Coyote (20 page)

Spruce Tree Mesa was a high plateau, a wide mesa that brooded out over the surrounding, more brittle formations.

The Abbess had been right — I certainly knew it when I saw it. It was a completely different colour to the surrounding earthy pink-red monuments. Spruce Tree Mesa was whitish-grey with two semi-circular midnight-black layers in the middle that outlined another layer of yellowish amber. And in the centre of that was a broken layer of black, almost circular in nature. Together they formed a coyote's golden eye — the central black layer dotting the pupil in the middle of the amber iris … forever gleaming out on the landscape, forever curious and intent.

The burning sun made the amber iris glow like a hot coal, as though with interest at such a strange intruder. For a brief moment it felt like I stood before a curious giant. A cloud passed overhead and the shadow caused the eye to … to blink.

That stopped me in my tracks. Duquesa picked up on my fright and shivered beneath me.

No wonder everyone was terrified of this mesa. I patted her neck. ‘Don't worry, love, we'll be out of here as soon as I find that damned son-of-a-bitch Hector.'

But there was not a trace of living creatures along the path I took to the foot of the mesa. Not even the slithering tracks of snakes or the sound of twittering birds. Just the song of the wind blowing a melancholy hymn through towering monuments to the splendours of a world long gone.

It was as though Big Sun Canyon existed outside of time.

Close up, Spruce Tree Mesa was even more impressive. The surrounding pinky-red rocks sparkled with quartz crystals but the grey of the mesa seemed to actually absorb light rather than reflect it. I found a natural staircase leading up to the top of the mesa, exactly below the giant black and yellow coyote's eye.

But again there were no tracks.

If Hector and Ernesto had beaten me here, then they must've taken another route up. I could only hope I caught up with them on the plateau. At least from there I'd be able to look around for them with my binoculars.

I reluctantly left my beauties at the base of the mesa. I watered and fed them, leaving them more of both. I made them as comfortable and safe as I could. I didn't tether them — they'd come if I called and if someone or something came after them they had to be able to do what they needed to defend themselves.

Now to find Hector, or at least his and Ernesto's tracks. I slung my water and my bag of tricks over my shoulder and headed up the stairs.

I was panting by the time I made it to the very top … I scouted along the cliff perimeter, searching for tracks. After about twenty minutes I found another rough stairway winding up from the base. There were tracks at the top of the stairs, but only one set — moccasins — and they were leading down off the mesa, not up onto it. They were recent, less than a few hours old.

I stared down at the dusty imprints.

The moccasins could be Ernesto's — which may mean Hector was still somewhere on the plateau. I started backtracking the moccasins, cursing as I went. I'd had it with this bloody chase. After this I was sticking to Hector like a second skin until I found out what the hell he did with his effing diary.

Then, I mused angrily, I was going to steal it from him and sit down with a whiskey to read the bloody thing!

That cheerful thought kept me upright. The horses were not the only ones who needed a rest.

Seymour had specifically ordered me not to read the diary. Using his most pompous tone, he'd informed me that Hector's diary was his ancestor's personal business and that privacy should only be broached by his own family. My mission was merely to confirm whether, in fact, it existed and from where it could possibly be retrieved by Seymour in the present time.

Stuff that!

After all that'd happened, I was reading that bloody thing from cover to cover!

The moccasin tracks led me into the centre of the plateau and up a steep, rocky-sided hill towards a huge stone formation made of the same material as the amber eye on the side of the mesa. It glowed like gold in the rays of the setting sun.

I squinted up at it. It was in the shape of a giant coyote or maybe a dog baying at the sky. Yep — together with the giant eye on the side of the mesa it was easy to see why the locals associated this place with their canine trickster god.

The moccasin tracks led around the base of this Coyote Rock to its front paws. I studied the footprints as I went — bloody hell, there was still just one set of moccasins here. No prints of Hector's boots anywhere …

Then I heard the voices … many more than could just belong to Hector and Ernesto. They were close — and they were furious, almost howling with outrage.

Damn! I dived behind the front elbow of the stone coyote.

Had Hector been captured by incensed natives and the moccasin tracks were Ernesto fleeing to safety? Whoever it was, they were using a weird melange of nearly every local Native American dialect I'd programmed into my translator, combined with Spanish and English.

I snuck a look out from between the paws of Coyote Rock.

Holy hell. So this was why the legend the Abbess told me mentioned the city built by Coyote's companions …

Coyote Rock looked down on a vast ancient pueblo city. It was massive, spreading across acres of land. According to the legend, it was supposed to have been deserted centuries before but the buildings still looked pristine, perfectly intact, as though everyone had just gone out for pizza and a beer.

