She Returns From War (20 page)

"Glad to hear it, boys," Cora said. "Come on over to the table and we'll have us a little pow-wow. Bob, keep an eye on the rest of the place for a spell, would you?"

Robert nodded absently as the two men walked toward Victoria's table. They stopped short of sitting down, but that was fine with her. She offered them another smile, inwardly screaming at Cora to hurry up and join them. The two men didn't exactly frighten her, but their unreadable faces made her uneasy.

Thumping boots announced Cora's approach. "Go on and have a seat, boys," she said, claiming a chair next to Victoria. The men exchanged glances again, and the one who had spoken to them nodded. Their chairs skidded across the floorboards as they sat.

"You boys got names?" Cora asked. "It don't feel right just calling you boys all the time."

The first man nodded. "I am Naalnish. He is Ata'halne."

"Fine names, if you ask me." Cora grinned at them.

"I reckon you already know who I am. This here's Vicky Dawes."

Victoria was about to correct her, but before she had a chance, Naalnish spoke to his companion in their native tongue. Victoria listened, fascinated. The words flowing out of him sounded like the bubbling of a small river. The man called Ata'halne nodded and said something in reply.

"What does this name 'Vicky' mean?" Naalnish asked, looking at Victoria.

"My name is Victoria," she said. "My parents named me for Queen Victoria - that's our queen where I'm from - and I never gave it much thought. I suppose it has something to do with victory and being victorious."

Naalnish said something to Ata'halne, and the other nodded. "It is a strong name. Your parents chose well," Naalnish said.

"Thank you," Victoria said.

"You got meanings for your names, too, right?" Cora asked. "All you Indians do, I hear."

Naalnish nodded. "Yes. In your tongue, my name means 'He Works'. His name means 'He Interrupts'."

Cora laughed. "He sure ain't living up to his name today. I don't think he's said a word but to you. Did you all name him that as a joke?"

"No," Naalnish said. "He does not know your language and so does not speak to you."

"Fair enough." Cora placed both hands on the table. "So, are you and him ready to help us out?" Naalnish nodded again, so she continued. "Well, as it turns out, Vicky here got herself into a bind with one of your folk, and she ain't quite sure how to go about getting out of it."

"She has been injured by one of our people, or she has injured one of our people?"

"Not injured, exactly. At least, not hurt or nothing. See, a lady Indian took her from her hotel room here in town, carried her out to an old ranch west of here, and gave her quite a scare. Then, when Vicky and I rode out to that same ranch, this here lady killed our horses and left us in the middle of the desert to starve or die of sunstroke."

Strange words flowed between the two men. Cora folded across her chest and waited. Victoria listened to them speak, hoping to catch any hint of meaning or emotion, but she soon gave up. Though their words were at once as graceful and earthy as the mesas in the desert, she couldn't make any sense of them. The Indians seemed intent on their conversation; they spoke for several minutes, occasionally glancing at the two women.

Naalnish suddenly turned back to them. "What reason would one of our people have to do these things?"

"I ain't rightly sure, myself," Cora replied. "Vicky didn't go picking any fights, if that what you mean. She was minding her own business when she got snatched up."

"That is not good," Naalnish said. "Our people do not wish to fight with yours." His dark eyes fixed on Victoria with startling intensity. "You did not give her reason?"

"No," Victoria said. "I had never seen her before she kidnapped me. I'm sure of it."

Naalnish relayed her words to Ata'halne. The other man replied with something that made both of them laugh. Victoria shot a glance at Cora, not sure what to make of their laughter, but the hunter's eyes remained on their companions.

"Why do you come to us with this?" Naalnish asked. "Surely your laws can deal with this woman. You do not need our help."

"Well, this woman ain't exactly normal," Cora said.

Naalnish's brow twitched. "What do you mean?"

"You Navajo folk got religion, right? Not like Catholics or Protestants or whatnot, but you all have spirits and magic and such?"

"Yes," Naalnish said.

"That's what I figured," Cora said. "See, this here woman what's been giving poor Vicky so much trouble uses that spirit magic of yours to pull off her tricks, I reckon. Spooky stuff, what's more. She made it where my gun didn't work, and said she even turned into my horse to trick us."

