CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
May 23, 1949, 9:15 p.m.
Mescalero Indian Reservation
Brivari heard the footsteps approaching long before the appearance of his visitor. Indians were capable of almost the same level of silence as Covari, but River Dog and his father had adopted the habit of abandoning their stealth as they neared his cave, a practice which functioned much like the Proctor's "doorbell". A minute later he was able to analyze the gait, which identified his visitor.
"Greetings," Brivari said to Quanah as the latter stood just outside the cave entrance.
"To you as well, Nasedo," Quanah replied, stepping into the cave. Both he and River Dog knew that Brivari preferred to remain inside the cave at night. "I bring you urgent news from your kinsman who has passed on."
Brivari sighed inwardly and gestured to the other side of the small fire he had lit. He would have much preferred a smokeless option to provide light, but that involved the use of his abilities and would invite all sorts of inconvenient questions. Even Quanah's now frequent invitations to his table had not quelled the fears of some in the village, so it would not be wise to appear so obviously "different".
"And what is this news?" Brivari asked.
"He grows anxious for you to visit as soon as possible," Quanah announced.
And I considered it, Brivari thought. He had observed what Quanah's people referred to as the "sweat" many times since Quanah had delivered the message that could only have come from Valeris. Like many such rituals, it involved a great deal of noise, copious amounts of smoke, and the assistance of some kind of drug gleaned from local flora known as "cacti", which was both added to the fire for inhalation and ingested. A hallucinogen, Brivari had thought the first time he had observed its effects. He had no idea what effect such a substance might have on his Covari physiology, and was unwilling to take the risk of being compromised with two hunters still on the loose. Eventually it became a moot point, as he had attributed Quanah's knowledge of the message to the only rational explanation he could think of: The Proctor's child must have spoken of it to Quanah's children, a notion he admittedly found hard to accept given her usual discretion. But accept it he had, especially given the implications of the alternative—were it actually possible to speak with Valeris, it was very likely that Valeris would wind up telling him things he would rather not know. Some things were best left alone.
"There is more," Quanah said. "Danger approaches our village, a danger which envelops you as well."
"Danger?" Brivari echoed sharply. Of all the messages Quanah had delivered from "beyond", none had been warnings. "What kind of danger?"
"My grandfather did not know, but he feels your kinsman knows its source. You should contact your kinsman immediately."
"Have there been any strangers in your village recently?" Brivari asked. "Anyone from the military? Anyone asking questions?"
"No," Quanah answered. "No one. And we would certainly recognize anyone who does not belong here."
"I see," Brivari murmured, leaning back against the cave wall with resignation.
Quanah stared at him across the fire. "You know the danger of which your kinsman speaks, don't you?"
Unfortunately, Brivari thought heavily. If strangers of any variety would be noticed in the village, that left him with the disturbing option of strangers who would not be noticed, strangers capable of appearing as anyone so as not to arouse suspicion....and that was not impossible. In the months since the last hunter's death, Brivari and the two remaining hunters had played a macabre sort of tag, first one chasing the other, then reversing positions. It was a dangerous, frustrating game, made all the more difficult by the fact that the hunters now hunted as a pair, separating only rarely and for short periods of time. This made it more difficult for them to locate him because they covered less ground, but also made it more difficult for Brivari; since he couldn't handle two hunters at once, picking them off one at a time was a necessity. Several times he'd thought he had a single hunter in a compromising position only to have the second reappear, and several times the hunters had chased him, only to lose the trail. Three times he had avoided returning to the cave for several days because he was uncertain as to whether he'd managed to throw the hunters off; the last time had been only two weeks ago. I lost them, Brivari thought fiercely. I know I lost them.
"I'm afraid I'm going to need more details," Brivari answered, reminding himself that this latest prediction, like all such predictions, was vague. "Perhaps you could ask your grandfather to question my....'kinsman' further."
"He tried," Quanah answered. "Your kinsman would not elaborate. My grandfather suspects that he fears an answer would prejudice us against you."
Vague again. Brivari shook his head slightly, amazed that he had ever considered attempting to "talk" to a dead man. This information was so vague, it could have been brought on by Quanah's own fears, or the absorbed fears of his people. Certainly the medicine man still disapproved of Brivari's presence, standing outside his "wickiup" and scowling whenever Brivari visited.
"Why do you resist?" Quanah asked gently. "Do you fear what your kinsman would say? Many do."
"I fear the effects of whatever agent is added to the fire in the sweat lodge and ingested by many of the participants," Brivari answered, dodging Quanah's question.
