by Vella Munn
Why was he pouring himself out to a savage? What she thought of him didn’t matter, only getting what he needed from her did.
“You found the Navajo, right?” he demanded. When she didn’t immediately answer, he tightened his grip on Singer of Songs so her breathing became even more tortured. “Answer me! You were with them—him.”
“Yes!” She tried to pull his arm off her sister, but he kicked at her, his boot connecting with her knee. Gasping, she stumbled back.
“That is what I thought.” He tried to keep his voice down, but the need to get everything he could out of her drove him. “Where are they?”
“What?”
“Where are they? When you found them, what were they doing?”
“Let my sister go.”
“No! You want her to live . . .” He yanked Singer of Songs off her feet. She clawed at him with sharp but weakened fingers. Despite himself, he wondered if the baby inside her felt the lack of oxygen, whether he was killing it. “You will tell me what I want to know.”
“What do you want? Please, let her go!”
“Did you see emeralds?” he demanded. “You went to the canyon and the Navajo were still there because they were mining emeralds.”
“No!”
“You lie!” The jewels were his bargaining chips. If he had the stones, Gregorio de Barreto would see him for what he was, a man he couldn’t demean or desert.
“There are no emeralds.”
“No!” He was shouting, unable to control himself. “I do not believe you, no!”
• • •
Fray Angelico had been praying when he first heard the distant sounds of argument. He’d told himself it was none of his concern and that his relationship with God was more important, but then he realized that at least one of the voices belonged to a woman. He scrambled to his feet, then nearly collapsed because the circulation in his legs had been cut off for so long. Wincing, he stumbled in the direction the sound had come from.
As he drew near, he saw that Captain Lopez had hold of someone and was being confronted by Morning Butterfly. Gregorio de Barreto, whose demands for an explanation now overrode every other voice, stood nearby.
“What are you doing?” Angelico interrupted. “How can you—”
“Padre!” Morning Butterfly gasped. She briefly turned toward him, then went back to trying to pull Lopez’s arm off his captive. “He is killing her!”
“Stop it!” he ordered Lopez.
“Stay out of this, Padre,” Lopez warned. “Tend to religious concerns all you want, but leave me alone.”
Lopez’s captive tried to suck in air, but the sound was a harsh rasp. Sobbing, Morning Butterfly doubled her efforts to free the other woman.
“If you want her dead, be done with it!” de Barreto shouted.
“No!” Angelico gasped.
“My sister,” Morning Butterfly interrupted. “He is killing my sister!”
He should have remained where he was, safe within the cloak of prayer. Now he had to act. Propelling himself forward, Angelico took hold of Morning Butterfly’s flailing arms and tried to pull her off Lopez. His effort earned him an elbow in the throat, but though he could barely breathe, he refused to let go. Instead, he locked his arms around her and knocked both of them to the ground.
Despite his efforts to contain her, she wriggled out from under him and surged to her feet. Before she could resume her attack upon Lopez, de Barreto himself interceded with a violent shove which sent her to the earth. He cocked his leg and would have kicked her if Lopez hadn’t yelled at him to stop.
“Why?” de Barreto demanded, his attention still fixed on Morning Butterfly. “The animal was attacking you. She must be punished!”
“No,” Lopez said again.
Angelico scrambled to his feet and quickly straightened his robe. He wanted to help Morning Butterfly stand, but after the way she’d fought him, he thought better of it. Besides, graceful as a deer, she proved she didn’t need any assistance.
“All right,” she said, ignoring everyone except Lopez, addressing only him. “I will tell you what you want to know, but only after you have let my sister go.”
“She speaks the king’s Spanish,” de Barreto gasped. “This savage—how is that?”
It seemed to Angelico as if the night had begun to breathe. Everything was chaos and tension, anger and desperation, and still the darkness, or maybe something within it, called to him. By the time he’d gathered his senses again, de Barreto had repeated his question, but no one had answered. Morning Butterfly and Lopez stood like statues, each taking the measure of the other.
