Ancient Forces Collection (4 page)

“That’s Starved Rock,” Little Creek explained. “That’s where the village gets its name.”

“Why do they call it that?” Ryan asked as they moved closer to examine the big boulder.

“Back in the 1880s, a hundred braves made their last stand in this place. They were surrounded by cavalry, but instead of the soldiers coming up the mountain and fighting like men, they merely stopped the braves from escaping . . . until each and every one had died of starvation.”

“That’s awful,” Ryan said.

“Yes,” Little Creek replied. “It is said that their spirits still cry out from these rocks at night.”

“No kidding?” Scott asked.

“It’s all very sad,” Ryan said, shaking his head.

Little Creek hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “All Indian stories are sad. I learned early not to ask my grandfather the meanings of the names and locations of things. There were always sad stories behind them.”

“If you didn’t ask your grandfather, then how did you learn them?” Ryan asked.

Little Creek laughed. “Grandfather told me, whether I asked or not. We Indians are very big on oral history, you know. It’s another one of our traditions.”

“So what about these spirits that are supposed to cry out at night?” Scott asked. “Have you ever heard them?”

Again Little Creek shrugged. “Yes and no. It could just be the wind. No one is certain. Dark Bear claims that they are spirit voices. He also claims that he is the only one who knows what they are saying.”

Scott and Ryan exchanged looks. Scott knew they both were remembering the eerie sounds they had heard in the wind on their way up to the village.

“Who’s Dark Bear?” Scott asked.

For a moment Little Creek said nothing; then he took a deep breath and answered, “He’s the tribal shaman, a very powerful medicine man. I don’t know if you guys believe in that kind of thing, but . . . Dark Bear is the one person you should avoid contact with in our village.”

“Why?” Scott asked.

Little Creek cleared his throat nervously. “Because he has the kind of magic that can kill.”

“You’re not serious?” Ryan asked.

“Oh yes, I am very serious. Not only does he have the kind of magic that can kill . . . but he does not hesitate to use it.”

4

S
wift Arrow walked quickly through the heat of the day. He prayed quietly, thinking and meditating as he crossed the canyon floor. He passed a dried-up riverbed and saw the skeleton of a long-dead coyote. He wondered if the animal had died of thirst. Perhaps it had crawled for miles to reach the river, only to discover that it was bone-dry.

Swift Arrow stopped and looked down at the skeleton. His body grew tense. Carefully, he stooped down onto one knee for a closer look. There was something about the pattern of the bones on the sand . . . It was the same jagged pattern that he had seen in the lightning.

Suddenly anxiety filled him. He couldn’t explain it, but the need to return to his village seized him. He needed to return at once. Swift Arrow stood and started for home.

As they moved along the ridge, Little Creek entertained Scott and Ryan by telling them various legends and stories. One of his favorites was the legend of Buffalo Cry, a very strong brave who lived over a hundred summers ago. His tribe sent him to bring the peace pipe to his enemies, but on the way a rattlesnake bit him. As he lay dying, he chanted to the eagle god. After he died, his spirit entered an eagle, which came and took the peace pipe from his hand and flew with it to the enemy tribe. When the rival chief saw the eagle carrying the Apache peace pipe, he declared peace between the two tribes. The peace lasted many years.

“So you really think Buffalo Cry’s spirit entered the eagle?” Scott asked.

Little Creek shrugged. “The eagle did exactly as Buffalo Cry wished. Man cannot order a wild eagle.”

“I suppose not,” Scott agreed. “But maybe God just used the eagle to answer Buffalo Cry’s prayer for peace.”

“What’s the difference?” Little Creek asked. “Whether God commanded the eagle or the spirit of the brave entered the eagle, it’s all the same. Buffalo Cry’s eagle brought peace between the tribes.”

“I don’t know,” Scott said, shaking his head. “I just can’t buy the idea of a person’s spirit entering some animal. The Bible says when we die we go to face God, not hang out inside some eagle.”

“I think it’s kinda cool,” Ryan said. “Just because it’s different from the way we grew up doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Before Scott could disagree, Little Creek continued, “It’s the heart of shamanism. Shamans believe that by chanting and using certain herbs they can become one with the souls of animals, particularly the eagle, the wolf, and the lizard.”

Again Scott shook his head. “Sorry, it’s too weird for me.”

Ryan didn’t respond, but to Scott his silence said tons.

A moment later Ryan shouted, “Hey, check it out!” Scott and Little Creek turned, but Ryan was already hurrying down the hill.

Scott looked to the bottom and saw a bunch of stones carefully laid out in some sort of pattern, almost as if they were spelling out words or forming crude stick figures. Intrigued, Scott also started down the hill.

“Wait,” Little Creek called to them as he followed after Scott. “Be careful not to upset the stones. This is one of Dark Bear’s holy places.”

But Scott had already reached the bottom and began hopping on the stones, jumping from one to the other. “I’m not hurting them,” he said. “I won’t mess them up.”

“Scott,” Ryan said, “you should really show more respect. I mean, what if somebody saw you?”

“Oh, all right,” Scott sighed. “If it’s that big of a deal, I’ll get off.”

He’d barely hopped off when they heard a loud cracking sound toward the top of the mountain. All three spun around to see a huge cloud of dust and debris billowing down the slope — directly toward them.

“It’s an avalanche!” Little Creek cried. “Run!”

No one had to be told twice, but it was too close and coming too fast. In a matter of seconds the first of the boulders descended upon them.

