The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries (31 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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Obsidian knelt and her white cape spread around her in sculpted
folds. She stared at the man’s sandal prints for a long while, as though thinking. When she rose to her feet, her voiced had changed, grown soft and guarded. “Did you see him?”
Redcrop shook her head. “No. I didn’t see anyone after I got into the drainage. Why? Did you see him?”
“Don’t be a fool. How could I have seen him? Why would you think that?”
“Well, I heard fear in your voice, and I thought maybe you—”
“Where do the tracks go?” She glared at Redcrop. “Did you follow them?”
“No. I—I thought it would be wiser to go and tell the War Chief, in case the man was a raider.”
Obsidian’s mouth curled into a smile. “Yes, that was wise.” She reached out and stroked Redcrop’s hair in a way that made her shiver. “Go. Tell Browser I’m waiting for him. I’ll remain to make sure nothing is disturbed.”
Redcrop backed away, but her gaze remained locked with Obsidian’s. The woman’s eyes had a savage glitter. They reminded Redcrop of a weasel she’d seen last summer. He’d trotted by her with a dove in his mouth. Just before he sank his teeth into the dove’s skull, his eyes had glittered like that.
“I—I’ll return as soon as I can.”
Redcrop ran.
 
CATKIN RACED TOWARD THE HILL, PANTING, HER WAR CLUB clutched in a tight fist. Blood pounded in her ears as she sprinted over the crest and lunged down the slope toward the drainage. Tracks covered the hillside, but she didn’t have the luxury of studying them. She threw every shred of energy into pushing her legs harder, praying she wasn’t too late …
“Redcrop!” she called when the girl climbed up out of the drainage.
“Catkin? Oh, Catkin, thank the gods you saw me! I was going to find the War Chief. I—”
“What’s wrong?” Catkin halted in front of Redcrop and gazed down at her, furious. “Why did you leave the hilltop?”
Redcrop’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I found a little girl’s tracks, and I followed them. I know I shouldn’t have, but I—”
Catkin fought to control the fear surging through her body. “You walked out of my sight because of a child’s tracks!”
Redcrop jerked a nod. “Yes, I’m sorry, Catkin. Truly. But, please”—she gestured down at the drainage—“come and see. I think a little girl was trying to get to us and was captured by a raider.”
“Do not ever do that again!” Catkin ordered through gritted teeth. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Redcrop answered in a small voice.
She’d cut her hair and it hung around her chin in irregular black locks. Her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying.
Catkin said, “I’m just worried about you, Redcrop. My duty is to keep you safe.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Catkin relented. “All right. How do you know it was a girl?” Redcrop shoved her cape aside and pulled a tattered corn-husk doll from her belt. She held it out to Catkin. “I found this in the coyote den where the child was hiding. Don’t you think it looks like a girl’s doll?”
Catkin stared at the faded eyes and grimy white dress, then handed it back to Redcrop. “Yes, it does. I will go and check the tracks, but I want you to run down to the river trail. There are many people there. You will be safe. Take it back to the village and tell Browser what you found and where I am.”
“Yes, Catkin.”
She turned to run, and Catkin grabbed her hand and stared hard into her fragile young eyes. “I know you are hurting, Redcrop. But you must listen to me. Grief can take a person’s ability to think. I want you to do exactly as I say. Do you understand me?”
“I—I do. I’ll run all the way. I promise. I won’t even stop if someone calls out to me.”
“Good.” Catkin released her hand. “Hurry. Remember that while I am in the drainage, no one can see me. I may be in danger.”
“You won’t be alone, Catkin,” Redcrop told her. “Obsidian is down there. She saw me go over the hill, too, and came looking for me. She said she would stay and make sure no one disturbed the tracks while I went to find the War Chief.”
A strange floating sensation possessed Catkin, as if her souls hovered high above and could see things that her human body could not. She stared unblinking at Redcrop.
“How long after you climbed down the hill did Obsidian arrive?”
“I can’t say. I …” Redcrop shook her head uncertainly. “Less
than a hundred heartbeats, maybe? I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been living in my souls with Grandmother.”
Catkin’s heart twinged. Wind Born had called it “mourning time.” Intense pain turned thousands of moments into one single terrible instant. Time had no meaning for the grieving.
More gently, Catkin said, “Thank you for telling me about Obsidian. Now go. Find Browser.”
“Yes, Catkin.”
Redcrop pulled up her long hem and dashed down the hill toward the river trail.
Catkin waited until she saw Redcrop moving among the people clustered in the trees, and knew she would be in someone’s sight the rest of the way to Longtail village, then she walked down the trail to the edge of the drainage.
It surprised her to see Obsidian standing on the opposite bank, not in the drainage at all. Obsidian was leaning over something. Her white hood covered her face.
Catkin worked her way down the trail slowly, studying the tracks. Redcrop’s prints covered many of the child’s, but in places she could see the girl’s prints clearly. They were small, the size a child seven or eight summers would make.
What would a child this young be doing out here alone?
Redcrop was probably right; another orphan had tried to get to them, and the safety the Katsinas’ People promised.
Catkin made her way toward the coyote den, and Obsidian gracefully walked down the deer trail on the opposite side. Catkin’s stomach churned. Just the thought of having to deal with Obsidian made her wish she’d waited for Browser. When Obsidian spoke with a man, she exuded warmth and charm. She treated other women like dung beetles.
Catkin halted three paces in front of the den. Four sets of tracks marred the ground. Redcrop’s and Obsidian’s, a little girl’s, and a man’s—a tall man from the length of his stride.
Catkin edged forward and crouched at the side of the den to examine the man’s prints more closely. Her stomach muscles knotted when she saw the distinctive weave. She heard Obsidian coming, but did not look up.
