Spiritwalkers: Escapee
Jul. 7th, 2007 10:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aithne[It's the late 1700's, the place is what would eventually come to be known as the Four Corners region of the American West. And this begins a new serial...]
Place the house thus, this is where the sun comes up.
From the south send us the white corn.
Yellow corn pollen come.
The man in the west owns the houses;
When the sun goes down the yellow rays come up.
May my house be surrounded with such splendor as there yonder where the sun rises.
Place the house with its door toward it.
It is beautiful.
--Navajo house-building poem/prayer, attributed to a priest named Guisheen Bige
There are many ways that hands can move across the loom, and in Nascha's lifetime, she had seen many of them. Her mother, Shadi, never had to say a word when she was angry; her hands sang the song of it, and the rattling way she would work the threads was far more daunting than any raised voice.
Like right now, when Nascha was bringing buckets of water into the hogan. She set the buckets down quietly and looked at her mother's fast-moving hands, her stiff shoulders. She turned, wondering if she could slip out quietly--
"Nascha. Come here."
She bowed her head and obeyed, coming to stand beside her mother. Shadi's hands stilled. "Tse asked to stay and have Ahiga go with your grandfather," she said, not taking her hands from the loom.
Nascha nodded. "I asked him to see if Ahiga would be willing to go in his place." Her voice wavered. "Mother, we were just married during the last moon. If he goes with Grandfather, he'll be gone almost longer than we've been married so far!"
"And Ahiga has a son he needs to stay with." Shadi turned towards her daughter, surveying the young woman. Her hair had only a few silver threads in it, otherwise still night-black as it had been the day she had married Nascha's father. "Do you think Sakhyo will thank you for sending her husband in place of yours?"
"I asked. She agreed," Nascha insisted. "I promised that Tse and I would help with Nastas."
Shadi snorted. "This is why I always told your father we should have had more daughters. I would tell you no, but it's your grandfather's decision, Tse will have to make his case to him. But if he decides he wants to take Tse with him, girl, you will not complain. Understood?"
Long experience had taught Nascha never to try to argue with her mother when she was in this mood. She wanted to protest that she had every right to sigh and pine if her beloved Tse had to make the long trip back to the tribe her band had split off from in the spring. She had just earned the right to share her blankets with him, after long seasons spent courting, winning Tse away from several other girls who thought he'd make a good husband. And why wouldn't they, after all--Tse was quiet, a good hunter, and passing handsome.
So Nascha nodded, and her mother waved her away, letting her go. She nearly ran out of the hogan, to where she knew Sakhyo would be, grinding corn. The hogan that Shadi was weaving in was the only permanent structure in their new settlement; as the years went by and they returned here year after year, they would build more. Her cousin was sitting with Nastas in a cradle nearby, working with her arms bare to the sunlight. Nascha dropped down beside Sakhyo, giving her a curious look. "It's fine, Nastas is good and asleep," her cousin said. "What's the rush about, little one?"
Nascha wrinkled her nose. She was of an age with Sakhyo, seventy seasons to her cousin's seventy-two, but Sakhyo had gotten married a few seasons ago and liked to think it made her much wiser than her cousin. It didn't help that Sakhyo had inherited their grandmother's legendary beauty, while Nascha was generally merely passable. "Mother says it's Grandfather's decision. I think I'll bring him the best corn cakes tonight, while he's thinking about it."
"She wasn't happy about it, though. You wouldn't have that look on your face if she was." Sakhyo frowned. "Nascha, it would be so much easier if you'd just let Tse go with Grandfather. He isn't going to forget you in a month."
"What if he does, though? What if he gets back to the clan and decides that someone else is prettier?"
Sakhyo laughed, and her hands, which had stilled for a moment, took of the rhythm of the grinding once more. "Grandfather would keep an eye on him. Really, Nascha, you've got no worries there. Still, if you're determined..."
"You remember what it was like when you were first married, don't you? I think Mother's forgotten."
"I do." Sakhyo rolled the warm rock in her hands around the flat stone she was grinding on. "That's why I agreed to let Ahiga go. Are you sure, though? Your father thought he saw signs of Arapaho movement to the north yesterday." She lifted the stone, let it thump down to punctuate her words. "Your mother wanted to send the youngest and strongest to protect Grandfather."
"Ahiga's not that much older than Tse, and he's more than a match for any Arapaho," Nascha said. "They'll be fine."
Her cousin shook her head. "Some things are arranged for a reason. But Shadi would have told you no if it had been important, I suppose. Help me with this, will you? Nastas should be walking up hungry soon. At least, I hope so!" She pressed one arm gingerly across her breasts. Nascha leaned down to scoop the ground corn into a bowl, and then took her cousin's place at grinding as the baby woke, whimpering.
Sakhyo nursed Nastas and Nascha ground corn until the sun dropped a little lower in the sky and the big bowl was full. "I'll go help Ahiga bring in the sheep," Nascha said. Sakhyo waved her off, and Nascha went to fetch one of the horses.
Ahiga grinned when he saw her, waving from the edge of the bleating flock. "Thought you'd never come," he said. He was a tall man with a wide grin and an affable personality, a good foil for Sakhyo's occasionally prickly nature.
Nascha tossed him a waterskin. "Mother wanted to talk to me," she told him, grimacing. "Did you see anyone unfriendly today?"
"No, but I think your grandfather may want to do some ceremony to protect us while we're gone. Is Tse...?"
"Mother says it's Yas's decision," Nascha said.
"Better for you that it's his, and not your grandmother's!" Ahiga said, laughing.
Nascha made a face. Her grandmother was a tiny woman, but in no way frail in either mind or body, and very little got by her. If she felt like it, she could overrule her husband and every other person in the camp, though she preferred to save that power for when it would be the most use. "Grandfather at least I can talk into things," she said. "Let's get the sheep in."
They rounded up the sheep and made sure all were present, and then drove them back into the pen in the settlement where they spent most of their nights. As they were tying the pen closed, Nascha heard a familiar voice coming from the direction of their family's wickiup, and made an impatient sound in the back of her throat.
"Go on, Nascha," Ahiga said, grinning. "I've got the rest."
She flashed him a grin and took off running towards the beloved voice. Tse was standing in front of the family's wickiup, talking with her father Shiye. "Tse!" she cried, and flung herself at him.
He caught her, as he always did, and swung her around, his long wrapped braids flying. She kissed him thoroughly. "How was the hunt?"
"Very good today," he said. "Coming back is always the best part."
"Come inside with me, you can tell me about it," she said, catching his hand. He laughed and went in with her, and they were both quickly out of their clothes, shamelessly hungry for each other. He had come with her when her family had split off from the tribe they came from, willingly accepted the hard work of establishing a new settlement in this dry place for the sake of being with her. She was grateful every day for it.
Two days later, Ahiga and Yas left, to go back to the tribe they had left to get a few things that they could not yet make for themselves, and in their absence Nascha took Ahiga's place with the sheep, Tse coming out to join her when he wasn't hunting or helping in the fields. It was late in the second season now, and they were beginning to harvest the corn and the squash, working in the fierce sunlight spilled over the land that laid open beneath it like a lover, golden brown and red and green. Every night, Sakhyo laid a leaf from a cornstalk by the door. When the first leaf she had laid out was brown, they knew that enough time had passed that Yas and Ahiga had likely reached the tribe. "I wonder what the news will be," Sakhyo mused aloud. "Do you miss them, Nascha?"
It was after the evening meal, and Nascha was sorting and twisting wool. Nastas was on the ground between them, crawling around uncoordinatedly. "Some," Nascha said. "But everyone I love is here."
"I miss my friends," Sakhyo admitted. "And I miss having more babies around. Though you're working on it, I hear!"
Nascha hid her mouth with her hand. "We are, we are." Nastas bumped into her knee, and she set her wool aside, picked him up, and turned him around. The baby crawled determinedly towards his mother. "The gods will bless me when it's time. It's only been a moon since we were married."
"Hurry up, Shadi wants grandchildren," Sakhyo said, grinning. "My mother is still proud that she got the first grandchild!"
"Maybe I'll have the first granddaughter," Nascha said. Shadi and her younger sister Doba, Sakhyo's mother, were forever competing against each other. Shadi was unquestionably better at weaving, her art and her passion, but Doba was a far better cook and could make even the unruliest sheep stand still to be sheared. Both sisters thrived on their squabbling, and the rest of the family was used to it.
They passed the rest of the evening in conversation, and when three more sunsets had passed they knew that Yas and Ahiga were on their way back. The next day dawned fiercely hot, like the mornings that had come before it, and the day passed as all did, in work and in talking and singing. The sun was beginning to go down, and Nascha had brought the sheep back, tying the pen closed.
When the change came, there was no warning. Just a scream from the other side of the village, and then it seemed that warriors just appeared among them.
For a long frozen moment, there was nothing that Nascha could do, as people screamed and died all around her, the warriors seeming to disappear and appear again in random patterns. They were Arapaho, she could tell by how they wore their feathers and the circle tattoos on their arms. Arapaho, like the ones that her father had seen.
She ran now, towards the family wickiup, thinking to find a weapon, and Tse. Surely if she could find Tse, everything would be all right. He and Shadi were inside, and Tse was frantically a hunting for a weapon. Nascha heard her father outside, shouting, warning someone away from his family. He was cut off mid-word with a gurgle and a thump, and Nascha's stomach tightened.
The tent flap moved, and there was an Arapaho standing in the opening, his face painted with a design of a black wing. Shadi stepped forward with an unstrung bow and tried to hit the warrior, but he almost casually swiped across her neck with his hatchet, and her blood sprayed and she fell. Tse had his back to the warrior, and though Nascha tried and tried to call out, to warn him, to scream, time was moving so slowly.
The hatchet went into Tse's back, and Tse gave a strangled gasp and fell, the hatchet coming out of his back with a sickening squishing noise. Nascha did scream then, and fumbled behind her. The only thing that came to hand was a bowl and then a blanket, both of which she threw at the warrior. He growled and brushed both aside, and stepped forward, his hatchet coming around, reversing so the butt end was coming at Nascha. She had no time even to duck.
The first blow to her face glanced away, spinning her around and sprawling her atop Tse's unmoving body. Then the hatchet butt came around again, and there was a sound as big as the whole sky, and then darkness.
*****
Nascha woke with a throbbing head, tied face-down to the back of a running horse. She raised her head gingerly. The sun was just set, and she could see that she was tied on the back of Black Wing's horse, and there were others with him. They were ten warriors in all, and she could hear Nastas screaming. Sakhyo was tied on the back of another horse, her usually-neat braids disheveled. There were other horses being led behind them, horses she recognized and had ridden many a time, loaded down with as much food as they could carry. It had been a raid, then. Take the horses, the food, and the only two women in the village who were the right age to be taken as wives.
