Ancient Forces Collection (2 page)

On the ground far below the plane, an Indian brave ran through the desert. Above him, the huge canyon walls towered and rose toward the sky. Beside him, a river flowed, its power thundering and cutting into the rock and sandstone.

Swift Arrow ran because he wanted to crest the hill at the far end of the canyon in time to see the sunset. As he neared the top, he could see the bright yellow sun dipping behind the mountain ahead. When he arrived, he raised his hands to the sky and called, “Father, you are the master creator. I praise you for the beauty you have made.”

Far in the distance, a rumble caught his attention. He turned and looked behind him. Dark clouds were beginning to gather. A storm was brewing. Suddenly a great lightning bolt cut through the sky and then another and another. Jagged lines seemed to fill the sky, forming triangles and squares, all arranged in a swirling, concentric pattern . . .

Swift Arrow stared as the light from the bolts faded, his heart beginning to pound in fear. He’d seen that sign in the sky before. He lowered his head and began to pray. “Lord, deliver my people from their bondage. Free them from the snares of a thousand years. Help them to see beyond the old legends, the old fears, the ancient beliefs. Help them see your truth.”

Another burst of light startled him, and he raised his head just in time to see the remainder of its jagged tail slice through the sky.

Swift Arrow grimaced as a mixture of fear and concern swept over him.

Becka lurched forward in her seat as the Jeep roared across the bumpy desert road. It had been nearly three hours since they’d boarded the vehicle at the Albuquerque airport. And judging by the bruises she was accumulating and the perpetual look of discomfort on Mom’s face in the front seat, it was about two hours and fifty-nine minutes too long.

Of course, Scott and Ryan enjoyed every bone-jarring bounce and buck. They were busy having a great time. Red rock formations rose all around, high into the bright blue sky. To the left of the vehicle, three colossal boulders, each about three stories high, balanced on top of each other. To their right, a five-hundred- foot butte jutted upward, its smooth, flat top a stark contrast to its jagged sides. In the distance rose a vast range of peaks. Their driver pointed to those peaks, saying, “The village is in the middle of that mountain range. I can drive you most of the way up, but you’ll have to go the last few miles on foot. No one can reach Starved Rock by car or truck.”

“You want us to climb those peaks?” Scott asked in alarm. “Are you kidding?”

The driver laughed. “It’s not that hard, boy. And it won’t take you too long. Come Saturday, I’ll be waiting at the drop-off point to pick you up. Noon sound all right?”

Mom nodded. “That should give us enough time to make our flight, Mr. Doakey.”

The driver grinned. “Just call me Oakie. Everyone else does.”

“Oakie?” Scott asked.

“Sure, when your last name is Doakey, what else would you expect?”

“Oakie Doakey?” Scott laughed. “That’s good.” He threw Ryan a look, but Ryan didn’t seem to notice.

Becka frowned. Ryan had spent most of the ride in silence, his attention focused on the scenery. When he had spoken, it was in a soft and reverent voice — almost as though he were inside a huge church. Granted, he seemed peaceful and relaxed. But he also seemed preoccupied — as if he wasn’t entirely there. Becka wasn’t sure why this made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was just jealousy. After all, she was used to being the focus of much of Ryan’s attention. But deep inside, she knew that wasn’t it. Something else was bothering her . . .

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she could swear something was happening. Something . . . unnatural. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the feeling from rising up inside her. Something was wrong.

They’d been in New Mexico for only a few hours, but already she knew something was very wrong.

2

A
n hour later, Oakie Doakey pulled the Jeep to a stop near the base of a steep hill. For some time now the road had grown steeper, and now it dead-ended into a wall of sheer rock.

“This is as far as I can take you,” he said. “A footbridge just over that hill connects you to the next cliff. Once you cross to the other side, you just keep heading up the same direction through the hills and you’ll hit the village of Starved Rock before you know it. But I’d hurry. Looks like a storm brewing.”

