My Brother, Coyote

by James Buchanan

  True gasped and damn near purred. It felt so good when Seth did that. His cock pulsed between his body and the wood. He writhed under the gentle pleasure burning through his senses. True tucked his knees up under his stomach, giving Seth better access to the sweet spot.

  His cousin nipped at one cheek then licked it to soothe the hurt. The flare of pain was sweet counterpoint to the gentle caresses. Seth tilted his head and fluttered the tip of his tongue over True’s ass. Following the cues of True’s moans, Seth’s tongue swirled about True’s hole tracing, probing. Each thrust drove True a little farther beyond sense. True pushed his dick back between his balls so that Seth could lick from head to hole. Every bit of tender flesh was licked and kissed and sucked. True shuddered as ice flowed between his thighs.

  Now they had time to take it slow. “I want you.” True’s voice was husky with want. “I need you.” He pulled away. Twisting to face his cousin, True slid to the far end of the bench. Seth joined him; one leg folded under his body the other hanging off the seat. They kissed, sharing the taste of True. Then True pushed Seth down, onto his back, and straddled him. Seth laughed. Beads of water spun off in the wake of Seth’s fingers as he ran his hands down True’s chest. True shuddered under the touch. Everything ached with a good, needful kind of ache. Seth’s hands were working back, massaging his ass.

  True found where they’d dropped the gel and squeezed some onto his hand and Seth’s. He gripped Seth’s cock, slicking it down. Fingers worked into his hole and True shivered. When both were hot and slick, True took charge, holding Seth’s cock against his entrance. Every one of his senses was honed by the steam and the herbs. Slow but hard he impaled himself on Seth’s cock, taking him all in. Refusing to stop until their hips met, True’s moan wove into Seth’s cry of pleasure, rising as one sound.

  His body demanded brutal tonight. Nothing else would do. Arms braced on either side of Seth’s chest, True’s pulse raced in two directions at once. It felt so good. A little bit of pain, a lot of pleasure… suffocating heat and overpowering pheromones, True was in ecstasy.

  Rough hands kneaded his abdomen. Cycles of pressure and release battered his senses as he lifted himself almost to where there was no contact and then slammed back down. Again and again and again he rammed himself onto Seth’s cock. Sexual energy pulsed and vibrated in a private, surreal world.

  Sweat ran down their bodies. Seth’s fingers were tangled in his hair. The other hand stroked the fire between True’s legs. “Oh bro, oh bro.” The chant broke in short, sharp barks. Fire was flooding his veins. Seth squeezed his dick and True cried out at the assault. Ánaaí’s hips came off the bench as he flooded True’s channel with his ecstasy. Molten heat burned through True’s sanity, shredding his control. Throwing his head back he howled Seth’s name.

  True dropped, exhausted, upon Seth’s chest. His mouth sought Seth’s lips, but found his cheek. Seth was drawing lazy circles across his back, fingers drumming to the matched beats of their hearts. The world was perfect. Their minds were centered. They would sleep and Dawn Boy would find them in harmony with the world.