Nascha was far too angry to even think about crying, though the knowledge that these men had killed Tse was a sick, empty place inside of her. She tested her bonds, found they she could probably get out of them, though she was near the front and if she fell off now, all of the warriors would see her. She dropped her head and tried not to think too much about what had just happened to her.
They stopped after sundown, unloading Nascha and Sakhyo from their respective horses, tying their legs to a large rock, and handing Nastas to Sakhyo. Sakhyo comforted and nursed her son, and one of the warriors brought cups of water and dried meat and corn cakes for them. Nascha drank and ate, though she resented having to do so. The warriors were talking to each other in short phrases, but Nascha couldn't understand them. She did discern that Black Wing's name was Chogan, and he was the leader.
"Sakhyo, are you all right? How is Nastas?" she asked her cousin, once eyes were mostly off the two of them.
Sakhyo swallowed. "I am fine and so is he. I am scared, Nascha."
"Me, too," Nascha said. "Ahiga and Yas are coming back. They might be able to bring help for us, if they can find out where we've gone."
"I hope so. Tse?" she asked gently. "And your parents?"
Nascha shook her head, the sick feeling redoubling. "I heard Father die. Black Wing killed Mother and Tse in front of me. What about yours?"
"I am sorry. Mine died too." She cuddled Nastas closer, holding him as if he were the only thing in the world that made sense right now.
"I think they killed everyone they could find." Nascha lowered her voice, venom filling it. "I don't know how yet, but I'm going to kill these people."
"First we have to survive," Sakhyo said, almost whispering. "They are going to make us their wives. Chogan is looking at you, and the big bull-looking one over there has all but claimed me already. Chuslum, I think he tried to tell me."
The sick feeling spilled out into horror. "I knew that's what might happen. At least, that's what always happens when young women are taken by bands."
"It's their way. They know I can have babies and you are the right age." Sakhyo shook her head. "If you find a way to go, do so and forget about me. Nastas will never be quiet enough to escape. Not until he is much older."
Nascha reached over and touched Nastas's head, the downy black hair of his scalp tickling her fingertips. "We can find a way, Sakhyo," she said, quietly. "I'm not leaving you behind, if I find a way to run."
"Come back for me then, if you have the chance. Get help, and find Ahiga and Yas. They won't kill me, Bull over there wouldn't let them."
"If you can't come, then I promise I'll bring help somehow," Nascha said.
"I know you will," Sakhyo told her.
Nascha tilted her head. "Just don't forget about us."
Sakhyo covered Nascha's hand with her own, twining her fingers between Nascha's. "I won't. Never could, and you don't forget about us either."
"I never will," she told her cousin. She rested her throbbing head on Sakhyo's shoulder. Her left eye hurt, and she knew that she probably had a black eye from the strike that had knocked her out. If I am lucky, maybe I'll die in the night, she thought with a certain amount of black humor.
But she could not. She had to get away, so she could bring help and rescue Sakhyo. Somehow, she had to do it.
The morning came, and this time Sakhyo and Nastas were tied in a sitting position to their horses. They left before dawn and arrived once the sun was climbing higher in the sky at a village of Arapaho that none of them had ever suspected was there. It was a large village, too, it should probably have been split long ago. Judging by what had been brought back, the raid had likely been simply to get food to feed all of these people. Their small settlement had been a target of opportunity.
As they rode through the village, excited murmurs ran ahead of them, people laughing and gathering around to see the returning warriors. They were welcomed in high style with waves and happy cries, the crowd calling their names: Chogan, Halian, Tokala, Chuslum, Chunta, Eyanosa, Ituha, Ohanzee, Skah, and Tavibo. Nascha committed these names to her heart, wondering why they were being welcomed home like this, why everyone seemed so happy to see them.
But there was nobody she could ask, and soon enough she was pulled down from the horse she was on and taken to what appeared to be Chogan's wickiup, tied to the central pole with her hands bound and left there, screaming with rage. If this man intended to make her his wife, she was determined to make it as unpleasant an experience as possible.
The inside of the wickiup was close and rank with the smell of the many animal skins that were piled in the corner. She could see a bear skin, some sort of big cat, bird skins, even tiny rodent skins in the piles. It looked like Chogan lived alone, and the place had obviously not seen a woman's hand in quite some time. Most of Chogan's family was dead, then. There were hatchets, bows, other weapons in here as well, most not of Arapaho make. She recognized Navajo bows, Sioux hatchets, a few Apache weapons. Trophies, she knew. Each weapon in here represented the life of a warrior that Chogan had taken.
When Chogan came back, late that night, Nascha braced herself for what she thought was coming. Chogan surprised her by simply lying down on his mat, rolling himself up in his blanket, and going to sleep. The next morning, Chogan brought her a bowl of corn mush and tried to feed her; she spat it back at him, snarling. He shrugged and left, taking the food with him. By the evening, she was hungry enough that she submitted to being fed, though she hated the unpleasant intimacy of having his hands so close to her face. He untied her hands briefly and she was on him in a flash, scratching and biting. He wrestled her to the ground and tied her hands again.
The next day went much the same way, and the next. It took her that long to discover that the less she fought Chogan, the longer her hands went untied. Nascha swallowed her pride, and stopped fighting. As a reward, she was allowed out into the sunshine for the first time in days, and allowed to see Sakhyo and Nastas. They talked to each other in lowered voices, and Sakhyo still encouraged Nascha to escape.
"Soon," Nascha murmured. "Soon. As soon as I can get untied while he's asleep."
The days went on, perhaps a handful and a half sunrises, and then Nascha saw her chance. She had come in that evening, waiting for Chogan to come back, her entire body tense as a bowstring. He had not tried to take from her what she would never willingly give him yet, but she thought it was only a matter of time. The flap of the wickiup moved, and Nascha stiffened. It was Chogan, but he was moving very strangely indeed.
He would have been a handsome man under most circumstances, but his gaze felt like the scrabble of millipede legs on her skin. He stumbled and she stayed very still, willing him not to notice her.
Chogan's gaze fell on her, and he came towards her, moving surprisingly quickly. She saw that the pupils of his eyes caught the light strangely, and realized that he was sodden with peyote. He lunged at her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards him, muttering something she couldn't understand. What she could understand was that he was trying to kiss her, and her stomach twisted violently.
She cried out sharply, striking out with the nails of her free hand and scoring his cheek. Chogan snarled and drew his hand back as if he were about to hit her, but--thank the gods!--he released her and turned away, stumbling out of the wickiup and back towards the fire at the center of the village.
It took Nascha a few stunned heartbeats to realize that Chogan had forgotten to tie her up. Her breath quickened and she dove for the waterskins that were kept by the door. There was some food in here as well, and as many weapons as she wanted. She made a bundle out of a blanket, taking dried meat and corn, water, a knife, and a bow and some arrows.
She slipped out of the wickiup, paused, listened. There seemed to be a celebration of some sort going on, she could hear drumming and singing and smell cooking meat. Almost everyone was at the fire, and nobody challenged Nascha as she gave one last look in the direction of the wickiup that Sakhyo and Nastas were being held in, and then walked out into the night. Home was south. She took her bearings from the moon and the land around her, and began walking.
By dawn, she was many miles away from the Arapaho village, and still walking. There had been no pursuit that she could tell. By sunset, she had reached her family's village, calling out and hoping beyond hope that Yas and Ahiga were still here.
Only the chuckle of crows and screech of vultures answered her. Someone had been here, the bodies of her family had been laid on the high platforms, but there were no human presences, and it looked like horses had left southerly from here, towards the village they had split off from.
Exhausted, her head and her heart hurting, Nascha dropped to her knees at the edge of the village and wept.
The next morning, she refilled her waterskins at the village's spring, packed up what little food was left from the raiders, drank as much as she could hold, and started south. She had no chance of catching up with them, but if she were lucky she would reach the village before they began to pack up and move the flocks south for the winter.
It was a long walk, and the sun beat on her head as she moved. Three and then four sunrises passed, and Nascha was already getting low on water. The heat seemed to burn from within her now, as if she had a small, fierce sun inside of her where the empty feeling of Tse being dead was. She was seeing things in the heat, visions of water that she tried not to believe and yet was always disappointed when she found that it was merely heat-shimmer and nothing else. She slowed her traveling, traveling in the cool hours at dawn and dusk, finding shelter to spend the noon hours when the sun above baked the land and turned the sky white.
She did not know how far she had come, or how far she had yet to go. She only knew that it was important that she keep moving south. And as the sunrises came and went, she started forgetting even that, only remembering to put one foot before the other. Dust gathered at the corners of her mouth, and her lips were cracked and bleeding.
Nascha curled underneath the scanty shade of a boulder, clinging to the night-cool underside that she could reach, digging her fingers into soil that was faintly damp. How many days had it been? Six, she thought. Or seven. She had half a waterskin left.
I am not thirsty, she lied to herself. I'll just lie in the shade a bit, wait for the sun to go down a little...
She was so hot, and she closed her eyes. Tired. I'll rest... And then she was asleep, fever chasing dream down into darkness.
The next thing she knew, water was dripping on her face.
Wondering, she opened her eyes. Had she slept longer than she'd thought? She hadn't thought it looked like rain--
That thought was cut off by what she saw when her eyes finally focused. There was a tall man standing over her, dripping water from a waterskin on her face. She gasped and sat up, scrabbling crabwise away from the man, yelping as she put her hand down on a sharp rock. There were others, too, six more men standing behind him, all of them looking at her silently. Apache, from the clothes and how they wore their feathers. Nascha scrambled to her feet. I am in such trouble! If she had thought being a captive of the Arapaho was bad...
"Can you hear me?" the one in the lead asked as she cast her eyes over the men, looking for some way to run. She could understand him, though she knew it wasn't Navajo he spoke, but Apache. The two languages were close to one another, unlike Navajo and Arapaho.
She stiffened and looked at him. What kind of a question was that? "Yes, why?"
He twitched an eyebrow. "Navajo, yes? We won't hurt you."
It was very small and cold comfort, right now. "I am. Going south, at the moment."
The warrior inclined his head. "The village of the Navajo. They moved on. Do you know my name, Nascha?"
Nascha's legs felt wobbly under her. The sun was beating down on her head, was all. Cheveyo hadn't just spoken without moving his mouth. He couldn't have. His name is Cheveyo? She opened her mouth, closed it. "You're Cheveyo. How do I know that? And how do you know my name?"
"Speak out loud until she learns," he said, the words directed at the men around him. She jumped as she realized that was the first time she had head his voice aloud. To Nascha, he said, "You are like us."
"Like you?"
"Spiritwalker."
