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

The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries (45 page)

BOOK: The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries

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“What’s that? A bead day?”

Piper’s shoulders hunched, and she went back to her jerky, chewing, swallowing, chewing, as though she hadn’t heard the question.

Redcrop couldn’t move her numb arms, but she worked at the cords around her ankles, trying to loosen them.

Piper watched her intently for a time, then said, “You can’t get away.”

Redcrop twisted her ankles and grimaced as the cords sawed into her flesh. Blood flowed down her feet. “Piper, did your family kill my grandmother?”

Piper cocked her head like a surprised bird. She pointed up at the ceiling. “Her bones went to the clouds. Grandfather cleaned them and turned them into smoke so they could fly.”

“You mean he burned—”

“Shh! They’re coming.” Piper used her chin to gesture northward down the sandy wash. “See.”

Redcrop glanced out at the darkness, and fear ran like fire through her veins. “Your family?”

“No.” Her voice got very small. Piper sucked in her lower lip and clamped it with her teeth. Her eyes went huge.

Redcrop fell to her side and kicked her feet to stretch the cords. They were going to kill her, just as they had Grandmother. She tried to remember everything Grandmother had taught her about the journey to the afterlife, where the monsters stood, the traps along the trail …

“Closer,” Piper whispered. She pulled her knees against her chest and hid everything but her eyes, which stared unblinking at the darkness from a halo of filthy tangles.

“Where?” Redcrop sobbed. “I don’t see anything!”

In the barest murmur, Piper said, “There are only two of them. Usually there are ten.”

“Who are they?”

Piper’s gaze fixed on the darkness. “White Moccasins.”

“Who?” Redcrop fought to blink her tears away, and see something,
anything, but she saw only the junipers rocking in the wind and the tan sandstone walls shimmering in the azure gleam of approaching dawn.

“Piper, please, help me? Cut me loose!”

Piper hissed, “It’s Him.”

“Him?”

In an awed whisper, she said, “First Man.”

Redcrop wanted to scream, but dared not, not yet. She kept her voice controlled. “Who?”

“Wolf Slayer,” Piper replied almost too low to hear. “He eats wolves.”

Redcrop curled into a ball and wept. These were gods she did not know and she feared all the more because of it.

“Who is Wolf Slayer?”

“Your people killed him.”

“If he’s dead, how can he be coming?”

“He’s coming,” Piper said and pointed. “Right there.”

Two men walked into the rock shelter, their long white capes swaying around their bodies. One of them, the tallest, wore a wolf mask and had long black hair. The other, a head shorter, wore a raven mask. Redcrop should have screamed and scrambled to get away. But she shocked them.

She sat up and started singing in an agonized voice, a voice that resembled a death cry. Flame Carrier had taught her the words as a little girl of barely two or three summers. She had forced Redcrop to learn them:

“Come the brothers, born of Sun! One is slayed. Here by the long trail, his corpse is laid. You, born of Father Sun, laid in the light next to night. Choose my people. Come the brothers, born of Sun!”

The man in the raven mask turned to his companion and whispered, “That is one of our most sacred Songs. How does
she
know it?”

Redcrop sucked in a breath. His voice sounded familiar.

The tall man walked forward.

When he stood over her, he pulled off his wolf mask and stared at Redcrop with haunting eyes, eyes electrifying in their intensity. He had a triangular face, with a long nose. His black hair disappeared with the mask, and she could see that a human scalp had been fitted inside the wolf’s fur. His real hair, long and white, tumbled around his shoulders. “My sister taught you that, didn’t she?”

Redcrop swallowed hard. “Your sister?”

“The Blessed Flame Carrier.”

Redcrop paled at the mention of her name. Had he no fear that he would pull her grandmother back from the Land of the Dead? That she might be trapped here on earth and become a wailing ghost?

“My words can’t draw her back,” he said, startling Redcrop. “She is already in the skyworlds with our ancestors. She climbed up with the smoke. The greatest of us do not run the road to the underworlds.” He gestured expansively to the sky. “We fly.”

He stared up at the last of the Evening People, then crouched in front of Redcrop. His eyes gleamed like polished black stones.

“What my foolish sister did not tell you,” he said, and smiled at her with broken rotted teeth, “is that coming from your lips, those words were an abomination. You are not one of us, no matter what Songs you know.”

He slapped Redcrop across the mouth.

Redcrop cried out and sobbed, “But she told me—”

“She told you the Blessed Ancestors would hear you and save you?”

Redcrop wept. “Yes.”

He leaned down very close and whispered, “Only when you have been bathed in blood will you be saved. In less than a hand of time, the Blessed Two Hearts—”

“Bear Dancer!” the man in the raven mask called and furiously waved his war club. “There’s someone out there!”

Bear Dancer! Grandmother’s older brother?

