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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear,W. Michael Gear

The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries (29 page)

BOOK: The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries
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“How Western of you.”
“How Indian of you to argue in opposition.”
He raised his hands. “Whoa! Remember me? I’m on your side.”
“Really?” Her brows quirked as though amazed to hear that. “If you’ll recall, you sided with Indian religious fundamentalists and left most of the bodies in the ground at 10K3.”
“No, I didn’t, Doctor. I sided with Elder Hail Walking Hawk. There’s a big difference. If it had been a bunch of angry kids with placards, I would have known they weren’t for real and probably would have finished the excavation. Hail Walking Hawk saw something there that I didn’t, and I respected her
knowledge.
” He lowered his voice. “Even if it wasn’t scientific knowledge.”
Maureen’s fingers tightened into a fist on the tabletop. “Science isn’t the only way of knowing. I’ve never said that.”
He took a breath and wadded up his paper napkin. “No, but sometimes I think you mean it anyway. I grew up between two worlds, Maureen: mine and yours. When I was kid, this old Hopi—”
“The one who initiated you into the kiva?”
“That’s him.”
“What happened?”
“In the kiva?”
“Yes. I’d really like to know.”
He felt his brow tighten and forced himself to relax. “This may sound funny, but it was a very private, very personal experience. The journey that I went on can’t be related to anyone. The rituals that I underwent aren’t for the uninitiated. In short, it’s not mine to tell. Not only did I take a solemn vow, but it’s my compact with the beings who shared their time with me. Have you had an experience like that? A supernatural visitation?”
Maureen touched the crucifix around her throat. She tugged at it, then said, “Four years ago, after the death of my husband, I had terrifying nightmares about the
Gaasyendietha
, the meteor fire dragons of Seneca mythology. The dragons traveled behind me in my dreams, walking as torches of light. Father Gaha, himself a Seneca, but also a Catholic, helped me to decipher the dream, to understand that the
Gaasyendietha
were not chasing me but trying to befriend me, to light
my way through the darkness of losing John.” She released her crucifix and smoothed her fingers over her cup. “Yes, I think I understand.”
A flock of pinyon jaws landed outside the window, cawing and trilling in beautiful voices as they strutted over the dead grass that framed the parking lot.
Dusty fiddled with the napkin on the table, shoving it around. “Do you recall when Hail Walking Hawk told you that she saw a man behind you? A man with light brown hair and green eyes?”
Maureen nodded. “I’ll never forget it. She described John perfectly.”
“I spoke with Hail about it after you walked out to look at the site. She said that he had loved you very much. Maggie later told me that Hail had seen John moving in a blue glow.”
Maureen smiled down into her cup, as though the words comforted her.
Dusty wouldn’t tell Maureen the rest. Hail had also said that these things were very hard, but it was too bad John was still in this world.
“His soul ought to be in the Land of the Dead by now.”
Dusty sipped his coffee. “Do you think he’s still there, behind you?”
Maureen looked up. “Oh, I don’t know. Grief makes you think strange things. Sometimes, I would swear he is. At night just before I fall asleep, I often hear his voice. It’s so loud it wakes me.” She paused. “I feel him there, too. Watching over me. I can’t explain it, but it’s a very intimate experience, as though our souls actually touch.” Warmth filled her eyes.
“I was once told that death is the most personal experience you will ever have. It’s about the only thing in Western culture that isn’t shared with other people. It can’t be shared. When you die, even if it’s in a multitude like a plane crash or a gas chamber at Auschwitz, you’re still alone at that final instant.” He made a smoothing motion with his hand. “My initiation into the kiva was that way. The most intimate experience I’ve ever had.”
She seemed to absorb that without the skepticism he usually saw in women’s eyes. Not that he’d told that many, but the few that he had always wanted to pry away at it, as if he were keeping some secret from them, that true intimacy meant spilling the whole story, betraying the trust of his Spirit Helpers.
“Do you go to your kiva often?”
He tilted his head. “My clan is dead, Doctor.”
Her open mouth asked the question.
“My mentor and his uncle were the last of their clan.” Dusty took a swig of his coffee. “You have to understand, in this country, among the peoples here, a clan owns certain rituals. Well, ‘owns’ isn’t the right word. Let’s say, ‘were given certain rituals,’ since it was a two-way relationship. Sometimes, because of disease, accidents, infertility, or whatever cause, clans die out. When they do, the rituals, the kivas, the sacred knowledge, die with them.”
“That happened when your mentor died?”
He nodded. “There are three of us left. One is in the penitentiary outside of Buckeye, Arizona. He stuck a knife into the man who was living with his wife. The other is sober on those rare occasions when he can’t find anything to hock or any White tourists to buy him a drink.”
“So, the clan’s not dead. There are three of you left.”
Dusty gave her a pained smile. God, how he wished that were true. “I was initiated into the kiva, Maureen, not adopted into the clan. Even if I had been adopted, it wouldn’t matter. The clan effectively ‘died’ when the last female died. In this case, my mentor’s sister. Hopi are matrilineal.”
