Bone Walker: Book III of the Anasazi Mysteries (28 page)

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

BOOK: Bone Walker: Book III of the Anasazi Mysteries
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“I’m very Powerful,” he whispered.
“He’s Powerful, too.”
“Is he?” Stone Ghost tried to decide how to do this. In the softest voice possible, he asked, “What’s his name? Perhaps I know him?”
Bone Walker tipped her head to the side. Her mouth opened slightly and her eyes went vacant, peering at something far away, or deep inside, he didn’t know which. The stick made a soft thud on the floor as it fell from her fingers.
“Bone Walker?” he said, but it was as if the entryway to her souls had been walled up.
At just the thought of his name?
Stone Ghost kept talking as though nothing had changed. “Do you know the story of the Great Warriors of East and West?”
Bone Walker didn’t appear to hear him.
“Oh, it’s a wonderful story. During the Age of Emergence, just after the First People climbed through the underworlds to get to this world of light, the Great Warriors had to kill many monsters that roamed the face of the world. In the last horrifying battle, the mortally wounded monsters turned the Warriors to stone, but their heroism had earned them special places in the skyworld. Their souls soared into heaven, where they now sparkle on either side of Father Sun. But sometimes” —he lowered his voice to a whisper—“the Warriors return to earth as shooting stars and walk among men, advising and helping.”
A deep breath filled Bone Walker’s lungs, and as she exhaled, she blinked.
“Are you back?” he asked.
She just looked at him.
Stone Ghost slipped the turquoise necklace from around his throat and handed it to Bone Walker, saying, “The Warriors gave this to my great-great-grandmother many sun cycles before I was born. This turquoise comes from the Warriors’ turquoise bodies, their bodies that were turned to stone by the monsters.”
The necklace dangled over his gnarled fingers. Bone Walker appeared to want to touch it, but was afraid to. She drew her hands back and clutched them in her lap.
“The Great Warriors said that this necklace would protect whoever wore it from all evil. That’s why I am so old. Nothing has been able to harm me,” he said, and wished that were really the truth. If she could see the scars on his back from the time he’d been captured by the Fire Dogs, she’d know he was lying.
Bone Walker’s eyes widened. “Can I hold it?”
“Better than that, I wish to give it to you.”
Stone Ghost very slowly lifted the necklace and slipped it over her head, careful not to touch her. The large chunks of blue stone had a greenish hue in the light.
Bone Walker ran her fingers over the necklace.
“It’s very old,” Stone Ghost said. “So you must take good care of it. I have restrung the beads at least ten times, and my grandmother restrung them several times during her life.”
Bone Walker looked up and whispered, “So my breath-heart soul is safe? It will be able to find its way to the Land of the Dead?”
“Oh, it’s very safe.” Stone Ghost waved a confident hand. “You—”
“But how will you find your way!” she blurted, and her eyes jerked wide with fear. “Will you be lost? Like Owl?”
“No, no. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
“But if you get lost, the monsters eat you!”
“I know, but I have other ways …”
His voice faded as Bone Walker reached into her belt pouch and pulled something out. She clutched it in her dirty fist for a long moment, as though it were a great treasure, then held it out to Stone Ghost.
In a worried voice, she said, “Here, I hope this will help you.”
Stone Ghost held out his hand and she dropped the item into his palm. A tiny turquoise wolf gleamed. It had been crudely carved, but he could see the lifted muzzle and long tail. One hundred sun cycles ago, the First People had carved similar charms. They had breathed Spirit into them to turn them into living Spirit Helpers, then given the charms to chosen people, to help guide them to the Land of the Dead. “This is beautiful. Thank you, Bone Walker. Where did you get it?”
She gripped the turquoise necklace in both hands, holding it like a tree trunk in a tornado. All of her
attention seemed to be on the stones, but she said, “I made it.”
Stone Ghost turned the wolf over in his hand, and his breathing suddenly went shallow. He knew where he’d seen one like it before—he’d pulled it from a hole in a dead woman’s skull. At the time, he’d thought it meant that Flame Carrier’s murderer had felt remorse. But now …
“Bone Walker? Was it your grandfather who told you he’d witch your breath-heart soul?”
