Post by California gal on Jan 1, 2012 15:14:15 GMT -8
THE NIGHT OF THE EAGLE GOD
O dii immortales! ubinam gentium sumus?
[Ye immortal gods! where in the world are we?]
—In Catilinam (I, 4), Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero; 106-43 BC], Roman philosopher, statesman, lawyer, orator
O dii immortales! ubinam gentium sumus?
[Ye immortal gods! where in the world are we?]
—In Catilinam (I, 4), Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero; 106-43 BC], Roman philosopher, statesman, lawyer, orator
“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!”
Jim West knelt at the edge of the gorge, peering down at the man sprawled on his back on the narrow ledge about a dozen feet below. Thank the Lord the ledge stopped Artie’s fall, but now I’ve got to get him out of there. He climbed to his feet and looked around. No trees in this barren New Mexico canyon area. No rocks narrow enough and secure enough to use as an anchor. The only option was to fasten his rope to the saddle of one of the horses. Both animals were still unnerved, and he might not have time to calm them.
Leaning, Jim peered down over the side again. He had initially anxiously called his partner’s name, but quickly halted, realizing that if Artemus roused and moved before being aware of his precarious position, he could easily slip and plummet the remaining hundred feet or so to the canyon floor. That had been Jim’s first horrified certainty of what had happened immediately after the puma leapt toward them from the higher inside ledge, startling both horses as well as the riders.
Caught unawares, Artemus had been hurled out of the saddle, hitting the hard surface of the narrow path and tumbling over the edge, apparently unconscious from the initial impact. The relief Jim experienced when he spotted Artie resting on the ledge quickly gave way to the concern regarding the danger of his partner moving before he could be retrieved.
Jim went to the dancing black horse, speaking calmly, and stroking its sleek neck as he removed the rope from the saddle. Artemus’s white-faced mare was still edgy as well. Mesa was normally a very calm horse, rarely startled, but the appearance and attack by the big cat had been completely unexpected. The area between the wall of the cliff at one side and the canyon edge on the other was fairly narrow, and Artemus had been nearest the precipice.
I’ve got to get down to him before he wakes up. Biggest problem, other than how to secure the rope, was that the ledge holding Artie was extremely narrow, leaving almost no space for Jim to stand in order to heft the weight of his partner. He probably could not secure a rope around Artie before lifting him, and that was worrisome as well, especially if Artie awakened during the attempt and began moving before comprehending what was happening.
Jim had just started to loop the rope around Blackjack’s saddle when the horse snorted. Jim’s first thought was if another cat was in the vicinity. Then he heard a sound that caused him to look around: voices. He could only stare. They had not seen signs of another human for more than two days, and no tribes were known to reside in this remote and desolate area. Yet here he was facing a dozen or so Indians.
A dozen or so not very friendly Indians, if their glares were any indication. Jim instantly realized he had no idea what tribe these warriors belonged to. He had never seen similar garb… at least not on living Indians. Their clothing resembled drawings he had seen portraying now extinct Mexican tribes, like the Maya and Aztec. Every man held a spear at the ready.
Jim spoke calmly. “Hello. I’m not here to do any harm. I need help.” He pointed toward the ledge.
The men spoke among themselves, and their tongue was an unfamiliar one as well. Because of his interaction with various North American tribes, Jim knew a few words and phrases, and at least recognized certain portions of different tongues; enough to know which tribe it came from. But this patois was entirely different.
One man then separated from the group to move over to the edge and peer down. Jim saw how his body stiffened just before he spun around, eyes wide, whereupon he began to speak excitedly to the others, waving them to join him. More worked up than I would have expected after finding a man on a ledge like that, Jim mused. The husky, well-built man’s words and actions roused the others into movement, and one by one they looked down at Artemus, each then displaying the same exaggerated agitation.
“I need your help,” Jim began.
As though they had forgotten his presence, the warriors spun towards him, their spears lifted. Jim took a step back, and although he did not touch the pistol strapped to his hip, he kept his hand ready. He did not want to start shooting, but neither was he going to stand by to become a pincushion. Why were they again so hostile, when a moment ago they had appeared merely curious?
