People of the Sea(174)

The path between the silted-in villages had been lined with crushed potsherds. The fine black-and-white designs on them blazed beneath his feet. Murmurs of ghosts haunted these ruins. Their words rose and fell with the intensity of wind, drifting homelessly around the looming masonry walls as if searching for surviving relatives, sisters or cousins who could save them. But they’d already obliterated every possible refuge.

The ghosts would never leave this place.

As he rounded the corner of the building, he started to Sing. The notes echoed through the shadows.

Sunchaser didn’t even turn at the sound of Wolf dreamer’s soft voice. He just gazed at the ruins. The magnificent paintings —depicting the Gods—that had once covered the white plastered walls had flaked and crumbled into chunky piles. Only the thirty-hand-tall figures of the YamuhaktO, the Great Warriors of the East and West, continued to grace the front of the building. They carried lightning bolts in their hands, aimed down at the plaza. But the rich reds, blues and yellows that had detailed their terrifying masks had paled to insignificance.



When Wolfdreamer stood beside Sunchaser, he saw that the Dreamer clutched a stone knife in both hands, one of the rare turquoise knives used by the great priests in their ceremonials. Sunchaser had gripped the stone so tightly, for so long, that he’d snapped it in two.

Wolfdreamer sat down and leaned back on his elbows. Sunchaser’s hair and craggy face bore a thin coating of red dust. The dirt had mixed with tears and puddled in the lines at the corners of Sunchaser’s black eyes. He looked very tired, and hurt.

Wolfdreamer tipped up his face. As Father Sun sailed westward on his afternoon journey, shadows stalked across the plaza, cool on Wolfdreamer’s bronze skin.

“This is a majestic place,” Sunchaser said. His voice sounded hoarse, as though his throat was raw from so much praying.

“It was. I remember a hundred glorious summer-solstice celebrations. When Father Sun peeked above the eastern horizon, shafts of light pierced the sacred ceremonial chambers here, and the clan elders burst out in Songs that shook the foundations of the world. They Sang the Gods into existence. They Danced the world back into harmony.” Wolfdreamer paused and gestured to the Great Warriors. “In the last days, the People painted everything they could, trying to prevent Power from abandoning the canyon.”

Sunchaser’s face betrayed shock. “But the Power… it’s almost dead. I’ve been trying all day—”

“Yes, over the centuries a few traces have returned, but not many.”

“You mean there was a time when all the Power had disappeared?”

Wolfdreamer nodded. “With every tree they cut, every field they tilled, every war cry they uttered, they bled away the strength of their civilization, until the last trace of Power fled in the searing summer wind.”

“But how could that happen? Why would Power abandon them?”



Wolfdreamer squinted at the sunlight playing along the jagged edge of the high cliff. Flecks of light glimmered in the rock carvings that covered the flat sandstone walls. The Spirals called to him, their voices faint but impassioned, “Save us.” Don’t let us die. It wasn’t our fault! We tried!”

He lowered his gaze and brushed his fingers over the gritty sandstone. “Because by then, it was too late.”

Sunchaser held the halves of the turquoise knife more tightly. “Their Dreamers weren’t strong enough to bring the Power back?”

“Their greatest Dreamer—named Born of Water—had failed long before, and not all of the Dreamers alive could save them then. Though they tried.

“The Old Ones who built this sprawling civilization called all of their Dreamers together, the great as well as the small, and isolated them in that subterranean ceremonial chamber over there—” he pointed “—on the north side of the plaza. They Sang and fasted for almost a moon, sucking every bit of Power from the rocky cliffs, the animals, the clouds that drifted by.”

“And still they failed?”

“There was so little Power left, Sunchaser, that the amount they could collect did them little good.

“This place, while one of the most spectacular, is not the only one. There are others, scattered across time and land. I could have taken you to Cahokia, or Etowah, the Medicine Wheel, Tippecanoe, or Wounded Knee. All of them are places where people Sang and Danced and prayed… and died.” Sunchaser stared at Wolfdreamer with astonishment in his eyes. “Why did you bring me here, Wolfdreamer? What am I supposed to learn from these palace builders?”

“I wanted you to see the great heights your people will reach ten thousand cycles from now.” Wolfdreamer smiled gently. “And to tell you that over that vast span of time, tens of tens of Dreamers will fail… yet your people will still build this magnificent civilization.”