Walker of Time Read Online Free PDF

designs on it. The bowl was about a third full of fine, white cornmeal. Next to the bowl lay two carved sticks tied together with a thin leather thong. Eagle feathers adorned the sticks.
    â€œWow! I was so busy trying to wake you up that I didn’t even notice the shrine. Hey! I’ve seen that bowl before. It’s one of the Sinagua pots in the display case at the Visitor Center. My Dad said it was a religious offering bowl of some kind. What is it doing here?”
    â€œMaking an offering,” answered Walker in a low tone.
    Tag’s voice sounded nervous, “Who would do such a dumb thing?”
    â€œThe ones who built the shrine.”
    â€œLook, that’s a prayer stick, isn’t it?” asked Tag, pointing to the wood-and-feather effigy beside the bowl.
    Walker nodded, his eyes fastened on the paho in his own hand.
    â€œHey, you’ve got one almost like it!” exclaimed Tag. “Where did you . . .” Confusion spread across his freckledface. He put his hands on his waist. “What is going on here?”
    â€œWe have walked time back to the ancient ones,” Walker answered.
    â€œYou’re telling me that somehow we have been zapped back in time more than seven hundred years to the Sinagua’s time? Oh come on, get serious,” Tag said with a laugh. The strained sound echoed off the narrow walls of the cave and died. He shifted from one big foot to the other. “But how? Why?” he asked in almost a whisper.
    â€œI’m not sure. The paho. The thunder and lightning. Magic.” Walker looked at Tag. “All I know is that I was sent here for a reason. ‘Do what must be done,’ my uncle said. At first I thought it was just to put the paho back.” Walker took a deep breath and held it a few seconds. “But now, I know there is more that must be done. And for some reason time is running out.”
    â€œJust a minute. All of this is just too much. I don’t understand any of it!” Tag shouted. Shaking his head in disbelief, he stalked out of the cave.
    Walker picked up the white piece of buckskin from where it had fallen on the cave floor. He carefully rewrapped the paho. Something deep inside told him that it was not the time to put it back on the shrine. Retrieving his backpack, he threw the flap open and looked inside. A piece of light brown buckskin met his eyes.
    Unfolding the smooth, soft skin he realized it was a pair of leggings. Sewn down the outside seam of each leg was a line of small, white seashells. The narrow waist was tied with a thong of heavy leather. A new pair of soft, dark moccasins was wrapped inside.
    Setting the clothes down, Walker reached in the pack and lifted out the last item. It was an old, cloth bag thatflour had come in many years ago. A heavy piece of cotton string tied the bag closed. With care, he untied the string and looked into the two-thirds-full bag. His heart seemed to stop for an instant. Red cornmeal!
    Tears pricked his eyes. His heart throbbed with grief. It was only yesterday morning that he had left a bowl of red cornmeal at Náat’s grave for his spirit to eat on its way to the house of the dead. Now, Náat had given him the food of the dead.
Is this red meal for my grave? Will my spirit soon join yours at Maski?
    The air suddenly became thick with the strange, haunting feeling. Walker closed his eyes, letting the strong sensation fill his mind.
    â€œDo what must be done,” the feeling instructed.
    A shiver raced up Walker’s spine, leaving his entire body shaking and cold.
    â€œTaawa, guide me, your son,” prayed Walker, as he untied and pulled off his jogging shoes. After pulling off his red Dodger T-shirt and worn blue jeans, he picked up the leggings and pulled them on. They were a bit loose, but Walker tied the throng around his waist tightly. He reached down and slipped on the moccasins. They felt light and comfortable after the