Sky Coyote (Company)

by Kage Baker

  “Looks like everybody’s in a celebratory mood,” I remarked.

  “They’re thrilled,” replied Sepawit. “Nervous, You know, because this isn’t like performing for some other village’s visiting dignitaries. I’m sure You’ve seen better dancing in the World above This One.”

  “You’d be surprised.” I scanned the dark in infrared, spotting our security techs silent and motionless out there in the night. “Some gods don’t care much for fun. My group are all set to enjoy themselves, though!”

  “I think they’ll be pleased with what the kantap’s prepared,” Sepawit told me. “They’re really quite talented, our guys, remarkable artists, considering they’re businessmen too. Um … by the way, Coyote. I suppose You’re aware of everything that’s going on in this world … You’d tell me if we were in any danger from, ah, other tribes, wouldn’t You? Like for instance those people we talked about?”

  “The Chinigchinix cult? Of course. They can’t hurt you, Sepawit, not with me here. What’s got you worrying?”

  “Oh, just that I’m overdue for a report from my Speaker. I sent him south to gather facts … He should have returned by now, that’s all.” Sepawit finished and stepped back from the edge. I felt bad for him. He was looking out into a darkness a lot blacker than the night, from the edge of a pit much deeper and filled with nastier stuff.

  “I can’t answer for your Speaker, Sepawit. You know that bad things happen. You’ve got my word for it, though: I’ll keep you safe, you and everybody here tonight,” I told him.

  “I believe You,” he sighed, rubbing where his ulcer was hurting him.

  We went back in, and Sepawit picked his way through the crowd to the fire, where he raised both hands for attention.

  “Everybody? We’re just about ready to start”—assorted cheers from the multitude, spirits and villagers alike—”so settle down and get comfortable. Before we begin, I’d like to remind all of you to thank the Civic Works Committee for the great job they did on fixing up the hoop field at such short notice. And let’s not make their job tomorrow any more difficult by leaving trash around, all right? Wherever you’re sitting, be sure to look around you when you leave and pick up any bones or leaf wrappings or whatever you may have discarded in the course of the evening and make sure you throw them in the latrine where they belong. Agreed?” There were grumbles of assent from various quarters. Somebody far to the back yelled:

  “We want a SHOW!”

  “Yeah!!” shrieked one of our anthropologists gleefully. I turned around with a stern look. Got to preserve cosmic order, after all. Everybody took the hint and focused attention on the sacred enclosure, except for MacCool, who was solicitously offering Mendoza a bowl of acorn mush. She was declining politely, looking through him.

  “All right, all right!” Sepawit looked toward the sacred enclosure for a cue. “Just sit tight, folks, because I think—are we? We are? Here we go!”

  He stepped back into the shadows as a drumming cadence began and was picked up by a shrill chorus of whistles. From an unseen place the music grew louder, until it was an alert, a warning, like flashing lights. Someone invisible threw something on the fire, and colored flames leaped up. Out of the darkness came a long low growl, a sound to raise the hackles on an old operative who remembered cave bears. Hold on: where was it coming from? Was it drooling out of the shadows behind us? From over here? Over there? Had something come down from the hills? Every member of the audience shivered and crouched down, but nobody could look away from the leaping flames.

  There! It was a bear, shambling forward out of the enclosure. It was a grizzly, turning his head this way and that to smell the air. He shrugged his humping shoulders and muscled up on hind legs, weaving from side to side. You could see the costume feathers and Nutku’s face, you knew it was only him, but there was another dimension here. In cities, in theaters in Europe at this very moment, with carriages drawn up outside and grease-painted players on dusty boards, it would be called suspension of disbelief. Here it was something a lot more profound, and it tugged at my heart painfully.

  It was a grizzly, and it was the power in Nutku’s shoulders, and it was the thing you think might be a bear when you’re all alone on the trail and you’ve caught a glimpse, maybe, of a profile in the trees. It was that thing in the wild that makes your blood run cold. Though it fascinates, too, because you can’t look away from what might be—what is—Death Himself standing on hind legs.