I'd seen photos of other ancient southwestern pueblo cities before: in Chaco Canyon, high up in the canyon walls of Mesa Verde, even close by here at Bandelier … But this was nothing like them.

This city was much, much bigger, more ornately decorated — and with startlingly real pairs of coyote's eyes painted across the facade of each of the five largest buildings. It felt like I was being watched by a hunting pack. But the strangest part of all was that the whole city was built out of that same glowing amber rock.

It was luminous, radiating a kind of yellowish-red light.

Five great houses, resembling massive apartment blocks and reaching four and five storeys in places, faced each other around a giant semi-circular plaza laid out at the base of the hill that held Coyote Rock. In the paved plaza between the five coyote-eyed, great houses, there were five round kivas.

Kivas are the pueblo equivalent of churches — sacred meeting rooms for spiritual rituals. Four of the five were built below ground with each of their round roofs perforated by an entry through which leant a wooden ladder. The four sunken kivas were clustered around a great circular, above-ground kiva. It rose to more than three storeys in height and had a strangely textured green roof.

The whole city glowed a fiery gold in the hot sun.

Unfortunately the furious voices weren't coming from the ancient city below. They were much, much closer.

I dropped my gaze.

Just down the hill from where I hid in between Coyote Rock's front paws, a band of maybe thirty desperados were gathered.

Their faces and clothes were a mix of too many Native American nations and European nationalities to yield one single label. They wore everything from feathers and buckskin to Western clothes, including a
motley mix of Civil War uniforms from both Union and Confederate sides. Captain Bull had said Coyote Jack's band was made up of every malcontent in the territory … and it looked like they'd come from every corner of it too.

In the very centre their leader gestured and everyone listened to him respectfully. He pointed back to the great three-storey kiva in the centre of the plaza and then up to Coyote Rock as though tracing a line on the ground. Their leader wore only a ragged pair of blue Union army trousers, exposing his tanned, strong body. A blood-red headband tied back his long, midnight-black hair …

Flaming damnation. Was that Coyote Jack?

I got my binoculars out.

It had to be. He kept moving around so it was hard to get a fix on his face, but he was lean and well muscled, just like his descendant, River. His commanding voice carried. He demanded an explanation and he was pointing to the ground.

Oh no!

Coyote Jack and his band were following the same set of moccasin tracks I had — only in reverse. They were climbing up the rocky incline to Coyote Rock …

And me.

Coyote Jack bounded up the rocky incline well ahead of his human pack. He sprang from rock to rock, moving in a blur, as though the light couldn't quite keep up with him. He seemed beyond agile, almost boneless …

I scanned the surrounding area. Bloody Hector! If these were Ernesto's tracks, where the hell was he? Was he hiding somewhere around here, watching like me?

I only had time to slide into the crevice behind
the coyote's elbow, carefully stuffing my bag of tricks behind me.

Coyote Jack reached the level area directly below the front paws of Coyote Rock just as I got into position. He came to a sudden halt, his nostrils quivered and he sniffed the air. Then he glared at the towering rock, searching. Coyote Jack stared straight at me, hidden deep in the shadows. It was him all right. But I got a shock; his eyes were yellow like a coyote's … no … more like molten gold.

As he stared they began to bore into mine like lasers on full beam.

But how could that be? There was absolutely no way Coyote Jack could see me from down there. I was safely shielded by the rock and its deep shadow.

His men clustered around him, tense and ready for action; they'd picked up that Coyote Jack was on full alert.

None of the others could see me. But Coyote Jack could — of that I was absolutely certain.

We stared across at each other.

I had to do something first … control the situation, not be its victim.

I reached into my jacket and pulled out a metal canister. It was Domenico Torres' best effort at a stun grenade. In my time they were used for crowd control. I pulled the ring and threw the grenade straight at him. I ducked back behind the rock, crouching to cover my eyes and ears as best I could.

Boom! … Flash! …

The grenade erupted in a massive explosion of light and sound.

Even behind the rock it made my ears ring.

I peered around the rock, ready to make the most of my opportunity.

All of the men were crouching on the ground, keening in pain and anguish from the twin shocks. They'd be deaf and blind for at least the next full minute.

Showtime.

I took a deep breath, slung my bag on my back, and climbed down into the middle of their crouching, struggling figures.

They'd neither hear nor see me coming and I'd appear just like magic …

Holy hell!

Coyote Jack appeared, like magic, directly across from me. Only a few feet away. He watched me totally unmoved.

I gaped at him.

Coyote Jack wasn't afraid … he wasn't even impressed.

But why not?

