by Mike Baron
"Nothing," he croaked. "We'd better get moving."
He marked the coordinates on his GPS. Let the university sort it out. He wasn't about to disturb the creature's final rest. He also felt a fierce surge of exhiliration. If it was the legendary Azuma warlord, he'd just scored the brass ring.
Summer's fingers sank into Beadles' bicep. She stared west. Beadles followed her gaze.
There was a cloud of dust on the horizon.
***
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
"Cut to the Chase"
Beadles stared dry-swallowing. He took a swig of water. The tiny cloud vibrated representing furious activity. Was it an hallucination?
"It's getting closer!" Summer said, picking up her ruck. "Come on!"
Her fear was contagious. Beadles shouldered his heavy pack and chased after her. They jogged toward the butte, each jarring step causing their backpacks to dig cruelly into their shoulders.
Vince had found a way down.
Summer bounded ahead, her elegant calf muscles flexing. Beadles struggled to keep pace. The butte seemed close but it was difficult to judge distances. He thought it was no more than a mile away. On the flats the Hummer was easily capable of 90 mph. Maybe it would hit a pothole. Maybe it would run over a rock.
Beadles prayed as he ran. He prayed to whomever would listen: God, Buddha, Allah, Wankantanka, Our Father the Sun, Our Mother the Moon and Aleister Crowley. Water sloshed. The heavy Bowie banged against his leg. Their breaths came in gasps as they pounded east running right over a nest of rattlesnakes so fast they were gone by the time the snakes reacted. The afterimage of the viper pit blazed in Beadles' mind and faded.
The butte was getting closer. It wasn't his imagination. He felt a cramp drive like a tiny wedge into his ribs. Ignoring it he forced himself to place one foot in front of the other, grateful that he'd always been a runner and that he wore light, Saucony over-the ankle shoes.
Now they could hear the vehicle, a faint whine like a Junebug hovering too close to the ear--or was it his own breath whistling through his nose? No. There was a fluctuation in the buzzing, a sudden rise and then a fall to silence.
Panting, Beadles turned around. He pulled the binocs from the rucksack and dialed in. It was the Humvee, Vince getting out and walking around to the front. Staring at something. Walking to the back and opening up the gate. A flat tire? A rock? Beadles thanked all his gods for this reprieve and picked up the pace. Summer had stopped to look.
"Come on! Maybe he's got a flat tire!"
Every step sent a jolt up his spine. But they were getting closer. Details began to emerge--vertical striations where volcanic rock had forced its way to the surface millenia ago. It was the butte of his dreams, the butte in the picture, the butte on the map. The epicenter of the Azuma universe--Shipapu. The Great Road. The gateway between this world and the next.
Now Beadles could see the scree of rock surrounding the base, the faint green furze indicating moisture. They ran in silence until the pulse of their blood rushing through their heads became the loudest thing in the universe.
They reached the bottom of the butte and collapsed on a flat rock gasping. Beadles weighed his water. There was no point hoarding if they couldn't reach safety. Fuck it. He tilted back the canteen and drained it in six big gulps. He still had a couple bottles in the ruck.
Summer drank too, stood and looked for a route up. She walked counter-clockwise around the base until she disappeared from sight. With the sun in the western sky all the shade was on the east--too far for Beadles to go. He saved his strength for the climb, if they could find a way. The sun beat down.
From the slight advantage of the scree he trained his eyes to the west. The cloud was back. Whatever problem Vince had encountered was solved. He could hear the engine's roar. Summer appeared, breathless.
"There's a way up!" she said. "Follow me!"
Beadles hoisted his pack and followed her a quarter of a way around the butte to a chimney accessible between two massive boulders tilted together at the top to form a crude arch. Beadles crouched to get through the arch. The chimney, one side open, was approximately three feet in diameter although its width varied as it followed a crooked path up. Crude hand and footholds had been carved into the rock. Exultation blossomed in Beadles' chest--here was proof that the butte had been occupied. Gleefully, almost triumphantly he followed Summer up the butte, his backpack occasionally snagging on a rock outcropping.