Their next move caught him completely off guard. One man hefted his spear, as though going to hurl it, and when Jim dodged to one side, away from the drop-off, two other men took advantage of his being momentarily off balance to jump him and disarm him. Once he was flat on the ground, others joined in. Too many for him to overcome, and within moments, he was on his knees, his wrists lashed behind his back, boots tied together, and a length of the same leather fastening his wrists to his ankles, in effect hog-tying him so that he could not get to his feet, let alone reach the blades secreted in his boot toe or coat collar. In any case, one man was positioned above him, spear poised to plunge into his body if he tried anything.
The man who had first gazed down over the cliff appeared to be the leader, and he started barking commands. At first Jim was horrified, fearful that they intended to go over the side to push Artemus off the ledge. His horror turned to bemusement when he began to realize they were extremely concerned about the stranded man’s safety. Several had what seemed to be a serious discussion regarding how to rescue him.
They finally landed on the plan that Jim would have executed if he had had some help. Two men were lowered over the side, with others holding the ropes at the top. This way, one could make sure Artie remained still while the other looped a rope around him. Despite his own situation, Jim West breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw his partner’s still unconscious form rise over the top of the cliff. He also noticed how gently Artie was being handled.
They placed him on the level ground… and to a man, every Indian knelt and bowed his head. Jim stared. They were behaving as if Artemus Gordon was some sort of holy relic! As Jim watched, the leader finally rose and carefully, almost gingerly, touched Artie’s face and throat, then barked some commands. Immediately two men took off on the run.
“Thank you for rescuing my partner,” Jim began, planning to make an attempt to explain their identity and presence in this region. He halted his words as two men spun with spears at the ready. Why in the world am I the enemy, yet they seem to recognize Artemus as a friend? Especially without Artie having an opportunity to speak! To my knowledge, he has never been in this area before, anymore than I have.
Jim could see his partner’s chest rising and falling in deep even breaths, which was further relief. The dark bruise on Artie’s temple was probably what was causing him to remain unconscious. Hopefully that was all it was, a bruise, a slight concussion.
On their way to investigate a report that a man wanted by the federal government was in the Albuquerque area, the two agents had decided to take a shortcut through a region without railroad tracks, necessitating leaving their train to catch up with them later. They hoped to be able to sneak up on the wanted man. The approach of the special train might have been noticed.
Because neither was familiar with the region, with no map at hand, they had pretty much followed intuition and the sun and stars, heading south for the most part. Coming upon this area filled with canyons and cliffs had been somewhat unexpected, but they had plenty of water and other supplies, thus were not overly concerned.
Last night, while camping, they had heard the distant yowl of a mountain cat. While wary, they had not been particularly troubled, knowing that such creatures generally avoided humans as much as humans avoided them. That neither horse had sensed the presence of the cat that jumped them probably meant the cat had been downwind. When it leapt off the higher rocks toward them, men and animals had been unprepared. Jim had been able to get his pistol out and fire into the cat, which went over the cliff, but not before Artemus had been unhorsed to pitch over the edge himself.
Each time Jim attempted to speak to the Indians, he was threatened with the spears. That along with the rage and hatred he saw on the men’s dark faces caused him to fall silent. At least thus far they were safe. When Artemus woke up, perhaps his facility with languages would help them explain who they were. All I can do is wait and hope… hope Artie recovers, and hope they don’t decide to dispatch me before he has an opportunity to try to talk to them. Be interesting to find out to which tribe they belonged, not to mention where they lived in this godforsaken area.
Close to three quarters of an hour elapsed before the two men who had been sent away returned, bearing a litter of sorts. Jim watched as Artemus was carefully placed on the bed of what appeared to be woven leather, and then four men lifted it to start back down the trail. For one moment, Jim wondered if he was going to be left behind, but then the leader stepped over to slice the bonds that secured his wrists to his boots, and then the ones around his ankles. He was jerked to his feet, whereupon another loop was fastened around his neck. Thus leashed, he was forced to follow the group bearing the injured man. One Indian grasped the reins of the two horses to bring along, though none attempted to mount.
Perhaps because they were now bearing a burden, and carefully so, the trek consumed more than an hour. Jim was in the rear, save for the man leading the horses. Up ahead he could see the litter and its occupant, and he watched for movement from Artemus. That none was visible was somewhat worrisome. Artie had been unconscious for close to two hours. Perhaps the blow to the head had been more severe than suspected.
