Bone Walker: Book III of the Anasazi Mysteries (30 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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“No matter the consequences to people who loved you,” Dusty shot back.
Ruth Ann’s voice came as a hiss. “Don’t you dare! I did what I had to. And whether you like it or not, it was the right choice.” She shook her head. “God, William, don’t you get it? The biggest mistake I made in my entire life was marrying Sam. If I had stayed with him, I’d have killed him. Then I would have killed you and hanged myself with a knotted bedsheet. I had to get out, and I did. It was the right decision then, and I’ve never regretted it.”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
“I fix my mistakes,” she finished.
When she looked at him, it was clear that she meant he was one of those mistakes, and Dusty’s already lacerated heart bled more—though he didn’t know why it should.
“It was probably a mistake to come here, but I need to know. Did Dale tell you who might be behind this? Did he say who he was going up to Chaco to meet? Did he tell you anything at all?”
Dusty ran a hand through his blond hair. “We didn’t even know he’d gone up there until Maggie found his truck and called.”
“Did he mention Carter?”
“No.”
“Do the police have any clues?”
He shook his head. “They’re still chasing down leads.”
She looked suddenly weary. “God, what is this about? Why is this happening?”
“You must have done something,” Dusty replied woodenly. “You, Dad, Dale, and I guess, Hawsworth.”
A frown knit Ruth Ann’s forehead. “But what? The past is a big place. A lot of things happened. So many …” She seemed at a loss. “I thought maybe you could tell me something, give me a clue.”
“Well, I can’t.”
Ruth Ann knotted a fist. “In the note he said he wanted to devour me. That he still loved me. That has to be Carter. ‘No’ is a word that has always escaped him.”
Maureen poured three cups of coffee and handed them out. Dusty clutched his like a life raft. It gave him something to do with his hands.
Ruth Ann raised her cup to her lips and sipped. “The man who killed Dale actually drilled a hole in his head? My God. Poor Dale.”
Dusty grimaced at the floor, reliving Dale’s last moments again. “Scary, huh?”
Ruth Ann set the coffee cup on the table, clearly afraid. “I was the one he was trying to lure to Casa Rinconada, William. The killer sent those faxes to me. If I had understood them it would have been me there instead of Dale.” Her mouth quirked. “Odd, isn’t it? I’m alive and Dale is dead because Kwewur thought I was smarter than Dale.”
Dusty sipped his coffee and said, “It means he didn’t know either of you very well.”
 
 
CATKIN TUCKED HER war club to her breast and hugged the wall beside the doorway. Old spiderwebs tickled her face. The room was so black she couldn’t see her hand before her face. The only sound was the faint breathing of the little orphan girl. Occasionally fabric rasped on the plastered walls or scraped the packed earth floor. Four Mogollon warriors, the orphan girl, and two of the long-forgotten dead hid with her.
As Rain Crow’s warriors filtered through Kettle Town, their soft voices carried along the dark passageways.
“See anything?” a man whispered.
Catkin tightened the grip on her war club, her eyes on the door. Her pulse had started to race.
“Nothing but ghosts and corpses,” another voice called. “This is silly. The Fire Dogs wouldn’t have hidden here. The ghosts of the First People would be crawling all over them.”
Catkin glanced to her left. Though she couldn’t see them, she knew the Mogollon warriors huddled soundlessly on the opposite side of the door.
She hadn’t considered what they must be feeling, but the enemy warrior was probably correct. Staying here, in the presence of moldering bodies, among the ruins of the First People, must have worried the Mogollon.
She did not know what to make of her reaction to that. On the one hand, she was happy that their souls were squirming. On the other, their bravery elicited her sympathy. Would she have shouldered the burden this well if she’d been hiding in one of their abandoned dwellings, surrounded by the desiccated bodies of their dead?
“I thought I smelled the faint trace of smoke.” The first warrior’s voice echoed.
