The Summoning God: Book II of the Anasazi Mysteries (42 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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Browser splashed out onto the bank and ran.
Just as he reached the plaza, the kiva roof collapsed, and a thunderous explosion of cracking timbers and roaring flames shook the world. Ant Woman’s arms flew up and she staggered backward into the flames. Several children leaped off the roof. Others clung to the edge as long as they could, but when their clothes caught fire, they let go, and fell into the inferno.
“No!” Browser cried, as the blast of heat hit him.
Burning splinters flew through the air and wheeled across the ground around him.
The screams died. For a single terrible instant, no one made a sound. People stood like carved wooden statues, their eyes fixed on the flames that flapped across the sky like blazing wings.
Then a deep-throated groan began, low and anguished, and swiftly built to a deafening crescendo of shrieks and cries. The crowd surged forward, shouting and shoving each other to get to the children who’d been thrown from the roof.
Straighthorn dashed around the southeastern corner of the village with his bow up, an arrow nocked, his gaze searching for a target. “War Chief!” he shouted when he spied Browser. “Blessed Katsinas, was it a raid? What happened?”
Browser came to his senses. He yelled, “Straighthorn, help me clear the plaza. We have to get people away from here!”
Browser ran forward like a madman, waving his arms, crying, “Get out of the village! Move! Let it burn! There’s nothing more we can do. Go on, get out!
Get out now!
”
Straighthorn raced along the eastern side of the plaza, shouting, “Hurry! Run! There’s no time! Move!”
Retreating people flooded around Browser, weeping, carrying injured children in their arms.
Browser and Straighthorn, caught up in the rush, were carried down to the river. People waded in and sat down in the water with their children in their laps, washing soot-coated faces, dripping cold water over burns while children sobbed.
Twenty paces away, Cloudblower splashed into water up to her waist and raced about, examining wounds, touching people gently. Locks of graying-black hair had torn loose from her bun and straggled around her triangular face. From the thick layer of white face powder she wore, he guessed she must have played the role of White Shell Woman
tonight, grandmother of Father Sun, the creator of light and warmth. Raven feathers and seed beads dotted the fringes on the sleeves of her red dress.
Straighthorn stopped in front of Browser and looked up with terrified eyes. “War Chief? Redcrop. Where is she? Did she return with you or—”
“Catkin went to get her, Straighthorn, but I suspect that Redcrop saw the fire just as we did and rushed back on her own. She’s probably here in the crowd somewhere.”
Straighthorn exhaled hard in relief and said, “Thank the gods.”
Browser’s gaze darted through the crowd, and for a long moment he couldn’t speak. Then he spun around in the water, and shouted, “Uncle Stone Ghost? Uncle? Uncle, where are you?
Has anyone seen my uncle?
”
A
SH FELL AROUND STONE GHOST, COATING HIS WHITE hair and tattered turkey-feather cape like black snow. In the firelit darkness below, he saw Browser running, calling out to someone, but Stone Ghost couldn’t hear over the dwindling roar of the flames.
He’d just seated himself on this small hilltop one hundred body lengths from the village when the first tongues of flame crackled to life. Before he realized what was happening, the fire had turned into an inferno.
Stone Ghost cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, “Nephew? Up here!”
Browser did not seem to hear. He ran along the trail behind the village.
Didn’t matter. If Browser was looking for Stone Ghost, he would wind up here eventually. He came here frequently to rest and think.
Everyone knew that.
Stone Ghost turned to the new painting that adorned the sandstone boulder to his left. Someone had painted a white spiral. Two people, a man and woman, stood at the entry to the spiral with their arms extended toward Longtail village.
“Gods,” Stone Ghost whispered in agony. “They have lost their souls.”
He clutched his shaking fists in his lap and hunched forward to ease the pain in his heart.
Browser trotted up the trail toward Stone Ghost. Dirt coated the front of his knee-length buckskin war shirt, and ash sprinkled his short black hair.
“Uncle, thank the Spirits! I was worried you had been caught in the fire.” Browser dropped to one knee at Stone Ghost’s feet, breathing hard. “Are you well?”
