Gabriel's Stand (9 page)

The following weeks passed quickly. Snowfeather spent half of her study time working on demonstrations against the transoceanic shipping of nuclear waste, and mingling with the group of women who ran the Women's League, or the Earth's Sisters as they referred to themselves. The other half was spent studying and with Vince. She had received her first paycheck, but the big move-in day to her new office had been postponed…again. Now it would be the week after Christmas.

For the last several days, Snowfeather had noticed a change in the Sisters. It was one of those intangibles—a new social tension, a sense of distance, a feeling of wary expectancy. She had tried to give Vincent examples, but the problem defied concrete description. On one occasion, she had looked up to find Berker giving her a cool, appraising stare. On another, Cynthia Thomas had taken her aside to discuss the importance of trust.

“Tell me, Vince,” she later asked. “What makes a house feel haunted? The creepy lighting? Cobwebs? It's nothing in particular. And it's everything. And I feel like I am under a microscope.”

“You know what?” Vince said, taking Snowfeather's hand.

“What?”

“I think I'd like to spend Christmas right here, with you.”

“Really? You're not flying back to DC for the break?”

“I think I'll stick around here, okay?” Snowfeather hugged him for a long time.

——

Snowfeather still hadn't called home to tell Alice and Gabriel that she wasn't coming home for Christmas. Then on a Friday near the end of the term while Vince was in class, Snowfeather decided to drop by the Sisters' for an unannounced chat.

But the bookstore was closed.

Snowfeather mounted the stairs in silence. Near the top, she heard muffled chanting. She hesitated, teetering at the edge of the hallway. The Woman's League office was a few steps away, but the noise was from the left, from the other end of a long, shabby hall. It was an area of the building she had never explored. Looking again to the right, she saw that the main office was dark.

She took a few hesitant steps down the unlit, carpeted hallway, until she could see a distant doorway, a dim green light leaking out a transom from somewhere within.

Snowfeather hesitated again. Then she crept forward on her toes.

The female voices were chanting in unison, the words barely intelligible. She drew closer, but she could still not make out the sense of it. Then, from inside she heard:

“Gaia is wounded.”

“We are her healers.”

“Gaia is threatened.”

“We are her protectors.”

“Gaia is injured.”

“We are her avengers.”

“Gaia is infected.”

“We are her antibodies.”

The chanting got louder and louder. But Snowfeather had clearly registered the last word.
Antibodies?
What are the germs?
Disturbed by the implications and fatally curious, Snowfeather found herself placing her ear against the door. She momentarily panicked, pulling back as if she had touched a stove. But she tried again, holding her ear in place. She was rooted by her curiosity, horrified, but still listening.

A faint, repellent odor was leaking under the door. She could make out Berker's voice among the others. All the words were now clear.

“Who wounded Gaia?”

The chorus replied, “Humans did.”

“Who threatens Gaia?”

“Humans do.”

“Who injured Gaia?”

“Humans have.”

“Who has
infected
Gaia?”

“Humans have. Humans are the ecophage.”

Snowfeather felt a chill in her heart. She stepped back.
Jesus. H. Christ
.
I've signed on with a coven of lunatics.
The chorus continued even louder. The words were as clear as they were terrifying.

“We were born of Gaia and to Gaia we will return.”

Then Berker's voice rang out again: “Human the despoiler. Human the profligate. Human the malignancy.”

Someone was singing in the background, a wordless parody of a Native American chant. Snowfeather could hear the music, wordless and disturbing.

Cynthia's voice rose, “That Gaia may live…”

It was followed by a chorus of voices: “Humans must die.”

Someone was thumping a drum. Snowfeather felt the hairs on her neck rise as the wordless singing continued inside.
What the hell are they doing in there?

Berker's voice was getting louder, “Human was born of Gaia and to Gaia humans will return.”

“We are the healers. We are the protectors. We are the avengers. We are the antibodies.”

Berker called out, “Man must die!”

A chorus rang, “Wo-man must die.”

Berker again, “Children must die.”

“To Gaia…” Berker was almost frantic.

“All must return!”

The last was shouted so loudly, that Snowfeather jumped back from the door. As she stepped back her foot caught on a bit of torn carpet, and a metal snap on her jacket scraped against the wall.
Oh, crap.

A harsh, androgynous voice barked, “Who is that?”

“Who is outside the door?”
Berker's voice.

“I'll check.”
Cynthia's voice.

