Walker of Time

by Helen Hughes Vick

Náat, I have walked time, but not alone, Walker thought. He chuckled, thinking about the noisy bahana following him. He wondered how this city boy would like sleeping on the hard ground, not having flushable toilets, and eating who knows what? Tag thought the Hopi Reservation was primitive! Walker shook his head. Yet as Náat would say, “He has a good heart and deep courage.”

  A high-pitched shriek shattered the quiet air, echoing off the canyon walls. Walker stopped. The hair on his neck was standing on end, his scalp tightening. He could feel Tag’s fear in the air between them.

  Just as the echoing died, a second cry filled with fear pierced his ears, “Taawa . . .”

  “This way,” called Walker over his shoulder, bounding down the trail. “It’s coming from farther down.”

  Walker heard Tag exclaim, “Never a dull minute around here.”

  Walker sprinted down the path, scanning the area around and below the trail, trying to locate the sound. The echo had died; the canyon air was still. He saw the fork in the trail ahead, and his feet slowed. His mind questioned. Which way? Up toward the cliff dwellings or down deeper in the canyon?

  In answer, the strange, haunting feeling filled his mind. “Down, down,” it prompted with an almost overpowering intensity.

  Walker started down the chosen path. He turned his head to look back at Tag. The bahana’s big feet were kicking up rocks and dust, half-running, half-tripping down the steep trail.

  “Great Taawa, have pity on this noisy bahana . . . protect him,” prayed Walker.

  The path was getting steeper now, leading down and around a deep limestone overhang. Walker’s moccasins slipped. He skidded to a stop at the outside edge of the path. Catching his breath, Walker looked down over the ledge and saw the winding trail below.

  A thin, petite girl with blue-black hair flowing almost to her waist stood frozen on the path below. Her slim arms crossed her chest. Her eyes were squeezed closed. Her lips formed a straight, tight line of fear across her oval-shaped face. Yet Walker could hear the soft rhythmic humming sound of an old familiar prayer song. A rattling sound accompanied the girl’s soft humming, sending a cold shiver racing up Walker’s backbone. In the middle of the trail, coiled just a few inches from the girl’s sandaled feet, was a huge rattlesnake.

  Looking down at the snake poised to strike, Walker’s heart thundered in his throat. A cold shudder shook his body like an earthquake. His palms were as wet as if he had just washed them.

  Yet in the same instant, the distinctive rattling sound, accompanied by the rhythmic humming, flooded Walker’s mind with vivid memories, unforgettable sounds, and keenly sharp images.

  Walker’s ears seemed to fill with the beat of cotton-wood drums, gourd rattles shaking, and deep, throaty singing. In his mind’s eye, Walker again experienced the annual Hopi Snake Dance at his village.

  He saw a long, double line of Hopi Snake Priests dancing almost side by side in the village plaza. Each dancer was dressed in a knee-length, dark brown, leather kilt with a black snake painted around the bottom. Thick, white, woven sashes were tied around the priests’ waists. From the back of each sash hung a red fox pelt. The priests’ bare chests were painted reddish-brown and were hung heavy with turquoise jewelry. White eagle feathers tied in their long, black hair fluttered in the air. With each of the dancers’ steps, Walker heard the unforgettable clacking sound of the tortoise shell rattles tied to the back of each dancer’s right knee.

  Walker narrowed his mental picture to a single pair of dancers in the snakelike line. The priests’ faces were painted brown with white lightning flashes down their cheeks. A cold shiver shook Walker’s body as he visualized a live rattlesnake held firmly but gently in the mouth of one of the dancers. The poisonous snake was held just below its flat head, with its eyes flattened against the priest’s painted cheek.

  Walker tried to focus his memory on the snake priest’s partner, the teaser. The teaser danced slightly behind and to the right of the priest holding the snake. The teaser’s left arm came around the other dancer’s right shoulder holding him tightly. In the teaser’s right hand was a carved branch about a foot long. White-tipped eagle feathers were tied to the end of it. Holding the snake whip close to the snake’s head, the teaser stroked, distracted, and mesmerized the snake with the movement of the sacred eagle feathers. Walker knew that only the teaser’s harmonious thoughts and skill with the whip kept both dancers from being bitten by the deadly snake.