Jim also kept an eye out for signs of the settlement where these Indians lived. Were they a nomadic tribe who were currently residing among these canyons? He had heard stories of ancient settlements in this area, but none that indicated any extant tribes inhabited the region. The arid climate and lack of fertile ground would seem to militate against any successful existence here.
The trek wended along and through canyons and boulders, with rocky cliffs looming above them, sometimes throwing the group into deep shadow, after which the sunlight was all but blinding. Jim was able to keep up with the men ahead of him, though he certainly wished they would offer him some water, as well as have the ability to explain who they were and what was going on.
When he saw the rough wooden ladder extending up the cliff side ahead of them, Jim could not help but stare as he lifted his gaze to espy what appeared at first to be a shallow cave above them. One of the men bearing the litter yelled something, and almost instantly thirty or more dark faces peered down. Jim immediately realized that the cave was not nearly so shallow as appeared at first glance.
He saw the faces of men and women of all ages, as well as several children. An entire colony living in cliff dwellings? But who were they? The United States government, through the Indian Bureau, kept pretty good records on the populations of natives, including their location. As part of their own work, the two agents were generally apprised of this information. One reason they had decided on the shortcut was because they knew they would not encounter any hostile tribes; in fact, no Indians at all in this area. Who were these people?
Jim hoped they would release his wrists to enable him to climb the ladder, but that was not the case. The man holding his leash went up first; he was expected to follow, with another man right behind him, keeping a hand on his rump or back to steady him, while the rope tightened from above. By the time he gained the top, his neck was abraded and sore. He was then pushed to his knees and guarded by a spear-bearing man while others participated in lifting the litter to the top.
The behavior of the other residents was identical to that which had been displayed by the men who came upon Jim in the canyons. They chattered animatedly among themselves, peeking over the edge at the man on the rising litter. At least, Jim noted, the men below had tied some ropes around Artie so that he would not tip off if he should rouse during the process.
When the task was completed, another scene was repeated: everyone, men, women, and children, dropped to their knees, gaping at the unconscious man. What is it about Artie that’s causing this? Do they think he’s some long lost tribe member? Someone venerated, obviously. But who?
Only when he was taken in through a large opening did Jim West grasp what was occurring. He was so stunned he stopped short, causing the two men escorting him to grab his arms to propel him forward. Even then Jim could not take his eyes off the stone figure standing in a shallow recess in one wall of the cave, which he now realized was not so much a cave as having been hand-hewn out of the rock cliffs. Other doorways opened off the walls, leading into more rooms.
But the figure, a good eight to ten feet tall, was astounding. The man portrayed was muscular, and seemed to be attired in a combination of cloth and feathers, with stubby wings extending from each broad shoulder. The face was rather round and well featured… and a near duplicate of the features of one Artemus Gordon!
Jim was not given much time to examine the figure, which he suspected represented one of the tribe’s gods. His escorts pulled him through the room toward one of the many doorways, one that led into a narrow corridor illuminated by torches fastened to wall sconces. Jim wished he could ask questions, but knew it would be futile. They did not understand him anymore than he understood them.
After several dizzying turns through dim passageways, they shoved him into a small alcove dug into one side, then immediately fastened a “door” of thick strands of leather woven into a web over the door. Jim realized that he would be able to cut through the leather with one of his knives. They had taken his gun, but had not bothered to search him. Yeah, I can get out of this hole, but then what? At this point I’m not sure if I can find my way out. Plus I saw quite a few brawny men. Getting through them might be the real problem. Where have they taken Artie? What do they plan for him? What happens to a “god” in this tribe? Beyond that, how serious is his head wound?
W*W*W*W*W
Man always worships something; always he sees the Infinite shadowed forth in something finite; and indeed can and must so see it in any finite thing, once tempt him well to fix his eyes thereon.
— Essays—Goethe's Works, Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881), Scottish satirical writer, essayist, historian & teacher
Man always worships something; always he sees the Infinite shadowed forth in something finite; and indeed can and must so see it in any finite thing, once tempt him well to fix his eyes thereon.
— Essays—Goethe's Works, Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881), Scottish satirical writer, essayist, historian & teacher
Artemus Gordon stared at the ceiling above him and puzzled. A rock ceiling—a ceiling carved out of rock. He could see the marks of tools, illuminated by torches placed in sconces on the surrounding walls. He lowered his gaze. A man was standing at the foot of his bed. A tall, muscular man, dark skinned, black hair flowing over his bare shoulders. Indian obviously. But what tribe? Artie did not recognize the coarse woven designs in the fabric of his loincloth, nor those etched into the silver of the bands he wore around his upper arms. That design appeared to be an abstract of some sort of bird, a hawk or eagle.