At his feet his own men rolled around deaf and blind.

His golden eyes blazed like lasers ready to incinerate me where I stood. He studied my two long red braids and black top hat. His fierce expression said he recognised my cover. Then Coyote Jack sniffed the air, as though confused by my scent. His eyes dropped from my top hat to search my face for answers.

Somehow he knew I was not what I seemed.

‘I come in peace.' I repeated it in every Native American language I could as well as Spanish and English.

Silence.

‘From where?' Coyote Jack used English to demand a straight answer.

The stun grenade hadn't disabled or even
impressed Coyote Jack; I had to find another way to shock him, put him off balance …

If I used my guns, if I started shooting, I'd have to kill everyone here including Coyote Jack. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't do that.

And it would screw up my mission.

Coyote Jack's men were recovering. They started to get to their feet.

I decided to roll the dice … big time. I showed him another metal canister.

He focused on it.

I pulled the ring and pitched it as far as I could down to the plaza below.

The sound made everyone duck once again.

Except for Coyote Jack …

I pulled my rifle down from my shoulder and gripped it, ready to fight if my last ploy failed. ‘I'm from your future.'

Coyote Jack didn't react. ‘What are you?' It sounded as though he was ready for an answer even stranger than the truth.

‘I'm here because one of your descendants asked me to clear your name … to find out who really committed Dry Gulch.' It was a risk — if Coyote Jack really did do Dry Gulch this wasn't going to work.

Then he looked at me like no human had ever done before. He scanned me like an X-ray machine, as though he was working out my composition down to the last molecule …

When his golden eyes met mine again, he seemed almost intrigued. ‘What is the name of this child of mine?'

‘His Anglo name is Jackson River but his real name is the same as yours — Sky Meets Earth.'

The men behind him were shocked. One muttered, ‘That is the secret name! How does this stranger know it?'

Coyote Jack's eyes gleamed with a curious excitement. Now he was interested.

To my guards' confusion, on Coyote Jack's express orders I was respectfully but firmly escorted towards the great round kiva in the centre of the plaza. The men on either side of me, still rubbing their sore eyes, guided me with a mix of fear and awe.

We strode alongside the moccasin tracks, the same ones I'd been following from before. The tracks showed that whoever I'd been tracking had come directly from the Great Kiva to Coyote Rock.

Was I wrong? Had it been Ernesto or not?

Behind me, Coyote Jack sent half his men out, at a dead run, to scour the rest of the plateau for signs of any other intruders.

From my guards' mutterings it was clear why I'd gained easy access to Spruce Tree Mesa. Coyote Jack and his band had just arrived back on the plateau after laying a heavy enough trail for even Captain Bull to follow and send him confidently over the border, deep into Mexico.

The closer I got to the ancient city the more curious I felt. The pueblo great houses were all intricately built and decorated but had to have been long deserted before Coyote Jack and his men made this place their home.

Who'd built this? How did they get all that glowing amber rock up onto this steep mesa?

Then I saw that the Great Kiva in the centre of the plaza was the biggest mystery of them all … It didn't have a green roof after all; instead four massive spruce trees grew out of the top of the heavy wooden roof, their branches spreading above it like a great green helmet.

So that was why it was called Spruce Tree Mesa.

Those huge trees had to be a couple of millennia old … They certainly predated the construction of the Great Kiva. And how on earth had these ancient trees survived and yet not destroyed the ancient kiva with their continually expanding growth?

The Great Kiva was three storeys high and was certainly big enough to hold the multitude that must've once lived in this pueblo city. The guards stopped at the entryway and reluctantly motioned me inside. They immediately took up their positions on either side of the door in order to watch me.

Yep, they'd been very reluctant to see me go into their sacred kiva. Kivas were the spiritual and administrative heart of the pueblo … and this one had to be the heart of the ancient pueblo city. But why had Coyote Jack sent me here for safe keeping? And alone?

Two flights of stairs led down into a single huge room that sat well below ground level. I studied the roof. It was completely supported by the four huge spruce trees that acted as living pillars …

How on earth had they done that?

Then I saw the rock garden …

Sitting in the very centre of the round floor, in between the four massive tree trunks, was a great circular rock garden. It was filled with stones and natural objects of every different description, including dried cactus, lizard skeletons, twisted pieces of wood and animal skulls. Every piece fitted together, forming a jigsaw puzzle that'd be impossible to pull apart without destroying the whole.

