Walker of Time

by Helen Hughes Vick

  Three women with water jugs sat by the pool talking. They appeared to be between sixteen and nineteen years old. All were dressed similarly to Flute Maiden. A small, bare baby sat playing near one of the women.

  “Running Boy, Gray Rabbit, Little Cloud!” Small Cub called to a group of small, naked boys playing on the nearby boulders. “Come! Come see! I have brought the speckled stranger!” Small Cub scrambled past the others, running ahead to his friends.

  Flute Maiden led the way to the edge of the pool. She spoke to each woman by name. In turn, she introduced them to Walker and Tag. Walker saw fear in all the women’s faces.

  By this time Small Cub and his friends had surrounded Tag, with Small Cub chattering like a magpie. “Come with us,” Small Cub cried, pulling on Tag’s hand and pointing to where the boys had been playing in the boulders. His friends stood a few steps away. Their eyes were wide with wonder staring at Tag.

  “Okay, okay,” said Tag, nodding his head. He took the water jug off his shoulder and handed it to Walker. “I have to admit that it’s sort of fun being the center of this kind of attention.” He grinned, taking Small Cub’s hand. “Let’s go.” Small Cub led Tag away and the other boys cautiously followed a few steps behind.

  “Be careful,” called one of the women; worry flashed across her face.

  “Tag will watch over them, Bright Star,” said Flute Maiden. “How is your husband’s leg?”

  Still watching her son, Bright Star answered, “Better, since he is using the medicine you gave him.” Seeing that her son was safe, she smiled at Flute Maiden. “Thanks to you, it is almost healed. He is even working in the fields now.”

  Walker moved a few feet away from the women. Kneeling down, he began filling the water jugs while listening to the women chat. Within minutes, the tension in the air had lifted. Again Flute Maiden had set the fearful minds at ease.

  Taking the last jug out of the water, Walker set it down beside him. He sat back and watched Flute Maiden as she visited with the others. Her face seemed to shine with an inner serenity and harmony. Her movements were fluid, graceful, and self-assured. The strange but now familiar feeling reached its fingers into Walker’s mind, but this time with a soothing touch. He felt that he had known this beautiful ancient girl all of his life. He was at ease with her ways and thoughts. He closed his eyes, letting the feeling calm his mind and heart.

  A harsh voice shattered the quiet moment. “So, again I find you with helpless women and children.”

  Walker’s newly found inner harmony crumpled. Throwing open his eyes, he saw Gray Wolf and three of his men standing a few feet away. Gray Wolf’s fingers were white as he clutched his long spear shaft. Waves of hatred rolled off him. Walker rose to his feet, never letting his eyes leave Gray Wolf’s twisted face.

  “Of course, women’s and children’s spirits are the easiest to steal,” Gray Wolf snarled, taking menacing steps forward, “or are you using your witchcraft to poison our water?”

  Walker heard frightened gasps and whispers from the women behind him. His heart hammered in his chest.

  “Maybe you should try stealing my spirit,” snarled Gray Wolf, springing at Walker. He smashed the butt of the spear shaft into Walker’s ribs, knocking him into the pool.

  Anger, along with the natural instinct to fight, blazed in Walker even before he landed backward in the cold water. The rocks he landed on were hard. In an instant, he was back on his feet standing in the ankle-deep water. Gray Wolf stood poised with his spear, waiting for Walker to counterattack.

  Waiting to kill you, the realization crashed through Walker’s anger into his logic, to kill you in self-defense. With water running down his tense back, Walker clenched his fist and his teeth. He squared his shoulders. Looking straight into Gray Wolf’s hate-filled eyes, he stated loud enough for all to hear, “I have come in peace, and in peace I will remain here.”

  A startled cry shattered the hot air. “My baby, my baby!”

  Turning, Walker saw Bright Star cradling her toddler. The child’s face was a bluish color. Its eyes were closed.

  “She was just playing with a rock, but now she’s not breathing!” screamed Bright Star, shaking the limp child. “She’s not breathing!”

  “The witch!” screeched Gray Wolf, lifting his spear toward Walker. “The witch has stolen the child’s spirit!”

