by Sharon Sala
The only building higher than the palace, was the temple; a towering four-sided pyramid in the middle of the city. From a distance, it looked a little like a square layer cake with a single stairway on every side. The top of the pyramid was yet another small room and she wondered what happened in there.
In her mind’s eye, she already knew the vista from the highest point of the temple—from the rooftops of the city, to the marketplace, to the river, to the acres and acres of growing crops, and the jungle beyond. It was yet another unsettling memory that had no explanation.
Cayetano ruled it like the chief he was, but she had no idea how that would impact her until the day she made her first public appearance.
Chapter Fourteen
Cayetano walked into their rooms as Singing Bird was being dressed. Acat and two other servants were trying to help, but she was balking despite their insistence of certain garments.
Although the women of Naaki Chava wore their hair in elaborate hairstyles, looping the lengths into big fat rolls both at the sides and the tops of their heads, Layla wanted hers down, and so it was; glistening like sunlight on dark water. The silver necklace she’d worn around her neck was now threaded through her hair in such a way that the little bird charm was hanging in the space between her brows; a private homage to her father and her past.
The bib of turquoise around her neck rested on the swell of her breasts, and the soft fabric of her multicolored skirt clung to her shape like another skin. She was still thinner than she’d ever been, but Cayetano understood why. It was at great cost that his Singing Bird had returned from the dead.
He eyed her proudly, thinking to himself what a magnificent woman she had become and discarded the tiny changes. Besides the lack of weight, the only other differences were the scars on her body, which she wore proudly, and the occasional glimpse he would get of how fierce she had become. She’d died a woman beloved of her people, and returned a warrior for their race.
He walked up behind her and despite the women giggling around them, kissed the back of her neck.
Layla shivered with longing. Just a touch and she melted before him.
“You like these best,” he said, and put them in her hand.
She looked down at the chunks of turquoise marbled with thin threads of gold, obviously meant to hang from her ears. But they were hardly metal studs and she didn’t have any holes big enough in her earlobes for the cords to fit through.
“They’re beautiful, but they won’t fit in my ears.”
Acat giggled and took them out of her hands. “Yes, they will fit. I will do it for you.”
When Layla felt the weight of them on her ear lobes she was stunned.
“But how?” she muttered, running her fingertips along the on the sides of her face and then along her ears. Without warning, she abruptly stopped. In her mind, she’d been touching a stranger’s face.
“I need to see. I need to see!” she muttered, and began moving from table to table, looking for something that would give off a reflection.
“What is wrong?” Cayetano asked.
She was beginning to panic.
“It doesn’t feel like me. It is the face of a stranger.”
He smiled, pulling the scar at the corner of his mouth upward.
“You came home, that is all.”
But she wasn’t satisfied. Of all the things that she’d lost from one world to the next, at that moment she would have wished for a mirror. When she saw the large platter of fruit on a nearby table she grabbed it. The fruit went flying as she carried the silver platter to the light. If it was shiny enough, it just might give off enough reflection to satisfy her panic.
Cayetano had known this day would come, and quickly sent the servants away.
Acat was in tears as she left, thinking she’d done something wrong.
Layla tilted the platter slightly to catch the most light. For a few moments all she could see were shadows. And then she moved it again and there was an image, but she didn’t recognize the woman she saw.
Her hands began to shake. How had this happened? She was still Layla inside, but Layla Birdsong’s face was gone. This face was a little thinner and her nose had a tiny bump where before it had none. Her cheekbones were higher, her mouth wider, her lips fuller. Some parts of the face were the same, but other parts were not. It was what she’d first thought when she’d seen Niyol in Cayetano.
She turned to Cayetano with a look of disbelief.
“How did this happen?”
He took the platter from her hands and set it aside.
“You have become who you once were.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand. I know we have a connection. I don’t dispute that. But are we talking about reincarnation? Do you say my spirit once lived in this time? And if this is so, then why is the face I came here with no longer mine?”
He sighed. “It is your face. It was always your face. I will tell you this now. I should have told you before, but today you need to understand why our people so readily accept your presence, and why you understand everything that is said to you.”
He led her to a bench then pulled her down onto his knee.
“What I am going to tell you will be difficult to understand, but you must wait until I am finished before you judge.”
Layla saw the fear in his eyes and wondered what would be so terrible—so frightening—that a warrior like Cayetano would be afraid to voice.
“I am listening.”
He reached for her hand, threaded their fingers together then held it over his heart, then without thinking, lovingly stroked the scar on her face.
“Soon it will be the celebration of the corn. It is the celebration for a good harvest. During that celebration when you were here before, you were killed by an enemy I did not know I had. He escaped, but I went mad with grief. I tracked him for many days, and when I found him, left pieces of his body all over the jungle so that his spirit would never be whole to meet his ancestors.”
