

  *

  Kaffa did not sleep. He pondered his conversation with Chu Li when the High Priest had returned from his unsuccessful attempt to bring back Kena and Hramack.

  “It was you who freed Kena and showed him the tunnel, was it not?” Chu Li accused.

  “I have heard Kena murdered Eithan in order to escape. Is this not so?” Kaffa answered.

  Chu Li seethed. “You meddle too much, old man. It could bring harm to you or your granddaughter.”

  The threat to Teela energized him. He strode quickly to stand directly in front of the High Priest, towering over him. “If harm comes to Teela, I will see you dead.” His voice was firm and filled with conviction. Chu Li backed up, startled by the old man’s words. “Perhaps Madras would be willing to speak of his cousin’s death. He seems to be in a most somber mood. Perhaps he knows something of Herat’s death as well.”

  Chu Li exploded. By his reaction, Kaffa knew Kena’s suspicions concerning the old High Priest’s death were true.

  “Watch your words, Kaffa. Do not threaten me with your baseless accusations.”

  “True, only Kena knows the truth about Herat, your High Priest predecessor, and he is not here, but someone other than I saw Eithan summoned to your quarters after Kena and Hramack had fled.”

  “Who else?” Chu Li demanded; then his eyes lit up. “Teela? It would be wise to watch your tongue, old man.”

  “I say nothing for now. When Kena returns, then will I speak. Your days are numbered, Chu Li. Mark them well.”

  Chu Li glared at Kaffa before turning and racing to his home. Kaffa hoped Kena would return soon. Life in the village would be harsh with Chu Li controlling the Council. There was some grumbling already. Many found it difficult to believe Kena capable of murder in spite of Chu Li’s assertion to the contrary. Chu Li’s disappointing return with two men dead and one injured did nothing to lift people’s fallen spirits. Sending Travin and Anseer in pursuit of Kena seemed to many petty and a misuse of good men.

  As he had on many sleepless nights of late, Kaffa sat in his comfortable chair staring out the window at the sleeping village. Thoughts of the dying village plagued him. If the waters did not flow soon, it mattered little if Kena returned or not. He was an old man. Teela needed someone more able to protect her from Chu Li. She needed Hramack. He hoped his dreams did not mislead him.

  18

  Into the Bowels of the Earth

  At the rising of the moon, a party of fourteen men set out from Pueblo Nuevo for the nearest entrance to the dry river tunnel, ten men from Pueblo Nuevo and Grey Eagle at their head, and three representing Ningcha – Kena, Hramack, and Travin. Fewer men would have left them vulnerable to attack. More would have been logistically impossible to feed in the sparse country through which they would pass and would have seriously diminished the village’s capacity to defend itself. Hramack wondered what Grey Eagle would think if he learned that he and his father were outlaws accused of murder, and that Travin and Anseer had been dispatched by the High Priest to apprehend them.

  Anseer had followed Kena’s advice and accepted Chief Kosono’s invitation to remain in Pueblo Nuevo. He made no pretense of his doubt about the wisdom of their journey. To Hramack’s amazement, several single females had shown a romantic interest in him, and the villagers found his woodcarving skills intriguing. Travin, more taciturn than ever but changed in some sublime way by his fight with the Marauders, had shown some amusement at Anseer’s decision.

  “His injuries are too severe for our journey but too insignificant to interfere with his attempts to woo the women,” he said.

  The most accessible entrance to the river tunnel was located at the edge of the desert nearly five kilometers from the village. The journey there was uneventful. The songs of night birds and the chirruping of crickets set the pace of their march. Though the aqueducts did not extend that far from the village, groves of trees and small patches of melons and other vegetables lined the road. Carefully maintained by the villagers in plots of rich soil and compost, the gardens provided both vegetables and a diverse habitat for wildlife that somehow managed to dig under or crawl over the fine mesh fences surrounding them.

  Just outside the village, Hramack saw his first cow. The skinny, buff-colored creature had long horns and a sad face. It stood staring longingly over the fence at a patch of squash as it chewed on a clump of ground cover. The tantalizingly delicious aroma of squash blossoms and ripe tomatoes filling the air made Hramack’s mouth water in spite of their large send-off banquet. He recalled the banquet as he walked.

  Aseara had sat next to him on the ground around a large bonfire playing, stroking his thigh when no one was looking. He had been embarrassed when she had presented him a beautiful silver wristband inset with polished pieces of turquoise.

  “It is for your Teela,” she explained. “My heart goes with you on your journey to the north. Guard yourself well and return to her.”

  Kena looked at him questioningly. Hramack merely shrugged his shoulders.

  “You are very brave to undertake this journey,” she added. “You must love your people very much.”

