Walker of Time (16 page)

Turning to his brother-in-law, White Badger instructed, “You must stay here with your family, Son of Great Bear. I will stop at Arrow Maker's home to let him know that you are here. Send word through him if there is any trouble.”

Arrow Maker greeted them at his door. “Welcome. Welcome,” he said.

Walker recognized Arrow Maker as the man with the yellow cape and the limp who had told Scar Cheek about the men meeting at the fort yesterday. Without his long cape on, Walker could now see that Arrow Maker's right leg was thinner and shorter than his left leg. His left shoulder hunched forward from a large hump on his back. “Sit. Sit,” he said, easing himself down with some difficulty onto a mat just outside his doorway.

White Badger knelt down beside the middle-aged man. The others did the same, making a small circle.

“You need arrows,” said Arrow Maker, and a proud smile filled his small, round face. A neat row of smooth,
straight arrow shafts lay near him on one side. On the other side was a tidy line of completed arrows with sharp, black obsidian arrowheads. Spread out in front of him was a leather cloth with the tools of his trade lying on it. Arrow Maker picked up one of the unfinished shafts and began working on it with a small, stone knife.

Walker heard Tag catch his breath. He knew without even looking that Tag's eyes were bulging at what he was seeing.

“Yes, my friend, we need arrows. Tomorrow we will leave before sunrise to hunt. Since we must have only the truest of arrows, we come to you, of course,” said White Badger, with a smile in his voice. Leaning close to Arrow Maker, he reached down and picked up a completed arrow. While inspecting it, he continued in a low voice. “We will be in the fields today. Our visitors will be with us, but Son of Great Bear will remain behind with his family.
Others
will remain behind, too, I am sure.”

The tone of White Badger's voice made Arrow Maker look up from his work. It was clear that he had understood White Badger. He nodded. His eyes glanced toward Tag. Tag flashed him a friendly grin, which Arrow Maker returned. He turned to Walker, still smiling. He noticed the eagle pendant around Walker's neck. Arrow Maker's eyes widened, his thin lips becoming a firm, straight line across his face. He studied the turquoise pendant. His mouth opened slightly as if he were about to say something to Walker.

Instead, Arrow Maker turned to White Badger and Scar Cheek. “My son will stay here and work with me today. He is helping his mother get water now, but he will be back soon. His legs are fast and strong for one only eight summers. He will find you if you are needed here,” Arrow Maker's voice was a whisper.

“Good,” said White Badger in a normal tone. “These are excellent arrows, as always.”

Arrow Maker laughed. “As always—of course.” He reached down and picked up the finished arrows. Their sharp, black points caught the morning light. “Will this be enough?”

Taking the arrows, White Badger answered, “For now, yes, but there may be a need for more soon.”

Arrow Maker nodded his head in understanding, and a worried look washed over his face. Walker's scalp tightened as a chill worked its way up his back.

“Walker, ask him if I can come back sometime to watch him make arrows,” Tag whispered, his voice full of excitement.

“My friend admires your work,” Walker said, nodding toward the unfinished arrows. “He would like to come back and watch you work.”

A grin spread across Arrow Maker's face. “My legs and back are crooked and weak, but these hands,” he said, lifting his hands up, “can make arrows that shoot straight and true.”

“You also make the keenest spearheads and the best knives in the village,” added Scar Cheek.

Arrow Maker chuckled with pleasure. “Tell your friend that I would be honored if he came back anytime. I will teach him all he wants to know.”

Walker translated his offer to Tag. “Great! Tell him I will be back as soon as I can. Learning to make arrows—I can't believe it!” Tag exclaimed. “This is getting better and better.”

Watching the bahana's excitement, Arrow Maker grinned and nodded his head. Tag had won another friend, thought Walker.

As they rose to leave, Arrow Maker reached out and touched Walker's arm. “Wait,” he said in a firm voice. Walker paused. Arrow Maker reached into a leather pouch sitting next to his tools. He drew out a six-inch black stone. Handing it to Walker, he said, “You will need a good knife.”

Walker looked down at the crude weapon in his hand. The black obsidian had been flaked at one end to fit into a hand snugly. The other end had been shaped and sharpened to a fine point. He ran his finger along the sharp edge of the knife to its point. It was simplistic, undeveloped, but it would be very effective in skinning a rabbit or deer. It would also offer a degree of protection. Walker turned it over in his hand. It fit perfectly. He was stunned by Arrow Maker's generosity.

Before Walker could speak, Arrow Maker handed a second knife to Tag. It was smaller, but still a formidable tool and weapon. Tag was speechless as he examined his gift. “I can't believe it, just can't believe it,” he finally said in almost a whisper. “Thank you—thank you.” His grin covered his freckled face.

Walker slipped his knife under the thick, leather thong around his waist. The keen blade lay against the brown buckskin loincloth that White Badger had lent him to wear. Its black polished surface almost glistened in the sun. “We owe you much for these beautiful knives,” Walker said to Arrow Maker. “Thank you.”

“You will earn them, I think,” Arrow Maker said with a strange sound of confidence in his voice.

The image of Gray Wolf's lean face flashed through Walker's mind, followed by the vision of the black knife bathed in bright red blood.

Walker was glad that he was wearing the short, leather loincloth instead of the long leggings that Náat had sent with him. Even though it was still early morning, the sun's rays were very hot.

Walker felt anxious following White Badger up the steep, narrow path leading to the rim of the canyon. It would be good to be out of the limestone walls and to be able to see the sacred mountain once more. What would it look like now, seven hundred years ago? he wondered.

