Qaletaqa

by Gladden, DelSheree

  “What did she see?” Claire asked. Her voice was thin. She reached over and took my injured hand, holding it tightly.

  “What Kaya saw and what I saw were a little different,” I explained. “Everything moved so fast that all I could see was images. Kaya was able to interpret some of what she saw. She saw both the possibility of me living my life with my Twin Soul and of me coming back to you. She said there were choices I would have to make that would determine which one came true.”

  “What were the choices?” Claire asked.

  “She said I would have to choose between saving you and my Twin Soul. She said you would make a choice that would affect my future, but she didn’t know what it was. She also said I would meet a person who equals me in power, and how I chose to deal with them will determine my future,” I said. “At first I didn’t understand any of it, but after Melody was taken, I knew I was facing the first choice, saving you or her. I was sure you couldn’t hold out much longer without help. I chose you, and I believe it was the right choice. The others? I don’t know any more about them now than I did then.”

  Claire took in everything I had just said without a word. It was several seconds before she finally spoke. “What did you see? You said it was different than what Kaya saw.”

  She had asked the question I was most reluctant to answer. “I just saw pictures really. They went by so fast, I only saw a few.” Claire was not going to let me off that easily. Her curious gaze was focused and unrelenting. “I saw the ranch, fields, me in a lot of pain, Talon covered in blood, a woman wearing a veil, and…my daughter.”

  A gasp escaped Claire’s lips and brought her hands up to her face. “Your daughter? Who was her mother?”

  I shook my head sadly. I wanted the same answer. “I don’t know.”

  Suddenly Claire bounded of the bed and flew to her backpack. Her unexpected movement left me watching her in confusion. What was she doing?

  Claire unzipped a pocket and produced something thin and brown. In a flash Claire was back at my side. Holding out what she had needed so badly, I stared in wonder. The thin strip of leather was decorated with vibrant beads in a complex and beautiful pattern. My father had planned to give it to me after graduation, but he passed away before that day came. My mother found the box after his funeral and given it to me in his place. It was a token passed down to him from his father when he reached manhood, meant to be given to me at the right moment.

  I had so many questions about how she had found it or why she had it with her still, but none of them were important. I stared at Claire’s hands as she offered me the same token my father had wanted me to have, and I asked her my most burning question. “Why are you giving this to me?”

  Pulling my hand up, Claire began tying the bracelet around my wrist. “When I was looking for things to help me remember you, this is what held me together the longest,” she said.

  I didn’t understand. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Yes, your father was supposed to give it to you when he thought you became a man, and you’ll give it to your son, our son, for the same reason. It connects your past to our future. It will remind you of what we’ll have one day,” Claire said. The conviction in her voice made her words a solid declaration. She was so sure, I couldn’t help but believe her.

  “You may not know whether the child you saw in the vision was from me or Melody, but I know. I have imagined what our children will look like for years. I can’t wait to meet them, to teach them our traditions, and watch them grow up in their father’s footsteps.”

  The bracelet, securely fastened around my wrist, truly was a beacon. Claire held it up with tears in her eyes. “Every time you look at this, you’ll see that little girl and know that she belongs to us, only us, and that one day we’ll hold her in our arms and tell her how much we love her and everything we went through to make sure she would be a part of our lives.”

  Tears fell down Claire’s cheeks, splashing down on my wrist, leaving three deep brown circles on the old leather. Three. One for Claire. One for me. And one for the daughter I hoped with all my heart would belong only to us.

  11: Reality

  Lying in Uriah’s arms was bliss. We had collapsed back on the bed after I gave him the bracelet, neither one of us quite ready to face the day. Exhausted, Uriah had fallen back asleep within minutes. Sleep didn’t return to me, but peace did. Even when the reality of where we were and what we were doing crept back into my mind I was momentarily too lost in his embrace to care.

  I snuggled against his body even more and closed my eyes. It didn’t take much to pretend we were back home, lying together with no other cares in the world. Only the ever present pulsing of the bond kept me from taking the fantasy any further.