He started to raise his head, quickly fell back when his vision began to swim. The couch he was on, Artie realized, was cut out of the solid rock, covered with blankets and something else to create a mattress of sorts. Another blanket was on top of him. How the devil did I get here, and where the hell is ‘here’?
Jim!
He forced his senses to behave, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Where’s my friend?”
The man stared at him silently for a long moment, then turned and departed through a door covered by fabric woven into the same pattern as the man’s clothing. Artie carefully threw back his covering and sat up, moving his legs over the side. His head was pounding, and upon touching it with his fingers, he found a large knot on his temple. What happened?
He remembered bits and pieces. Riding slowly along the path alongside Jim as they made their way toward Albuquerque through the stark and barren canyon country. The suddenness of the attack by the big cat… Artie recalled the shriek of the puma; the terrified cry of his horse… nothing more. What happened to Jim? Had he been injured… or worse… by the animal? Who was the Indian, and where was this cave located?
Artie had just made up his mind to try to stand up when the door curtain moved again. A young woman entered. She stopped, and seemed to be paralyzed momentarily with something akin to terror or awe. She was, he guessed, in her early twenties, entirely lovely, with shining black hair that flowed over her shoulders. Her garb, a loose dress that barely reached her knees, was constructed of that same crude fabric bearing similar symbols as on the man’s clothing and the blanket and curtain.
“Hello,” he said, smiling, in an attempt to put her at ease.
Instead her eyes widened further, and she sank swiftly to her knees, bowing her head, saying a word he did not quite catch, except that it sounded similar to his own name. Had Jim told her? Did that mean Jim West was alive and safe? Where was he?
“What is your name?” Artie asked gently.
Her dark eyes darted up for an instant. He had not expected her to understand his words, but hoped his expression and tone would put her at ease. She was not bearing any food or drink nor anything else, so he was unsure why she had been sent in by, he presumed, the tall man who had been present when he awakened.
“Lunata, my lord,” she replied in a barely audible voice.
“You speak English?” Artemus could not suppress his astonishment. “What is this place? Where is my friend?” Only after his outburst did he realize how she had addressed him. “My lord.”
“Lunata talk little white man talk,” she said, face and eyes still downcast. “Lunata come to serve the lord.”
Artie quelled his impatience and retained a gentle tone. “Lunata, please stand and look at me. That is how you can serve me. Answer my questions please.”
The fear was still in the shining eyes, but she obeyed, rising and clutching her slender hands together at her waist. “Yes, lord.”
He wanted to know the reason for the deference and the title, but more important answers were needed. “I was with another man. Do you know where he is? Is he safe?”
“Evil man is…” She frowned and seemed to be searching for words. “Napota say, put evil man in dark hole then we make him pay for harming our lord Armahiga.”
“Evil man?” Artie echoed. “What… what does the evil man look like?”
She frowned slightly then lifted a hand to place her finger just below one eye. “Eyes like leaf by water.”
Green eyes. That sounded right. “Why do you say he is an evil man?” Had Jim been forced to put up a fight against her tribesmen?
Again the dark eyes widened. “Napota see evil man throw Armahiga over… over rocks.”
Now Artemus was truly astonished. “Who is Napota?”
“Son of chief. Maybe chief.”
The way she spoke, the expression on her face, gave Artie reason to believe that this Napota’s word was not to be doubted. I’ve got to learn more. Wish my head were clearer.
“Lunata, can you bring me some water?”
“Yes, lord!” She started to spin away, caught herself, bowed slightly toward him then fled through the curtained doorway.
Wearier than he would have imagined after those few minutes of sitting up, Artemus lay back down. He would like to get up and explore his surroundings, try to find Jim in whatever “hole” he had been placed in, but knew he needed to regain some strength first, and importantly clear his head.
Why would this Napota, who she said was the chief’s son and heir, say that he saw Jim push me over the cliff? Why did Lunata address me as “Armahiga”? That was the name he heard her murmur when she first entered, he was certain. And above all, why in the world was she bowing and scraping and addressing him as “lord”?