At last Lopez slowly released Singer of Songs. The girl slumped forward and would have fallen if Morning Butterfly hadn’t caught her.
“That is my good faith gesture, Morning Butterfly,” the captain said, his tone thick with hatred. “Her life in exchange for certain information.”
“You cannot bargain with a savage,” de Barreto insisted. “If one stands in your way, you bury your sword in the creature.”
“Not her.”
“Why not?”
For a moment, Angelico was certain Lopez was going to strike his father-in-law, but although fury vibrated throughout him, his fists remained clenched by his side. He strode toward Morning Butterfly. She stood proud and desperate and determined. The captain grabbed hold of her hair and drew her, almost gently, toward him. Morning Butterfly released her sister and then, after briefly stroking Singer of Songs’ cheek, went with her captor.
“I do not fight with women,” Lopez said, although Angelico wasn’t sure who he was speaking to, maybe himself. “Not”—his mouth twitched—“when there is a better way.”
“Women?” de Barreto scoffed. “These two are animals.”
“No,” Angelico insisted, although by all that was prudent he should remain silent. “They have souls and are human beings. This one”—he pointed at Morning Butterfly—“has assisted me in untold ways, and if anything happens to her, I will not rest until the wrong is righted.”
“Are you threatening me?” Lopez asked through clenched teeth.
Once again the night seemed to reach out and touch his nerve endings, but this time, strangely, Angelico felt stronger for the contact. “I vow, before God and this assembly, that you will be held accountable for each and every action you take against her.”
“Damnation,” de Barreto blurted. “Padre, I warn you, do not interfere in matters which do not concern you. Your role is religious, not secular.”
“Stay out of this, Gregorio!” Lopez interrupted. “You have no idea what has been happening here.”
“How dare you speak to me like that. Surely I do not have to remind you of who I am.”
“As if you would allow me to.”
“Silence! I can make or break you.”
“Is that a warning?”
“No. It is a promise. Damnation, Lopez, you are pushing me too far.”
When de Barreto stepped toward Lopez, Angelico was struck by the older man’s bulk and had to accord Lopez grudging admiration for not cowering. In truth, Lopez seemed barely aware of his father-in-law’s presence.
Instead, the captain split his attention between Morning Butterfly and Singer of Songs, who was massaging her throat and still breathing raggedly. Although it certainly couldn’t be, Angelico half believed Lopez was concerned about Singer of Songs.
“This has gone on long enough,” Lopez said, his voice thick with what might be both resignation and determination. Barely acknowledging the others, he jerked Morning Butterfly’s hair, pulling her with him.
• • •
Despite the way he’d confronted his father-in-law, it was clear to Morning Butterfly that Lopez knew enough not to incur his wrath any more than he already had. Instead, he’d invited de Barreto into his tent, along with the padre, who’d insisted he had no intention of leaving.
As the night drew on, she prayed Singer of Songs had heard her desperate warning to flee and was
no longer at Oraibi but somewhere in the wilderness’s sheltering vastness; nevertheless, she didn’t dare let her attention stray from what was being said around and about and to her.
For the most part, Fray Angelico remained silent except to make it clear that nothing short of his death would deter him from assuring she remained under his protection. As for de Barreto, except to occasionally remind Lopez that his standing in the family was in jeopardy, he too had little to say.
“This is the crux of it, Morning Butterfly,” Lopez said. In the uneven candlelight, his eyes had taken on a yellow, wolflike cast. “You took off after the Navajo so you could spread your legs for Cougar. You have your hooks in him all right. And you are willing to risk your life—and your sister’s—to be around him.”
It wasn’t like that at all! Morning Butterfly wanted to shout.
“What are you going to do?” de Barreto asked.
Lopez leaned forward, which allowed the candlelight to reach deep into him and pull out something dark and deadly. It was all she could do not to recoil.