  She was out there somewhere. Melody. A small corner of my mind harbored a momentous dose of resentment for her. It bordered on hate. Not so much toward Melody, exactly, but toward the world or gods. Whoever it was that had taken our lives and woven them into a hopeless mess. I hated the idea that anyone was controlling my future. It rubbed at me until I exploded, usually in the form of a tantrum. I had learned to deal with my fear more since being with Uriah, but the familiar edge of losing control had returned.

  It wasn’t just the hunt for Melody. The desperate need to find her was at the top of Uriah’s list of worries. I didn’t blame him for being so single-minded. If he knew what I knew it would tear his focus in two, put him at risk of making a mistake. I couldn’t burden him with that. If he knew my part in this twisted story he would never let me stay with him.

  I lied to Uriah. When he asked about the possibility of my being a shaman, about what I knew and the book, I panicked and lied through my teeth to him. Guilt for my decision, especially after being so upset with him for leaving me out of everything just a few days ago, sank into my bones. It was almost enough to make me wake Uriah and explain everything. Remembering my last conversation with Quaile held me back.

  “What is it, Claire?” Quaile asked.

  “I need the book.”

  “What book?”

  “The one you already know isn’t meant for you,” I said.

  Her head shook slowly. Her hands trembled, but she tried to deny any knowledge of what I was referring to. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Claire.”

  “Yes, you do. You already know you aren’t the one meant to help Uriah. If you were you would have taught him what he needed to know a long time ago. You would have gone with him. You know the book doesn’t belong to you.”

  “How can you know that,” she whispered.

  “Bhawana wasn’t the only one to have a vision about Uriah, but you already know that. It’s time to pass the book on to someone else. It’s time to pass it on to the person who was meant to use it,” I said.

  “Who?” she asked. “Are you going to take it to the shaman in Hano?”

  The answer should have been plain to her. I shook my head. “No, I won’t take it to Hano.”

  “Then who?” she asked, her voice trailing off at the end as her eyes widened. Her lips moved soundlessly. Whatever words she wanted to speak not making past her mouth until a hand came up to cover her mouth entirely. Finally, her body sagged in defeat. “I thought you were just saying what you said about a girl waiting for Daniel to persuade him to leave you. You meant it, didn’t you? You knew he would find someone else.”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “The same way I hurt Uriah every time I touch him. Did you even know I did that to him?” I asked. All the wondering, the searching, and Quaile had the answer the whole time.

  “You…” Her eyes widened even further. “No, I didn’t know that. I had no idea. I waited and waited for some sign of who was going to help him if it wasn’t me.”

  “The answer was right under your nose the whole time, Quaile. You were just too busy ruining people’s lives to see it,” I said.

  She sank back into her chair, a withered woman. Quaile shook her h
ead in defeat. “It’s too late, now. There’s no hope for him.”

  “Yes, there is, Quaile. There’s still time,” I said with certainty. “Give me the book. It belongs to me. I’m the only one who can use it. I’m the only one who can help Uriah defeat the Matwau.”

  I told Uriah that Quaile gave me the book, made it sound like it was her idea. I was the one who asked for the book. After what my dad told me, I knew I had to have it if I planned on keeping Uriah alive. There was one thing I told Uriah about the book that wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t been able to read it yet. As much as being back with Uriah consumed my body and mind, I had been itching to delve into whatever it was that was hidden there.

  Uriah was right about what I was. The blood of many shamans ran through my body. Uriah’s reaction to me had something to do with what I was. A shaman.

  The problem, the reason I didn’t tell this to Uriah, was that I didn’t know any more than that. I was a shaman. I was meant to help Uriah defeat the Matwau. How? I was hoping that information was somewhere in Quaile’s book. It had to be. On an impulse, I slipped out of Uriah’s arms. Well, I tried to anyway. As soon as I moved, his arms tightened around me. His face nuzzled against my neck as he woke.