Blessed gods. He was here, this close, and we didn’t know it. But who is the little girl?
Obsidian stopped and the spicy scent of blazing star petals filled
the air. “One over, three under. An unusual weave, wouldn’t you agree?”
Calmly, Catkin answered, “Many people use that weave, Obsidian. Just because we don’t doesn’t mean it isn’t common elsewhere.”
“Where? I’ve never seen it before.”
Catkin straddled the tracks and peered inside the den where Redcrop said the girl had been hiding. She waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness, then frowned at the scratches that covered the walls and floor. A wet splotch darkened the dirt in the rear. Catkin leaned inside. She touched the splotch, smelled its coppery odor, then frowned at the right wall. Footprints marked the wall two hands up from the floor. Her gaze went to the left wall, and she saw tiny handprints.
“What do you see in there?” Obsidian asked.
Catkin backed out of the den and examined the fresh claw marks on the lip of the opening.
Obsidian smiled and in a friendly tone said, “It looks like a coyote was in there this morning, doesn’t it?”
“A coyote’s claws are sharp and pointed, Obsidian. They leave deep, narrow grooves. These are broad and shallow.”
“Well, what else could they be but coyote claws?”
Catkin rose and clutched her war club more tightly. “The work of frantic fingernails. The girl was dragged out of the den by her feet.”
“Oh, really,” Obsidian said smugly, “and how can you tell that?” Catkin paused. She longed to use her war club to beat some respect into Obsidian, and it took real effort not to. “She tried to wedge herself on the roof to avoid the man’s grasping hands, but he pulled her down hard. There’s blood in the back where her chin struck the floor before he dragged her out. That’s probably when she dropped the doll. The impact must have knocked it from her hands, and she didn’t have time to—”
“What doll?” Obsidian said, as if indignant that no one had told her about it. “There’s a doll in there?”
Catkin turned away and followed the man’s tracks toward the deer trail that cut up the wall of the drainage. It was not easy going. Redcrop had disturbed a few of the tracks, but Obsidian had obliterated most of the rest.
Obsidian hurried to catch up with Catkin. “I noticed there weren’t any small prints here.”
“He was carrying her, probably afraid she’d try to run away again.”
“Do you think it was a raider chasing down an escaped slave?” Catkin stopped in the middle of the deer trail. The steps vanished. She spun around, studying the rocks at the edges of the trail. Had he walked on them? Or …
Catkin turned to Obsidian. “Did you see any tracks here when you first walked up?”
“No. Not even one.”
“You’re certain you didn’t accidentally erase them? I see the places where your cape dragged the ground.”
Obsidian blinked as though shocked to hear that. “I suppose I might have. I’m not a warrior, after all. But if they were here, I didn’t see them.”
Voices rose from the opposite side of the drainage. Catkin looked up and saw Browser coming over the hill with Jackrabbit and Straighthorn behind him. He stopped when he saw Catkin and Obsidian, surveyed the drainage, then cupped a hand to his mouth to call, “Are you all right?”
Obsidian shouted, “Yes, War Chief. Come and let me show you what I’ve found!”
Catkin could see Browser’s hesitance. He’d cut his hair in mourning. Ragged tufts covered his head. Browser led the way down, slowly, probably placing his feet on Catkin’s tracks so as not to disturb any other sign. Jackrabbit and Straighthorn fell in line behind him.
Catkin and Obsidian walked back down the deer trail to the coyote den. Obsidian leaned a shoulder against the drainage wall and watched Browser as a hawk does a juicy mouse.
As he approached, Browser’s red war shirt flapped around his tanned legs. A sheen of sweat covered his handsome face. He must have run as hard as he could to get here.
Browser deliberately passed Obsidian without a glance and came to stand beside Catkin. “What did you find, Catkin?”
Obsidian let out a low laugh and Browser’s shoulder muscles bulged through his shirt. He kept his eyes on Catkin.
Catkin said, “He has a little girl, Browser. Seven or eight summers.”
“He? Redcrop said a raider—”
“This is no raider.”
Catkin knelt and pointed to one of the large sandal prints.
Browser bent over and propped his hands on his knees. It took less than five instants for understanding to slacken his face. “The child is a captive?”
Catkin met his worried eyes. “I’ve never heard of Two Hearts taking slaves, Browser. Have you?”
He straightened. “No, but …”
Catkin could see the horror rising behind his eyes, coalescing into a monstrous possibility.
“We can’t be sure, Browser, but we must speak with Cloudblower when we return.”
“Cloudblower? Why? What could she—”
“Just believe me, she knows.”
Browser stared hard into her eyes, silently questioning what she meant.
Obsidian’s white cape flashed in the sunlight as she stalked up the hillside trail.
They all watched her, but no one said anything. Straighthorn didn’t even seem to notice she’d left. He looked preoccupied, his forehead lined and his eyes far way.
When Obsidian had passed beyond hearing range, Jackrabbit whispered, “Why did she leave?”
Browser said, “The gods must have heard me.”
“Or maybe they heard your stomach,” Jackrabbit said. “Ever since you crested the hill and saw her, it’s sounded like a dog fight in there.”
Browser put a hand on his belly and grimaced. “That’s what it feels like, too.”
Straighthorn said, “The man must have seen Redcrop. Why didn’t he come after her?”
“Perhaps he had more pressing considerations,” Browser answered. “He clearly wanted to get the little girl away from here.”
“Because he feared for her safety?” Straighthorn asked. “Or because she was trying to reach us, and he didn’t wish her to?”
“Maybe both. He feared what would happen to her if we found out who she was.” Browser knelt in front of the den and examined the claw marks on the lip.
Catkin knelt beside him. “Yes. Fingernails.”
“She did not go willingly, that much we can tell. Did anyone hear her scream?”

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