“It’s just the soot,” another answered. “The First People burned thousands of fires in here. The soot on these ceiling poles must be a finger thick. If they’re anywhere, they’re hiding in Talon Town.”
“Talon Town?”
“They rebuilt the kiva there last sun cycle. Browser knows it inside and out.”
“Maybe Browser and his fools are there, but I think the Mogollon continued on south,” the first warrior replied.
Catkin caught the faintest flicker of light illuminating the doorway of the room beyond.
“I would go home if I were them,” the more distant voice agreed. “And may their twisted gods help them if they ever venture into our country again.”
The light grew brighter and Catkin tried to shrink into the wall. The smooth handle on her war club reassured her. If he stepped into this last room, she would have to strike quickly, kill him before he could shout the alarm. Then, with the inevitability of discovery, they would have to slip out of Kettle Town, try and make it to the rear, and into one of the cliff-based houses. There they could wait until dark and escape to … where?
Anywhere.
If nothing else, Straight Path Canyon was a warren of hiding places. Not only were there abandoned towns in all directions, but dozens of smaller dwellings, and even old pit houses. There were side canyons, niches and alcoves. Boulders had toppled down from above to form sheltered areas.
As the torch neared, she gave the signal for silence, and motioned the rest back against the wall.
Every sense had heightened—a mixture of thrill and the fear of combat. Blood pulsed through her body as she readied her grip. If Blue Corn’s warrior stepped
into the room, she would swing her club up to catch him as he was drawing breath to shout, his mind still fumbling to overcome the surprise, to evaluate the danger.
She struggled to control her breathing, to still her racing heart.
Patience, Catkin. Take your time. Wait.
Flickering yellow light flooded the next room, dancing off the plaster walls. The age-honeyed roof poles reflected warmly. The floor, scuffed and dusty, was speckled with rodent droppings and long dried corn cobs left behind from the days when this had been a storage room.
Out of sight behind the doorway, Catkin collected herself. In the reflected glow, she could see her companions. The Mogollon crouched against the wall, eyes gleaming with anticipation as they, too, gripped their weapons.
The little girl’s huge eyes glittered, as if she were waiting for something only she understood. What was it about her? Even now Catkin could sense the strange power the child possessed. Their eyes met, and Catkin felt a shiver course through her. When she looked into that little girl’s eyes, it was like seeing into the underworlds, and all the horrors that lived there.
As the enemy warrior stepped into the next room, his sandals scritched on dirt.
Fear rose in Catkin. Fear that the little girl would give them away. Now was her chance.
Catkin fought to clear her thoughts. Her prey was unprepared, heedless of the death that waited but three paces away. He would step into the room and raise his torch, expecting to find another empty room littered with the First People’s trash, but his attention would fix on the two corpses in the rear, their flesh shrunken around the bones, empty eye sockets staring from beneath patches of brittle hair. In that instant, she would brutally hammer the life out of his body.
Torchlight illuminated the pack rat nest on the back wall. The collection of cactus pads, sticks, bits of old cloth, and feathers filled the narrow space between the two mummies.
The warrior muttered uneasily as he stared through the doorway. The mummies’ shriveled lips were drawn back in mocking grins that exposed brown teeth. Four spirals tattooed their chins.
The warrior stepped back, calling: “Nothing. I’ve reached the back wall.”
“Then let’s move on,” the distant voice called.
The light retreated, and Catkin leaned against the wall with her heart in her throat. Sweat drenched her arms, cheeks, and forehead.
“Close,” Catkin whispered in Mogollon.
“Perhaps the katsinas favored us,” Carved Splinter whispered.
“Or favored him,” Catkin whispered back. “After all, he’d have died here today.”
She motioned for silence and waited for the last of the light to fade.
They waited for another hand of time, before she heard a soft familiar, “Sssst.”
“Here, Browser,” Catkin called into the blackness.
A red glow appeared, and she could make out Browser, a barely discernible image advancing behind an exhausted bullrush torch. “They’re gone,” he called. “They didn’t even come within three rooms of us. I don’t think their heart was in the search.”
