The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries (43 page)

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

BOOK: The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries
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“Yes, Matron,” Browser dipped his head respectfully, then looked around the gathering. “Who will go with me to look for Elder Springbank?”
“I will.” Catkin stepped to Browser’s side. Tall and beautiful in the firelight, her hard eyes gazed straight at Skink. She called: “Who else will come with us?”
Skink’s mouth puckered as though he’d eaten something bitter. He could not refuse with everyone looking at him. “I will,” he said, and grudgingly pulled his war club from his belt.
“So will I,” Jackrabbit said, and pushed through the crowd. The ash
that filled the lines around his eyes made him look much older than fifteen summers.
“Good enough,” Browser said. “And who will search for Redcrop?” People muttered and milled about. Several men waved their hands dismissively and drifted away from the gathering.
Straighthorn shouldered through the crowd, feeling sick.
“I will.”
When no one else came forward, Straighthorn suddenly hated everyone in the village. He couldn’t even bear to look at them. He walked away, cut down to the river trail, and headed for the Matron’s burial site with blood pulsing painfully in his ears.
I’m coming, Redcrop.
He had searched through the Longtail survivors, then raced around the Dry Creek village camp, calling her name, looking for her, asking everyone he came across if they’d seen Redcrop.
After talking with Catkin, he feared that she might have seen the fire and run back into the heart of the blaze to help someone. His belly twisted. She could be lying beneath a fallen wall, or trapped under the weight of a collapsed roof, alive, praying he would find her.
His steps faltered, but only for an instant. If she were in the village, eventually someone would hear her, or see her, and pull her out. But if she’d been captured, she had no one but him …
“Straighthorn?”
He looked over his shoulder.
Browser caught up with him and matched his stride. “Straighthorn, wait. There are things I wish to tell you before you go.”
Straighthorn kept walking, his head down, eyes on the trail.
Browser clasped his shoulder and forced Straighthorn to stop and look at him. He handed Straighthorn an unlit yucca bark torch. “You may need this.”
Straighthorn took it, but glowered.
Fear and sympathy tightened the War Chief’s eyes. “First, I wish you to know that as soon as we have finished our search for Springbank, I will be on your trail. Expect me.”
Straighthorn swallowed hard and nodded.
You should be, since you got her into this.
“What else, War Chief?”
Browser seemed to read Straighthorn’s souls. He lowered his eyes. “Your foes are not merely warriors. You must understand—”
“I don’t have to understand them, War Chief. I just have to find them and kill them.” He lifted his war club and shook it.
Browser pushed Straighthorn’s club aside. “Listen to me. I
know
who set the fire tonight, and I know why they did it.”
Straighthorn stared at him. “It was the same people who killed her grandmother, wasn’t it?”
Browser’s gaze did not waver. “Yes, but the important part is that the killers are First People. They are fighting for—”
“First People?”
Straighthorn laughed out loud. “They died long ago! My mother used to tell me stories about the great war they fought with the Made People. The last of the First People were killed more than one hundred sun cycles—”
“They are First People, Straighthorn,” Browser said, and looked around to make sure no one stood nearby. “If you are captured, tell them—”
“How do you know they are First People?”
Browser searched Straighthorn’s face. He seemed to be struggling with himself. He said, “Did you see the symbol painted on the boulder where my uncle Stone Ghost sat tonight?”
Straighthorn’s brows drew together. “Yes. I thought your uncle had painted it. It was a spiral, wasn’t it? A spiral with two people?”
Browser nodded. “We found a similar painting at Aspen village. It depicts the First People emerging from the underworlds. Apparently it is the murderers’ way of claiming responsibility and sending a message to other First People—”
“Other
First People?”
“They exist, Straighthorn. They live in hiding, but they exist.”
Straighthorn turned and marched down the trail again, his war club over his shoulder.
“Straighthorn?” Browser trotted to catch up. “I told you those things for a reason. If you are captured, tell them that you and Redcrop are not Made People. Tell them you are both Fire Dogs or Tower Builders, or anything else you wish. I don’t think they will kill you if you are not Made People.”