“Use her.”
Chapter Twenty-six
When the Hero Twins went in search of the alien gods, they traveled east and entered the house of the Sun. As soon as they’d sat on the floor, lightning shot into the lodge, and they were alarmed, until Wind whispered that they had no reason to be concerned. Then Sun entered and offered the Twins a seat made of shell and another of turquoise, but Wind advised them not to take the gifts because they were seats of peace and they should choose the ones made of red stone, which were warrior seats. Pleased with their choice, Sun, who was their father, complimented them on the number of monsters they’d already killed. As a gift to their mother Changing Woman, Sun gave the Twins five hoops of different colors.
On their way home, they beheld a beautiful vision; the gods spread out before them the country of the Navajos as it was to be in the future, after the Navajo had multiplied and grown happy and rich. When they saw Changing Woman, the Twins gave her the hoops, and she rolled them to the ends of the earth.
Four days later, the Twins heard thunder and the sky grew dark and a great white cloud descended. The cloud was followed by huge whirlwinds that uprooted trees and tossed boulders about. The storm lasted four days and nights before quieting to a gentle rain. Changing Woman believed the storm had killed all remaining monsters, but Wind whispered in the Twins’ ears to let them know that Old Age, Cold Woman, Poverty, and Hunger remained. The Twins confronted each monster in turn, and in exchange for sparing the monsters’ lives, the Twins learned that the monsters were not enemies, but part of their family.
Eyes closed, Cougar lifted his hands to the stars and gave thanks to Wind for warning and advising the Twins. He couldn’t say why the legend had been with him all night and why, instead of returning to his people, he remained near Oraibi, but he didn’t question either his instinct or the directions his thoughts took him.
When Sun courted Changing Woman, he’d done so with respect for her flowing through him, and although she’d been content to live alone for many years, she’d finally accepted him. Whether it would ever be like that for him and Morning Butterfly, Cougar couldn’t say, but he had no hesitancy about listening to the legends’ wisdom.
Maybe that was why he was here tonight, because Morning Butterfly, who might have been touched by Changing Woman, had sent her thoughts to him.
The nights were now cool enough that they carried hints of winter, and before long he’d dream of warm nights, but now it was enough that the breeze invigorated him. Sleep? He had no need for it, and even if he did doze, his dreams would be full of Morning Butterfly and the gift she’d given him—her body.
A wolf turns in ever-shrinking circles before settling itself on the ground, and as he turned first one way and then the other, always aimless, he wondered if he might be turning into a wolf. That his mind accepted thoughts of wolves made him a little uneasy, and yet maybe he was wrong to have feared his earlier vision of the chindi-creature. Only the wisest of old men and women knew everything there was to know about wolves, or chindi. He—
Like a strong hand propelling him forward, the wind pushed against his upper back. Instantly alert, he turned to face the wind, but it had already become the slightest of breezes again. Confused, he pulled the land’s scent deep into his lungs but learned nothing new. What he’d felt might have been the beginning of a storm or, if One Hand’s dream had indeed been a telling one, maybe he’d become one of the Twins, and the wind warned him of monsters.
“What is your message, Sun?” he whispered. “Changing Woman, is it you who speaks to me?”
Neither entity responded, but then why should they? He was a Navajo warrior, nothing else. Wasn’t he?
“Nich’i, Wind? Are you laughing at my foolishness? If you are, speak to me so I will learn.”
Understanding came in the form of the sound of running feet. Instantly alert, he dropped to the ground and hugged it until he realized that only one person was on the move, his or her progress uncertain. The Hopi didn’t fear moving about at night, but they didn’t run unless they were in trouble. He couldn’t say if it was the same for the newcomers.
His nostrils flared, and the flesh across his shoulders came alive, sensitive to any disturbance. Although being on foot made him vulnerable, it also increased his ability to move silently over the land, and he did that now, bent low, senses as finally tuned as those of any predator. Imagining himself as a wolf brought a smile to his lips.
