Jacky Cloudchaser watched the stars spiral above his head in the deep void of the night. He scrunched deeper into the warmth of his sleeping sack, trying to hide from the cold wind that blew in from the north. The fire that he and three other boys lay next to had long since burned down to embers and no longer gave enough heat to ward off the fingers of cold lingering in the early spring night.

Bobby Deepwater and Donald Brokenbow had grown up with Jacky and were his closest friends in the world. They slept near him, dreaming, maybe, of the challenge they would all face tomorrow. The fourth, William Hunter, had been Jacky’s bitter enemy from their days as children.

William had become a man in body at a young age and excelled in hunting the huge buffalo that were the tribe’s main source of meat. He was riding with the hunters while Jacky and his friends were still learning to mount a horse. When William turned thirteen and got his man’s growth, the girls swooned over him.

All the boys envied William.

Jacky knew the real William, often called Run with the Herd for his speed in chasing the great herds of mammoth elk across the summer plains, far better than anyone else in the tribe. He knew that behind the smiles and good looks was a vicious bully who enjoyed pushing around anyone smaller than himself when the adults weren’t watching. But William hated Jacky far more. Where William was strong and fast, Jacky was intelligent and understanding.

The hatred had begun when they met in their first hunting class at the age of four. The children had been seated in a broad circle around their teacher. Jacky had been watching the clouds roll by, wondering where they went after they passed from the Northern Newen Glen skies while he listened to the teacher go over, for the third time, how to rope a cow. Jacky had grasped the lesson quickly and let his attention wander. William, sitting behind him, smacked the back of his head and told the young instructor that Jacky wasn’t paying attention.

The instructor, Michael Strongarm, pulled Jacky out of the group of boys and dragged him over to where the girls of his age were weaving cloth. Jacky was terrified at the strength and ferocity of Michael’s actions. Once there, Michael threw Jacky to the ground and told the female teacher, Amy Longbow—whom all the boys were in love with—that he had mistaken Jacky for a boy. Since he was a little girl, he should stay with the rest of the girls and learn to weave. Jacky, deeply humiliated, cried and begged to be let back into the hunters’ class, but was forced to stay a whole week with the girls before he was allowed to return. For years after that, the children called him Squawboy.

As a strange result of his week with the girls’ group, Jacky became extremely adept at weaving and sewing fabric for clothes, backpacks, and sleeping sacks that became highly sought after among the tribe. Jacky guessed he just had the knack to weave.

The two boys grew older, and their childhood hatred grew with them, sparking a fierce rivalry. But where William excelled at the hunt, Jacky excelled at learning and began spending time with the medicine men. Their leader, Dr. Fishburn, recognized Jacky’s gift and encouraged him to learn all he could.

The medicine men were widely respected throughout the region for their knowledge of farming, White tools, and, of course, medicine. If a young man could not become a great hunter and stand in line for the council of Chiefs, then he could try to make his name with the medicine men.

So on his twelfth birthday, during the Naming Ceremony, the whole tribe was amazed when Dr. Fishburn gave Jacky the tribal name of Cloudchaser, a reminder of his youthful inattention and idealism.

That was five years ago, and now Jacky was staring up at the sky on the eve of becoming a man. He had dreamed of this day ever since his father had told him that when boys of the tribe reached the age of seventeen, they were to go through the Passage.

The Passage required the boys to ride off to the dead canyons of the White world. At the start of this journey, the group of boys would follow the Husson River, named for the Great Chief of the Plains, who ruled justly over the tribes of the northern continent and laid the foundation for the federal tribes to be born. The boys would follow this river until they reached a deep canyon called the Gorge Wash, where they would cross over into the last capital of the White world.

Jacky thought of the things he had read in Dr. Fishburn’s ancient history books. The Whites had ruled the planet from the time of the discovery of the New World. They came as conquerors and crushed the native populations. They spread across the continent, acquiring, consuming, and wasting all in their path. “White” was a word of power, arrogance, and corruption. In the White world, men thought of themselves as the master of all things and moved across the earth like giants. Then the beast from the sky arrived and laid waste to the grace and might of the White world. Only God’s mercy saved the Whites when he gave them a small boy who overthrew the beast and rebuilt the world. But the world was weary of the long years of abuse, neglect, and destruction, and the Whites decided to leave. In vast waves, the populations of the world climbed up into the sky, beginning the Third Great Exodus that left the earth empty and in peace. They abandoned the tired, worn land to those who had cared for it best, Jacky’s people.

His ancestors had begun the restoration of the world by removing all the great creations of the Whites, restoring the land to the days before they came.

All but one.

The last creation was all that was best and worst of the Whites, a symbol left to the people who stayed behind of the highest ideals, glory, excess, corruption, and abuse of the human race. It stood as a warning not to repeat the same errors.

Jacky’s thoughts returned from the past and focused on what lay ahead. Once the group of boys had crossed the boundary into the White world, they would enter the upper canyons and follow a broad way south through the middle and lower canyons to the Warriors Graveyard, then cross the shallow river and stand before the Dirgen Maria, the Holy Mother. The boys would present a prayer to her and write their names at the foot of the altar on which she stood. This would ensure the Holy Mother would not forget their names in her prayers to the Chief of the Cross. The boys were not to linger in the White world but return quickly to the graveyard, make their way back into the canyons, and, before leaving, retrieve from the White world an object useful to the survival of the tribe.

The most basic rules of the Passage were taught to the young boys in school: bring no guns, never travel in the canyons after the sun had set, never go far from the broad way, never take anything made from gold or silver, and never, ever go in alone. With these thoughts, Jacky finally drifted off to sleep.

