Soul of the Sacred Earth

by Vella Munn

  She set off in the direction of the rising sun.

  According to the ancient stories, the first Hopi migrated over the land while waiting for signs that they’d reached the place where they should settle. The Butterfly Clan wound up at Awatovi on Antelope Mesa, and although she’d never been there, she sometimes thought of the place that sheltered those who carried her name. The Bear Clan had been the first to settle at Oraibi, but they had only been there a short time when members of the Badger Clan asked to join them. To demonstrate the clan’s worthiness, the Badger chief first moved to Third Mesa at Cha’aktuikaa, where they planted two fast-growing spruce trees, male and female.

  “These two spruce trees are proof of our power and the gift we will make if you admit us to Oraibi,” the Badger Clan had told the Bear Clan chief. “They are a sign that all the high places around the village will be covered with spruce trees whose power you may use in your ceremonies.”

  However, the Bear Clan chief had continued to refuse to allow the Badger Clan to join them, and the two spruce trees had died. Since then, the Hopi had to go all the way to Kisiwu for spruce for their ceremonies, and the Badger Clan settled at Tuwanasavi, the Center of the Universe, near Oraibi.

  Tonight, Morning Butterfly wondered if her legs might take her to Tuwanasavi. If they would, perhaps there she’d find the sense of peace and acceptance she needed.

  Perhaps.

  “Taiowa, the Hopi have not strayed from the path taught us from the beginning. Our leaders are proud to lift their right hands as proof that they are responsible and religiously carry out their ceremonies to insure bountiful moisture. The Snake ceremony followed the path it always has. Everything about Niman was done as it should be; we did nothing wrong.”

  Shocked by the desperation in her voice, she again tried to settle her thoughts, but turmoil continued to hold her in its grip.

  “Was it a sin that we allowed the Spanish to be there? Are we being punished? Is that why the kachinas were destroyed?

  “What would you have us do different? Refuse to allow outsiders into Oraibi? But they have weapons and we do not. If we had opposed them as the Navajo do, they would have killed us.”

  She’d said too much. Spent, she leaned forward and rested her hands on her knees, sucking in as much of the night air as her lungs could hold. Fresh oxygen helped revive her and she felt less like crying than she had a moment ago. Still—

  She wasn’t alone.

  A butterfly could fly, but she didn’t have her namesake’s wings. If she was being stalked by a restless or angry kachina or Siliomomo, how could she possibly escape? Besides, if Siliomomo wanted her, she should accept her fate, not fight. Still, she wasn’t ready to die.

  Maybe not Siliomomo, the spirit people. Maybe a soldier.

  That possibility turned her fingers into involuntary fists, and she berated herself for not having brought along a knife.

  “Who is it?” she demanded. Her question swirled around her, then faded off into nothing. She swallowed and tried again. “Show yourself.”

  “Morning Butterfly, do not be afraid.”

  For one, maybe two heartbeats, all she knew was that the shadowy figure to her left spoke the language of her people and yet his command of it wasn’t total. Then:

  “Cougar?”

  “Yes. I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you.”

  As she waited for him to come close enough for the stars to expose his features, it seemed as if the night itself had both softened and become sharper. She wished she’d never spoken to Cougar, knew nothing of his existence, and yet she felt more alive in his presence. She told herself it was because she’d come to envy the Navajos’ warlike ways and freedom, their courage in opposing the newcomers, and yet it was more than that.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “I saw you come down from Oraibi.”

  “It is not safe for you to be so close.”

  “I am careful.”

  No matter how cautious he might be, he couldn’t be sure it would be enough. The thought of seeing him become the soldiers’ captive again made her shiver.

  “A Navajo brave is so full of himself that he has no fear?” she asked. “That is not a wise thing.”

  “Wisdom, and courage, are different now that the strangers are among us.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. Her body felt different, warm and aware, almost as if it had been touched by lightning. Was Cougar responsible? “They are different. Are you the only Navajo here? Perhaps you and others are planning to attack the soldiers?”

  “To do so would give me great pleasure, but no, we are not that foolish.”

  His voice had been touched with sorrow, not as deep as what she’d experienced while the Snake Clan kachinas were being destroyed, but impossible to ignore just the same. “Then why—”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  If he touched her, she might shatter. Beyond caring whether he sensed her emotional state, she took a couple of backward steps. It helped to have more distance between them, and yet his impact remained.

  “Why?”

  “To find out if you had been punished because you freed me.”

  “A Navajo cares what happens to a Hopi? The Navajo have never wanted anything from a Hopi except what they can steal.”

  “I cannot say you are wrong in that,” he said after a short silence. “It has always been the way of the Navajo to take what they need.”

  “I know! I know.”

  He’d been standing with his arms at his sides, perhaps to let her know he wished her no harm, but now he folded them over his chest, the gesture making him larger, maybe dangerous.

  “The old ways are no more,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “You are all right? They did not punish you?”

  “The captain did not know I was responsible for your escape.”