Snowfeather was rooted in place.
Footsteps
. Then the door opened a few inches. The pinched face of Cynthia Thomas, now inflated with self-importance, peered around the opening. The woman squinted, then ducked back in as she recognized Snowfeather.

“It's okay,” she said to those inside, then, as she poked her head back into the hallway, she stage whispered to Snowfeather, “Wait in the office. I'll be right there.”

Snowfeather nodded. The door closed, and the voices, singing and drum thumping all continued, once again muffled, the words just beyond recognition. Snowfeather found her way to the office and unlocked the door.

She hit the light switch.
I should just leave.
As the lights came on, she stared at the desk, the papers, the message slips.
Same posters on the wall. Same bulletin board. Everything seems normal. So why am I shaking?
Snowfeather sat down next to the desk. She tried to breathe slowly, deliberately. She waited.

A shadow fell across her lap. Snowfeather twitched involuntarily, and looked up. Her expression remained guarded.
Never show fear.
Cynthia peered down. Snowfeather smiled at the woman dressed in a mushroom-white robe, her face still infused with her cult persona.

“Are you okay?” Cynthia asked. Her tone reeked of faux-concern.

“Sure, Cynthia, I'm just fine.”
Like hell.

How much did you overhear?”

Too much
, Snowfeather thought, but she shrugged. “Nothing but muffled voices, really,” she said. “Just some chanting.”

“It seems to have upset you,” Cynthia said, smiling. “Don't worry,” she said, stroking Snowfeather on the arm. “It was not what it seems.”

“Just another Euro-pagan ritual. None of my business.”

Cynthia chuckled indulgently. “Really. Not to worry, Snowfeather. Every mass movement has a special place where…enthusiasm is generated.”

“I suppose.”

“Not everyone can get engaged and committed to our program, uh…intellectually. And a simple love of the environment doesn't always produce warriors. Not everyone comes from an ancient earth warrior tradition such as yours.”

“I see.”
Dear God,
does she really believe this crap?

“Some people need more.”

“What were you doing in there?” Snowfeather's voice cracked with nervous emotion.

“Really, Snowfeather. No need to be so dramatic! You haven't seen us run amok in the streets, have you?”

Snowfeather laughed.

“This was a symbolic ceremony,” Cynthia said. “Nothing more. By all means keep to your own traditions, there is no need to adopt ours.”

——

Later that night, Snowfeather called her father.

“Hey. I wondered if you had lost your voice,” Gabriel said.

“It's been very, very strange here, Dad.” She still didn't have the nerve to talk about her Christmas plans. Instead, she decided to vent about the overheard ritual.

“I just witnessed something very weird and upsetting, Dad.”

“I'm listening,” Gabriel said. He decided he would just keep his thoughts to himself and just let his daughter talk. And she did. Every word of the overheard ritual, Berker's link to Fowler, the secrets, the layers, all of it.

“So, what do you think?” Snowfeather said.

“I remember our deal. Do I really get to advise you on this?”

“Dad, I might not take your advice, but I sure am asking for it.”

“Just so we're clear. I've heard more than enough. I'd quit this outfit in a heartbeat. Let someone else have that fancy office. Stay away from these people, Princess. Far away.”

“That's it? That simple?”

“Yes. That simple. If I can smell something toxic, surely you can. It's just like I know when I'm being stalked by a cougar. Princess, I'm still an old fashioned Injun at heart, and so are you.”

“Could you just talk to me like a savvy politician, not a worried father?”

“I'm both. It's my curse. I can't help but show it.” Gabriel sighed. After a few seconds of dead air, he resumed. “Okay. Let me be the politician, then. This is what I know. Popular movements always attract extremists. Sometimes, lunatics can take over a cause. When that happens, they always ruin it, always drag it down. Eventually they break laws. Some of them play dirty. Very dirty. So as a savvy politician, I say get out before you get dirty, too.”

“That sounds over-zealous.”

“It's just the way of politics; it seduces you; it can bite you; it will spit you out…or eat you alive.”

“Dad, I'm still torn. Yes, it was just a crazy ritual, but it's not a crazy cause.”

“But why play this game with crazy people?”

“Gabriel's rule. ‘Only the pricks have the big money. So get used to dealing with pricks.'”

Gabriel laughed heartily. “You are my best political science student. But you're not supposed to get in over your head, Princess. My rule is for ordinary pricks, not the lunatic pricks.”

