killers, but surely only one effect. Killing the surveyors defeats the Virginia land claims."
As he spoke Conawago had been studying the tree. Now he dropped to his knees and pulled away the vines that covered part of the lower trunk. The markings near the base were nearly obscured by many years' growth of roots and vines. As he began pulling it away from the base of the tree Duncan joined him. Soon they had cleared a radius of several feet around it.
The symbols at the bottom of the trunk were old, blurred by the growth of the bark, but the representations of the forest animals crudely carved on the ledge stone underfoot were still clearly visible. Duncan stepped back, looking at the stone, then the tree. There were layers of messages, seeming to span centuries. Spirit messages of the Indians. Educated messages of Europeans. Diabolic messages of killers.
Van Grut, his anxiety quickly giving way to his scientific curiosity, dropped to his hands and knees on the stone. Duncan pulled him away. The Dutchman's protest faded as he saw the intense melancholy with which Conawago stared at the symbols.
"Do you have more tobacco?" Duncan asked Hadley.
"Of course," the Virginian answered, then frowned as he grasped Duncan's meaning and reluctantly reached into the bag at his belt.
Van Grut and Hadley followed Duncan's example as he arranged embers from their cooking fire in a semicircle around the old carved rocks, then crumbled leaves of tobacco over each. As they stepped back Conawago began murmuring a prayer in one of the old tongues, with open hands gracefully sweeping the fragrant smoke over the ancient, sacred stones.
"I don't understand anything," Hadley finally said with a sigh.
"It has been Conawago's quest these past months, seeking out these old sacred places. Those who ceded the land used the old Warriors Path as a boundary. Certainly they didn't know that under their feet was something else, a pilgrim's way as it were, spanning untold generations."
"Surely it is too much coincidence."
"Not at all. The geography funnels humans here. The trail mostly follows the bottomlands, between the high ridges. Anyone traveling from the north to the rich Ohio country or to the Virginian settlements would follow this course. And where it crosses the most important river of the region would be a natural place for a marker, for a shrine even."
"Before this," Conawago joined in, "before Europeans, the Iroquois fought terrible wars with the Catawbas and others in the south, in what you call Virginia and the Carolinas. This is the trail they would take. Since time out of mind war parties would pass here, stop for blessings, for purification before crossing over into the lands where the enemy dwelled, or to give thanks for safe passage on their return."
Duncan remembered Skanawati's warning and looked about the landscape. The Monongahela was visible through the trees to the south. Stay away from the bloody water, he had said, or you may fall into the crack in the world. As he looked out at the bones still scattered over the forest floor and the sacred tree scarred by two murders, he was not inclined to argue the point. The butcher's ground was not simply a perfect place to commit murder-who would notice two more sets of bones?-but also its dark air seemed to speak of more death to come.
"But why, McCallum," Hadley asked as he watched Conawago, kneeling among the stone carvings, whispering to them now, "would the Monongahela Company want to interfere with a sacred-"
"They didn't need to know anything about its history. All the old trails followed prominent contours in the land, a natural boundary. Ask an Indian to draw a map, or a land grant, and he would use the trails as a base line as surely as roads would be used in the settled lands. No one knew about the sacred history of the trail, nor needed to know."
"I still don't understand," Hadley repeated.
"Such a place is not for understanding," Duncan said, and he gestured the
As he spoke Conawago had been studying the tree. Now he dropped to his knees and pulled away the vines that covered part of the lower trunk. The markings near the base were nearly obscured by many years' growth of roots and vines. As he began pulling it away from the base of the tree Duncan joined him. Soon they had cleared a radius of several feet around it.
The symbols at the bottom of the trunk were old, blurred by the growth of the bark, but the representations of the forest animals crudely carved on the ledge stone underfoot were still clearly visible. Duncan stepped back, looking at the stone, then the tree. There were layers of messages, seeming to span centuries. Spirit messages of the Indians. Educated messages of Europeans. Diabolic messages of killers.
Van Grut, his anxiety quickly giving way to his scientific curiosity, dropped to his hands and knees on the stone. Duncan pulled him away. The Dutchman's protest faded as he saw the intense melancholy with which Conawago stared at the symbols.
"Do you have more tobacco?" Duncan asked Hadley.
"Of course," the Virginian answered, then frowned as he grasped Duncan's meaning and reluctantly reached into the bag at his belt.
Van Grut and Hadley followed Duncan's example as he arranged embers from their cooking fire in a semicircle around the old carved rocks, then crumbled leaves of tobacco over each. As they stepped back Conawago began murmuring a prayer in one of the old tongues, with open hands gracefully sweeping the fragrant smoke over the ancient, sacred stones.
"I don't understand anything," Hadley finally said with a sigh.
"It has been Conawago's quest these past months, seeking out these old sacred places. Those who ceded the land used the old Warriors Path as a boundary. Certainly they didn't know that under their feet was something else, a pilgrim's way as it were, spanning untold generations."
"Surely it is too much coincidence."
"Not at all. The geography funnels humans here. The trail mostly follows the bottomlands, between the high ridges. Anyone traveling from the north to the rich Ohio country or to the Virginian settlements would follow this course. And where it crosses the most important river of the region would be a natural place for a marker, for a shrine even."
"Before this," Conawago joined in, "before Europeans, the Iroquois fought terrible wars with the Catawbas and others in the south, in what you call Virginia and the Carolinas. This is the trail they would take. Since time out of mind war parties would pass here, stop for blessings, for purification before crossing over into the lands where the enemy dwelled, or to give thanks for safe passage on their return."
Duncan remembered Skanawati's warning and looked about the landscape. The Monongahela was visible through the trees to the south. Stay away from the bloody water, he had said, or you may fall into the crack in the world. As he looked out at the bones still scattered over the forest floor and the sacred tree scarred by two murders, he was not inclined to argue the point. The butcher's ground was not simply a perfect place to commit murder-who would notice two more sets of bones?-but also its dark air seemed to speak of more death to come.
"But why, McCallum," Hadley asked as he watched Conawago, kneeling among the stone carvings, whispering to them now, "would the Monongahela Company want to interfere with a sacred-"
"They didn't need to know anything about its history. All the old trails followed prominent contours in the land, a natural boundary. Ask an Indian to draw a map, or a land grant, and he would use the trails as a base line as surely as roads would be used in the settled lands. No one knew about the sacred history of the trail, nor needed to know."
"I still don't understand," Hadley repeated.
"Such a place is not for understanding," Duncan said, and he gestured the
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