Killer of Enemies Page 21

  Victor wakes up as soon as Hussein gently lowers him to the ground. I notice how Hussein grimaces just a little as he does so because Victor accidentally grabs his injured hand for a moment. But he doesn’t say anything. He just pats Victor’s shoulder.

  Ana takes Victor’s hand and leads him over to a spot she’s sighted where there’s a flat stone next to the cottonwood trunk. She puts the rabbit down by the stone. Then they both sit down and begin to arrange sticks on top of that stone, talking quietly about the house they’re building.

  “This will be my room,” Ana says. “And this will be Mom’s.”

  “And this one,” Victor says, “is where Lozen and Hussein can live.”

  I feel my cheeks getting red and I look away, hoping Hussein didn’t hear that.

  Another thought comes to me then. My little sister and brother don’t look scared or anxious. They trust me to keep us safe. And that makes me anxious. Am I up to this, can I do it? Hussein, who is leaning against the trunk off to my right—probably out of earshot of my little brother—looks over at me as if he’s about to say something. But just then Mom comes over the ridge to join us and he closes his mouth again.

  “All clear behind us,” Mom says.

  I don’t doubt her judgment at all. Mom was always as good a tracker as her brother, Uncle Chatto. And her eyes and ears are as keen as my own.

  She turns her gaze in the direction of the eastern sky where the clouds are starting to turn red and gold. Then she looks over at me. I nod in answer to her unspoken question.

  Yes, there’s time now for her to offer a prayer to the dawn.

  Victor and Ana stop talking and stand up, as Mom faces the east, takes pollen from the pouch that she always keeps on her belt, then she raises her arms and begins to speak. Her voice is soft, but somehow it seems as if her words echo from every rock to touch everything around us.

  Creator, we give thanks for another day.

  All is good that we are able to breathe.

  All is good that we are here together.

  All is good that we may walk about.

  For a moment as she speaks her prayer, it seems as if we are back together at Valley Where First Light Paints the Cliff. Time stands still.

  And as Mom continues her prayer I realize that Hussein has stepped forward to stand beside us, that he is holding Victor’s hand, while Victor holds Ana’s and Ana holds mine.

  Then the sun begins to show itself. The shadows lengthen and run across the land and the mesas turn from grey to blue and then to gold with the coming of the Oldest Giver’s light. The dawn wind comes to us and touches our faces. The warmth of that sunlight passes into our hearts. I feel connected to everything. It is as if those webs of light are binding the five of us together.

  Mom finishes her prayer. The four of us let go of each other’s hands and Mom embraces each of us in turn. Hussein, then Victor, then Ana, then me. Her eyes are glistening. I know she’s been thinking of Dad and her brother, my Uncle Chatto, as she made her prayer. Her face seems for a moment to glow and I remember what she told us about the Changing Woman Ceremony she did when she passed from being a girl into being a woman. In that beautiful ceremony the whole story of Creation was reenacted as she became for a time Changing Woman herself, her presence a blessing to everyone present. As the first beams of the sun touched her, Changing Woman began a series of dances that represented the stages of a woman’s life, from birth to old age.

  I feel sad deep in my heart as I think of that ceremony. It was denied to me and every other Apache girl because of the new Freedom from Superstition laws that were passed well before the coming of the Cloud. Those laws forbade all “antiquated rituals and practices” that did not contribute to the common good. I was nine then. Of course, those laws no longer held any power after the Cloud came.

  So, in Valley Where First Light Paints the Cliff my parents had planned that they would bring that ceremony back to life again. I would be painted golden with pollen and become Painted Woman. I would dance blessings for everyone around me. That was what was supposed to have happened a year ago. But the scouts from Haven arrived exactly four days before then.

  The dawn prayer done, Mom walks back down the trail to keep watch. Victor is now piling those sticks that were once a house into the right shape to make a small fire, one that will give off very little smoke. He piles tree bark and dried grasses together for tinder, then uses the flint and steel fire kit I’d hidden in my first cache to strike a spark and start it burning. Meanwhile, Ana is using one of the small knives from my cache to skin the rabbit. Victor is whittling another stick to make a spit on which the rabbit will be placed to cook it over his fire.

  Mom just watches them, trusting that they know what to do. They may be young children, but they are young Apache children. Like Mom and me, they began early to learn the ways to survive here in this place that looks deserted to many people but has been the home of the People for many, many generations.

  As I look at my family, I am wondering what it is that I have to do now to ensure our survival. It’s all in my hands insofar as where we go now and what we do next. My plan is that one of our stops along our path will be Valley Where First Light Paints the Cliff. But is that safe? Does Diablita Loca know where it is? How to find it? The scouts from Haven are all dead who captured my family and killed my dad and my uncle. But they probably passed on the information.

  Mom and Ana and Victor are trusting me to lead them when I am not even sure I trust myself. I’ve gotten us this far, but what exactly should I do next? And what do I do about . . .

  “Lozen, can I talk with you?” a soft melodious voice says next to my ear.

