The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries (38 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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“You do. You know you do.”
She placed her hands on his sides and smoothed them down over his hips.
He grabbed her hands and held them. He could imagine himself gently removing each turquoise pin that adorned her hair, slipping her blue dress over her head, pulling her naked body against his.
“What was his name, Obsidian? Your father’s name? Did your mother ever tell you?”
Her mouth twisted into a pout again. “What difference does it make?”
“If you came here twenty-five summers ago, do you remember hearing stories about Two Hearts?”
“The legendary witch?”
Browser nodded. “Crossbill’s grandmother and many other clan matrons had dispatched war parties to hunt him down for his crimes.”
“I had seen seven summers, Browser. I may have heard about it, but I do not recall—”
“What about the stories of the cursed little girl who lived in this village thirty summers ago? You must have heard about that.”
She leaned forward until her breasts pressed against his hands. The sensation was akin to being struck by lightning. His whole body throbbed.
“That wasn’t me, Browser. Is that what you fear? That I have been tainted by incest, like your wife? Is that why you won’t touch me?”
“I won’t touch you because I don’t wish to, Obsidian. I—”
She bent to kiss his hands, and he abruptly released her and backed into the wall. Before he could avoid it, Obsidian stepped forward, slipped one arm around his waist, and with the other hand reached for his manhood.
He roughly shoved her toward the door curtain. “Enough. Leave!” She stumbled, grasped the leather curtain to steady herself, and turned. Her smile mocked him.
“You were close, War Chief. A hair’s breadth. The next time, this will end differently. You know that, don’t you?”
“There won’t be a next time.”
She laughed and ducked under the curtain into the afternoon sunlight.
Browser stood for a moment, breathing hard, then he pulled his red war shirt over his head and threw it on the floor.
He paced his chamber like a caged lion, wondering what she wanted, what game she played. She apparently needed Browser to win. But how could that be? What did he have that she …
His gaze went to his buckskin cape hanging on the peg by the door. That morning she’d asked him where “it” was.
The turquoise wolf would be a prize for anyone, but how could she know he possessed it? No one knew, except Uncle Stone Ghost and Catkin.
And the man who lost it.
R
EDCROP’S WHITE CAPE WHIPPED AROUND HER LEGS AS she climbed the ladder to the tower kiva and stepped onto the plastered roof. Straighthorn’s chamber sat to her left, sandwiched between Elder Springbank’s chamber and Obsidian’s. Her feet thudded hollowly as she walked from the kiva roof, onto the elder’s roof, and toward the ladder that stood in Straighthorn’s roof entry.
People in the plaza turned to watch her. The kind looks, the tears, went straight to her heart. The din of conversations died down, then picked up again.
Straighthorn called, “Redcrop? Is that you?”
“Yes. Were you sleeping? I don’t wish to disturb you. I know you have to stand guard—”
“I’m coming up,” he said, and his steps patted the ladder.
As he stepped onto the roof, he gave her a desperate look. He’d changed into his ritual clothing, a pale green knee-length shirt studded with circlets of polished buffalo horn, black leather leggings, and sandals. When Wind Baby pressed his shirt against his body, she could see his muscles.
“Come with me.”
The urgency in his voice made her stutter, “W-why? What is it?”
He took her by the arm. “We must find a place to speak alone.”
“But I was going to sort through Grandmother’s belongings—”
“I’ll help you later. This can’t wait.”
“What’s wrong, Straighthorn?”
He dragged her toward the ladder propped against the village’s long northern wall. Behind the village, a grove of junipers covered the hillside. The villagers hadn’t cut them down for firewood because they collected the juniper berries to make teas and to season meats. If they stayed here long enough, however, they would cut them down. It always
happened. A bad winter would come along and they would need the wood more than they needed next year’s berry crop.
“You go first,” Straighthorn said, and steadied the ladder for her.
Redcrop climbed down into the lacy shade of the trees. Sunlight gleamed from the brown bed of dried juniper needles. “Please tell me? What is it?”
Straighthorn jumped to the ground. “Let’s sit in the shade over there.”
Redcrop followed him to the fragrant spot between the trees and sat down at his side. Sweat gleamed on his long hooked nose and above his full lips. His shoulder-length hair had been freshly washed, and blue glints danced through the strands.