A rough kick to his backside awoke Jacky. He opened his eyes to see William sneering down at him.

“Wake up, Squawboy! It’s time to become a man. That is unless you’d like to go weave a basket,” he said. Laughing at his great humor, he walked to his horse and began packing up his gear.

“Shut up, Smells like a Turd,” came a voice from behind Jacky. Bobby Deepwater had just crawled out of his sack and was getting to his feet. “Even you carry one of Jacky’s sleep sacks, so shut your gob before I shut it for you.”

William laughed again and shrugged as he continued to pack his horse.

“Where’s Donald?” Jacky asked, looking around the small clearing that served as a holding pen for boys waiting to take the Passage. “You don’t think he left, do you?” He looked at Bobby. It was rare, but occasionally some boys would not face the dangers of the White world and would run off into the night. They were forever cast out of the tribe, sent to wander the dead highways of the empty land alone until they died, taking their shame with them.

“I saw Speaks with a Lisp sneak off and run into the forest when I woke up. I think he’s chosen wandering,” William said.

“Nope. As much as you, Talking Rectum, would like that, I was just clearing out the hydraulics,” Donald said as he emerged from the trees, tying up his pants.

Jacky and Bobby laughed. They had no idea what “hydraulics” were, but it sounded funny. Donald had a way of making them laugh, even though he did have a lisp when they were younger.

“Ha, ha. You like those White words so much. Well, you’ll get to see a lot of them before long, funny boy.”

The laughter died away as quickly as it had come with the thought of what they were getting ready to do. Even William shut up after that.

The White world was not safe. Things roamed the gray canyons and underground caverns of that dead place. Sometimes one or more of the boys didn’t come back from the Passage. Jacky had heard of whole groups disappearing, swallowed up by the deep forest that surrounded the White world.

Danger was part of the Passage, he told himself, part of becoming a man.

In the still of the morning, the four boys mounted their horses and headed down the trail that would lead them to the Chief’s highway. The air was cool under the trees of the northern forest. Dark pines with deep red trunks and light oaks with broad green leaves created a corridor of green and gold above their heads until they broke into a clearing that marked the beginning of the Chief’s highway.

The highway was unlike the trail they had traveled on during the early morning hours. It rose above them more than the height of three tall men. No trees or bushes grew on the wide surface that was covered by short grass from edge to edge. The four boys stopped at the base of what Donald called the “on-rump.” William rode to its end to read a large sign that might once have been green but was now a deep brownish-red color.

He leaned down from his horse and slowly pronounced the words painted there. “‘Blessed are all who make the journey to the White world.’”

“Gee, William, I didn’t know you could read,” Bobby said.

William didn’t say a word, only flipped him the finger.

“I think that means you’re number one, Bobby,” Donald said, his horse bringing up the rear.

“Shut up and let’s get going,” William snapped.

The other boys laughed as William nudged his horse up onto the highway. The three looked at one another briefly, touched their heads, chests, and shoulders in the sign of the cross, then kicked their horses up the soft dirt of the on-rump.

The Chief’s road was far better than the trails that weaved throughout the forest. It was level and mostly straight, but it had drawbacks as well. Parts of the road were known to have collapsed under riders making their journey to the White world, and hidden in the soft grass were small animals called pot moles that would burrow under the surface of the road, creating small dips. These dips were difficult to spot, and a man could be thrown if his horse stepped in one.

Once at the top of the on-rump, the boys carefully looked at the deceptively level and smooth covering of grass. They might have stayed there all day if William hadn’t nudged his horse forward, with Jacky, Bobby, and Donald following close behind. Jacky and the other two exchanged sheepish glances with one another. It galled Jacky to follow William, but he had long ago proven he had the best eyes. Early on, he showed that he could spot the pot moles quickly and lead the others around them.

The morning progressed into early afternoon with William calling out, “Pot mole to the left!” and weaving around it, with the others following. Jacky thought they could make the gorge by late afternoon and reach their first stop at Saint Peter’s Sanctuary by nightfall. If they didn’t cross the gorge by sundown, they would have to wait another night before entering the White world. They had had this lesson drilled into their heads as they grew up and began training for the Passage: never travel in the White world at night. The demons of the place called the “Pole Eats” were never fully asleep, but at night, they would be out in force, searching the canyons and caves for intruders.

Up ahead, William called out that there was another pot mole on the right. Jacky went to the left of it, followed by Bobby. As William looked back, he saw Donald drift to the right.

“Donald, stay in line,” he ordered.

Donald looked up from his saddle and said, “I’m watching Jacky.” Just then, his horse stepped in the large pot mole William had spotted. The horse cried out in pain and threw Donald from his seat.

Jacky’s heart raced with fear as he saw Donald pitched from his horse and thrown down the steep side of the road into the thick trees at the base. He and Bobby quickly dismounted from their horses.

“Bobby, get Donald’s horse and see if he’s OK. I’ll get Donald.”

Jacky didn’t think to include William in the rescue effort, and William never considered helping them. He sat on his horse with a look of deep contempt on his face.

Jacky scrambled down the slope of the road, grabbing the trunks of small trees that dotted the side to keep from joining Donald at the bottom in a heap. At the base, he stumbled over to his friend. Donald was sitting up against a tree, rubbing his knee, tears running down his face. Donald was always ready to cry. Sensitive, Jacky’s mother had called him. During bow practice, when Donald’s had snapped, he had cried (earning him the name of Brokenbow years later); whenever he was thrown in the wrestling games, he cried; whenever the older boys made fun of his lisp, he cried. The elders of the tribe shook their heads when Donald was around and called him Stormburst when he was out of earshot. Just about whenever the unexpected happened, Donald cried. But there was more to Jacky’s friend than a thin skin. Donald was smart. Smarter than Jacky, smarter than almost anyone in the tribe, except maybe Dr. Fishburn. And he was funny when he wasn’t too nervous to let it peek out.

