Free Walker of Time by Helen Hughes Vick

eight-foot-tall rock wall. Guarding the only entrance into the wall were two of Gray Wolf’s men. Walking toward them, he felt their eyes glaring at him, and as he passed by them, the smell of death filled his nose.
    As Walker stepped inside the entrance, the haunting feeling shot through him, and he swayed slightly. He stopped short, every nerve in his body taut. Blinking his eyes, he tried to focus on what he saw.
    The high, thick wall followed the contour of the triangular-shaped island. Ten rock dwellings were built along the inside of the protective wall. They were small shelters with no windows and unusually low, narrowT-shaped doors. Walker realized that they were not used for daily living.
    In the middle of the enclosed island, about fifty armed men sat on the ground. They were in four neat rows with their backs toward the entrance. All faced a stagelike platform made of rocks mortared with mud. It was about three feet high, five feet deep, and ten feet long.
    The breath caught in Walker’s throat. He felt his eyes widen. A stone shrine stood in the center of the platform. It was almost identical to the shrines found in the Hopi’s sacred underground ceremonial rooms called kivas.
    The ancient ones’ shrine stood about three and half feet off the ground. Its limestone slabs had been skillfully cut and mortared together to form a perfect two-foot-by-two-foot square with a flat top. A steplike shelf ran along the bottom of the shrine. Brightly colored prayer sticks adorned the shelf. Offerings made to what gods? wondered Walker.
    At his next thought, a cold shiver ran through Walker’s body. Was there a small hole dug into the top of the platform about six inches from the base of the shrine? Walker’s mind raced; his heart hammered. Such a hole, which the Hopi called a “sipápu,” would mean that the ancient ones believed in the same creation story as the Hopi—a story that told how all peoples of the world had emerged into this world from just such a sipápu at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. How many other beliefs and traditions did these ancient people share with his people? Walker wondered, forcing his eyes to leave the stone shrine.
    Gray Wolf stood on the right side of the shrine, his legs firmly planted. His arms were folded across his chest. His thin lips were pulled across his sharp teeth in a snarl.
    White Badger stood on the left side of the rock shrine.Walker could see tension in his body, but his strong face was controlled. His eyes moved over the crowd of men. He seemed to be making eye contact with each man as if to determine those that would follow him or be swayed by Gray Wolf.
    Walker felt all eyes on him as he followed Scar Cheek, who was threading his way through the seated men. He tried to keep his back tall, his shoulders squared, his eyes aimed at Scar Cheek’s long, black hair. His heart pounded in his throat; the sound echoed in his ears.
    Great Taawa guide my thoughts, my words
 . . . Walker prayed.
    He heard murmuring rippling through the crowd. “Witches . . . Two hearted . . . Snake charmers . . . Death!” The whispering grew like a great wave, growing more intense until it echoed off the canyon walls.
    Scar Cheek stopped a few feet from the platform but motioned for the boys to continue. Walker advanced, Tag at his side. Stopping a foot from the base of the platform, Walker looked over at Tag. He stood tall and proud, but his freckles seemed to dance on his pale face. Small beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His fists were drawn up into tight balls. For an instant, their eyes met. In Tag’s eyes, Walker saw the fear that he himself felt. He tried to smile, but his lips felt frozen.
    Walker turned his head to the platform, searching the ground in front of the shrine. Six inches from the base of the shrine, he could just barely see the top of a small hole.
A sipápu!
Walker’s knees