“Straighthorn?”
He knotted his fists. “The War Chief told me why you insisted on being alone this morning. I want to know why you agreed to do it?”
Redcrop felt the blood rise into her cheeks. “I—I wish to help catch them.”
Straighthorn massaged his forehead. “I accompanied the War Chief down into the drainage to look at the little girl’s tracks. Redcrop, the man who helped murder your grandmother was there. I saw his tracks! I know—”
“I know, too, Straighthorn. The War Chief told me.”
He stared at her. “You know that the murderer was that close to you, and you don’t care?”
“That’s why I was out there. To be seen.”
His mouth fell open. He looked as though he wished to shout at her, but his voice came out unnaturally quiet: “Blessed gods, do you realize what might happen? If he captures you—”
“I’m being closely guarded, Straighthorn. Catkin was watching me the whole time. When I went over the crest of the hill into the drainage, she came running as fast as she could.”
“How long did it take her to get there?”
Redcrop shrugged. “Less than five hundred heartbeats.”
“Do you know what can happen in five hundred heartbeats? He could have killed you and left you for Catkin to find! He could have clubbed you and carried you off somewhere to torment for days!”
Redcrop squirmed. “I know I shouldn’t have followed the tracks. Catkin already shouted at me and made me promise never to leave
her sight again, and I won’t, Straighthorn. I’ll stay just where the War Chief tells me to. But I—”
“I don’t want you out there at all!”
“But Straighthorn, please, I—”
He took her by the shoulders in a move that startled her. “Listen to me. I have been too worried to sleep, or eat. I could barely contain myself long enough to dress for the sunset Dances. The War Chief is using you! Why can’t he use someone else? A woman warrior would work just as well, and she would be able to—”
“I asked to do it, Straighthorn.”
In a soft, agonized voice, he said, “Blessed gods. Why?”
“I want to help the War Chief catch him.”
“There are other ways for you to help, Redcrop. You could—”
“Straighthorn, nine moons ago we often heard that a woman or girl was missing. We assumed raiders had caught them and taken them as slaves, but later we found their bodies. Most of them still wore the jewelry they’d had on the day they disappeared. Grandmother sent word to the nearby villages, and people came to see if they could find their missing loved ones. Some did.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “It was terrible. If the same man killed my grandmother, I have to help the War Chief stop him.”
“That’s why I’m frightened for you, Redcrop. If he catches you—”
“He won’t. After today, the War Chief said he’s going to put many more guards on me. All I have to do is sit alone and wait for him to try to take me, Straighthorn. Then, when he does, we’ll capture him.” Redcrop gazed down at the towering walls of the village. As Father Sun sank below the western mountains, shadows crawled over Longtail, turning the walls a deep gray.
Straighthorn took her hands in a hard grip. “I know you wish to help find the murderer, but this is madness. If this man is the famed witch named Two Hearts, he has escaped every trap ever laid for him. Twenty-five summers ago, dozens of villages banded together to hunt him down. They sent their best warriors, burned every hole he might be hiding in, questioned every person who might have spoken to him or known him before he became a witch. None of it worked. He’s still killing!”
Wind gusted over the hill and whipped Redcrop’s shorn hair into her eyes. She shivered. “It’s not just us I wish to help, Straighthorn.
I’m afraid for the little girl. I was stolen from my people. I know how it feels.”
“She may not be a slave, Redcrop.”
“If she is his daughter, she needs my help even more.”
Straighthorn suddenly wrapped his arms around Redcrop and hugged her. “Gods, I’m afraid you’ll be hurt!”
He smelled of yucca soap and woodsmoke, things she found comforting. The first tendril of relief crept through her. It felt like cool salve on a fevered wound. “I’ll be careful, Straighthorn. I will.”
“Tomorrow, I’m going to the War Chief, Redcrop. I want to guard you myself. That’s the only way I’ll be able to carry out my duties. If you are out of my sight, I’ll think of nothing else.”
Redcrop lifted her head to look into his concerned eyes. “Thank you. I won’t be afraid if I know you are watching me.”
He gave her a pained smile. “When are you supposed to go back out?”
