Ancient Forces Collection (5 page)

“Yep,” Scott replied. And then, obviously enjoying his role as storyteller, he began to explain all that had happened to them . . . from Little Creek’s warnings about Dark Bear to Scott’s playing on the holy stones to the avalanche and finally to the horned figure Ryan claimed to have seen on the top of the ridge.

“You saw a guy . . . with horns?” Becka asked, feeling a sense of cold dread fill her.

“Yeah,” Ryan answered. “I mean, it was pretty fast. One second he was there; the next he was gone. But I’m sure he had horns.”

“I’m not sure what all this means,” Mom said slowly, “but I think you kids had better be a lot more careful in the future.”

The guys nodded, but Becka didn’t respond. Ryan’s last phrase had sent a chill shooting up her back and through her shoulders. It was part of her built-in warning system. One that she’d grown to trust through their many encounters with evil. She shifted her weight, trying to shake off the feeling, but it would not go away.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked. “Are you all right?”

Becka swallowed hard and looked out at the rocks. “Yesterday . . . when I almost fell off that rope bridge . . .”

“Yeah?”

“When it was all over, I looked up. And, well, I thought it was my imagination, but now . . .” She looked down. “When I looked up, I saw somebody standing on the ridge above us.”

“Really?”

Becka tried to swallow again, but this time her mouth was bone-dry. “It was like you said — he was there only for a second and then he was gone.”

As if sensing there was more, Ryan asked, “And . . . ?”

“And — ” Becka finally raised her eyes to meet Ryan’s — “on top of his head were two large horns.”

5

I
t was early in the morning when Ryan awoke — around four o’clock, according to his watch. He listened carefully, sure he’d heard something. Of course, camping out in the New Mexico mountains meant you were bound to hear lots of strange noises during the night — the howl of a coyote, the hoot of an owl, the rhythmic buzz of countless, unknown insects. But this was slightly different.

Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

There it was again. Very nearby. Almost animal, but strangely human.

Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

Now Ryan was wide-awake. He decided against waking Scott. After all, the sound wasn’t particularly threatening — and he didn’t want to seem foolish or afraid.

Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

Quietly, Ryan unzipped his sleeping bag and crawled out. He slipped on his jeans and grabbed a long-sleeved shirt for a jacket. Ever so silently, he unzipped the tent flaps and stepped out into the shadows.

The air was cool and slightly sticky. And the smells. Sage and dust and a hundred others he couldn’t recognize. The moon was nearly full, filling the desert and mountains with its light. Everything was so peaceful, so silent, so —

Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

Ryan felt his heart beat a little harder. It was definitely no animal he’d ever heard. And although he couldn’t explain why, he felt it calling.

Calling to him.

He crossed the dozen or so yards to the entrance of the campground.

Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

It sounded like it came from the side of the road. Slowing to a stop, he paused to peer into the moonlight.

Nothing. It sounded so close, and yet there was nothing.

He took in a breath to steady himself, then kept going. Maybe it was a raccoon. Or maybe it was some kind of weird bird.

Karahhh . . . Karahhh . . .

No, that was no bird. And he was nearly on top of it.

He had reached the side of the road when he saw it. Something in the shadows. Something big. And it was moving!

“I knew you’d come.”

Ryan let out a gasp as Little Creek stepped into the moonlight.

“You scared me half to death!” Ryan exclaimed.

Little Creek smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the light. “I summoned you the Indian way, and you came. You have the heart of an initiate.”

“A what?”

“A potential brave. I have seen that you are someone who may truly understand and appreciate the ways of my people. I want to show you someplace special. Will you come with me?”

Something told Ryan to refuse. It was like someone tugging at his mind — a kind of warning. But Little Creek seemed so excited . . . Before he knew it, Ryan was nodding. “Yeah. Sure.”

Again Little Creek smiled. Without another word, he turned and started down the path. Ryan joined him.

An hour later they were walking past Dark Bear’s holy place, the location of the avalanche. Ryan felt a slight chill as he looked down at the pile of rock and stone. Instinctively, he glanced up to the peak where he had seen the man with the horns, but no one was there. Maybe no one ever had been.

“This way,” Little Creek called as he disappeared into some tall weeds.

Ryan turned off the road and followed.

“Be careful — the ground drops off here.”

Ryan was grateful for the warning as the ground began such a sudden slope that he had to struggle to keep his balance.

At last Little Creek called out, “Over here.”

Ryan looked up to see the boy standing at the entrance to a small cave.

“It looks small now,” Little Creek said, “but after a few feet inside you can stand up.”

Once again Ryan felt that small tug, that sense of caution, of warning. And once again, he brushed it aside. What was wrong with checking out a cave?

“Come on.” Little Creek motioned for Ryan to follow him inside. Ryan obeyed. He had to stoop to enter. Immediately, he felt a coolness — a good fifteen to twenty degrees cooler than outside. What’s more, it was pitch-black. Fortunately Little Creek had a small flashlight, and its light reflected off the walls and ceiling. The walls rose rapidly, and after half a dozen steps Ryan was able to stand.

“How far does this thing go?” he asked.

“A very long way,” Little Creek replied. “This, too, is a holy place, so I must ask you not to show it to anyone. I’m showing it to you because I believe you have the mind to understand.”