Halfway up Summer stopped. "Oh fuck."
"What is it?" Beadles said.
"There's a fucking rattlesnake sleeping on a ledge." She resumed climbing with a renewed sense of urgency until she was well above the spot.
"Wait!" she said. "Maybe I can get it to move." She grabbed a stone off a ledge and pitched it at a downward angle. Then another.
"Great. Now it's awake. Wait a minute." She pitched a couple more rocks "It's gone."
"Where did it go?"
"I don't know--deeper into the ledge."
Well fuck, Beadles thought. Now it was pissed off. Rattlesnakes could leap amazing distances. Might it not have been better to let the snake sleep? He couldn't go back. He had to go up. Carefully he boosted himself to the snake's level. No snake. The ledge on which it had been sleeping seemed to tunnel into the rock. Beadles didn't wait for it to come back. With renewed effort he climbed past the spot urging Summer upward.
Some of the handholds had eroded to nothing but they were sharper near the top and at last Summer heaved herself out of the chimney to find herself in a bubble-shaped depression with a slight incline to the plateau. Seconds later Beadles joined her. They walked up the incline to the top of the butte and froze, slack-jawed.
A grove of cottonwood sprouted from the center of the island. Behind them to the east was an odd structure that looked like a decaying castle keep, natural rock smoothly blended with hand-carved stones to form a cliff-dwelling in the sky. Three small vertical windows punctuated the inner wall. The top of the butte was about 100 feet in diameter.
Vince laid on the horn announcing his arrival with a wail that increased as he approached. Beadles and Summer went to the western rim and looked down. The black Hummer roared up trailing a cloud of dust and jerked to a stop at the foot of the scree 200 feet below. Vince shut off the engine and sat there.
Summer pulled out her tiny automatic. "If he tries to climb up here I'll shoot him."
Beadles doubted whether the tiny caliber weapon would stop the clavigerous thug. They would have to ascertain whether there was another path to the top but Beadles doubted it. They could always prevent Vince from climbing by rolling boulders down the chute. The top of the butte was filled with scattered boulders of various size.
Maybe a snake would bite him. Maybe a scorpion.
The silence was deafening.
Vince opened the car door and got out. He wore his cowboy hat and stretched leisurely in the sun, holding a water bottle in one hand. He uncapped the bottle, drank and tossed it aside. He cupped his hands.
"Professor! How y'all doin'? Summer honey, you done good work."
Beadles checked his phone. No signal. That was wrong. It was the latest Razr and was supposed to have pick-up virtually anywhere in the world via satellite. He checked the power level. Still good.
"What happened to the sheriff?" Beadles yelled.
"The sheriff? Oh him! He let me go. Knew damn well it was self-defense. This here's the place on the map, isn't it? What's up there? I know there ain't no water. Me, I got plenty. I got enough to sit here for a week while you die of thirst. Is that the way you want it?"
***
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
"The Pond"
Beadles dug around in his ruck and pulled out three plastic water bottles, all full. They could easily run through those in the next couple of hours. Summer did the same. She had three more bottles and half a canteen. They looked at each other. Without more water it was doubtful they would last another day.
Vince laid seige.
"Well I'm down here if you want to talk!" he said, sitting down with his back to the grill in the shade provided by the vehicle. The sun lowered in the western sky.
Wordlessly Beadles rose and walked counter-clockwise. Summer joined him. The top of the butte was a flat, flinty surface covered with rocks and sand, the occasional withered cactus struggling to survive. It was not entirely flat. There were numerous depressions and holes that might represent molten bubbles that had burst to the surface. Beadles watched where he stepped. He did not want to encounter any snakes. It took them ten minutes to reach the opposite side and the strange half-chimney thrusting from the rim. The tower-like protrusion rose another fifty feet above the butte top. Most of it appeared to be volcanic upthrust but it had been augmented with carefully fitted stones and white mortar to form a cliff-dwelling in the sky. The entrance formed a crude triangular arch. Mayan influence?