Donald looked up at Jacky and said, “Pot mole on the right must mean don’t go right.”

Jacky laughed as he helped Donald to his feet. His friend was OK, with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises to show for his spill, and that was a blessing from the Chief of the Cross. Donald’s horse, Pauly, was another story. Behind them, Bobby slid carefully down the slope until he stood next to the two boys. Jacky could tell by the look on Bobby’s face that bad news was on the way. Panic crossed Donald’s face, and Jacky was sure he was going to cry.

“Is Pauly OK? Bobby, is he OK?” Donald nearly screamed. He pushed past the other boys and headed up the slope.

“Well, I don’t think his leg is broken, but the old stud twisted it pretty good,” Bobby told Jacky as they watched Donald reach the top of the road. “Pauly can’t bear much of his own weight, let alone a rider and a bunch of gear.”

Jacky sighed. “Well, we can’t go back, so we’ll have to divide up Donald’s gear and trade off having him ride double with us.”

“Of course, William from On High won’t help. Hell, he’ll probably want to leave Donald here, just out of spite,” Bobby replied.

Jacky shrugged. He and Bobby had started up the hill when they heard Donald cry out in agony. The two boys looked at each other in fright and raced up the slope. At the top, they saw that William had pulled a pistol from his pack and was trying to get past Donald to shoot Pauly.

“Get out of the way, Donald. The horse is lame. We have to put it down!”

“Noooo!” Donald shrieked, pushing William back and wrapping his arms around Pauly’s old neck. “I won’t let you, you shit! You’ll have to shoot me first, you fucking bastard! Whore face!”

Had not the grief on Donald’s face been so intense, Jacky would have laughed at the stream of curses coming from the shy boy’s mouth. Instead, he and Bobby grabbed William’s arm and pulled him away from Pauly.

“Put that gun away, William! You’re not supposed to bring a gun anyway! Where did you get that thing?” Jacky said, pushing William away from Donald.

“My dad snuck it to me last night,” William said smugly. “He thought I could handle it if something came up. Now let me put down the old nag.” He tried to push past Jacky.

Jacky pushed back. “Let a real expert look at the leg,” he said, eyeing the pistol in disgust. He was sure that anything they met in the White world wouldn’t be afraid of William’s gun. He turned and spoke to Donald. “If the leg is broken, Donald, we’ll have to put Pauly out of his pain, OK?”

Donald turned his face into Pauly’s neck but didn’t say no.

William looked annoyed as he reluctantly dropped the gun to his side. Jacky and Bobby let William go and watched him stomp over to his own horse.

“You’re a sick fuck, William,” Bobby said, “regardless of what the other hunters say. But don’t worry too much. You’ll probably get to kill something once we’re in the White world, so just keep your britches on.”

William scowled at Bobby but maintained his distance from Pauly.

Jacky slowly walked up to the old horse and stroked Pauly’s nose while whispering to him. “How are you, old hoss? Huh? I’m going to take a look at your leg, OK? Just a quick look.” He bent down and inspected the leg.

The pot mole had taken a big chunk of flesh from the front of Pauly’s right leg. Jacky moved his hands around the wound carefully, feeling for any protrusions or other indications of a break. The horse whined above him but stood still, as though he knew Jacky wasn’t going to hurt him.

Jacky sighed as he stood. “Leg’s not broke, so let’s bandage it and unload Donald’s gear.”

“What? Ah fuck, Squawboy, we can’t take a lame horse into the canyons. Kill the thing here and send the lisp back home, or he’ll get us killed!” William yelled, his voice nearly rising to a scream.

Jacky thought William was pitching a fit because he couldn’t use his fancy pistol to kill something.

“We should just fucking leave him and his crappy old horse! He fucked up, and he’ll do it again in the canyons. We’ll all die, Jacky! Do you understand that? Dead? Never seeing your family again or your precious Amy Longbow?”

“Shut up, William,” Jacky said quietly, trying not to think too hard about the logic of William’s words. “Donald, go get your gear. Bobby, hand me my medicine bag. I’ll fix up Pauly’s leg.”

Donald gave him a grateful look and walked around Pauly to get his stuff.

Jacky bandaged Pauly’s leg while Donald and Bobby divided up Donald’s gear between his horse and Bobby’s. Jacky turned to Donald, “Tell Pauly to go home, OK? Can you do that?”

Donald nodded his drooping head. He walked over to Pauly and put his forehead directly on his horse’s. “Pauly? You have to go home, boy. You can’t follow us, OK? Go home to Ma,” he said as tears flowed down his face again.

Pauly seemed to understand and slowly limped off to nibble on some grass. Jacky wrote a quick note on a scrap of cloth telling whoever found the horse what had happened and that everyone was OK. He carefully folded the fabric and pinned it to Pauly’s bridle.

“Come on, we have to get going, or we’ll never make it to the sanctuary before dark!” William yelled as he mounted his horse.

“Donald can ride with me until we reach the gorge,” Jacky said, “then he’ll ride with you, Bobby.” Bobby nodded, and the three boys climbed up on the horses and followed after William.