W*W*W*W*W
Jim West sat against the wall in the back of the small cavern that was his prison, arms clasped around his knees as he waited and listened. Twice a man had come to look through the leather web, but neither man had spoken, nor had they offered him food or water. Jim had used his knife on some of the strands of the leather straps covering the door. The straps were woven together from other heavily braided and twisted strands so that they became close to an inch in diameter. He had been careful not to cut all the way through, and to disguise the cuts as much as possible. He felt that if necessary, the weight of his body against them would pull the woven leather ropes apart.
But he was not quite ready for that. Some sort of misunderstanding was occurring here, and if he made an escape attempt, things could get worse. He was badly outnumbered, plus he did not know his partner’s fate. He had a sense from the route taken to reach this cell that these cliff dwellings were a veritable catacomb, a maze of tunnels and rooms. Where Artie was being held was anyone’s guess, and without that knowledge, he could waste precious time, perhaps endanger them both more than they were now. If indeed Artemus had been “recognized” as one of their deities, chances were good that he was being cared for.
Occasionally he heard distant voices, even movement, but except for the two men who had checked on him, he saw no one. Now as he waited quietly, he did hear more footsteps that seemed to be coming closer. A torch was burning in sconce some yards down the passageway, but he discerned a brighter light approaching, indicating these people were carrying their own torch. More than one person, for he heard a murmur of voices. A woman’s voice? As the approaching persons neared, he climbed to his feet, the knife that had been in his coat collar secreted in the palm of his hand.
A man appeared first, and Jim recognized him as the one who had been giving orders out on the trail. Then another man, who bore a great resemblance to the first, but was perhaps ten years younger. Finally, a young woman appeared, with hair that gleamed like a raven’s wing in the glow of the flickering torch. The trio paused on the other side of the leather web and held a conversation in their own language, looking in at him. Especially the young woman looked at him.
Jim West was not unaware of the influence his appearance had on women of all ages. Upon occasion, he had used that influence to his advantage when working on a case. He knew the power of a smile, and he smiled toward the woman. She quickly pulled her gaze away then the dark eyes peeked back at him a moment later.
Both men noticed the exchange, and the older one spoke sharply, eyes burning with anger. The younger man only frowned, remaining silent. The girl nodded in humble compliance to whatever she had been told, and turned to face Jim through the screen. “Evil one, why did you try to kill Armahiga?”
Surprised that she spoke English, as well as with the question itself, Jim took a couple of steps toward the opening, but seeing how both men tensed, the older one putting a hand on the hilt of the knife attached to the waist of his breechclout, he paused. “I did not try to kill anyone. Who is Armahiga?”
“The holy one: The Eagle God. Napota saw you. Napota does not lie.”
The older man caught the mention of his name, even if he did not understand what she was saying, and glared toward the prisoner. Is that it? They think Artie is a reincarnation of their god, an Eagle God? That makes sense, particularly because Artie resembles that statue, and would explain their reverential treatment of him, for sure. But why do they think I tried to harm him? Why would this Napota tell such a tale? The other men who had been with him certainly knew the truth of the matter.
“Perhaps,” Jim said slowly, “Napota misunderstood what he saw. The man who fell over the edge is my friend, my brother. Is he well?”
The young woman hesitated, flicking a glance toward the elder man. “Armahiga is well. He slept, but he awakes.”
“Can I see him?”
She remained silent for a long moment, gazing at the prisoner, then looked at the younger man before addressing Napota in her native tongue. Napota’s eyes narrowed, then he shook his head fiercely, point a hand through the netting toward Jim as he rattled off some words that were easily comprehended as an angry threat.
Still, Jim asked, “What did he say?”
“He say you will see Eagle God when Eagle God hurls you from the highest cliff.”
Tit for tat, Jim mused. He decided to change the subject. “What about some food and water? Napota wants me alive so Armahiga can kill me, doesn’t he?”
She posed the query, and at first Napota obviously adamantly refused the request. The younger man spoke for the first time, and though his words and voice were more moderate in tone, he seemed to speak with some authority. At least Napota listened, if not very happily, finally shrugging his shoulders slightly. At that, with a final glare toward the prisoner, Napota stalked away, the younger following.
The woman paused. “I bring food. You wait.”
Jim almost laughed as she disappeared. What else did she expect him to do? None of them, fortunately, had tugged on the leather curtain. Jim thought a strong pull would be needed to separate the remaining strands. He hoped that the woman would return alone, and he got his wish about twenty minutes later.
