Wind Catche

by Jeff Altabef

  “Gifts,” I snort. “I don’t want any more gifts.”

  “You are Chosen,” Sicheii says, his voice low, deep, and full of concern. “You don’t have any choice. If we knew where Roundtree kept the second book, we would know more.”

  “What happened to Ms. Arnold?” She was my favorite teacher, the only person other than Katie I trusted at Bartens and another one who lied to me.

  “She is being held in a safe place. She can’t hurt us now.” Sicheii stares hard at me. “We need to focus on you and your gifts. They are the key to fulfilling your destiny. You must embrace them before the Seeker finds you.”

  “Who is this Seeker you keep talking about?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” He sighs. “He’s sent here by Coyote to find you and harm you. We need to keep you secret until you are ready to face him.”

  “I don’t care about the Wind Spirit or these gifts or the Seeker.” I stand. “I want nothing to do with any of this. I’m done. I’ll run away if there’s no other way.”

  “Jules, you can’t ignore your responsibility,” Troy says from the darkness, his voice soft like a summer breeze. “Without you, we’ll all perish.”

  “I guess you’ll have to think of something else.” I turn my back on them and stalk toward the RV. I’m so tired. The only thing I want is a bed with sheets. It doesn’t matter what type of bed.

  I’m sure of only one thing though. I don’t want to be the Chosen.

  Light fights through a dirt-encrusted window and tap dances across my eyes. I jam the pillow on top of my face in hopes that the past few days will prove to be nothing more than a nightmare, hoping that when I wake, Mom will hover over me as she did before, anxious to start her trip.

  Of course, Mom doesn’t appear, and there’s no redo. The world doesn’t work that way. We have to live in the imperfect and face our faults and mistakes and those of others.

  I growl and toss the pillow aside. The bedroom is tiny, just large enough for one twin-sized bed, a small table, and an elfin-sized closet, which I refuse to open. Who knows what Sicheii has stuffed in there? I don’t want to find out. The more I learn about my grandfather, the weirder he gets. I can only take so much and have reached my limit.

  I know I’ll never go back to sleep now. My mind is awake, even if the rest of my body wants a few more hours of rest. If I try to sleep, I will just lie in bed and become angrier with each minute that passes. I refuse to buy a ticket for that Ferris Wheel. I hop from the bed and catch a glimpse of myself in a dusty mirror. I’m still wearing the same jeans and t-shirt from when I left the hospital. Dirt and grime blot my face, and my hair is a greasy, stringy mess. I look like a wild child, raised by wolves. A sly smile crosses my face as I wonder what Tiffany and her pack of sharks would think if they saw me now.

  I brush hair away from my face and move stiffly to a small bathroom, eyes half closed. I let my dirty clothes drop to the floor, swing the shower curtain open, and work the controls. The hot water feels good as it bounces off my head and forms little rivers down my body. My eyes close and my mind roams. The voices are there, just under the surface. Now that I understand how to manipulate them, I play with them. Two distinct voices bounce inside of my head, one from Sicheii and the other from Troy. I ignore Sicheii and dial down the volume much like the control on my iPhone, and focus on Troy’s instead. I listen intently, increase the volume, and shape the sounds until words form.

  He worries about me, worries this Seeker is dangerous, worries I might run off. He wants to protect me.

  I pull back and quiet his internal voice. It doesn’t feel right to listen to his private thoughts. It’s like I’m reading his diary without his permission. And in truth, part of me is afraid to know what he thinks about me anyway. My feelings for him have always been complicated, always deeper than friendship alone, but he’s never shown any sign that he shares those feelings. Now his betrayal looms so large it crowds out my affection as if it’s a roadblock I can’t pass—not yet anyway.

  I breathe deeply and push Troy from my mind with a mental shove. Other concerns are more pressing at the moment. I must sift through lies and truth and find my way. The water turns cool as I wash the rest of the grime from my body. A neat stack of clothes waits for me on the sink. On top is the Beatles t-shirt Troy bought me as a Christmas gift. The local radio station ran a Beatles weekend in the beginning of December, and I got hooked. Troy bought me an Abbey Road t-shirt a few weeks later for the holiday. He can be thoughtful that way.

