Walk the Sky (11 page)

After the ritual that night there was no immediate proof that the god had been called forth. But Akecheta’s eyesight was suddenly gone. The tribe’s holy man had one of the young men help take Akecheta back to his own tribe, where his granddaughter met him, worried because he hadn’t told anyone where he had gone. She led him to his bed and gave him water and asked him what had happened to his sight, but Akecheta would not answer. He did not want to speak of the god in case that would somehow cause the god to go away.
 

“He told me after several days,” Witashnah said. “By then we were not aware of Those That Walk The Night. They had not yet reached our tribe. But they were out there, killing all of the white settlers. When Akecheta told me what he had done, I did not believe it at first. But when word came about how the white men and women were all killed by creatures that came in the night, I knew it was true. That was when Those That Walk The Night began coming for the rest of us.”
 

Those That Walk The Night—the nameless god’s minions—began to come for the other tribes around the area. There was no stopping them. Everyone was panicked. It wasn’t until a few more days passed that the young man who had brought Akecheta back to the tribe showed up again, this time with the old holy man. The holy man requested to speak with Akecheta alone. And so it was alone, just he and the holy man, that Akecheta understood the god’s nature.
 

“It deceived them,” Clay said. “The holy man did not know what the god would do. He believed it would take vengeance on those white men and then return to the spirit world. But the god ... it wants to stay in this world. And it needs your grandfather to do that. That’s why you’ve been hiding in this cave.”
 

“We have hidden other places. Occasionally we will move. From what I can guess, the god has limitations. It cannot know everything at once.”
 

“No, it can’t. At least not yet. Not until ...” Something occurred to him. “Marilyn knows the truth, doesn’t she? That’s why she and Joe”—he shook his head, still trying to accept the fact Joe had not been a bad person—“that’s why they were helping you. What all does she know?”
 

“Almost everything. I have known Marilyn for many years. We are close. She did not believe me at first. But then when Those That Walk The Night came ...”
 

“According to the holy man, the god wants your grandfather to walk the sky.”
 

Witashnah frowned. “What does that mean?”
 

“The god’s time on earth is limited. It cannot exist for long by itself. It must possess a human form. But a human’s body cannot last very long with the god inside it, especially in sunlight, so it must keep transferring to different bodies. Unless it transfers to the body of the one who called it forth.”
 

“And then,” Witashnah said hesitantly, “Akecheta will walk the sky?”
 

“His spirit will. It will be torn from his body and forever trapped between our world and the spirit world. And if that happens, the god will become even more powerful. Sunlight won’t stop it. Nothing will stop it.”
 

Witashnah’s face was a mixture of worry and fear. She looked once again at her grandfather. After the holy man had told Akecheta about the god, Akecheta had taken a knife and cut out his tongue. He had nearly choked to death on his own blood. So until now, Clay knew, Witashnah had only suspected bits and pieces of the truth. She knew about the god and she knew about Those That Walk The Night and she knew the god was searching for her grandfather. But she did not know the magnitude of what would occur if the god ever found him.
 

“What,” Witashnah said, her voice even more hesitant, “does the god plan to do?”
 

“You mean that isn’t obvious by now?” Clay shook his head slowly, his gaze fixed on Akecheta. “It intends to destroy us all.”

18.

The fire flared again. Another flurry of sparks danced against the high smoke-stained ceiling of the cave.

Clay sat down on a nearby rock and stared into the red-hot embers. A thick silence fell over them. Clay had a better understanding of what was going on now, and the world was suddenly a much darker place. He played the entire story over in his head, not once but several times, and at one point noticed Witashnah staring curiously at her grandfather.
 

“He can’t.”
 

His voice broke the heavy silence. It was enough to startle the girl.
 

She asked, “He cannot what?”
 

“Take his own life. Not like ... not like your mother did. Our souls—our spirits—are protected by our bodies. This is why the god cannot find Akecheta. But if he were to take his own life, there would be a moment or two—or even longer—when your grandfather’s spirit would be between this world and the spirit world. The god would sense him at once, and still take over. It wouldn’t work.”
 

Witashnah said nothing to this. She returned her gaze to the fire. Clay couldn’t be completely certain that was what she had been thinking about, but it was a safe bet. After all, he knew Akecheta had considered the same thing once, before realizing it wasn’t an option.
 

The silence continued, and Clay found his thoughts leading him back to something much more immediate.
 

“Do you have any weapons?”
 

“A knife,” Witashnah said. “Why?”
 

“My friend is still in the Reverend’s jail. If he hasn’t taken my place in tonight’s sacrifice, he’ll be sacrificed tomorrow night. I can’t let that happen.”
 

“What brought you and your friend out here?”
 

He wondered how much detail to go into and if he should tell her the circumstances of their travel together. He decided that it wasn’t important. Instead, Clay told her about coming across the boy in the desert and how the three of them had arrived in the first town and encountered the Reverend’s men.
 

“I know this town,” Witashnah said.
 

Clay had gone back to staring into the dancing flames. His thoughts had shifted slightly, from first entering the town to something he had almost forgotten—Goodman’s Mercantile. At the back, there was a section of guns and ammunition and a crate of dynamite. George had warned him about the dynamite, said it was unpredictable, but between the guns and the dynamite, that should give them plenty of fire power.
 

“The town is watched by the Reverend’s men,” Witashnah said. “It brings drifters like you and your friend that can be used for sacrifice.”
 

“Are his men always there?”
 