  And here came crouched things, moving slow, shaking rattles of turtle shell in perfect time with the weaving dance of the bear. First one, then another, then a third set up a droning hum, three harmonic tones blending in an eerie wail. It rose in pitch. It became a melody with chanted words.

  Listen up now, listen for your life,

  Show’s about to start, the star is here, I am here,

  Tooth and claw, Murder on two legs, Murder on four legs!

  Am I man? Am I beast? I’m POWER in the flesh!

  Do you feel me stamping, feel the weight of my step?

  Do you see the torn earth, see tree bark hanging in shreds?

  Do you hear that groan, that cough that means

  It’s time to hit the trail? Can you outrun me?

  No, don’t move! Watch now and pray.

  He grunts, up there in the trees where you can’t see him.

  Is that an earthquake, or just him coming?

  Last night he came to a house,

  They thought it was a thunderclap, that noise,

  Rocking wind and rattling hail,

  Even when the walls cracked and split,

  Even when the Night came in for them.

  Oh, get out of my way!

  I am the One with the Raking Hand,

  I am the Mountain Come Walking,

  I am Power and No Reason!

  Is there anywhere safe from me,

  Any corner of the world I don’t own?

  Pray I don’t walk on my two legs to your house.

  I am Power and No Reason!

  The words trailed away, but the tune grew louder now and the music stepped up its rattling pace. The audience was frozen in place, even we immortals, because Bear was pacing among us. We could see the glint of his little malignant eyes, and those weren’t costume feathers brushing us but rank fur. The clumsy shuffle wasn’t funny, didn’t make you think of country fairs and fiddlers, oh no; it was scary as hell, because we all knew it wasn’t old Nutku in there, it was a dark god.

  The menacing flutes and rattles led him through us, in and out of the rows of people, slowly questing after a scent, turning and turning his head to sniff the wind. Just about at the point where the tension was becoming intolerable, the music changed. Or was it the wind that changed? A whole string of little high notes made Bear lift his head: he’d caught the scent at last. He began to edge his way back out of the crowd, following that shrill refrain, and you could smell the relief in the audience as he shambled with deliberate steps for the arch of whalebone. Chac chac chac, the rattles led him on; chac chac chac, he nosed the doorway; he was almost through, the whistles very faint now; then abruptly, the fire blazed up as he whirled to stand, silhouetted black, claws up and threatening, and the flutes screamed out, and there was a thundering roll of the drums.

  And blackout!

  I gasped, able to breathe at last.

  What had happened was that the kantap’s special-effects genius had thrown a cover over the fire, a big woven lid lined with wet moss, and held it there a second in the darkness and confusion while Nutku made his exit. Then it was yanked away, and there was a dim light from the rekindling flames and a lot of smoke and coughing. People were laughing or sobbing with the release of tension. Stiff limbs were stretched. Old grandmothers with apple cheeks and droopy breasts shifted sleepy babies, a bunch of adolescent boys near the front whooped with sudden laughter like honking geese.

  When the smoke had cleared and the buzz of talk had died away, a figure was revealed sitting alert and upright
in the whalebone doorway. There were a lot of shy giggles and sidelong looks at me, then, because it was Coyote sitting there. It was Kaxiwalic, actually, in an eared hood with a long dog snout tied on over his nose, and in a little fur breechclout with a long tail attached behind and a long stuffed-fur penis attached in front.

  I just grinned and laughed. Kaxiwalic waited until the snickers had died down before speaking.

  “Eeevening, neighbors,” he whined. “Got any food?” Which was apparently an old routine, because with delighted yells the audience began to hurl garbage at him. Gnawed bones and mussel shells clattered through the air, and he made a show of scampering about on all fours to retrieve them. He had the dog moves down perfectly: I could have learned a thing or two from him,especially when he leaped straight up to catch a flying deer rib in his teeth. He got a standing ovation and applause from my fellow immortals for that one.

