The Black Stallion Legend (11 page)

The old man continued to wave his thin arms toward Alec while repeating over and over again, “Heaven has opened. Heaven has opened.”

Alec moved toward him, closer still. The Indian’s
body was naked except for a leather kilt and moccasins. Beneath taut skin, his bones showed prominently. He was sitting on the floor behind a line of blue-colored sand. Directly in front of him was a wood plank with bread, raw meat, tobacco and cornmeal. He gazed at Alec, his mouth open in what might have been a smile, showing rotten, decayed teeth. A feeble hand offered Alec the food.

The sight of the food drove Alec forward. He stepped over the line of blue sand and reached down for the bread. It was then he noticed that the old Indian’s lap was also covered with blue sand. But more obvious, more sickening, were the bulging red sores he saw on the old man’s bared shoulders and arms.

Alec took the bread but pulled back quickly, reeling from the stench of the wet and running sores on the Indian’s body. He realized that the old man needed antibiotics, perhaps even surgery, if he was to live.

“How do we get out of here?” he asked softly. “You need help as much as I do. We’re both running out of time.”

The aged Indian nodded his head vigorously at Alec’s words. “I know,” he said. “Our wheel of life has finally turned full circle. We have seen the last full moon and the time is not far off when the end of our world is complete.”

The light in the great chamber was changing colors as the sun’s rays played upon varied layers of colored rock. In several hours it would be dark.

The Indian turned from Alec to look at the grazing stallion.

“Black Fire carries the sign of eternal life on his
forehead,” the old man said. “His coming and yours has been told since the beginning of time when the Blue Star first appeared in the heavens. I have lived to see you come.”

Alec stopped gnawing on the bread and shook his head in dismay. It was the same prophecy he had heard from Alph.

“I knew of your coming, for I read of it in the plants and seeds as well as the heavens,” the old man went on. “I saw the Blue Star explode. It was visible in daylight for twenty-three days before fading and seen at night for another six hundred and thirty-three days. That was the sign that your coming was at hand.

“The world as we know it will be destroyed,” he said, “but you and Black Fire will lead those of us who are at peace with the Creator to the new world. My people will follow you, for we are all one, brothers. The others, those who have spread evil in the world, will be destroyed. We will create a new world under one power, that of the Creator.”

When the old man had finished, Alec decided his only recourse was to humor him; otherwise he’d never get him out of the chamber and back to his village.

“Where are we now?” he asked.

“We are in the sacred pueblo of the old people, the dead ones,” the old Indian said.

Alec looked up at the high walls with the great arched caves. Rock writings and colorful paintings were at every entrance, as well as ghostly handprints etched in stone. What had they meant to the families who once lived in those rooms?

“You must lead my people here,” the old man said.
“They will follow only you, for you have come out of the desert riding the horse of black fire at the time of the exploding Blue Star.”

Alec shook his head more in sadness than bewilderment. The old Indian was senile and attempting to live out the prophecies of his ancient people.

“I’m not the one you’ve been waiting for, old man,” Alec said finally. “I’m only lost, the same as you seem to be, but in another way. I can’t lead your people anywhere.”

The Indian ignored Alec’s words, and his gaze turned to the black stallion again. His eyes, like his voice, were gentle when he spoke. “The horse of black fire possesses extraordinary powers. He is the extension of you. We understand that all things are the works of the Great Spirit. He is within all things—the trees, the grasses, the rivers and all the four-legged animals. We understand all this in our hearts deeply. My people will follow you to the beginning of the new world.”

“Where are your people?” Alec asked. “How do we reach them?” All he could hope for at this time was to direct the old man’s mind to returning to his village.

The old Indian lowered his head as if brooding or almost asleep. Alec waited, not wanting to prod him for fear he would talk of other things. He looked at the man’s frail body with its chronic running sores. The colorful eagle feathers in his headdress couldn’t offset the man’s wretched condition and his immediate need for medical attention. If the old one remained here, his only destiny was death.