  Hearing Tag’s heavy footsteps, Walker’s mind snapped back to the present. He turned to see the bahana running down the trail toward him. In one swift motion, he moved away from the ledge and put his index finger to his lips.

  Tag’s mouth closed before any sound could escape. His big feet stopped short, jerking his tall body forward.

  With his right index finger still against his lips, Walker motioned with his left hand for him to come. With short, quick steps, Tag moved up next to him. He pointed over the trail’s edge to the girl below.

  Tag’s face grew pale. He whispered, “What are we going to do?”

  “How good a shot are you with a rock?” asked Walker, sliding his backpack off, opening it.

  “You have got to be kidding!” Tag exclaimed, turning to look at Walker.

  Walker pulled out the prayer stick and started to unwrap it. “Once we get close enough, I’ll use the paho to distract the . . .”

  “Hey, wait just a minute,” interrupted Tag, in a harsh whisper. His eyes were like bowling balls. “I’ve heard about how you Hopis dance with live rattlesnakes in your mouths as a religious thing. But remember, I’m just a dumb white kid!”

  “The eagle is the snake’s mortal enemy; its feathers have special power over it.” Walker laid the paho on the ground at his feet. He buckled the backpack closed. “Once the snake is mesmerized by the movement of the feathers, you just smash it with a rock,” Walker instructed. Then flashing a grin, he added, “A big one, please.”

  He put his backpack on, picked up the paho in his right hand and started down the trail. He could hear Tag mumbling, “ ‘Just smash it with a rock,’ he says.”

  A minute later, he heard Tag huffing behind him on the trail. Walker glanced back over his shoulder. The bahana was lugging a football-sized rock.

  The trail went around a large boulder, then turned sharply down toward where the girl stood. Walker stopped on the trail about ten feet above the girl to wait for the bahana.

  Tag’s breath was coming in short gulps. He stopped next to Walker. “Are you sure this is going to work?” he whispered in between breaths.

  “Think good thoughts, happy thoughts; Taawa will guide you,” answered Walker. “Move very slowly and quietly. Try to stay just behind me.”

  With the paho in his outstretched right hand, Walker stepped toward the coiled snake. The snake’s threatening rattle thundered in the air as he moved closer.

  Walker’s mind raced, trying to recall every detail of how the teasers moved and twisted the snake whip to make the feathers flutter and dance. In all the years he had watched the sacred ritual, had he ever seen a priest bitten by a snake?

  He now could see the beady eyes in the snake’s black-masked face. Its coiled, olive-yellow body was covered with leopardlike black designs. Six rattles shook on its black-tipped tail.

  “Great Taawa, forgive your son for using the holy paho to kill my brother the snake,” prayed Walker, moving closer. “Guide my hand . . . and the friendly bahana’s, too.”

  The girl’s humming seemed to echo Walker’s silent prayer. Her eyes were still closed tight. She seemed unaware of him.

  Walker could hear Tag moving right behind him. Holding the paho out before him, he crouched down, almost kneeling forward. He started to move the prayer stick back and forth. Its eagle feathers fluttered gently in the hot air. With each cautious step, Walker twisted, turned, and swayed the paho. An age-old song rose within him. In deep, throaty tones, he sang the sacred words that had been sung for hundreds of years by the Hopi Snak
e Priests as they sought rain for their crops.

  Walker’s eyes focused on the coils just a foot or so before him. The snake’s masked head bolted around to face him, its blind eyes seared toward him. The snake’s forked tongue darted in and out, licking the scents in the air. The eagle feathers danced. The snake’s eyes jerked from Walker’s face to the paho. Its head followed the dancing movement of its enemy’s feathers as it came closer and closer, inch by inch.

  6

  Walker’s heart hammered against his chest. Only the sacred words of the ancient prayer song that he sang prevented total fear from invading his body and soul. As he twisted and turned the paho in his shaking hand, the eagle feathers danced with a simple grace, luring the rattlesnake’s complete attention.

  Walker felt Tag’s quick movement beside him. The football-sized rock came smashing down toward the snake. The ancient song died in Walker’s throat as the snake’s head was crushed.