Bear Dancer stood. “My son?”

“No. I don’t think so. I think there’s more than one.”

“Perhaps my son and my brother. But let us make sure.” Redcrop tried to think. Grandmother had only spoken of one brother. Could Bear Dancer be talking about Grandmother’s half brother? The brother she’d never known?

Bear Dancer jerked the cotton sash from around his waist and threw it at Piper. “When I am gone, gag her.”

He rose and took three long strides to look at where the other man aimed his club. They spoke softly, and both men sprinted away, up the wash into the dark canyon shadows.

Redcrop rolled to her side, and her belly heaved. Burning liquid seared her throat and nose.

Piper scampered across the ground, glanced repeatedly up the sandy wash, and squatted next to Redcrop. “Are you all right?”

Redcrop nodded.

Piper said, “Here,” and pulled a turquoise wolf from her pocket. Tiny, and crudely carved, it looked almost identical to the one that Stone Ghost had found in the hole in Grandmother’s head. “I was going to give it to you after they killed you, but they may take you away.” She tucked it into the top of Redcrop’s left legging.

Redcrop stared at her with blurry eyes. “Piper, did you give one of these to my grandmother?”

Piper nodded, but glanced around as though frightened someone might hear her. “Yes. No one told me they were going to burn her and send her to the clouds. I thought she was one of the Made People.”

“And you wanted her to be able to find her way to the Land of the Dead?”

“If you can’t find your way, you get lost and the monsters eat you.” As if that young voice had painted perfect images on her souls, Redcrop had a momentary glimpse of a lonely little girl forced to see things no child should ever see, a girl who heard the cries of the victims, watched them die, and could not walk away without making certain their souls were safe. The realization pierced Redcrop’s heart.

“Piper, please untie my hands.”

She shook her head.

“Do you want to see me dead?”

Piper twisted her hands in her lap.

Redcrop said, “Piper, I have a gift for you. Please look beneath my cape.”

“What is it?”

“Please, look. I can’t hurt you.”

Piper crept forward, flipped Redcrop’s cape aside, and jumped backward. Her mouth gaped at the corn-husk doll.

“Where did you find her?”
She snatched the doll from Redcrop’s belt and scuttled backwards with the doll clutched to her chest.

“I found her in the coyote den where you dropped her when your grandfather Bear Dancer came to get you.”

Piper sat on the ground and stroked the doll’s hair so roughly that Redcrop feared she might rip off the frail corn-husk head.

It took twenty heartbeats before Piper remembered the sash, grabbed for it, and ran forward.

Before she gagged Redcrop, she looked at her with shining eyes, and said, “He’s not my grandfather.”

D
RY NEEDLES AND FALLEN BERRIES CRACKLED AS STRAIGHTHORN crawled through the junipers overlooking the shallow canyon. The brightest of the Evening People sparkled above him, but pale lavender light banded the eastern horizon. He studied it, gauging how much longer he had before the darkness failed him.

A hand of time. Maybe a little less.

He blinked the sweat from his eyes, gripped his war club, and got down on his belly to slide to the edge of the rim.

One hundred hands below, the firelit rock shelter gleamed. Redcrop lay on her side with her white cape spreading around her like a mantle of snow. Dead? A little girl crouched a few hands away, furiously rocking a corn-husk doll in her arms, as if trying to get a stubborn baby to go to sleep. Redcrop lay perfectly still.

Straighthorn pulled himself forward on his elbows and looked along the rim for a trail down. A dark slash cut the canyon wall perhaps two hundred body lengths to the south. It was probably a shadowed crevice, but it might be a trail.

He swiftly backed away from the rim, got to his feet in the thickest junipers, and sprinted headlong toward the slash. His fringed sleeves whipped against the branches as he passed.

It is a trail!

He flopped on his stomach fifty hands away and surveyed the junipers. Dust puffed before his face every time he exhaled, scenting the air. Toppled boulders the height of a man lined the trail down into the canyon. It didn’t appear to be guarded, but it must be.

Straighthorn eased forward on his hands and knees.

Just as he rose to his feet and started the run toward the trail, he heard a sound and spun around with his club up.

“Straighthorn?”
a familiar voice called.

“Who’s there?” Junipers rustled as the man pushed through. “Who are you?”

“It’s me, you young fool.”

Skink ducked beneath an overhanging limb and trotted toward Straighthorn. Tall and lean, he wore a knee-length buckskin shirt and carried a bow and quiver over his shoulder. His flat, heavily lashed face bore a sheen of sweat, as though he’d run all the way to get there.

“Blessed gods, Skink! What are you doing out here? I thought you stayed to help search for Elder Springbank.”

Skink grasped Straighthorn’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, and whispered, “Our elder died in the fire, my friend, and there’s no time to talk. Have you seen Browser or Catkin?”