She carried a clay bowl filled with some sort of cornmeal dish, along with a similar cup of cold, fresh water that she slipped through a small opening at the bottom of the leather web. He consumed that first, before accepting the bowl with its flat stone “spoon” through the web. “Where are our horses? Are they being cared for?”
“Yes. We no have horses, but had many, long ago. Napota, he say shiny horse him. Fine horse for chief.”
The porridge was not bad, flavored with some sort of spices or chili, even a tad on the hot side. I might wish I had some of that water left! “So Napota is the chief?”
She hesitated. “He chief son. Chief Radina very sick. Napota, he is first son. Amanito, he second son.”
“Amanito. He was the other one here?” She nodded. Jim had not missed the softening in her eyes as she mentioned the younger man’s name. “Is he your… intended?”
Her eyes dropped. “No. I will be wife of Armahiga.”
Jim West was glad he had not been in the midst of swallowing food with that statement, for he realized he might have choked. Instead, he asked quietly, “Is that what you wish to do?”
The dark eyes lifted. “I am to be wife of Armahiga from time I am born. The stars say so. Now he has come, I will marry him and we be man and woman together.”
But it’s sure as hell not what you want to do! “What’s your name?”
“Lunata.”
“How is it you speak English?”
A shy smile touched her mouth. “My father, he boy, run away. Live with white man many years, learn to talk. He come back, take woman for wife. Teach me white man’s words.”
“Is your father still here?”
“He die many years ago.”
Jim scraped out the last of the porridge. “What’s the name of this place?”
She evinced surprise. “It is our home.”
“What is your tribe’s name,” he rephrased.
“Tatuma. We are the Tatuma people. We live here many, many, many years. We live here when Spanish come, but they no find us. We hide.”
No one else found them either, apparently. When Lunata reached through the web, Jim passed her the bowl, asking if she would bring him more water. She agreed, and he made one more request. “When you talk to… Armahiga… tell him I am well. Tell him… he must ask to see me.”
“Oh. He say that. Napota say no. Like he say to you, Armahiga sacred. Can no talk to people. Just special people. Like chief.”
“And his intended,” Jim smiled. He saw the flicker of shadows on her face as she turned and scurried away.
With a heavy sigh, Jim West settled back against the wall again. He could break out of here. Quite possibly his fighting skills, along with the knife, would allow him to reach Artie. But he did not yet know his partner’s condition for certain. If Artie was still laid low by the blow to his head, with a bad concussion, getting him out against a few dozen strong men would not be easy, and maybe not possible.
I think I’m going to have to wait it out. Artie has portrayed many different roles in the past. Being a god will be new to him, but if I know my partner, he’ll carry it off. I’m going to have to trust him for the time being at least so long as I know he’s alive.
W*W*W*W*W
Artie tried to convince the frail, white-haired old man to sit down, but Chief Radina would have none of that. Through Lunata he stated he could not sit in the presence of the Eagle God. When Artemus attempted to explain his own identity and that he was not a god, Lunata refused to even translate his sentences.
“You will frighten Radina,” she stated. Artie had tried earlier, when she brought him food, to get her to explain why the tribe thought he was some sort of holy figure. Lunata was astounded that he would even ask. “All know,” she said flatly. “All see.”
Perhaps the most astonishing revelation thus far was that he, as the Eagle God Armahiga, was expected to wed Lunata. When Radina, through the young woman, had pronounced that, Artie had been stunned, but not too stunned to notice the reactions of the two younger men who had escorted the chief into the “god’s chambers” and still supported him by grasping his arms.
The elder, Napota, had glowered, but the younger, Amanito, closed his eyes momentarily, as if in pain. Plainly the sons of the chief coveted the beautiful maiden for themselves, but Artie suspected each man’s feelings toward Lunata were different.
“I wish to see the evil one,” Artie said, putting some authority in his tone. “Bring him to me.”
“You must not see him,” Lunata cried, not attempting to translate. “You cannot see him until the day you put him to death.”
Artemus Gordon swallowed hard in an attempt to prevent his expression from altering, working to retain the stern visage he had assumed. “I will see him. Armahiga commands. Bring him to me.”