She stared. Spiritwalkers were elite warriors, bands of men sworn to each other and to the protection of their tribe. They were the first to warn of danger and the first to go into battle, and they were revered and celebrated wherever they went. It was said that they could travel and leave no trace, that they could appear and disappear like the light from a flame. Nascha fumbled for words. "Spiritwalkers are all men. I'm not."
"So it was thought," Cheveyo said gravely. "But I cannot ignore the calling of the gods. We are seven. We lost our eighth. And you answered the question. You are the eighth." Behind him, one of the men snickered,
A numbness born of heat and disbelief was stealing over her. She glanced at the one who had laughed, confused. "I'm supposed to come with you. Where are you going, then?"
"We were going home. But that changes now. You begin again and we train you--Shut up, Dichali, you know the way just as well as I do--until you are ready."
Dichali had been the one who had laughed, then. Nascha's mind was moving so slowly. "I have a cousin that I promised to rescue. She was taken during the same raid our family was killed during," she said, her tongue thick and clumsy.
"By who?" Cheveyo asked.
"The Arapaho. The one who led the band that raided us was Chogan."
As one, the men before her shifted, muttered, looked at each other. "We know him and you are chosen," Cheveyo said at last. "We have a debt to settle with him as well. It will be some time first, before your cousin and your revenge."
Nascha looked at him, dismayed. "She'll think I died, or forgot about her."
"You will do neither."
But if she were alive, what good did it do Sakhyo if she did not know? "She'll think I've abandoned her and her son. I might know differently, but I don't want her to give up hope."
"If she knows you, she won't think that," he said, fixing her in place with a look. "If she knew what you are, she would never doubt it. Come." He put his hand out to her, palm turned up. "We begin tonight."
Nascha hesitated. Then she reached out and took his hand. "Some god is laughing at me, right now. I can tell," she said. From being a captive of the Arapaho to joining an Apache warrior band, and spiritwalkers at that--someone had to be getting a good laugh out of this.
"They are probably laughing at all of us. But when we are done, no one will laugh." A strange expression crossed his face, one she couldn't even begin to understand. "Not even the gods."
Nascha felt profoundly uneasy, confronted with this strange man. She could always run away again, she thought. At least these people didn't look like they were inclined to tie her up. Cheveyo handed her the waterskin he was holding and she drank greedily as he led her to the horses nearby, the rest of the men following. The horse he mounted up on was a black mustang with a white star and white socks, and indicated that she was to swing up behind him. After she was settled, he asked, "You know the rest?"
She looked around. Yes, she thought. The one with the silly smile, who had laughed before, was Dichali. The heavily built one with a brooding brow was Adoeete. The one with corded muscle who looked like he had fangs was Zotum. The hulking huge one, as big as the one they had called the Bull in the Arapaho band, was Otaktay. The small, thin one who looked as though he would blow away in a stiff wind was Pezi. The one with an easy smile and a far-seeing look was Sahale. "I do. How do I know them? I've never met any of you before."
"Think me so strange now?" he asked, with a smile.
She stiffened, abruptly terrified. "You can hear my thoughts."
"And you mine, but that is just the beginning."
Nascha swallowed fear, her throat raw. "Can spiritwalkers do all that's said about them? Appear and disappear without warning, walk and leave no tracks?"
"Yes, and more," Cheveyo said. Nascha didn't reply, just concentrated on staying on the horse with her legs that were weak and sore with days of walking and of thirst. She gave in after a few minutes and asked him if she could put an arm around him to steady herself.
Leaning against his back, her cheek against the leather he was wearing, she wondered about these men, and whether she could be a warrior. She'd played with sticks as a child, all children did, but she had always known she would never be asked to take up the life of a warrior.
She didn't know if she could do it. I can only try.
They rode until sundown, and made camp as the light died from the sky. All of the men were silent and moving purposefully, as if they were being told to do things, but though Nascha could hear the occasional scrap of conversation, she couldn't make out any words.
The evening meal was a stew made from dried meat and roots, and Nascha offered up the food she had been carrying. The smiling one, Dichali, took the bag from her and thanked her, and the one with the long eyes, Sahale, came back with full waterskins from a spring he'd apparently found nearby.
After all had eaten and the stars had come out, glittering brightly in the sky, Cheveyo came and sat down in front of her. The firelight flickered across his face as he simply looked at her without speaking.
"So. How does this begin?" Nascha asked.
"By me telling you my life. Each night, one of us will come to you to tell you our story. Do you know why?"
She frowned. "I was about to ask why."
Cheveyo smiled briefly. "To hear each other the way we do, there can be no secrets between us. If there are, we can't hear each other, just bits and pieces. Like what you are hearing now. Do you understand?"
"I do, I think. And afterwards, I have to tell you my own story, then?"
"On the eighth night, you will tell us," he said.
Nascha took a breath. "I do understand, then."
Again, that brief smile. "Good, are you ready?"
She wriggled in place a little, getting comfortable. She had the idea that this was going to take some time. "I am."
Cheveyo held out his hands, and after a moment of hesitation she reached out and took them. His fingers closed, clasping her palms to his. A long moment later, a tidal wave of images rose, washing over her.
He had been born a hundred seasons ago, and she saw parents, grandfather, aunts and uncles, all of their faces seen briefly. She saw his life as a child and a young man, so many details coming and going that she felt she could only grasp the bare outline of what they meant. She saw him growing up, getting taller, his poor riding skills as a boy. She saw him being chosen as a spiritwalker, the ceremonies that had initiated him, his marriage to a woman he loved, the birth of his first child. Faces and images spilled over her, a sense of happiness.
And then, all turned darker. Chogan and company tumbled through her mind, attacking the tribe. Blood. Cheveyo's parents dying, wife dying, child dying under Chogan's hatchet. Friends dying. All the joy, all the pain, the blood and the battles, the fellow spiritwalkers who had come before him and who had died. His hands in hers drew her through his life, from the beginning of memory to this moment.
And it ended with an image of herself as he saw her, dying of thirst but driven by a will to help her family. He liked her, and there was a spark of attraction there. It could be fanned into a flame, given time. He was somewhat embarrassed to have to admit it to her, but he had said no secrets, and that included things that were not necessarily easy to speak of.
Nascha swallowed, genuinely nonplused. The thought of someone being attracted to her was an alien one at the moment, her grief for Tse and her family rendering the part of her that might have been embarrassed or intrigued numb and cold. He could not know what she had lost, and right now she could not find the words. He let go of her hands. "You can hear me now, but remember until the eighth night I can't hear you very well," he said, though he spoke not a word aloud. His voice was clear and strong.
"I understand," she said, quietly, aloud.
Cheveyo nodded. "If you ever have a secret that you are trying to keep, it will be difficult to do so, and you won't hear us as well as you should. If you have such a secret that you can not share it with us, you will have to go. It has never happened before, but we caution everyone."
She drew in a sharp breath. "Is it difficult, to live without secrets? I suppose you must get used to it."
"It is very hard sometimes," he said. "Like now, when you have to admit things you don't really want the others to know. It's sometimes even harder to admit them to yourself." He had a rueful smile on his lips.
"I see. But you have to, if you want to stay," she said, turning it over in her mind. "It would be hard if you knew something that would make someone else angry or uncomfortable and you had to tell them anyway."
Cheveyo chuckled briefly. "Adoeete and I are at each other all the time, but even though we would not be friends any other place we have to be, here. It could get us both killed if we are not truthful." He glanced over his shoulder. "Rest now, Nascha. Tomorrow, Pezi has found horses and you will do horse ceremony. Pick a place to sleep away from Dichali. He talks way too much. You will never get any sleep."
Nascha found it in her somehow to chuckle. "And I'm someone who hasn't heard all of his stories ten times before?"
"Quite right," he said with a smile.
"Are you going to tell me about horse ceremony, or do I get to find out when I get there?" she asked.
He smiled again. "Best not to think about it tonight. It will only make you worry."
Nascha gave him a dubious look. "I think I'm going to worry anyway. I'll try to get some sleep, though."
Cheveyo only said good night and went to lie down on the ground a short distance away. The night was fine and clear and not too cold, and Nascha curled up where she was after clearing away some of the sharper stones. She thought she'd lie awake some but instead she was asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes, falling into dream.
The next morning, she woke when she heard some of the others moving around. She got up and brushed herself off, and shooed off the scorpion that had decided to curl up in her shoe overnight. "Find some things to burn," she heard Cheveyo say, his back to her. He glanced over his shoulder at her, evidently to see if she'd caught his words.
She nodded to show that she had, and then stretched and went to find some dry brush to burn. When she came back with her arms full of what there was to burn in this place, a morning meal was made--Sahale and Dichali seemed to share that particular chore, at least this morning. Nascha stayed quiet, watching, seeing how the men moved and talked to each other. She could hear Cheveyo clearly, but she could hear the rest only in muttering snatches.
As Cheveyo had said, he and Adoeete did not get along well. The comments they made to each other were good-natured, but they had a vicious bite to them that spoke of quarrels long unresolved. Dichali talked a lot, but never seemed to say much of anything, and nobody was paying any attention to his words. Pezi sat by himself, and spoke to nobody as far as she could tell.
Sahale simply watched, taking everything in, and Nascha could feel his gaze return to her time and time again. She wondered what he was thinking about her. Otaktay and Zotum acted more like brothers than anything else, and as she watched there was a family resemblance between them, their straight noses and the shapes of their eyes nearly identical. Otaktay was by far the larger, and she thought that he was maybe the older. Zotum was not a small man by any means, but next to Otaktay he was slim and wiry.
Eventually, Nascha did essay a few comments, but mostly what that got her was Dichali sensing that she might be an audience and coming over and chattering at her. He reminded her of a ground squirrel scolding an intruder, to tell the truth. She didn't mind, even welcomed the distraction. Her heart this morning lay in her chest as heavy as stone, and it was not all grief. Horse ceremony, Cheveyo had said. She wondered what it meant.
Finally, Cheveyo stood and motioned for Nascha to do the same. "Nascha, today we do horse ceremony."
"It sounds very simple but it's not. Trust me," Otaktay said, grimacing.
She gave him a wide-eyed glance. "What do I need to do?"
"All you need is a horse, and so we get you one today. Pezi has some already boxed in a canyon. If you are ready, we should go."
"I am," she said. There was something more to this, she could tell by the silence that had come over the others. Cheveyo walked over to the horses and mounted up, offering his hand to Nascha and pulling her up behind him. Pezi came as well, giving his spotted mare a scratch behind the ears. He mounted, and they were off, leaving the others behind.