“No.”

“They should be here soon. We left the village at the same time.” He turned to the firelit canyon. “What’s your plan?”

Straighthorn let out a breath and gestured helplessly with his club. “I was going to run down this trail into the rock shelter and get her.”

Skink’s mouth tightened. “Oh, very clever. You want to run out in the open so everyone can shoot at you. That should work.”

Straighthorn’s face reddened. He flapped his arms. “I thought I was alone. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You’re not alone.” Skink’s eyes narrowed as he studied the lay of the canyon. “All right, do you see that trail to the north?”

As the day brightened, many things came into view that Straighthorn had not seen before. In the darkness, he’d have run right past the narrow game trail. Shamed, he said, “Yes. I see it.”

“You start down this trail. I will go up and come down the northern trail and hide in those trees at the base of the cliff. You won’t see me, but I’ll be guarding you the whole time. You understand? If something goes wrong, do not look in my direction or you’ll give away my position, but that is where my shot will come from. Be ready for it.”

Straighthorn jerked a nod “I understand, Skink.”

“Good” Skink slapped his shoulder. “Go.”

Skink trotted away into the dark junipers, and Straighthorn began the descent into the canyon.

Loose gravel scritched beneath his feet as he dodged from boulder to boulder.

Redcrop still had not moved but the little girl skipped around the
shelter. Her shrill singing rang out, magnified by the arched ceiling of the rock shelter.

When he reached the sandy wash less than one hundred hands from the rock shelter, he ducked behind a thicket of greasewood and used his sleeve to wipe his forehead. Through the spiky tangle of limbs, he saw Redcrop shift and Straighthorn’s heart almost burst through his ribs. She sat up, sobbed, and struggled with the cords around her ankles.

The little girl started running around in circles, faster and faster … then suddenly stopped and looked out into the darkness where Straighthorn hid.

Straighthorn frowned. Could she see him?

The girl whispered something to Redcrop, and Redcrop whirled around to look.

Straighthorn searched the canyon bottom, then slowly rose to his feet. “Redcrop?”

She screamed against her gag, fell onto her belly, and struggled to reach him.

Straighthorn ran to her, his feet pounding out a muted rhythm in the sand.

“Gods, I’m glad to see you alive,” he said, as he laid his war club down, ripped his knife from his belt, and began sawing through the bindings on her ankles. If someone came, at least she would be able to run.

She kept moaning, shrieking against her gag. He jumped around to free her wrists next.

“Redcrop, hold still! I don’t wish to cut you and I—”

“You really are a fool.”

Straighthorn’s gaze shot up. For a moment, he did not understand. He watched Skink step into the firelight with his bow drawn and aimed at Straighthorn’s heart. Two men in white capes flanked Skink. One wore a black raven mask. The other, the taller man, looked to be around seventy summers. He had long spiderweb-thin white hair.

Straighthorn looked from Skink to the others and whispered, “What’s happening?”

Skink shook his head disdainfully. “You are about to die, Straighthorn.”

The tall old man with white hair smiled at Skink. “Well done, my son. Did you have any problems?”

“No, Father.”

The old man stepped around Skink and came toward Straighthorn. He knelt and picked up Straighthorn’s club.

Straighthorn glared at Skink, and the tall man ordered, “Throw your knife away, then toss your bow and quiver to the side.”

Straighthorn trembled with rage. That’s why Skink had ended the search for the murderers after the Matron’s death. That’s why he hadn’t wished to hunt for Redcrop. He’d been spying on them, working against them all the time.

“Was it you,” Straighthorn asked Skink, “who set fire to the village tonight?”

Skink smiled.

No one would have thought twice about Skink wandering around the village. He was on guard duty. People expected him to examine every unusual sound. More important, Browser had left Skink in charge of the village guards. He could have ordered everyone else away while he piled up brush and poured pine pitch—

“Drop your knife!” Skink repeated his father’s order. Straighthorn let his knife fall to the ground, and eased his bow and quiver from his shoulder. He tossed them to his right, almost striking the filthy little girl. She let out a shriek and ran to the rear of the rock shelter, where she huddled with her doll pulled to her chest. She looked more like a wild animal than a child.

Straighthorn wrapped his arms around Redcrop. He could feel her working to pull the last threads apart, to free her hands. He had to fight to keep his voice even. “What do you want from us? We’ve done nothing to you.”

Redcrop leaned against him, shuddering, and he tightened his arms. They were going to die, here, now, and the only thing Straighthorn could think of was his indignation that Skink had fooled them all.

“Did you help to murder our Matron? Did the man’s tracks belong to you?” Straighthorn asked. “That must have been a challenge, eh? It takes a great warrior to kill an old woman.”

“Shut your mouth!”