By the time they reached the gorge, Jacky knew they would have to wait until the morning to enter the White world. That meant they would reach the sanctuary tomorrow afternoon and wouldn’t be able to reach the Dirgen Maria before the sun went down the following day. And that meant they had to spend an extra day in the White world. Jacky sighed and felt a momentary burst of anger toward Donald. In the canyons, an extra day could mean their death. Jacky reached down and touched a small metal cross that hung on a chain around his neck. Thy will be done, he thought. If he died, so be it. He looked across to the thick forest that marked the boundary of the White world.

The sun hung low in the western sky, casting long shadows to their left as the four boys looked at the Gorge Wash bridge. The Chief’s road led straight across it. Tall towers covered with ivy stood at intervals along the way. What looked like broken ropes hung down into the rushing river hundreds of feet below the road. The whole thing swayed in the wind blowing from the east.

William broke the silence. “If we cross the gorge using the Chief’s road, we can just make it to the sanctuary before the sun sets,” he said, looking at Jacky and Bobby as though Donald wasn’t there.

“We’re not supposed to cross the gorge on the road, William. You know the rules,” Bobby said. “It’s not stable.” And as if to accent his words, a large chunk of the structure fell and crashed into the river below.

William’s face paled a little, but he pressed on. “Come on! What are the chances of the thing falling while we’re on it?”

“No,” Jacky said. “We stay here tonight and cross the gorge using the side paths.”

The side paths were small trails cut into both sides of the gorge. This would allow the boys to wind their way down to the bottom of the cliff, cross at the shallow point of the river, and ascend a similar path on the other side.

“But we’ll never make the sanctuary tonight! What are you? A bunch of pussies?” William yelled.

Bobby’s face flushed red, and he started to get off his horse to show William what kind of pussy he was when Jacky put a hand on his arm.

“That’s right, we can’t and we won’t, so let’s set up for the night,” Jacky replied.

William gave Jacky a look that conveyed a lifetime of hate and surprised them all by jerking his horse toward the gorge and viciously kicking its sides.

“William, no!” Jacky shouted at the quickly receding boy. He knew it would not stop William from crossing.

The three boys dismounted and watched William as he passed under the first high tower of the gorge. Jacky’s heart raced in his chest as he saw William weave around the large gaps in the road and rush toward the other side. As William crossed over, pieces of the road fell into the river below. Jacky thought the whole structure would collapse at any moment and send William to this death.  Even though Jacky hated William, he didn’t want to see him die, so he found himself and the others cheering William on across the bridge until he reached the other side.

Across the gulf, his horse reared up, and William let out a fierce battle cry that carried across to the boys. Then, without another look back, he passed into the forest of the White world.

Jacky, Bobby, and Donald silently watched William disappear on the other side of the river, then wordlessly began to set up camp.

After the sun slipped below the horizon and the sky darkened to black, the three boys sat around the campfire listening to the shrieks and howls carrying across the gorge from the canyons beyond the forest. They looked back and forth at one another as the sounds rose and fell, while strange and terrifying lights played along the canyon walls. One by one, the boys looked away from the canyons and crawled in their sleeping sacks.

Jacky wondered if William had made it to the sanctuary, and then he fell asleep under the glow of the White world.

The three boys were up before dawn and stood ready as the sun passed above the horizon. Carefully, the two horses began the slow trip down the gorge’s side to its floor. There, they stopped and let the horses drink before crossing the river and starting the long climb up the opposite wall of the gorge. At the top, the boys stood silently at the edge of the thick forest, until Jacky nudged his horse, Bobby followed, and they crossed over into the White world.

The change in the air was immediate. The sun had been shining down brightly from the early morning sky, but as soon as they passed into the forest, a gray light stole over them. The Chief’s road had narrowed after the gorge, and the trees were pressing in from each side. A deep silence had descended over everything. Jacky felt as though nothing had moved here for a thousand years, and nothing would for a thousand more. Even the thumps of the horses’ hoofs against the road were lost in the quiet of the forest. Deep in the shadows of the trees, Jacky could make out strange forms hidden under eons of growth. Towering square stones rose into the trees with many holes cut into their faces, like eyes staring out of the forest. He leaned forward on his horse and peered into the depths, trying to determine what they were.

“Tombs,” Donald said from behind him. Jacky nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the other boy’s voice. “Tombs,” he repeated, ignoring Jacky’s sour stare. “Just before the Exodus, people in the White world died by the thousands and thousands. So many, in fact, that they couldn’t be buried, so they lay where they had died. These places were sealed up and used as tombs. The Whites called them ‘apart mens’—meaning the dead were to be kept apart from the men.”

Jacky shivered at the thought of all the shapes rising up above them, buried under leaves and ivy, being filled with the bones of the Whites waiting to be buried. He shook the thought from his head. If these were tombs, then any bodies that had been laid in them surely would have decayed by now and be only piles of dust. But as they traveled deeper into the White world, such logic began to fail. The tombs came closer to the road until only a few steps lay between him and the dark openings in the stone. Jacky listened to the sound of movement in the trees. Wind, he told himself, wind through the branches.

Or maybe the dead were tired of waiting for the infrequent travelers to bury them and were coming out to seek revenge for being left to die alone in unconsecrated tombs.

Just as Jacky thought his nerves would break and he would rush headlong down the road, Bobby’s voice broke the silence.

“Look, a clearing.”

Up ahead, Jacky could see the woods and tombs fall away from the road, leaving a wide opening where sunlight poured in. “Whew!” he said. “Those woods were beginning to give me the…” His words trailed off as he rode into the clearing. To the south, as far as they could see, stretched the gray cliffs of the White world, filled with the same holes as the tombs they had just left.

“Tombs, Jacky. Each and every one,” Donald said.

“That’s a lot of stiffs,” Bobby said unhelpfully and nudged his horse forward.