“They looked in our chamber,” Catkin replied. “The ancestors were watching out for us.”
“Ancestors?” Browser asked. Dust coated his thick black brows and flat nose as he peered into the room.
She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the corpses.
A faint smile curled Browser’s lips. “My uncle has sent for me. I wish you to be there. I do not know what he has to say, but—”
“Then let’s go. He may have seen things we did not.”
 
 
MAUREEN WATCHED RUTH Ann Sullivan walk through the thick wooden doors that led into La Fonda’s lobby, and turned to Dusty. He sat behind the idling Bronco’s steering wheel.
“What do you think?”
His thoughtful eyes remained on the hotel’s historic doors. “In my dreams, she was never like this. I mean, she’s hard as nails.”
“She’s also scared to death.”
Dusty lifted an eyebrow. “She should be. The Wolf Witch wants her dead.”
Dusty slipped the Bronco into gear and turned right onto San Francisco. “We walked right by her hotel last night. She was there, inside. Probably in the same suite she used to share with Dale.”
Maureen watched the galleries pass as they turned onto Canyon Road. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t shoot her? You’d be in a cell right now, waiting for a lawyer.”
Dusty’s head tilted, as though he was weighing the merits of that scenario.
Maureen added, “Well, just be glad she didn’t raise you. She wasn’t cut out to be a mother.”
“How’s that?” he asked.
Maureen braced her elbow on the armrest. “Dale told me about the time she locked you in a basement and left you bawling down there for an entire day. I think Dale said you were five. If you think you have emotional scars now, imagine what another ten years with her would have done to you.”
Dusty shifted into a lower gear and slowed down. “Maybe she did do the right thing when she left us. But poor Dale, he got stuck raising me.”
“Dale knew what he was getting into.” At Dusty’s incredulous look, she said, “What? You bought that macho baloney Dale used to spew. ‘There was no one else to take the boy.’” She mocked Dale’s deep tones. “‘So I packed up the little urchin and made a home for him.’ Dale took you because he wanted to. You made him happy, Dusty. He loved you.”
Dusty’s eyes glistened, but she didn’t know if it was tears, or just the way the lights on the instrument panel lit his face. He pulled into his driveway, turned off the Bronco, and sat in silence. “I miss him. I miss him so much.”
She reached out and gripped his hand. “I know.”
 
 
STONE GHOST STOOD on the second-floor hanging porch behind Kettle Town, gazing up at the cliff. Morning sunlight painted every ledge with a golden glow. The Shadow People had retreated to the crevices, but he could see them peeking out, examining the day. A flock of piñon jays soared high above, trilling to each other.
“Uncle?” Browser called from the door behind Stone Ghost. “Please don’t stand out there.”
Stone Ghost heaved a sigh and walked into the dimly lit chamber where Browser and Catkin stood. Lines creased Browser’s forehead and ran down around his mouth. His bushy black brows had lowered. He carried his war club in his right hand, as though not yet certain the enemy was gone.
“I watched Blue Corn’s warriors climb the cliff staircase,” Stone Ghost said. “We are safe for the moment, Nephew.”
Browser seemed to relax a little, but Catkin remained vigilant. She had her fists clenched at her sides, and the muscles of her tall body bulged through her red war shirt. Sweat streaked the dust on her wide cheekbones and turned-up nose. Her shorn hair had started to grow out, hanging down to her chin.
“Straighthorn said you wished to see me, Uncle. I hope you do not mind that I asked Catkin—”
Stone Ghost waved a hand. “I’m glad Catkin is here, Nephew. She may have insights that we do not.”
Browser nodded and spread his feet, waiting.
Stone Ghost’s turkey-feather cape swayed about him as he hobbled toward the wall and sat down. He leaned back and extended his aching legs. “The little orphan girl is one of the First People, and I believe Obsidian knows her.”