All four of them turned in the direction Oakie was looking. An awesome thunderhead was building in the west.

“We’d better get going,” Mom said as she hoisted a small suitcase out of the back of the Jeep.

“I’m glad we packed light,” Becka said as she grabbed her makeup kit and another small bag.

Ryan lifted his backpack out of the Jeep, while Scott grabbed the laptop computer, his backpack, and a few other odds and ends.

Mom paused and turned back to Oakie. “Excuse me, but did you say something about a footbridge?”

Oakie nodded. “That’s right. It’s a rope bridge. You’ll find them once in a while in these back areas. The Indians use them to get around the cliffs.”

Becka and Mom glanced at each other. The words
rope bridge
and
cliff
did not sound encouraging. Finally, Mom cleared her throat, but Becka noted that her voice sounded a little thinner and just a little higher than before when she said, “I presume they are safe?”

Oakie flashed her a grin. “Just take one step at a time and you’ll be fine.”

“I see.” Mom nodded, though it was obvious she was anything but reassured. “Well, thank you for your help, Mr. Doakey . . . and for the advice.”

Oakie dropped the Jeep into gear and turned it around. “See you all on Saturday!” he shouted. “And good luck.”

Becka wasn’t sure, but it almost sounded like he was laughing as he started back down the steep road. Suddenly she felt a sense of abandonment. Here they were, out in the wilderness, completely on their own. Well, not completely. She knew God was with them. He always was. Still . . .

She took a deep breath to calm herself. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the sky weren’t growing darker and far more ominous with each passing minute.

“We’d better get moving,” Mom said, and they were off. The climb was steep but not impossible. As the storm cloud continued to build in front of them, it eventually cast its shadow over them. The coolness brought welcome relief from the heat . . . Becka figured it had dropped from 105 to 95 degrees. Not exactly a cold snap, but it did feel better. Then there was the darkness. Becka felt grateful for the shade and its coolness, but there was something eerie about that darkness. She didn’t like it . . . not one bit.

After climbing for nearly half an hour they finally saw it. The hanging bridge. From a distance it looked like a slender thread suspended between two mountains.

“Think that will hold us?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t know,” Scott said. “From here it looks like a piece of dental floss.”

“At least dental f loss is hard to break,” Becka said. “That bridge looks more like it’s made from cobwebs.”

“Now, kids,” Mom said. It was obvious she was as nervous as they were. “I’m sure when we get there we’ll see that it will hold us just fine.”

Becka wished Mom had sounded more convincing . . . but that was hard to do when you weren’t convinced. And she knew Mom wasn’t.

They continued to approach the bridge. Fortunately, the closer they got, the better it looked. The rope was heavy and well constructed. There were, however, two small problems . . .

First of all, the rope was heavily knotted and formed squares that were eighteen inches on each side. But while it was easy enough to walk on, it was also easy enough to see through. All the way to the ground. Five hundred feet below.

“Just don’t look down,” Scott suggested.

“We’ve
got
to look down,” Becka complained. “We have to make sure we step on a piece of rope and not a piece of sky.”

Ryan nodded but added, “As long as we hold on to the sides, we’ll be okay.”

Becka studied the bridge. He was right. A thick rope on each side provided grips to hold on to. The only problem was that the ropes moved right along with the bridge, which brought them to the second problem . . .
everything
moved. Constantly. Even a slight breeze caused the entire bridge to swing and sway.

For a long moment, everyone stood and stared. Finally, Ryan cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go first.” He adjusted his backpack in preparation. Then he turned to Mom. “You want me to take your suitcase? I’ve got a free hand.”

Mom hesitated, but Becka knew she was aware that hanging on to the suitcase and hanging on to the rope could be a problem. “Well, I — ” She looked at Ryan, a concerned expression crossing her face. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“No problem.” Ryan took the bag from her and started out onto the bridge. Immediately it began to sway.

