horizon in every direction.”
“Define lines,” her father said after a moment.
“Lines-you know. Like someone had taken a snow shovel and dug a shallow trough through the cinders across the plain, but not arbitrary or haphazard. These lines were absolutely straight, and they went on for miles.”
Again there was silence. Finally he said, “Was it hot today? I mean, hotter than usual? Are you drinking enough water out there?”
“Dad,” Cassandra said, exasperation edging into her tone, “I am a seasoned pro-I don’t get sunstroke. Okay? You think I was hallucinating?” Her voice rose higher. “It was not an hallucination or food poisoning or malaria. I’m not having my period. It was real. It happened.”
“I wasn’t judging you, Cass,” he protested. “I’m on your side. But we have to examine every possibility. Rule things out.”
“You’re right,” she sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that the more I think about it, the more rattled I get. At the time it was weird enough, but now… ”
“You said Friday was with you. You followed him and met him in this other dimension, and then what?”
“He said I shouldn’t be there, and he brought me back.”
“How did he do that?”
She paused to consider. “He turned us around, and we just started walking… the wind kicked up… some dust blew in my eyes, and everything got a little hazy… I felt the rush of wind on my face
… and then it started to rain. When I looked up we were back in the canyon.”
“The same canyon as before?” her father asked.
“Right. The same one-they call it Secret Canyon,” she said, and paused. “That’s all. That’s what happened.”
“Any physical symptoms? Anything at all?”
“I got a little seasick-queasy, dizzy, and a terrific headache. All that passed pretty quickly. Besides getting windblown and spattered from the rain, nothing else.”
“Was Friday there too?”
“Yes, he brought me back, as I said,” Cass confirmed. “I tried to get him to explain what happened, but he was very elusive about it. He kept saying it wasn’t for me-I took that to mean for white folk in general, not just myself in particular-and he used all these Native American names for things. He called it the Ghost Road and Coyote Bridge-things like that. He said we had visited the Spirit World.”
“Extraordinary.”
“You do believe me-don’t you, Dad?”
“Of course I believe you, Cass,” he said, his voice full of confidence and assurance. “What is more, I think this worthy of more extensive investigation. I think I’d better come out there.”
“Dad, you don’t really-”
“We need to test it, document it. I’ll bring some instruments.” He paused. “I wish your mother were here. She would be in her glory.”
Cass could hear him thinking.
“Can you find this place again?”
“Sure, no problem. But, listen, I was thinking that-”
“Good. Don’t do anything until I get there. Not a thing. I’ll catch a flight out tomorrow afternoon. Can you get me a room where you’re staying?”
“Yes, but-Dad, I’m not sure this is such a good idea-”
“It’s settled then. I’ll see you soon, sweetie. Now, don’t mention this to anybody. Okay? You haven’t, have you?”
“No-just you.”
“Thing is, dear heart, the last thing we need is a bunch of amateurs and nutcases poking around, making things difficult. From what you tell me Sedona is full of those.”
“Do you really think-?”
“Good-bye, Cassie. I’ve got some phone calls to make. Don’t do a thing until I get there. Love you!”
Click. The line went dead.
“Love you too, Dad.” She held the phone for a moment, then closed the cover and tossed it on the bedside table.
“Great,” she muttered. Then thought, Well, you dolt, what were you expecting? You wanted to be taken seriously-what did you think that would look like?
CHAPTER 3
The cold seeped up through the frozen ground into the very marrow of his bones as Kit lay shivering in the snow. He had the feeling that he had been curled in a slowly chilling heap for days, if not longer-though it could only have been a few minutes at most. Move, he told himself, or freeze where you lie.
Slowly, slowly Kit rolled onto his side and looked around. His head ached and his muscles were stiff, and he was back: back in the forest clearing, back in the dead of winter, back in the prehistoric past. The sky was overcast and dark; silent snow sifted gently down from the low, heavy clouds, softening the contours of the Bone House. Constructed entirely of interlocked bones-great, curving mammoth tusks; the antlers, spines, and pelvises of elk, buffalo, antelope, and pigs; at least one rhino’s skull; innumerable ribs and leg bones of lesser creatures; and who knew what else? — all intertwined in a crazy jigsaw pattern that formed a gently mounded dwelling that was somehow more than the sum of its disparate parts.
Set in the centre of a circular clearing deep in the forest, the odd igloo-shaped hut exerted an undeniable force-an earthy, primitive power like magnetism or gravity, subtle but palpable. The mere sight of the structure brought the vision back in all its splendour: he had seen the Spirit Well, and in some way he could not yet fathom, nor even begin to describe, he knew his life had changed.
He closed his eyes so that he could relive it all again from the beginning. First, he had been inside the Bone House, holding the ley lamp and feeling it grow warm in his hand as it became active; he saw again the little lights shining blue and bright in the weird half-light of the Bone House. Then, inexplicably, he had plunged through the snowpacked floor and into a realm of dazzling light and warmth, a realm of breathtaking clarity where even the smallest objects possessed an almost luminous radiance. His first impression was of a world of such beauty, peace, and harmony that it sent a pang of longing through his heart. Reeling from the almost intoxicating tranquillity, Kit had stumbled along a path lined with plants and trees of exquisite proportion in colours so vivid it made his eyes ache. Every leaf of every tree and plant seemed to shimmer with vitality, every blade of grass radiated the same energy of unquenchable life. Kit walked through this lush and verdant woodland garden in a state of rapt wonder, eventually reaching the edge of a lake unlike any he had ever seen before: an expanse of translucent crystalline fluid with a slightly viscous quality, like that of olive oil or syrup; it gave off a faintly milky glow, its smooth ripples shimmering with the restless energy of living light.
He remembered reaching out to touch that miraculous substance.. and then… something had happened… What?
The creak of a nearby branch, cold and bending with snow, brought him back to the present reality of ice and cold and prowling predators; brushing clots of snow from his furs, he stood and shuffled forward, dropped to his hands and knees before the tunnellike entrance of the bony hut, and crawled inside. The interior was sunk in gloom, but relatively warm-at least warmer than the clearing outside-due no doubt to the radiating presence of its sleeping occupant. On impulse, Kit reached out to the reclining form of En-Ul. The aged primitive was warm to the touch and stirred under his hand. The Old One was still alive, and still dreaming time.
The term was Kit’s attempt to translate a concept that he could not exactly define-a sort of mystical meditation or prophetic journey that involved time in some way. Then again, maybe it was something else altogether.