The old man muttered something in his sleep. Alec placed a hand on a bare shoulder, gently shaking
him. “You’re dreaming, old man. Wake up. It’s time to go.”

The Indian raised his head but made no attempt to get to his feet. Instead he met Alec’s gaze, his small, piercing eyes clear and untroubled. He found strength from somewhere within his frail body to speak loud and clear of ancient gods, as sacred to him as was the Bible to Alec. He recited strange myths of a primitive tribe. The messages were of peace, and of belief in the fullness of life if one followed the laws of nature and universal brotherhood.

“It is all told in symbols passed from clan to clan from ancient times, symbols engraved in stone,” he said. The old man made a great effort to raise his arms toward the images behind him and failed utterly. Exhausted by his long speech, he let his head fall once more to his chest.

When the old man spoke again, his voice was very low. Alec could make out only some of the words. The Indian was speaking of invisible spirits and the three worlds that had gone before and been destroyed as the present one would be.

Alec knew he could rationalize what he was listening to as nothing but the folklore of a tribe who had no relationship to the world in which he lived. And yet the old man was speaking of many things that were partly responsible for Alec’s being there—a false set of values that seemed to dominate Alec’s world … a world in which time and time again conflict threatened not only between nations but between peoples of the world, red, yellow, white, black and brown.

The old man raised his head once more to look at
Alec, and when he spoke his voice was but a whisper. “This world will end soon or you would not have come. I do not know how it will be destroyed. It may be by raining fire or by spinning off into endless space. Perhaps the great waters will be loosened to cover the land. Or …” He paused, thinking for a few moments before going on. “… It could be by mankind’s own hands with his own weapons. There will be no shelter for the evil ones,” he warned, his voice rising. “Only those who are at peace in their hearts will be saved to take part in the new world to come.”

The old man held Alec’s attention through the long, lonely dialogue. Thinking of Pam, Alec said quietly, “I know what it means to despair and seek help. But I can’t think of it as the end. Where will your people find safety, if what you say is true?”

“Their shelter is here in this sacred place. It was told to me by my father and fathers before him, all the wise and ancient ones from the beginning of time. Here my people will be safe to await the coming of the next world. You must go to them and bring them to this shelter. They will follow you and Black Fire. You must hurry. Go now!”

“Why me and not you?” Alec asked, knowing he could not find his way alone.

“They await only
you
, for your coming has been told in the stars.”

Alec wanted to shout, “You’re crazy, old man, crazy!” But he couldn’t, not with so much sorrow showing in the old man’s eyes.

“You go with me,” he pleaded.

“I cannot,” the old Indian answered. “I am too
spent with years of waiting. I have lived only long enough to set eyes on you.” His eyelids closed and there was a sudden slump of his body. The eagle feathers on his headdress touched the ground and the blue sand cascaded from his lap.

Alec went quickly to him and held his frail body upright, unmindful of the stench that filled his nostrils from the sores.

The Indian’s eyes opened, glazed and staring at Alec. His voice was only a creaking whisper as he said, “Go now. It is time …”

“How do I get there?” Alec asked urgently, gently shaking the old man’s shoulders, trying to keep him conscious. “Which way do I go? Tell me.”

“You know,” the Indian said. “River Run …”

“River Run?”
Alec repeated.

The frail body in Alec’s arms collapsed totally. The thin wrist he held became cold. Alec felt no pulse, no heartbeat at all.

The old Indian’s eyes still gazed at him, eyes as sad in death as in life. Alec closed the lids over them. He continued holding the old man for many minutes more, repeating again and again for reasons he was not aware,
“Chosen People, Hopeless People …”

The old man’s body was so light that Alec had no trouble carrying it to the high sandstone wall. The cliff dwellings above, where most of the Indian’s ancient ancestors had lived, would make a fitting place for his body, at least until Alec was able to reach others who might wish to bury him elsewhere.

