but with no working watches and no visual confirmation from the position of the sun, he couldn't tell how long it had actually been.
They had finished up Hal's Dr. Peppers, leaving the cans as a trail, and now only the water in Garden's canteens was left to slake their thirst.
Well before they reached the big canyon, a massive gorge visible from miles away that, in Miles' mind at least, compared favorably to the Grand Canyon, they came across the dry bed of an obviously seasonal river. The river apparently emptied into the canyon or one of its offshoots, and Miles looked down the sloping length of the sandy bed and decided that they probably would not be able to find an easier entry into the canyon lands than this. After a quick discussion, they decided to follow the empty riverbed down.
Around them, the desert grew tall, with marbled white and red sandstone giving way to grayer granite as they descended into the earth. The riverbed grew smaller, forking off, eventually disappearing entirely in a maze of high, narrow flash-flood canyons that merged into each other and spoked off and wound around in a confusing convoluted labyrinth.
They could no longer be sure in which direction they were traveling--the sky above was only an unhelpful slit at the top of the rounded cliffs--but Miles trusted his gut and the rest of them trusted Miles, and holding tightly to the dream jar May had given him, he led them forward.
Eventually, the ravine they were following opened out into a wider canyon. Miles had the sense that they were being watched by something unseen, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable being out in the open like this. The others must have felt the same because no one dared speak, and they walked around tangled washed-out branches and the trunks of dead leafless trees that had been swept here by water and trapped between boulders.
Around a curve of the canyon, indentations in the rock face were home to crumbling rock walls with small window
holes. He'd seen pictures of Canyon de Chelly, with its famous Indian rains, and that was what this reminded him of. Only... Only he wasn't sure that these walls had been built by
Indians.
Or anything human.
The canyon widened, spread out, then narrowed unexpectedly just beyond a nearly ninety-degree turn. Here, in front of the cliffs, a low stone wall was broken up, differentiated into hoodoos and stand-alone columns. The rocks, he thought, looked almost like people. Whether they were eroded naturally by the elements into these shapes or whether they had been deliberately carved and then weathered by the rain and sand and sun Until the edges that granted them sharpness of definition had been blunted and smoothed, he could not tell, but the sight was unnerving. He was reminded of that terra-cotta army that had been found in China-"I dug this hole. It leads to China."
--and the sensation that they were walking through a crowd of people who'd been solidified into stone could not be shaken. He quickened his pace, aware of the fact that for the first time since they'd started walking he was breathing heavily, straining for oxygen. He heard Claire breathing next to him, and he announced, "We're almost there."
No one responded.
He thought of the dream he'd had last night. The tingling in his midsection had returned, and once again it occurred to him that by dint of his heritage he was a part of this. He had been purposefully drawn into this situation because of who and what he was. N o, thing was an accident and subtle as it might seem, his dad s death and Marina walking into the agency office looking for help with her father were all part of some unseen plan.
The jar in his hand suddenly seemed heavier, the shape of the spoon in his front pocket pronounced against the skin
of his thigh. The necklace of teeth felt cold on his skin, but strangely enough, it also felt reassuring, and he was glad he had it with him.
Soon afterward they came to a confluence of canyons. The sky was still overcast, and Miles could not detelmine the position of the sun from this angle, but it seemed darker all of a sudden, as though evening had held off until their arrival. The sulfur smell was back, too, strongly, and next to him Claire placed her free hand over her nose to block the stench. Miles stopped, not sure in which direction to proceed. On one rock wall was the shadow of a woman that looked remarkably like his mother, but he turned away, not wanting to see, sensing somehow that to gaze upon the form would... what? Turn him to salt? Turn him to stone? Render him mad?
He had no idea, but looking upon the shadow figure was dangerous, he knew that much.
"Hey," Hal said. "That's my morn."
"Don't look at that!" Miles ordered, whirling to face his friend. "All of you! Don't look!"
Garden seemed to understand instinctively, and when he spoke his voice was hushed. "What is it?" he asked.
"I don't know. But there are probably going to be a lot of things like it coming up. We need to be careful from here on in. Stay close together, and if there's anything unusual, give out a shout. We have to be on our toes."
'Then, I assume we're going that way," Hal said dryly.
Miles followed his pointing finger. The other canyons spoking off from this hub were typically barren, but the one at which Hal was pointing was different. There were... things growing here. Objects which must have been plant life but from this perspective could have been statues or could have been creatures, black-gray forms that dotted the alluvial fans adjoining the cliff sides and were scattered along
the floor of the gorge, giving the entire canyon a creepily dark and ragged appearance. The stench of sulfur issued from this direction as well, and Miles nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "That's where we're going."
Hal took out his revolver, opened the magazine, checked it, snapped it back into place. He did not put the weapon back into his shoulder holster but kept it in his hand. "All right, then. Let's do it."
Miles wished Claire had not come along, wished Janet were here instead, not only because he was afraid for Claire but because Janet was supposed to be here, because Janet was one of them, because she had witch blood.
Claire looked over at him, smiled wanly, as if she could read his thoughts. "At least we'll die together," she said.
"No one's dying," he told her.
But he could not make himself believe it.
The canyon was strewn with black rocks and unknown bones. Ugly weeds sprouted here and there, and stunted trees grew in strange disturbing shapes. There was no easy path, and they were forced to pick their way through what seemed to be an obstacle course placed purposely before them. The sulfur smell grew ever stronger. He could hardly breathe, Claire was gagging, but just when it seemed they would have to stop or turn around, the stench disappeared completely. It was as if they had passed through some sort of unseen barrier, and the air in his lungs was suddenly clear and very cold.
There were dead dogs in the trees, hanging by their necks from bare root branches. Beetles scuttled across the sand below, swarms of them circling the trees in a manner that was frighteningly deliberate. In the recesses of the rock wall were carvings, half obscured and only partially observed, that Miles almost recognized and that caused shivers to race down his arms.
Claire let out a small shocked cry and grabbed his arm
with her free hand. Next to her foot, a small stationary creature grew out of the crevice in a rock. Looking like a cross between an albino frog and an unshelled oyster, it stared up at them with slitted eyes and let out a gurgling cry that sounded like laughter.
They walked far around the creature, giving it a wide
Miles took the lead with Claire, and after a while he turned to check on the others. Hal was right behind them-But that was it.