Lunata nervously repeated his words in her own language. Immediately the two brothers began talking at once. Artie could not tell if both were protesting his command, or both were agreeing, or one of each. In any case, they were agitated, and so was their father. Radina finally got their attention and talked rapidly.
Artie had been listening carefully to their language, and was beginning to recognize some similarities to other Indian tongues he had heard. Though he spoke several European languages fluently, he had never had opportunity to master much of the various Native American dialects, usually just enough to get by. Cheyenne was the language he knew best, primarily through their friendship with the shaman, American Knife. The Tatuma language bore some resemblance to Navajo, but he thought he heard nuances of tribes further south, in Mexico. Even Aztec.
Finally Lunata relayed the chief’s response. He was dead set against the evil one being in the presence of the great Eagle God before the moment of execution. He feared that the evil one might hold some power over Armahiga, as he claimed was suggested in one of their legends. However, Radina felt he had to obey the god. He would ask the tribe’s shaman to attempt to exert some control over the evil one, to suppress some of the powers the green-eyed man might possess.
Artie did not necessarily like the sound of that, but did not protest. Jim would not be affected by any gourd rattling and incantations, so the two agents could at least converse. As the interview ended, Artie asked Lunata to bring him more water. The earlier meal and a short, unintended nap had him feeling better. At least his headache was down to a dull throb and his thoughts were clearer. He just had to be careful not to make any sudden movements.
When the young woman returned with a clay ewer of water, Artie engaged her in conversation. He had previously learned about her father’s experience in the outer world, which explained her knowledge of the language. Now he wanted to try to learn a little more about the political situation among the cliff dwellers, as well as about this business of Lunata being promised to the Eagle God.
She explained in her halting English that being the elder did not necessarily guarantee that Napota would assume the mantle of leadership upon his father’s death, but presently he was the stronger of the two sons. In a roundabout way, she revealed that Amanito was held in more favor by the inhabitants of the pueblo, but just about everyone accepted that when Radina died, Napota would take over primarily, it appeared, because the people feared his ruthlessness if he was unsuccessful.
That must have something to do with his claiming that he saw Jim hurl me over the cliff! I am the great Eagle God, he wants me on his side, and he wants the people to comprehend that I am in Napota’s debt. Executing the “evil one” will help seal the deal.
“What about your marriage to me… to the Eagle God? Is that what you want?”
“It is what must be,” the girl said sadly. “I am born, the magic ones say, this one will be the woman of the great one. Then some, they say, the great one is Armahiga. They tell that I must go to Armahiga. Then you come, so I will live.”
Artie frowned. “You’re saying that if… Armahiga had not appeared, you would have been sacrificed?”
Her chin came up. “It is the way. Armahiga is the greatest of gods. He must be happy. I will gladly be your wife, Armahiga. Only great chief can change the way.”
He chewed his lip a moment. That must mean that if Napota became chief, he could supersede the god. “Suppose you had a choice. Who would you marry?”
Suddenly tears poured from her eyes. “It does not matter. I will be the wife of Armahiga. I am honored to be your wife, great one.”
Artie decided to change the subject, knowing it would not be a good thing for her to leave the room in tears or with red eyes. “When will the evil one be brought to me?”
Lunata shook her head. “The magic one will work a spell. Maybe before moon rise. Maybe after sun rise.”
That was about all he could extract from her, so he sent her away, laying back down after taking a long drink of water. What would happen if I got up and started wandering around? Would they stop me? Would they dare stop the Eagle God?
He was still baffled as to why they thought he was this Eagle God. His queries continued to be met by astonished, “It is so. Everyone knows it is so,” from Lunata. Why did they know it was so? What was the clue? The fact that he had not fallen all the way to the cliff bottom and died? Lunata said she understood he was found on a ledge below the lip of the cliff. Likely Jim had been preparing to haul him up, and had willingly accepted the help of the Tatuma men when they appeared… before they accused him of attempted murder!
The fortuitous ledge that halted his fall did not seem to him to be a sufficient reason for them to decide he was the reincarnation of this god. They had lived in this region all their lives; their tribe for centuries, apparently. Surely they had seen or heard of an incident like that previously.
I do need to see more of this place, get a sense of the layout and the people. But I’d better not rock the boat just yet. For one thing, I’m not sure how far I could get without my knees buckling. As well, I don’t want to shake things up before I get the opportunity to speak to Jim. I need to make sure he is all right, and maybe get an opportunity to exchange some ideas about how to get out of this fix!