As she spoke, the man's face clouded over. He leaned back in his chair. When Cora finished, he turned to his friend and spoke in a low, hurried voice. Ata'halne's eyes locked onto the hunter as he listened. Like Naalnish, his face betrayed a deep concern at what he was hearing. He responded to the other man, his voice hushed as though he was afraid the two women would overhear.

Naalnish abruptly stood. "We cannot speak of this."

"What's that, now?" Cora asked.

"To speak of this evil is to call to it," he said. "We can say no more."

"Now, you just wait one minute," Cora said, rising to her feet. "How can you call yourself a man if you just light out and leave this poor girl to her fate?"

"She is not of our people," Naalnish replied. He met Cora's gaze without flinching. "We have women and children, brothers and sisters. Why should we risk their lives for her? The evil that you speak of will devour them all. We will not help you."

"Please." The look of distress on Victoria's face was genuine. "I don't know what to do."

The Indian turned away from them, placing a hand on Ata'halne's shoulder before walking toward the door. Ata'halne rose to follow his companion. His black eyes lingered on Victoria's face for a moment before he, too, turned and left the saloon.

Cora sat back down as the batwing doors creaked shut. "Well, that puts a burr under our saddle, don't it?"

"You do not seem all that concerned."

"Well, what to do about it?" Cora said. "Ain't like we can go clinging to their boots and begging. Indians don't take kindly to that sort of display, and that's one thing we happen to agree on. I ain't exactly the begging type."

"You aren't the smart type either, are you?" Victoria asked.

Cora held up a hand. "Hey, now, no need to get nasty about it. So these two fellers are too yellow to lend us a hand. They ain't the only two Indians in the world. We'll find us a one that ain't such a coward."

"Why? So you can drive them off again?" Victoria's chair nearly fell over as she stood. "What if none of them offer to help us? How will we get ourselves out of this mess?" Cora started to speak, but Victoria was too angry and too frightened to slow down. "I'll tell you. We won't. We won't because you have the diplomatic subtlety of a cannon. You have condemned us to death, but I refuse to just sit about and wait for it. If this witch woman wants to kill me, I will make her catch me first. I'm going back to England. Even if you refuse to come. I have had enough of your insults, your condescension, and your recklessness, and I won't stand for another minute of it. Goodbye, Cora Oglesby."

Victoria turned on her heel, ignoring the spikes of pain shooting through her feet. She half-expected to hear Cora's voice calling her back, but the hunter remained silent. Not that it mattered. Cora could scream and beg for her to stop. Her mind was made up. It had been a mistake to come out here in the first place, the mad delusion of a girl lost to grief. She should have listened to her doubts and abandoned this quest before it had ever gone this far. The sooner she boarded a train bound for New York, the sooner she could begin forgetting this miserable little town and its horrible hero.

Outside, the sun had already transformed the streets of Albuquerque into dust-lined ovens. Victoria pulled her hat down against the glare and stormed down the wooden sidewalk. With every painful step, her longing to see the cobblestone streets and green pastures of Oxford increased. She could have been seated in her father's study that morning, learning all she could about managing the investments he had left to her. In the afternoon, she might have taken a carriage to a friend's estate to take tea and watch children play in the garden. Nightfall would have seen her return to her own bedchamber for a deep, dreamless sleep beneath her silk sheets.

A hand grabbed her shoulder.

She let out a short scream and whirled around, hand reaching for her revolver. It was halfway out of its holster before she stopped. The Indian called Naalnish stood before her. The sun shone in his black hair as he regarded her in silence.

"Yes?" she asked after a few awkward moments. "What is it?"

Naalnish looked over his shoulder as Ata'halne appeared behind him. Naalnish asked the other man something in their native tongue. Ata'halne nodded.

"You would know why he is called 'He Interrupts'?" Naalnish asked, turning back to Victoria.

"Not particu-"

"It is not because he speaks too much or too loudly. He was given that name because he interrupts the speech of wisdom."

"What do you mean?" Victoria asked.

The Indian sighed. "He spoke to me of his great worry for you. He says you are young and do not understand this world. He asked me if I would have my own daughter receive help if she journeyed to your lands and found trouble. I could not say no."