Then Snowfeather laughed. “It's not about the money, Dad…or the glory. It's what I can actually do with this new position. Hey, not everyone involved in this is crazy. All kinds of doors are suddenly opening.”

“Doors will open for you anyway.”

She paused. “I met with Mr. Fowler. Is he nuts, too?”

“I sure hope not.”

“Dad, I know I can make a difference.”

“You've ridden a mean horse before, and you think you can ride this one. Is that about it?”

“Yes. I want to give this one a ride.”

“Well…” Snowfeather could hear her father's breathing. After a time he began talking again, almost as if he were thinking aloud. “A stupid ceremony is one thing. What do they say outside, when they are planning stuff with you?”

“Once, Cynthia talked about people dying as ‘collateral damage.'”

“Great. She sounds like the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Does this Berker woman talk this way?”

“Not really.”

“But she was part of that ritual?”

“Yes.” Her answer was so quiet, that Gabriel hardly heard it.

“What do you think they really mean by ‘malignancy'?”

“I'm not sure.”

“I think you do. I think you are in with some very bad people. Fred Loud Owl warned me about them. Surely, part of you must be thinking this is bad business or you wouldn't have called me. Am I right?”

“I was worried.”

“Always go with your gut on this sort of thing, Princess.
Always
. Whenever something bothers you this much, something is always wrong.”

“But…” Snowfeather paused. Father and daughter had long since learned when not to interrupt a thoughtful pause in a conversation. After a time, Snowfeather said what was really on her mind: “A good cause is truly worth taking some risks for, isn't it?”

“Touché. Did I teach you that? Well, I promised not to tell you what to do. That was our deal. If your gut tells you that you must do this, by all means, do it. Work around the nuts and accomplish something. That's the way it's done on the Hill. Mom and I will be proud of you whatever you decide. Even when we might disagree.”

“Thanks.”

“But I need a favor.”

“What?”

“Just one favor. It's for my piece of mind and Mom's sanity. I'm going to be meeting with Senator Smith soon.”

“Who?”

“You remember Thurston Smith, the Congressman from Utah?”

“Oh,
him
. Didn't you and Mom have him over for one of those boring dinners?”

“Yes. Now he is Senator Smith. Same boring guy. He has more integrity than good sense. But I have heard that his committee may have some inside information about this group.” Gabriel paused. “Thurston Smith really does keep his secrets. Please let me make a confidential inquiry. Okay?”

“I feel like such a snitch.”

“Don't, Princess. You're just being prudent. We'll talk about this when you come home.”

Snowfeather had not booked any travel to come home. Christmas was getting close and Snowfeather was procrastinating; she dreaded telling her mother about her holiday plans with Vince.

Then one of the Sisters, a large woman in her thirties named Susan Sanchez, insisted on seeing Snowfeather privately in the back of the bookstore. Sanchez was earnest and intense, and the woman talked for twenty minutes about the problems of the Gaia movement in “a hostile societal environment.” Snowfeather listened with half an ear before Sanchez finally came to the point.

“There is an initiation. Snowfeather, it is a profoundly moving ritual. I can't begin to tell you how much it meant to me when I first joined.”

Suddenly irritated, Snowfeather leaned forward in the small, wooden chair, and rubbed her eyes. “Susan, I think it is wonderful that you have found something that moves you. Really.” Then she looked directly at the woman, her gray eyes flashing. “But I am Nez Perce, Sioux, and Shoshone, with an eighth part Swede thrown in. I don't need some reconstituted Euro-pagan ritual to tell me who I am, or where I came from.”

Realizing that she had raised her voice, Snowfeather took a deep breath, and softened her tone. “You people go out and bay at the moon or whatever you do, but I want no part of it.” She regarded her carefully. “Okay?”

Susan glowered. “I promised Tan you would agree to be initiated.”

“Tan? Who the crap is Tan?”

“Oh. Tan is Louise Berker's Earth-Name. I thought you knew.”

“No, I did not. You all have these names?”

“Yes. You will too.”

In your dreams, you idiot.
“Susan, you surely realize that I have a perfectly good ‘Earth-Name' already?”

At first, Sanchez seemed taken back; then she smiled. “You know what? You are exactly right. I promise to fix that with them.” When Snowfeather got up to leave, Sanchez gently restrained her. “In the meantime, can't you just look at it from another point of view?” Snowfeather sat back down. Sanchez almost seemed sincerely concerned for her. “We are all serving the same cause, right?”

