Chapter Six

 

7 p.m.

 

For hours, Mr. Mayhem’s words rolled around inside my head. Curiosity killed the cat. What the hell did that mean? Never got the chance to ask because after supper my grandfather sat us all in a circle on the wide pine floor of the living room, candlelight dancing all around us, filling the room with soothing aromas of sage and patchouli.

“Your grandfather and I need to prepare you.” Mr. Mayhem set the last candle on the coffee table and settled on the floor next to Shicheii, across from me and Maggie. “Before we wage this battle, it’s vitally important that we ground you, Cat.”

“Whaddaya mean?” I shrugged. “I’m grounded.”

“No, you are not. A feisty feline still lives inside you. It’s evident in how you interact with Poe. And a cat tussling inside a mourning dove, yearning to break free, is the polar opposite of grounded.” He flashed a flat palm. “You have come a long way. I shall give you that. Our impending battle, however, requires you to be one with the universe, one with our People. Connected. Balanced. You need to feel a sense of belonging deep within your core, or we will never win this war.”

“Cheveyo’s right, child, though I object to the word ‘war.’” Eyebrows raised, Shicheii shot him a knowing glance before focusing back on me. “You need to learn how and why you belong, and the only way to show you that is through ancient knowledge passed down through generations. The time has come for you to learn where you fit in to the universe. By studying the stars, the constellations, you will begin to understand and accept Sacred Truths about our People, about you.”

An oversized pad laid in the center of our circle, where Shicheii sketched a round universe in charcoal and colored pencils—the universe as seen through Diné eyes, with traditional colors of black, blue, yellow, and white.

“Most of the star stories are told in winter,” he explained, “but there’s a portion we may discuss now, during the Summer Solstice. The interrelationship of Earth and Sky will give you a sense of place, a sense of belonging.”

Mr. Mayhem leaned forward, his gray, almost translucent eyes drilling into me. “Remember when I told you our People are not from this land, we are of it?”

Speechless, I nodded yes.

“This Sacred Knowledge will help show why that is.”

“Well said, Cheveyo. Thank you.” Rather than ask me, Shicheii turned to Maggie. “Little Rain, do you remember the Diné word for star?”

Her tiny voice said, “Sitsoii Yoo.”

“Very good, honey.”

I admit, getting shown up by a nine-year-old stung a bit. But in my defense, Maggie lived in a traditional home until she went into foster care. Since I had a half-brother who ventured into the worst kind of Navajo witchcraft—a truth I only learned recently and still grappled with at times—my parents raised me like all the other kids in town, Caucasian like my dad.

“Mourning Dove, Sitsoii Yoo refers to ‘my ancient relation from where I came.’ When we look at the Milky Way Galaxy at night, we are actually looking at ourselves. Does that make sense?”

“No, Shicheii. I have no clue what that means.” My shoulders rose on their own. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, child. This knowledge takes time. Sitsoii Yoo refers to an ancient universe, something much bigger than ourselves. In this world—as we sit here tonight—we are experiencing our existence as humans, but we’re also related to the past, the star, the energy that preceded our life. Understand?”

“Yes.” I really did. His words resonated with me.

“Good girl. Mother Earth is a participant in a much bigger universe. We, as humans, are part of the Natural World. Thus, a participant in everything on Mother Earth. And both humans and Mother Earth are participants in a much bigger universe. It’s holistic.” He laced his fingers together. “We’re all interconnected.”

“I understand.”

“Good girl.” He spun the sketch toward me and Maggie. “The Diné worldview is traditional.”

Mr. Mayhem said, “Many tribes’ worldviews are.”

“My apologies, dear friend. You’re right, of course.” He patted Mr. Mayhem’s knee. “Apache and Diné are closely related. And so we share a similar worldview. So, children, a lot of these teachings will apply to more than one culture.”

Even though Mr. Mayhem and his wife, Kimi—my mom’s closest friend—raised their daughter in a traditional Chippewa home, he also had Apache heritage. Not sure which bloodline he favored because he remained vague on the subject when I caught him in a rare, weak moment. Usually, he kept his guard up at all times. But the few times I drilled through his hard exterior, I found marshmallow fluff and teddy bear stuffing. Not that he’d expose that side of him in public.

After waiting for an acknowledgment from his lifelong friend, Shicheii veered back into teaching mode. “Our People—created from stardust—emerged from an original light, Sitsoii Yoo. What preceded all light processes is starlight, and that is how our People emerged into this world. See the black star at the bottom?” He pointed to the sketch, where a big black star shot into the universe. “In this world, they gave us land with boundaries. Four Sacred Mountains corner this land marked here with an N, S, E, W.”

Shicheii tapped each of the Four Sacred Mountains depicted in the sketch. “If you look straight across, you’ll see a mountain marked by an E. East represents Mount Blanca. South represents Mount Taylor. West is San Francisco Peaks by Flagstaff. And North is Mount Hesperus by Durango.”

Hope soared like eagle wings, my stomach jittering with excitement. “I recognize those names from weaving the sweat lodge.”