  “Taawa, thank you,” Walker prayed silently. He looked up at the girl. Staring down at the dead snake, her almond-shaped, black eyes were wide with astonished confusion.

  She was about Walker’s age. Her beautiful oval face was thin with full lips and high cheek bones. Straight bangs hung just above her dark, expressive eyebrows. Her waist-length, blue-black hair glistened in the bright sunshine. She wore a short shirt of yellow handwoven cloth. Draped over her right shoulder was a loose-fitting yellow mantle that came down to the top of her skirt. She wore a thin, white shell bracelet around her left wrist. A strand of very small turquoise beads hung around her graceful neck.

  Watching the girl’s lovely but terrified face staring down at the snake, Walker stood upright. The girl’s eyes flashed up from the snake into his eyes. The haunting feeling washed over Walker in a huge wave. His head felt dizzy, out of focus. There seemed to be no air in his lungs.

  The girl’s eyes filled with a new type of fear. She bolted down the trail. Walker gulped for air and started after her before she could get far.

  “Sewa—little sister,” Walker said in Hopi, reaching out touching her shoulder. “We come in peace.”

  The girl stopped. She turned, looking up into Walker’s eyes. Again the mysterious feeling came over Walker. Deep inside he knew that in some way, this beautiful young girl was a part of the reason he had walked time.

  “Thank you for killing the snake,” she said, looking down at her sandals. Her voice was quiet yet strong, with a musical quality to it. Her words were strange but very Hopi sounding. Yet deep in his mind the language was familiar; Walker could understand what she was saying.

  Without looking up she asked, “Who are you people?”

  Walker smiled. “Hopi.”

  “Hopi?” asked the girl, bringing up her eyes.

  “Yes. It means People of Peace. We live on the tall mesas northeast of the sacred mountain.” Walker found himself somehow speaking the words in the girl’s own language.

  The girl nodded, again lowering her eyes.

  “Hey, Walker, what did she say?” Tag asked. It had taken him a minute or two to pull himself back together after smashing the snake.

  At the sound of Tag’s voice, the girl jerked her head up. Walker realized that she was seeing the bahana for the first time. Her eyes widened as she looked at his freckled face. A smile crept across her lips. She stared at Tag’s curly, wild hair. A giggle escaped her mouth. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand and lowered her eyes.

  “Is he Hopi, too?”

  “No. Tag is bahana, white. He is a friend. He is the one who smashed the snake,” Walker said, nodding at Tag.

  Moving down next to Walker, Tag asked, “What did she say?”

  “She said thank you for killing the snake,” Walker replied, still looking at the girl.

  “Nothing to it, just like you said,” stated Tag, grinning down at the pretty girl next to him. “Who is she? How can you understand her?”

  “Her language is almost like Hopi.” Walker was glad that Tag hadn’t asked how he knew how to speak this strange yet familiar language. He didn’t know himself.

  Walker asked, “What are you called?”

  The girl looked up. “Len’-mah-nah.”

  The hair on the back of Walker’s neck prickled. He felt the blood drain out of his face. He looked back at the snake. “Her name is Flute Maiden,” Walker managed to say.

  At the strained sound of Walker’s voice, Tag turned to him. “Are you okay? You look a bit shaky all of a sudden.”

  “I’m okay. It is just that the Flute Maidens are the holy ones that . . . that . . . They are deeply involved with the snake dance. They—Oh, I’ll explain it all later.” Walker felt flustered, almost angry. He wished the bahana would quit asking questions. Turning to Flute Maiden, he said, “I’m Walker, and this is Tag.”

  Flute Maiden nodded. Her face became serious, her voice low. “The men are guarding the trails into the canyon. They are not letting any traders or people from other places in. How did you get here?”

  “We came by lightning,” answered Walker.

  He saw Flute Maiden’s eyes grow large again. She stared back at the dead snake. She looked back at Walker. Her eyes fell upon the eagle pendant hanging on his bare chest. She drew in her breath, biting her bottom lip. Her searching eyes quickly dropped to Walker’s feet.

  What was she looking at? wondered Walker. Feeling uncomfortable, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Was she staring at his moccasins or maybe the red birthmark on his right ankle? He shifted his feet again.