Jacky took a look at the position of the sun and decided they would just make the sanctuary before sundown. The trip through the woods had taken a lot longer than he had expected. He wondered if William had made it or if his body now lay somewhere back in the tombs of the Whites, collecting dust and rotting in the heat.

At the edge of the clearing, the Chief’s road continued to run east. Donald pointed to an off-rump leading south. A sign at the bottom was clearly marked broadway. Jacky looked at the road with misgivings. The path turned to the south and ran between the gray canyon walls. So close to the walls that anything inside the tombs could jump out of the openings and grab them before they had a chance to run. He shuddered and made his way down the off-rump and on to the broad way. Jacky tried not to think of all the bodies that must be there as he and the other two boys pushed forward.

The morning rolled on as they passed the endless walls of cliff tombs. Just when Jacky thought the woods had vanished for good, a solid wall of trees sprang up on the left and followed them down the broad way. He peered into the deep gloom and could make out no tombs. He felt little relief; other tombs towered over them to the right, in front of, and now, as the road drifted toward the east, behind them. But as the hours wore on and nothing reached out to grab him or his friends, he began to relax.

The canyon walls around the boys were perfectly straight, breaking into the sky like stone fingers pointing at God. Maybe that was the point, he thought. The dead needed to know the way to the Great Chief. Some of the tombs were small and plain while others reached up many hundreds of feet, with ornate carvings perched on ledges, and almost all of them were covered with thick curtains of ivy.

As the sun reached noon, they stopped at the remains of a large stone structure buried in the forest.

“What is it, Jacky?” Bobby asked.

“It looks like a sacred place, hallowed ground. Maybe it’s a church,” Donald said.

The large doorway of the structure had collapsed, along with most of the roof. The boys could see into the floors above them as light poured through the opening in the ceiling. Within stood strange shapes in dark corners, pictures painted on the walls, and in the middle of the wreckage, the skull of some enormous beast with a gaping mouth full of teeth.

“Do you think that’s a Pole Eats? With a mouth like that, it could swallow Donald in just about two bites,” Bobby said.

“I don’t know, but look over here,” Jacky said. He dismounted and walked off the path to the side of the collapsed stone walls. Deeper in the trees, Jacky could make out the corner of another structure rising high above the trees. Inside it, he could see the edges of a large blue sphere. “What is that?” he whispered.

“Jacky!” Donald hissed urgently. “We’re not supposed to leave the path.”

Jacky looked behind him and saw that he had moved a good twenty feet into the woods toward the blue sphere. He suddenly realized that anything could be in the woods around him, and quickly made his way back to the path and into the light.

“Let’s move away from here,” he said as he mounted his horse, giving a quick glance back at the great sphere.

As the afternoon wore on, the boys talked less and less. Bobby suddenly stopped his horse and looked to the west, where another path cut a straight line across theirs. “Do you smell smoke?”

Both Jacky and Donald stuck their noses in the air, sniffed, and nodded. “Over there,” Donald said, pointing to a rising cloud of black. “Something’s on fire.”

“Shh!” Jacky said, and quickly dismounted his horse. “Something’s coming!”

Bobby and Donald both heard it. A rumbling, like a stampede of cattle, followed by a rising and falling shriek they had heard the night before.

“Quick, into the tombs!” Jacky yelled.

He led his horse into the closest tomb, followed by Bobby and Donald with Bobby’s horse. They moved as far into the darkness and dust of the tomb as their courage would allow, crowding around the doorway and waiting for a horrible beast to appear.

A moment later, three massive beasts raced down the path, headed toward the fire. Jacky only got a glimpse of them as they rushed by, but what he saw terrified him. Each beast was the color of blood, with flashing eyes on its round body and great shiny teeth on its front. The body was almost a perfect sphere and had four legs that blurred as the thing sped forward. His terror was so intense that he forgot he was in a tomb as he and the others tried to get farther away from the opening. They stood trembling in the ancient grave until the sound of the beasts’ screaming had dwindled in the distance. Shaken, the boys scrambled out of the tomb and back into the daylight.

“We’d better move, or we won’t make it to the sanctuary before dark,” Jacky said.

The three boys climbed on the two horses and pushed forward until, at last, they stood before Saint Peter’s Sanctuary.

The doors of the sanctuary were open for all who came to the White world. Jacky walked through them with a great sigh of relief, followed by Bobby and Donald. Donald watched out the doorway as the sun slid behind the gray cliffs, then closed the doors and locked them for the night. The horses had to be left outside. This worried Jacky, but that was the rule, and Jacky had never heard of a horse being killed outside the sanctuary.

The three boys looked around the sanctuary in awe. None of them had ever been in such a large structure. Their winter homes were larger than the light canvas tents they lived in during the spring months, but nothing compared to the towering walls above them. Jacky thought they could fit the whole tribe in this place. They walked up the vast aisle toward the figure hanging on the wall at the far end: the Great Chief of the Cross.

Jacky reverently touched the Chief’s bleeding feet as he hung there. He knew it was a sculpture, but it was so real. It was almost as though he was standing on the hill of skulls the day that man killed the Son of God. All three boys knelt and gave a prayer of thanks, asked the Chief to watch over them as they passed through the White world, then began to set up their camp for the night.

No fire was allowed in the sanctuary, so the boys huddled in their sacks and ate dried beef and cold stew for dinner. They didn’t talk much, not in this place. It seemed like the silence that filled the hall was not meant to be broken, so one by one, the boys drifted off to sleep, protected by the walls of Saint Peter.