  14

  Walker and Flute Maiden reached the mother, who was holding the limp child, at the same time. “The rocks—she must have swallowed one of the rocks,” Flute Maiden said, reaching for the child.

  “Give her to me,” Walker said. In one quick movement he took the child from the mother’s arm and turned her around so that her back was against his chest, her head and shoulder slumping forward. Just below the baby’s tiny rib cage, Walker pressed his finger tips with a jerking motion. Nothing happened. He repeated the squeezing motion a bit more firmly. A marble-sized rock popped out of the child’s mouth and fell to the ground.

  Walker could hear the child’s mother crying, the frightened women murmuring, and Gray Wolf screaming words about witchcraft and death.

  Walker quickly turned the baby around in his arms. Her small face was bluish-gray; no breath lifted her tiny chest. “She’s still not breathing on her own,” Walker cried, feeling panic rise in his chest.

  From out of nowhere, Tag appeared. His large hands took the tiny, lifeless child in his arms. Kneeling down, he laid the baby on her back. Putting his fingers into the small mouth, he opened it and tilted the head back. He lowered his mouth over the baby’s mouth and nose and blew air in. He raised his head, listened for a few seconds, then puffed again into the blue lips.

  A small cough escaped through the baby’s mouth, then a small gasp for air, and then another. In seconds, the baby’s color was returning, her chest lifting and falling on its own. The tiny, black eyes opened. Seeing Tag, the baby started to whimper, then howl.

  “It’s okay, little one,” Tag said, lifting the baby off the ground. Bright Star, tears streaming down her worried face, eagerly took her daughter into her arms.

  One of Gray Wolf’s men moved up next to Bright Star and put his arm around her. His face was distorted with both worry and relief. He reached out to touch his daughter’s tiny hand as she cried. Walker could see tears in the man’s eyes. The man looked at Tag. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

  Bright Star, still cradling the baby, sat down on a nearby rock, trying to soothe her crying. Her husband followed her, kneeling down in front of her, softly talking to the baby.

  Walker looked at Flute Maiden. Her eyes were shining with tears, but her face held a look of pride. She nodded her head and smiled.

  “Very clever, very clever,” growled Gray Wolf, who was standing a few feet from them. “Stealing the baby’s spirit, then blowing it back.” He laughed deep within his chest. “Witches, the both of you. Now we have the proof!” He spun around and started up the path with one of his men following.

  Gray Wolf’s third man stood watching Bright Star and her family. Confusion and bewilderment twisted his face. His intense eyes moved from Walker to Tag and then darted back to the baby who was now eating at her mother’s breast. He shook his head in uncertainty but made no move to follow Gray Wolf.

  “Let’s get the water jugs and get back up to Great Owl’s,” Walker whispered to Tag, “before Gray Wolf comes back with a lynch mob.” His heart was still thundering against his chest. His stomach felt as if it were tied into a double knot. The feeling of relief for the baby was overpowered by fear and doubts. What would he have done if Gray Wolf had continued his attack? Could he have defended himself against him? True, he had been a champion on the school’s wrestling team, but he knew it wasn’t a friendly wrestling match that Gray Wolf wanted. What chance would he have against a spear or a stone knife? Remembering the red cornmeal, the food of the dead, that Náat had put in his backpack, a shiver raced up Walker’s spine. He felt sure now that it had been sent for his grave.

  The sun�
�s rays were beginning to fade by the time they had climbed back up the long, steep trail to Great Owl’s home. Leading the group, Walker saw Great Owl sitting on a mat outside his home. He sat facing the setting sun, his eyes closed in prayer. At the sound of Small Cub’s chatter, the black eyes opened. His head turned toward them.

  “Grandfather, Grandfather,” cried Small Cub, running ahead of the others. “Bright Star’s baby’s spirit escaped! Tag caught it and blew it back into the baby!”

  Walker saw Great Owl’s eyes widen slightly. “Small Cub, your mother needs the water in your jug. Please take it to her,” Great Owl said.

  “But Tag . . .” Small Cub started, but seeing the stern look in his grandfather’s face, he nodded. Without another word, he climbed through the door of his home.