Every cell in Beadles' body leaned toward the door. His heart banged a Neil Peart solo. This was it. The Big Time. The gold at the end of the rainbow. He'd gambled and he'd won. It was a better high than coke. Than sex. The sun cast his shadow in stark relief on the ancient walls. Faintly he heard a car door slam.
He couldn't die now, not with success within his grasp. Nor could he indulge in the luxury of exploring this ruin while the thug lurked below. It was only a matter of time before Vince discovered the chimney. He wasn't stupid. He knew there had to be a route to the top. And the crooked chimney provided no clear shot. Nor would Vince attempt the climb, fully cognizant of the danger of falling rocks. All Vince had to do was sit back and wait them out.
He moved on. Aside from the chute there was no way to the top. He and Summer turned their attention to the center of the butte where six cottonwoods incongruously grew. Their lushness gave Beadles the creeps. They should not have existed.
They scrambled over a low berm of scattered rocks and approached the center. The six trees were as evenly spaced as clock numbers. In the center a brackish pool of water. What was it doing there? If it was rain, how did it exist? It hadn't rained in that part of the desert in months.
Beadles knelt, cupped pond water in his hands and brought it to his face. Odorless. He dipped his tongue. Aside from a slight mineral taste it seemed fine but it was still unsuitable for drinking. Who knew what bacteria festered in that pond? If snakes could get up here so could mice and insects. He had a water purifier but he'd left it in the Jeep.
Summer looked at him hopefully. "Can we drink it?"
"I don't know. We may have to." His eyes swept the surface of the pond. It was about ten feet across. On the opposite side a series of ripples radiated from a disturbance in surface tension. Beadles walked around to the pond and crouched. It was a spring. The water bubbling up from the bottom of the pond was clear, unlike the brownish pond water.
Geologically it was an impossibility. What source of water could possibly exist 150 feet above the desert floor? There wasn't another source of water for miles in any direction. It was a miracle. A bonaroo medicine man miracle. A holy place. Only the divine could create such a miracle, and if it was a divine place, evil had no place. An invisible burden eased from Beadles' shoulders. It was going to be alright. God, Wankantanka, our Father the Sun, our Mother the Moon was watching over them.
Yeah right.
Beadles had no illusions. There were no miracles. There was some rational explanation for the spring. They were in a desperate situation but at least they had water, whatever the cause. Beadles looked around. There was plenty of fuel from the cottonwoods. They could always boil the water to rid it of bacteria.
If they could find something in which to boil it.
Repetitive honking ruptured the silence. Vince wanted their attention. They returned to the westernmost lip of the butte and looked down. Vince stood next to his vehicle and honked the horn through the window.
Beadles picked up small smooth stone and pitched it over the edge. It landed on the Hummer's roof with a faint crack. Vince laid off the horn and looked up.
"What?" Beadles yelled.
"I just wanted to give you a head's up, professor! About our little friend! Did she tell you she slipped me a mickey, stole my car and my money?"
"Wasn't that after you punched her out?" Beadles said.
It was hard to tell but he thought Vince grinned.
"Did you ask her about her record? Drug dealing and prostitution? She's got a rap sheet longer than the immigration bill. You think you can trust her? She's a scorpion, Professor! She's going to stab you in the back. She can't help it. It's her nature."
Summer put her hand on his shoulder. "He's lying."
"I know that!"
"Hey professor!" Vince continued. He had a good voice. Deep and rich. Would have made a terrific announcer. "Right now she's telling you I'm a liar and that she's a virtuous angel! I'm just warning you, one man to another, don't turn your back on her."
Beadles looked at Summer. Her eyes had closed to furious slits. Her mouth was a grim line. What did he know about her, really? She was very beautiful. What kind of woman goes to sleep with some guy she just met in a bar?
Wasn't he being hypocritical? How many women had he talked into one-night stands? Vince's warning had a disturbing undertone of truth. Maybe she wasn't the damsel in distress. How easily she had manipulated him.