“He wants me on the hill overlooking the grave at dusk.” Straighthorn shook his head. “I am supposed to be standing guard east of the village tonight. Perhaps I can switch with someone …”
“Speak with the War Chief tomorrow, Straighthorn. That will be soon enough. I don’t think anything will happen tonight, not with the Death Dances going on.”
Straighthorn looked at the eastern horizon. A thin layer of dust blew over the hills and feathered the sky like delicate brush strokes. She could tell he didn’t agree with her words.
In a worried voice, he said, “I pray you are right,” and hugged her so hard his arms shook.
He had never held her like this before. The feel of his arms made the world go away. Redcrop closed her eyes and leaned against him.
“
T
RUCK COMING,” SYLVIA SAID, AND LIFTED HER HEAD over the rim of the excavation unit where she worked with Steve. He rose beside her and squinted down the road.
The chatter of a diesel could be heard over the afternoon stillness. Maureen straightened and stretched her aching back muscles. The bright candy red truck motored over the hill and down toward the camp.
“’Bout time,” Sylvia said. “We’ve been out of beer for over twenty-four hours.”
“A tragedy of biblical proportions,” Maureen said and smiled. She wiped her dirty face on the sleeve of her black sweatshirt and smoothed sweaty, tangled hair away from her face. “I’ve been looking forward to this. I haven’t seen Dale in over a year.”
“Go give him a bear hug,” Sylvia said, “and ask him where the hell he and the beer have been.”
Maureen followed the planks off the kiva rubble and walked to the camp trailer. Dusty had already jumped out and was watching the big Dodge pickup park behind the Bronco. Sweat darkened the armpits and chest of his long-sleeved green T-shirt. He brushed futilely at the grime on his pants as he walked down toward the road.
When Maureen caught up with Dusty, he said, “You think we ought to tell him that while he was gone, we got engaged? You know, just to see what his reaction is?”
Maureen’s mouth dropped open. “Not on your life.”
“Oh, come on. Then we could both say, ‘Trick-or-treat,’ and walk off.”
“You are a sick man, Stewart.”
Dale turned off the engine and opened the door. He put one foot on the sculptured running board and then lowered himself to the
ground. He wore khaki pants with a gray shirt and his battered old brown fedora. Wiry steel-colored hair stuck out beneath the brim.
Maureen walked forward. “Hey, Dale! It’s been a long time.”
“Maureen! You look beautiful.”
She stepped into his arms and he hugged her fiercely. Through his coat, she could feel his bones and stringy old muscles. No matter that he kept himself in good shape, the fact remained that he was seventy-three this year. She patted his back, stepped away, then resettled his fedora.
A happy glow filled his eyes. “How have you been?”
“I’m better, thanks. I really needed this break. Thanks for easing the way. I think the department would have let me come anyway, but a call from you never hurts a thing.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled, and the action rearranged the wrinkles that a thousand suns had burned into his face. He glanced suspiciously at Dusty, who stood by the trailer corner, his arms crossed. The battered brim of the brown cowboy hat and the mirror sunglasses hid any expression above his grim mouth. “And William? Has he been treating you well?”
“Sticking me with dental picks and roasting me at every opportunity. ‘Doctor’ this, ‘Doctor’ that.”
Dale sighed. “Well, what can I say?”
“Actually, I’m joking,” she whispered. “Miracles do happen. We’ve done fine. Although on my off moments I contemplate dousing his truck with gasoline and setting fire to it and all of its little inhabitants.”
Dale frowned. “I don’t follow you.”
“It’s a long story. Just trust me. Don’t turn on the heater.”
“Oh,” he said with an exaggerated nod. “I
do
follow you.”
He smiled, took Maureen’s arm, and started toward Dusty. “Hello, William. I don’t suppose that you have any coffee in there? I left Zuni before the crows cawed. I thought about stopping at Farmington, and then again at Aztec, but I wanted to get here.”
Dusty cocked his head. “I’ll trade you a cup of coffee for what they told you in Tucson.”
Dale smiled. “Sample one, taken from the big log, dated to A.D. 1108. Sample two, from the little log, dated to A.D. 1258.”
Dusty smacked a fist into his hand. “Am I good, or what? I knew the pottery matched.”
“Matched what?” Dale asked on the way to the trailer door.