  “Thank you, thank you.” He waved the bombardment to a stop. “You’re all so kind! And what a turnout we have tonight, huh? What a lot of distinguished visitors from the World Above. Or is that a forest of trees?” An unseen drummer struck a double note you’d have sworn was a rim shot. Kaxiwalic peered through the darkness at us, shading his eyes. “No, no—some of them have tits. Definitely not trees. And look! There’s my very own old Grandfather Sky Coyote! Grandpa, how’s it going? Long time no see! Mama says you can come home now, by the way—the girl’s brothers have all died and the baby was born without a tail!”

  Whoops of appreciative laughter. A young mother wiped tears from her eyes, giggling, and her nursing baby pulled loose to chortle in empathy and clap his little fat hands. Kaxiwalic watched us all with bright eyes, judging the timing before he resumed:

  “All right! On that spiritually uplifting note, I’d like to introduce a powerful ally. He’s one tough customer, but we owe him a lot for driving those herds of seals up on the beach every year. Ladies, gentlemen, sky spirits, let’s give a big welcome to—Killer Whale!”

  Blackout again, and when the light rekindled, we looked on a scene of roiling waves, or maybe they were woven tule screens painted green and white and being moved from side to side by unobtrusive, hunkered figures. But you could hear the sea, thanks to the boom-boom of the big drums and the rattle and hiss of the small drums and percussion. It set up a counterpoint roll of surging surf that would have put Debussy to shame; we were all swaying in our seats in time to it. A flute came in with a string of ascending notes that were Killer Whale rising up through the depths, and sure enough he appeared, with a leap that took him clear of the green mats and with a spray of water.

  It was Kupiuc, smooth naked, his big humped body painted gleaming black and white. Only around his neck he wore the bony jaws of a real killer whale, and he made the sharp teeth clash with the music. His eyes rolled white as he tossed his head, as he leaped and thrashed to the pounding drumbeats. He was telling us he was a king in his country, a fearsome hunter, that he had wives and power, that he knew how to go where none of us could go: down into green canyons and forests of waving weed, without any fear of storm. He told us, in his dance, about the silver flights of sardine he’d taken, about the runs of red-fleshed salmon, about his wars with Swordfish.

  He sported before us in the sheer ebullience of being himself, a fine sea lord, but then his dance took on a menacing quality: he began to wheel and cruise, seeking something. He was on the hunt. Gradually we saw his prey, revealed a little at a time by the waving screens: one sleek brown head, then a second, then a third. Big frightened dog eyes and blunt muzzles. The seal dancers began to sing:

  Listen! Listen! He’s on the wild water!

  He is everywhere, behind us, all around us!

  Oh, Grandfather, get us out of here!

  Why, oh, why did we ever leave the land?

  Maybe he’ll kill a shark, and not me.

  Maybe he’ll take a salmon, and not me.

  How much farther till we reach the shore?

  One seal moved to the foreground, the dancer under the headdress floundering like a clumsy thing in panic. Kupiuc danced in place, his body semaphoring triumph. The seal dancer cried:

  Look at him, painted up to kill!

  Look at him, so beautiful!

  How can my death be so beautiful?

  Here under blue air, with white foam flying,

  Green water crashing, how can I die?

  Here came the second seal, bobbing forward, singing:

  I lived, I had a mate, I had children,

  And now I’m cold, I’m old, too slow,

  Too slow! Twenty long seasons since my head was big

  At Tuqan Island, and how slow I am now!

  And look at my scars! And my teeth are broken!

  But my lord is fine in his black and white!

  Now the third seal, a big seal, joined them:

  How well I’ve fed! Sardines fed me, salmon fed me,

  All the little perch and mackerel fed me,

  Made me too fat to escape! What will I feed?

  Oh, how unfair it is, when life is so good!

  Sleeping in the sun, and mating.

  Why will this lord take it all away from me?

  They cowered down all three, as Kupiuc leaped high. An unseen voice chanted:

  Who said life was fair?