“Yes,” Snowfeather said resignedly.

“In this cause, we all need to be able to trust each other. You agree?”

“Yes, we do.”

“And keep our secrets and confidences?”

“Of course.”

“And be there for each other even when it gets hard.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. I get all of that.”

“Do you attend a church?”

“What makes that your business?”

“Nobody believes any more, Snowfeather.”

Snowfeather remained furiously silent.

“For some of us, Gaia fills that hole. Is that so bad?”

There was another pause. “Of course not,” Snowfeather said wearily.

“Do you?”

“What I believe or don't believe is my damn business, Susan. I just don't see the need for some ritual of initiation.”

Sanchez stood. “Do you know what we mean when we say,
Jee-Ah
?”

“I suppose that is your pronunciation of Gaia.”

“Yes. But it is also our secret name for the Supreme World Being.
Gaia Alpha.
”

“I see.”
Holy crap. A secret name. A pagan God. This is a nutter cult for sure. Dad, you were right.

“We have many secrets. Tan and Gloris are waiting for you upstairs. We would hate to lose you.”

Lose me? What did that mean? I wonder which one is Gloris?

“This is your decision point. The moment when you tell us whether you are on the inside, or back on your own.” Snowfeather looked puzzled. Susan pressed on. “Knight Fowler listens only to Tan.”

“In Tan's special group, you are either totally in or you're totally out. Clear?” Susan put her hands on her hips. “Didn't they tell you?”

“Hell, no.”

“Well now you've been told. So, I'm going upstairs. I'll let them know that your sacred Earth-Name is Snowfeather. Not negotiable. Right?” Sanchez smiled with all the sincerity of a used car salesman who had just offloaded a lemon by adding free floor mats. “I just
know
they would never consider taking away an authentic Native Earth-Name. May I say that you are on the way up?”

“Me? Upstairs? You're serious? Right now?”

“Now or never.”

Susan lumbered up the stairs.

Crap.

Snowfeather folded, but with deep misgivings. As she saw it, her choice was to walk away, possibly from the opportunity of a lifetime, or to play along, possibly for the greater good. In her mind, she was riding one more wild horse; confident in her resourcefulness, sure that she could get off the horse whenever she wanted.

——

The initiation ritual was held at midnight a few days later in a densely forested area about two hours outside Seattle city limits. Snowfeather had made her peace with her parents about Christmas, and had attempted to mollify Vince's objections about “joining that damned coven.”
Remember, Vince. It's me who is playing them, not the other way around.
And now she was slumped in the back seat, where she was blindfolded with a black silk scarf.

It was the winter solstice.

The van turned onto an unpaved road. Snowfeather, dosed with a mead-based drink and filled with huge misgivings, tried to clear her head. She had completely lost track of the traffic noises or the passage of time. She was completely at the mercy of this…
damned
coven
.

The van bumped down the abandoned road for another ten minutes, then stopped. For a moment there was the sound of pinging metal as the engine cooled; then Snowfeather was gently escorted out of the car. She walked barefoot through cold moss and wild grass for several minutes. There were no traffic sounds, nothing but the whisper of the wind and the padding of bare feet on the wet forest floor. She smelled the recent rain against the ferns and old growth conifers.

“Stand here,” someone whispered. Snowfeather could hear the rustle of heavy wood being arranged against damp dirt and the faint crackle of tiny flames. The wind made a wild noise, then it died. The silence was complete.

“
Jee-Ah
, we are here.” It was Berker's voice. “Our circle is open.”

Six voices chanted, “Our circle is open. Our circle is. Our circle.”

“From You, we were born,” Berker said. “And to You, we will return. You are our womb and our grave. Our cradle and our redeemer.”

Again the chant.

“Our cradle. Our grave. Our circle. We bring a candidate into our sacred circle. If she displeases you, may she die in this place.”

“Die in this place.”

“Into the earth with her.”

“Return to you.”

Snowfeather felt a deep coldness grip her chest, like no chill she had ever felt before. She shivered as she heard the sound of a dense fluid being poured seven times—the sound was muffled, but close by.

“If she pleases you, she may drink and live in your service.”

Each of six voices then said, “In our circle,” in turn, followed by the unmistakable sound of drinking.

“We call you to the circle as Snowfeather. Will you drink with us and serve
Jee-Ah
?”

