Forests of the Heart (62 page)

“They … ?”

She realized what he meant as soon as the word left her mouth. The reply had been made up of many voices, speaking in unison. So she wasn’t surprised by their arrival, a line of brightly colored
cadejos
on the heights above the canyon. They came down the steep sides, finding passage along almost invisible ridges and trails, goat hooves scrambling in the loose rocks. When they reached the bottom of the canyon, they paid no attention to Bettina and her wolf. Launching themselves at the battling monsters, they broke the pair apart and herded them to separate sides of the canyon with all the assurance and skill of a pack of border collies.

The spider let them back her up against the canyon wall where she shifted from spider shape to that of an old Native woman who promptly collapsed into Ellie’s arms. The Glasduine wasn’t nearly so acquiescent. Snarling, it struck out at the closest of the little dogs. It might as well have struck the side of the mountain for all the good the blow did. The
cadejo
was unmoved, unhurt. The Glasduine narrowed its eyes, studying its attackers. It feinted toward one of the little dogs, grabbed at another.

But
los cadejos
were quicker. One of them darted in and tore the creature’s arm from its torso. Dragging it across the dirt, the
cadejo
worried at the still moving limb as though it was a bone. Another of the little dogs charged forward, knocking the creature to the ground. Two more leapt for its throat.

“¡Para!”
Bettina cried. Stop. “Don’t harm it.”

“Are you mad?” her wolf asked.

She ignored him. “Your bargain must be with me,” she told
los cadejos.
“I won’t have another die for my sake.”

“What does it matter who makes the bargain?”
el lobo
said. “We need the monster dead.”

But Bettina had the little dogs’ attention. The Glasduine took the opportunity to try to break free, but they kept it pinned to the ground, small immovable weights that snapped at it every time it moved. A sappy green blood seeped from where it had lost its arm, but it didn’t seem greatly affected by the loss of blood, or the limb itself.

“It matters to me,” Bettina said.
“¿Y bien?”
she asked
los cadejos.
“Is the bargain between you and me?”

She wondered if descendants were always doomed to repeat the mistake of earlier generations, for here she was, putting herself in the middle of a struggle between spirits—just as her
abuela
had done to her own great loss so many years before. But she refused to let her wolf pay the price. It was because of her that
los cadejos
were here in the first place. Any pacts to be made with them would be hers and hers alone.

“We already have a bargain,” one of
los cadejos
told her.

She shook her head. “We have a debt. This will only put me more deeply in it.”

The little dogs had one of their moments of silent communication before the foremost nodded.

“We will kill it for you,” it said, agreeing. “Not for your wolf.”

“Is that how it must be?” Bettina asked. “Can it only end with the Glasduine’s death?”

“Once woken,
un monstruo
such as this cannot be sent back to its place of origin. Even with its
vida en kilodela”
—the little dog nodded with its chin to the ribbon of light that was still connected to the creature—”to show the way.”

“So we let it go or we kill it,” Bettina said.

She was unhappy with either choice. With the Glasduine’s rampage momentarily contained, she felt they had the breathing space to consider other options. Unfortunately, none presented themselves to her and no one else appeared interested in pursuing them.

“Why are we even discussing this?” her wolf asked. “We have no choice but to kill it.”

Bettina sighed. She knew he wasn’t being so much bloodthirsty as pragmatic. The Glasduine was simply too powerful. If
los cadejos
hadn’t answered
el lobo’s
summons, it was likely they’d all be dead by now and then who knew how many others would be imperiled?
Pero
…

“There is a third option,” a new voice said.

Bettina turned to see that a stranger had approached while they were talking. He was an unimposing man, not a great deal older than she was. New to
la época del mito,
she judged, by the nervous glances he kept giving
los cadejos
and the Glasduine they guarded.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Hunter.”

For one moment she thought he’d meant he
was
a hunter, that he was here to deal with the Glasduine. Then she realized it was only his name.

“Y
bien,”
she said. “And I am Bettina.”

