by Vella Munn
Captain Lopez, who, Angelico suspected, had once again spent the night with the female he’d taken a fancy to, shrugged but said nothing.
“I baptize the savages, but the moment I am done with them, they revert to their godless ways. I am at my wit’s end trying to reach them.”
“You are giving up?”
“Never! But I will need more of your help.” Angelico made the admission very reluctantly. He did not miss the meaning in Lopez’s sigh and the narrowing of the captain’s eyes. When Lopez spoke, his voice was cold.
“I am aware of my responsibilities to you, Padre, rest assured. If I were not, I would be elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?”
“Searching for the emeralds.” Leaning forward, he glared at Angelico. “However, if I made that my priority right now, you would waste no time informing the Crown of what you would surely call my desertion, would you?”
Did he know about the letter? Before Angelico could speak, Lopez continued.
“Tell me, why are we here?”
“Here” was in the valley, some distance from Oraibi. It might have made more of an impact if he’d insisted on meeting with Lopez on the mesa itself, but yesterday’s ceremony had left him all too aware of the devil’s grip on that accursed place.
“What was your reaction to what we witnessed last night?” Angelico asked.
“Reaction?” Lopez frowned and looked uneasy. “That was the most barbaric display I’ve ever had the misfortune of witnessing.”
“You did not know the Hopi conducted such a ceremony?”
“How could I? My predecessors have hardly been thorough in detailing what to expect. Padre, I am in no mood to discuss this. If you wanted my men and me to put an end to it, you should have made your intentions clear then, not now.”
True. However, he’d been rendered all but speechless by what he’d witnessed, the emotions and sensations he’d been forced to battle. “What I want is assurance we will never be subject to something like that again.”
“And how do you propose to accomplish that?”
“Not me. You.”
“Me?” Captain Lopez scoffed. “You are the one charged with their souls.”
“I saw no souls last night,” he countered. Then, determined not to give Lopez the opportunity to make fun of him, he hurried on. “I have spent hours praying on this. Unlike you, I did not—did not lose myself in matters of the flesh.”
That earned him a glare. “A pity,” Lopez said, “since all men, even you, would benefit from a release of tension. My men may come to you for forgiveness when they fornicate, but it will happen again—I dare say it already has, since they are only human, as are you.”
How had the conversation taken this turn? “I prayed for guidance and it was given. God came to me in a dream which left no doubt of what must be done.”
Captain Lopez started to get to his feet, then apparently thought better of it. “What must be done?”
“Captain, the military has been charged with facilitating Church representatives in their attempt to secure the colonies, so the various native populations can be put to service filling the Crown’s larders, correct? That is why we brought so many horses with us, so they can take the goods back to New Spain, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And our success in that regard has not been, shall we say, great, has it?”
“Go on.”
“We both know that is because the devil is strong here. However, I know how to weaken his grip.”
• • •
The padre was a fool, Lopez thought a few minutes later. It would take more than what Angelico suggested to break the heathens’ resistance and bring them willingly into the Church’s fold. Only might could accomplish that.
However, the Church and Crown in many respects were one and the same, and he’d spent years walking a line that accommodated both. Besides, although he had no intention of telling Fray Angelico so, the priest’s plan was brilliant.
Lopez quickly gathered his men. Studying them, he was again struck by their youth and lack of preparation for venturing into hostile land. If only he’d been given seasoned troops . . . but there was a dearth of them in New Spain, and so he was forced to take these simple creatures. If not for the army, most of them would have been reduced to begging in order to stay alive. No matter. He would teach them how to be soldiers.
As concisely as possible, since he’d long held to the theory that underlings need only to obey—not fully comprehend and certainly not question—he outlined what was required of them. To a man, their reaction was disbelief, horror even, but, as he expected, most said nothing. Only Madariaga, who had yet to learn his place but would if it was the last thing Lopez did, had the audacity to ask why.
“So the heathens will have no doubt that the Crown and Church will not tolerate their barbaric ceremonies. Is that not clear? They are children, little more than animals in their ability to comprehend the world beyond this miserable land. The padre and I contemplated a less violent response, but my grandfather, Captain General Oñate—”
He leveled his gaze on Madariaga until the so-called soldier glanced away. “My grandfather succeeded in taming the Keres because he taught them that resistance was intolerable.”
“What resistance?” Madariaga ventured, still not looking at him. “The Hopi have responded to our requests for food and clothing by—”
“I am not talking about what we need to fill our bellies! The so-called ceremony we witnessed strikes at the very heart of our faith! Fray Angelico risked life and limb by coming here. So did all of us, but do the heathens comprehend that? Do they turn their backs on their godless ways and beg for forgiveness and redemption? No! There will be no more resistance, no more hesitancy on our part.”
. Making no attempt to temper his anger, Lopez stalked forward and shoved his nose in Madariaga’s face. “If you do not understand that most basic of concepts, turn in your weapons and return to New Spain, now.”
As he expected, Madariaga blanched.
“God will reward you for what we do today,” Lopez exclaimed, although in truth he had limited interest in God’s impact. “You men are the vanguard in taming this land and claiming it for the Crown, making it profitable. Your successes will be spoken of for generations to come. Do not ever lose sight of that.”