After a short ride, they arrived at a box canyon whose narrow mouth was blocked with rocks and bramble. Beyond the barrier, Nascha could see and hear horses moving restlessly, hooves thudding and the occasional squeal and snort rising. There had to be fifty or more horses in there. Pezi dismounted, and Nascha and Cheveyo did the same. Cheveyo said, "The act is simple. You will be taken into the center of the horses, where you will sit down, close your eyes and call to them without speaking. The one that nuzzles you first accepts you and you will be able to ride them out."
Nascha stared at Cheveyo, at first suspecting that she was the butt of an elaborate joke, and then realizing that no, he was serious. "And I suppose 'don't get trampled' is all the advice you're going to give me."
"That's about it. The horses already know who will take you. It's just a matter of when they want to tell you."
She thought about balking, about telling Cheveyo that he was crazy and she would do no such thing. She would be killed out there, trampled by sharp hooves. But he was looking at her steadily, and she fisted her hands, glancing nervously at the horses. "And both of you survived this?"
"All seven of us have. We have only lost a few." He smiled.
She gave him a sour look. "That doesn't make me feel better, somehow. All right. I need to go in before I think about this too much more."
"Pezi is one of the few of us that can carry another into spiritworld. He will take you in."
Spiritworld. It was where the spiritwalkers got their name, but she hadn't believed until this moment that these men really did walk in it. "Is there anything I have to do to prepare for that?" she asked.
"Don't scream," he told her. "It hurts Pezi's ears."
Nascha nodded. "I'll try. Is it that frightening?"
"Only the first time," Cheveyo said. Pezi, next to him, held out his hand, and Nascha took it. Just do this. Don't think. Just walk.
The transition felt like a strange pull, as if her skin were being drawn upward and off of her, painlessly. The light changed, and though she could still see the world, she could also see misty shapes around her, white and grey. Some of the mist had faces, she realized, as they flowed by her and away. Pezi took a step and she followed, and it was as if a hundred steps had flown by. Two more steps took them past the barricade and into the middle of the herd. He let go of Nascha's hand, and the mist shapes disappeared, the horses near them squealing and shying away.
Pezi was standing next to her still. "My only advice--try not to move a lot and think about what you are going to tell us on eighth night."
She nodded and sank to the ground, folding her legs beneath her. "Thank you. I'll stay still as I can."
Pezi nodded and seemed to vanish, leaving her alone in the center of the herd. She clenched her teeth together and closed her eyes, remembering what she had been told to do. Cheveyo had said to call without speaking, and so that was what she tried to do, though her eyes still flew open every time a horse stepped too near.
The stallion of the group, a rangy black, approached her with ears pricked. He snuffled at her for a little while, blowing bubbles from his nose. He did not touch her, and after a few minutes turned side-on to her and started peeing, making a large puddle close to her left knee. She was evidently not a threat to be bothered with, and he strolled off into the herd, ears pricked for other dangers.
Other horses came close and sniffed her, but none nuzzled her. The sun rose higher in the sky, and something spooked the horses. They ran in circles around her, hooves pounding as she wrapped her arms around her knees and prayed that none of them would step on her. There was much squealing and whinnying at whatever had disturbed them, but eventually did calm down. She sat there, the sun baking her, wondering if any of these horses was ever going to let her out of here.
She alternated calling with thinking about what she was going to say on the eighth night, getting tangled up in grief and the memories of seeing Tse die, and going back to calling as a distraction. The dust was rising as the day wore on, stirred up by hundreds of hooves, choking. Still she sat, unmoving, though her legs ached and her mouth was dry. She was required to do this, and so she would stay here until it was done.
It was past noon now, the sun creeping forward in the sky, and Nascha was beginning to see things. Images, strange things, seeing both before and behind, curiously flat. The images were of water, endless plains, desert, all from angles she was unused to. It was the horses. They were speaking to her, or at least some of them were.
They seemed to be telling her a story. She could see a foal being born, wobbling to its feet, dark with birth water but drying quickly. The foal grew up, and she felt wind blowing in her mane, and her tail. Then, she felt a soft touch on the top of her head.
That wasn't the story. That was a touch to Nascha's own body, a velvety chin resting on her head. She knew, even before she opened her eyes, that the touch was from a mare, a yellow roan with a white mane and tail. Her name was Una, a word that meant Remember.
Nascha opened her eyes and reached upwards, a bit tentatively. "Greetings," she said, and touched the side of the horse's head. Una nuzzled her hand, welcoming. Dumbfounded that this had worked, she stretched out her legs and then climbed to her feet, trying not to make any sudden movements. "Will you let me ride?" she asked, feeling silly for asking.
She caught her breath as the mare, seeming to understand, nodded slightly and then turned side-on to Nascha. Nascha put her hands on the horse's back, wondering, and then mounted up. She encouraged Una to walk toward the entrance of the canyon. "I would have to call that one a tie, Pezi," she heard Cheveyo say, and though Pezi must have said something in return she didn't hear it.
Pezi pulled back the bramble and Una walked through, followed by the rest of the herd. Nascha nudged the horse over to the side and let the others pass by, bolting through the opening and away. "So what were you betting on?" she asked.
Cheveyo was watching the horses go by, his own hand on his black horse's shoulder. "I said it would be after dark before you got one. He said before sunset. I said the yellow roan, and he thought the black stallion."
Her eyebrows went up. "The one that peed next to me?"
"Yep." He glanced over at her, and she thought there was amusement in his voice. "I took that as a solid no. We bet before he did that. He has as good a chance as any. I am rarely wrong about the horse. The times, well."
"What's the longest someone's had to stay in with the horses until someone picked him?"
Cheveyo smiled. "Otaktay. He was in there for three days."
Three days? She could barely imagine it. "He had to have been thirsty by the time he got out!"
"He was, and so were they. I think one of them finally gave up. I think they were scared of his weight." The last of the horses went by, and Nascha felt Una shiver her skin, but the horse did not move. "He is not a small man."
"I noticed. He's Zotum's older brother, right?"
"Yes. But he is younger in spiritwalker years."
Strange, though she supposed the gods had their reasons. "Ah, I'd have thought he'd have become one first."
"So would I, but Zotum was chosen first. Otaktay, nearly a year later."
Nascha thought about the spiritwalker bands she had heard of. "And if I remember correctly...rank goes according to how long you've been a spiritwalker?"
Cheveyo inclined his head. "Yes. I have been spiritwalker for thirty-two seasons. Dichali for thirty. Adoeete for twenty-eight. Zotum, twenty. Otaktay, sixteen. Pezi, twelve. Sahale, four. Adoeete is the oldest of us, at 121."
She pressed her lips together, thinking. "Spiritwalkers never live to be old, do they?" she said, quietly.
"No, very few get too old to continue. It is not our way. We are to protect the tribes. Find food when it's not possible. Find water in the desert. All of these things can get you killed very quickly if you misstep once." He shook his head slowly, and she thought about the number of brothers that had died for him to become the leader of this band. She remembered their faces from the memories he had given her last night. "In return, anything that you ask for will be given to you. You will eat first and the best. The pick of the best weapons, and so on. Our gift has its advantages and disadvantages."
"Well, right now, I want to live long enough to get Sakhyo and Nastas out." She tried to smile, but couldn't. "After that, I don't really care much what happens to me."
He just looked at her for a moment, considering. "I think you will change your mind, but for now that is enough. I have good news and bad news for you."
What now? she thought, and then nodded.
Cheveyo smiled. "Bad news is that we tell our stories to you in order of spiritwalker years. Good news is that Dichali usually goes hoarse after about five hours."
Nascha almost laughed. "I don't really mind. Listening to him is a good distraction. So he won't be doing what you did, showing me things?"
"He will do exactly what I did. He just mouths along with the story."
She wrinkled her nose. "Well, as long as he doesn't go so long that I fall asleep in the middle of the story, that's fine by me."
"Trust me, he won't let you." He smiled at her, and then mounted his horse. "Back to the rest, now."
Once they arrived back, Nascha introduced Una to the rest of the horses. There was much whuffing and swishing of tails and flicking of ears, but in the end the herd seemed to accept their newest member. After the evening meal, Dichali came to her. Like Cheveyo, he sat down in front of her and held out his hands.
Dichali was a strong man with a stubborn jaw, made handsome by the laughter in his eyes. Nascha closed her eyes and let his story wash over her, listening.
His life had been easier than Cheveyo's. He was ninety-nine seasons old, and she saw a boyhood that was almost idyllic. She saw him growing up, then being chosen as spiritwalker, training with Cheveyo as a teacher as he passed along knowledge that was new-won even for him. He was married to a large, mean-looking woman who he adored with his whole heart, and two children who, fortunately, took after him rather than her in looks. His relationship with his wife was volatile, filled with fights and passionate apologies, and that was, it seemed, exactly how he liked it.
Beyond his life with his wife, there was a parade of faces. Dichali had killed many people, and he remembered each of their faces. It haunted him, when he thought about it. The talking was a defense, a shield against the faces that came at him when there was silence.
When Dichali paused, Nascha asked him how being married as a spiritwalker worked out for him. "Works fine. It's best to be out of the house sometimes, with my wife." He grinned. "But we have enough time together to make children and reunions are great after long absences."
I'll just bet they are. She tilted her head. "What were you laughing about, when Cheveyo told me I was the eighth?"
Dichali snorted. "Adoeete said, oh god, are we going to have to build a squatting hut for you every month. I found that amusing."
She smiled, amused. "Well, probably. There's a reason women don't become spiritwalkers."
"Yes, it's because men don't want to admit you can do anything we can," he said, and grinned.
"Well, I suppose we'll find out the truth of that. I'm not so sure I'm cut out to be a warrior of any kind."
He gave her a long look. "I don't think the gods gave you a choice. But tomorrow we will see. You start hatchet fighting with Otaktay."
Nascha's eyes went wide. "Well, as long as he's not actually trying to kill me..."
"He won't kill you. But he won't pull any punches. Speaking of. He will do the same thing over and over again until you dodge it or block, and then he will do something new."
"Good to know," she said, thinking about the big man. "I think dodging's a better bet against him than blocking."
"You probably don't have the strength to stop him so, yes, dodge a lot. He tires pretty easily, after a couple of hours for sure."
She grimaced. "Well, it shouldn't be much harder work than some of the harvesting, at least, and I can do that all day."
They kept talking until Dichali was finished, long after the others had turned in. "Good luck tomorrow, Nascha," he said to her silently, after he released her hands.
"Thank you, Dichali." She smiled and stretched, and got up to go find a place to sleep, exhausted by the day.
She had not yet gotten past the sense that this was somehow not real, that it was a dream caused by a fever as she died of thirst in the desert. That she was here, that she was alive...how could it be? And not only alive, but taken in by an Apache spiritwalker band that intended to make her one of them.
