The Crystal City: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume VI (22 page)

“No!” he said firmly. “I been dressing myself since I was little.” He carefully set the plow down in the damp grass. Must have been a heavy dew. Or it rained in the night. Anyway, the moment he set it down, they rushed forward, reaching for the plow, causing it to rise into the air.

“Gold she fly!” the guide admonished him.

“It’s a plow,” said Alvin. “It’s meant to set on the dirt.” In fact, it was meant to bite into the earth and churn it up, breaking up clods and baring the soil to the heat of the sun. And in that moment Alvin understood the nature of the plow. All this time he’d been thinking of what it was made of, the living gold, but it was a plow
first
, before it turned to gold, and it was long overdue to be put to its proper use. Just because a thing was made of metal which, if you melted it down, would be worth a lot of money, didn’t mean it wasn’t still the kind of thing it was made to be.

Dressed, holding the poke in his hand, Alvin simply drew the mouth of it over the plow there in the air, then slung the poke over his shoulder. It went docilely into place, just like always.

The men sighed to see it.

And then another black man approached, carefully holding something on a mat of leaves. It shimmered in the bright sun like crystal, and Alvin recognized it at once. If he had had any doubt that these were the same men he and Arthur Stuart had freed from the
Yazoo Queen
, it was gone now, because the crystal cube he held was made with a drop of his own blood in water on the
Yazoo Queen
. He had given them two such cubes, to use as tokens to show to the reds on the other side of the river. They would know that such things could only be made by Tenskwa-Tawa himself or one that he had taught, and it would win them safe passage. Apparently it had worked.

“Now,” said Alvin. “Where am I, and where’s Tenskwa-Tawa?”

“Profeta Roja,” said one of the men. “Ten-si-ki-wa Ta-wa.” The way he pronounced it sounded more like the way reds said the Prophet’s name. Well, speaking other languages wasn’t Alvin’s knack, that was already settled and he wasn’t going to be embarrassed about calling his friend by the wrong name all these years.

“Ten-sa-ka-wa Ta-wa,” he muttered.

One of the men tried to correct him, but Alvin gave up right away. Tenskwa-Tawa had been answering to that name for years and if he minded, he’d’ve mentioned it by now.

“We stay,” said the guide. “Wait-for.”

So Tenskwa-Tawa was coming. Well, Alvin could wait as well as the next man—especially now he was dressed and had the plow back. It also reassured him to find out that the plow could take care of itself, somewhat. A plow that flies from your hand when you reach to take it would be hard to put over a fire and melt down. Though that wasn’t to say some powerful hexery might not do the trick. Still, it wasn’t a thing a thief could easily do. Alvin might fret a little less about the plow, knowing.

Alvin spent what was left of the morning trying to learn the names of some of these men, but it turned into a game of laughing at his bad pronunciation. For all he knew they weren’t telling him names at all, but making him say ugly cuss words in their language.

There was food at noon, but this, too, was strange and unfamiliar. A thin flat bread like a flapjack, only thinner, smeared with a spicy paste that might have contained mashed beans but then might not. It was good, though. Burned a little, and drinking water didn’t help, but they had some pawpaw fruit sliced up in a basket and a bite of that took away the sting. And after a while he got used to the burning and kind of liked it.

After the meal, Alvin went walking to try to orient himself. He found that the whole troop followed him along like children in a small town, following a stranger. He wasn’t sure whether they were protecting him or keeping watch to make sure he didn’t run away or were simply curious what he’d do next.

He found that they were on a wide, flat island near the right bank of the Mizzippy. The fog, which was on their side of the river, ended at the shoreline, sharp as butter cut with a knife. And canoes were drawn up on the shore of the river channel that separated the island from the main shore. So these men weren’t prisoners here. Alvin was relieved at that. He imagined, though, that choosing this big island as their dwelling place might have been some kind of compromise that Tenskwa-Tawa reached between those reds who didn’t want to make any exceptions to the law that only reds could live west of the river, and those that believed runaway slaves were in a different category from white men with guns and axes.

