Elatsoe

by Darcie Little Badger

  “‘Bring somebody with you, mother,’ said her daughter, a practical woman to the core. ‘For company.’ In truth, she was worried about your six-great-grandmother’s health. Not only was she burdened with grief, she carried the aches of a punishing life; her knees locked after too much activity, her hands curled with arthritis, and she could no longer see the horizon clearly.

  “‘I have the dogs,’ your six-great-grandmother said. ‘Be good, child.’

  “That night, Six-Great left, and she did not return home until the summer. Nobody knows what happened during that period of her life because she refused to speak of her journey. However, she brought all the stolen horses home. I suspect that the murderers faced justice.

  “And that was that. For a time. A good man had died, been buried, and avenged. If this came from a standard book in a typical library, the story would have ended with her homecoming. That’s what your English instructors teach you, right? Stories have a beginning, middle, and end. A tidy little plot. A main character who changes, usually for the better.”

  “That’s what I’ve learned,” Ellie said. “Yes.”

  “Reality doesn’t always work that way. So neither does this story. Your six-great-grandmother could not find peace. His name was always whispering through her mind, if not her lips. She stopped traveling. She rarely slept a full night. She spent more time with her dogs and horses than with human company.

  “One day, her eldest daughter said, ‘Mother, you worry me.’

  “‘I’ve heard that before,’ your six-great-grandmother said, because, as I said earlier, her daughter was a sensible woman. Naturally, she fretted whenever her mother left the safety of home to fight encroaching threats.

  “‘Auu. You’ve never worried me like this before,’ her daughter said. ‘Will I lose both of my parents this year? Stop sending your thoughts in the earth with him!’

  “‘When you have an itchy bug bite,” your six-great asked, ‘can you will the sensation away?’

  “‘No. Thinking about it makes the itch worse.’

  “‘The grave is an itch,’ your six-great said. ‘I hear him in my dreams. Every night, his voice is louder. Soon, it will rage like thunder. He tells me to avenge him. That I haven’t done enough.’

  “‘That isn’t his voice, Mother! It must be a ghost, and you know that they are terrible things.’

  “‘Of course I know.’

  “‘You need to visit a healer.’

  “‘Nobody can help me,’ your six-great said. ‘For sixty years, I’ve been a path between the underworld and ours. My dogs have crossed the gulf through me. Now … something dangerous has found the path too.’

  “‘What will you do?’ her daughter asked.

  “‘Instead of waiting for him to come to us, I will go to him.’

  “‘You must be joking!’ her daughter said. ‘Why?’

  “‘Deep in the underworld, where our ancestors dwell, your father’s goodness waits for us.’

  “‘Of course. So? What are your plans? That place is not for the living. You’ll become lost and trapped. As good as dead!’

  “‘Not necessarily. Some people have visited the underworld and survived. Let me try. Maybe, if I tell the good part of him that his horses are safe and his murderers are no longer a threat, the news will dampen his ghost’s fury. Maybe there is a way to bring him back. His body is no use, but there are other vessels …’

  “‘Maybe? Maybe!’ her daughter cried. ‘And maybe the sun will rise from the west. Please, reconsider!’

  “Your six-great-grandmother hugged her daughter tightly. It would be their last hug. She said, ‘It is a careless and dangerous plan—’

  “‘It is!’ her daughter agreed.

  “‘For him, I will be careless.’ Your six-great-grandmother stepped back and bowed her head, as if ashamed. ‘If I’d been there … if I’d camped with him that night … if he hadn’t been alone …’ She had to pause to collect herself. There’s nothing shameful about crying, but sometimes, parents are afraid to do it in front of their children. It’s a matter of protectiveness. Anyway, when your six-great-grandmother could speak again, her firm tone made it clear that she would not change her mind. ‘I go tonight. Whatever happens, be certain of one thing: you are stronger and wiser than I’ll ever be. Mind the family. Protect our knowledge. As for the dappled mare and its foal? Let your brother care for them. I leave my newest puppy to you. He’ll be a good companion once you teach him a few tricks. Forever, I hope.’

  “‘Yes,’ her daughter said. ‘It is good.’