Ryan was the first to be hit. A boulder the size of a basketball grazed his thigh. He let out a cry but continued running.

Scott was luckier. He dodged an even bigger rock that crashed into the ground immediately beside him. Soon rock and sand and dust surrounded the three. Through the thick, hazy cloud, Scott saw another boulder, several times larger than any other that had fallen. He leaped out of the way just as the two-ton rock bounced past, missing him by inches.

It ended almost as quickly as it had begun. Except for their coughing and gasping for breath, everything grew quiet.

“Everyone all right?” Little Creek called.

“Yeah,” Scott answered, choking.

“We’re okay,” Ryan coughed.

The guys climbed out of the gravel and rocks, then looked back at where they had been standing. It was covered in rock. Coincidence? Maybe.

After a few moments, Ryan said, “Well, I guess we should probably be heading back.”

“Yes.” Little Creek’s agreement was quick. “I’m afraid we’ve offended the spirits. It would not be safe to continue.”

“ ‘Offended the spirits,’ ” Scott scoffed. “You don’t really believe that.”

But Little Creek said nothing. Nor did Ryan. Instead, they turned and started climbing back up to the path. As they walked, Ryan turned around several times and looked back down at the pile of rocks. Scott couldn’t be certain, but Ryan seemed strangely drawn to the place. Over the months the two of them had become good friends. And, like most good friends, each could often tell what the other was thinking. It was becoming more and more obvious to Scott that Ryan was getting caught up in the Indian myths and legends. And, while Scott knew this wasn’t wrong, something about Ryan’s fascination caused him concern.

“Hey — ” Ryan stopped abruptly and pointed toward the top of the hill — “look.”

Scott stopped and turned but saw nothing. “What?” he asked.

“He’s gone now.”

“There was somebody out here?”

Ryan nodded.

“Who?”

“I don’t know . . . but he had something coming out of his head.”

“Horns?” Little Creek asked. “Did they look like horns?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then we’d better hurry.” Little Creek suddenly broke into a trot.

“Why?” Ryan asked, jogging beside him. “What’s going on?”

“If what you saw were horns, then we’d better get out of here. Fast.”

“But
why?”

Little Creek didn’t answer. “Come on,” he insisted, continuing to run. “Come
on.”

Scott didn’t press the issue and neither did Ryan. Whatever it was that Ryan had seen had made Little Creek pretty nervous. And whatever it was, neither Scott nor Ryan felt inclined to stick around and find out why.

An hour later as they approached camp, Little Creek said a hasty good-bye. He still would not tell them the reason for his concern, but it was obvious he was anxious to get away from them. Scott and Ryan wished him farewell and headed toward their tent.

As they walked up, a tantalizing aroma filled the air. “What’s that smell?” Scott called. “I’m starved.”

“You’re
always
starved,” Becka said as she stooped over the grill to check on the thick, sizzling hamburgers.

“You boys are just in time for lunch,” Mom called.

“Great,” Ryan said.

“But look at you — you’re filthy. What happened?”

“Oh, we just had a little run-in with a falling mountain,” Scott quipped.

“You what?”

“We just had a little — ”

“Never mind,” Mom interrupted. “Go wash up. When you get back you can tell us all about it.”

Becka watched the burgers carefully, making sure they didn’t burn. When Scott and Ryan returned from washing up, she grinned. “It’s about time! These things are ready to serve up.”

“What do you boys want on them?” Mom asked.

“Oh . . . anything’s fine,” Ryan said.

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “Whatever you got.”

“Whatever we’ve got?” Becka repeated, laughing. “That sounds pretty suspicious coming from someone who complains about everything.”

“Who? Me?” Scott asked, pretending to sound indignant.

“Yeah, you.”

The guys each grabbed a plate, bun, burger, and some chips before settling down at the picnic table near their tent.

“Still no sign of Swift Arrow,” Becka sighed. “We checked, and he hasn’t come back yet. Nothing to do but just keep waiting, I guess.”

“That’s okay with me,” Scott said. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“It’s okay with me too,” Ryan agreed. “I’d say the longer we can stay here, the better.”

Becka glanced at Ryan. The guy was practically beaming. As the sun reflected off his jet-black hair, she couldn’t help thinking how gorgeous he looked . . . and how lucky she was. For the past year their friendship had been growing stronger. Oh, sure, they’d had their disagreements, but something was growing between them. Something deep. When Ryan looked at her a certain way, Becka felt herself become weak and trembly inside.

Now she crossed over and sat beside him as she had so many times before. But instead of turning to smile at her, he barely seemed to notice her.

“I’m really starting to enjoy this trip too,” she said. “It’s different from the others. So quiet, so peaceful . . .”

Ryan nodded, but when she glanced into his eyes, hoping for that special connection they always shared, she saw that he wasn’t even looking at her. Once again he was off somewhere. And once again she felt a twinge of jealousy. Was it her imagination, or was he purposely ignoring her? She tried to push the thought from her mind, but it kept returning. Finally, she asked softly, “Ryan, is everything okay?”

As if coming back from a dream, Ryan turned to her and smiled. “Okay?” he asked. “Sure, everything’s
fine. You’re right — this place is incredible. There’s nothing the matter at all.”

“Unless you count the avalanche that almost killed us,” Scott said with a chuckle. “Other than that, Ryan’s right, nothing’s the matter.”

Becka looked at him, startled.

“Avalanche?” Mom asked. She seemed equally startled — and concerned.