She lifted the necklace to her left eye, as though testing to see if the turquoise were transparent. In a bare whisper, she said, “A wolf told me.”
It was as though he could hear an earthquake coming. The roar began deep in his souls, grew louder, and louder …
Bone Walker whispered, “I don’t think it’s a skin.”
“What? I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I don’t think it’s a skin,” she repeated. “I think my breath-heart soul lives inside my tears.”
As the breeze filtered through the roof, the cobwebs on the ceiling swayed and danced, glittering in the flickering light. Bone Walker watched them.
Stone Ghost looked up. The webs resembled fine golden threads.
He murmured, “You may be right.”
 
 
“MAUREEN?” DUSTY’S WHISPER brought Maureen straight up out of a sound sleep.
“Shh!” he hissed and clamped a hard hand over her mouth.
“Whaaf,” she mumbled, struggling to get away from him.
“Someone’s out there!”
Fear pumped through every muscle in her body. Dusty released her and rolled away.
Her scattered senses slowly collected themselves: She lay on Dusty’s bed in the darkened trailer house. The clock glowing on the dresser told her it was 2:17 A.M. The pistol made a hollow clunk as Dusty pulled it off of the nightstand. She could see him moving, a dark shadow in the room. The floor creaked slightly as he stepped into the hallway and vanished.
Frozen, time compressed into the thundering beat of Maureen’s heart. A hollow sensation, like falling, possessed her. When had she run out of breath?
In that crystal moment she realized what it meant to be alive. How precious it was, and how much she wanted to keep breathing.
A faint click.
She peered into the blackness, eyes wide.
It might have been the hammer drawn back on Dusty’s pistol.
Is this how Dale felt? So terrified he couldn’t breathe?
The heating system whined, and Maureen gasped. She managed to swallow, and got to her feet.
Light flashed on outside, and in the eternal instant that followed, she cringed, waiting for the sound of a gunshot.
“Hey!” she heard Dusty shout.
“Hey, you!”
Maureen ran down the hallway. Dusty was leaning out the door, but she could see the pistol in his right hand.
“Dusty, who was it?” she asked as she tried to peer around his broad shoulders.
Up on the road, behind the screen of trees, a car engine roared to life. Wheels spun, popping gravel, and Maureen saw the red glow of taillights as the vehicle
accelerated down the hill, over the bridge, and roared away into the night.
Dusty stepped out onto the porch. He played a flashlight beam back and forth across the yard.
“Somebody was over by the Bronco. They ran when I turned the lights on.”
“Do you think it was … was
him?”
“I don’t know. Stay here. I need to check the Bronco.”
He walked a circle around the Bronco, shining his flashlight here and there; then he bent down to study the ground.
“What is it?” Maureen called.
“Just scuffed dirt.” He shone the light inside the Bronco, then hurried toward the steps. “My toes are freezing.”
Standing in the doorway, Maureen fought a shiver of her own.
Dusty closed the door behind him, laid the flashlight and pistol on the table, and squinted through the kitchen window one last time. “It might have just been an ordinary thief. This place has been broken into before.”
She rubbed her arms. “I didn’t hear a thing. What woke you?”
He jerked his head toward the rear. “Footsteps. This trailer’s so old it predates real insulation.”
“Well,” Maureen said and sank down on the couch. “We’d better call the police.”
Dusty ground his teeth a long moment. “I think I’ll call Nichols instead. If it was an ordinary thief, the police aren’t going to do anything. Nothing was stolen. But if it wasn’t just a thief …”
Maureen looked up. “You’re right.” As the adrenaline surge began to fade, she felt sick to her stomach.
Dusty had just picked up the phone when the tapping started at the door. Not a loud knock, but a hesitant
rap, rap, rap.
Maureen’s first glance went to the pistol an arm’s length away.
Dusty moved with the silence of a jungle cat. He reached for the gun and stepped back. His face had gone white, his mouth hard. “Who is it?”