  “I love waking up next to you,” Uriah said.

  “So do I.”

  Propping himself up on his elbow let Uriah look over me to see the clock radio on the night stand. He groaned and held me even tighter. “We should really get up. He’s already moving.”

  “Do you mind if I shower first?” I asked.

  “Sure, I’m going to check in with my mom.”

  My kiss goodbye lasted a little longer than I meant it to, but I was in the shower soon after. My first impulse was to rush through washing. I wanted to shower first so I could get to the book while Uriah got ready. In this moment of solitude, my mind was bathed in the first moment of peace and quiet since drinking the poisoned tea my father gave me. I still needed to hurry, but I also needed a minute to think.

  Before I left San Juan my father spilled out everything he knew about my place in Uriah’s destiny, and then I ran to Quaile in search of Uriah and the book. I’d barely had time to really process what my dad told me. Maybe I missed something. Water streamed down my body as I closed my eyes and remembered the second vision, the one Uriah knew nothing about.

  My dad began with a name. Nampeyo.

  Overshadowed by Bhawana, Nampeyo was considered only a child. She was under the care of Bhawana, her apprentice. Bhawana’s vision of the Qaletaqa filled the minds of tribe. Her words brought excitement and hope, planning and preparation. Even the children became wrapped up in the prophecy, even though most of them had no idea of the danger the Matwau presented and the agony he could cause. But they loved stories of heroes, and the Qaletaqa would be the greatest hero in their history.

  So when a few days later, during a training session, Nampeyo fell into her own vision of the Qaletaqa, Bhawana first ignored the girl’s ethereal words as a mere reflection of her own vision. Not until Nampeyo started speaking of another, one meant to aid the Qaletaqa, did she begin listening in earnest. Nampeyo spoke of a shaman. She said this shaman would be powerful, a compliment to the Qaletaqa. Nampeyo warned that there would be signs to distinguish her from other shaman. Their powers would rebel against each other until the time came for them to be used against the Matwau. Without her, the Qaletaqa would not be able to defeat the dark gods’ creature.

  My dad admitted then that he had married an Anglo outsider with the hope that non-Tewa blood would dilute the power in his bloodline, make his children unworthy of holding the tribe’s power. He hoped to protect his descendants from becoming involved in the prophecy.

  It hadn’t worked.

  I pressured my dad to tell me more about Nampeyo’s prophecy, but he couldn’t. He said he knew there was more to it, but Bhawana had refused to share it with the chief during her life, and that secrecy had continued all the way to Quaile. All he knew was that there was a book Quaile carried with her. The only time he had ever seen her open it was when the Qaletaqa was referenced. He told me to get the book if I planned on following Uriah.

  I had tried to peek at what the book held when I left San Juan, but driving and reading didn’t mix very well. I put the book away reluctantly, forgotten when I finally reached Uriah again. I knew only a fraction of what I needed to know, and had so little time to figure everything out. That thought spurred me to finish up.

  I gave up the quiet of the bathroom to Uriah in exchange for the book hidden in my backpack. I knew Uriah would be out quickly, so I skimmed over Bhawana’s original prophecy written on the first few pages. I knew that one by heart now after hearing my dad, Quaile, and Uriah retell it. That prophecy was the one thing I did manage to read from the book before giving up on the idea for the sake of safety. My fingers turned the last page of Bhawana’s prophecy hoping to find the details of Nampeyo’s prophecy. Instead I found something unexpected.

  A folded, worn piece of paper fell out. Opening it was a slow process because I was afraid it would crumble to bits if I was too rough with the ancient letter. As the words were revealed I could tell this was not the same handwriting as in the book. The book was written by Quaile, transcribed from the words of her teacher. Quaile was the first to write down the oral traditions of the shaman. She had faced ridicule and rejection several times for even asking permission to write everything down, but eventually the previous shaman relented, knowing the tradition of oral storytelling was slowly disappearing from her tribe.