  “As the story goes, she went to the underworld at sunset. Your six-great-grandmother walked to the west, surrounded by her hounds, and as the horizon extinguished the red sun, she vanished. And that was that.”

  Vivian blew on the candlewick, snuffing its flame with her breath. A thin stream of smoke coiled from the smoldering wick.

  “The end?” Ellie asked.

  “C’est la fin.”

  “So … maybe she didn’t die!”

  “Ellie, no. You completely missed the point. Your six-great-grandmother, slayer of invaders and monsters, was defeated by the underworld.” Vivian put her hands on Ellie’s shoulders and held them firmly, as if afraid that her daughter would vanish like a magician’s assistant. “She was an elder. You are seventeen. Understand why I’m terrified? It’s miraculous that you escaped once.”

  “To be fair,” Ellie said, “Six-Great intentionally journeyed deep into the underworld. I just saw a pod of whales and bailed.”

  “Elatsoe …”

  “I won’t do it again.”

  Vivian scowled. “This is my fault. I never should have named you after her.”

  “Technically, you didn’t,” Ellie said. “I’m named after the bird.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Do you think it was really a special dream?” Ellie asked.

  “Perhaps. Sometimes, guilt haunts us more intrusively than ghosts. Maybe your six-great-grandmother just thought she heard his voice.”

  “No, not that dream. I meant the one you had before I was born. With the hummingbird.”

  Vivian hesitated. In the silence, cicadas hummed. “Yes,” she finally said. “I do.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ELLIE DREAMED ABOUT FAMILY that night. Her parents, grandparents, aunties, and uncles stood in a straight line. Holding hands, they faced away from a gnarled mesquite tree. Its branches grasped for them, crackling with every swipe, but the human chain was out of reach. Wind rustled through waxy leaves and rattled heavy seed pods; the tree seemed to groan and whisper.

  “Mom,” Ellie said, approaching the chain. “What are you doing? Is this a game?”

  “Hush,” her mother said. “Turn away. You must not look at him. You must not listen to him. You must not take his hand.”

  “Him?”

  “Me,” Trevor said. “It isn’t fair. Why do the living disown the dead?”

  Ellie could not stop herself; she looked at him, listened to him. Trevor stood under the mesquite canopy, his legs still half-buried in the earth, as if he’d sprouted from his grave. He wore slacks and a cheesy checkered sweater, the kind that was uniquely well-suited for teachers.

  “We never disowned you,” she said. “We’ll be reunited someday. All of us. Every generation.”

  “How many generations will there be, after us?” he asked. “Selfish men have salted the earth.” The mesquite tree blackened, its leaves crumbling like ash. “Our children,” Trevor continued, “cannot be sustained by cruelty and poison. Each generation will wither until there is nobody left.”

  “You think so?” Ellie asked.

  “Think?” He crossed his arms, exasperated, as if Ellie had forgotten to do her homework.

  “You know,” Ellie said.

  “I know. You do, too. Don’t wait until it’s too late. Do something. Act. You promised to protect my wife and son.”

  “I have!” She took a step closer, still separated from Trevor
’s grave by the chain of people. “We know what happened now. Dr. Allerton won’t get away with murder.”

  “He’s just one man.” Trevor leaned forward, rooted to the grave. “There are millions more who will continue to treat our family and land like garbage. Think of them like pests.”

  “Pests …”

  “Termites in your house. Locusts in your field. It doesn’t make any difference if you crush just one insect. The swarm will devour your home.” Trevor held out his hand, reaching for her. “Please,” he said. “Help me.”

  Ellie’s living family, the human wall that protected her from the ghost, faded away. As they vanished, the sky burned bright as embers, as if four suns lay behind every cardinal direction. East, west, north, south. Ash motes danced between the desert and sky. They resembled gnats.

  “Come on,” Ellie said. “Trevor, people aren’t insects.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “They’re much worse.” He lunged at her, reaching for Ellie’s face with talon-sharp nails, but the ground held his legs securely. Its grip prevented him from ripping off her nose. With a startled cry, she ran back.

  “Ellie, I need you to pull me out!” he said. “Please! I can’t escape without help!”