  I smile despite myself and lift the shirt to my face. It smells fresh, like the detergent Mom uses. I forget for a moment I’m angry at Troy and Mom and Sicheii. I dress in the fresh clothes, swing open the screen, and enter the hot Arizona morning to face two people whom I love, but who felt it perfectly fine to lie to me about the most important aspects of my life. My anger returns and my face flushes.

  Both Sicheii and Troy turn to face me. They stand near a small campsite with two sleeping bags neatly folded behind them. They both slept outside with the bugs while I snoozed in the bed in the RV. They would sacrifice everything for me if they have to, but I’ve never asked them to and I don’t want it. I just want to go back to an ordinary life.

  When I trudge toward them, they both stand, bodies rigid as if they are waiting for bad news. I nod toward a plate of scrambled eggs, which looks cold with a slight film on top, but I’m hungry. “Is that for me?”

  “Yes, it is.” Sicheii waves at a blanket not far from the fire. “Take a seat.”

  I sit cross-legged at the edge of the blanket. Sicheii hands me the plate with the eggs, and Troy places a glass of orange juice next to me. They stand near me as if I’m their queen and they my subjects. It weirds me out a little.

  “Sit down.” I look only at Sicheii. I can’t look at Troy, not just yet. “And if you lie to me again, I’m gone.”

  They sit on the far end of the blanket as I eat my breakfast. When the eggs are gone, I glance at Sicheii. “So tell me about this Seeker. Who is he and what does he want from me?”

  His lips curve downward and the lines on his forehead bunch together. “He is Coyote’s pawn. You are the Chosen who will defeat the Seeker, using the gifts the Great Wind Spirit has given you.”

  “You have no idea who or where he is?”

  “No, except for the description from the Book of Knowledge. The Wind Spirit tells us he will be cloaked in beautiful clothing, tall and fine featured with eyes that could melt ice.”

  “That’s not a lot to go on. I hoped for something like a jagged scar across his forehead or a skull tattoo on his arm.” I pause for a second. “You said I need to prevent the extermination of our people. What do you mean?” I have so many questions, but extermination sounds bad so I start there.

  “Coyote and the Great Wind Spirit are locked in a battle over our fate. Coyote believes we have treated Mother Earth poorly. He wants to end our time on Earth and return her to nature, to a time before the First Man. Coyote is using the Seeker for his purposes. You must kill him. If you fail, he will lead an army of demons who will destroy us.”

  “Seriously, an army of demons?” Intense pressure squeezes my chest, and I resist the urge escape. “Where is this Book of Knowledge you two seem so enamored with? I need to see some proof of this Great Wind Spirit thing—something tangible.”

  Sicheii nods toward Troy who jogs to the RV. As my eyes linger on his back, Sicheii says, “Don’t be so hard on him, Juliet. He’s only living up to his oath. All he wants is to keep you safe.”

  “He’s supposed to be on my side!” I am shouting now, the veins on my neck pulsing. “He’s been lying to me for months! He’s supposed to be my best friend, the one person I can always rely upon.” Unwanted tears brim my eyes.

  Sicheii touches my leg. “Blame me then. I shouldn’t have involved him, but I needed the right person, someone the Order could trust.”

  I jerk back my leg. “Don’t think I’m not mad at you either! I’m your granddaughter.
You could have trusted me.” I wipe away tears that have not yet fallen.

  “This has nothing to do with trust.” He lifts his hands palm upward and the wind gusts as if he caused it to blow. “I did what was best for you and our people.”

  I huff and watch Troy return from the RV. He holds two bundles covered in black velvet. He refuses to lock eyes with me, keeping them on the ground until he stands over us and hands the bundles to Sicheii.

  He unwraps a small package and removes a leather notebook. The tattered journal is no larger than a child’s diary. He hands it to me with both hands.

  I look at it suspiciously and remember the dream with ancient Native Americans, jewels, and the campfire from only a few days ago. This could be the same book the old man had at that meeting. The leather is old and dry and cracking. Inscribed on the cover is a simple golden square slanted on its side—the Tribe’s symbol for the Wind Spirit. I open the journal and find neat looking symbols written in black ink. The pages are yellow and brittle.