Jacky’s sleep was shattered by the shrieking coming from outside the sanctuary. He frantically fought his way out of his sleeping sack and grabbed a club from his pack. The other two boys were also awake, staring with terror at the sanctuary doors. Through the crack between the doors pulsed many different colors of light, and beneath the wailing of the beast, Jacky could hear the booming of strange words.

“Donald, do you know what it’s saying?” he asked.

Donald looked at Jacky, who momentarily thought his friend might make a run for it. But the moment passed, and Donald scrunched up his face in concentration.

“Incantations, Jacky. Spells. I think it’s trying to break into the sanctuary!”

Jacky was going to prod for more when Donald held up his hand. “It’s talking about the Law. White Law,” he said, looking at his two friends in fear.

“Maybe we broke their Law,” Bobby said but was waved to silence by Donald.

“It’s the Pole Eats,” Donald whispered. “It’s saying that loitering is a criminal offense and to move along. I think it’s trying to get us to leave the sanctuary.”

“What is loitering?” Jacky asked.

But before he could get an answer, the lights and sound on the other side of the doors abruptly vanished, and a few moments later, the creature thundered off down the canyon and was gone.

“Glory to the Chief,” Bobby said and made the sign of the cross over his chest.

All three boys stood staring at the doors in silence until Jacky finally spoke. “What did it want, Donald?”

“It said it was going to take us to the Judge if we didn’t stop loitering.”

Bobby and Jacky shivered at the thought of the Judge, the leader of the Pole Eats. The Judge could throw you in a cage and lock you away from God for all eternity.

Jacky shook his head, and they crawled back into their sleeping sacks and tried to go back to sleep. After a while, he decided there would be no more sleep for him, and judging by the noises from the other two, none for them either.

“What are the Pole Eats, Donald?” he finally asked.

Donald sat up with his sack around him. “Dr. Fishburn says they are servants of the Judge meant to enforce White Law. They wander the canyons looking for heretics to bring before the Judge. If the Judge finds you guilty, they tie you to a pole and eat you. That’s why they’re called the Pole Eats.”

Jacky and Bobby had sat up to listen to Donald’s explanation.

“I thought the Judge put you in a cage,” Bobby said.

“I thought the Pole Eats could only get you if they had—what did Dr. Fishburn call it?” Jacky added, struggling to find the correct White words. “Probable Causing, as in probably causing the Law to be broke.”

Donald shrugged and said, “They can get you for all sorts of things, like standing in a certain sacred place too long.”

“Bullshit!” Bobby called out, laughing. “You’re making that up!”

“No, sir,” Donald said with his most serious face, “I am not.”

Jacky started laughing too, as Donald went on. “They can take you for possessing a certain kind of plant.” This brought another round of laughter from the boys. “Yes, it’s true. And for showing contempt, for not having enough clothes on, for spitting, disturbing the peace, or for moving your horse too fast,” Donald said amid the howls of laughter. “I’m not making this stuff up,” Donald finished, trying not to laugh with the others.

“I can’t believe it,” Jacky said as their laughter slowly died down. “You’re in contempt for not having enough clothes on and moving your horse too fast!” he said in his deepest voice. “You are condemned for the rest of eternity. So says the Judge!” But deep inside, he wondered if it was true. Lying back down, he asked Donald, “How could the Whites know all of these Laws? What if you didn’t know?”

Donald’s sleepy voice drifted over as they lay there in the darkness. “Ignorance of the Law is no excuse,” he said.

Thinking about that, Jacky felt fear steal into his heart again, but, to his surprise, he soon dropped off to sleep.

The three boys were up at first light and quickly gathered their gear. Standing before the open doors of Peter’s Sanctuary, they said a small prayer of thanks to the Chief and turned to load up the two horses.

Jacky was relieved to find the horses still tied to a post in front of the sanctuary. They seemed to be fine as he looked them over for any signs of attack by the Pole Eats. As he tied on his and Donald’s gear, he noticed a small bit of colored cloth sticking out from his horse’s bridle. He carefully plucked the pink fabric between his fingers and looked at it closely. Seeing the rows of strange symbols written across both sides made his heart lurch with fear.

“Hey, Donald, look at this,” he said, holding the scrap out to his friend.

Donald looked at it, then gingerly took it from Jacky’s hand. “This isn’t cloth. It is paper, like the books in the Tribal Library, but much better. And these,” he said, pointing to the markings, “are White words.”

“I have one too,” Bobby said, holding up an identical scrap of paper. “It was in my bridle.”

“What does it say?” Jacky asked, nervously looking around, expecting to see the Pole Eats waiting to take him to the Judge.

“It’s a warning,” Donald said. “It says you cannot stay here between…” He stopped as he tried to decipher the strange symbols on the paper. “I can’t tell, but it goes on to say that a second violation will result in a Fine and Towing.”

Jacky and Bobby tried to imagine what horrors a Fine and Towing were.

“But you said it’s a warning?” Jacky asked.

“Yeah. It means we’re not in trouble unless we do it again.”

Jacky felt a wave of relief flow over him. “So we’re OK?”

Donald nodded, and Jacky could see the relief in both his face and Bobby’s.

“Let’s go, then,” he said, and the three mounted the two horses and set off down the broad way.

The hours passed quietly as the boys made their way down through the silent canyons, and the sun crept up into the sky. Occasionally, they would hear the wail of the Pole Eats or other sounds of things moving far off in the canyons.

“Do you think William has already made it back to the gorge?” Donald asked, sitting behind him.

“Maybe,” Jacky replied, thinking that if Donald’s horse hadn’t stepped in the pot mole, they might all be heading out of the White world.