If it were real, though--
I will kill Chogan.
It was the last thought she had before falling into a sleep without dreams.
Place the house thus, this is where the sun comes up.
From the south send us the white corn.
Yellow corn pollen come.
The man in the west owns the houses;
When the sun goes down the yellow rays come up.
May my house be surrounded with such splendor as there yonder where the sun rises.
Place the house with its door toward it.
It is beautiful.
--Navajo house-building poem/prayer, attributed to a priest named Guisheen Bige
There are many ways that hands can move across the loom, and in Nascha's lifetime, she had seen many of them. Her mother, Shadi, never had to say a word when she was angry; her hands sang the song of it, and the rattling way she would work the threads was far more daunting than any raised voice.
Like right now, when Nascha was bringing buckets of water into the hogan. She set the buckets down quietly and looked at her mother's fast-moving hands, her stiff shoulders. She turned, wondering if she could slip out quietly--
"Nascha. Come here."
She bowed her head and obeyed, coming to stand beside her mother. Shadi's hands stilled. "Tse asked to stay and have Ahiga go with your grandfather," she said, not taking her hands from the loom.
Nascha nodded. "I asked him to see if Ahiga would be willing to go in his place." Her voice wavered. "Mother, we were just married during the last moon. If he goes with Grandfather, he'll be gone almost longer than we've been married so far!"
"And Ahiga has a son he needs to stay with." Shadi turned towards her daughter, surveying the young woman. Her hair had only a few silver threads in it, otherwise still night-black as it had been the day she had married Nascha's father. "Do you think Sakhyo will thank you for sending her husband in place of yours?"
"I asked. She agreed," Nascha insisted. "I promised that Tse and I would help with Nastas."
Shadi snorted. "This is why I always told your father we should have had more daughters. I would tell you no, but it's your grandfather's decision, Tse will have to make his case to him. But if he decides he wants to take Tse with him, girl, you will not complain. Understood?"
Long experience had taught Nascha never to try to argue with her mother when she was in this mood. She wanted to protest that she had every right to sigh and pine if her beloved Tse had to make the long trip back to the tribe her band had split off from in the spring. She had just earned the right to share her blankets with him, after long seasons spent courting, winning Tse away from several other girls who thought he'd make a good husband. And why wouldn't they, after all--Tse was quiet, a good hunter, and passing handsome.
So Nascha nodded, and her mother waved her away, letting her go. She nearly ran out of the hogan, to where she knew Sakhyo would be, grinding corn. The hogan that Shadi was weaving in was the only permanent structure in their new settlement; as the years went by and they returned here year after year, they would build more. Her cousin was sitting with Nastas in a cradle nearby, working with her arms bare to the sunlight. Nascha dropped down beside Sakhyo, giving her a curious look. "It's fine, Nastas is good and asleep," her cousin said. "What's the rush about, little one?"
Nascha wrinkled her nose. She was of an age with Sakhyo, seventy seasons to her cousin's seventy-two, but Sakhyo had gotten married a few seasons ago and liked to think it made her much wiser than her cousin. It didn't help that Sakhyo had inherited their grandmother's legendary beauty, while Nascha was generally merely passable. "Mother says it's Grandfather's decision. I think I'll bring him the best corn cakes tonight, while he's thinking about it."
"She wasn't happy about it, though. You wouldn't have that look on your face if she was." Sakhyo frowned. "Nascha, it would be so much easier if you'd just let Tse go with Grandfather. He isn't going to forget you in a month."
"What if he does, though? What if he gets back to the clan and decides that someone else is prettier?"
Sakhyo laughed, and her hands, which had stilled for a moment, took of the rhythm of the grinding once more. "Grandfather would keep an eye on him. Really, Nascha, you've got no worries there. Still, if you're determined..."
"You remember what it was like when you were first married, don't you? I think Mother's forgotten."
"I do." Sakhyo rolled the warm rock in her hands around the flat stone she was grinding on. "That's why I agreed to let Ahiga go. Are you sure, though? Your father thought he saw signs of Arapaho movement to the north yesterday." She lifted the stone, let it thump down to punctuate her words. "Your mother wanted to send the youngest and strongest to protect Grandfather."
"Ahiga's not that much older than Tse, and he's more than a match for any Arapaho," Nascha said. "They'll be fine."
Her cousin shook her head. "Some things are arranged for a reason. But Shadi would have told you no if it had been important, I suppose. Help me with this, will you? Nastas should be walking up hungry soon. At least, I hope so!" She pressed one arm gingerly across her breasts. Nascha leaned down to scoop the ground corn into a bowl, and then took her cousin's place at grinding as the baby woke, whimpering.
Sakhyo nursed Nastas and Nascha ground corn until the sun dropped a little lower in the sky and the big bowl was full. "I'll go help Ahiga bring in the sheep," Nascha said. Sakhyo waved her off, and Nascha went to fetch one of the horses.
Ahiga grinned when he saw her, waving from the edge of the bleating flock. "Thought you'd never come," he said. He was a tall man with a wide grin and an affable personality, a good foil for Sakhyo's occasionally prickly nature.
Nascha tossed him a waterskin. "Mother wanted to talk to me," she told him, grimacing. "Did you see anyone unfriendly today?"
"No, but I think your grandfather may want to do some ceremony to protect us while we're gone. Is Tse...?"
"Mother says it's Yas's decision," Nascha said.
"Better for you that it's his, and not your grandmother's!" Ahiga said, laughing.
Nascha made a face. Her grandmother was a tiny woman, but in no way frail in either mind or body, and very little got by her. If she felt like it, she could overrule her husband and every other person in the camp, though she preferred to save that power for when it would be the most use. "Grandfather at least I can talk into things," she said. "Let's get the sheep in."
They rounded up the sheep and made sure all were present, and then drove them back into the pen in the settlement where they spent most of their nights. As they were tying the pen closed, Nascha heard a familiar voice coming from the direction of their family's wickiup, and made an impatient sound in the back of her throat.
"Go on, Nascha," Ahiga said, grinning. "I've got the rest."
She flashed him a grin and took off running towards the beloved voice. Tse was standing in front of the family's wickiup, talking with her father Shiye. "Tse!" she cried, and flung herself at him.
He caught her, as he always did, and swung her around, his long wrapped braids flying. She kissed him thoroughly. "How was the hunt?"
"Very good today," he said. "Coming back is always the best part."
"Come inside with me, you can tell me about it," she said, catching his hand. He laughed and went in with her, and they were both quickly out of their clothes, shamelessly hungry for each other. He had come with her when her family had split off from the tribe they came from, willingly accepted the hard work of establishing a new settlement in this dry place for the sake of being with her. She was grateful every day for it.
Two days later, Ahiga and Yas left, to go back to the tribe they had left to get a few things that they could not yet make for themselves, and in their absence Nascha took Ahiga's place with the sheep, Tse coming out to join her when he wasn't hunting or helping in the fields. It was late in the second season now, and they were beginning to harvest the corn and the squash, working in the fierce sunlight spilled over the land that laid open beneath it like a lover, golden brown and red and green. Every night, Sakhyo laid a leaf from a cornstalk by the door. When the first leaf she had laid out was brown, they knew that enough time had passed that Yas and Ahiga had likely reached the tribe. "I wonder what the news will be," Sakhyo mused aloud. "Do you miss them, Nascha?"
It was after the evening meal, and Nascha was sorting and twisting wool. Nastas was on the ground between them, crawling around uncoordinatedly. "Some," Nascha said. "But everyone I love is here."
"I miss my friends," Sakhyo admitted. "And I miss having more babies around. Though you're working on it, I hear!"
Nascha hid her mouth with her hand. "We are, we are." Nastas bumped into her knee, and she set her wool aside, picked him up, and turned him around. The baby crawled determinedly towards his mother. "The gods will bless me when it's time. It's only been a moon since we were married."
"Hurry up, Shadi wants grandchildren," Sakhyo said, grinning. "My mother is still proud that she got the first grandchild!"
"Maybe I'll have the first granddaughter," Nascha said. Shadi and her younger sister Doba, Sakhyo's mother, were forever competing against each other. Shadi was unquestionably better at weaving, her art and her passion, but Doba was a far better cook and could make even the unruliest sheep stand still to be sheared. Both sisters thrived on their squabbling, and the rest of the family was used to it.
They passed the rest of the evening in conversation, and when three more sunsets had passed they knew that Yas and Ahiga were on their way back. The next day dawned fiercely hot, like the mornings that had come before it, and the day passed as all did, in work and in talking and singing. The sun was beginning to go down, and Nascha had brought the sheep back, tying the pen closed.
When the change came, there was no warning. Just a scream from the other side of the village, and then it seemed that warriors just appeared among them.
For a long frozen moment, there was nothing that Nascha could do, as people screamed and died all around her, the warriors seeming to disappear and appear again in random patterns. They were Arapaho, she could tell by how they wore their feathers and the circle tattoos on their arms. Arapaho, like the ones that her father had seen.
She ran now, towards the family wickiup, thinking to find a weapon, and Tse. Surely if she could find Tse, everything would be all right. He and Shadi were inside, and Tse was frantically a hunting for a weapon. Nascha heard her father outside, shouting, warning someone away from his family. He was cut off mid-word with a gurgle and a thump, and Nascha's stomach tightened.
The tent flap moved, and there was an Arapaho standing in the opening, his face painted with a design of a black wing. Shadi stepped forward with an unstrung bow and tried to hit the warrior, but he almost casually swiped across her neck with his hatchet, and her blood sprayed and she fell. Tse had his back to the warrior, and though Nascha tried and tried to call out, to warn him, to scream, time was moving so slowly.
The hatchet went into Tse's back, and Tse gave a strangled gasp and fell, the hatchet coming out of his back with a sickening squishing noise. Nascha did scream then, and fumbled behind her. The only thing that came to hand was a bowl and then a blanket, both of which she threw at the warrior. He growled and brushed both aside, and stepped forward, his hatchet coming around, reversing so the butt end was coming at Nascha. She had no time even to duck.
The first blow to her face glanced away, spinning her around and sprawling her atop Tse's unmoving body. Then the hatchet butt came around again, and there was a sound as big as the whole sky, and then darkness.
*****
Nascha woke with a throbbing head, tied face-down to the back of a running horse. She raised her head gingerly. The sun was just set, and she could see that she was tied on the back of Black Wing's horse, and there were others with him. They were ten warriors in all, and she could hear Nastas screaming. Sakhyo was tied on the back of another horse, her usually-neat braids disheveled. There were other horses being led behind them, horses she recognized and had ridden many a time, loaded down with as much food as they could carry. It had been a raid, then. Take the horses, the food, and the only two women in the village who were the right age to be taken as wives.