Ryan felt himself swell a little with pride. This was quite an honor Little Creek was bestowing on him. What other secrets did he have to share?

After several more feet, Little Creek finally came to a stop. “Over there,” he said, motioning with his flashlight. “Look at that wall.”

Ryan caught his breath. On the near wall was a crude painting of an Indian brandishing a long spear and stalking a buffalo. The painting could have been a thousand years old.

“This was painted by my ancestors,” Little Creek said in almost a whisper. “We don’t know when, but legend says the brave in the
painting is Dark Bear’s great-great-grandfather.”

Ryan whistled softly. “It looks even older than that,” he said quietly.

Little Creek chuckled. “Not if you believe the other legend.”

“Other legend?”

“That, like Dark Bear, his grandfathers before him each lived to be a thousand years old.”

Ryan looked at Little Creek. “They . . . what?”

Little Creek shrugged. “It’s not impossible. Doesn’t the Bible talk about people living that long?”

“Well . . . yes, but — ”

“So if it’s in the Bible, it’s possible, isn’t it?”

Ryan nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure he believed Little Creek, but he didn’t want to argue. After all, he was in a cave in the middle of the New Mexico desert, looking at a painting that was made thousands of years ago, listening to its legends — things just didn’t get any cooler than this!

If only that small voice inside would stop nudging him, making him feel guilty, saying he should be careful . . .

He shook his head. It was a stupid feeling. There was nothing dangerous here. He was doing nothing wrong.

“Come with me,” Little Creek said, breaking into Ryan’s thoughts.

Ryan followed the boy as he turned and a few steps later rounded a small bend. The cave grew larger and larger. Now it was several times Ryan’s height, and the ceiling grew higher with every step. Soon they’d entered a huge, magnificent cavern.

“This painting has even more color,” Little Creek said as he flashed the light across the cavern to the far wall.

The light revealed the portrait of a medicine man calling down lightning. All around him other Indians cowered in fear as the thunderbolt struck the ground.

“Is this a battle scene?” Ryan asked.

“No,” Little Creek replied. “We call it
The Wrath of Shaman
. It’s supposed to be an angry medicine man calling down fire on members of the tribe who disobeyed his council.”

“Could he really do that?”

“It depends on the power of the shaman. Sometimes he also fasts and takes herbs to help him see.”

“What do you mean, ‘see’?”

“To see into the netherworld, the spirit world.”

Ryan felt a sudden chill. But this time it had nothing to do with the temperature inside the cave.

Little Creek continued, “Sometimes the shaman can see the cause of a sickness or the path to solve another person’s problem.”

“The herbs can help him do that?” Ryan asked.

Little Creek nodded. “The herbs clear his mind of the things of this world so he can focus on the supernatural. They help him get in touch with the Great Spirit.”

Ryan said nothing as they made their way out of the cave, but during the trip back to the camp, he asked Little Creek if he would teach him more about the ways of his tribe.

“Sure.” Little Creek grinned. “It’s like I said — I think you have the potential of a brave.”

Once again Ryan felt pride swelling inside his chest.

Little Creek continued, “You should try some of the tea we drink at ceremony. I bet you could also see into the supernatural.”

There was that nervous feeling again, but this time it was easy to shove it aside. There were far too many questions, too many new things to explore, to let his nerves stop him now. “Can’t you see into the supernatural without the tea?”

“Some can,” Little Creek answered. “But Dark Bear is the only one I know who can communicate with the Great Spirit without it.”

Ryan nodded. After a while he turned to his little friend with a question — a question that had been forming in his mind most of the morning. “Little Creek?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think this Great Spirit you’re always talking about . . . do you think that’s just another name for God?”

Little Creek smiled. “Sure. What else could it be?”

As the boys returned to the camp, the sun was just cresting over the eastern ridge. It was a beautiful, golden dawn. And there in the distance a dark speck was walking toward them.

“Is that . . . ?” Ryan asked. “Is that Dark Bear?”

Little Creek slowed and peered into the distance. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s Swift Arrow. He has finally returned from his time of seeking.”

“Great,” Ryan exclaimed, “that’s the guy we’re supposed to talk to. Now we’ll finally find out why we were sent here.”

“I’m sure he’s been fasting,” Little Creek said. “Why don’t you invite him to join your group for breakfast?”

“Good idea.”

An hour later Mom was dishing up bacon and eggs for the group and their newest acquaintance, Swift Arrow.

As they sat eating around the picnic table, Becka couldn’t help noticing how lean and muscular Swift Arrow was. As far as she could tell, the brave didn’t have an ounce of fat on him.

“So,” Scott asked as Becka passed around seconds, “are you a friend of Z’s?”

Swift Arrow frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize the name.”

“Z,” Scott repeated.

Swift Arrow shook his head.

“Do you surf much?”

Again Swift Arrow looked confused. “There are no large bodies of water near here . . . Even the river is dried up, so it would be difficult to — ”

“No, no,” Ryan chuckled. “He doesn’t mean surf, like ride a board. He means, do you surf the Net? You know, visit the Internet with your computer?”

Swift Arrow grinned at the mistake. “I’m afraid I don’t have a computer. Why do you ask?”

“That’s where we met Z,” Scott explained. “On the Net.”

“At least that’s where we think we met him,” Becka corrected. “But he seems to know so much personal stuff about us that we suspect we might have run into him before.”