  You run before me like leaves on the wind

  To your certain deaths: but listen, listen,

  You who love me, you old one, you fat one,

  I’m not driving you to hear you cry,

  I’m not driving you for cruel reasons.

  Look up on the beach Where Coyote’s children wait for you

  With swift spears, with quick clubs.

  I’m driving you for them,

  Because I’m sometimes kind:

  Poor naked creatures,

  Aren’t they cold without your fur skins?

  Aren’t they lean without your rich fat?

  Here in the white water it all ends,

  Here in the breaking wave it all ends!

  And the seals moved in one synchronized leap of agony, straight at a painted mat that was flung up before them, where the stylized figures of men with spears leaned out. Men and seals vanished under the mat as Killer Whale curvetted and jumped his triumph, and the music rose to accompany his gradual return to the sea, through the green mats whose motion was slowing. At last he vanished, with a last jet of spray, and the lights went down.

  Beside me, Imarte shivered in ecstasy. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered. “I’ve never encountered a society where the businessmen were also the entertainers.”

  “Hey, you’re in California, remember?” I grinned at her and reached for a nice fat venison rib.

  The lights were coming up again. Coyote came dancing out between the red whale bones, deliberately making his penis bob in time with his steps. When he threw out his hands and stopped, it kept dancing up and down as though it had a life of its own. He pretended to notice and did an elaborate double take. The audience tittered.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? I stopped dancing,” he admonished it.

  “So?” it replied. “You think you’re the only one who feels like dancing now and then?” This guy was some ventriloquist! “Why should the party stop, just because you get tired?”

  “Because I’m the one in charge around here, that’s why!” shouted Coyote.

  “Oh really?” The penis craned up as though it were staring balefully at him. It was a clever puppet, it had to be a puppet, but I was damned if I could see how it worked. “So you’re the big chief, huh?”

  “That’s right!” Coyote told it, backing up a little as though he were intimidated, but of course the penis stayed right with him.

  “I don’t think so,” it replied.

  “You what? You’ve got your nerve!” shouted Coyote. “I’m the one who decides where we go. I’m the one who decides when we wake, when we sleep, when we play. I’m the one …” But his penis was shaking its head.


  “Suppose you’re relaxing on a nice warm sandy beach, but I see a pretty girl and decide to go talk to her. Do you think you get to sleep in the sun? Uh-uh.”

  “Well, maybe, but—”

  “And suppose you’re hungry and digging for roots, but I see a pretty girl. You’re going to go hungry a while longer!”

  “Well, that’s happened, but—”

  “But nothing! I’m the one who calls the shots around here. And from now on, I’m not just hanging around.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah! I’m going to have my own social life. To begin with, I’m not riding around down here anymore, I’m going to perch on top of your head.”

  Coyote was aghast. “You can’t do that! I’ll look ridiculous!”

  “You think I’m not tired of looking ridiculous? Now it’s your turn. Besides, the brains belong on top! When I see a woman I want to talk to, no more arguments! We’re going right to bed with her. Bear’s wife, for example. Eagle’s wife! We’ll jump in the furs with her right away.”

  “We can’t do that!” cried Coyote. “Eagle will kill me! Bear will too!”

  “What do I care? Did you ever care what happened to me when you went diving in the cold surf?” The penis shivered dramatically. “If Bear or Eagle beat you up, too bad for you. We’re doing things my way now!”

  “We’re not!” Coyote shouted.

  “And another thing! I’m tired of being bald! I want a nice toupee of otter fur. The most expensive kind!”

  Oh, the people were rolling on the ground, crying with laughter.

  “You must be crazy!” Coyote yelled, after a pause to let them quiet down. “Where do you think I’m going to get that kind of money?”

  “You just get it, that’s all, or else!” The penis reared threateningly.

  “Oh, yeah?” said Coyote furiously, glaring down at it. “Or else what?”

  By way of answer the penis squirted a stream of water into his face. The audience roared. “Aaargh!” Coyote shook his head wildly, wiping his eyes. He took a swing at the penis, which dodged out of the way.