  This letter, though, was not written in Quaile’s angular hand. It was flowing and graceful, penmanship from another time. It was also written in Spanish. I took two years of Spanish in school, but I pulled out my phone to help me translate what I didn’t understand. The first few words were easy, but very formal. Scanning the top of the letter, I saw why. It was dated 1698. The name in the first sentence piqued my interest immediately. The letter was written by a Tewa.

  “I am Yungé, but the name given to me by the Spanish when I was selected to be taught is Estela Cortez. I was given the name in honor of one of the soldiers who died during the revolt. I do not wish to speak of the revolt. I learned to write because I have need to pass down information that may otherwise be lost.

  “I am a descendant of Nampeyo, the great shaman who prophesied of the Qaletaqa’s need for help when she was only a child. Many, even Bhawana, counted her vision as an aberration. Bhawana never saw the same vision for herself, and because of that felt there was very little validity to her apprentice’s vision. Nampeyo, though, knew that the vision came to her for a specific reason. One of her descendants would be the one to aid the Qaletaqa.

  “Bhawana did not believe this claim, so it was not added to shaman lore along with the prophecy, but Nampeyo made sure her children took up the cause in her stead.

  “I have become ill. I do not know whether I will survive this sickness. I am the last of Nampeyo’s descendants. I am carrying my first child. I am positive my child will survive to carry on Nampeyo’s line, but I do not know if the same can be said for me.

  “If I do not survive this disease, I fear the knowledge will be lost and the shaman to come will not be prepared. The prophecy was memorized and handed down to each new shaman, but knowing the one to be called would come from her own line Nampeyo called on the gods many times to ask of their knowledge. She learned from the elders and the wise ones of our tribe how to help her descendant.”

  I stopped reading the letter when my eye caught a handwritten note scrawled in the margins. Quaile’s addition to the letter answered the question which had burst into my mind as soon as Yungé said Nampeyo’s descendant would be the chosen shaman. Why wasn’t her lineage kept then? Why didn’t Quaile know it was me? I read the note eagerly.

  Yungé did die of her illness. She carried her child to term. Her son was born before her death, but the child’s name and line were lost because no one but Nampeyo’s children believed her line had an
y importance, and pueblo lineages are tracked matrilineal. The boy’s children would have been linked to his wife, not him. If that child had been followed I would have been able to know more easily whether or not I was the chosen shaman. With no other signs to guide me, I could only wait and watch.

  Shaking my head at the arrogance of one woman, I turned back to the letter.

  “This is what Nampeyo learned.

  “The signs of the chosen shaman are important. There will be a repulsion toward the Qaletaqa. This will not be based on feeling, but on power. Before the time comes to work in consort, the powers of shaman and Qaletaqa will oppose each other, cause pain to one or both. This will happen because their powers must not join until the appointed time, or all will be lost.

  “The Qaletaqa will be blessed with many gifts to call animals and bend other to his will, none of which will affect the chosen shaman. She must be above his influence. Her mind must be her own so she may make the choice of her own free will and conscience. This must be because the choice she will be asked to make will be most difficult. Aiding the Qaletaqa will be no small task. It will be costly, the most of which may be her life. The least of which will be her power.”

  The sound of Uriah coming out of the bathroom startled me into shoving the book back into my backpack. I kept my eyes down as my mind raced. Quaile had handed over the book, hopeless that it would do any good. She thought it was too late for me to learn, to even reach Uriah. I almost left, intent on proving her wrong, but her last words to me refused to let me walk away.

  “I was wrong, Claire. I was wrong about the bond. I know how to break the bond.”

  She stunned me with those words. I had just went through torture at her hands, given the Shaxoa’s potion only to be told it wouldn’t work, told by Quaile that there was no way to break the bond and forced to turn away my Twin Soul and smother the bond as best I could. And then she blurted out that she knew how to break it. I lost all feeling in that moment, going colder as she explained.