I looked closer. There was nothing random about this weird puzzle …

I'd seen this kind of thing done before — by Tibetan monks when they made their intricate sand paintings. This puzzle was, in fact, a precisely executed mandala — a circular picture that depicted some kind of religious teaching …

The animal skulls appeared to fit onto bodies made of reptile skeletons and the cactus formed human bodies that hunted them. And there was some kind of overall pattern that stretched across the whole mandala … But I couldn't quite see what it was. I needed to be higher. To the suspicion of the guards, I went back up the stairs to the entryway and looked across.

Then blinked as the mandala appeared to spin …

I turned to question the guard on my left — but he was busy signalling to another man up at Coyote Rock. He used a tiny mirror he held aloft to catch the sun's rays. The man at Coyote Rock responded in turn, with two short flashes.

The guard to my left muttered to the other one, in disgust, ‘They still haven't found him yet.'

‘What's that?' I asked the guard to my right, pointing down to the mandala. I knew they understood English.

He was uneasy, but decided to answer anyway. ‘It is the Way of Truth.' From his expression, it was clear that was all the guard was going to tell me.

The Way of Truth?

I went back to the mandala and studied it. The yellow and black stones in the puzzle depicted a narrow path that spiralled past the weird animals and human-like cactus figures into the centre. In the space at the very heart of the mandala stood a strange amber pedestal. It was a coyote sitting on its hind legs and holding out its forepaws as though offering something.

The paws were shaped as though they meant to hold something up to the viewer … But now the space was empty.

Just above the coyote's head a heavy rope dangled from the roof. It was new and completely out of place. It was strong enough to support a human …

As I followed the line of the rope upwards, the walls of the Great Kiva caught my eyes. They held a brilliant mural. A river of silver that flowed in an infinite stream around the room. It looked so real I could almost hear the water rushing past.

There were objects floating in that river.

I stepped closer to the mural and followed it around. In that water floated people in bizarre headdresses and costumes, strange symbols I'd never seen before, a weird grey-brown object that looked like a …

I came to a sudden halt. I leant in. It couldn't be!

It looked like a huge mushroom.

I'd seen that very image last month, when I was researching Honeycutt's mission into wartime Japan.

It was a mushroom cloud … from an atomic bomb blast.

 

The guards disappeared as Coyote Jack entered. I was still standing by the mural, trying to work out what the hell that grey-brown object really was. I had to cover my reaction. Except for the golden eye colour, he was River's twin, as surely as if they'd been born out of the same womb.

Coyote Jack's eyes held absolutely no fear — only curiosity. I was deep in his territory and none of my alien fireworks were going to shift his dominance an inch. But when our eyes met, his seemed to twinkle — as though we both shared a great joke …

Then I got it.

We were both tricksters. He'd appreciated my earlier performance and now he was back for more entertainment.

I frowned. I knew how my tricks worked — but how did his? Why hadn't Coyote Jack been even slightly affected by the stun grenade?

Coyote Jack peered at my forehead, studying it like a road map.

The more he looked at it, the more I became aware that it was itchy. Really itchy. But I refused to scratch.

Then he smiled into my eyes as though satisfied he'd worked out exactly what I was. And that I could be useful. Very useful indeed.

I didn't like that self-satisfied smirk — at all. It felt like Coyote Jack knew something I didn't.

And also it had felt a little too … flirtatious.

Coyote Jack indicated we should sit. There were deerskins on the floor in one corner. He stretched out across the deerskin before me, now completely at ease and ready to play.

There was a very healthy expanse of tanned male flesh to enjoy …

I tried to keep my eyes on his.

He exuded a musky scent, fresh and clean but attractively masculine.

My eyes dropped to the middle of his bare chest. A vivid round birthmark was revealed there — it was amber yellow. A radiant sun at full noon.

Coyote Jack had lustrous black hair that flowed in an inky cascade over his muscular shoulders and down to his lean hips and long legs. Like River, he had one of those ageless faces; he could've been anywhere between fourteen and forty and any one of a dozen nationalities. His skin was as smooth as a youth's but the knowing look in his stunning golden eyes bespoke a much greater depth of experience.

Except for those molten eyes, Coyote Jack looked exactly like a wilder version of Jackson River …

No. Make that much wilder. I swear I could hear the thunder of hooves and the howling wind when I looked into those coyote orbs.

‘So, you have been sent to help me.' Coyote Jack relished the thought, like I was some kind of new toy he'd just found under the Christmas tree and was ready to unwrap.

‘No,' I said, snapping out of my lecherous daze. ‘Not to help you … Amongst other things, I'm here to find out who committed the massacre at Dry Gulch.'

His eyes searched mine. ‘Do you know who did it?'

I studied him. ‘No.'

‘You're not scared of me, are you?'

I didn't reply.

He liked that. ‘You don't trust me either, do you?'