  I laugh a full body laugh. “What in the world is this?” Tears roll down my face. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Who could understand this?”

  Sicheii frowns. “The book was written over two hundred years ago by an esteemed medicine man chosen by the Wind Spirit. The symbols are an early version of our language. Only those in the Order can discern its meaning now.”

  I carefully flip through the yellowed paper. “Six pages? The Book of Knowledge is only six pages long! You have to be kidding me. I wrote a history paper that was longer than this last week!” I study the first page. “I thought the Chosen was supposed to be able to read it. I have no idea what these symbols mean. The journal could be a cookbook for all I know.”

  Sicheii smiles as he reclaims the leather journal. Nothing fazes him. “I said only the Chosen can read the Book of Gifts. The Book of Knowledge is for the Order to understand.”

  “Well, if the Book of Gifts is written with those symbols, I’ll never understand it.” There’s more. I stare at the second bundle. Anxiety ripples through me.

  What do I want? Do I want proof that this crazy story is true? Something more solid than my ability with these voices, or do I want something easily dismissible? Something that makes me laugh and means that I am not special or Chosen and everything is a big mistake.

  “I see you are interested in the second bundle.” Sicheii lifts it with the tips of his fingers and folds away the black velvet cloth. “We call this the Seeker Slayer. The Wind Spirit gave it to us. The Seeker Slayer has helped convince Troy about the truth behind our Order.” Sicheii smiles. “It has convinced many people of our truthfulness.”

  Sicheii removes a crystal object from the velvet wrappings. The crystal is shaped like a capital T. The long part of the T is the size of my palm. Light sparkles off the antiquity, ricocheting within the internal structure much like a diamond—only this is no diamond. Slight traces of teal and emerald reflect from inside the crystal. The twisted arrows symbol blazes on the long portion of the T in shining silver.

  I know Sicheii wants me to take the relic, but my hand hovers in the air. “What’s it made from?”

  He shrugs. “The Seeker Slayer is not from this world but comes from the land of spirits.” Sicheii smashes the end of the crystal on the slab of stone he used for cooking, and the stone splits. The crystal stays whole without chipping or cracking. “The structure is harder than a diamond.”

  “They had it tested at the University and it doesn’t match anything in their database,” Troy says as he leans forward. His eyes plead with me. He wants me to believe this tale, that he was right to side with my grandfather. I ignore him.

  “Why do you call it the Seeker Slayer?”

  “Only the Chosen can wield this weapon. You will use it to kill the Seeker.” Sicheii pushes the crystal closer toward me.

  “I don’t want to touch it,” I say and shrink away from him. I don’t know why. Maybe I fear what the relic represents, its weirdness, and its otherworldliness. If I take it, I suspect there’s no going back. “It doesn’t look like a weapon to me.”

  Sicheii’s voice is patient and strong. “You’ve passed the first test, Juliet. You have accepted the first gift. You must accept this weapon. It’s the only way.”

  I glance at Sicheii and then at Troy. I wish I had a plan, a way to go back to a normal life. “I just want to be an average, normal person. I’ve never asked for this.”

  “I know, Jules,” Troy says. “None of us asked for this, but what if it’s all real? What if this is the only way? Those guys at Roundtree’s house were real enough.” Troy manages a half-grin. The skin under both of his eyes is still dark and his nose swollen.

  I inch my hand toward the relic. It pulses with energy as I move closer. I steel my nerves and grab the crystal in my right hand. A soft shock and a vibration run through my body as if invisible fingers tickle me and grab hold of me. The air above the crystal shimmers and reforms into a three-foot blade made from the same material as the hilt. Etchings glimmer down its center.

  I have seen swords like this one before: in my dreams.

  I drop the crystal sword, and the blade disappears before the hilt touches the ground. Sicheii smiles, and Troy’s face turns ashen. I want to run, to leave this place and the sword and Sicheii and even Troy behind, but my eyes are locked on the crystal hilt. My breathing is shallow and raspy as air sticks in my lungs.