"Peyote?" Quanah asked. "Some overdo, I admit. I suspect they soar well past the realm of our ancestors and go somewhere else entirely," he continued with a chuckle. "Myself, I find the tiny amounts in the smoke from the fire serve to place me in the right frame of mind to commune with the ancestors. I do not ingest it, and you needn't either."
"The behavior of those who do ingest it can be alarming," Brivari noted. "If you truly believe that danger approaches, it would not be wise to render me senseless."
Quanah smiled. "I was in the sweat lodge less than an hour ago, speaking with my grandfather. When I heard his message, I left immediately and came here. You know the distance I traveled. Would I have been able to do that if I were 'senseless'?" He shook his head. "The miniscule amounts of peyote in the fire will not harm you, and your kinsman's desire to speak with you is so strong that I doubt you would need to ingest it anyway. Please reconsider. I suspect he misses you terribly. He refers to you often as 'old friend'."
Old friend. Brivari worked hard to keep the shock off his face as his doubts once again suffered a direct hit. Valeris had indeed addressed him as "old friend" on a regular basis. While it was possible, however improbable, that the Proctor's child had divulged the contents of Valeris's message to Quanah's children, even she had not known how Valeris usually addressed him; only the four Warders would know that. Jaddo was captive, and Brivari sincerely doubted that Urza would dare address him as "old friend" even from the supposed beyond....which left only one explanation, fantastic as it may seem.
"Attend with me tomorrow night," Quanah coaxed. "I will accompany you, and guarantee your safety." He leaned forward, his face coming into sharper relief in the firelight. "What say you?"
******************************************************
Proctor residence
"Time for bed," David Proctor announced from the doorway to Dee's bedroom. "Want me to tuck you in?"
Dee was kneeling on the bench in front of her window, elbows propped on the windowsill, chin in hands. Now that she was ten—almost eleven, really—she'd gotten a little iffy about the whole being-tucked-in-by-a-parent bit. Once or twice a week, she declined, and those were the nights he and Emily felt the passage of time most keenly. As much as he enjoyed watching his daughter grow up, there were some things he was really going to miss.
"You know what I think is weird?" Dee asked, ignoring his earlier question.
"No," David answered, sitting down beside her on the bench. "What?"
"How something can be so important to you that it's practically all you think about....and then it isn't. And then you stop thinking about it until something suddenly reminds you of it. And then you realize you haven't thought about it in a long time....and that's weird, because it used to be all you thought about."
David smiled slightly. No-tuck-in nights were usually replaced with bedtime-discussion nights, a fair trade if you asked him. "So are you going to tell me what this 'something' is, or are you going to make me guess?" he asked.
"We stopped at Chambers today after school," Dee answered. "Mrs. Chambers had a poster up. There's going to be a 'Crash Festival' in Roswell this summer. On July 7th, the day the Army found the ship."
"I see," David murmured. "And what does one do at a 'crash festival'?"
"Mrs. Chambers told us they're going to crash a cardboard spaceship. She made alien dolls to go in the spaceship, and she wanted advice on how to make them look dead."
Ouch, David winced. His daughter had seen more than he had that day—a lot more. And this subject had indeed not come up for a very long while, all being quiet on both the alien and Army fronts. "That must have been hard to listen to," he said gently.
"It was," Dee admitted. "But I'm glad I was there with them at the end. I'm glad they weren't alone. That's worth it being hard."
David nodded, glad to hear her say that so matter-of-factly. She had made her peace with what had happened, and her part in it. Difficult as it had been and still was, she still felt it had been worth the effort. He felt the same way; going to war had been hard, hard on all of them, but stopping Hitler had made it worth it. Even Emily knew that, despite her objection to his volunteering.
But worth it or not, David still couldn't believe that his daughter had stood quietly by and said nothing. "Dee," he began, "I know it wasn't any fun to listen to that, but you really can't—"
"I know, I know," she interrupted with a sigh. "I can't blame them. They don't know what happened, can't know what happened. It's just a story to them."
"Right," David said doubtfully, "but why am I still waiting for the other shoe to drop?"
"Well....I might have made a suggestion to Mrs. Chambers," Dee said, shooting him a sideways glance. "Just a little one."
David's eyebrows rose. "What kind of suggestion?"
"That she put in lots of bullet holes and a big puddle of oil for blood."
"Good Lord," David muttered, shaking his head. "I'll bet that went over well."
"I'm sorry, Daddy, but I couldn't help it! You should have seen those dolls....they looked just like them. Except for the feet. Everybody makes the feet too big."