  Hózhó.

  ~~~~~

  He woke in his war name: Chaha’oh’hante, Angry Shadow. True’s secret name known only to a few; he could count them on one hand. Chaha’oh’hante, True, jumped to his feet. Day break in the desert; the world in beauty spread before him.

  True’s feet pounded sand as the kiss of Tsohanoai, Day Bearer, rippled across his bare chest. He spread his arms to the heavens, worshiping the warmth. Níłch’i, Holy Wind, played with his hair, drawing long, dark tendrils out behind him. The scarlet cloths tied at his elbows and knees snapped in the breeze. Níłch’i licked the pads of True’s fingers and toes before dancing on True’s tongue so that he might bring forth sound.

  Arms coated in white clay reached to the sky as True opened his mouth, calling forth the joy of his heart. “Happily I wander. Impervious to pain, I wander.” Silver disks, threaded on the leather belts circling his hips, shimmered in the sun. “Feeling light within, I wander. In beauty I wander.” Tsitse’yo, three bands of turquoise beads, ran across his throat.

  “Beauty before me, with it I wander. Beauty behind me, with it I wander.” Abalone-Woman, White-Bead-Shell-Girl, Jet-Maiden and Turquoise-Girl swayed on their mountaintops, their feet stomping out the rhythm of his voice. Downy feathers cast from Naste Estsan’s, Spider Woman’s, hands fell about him like snow.

  Tse’Bit’a’i’, The Rock-With-Wings, floated high in the air, having taken flight from the earth below. “Beauty below me, with it I wander. Beauty above me, with it I wander.” The white man’s castle rock cradled him in its bone white fingers. True threaded in and out of the canyons, the eagle’s plumes woven into his hair trembled with the passing of Níłch’i.

  “Beauty all around me, with it I wander. In old age traveling, with it I wander.” Seth’s voice joined his own, celebrating, singing. From behind him Ánaaí wove, feet drumming the clay. A black kilt trimmed in silver swayed at his hips. Strips of otter fur and porcupine quills spilled over his right shoulder. Two voices rising in one sound, “On the beautiful trail I am, with it I wander.”

  “It is finished in beauty. It is finished in beauty. It is finished in beauty.” True stilled in their dancing. As the rocks upon which they stood took flight, he pulled his cousin to him, kissed him long and hard. The breath of their bodies passed between them. Finally True spoke, “Why have you come?”

  Seth’s skin was coated in white clay. His face painted blue and chin coated in yellow. The black marks of his fingers lined Seth’s face along his jaw. Reflected in the silver disks at his waist was True’s own face; painted in white, but with the same yellow and black marks on his jaw. Seth laughed, “Little Breath bids me to come and I must obey.” The white feathers of eagles and owls were twined into Seth’s hair, more feathers of jays and turkeys were tied to his wrists with red cord.

  Below them, across the whole of Dinétah, The Holy Land, warriors raced. Their screams shredded the sky. Dîné warriors clothed in the four cardinal colors: white in the east, blue for south, yellow from the west and the north being black. The clash of their bodies rippled through the canyons and mountains in ever widening circles. At the center a tall warrior, his pale face rimmed in turquoise and his body clothed in a rust colored pelt, raised his staff, threatening Tsohanoai. Níłch’i tugged on the fur at his calves and forearms. A bag of skin twirled at the end of the staff, catching the sun and spewing spider-webs of light across Dinétah. As it spun, it pulled the threads from True and Seth’s songs within its belly, devouring their joy.

  At his command, the combatants swarmed the sides of Tse’Bit’a’i’, biting it, clawing the rock with their fingers. They dug furrows in the sands of the Female Pollen Range. With a scream the warrior struck the Earth. Black ichor gushed from the soul of Dsahadoldza, Fringed Mouth, and caught fire. Bloated and ravenous the Pale Chief gathered the blood and skin and pollen into himself. Then he demanded more.

  Young Navajo warriors fell from breathing the fumes of their god’s burning blood. They lay gasping for air, black spittle running down their chins as they suffocated. Others, who had ripped off the shiny skin of the god, shriveled to skeletons, coughing up blood. Fine, white sand mixed with a foul, yellow cloud, covered them in silica mist. Skin reddened and festered with evil, yellow blisters as warriors wept with swollen, blind eyes. Blood ran from their noses and the corners of their mouths and became a river of sorrow.

  The red and black ran in two streams towards the base of Tse’Bit’a’i’. Murky liquid bubbled in a foul lake where they met.