Straighthorn found himself chuckling. “So they only kill Made People? Why? In retribution for a war that ended—”
“The war hasn’t ended, Straighthorn. Not for them. And it isn’t just against Made People. They hate anyone who believes in the katsinas. You do not have to believe me, just remember the things I told you tonight. Remember also that I will not be far behind you. Do not cover your trail too well.”
“I am a one-man search party, War Chief. I won’t have time to cover it at all.”
Straighthorn couldn’t stand it any longer. Angry, feeling betrayed, he broke into a run, his feet pounding the damp leaves.
The War Chief ran after him for several steps, then stopped and called, “I’ll find you tomorrow!”
Straighthorn looked back and saw Browser standing in the trail with his fists clenched at his sides.
He ran harder.
B
ROWSER’S BUCKSKIN CAPE FLAPPED AROUND HIS LONG legs as he swiftly walked back along the river trail. The crowd had begun to disperse. A line of people headed toward the Dry Creek camp and the shelter it offered, while others curled into borrowed blankets and laid down on the river bank with weeping children clutched in their arms. Catkin, Jackrabbit, and Skink huddled together a short distance from Crossbill and Rock Dove.
The two matrons knelt before a little boy of perhaps eight summers. The child was from Dry Creek village. Browser did not know him, but the boy must have been hurt in the fire. He wore a splint on his left wrist and his hair and eyebrows had been singed off. As the two matrons conversed, he glanced back and forth.
“War Chief,” Crossbill called when she saw him. “You must hear this.”
Browser walked into their circle, and the acrid scent of smoke rose from the boy’s scorched clothing. “What is it, Matron?”
Crossbill placed a hand on the boy’s head and said, “This is Tadpole. He was in the tower kiva tonight.”
The boy looked wide-eyed at Browser.
Browser noticed that even his eyelashes had been burned away, and said, “You are a very brave boy, Tadpole.”
“I—I cried, though,” Tadpole admitted and ducked his head.
“That’s all right,” Browser replied. “If I’d had to fall through a wall of flame, I would have cried, too.”
The hairless boy looked up at Browser with shining eyes and smiled.
Crossbill said, “Tell the War Chief what you saw, Tadpole.”
Tadpole took a breath and let it out, then said, “Just before the fire started, we heard things being dropped on the roof of the kiva. They make hard knocks, like someone throwing rocks.”
Browser frowned. He had no idea what that meant. “Go on, Tadpole.”
Tadpole lifted his good hand and pointed up at the sky. “Then, a little while later, we saw a woman look down at us. She was pretty.”
The boy paused, and Rock Dove softly coached, “And what did my mother say?”
“Matron Ant—” Tadpole seemed to realize of a sudden that he wasn’t supposed to say her name. “Our former Matron said, ‘You are late, Obsidian.’ Then we saw fire behind the woman’s head, and the woman ran away. We heard her steps go across the roof. Our Matron screamed her name, but she didn’t come back. No one came.”
The boy shivered, and Browser’s souls ached, like stiletto wounds taken in the heat of battle. He looked up. “Where is Obsidian?”
Rock Dove answered, “In our camp. Her chamber was burned, so she—”
Browser stalked away.
Crossbill called, “War Chief, wait! There is more!”
Browser kept going, straight toward the Dry Creek camp. He seemed to be walking through some nightmare country where time had ceased to exist.
He strode through the center of the camp, then weaved around the hide shelters and cooking fires. Almost two hundred people had taken refuge here. They looked up as he passed, but no one called out to him. They concentrated on feeding the hungry, and rocking sobbing children to sleep.
Browser’s steps froze when he saw Obsidian standing alone under a huge cottonwood at the edge of the camp. A beautiful red blanket with white spirals draped her shoulders. She leaned against the trunk, gazing up at the Evening People.
When she heard Browser’s steps, she turned and fear lit her black eyes. She started to walk away.
“Yes!” he called after her. “Keep walking! Straight up the hill to that boulder with the white painting.”