He paused. Victoria said nothing, afraid of somehow changing his mind again.

"I cannot help you to fight this evil," Naalnish said, "but I know of one who can."

Hope fluttered in her chest. "Who is he?"

"A singer," he replied. "He has seen many things in his long years, and he knows much of the Holy People. He has led many ceremonies in our clan. I will ask him to help you, but he may say no. If he will not help you, you must find your way alone."

"Where is this man?"

"He is near," Naalnish said. "It will not be a long journey."

Victoria studied the man's face. He seemed sincere, as did his friend. If what Naalnish said was true, she might not need to return home in shame, defeated by powers beyond her ability to overcome. Still, could she trust these two men? They seemed honest and decent, but she knew nothing of them or their ways. They could be planning to kidnap, rape, or even kill her, abandoning her body for the desert animals to scavenge. Or perhaps their people kept slaves, and they would sell her to this singer man they spoke of.

The thought of spending the rest of her days in this godforsaken desert almost brought the refusal to her lips. She opened her mouth to say as much when her gaze met Ata'halne's. The Indian's eyes sparked at her from beneath his thick brows. This man had convinced his friend to turn back and offer her their help, even at the risk of endangering his own family. If their offer was sincere and she turned it down, she would make a fool of him. Besides, she still had her gun and her knife. Abrasive though she was, Cora had taught her how to handle herself. She could at least give them a fight if their intentions proved less than honorable.

"Take me to him."

THIRTEEN

"Welcome to our home."

Victoria leaned out from behind Ata'halne, her arms clamped around his waist. Naalnish nodded toward a small group of structures rising out of the desert floor. They were conical shapes built of sticks and mud. As they rode closer, she could see that each hut had a large, colorful blanket covering its entrance. A few women sat in a small circle, talking and laughing in the same strange language Naalnish and Ata'halne spoke. They raised their voices in greeting when they caught sight of them. The two men raised their hands in return.

Victoria could feel eyes staring at her with great interest, but she avoided their gaze. She shifted her leg to feel the pressure of the revolver against it. Her two escorts had not demanded she remove her weapons, which gave her a small measure of comfort.

They had ridden for no more than a few hours. The sun had continued its journey into the fathomless blue sky and now hung near its peak, raining down its relentless heat in earnest. Victoria's shirt stuck to her back again, and she knew she would need to have it washed when she returned to town. The aching in her body had become a constant companion, one she had learned to ignore.

Ata'halne guided their horse up to a larger building. Unlike the other huts, this one had a small extension protruding from its side. Had it been of any notable size, Victoria might have likened it to a hallway leading into a sitting room, but the "hallway" was scarcely taller than a man.

The two men dismounted. Ata'halne turned to help her down, but she slid off the horse's back with little trouble. Naalnish led them up to the building's entrance. A woven blanket covered the opening, its pattern full of squares and triangles in white and black and red. Victoria had never seen a blanket like it, even among the British aristocracy. How these primitive people could produce such work was beyond her.

"The singer is inside," Naalnish said. "He is the one that can help you. He may not help you, and if he does not, you must leave at once. You will bring evil to us all if you do not."

Victoria nodded. "Even if he chooses not to, I thank you for your help."

The Indian looked uncomfortable. He gave a quick nod and pulled the blanket aside. Victoria stepped through the doorway into the darkness beyond. Smoke swirled around her, burning her eyes and throat. She tried to hold in the coughs that rose up in her chest but failed. Covering her mouth with her hand, she took a painful breath.

Naalnish placed a hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to go farther in. She took a few more steps and entered a small, circular room. Sunlight streamed in through holes in the walls and roof, forming smoky rays that cut across the shadows. The remains of a fire smoldered in a circular pit. Sitting on the far side of it was the dim figure of a man. She watched him for a moment, unsure if his eyes were open or not. Naalnish slipped into the room behind her, taking a seat to the man's right. He motioned for her to sit opposite them. She nodded and eased herself into the packed earth.

Victoria sat in the darkness watching the two Indians. She wondered why Ata'halne did not follow them inside, but did not think it would be polite to ask. Naalnish was looking at the elderly man, who hadn't moved since they first entered. After a few moments of silence, Naalnish spoke softly in the Indian tongue. The singer turned his head to listen.