  He stepped from the junction of the two rivers… the old man at the dance; the man who was powerful. Tsohanoai hid his face within his hands and clothed the world in darkness. The singer’s skin was painted black and lightening cracked the fissures in his face. Eyes of white shell stared blankly at True and Seth, knowing them. Fox skin draped his collar. Crimson cloth clung to his hips under a lea
ther belt with silver ornaments. Bones rattled as the old man strode towards Castle Rock.

  They leapt. Landing hard and running, Seth and True headed deeper into the canyons. The grey-squirrel pouch bounced on True’s leg. His hand dug deep and brought forth Spider Woman. Her silken skein laced through his fingers. Braiding, twining, plaiting the delicate threads as he ran, he heard Seth’s scream slice the rocks behind him.

  The singer, Ntsaaz, grown to giant, stretched clay-covered arms forth. Ghost white hands clamped into red-brown hair. With a twist of his great arm the giant caught up Ánaaí, swung him above his head. He threw Seth. Jagged teeth of Hogback gaped for the offering. Dropping to his knees True gathered armfuls of Nane Estsan’s feathers. True pitched them into the air. Níłch’i caught them, blanketed wicked teeth with them. Seth landed in a cloud of white. He rolled across the earth and came up running.

  True turned. An immense, white hand latched its fingers about his face. Ntsaaz lifted him high off the ground. Legs dangling in the air, True clawed at the massive fingers digging into his skin. The singer pitched True into Pah’gosa Hot Springs to boil off his skin. Spider Woman’s rope was in his hands. He lassoed Tsisnaasjini’, Dawn Mountain. The rope snapped tight. True’s arms jerked in their sockets. He hung inches above the boiling water. Sweat ran as snakes off his body, leaving their tracks in the clay as they fled. True swung to the rim and slipped the rope from Tsisnaasjini’. Gathering the lasso in fine loops, he ran.

  Catching a handful of snakes, Ntsaaz leapt towards Seth. The prayer rattles sounded in anger. With a scream, the singer pulled them straight as spears. The first struck Ánaaí between his shoulders. He fell forward to his knees. The second and third bit into his sides. Being made from True, they recognized the scent of their own breath in Seth’s mouth. They feasted on that and fell as water on the ground. Readying the fourth spear, the giant bounded towards Seth.

  True paced him. The weight of the rope light in his fingers, he sent it into the sky. Spider Woman’s lasso sang as it flew. Silver cord settled across the singer’s shoulders. It snapped tight. The singer bucked, twisted. True’s heels dug into the sand. Changing from small to large and back again they fought. Ntsaaz reared back, pulling True to the ground. The singer lunged, dragging True into the canyons. Earth tore True’s chest and arms.

  Ntsaaz plunged over the ridge of the Grand Canyon. True was launched into the sky. As they plummeted towards the winding river, True pulled Nane Estsan’s rope through his hands. They landed with a thump that sent ripples through the land. True was on one side of a spire. Ntsaaz on the other. True was up and around and under the rope, winding it once about the rock. Feet planted against the stone, True yanked it taught. Ntsaaz fought the line, twisting and lunging and braying.

  Inch by inch they wrestled. The sky rolled above the battle, going light and dark more times than True could mark. Inexorably True pulled Ntsaaz closer. Arms thrumming with exhaustion, True finally felt the line go slack. S trength gone, the singer lay panting, hands clawed into the sand. A fine powder of sulfur slipped between True’s fingers as he swept his hand across the earth. True clambered onto the massive chest and shoved his palm over Ntsaaz’s mouth and nose. Grinding it in, True forced his opponent to breathe in the powder. Shell eyes went wide. Feet drummed the ground. Ntsaaz’s head whipped from side to side, growing smaller as he struggled. Finally the struggling stopped and True removed his hand.

  Slack and blank and old, the singer stared at the sky. Yellow flecked the skin on Ntsaaz’s nose and mouth. As Seth stood watching, True drew a circle in the dust about the body, locking the chindi within. Then he pulled Seth to him, kissed him.

  Seth laughed against his lips, “It is done?”

  “The worry, Ánaaí,” he touched his forehead to his cousin’s, “is gone. He is gone.”

  FIFTH

  (ashdla’)

  Torrents of shadow raged about the pickup. The frame shook as a branch banged into the side and chill water ran over his boots. Oh, crap, this was going bad fast. Next time he’d just tell Martha he couldn’t make it. Assuming, that is, that there was a next time. True rolled down the window and clambered up onto the roof of the cab. Rain soaked him through in minutes. Teeth chattered as the thick azure light of a thunderstorm dawn seeped across the sky. January was a shitty month to be stranded outside in New Mexico.