“A hunch the good Doctor and I will let you in on once we get caught up.” Dusty held the door while Dale stepped inside. The trailer rocked and squeaked as they followed him in. Dale stopped short when he saw Maureen’s sleeping bag on the foldout couch in the front.
“My tent blew down in the storm, Dale,” Maureen told him. “Dusty let me sleep on the couch.”
Dale’s bristly mustache twitched. “What did you do, Doctor, slip him a little Prozac when he wasn’t watching his beer bottle?”
Dusty answered for her: “Given the nightmares I’ve been having, a little Prozac sounds really good.”
“What nightmares?” Dale asked as he slid into the booth behind the table. His khaki pants and gray shirt matched the colors of the dirt on the table.
Maureen slid into the booth opposite Dale and looked at Dusty, wondering if he’d actually tell Dale.
“Nothing. Just kidding,” Dusty said. He rolled up the long sleeves of his green T-shirt, reached for the water jug, and went about fixing a pot of coffee.
Dale turned to Maureen, and his brows lifted questioningly. She shook her head. It was Dusty’s place to share that information, not hers. She figured he’d tell Dale when he couldn’t stand it any longer.
As he poured grounds into the basket, Dusty said, “I’m surprised they let you run the samples that quickly.”
Dale cleaned off a small spot and propped his elbows on the table. “Oh, of course, William. When I was a kid I used to core samples. Half of the reference specimens in the lab are there because I provided them. All those years of sending them little cylinders of wood ought to be worth something.” He gave Dusty a curious look. “But, outside of the rain, which is why I assume you shut down, what have you found?”
“We have a kiva filled with burned children, and at least one adult. We found another old woman’s skull.”
“The one with the hole in it?” Dale asked, as he smoothed his fingers over his mustache.
“No, this one had burned in the kiva fire. So that makes two adult female skulls—one burned, one not. Then, yesterday, Maureen identified an adult femur. Probably female. She was cut up, her flesh stripped, and the bone tossed onto the roof before it burned.”
Dale grunted to himself, then glanced at Maureen. “What do you think?”
“I’ll know more when I get the specimens to the lab. You don’t have any more Butvar, do you? Or polyvinyl acetate, to stabilize the bone for transport? I’ve used all of mine. Some of the bone is very fragile. The calcined stuff is like dust. Touch it and it falls apart.”
“I got Dusty’s message to bring you some. It’s in the truck.” He smiled at her. Then his expression turned dour. “I’m going to tell you immediately so we can get this out of the way. I’ve been in touch with the Wirths. I must say, I gave them the preliminary report that we had a great number of bodies coming out of the kiva. My impression was that they were a little stunned.”
“So am I,” Maureen said. “What’s the—”
“What’s wrong?” Dusty set the coffeepot on the burner and turned from the stove with a dreadful expression. “I’ve heard that tone in your voice before, Dale. It usually spells disaster. What’s the problem with the Wirths?”
Dale took off his fedora and smoothed a hand over his gray hair. “Well, they want to make a housing development here. A subdivision based on an Anasazi theme. You know, touch the past, take a moonlight stroll through the ruins. Own your own little piece of prehistory. That was the marketing plan.”
“Yeah, so?”
Dale sighed. “It would seem they’re having problems with the data, William. What we are finding here isn’t what they had expected. They wanted a clean kiva, maybe with some intact murals. They’re nice people, but they’re modern Americans. They purchased this land with the notion of selling romantic home sites. The romance of the Anasazi, William.”
“The truth isn’t quite so romantic? Is that what you mean?”
“Well, yes. I mean, we’re not playing according to the American myth. This is a new age of hope and prosperity. The baby boomers, who don’t believe in war, who believe that Indians were saints before the coming of Columbus, are filling this country. That’s what the Wirths were banking on. How do you sell a seven-hundred-and-fifty-year-old mass grave? How do you convince buyers to come and build million-dollar houses on land where someone incinerated a group of children?”
Dusty slumped against the counter and hung his head. “Okay, give me the bottom line, Dale. Are they going to shut down the excavation?”
Dale spread his hands. “You’ll know in a few days. They’re getting on a plane tomorrow morning.”
Dusty paled. He glanced at Maureen and she could see his fear. “Great. That’s just great.”

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