Obsidian’s pace quickened. “Leave me alone. I don’t wish to speak with you tonight!”
She rushed up the hill, not so much obeying his order as trying to get away from him.
Browser ran after her.
When she started to pass the boulder and continue up the hill into
the grove of junipers, Browser lunged for her hand, grabbed it, and dragged her backward.
“Let me go!” she shouted and tried to wrench free. “You’re hurting me!”
Browser shoved her against the boulder and placed his hands on either side of her narrow shoulders, trapping her there. “Where were you tonight? Were you looking for me?”
“What are you talking about?”
He reached down with one hand, ripped open the seam in his cape, and held the turquoise wolf up before her eyes.
“Is this what you want? Is this why you destroyed our village?”
She glared at him. “You’ve lost your senses!”
“Don’t lie to me! You as much as asked me about this yesterday! You said, ‘Where is it?’ Don’t tell me you didn’t mean this wolf!”
Obsidian hissed, “Of course I did! I wanted to see it, you fool!”
“Why? Are you working with the murderer? With Two Hearts? He wants it back, is that it?”
She looked as though he’d struck her in the face. When she could finally manage to close her mouth, she whispered, “I wanted to see it because it proves you are who I thought you were. It proves you are
suitable!
”
Browser threw the wolf at her. “Take it! It has only brought me misery!”
Obsidian gasped and her hand flew to her cheek where the turquoise had drawn blood. She looked at her bloody fingers, and snapped, “I don’t want it! Why do you think
I
want it?”
Breathing hard, Browser knelt and picked up the wolf. As he rubbed the dirt away, he said, “I thought you were trying to get it back for him, or—or maybe for yourself. I don’t know, I—”
“You fool!” Obsidian jerked the necklace from around her throat and held up her own magnificent turquoise wolf. It swung back and forth in front of his eyes. “Why would I need yours?”
Obsidian slipped her necklace back over her head and marched down the trail.
“Wait!” Browser called.
“No!”
He stuffed the wolf into his belt pouch and ran after her. “Obsidian, wait!”
“Leave me alone!”
He grabbed her arm and whirled her around. She fought, but he refused to let go. The coral beads in her long dark hair glittered like sparks, and he could see her breast heaving beneath her white cape.
“Tell me what you were doing on the roof of the tower kiva tonight.”
She looked at him as though he were mad. “I had duties! The Dry Creek Matron asked me to bring sweet cakes to the children. I had just walked to the kiva ladder when I heard the flames. I whirled around and saw them racing toward me—”
“You didn’t see the pine pitch on the roof?”
She frowned and shook her head. “No. I—I mean there may have been pitch there, but I was so taken aback by the bones scattered over the roof that I hardly noticed anything else, I just—”
“What bones?”
“I don’t know!
There were bloody bones all over the roof! As though someone had just butchered a deer and thrown the bones up there! Except”—she wet her full lips—“they didn’t look like animal bones. I didn’t have time to really look, but I thought—”
“You thought they were human?” He let her go.
Obsidian nodded.
Browser’s arm muscles tightened, bulging through his war shirt. “Did you know our dead Matron’s grave was robbed?”
Obsidian seemed to go weak. She backed up and leaned against a cottonwood trunk. “When did that happen?”
Browser shook his head. “I don’t know for certain. Before sunset, I think.”
Obsidian reached out and let her hand hover in the air over his shoulder. When Browser didn’t pull away, she touched his arm.
He shivered and her voice turned soft. “I know you are crazy with worry, Browser. So am I. Ever since your uncle questioned me, I’ve been terrified that someone else may know, and I—”
“My uncle questioned you? Today?”
“Just before the Dances. It was only after speaking with him that I knew for certain you were—”
“What?”
She pulled her hand away. “It is not safe to say it out loud, and you know it.”
In the Dry Creek camp, people stood up and shielded their eyes
against the glow of the fires to watch Browser and Obsidian. A low hum of concerned voices rose.
“What? What is not safe to say?”
Browser shook his fists at her. “Obsidian, for the sake of the gods, tell me that you know nothing about these murders!”