  Salvation sounded in the roar of another engine. A battered and faded blue dodge crested the rise. Gears grinding to a stop, a lanky form slunk from the cab. “Yo, bro, ya need help.” True almost cried; it was Seth’s voice. His cousin shook his head, wet hair whipping over his face. Calling over the roar of the wash, “Tick? What are you doing?”

  True opened his hands towards the sky, “Nothing what-so-ever.”

  Seth laughed, “So I see.” Whistling as he came down the hill, Seth shrugged out of his jacket. “Do as I say and you’ll be okay,” he had to yell to be heard over the crash of the water. “If you can drop the gate you can get pretty close to these rocks.” A jerk of Seth’s chin indicated a pile of large boulders. “I’ll toss my jacket to you; we’ll use it as a rope. Got it?”

  Already splashing across the pickup bed to fumble with the gate, “Got it!” True managed to force the cranky handle, almost falling into the wash as it dropped. He crawled the last few inches and then jumped into the flood. One hand held a death grip on the Toyota’s frame; the other grabbed for the sleeve of Seth’s denim jacket as it was thrown. The fourth try he snagged it.

  When he let go of the truck the water sucked his legs out from under him. The jacket jerked taught as True went under. He came up sputtering. Seth was on his ass, legs splayed out and braced against the stones. True fought the raging water, working towards his cousin. Seth drew the fabric in. Finally their hands met. Wrapping fingers over wrists, Seth heaved True from the river’s grip. For a moment they lay panting. Then Ánaaí pounded his shoulder and scrambled up the bank. Slipping, at times losing more ground than he gained, True followed.

  When they sat safe in Seth’s truck, True palmed Seth’s face and laughed. “Look at me,” his voice was thick with disgust at his own stupidity, “I’m all wet!” True was more than wet. Both of them were. Thick swipes of opalescent clay coated jeans and jackets and faces. The rank smell of caleche was suffocating in the confines of the cab.

  “Yep, all covered in mud.” Seth remarked on the obvious. “That’s what happens when I pull you out of a flash flood,” Seth smirked. “You’ll be wet for a while. Be glad you’re alive, bro.”

  “How did you know to look for me here?”

  Throwing the pickup into reverse, “Bro, I always know how to find you. Little Breath whispers it in my ear.” That was always his answer. Bumping along the rutted road, skidding at times, they drove silently towards the highway. Finally Seth broke the silence. “So what were you doing out there, Tick?”

  True was still irritated at himself and he took it out on Seth. “Don’t call me Tick,” he snapped.

  “Why not, Tick?” Seth drew out the nickname, teasing him with it... an older brother’s right.

  Stewing for a bit longer, he lashed out with his own question. “So how was your vacation, Seth?” The moment the words left his mouth True regretted them. Using Seth’s name, when speaking to him, was an insult. Names were to be used to refer to a person not present. It was belittling to speak a man’s name to his face.

  Soft, hurt, “Oh, now Bro, that’s just harsh.”

  “I’m sorry, Ánaaí.” True pushed his wet hair from his eyes. Staring out of a rain streaked window, True chewed on his lower lip. His fingers massaged the hurt out against the cracked dash. “I’m mad at myself, not you. I shouldn’t… I’m sorry. Was it bad this time?”

  “Naw, it’s county. I can do a month in county standing on my head.” Sly laughter let True know he was forgiven. “Hell, Tick, prison got me my fucking GED and a BS in Engineering. I’m one edumicated Injun, just like you. You know if I was out I wouldn’t have had no time
for that crap.”

  More quiet, just the fading drum of rain on the roof. Like most New Mexico storms this one had hit hard and fast and then disappeared. With a jolt they hit the pavement, bounding down Highway 70 for a time before turning off onto another dirt road. They were heading towards the base of the Organ Mountains; out where True lived now. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were out? Why didn’t you go home for a while, see Uncle Jim? You should get your center back after being in prison with strangers.”

  Seth shrugged, “Who’s to tell besides you, Tick?” His eyes stopped scanning for the turn and focused on True. With a sad smile he gave his attention back to the road.

  “Here,” True pointed out the direction to take. It had been months since Seth had been with True. A bar fight in Dona Ana got him sent up for drunk and disorderly. “Maybe our family?”

  “Cousin-brother,” a deep, painful sigh, “other than you, I don’t got no fucking family.”

  There was nothing to be said to something like that. It wasn’t right, but True could understand how Seth might feel that way. He’d give his cousin a few days to get over being out and then they’d go see Uncle Jim, and maybe arrange an Enemy Way ceremony to get Seth past it, clear the contamination out of his system.