• • •
The sun attacked with a furnace’s strength as seven soldiers and their leader made the laborious climb up the ancient ladder. Yesterday’s rain had made it necessary for the Hopi men to spend the day tending to their crops, with the result that only women, children, and a few elderly men were at Oraibi when the newcomers arrived.
One Hand, who’d wanted to go down to the farms to see how much the rain had benefited the plants, had remained at home because he feared encountering a soldier; he was the first to spot them. Heart hammering, he ducked inside the safety of his pueblo, but a moment later, concern and curiosity prompted him to slip outside again and follow at what he hoped was a safe distance.
The newcomers walked slowly but unerringly toward the Snake kachina, their paces measured and, it seemed to him, reluctant.
“They do not belong there,” Deer Ears whispered as he joined One Hand in the shadows. “Do they not understand?”
One Hand didn’t waste time speculating, but set off at a run toward the opposite side of the village, where Morning Butterfly had gone to visit. He spotted her outside a pueblo with Pumpkin Seed, whose youngest daughter had just given birth for the first time. Ignoring the talkative Pumpkin Seed, he grabbed Morning Butterfly’s arm.
“The soldiers’ faces are grim,” he explained. “They speak only occasionally and look often at their leader. I am afraid to get close enough to make sense of their words, but you . . . they will not harm you. Please come.”
Morning Butterfly stared at her trapped arm and struggled to gather her thoughts. It seemed as if her heart had forgotten how to beat in peace ever since the newcomers arrived;
today was no different.
“Our men . . .” she began, stalling, “what do they—”
“They are not here. Surely you know that.”
She did, unfortunately. “The soldiers have not tried to explain why they are here?”
“They ignore us. Perhaps—perhaps they only want to assure themselves that Niman is over.”
After a glance at Pumpkin Seed, who obviously wanted to stay where she was, Morning Butterfly set off. One Hand hurried after her, his wheezing breath both adding to her concern and reinforcing her belief that she had no choice but to do this.
A growing number of women and children were climbing onto the roofs so they could watch the soldiers, the scene reminding her of how her people had gathered yesterday in celebration and ritual. She’d been certain the newcomers wouldn’t approve of the Snake ceremony and Niman, but its time had come, and not holding Niman had been incomprehensible. If only she could make the newcomers understand
“There you are! Come here, now!”
Fighting the pounding in her brain, she forced herself to face Captain Lopez, who stood a few feet from the Snake kiva with his men gathered around him. He hadn’t spoken her name, and yet she knew he was talking to her. She glanced at One Hand for reassurance but saw only fear in his too-large eyes. Despite herself, her attention was drawn to the old man’s scarred wrist.
“Morning Butterfly, forgive me,” One Hand whispered. “I should not have asked you—”
“I do this because I am Hopi,” she whispered, then stepped away from him, toward the Spanish.
Captain Lopez smiled, but there was no warmth in the expression. “You should have never revealed your knowledge of Spanish,” he told her once she’d come close enough that he no longer had to raise his voice. “However, since you have, I intend to put you to use. I do not have to tell the Hopi of my intentions, but I will anyway. After all, a lesson fully comprehended has the greatest impact.”
“What lesson?” she managed.
“You people have been coddled too long. The padre, for reasons better understood by him than me, initially attempted methods other than force to persuade you to reject your heathen religion, but he has not succeeded. Now, he has turned to me.”
“What lesson?” she asked again.
His second smile held no more warmth than the first. “Yesterday’s display will not be repeated.”
“What—what are you going to do?”
“I do not need to spell it out for you, Morning Butterfly, do I? Nonetheless, it pleases me to do so. This hole in the ground obviously has religious significance—had significance. My men and I will do what we must. And if any of your people attempt to stop us, they will suffer the consequences.” He held up his sword so the sun glinted off it. “Do you understand?”
An unwanted image of One Hand’s wrist filled her vision, adding to her disbelief but at the same time reinforcing her determination to do what she had to. “Yes.”
“Good. Good indeed that at least you are capable of comprehending certain realities and are, I trust, capable of sharing them with the rest of your people.”
The sword still uplifted, he looked in all directions, taking in the rooftop watchers as well as those peeking around the corners of the closest pueblos.
“It pleases me to have so many here to watch. It would have pleased me more to have more men in attendance, but if they do not tend their crops, there will not be enough contributions to God, will there?”
“Contributions?”
“Your rewards will come once you are in heaven. For now, your people will be put to use harvesting what the Church requires, what is its due.”
Barely comprehending, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. “The devil’s handiwork will be destroyed today,” Captain Lopez announced.
• • •
Still disturbed in his soul, Angelico hadn’t wanted to be in attendance, but he had no choice. He’d heard everything Captain Lopez and Morning Butterfly had said to each other, but although the captain spoke more about the farms’ produce than the need for absolute victory over the devil, he hadn’t interrupted.
Let the captain and his forces be seen as instruments of destruction; that was why they were here, after all. His task was to gather the flock around him and guide them into the light. The Crown destroyed. He built.