Stone Ghost reached out to touch Browser’s arm and his gaze traced the line of his nephew’s square jaw, and lingered on Browser’s worried eyes. Stone Ghost had always planned on telling Browser the truth, but the moment had never seemed right.
“I’m well, Nephew. How is everyone else?”
Browser shook his head. “In shock. No one seems to know how the fire started. Cloudblower told me the Dancers had just emerged from the kiva when the first flames licked into the air. She said the fire grew so rapidly they had no chance to get the children out of the tower kiva. It seems impossible to me, but—”
“That’s the way it happened, Nephew. I’ve never seen an accidental fire roar to life as this one did.”
Browser stopped breathing. His eyes darted over Stone Ghost’s expression. “What are you saying. That—that it was not accidental?”
Stone Ghost lifted his beaked nose and sniffed the air. Browser, taking the cue, did the same. His nostrils flared several times, as if to make certain.
His voice came out strained. “Pine pitch, Uncle? Someone threw pine pitch around the village and set it on fire? But I—I,” he stammered. “I looked for raiders, Uncle! Most of my guards have come in and they saw no one!”
Stone Ghost nodded. “They weren’t raiders. At least, not in the way you mean.”
“Tell me. Quickly.”
Stone Ghost gestured to the boulder at his side. The white spiral gleamed golden in the firelight. “I found this tonight.”
Browser’s eyes slitted. He tilted his head and examined the painting with care. “What is it, Uncle? We found a similar painting on a boulder outside Aspen village, except it was a black spiral. We thought the injured woman had left it for us, to tell us we were walking a path into darkness.”
Stone Ghost traced the four rings of the spiral with his crooked index finger and tapped the two white figures who stood on the right side. “Each ring represents one of the underworlds, Nephew—”
“But”—Browser shook his head—“there are only three underworlds, Uncle. There should be three rings.”
Stone Ghost smiled weakly. “The Katsinas’ People believe there are three underworlds, Nephew. The First People speak of four. To them, this world of light is the fifth world.”
“Is?”
Browser leaned forward as though he had not heard right. But Stone Ghost could see him putting the pieces together. The vein in his nephew’s temple started to pulse.
Stone Ghost gestured to the spiral again. “Our enemies are too bold for their own good. They do not think that anyone among the Made People will know this symbol. They left the spiral here to identify themselves to a select few.”
Browser’s gaze flicked to the spiral and back to Stone Ghost’s wrinkled face. “What is the symbol? What does it mean?”
“The two people you see on the right side are just emerging from the underworlds. They are First People.
The
First People.”
Browser stared at Stone Ghost unblinking. “But the First People died out long ago, Uncle.”
Stone Ghost took a deep breath. The fire had died down enough that he could see the people along the river and hear the faint cries of children. A determined group of men stood a short distance from the tower kiva, probably waiting for the flames to die completely before beginning the grisly work of sorting through the dead.
Stone Ghost closed his eyes to block the view. “You will not understand unless I start at the beginning, Nephew, so please forgive me if I seem to be speaking about things that have no relevance to tonight. Trust me. They do.”
“I trust you,” Browser said softly.
Stone Ghost opened his eyes and tried to smile. Love for his nephew swelled in his breast. “Over one hundred and ten sun cycles ago, the Blessed Matron of Talon Town, Night Sun, abandoned her people and married one of the Made People, her former War Chief, Ironwood. Night Sun and Ironwood fled the Straight Path Nation with her daughter, Cornsilk, and the man who would become Cornsilk’s husband.”
“The Blessed Poor Singer.”
“Yes.” Stone Ghost bent forward to hold his great-nephew’s gaze. Browser searched his face as though fearing the world might end after this discussion. “And after they left?”
“You must understand that we are talking about the final scramble for power in a dying civilization, Nephew. The First People were desperate, and terrified of each other. They started hiring assassins to take each other’s lives. They called them the White Moccasins and considered them to be sacred warriors. My grandmother, Orenda, told me about it many times. She said that the surviving rulers selected
their best warriors, groups of no more than ten, and sent them out to destroy anyone who might threaten them. They paid these assassins too handsomely to believe, with baskets of turquoise, coral pendants, rare shells from the distant oceans. The fools did not realize what would happen next. When you give men such unrestrained power and wealth, it is like a Spirit plant in their veins. The assassins quickly amassed enough wealth that they could adopt their own rules for who should live and who should die. Night Sun had been wise enough to flee before the White Moccasins got to her, but they cut down people like the Blessed Sun, Webworm, and Matrons Weedblossom and Moon Bright. Few escaped.”