W*W*W*W*W
Within about ten minutes of having eaten, Jim knew he had been drugged. The spiced porridge had not tasted any differently than the previous bowl, and the water had been pure and cold. But suddenly his body refused to move away from the solid rock wall where he had been sitting. Some kind of herbal concoction, he reasoned. Though he did not lose consciousness or the ability to think, he could not make his limbs obey his commands. When he attempted to speak, to call out, his tongue did not want to work either, and the only sound he could make was a murmur.
Thus when two sturdy men appeared and shoved the woven door aside, Jim could do nothing but allow them to grasp his arms and drag him down the torch-lit corridor. Was this it? Was this how they executed intruders, rendering them helpless first, and then throwing them over a cliff? No, wait. They said the god would throw me over the cliff. Artie wouldn’t… Unless a different drug had been used on him, causing him to obey certain commands.
Jim experienced only mild relief when they reached the large anteroom where the idol was located when they did not drag him toward the outer door. He could see through the opening that nighttime had fallen. Instead he was taken down another corridor, and yet another and another. Even if I had all my senses intact, I’m not sure I could duplicate this route.
All of Artemus Gordon’s willpower was required to prevent him from leaping off the stone bed when he saw his partner hauled into the room and dropped unceremoniously to the floor. He had wondered why the chief’s sons had entered a few minutes earlier, positioning themselves on either side of the entrance, arms folded on their chests, faces stern—especially Napota.
“What is this?” he demanded angrily. Why isn’t Lunata here to translate?
When no response was forthcoming, Artemus carefully slipped off the bed and stood alongside it. “Jim?” That his partner did not move was unsettling. Casually, as though merely surveying the situation, Artie took a few paces so that he could see Jim’s face, experiencing tremendous relief to see the green eyes open and apparently alert.
With both the brothers and the two guards standing by, Artie spoke in an even tone. “Jim, can you hear me? Blink twice for yes, once for no.” Two blinks and further relief flooded Artie’s soul. “Did they do something to you? Drug?” Two blinks. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but for some reason they think I’m a god and you are the enemy. I suspect politics are involved. We need to talk, but obviously now is not the time.”
Jim blinked twice, cursing silently in frustration. Politics is putting it mildly. I think we’re in the middle of a nasty situation, and may not have much to say about our fate.
Napota said something then, and the two men who had brought Jim moved toward him. Artemus quickly held out a hand in a stop gesture and both halted, looking from the chief’s son to the “god” in some confusion. Who should they obey?
“It’s obvious they don’t want us to get together, Jim,” Artie continued in that same conversational tone. “But I’ll try to use my newly found authority to correct that.”
Napota spoke again, his voice harsh, and this time the guards jumped forward, grabbing Jim off the floor and hustling him out of the room. Artemus glared at Napota and had the satisfaction to see the elder son flinch slightly. Artie had gotten the impression that perhaps Napota was not as gullible as the others when believing that the injured man they found was the reincarnation of a fabled warrior-god. Maybe I need to convince him that it’s so.
About five minutes later, Napota returned, accompanied by a man Artie had not seen before. To his astonishment, this man also spoke English. The meeting did not last long. Napota spoke swiftly and volubly while his companion translated, ignoring Artemus's attempts to find out who he was and why he knew the language. He was around Napota’s age, mid thirties, a handsome man with a slim build. Though no introductions were made, certain aspects of his garb caused Artemus to speculate that he was some sort of shaman. For one thing, he wore a colorful stone necklace that he continually fondled as if for protection. Artie had not seen any other man wear a similar adornment.
The gist of the conversation was simple: Napota expected the newly found Eagle God to be grateful for his rescue and be a friend to Napota in all things. Artemus asked what “all things” meant, but the query was ignored, as was the question regarding why the Tatuma people believed he was this god. Napota said that Armahiga would be told when to act and what to do, a statement that made the translator very nervous. Artemus suspected that even if Napota were aware that the man they found was mortal, the other man was not so sure, and was extremely agitated that Napota would be speaking to the god in this manner. Possibly he feared the god would misunderstand and blame him for the high-handedness.
When the pair left, Artemus sat down and pondered it. Political had probably been the right word. He truly needed to learn more about the situation here, before something really bad happened; something that might bring harm to one or both of the outsiders.