WINDWALKER (THE PROPHECY SERIES) (13 page)

George thought back to the dream, and what he saw happening.

“Tell the chiefs. Beat our drums, say the prayers, and don’t stop. The drums will call Layla to us, and the prayers will call the Old Ones.”

“Will other tribes come here to the reservation?”

“Yes.”

“Will the white man come with them?” he asked.

George thought of all the intermarried families. “No. They won’t believe until it is too late.”

****

Layla practiced her archery because it kept her from weeping. Her heart was breaking and there was nothing to be done. She shot one arrow after another into different targets then trudged, with lagging steps, through the heat to retrieve them.

Niyol was on a rock standing lookout a short distance away, but she felt his gaze. She’d seen his eyes fill with tears as he’d handed her some of the cooked meat to eat. She’d taken it without hunger, and chewed without tasting, knowing she would need all of her body strength in the days to come.

Twice in the afternoon the wind had come up without warning and swept through the gorge like a massive leaf blower, blasting waste and dead leaves from the path. It was as if the earth also knew change was coming, and was ridding itself of the chaff.

It was dusk before Layla saw the fireball in the sky. The moment she did, she ran to Niyol, who was busy re-packing the bike. After their last hasty exit, they only unpacked what they needed at the moment should the need for another swift getaway arise.

“Niyol! There’s something coming in the sky. Did you see it?”

He looked up, judging the distance still left between it and earth.

“I saw it.”

Layla grabbed his arm. “What is it, a comet?”

“Firewalker,” he said, tying the last of their things onto the bike.

Layla pulled him around until they were standing face to face.

“Stop! I don’t need vague. I need specific. Does this have anything to do with me and what I’m supposed to do?”

He felt her panic. It was to be expected.

“It signals the beginning of the end.”

Layla’s stomach knotted. “Of the world?”

He shrugged. “Of this world. There are many others.”

She began shaking him in anger, because she was afraid if she started crying, she would never stop.

“I’m asking you! Is this world, this earth, and every living thing on it really going to come to an end?”

“It will burn and crumble and nothing will survive.”

Her voice was trembling. “Then how will we?”

“You will already be somewhere else.”

“How will we know what to do?” she whispered.

“There are others there. They will show you. They have been waiting for you for a very long time now.”

“Waiting for me?”

He put his hand on the bird charm hanging between her breasts.

“They have been waiting for Singing Bird and what she brings with her,” Niyol said, and when she would have asked more, he stopped her. “We will rest now. The men will come from the sky at daylight, but they must not step foot here. They don’t belong.”

She lay down beside him, even though it was still light, because she was too shocked to do anything other than what he’d told her to do. She was thinking about her Muscogee kinsmen in Oklahoma, and the other native tribes all across the country. Were they aware? Were they coming? Would she ever see them again?

Niyol’s chest was a wall against her back. The wind kept blowing strands of his hair across the bend of her elbow. The even rhythm of his breathing was the calm before the storm. But when she closed her eyes and tried to rest, instead, she saw the deep creeks and shady woods of her Oklahoma childhood – remembered the feel of hot sand beneath her bare feet as she ran up the rows in their watermelon patch; of crawling into a warm bed on a cold night while the snowfall blanketed everything outside in an icy white comforter.

Tears rolled. She took a deep breath, trying to still the wave of despair welling up inside her, but it was no use. There was a catch in her next breath, and then she was choking on sobs, grieving for a world already lost.

Niyol felt her pain as if it was his own. He’d seen into her mind and her heart and knew her sorrow. She carried a great burden – one she’d known and chosen long before her birth as this woman – one that ensured the lineage of their great nations did not end when this place became dust.  

He held her tighter and closed his eyes. He could see her grandfather’s face. They knew. He could hear the drums and the singing – they were calling out the Old Ones.

He looked deeper – farther – to the others who were scattered across this continent. Many had accepted what was coming and were preparing to die. It was their choice. It was their way. But some were coming here as fast as their rides would take them – some by bus – by car and motorcycle – and even by plane. They knew the time was short. If they were not already gathered on the reservation when Layla Birdsong went back for them, it would be too late.

****

Lydia Foster was standing out on the balcony of her hotel room, sipping a glass of wine. Considering she was a fifty-something woman with a little too much wear and tear, she still felt attractive.

Athens was stunning, both by daylight and dark. The local women were beautiful, the men as dark-eyed and sexy as she’d imagined. Her blonde hair, curvy body, and near six-foot height had been the subject of comments several times today. She hadn’t expected it to be such a turn-on; being looked upon as something other than the nerd who studied legends and myths, but she liked it.

The majestic ruins that she’d toured today were now backlit on the hills beyond the city by a myriad of lights. From this distance, you could almost believe they were still in their former glory.

She took another sip of her wine, admiring the beauty of the stars strewn across the night sky. It took a few moments for her to realize one of the stars was not only red, but it was moving.

Her pulse leaped. Was this going to be her first UFO sighting? She’d never seen any, but she believed that they existed. But after watching a few moments more, decided it was most likely a man-made satellite of some kind.

All of a sudden there was a commotion in the street below. She leaned over and looked down. People were spilling out of doorways onto the sidewalks, pointing up and talking in loud, frenetic tones. She didn’t understand enough of the language to know what they were saying, but she caught the words, television and newscast. It was obvious they were all talking about the same thing – the big red star.

Curious, she walked back into her room and turned on the TV. It took a few moments for her to find the station that broadcast in English. After a quick view of the broadcast, it became obvious what she’d seen was a meteor. When they switched programming to an interview with a man named Runyon; head of the U.S. Naval Observatory who was tracking the trajectory, she turned up the volume.