A woman’s voice responded from the night. “May I come in?”
Dusty shot Maureen a questioning look.
She nodded, but said, “Be careful.”
Steps sounded on the porch. “Please?” the woman called.
Dusty held the pistol muzzle down as he swung the door open.
A woman stood there, face half turned as if against the glare of the light. She froze at the sight of the pistol in Dusty’s hand, her blue eyes widening. She looked to be in her mid-sixties, slender, well dressed, although her coat was smudged with dirt and leaves. A scuffed purse hung from her right hand.
“I don’t think you really want to shoot me,” she said wearily. “At least, not yet. May I come in?”
“Who are you?” Dusty asked.
The woman lifted her chin slightly. She wore her shoulder-length silver hair in a ponytail and held it with a large silver barrette. Her delicate nose and fine bones harked to what must once have been great beauty. She was still a very attractive woman. Her blue eyes tightened.
Maureen lurched to her feet. “Oh, good Lord! Dr. Sullivan, of course, please come in.”
Ruth Ann Sullivan stepped inside, and Dusty took a step backward, staring at her with glistening eyes.
Finally, he said, “Forgive me if I don’t say welcome home, Mom.”
 
 
BROWSER LAY ON his belly in a collapsed third-floor room in Kettle Town and watched the predawn glow light the eastern horizon. Charred roof timbers surrounded him. The hulking remains creaked and shifted, as if settling into the new day. In the distance, a solitary eagle sailed out over the canyon rim, cut slow circles across the sky, and spiraled lazily to the west, as though to inspect the silent ruins of Talon Town for an unwary rabbit.
Browser rubbed his tired eyes and, once again, checked the positions of the guards he’d posted along the rim and the roofs of nearby ruins. Rain Crow had said they would attack at dawn, but Browser had seen no sign of approaching warriors, and none of his guards had let out a warning call.
Perhaps Horned Ram or Blue Corn had altered the War Chief’s plans?
Browser didn’t believe it. Blue Corn respected the advice of her War Chief.
Across the valley, the moldering complex of dwellings known as Corner Canyon Town shone. Browser’s eyes focused on them. Only last winter, Made People had lived there. The Katsinas’ People had traded with them. He and Springbank had …
Browser went still.
Springbank had claimed he had relatives there, members of the Badger Clan.
Browser sat up. Pale blue light fell through the timbers around him, striping his buffalo cape.
The Badger Clan was a Made People clan, but the people in Corner Town had accepted Springbank without question.
Blood started to rush in Browser’s ears. He stared at
the low ridge near Corner Canyon Town where the First People had built their great kiva. Less than a sun cycle ago, Springbank had told him about the magnificent rituals the First People had performed in that kiva, rituals that brought to life the First People’s climb through the underworlds and their emergence into the Fifth World of light. Each of the ceremonials had been perfectly choreographed, a spectacle of such power that Springbank said it had stunned the rude and ignorant farmers who made the pilgrimage to Straight Path Canyon from the hinterlands.
Browser’s thoughts tumbled. How ironic it would be if the last of the First People had taken refuge there, on the south side of the wash: in land traditionally set aside for Made People.
Browser glared at each of the distant buildings, as if just by looking he might unravel its secret.
Tonight, he would go there.
From below him, Catkin softly called, “Browser?”
“Up here.”
She climbed through an opening in the floor and carefully studied the window before draping a gray blanket over herself and crawling up next to him. Her turned-up nose bore a sprinkling of dust, as though she’d been scrambling through the hive of abandoned chambers.
“The Mogollon scouts have returned. Two scouts, Fire Lark and Red Dog, spotted warriors.”
“Where?”
“High Sun Town. From the descriptions, I think they’re White Moccasins.”