Nascha was far too angry to even think about crying, though the knowledge that these men had killed Tse was a sick, empty place inside of her. She tested her bonds, found they she could probably get out of them, though she was near the front and if she fell off now, all of the warriors would see her. She dropped her head and tried not to think too much about what had just happened to her.
They stopped after sundown, unloading Nascha and Sakhyo from their respective horses, tying their legs to a large rock, and handing Nastas to Sakhyo. Sakhyo comforted and nursed her son, and one of the warriors brought cups of water and dried meat and corn cakes for them. Nascha drank and ate, though she resented having to do so. The warriors were talking to each other in short phrases, but Nascha couldn't understand them. She did discern that Black Wing's name was Chogan, and he was the leader.
"Sakhyo, are you all right? How is Nastas?" she asked her cousin, once eyes were mostly off the two of them.
Sakhyo swallowed. "I am fine and so is he. I am scared, Nascha."
"Me, too," Nascha said. "Ahiga and Yas are coming back. They might be able to bring help for us, if they can find out where we've gone."
"I hope so. Tse?" she asked gently. "And your parents?"
Nascha shook her head, the sick feeling redoubling. "I heard Father die. Black Wing killed Mother and Tse in front of me. What about yours?"
"I am sorry. Mine died too." She cuddled Nastas closer, holding him as if he were the only thing in the world that made sense right now.
"I think they killed everyone they could find." Nascha lowered her voice, venom filling it. "I don't know how yet, but I'm going to kill these people."
"First we have to survive," Sakhyo said, almost whispering. "They are going to make us their wives. Chogan is looking at you, and the big bull-looking one over there has all but claimed me already. Chuslum, I think he tried to tell me."
The sick feeling spilled out into horror. "I knew that's what might happen. At least, that's what always happens when young women are taken by bands."
"It's their way. They know I can have babies and you are the right age." Sakhyo shook her head. "If you find a way to go, do so and forget about me. Nastas will never be quiet enough to escape. Not until he is much older."
Nascha reached over and touched Nastas's head, the downy black hair of his scalp tickling her fingertips. "We can find a way, Sakhyo," she said, quietly. "I'm not leaving you behind, if I find a way to run."
"Come back for me then, if you have the chance. Get help, and find Ahiga and Yas. They won't kill me, Bull over there wouldn't let them."
"If you can't come, then I promise I'll bring help somehow," Nascha said.
"I know you will," Sakhyo told her.
Nascha tilted her head. "Just don't forget about us."
Sakhyo covered Nascha's hand with her own, twining her fingers between Nascha's. "I won't. Never could, and you don't forget about us either."
"I never will," she told her cousin. She rested her throbbing head on Sakhyo's shoulder. Her left eye hurt, and she knew that she probably had a black eye from the strike that had knocked her out. If I am lucky, maybe I'll die in the night, she thought with a certain amount of black humor.
But she could not. She had to get away, so she could bring help and rescue Sakhyo. Somehow, she had to do it.
The morning came, and this time Sakhyo and Nastas were tied in a sitting position to their horses. They left before dawn and arrived once the sun was climbing higher in the sky at a village of Arapaho that none of them had ever suspected was there. It was a large village, too, it should probably have been split long ago. Judging by what had been brought back, the raid had likely been simply to get food to feed all of these people. Their small settlement had been a target of opportunity.
As they rode through the village, excited murmurs ran ahead of them, people laughing and gathering around to see the returning warriors. They were welcomed in high style with waves and happy cries, the crowd calling their names: Chogan, Halian, Tokala, Chuslum, Chunta, Eyanosa, Ituha, Ohanzee, Skah, and Tavibo. Nascha committed these names to her heart, wondering why they were being welcomed home like this, why everyone seemed so happy to see them.
But there was nobody she could ask, and soon enough she was pulled down from the horse she was on and taken to what appeared to be Chogan's wickiup, tied to the central pole with her hands bound and left there, screaming with rage. If this man intended to make her his wife, she was determined to make it as unpleasant an experience as possible.
The inside of the wickiup was close and rank with the smell of the many animal skins that were piled in the corner. She could see a bear skin, some sort of big cat, bird skins, even tiny rodent skins in the piles. It looked like Chogan lived alone, and the place had obviously not seen a woman's hand in quite some time. Most of Chogan's family was dead, then. There were hatchets, bows, other weapons in here as well, most not of Arapaho make. She recognized Navajo bows, Sioux hatchets, a few Apache weapons. Trophies, she knew. Each weapon in here represented the life of a warrior that Chogan had taken.
When Chogan came back, late that night, Nascha braced herself for what she thought was coming. Chogan surprised her by simply lying down on his mat, rolling himself up in his blanket, and going to sleep. The next morning, Chogan brought her a bowl of corn mush and tried to feed her; she spat it back at him, snarling. He shrugged and left, taking the food with him. By the evening, she was hungry enough that she submitted to being fed, though she hated the unpleasant intimacy of having his hands so close to her face. He untied her hands briefly and she was on him in a flash, scratching and biting. He wrestled her to the ground and tied her hands again.
The next day went much the same way, and the next. It took her that long to discover that the less she fought Chogan, the longer her hands went untied. Nascha swallowed her pride, and stopped fighting. As a reward, she was allowed out into the sunshine for the first time in days, and allowed to see Sakhyo and Nastas. They talked to each other in lowered voices, and Sakhyo still encouraged Nascha to escape.
"Soon," Nascha murmured. "Soon. As soon as I can get untied while he's asleep."
The days went on, perhaps a handful and a half sunrises, and then Nascha saw her chance. She had come in that evening, waiting for Chogan to come back, her entire body tense as a bowstring. He had not tried to take from her what she would never willingly give him yet, but she thought it was only a matter of time. The flap of the wickiup moved, and Nascha stiffened. It was Chogan, but he was moving very strangely indeed.
He would have been a handsome man under most circumstances, but his gaze felt like the scrabble of millipede legs on her skin. He stumbled and she stayed very still, willing him not to notice her.
Chogan's gaze fell on her, and he came towards her, moving surprisingly quickly. She saw that the pupils of his eyes caught the light strangely, and realized that he was sodden with peyote. He lunged at her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards him, muttering something she couldn't understand. What she could understand was that he was trying to kiss her, and her stomach twisted violently.
She cried out sharply, striking out with the nails of her free hand and scoring his cheek. Chogan snarled and drew his hand back as if he were about to hit her, but--thank the gods!--he released her and turned away, stumbling out of the wickiup and back towards the fire at the center of the village.
It took Nascha a few stunned heartbeats to realize that Chogan had forgotten to tie her up. Her breath quickened and she dove for the waterskins that were kept by the door. There was some food in here as well, and as many weapons as she wanted. She made a bundle out of a blanket, taking dried meat and corn, water, a knife, and a bow and some arrows.
She slipped out of the wickiup, paused, listened. There seemed to be a celebration of some sort going on, she could hear drumming and singing and smell cooking meat. Almost everyone was at the fire, and nobody challenged Nascha as she gave one last look in the direction of the wickiup that Sakhyo and Nastas were being held in, and then walked out into the night. Home was south. She took her bearings from the moon and the land around her, and began walking.
By dawn, she was many miles away from the Arapaho village, and still walking. There had been no pursuit that she could tell. By sunset, she had reached her family's village, calling out and hoping beyond hope that Yas and Ahiga were still here.
Only the chuckle of crows and screech of vultures answered her. Someone had been here, the bodies of her family had been laid on the high platforms, but there were no human presences, and it looked like horses had left southerly from here, towards the village they had split off from.
Exhausted, her head and her heart hurting, Nascha dropped to her knees at the edge of the village and wept.
The next morning, she refilled her waterskins at the village's spring, packed up what little food was left from the raiders, drank as much as she could hold, and started south. She had no chance of catching up with them, but if she were lucky she would reach the village before they began to pack up and move the flocks south for the winter.
It was a long walk, and the sun beat on her head as she moved. Three and then four sunrises passed, and Nascha was already getting low on water. The heat seemed to burn from within her now, as if she had a small, fierce sun inside of her where the empty feeling of Tse being dead was. She was seeing things in the heat, visions of water that she tried not to believe and yet was always disappointed when she found that it was merely heat-shimmer and nothing else. She slowed her traveling, traveling in the cool hours at dawn and dusk, finding shelter to spend the noon hours when the sun above baked the land and turned the sky white.
She did not know how far she had come, or how far she had yet to go. She only knew that it was important that she keep moving south. And as the sunrises came and went, she started forgetting even that, only remembering to put one foot before the other. Dust gathered at the corners of her mouth, and her lips were cracked and bleeding.
Nascha curled underneath the scanty shade of a boulder, clinging to the night-cool underside that she could reach, digging her fingers into soil that was faintly damp. How many days had it been? Six, she thought. Or seven. She had half a waterskin left.
I am not thirsty, she lied to herself. I'll just lie in the shade a bit, wait for the sun to go down a little...
She was so hot, and she closed her eyes. Tired. I'll rest... And then she was asleep, fever chasing dream down into darkness.
The next thing she knew, water was dripping on her face.
Wondering, she opened her eyes. Had she slept longer than she'd thought? She hadn't thought it looked like rain--
That thought was cut off by what she saw when her eyes finally focused. There was a tall man standing over her, dripping water from a waterskin on her face. She gasped and sat up, scrabbling crabwise away from the man, yelping as she put her hand down on a sharp rock. There were others, too, six more men standing behind him, all of them looking at her silently. Apache, from the clothes and how they wore their feathers. Nascha scrambled to her feet. I am in such trouble! If she had thought being a captive of the Arapaho was bad...
"Can you hear me?" the one in the lead asked as she cast her eyes over the men, looking for some way to run. She could understand him, though she knew it wasn't Navajo he spoke, but Apache. The two languages were close to one another, unlike Navajo and Arapaho.
She stiffened and looked at him. What kind of a question was that? "Yes, why?"
He twitched an eyebrow. "Navajo, yes? We won't hurt you."
It was very small and cold comfort, right now. "I am. Going south, at the moment."
The warrior inclined his head. "The village of the Navajo. They moved on. Do you know my name, Nascha?"
Nascha's legs felt wobbly under her. The sun was beating down on her head, was all. Cheveyo hadn't just spoken without moving his mouth. He couldn't have. His name is Cheveyo? She opened her mouth, closed it. "You're Cheveyo. How do I know that? And how do you know my name?"
"Speak out loud until she learns," he said, the words directed at the men around him. She jumped as she realized that was the first time she had head his voice aloud. To Nascha, he said, "You are like us."
"Like you?"
"Spiritwalker."
