“Genocide,” Kanosh whispered.
Jordan bowed his head in acknowledgment. “This horrified the Tawtsee’untsaw Pootseev. They knew their body of knowledge was too powerful, too tempting to the tribes who were still warring. So they gathered their members throughout the West, hid their treasures in sacred places. Many were murdered as they sought to flee, leaving other clusters of survivors with little choice but to take their own lives to preserve their secrets.”
Painter studied Kanosh out of the corner of his eyes. Was this the war described in the Book of Mormon between the Nephites and Lamanites?
“Only a handful of our more trusted elders were given knowledge of these burial caches, where it was said a great accounting of the Tawtsee’untsaw Pootseev was written in gold.”
Kanosh took a deep breath, turning away, his eyes glassy, maybe from tears. Here was further confirmation of all he believed, about his people, about their place in history and in God’s plan.
Still, Painter — long estranged from his own heritage — remained a skeptic. “Is there any proof of this story?”
Jordan took a moment to respond, studying his toes before looking up. “I don’t know, but my grandfather says that if you want to know more about the Tawtsee’untsaw Pootseev, you should go to the place where their end began.”
“What does that mean?” Kowalski asked sourly.
Jordan turned to him. “My grandfather knows where the thieves who stole the treasure met their doom. He also knows their name.” He faced the others. “They were the Anasazi.”
Painter could not help but let the shock show in his face. The Anasazi were a clan of the ancient pueblo people who lived mostly in the Four Corners area of the United States, known as much for their extensive cliff-dwelling homes as they were for their mysterious and sudden disappearance.
Kanosh stared significantly at Painter. “In the Navajo language, the name Anasazi means ‘ancient enemy.’ ” Kanosh filled in more details. “The Anasazi vanished some time between 1000 and 1100 AD. But it’s been hotly debated what triggered their disappearance. Various theories have been expounded: a great drought, bloody battles among tribes. But one of the newest theories from archaeologists at the University of Colorado has the tribe embroiled in a religious war, as violent as any battle between Christians and Muslims. It was said that some new religion drew them en masse to the south. Then shortly after that, the entire clan died out.”
That theory certainly meshed with the ancient story told by Jordan’s grandfather. Painter turned to the young man. “You said your grandfather knew where these Anasazi thieves met their doom. Where was it?”
“If you have a map of the Southwest, specifically Arizona, I can show you.”
As a group, they all moved indoors. The inside of the pueblo was as dark as a cave after the morning’s brightness. Kai moved around and flicked on several lamps. Painter drew out a map of the Four Corners region and spread it on the tabletop.
“Show me,” Painter said.
Jordan studied the chart for a breath, cocking his head to the side. “It’s about three hundred miles south of us,” he said, and leaned closer. “Just outside Flagstaff. Ah, here it is.”
He poked the map.
Painter read the name at his fingertip. “Sunset Crater National Park.”
Well, that certainly makes sense…
Kowalski groused under his breath. “Looks like we’re going from one volcano to another.”
Painter began making arrangements in his head.
“I’m going with you,” Kanosh said.
Painter prepared to argue. He wanted to leave the professor here with Kai, to keep them out of harm’s way.
“My friends gave their blood, their lives,” Kanosh pressed. “I’m going to see this through. And who knows what you’ll find in Arizona? You may need my expertise.”
Painter frowned, but he had no good cause to dismiss such help.
Kowalski came to the same conclusion. “Sounds good to me.”
Kai stepped forward, ready to speak. Painter knew what she was going to say and held up his hand. “You’ll stay with Iris and Alvin.” He pointed to Jordan. “You, too.”
They’d both be safer here, and he didn’t want word to get out about where they were headed. Kai looked ready to fight about it, but a glance toward Jordan made her reconsider. Instead, she simply crossed her arms.
Painter thought the matter was settled, but Jordan stepped up. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. He looked ready to pass it on, but held it half crumpled between his fingers.
“Before you go, my grandfather wanted me to give you this. But first, I must share one last thing. This is from me, not my grandfather.”
“What’s that?”
“The legends I just told you were sacred stories, going back centuries, passed from one elder to another. My grandfather only told me because he truly believes it’s already too late.”
Kowalski stirred. “What do you mean too late?”
“My grandfather believes that the spirit set free from that cave in the mountains will never be stopped — it will destroy the world.”
Painter remembered Chin’s description of the boil growing outward from the blast site, what he called a nano-nest, picturing microscopic nanomachines disassembling all matter it touched. The potential of it spreading indefinitely was terrifying.
“But it was stopped,” Painter finally said. “The volcanic eruption bottled that genie back up.”
Jordan stared him in the eye. “That was only the beginning. My grandfather says the spirit will sweep around the world from here, setting off more destruction until the world is a sandy ruin.”
Painter went cold. The description was frighteningly similar to the physicists’ theory that the neutrino blast in Utah had shot through the globe and lit the fuse on another cache of nano-material. He recalled Kat’s warning about the impending explosion in Iceland.
Jordan stretched out his hand with the folded slip of paper. “My grandfather holds out little hope, but he wanted to share this. It is the mark of the Tawtsee’untsaw Pootseev. He says to let it guide you to where you need to go.”
Painter took the piece of paper and opened it. What was written there made no sense, but it still caused him to go weak in his knees. He shook his head in disbelief. He recognized the pair of symbols smudged in charcoal on the paper, the sign of the Tawtsee’untsaw Pootseev.
A crescent moon and a small star.
The same symbols were found at the center of the Guild’s mark.
How could that be?
Chapter 20
Thirty-two minutes…
Standing guard at the window, Gray tightened his fingers on his pistol. He had spoken to Kat a few minutes ago — not only couldn’t she get his team any help, but she also shared disturbing news out of Japan. If those physicists were right, the island would blow shortly after 3:00 P.M. They had to be off this rock before then. There was only one problem — no, make that eight problems.