With no physical warning, they crested the canyon's rim. White Badger stopped to talk to the man standing guard at the trail head. As they talked, the man's deeply slant eyes kept glancing at Walker and Tag, his fingers gripping his spear. Walker could see suspicion and fear in the man's face.

“Gosh,” gasped Tag, looking around. “I can't believe the difference!” Taking a few steps, with his arms making a sweeping motion, he continued. “This used to be—I mean
this will be—forest for as far as you can see. But now it's just, just . . .”

“Rocky, dry farmland,” finished Walker, brushing a strand of hair out of his sweaty face.

The area nearby had been cleared of rocks and neatly terraced. Groups of men and boys were working among the crops planted in the different terraces. Around the terraces, the earth became studded with mounds of limestone rocks. Cacti and sage were the only vegetation growing among the rocks.

Walker shaded his eyes from the sun looking toward the San Francisco Peaks. His breath caught in his throat. The silhouette of the sacred mountain, made up of its three, partially coned-shaped, volcanic peaks, was the same as he had always known it. But the mountain's face and sides were alien to him. Instead of being covered with the green softness of thick forest, its sides were hardened black with deep, massive lava flows. The holy mountain stood out harsh and hostile looking against the brilliant blue sky. A thin layer of clouds shrouded the mountain's top. Small batches of puffy clouds floated away from the blanket of clouds lying on the highest peaks.

“I just can't believe it,” Tag repeated. “Everything is so different. The only things that look the least bit familiar are the clouds on the San Francisco Peaks.”

“Not clouds; Kachinas,” whispered Walker so quietly that his friend couldn't hear his words. He wouldn't take time now to explain to this twentieth-century bahana that the clouds leaving the sacred mountain were actually the friendly spirits that the Hopi called Kachinas or Cloud People. These guardian spirits of the Hopis lived on the holy mountain's highest peak. But during the months of
spring and summer, they became clouds floating to the Hopi mesas to hear the prayers of the people. These humble pleas asked for plentiful sun and rain to insure good crops; for strength and good health for all who lived in the villages; and most important, for peace and harmony.

Walker remembered Tag saying that he had attended a day-long Kachina dance at the Hopi village. Of course Tag had watched the long rows of colorful Kachinas in the plaza as they danced to the sounds of drums, rattles, and ancient prayer songs. How much had his father told him about the sacred powers of the Kachinas? Did Tag know that at dusk when the dances were completed the Kachinas carried the prayers of the day to the gods? Then the rains would come. The crops would grow, and the Hopi people would survive another winter. It had been the ritual of Hopi life for hundreds and hundreds of years. Without the Kachina dances, the Hopis would never survive in their harsh desert environment.

A thought flashed through Walker's mind with the strength of lightning. Did the ancient ones have Kachina dances? Did they even know of these guardian spirits living so near? Walker watched another wisp of cloud break away from the sacred mountain. With the beauty and eloquence only a Kachina could have, it drifted northeast toward the Hopi mesas. Walker looked at the fields before him. He shook his head. No, the ancient ones knew nothing of the Cloud People. There were no dances here; no proper prayers to be carried to the gods by the Kachinas, so the gods did not send rain.

Of course! Náat had sent him here to give these people the secret knowledge and power of the Kachinas! Walker suddenly felt a sense of relief in possibly knowing why he had been sent.

Without a doubt Walker knew that these people needed to be under the protective care of the Kachinas or they would not survive. How could he teach such powerful and strange beliefs among these ancient brothers? The sense of relief began to fade and was replaced by fear. Gray Wolf would brand any new ideas or ways as witchcraft! Could the others possibly accept the foreign ideas and actions? How long could he survive advocating such startling concepts and practices?

“Come on, Walker,” said Tag, poking his ribs. “I think it's time to earn our keep.”

Walker fell in behind Tag, who followed White Badger and Scar Cheek into the terraced fields. In the first level, small, squatty corn plants were growing. Their leaves were brownish and thirsty looking. Instead of being planted in long rows, individual plants were staggered four to five feet apart. Each plant had at least a fifteen-inch-wide catch bowl dug around the base of it.

“Wouldn't it be easier if they just planted all the plants close together in nice straight rows?” Tag asked, walking between the sorry-looking plants.

“Sure, if there were plenty of water for irrigation,” answered Walker. “When there isn't, it is better if each plant can spread its roots out in all directions to get any moisture there is.”

“Makes sense,” Tag observed. “Making such big catch bowls helps, too, I bet. In a good rainstorm the entire bowl would fill up.”

Just ahead, two boys about ten years old were on their knees pulling weeds. As White Badger approached them, they continued to work, but their curious eyes darted quick glances at the approaching strangers.

“Your work is good,” White Badger said, kneeling down
next to one of the boys. “No weed will steal water from your corn.” The boy smiled. White Badger stood up. The boy rose with him. The other boy moved closer to White Badger. “These are our visitors, Walker and Tag.”

Tag grinned and reached out to shake. Walker groaned inside. The boys stared at the large, freckled, outstretched hand. One stepped back a few inches. The other one looked as if he might bolt away any second. Tag's grin faded. He lowered his hand, letting it hang limply at his side. The awkward situation ended when White Badger called each boy by name, asking about their families and their needs. They answered his questions in turn. White Badger listened, as he did to the men of the village, with honest interest and concern. The boys' fear seemed to melt away.