  Tag was huffing and puffing when he reached Great Owl. He wiped the sweat off his dusty forehead. “What a climb, not to mention carrying this heavy jug full of water,” he groaned, taking the jug from his sagging shoulder. Holding the jug in his arms, he flopped down on the ground and leaned back against the stone wall of Great Owl’s home.

  A smile spread across Great Owl’s wrinkled face as he looked at the tired, panting bahana with his long, white, freckled legs sprawled out in front of him. His eyes peered at Tag. His smile became a tight line across his face. What is Great Owl seeing? wondered Walker, watching the two. Could Great Owl see Tag going back to his parents? Or was he seeing Tag’s life coming to an end here? Walker’s scalp tingled. He didn’t want to know what lay ahead for Tag or himself.

  “Here, Tag, I’ll take the jug in,” Walker said, taking the jug out of Tag’s arms. He followed Flute Maiden into the house.

  Walker found Great Owl still intently studying Tag’s face when he returned. Tag still leaned against the house. His eyes were closed, his face calm. From the sound of Tag’s slow, shallow breathing, Walker knew that his friend had fallen asleep. He sat down next to Tag, easing his tired back against the rough wall.

  Feeling Great Owl’s eyes on him, Walker stared straight ahead, not wanting to meet the old Seer’s gaze. The smell of cooking fires drifted in the air. Sounds of tired voices mingled with the song of a chickadee. The air was cooling down. The canyon’s harsh, rocky cliffs mellowed in the late-day shadows. Walker closed his eyes. Náat, my uncle, you have sent me here. What must I do here, among these people that seem so much like our Hopi brothers and sisters?

  The sound of excited voices started to ripple in the evening air. Walker opened his eyes and listened as they seemed to draw near. He looked over at Great Owl. The Seer’s eyes still rested on him yet seemed to be hundreds of miles or years away.

  “Son of Great Bear!”

  “Son of Great Bear is coming.”

  “But he travels alone.”

  “Lone Eagle is not with him!” The news was being called from one home to the next, the anxious words being carried on the wind.

  Small Cub rushed out his door, his smiling face filled with excitement. His mother followed more slowly. Her eyes, filled with worried anticipation, looked down the trail. Resting her hands on her huge belly, she rubbed them together.

  Flute Maiden came out of her door and peered down the trail. Using his staff, Great Owl struggled to his feet and moved to her side. Walker nudged Tag and stood up to look down the trail.

  “What?” asked Tag in a drowsy voice, looking around. “I was just getting comfortable.” Hearing the relay of calls and seeing everyone standing and watching the trail, he tried to scramble to his feet. “I’m stiff all over,” he mumbled, finally getting his long, thin body up. “What’s happening?” he asked, at Walker’s elbow.

  Before Walker could answer, a man came into view on the trail. He was a little taller than Walker, muscular, yet thin at the same time. His long, black hair, with a white eagle feather tied in it, flowed down to his waist. He had a handsome, square face with heavy eyebrows above large, quick, black eyes. He carried a spear in one arm and a bow slung over the opposite shoulder. His face, chest, and legs were caked with dust and sweat. He took long sure strides toward them.

  “Father, Father!” cried Small Cub, running down the trail toward the man.

  Son of Great Bear raised a hand in greeting to the others. He swept Small Cub up into his arms, hugging him. “Well, my son, you have grown a foot since I left last moon!” his words carried in the wind.

  Clinging to his father’s neck, Small Cub squealed, “I have grown. I have. I can run faster than Running Boy! Well, almost.”

  Laughing, Son of Great Bear set his son down. Taking his small son’s hand and moving up the trail, he said, “That I must see.”

  “And we have strangers—visitors at our house. Well, Grandfather’s house. One is all speckled and talks in strange words, and he . . .”

  “Hush, my son,” said Son of Great Bear, a few feet from his home.

  Walker felt the man scrutinizing him as he walked closer to the group of people waiting for him. After a few seconds, Son of Great Bear’s eyes darted toward Tag. They grew wider and more concerned. Then his gaze fell upon Morning Flower. A smile flashed across his face. His steps became faster.