Browser frowned. “Why?”
“I spoke with Obsidian.”
“And she told you she knew the girl?”
“No. She vehemently denied it, so vehemently that I’m sure she was lying.”
Browser exchanged a glance with Catkin, then came over and knelt in front of Stone Ghost. In the light streaming through the doorway, Stone Ghost saw the rips in Browser’s cotton cape. “Why do you think she’s one of the First People?”
“She told me that she is related to Cornsilk.”
“Children say many things, Uncle. That doesn’t mean—”
“You are right, but let’s say that she is one of the First People. Where do you think she came from?”
Catkin leaned against the door and gazed out at the sunlit cliff with her eyes squinted. “There are many First People scattered about, Elder. She might have come from anywhere. So many villages have been
burned, who can say which was her home?”
Browser let out a breath and glared at the dirty floor. “If Obsidian knows the girl, and the girl is one of the First People—”
“The child also told me that her grandfather had witched her breath-heart soul so that it would never find its way to the Land of the Dead.”
Catkin jerked around.
“Her grandfather is a witch?”
Browser held up a hand, signaling Catkin to hold her judgments. “Uncle, please. When I had seen four summers, your own sister once told me that if I didn’t stop beating up on the little girls in the village, she’d sneak into my room while I slept, slip a yucca hoop over my head, and change me into a little girl.”
Stone Ghost chuckled. “My sister always had a strange sense of humor.”
“Yes, but you see what I mean. I have known many grandparents who resorted to threatening their grandchildren when the children were being rebellious.”
“Yes, yes, I know. But let us say the little girl is not mistaken. She is one of the First People and her grandfather is a witch.”
Catkin stepped forward with the graceful agility of a hunting cat. Her eyes had gone hard. “Are you saying that you think she’s Two Hearts’s granddaughter?”
“I’m saying it is possible. And I’m fairly certain, even if she isn’t Two Hearts’s granddaughter, that her family lives among the White Moccasins.”
“Then why is she here? Did they send her to spy on us?” Catkin demanded.
Stone Ghost took a moment to rub the top of his kneecap. The pain was fiery. “I think she ran away.”
“Ran away?” Browser asked.
“Yes, and from my conversations with her, I don’t think it’s the first time it’s happened.”
Browser rose to his feet and glanced uncertainly at Stone Ghost. He paced back and forth. “This is interesting, Uncle, but I’m not sure why it’s important.”
“Well, I’m not sure it is. But think on it for a time, Nephew.”
Catkin took a step closer and whispered, “If there is any chance she is a member of the White Moccasins, we should kill her. Now! Before she has a chance to ‘run away’ again and tell them everything she has seen here!”
Browser folded his arms across his broad chest and peered at her from the corner of his eye. “I will not kill a child. I don’t care if she is Two Hearts’s granddaughter. She has a right to run away, and if she wishes to stay—”
“You’re right.” Catkin seemed to wilt. She took a step backward, then turned away in silence.
Stone Ghost bowed his head. The memory of watching children leap from the burning kiva at Longtail village still lived in his heart.
Stone Ghost grunted as he got to his feet. “There is one last thing, Nephew. While you are hunting Two Hearts, I wish you to remember that we may have his granddaughter.”
“You mean”—Browser’s mouth hung open—“as a hostage?”
Catkin gaped at Stone Ghost.
“I believe the child is here of her own will, Nephew, but Two Hearts may not know this. Do you see what I mean?”
Browser’s face slackened in understanding. “Yes, Uncle. I see very clearly.”
 
 
BROWSER ROLLED TO his side in his blankets and reached for his war club. He had to leave for Corner Canyon Town in less than one finger of time, and worry swelled his heart until it hurt.
He ran his fingers over the wooden handle of the club. He had come from a rich clan in the Green Mesa villages, but now he had almost nothing. He contemplated that as he studied his club. Years of use had polished the hard chokecherry, and blood, sweat, and the oils from his hand had darkened it. He knew every swirl and pattern in the grain. Since the fire at Longtail village, his club and his bow were the only possessions that mattered to him.