  “Surely he suspected—”

  “I am a Hopi woman, sister of the woman he has taken to his bed.” She shuddered at the image of what Singer of Songs was forced to endure. “A man who satisfies himself with a virgin who offers no resistance, a young woman who keeps her tears to herself—perhaps that man believes her sister is no different. A small mouse.”

  “Perhaps.” He drew out the word. “And perhaps the padre protects you.”

  “That too,” she agreed, surprised by his insight. When she laughed, the sound was without warmth. “I am valuable to the newcomers because through me they can make themselves understood.”

  He nodded, then turned as if to walk off into the night. She shocked herself by reaching out for him, though there was no contact. She snatched back her hand.

  “I am glad,” he said with his back to her. “My heart is no longer as heavy.”

  “The fate of a Hopi brings sorrow to a Navajo?”

  “Yes.” He whirled on her. “Is that so hard for you to understand?”

  She didn’t know anything tonight, certainly not why her heartbeat had become irregular simply because she was with a Navajo. “Maybe—maybe we should not speak of this. I—I accept your concern.”

  “Good.”

  She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if he was studying her intently, taking in her hair, face, arms, body, legs.

  “You do not carry a weapon, not even a knife?” he asked.

  “No. I—”

  “I know! You are Hopi and that is not the Hopi way!”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I do not know!” he retorted. “Perhaps I fear the Hopi will allow themselves to be taken down the way a newborn deer is overtaken by a wolf.”

  “All a wolf wants from a deer is what it needs to fill its belly. The Spanish have much more use for us.”

  “And the Hopi will stand there and allow the Spanish to rape them, take their food and belongings. I do not understand this, Morning Butterfly. I never will.”

  “Why do you try?”

  “Tell me something,” he said, sounding not angry anymore but weary. “When the pa
dre says the Hopi are wrong to believe the way they always have and orders them to walk the way he dictates, will you be like deer in this too? Will you expose your throats and hearts and allow them to be ripped out?”

  “Stop it!” Her fingers became fists. “This is not your concern!”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Why?”

  For a long time he said nothing, only stared up at the sky. “My people believe the First World was an island and the first beings not human beings as we are now but insects. If I was to say such a thing to the padre, would he accept my words?”

  “I am sure he would not.”

  “How do you know? Because you have tried to tell him of Hopi beliefs and he has called them false?”

  “No.” Talking to Cougar both exhausted her and made her feel more alive than she ever had. “I would not waste my breath telling him something I know he would call a lie.”

  “But what the Hopi believe is their truth just as what the Navajo believe is their truth.”

  Some of her people called the Navajo savages, but Cougar was a wise man. “Yes,” she agreed.

  “And yet the newcomers cannot accept that there are ways other than theirs.”

  “No. They cannot.”

  “Since the first Navajo came to Hopi land, both our people acknowledged that we have different beliefs. We do not try to change each other, do not laugh at different beliefs. Why cannot the newcomers do the same?”

  He sounded desperate, angry, his emotions all but tearing her apart. Unable to stop herself, she took his hand and covered it with both of hers.

  “I have had the same thoughts,” she admitted. “That—that is why I am out here tonight, because of what happened to our kachinas, to the Snake Clan kiva.”

  “Tell me.”

  She did, but not before dropping to her knees and closing her eyes. He sat nearby, breathing softly.

  “Did they know what they were doing?” he finally asked.

  “The padre said the Snake ceremony and Niman were the work of the devil and must not happen again.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

  “Will the Hopi conduct Niman again? Will men fill their hearts with pure thoughts so they do not have to fear poisonous snakes and will this please the spirits so the precious rains will come?”

  “Do not ask me that!”

  “Or will the Hopi walk a new way, Morning Butterfly? Will everything they have ever been be forgotten?”

  “Stop it! I hate it when you do this to me!”

  “I know you do,” he whispered. “But I need to understand why the Hopi allow themselves to be treated like deer.”

  Sometimes the wind blew with such strength that the air filled with dust and other flying things, making it impossible to see. She felt as if she was in such a wind—blind. Afraid and angry.

  “We are who we are, Cougar. Peaceful ones guided by spirits who teach great wisdom and patience, who . . .”

  “What?” he prompted.

  “The kachinas! The soldiers destroyed their likenesses, but their spirits remained. Siliomomo was there as well.”

  “Tell me.”

  This man who should be a stranger was her courage, her test. Maybe her guide through her tangled thoughts.

  “When—when the last kachina had been thrown off Oraibi, the spirits howled, their voices filling the air. Like crying night creatures, they wailed, and my people and I cried with them. Cried and were comforted.”

  “Did the soldiers hear?”

  When the first notes reached her, nothing else had mattered, but once the initial shock had lifted and then realization set in, she’d turned her attention to her surroundings and had seen the look of awe on the faces of her people.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “I believe they did, but they said nothing.”

  “Morning Butterfly, listen to me,” he said as he took her hands and placed them on his chest. She felt his heart beating through his cotton shirt. “Your people have been given strength by your spirits. This is my belief, your spirits want you to take hold of that truth and use it to repel the newcomers.”