Was it possible that groups of White Moccasins still existed? It didn’t seem likely, but …
Browser sat back. “Are you telling me that you believe this spiral was painted by one of these White Moccasins?”
Stone Ghost nodded. “I fear that may be the case, and if it is, we are in grave danger.”
“We? You mean—”
“I mean you and me, Nephew.”
“I don’t understand.”
Stone Ghost held Browser’s gaze as he whispered, My grandmother, Orenda, married …”
Stone Ghost hesitated when he saw Catkin sprinting up the trail with Straighthorn at her side. Their faces appeared stark in the firelight.
Browser whirled around, then lurched to his feet, as though he saw more in Catkin’s expression than Stone Ghost did.
“Catkin?” Browser shouted. “What is it?”
Catkin clenched her fists at her sides. “We’ve searched everywhere,” she said. “Redcrop is gone.”
“What?” Browser blurted. “Are you certain? Did you look—”
“That’s not all,” Catkin interrupted in a stern voice. “Our Matron’s grave was dug up, Browser. Someone took her body.”
Browser stood unmoving for several heartbeats, then turned around to stare at Stone Ghost. The fear in his nephew’s eyes twisted Stone Ghost’s belly.
“Go, Nephew. Hurry!”
P
IPER IS DOWN ON HER HANDS AND KNEES, THROWING UP
in the sand. Through blurry eyes, she sees Mother add more wood to the fire. The big pot hanging from the tripod steams. The boiling has been going on for a long time. Another spasm shakes Piper and she rocks forward and retches up the last of her supper. Her nose burns and runs.
“Piper,” Mother says sharply. “Go away.”
“I can’t … stop.” The smell from the pot blows to her on the night wind, and she retches again.
“Go on! Get away from here!”
Piper drags herself to her feet and trots away from the rock shelter out into the darkness. Her knees are wobbly and she trips many times in the soft sand before she sits down fifty paces from Mother. The smell from the boiling pot is fainter, the damp scent of the creek bottom stronger.
She does not know where Grandfather is. He carried the hurt girl into camp, tied her up, then left without a word. The girl still sleeps near Mother. Grandfather must have gone away to pray and prepare himself for the sacred bowl of life, which they will eat at dawn. He has told Piper many times that the Katsina Believers must be bathed in blood to be saved.
Piper breathes deeply and is grateful when her belly does not heave. She wipes her cheeks on her coat sleeve and can see the skull bobbing in Mother’s pot. One cooked eye stares at Piper. Gray foam bubbles around it.
Piper can’t help it. She flops onto her hands and knees and throws up until she can’t breathe.
“Piper!” Mother’s voice warns. “For the sake of the gods!”
Piper hangs her head and cries, but the sound is locked behind her teeth.
She stretches out on her stomach and places her hot cheek against the cool sand. The boiling smell almost goes away. Piper wishes she had a cold drink of water to wash the sour taste from her mouth, but the water pots are back in camp.
Evening People sparkle above her and Piper wonders which of her ancestors might be watching tonight. Only the greatest of the First People get to climb into the sky and become stars. She looks at the biggest, brightest one and wonders if it is her grandfather’s grandmother, the Blessed Cornsilk. She was a great Healer.
Piper hugs herself and whispers, “Cornsilk, can you Heal me?”
Piper feels herself splitting inside, rotting, like fabric that’s been left out in the sunshine too long.
Mother grunts, and Piper turns.
Mother uses a long stick to lift the steaming pot from the fire, then sets it on the ground and kicks it over. Boiling water splashes out. The skull rolls and rocks in the firelight. Mother upends the pot, and when the last trickle drains out, she hangs the pot back on the tripod and lets the heat dry it. The steam Spirits will carry the message to their ancestors in the sky: Another lost soul has been freed. Soon the Cloud People will come and the dead Matron will be able to use them as stepping stones to get to the skyworlds.