She stared. Spiritwalkers were elite warriors, bands of men sworn to each other and to the protection of their tribe. They were the first to warn of danger and the first to go into battle, and they were revered and celebrated wherever they went. It was said that they could travel and leave no trace, that they could appear and disappear like the light from a flame. Nascha fumbled for words. "Spiritwalkers are all men. I'm not."
"So it was thought," Cheveyo said gravely. "But I cannot ignore the calling of the gods. We are seven. We lost our eighth. And you answered the question. You are the eighth." Behind him, one of the men snickered,
A numbness born of heat and disbelief was stealing over her. She glanced at the one who had laughed, confused. "I'm supposed to come with you. Where are you going, then?"
"We were going home. But that changes now. You begin again and we train you--Shut up, Dichali, you know the way just as well as I do--until you are ready."
Dichali had been the one who had laughed, then. Nascha's mind was moving so slowly. "I have a cousin that I promised to rescue. She was taken during the same raid our family was killed during," she said, her tongue thick and clumsy.
"By who?" Cheveyo asked.
"The Arapaho. The one who led the band that raided us was Chogan."
As one, the men before her shifted, muttered, looked at each other. "We know him and you are chosen," Cheveyo said at last. "We have a debt to settle with him as well. It will be some time first, before your cousin and your revenge."
Nascha looked at him, dismayed. "She'll think I died, or forgot about her."
"You will do neither."
But if she were alive, what good did it do Sakhyo if she did not know? "She'll think I've abandoned her and her son. I might know differently, but I don't want her to give up hope."
"If she knows you, she won't think that," he said, fixing her in place with a look. "If she knew what you are, she would never doubt it. Come." He put his hand out to her, palm turned up. "We begin tonight."
Nascha hesitated. Then she reached out and took his hand. "Some god is laughing at me, right now. I can tell," she said. From being a captive of the Arapaho to joining an Apache warrior band, and spiritwalkers at that--someone had to be getting a good laugh out of this.
"They are probably laughing at all of us. But when we are done, no one will laugh." A strange expression crossed his face, one she couldn't even begin to understand. "Not even the gods."
Nascha felt profoundly uneasy, confronted with this strange man. She could always run away again, she thought. At least these people didn't look like they were inclined to tie her up. Cheveyo handed her the waterskin he was holding and she drank greedily as he led her to the horses nearby, the rest of the men following. The horse he mounted up on was a black mustang with a white star and white socks, and indicated that she was to swing up behind him. After she was settled, he asked, "You know the rest?"
She looked around. Yes, she thought. The one with the silly smile, who had laughed before, was Dichali. The heavily built one with a brooding brow was Adoeete. The one with corded muscle who looked like he had fangs was Zotum. The hulking huge one, as big as the one they had called the Bull in the Arapaho band, was Otaktay. The small, thin one who looked as though he would blow away in a stiff wind was Pezi. The one with an easy smile and a far-seeing look was Sahale. "I do. How do I know them? I've never met any of you before."
"Think me so strange now?" he asked, with a smile.
She stiffened, abruptly terrified. "You can hear my thoughts."
"And you mine, but that is just the beginning."
Nascha swallowed fear, her throat raw. "Can spiritwalkers do all that's said about them? Appear and disappear without warning, walk and leave no tracks?"
"Yes, and more," Cheveyo said. Nascha didn't reply, just concentrated on staying on the horse with her legs that were weak and sore with days of walking and of thirst. She gave in after a few minutes and asked him if she could put an arm around him to steady herself.
Leaning against his back, her cheek against the leather he was wearing, she wondered about these men, and whether she could be a warrior. She'd played with sticks as a child, all children did, but she had always known she would never be asked to take up the life of a warrior.
She didn't know if she could do it. I can only try.
They rode until sundown, and made camp as the light died from the sky. All of the men were silent and moving purposefully, as if they were being told to do things, but though Nascha could hear the occasional scrap of conversation, she couldn't make out any words.
The evening meal was a stew made from dried meat and roots, and Nascha offered up the food she had been carrying. The smiling one, Dichali, took the bag from her and thanked her, and the one with the long eyes, Sahale, came back with full waterskins from a spring he'd apparently found nearby.
After all had eaten and the stars had come out, glittering brightly in the sky, Cheveyo came and sat down in front of her. The firelight flickered across his face as he simply looked at her without speaking.
"So. How does this begin?" Nascha asked.
"By me telling you my life. Each night, one of us will come to you to tell you our story. Do you know why?"
She frowned. "I was about to ask why."
Cheveyo smiled briefly. "To hear each other the way we do, there can be no secrets between us. If there are, we can't hear each other, just bits and pieces. Like what you are hearing now. Do you understand?"
"I do, I think. And afterwards, I have to tell you my own story, then?"
"On the eighth night, you will tell us," he said.
Nascha took a breath. "I do understand, then."
Again, that brief smile. "Good, are you ready?"
She wriggled in place a little, getting comfortable. She had the idea that this was going to take some time. "I am."
Cheveyo held out his hands, and after a moment of hesitation she reached out and took them. His fingers closed, clasping her palms to his. A long moment later, a tidal wave of images rose, washing over her.
He had been born a hundred seasons ago, and she saw parents, grandfather, aunts and uncles, all of their faces seen briefly. She saw his life as a child and a young man, so many details coming and going that she felt she could only grasp the bare outline of what they meant. She saw him growing up, getting taller, his poor riding skills as a boy. She saw him being chosen as a spiritwalker, the ceremonies that had initiated him, his marriage to a woman he loved, the birth of his first child. Faces and images spilled over her, a sense of happiness.
And then, all turned darker. Chogan and company tumbled through her mind, attacking the tribe. Blood. Cheveyo's parents dying, wife dying, child dying under Chogan's hatchet. Friends dying. All the joy, all the pain, the blood and the battles, the fellow spiritwalkers who had come before him and who had died. His hands in hers drew her through his life, from the beginning of memory to this moment.
And it ended with an image of herself as he saw her, dying of thirst but driven by a will to help her family. He liked her, and there was a spark of attraction there. It could be fanned into a flame, given time. He was somewhat embarrassed to have to admit it to her, but he had said no secrets, and that included things that were not necessarily easy to speak of.
Nascha swallowed, genuinely nonplused. The thought of someone being attracted to her was an alien one at the moment, her grief for Tse and her family rendering the part of her that might have been embarrassed or intrigued numb and cold. He could not know what she had lost, and right now she could not find the words. He let go of her hands. "You can hear me now, but remember until the eighth night I can't hear you very well," he said, though he spoke not a word aloud. His voice was clear and strong.
"I understand," she said, quietly, aloud.
Cheveyo nodded. "If you ever have a secret that you are trying to keep, it will be difficult to do so, and you won't hear us as well as you should. If you have such a secret that you can not share it with us, you will have to go. It has never happened before, but we caution everyone."
She drew in a sharp breath. "Is it difficult, to live without secrets? I suppose you must get used to it."
"It is very hard sometimes," he said. "Like now, when you have to admit things you don't really want the others to know. It's sometimes even harder to admit them to yourself." He had a rueful smile on his lips.
"I see. But you have to, if you want to stay," she said, turning it over in her mind. "It would be hard if you knew something that would make someone else angry or uncomfortable and you had to tell them anyway."
Cheveyo chuckled briefly. "Adoeete and I are at each other all the time, but even though we would not be friends any other place we have to be, here. It could get us both killed if we are not truthful." He glanced over his shoulder. "Rest now, Nascha. Tomorrow, Pezi has found horses and you will do horse ceremony. Pick a place to sleep away from Dichali. He talks way too much. You will never get any sleep."
Nascha found it in her somehow to chuckle. "And I'm someone who hasn't heard all of his stories ten times before?"
"Quite right," he said with a smile.
"Are you going to tell me about horse ceremony, or do I get to find out when I get there?" she asked.
He smiled again. "Best not to think about it tonight. It will only make you worry."
Nascha gave him a dubious look. "I think I'm going to worry anyway. I'll try to get some sleep, though."
Cheveyo only said good night and went to lie down on the ground a short distance away. The night was fine and clear and not too cold, and Nascha curled up where she was after clearing away some of the sharper stones. She thought she'd lie awake some but instead she was asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes, falling into dream.
The next morning, she woke when she heard some of the others moving around. She got up and brushed herself off, and shooed off the scorpion that had decided to curl up in her shoe overnight. "Find some things to burn," she heard Cheveyo say, his back to her. He glanced over his shoulder at her, evidently to see if she'd caught his words.
She nodded to show that she had, and then stretched and went to find some dry brush to burn. When she came back with her arms full of what there was to burn in this place, a morning meal was made--Sahale and Dichali seemed to share that particular chore, at least this morning. Nascha stayed quiet, watching, seeing how the men moved and talked to each other. She could hear Cheveyo clearly, but she could hear the rest only in muttering snatches.
As Cheveyo had said, he and Adoeete did not get along well. The comments they made to each other were good-natured, but they had a vicious bite to them that spoke of quarrels long unresolved. Dichali talked a lot, but never seemed to say much of anything, and nobody was paying any attention to his words. Pezi sat by himself, and spoke to nobody as far as she could tell.
Sahale simply watched, taking everything in, and Nascha could feel his gaze return to her time and time again. She wondered what he was thinking about her. Otaktay and Zotum acted more like brothers than anything else, and as she watched there was a family resemblance between them, their straight noses and the shapes of their eyes nearly identical. Otaktay was by far the larger, and she thought that he was maybe the older. Zotum was not a small man by any means, but next to Otaktay he was slim and wiry.
Eventually, Nascha did essay a few comments, but mostly what that got her was Dichali sensing that she might be an audience and coming over and chattering at her. He reminded her of a ground squirrel scolding an intruder, to tell the truth. She didn't mind, even welcomed the distraction. Her heart this morning lay in her chest as heavy as stone, and it was not all grief. Horse ceremony, Cheveyo had said. She wondered what it meant.
Finally, Cheveyo stood and motioned for Nascha to do the same. "Nascha, today we do horse ceremony."
"It sounds very simple but it's not. Trust me," Otaktay said, grimacing.
She gave him a wide-eyed glance. "What do I need to do?"
"All you need is a horse, and so we get you one today. Pezi has some already boxed in a canyon. If you are ready, we should go."
"I am," she said. There was something more to this, she could tell by the silence that had come over the others. Cheveyo walked over to the horses and mounted up, offering his hand to Nascha and pulling her up behind him. Pezi came as well, giving his spotted mare a scratch behind the ears. He mounted, and they were off, leaving the others behind.