The rust-colored wall above Alec looked like a stage setting and, for a moment, he thought he was acting in some kind of an amateur play. There was no reality to what he was doing at all. But he was not playing a part on stage. What he was doing
was
real, and a matter of life and death to him. He had to find a way out or, as it was for the old man, this place would be his tomb too.

The path leading to the first-story dwellings was well worn and Alec carried his burden to the nearest one. He entered the cave with the old man in his arms, looking at the ancient drawings and symbols on the walls and wondering what they had meant to those
who lived there so long ago. Then, carefully, he placed the old man upon the floor, the fine dust swirling about his frail body.

A few minutes later Alec returned to the Indian’s campsite and put what was left of the old man’s food in his pockets. Then he looked about, wondering which way to go. There was no more than an hour or two left of daylight.

Alec watched the Black move quickly in the dim light as he found one patch of grass after another to his liking, but often, too, he turned to look in Alec’s direction, his eyes bright and ears pricked. He seemed interested in everything about him and unafraid.

Alec shook his head in wonder; it was as if his horse were in a paddock at home, not deep within this underground world. Alec wished he could feel the same way.

What had the old Indian meant when he’d said
“River Run … River Run”
? Alec wondered.

His eyes followed the swift rushing stream to the far end of the pueblo, where it swept through a narrow chasm amidst towering walls. Was there any way to follow that torrent of water to the outside world? Was that what the old Indian had meant by
“River Run”
?

Alec decided to use whatever daylight was left to find out. He followed the stream, looking for any sign of a trail that would indicate the Indian’s route. The old man had been too feeble to travel far, so his village couldn’t be far away. And yet Alec knew that the old man had been driven to reach the sacred pueblo by incredible determination, which could have taken him farther than expected of so frail a body.

At first the stream was shallow and Alec was able to cross it often as he made his way to the far end of the pueblo. The Black left his grazing to move alongside Alec and then surge ahead. Alec let him go, knowing that the stallion’s instincts were far better than his own and that the Black might find a trail where he couldn’t.

He saw the stallion stop occasionally to step around certain areas of the stream. When Alec reached them he found pockets of quicksand and became more careful, keeping closer to the banks. The flow of water became ever faster as he neared the narrow chasm ahead.

Finally Alec came to a halt. Ahead, sheer sandstone walls rose to either side of the torrent of rushing white water. He knew there was no way for him and his horse to go through such turbulence into the chasm.

River Run
. Was this it? Alec wondered. But the old Indian could not have navigated the turbulent waters any more than he could. There had to be another way out besides the tunnel he had entered by. Where was it?

Alec looked around, knowing the ancient inhabitants of the pueblo had been protected from the elements outside by its great walls, and the stream had provided them with grass for their livestock and fertile soil to grow their food. But there was no doubt in his mind that they had had more than one entrance to the pueblo. Another tunnel had to lead to the outside world. He had only to find it.

Moving carefully in the shadows of the overhanging walls, Alec began to explore the banks of the stream for the start of a trail. He stopped when he came
upon a low slab of rock with an Indian symbol etched on it. Parting the heavy brush above it, he saw a worn trail leading into a small but deep ravine!

Excitedly, his gaze followed the ravine as it dropped steeply toward the sandstone wall, coming to an end at the entrance to a large tunnel. He couldn’t restrain the cry that came from him, believing he had found the way out!

The trail was easily accessible from the stream. Alec called to the Black to follow him as he broke through the brush and started down the ravine.

Great heaps of stone were piled everywhere, appearing as though the way had been cleared by hand. Alec could readily believe that at one time the ravine had been the original bed of the stream, and the ancient inhabitants had diverted the flow of water from this route to go through the chasm. For what purpose? To close the chasm to outside invasion, making the pueblo more secure?

Reaching the tunnel at the bottom of the ravine, Alec saw that its entrance was supported by great blocks of hand-hewn masonry. From behind, the Black snorted and Alec turned to him. The stallion’s nostrils were flared wildly, sniffing unfamiliar scents. Alec reached out to him and the Black nuzzled his hand before shattering the confines of the ravine with a shrill blast.