Redcrop had worked her hands free. Straighthorn could feel them moving beneath her cape.

Please, tell me you hid a weapon …

To distract the onlookers, Straighthorn said, “Ah, but I forgot
about the woman. Perhaps you grew squeamish and had to let her do your killing for you? Yes, the brave Skink. I hope you live long enough that I can beat your guts out with my club.”

“I will,” Skink replied and pulled his bowstring taut. “But you won’t.”

“No, wait.” The tall man touched Skink’s arm. “We must wait for Two Hearts. He said he—”

A hiss.

The white-haired man staggered and stared wide-eyed at the arrow sticking from his chest. The bright red fletching shimmered in the firelight. A hideous scream broke from his lips. The next arrow hit almost simultaneously, striking the short man in the raven mask in the throat. He clawed at his neck and tried to run, but fell facefirst to the sand, gurgling and rolling, trying to dislodge the arrow.

Straighthorn roared and leaped for Skink, shouting, “Redcrop, run!
Run!”

As Straighthorn hit Skink, Skink’s shot went wild, flying out into the darkness. He grabbed a handful of Straighthorn’s hair and slammed Straighthorn in the head with his bow. Straighthorn got his fingers around the bow and screamed, “Give it to me so I can kill you! I’m going to kill you, you traitor!” He jabbed his thumb into Skink’s eye, and when Skink shrieked, his grip loosened. Straighthorn ripped the bow from Skink’s hand, rolled, and bashed Skink over the head. From the corner of his eye, he saw Redcrop running down the wash.

Skink’s head landed squarely in the middle of Straighthorn’s chest, knocking the air out of him. They both skidded across the sandy floor of the rock shelter, roaring, kicking, shouting.

Straighthorn managed to get on top and smashed his forehead into Skink’s nose twice before Skink brought his knee up into Straighthorn’s groin. Straighthorn cried out and grabbed Skink’s hands, but Skink, much heavier than Straighthorn, rolled him over, and glared into Straighthorn’s eyes.

“You worm,” Skink hissed. Clotted blood bubbled from his broken nose. “I always wanted to kill you with my bare hands.”

He slammed a fist into Straighthorn’s throat and Straighthorn choked and gasped for air. He grabbed Skink’s hand again, but he could feel Skink working free and knew he was losing. Had he given Redcrop enough time to get away? As a last resort, Straighthorn roared, lunged, and fastened his teeth onto Skink’s broken nose. Skink
screamed and beat at Straighthorn’s head, but Straighthorn refused to let go. He bit down hard and blood spurted hotly, filling his mouth, running down the sides of his face.

Skink jerked one hand loose, balled his fist, and pounded the side of Straighthorn’s head until Straighthorn’s teeth tore through Skink’s nose. It came off in Straighthorn’s mouth. Skink bellowed and jerked away. Straighthorn spat the rubbery mess out, locked an arm around Skink’s head, and gripped his jaw.

As he twisted, Straighthorn shouted, “You were going to kill me? I’m going to cut your eyes out and feed them to the village dogs, then I’m going to boil your miserable testicles—”

Skink slammed his knee into Straighthorn’s groin again, and Straighthorn’s stomach heaved. He vomited in Skink’s hair, but didn’t let go. He kept twisting and roaring. He could feel Skink’s fingers groping for his windpipe and panic fired his veins. He groaned as he threw all of his weight into twisting Skink’s head off.

A loud crack split the night and Skink turned into a limp, quivering mass of flesh. Straighthorn shoved the body off and crawled across the rock shelter. His war club rested beside Skink’s dead father.

Straighthorn grabbed the club, stumbled to his feet, and saw Catkin sprinting down the southern trail, coming hard. The dust she kicked up glimmered in the firelight.

“What took you so long?” Straighthorn asked.

“You didn’t slide your feet enough.” She knelt beside Skink and lifted his eyelids, then put two fingers on his throat to test for a pulse. After a few heartbeats, she rose and ran to the man in the mask. Over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you all right?”

Straighthorn sucked in a breath and staggered after her. “Yes.”

Catkin ripped the raven mask from the man’s face.

In shock, Straighthorn gasped. “Water Snake!”

“Of course,” Catkin hissed and threw the mask into the dirt. She glowered down at the dead man’s bloody face. Her voice shook with rage. “I should have known. Obsidian didn’t draw him from his duties on the night of the murder. He took her into the kiva and coupled with her so she wouldn’t hear our Matron’s screams.”

“What?” Straighthorn said in confusion. “I know nothing about—”

Catkin interrupted, “Are you well enough to keep up with me?”

He nodded. “I will keep up. Where is the War Chief?”

“He ran ahead. To the trail that cuts down at the head of this canyon.”

Straighthorn blinked. “So you know where we are? I’ve never seen this place.”

BOOK: The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries

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