“Right.” Her slim fingers danced on the cup handle. “But you still have the rituals inside you, Dusty.”
“I was initiated, Doctor, not trained. I didn’t earn the knowledge or permission to conduct the rituals. Neither did the other guys. In fact, I think they were initiated because it was the thing to do. Kind of like a lot of White kids go through confirmation even if they don’t believe Jesus is their personal saviour.”
Her hand returned to her crucifix. She touched the silver body of Jesus in the same way that Dusty would have touched a katchina mask—as though she could feel the Power there and was grateful. “I understand. In fact, I wish I’d listened more to my mother. Attended more of the dances and prayer meetings. But trying to make time, first as a student, then in the struggle from assistant professor to full professor, not to mention all the other crap you have to do.” She shook her head. “Modern life ain’t all that it’s cracked up to be, Stewart.”
“Oh, yes, it is,” he told her. “At least for this one golden moment between world wars. You go to bed every night knowing that you’ll
probably be alive in the morning. You don’t spend every day with the knowledge that someone out there is trying to kill you, that your world is about to end in fire, death, or terror. You have health, security, safety, and hope. You know that your stomach will be full tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that for as far as you can see. You know that you’ll have a roof over your head, that you’ll be warm and have plenty to drink. If you break your leg tomorrow, even with a compound fracture, you’re not going to die in a month’s prolonged agony like you would have even one hundred and fifty years ago. An abscessed tooth won’t leave pus dripping into your mouth for six months until it falls out. You can step onto a jet tomorrow that will allow you to attend a seminar halfway across the world. In short, Doctor, it’s a wonderful time to be alive.” He took a long drink of coffee. “Or would you rather live here in the thirteenth century, when a world was falling into an apocalypse that it would never recover from?”
“You’re right, Stewart. Sometimes we lose sight of that fact, don’t we? How good life is. We just can’t imagine that anything could be worse than our petty little problems, troubled love lives, and financial worries.”
“Yeah. If you could ask any one of those kids you’ve been digging out of Pueblo Animas, I think they’d take McDonald’s over starvation any day of the week.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
The slant of the sunlight changed; it streamed through the window and gave a golden gleam to her dark complexion.
Maureen let out a breath and looked around the restaurant at the other diners. Two other couples huddled over tables, smiling at each other and talking in low voices. “What a wonderful day this has been. We got ice, washed our clothes, filled up the water jugs—and here I am, having the time of my life talking to you about serious things. You, Stewart, of all people.”
“What do you mean by that?” He couldn’t stop the surprise in his voice.
She laughed again, infectious, overcoming any censure in her words. “Well, you have to admit, we do have a history of despising each other.”
He turned his nearly empty cup in his hands. “I was kind of hoping that was over.”
Her smile warmed him. “I want to thank you for calling me, even
if I spent most of the phone conversation talking to Sylvia. I get lonely at home. After John died, I guess I should have sold the house.”
“Maybe, but Dale tells me it’s a nice house.”
She nodded. “It is. It overlooks the lake. But there are so many memories there.”
She had a faraway look in her eyes. He waited to see if she wanted to say more, then said, “Memories are good things.”
“Yes. Usually.”
“But not always?”
“Of course not,” she said, and gave him a skeptical look. “Memories of freezing your penis to the side of a truck in Wyoming can’t be all that great, can they?”
Dusty leaned forward, meeting her halfway across the table, and whispered, “True, but I’ve never exposed my shortcomings to an arctic environment again.”
P
EOPLE FLOODED AROUND STRAIGHTHORN, THEIR COLORFUL capes blazing in the morning sunlight. He did not know most of the people who’d come from Dry Creek village, but many of them wept. Ant Woman, the Dry Creek Clan Matron, sobbed uncontrollably. Two women supported her sticklike old arms as they led her up the trail. He had seen Ant Woman often in the past nine moons. About once a moon, she had come to stay with the Matron of the Katsinas’ People. They had laughed and talked well into the night, sharing memories from their childhoods. It must be very difficult to see a friend of seventy summers die.
Redcrop stepped away from the grave and Straighthorn lifted his head. Wind Baby fluttered her long black hair over her white cape. She looked pale and gaunt, her eyes swollen. The village elders surrounded her, speaking softly. Cloudblower gently touched Redcrop’s shoulder.
“Warrior?” someone called from behind him.
Straighthorn turned to see the War Chief coming up the trail. He wore a red knee-length shirt and carried his ritual cape over his arm. Despite the chill in the air, sweat glued his short black hair to his cheeks. His thick brows had pulled together into a single line over his flat nose.
“Yes, War Chief?”
Browser stopped at Straighthorn’s side. “Where is Jackrabbit?” “He stayed for the final Songs, then went back to his chamber to sleep. It was a long, cold night, War Chief. We grabbed for our clubs at every sound.”