Browser looked at the cliff south of Corner Town. He remembered the stairway that led to the mesa top, and the road from there that ran straight to High Sun Town. Springbank had told him that High Sun Town had been the center of the First People’s summer solstice ceremonies. At midday on that longest day of the sun cycle, the Blessed Sunwatcher had built a fire on
top of Spider Woman’s Butte, and dancers had emerged from High Sun Town to bless Father Sun for his gifts of life and warmth. The ceremonial dancers made their way along the road, descended the stairway cut into the cliff, and feasted at Corner Town. When the feast was over, masked dancers emerged from the Corner Kiva at Sunset Town and led a ceremonial procession north across Straight Path Wash to Kettle Town and finally to Talon Town. Just after dark they held ceremonies in Talon Town, then climbed the stairway to the mesa top road that led north to Center Place. When midnight arrived, another great feast was held, offerings were made, and soul pots were broken by the thousands.
“How fitting,” Browser remarked. “Blue Corn’s warriors are just above us on the Great North Road, and the White Moccasins are just south of us. One side occupies Center Place, the other High Sun. They’ve switched sides. The south used to belong to the Made People.”
“The problem is that we’re in the middle.”
Browser fingered his war club and turned his attention back to Corner Canyon Town. “He’s there. I just know it.”
Catkin glanced suspiciously at him. “Two Hearts?”
“Yes.” He gestured toward the cluster of blocky structures that dotted the mouth of Corner Canyon. “We’re going to have to search them one by one.”
“I want to lead the search party.”
He swiveled around to face her and examined her stony expression. The dawn light painted her wide cheekbones, but her eyes remained in shadow. “I have to kill him, Catkin.”
“Why?”
“Because—” He leaned back against the crumbling wall and let out a breath. “—he’s one of mine.”
She turned and stared at him. “Because you are both First People?”
“Yes.” He drew up his knees and rested his war club atop them. “Uncle Stone Ghost says that our people are doomed if we do not succeed here. It is my duty to see that we do.” Browser bowed his head and smiled forlornly. “Which must be a divine joke of the gods.”
She cocked her head. “I don’t see the humor.”
“The joke is that I don’t believe, Catkin. I don’t know what’s true. The katsinas? The Flute Player? I don’t care which god wins this war.” He smoothed his hand over his club. “This duty should have fallen to someone like Cloudblower or the Mogollon prophet. Someone who has the truth burning in his heart.”
“I would rather put my faith in you.”
“Why?”
“Because you see all sides. You grew up believing you were one of the Made People. You know how we think, what we feel, but you’re born of the First People. Their blood runs in your veins. You are a man between, Browser. That is your power.”
He looked out the window again. The pale blue aura of dawn had swelled to fill half the sky. Father Sun would rise soon.
“Catkin?” he said, and heard the edge of fear in his voice. “Does it bother you that I’m descended from the First People?”
She shifted. “It might if I did not know you, Browser. But I do. I’ll bet on that before I bet on blood. I only wish—” Catkin’s eyes went wide. She lunged for the window. “Movement! On the cliff behind us!”
Browser scrambled to look. Ten warriors, no eleven, climbed down the staircase cut into the cliff behind Kettle Town. The arrows in their quivers flashed as they moved.
“Time to play weasel and coyote. Quickly, run and tell the others!”
 
 
STONE GHOST HUDDLED beneath a pile of ancient, willow-twig mats, but he could see Obsidian where she lay on her belly a short distance away. She had her hands pressed to her breast, terrified. The mats covered everything but a lock of her long black hair, which snaked toward him like a deadly serpent. Stone Ghost had ordered Bone Walker to hide with Catkin, where he knew she would be safer; then he’d come here, seeking out Obsidian. One other person hid in the room with them, the Mogollon woman warrior named Clay Frog. She crouched across the room by the door with her war club clutched in her fist.
In a whisper he knew only Obsidian could hear, Stone Ghost said, “You know the little girl, don’t you?”
Obsidian looked at him as though he must be mad to speak at a time like this. “If I were you,” she whispered back, “I would keep quiet. Or do you wish to have your throat slit?”
Stone Ghost rattled the mats as he turned to relieve the discomfort of his aching hip. “She looks like you. She has your mouth and nose, but her eyes are different. Larger, more deeply set.”

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