Piper searches the darkness. Two Cloud People sail far to the south. Are they coming for the dead Matron? She hopes so.
Mother takes a hafted chert scraper from her pack and goes to work on the wet skull, carving out the boiled eyes, peeling off the last bits of cooked meat.
Piper gasps and chokes, but nothing comes up.
She closes her eyes and watches the lights flash behind her lids. They flit like the spark flies she saw four summers ago on a journey to the lands of the Swamp People with her grandfather. At sunset the spark flies started to wink and glow and, before she knew it, flocks were Dancing together in the trees. Happiness had left Piper weak. She’d chased the spark flies through the tall grass for half the night.
Mother has finished scraping off the meat. Piper knows because the sound has changed. Mother’s scraper makes the rattle of chert on bare bone.
Piper opens her eyes. Mother puts her scraper on the ground and studies the gleaming skull.
Piper’s eyes slide to the girl, wondering what her name is. She usually finds out, but not until after the bowl of life.
Wind Baby gusts up the sandy wash, thin and cold, and Piper’s teeth chatter. Only a moment ago, when she’d been throwing up, she’d felt too hot to touch. Now she is afraid she might be freezing solid.
She glances at Mother and tries to decide if she wants to go back and crawl into her bedding hides, or stay here. Her hides lay rolled up near the
girl. Grandfather makes her sleep close to them. He says it calms the girls to see Piper when they wake up. Often Mother and Grandfather leave so that the only person the girls see is Piper.
Piper’s souls always die when they first look at her.
Piper quickly pulls sand over her legs, then lies down and covers her stomach and chest.
“Piper?” Mother calls.
Piper’s fingers curl into the sand and shake.
“Piper? Where are you?”
Mother stands up and lifts an arm to block the firelight.
“Piper?”
Piper pulls more sand up around her face and neck, covering everything but her eyes.
“Piper! If you do not tell me where you are, I will send your grandfather to find you!”
A burning flood shoots up Piper’s throat. She bursts from her bed of sand and runs back to camp, throwing up on her moccasins, her pants, her hands.
Mother stands by the fire, holding the skull.
Piper flies past her, crawls into her hides, and covers her head.
She can feel pieces of her souls breaking off and flying away, like autumn leaves in a strong wind.
Soon her body will be empty and dead.
When she gathers the courage, Piper pulls her hides down and peeks out, searching the starry sky for Cloud People, afraid they are coming to take her away.
Praying they are coming.
 
STRAIGHTHORN PICKED UP A LEAF FROM THE RIVER’S EDGE and turned it in his hands, as he listened to the heated words coming from the crowd ten paces away.
“Who were they, War Chief?” Crossbill demanded to know. “Who did this?”
The Longtail Matron sat on the ground near Browser with her bandaged hands in her lap. She had dragged a little boy from beneath a burning pile of timbers. Singed white hair matted her freckled scalp and blisters bubbled over her wrinkled face. A red blanket draped her shoulders. “Was it raiders? A war party?”
Browser crouched beside Crossbill. Dirt and ash coated his buckskin cape and streaked his round face. He quietly answered, “We
know that someone poured pine pitch over the roof of the tower kiva and splashed it on the rear wall of the village. They also piled brush along the rear wall, then set it on fire. That’s why the village burned so quickly.”
“But who did it?” Crossbill stabbed one of her bandaged hands at him. “Flute Player Believers? Fire Dogs?”
Browser hesitated, as though he knew more than he wished to say. He glanced at his uncle, Stone Ghost, who stood alone at the edge of the crowd, then looked at the ground. “It may have been enemy raiders, or even a war party, but both seem unlikely.”
The crowd murmured and clothing rustled as they shifted. Several people turned to Stone Ghost, but the old man said nothing. He just watched his nephew with tight eyes.
Crossbill sobbed, “Why do you say that? Surely this was an enemy attack!”
“Matron, we had guards posted on every trail and on the high points around the village. Many more stood guard in the village itself. None of them saw anything unusual. They saw no dust from approaching refugees or other strangers. Straighthorn saw Old Pigeontail running the Great North Road in the distance, but that’s all.” Browser ran a hand through his shorn black hair and shook his head. “In the morning, when we can see better, I promise you we will know more.”