“You were not alone. People sleeping in the village did the same thing. I don’t think any of us will have a peaceful night until we’ve captured the murderers.”
“Captured? Are you going to send out another search party? If so, I would like to volunteer.”
“I wish to speak of something else,” Browser said in a low voice and spread his legs as if preparing for a long conversation.
“Yes?”
“Tell me about Obsidian? Was she born to Longtail Clan?”
Straighthorn frowned. Browser had never shown any interest in Obsidian before, though she had placed herself within his reach many times. “No, her mother married a Longtail Clan man twenty-five summers ago. His name was Shell Ring. Obsidian was seven at the time. I recall Matron Crossbill saying she was tall for her age, and used her height to threaten the other children.”
“But she calls herself Longtail Clan. How did that happen?” Straighthorn shrugged. “Nothing mysterious. Shell Ring died a few moons after the marriage. Crossbill adopted Obsidian and her mother into the clan.”
Browser smoothed his fingers over the war club on his belt, and his gaze drifted over the dispersing crowd.
“Why do you ask, War Chief?”
“What happened to Obsidian’s mother?”
“I heard that she was killed, struck in the head by someone, but it happened before I was born. I know little about it. You may wish to speak with Crossbill. She can tell you more.”
“Since you have known Obsidian, has she been married, had children?”
“She was married to a man named Ten Hawks for one or two summers, I think. I was very young. They had no children, though. I remember waking one day and finding the entire village gathered around their chamber. Obsidian had moved his belongings out into the plaza and told him to leave. After their divorce, she never married again.”
Straighthorn still went cold at the memory. It was the first divorce he’d ever seen. Among their people, women had the right to move a man’s belongings out of their house whenever they tired of him. A man, on the other hand, had only the right to leave. He owned almost nothing, not the house, the children, not even his own clothing. He could keep his weapons and whatever else his wife gave him. For a man, divorce meant losing everything.
“Where did Ten Hawks go?”
“I can’t say. Why? Do you wish to find him?”
Browser shook his head. “Just curious.”
“No one ever spoke of him after he left. Or if they did, I never heard them. It was as though he had never existed at all.” Straighthorn frowned. “That is odd, though, isn’t it? Usually after a divorce people whisper about the cause for many moons.”
“Unless the cause was so terrible no one dares to.”
Straighthorn blinked at the ground, wondering. “What could it have been?”
“Incest. Witchery. Something like that.”
Redcrop left the grave and came toward them. She looked up at Straighthorn with tired eyes.
Browser said, “One last question. Has Obsidian been gone over the past ten days?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, she was here in the village every day. I would swear to it.”
Browser let out a breath. “Thank you, warrior.”
Redcrop walked into their circle and Straighthorn reached out to take her cold hand. “The Matron is on her way now, Redcrop. We have done everything we can for her.”
“I know. I just—I can’t believe she’s gone.”
Straighthorn lifted her fingers and held them to his cheek while he gazed into her hurt eyes. “It is time you ate something. I was hoping you would share breakfast with me. I thought I would bring out my last venison steaks and cook them over the plaza fire.”
Redcrop glanced at Browser, then lowered her gaze. “I wish to be alone for a time, Straighthorn. Please do not be upset with me. I promise I will meet you later this afternoon, if that is all right?”
“Of course,” he said, but couldn’t hide his disappointment. “When you are ready for company, I’ll be waiting.”
Redcrop squeezed his hand. “Thank you.” She stood awkwardly for a time, then turned and walked toward the knoll to the west.
Straighthorn watched her climb the hillside. As Father Sun rose higher into the sky, every rock on the knoll glimmered and sparkled.
“Strange,” Straighthorn whispered. “She usually wishes company when she is sad.”
“Many people wish to be alone after burying a loved one, Straighthorn. Give her time to grieve.”
He hesitated. “But she shouldn’t be going out there, War Chief. Not that direction. It’s not safe.” He started after Redcrop.
Browser grabbed his sleeve. “Let her go, Straighthorn.”
“War Chief, she is not thinking well. She can mourn near the village. That knoll creates a blind spot. You know this to be true. None of our guards will be able to see her.”
Browser tightened his grip on Straighthorn’s sleeve. I said, “Let her go.”
Straighthorn tugged away from Browser’s hand and turned around angrily. “Why?”
Browser opened his mouth to answer, then squinted out at the horizon. Cloud People sailed through the blue, their edges gleaming like polished copper.
Straighthorn said, “As I climbed down from the tower kiva last night, I heard you speaking with Redcrop. Is she a part of some plan? What are you doing?”
“Please, I can only tell you that she
is
being watched.”
“By whom? I see no guards.”
Browser did not answer for a time. Finally, he said, “I hope not, warrior. If you could see guards, they could, too.”
Straighthorn felt himself pale.
Browser put a hand on Straighthorn’s shoulder and guided him toward the river trail that ran south, away from the village. “Come. Let us speak of this in private.”
BOOK: The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries
9.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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