"I'm surprised Mrs. Chambers got that wrong," David chuckled, wrapping an arm around his daughter and ruffling her hair. "Her gossip network is pretty reliable. Look, I'm sure we won't be going to this festival, so you won't have to see whatever they're going to do. You'll just have to put up with people talking about it."
"Anthony knew I was upset, so he and I are going to do something else that night," Dee announced.
"Good," David smiled, mentally noting that Anthony was playing the same role with Dee that David played with Emily, that of the counterweight that kept the scale balanced. Dee would need someone like that when the time came for her to—no, he thought, mentally pushing the idea away. He was just getting used to not tucking her in all the time. Thoughts of marriage could wait.
"I haven't thought about that day for ages," Dee was saying from the crook of his arm. "And today, it was like it happened yesterday. I saw those dolls and it all came back, all the bullets and the blood." She paused. "Is that what it was like when you came back from the war? Like you'd forget, and then remember?"
"Very much like that," David answered, "but I think it's worse for you. You're still right here, right where everything happened. I'm not overseas anymore, so there's less to remind me. But something does come up every now and then that brings it back. I just got a letter from one of the men in my unit that made me remember a few things I'd rather not."
"The one from Tucson?"
"Tucson?" David frowned. "No. Jack is from Detroit."
"Well, you got a letter from someone in Tucson," Dee said. "I saw the postmark."
"Guess I'd better go read it then," David said lightly. "Time for bed."
"Tuck me in?"
"You bet," David smiled.
Five minutes later he was downstairs at the little table by the door where the mail was stacked. It was three envelopes down, addressed in the same chiseled handwriting as the first note had been. As he unfolded the letter inside, a photograph fell out, fluttering to the floor at his feet, and David bent to retrieve it. Charles Dupree cut quite the dashing figure in a tuxedo, and his bride was lovely. Charlie and Ada Jane, 1949 was inscribed on the back, this time in a woman's handwriting.
David read the letter three times, about how Charles had been married three weeks ago on a lovely May day. He'd inherited his family's business, his father having died recently, and come into a considerable amount of money. "I've got the business to run, and Ada Jane and I want kids, so I have to be a responsible family man now," he wrote. "No time for chasing aliens. No reason to either. I'm a lucky man."
"So you are," David murmured, staring at the photograph, noticing for the first time the large house in the background and the broad smile on Charles's face. He was delighted to see Charles so prosperous and happy; perhaps he should write back. He'd never responded to the last note, the one that had come packaged with a healing stone now hidden in a drawer upstairs and delivered at such a tumultuous time, but now....now it seemed appropriate that he reply. He turned the envelope over, but there was no return address, nor was there any mention of an address in the letter. David puzzled over that for a moment before it hit him. He doesn't want me to write back, he realized. Charles had wanted David to know that he was okay, that he was moving on with his life as he had promised, but he didn't want to hear from David. David represented a part of his life he was trying to forget. A note from him would be a reminder of how they'd met, of why Charles had felt the urge to write in the first place. And Charles didn't want to be reminded, any more than Dee had wanted to be reminded earlier today.
David carefully wrapped the photograph inside the letter and placed both back in the envelope. Back when he and Charles had been meeting at the tavern, he'd been determined to corner Brivari and demand an explanation for what had happened to Charles. Now he was glad he hadn't. He was pretty sure he wouldn't like what he heard, and what difference did it make now anyway? Charles was right—with his new wife, new home, and new business, he was a lucky man. And so was David, having returned safely from the war to a family and neighborhood he loved. Perhaps it was best to leave well enough alone. Some questions were best left unanswered.
******************************************************
Mescalero Indian Reservation
When he returned from his visit to Nasedo's cave, Quanah was surprised to find his son waiting outside their house wearing a worried expression. "What is it?" Quanah asked.
"Inside," River Dog answered, gesturing toward the front door. "They're waiting for you."
Mystified, Quanah went inside to find three members of the governing council and Itza-chu gathered around his kitchen table. "What is this?" he asked suspiciously.
"Quanah," one of the council members replied, nodding courteously. "We apologize for the late hour. We have—"
"Do you intend to invite the stranger to the sweat lodge?" Itza-chu interrupted bluntly, rising to his feet.
Quanah's eyebrows rose also. "Please," said another of the council members, all of whom were looking distinctly uneasy. "Itza-chu, sit down. We agreed we would not approach this as a confrontation."
"You 'agreed'?" Quanah echoed sharply. "So—now you have clandestine meetings behind my back?"