  I am not special. I am not the smartest or the strongest or the fastest or the richest person. I’m an average girl born between two worlds—one rich and the other Native American. I’m the victim of a cosmic mistake.

  Still, I close my eyes, and visions of Gold Tooth and Slicked Back Hair and Ms. Arnold darken my thoughts. They think I’m special, and as long as they do, everyone I care about remains in danger.

  I push bile back down my throat. I must be more than a scared teenaged girl if I’m going to survive and confront this Seeker, this menace, this future I don’t want but has been thrust upon me.

  “What was that?” I hope Sicheii has more insights and will share the deeper meanings behind what’s happening than he has thus far. I search his lined face for answers and realize his knowledge is limited. He has no more secrets to reveal.

  “The sword is called the Seeker Slayer,” Sicheii answers. “The weapon is blessed by the Wind Spirit. You must use the sword to destroy Coyote’s pawn.”

  “Does it come with an instruction manual?”

  He shakes his head.

  I stare at the crystal hilt as if the relic is a living thing. What does all this have to do with my dreams? How is the Wind Spirit connected to the tall and beautiful looking people with the crystal swords? Sicheii’s description of the Seeker fits one of the tall warriors from my dreams, but that’s crazy. They were just stupid dreams, crazy images from my imagination.

  They weren’t real, or were they?

  I remember to breathe, and with air, resolve slowly nudges aside some of my fear. I can’t ignore the people looking for me, the crazy sword that only appears when I touch the hilt, or the voices and images I hear and see. Even if this whole thing is a big mistake, I’m not going to make it easy for this Seeker to harm me or anyone else I care about. I have to find a way to protect them.

  My legs start bouncing up and down. They’re filled with a kinetic energy. “Let’s go. We can’t sit around here all day.” I jump to my feet. “We had better find that Book of Gifts before the Seeker finds me.”

  “I tried to force Roundtree to divulge its hiding place to me, Juliet, but he refused. I don’t know where to search. I’ve prayed to the Wind Spirit for guidance, but she won’t answer.”

  “I know where Roundtree hid the second book.” At least, I think I have a good idea. I smile and turn my back on them. For once I know something they don’t, which feels good. “And you had better bring that crystal thing with us. You never know who we might run into. A magic sword could come in handy.”

  I head toward th
e RV and wonder where my grandfather parked his car. There’s no way they took the RV into the desert; both front tires are flat. I cross the front of the rusted metal house and find an old green SUV.

  “Where’s the Porsche?”

  “The desert is no place for the Porsche. I may be odd, but I’m not crazy.” Sicheii chuckles. “Besides, don’t you think the SUV is a little less conspicuous?”

  “Maybe just a little.” At least we won’t have to cram into the sports car.

  I slide into the passenger seat, and Troy hops in back with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He doesn’t need to tell me the Seeker Slayer is in the bag. I feel its presence.

  Sicheii settles behind the wheel and turns the key in the ignition. The SUV starts with a slight wheeze and a sputter. “Where to?”

  “Roundtree’s house. The Wind Spirit showed me a sign.”

  Who knows?

  Maybe the Wind Spirit caused that flashlight to shine on the tiny twisted arrows symbol in Roundtree’s living room.

  The drive to Roundtree’s house is uneventful and quiet, so I have time to wrestle with my thoughts. I don’t believe in fate, that our destinies are predetermined in the stars. Troy doesn’t have to stay in this sleepy town to work for his uncle. He can forge his own future. Still, I find myself written into an ancient story I cannot escape.

  I am the Chosen, whether by mistake or not. The Seeker is real. I don’t believe in demons, yet events are happening that have no other explanation, so how can I dismiss the idea altogether? I am the mystery behind the Order of the Twisted Arrows. The center of the mystery that people have died to discover and to keep. Whether I want it or not, those deaths force a certain grim responsibility onto me.

  Sicheii parks in front of Roundtree’s house, where this story started for me and ended for Roundtree. We amble out of the SUV. With no one in sight, I lead us around the side of the house toward the back door.