She sat down on the end of her bed and took another sip of her wine as she began to listen, and within moments of what he was saying it suddenly hit her.

This was the cataclysm.

This was what the Mayans had known - what the Gypsy Chronicles had predicted – why the Windwalker had appeared and spirited Layla Birdsong away.

A sudden feeling of dizziness swept through her as all the blood drained from her face.

So she’d waited too long to take her dream vacation. Such was life. She’d been missing the boat ever since the day she’d been born. A huge sadness washed over her as she emptied her wine glass. If this was the beginning of the end, she didn’t plan to die in bed. She dropped her room key in her pocket, picked up her purse, and left the room.

****

The traffic on the highways and interstates was always busy, which continued to surprise economists considering the price of gas it took to travel. But for the past twelve hours, it had been increasingly worse.

Florida highway patrol reported long convoys of vehicles coming out of the Everglades with luggage tied on top. Obviously, the Seminole nation was on the move.

Texas and Oklahoma reported long lines of vehicles, all bearing license plates from local tribes driving both lanes of Interstate 35, heading north.

Lines of cars, motorcycles and motor homes had traffic so backed up on both the east and westbound lanes of Interstate 40 that truckers were bitching on their radios, wondering where the big powwow was, and wishing they’d all get the hell off the roads so people could do their jobs.

The convoys came out of Canada, crossing the borders into the Dakotas where they joined up with the Indians going south.

The media picked up on the chatter and sent their news helicopters to check it out. When the first live feeds were broadcast on CNN, theories abounded. But the Indians didn’t care and had no comment when they stopped for food and fuel. No matter where their trips originated, their destination was the same – the northeast corner of Arizona to the Navajo reservation.

****

Emile Harper’s phone rang before daylight, but he was already awake. In fact, he had yet to go to bed. He’d been up all night trying to get through to the President, and when he finally did, was admonished for questioning the order he’d been given. At that point, he began making coffee. It was going to be a long-ass day. The phone call was to let him know that the Blackhawk helicopter and the retrieval team had been deployed.

They knew their target. They knew the timeline they had to retrieve it. It never occurred to them to worry about a failed attempt. It was only one woman and a male companion. Their biggest threat was doing it without being made and giving the Bureau of Indian Affairs a reason to point a finger at the President.

****

Niyol had been watching Layla sleep since just after midnight. He’d seen coyotes sniff around the outside of the ruins without coming too close, watched a rattlesnake give him and their camp a wide berth, and watched the fire in the sky coming closer, knowing it was also bringing his time with her an end. He had already decided it was too painful to be human. Right now, he felt he might die from this pain in his heart, although he knew that was not so. Windwalkers did not die.

The day was dawning. The Firewalker was coming closer. The bad men were coming to take her away. They would be here soon, and as much as he wanted to decimate them the way he had the gang who’d tried to kill her, he could not. This time it was going to be her war to fight. He could help, but she had to prove her worth to the Old Ones. They had to be convinced that she would stand her ground; that she would not run if she became afraid. She had to be worthy to lead, or they would not open the gates between this world and theirs to let her pass.

She was waking up. He heard her thoughts returning, along with the realization of what lay ahead. All of a sudden her eyes flew open and she was looking straight into his gaze. She sat up, kissed him long and hard, as if she was committing the feel and the taste of him to memory, then combed her fingers through her hair and got up to relieve herself. When she returned there was a hard look on her face and she wouldn’t look at him. She was gearing up for battle and had yet to say hello.

****

Cars had been arriving since midnight to the place where George Begay and his neighbors lived, and they kept on coming.

The drumming was so loud now that the air felt like it was vibrating. The more that arrived, the more that joined in the drumming and singing. The numbers grew until the sound could be heard for miles in any direction.

The children were silent, subdued; their gazes locked to the sky and the fireball that came closer with every passing hour. They heard the elders talking. They knew they were leaving but didn’t fully understand why, and stayed close to their parents, afraid if they went too far that they might be left behind.

By morning, thousands of Indians, from many different tribes were spread out around the village, manning their own small cooking fires and feeding their young as they waited. They, too, kept an eye on the sky, but for a different reason. Layla Birdsong had yet to make an appearance, while the fire in the sky kept coming closer.

It was just before sunrise when George Begay walked out of his house and headed for the fire and the drums. His granddaughter was in danger. In his head, he’d seen the helicopter flying low over the canyons, across the mesas, all the way to the old ruins, and the soldiers coming out of its belly, being lowered down on ropes like spiders spinning down a web. It would do no good to tell the others. Either she would survive it, or she would not.

****

The sun was only minutes away from coming over the horizon when Layla walked out of the ruins into the open. The quiver of metal-tipped arrows was on her shoulder, the high-powered hunting bow in her hand. Her father’s hunting knife was in its scabbard and strapped around her right leg just above the knee; within hands reach should the need arise.

Her hair was tied at the back of her neck and her shirt was unbuttoned and flapping open in the wind, revealing her hard, bare midriff, the silver necklace dangling between her breasts, and the sports bra beneath. She was wearing the last pair of jeans she’d brought with her that would still stay on her hips, and she was watching the skies.

Something was coming. She could feel it. The birds that usually rode the morning wind were suspiciously absent, as was the nearby herd of sheep she’d become accustomed to hearing. A part of her was still anxious, knowing she would be facing twenty-first century technology with ancient weapons and Windwalker magic for backup.

Niyol heard her thoughts. “It will not matter what they carry or how they come. It will be the strength in your heart and the sacrifices you are making that will protect you.”

Layla flinched, startled by the sound of his voice so near her ear. Then she relaxed. He had told her the truth right from the start. All she had to do was believe and it would be so.