With one quick glance toward the way he had been going, he turned and walked back to where she stood. “What of Erik?”
“I know nothing. They have him, I believe.”
“Somehow I must find and free him.”
“It is impossible. Nobody ever escapes the Forbidden.”
“I cannot believe your people—”
“It is not my people. Those who have him are the Lord of Shibalba, the evil ones. To escape them is impossible.”
“What of your people, led by He Who Had Magic?”
“It was long ago and had never been tried before. In the dark all were present; By light all were gone. They tried to find us but we closed the ways and they could go no farther. There was much war, but finally they went away and bother us no longer.”
“Come with me to the ruin. There’s such a lot I should know.”
They walked on, and she led the way, moving quickly and surely through the trees. She spoke over her shoulder. “This is place where nobody come, only sometimes a priest. All this”—she gestured again—”very uncertain place.”
She left the trees to climb up to a bench that skirted the cliff. “We do not understand, but all this”—she swept a hand to take in the Hole, No Man’s, and the mesa of the ruin—”all this is somehow … disturbed? Is it the word? It is uncertain place. Sometimes all like this, trees, water, cliffs … other times there is nothing solid, nothing we can be sure of. Sometimes an opening is here, sometimes there. It is like shimmering veil, like spray from a waterfall, and on the Other Side—”
“It is always this way?”
“No. It is a sometime way. Then something happens. … It is not earthquake, but something like, only it is in space. No, not space! It is in the essence of things, the overall! Something happens, makes dizzy. The eyes do not seem to see what is there. Then all is still, slowly everything settle, and after that, no openings! All is close! Close for long, long time!”
“But when are there openings again? When does it go back?”
She shrugged. “I do not know. The last time was before I am. Before I am born. Long time before. He Who Had Magic made marks on wall each time of which he knew. In his living time there were two.”
Mike Raglan swore under his breath. So these so-called openings, even the “always” ones such as the kiva, might be closed at any time and remain closed for years. He shook his head irritably. The sooner he could get the hell out of all this, the better. He was perfectly happy with a normal, everyday world of three dimensions, and how did it happen that these Indians, of all people …
Still, the Maya or one of their predecessors had devised one of the most perfect calendars. They understood Time, in one sense at least. What was reality, anyway? Might it be nothing but a certain atmosphere of recurring phenomena to which we have become accustomed? And how do we know it is the only such “reality”?
Our reality today is vastly different from the reality of 1900, for example. The reality of 1900 was of steam trains, horsedrawn drays, Saturday-night baths, and straight razors. If someone had suggested that soon a man might sit in his living room, flip a switch, and see what was taking place in South Africa or Australia, he’d have been thought to be off his rocker. Reality is what is generally accepted as such. Man alters it at his convenience.
Each of us has a vision of the world that belongs to him alone, and when he dies that world dies with him. Others may share in some parts of it, but none will see it exactly as he does, nor will all experience it in the same way, for they are living with their own vision of reality. Each man’s vision of reality is based upon his life experience, the influences of people, places, books, dreams, work, all the various aspects of his existence that go to make up him, or her.
He shook his head angrily. Forget all that. It was time he gripped what reality he was facing. What he had to believe was that it would be like getting on an elevator and getting off at another floor. He would have to deal with what came and get back on the elevator, with Erik, just as damned quick as he could.
He paused. “Kawasi? You said the Hole was a sacred place. I’ve looked around and there is no sign of any long residence there. There is water, lots of it in comparison with what’s around here, and there are trees. Did nobody ever live here?”
She shrugged. “It is unreal place. All seems what is expected and then it is not. Look! Do you see animals here?”
“I saw the track of a mountain lion. A big one.”
“Hah! It is no lion. Jaguar. A were-jaguar. There is spirit of evil man in him. He follows to kill, to destroy.” He knew the stories of werewolves and knew that in Africa there were leopard-men, so why not jaguar-men?
“There is a place down there where one can go through to your world. I think I even saw the Varanel disappear into it.” He explained, telling the story of what he had seen.
“Maybe there.” She shrugged. “But close upon us now is a place. It is said by some to be the place our people left the Third World and came into this. I do not know if this is true. It was there they returned to the Third World.” She pointed into the canyon. “It is over there, a place like a stone funnel. What you call funnel.
“He Who Had Magic sketched a plan showing all the ways. It is very small area, after all. The funnel is hidden place but it will bring you through close to us.
“All this”—she gestured wide—”is place of no steadiness. I do not know your words, but it is place where nothing can be sure.
“There is opening where The Hand is. We hear speaking of it from those who knew, but the speaking was long ago.”
They walked on in silence. It had grown quite dark, and although she seemed amazingly sure-footed, he was not. She paused, seemingly aware she was moving too fast for him. Athletic though he was, the altitude was higher here and his breath came harder in the thin air.
“Where you are?” He was thinking of the gold the old cowboy found, and particularly the map. “Do you know of any ruins there? I mean, very ancient ruins?”
“Oh, yes! There are stories. Some believe. Some do not. We do not go far from where we live. It is not our way. We hear speaking of old places where now no water is. No one goes there. How old? We do not know.”
“But if there were ruins, there must be water?”
She shrugged. “Springs go dry. Rivers change course. All is desert.”
They reached the mesa top. The ruin lay dark and silent under a sky of a million stars. He stopped her with a touch on her arm, for something moved in the darkness. It was Chief.
When he had a fire started and coffee on, he got out some cold cuts and fruit. “I am afraid for you,” she said. She glanced at the robe and turban. “This is what you will wear?”
“It is.”
“This robe is that of a Jaguar priest. Do you know this?”
“No, I did not. Is it special?”
“Not many still live. He Who Had Magic was one. They were men of wisdom, of great knowledge.”
“It will get me where I wish to go, into the Forbidden area after Erik.”
“It is not possible! You do not know what you do! The Forbidden is … what you call it? A maze? Only The Hand knows all the ways. The Varanel know a little but not all. It is said The Hand preserves himself so, because only he knows the way to his chambers, his private rooms. It is said he appears to them on a balcony above a great hall, and speaks from there in a great voice.”
“And if he dies?”
“There is always another. I do not know from where.”
“You have seen The Forbidden?”
“Only from a distance. It is vast, a mountain-building of black stone, polished stone.” She pointed across the river at No Man’s. “It is like that! It stands alone above the city, not red like that, but all black!”
They were silent then. He made sandwiches and passed a paper plate to her, then filled their cups. It was very quiet now, very pleasant. The fire took the chill from the air, and outside the door they could see the stars against the black sky.