“Where are we?” he asked.
“My village is near. Only a few miles. And these—these people have never come so close!”
“Kawasi, I do not know your situation, nor that of your people, but that is an army patrol encamped for the night or on guard here. Any soldier would recognize the signs at once. Either the approaches to your village are being guarded or they are preparing an attack.”
“Attack? Oh, no! They must not!” Her voice was anguished. “Oh, Mike! I’ve been too long away! I fear! I fear greatly!”
He put his arm around her. “Take it easy, honey. Now let’s get down to business. How do we get to your place from here?”
Her momentary fear and doubt seemed to ebb away. The need for action dispelled her anxiety for the moment. Taking his hand again, she went swiftly along the edge of the woods. At a pause, he whispered, “Careful! There may be scouts out, or other parties.”
“I do not think so. Nobody ever fights them. Nobody has resisted them for many years.”
And that, he told himself, might be their only advantage. He had noticed that in the strong-arm men he had encountered in the parking lot at the motel. They had not expected resistance, at least not the resistance offered by a fighting man who knew his business.
“It is far?”
“Only a few miles.”
“Will there be a guard?”
“A guard? Oh, no! There has never been need for one. Not for a long, long time.”
So what started the ball rolling, he wondered. Was it Erik? Or had Erik escaped somehow? Was this part of a searching party? Or had they—he caught his breath—decided to do what he had suggested to Gallagher, come through to the other side, in force?
The idea did not greatly worry him. They might overcome a few outlying ranches or take over one of the marinas on Lake Powell, but once the word was out, there were too many homes with weapons, too many citizens who were prepared to defend themselves.
Gallagher, for example, could have a hundred armed men deputized to help within a half hour after realization of the necessity. There was almost no place in the West, and in many parts of the East, where this was not true. No enemy paratroop attack had ever been made into a country where the citizens were armed. And of course, they had the advantage of knowing the country.
With Kawasi leading, almost running now, they wove their way among boulders, up a dry wash, then a narrow path up the face of the cliff. Obviously, she was accustomed to this, but he was not and the altitude was high. It was growing lighter. Daybreak, perhaps? But it was too soon. He glanced at his wristwatch.
Three a.m.? He swore suddenly, and Kawasi looked around. “What is it?”
“When I came through,” he said, “I was going to mark the place so I could get back. Now I don’t know where I am.”
He was in a world he had never wanted, facing enemies he did not know, and he had no means of escape. Above all, there was little time. Only a matter of hours until the openings were closed forever, or for more years than he cared to contemplate.
Buster, he told himself, this time you’ve done it! This time you’ve bought the packet!
XXXII
At their feet was a vast black gulf, and around them great wind-scoured cliffs and jagged spires, an unbelievable chaos bathed in deep shadows and misty gold light. Awed, he stood transfixed by the dark grandeur of the sight. Kawasi tugged at his sleeve. “Come!” she whispered.
Leading him, she plunged down an unseen path into that bowl of blackness, switching back and forth across the face of the cliff into the cool darkness below. Once, during a momentary pause, he glanced back up to see a leaning tower of rock like a great warning finger, a warning of he knew not what danger.
When they reached level ground, she was almost running. Nearby he heard water.
“A stream?” he whispered.
“Irrigation ditch,” she replied. “There are miles of them. This is our land, all down this canyon and on the mesas around us. That is why I am frighten. We did not believe they knew where to find us. For a long time we are undisturbed. Now that is over.”
They reached a well-trodden path, and before them loomed the dark bulk of some kind of a structure. His eyes could dimly find its outlines. A pueblo not unlike those near Taos but vastly larger. Kawasi walked to what appeared to be a blank wall, moved something with her fingers, and spoke into what must have been a speaking tube.
There was a muffled response and a moment later a ladder was lowered from the roof above. Kawasi climbed swiftly and he followed. The ladder was withdrawn by a man to whom Kawasi spoke swiftly and sharply. Turning, the man ran into the door of his sleeping quarters. Mike could hear the man talking to someone else, apparently spreading the alarm.
Kawasi did not linger. She led him swiftly along the roof to another ladder, fixed in position. On this second level several men awaited her and she spoke rapidly, evidently explaining the situation and the necessities of the moment. He could see them peering at him; then they moved away, scattering out.
“Do you expect an attack?”
“We must be prepared. This might be only a scouting party.”
“Do you think they know where you are?”
“How can we know? We must act as if they did, and act promptly.”
“It was not a large party. Maybe you shouldn’t let them get away.”
She turned sharply. “What do you mean?”
“If they are the only ones who know where you are, and they could not return with the information … ?”
“You mean … kill them?” She was shocked. “They are Varanel. Nobody has ever killed a Varanel!”
“Not even Johnny?”
“Well … perhaps, but it does not seem possible. They are invulnerable!” .
“Nobody is invulnerable,” he said, “and if they are a danger to you, why not?”
“We do not attack. We only defend.”
Mike Raglan walked on beside her for several steps. “Often it is better to attack first. Destroy them before they can attack, and before they can return with the news of what they have found.”
“We never attack first,” she insisted.
She opened a door in a wall and they entered to a subdued light. She closed the door carefully and they mounted three flights of stairs. At each landing there was a door which she ignored. At the top, another door opened upon a terrace. Here there were trees, a fountain with running water, and a pool. There were many flowers, and the terrace extended off into the darkness, where he could dimly make out rows of planted crops.
She opened still another door and they stood in a wide and spacious room. At the far side there was a fireplace, and there were several divans covered with what appeared to be Indian blankets. “It is my house,” she said.
The stone walls were hung with tapestries and the floor beneath was carpeted.
“Sit you,” she suggested. “We will have food, and men will come to talk. We must decide what is to be done.”
“My advice is to get that patrol before they can tell what they have seen, if they have actually seen this place.”
“To kill a Varanel? It is not done. To kill a Varanel is the greatest evil.”
“Why?”
“It is not done. It has never been done. It is the greatest evil—”
“Who told you that?” he asked, irritated. “The Varanel?”
“No, but it is so. It has always been so.”
“Do they not sometimes kill others?”
“Oh, yes! They kill or enslave. It is their way.”
“But you do not kill them? Somebody, honey, has sold you a bill of goods. They can kill you, but to kill them is a sin. I believe you should think about that,” he said, “and just where that idea came from.”
A voice spoke from outside the door. She crossed the room and opened it. Six men came in, four of them older men, judging by the whiteness of their hair. They all wore belted cloaks of some thin material.
Swiftly, she explained. Then she turned to him. “Mike? I did not see. How many were there?”
“Seven, in sight. I believe that is all there were. If we were to move swiftly, we might get them all.”
She explained and there were exclamations of astonishment, almost anger. Only one of the younger men kept silent, glancing over at Mike with appraising eyes.
“They say as I have said. Nobody kills a Varanel. If they attack, we will defend.”
“And if you kill one then? In defending yourselves?”