Tenskwa-Tawa arrived that afternoon with a great deal of to-do. All of a sudden a whole passel of reds started hooting and hollering like they was going to war—Alvin had heard that sound before, when he was taken captive by warriors, before the Mizzippy was set as a dividing line. It was a terrible sound, and for a moment he wondered whether the reds on this shore had been using their years of peace to prepare for bloody war. But then he realized that the hooting and ululating was the red equivalent of yee-haw, hosanna, huzzah, hallelujah, and hip-hip-hooray.

Tenskwa-Tawa emerged from the woods on the far shore of the channel, and the reds surrounded him and led him down to a large canoe. They carried him so he wouldn’t even get his feet wet and set him in the canoe, then leapt in and paddled furiously so he shot across the water like a skipped stone. Then he was lifted up again and carried to shore and set down right in front of Alvin.

So there was Alvin, with twenty-five black men forming a semi-circle behind him, and Tenskwa-Tawa, with about as many red men forming a semi-circle behind
him
.

“Is this what it looks like,” said Alvin, “when the King of England meets the King of France?”

“No,” said Tenskwa-Tawa. “Not enough guns, not enough clothes.”

Which was true. Though compared to the black men, the reds looked like they was pretty bundled up, since there were whole stretches of their bodies here and there covered with deerskin or cloth. If I dressed like that, thought Alvin, I’d be roasted with sunburn and ready to serve.

“I’m glad you came,” said Tenskwa-Tawa. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“About these fellows?” asked Alvin.

“Them? They’re no bother. As long as they sleep on this island, they move freely on the shore. That’s where their farms are. We’ll be sorry to see them go, when you take them.”

“I didn’t have no plans to take them,” said Alvin.

“But they’re determined to become soldiers to fight for you and kill all your enemies. That’s why they have to sleep on this island. Because they refuse to give up war.”

Alvin was baffled. “I got no enemies.”

Tenskwa-Tawa barked out a laugh.

“I mean, none that warriors can fight.”

“It’s so strange,” said Tenskwa-Tawa, “hearing black men speak a red language like they were born to it. The language they speak is not all that different from Navaho, which I had to learn because that tribe was less inclined to give up war than most. It seemed they hadn’t quite finished exterminating the Hopi and didn’t want to give up killing till the job was done.”

“So it hasn’t been easy, getting all the reds to take the oath against war.”

“No,” said Tenskwa-Tawa. “Nor to get the young men to join the oath when they come of age. There’s still a lot of playing at war among the young, and if you try to stop it, they just sneak off and do it. I think we’ve been breeding our boys for war for too many generations for it to disappear from our hearts overnight. Right now the peace holds, because there are enough adults who remember all the killing—and how badly we were defeated, time after time. But there are always those who want to go across the river and fight to take our lands back and drive all the white devils into the sea.”

“There are plenty of white folks as dream of getting through the fog and taking possession of these lands, too,” said Alvin.

“Including your brother,” said Tenskwa-Tawa.

Alvin tried to think which of his brothers had ever said any such fool thing. “They’re all farmers or millers or whatnot in Vigor Church,” said Alvin. “Except Calvin.”

“That’s the one,” said Tenskwa-Tawa. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

He turned to the reds who were with him and spoke a few words, then spoke in a different language to the blacks. Alvin was stunned but delighted when the two groups immediately intermingled and started up two games of cards and some dice-throwing.

“Don’t tell me them cards is printed on your side of the river,” said Alvin.

“Those black fellows you sent me had them,” said Tenskwa-Tawa. “They play betting games, but their money is pebbles. Whoever wins the most struts for an hour, but the next time they play, they all start even again.”

“Sounds civilized.”

“On the contrary,” said Tenskwa-Tawa. “It sounds like childish savages.”

His grin had a bit of old pain in it, but Alvin understood. “Well, we white devils would simply regard it as a golden opportunity, and we’d play them with tokens representing all their property and then cheat till we had it all.”

“Whereupon we red devils would kill most of you and torture the rest to death because of the power that we could draw from the pain.” He held up a hand. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about. Until your brother sailed for Mexico it was not your business, but now it is.”

“So he really has joined up with them fools,” said Alvin.