Spilled milk, as his grandfather used to say. “No use crying over spilled milk. Now spilled whiskey, that’s something worth crying over.”

Jacky laughed a little at that. He never knew what whiskey was, and his grandfather took that secret with him to his grave.

Jacky looked up at the sun far overhead and figured they should reach the Wall soon. The Wall was a mountain of rock and debris that stood between them and the last leg of their journey. The Wall was meant to keep hoofed beasts from treading on the hallowed ground of the Final District, where the Warriors Graveyard was located. So from there, they would travel on foot until they returned from seeing the Dirgen Maria.

As the sun peeked through the breaks in the canyon walls, the three boys stood at the base of the Wall. It stretched high above them but was still much lower than the surrounding canyon. The boys carefully tied up their horses and began the long climb to the top.

Sweat poured down Jacky’s face and back as he struggled up the slope of loose debris and rocks. Behind him, he could hear Bobby and Donald puffing with exertion. If they could reach the top of the Wall and make it to the Holy Mother before midmorning, they might be able to make it to the gorge before the sun went down. They could spend the night out under the stars, away from the White world, and dream as men.

The thought of getting out of this place spurred Jacky on, and soon he stood on top of the Wall. For a brief moment, he felt a small triumph at conquering something of the Whites, but his feeling of exhilaration evaporated as he took in the view before him.

On the other side of the Wall stood the Tower, a column of metal stretching up into the sky forever. Jacky felt as though the whole thing was going to fall on him as he stood there, trying not to fall down.

Bobby scrambled up the last few feet of the Wall and stood beside him. “You’re going to catch a fly if you—” His voice trailed off as he saw the monstrosity before them.

Finally, Donald made it to the top, panting loudly. He too saw the Tower. “The Devil’s Finger,” he said.

Jacky looked up at the black Tower, remembering what he had been told about the Passage. The Tower was to be avoided at all costs. The things that lived in it were worse than the Pole Eats, worse even than the Judge. They would sweep you up and drag you down to Hell if you strayed too close to it. The Tower had come from the sky and brought with it the beast and nearly killed all the people. And even though Danny, the Child King and Third Chief, had overthrown the beast, the Tower still held power over the children of the world.

“And here’s my finger,” Bobby said, flipping his middle finger at the Tower.

Jacky and Donald laughed, adding their own fingers to the salute, then the three boys made their way down the other side of the Wall.

They noticed the difference in their surroundings immediately. The tombs cut into the cliffs had clear, hard coverings over each opening, and the broad way they were on was free of rocks and other debris. Small gardens blossomed in spaces between the tombs. Everything looked neat and well-ordered.

The novelty of the change soon wore off as fatigue from the long climb and walk began to set in, and they stopped for a short break. Jacky’s legs creaked as he stood up to resume the trek. After only a few minutes, he stopped so suddenly that Bobby crashed into his back, nearly knocking him down.

“What’s the holdup?” he asked.

Jacky pointed to what the holdup was. On another path to their right was a Pole Eats, standing off to the side of their path. And worse, clinging to the sides of the canyons all around them were smaller Pole Eats. Each beast had many black eyes peering down at the boys, pinning them to the middle of the path.

The three were frozen in terror, waiting for one of the Pole Eats to spring on them. The largest Pole Eats stood motionless, a massive sphere of blue and white sitting on top of four jointed legs. Another beast, this one the same bloodred as the one Jacky had seen the day before, stood behind the Pole Eats but was silent. They seemed to be waiting for something.

Jacky took a deep breath and began creeping to his left, hoping to skirt the things in front of him. The other two followed, and they had almost made it past the creatures when the largest Pole Eats’ black eye swiveled toward them.

It blared out something in the White language and took a few steps toward them.

“Donald, what’s it saying?” Jacky said as the three scrambled away from it.

Donald could barely find his voice, but he finally spit out, “It said, ‘This area is restricted from all pedestrian traffic while a medical emergency is in progress. All traffic is secured from this area. Medical emergency teams are inbound. Move along.’”

“What does that mean?” Jacky asked.

“It means it wants us to leave,” Donald replied.

“Then we’ll get the hell out of here,” Bobby said.

He was surprised when Jacky grabbed his arm and held him still. Bobby turned to Jacky, then saw what he was looking at. William’s body lay crumpled in the middle of two of the creatures, his neck bent at an angle that could mean only one thing.

“Is he dead?” Donald asked, knowing the answer.

“I think so,” Jacky replied. “And look at his hand.”

Bobby and Donald looked at William’s hand and saw that it was clutching the pistol his father had given him for this trip. Next to William’s body was a bag that had spilled open. Coming out of it was a pile of gold and silver objects.

“He must have stolen something sacred,” Bobby said as he tugged at Jacky’s pack. “We should go before it decides we’ve broken the law.”

Jacky nodded and edged around the scene. He had taken only a few steps before he realized with horror that Donald had moved toward the Pole Eats.

“Donald! Get away from it!” he shouted.

The Pole Eats’ eye swiveled at Jacky for a moment, then centered on Donald.

Donald stood before the massive creature with his heart trying to crawl out his throat and his legs shaking violently.

“Citizens must vacate this area immediately!” it bellowed at him.

Donald concentrated, furiously racking his brain for the correct White words to speak to the thing.

“What did this citizen do?” he said, struggling to pronounce the words correctly.

“This citizen is charged with a crime. If you are not the citizen’s attorney, you must move along or be charged with obstructing justice and interfering with a Pole Eats investigation.”

Donald’s heart was pounding so hard he thought it might crack through his ribs and fall out onto the road. He had no idea what an “attorney” was, but he did know the thing was telling him that he was in danger of breaking the Law. Feeling his stomach drop, he took a chance.