Closer and closer he came to his prey, muscles ready, one hand on his knife, the other clutching his arrows. Still, if the truth was in the soft thud-thud of feet against earth, he wouldn’t need either. The slender moon had ducked behind a wispy cloud, and the stars were like fox kits reluctant to leave their warm den.
The first time he heard the word, all he felt was surprise at the realization that the other night traveler had spoken. Then the sound was repeated and he understood, or at least thought he did.
“Cougar,” the wind itself seemed to say. “Cougar.”
His heart jumped and skittered; his ears let him know it wasn’t Morning Butterfly’s voice, still, there was something—
A woman walking alone where maybe it wasn’t safe for anyone to be about. Armed with that knowledge, he eased closer to what moved in the middle of the slumbering desert. She called his name again in heavily accented Navajo, the sound wavering at the end, letting him know that whoever she was, she didn’t want to be here.
“Do not be afraid,” he said in Hopi. “I mean you no harm.”
She gave a little squeak, and he imagined her shrinking back.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Who has come looking for me, Cougar?”
“You?” she managed. “It is you?”
“Yes.”
“Spider Woman, thank you for guiding me to him. Where—where are you?”
“Here.” He stepped closer, slowly enough, he hoped, that he wouldn’t frighten her. “Who are you?”
“Singer of Songs, Morning Butterfly’s sister.”
“Where is she? What are you doing here?”
“I would ask you the same question.”
He searched within himself for the answer, but all he could tell her was that Navajo spirits controlled his legs and thoughts these days and he didn’t fight their wisdom. She grunted, the short answer making him believe she didn’t fully understand but accepted.
Forces he didn’t yet and might never comprehend were at work here tonight, but because his soul was Navajo, he accepted them.
Singer of Songs was wary of him, and Cougar had no doubt that she carried a weapon somewhere within the folds of her skirt. Even now, standing so close that he occasionally felt the warm puff of her breath, he couldn’t make out more than the faintest outline.
“My sister feared I would not be safe at Oraibi,” she told him, “that the captain would come after me again, but that was not the only reason I fled. Morning Butterfly risked so much for me
. I listened to my heart and soul and they told me of what exists between her and you—that I should try to find you.”
“You knew I was here?”
“I knew you had come to Oraibi with my sister; my heart said you might not have left. And that you should know what has happened.”
“I thank you.”
“I wish I could tell you more, but Morning Butterfly and I had little chance to speak because as soon as the captain released me, he made her his captive. I have become important to the captain, but he is two men, one capable of gentleness and the other a stalking wolf.”
“What about Morning Butterfly?”
“He ordered her into his tent; his father-in-law went with him, as did the padre. The Spanish men do not trust each other and perhaps there is hatred between them, but their greed is even stronger.”
“Greed? For emeralds?”
“I do not know. An old man from our family, One Hand, had been hiding nearby as the Spanish threw words at each other. As soon as I was free, he called me to him.”
“I know who he is. What did he say to you?”
The sound she made was half sigh, half sob. “One Hand has lived many years and has seen many things—learned truths he does not want.”
“He is not the only one.”
“I know. Cougar, my sister fears for both of our people. When I spoke to One Hand, his words were the same, that the man called Gregorio de Barreto is dangerous and may bring grief to both Hopi and Navajo.”
“In what ways?”
“He is a slaver.”
Briefly robbed of the ability to breathe, Cougar nevertheless faced what he had to. He’d first heard the word slave from his grandfather when Drums No More explained that many of the Acoma captives had been sent far away. Most, including an uncounted number of children, had never been seen again, but a few had escaped and returned to tell of being forced to work for Spaniards who taught them, with whips and chains, to care for their livestock and till the ground. They’d had barely enough to eat as they sweated and bled and cried far from the land that had sheltered their ancestors.