Windblown ash piled around Straighthorn’s feet. He glared at it, threw his leaf down, and stood up.
Up the hill, the gutted black walls of Longtail village smoldered. When the wind gusted, the charred roof beams glowed like a thousand red eyes. Now that the fire was out, the panic had turned to shock. Sobbing people filtered through the plaza, kicking over burned debris in search of belongings, calling out to lost loved ones.
They had laid the dead and dying on the roof of the great kiva. Seven sick people had suffocated in their beds from breathing the smoke. Three women and one man had been crushed by falling walls. Five more had mortal burns. Their moans filled the night. Occasionally, a terrible cry escaped someone’s lips.
Ant Woman’s daughter, Rock Dove, walked among the dying, holding cups of water to their lips, or gently smoothing hair from a burned brow. Her yellow cape flashed as she moved. She had accepted the
duties of village Matron in a way that would have made her mother proud. As soon as her people had acknowledged Ant Woman’s death and cast their voices in her favor, she had begun giving orders, softly, clearly, with no hesitation. Every Dry Creek villager had a duty, carrying water, gathering wood, cooking food, standing guard—it gave them something more important to worry about than their own lives.
Crossbill had performed the same function for the Longtail villagers. She had ordered the injured people to be carried into the undamaged great kiva and then built up the fire to keep them warm while Cloudblower tended their wounds. But several hurt adults stood in the crowd, people with blistered bodies, and broken arms and legs, injuries received when they jumped from the upper story. Three men supported themselves on makeshift cottonwood-branch crutches.
The acrid scents of burned pitch and scorched hair were so strong they almost gagged Straighthorn.
No one knew the whereabouts of Springbank, and Straighthorn feared the worst.
Browser said, “Matron Crossbill, I have ordered twenty warriors to stay here to guard the village, and assigned ten more to the high points around the village. Matron Rock Dove assigned ten of her own warriors to guard the roads. What more do you wish me to do?”
Crossbill closed her eyes and lowered her forehead to her bandaged hand. She didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, she murmured, “I want you to lead the party that goes to search for Springbank.”
“Yes, Matron.”
“That is all I can think of. I will organize people to start packing our few belongings so that we can leave this forsaken place. The ghosts of those who died will be wandering about all night, tormenting the dreams of the survivors, trying to drag them away to the Land of the Dead. We must leave soon.”
Browser nodded and asked, “Where will we go?”
“Rock Dove has asked us to come to Dry Creek village. She says they will feel safer with us there. I think we should go, but I will place the decision before the village tomorrow morning.” Crossbill looked up and her wrinkled mouth trembled. “I wish all of you to be thinking about her offer. It is a good offer.”
Someone down the river shouted, “Springbank told me that the katsinas had abandoned us, but I did not believe him! Now look!
We have nothing! Our families are dead. Our homes are gone. I hate the katsinas!” Several people nodded. Most appeared too stunned to think.
Browser called out, “I will cast my vote with Matron Crossbill. I think Dry Creek village will be a fine home for us. Now, please help me. I must decide what to do about Redcrop. I wish to form a search party—”
“A search party! For her?” Water Snake shouted. A thick black bar of soot coated the left side of his weasel’s face. “We will find nothing in the darkness!” Water Snake gazed defiantly at Browser.
Browser met the threat with a lethal glare, and a hand on his war club, silently daring Water Snake to challenge his authority.
Skink stepped forward and calmly said, “I think we should search around the village for missing people and wait until morning to search elsewhere.”
Straighthorn exploded, “By morning, Redcrop could be dead!” Water Snake thundered, “By morning, Springbank could be dead! Who do you think is more important? One of our elders, or a slave girl?”
Straighthorn drew himself up and glared at Water Snake. In a trembling voice, he said, “She is not a slave, Water Snake. She is free.”
“It makes little difference,” Skink replied tiredly. “I think it would be better for everyone if we used all of our resources to protect the village tonight and care for the injured and dying. I, for one, do not wish to go out into the darkness with search torches. If there are enemy warriors out there, they will be able to shoot us down like dogs.”
Matron Crossbill lifted a hand and the gathering went deathly silent. “People have so many concerns tonight, let us call for volunteers for both search parties, War Chief.”

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