  Flute Maiden gazed back into Walker’s eyes. A gentle smile played on her lips. She nodded her head slightly. “You must be very careful,” she said in almost a whisper. “Times are dangerous, very dangerous for our people. That is why no one but our own are allowed in the canyon. Come, we cannot stay here. It is not safe.” Flute Maiden turned, and hurried down the trail.

  “Come on, Tag. She says it’s dangerous here,” Walker said, starting after her.

  “Dangerous? What could be more dangerous than rattlesnakes?” Tag asked, his hands on his hips. He looked at the snake, then at the two hurrying down the trail. Waving his hand, he called, “Hey, wait for me. By the way, did she say what was for lunch?”

  Within fifty feet, Flute Maiden left the trail and went into a thin clump of weathered pine trees. Dry pine needles fell on Walker as he pushed through the boughs. On the other side of the trees, Walker could see that they were on another path of some kind. Flute Maiden moved quickly over the rocks and around the sage and cacti in her way. But Walker had to watch his footing. They were climbing upward again. By the general direction they were taking, he knew that they must be doubling back toward the cliff dwellings.

  “Where in the heck are we going?” asked Tag. His foot slipped on a rock. It went rolling down the side of the canyon. “They must have better trails than this to get to the ruins—I mean their homes.”

  “This must be a back entrance of some kind. I don’t think many people go this way.” Walker said, looking back at Tag.

  “I can see why!”

  “Shhh,” hissed Flute Maiden as she stopped and turned toward them, shaking her head. Looking at Tag’s big grin, she shrugged her shoulders. She scrambled up and over a limestone ledge and disappeared.

  Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Tag whispered, “Just like a mountain goat.”

  “Naw—she just doesn’t have big feet like you bahanas. Come on, let’s go before we get lost,” Walker said, starting to climb up the steep ledge.

  “Get lost! We are zapped back in time, seven hundred and umpteen years, and he’s worried about getting lost.”

  7

  Reaching the top of the ledge, Walker saw Flute Maiden standing at the base of a deep limestone overhang. She motioned for him to hurry. Behind him, he could hear Tag muttering something about getting lost.

  When he reached Flute Maiden, Walker saw a single mud-and-rock dwelling built under the limestone overhang. Without speaking, Flute Maid
en slipped into the narrow doorway. Walker wiped the sweat off his forehead as he waited for Tag. For having such long legs, he sure did not move very fast, thought Walker. Seeing Tag almost trip, he realized that Tag was not really slow, just clumsy. Walker chuckled. Around all these steep cliffs, though, just being clumsy could be very dangerous.

  “I’ve never seen this ruin—I mean house before,” Tag exclaimed, catching up with Walker. “I know I would remember it since it is out here all alone. Most ruins—I mean houses—were built in small clusters. This one must not have survived all the years,” Tag said, bending almost in half to follow Walker through the low door.

  When Walker’s eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, he could see that the room was very small, only about five feet by three feet. The air was cool and dry.

  “Walker, this ruin doesn’t smell like the rest of the ruins—it doesn’t smell lived in or even old,” Tag said, moving in next to Walker.

  “It’s a storage room.” Walker pointed with his chin, “Look.”

  Brownware jars of different sizes were lined up against the back wall. The largest jars were about three feet tall and a good yard wide in the middle. The smallest jars were about ten inches high and a few inches wide. Large one- to three-foot-tall, plain yucca baskets lined the other walls.

  “I bet this room probably didn’t even survive the very earliest pot hunters,” said Tag, his eyes wide. “This is a pot hunter’s grandest dream come true. Do you know how much just one of those jars or baskets would be worth on the black market today—I mean back in the future?”

  “Shh,” answered Walker, sitting down on the dirt floor. His eyes followed Flute Maiden, who was searching among the baskets. She pulled out something, looked at it, shook her head, and returned it to the basket. She started to rummage through another basket.

  Easing himself down next to Walker, Tag asked, “What’s she doing?”

  Walker didn’t answer. The haunting feeling suddenly whirlwinded around him. He closed his eyes, letting the feeling sweep through his body. A vague image swirled around and started to take form in his mind.