  The thunder of a dozen drums drowned out further conversation, as twenty young women dressed in long, flowing blue and red skirts and colorful blouses entered the circle and began to dance clockwise slowly around the fire. The tiny bells they wore around their ankles and wrists tinkled a counterpoint to the pounding
of the drums. Their feet stamping the hard earth mimicked the rhythm of the drumbeat. Young boys stood at the edge of the circle shaking rattles made from gourds.

  “What is this?” Hramack asked Aseara. He had to lean close to her for her to hear, and the scent of her perfume forced his mind back to their lovemaking. He fought the urge to kiss her.

  “It is the Hozhoo ji, the Blessingway ceremony. We perform if for our young men who are leaving, to protect them. It is for you as well,” she added with a wink. She pointed to a man sitting across the fire from them making a sand painting by carefully sifting colored sand through his fingers. “Masali is our hataalii, our Healer and spiritual leader. The sand painting will guard you against evil spirits.”

  “Do you believe in evil spirits?” he asked, surprised.

  “No, but there is evil out there.”

  The women began to chant in their native language. He could not understand the words, but felt the energy of their message. Eventually, more of the villagers got up to dance. Aseara tried to get him to dance, but he was too uncomfortable with his lack of rhythm to try.

  He had not answered question her then, but her words had set his mind to the task of discerning the real reason for his going. It was not bravery. The prospect of death frightened him. The needs of the village were great, and his father had taught him that often one man willing to risk his life for the welfare of others could make a difference. His father was determined to be that one man. He was the brave one. Kena would have gone alone if necessary, but he could not allow that. Devotion, not bravery, compelled him. His place was by his father’s side. Even as he thought it, he knew that was not the entire truth. The real reason was less altruistic – Teela. She would never leave the village. If the village died, she died with it. It was for her that he was willing to risk everything. He could not contemplate a future without her. That thought quickened his steps.

  When they came upon the hole leading to the river tunnel, he cast one last look at the familiar stars above. Reluctantly and with great trepidation, he began the descent of the steeply sloping path down into the bowels of the earth.

  “It is called the Demon’s Mouth,” he heard one of Grey Eagle’s men say, sounding as reluctant to enter as he was. “It is in such places Skeleton Man dwells.”

  “Skeleton Man?” Hramack asked. “Who is he?”

  “Masau,” Grey Eagle answered his voice barely above a reverent whisper, “the Spirit of Death.”

  In silence, they threaded the winding dry river course, only the soft scuffling of their leather boots and moccasins echoing from the cold, rocky walls. Hramack noticed that the strained look of concentration on Grey Eagle’s face pulled great valleys into the parched skin around his eyes as he glanced around furtively, searching the walls for some sign of hidden danger. He paused at every turn of the tunnel, listening and peering into the darkness. Grey Eagle appeared more afraid of the tunnel than of any dangers they might have faced above ground.

  Hramack agreed with the old man’s assessment. His earlier underground journey had been disconcerting. Now, as then, the air seemed much too stuffy and tasteless, and the walls had an unnatural way of advancing and receding in the flickering torchlight. Shadows danced and leaped along the walls, as if in some parody of the ancient ritual dance the villagers at Ningcha performed each year for the return of the life-giving waters.

  They marched single file for long hours. When the need for words arose, they whispered. Grey Eagle’s nervousness spread among the men like a virus. Men continuously looked over their shoulders to reassure themselves that the others had not abandoned them. Tensions ran high.

  Hramack stopped at a sudden movement to his right. Grey Eagle turned quickly at Hramack’s sudden pause. A shadow, twice as high as a man, advanced on them. Grey Eagle dropped his torch to the ground and quickly drew his knife. Hramack held his staff before him. The others silently began to reach for weapons. Then, Grey Eagle let out a mighty yell and leapt forward at the shadow. Hramack braced himself for an attack.

  The intense light almost blinded Hramack as Kena brought the electric lantern up to full intensity, throwing the entire tunnel into view. Grey Eagle’s yell turned into a howl of laughter at the sight of the frightened hare frozen in the lantern’s bright light. Everyone began laughing at the top of his lungs, dissolving the long march’s tension. Hramack’s eyes filled with tears of laughter at the sudden release. When the laughter subsided, they resumed their march a little more lighthearted, leaving the bewildered and confused hare behind them. Their bellies were full and they had no need for meat. It was the hare’s lucky night.

  “Aye, Grey Eagle, good thing there was only one,” yelled out one man in jest. The withering look he received for his comment shut him up quickly. Though the tension had lessened, it was obvious Grey Eagle still did not like the tunnel.