I didn't reply.

He liked that too. It made me more fun to play with. A challenge.

‘Yes … you will help me,' he said with complete certainty. ‘Do you know the story of Big Sun Canyon?'

I nodded. ‘Some of it.'

He pointed around the kiva. ‘I made this and the city to protect the canyon. And the canyon protects the Earth.'

Oops. That wasn't good. ‘Are you saying you are the Coyote God?' I said very carefully.

‘I am what I am.'

Uh-oh. That meant — yes.

I didn't reply. That was a bit of a cold shower. Coyote Jack was obviously mad as a hoot owl and would require extra special handling so I could get out of here and back on Hector's trail.

‘You see that statue?' He pointed at the amber coyote holding out its paws in the centre of the rock mandala. ‘See how its paws are empty?'

I didn't like the direction that question was taking us. ‘Yeah.'

‘While I was busy, someone sneaked in here and stole one of my most precious possessions.' Just at the thought of it his eyes seemed to glow.

I studied the rope dangling over the top of the coyote statue. I got up and went over to the edge of the rock mandala. ‘Why did they use the rope to get to it?'

He came over to stand next to me. ‘This protected it,' he said, nodding at the mandala. ‘The thief knew that if they disturbed even one piece of the pattern, they would be destroyed.'

Yeah, sure they would. This guy was a full-blown nutcase. ‘But why did you leave the mesa at all?'

‘Because Captain Bull would've eventually come here if I hadn't.' He rubbed his chin. ‘Now he's off in
Mexico and Big Sun Canyon is safe for a little while longer.'

That much was probably accurate.

Coyote Jack looked up at the rope hanging from the roof. ‘But the universe cannot stand still; everything changes and the more rigidly something is nailed in place the more likely it is to falter. One day this canyon will be found …' He sighed. ‘Still, I am sad my possession left so soon.'

He spoke as though it went of its own volition.

‘But you don't look so distressed by your loss?' I asked, curious.

‘The right thief came … so my possession is now having an adventure. It will return,' he said with supreme certainty, ‘at the right time.' Then Coyote Jack smiled. ‘You are the balance. The universe sent you here on the same day as the thief. You are going to help me get it back.'

Yeah, right.

‘Good,' I said, humouring him. At least he didn't think I was the thief. I turned to the door. ‘I'll go and look for it …'

‘No, no.' Coyote Jack put one surprisingly heavy hand on my arm, stopping me dead in my tracks. ‘Not yet. That's not part of the plan.'

‘The plan?'

‘You don't believe me, do you? You don't believe I'm Coyote.'

I didn't reply.

He smiled. ‘You come from the future yet you know nothing.'

It was definitely safer not to reply.

‘I will prove it to you.' In one fluid movement he slid in, right up next to me, our faces just inches apart.

I had to stifle my automatic impulse to jerk back. I'd always liked a lot of personal space and since I'd arrived in this time I'd kept everyone as distant as humanly possible. My real sex was just one good grope away from being revealed. But until I got off this mesa I was going to humour him … well, within limits anyway.

He shut his eyes and sniffed deeply, as though inhaling my very essence.

I rolled my eyes. More mumbo jumbo! I hadn't had a bath in days so I couldn't imagine it'd be a pleasant experience.

But whatever he'd deduced … from his expression, it'd saddened him. He opened his golden eyes directly into mine; lines of pity marked his handsome face.

‘In your time you are indeed a brave warrior, but you have one great flaw, one great weakness — your brutal childhood still holds you captive. You can't heal because you're afraid that if you forget, it will happen again. So, instead, you bury it deep inside. But even hidden it is ever vigilant … and it rules you … You spend your life feeling trapped, caged, perpetually ready to break free.'

The blood drained from my face. I must've been white beneath my tan.

‘For this reason, even now you cannot abide enclosed spaces … and you cannot trust enough to give your heart freely. What if they too tried to cage you?'

I had claustrophobia because I was kidnapped when I was two years old … I was tied up and left to die in a pitch-black cave. That's how I first crossed paths with Des Carmichael. He'd been the detective working on my case. I'd hated confined spaces ever since.

But how could this man know?

Coyote Jack touched my forehead with one gentle finger, right where the Abbess had stuck the palm of her hand. ‘Only you can set yourself free of the cage you carry inside. Keep searching … and the answer will find you.'

Who was he? What was he?

 

One of Coyote Jack's men entered, eyes respectfully on the ground.

We broke apart.

‘What is it?' asked Coyote Jack.

I strove to regain my cool, mentally slapping myself for allowing the cunning guesses of a known trickster to distract me. I sent him an angry scowl.