After a short ride, they arrived at a box canyon whose narrow mouth was blocked with rocks and bramble. Beyond the barrier, Nascha could see and hear horses moving restlessly, hooves thudding and the occasional squeal and snort rising. There had to be fifty or more horses in there. Pezi dismounted, and Nascha and Cheveyo did the same. Cheveyo said, "The act is simple. You will be taken into the center of the horses, where you will sit down, close your eyes and call to them without speaking. The one that nuzzles you first accepts you and you will be able to ride them out."
Nascha stared at Cheveyo, at first suspecting that she was the butt of an elaborate joke, and then realizing that no, he was serious. "And I suppose 'don't get trampled' is all the advice you're going to give me."
"That's about it. The horses already know who will take you. It's just a matter of when they want to tell you."
She thought about balking, about telling Cheveyo that he was crazy and she would do no such thing. She would be killed out there, trampled by sharp hooves. But he was looking at her steadily, and she fisted her hands, glancing nervously at the horses. "And both of you survived this?"
"All seven of us have. We have only lost a few." He smiled.
She gave him a sour look. "That doesn't make me feel better, somehow. All right. I need to go in before I think about this too much more."
"Pezi is one of the few of us that can carry another into spiritworld. He will take you in."
Spiritworld. It was where the spiritwalkers got their name, but she hadn't believed until this moment that these men really did walk in it. "Is there anything I have to do to prepare for that?" she asked.
"Don't scream," he told her. "It hurts Pezi's ears."
Nascha nodded. "I'll try. Is it that frightening?"
"Only the first time," Cheveyo said. Pezi, next to him, held out his hand, and Nascha took it. Just do this. Don't think. Just walk.
The transition felt like a strange pull, as if her skin were being drawn upward and off of her, painlessly. The light changed, and though she could still see the world, she could also see misty shapes around her, white and grey. Some of the mist had faces, she realized, as they flowed by her and away. Pezi took a step and she followed, and it was as if a hundred steps had flown by. Two more steps took them past the barricade and into the middle of the herd. He let go of Nascha's hand, and the mist shapes disappeared, the horses near them squealing and shying away.
Pezi was standing next to her still. "My only advice--try not to move a lot and think about what you are going to tell us on eighth night."
She nodded and sank to the ground, folding her legs beneath her. "Thank you. I'll stay still as I can."
Pezi nodded and seemed to vanish, leaving her alone in the center of the herd. She clenched her teeth together and closed her eyes, remembering what she had been told to do. Cheveyo had said to call without speaking, and so that was what she tried to do, though her eyes still flew open every time a horse stepped too near.
The stallion of the group, a rangy black, approached her with ears pricked. He snuffled at her for a little while, blowing bubbles from his nose. He did not touch her, and after a few minutes turned side-on to her and started peeing, making a large puddle close to her left knee. She was evidently not a threat to be bothered with, and he strolled off into the herd, ears pricked for other dangers.
Other horses came close and sniffed her, but none nuzzled her. The sun rose higher in the sky, and something spooked the horses. They ran in circles around her, hooves pounding as she wrapped her arms around her knees and prayed that none of them would step on her. There was much squealing and whinnying at whatever had disturbed them, but eventually did calm down. She sat there, the sun baking her, wondering if any of these horses was ever going to let her out of here.
She alternated calling with thinking about what she was going to say on the eighth night, getting tangled up in grief and the memories of seeing Tse die, and going back to calling as a distraction. The dust was rising as the day wore on, stirred up by hundreds of hooves, choking. Still she sat, unmoving, though her legs ached and her mouth was dry. She was required to do this, and so she would stay here until it was done.
It was past noon now, the sun creeping forward in the sky, and Nascha was beginning to see things. Images, strange things, seeing both before and behind, curiously flat. The images were of water, endless plains, desert, all from angles she was unused to. It was the horses. They were speaking to her, or at least some of them were.
They seemed to be telling her a story. She could see a foal being born, wobbling to its feet, dark with birth water but drying quickly. The foal grew up, and she felt wind blowing in her mane, and her tail. Then, she felt a soft touch on the top of her head.
That wasn't the story. That was a touch to Nascha's own body, a velvety chin resting on her head. She knew, even before she opened her eyes, that the touch was from a mare, a yellow roan with a white mane and tail. Her name was Una, a word that meant Remember.
Nascha opened her eyes and reached upwards, a bit tentatively. "Greetings," she said, and touched the side of the horse's head. Una nuzzled her hand, welcoming. Dumbfounded that this had worked, she stretched out her legs and then climbed to her feet, trying not to make any sudden movements. "Will you let me ride?" she asked, feeling silly for asking.
She caught her breath as the mare, seeming to understand, nodded slightly and then turned side-on to Nascha. Nascha put her hands on the horse's back, wondering, and then mounted up. She encouraged Una to walk toward the entrance of the canyon. "I would have to call that one a tie, Pezi," she heard Cheveyo say, and though Pezi must have said something in return she didn't hear it.
Pezi pulled back the bramble and Una walked through, followed by the rest of the herd. Nascha nudged the horse over to the side and let the others pass by, bolting through the opening and away. "So what were you betting on?" she asked.
Cheveyo was watching the horses go by, his own hand on his black horse's shoulder. "I said it would be after dark before you got one. He said before sunset. I said the yellow roan, and he thought the black stallion."
Her eyebrows went up. "The one that peed next to me?"
"Yep." He glanced over at her, and she thought there was amusement in his voice. "I took that as a solid no. We bet before he did that. He has as good a chance as any. I am rarely wrong about the horse. The times, well."
"What's the longest someone's had to stay in with the horses until someone picked him?"
Cheveyo smiled. "Otaktay. He was in there for three days."
Three days? She could barely imagine it. "He had to have been thirsty by the time he got out!"
"He was, and so were they. I think one of them finally gave up. I think they were scared of his weight." The last of the horses went by, and Nascha felt Una shiver her skin, but the horse did not move. "He is not a small man."
"I noticed. He's Zotum's older brother, right?"
"Yes. But he is younger in spiritwalker years."
Strange, though she supposed the gods had their reasons. "Ah, I'd have thought he'd have become one first."
"So would I, but Zotum was chosen first. Otaktay, nearly a year later."
Nascha thought about the spiritwalker bands she had heard of. "And if I remember correctly...rank goes according to how long you've been a spiritwalker?"
Cheveyo inclined his head. "Yes. I have been spiritwalker for thirty-two seasons. Dichali for thirty. Adoeete for twenty-eight. Zotum, twenty. Otaktay, sixteen. Pezi, twelve. Sahale, four. Adoeete is the oldest of us, at 121."
She pressed her lips together, thinking. "Spiritwalkers never live to be old, do they?" she said, quietly.
"No, very few get too old to continue. It is not our way. We are to protect the tribes. Find food when it's not possible. Find water in the desert. All of these things can get you killed very quickly if you misstep once." He shook his head slowly, and she thought about the number of brothers that had died for him to become the leader of this band. She remembered their faces from the memories he had given her last night. "In return, anything that you ask for will be given to you. You will eat first and the best. The pick of the best weapons, and so on. Our gift has its advantages and disadvantages."
"Well, right now, I want to live long enough to get Sakhyo and Nastas out." She tried to smile, but couldn't. "After that, I don't really care much what happens to me."
He just looked at her for a moment, considering. "I think you will change your mind, but for now that is enough. I have good news and bad news for you."
What now? she thought, and then nodded.
Cheveyo smiled. "Bad news is that we tell our stories to you in order of spiritwalker years. Good news is that Dichali usually goes hoarse after about five hours."
Nascha almost laughed. "I don't really mind. Listening to him is a good distraction. So he won't be doing what you did, showing me things?"
"He will do exactly what I did. He just mouths along with the story."
She wrinkled her nose. "Well, as long as he doesn't go so long that I fall asleep in the middle of the story, that's fine by me."
"Trust me, he won't let you." He smiled at her, and then mounted his horse. "Back to the rest, now."
Once they arrived back, Nascha introduced Una to the rest of the horses. There was much whuffing and swishing of tails and flicking of ears, but in the end the herd seemed to accept their newest member. After the evening meal, Dichali came to her. Like Cheveyo, he sat down in front of her and held out his hands.
Dichali was a strong man with a stubborn jaw, made handsome by the laughter in his eyes. Nascha closed her eyes and let his story wash over her, listening.
His life had been easier than Cheveyo's. He was ninety-nine seasons old, and she saw a boyhood that was almost idyllic. She saw him growing up, then being chosen as spiritwalker, training with Cheveyo as a teacher as he passed along knowledge that was new-won even for him. He was married to a large, mean-looking woman who he adored with his whole heart, and two children who, fortunately, took after him rather than her in looks. His relationship with his wife was volatile, filled with fights and passionate apologies, and that was, it seemed, exactly how he liked it.
Beyond his life with his wife, there was a parade of faces. Dichali had killed many people, and he remembered each of their faces. It haunted him, when he thought about it. The talking was a defense, a shield against the faces that came at him when there was silence.
When Dichali paused, Nascha asked him how being married as a spiritwalker worked out for him. "Works fine. It's best to be out of the house sometimes, with my wife." He grinned. "But we have enough time together to make children and reunions are great after long absences."
I'll just bet they are. She tilted her head. "What were you laughing about, when Cheveyo told me I was the eighth?"
Dichali snorted. "Adoeete said, oh god, are we going to have to build a squatting hut for you every month. I found that amusing."
She smiled, amused. "Well, probably. There's a reason women don't become spiritwalkers."
"Yes, it's because men don't want to admit you can do anything we can," he said, and grinned.
"Well, I suppose we'll find out the truth of that. I'm not so sure I'm cut out to be a warrior of any kind."
He gave her a long look. "I don't think the gods gave you a choice. But tomorrow we will see. You start hatchet fighting with Otaktay."
Nascha's eyes went wide. "Well, as long as he's not actually trying to kill me..."
"He won't kill you. But he won't pull any punches. Speaking of. He will do the same thing over and over again until you dodge it or block, and then he will do something new."
"Good to know," she said, thinking about the big man. "I think dodging's a better bet against him than blocking."
"You probably don't have the strength to stop him so, yes, dodge a lot. He tires pretty easily, after a couple of hours for sure."
She grimaced. "Well, it shouldn't be much harder work than some of the harvesting, at least, and I can do that all day."
They kept talking until Dichali was finished, long after the others had turned in. "Good luck tomorrow, Nascha," he said to her silently, after he released her hands.
"Thank you, Dichali." She smiled and stretched, and got up to go find a place to sleep, exhausted by the day.
She had not yet gotten past the sense that this was somehow not real, that it was a dream caused by a fever as she died of thirst in the desert. That she was here, that she was alive...how could it be? And not only alive, but taken in by an Apache spiritwalker band that intended to make her one of them.
If it were real, though--
I will kill Chogan.
It was the last thought she had before falling into a sleep without dreams.