"You are avoiding the subject," Itza-chu snapped.
"As are you," Quanah retorted.
"Brothers," rumbled the third council member, an elderly man by the name of Kanseah. "Enmity serves no purpose. Quanah, we have concerns we would share with you. Will you hear us?"
Quanah looked around the table, his eyes resting on each face in turn. "Since there are only three council members present, I gather you do not speak for the entire council?"
"We wished to keep this private," Kanseah replied.
Quanah snorted. "More likely Itza-chu was unable to sway the remaining members, which is why you are in my house instead of council chambers. I will hear you," he added, taking a seat as Itza-chu smoldered across the table from him, "but I very much dislike being ambushed in my own home. River Dog," he added, addressing his son who stood behind them, all ears. "Leave us."
Kanseah waited until River Dog had reluctantly left the room before speaking again. "I offer my apologies for the manner of our approach," he said gravely to Quanah. "Time was of the essence. Now, I must ask that you answer Itza-chu's question: Do you intend to invite the visitor to the sweat?"
"I have already done so," Quanah answered.
Sharp intakes of breath all around. "And has he accepted your invitation?" Kanseah continued.
"He has."
"I see," Kanseah murmured, as worried glances were exchanged. "In that case, I would—"
"He must be stopped!" Itza-chu burst out. "There is no telling what will befall us if the stranger is allowed to visit the dead!"
"Please," Kanseah said soothingly, "calm yourself. We don't know—"
"We know enough!" Itza-chu interrupted angrily. "We know the stranger is dangerous, and Quanah's faith in him a product of blind gratitude."
"We know no such thing," Kanseah said firmly, "nor will I tolerate—"
"Do not trouble yourself," Quanah broke in, never taking his eyes off Itza-chu. "Let the Great Hawk speak. Perhaps he will exhaust himself with his constant screeching, and we will all enjoy a few minutes peace."
Kanseah suppressed a smile as the two other council members chuckled openly. Itza-chu glared at Quanah, who returned his stare unperturbed. It was no secret that the visitor represented a long-standing quarrel between them. Quanah's friendship with Nasedo had rankled the medicine man for months now.
"You may speak," Kanseah said to Itza-chu, "but tread carefully. This is not a trial."
Itza-chu's eyes flashed at the rebuke, but when he spoke, his voice was more measured. "Seventeen months ago," he began, "children found a stranger in our woods, a wounded stranger being hunted by we know not what. I sensed immediately that he was not of this world, that danger stalked him. We were foolish to allow him into our woods, more foolish still to allow him into our village. Allowing him to commune with the spirits is suicide."
"He wishes to contact his dead kin," Quanah said impatiently. "I fail to see how assisting him in that endeavor constitutes 'suicide'."
"What if he has some kind of influence over the spirits?" one of the council members said nervously. "Suppose he turns them against us?"
"When I first suggested that Nasedo might be a mountain spirit, you all thought me mad," Quanah noted. "I gather you have abandoned the notion that he is flesh and blood?"
"We do not know what he is," Kanseah admitted, "which is precisely why we are worried. He may be either flesh and blood, or spirit....and there are different kinds of spirits."
"You think he is an evil spirit?" Quanah asked. "On what grounds?"
An uncomfortable silence followed. Even Itza-chu said nothing, and looked decidedly unhappy at having nothing to say. "I don't follow," Quanah said, shaking his head in amazement. "In all the time he has been here, Nasedo has not raised his hand against us. He has respected our reticence and kept to himself, not to mention the fact that he saved the lives of my children."
"Yes, but how did he save your children?" asked a council member. "The story your son tells is strange indeed."
"And what of it?" Quanah demanded. "Is understanding required for gratitude? Our people do not understand how the mountain spirits perform their miracles. Does that make those miracles any less real?"
"The lives of your children are precious," Kanseah assured him. "We understand that you are grateful, and we share your joy at their good fortune. Nevertheless, the odd nature of their rescue reveals this 'Nasedo' as a being of great power. Great power can be used in many ways....not all of them good."
"He does not see," Itza-chu said stubbornly, "because he does not wish to. His gratitude blinds him."
"My gratitude guides me," Quanah countered, "as does the evidence of my own eyes. A man is known by his deeds. What deeds of Nasedo's lead you to believe he wishes us ill?"
"But what of those who pursue him?" one of the council members asked. "What if they should find him here? What if they object to our harboring him?"
"They are close," Itza-chu murmured, closing his eyes. "I can feel them."