"I have told him your name," Naalnish said to her, "and why you have come."

The old man's eyes glittered in the dim light. He spoke in a voice of dry leaves and wind, but it filled the small room with authority.

"He feels shame for the actions of this woman who has injured you," Naalnish said. "He says no 
Dine
 should behave in such ways."

"Oh, he shouldn't feel sorry for that," Victoria said. "Tell him it is not his fault."

Naalnish relayed her words to the singer, who replied without taking his eyes off her. "He says this woman should have known better than to act as she did. We do not wish for any fight with your people."

Victoria hesitated, not sure how to respond. "Not everyone is a good person," she finally said. "Perhaps this woman is just given to hurting others."

"It is true," the old man said through Naalnish. "But you did not come here to speak of good and evil in men. You came for help, and I will give it."

A smile spread across Victoria's face. "Thank you, sir."

The singer held up his hand. "Before I start, you must promise to only speak of this when you need. When you speak of this evil, it hears. Naalnish put himself in danger by speaking of it to you. Those who walk the Witchery Way silence talk of them, and their ears are sharp. What is more, after learning these things, you may want this power for yourself. It is believed that one who knows much of the Witchery Way must walk that path."

"You know much," Victoria said, "and you are not an evil man."

"Are you certain?" The light caught the old man's eye in a queer gleam, and a chill skittered up Victoria's spine.

A grin deepened his wrinkles. "Yes, you are right. I know more than I could tell you in a hundred nights, and yet I know little of the Holy People and all their ways. I know also of the Witchery Way, and it has not corrupted me. I will tell you enough so you may fight this woman that seeks to do evil to you.

"The Witchery Way is a very old path given to us by First Man and First Woman. We do not know why they created it, but we endure its evils as we enjoy their blessings. Those who walk this path we call 
ant'iihnii
."

"What does that mean?"

"It means 'witch people'."

"Are all witches women, then?" Victoria asked. "Can men ever follow this path?"

The old man smiled. "You would know much. If we spoke of other things, I would tell you with a glad heart. Of this, I will only say what you need to hear."

"I understand," Victoria said.

"Good." He shifted his weight. "Now, to choose the wise path, I must know what this woman has done to you."

Victoria recounted both her encounter with the woman on the first night and the subsequent confrontations with her. Wanting to leave nothing out, she even told the old man of her dream in which she flew across the desert and came upon the two pursuers on the mesa. As she spoke, Naalnish grew visibly more agitated. He hesitated to translate her words, and when he did, his words were hushed and hurried. His distress fed her own uneasiness.

When she finished, the singer studied the embers between them for a long time. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, and Victoria could feel her own running down her cheeks. The air in the tiny room was still and thick. It made breathing difficult. Her shirt peeled away from her skin as she shifted her weight, waiting for the old man's reply.

At last, his gaze lifted from the fire. "It is strange," Naalnish translated. "This woman says she can become an animal, and you say you have seen this."

"I did not witness it, exactly," Victoria said. "I only dreamed I did."

"That you say it was a dream is not strange," the Indian said. "Your people have no stories of such things, but I can tell you that your dream was not a dream."

Victoria blinked. "How is that possible? I most certainly did not grow wings and teach myself to fly, nor could I have instantly moved from the top of the mesa back to our camp."

"Your body did not move," he said, nodding, "but you moved across the land all the same."

"I don't understand."

The singer smiled. "As I said, your people have no stories of such things, but my people do. The 
Dine
 have long known that the spirit can leave the body, moving over the land and seeing things that the body's eyes may not. You are not 
Dine
, so it is strange for you to do this, but you did."

"So my dream wasn't a dream?" Victoria asked. "What happened to me that night, what I felt and what I saw, was real?"

"Yes," he replied.

Victoria couldn't quite grasp what she was hearing. Surely this old man, wise though he was, had somehow confused the world of dreams with the real world. Maybe his tribe did have stories to explain dreams as something other than they were, but they were just stories. It wasn't possible for the spirit to leave the body prior to a person's death, when it was sent to paradise or damnation for all eternity. To say otherwise was absurd and heretical.