He held out the rosary her mother had sent her. Bettina hadn’t even realized that she’d dropped it.

“Is this yours?” he asked.

She nodded, accepting it with a nod of thanks.

“What can you tell us of this third choice?” she asked.

“Well, I’m no expert…”

When Hunter finally caught up with the others his first thought was that he’d stumbled into some otherworldly circus. It was the colored dogs more than the grotesque creature that gave him this impression. The dogs seemed so … frivolous. At least they did until he realized that they were all that was keeping the creature contained.

As he approached, he listened to the conversation and a thought occurred to him which was what led him to speak up. Normally, he’d have been just as happy to keep in the background, out of the way of everybody else who were undoubtedly far more competent to deal with the situation. But like the woman who’d introduced herself as Bettina, he was unhappy with the idea that violence was the only solution. The death of the hard man he’d killed in Miki’s apartment still haunted him.

“It’s just,” he said, “from all I’ve been told about these kinds of beings, they’re not evil of and by themselves, are they?”

“It makes little difference at this point,” muttered the man who knelt beside Bettina. He looked far too much like the Gentry for Hunter’s comfort.

“Let him speak,” Bettina said.

Hunter nodded his thanks. “They’re supposed to be some kind of fertility symbol—part of that whole hero-king business. They bring in the spring, bless the fields for seeding. All the things we need for the world to pull out of winter and get back to the pursuit of growth and recovery.”

“Si.
This I have been told as well.”

“So that potential must still be inside it. Kind of like yin and yang. It has two sides, destructive and creative.”

“The Glasduine has as many sides as the personality of he who calls it up,” Bettina’s companion said.

“But what if you bypass that personality? You know, go directly to the heart of the creature and bring up its inherent goodness.”

“I knew there was a reason we brought that boy along,” Aunt Nancy said.

Hunter glanced her way. The older woman was kneeling beside Tommy now, directing Ellie who was pressing his wounds with the bottom half of her shirt to stem the blood loss. Aunt Nancy seemed frailer than Hunter remembered. Her features drawn, shoulders stooped. But her eyes still had their fire and the grin she gave him made him feel good and nervous at the same time. He gave her a nod, then returned his attention to Bettina. She was shaking her head and Hunter couldn’t tell if she was disagreeing or confused.

“How can we do this?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he had to admit.

Bettina turned to the dogs. “Can you do this thing?” she asked them.

There was a general shaking of heads among the brightly colored dogs.

“That we cannot do.”

“We are born in the fire.”

“The dance of our flames can make you laugh.”

“Or ponder.”

“We can burn you to ash.”

“We can open doors for you.”

“We can open doors in you.”

“But they all lead to what is.”

“Not what might be.”

“Or might have been.”

Hunter was only momentarily taken aback when the dogs began to speak, talking in a chorus. But given what he’d been through during the past forty-eight hours or so, he didn’t think there was much left to surprise him. Until he realized they were speaking in Spanish, but he still understood them. He waited a moment to make sure the dogs were done and no one else had anything to add, then cleared his throat.

“The Glasduine was called up by a mask, wasn’t it?” he said when Bettina had turned back to him.

Understanding began to dawn in her eyes.

“So we need to make a new mask,” Hunter went on, “to undo what was done before.”

“Is that even possible?” Bettina asked.

Hunter realized that she wasn’t asking him directly

“If it was made by someone with powerful
geasan,”
the man who looked like one of the Gentry said.

That brought Ellie into the conversation.

“I guess that means me,” she said, looking up from where she worked.

Under Aunt Nancy’s direction, she’d taken a water bottle and a packet of dried, powdered comfrey roots. Cleaning the long narrow wounds on Tommy’s back with the water, she then applied a liberal dose of the rootstock. Tommy remained unconscious throughout the procedure, which didn’t bode well so far as Hunter was concerned. He remembered Tommy’s aunts talking about this warning they’d gotten from some shaman back at the rez. They’d tried so hard to keep him out of the line of fire, but here he was anyway, the shaman’s predictions coming true.