  I almost jump. But I don’t. No one ever sneaks up on me, but somehow Hussein has managed to come over and sit down behind me on this flat boulder I’ve chosen as a seat without my having noticed him. I take my hand off the handle of my Bowie knife and nod.

  Hussein takes a breath and then says nothing. He just slides around so that he is next to me and sits there watching the sunrise. Our shoulders are almost touching. I feel my whole body getting warmer—from the sun shining on me, I’m sure. I inhale the scent that the morning earth of the desert gives off as it absorbs the sun’s gifts of light and life. People think the desert is dead, but it’s not. It vibrates with life and I can smell that life around me, the heady odors of the sage, the subtler scents of velvet mesquite, ocotillo and saguaro, brittle bush and prickly pear, creosote and tough grasses. But I can also smell Hussein sitting next to me. His sweat, his body odor, the scent of tomato plants.

  I look down at his bandaged right hand.

  He holds it up. “It’s okay,” he says. “It was a clean cut. It will heal.” He wiggles his other three fingers and his thumb as if strumming a guitar. “I’ll play again.”

  “Good,” I say. It’s the first word I’ve spoken since he joined us.

  He holds out his other hand and with a gesture that is so graceful it takes my breath away, he indicates the land around us. “It is so beautiful,” he whispers. “I love it.” He places his hand over his heart. “My people, we were of the desert just as you are.”

  I wish I could read what is in his mind right now. But my gift doesn’t seem to come whenever I want. But I want to know if he is for real. Is he as sincere as he seems to be or is this just an act?

  Hussein leans forward and then turns his face so that he is looking right into my eyes. His eyes are large and brown, his lashes almost as thick and long as those of a beautiful, carefully made-up woman. But his face is not that of a woman at all.

  “Listen,” he says.

  I look down and nod, not because I don’t want to hear what he is saying. I just can’t keep staring into his eyes like this. Plus the polite way to listen among my people is not to make eye contact but to look down.

  “I am glad you made it possible for me to escape. Thank you. There is nothing back there for me, nothing. No friends, no family.”

  I don’t nod a
t that, I just sit still, even though it’s hard to do right now.

  “When I was young, when I had my family, they taught me things. We were not of the rich, we were Bedoo, poor people who lived at the edge of their wealth. But we stayed strong as the desert was strong, worked hard. So my family were people trained to defend, to provide security. Our old masters brought us here to this land. They brought not just my father, but also myself, my mother, my brothers. To use us as leverage to make sure my father always did exactly as told, even when those were things his heart told him not to do. Plus my brothers and I, we had some promise. So they also trained us, too. Understand?”

  I think I do.

  “There is another reason why I was glad to escape last night. I know why you stayed there. It was because they had your family. That is why you took them with you.”

  I nod again.

  He holds out his injured right hand and bends back his index finger.

  “Now they have no hold on you by threatening your family. But I also know the way they think, the way all masters think. They will try to use your friends, threaten to kill them to try to get you to come back. But who will they threaten? The Master of Weapons? But he is far too important for them to injure. Would they injure him?”

  I shake my head. Guy is safe as long as he does nothing himself in the way of outright rebellion.

  Hussein bends back his third finger.

  “So who is left?” He points at his shortened little finger covered by a bandage that is no longer white, but darkened by dirt and sweat. “It is me. Your only other friend in that dark place. A gardener. A very good one, to be sure, but only a gardener. And because I did not want to be a hostage, lose more fingers and perhaps my life, I was glad to run.”

  I want to say something. Like why would they think I’d care anything about him. And this time it is as if he is reading my mind.

  “Why would they think you are my friend? It is simple. When I stood on that platform and called your name by accident, you came. And then there is what you said. Everyone knows how little you speak. But for me, you spoke. Not just one word or two. I counted. More than fifty words!”

  Hussein smiles. Even looking away with my head down like this I can see that smile out of the corner of my eye. It’s a really sweet smile, a little like the smiles I get sometimes from my little brother Victor. A trusting smile . . . and a little more than that. I wish Victor or Ana or Mom would come over right now and interrupt us. I am feeling confused and ready for this conversation to end. But they are just staying over there cooking that rabbit, pointedly giving us space. It makes me want to yell or say crap!

  But I don’t.

  “So, Lozen, that is the other reason I came along. It is because I know that you like me.” He pauses. “And because I like you.” He takes an audible breath. “I really like you.”

  I need to say something. Not just shake my head. Am I happy or confused? Should I tell him I feel the same way? But what happens surprises me, because, in a real soft voice, I say a different word entirely.

  “Oh,” I say.

  “I am also here to give you this,” Hussein says.

  He hands me a message tube. I take the rolled message out and read it.

  If you have received this, I assume you are alive. That is good, for if someone else is reading this then there is an excellent chance that I may soon be defunct.

  However, fingers crossed, if things went as planned, then whatever diversion you assured me you could stage has succeeded, having confused and occupied the attentions of mes bon amis. Perhaps it has even set them at each other’s throats, their ignorant armies clashing at night upon Haven’s darkling plain, each One assuming the other was attacking her or him whilst my own hearty lads held back. (I do hope you spared my lads.)