“I am the citizen’s attorney. What crime is he charged with?”

The Pole Eats stood silently, looking at Donald. Had it known he was lying? If it had, Donald was sure he’d spend the rest of eternity in a cage.

“You are this citizen’s attorney?”

“Yes,” Donald lied again, trying to hide his fear.

What followed was a rush of White words, few of which Donald understood. The Pole Eats stopped after a few minutes, and Donald quickly ran back to his two friends.

“Are you crazy? What did you think you were doing?” Jacky said as they began moving down the road.

“I had to find out what happened,” Donald said, trying not to look Jacky in the eyes.

“Well? What happened?”

Donald filled the two boys in. “It said William had violated the Law.”

“How?” Bobby asked.

“It said he ‘broke and entered, trespassed, and assaulted a Pole Eats officer.’ At least I think that’s what it said. It was speaking so fast. It also said some more stuff about appearing in something called a ‘court’ and that I would be contacted later.”

“With any luck, we won’t be here later when it tries to ‘contact’ you. I can’t believe you did that,” Jacky said.

The Pole Eats followed their progress until they had reached the other side of the intersecting paths, then it moved back to its original position.

As soon as the Pole Eats was out of sight, the three turned and ran for as long as they could. They stumbled to a stop at the edge of a clearing and rested on a small pile of stones until they had caught their breath.

Jacky looked up in time to see the sun edge behind the Tower and shivered as a cool breeze blew across him.

“Do you think the devil got him?” Bobby asked, watching Jacky looking at the Tower.

“I don’t know,” Jacky replied.

“Do you think it will get us?” Donald asked, walking to the center of the clearing.

“I don’t think so. We just have to be careful. William wasn’t careful,” Jacky said. He got to his feet and walked into the clearing after Donald.

“Look at this, Jacky,” Donald said.

In the middle of the clearing were statues of six children holding hands in a circle. As the two boys approached the figures, a spout of water shot up from the center, causing them to scramble back. After a few minutes of nothing but the sound of water filling the air, they relaxed and moved toward the group of statues. Bobby joined them. The base of the fountain had etchings all over it.

“What does it say, Donald?”

Donald bent over and peered at the words. “It says, ‘Dedicated to the children lost fighting the Heptema.’ This is a memorial to children who died fighting the beast,” he said in awe. “‘Heptema’ is what they called it.”

The boys looked around the clearing at the white walls that rose at even intervals. Each wall was covered with names of children that had died long ago.

“So many,” Bobby whispered.

Jacky nodded and hitched up his pack as he walked out of the ring of stones, followed by the other two. They quickly moved out of the shadow of the Tower and back into the sunlight.

Soon they were at the edge of the Warriors Graveyard. At its center stood more of the stone monoliths with names carved into them, and in the middle of two rows stood a giant stone eagle.

“They must have been giants,” Bobby said as he stood before one of the headstones.

“I don’t think that they’re actually buried here. See all the names?” Donald said.

Bobby looked at him skeptically, then shrugged. The White people were giants, and if they had more than one name for a person, what did Donald know?

They pushed deeper into the densely forested graveyard and finally broke through to the edge of the shore. There, attached to a wooden post, were two canoes. They quickly inspected one and repaired the minor damage they found. Then, without a word, Jacky and Bobby climbed into it and grabbed the crude paddles. Donald pushed the canoe away from the shore, then jumped in himself.

They paddled through the calm water and followed the flow of the river around a sharp bend. Standing there on her island was the Holy Mother.

The boys stopped paddling for a moment as they looked in awe at the green figure. She stood there, towering above the small island, holding the Light in her right hand up to the heavens. In her left hand, she held the Good News, the last testament from the Chief to all humanity.

Her stern face looked down at Jacky, and he quickly dropped his gaze and resumed paddling toward the shore.

The boys quickly hopped into the shallow water and tied the canoe to a post in the sand. Once finished, they made their way up the beach to the statue, fell to their knees, and prayed, “Hail Mary, full of grace…” as one. When they had finished, each boy pulled a piece of burnt wood out of his pack and walked to the base of the statue.

Jacky stood looking at all the names of those who had gone before him. He found Dr. Fishburn, his own father, and at the very end, William Hunter. So he made it, Jacky thought, as he carefully wrote his name next to William’s. That would make his family proud.

As Bobby and Donald added their names to the long list, Jacky read the other names on the stone wall. People who had lived and died long before Jacky walked the earth. The name of every chief that had led Jacky’s people since the Exodus, all the way back to the Third Chief, Danny Stewart. With a sense of awe, Jacky gently touched the black marks of the Third Chief’s name, then noticed that Bobby and Donald were standing behind him.

Without a word, the three walked back to the canoe, climbed in, and returned to the Warriors Graveyard. Jacky glanced back at the green face of the Holy Mother as she vanished from sight. They quickly made their way back to the Wall and into the upper canyons, stopping only to pick out something useful for the tribe.

Jacky had found a small cave lined with bound texts, three of which he took and gently wrapped in deerskin before placing them in his pack.

Bobby had found a large sack with a picture of corn on it. Donald told him the words written on the outside said: “Will grow anywhere!”

And Donald had found a set of rifles that he tied together on the side of the horse. He also pulled out a pistol from an elegant oak box and looked shyly at his two friends. “I thought it might honor William.”

Jacky and Bobby nodded.

The boys mounted the horses and pushed hard through the canyons of tombs and thick forest, until at long last they stood on the Chief’s highway, looking back across the Gorge Wash. The White world was behind them, and tonight they would sleep under the stars as men.