“Be careful,” Becka called, although she was sure he would be. Who wouldn’t be careful with a five-hundred-foot drop staring you in the face?

The bridge was only a hundred feet across, but by the time Ryan got to the middle, it was swaying pretty hard. Still, after another minute or two, he had managed to cross it safely.

“I’ll go next,” Scott said as he grabbed the computer and other gear.

The bridge seemed to sway even more as Scott eased his way across, but, like Ryan, he arrived on the other side without much of a problem.

Mom went next. A little more slowly, a little more carefully, but finally, she also made it to the other side.

Now it was Rebecca’s turn.

“Hurry, Beck!” Scott called. “That thundercloud is getting a lot closer.”

Becka glanced up. It was true. The cloud hovered directly overhead, and it seemed to draw lower and closer. She took a deep breath, wrapped the handle of the makeup bag around her wrist, and stepped out.

Instantly, the bridge swayed under her weight. It was scary, but nothing she couldn’t handle. She gripped the side ropes fiercely and took two more steps. Then another, another, and another. Except for the slight dizziness she felt when she glanced down (a five-hundred-foot drop will do that to a person), she was doing just fine.

Until the wind came.

Although they had all been watching the thundercloud approach, no one had expected
the wind to kick up so fast. Or so hard.

Almost instantly the bridge began to sway. Violently.

Becka screamed and froze. She didn’t dare move her feet. It was all she could do to keep her balance when she stood still, let alone when she walked.

“Come on, Beck!” Scott shouted. “Keep coming!”

But Becka could not. She would not. She could barely move at all.

The wind grew stronger, and the bridge swayed harder. It arced out a full ten feet to the left and then swung back a full twelve feet to the right. The arc grew with each swing, and Becka found it more and more difficult to hang on.

“Hold on!” Mom screamed. Then, turning to the boys, she shouted, “She’s losing her grip!”

Despite the heat of the day, cold terror filled Becka. She swung to the left fifteen feet, then to the right almost twenty. Things were getting worse as she kept swinging back and forth, farther and farther.

Then on the fourth or fifth swing she lost her footing. Her left foot shot through the gap in the ropes, and she went down.

She screamed as she fell — until her right leg snagged in the rope.

The bridge swayed back to the left. Becka’s weight pushed hard against the ropes, and they spread farther apart. As they spread, Becka slipped farther through the gap.

Now the bridge swayed to the right. As it did, Becka’s body slipped the rest of the way through the gap. Fortunately her leg was still caught in the ropes, but that meant she was hanging, dangling over the gorge by a single leg.

“Becka!” Ryan shouted. “Beck, hang on!”

She lunged for the nearest rope rail but failed, unable to grab it. The bridge swayed back to the left — and her leg slipped.

Mom screamed. Becka saw her mom start toward the bridge, but Ryan and Scott grabbed her arm.

“No!” Ryan shouted. “You can’t go out there. The extra weight on the bridge will only make things worse.”

Scott turned to Becka and yelled, “Grab the rail! You can do it!”

There were only seconds to spare. Becka’s leg was loosening, and she would fall. She lunged for the rope again.

And missed again.

Her leg slipped a bit more. She tried again, but the farther she reached, the more her leg slipped. Realizing that her makeup bag hampered her reach, she let it go, watching for a brief, dizzying second as it tumbled toward the desert floor.

She had time for one more try. If she missed, she would follow the makeup bag’s descent.

The bridge started back to the right.

“Please, Jesus!” she gasped. “Help me . . . Help me . . .” Becka stretched for all she was worth — but her leg pulled free, and she began to fall. She screamed, her arms waving and flaying . . . until she caught hold of something. One last strand of rope.

But would it hold? More important, could she pull herself back up onto the bridge? But as the bridge reached the arc of its swing and began falling in the other direction, the force helped lift her. She took advantage of the movement and with one hard tug found herself lying back on the bridge, gripping its sides with both hands as it swayed back and forth, back and forth.