And the turquoise wolf sewn into the hem of my war shirt
.
He sighed and looked up at the ceiling poles illuminated by the light of his fire. Kettle Town, no matter its other faults, was rich in fuel for the warming fires. Old willow matting, collapsed roof poles, corn cobs and stalks, bits of brush dragged in by pack rats, filled the chambers.
“Browser?”
He sat up and his blankets coiled around his waist. “Yes, Obsidian.”
She entered his chamber hesitantly, as though afraid of what he might do or say to her. She looked around, then silently marched across the floor and knelt before him. Tangled black hair spilled from the frame of her hood in an unruly cascade, and her jet ear loops winked.
“I wish to speak with you.”
“Speak.”
She glanced at the doorway to make sure they were alone before she whispered, “What are your plans?”
“I plan to keep us alive long enough to find your father, Two Hearts.”
“Browser, you must listen to me. I want you to kill him, but it must be done delicately. You do not wish to turn the remaining First People against you. He has their trust.”
Browser shoved his blanket away. “How would a witch gain anyone’s trust?”
She peered at him though large dark eyes. “One person’s witch is another person’s Spirit Elder. The First People consider Two Hearts to be a very powerful and charismatic leader.”
Obsidian tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and let out a breath. It was such a frail, vulnerable gesture, he found himself backing away, sliding across the floor to lean against the wall.
She said, “Your uncle came to see me earlier, when we were hiding. He thinks the little girl is one of the First People.”
“Why does he think that?”
She waved a perfect hand. “Who can say? He wanted to know if I knew her or her parents? He was very offensive.”
Browser brushed at a streak of dirt that ran down his arm. “Do you know the girl or her parents?”
“Of course not! Even if I did, what difference would it make?”
“I’m sure my uncle wishes to return the girl safely to her family.”
Obsidian gazed at him with scared eyes, then quickly looked away. In the silence, she straightened her pendant. “I do not know her, Browser.”
Obsidian sank to the floor and her black cape settled around her like sculpted darkness. “Do you know how this began, Browser? It began more than sixty summers ago. Our people were scattered. Many, like you, hadn’t been told their ancestry. Some had to be found, others had to be convinced of the truth. It takes time to ensure that new recruits sincerely believe. He worked very hard to do these things.” She glanced at the door again. “I think that’s why the White Moccasins have taken to eating human flesh. In the old days, the Blessed Sun used it as a weapon to control the Made People. Today Two Hearts uses it to bind his warriors to him. But only the most dedicated will eat the flesh of another
human—even if that human is a Made Person. Many cannot stomach it.”
“How many First People are there?”
She lifted her shoulder. “I don’t know. Perhaps one hundred. But they are all afraid. Father told them the Katsinas’ People would lose faith and fade away, especially after so many kivas had been rebuilt without the fulfillment of Poor Singer’s prophecy. But, now, he knows you will not fade. You must be destroyed.”
“More and more villages are converting,” Browser said, “he can’t kill us all.”
She rocked slightly, and Browser was painfully aware of the sensual way she moved. What was her power over his body? Why did he always imagine himself loving her? He averted his eyes, angry with himself.
Obsidian said, “But he must try, Browser.”
“Why? Why can’t we live in peace?”
Her shoulders relaxed, and her hood fell back slightly revealing the turquoise pins that glittered in her hair. “The coughing disease and the way it wastes people really frightens Two Hearts. He believes it comes from the katsinas and, worse, he has never been able to cure it. He is convinced that the katsinas destroyed the First People’s power, and if we do not stop them, they will finally destroy the last of us.”
Browser dropped another piece of wood into his warming bowl. “He will not stop them.”
Obsidian wet her lips and looked at the floor. Browser could sense her fear, and it tugged at his own need to shield and protect.

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