“Well, you know,” Ellie went on. “I’m supposed to have all this magic floating around inside in me—”

“Oh, you do, girl,” Aunt Nancy said. “Trust me on that. You’ve got medicine like nobody’s business. I’ve never shifted over to a spider that size before. You’ve got to know it was all your doing.”

Ellie shrugged. “And I’m the one who was supposed to make the mask in the first place.”

“This wouldn’t be a copy,” Bettina told her.

“I know. I don’t much care to do copies anyway.”

“But you think you can do it?”

“I can make a mask,” Ellie said. “And I can make it be positive—you know, uplifting to look at and … well, feel, I guess. But put magic into it?” She gave another shrug. “Someone’s got to show me how.”

“There’s nothing to show,” Aunt Nancy told her. “What do you think the creative impulse is but a piece of magic?”

“I never thought of it like that. I just think of it as a way of people expressing themselves.”

The older woman nodded. “Sure. But it also holds echoes of the place that stick and leaf monster came from in the first place. Some people have a closer connection to it than others. People like you.”

“So what? Is that supposed to make me more creative or something? I don’t think so.”

“No, it makes what you do more powerful.”

“Do we have time to go back to Kellygnow for her to make the mask?” Bettina asked.

“We can’t hold the monster here forever,” one of the little dogs told her.

“It grows stronger every minute.”

“Its
vida en hilodela
feeds it with strength.”

“Is there some way we can cut it off from that source?” Bettina asked.

The little dog shook its head. “That would not be wise.”

“We speak of ancient powers here.”

“Older even than us.”

“You would not want them to be angry with you.”

“But-we only want to stop the Glasduine from causing any more harm,” Bettina said. “Surely they would understand.”

“They do not see the world as you do,” the little dog told her.

“They would not understand.”

“They would see only that you impede the flow.”

“I don’t have to go back to Kellygnow,” Ellie said, “if we can find clay around here.” She looked at Aunt Nancy, then Bettina’s companion. “The clay doesn’t have to be fired, or even dried, does it?”

“It only needs to be true,” the dark-haired man told her.

Aunt Nancy nodded. “And that is something you already know how to do.”

“Okay,” Ellie said. “Then let’s get to it.”

Hunter and Ellie accepted complete responsibility for making the mask, Ellie to do the actual hand-building of it, Hunter the grunt work of fetching and carrying.

First they had to break up the red clay they found lower down in the canyon, bringing it back with them using jackets as makeshift sacks. For the water she needed to make the clay pliable enough to work with, one of
los cadejos
showed them to a small seep still lower down in the canyon. It took Hunter a dozen or so trips to get enough water since they only had Aunt Nancy’s water bottle to carry it in. As it was, the resulting mixture was far coarser than what Ellie was accustomed to, though it was still workable for hand-building. It wasn’t as though she would be using the clay on a wheel or was going to fire the mask when it was done.

While they worked on the mask, Bettina tended to Tommy. With her mother’s rosary wrapped around the fingers of one hand, she called on the spirits and
los santos
to help her diagnose what was needed to help him.

“I will have to gather medicines,” she told Aunt Nancy when she had the information she needed. She turned to
los cadejos.
“Will you let me do this?”

“We have a bargain,” one of the dogs replied.

“We are not your masters.”

“You may go where you will.”

Leaving Aunt Nancy to watch over her nephew, Bettina went searching for the plants she needed. Her wolf accompanied her, insisting he’d only been bruised in his brief encounter with the Glasduine. Bettina was grateful for the company, only worried that he might hold her back. But like so many of the spirits she had met in
la época del mito,
he was resilient and quick to heal.

While they were gone, Aunt Nancy cradled Tommy’s head on her lap as he drifted in and out of consciousness. She burned smudgesticks, thrusting them on end into the dirt beside them, and crooned old healing songs into his ear. The smoke rose skyward in pungent trails, speaking her need to the Grandfather Thunders. She trusted in Bettina’s abilities, but she also wanted the
manitou
of Tommy’s own people to be aware of his situation and lend what aid they might.