“The Mexica have been a problem for us. There’s a wide desert between our lands and theirs, but it’s not as clear a wall as this river. There are plenty of tribes that live in those dry lands, and plenty of trade and travel back and forth, and stories about how the Mexica rose up against the Spanish and drove them out, except the five thousand they kept for sacrifice, one a day, his heart ripped out of his living body.”

“Doesn’t sound like your kind of people,” said Alvin.

“They live a different way. We remember well when their ancestors came down from the north, a fierce people who spoke a language different from all others. The Navaho were the last wave, the Mexica the first, but they did not trust in the greensong. They took their powers from the pain and blood of their enemies. It’s a way of power that was practiced among our peoples, too. The Irrakwa league was notorious for it, and you had a run-in, I think, with others who loved bloodshed and torture. But always we could set it aside and get back into the music of the living land. These reds can’t, or don’t try, which amounts to the same. And they scoff at my teaching of peace and send threatening embassies demanding that we supply them with white men to sacrifice or they’ll come and take captives from our people.”

“Have they done it yet?”

“All threats, but we hear from other tribes farther south that once that threat is given, it’s only a matter of time before it’s carried out.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Not a fog,” said Tenskwa-Tawa wryly. “Not enough moisture in that high desert air, and besides, they’d just torture somebody and draw power from his pain, enough to dispel whatever I put in their way.”

“So…if that
ain’t
your plan…”

“We live in harmony with the earth,” said Tenskwa-Tawa. “They soak their earth in blood. We believe that with a little encouragement, we can waken the giant that sleeps under their great city of Mexico.”

Alvin was baffled. “There’s real giants? I never knowed that.”

Tenskwa-Tawa looked pained. “Their city is built right on top of an upwelling of hot flowing rock. It hasn’t broken through in many years, but it’s growing restless, with all the killing.”

“You’re talking about a volcano.”

“I am,” said the prophet.

“You’re going to do to them what was done to Pompeii.”

“The earth is going to do it.”

“Ain’t that kind of like war?” asked Alvin.

Tenskwa-Tawa sighed. “None of us will raise a weapon and strike down a man. And we’ve sent them due warning that their city will be covered with fire if they don’t stop their evil sacrificing of human beings and set free all the tribes they rule over by fear and force.”

“So this is how you wage war now,” said Alvin.

“Yes,” said Tenskwa-Tawa. “We’d be at peace with every people on earth, if they’d let us. As long as we don’t come to love war, or to use it in order to rule over others, then we are still a peaceful people.”

“So I take it the Navaho weren’t just
persuaded
to take the oath of peace.”

“They had a long period of drought, where the only rain that fell was on Hopi fields.”

“I reckon that got the message to them.”

“Alvin,” said Tenskwa-Tawa, “I don’t have to justify our actions to
you
, do I?”

“No sir,” said Alvin. “It just sounds like your brother’s way, to fight like that. I just thought of you as being—more patient, I guess.”

“Because we bore the slaughter of our friends and loved ones at Tippy-Canoe.”

“Yes. You let them slaughter you till they grew sick of murder.”

“But what should we do with people who
never
grow sick of it?” asked Tenskwa-Tawa.

“So white folks ain’t all bad, is what you’re saying.”

“The gods of the Mexica are thirsty for blood and hungry for pain. White folks generally want to get rich and be left alone. While they’re killing you, the motive doesn’t make that much difference. But most white people don’t think of war and slaughter as the goal—just the means.”

“Well, don’t that just put us in a special place in hell.”

“Alvin, we’re going to do what we’re going to do. In fact, it’s already under way, and we can’t control it or stop it now. The forces beneath the earth are vast and terrible and it has taken all our wise men and women of every tribe many months to teach the earth what we need it to do in the city of Mexico.”

“And you needed to tell me because Calvin is headed right into it.”

“It would grieve me to cause the death of your own brother.”

“Trouble is,” said Alvin, “there’s no time in recorded history when Calvin has actually done what I wanted when I wanted him to.”

“I didn’t think it would be easy. I only knew that you would not forgive me if I didn’t warn you and give you a chance to try.”