"I see on your face that you do not believe me. Tell me this: in your dream, when you saw the 
ant'iihnii
, how did she see you if you were not there?"

"I'm not sure," Victoria said. "She just seemed to sense me somehow."

"The 
ant'iihnii
 knows of the spirit world, and she sees those that walk in it. When you came close, she felt you. When she took the form of the fox, her eyes could see you."

Victoria's stomach grew slightly ill. "What would have happened if I hadn't returned to my body?"

"She would have wounded your spirit," the singer said. "If her spirit was stronger, yours may have been broken. You would have been lost."

"I would have died?"

"Your body, yes. Your spirit may have found a new body, but maybe not."

"What do you mean, found a new body? I might have possessed someone else?"

"Now you ask of the Great Cycle. I would gladly tell you more, but it must wait. We must keep our words on the 
ant'iihnii.
"

Victoria looked into Naalnish's eyes. They were round with fear. "Yes, I'm sorry. Please tell me about her."

"Like the Dine, the 
ant'iihnii
 do not all walk the same path. I am a singer, and Naalnish is a strong worker. They have their own skills also. We call them all 
ant'iihnii
, but they have other names. The one that hunts you is called..."

"What? What is it called?"

Naalnish looked away. The singer watched him for a moment, then turned to Victoria. "
Yee naaldlooshii
," he said.

The younger Indian cringed at the words. Speaking in soft tones, the singer placed his hand on Naalnish's shoulder. Victoria's heart filled with sympathy. The things the old man said terrified her, and she had only come to know of them in the past few days. For Naalnish, who surely had heard stories of such creatures since infancy, it was as though his childhood fears were coming to life around him. If she had come across a man in Oxford who claimed to have witnessed Frankenstein's monster with his own eyes, Victoria knew she would feel much the same.

Naalnish nodded at the old man's words and turned back to Victoria. "I am sorry," he said. "It is forbidden for us to speak of such things."

"I understand," Victoria said, offering what comfort she could with her eyes. "I am truly grateful for all your help, and I will pray that this woman will not harm you or your family for it."

"Thank you," he said. He took a deep breath, then continued. "The word he spoke would be 'skin-walker' in your tongue."

"Skin-walker," Victoria said, testing it out. The words sounded ominous, and yet it seemed to fit. "What does a skin-walker do?"

"What you have seen," Naalnish translated. "They take the shape of animals. They do this to hunt, to hide, to play tricks, and to attack people. To take an animal's shape, they must wear the skin of the animal and no other clothing."

"That explains why she was naked in the barn that night," Victoria said, mostly to herself, but Naalnish translated her words anyway.

The singer nodded. "And why she wore nothing in your dream that was not a dream."

"Still," Victoria said, "that doesn't quite explain everything. Why is she able to control the man she travels with, the one Cora calls a vampire? Is that also a power of the skin-walker?"

"Yes and no," he replied. "The 
ant'iihnii
 are of many paths, as I have said. Some walk more than one. If she can do this thing, she must also walk The Frenzy Way. This way gives 
ant'iihnii
 the power of will over others."

Victoria remembered her strange feelings when the skin-walker first questioned her in the barn. "So they can control someone's mind?"

"No," the old man said, shaking his head. "Not control, but pressing on the will like a stone on corn. If your will is strong, you may keep it, but you will still feel the pressing."

"That vampire must be weak-willed, then," Victoria said. "An odd thing to think about such a creature." She shook her head, then moved on to the most important question of the day. "So how do we protect ourselves from this skin-walker? Can she be killed?"

The singer inhaled deeply. "Our stories say it can be done," he said, "but it is not easy. The 
ant'iihnii
 protects itself well. When it is in an animal shape, it may be wounded, but it is very quick. When it is human, it has magic to make bowstrings break and guns fail."

Victoria's heart sank. His words were filling the holes in her understanding of their encounters with this skinwalker. Cora didn't seem to know any other way of dealing with a threat besides shooting at it, and that clearly wouldn't work. "So what can we do?"

"She has shown her face to you," he replied. "Skin-walkers will not do this unless they must, for it puts them in danger. If one sees her face and calls her by name, her magic will not work. You have seen her face. If you learn her name, you may do this."