  He was confusing her, taking her thoughts in a direction they’d never gone before.

  “Do not let the spirits’ cries be for nothing. Listen to their wisdom and guidance and fight for the land that has always been for the Hopi.”

  “Fight?”

  “You are many, while they are few. Kill them.”

  “No!”

  “Yes! Morning Butterfly, the Keres allowed themselves to be treated like deer, like mice. Their homes were destroyed and many, many Keres were killed and mutilated. You cannot want the same fate to befall your people. I risked a great deal taking the Spanish horses, not because I am a child who wishes to make everything mine, but because horses are strength.”

  She nodded.

  “I am a Navajo man determined to make my people as strong as possible so they can drive back those who do not belong here. The day will come, I pray, when we will have their weapons, but already horses have made us swift. Powerful. It can be the same for the Hopi.”

  Despite herself, she’d watched and envied mounted soldiers, imagined herself sitting astride one of the fast-running animals. She’d also wondered what it would be like to hold a sword—for her sister to have one when the captain came for her.

  “Defend what is precious to you. Fight! Fight!”

  “My father’s uncle cannot fight,” she blurted as she scrambled to her feet. “The Spanish soldiers cut off his hand. I hear his nightmares. I see his helplessness, feel his fear! I share my home with an old man who will never be whole. I cannot forget that.”

  She’d backed away from him while she was speaking, but he came after her, stalking her as his namesake stalks its prey.

  “My grandfather was at Acoma too,” he said, his voice soft in contrast to his fierce posture. “He became Drums No More because of what was taken from him, but he is not afraid.”

  • • •

  He couldn’t move his arms. Panicked, he tried to strike out with his feet, but something heavy had been placed on them, holding him prisoner. In the dark recesses of his mind, Drums No More was aware that this had happened to him before, and that he must keep his fear to himself.

  Fighting for control, he sucked what air he could into his lungs and held it, his chest swelling and burning with the effort.

  Someone was coming, boots scraping on the earth, stiff uniform making its own angry sound. From where he lay, Drums No More tried to focus on his old, old foe, but he’d been doing this for nights without end and was weary of the battle.

  When he felt himself becoming lightheaded, he expelled his breath in a harsh but hopefully silent breath and waited. Waited for the Spanish soldier.

  The walking, stalking sound began again, making him think of a great hoard of insects. Although it was useless, he again struggled and tried to kick. He screamed, but only deep in his throat, so no one would know his secret shame.

  His night terrors.

  As had happened, and happened, and happened, the darkness fell away and he saw the faceless man lean over him, grab his right arm.

  No! No! Please, no!

  Pain beyond comprehension, old as life itself and yet always new and awful, seared its way into him. He saw his hand falling to the ground, blood pouring onto the earth, nerveless fingers turning white.

  Again.

  Again.

  His silent scream went on and on.

  • • •

  Two days’ foot journey away, One Hand writhed in the grip of his own nightmare.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By Angelico’s reckoning, a full three weeks had passed from the time he had entrusted his letter to the Mexican Indian until the savage returned. Angelico gave little thought to the fact that the servant had driven himself to the limit of his endurance and caused the death of a horse during his journey. What mattered was that Governor Zotylo had responded to the padre’s letter.

  “Your acco
unting of conditions at Oraibi is indeed detailed,” the governor wrote. “And, I must say, not consistent with your public document and Captain Lopez de Leiva’s report received at the same time. Captain Lopez was chosen for the task of assuring your safety while you spread the Lord’s word because he had proven himself a capable military leader. I have no doubt you are aware of his lineage, particularly the fact that his grandfather was among the vanguard in exploring this new land. I do not expect you to concern yourself with issues beyond your own calling, which is as it should be, but I wish to assure you, I have not taken your words lightly.”

  Angelico looked around to assure himself that he was alone, then continued reading.

  “Padre, as governor, my responsibilities are vast. In addition to doing everything within my power to facilitate the Church’s work, I am also charged with supplying the native labor force necessary to settle this wild land. Toward that end, I must insist the Indians be treated as humanely as possible and that nothing is done which might cause them to rebel. Rest assured, I have written Captain Lopez reminding him of that—just as I now remind you that the Church’s concerns may, at times, not be in perfect accord with those of the State.

  “In response to your suggestion that Captain Lopez be removed from his command, I am not in a position to entertain that possibility, the reasons being political in nature. Thus, I trust that you and Captain Lopez will work to forge a new and more positive relationship.”

  Confused, Angelico reread the letter, but it answered no more questions the second time. He would give a great deal to see what the governor had written to the captain. At the same time, he vowed to do everything within his power to keep the contents of what he held in his hands to himself. Thoughts of Captain Lopez’s reaction to his complaint regarding his performance gave him an uneasy moment. However, he was doing the Lord’s work; thus, his path and decisions were beyond question.

  He’d just set his mind to what scriptures he wanted to focus on during Vespers when Pablo hurried up and informed him that Captain Lopez wanted to see him, immediately.