"Well folks it's gonna be dark soon. I'll just settle in for the night. Or maybe I'll find that path to the top you took. Come to think about it, you can't be sure I won't come up there in the middle of the night and blow your fucking brains out. You'd better take turns guarding."
***
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
"Chamber in the Sky"
Beadles and Summer huddled at the rim.
"Do you think he'll try and come up?" Beadles said.
"No. He knows we have no place to go. He'll just wait us out."
The burden was on them. What if Beadles were to descend in the middle of the night with Summer's pea-shooter and put one in Vince's ear while he slept? Beadles was no hero. He didn't relish the idea of approaching the well-armed Vince but they had little choice. Even with a water source if they stayed on top of the butte they would die from starvation. They'd only brought enough victuals for a couple days.
The sun sat atop the western peaks casting long shadows across the desert.
"Let's take a look at those ruins," Beadles said, cutting a path through the center of the butte. They skirted the pond keeping an eye out for scorpions and snakes. With the last rays of the sun striking the ruins horizontally every detail stood out in bas relief. The lintel above the arched entrance was a triangular rock with a carved motif: a circle radiating squiggly lines. Beadles had never seen it anywhere else. It was the symbol of the Azuma. The entrance itself was an astonishing seven feet tall--much taller than any other cliff dwellings of which he was aware. Taller than any temple entrance throughout Central America. This in itself constituted a startling archaeological discovery. Most Native Americans had been five and a half feet tall or less at the time of Columbus.
There were always exceptions. The great Navajo chief Narbona was six feet six inches. His son-in-law Manuelito was also well over six feet. Crazy Horse was said to be over six feet tall. But never before had anyone encountered archaeological evidence that tall Indians were anything other than anomalies.
Or had it been built for just one man?
Beadles entered and found himself in a shallow chamber, perhaps six feet front to back, approximately fifteen feet in length, with a flat, seven foot ceiling made of bleached timbers mounted crossways, woven branches atop them. The sun shown so brightly through the entrance Bedles did not need his flashlight. Two slot windows faced west. Ten feet away to the south lay the remnants of ancient ladder. Above them a round hole led to the next chamber. The back wall of the chamber bore petroglyphs similar to those they had seen in the canyon.
Beadles took out his cell phone and snapped pictures of those that lay in direct
sunlight. He walked toward the nearest window. From the window he looked west across the butte to the distant mountains and the setting sun.
He was alone.
He walked back to the entrance and looked out. Summer stood with her arms wrapped around her shoulders shivering.
"What's the matter? Come inside."
"No," she said softly. "It's too old."
"What do you mean it's too old?"
Summer's eyes were round with fear. "The ancient--it frightens me. The earth is so old, this is so old, I'm afraid if I touch it it will suck the life out of me like a sponge! That's why nothing lives around here."
Beadles stepped outside and held her. "Come on. You've been walking on the earth that's just as old and that hasn't sucked the life out of you. It's just an old building! Haven't you been inside a cliff dwelling before?"
"It's not just an old building. I can feel it! It hates us. It wants us dead."
Beadles barked and walked to the wall. He slapped his hand against it. "This? It's inanimate matter. It's a rock! It's not going to hurt anyone. Come on. You've got that gun."
"No. You go. I'll wait here."
Shaking his head Beadles reentered the cliff dwelling. He stood beneath the ceiling hole, leaped and caught the upper rim with his fingers. He hoisted himself up. The floor was formed of ancient timbers laid front to back. Beadles stood and walked north to another slot window facing west. Heiroglyphs clung to the back wall. Shards of pottery lay in one corner.
Beadles' pulse pushed adelante. This was it. The Big One. He was right and they were wrong. He saw the TV interviews, the book tour, the awards. The women. He stooped to examine the drawings. The tall man stood in the center radiating squiggly lines warding off the strange invaders with bow and arrow. The invaders rode monstrous four-legged beasts and wore peaked helmets. Arrayed against them, behind the tall man was an army of scorpions and snakes.
The Maya had worshiped the feathered serpent Quetzacoatl.
Beadles stared at the display. And then it hit him.