“From morning to late-afternoon, but never later than two hours before sunset.”
 

Clay nodded, trying to decide when it would be best to slip back into the town for the weapons.
 

“I will take you,” Witashnah said. “Before sunrise.”
 

Clay wondered if she had been reading his thoughts.
 

“Why so early?”
 

“There is something I want you to see.”

*
 
*
 
*

Exhaustion overtook him. Clay closed his eyes and drifted into a sleep so bottomless it felt as if he might never find his way to the surface again.
 

When he opened his eyes, Witashnah was standing over him.
 

“We leave now.”
 

Outside the cave, the black of night was just beginning to surrender to the dark blues of morning. The moon sat high overhead, painting the top of the scrub brush and tree tops with a thin line of gray-white light.
 

“This way,” Witashnah said as she crossed a small opening of red rocks and disappeared around a corner.
 

Clay followed her down a trail that wound back and forth through a series of gullies that seemed oddly familiar. This was the same trail they had followed last night, only in reverse, he guessed, and
that
was why it felt so familiar.
 

But it wasn’t the same trail.
 

Clay had never been on this trail before.
 

Yet the landmarks seemed so familiar. An outcropping with a single slender lip fern growing out of the rock. A cactus that resembled a man. A stairway cut out of the red rock. A field of blue grama.

“When I was a little girl, my grandfather took me along this path to the edge of the town not long after it was settled. We sat out of sight and watched the white man with his families and his bartering, and my grandfather told me I should never trust a white man.”
 

“He was trying to protect you.”
 

“I know.”
 

“We aren’t all evil.”
 

Witashnah smiled. “I know this too.”
 

Suddenly it dawned on him why the trail and surroundings seemed so familiar. Akecheta had walked these landmarks many times, and because they were familiar to him, they were now familiar to Clay.
 

He knew everything the old Indian knew.
 

Everything
.
 

Except ... except there was a blind spot in these memories he shared with Akecheta.

It wasn’t one of those fuzzy memories that just needed a little time before it would eventually take form and become clear to him. It was as if he had sneezed and something important had escaped his notice. Or more likely, it was as if Akecheta had purposely blocked that particular memory so Clay wouldn’t have access to it.
 

“This way,” Witashnah said.

*
 
*
 
*

They arrived at an open field, the town still nowhere in sight, as dark blues wiped the last of the black from the night. It was still dark out, but beneath the blues, painted in a thin, hazy line across the horizon, the first hint of orange and red pushed up out of the distance.
 

Witashnah stopped. “We wait.”
 

She went to her knees, and from her knees dropped to the ground on her belly, and slowly surveyed their surroundings.
 

Clay dropped to the ground next to her.
 

“Why are we stopping?”

“Be patient.”
 

The desert was wrapped in an eerie silence, almost as if all its creatures had paused to watch the pending sunrise. But it wasn’t long before Clay realized it wasn’t the sunrise that had quieted the desert. It was the movement of the creatures.
 

He heard the shuffling sound first, off in the distance, gradually approaching from the west.
 

Clay raised his head, peering over the surrounding desert plants into the dark of morning.
 

Nothing.
 

There was that sound, though. That weight dragged across the sand and echoed a hundred times over until it was almost a hissing.
 

Growing louder.
 

Stirring up wind.
 

Until Clay saw the dark shadows stepping out of the nothingness, one after another, lumbering in their direction.
 

“They’re going to stumble over us.”
 

“Quiet.”
 

And no sooner did the word pass Witashnah’s lips than the horde of dark shadows suddenly ground to a halt. In unison, every single lumbering creature stopped in place, as if time had hit a wall.
 

The morning desert air fell into complete silence.
 

A sandy cloud of dust settled back to the earth around the creatures just as the tip of the sun peeked over the distant horizon.
 

Nothing stirred.
 

Clay couldn’t take his eyes off the nearest demon—was that what they really were, an army of demons?—even as his heart slammed against the inside of his chest and he found it impossible to breathe.
 

The human-like creature appeared to teeter in place for a moment, like a spun coin at the end of its last turn.
 

Then, quite suddenly, the creature—or demon or whatever the hell it was—writhed and shed its night skin, which fell to the ground and vanished in a thin cloud of black soot.
 

Left standing in its wake was ...
 

A cactus.
 

Clay glanced at Witashnah and realized she had seen this all before. He pushed up from the ground and sat in the sand. Scanning the landscape that had been wide-open desert terrain a few short minutes ago and was now populated with a scattering of full-grown cacti as far as the eye could see.

*
 
*
 
*

“Why not destroy them while they’re like this?” Clay asked as they quietly neared the cacti.
 

Witashnah shook her head. “They are not as harmless as they appear.”
 

“I stabbed one of them last night. It stopped and bled, so obviously they’re not immortal. Why not just burn them now?”
 

Witashnah did not answer. She bent as she walked, picked up a long stick, and continued on, Clay keeping pace beside her.
 

The distance between them and the cacti quickly vanished. Soon they were only feet away. Witashnah extended the stick toward one of the cacti, the tip almost touching its weathered pale green skin ... until suddenly the cactus began to move.
 

Just as Clay had watched the demons transform into these cacti, he now watched as this cactus transformed back into a demon. Not completely, though. Just the top half of it, the faceless head forming, its mouth opening, the arms growing out of the cactus on each side, and with one of those arms the half-demon tried to swat at the stick before Witashnah pulled it away and quickly took a step back.