Yes indeed, he would build and, through the process, atone for weaknesses of the flesh and thus face his maker with a clear heart and soul. Glory would be his!
Morning Butterfly had retreated back to her people, and if the padre hadn’t been aware of her every movement, he might have lost sight of her. At first he paid little attention to the elderly man she occasionally spoke to, but as he fought to clean his mind of her unwanted physical impact on him—did the devil himself live in her?—he noticed that the old Hopi was missing his right hand.
For a moment, he thought the man had been born with the deformity, but even at this distance, he could see the network of scars. There were, of course, any number of ways someone might have suffered such an accident. However, the brave was old enough that—
“Padre,” Captain Lopez boomed, distracting him. “Today’s action will have a lasting impact. Certainly you want to be part of it. I defer to you. If you wish to be the first to enter, do so.”
“That—that is not necessary.”
“Come, come, Padre. The men await your leadership, they are already convinced of mine.”
With a growing sense of dread, Angelico looked into each pair of dark Spanish eyes. He’d been both pleased and relieved to learn that Captain Lopez was the exception and the men under him were as devout as any he’d ministered to over the years, but that, he now acknowledged, exacted a certain toll on him.
“All right.” His throat caught. “All right. Let the Lord’s work be done.”
His pitiful footwear made a faint slapping sound as he approached the site that had garnered so much attention yesterday. Despite his effort to give himself up to God, he couldn’t shake the impact of the watching, wary Hopi, and although he knew they’d be horrified by what was about to happen, he concentrated on the positive results that today would bring. Once their useless idols were no more, the process of making them understand why it had to be done would begin, but first . . .
First the tearing down.
After what seemed a long time, he stood less than a foot from the rounded pile of rocks that made up the walls of the so-called shrine. In order to get inside the cavity, he would have to climb the rough, uneven walls to the roof. A ladder stuck out of a small hole on the roof, leading into the strange creation’s bowels. Like everything else, the rocks had absorbed the day’s heat, but that didn’t stop him from shivering. Stalling, he looked around for Morning Butterfly.
“What is it called?” he asked, once he’d located her in the crowd and gestured for her to come closer.
“Kiva.”
“Ki-va. Tell me about it.”
She squared her shoulders, looking older and more authoritative than he remembered—defiant even. “It is a Hopi place. For worship and beliefs that go back to the beginning of time.”
“No one is inside?”
Her arms hung at her sides, but she didn’t appear cowed. Surely she knew what was about to take place and should he begging
“Hear me, Padre,” she said. Her voice echoed off the pueblo walls. “You may destroy a kiva, but you cannot destroy what lives in our hearts.”
“Enough!” Captain Lopez shouted before Angelico could think what, if anything, he should say. “She is threatening you, Padre. You cannot allow that to happen.”
No, he couldn’t. His head roared and his stomach knotted, but he’d forced this moment, and with his Lord and master looking down, he would accomplish what he’d come here for—what his entire life had been about.
He had to climb leaning forward in order to keep his balance on the sloping rocks. He wasn’t sure the roof would hold his weight, and the ladder looked on the brink
of collapse. Morning Butterfly hadn’t answered his question about whether anyone was inside.
His hands shook as he gripped the ladder, but he refused to look around to see if anyone noticed. Eyes half closed in what he hoped would be interpreted as a prayerful attitude, he began his descent.
Sunlight filtered down from the hole in the roof, but that was the only illumination, leaving too much of the surprisingly large interior in shadow. There was precious little fresh air, the smell of earth and stone making him feel as if he’d entered a cave. He nearly ordered the captain to compel the soldiers to immediately follow, but instead he allowed himself to be absorbed by the alien place, to hear its silence, to feel its age.
To accept that he wasn’t alone.
Chapter Twelve
Every aspect of a Hopi kiva had meaning. The four levels represented the four stages of man’s creation, beginning with Tokpela, Endless Space; Tokpa, Dark Midnight; Kuskurza, where the First People multiplied and spread out; and finally Tuwaqachi, which was World Complete.
As befitted their importance within Hopi society, the members of the Snake Clan had filled their kiva with a large number of kachina dolls. The largest, at nine feet in height, was Sio Calako, which symbolized the friendly relationship between Hopi and Zuni. Tawa, representing the relationship with the sun, was festooned with eagle feathers. Natashka, which resembled a buffalo head with sharp teeth, helped discipline children, while Ahote, with its protruding eyes and large horns, was a singer of sacred songs. There were literally hundreds of Hopi kachina dolls, but perhaps the most revered was Angwusnasomtaqa, the Crow Mother, with its oversized ears and white-and-black cape. Many considered it the mother of all kachinas.
All were supernatural beings with the power to bestow abundant harvest and prosperity to those who revered them. Without kachinas, there would be no rain, food, or good health, and in recognition of their impact, ceremonies were conducted to honor them. Kachina impersonators, masked ceremonial dancers, took great care to prepare themselves emotionally. Children grew up with wooden dolls made in the likeness of kachinas, not as playthings but as objects to be studied and treasured.