Layla was still grappling from the shock of hearing him say, you were killed, when she focused back in to what he was saying.
“Your death started a terrible war between our tribes. During that time, one of our shamans began having visions, and each vision he had was worse than the one before. He saw into the future destruction of our people, and how one day we would disappear from our land, and the earth would be no more forever.”
Layla’s head was spinning.
“You are talking about the Firewalker, aren’t you?”
He nodded.
“But if all of you disappeared when earth burned, then how are you here? I thought that this place and all of you are the children of the Anasazi who disappeared so long ago.”
“No. We are not their descendants. We are those people, but in a time before our culture died.”
Her heart was beginning to hammer. This was about to get worse, she could tell.
“So, when we escaped Firewalker, we did not come through the portal to a new land?
“This is not new land.”
“But you call this Naaki Chava. That means two, or second in the Navajo language.”
He nodded. “But our people have moved many times over this earth. This is our second time.”
“Where were you before?”
He shrugged. “I do not know the name. The Shamans say it was far away where mountains blew fire and the sky was always dark with smoke.”
“So we are here in your time, before your people disappeared, long before the old earth was destroyed?”
“Yes. I will tell you more. After your death, the wars continued and in my grief, I turned into a warrior with no mercy. I killed everyone in my path, no matter if they were an enemy or not.”
Layla was struggling with the concept of a butcher and the man who’d cried making love to her. She was
almost afraid to hear more.
“And then I died,” Cayetano said. “I died, and still my spirit was not at rest because I could not find you. During my journey to find you, my spirit grew stronger. I could see what was happening to The People. They still fought each other, but in doing so their numbers grew small and tribes grew weak. When the white stranger came to our land, they could not stop him, and they were weakened even more, losing land and losing hope, and finally losing a sense of our race.”
Layla slid an arm around his neck.
“Firewalker became angry. But it was when our young began dying at their own hands that his anger worsened. He felt their pain. He shared their sorrow. They were born into a time without hope. Their own ancestors had let them down.”
Layla was crying now, because she’d seen it happening—on every reservation—no matter what tribe—drugs and alcohol had taken over their lives. But the shame had killed them long before their hearts quit beating, decimating the families who were left.
Cayetano continued. “My spirit was in great despair because my actions so long ago were part of what caused the wars that continued after I died. My sadness drew the wind, and the wind became power, and when I finally wept for the loss of my Singing Bird, the Windwalker was born.”
“I knew it,” she whispered. “The first time you held me, I felt the Windwalker’s heart.”
He touched her face. “In my power as Windwalker, I sent the wind to find your spirit, and you were found. But even then our joining would not happen because we were on different paths. Your spirit was pure and beautiful, while mine held rage. And yet you, who walked without me in the spirit world, still loved me enough to offer a solution. It would be dangerous for you, maybe even deadly. But in my selfish need to get you back, I willingly agreed.”
Layla closed her eyes to hear him out because she could no longer bear to see the pain and shame on his face.
“Firewalker had already launched himself toward earth before Layla Birdsong was born, so we could not delay. You were born on earth as Layla, the woman who came here with the New Ones. The people there who loved you taught you all you would need to know to make the Last Walk, without truly understanding why they felt a need to do it. But you learned and learned well, and when it became necessary, you did not fail me or yourself.”
Layla opened her eyes. There were tears on his face. She took his hand and held it against her heart.
“So, I knew all of this would happen before I was born, remembered nothing of it afterward living as Layla Birdsong, and still did what I was supposed to do?”
He cupped her face. “You are a red feather warrior. I knew you would not fail.”
“Because I killed the man from the gang that attacked me?”
“You were a red feather warrior before. Here, before you died, you also killed one of the men who attacked you. When it happened again as Layla Birdsong, it was the signal to me that you were prepared for what lay ahead.”
Layla stood abruptly. “This is crazy. I died here and now I’m back? Why? Am I to die all over again? What does this mean?”
“No. You have already sacrificed yourself for the People. You have returned to the time before your death. This is when we were happy. This is before I turned bad. You didn’t just save our People from Firewalker. You have come to save me. What happened before cannot happen again. You cannot die. You must not die.”
Once again he ran his thumb across the scar on her cheek, then slid his hand along the one on her arm before touching the third mark on her belly.
“These scars you bring with you… they are the same places you were stabbed the day you died in my arms. It is your proof that what you sacrificed for us will stand.”
At that moment, Acat poked her head into the room.
“The people gather, Cayetano. Your guards are waiting.”