For just a moment, Quanah's resolve faltered. "I can feel them...." For all his paranoia, Itza-chu truly did have senses others lacked. Nasedo's kin and Quanah's own grandfather had warned of danger; was the approach of those who pursued Nasedo the danger they spoke of? Did Itza-chu sense that danger too? Or perhaps he was just saying that to further his own agenda?
"If those who pursue Nasedo are indeed nearby, then we would be most unwise to alienate him now," Quanah said. "If their presence poses a danger, we may need him—along with all of his strangeness—in order to fend them off."
Murmurs of dismay sounded around the table. "We should never have allowed him to stay in our woods!" exclaimed a council member. "He is not like us! There's no telling what he does when we're not watching! What if—"
"Enough!" Quanah snapped. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves! Look at how our people are treated, how we are shunted away from 'normal people' because we are different. Look at the ridiculous stories that are told of us conducting human sacrifice and drinking the blood of infants! If anyone should know the pain of being 'other', it is us....and yet we sit here sounding just like the white man."
Silence. Kanseah appeared troubled. The council members looked abashed. Itza-chu merely scowled.
"I will hear no more of this without proof," Quanah continued, rising to his feet. "I have invited Nasedo to attend the sweat tomorrow night as my guest, and he has accepted. Those of you who disagree should not attend, lest you pollute the ceremony with your negative energy. We have too much of that already."
No one said a word as Quanah walked to the front door and opened it. "We are done here," he said firmly. "Good night."
Slowly, those seated at the table rose and left the house; Itza-chu stalked out, the two council members scurried out, their eyes on the floor, and Kanseah briefly put his hand on Quanah's shoulder and smiled before leaving.
"Father?" said a voice behind him.
"They have gone," Quanah said to his eldest son without turning around, still watching Itza-chu's progress toward his wickiup.
"Do you believe what they said about Nasedo?" River Dog asked. "Do you think he's evil?"
"No," Quanah replied, closing the door and sighing heavily as he sank into a chair. "I do not. But I do not know for certain what he is or his purpose here, or what he flees. I cannot disagree that there might be danger."
"I do not believe he is evil," River Dog said stoutly.
"I know," Quanah smiled. "And my invitation to the sweat stands. Perhaps the way to learn more about our visitor is to not keep him at such a distance."
"I will attend the sweat too," River Dog announced.
"No, you will not," Quanah said firmly, holding up a hand to stem the tide of objection. "There may be trouble, and that trouble may come from our own people. I do not want you involved. My decision is final."
"Yes, father," River Dog sulked.
"One thing I do know," Quanah added darkly, ignoring his son's disappointment. "The next time Itza-chu wishes to speak with me, he should come to me directly instead of following me into the woods and then sneaking back here for a secret meeting when he is discovered."
"Following you?" River Dog echoed. "What do you mean?"
"Itza-chu tried to follow me to Nasedo's cave," Quanah explained. "He could have just asked me about my intentions, but instead he trailed me like a thief in the night. I almost confronted him about that tonight, and then decided to do so privately, a courtesy he did not grant me."
"Father," River Dog said slowly, "I don't know who was following you, but it wasn't Itza-chu."
"How do you know that?" Quanah asked sharply.
"Because he arrived only moments after you left for the cave, and remained until you returned. You hadn't even entered the woods yet—I could still see you through the window."
"Are you certain?" Quanah asked, puzzled. "Are you absolutely certain Itza-chu was here right after I left?"
"Yes," River Dog answered. "And he never left. He sent a messenger to the council members, and they arrived shortly before you did. Is.....is anything wrong?"
"No," Quanah said quickly. "Nothing. I was just certain.....I probably imagined it," he added. "It's probably nothing."
"Probably," River Dog agreed.
Someone followed me, Quanah thought privately, a prickle of fear creeping into his bones. I heard them. And not just any someone; someone with Itza-chu's gait, something very hard to copy. Who could it have been? Was this the danger his grandfather had spoken of? Someone capable of copying another's gait that expertly would be dangerous indeed.
Quanah shook his head as he rose from his chair. He would keep this to himself for the time being. There was no telling what it meant, and fevered minds might make more of it than they should. He was now very grateful that he had not publicly accused Itza-chu of following him into the woods; the medicine man's subsequent denial would have made the others even more suspicious of Nasedo than they were already. And maybe they should be, Quanah thought uneasily as he stared out into the black night. Maybe I should be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 101 next Sunday.
I'm getting there, I promise!
And you're right, River Dog was referring to both the sweat being a test, and the sweat not going well.