“Yes,” Snowfeather said, adding, “to save the earth, the mother of all…” Snowfeather kept the rest of the quotation from Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce to herself:
The earth is the mother of all people. Let Berker and her witches think what they will
.

Apparently the response was good enough for Berker. Snowfeather's blindfold came off. She found herself standing in front of a candlelit altar made of a huge fallen tree trunk, surrounded by the Sisters, each seated on a stump. The shrine was in a clearing in the forest, limned by the flickering light of seven candles. Berker looked different, her normally pinched but attractive face was peaceful, and her body exuded this air of open spirituality that was almost tangible. Snowfeather had to give her credit, she looked the part of a true evangelical leader that befitted her Earth-Name. Berker wasn't Berker; here was Tan. So it was Tan who reached down and picked up a wooden cup.

“Drink,” she said handing it to Snowfeather. “Drink it all.”

Snowfeather gagged when she tasted the blood. Angry and defiant, she slowly upended the cup, letting the contents spill to the forest floor. Hands shaking, she spat. “How dare you!” she bit out, each word spoken with quiet emphasis.

“Did you taste it?” Tan asked.

“Of course!” Snowfeather said.

“Are you with us?”

“In spite of this…yes.”

“I do understand this is not your people's ritual.” Tan turned to the rest. “I say she is one of us.”

Each of the sisters raised their cup in a silent salute. “Sister!” they said in unison. Blood spotted their lips, dark in the flickering light.

The forest began to spin slowly. Snowfeather reached out unsteadily. Tan helped her to a vacant stump. The colors in the candle flames seemed to smear together.

“We call to the quarters.” Tan's voice seemed a thousand miles away. Snowfeather's head lolled. “To the lost creatures of the East.” All sound faded. Her eyes closed.

Snowfeather awoke swaying in the back of the van. Blinking, she found the window. Just over the silhouette of a Sister, she could make out the twinkling lights of the Seattle skyline. Comforted, she closed her eyes and fell back into sleep.

——

The next morning Snowfeather awoke with what felt like a brutal hangover. As soon as she had coffee and a little food, she called Vince. “Come over here. Please.”

An hour later the two sat at an isolated table at a coffee shop near campus.

“I'll bet some drug was in that blood,” Vince said.

“You think?” Snowfeather rubbed her temples. “And in that awful drink they gave me beforehand.”

“They probably doped you to the gills. Snowfeather, these people are stark nutters. You know that, right?”

“I won't argue the point.”

“Can you get out of it?”

“Out of what? Mr. Fowler is writing the checks. You can bet he has nothing to do with this ritual crap. He contributes to my dad's campaign. As far as I'm concerned, I'm working independently and being funded by a major contributor in a good cause. These lunatics are just to be tolerated. Every movement has them.”

“Not at the top. You should call your father again.”

“I can't talk about this, Vince. Not now, anyway. I just barely broke the news that I'm not coming home for Christmas. That was enough for Mom to swallow.”

“When will you tell them about this?”

“In the new year, when things settle down, I'll talk to Dad first.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

——

Snowfeather had called home from her room on Christmas Eve and again on Christmas day from a hotel room Vince had rented for the night. She hadn't even hinted at the initiation ritual, because she knew her mother would flip out and her father would be immediately dispatched to fly to Seattle.
Besides, Dad has Senator Smith checking into the group
.

With Vince's help, Snowfeather finally moved into her new offices on January eighth. She would be managing public opinion, which meant courting the media, coordinating demonstrations, issuing statements and presumably whatever else suited the agenda of Berker and the Sisters. At this point Snowfeather was willing to play along and look for opportunities to do something worthwhile.

On January 15th—Snowfeather's birthday— Alice and Gabriel flew to Seattle took her and Vince out to dinner, visited her new offices, and left the next day. Not a serious word was spoken.

In the following weeks, Snowfeather sent Gabriel and Alice occasional e-mails but managed not to call. Her new office space was top of the line, and her administrative assistant was a pro. But it soon became evident that Snowfeather had been hired for her decorative value: her real role was as an attractive public front for the movement because her Indian name and pretty face were reassuring for those who would have been put off by Berker's ill-concealed radicalism. Since her public appearances had been infrequent, Snowfeather began spending most of her extracurricular time away from the Sisters, at her new office or in the dorm, busy with her own life, and spending more and more tender hours with Vincent.