“Soon,” he said, and waved her away. “I tell you this so that you understand… the people here know and love you now, because they knew and loved you then. To them, you were only gone for a short time. Not many thousands of years. And the enemies I have are still real, and so is the danger to you. But you brought something with you that, one day, will ensure peace between our People.”
Layla gasped and then jumped to her feet.
“No! Tell me I did not drag our people on that Last Walk just so you could turn them into warriors? They’ve suffered enough.”
He grabbed her hand when she would have pushed him away.
“It is not the people who came with you, although our numbers are now more impressive. It is the baby you carry.”
Layla spread her hands across her flat belly.
“I’m pregnant?”
“I do not know that word,” Cayetano said. “But you are with child.” His shoulders slumped. “And that is the price I agreed to pay to get you back.”
Now she was scared all over again.
“How is a baby your price?”
“Because the child you carry is not mine. It belongs to the Windwalker—the spirit I became. But if we are able to change history and I never go the bad way, then Windwalker never exists. And the only child you ever bear will belong to something I never become.” He shrugged. “It is a trick of time, and of the Old Ones justice. It is the price for my loss of mercy. I will never give you a child of our own. But the child you bear will change history.”
Layla’s head was spinning.
“How? I don’t understand.”
“The shamans tell me the knowledge you and the New Ones have will help the change. We will grow stronger faster. Our cities will prosper. New ways of doing things will make living easier. But most important, the child you carry will be a peacemaker who puts an end to our wars. By the time white men come, we will be one endless tribe, united in purpose and spread all across the lands.
Layla touched her belly again. “How can a child stop wars?”
“I do not know. I know only what the shaman said.”
“Is it promised that I will bear a healthy child? What happens if I lose it?”
“Then we are doomed, and when Firewalker sweeps across the sky in the times to come, there will be no Layla Birdsong to save our people, and they will perish with all the rest.”
The thought was horrifying. Her hand fell on the scar on her face. Once she’d turned her fear to rage. She could do it again—would do it again—as many times as it took to keep her and this baby alive—to keep all of them alive.
Acat poked her head around the door again.
“It is time. Do I tell the guards you are ready?”
Cayetano didn’t move. His gaze was on Singing Bird’s face. Was she ready?
Layla’s shoulders stiffened. Her chin was up, her eyes narrowed.
“I want my bow and the quiver of arrows, and I want my father’s knife.”
Acat looked confused. “I do not know this.”
Cayetano wanted to argue, but knew he must trust her instincts as much as his own.
“Do you mean the weapons you had when you came back?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I will bring them,” Acat said, and scurried away.
“What are you going to do?” Cayetano asked.
“This first step back into your world will be on my terms. I will not show fear.”
The answer surprised him, but it was the right one.
“It is good,” he said softly.
Acat came running and laid the weapons at Layla’s feet.
Layla strapped the knife and holster on her leg, just above the knee, knowing every time she took a step her skirt would part just enough for it to be visible. Then she slung the quiver over her shoulder and picked up the bow.
“I am ready,” she said.
Cayetano exhaled slowly. “Together,” he said.
A dozen guards joined then surro
unded them. Layla stopped again.
“Once we begin the walk to the temple, tell them to walk behind us. Tell them we walk alone.”
He frowned. “That is not safe.”
“No. It is wise. They have not seen me in this way since we came back. I must be seen as the warrior, or they will not care what I have to say.”
Once again she was right, but the thought of losing her all over again was horrifying. Still, if his Singing Bird was brave enough to do this, then it was not his choice to make.
He gave the guards their orders, ignoring the shocked looks on their faces as they moved toward the doorway.
Cayetano looked every inch a chief. His headdress, a spire of long pheasant feathers fastened into his headband, bobbed as he walked, and the wide leather belt at his waist was studded with gold and turquoise, as were the leather cuffs that spanned his arms from his elbows to his wrists. A chunk of turquoise the size of his fist hung from a cord to the middle of his chest, not unlike the bulls-eye on a target. It was a ‘look at me’ challenge that couldn’t be ignored. His leather sandals laced up past his calves, accentuating the strong muscles in his legs. He was a most impressive man, but it was the pride he felt for the woman at his side that was most notable.
The moment Cayetano and Singing Bird stepped out of the doorway into the sun, a roar went up in the city below that sent a chill up her spine. She paused, not for effect, but because she was so shocked. They were saying her name.
Singing Bird. Singing Bird.
Cayetano was watching her, gauging her reaction.
She lifted her chin and took the first step down with him at her side.
It was immediately evident to the crowd that something was happening. Cayetano and his woman came down the steps alone, with the guards flanking them instead of leading the way.
Before, the guards would have surrounded them, and Cayetano would have held her hand as they moved through the crowds. Singing Bird’s demeanor would have been affectionate and happy, both with him and with those around her.