  For two days and nights, they carried on, stopping only briefly to sleep and eat with Grey Eagle always taking the first watch, and then pushing them hard to continue. Everyone was eager to leave the tunnel behind him. The endless burrow wore on them, sapping their humor and setting them on edge. Hramack began to doubt the wisdom of his father’s plan. He longed for the sky overhead instead of the pressing weight of stone above him. He was relieved when they came upon another space open to the sky. The stars twinkled overhead like familiar friends.

  The collapse of the roof was massive. A huge bowl had formed around the hole, teeming with stunted cottonwoods, scraggly pines, mesquite, and dozens of species of cacti.

  “This would be an excellent spot to make camp,” Kena suggested. “The men need rest and a proper meal.”

  Hramack watched in amazement as Grey Eagle, who had to be as exhausted as the rest of them, went about the men, talking and joking with them, assigning duties and questioning them about any aches and pains or blisters, a serious problem with such a long distance yet to travel. All the men professed to be in fine spirits and free of any serious injuries.

  Travin, however, sat by himself, looking forlorn. Hramack had not spoken to him since they had entered the village of Pueblo Nuevo. He walked over to him and sat down beside him. Travin glanced at Hramack but said nothing.

  “Grey Eagle says you are a good warrior,” he started.

  Travin shook his head. “A good warrior does not fear death,” he said sadly.

  “Everyone fears death,” Hramack replied, relieved that he was not the only one with death on his mind.

  “No, a warrior will give his life without thought to save others when the need arises. This I can do.”

  “Then why the long face?”

  He looked at Hramack, and for the first time Hramack saw the haunting fear in his eyes. “I have seen my death,” he said through clenched lips, as if trying to prevent the words from leaving his mouth. “I saw my death in the eyes of one I killed, and I know I cannot run from it.”

  Hramack was silent for a moment. He could see Travin was upset but could not understand why. “Every man dies,” he ventured.

  Travin nodded. “True, death comes to all whether they wish it or not, but my death will not be an easy one.”

  Hramack was almost afraid to mention it, but the thought occurred to him. “Is it because of Won?”

  Travin shot him such a withering look of despair that it seemed to rush from the man’s pores and surround him. His eyes filled with tears as he spoke. “I did what had to be done, but that does not free me from the consequences of my actions. I should have remained by his side until he had Passed.”

  “Father said nightstalkers were coming.”

  Travin gripped his spear so tightly the leather bindings squeaked. “Even you have conquered a nightstalker,” he said sadly. “I let my fears and Chu Li’s words sway me, and now I must redeem my soul.”

  “Was coming with us an act of absolution?”

  Travin shook his head slowly side to side. “No, it was an act of desperation.”

  He stood and walked away, leaving Hramack dist
urbed by his words. If Travin sought absolution from his supposed sins, would it affect his judgment? Perhaps he should warn his father. Having Travin in a morose state of mind was not good for the company. He glanced at his father and decided he had heard enough bad news for one day.

  Grey Eagle deployed two hunting parties to leave the dell and scour the land for food. Hramack volunteered to accompany one. He needed to be out in the open for a while to think. He and two others headed eastward. Two Clouds was his age but already a seasoned warrior. His arms bore the scars of his battles. Stone Thrower was a year younger, not yet a warrior, but a good hunter. He smiled constantly, cracking jokes to which Hramack seldom got the punch line, but he continued a running barrage as they walked.

  The land spread out flat and desolate before the wan light of a crescent moon. The high flat ridges of mesas and sharp peaks of taller mountains surrounded them. With only six hours of moonlight remaining before sunrise, speed was of the essence. He and his companions broke into a trot across the Empty Lands. The trio split up to make their search more effective, but remained within earshot of each other.

  Just before dawn, when the eastern sky was beginning to show a reddish glow, he and Two Clouds met to take stock of their finds: two large lizards, several edible fruits, and even a pair of fat rock wrens. Stone Thrower had wandered farther afield. If he had anything to contribute, they could begin the return journey. They had traveled far, and the heat would be intense before they reached the others.

  A long, low whistle erupted from a distance ahead of them. “Stone Thrower,” Two Clouds said. “Come.” He began to run ahead. Hramack followed.

  They soon saw Stone Thrower standing in the fading moonlight by a twisted spire of metal. His stance betrayed no danger. He was staring down at his feet. As they came closer, they saw what had caught his attention.

  At his feet, a great gash in the earth ran as far as they could see to their right and to their left. The far side was barely visible in the pale moonlight. The bottom was lost in the depths of the darkness, but they knew it was very deep. No stranger to canyons, mountains, and valleys, the beauty and grandeur of the cleft struck the trio with awe.