  While Walker watched Son of Great Bear greet Morning Flower with a warm hug, he whispered to Tag, “It’s Morning Flower’s husband, Son of Great Bear. He must have been with Chief Lone Eagle, on the sacred mountain. For some reason, he has come back without him.”

  “Do you think the chief is dead or something?” asked Tag. Before Walker could answer, they heard someone approaching in the opposite direction. Turning, he saw White Badger and Scar Cheek coming up the trail from the hidden entrance. Both their faces held anxious concern.

  “Son of Great Bear! Welcome back,” said White Badger, taking long strides toward his brother-in-law. Scar Cheek stopped next to Walker, but his total attention was on the other two men.

  “It is good to be back with our family,” replied Son of Great Bear with a bright smile, “and to find all is well here.” His face became suddenly solemn. He reached out to place his hand on White Badger’s shoulder. “I have an important message for you, the Warrior Chief of our people,” his voice was low and grave. Turning his head to face Great Owl, he continued, “I also have one for you, father-in-law. Both are concerning Lone Eagle.” Tears sparkled in his eyes.

  The mysterious feeling rushed toward Walker, engulfing him in a giant wave, whispering, “Death is near . . .”

  15

  They sat in a close circle in the center of Great Owl’s home. Light from the small fire in the cooking pit flickered and swayed, casting eerie shadows against the limestone walls. A small, ceramic bowl with a lighted wick floating in some sort of dark, thick fat was placed in the middle of the circle. From its illumination, Walker could see the faces around him.

  Son of Great Bear’s handsome, strong face was lined with fatigue from his hurried journey home. His eyes held uncertainty as he stole quick glances at Tag, Walker, and the turquoise pendant hanging on Walker’s chest.

  White Badger talked in whispers to Son of Great Bear. There were signs of tension around his mouth and eyes. It was plain to see that he was anxious to hear his brother-in-law’s message.

  Tag looked tired, yet alert and curious. He had eaten his share of stew and small corncakes. With his hunger stilled, he seemed eager to get on with Son of Great Bear’s news. Walker had been given permission to translate all that was to be said to him.

  Flute Maiden’s face seemed even more delicate and beautiful in the dim, flickering light. Only her lips, pressed together, showed any indication of concern. Meeting Walker’s glance, she smiled. The candlelight danced and twinkled in her dark eyes.

  Great Owl’s face was unreadable. He sat as the others, with his legs crossed in front of him, his hands resting on his knees. His black eyes stared into the glow of the candle. Walker gazed into the small flame, trying to see what Great Owl’s eyes saw. All he could see was the small, yellow gleam burning against the darkness.

  Soft
voices outside the doorway brought Walker’s head up. Morning Flower crawled through the low entrance. “Small Cub is finally asleep. With so much happening today, he had a hard time.” With Son of Great Bear’s help, she sat down next to him. Walker saw love in her eyes as she looked into her husband’s face. “Scar Cheek is outside the door. He will listen for Small Cub,” she said.

  And, he will keep watch to make sure that no one is spying on us, thought Walker, feeling tension starting to build within his body.

  Since the moment of his return, Son of Great Bear had not been alone with family. Men and women had flocked to welcome him home. Some came seeking news of their husbands or sons who were still on the sacred mountain; all came to hear news of their chief, Lone Eagle.

  Son of Great Bear had greeted each person with warmth and confidence. He gave assurances to all that the men were on their way back home, but nothing had been said about Lone Eagle.

  He had met Gray Wolfs hostile assault of prying questions and vehement demands with an unshakable strength and calmness. He did not give Gray Wolf any more information than he gave the others. At last Gray Wolf, his face twisted in anger, had left.

  Now after eating a quick meal and with Scar Cheek standing guard outside, Son of Great Bear was about to deliver his messages. He looked across to his father-in-law. “Great Owl, I will deliver Lone Eagle’s message to you first.” Son of Great Bear’s voice was low but strong. “I, Lone Eagle, send greetings to Great Owl, my good friend of many years . . .”

  By the intonation of Son of Great Bear’s voice, Walker could tell that he had memorized the chief’s verbal message word by word. Walker whispered the translation to Tag.