“I don’t!” she shouted. “I do not know how you could even think that I would do something so—”
“Fine!” He strode down the hill.
“Browser?” she called and ran after him. “Let’s talk. Please! Perhaps now that we understand each other—”
“No, and
no!
”
He ignored the questioning glances of the onlookers in the Dry Creek camp and trotted to meet Catkin where she stood alone near the river. Behind her, people lay rolled in blankets and hides, trying to sleep. A chorus of whimpers rose.
Browser stopped in front of Catkin. Her soot-blackened face had an eerie sheen in the smoky light. “Where are Jackrabbit and Skink?”
“After hearing the rest of Tadpole’s story, I told them to return to their former guard positions in the hills.”
Browser knew that tone. “What else did the boy say?” “Tadpole said that the Dry Creek Matron and Springbank made a deal: she would climb onto the roof and try to figure out how to get the children to safety, while Springbank remained inside and made certain every child got out of the kiva. Tadpole saw Springbank climb up through the entry just before the Dry Creek Matron threw the boy off the roof and into his father’s arms.” Catkin inhaled and let it out in a rush of words, “That was moments before the roof collapsed.”
“You think he was inside?”
“He must have been.”
Browser braced his hand on his belted war club. Another elder lost. His heart ached. What would the Katsinas’ People do without Flame Carrier and Springbank? Perhaps when they reached Dry Creek village, Browser could quietly begin moving through the people, suggesting they cast their voices in favor of Cloudblower as their new Matron. Cloudblower would know what to do, whether they should stay at Dry Creek village or continue moving, searching for the First People’s kiva and the tunnel to the underworlds.
He looked up at the smoldering village, the windblown piles of
ash heaped against the toppled walls, and wondered if any of them still believed in Poor Singer’s prophecy after this.
Maybe Springbank had been right. They should disband the Katsinas’ People and give up the dream.
Catkin said, “I filled our canteens.” She tapped the two pots tied to her belt. The black-and-red geometric designs gleamed in the flickering light. “Straighthorn can’t be too far ahead of us. If you grab your bow and we hurry, we may catch him before he leaves the burial site.”
“No, I—I wish you to speak with my uncle first. There are things you must know before we leave, Catkin.”
“What things?”
Browser squared his shoulders. “About our enemies.”
 
SYLVIA SAID, “WHOA, WHAT’S THIS?”
Golden sunshine streamed out of the cool autumn sky, a pleasant companion to the smell of wet earth. The temperature was in the fifties, forecast for a high of sixty that afternoon, and into the seventies tomorrow.
Dusty looked up from the two-by-two he was digging with Maureen. “What have you got?”
“Maybe a storage cyst, but it looks bigger. Hang on, Steve’s taking photos and notes while I excavate around the edges.”
Maureen turned to Dusty. She’d pinned her braid up in back, but strands had worked loose and fluttered around her face when the wind blew. She used her sleeve to wipe her sweaty forehead. “How big are these cysts? I mean, they were just used to store corn, beans, and squash, weren’t they? How much space can that take?”
“Some of their storage cysts were huge, Doctor.” Dusty braced his hands on the lip of the pit and climbed out.
A thin layer of high clouds filtered the afternoon sunlight, turning it a flaxen shade. Where it struck bone or potsherds, it sparked a blaze.
He brushed his hands off on his jeans as he walked across the kiva floor, and dust clouded the air around him. “Okay, tell me what you’ve got?” He knelt beside the excavation unit.
Sylvia and Steve backed to the edge of the unit to give him a clear view. “I take it back,” Sylvia said. Her freckles had almost merged with her tan. “Now it looks more like a trap door.”
Steve used the hem of his blue T-shirt to sop up the sweat on his face, and said, “A kiva tunnel?”
“We’ll see.” Dusty jumped into the pit and crouched over the floor feature. The three-foot square opening had a layer of intact, though charred, poles over it. “You’ve taken all your measurements, photos, written everything down in the log?”
“Of course,” Sylvia said. “What do you think we are, government archaeologists?”

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