  “You’re a ghost,” she said, turning away from him. Refusing to look. “You don’t get my help.”

  “I’m still your cousin! Don’t abandon me, Ellie. Freedom is so close. Just help me. Help me, and nobody will ever hurt our family again. I won’t let them! Look at me!”

  She did not turn around.

  “I want to see my wife,” he said. “I want to see my son! One last time. It’s cruel. I died alone!”

  She promised herself that he’d see them again someday. It was the only way Ellie could stay strong.

  “Gregory?” There was a hint of triumph in his voice. Was he trying to deceive her? Trick her into peeking? “Gregory,” Trevor shouted. “Gregory! Greggie-bug, come here. Come to Dadda. Hello, my smart boy!”

  A baby squealed with delight. Ellie whirled around. Gregory was crawling across the cracked earth, a mostly toothless smile on his cherubic face. He reached for his father’s hand. Trevor knelt, allowing Gregory to grasp his index finger in a plump little fist.

  “Damn it,” Ellie swore. “No!”

  Of course, it was too late; when he touched the soul of a living being, Trevor’s final connection to the underworld severed. He rose from the ground, cradling Gregory in his arms, and approached Ellie with slow, inevitable steps.

  “I knew my boy was talented,” Trevor said. “He found me. Just like you, Cuz. Promise you’ll teach him the family secret? It’d be a terrible waste if you didn’t.”

  “Give him to me,” she said, holding out her arms. “I promise to teach him everything.”

  When Trevor handed over Gregory without hesitation, Ellie knew that he was not the man she used to know. She protectively cradled Gregory against her chest and stepped back.

  “Is this a dream?” Ellie asked.

  “Sort of,” Trevor said. “You and Little Greg are both sleeping.” He closed his eyes, tilting his face up, basking in magma-hued light. “But I’m wide awake.”

  The sky darkened, as if the setting suns had burnt out, extinguished by the cold breath of terrible gods.

  “See you at the party, Elatsoe. This will be the last time their dance corrupts our earth.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  WHEN ELLIE AWOKE, she felt something wriggle against her arm. With a startled gasp, she rolled over. Baby Gregory was lying stomach-down on the cot beside her. He wore the same yellow onesie from the dream, and his face was scrunched with profound confusion, the same kind that he experienced during peekaboo.

  “Hey, little guy,” Ellie said. “What are you doing here?”

  Gregory’s crib had high bars, his nursery was across the hall, and the guest room door had been closed all night. He couldn’t crawl into her arms without help. Did one of the adults move him? Or …

  “Kirby,” she said, sitting up and cradling Gregory against her chest. “Kirby! Appear! Heel!”

  Kirby stood at attention beside her cot, his feathered tail held high. His ancestors had been hunters; their white-tipped tail was easy to spot as they pursued prey through long grass. Kirby whined, a powerful sound that made Ellie’s teeth ache. Was Trevor’s ghost nearby? Could Kirby stop it from attacking?

  “Mom!” Ellie called. “Mom, where are you?” According to the tabletop alarm clock, it was only half past seven. The adults normally slept until eight. After a steadying breath, Ellie stood and padded across the room, followed by her anxious dog. She balanced Gregory on one arm and pushed the door open. The hallway was dim and quiet. No sign of a haunting. No blood, no broken vase, no eerie writing on the walls. She tiptoed to the living room, drawn by the sound of snoring. There, her mother dozed on the plush sofa. According to Vivian, it was more comfortable than an air mattress.

  “Mom, wake up,” Ellie said. “We’re in big trouble.”

  Her mother sat up stiffly. “Trouble? What? Where?”

  “Trevor’s ghost.” There was no use avoiding his name anymore. “He’s awake. He said humans were worse than termites, and—”

  “Ellie,” Vivian interrupted. “Did you wake him up?”

  “No!” Ellie shook her head so quickly, her sleep-mussed hair flipped across Gregory’s head. He laughed and shoved a lock into his mouth. “In the dream, I turned away from Trevor,” Ellie said. “Wouldn’t take his hand. He begged me for help, but … no! I couldn’t. I’d never! Gregory was the one who woke him.”

  “The baby?” Vivian sounded more than a little incredulous.