  But now that the light of another day is upon you, mes bon amis have likely discovered you, your family, and your song bird missing, and thus identified the author of their woes. A combined force, quite heavily armed I must note, has undoubtedly been set upon your spoor charged with but one task: bring back the Monster Slayer’s head or return not at all. Thus, I must reiterate—nay, reinforce—my previous advice. To wit:

  Run, Lozen, run!

  Hugs and Kisses,

  D

  I hand the message to Mom, who has come over to join us. She reads it and looks at me.

  I nod. We need to eat and run.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  One Step at a Time

  We’ve been climbing for the past two hours or thereabouts, judging how many hands high the sun now is in the sky. We are at least twenty miles from Haven.

  I’ve heard it said that humans are the only creatures aware of their own bodily mortality. Knowing that you would die to protect and preserve all that you love—including Earth—makes you more than just bones and flesh and blood. It makes you stronger of spirit. It makes you better. Better for others and better for yourself. Better for the Earth.

  And that is why I have to fight the Ones. For if they have their way, they and others like them will claw their way back to control the whole world. I can’t let them do that again.

  “I can’t let them.” Whoa, Lozen. You’re beginning to sound like one of those overly noble characters in the old viddies who fight against all odds.

  Enough grandiosity.

  Forget about saving the world.

  Just take it all one step at a time. That’s the only way to get to the top of a mountain unless you have wings.

  I look back down the slope. The dark rocks of every shape and size, some of them sparkling with mica, piled and stacked into all sorts of formations, have been making this climb like working our way through a maze. There, thirty feet below me, is Ana. She stops, waves up at me, and then turns to motion down to Victor, who must be just below her. I can’t see him or Hussein or Mom. They are hidden by the twists of this trail, a path long followed by my ancestors. It is a path that can only be followed single file in many places. And for every choke point in this trail, there is a spot hidden above it and hard to see from below where a man or a woman with a bow could pick off any enemy foolish enough to follow.

  The top is just ahead. That is where we’ll stop and decide. We’ve already visited the place where I cached food, filled up our canteens, and added the two additional canteens I stored there three months ago. There are two ways we can go from here, both places where there is water. Here, in the ancient Rincon Range, there are many places that offered my ancestors refuge or places to stand off enemies. So my escape route is not just one place after another, but includes crossroads where I can choose which alternative to take.

  As Ana comes into sight below, I scan the wide vista ahead. I don’t see the pursuers that I know must be following. I hold up my hands and turn slowly. There, a light tingling in my palms. Back to the southwest, but still far away. That is where our enemies are.

  Victor has now joined us with Hussein, who has become his special buddy. Victor smiles up at him and takes his hand as he stands here.

  Mom’s not joining us yet. As agreed, she stationed herself just above the next to last narrow spot in the trail. If anyone was very close to us, she’d see them. And if it was just one person, she’ll use the crossbow she’s holding.

  But I trust my Power to have spoken truth. I gesture to Ana, who’s still a hundred feet away.

  Go back. Bring Mom up, I sign. Then I sit down on a large flat stone that is covered with petroglyphs. A sun, a coiled shape, a series of handprints, a man holding what looks like two tiny mountain goats in each of his hands.

  Hussein walks across the top of this little mesa and sits on another rock to look out toward the east. Giving me space. Why is everyone always giving me space? And why do I feel irked about that right now? It’s not like I’d want him to come sit close to me and put his arm around me and lean his head next to mine. Would I?

  I shake my head, trying to untangle my thoughts.

  Little Food, how are you?


  I should have known it.

  I am NOT Little Food.

  Oh, Hally thinks back at me in a way that is like the sound of someone chuckling because they are vastly amused with themselves. Sorry. I try again.

  Don’t bother!

  No, no, is no problem. Here I go. Not Little Food, how are you?

  Why do I even try? And why is my Power not working for me right now, warning me that an eight-foot-tall man-ape has somehow crept up on me? I slap my hands on the flat stone so hard that it makes a hollow sound like a drum. I look around in every direction.

  Is he there? No tingle from my palms.

  Is he over there? Still no warning warmth in my hands. I am getting super pissed!

  Mom has now come up to the mesa top and is standing by Victor and Ana. They are looking at me, concerned. So is Hussein.

  Crap!

  I stand up and spread out my hands.

  “Where are you?” I yell out loud.

  Here.

  The large flat rock on which I was sitting lifts like the lid of a chest, pressed up by two huge hairy hands—in whose grasp your average mountain goat would look tiny. Just like in the petroglyph I’d been sitting on.

  I hear a sharp intake of breath from behind me, recognize it as coming from Mom.

  I hold my hands out to my side. It’s all right. I think.

  One of the two large hands, connected to a long, long arm that disappears out of sight into the tunnel below that flat rock, lifts up a little higher, does a little wave at us, then gestures for us to follow as it slowly descends and disappears.

  “Lozen,” my mother’s hand is on my right shoulder, “Who is that?”

  Who, indeed? Are you coming?

  I take a deep, deep breath and slowly let it out. The gang’s all here.

  “Lozen!” Mom says again. Her voice is getting impatient. “Who?”

  “A friend,” I say.