  “Yes! He must have … I don’t know … sensed his father? Gregory is really receptive, Mom. Ghost stuff comes easy to him. Same as me. Obviously, he doesn’t know the difference between life and death yet. Or … or understand how dangerous ghosts can be.”

  “Are you sure, Ellie? Sometimes, a nightmare is just a nightmare. You’ve had a lot on your mind.”

  “Am I sure?” She sat beside her mother. “I don’t know. I’ve dreamed about him several times. Maybe some of those instances were one hundred percent imaginary. But. This dream was definitely wrong. When will somebody check his grave? Look for the tattoo? I’m worried that it’s too late. That Allerton or his people have already …” She trailed off before voicing her fear: already dug him up. It was too horrific to contemplate.

  “Soon,” Vivian said, patting Ellie’s shoulder. “A team is going to the burial ground this morning. In the meantime, Kirby will protect us. Right, good boy?”

  Kirby sat near the sofa, alert but relaxed. He tilted his head, as if acknowledging the praise.

  That’s when Ellie’s phone, charging on the coffee table, rang. She was surprised to see Jay’s name on the caller ID; he normally texted first. She passed Gregory to her mother and answered the call.

  “Hey, Jay,” Ellie said. “What’s up?”

  “Um …” Jay said. “Ronnie really wants to talk to—”

  His sister’s voice cut in. “Hey! Have you seen Al?”

  “Not recently,” Ellie said. “What’s wrong?”

  “He never returned from the mission.”

  “Um. Whoa. What mission?”

  “The one you sent him on.” Ronnie sounded terse, a concerning departure from her typical boisterous, confident cheeriness. “The intel mission.”

  “He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere!” Ellie said. “Al said his friends might know about gatherings in Willowbee. That’s all.”

  “A friend knew a friend sent Al to the Cursed Man Club. Vampire-only bar in Austin. Apparently, the manager knows all about Willowbee.”

  “So Al never returned from the club? Have you called the police?”

  “What can they do? He’s only been gone thirtyish hours. My own parents believe that he ditched me. As if! We’re soul mates.”

  “I wish I could help somehow.”

  “You can.” Ronnie lowered her voice, conspirat
orial. “My friends and I … spoke to the manager last night.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He says that Al might be in the Allerton mansion. Young vampires go there and never return.” She made a sound that was half sob, half furious shriek. “If anything happened to my baby, I’ll …”

  “I’m so sorry, Ronnie,” Ellie said.

  “Abe Allerton is the one who needs to apologize. I’m going to wring his freaking neck.”

  “You can’t just stroll into the mansion. We need a plan.”

  “Sure I can. Isn’t there a party today?”

  “Yes. A bicentennial ball, but …” Ellie remembered, in blood-chilling detail, the conclusion of her dream. Trevor’s promise.

  “But what?” Ronnie asked.

  “No. No, no, no.”

  “What?”

  “Put Jay on the phone.”

  “I’m not done ye—”

  “My cousin’s ghost,” Ellie said, “is going to turn the Willowbee bicentennial party into a bloodbath, and nobody is safe! Not me. Not Al. Not even the sixth-grade-spelling-bee champions. They’re guests of honor! He’s going to slaughter a bunch of innocent spelling nerds, Ronnie! Put Jay on the phone!”

  “Me again,” Jay said. “Ellie, do … do you think Al is okay?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past Dr. Allerton and the butchers of Willowbee.”

  Jay paused a beat before saying, “He just wanted to help.”

  “He wanted to help you,” Ellie said. “You: his new little brother. Keep that in mind during the wedding. Especially when the minister says, ‘If anyone has objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.’”

  “I will,” Jay said. “We need to find him!”

  Ellie looked at her mother, borrowing strength from Vivian’s supportive nod. “My cousin is awake,” she said, “and he’s haunting the Allerton mansion.”

  “Wh—haunt? You mean …”

  “Yeah. This will be much worse than rattling chains and mysterious bumps in the night.” If Kirby could burst lightbulbs with a howl, throw objects across the room, and jump through walls, what could a human do? Trevor had the self-awareness, intelligence, and motivation to fully exploit his powers.