A wide smile brightened my grandfather’s kind face. “She’s learning, Cheveyo.”

“Wonders never cease,” he grumbled.

“Very good, Mourning Dove.” The smile faded as he diverted his attention to the sketch. “Our People refer to our homeland by these Sacred Mountains. As we discussed while building the lodge, direction is layered. Does anyone know what these figures are called?”

Maggie’s hand shot above her head, her tiny body wiggling in place.

“Little Rain.”

“Yeii.”

“Excellent.” Shicheii’s loving gaze lingered on her for a moment before returning to the lesson. “These Yeii figures—the white, the turquoise, the yellow, and the black—show the different parts of the day. If white represents the predawn, what does black represent?”

“Night,” I said while Maggie’s hand waved up high, refusing to let her make a fool of me. Petty? Maybe. But Shicheii’s praise was worth competing over.

“Correct. Black represents the darkness of night. Yellow is mid-day and turquoise represents evening twilight just after the sun goes down. It’s really the cosmic order that you see here.” Meaning the sketch. “Make sense?”

Maggie and I both nodded.

Grimacing, Mr. Mayhem cleared his throat. “When an elder asks you a question, it’s not only polite but respectful to offer a verbal response. Use your words, please.”

In unison, we dropped our chins. “Sorry, Shicheii.”

“We understand,” I added, in case it wasn’t clear.

Seated back on folded legs with his mitt-sized hands folded in his lap, Shicheii turned his full attention to me and Maggie. “There are eight main constellations that our People refer to most of the time, and then at different times of the year we refer to twelve main constellations. And so, that is what I have drawn on the upper part of the worldview.” He waved the charcoal over the sketch like a pointer. “See the Hogan in the center? They rounded the dome on top to align with the universe. The Sacred Fire burns in the center of a Hogan.”

“Oh, yeah.” My lungs expanded with air. “It’s like the one in the bunker.”

The bunker was Mr. Mayhem’s secret lair, where he tried to kill me more than once over the years—complicated times we’d worked through, vowing never to reveal the details to anyone. If my grandfather learned about our hair-raising history, he’d sever ties with his lifelong friend. And that I could never allow.

Every time I answered correctly, a smile crinkled Shicheii’s nose—an addictive look I couldn’t get enough of. In his eyes, the mere act of breathing made me perfect, and my body responded with a warm, tingly sensation.

To grab my attention, Mr. Mayhem leaned forward. “Knowledge holders—elders and Medicine Men—keep Ancient star knowledge. Our People protect this information as Sacred Knowledge. It is an oral history, and anyone seeking this knowledge must have a good reason to request it. In your case, you want to learn about your People, our shared heritage. Thus, Jacy Lee is sharing this knowledge with you tonight. This is not, however, knowledge to be shared with others.”

“Understood,” I said.

“Thank you, Cheveyo.” Shicheii patted Mr. Mayhem’s shoulder, rolling him back into place. “He makes a valid point. This lesson is for your hearts and minds only, children. Our People learned star knowledge from animals and birds and plants, the study of which tells us what plants are coming up when. They named the months after happenings in nature. For example, the month of February aligns with little Eagles in their nests. But before baby Eagles hatch, there must be food for them—insects and worms—and there must be food for the parents. So, it’s all a cycle.”

Circling hand gestures reinforced his point. “Everything unfolds from the insects and the worms, then the smaller birds, then the Eagles, and so forth. Their cycle aligns with happenings in the sky, what’s being planted, what’s being harvested. All connected as one.”

A phrase Mr. Mayhem taught me during my training to battle skinwalkers flitted through my mind, and euphoria filled my head. “As above, so below.”

“Yes, child. Very good.” With a quick wink at Mr. Mayhem, Shicheii interlocked his fingers. “As above, so below. All things are connected, even the universe. It’s all interrelated. So, you go to the animals and birds and plants, and you observe and watch and learn.”

My scalp prickled in disbelief “Y’mean, like, you want me and Maggie to watch animals?”

“I do, yes. You’ll start tomorrow morning.”

“But what about the other thing?”

“The two will not conflict.” All cocky-like, Mr. Mayhem leaned back, his arm slung on the coffee table. “Observation’s done before dawn.”

Three blank expressions stared at me. “Say, what now?”

“The pre-dawn hour illuminates vital life lessons,” Shicheii explained, his sultry voice lulling me into compliance, “because that’s when things rise on the eastern horizon just before the sun.”

As usual, Mr. Mayhem interpreted for me. “In Western astronomy, it’s called the heliacal rise. Perhaps you’re familiar with the term?”

My head rocked in a circular motion, neither confirming nor denying.

“Use your words, please.”

“No. I’m not familiar with the heliacal rise. Should I be?”

“Not to worry, Mourning Dove.” My grandfather’s all-consuming spirit sedated me. “When you observe, you must look at the stars that are available to you. Then imagine that thousands of years ago, our People used those same stars to identify constellations, which told them what to do at that time of year. It’s seasonally based.”

“If you had grown up in a traditional home,” Mr. Mayhem said, “you would have learned much of this knowledge through ceremonial songs and language. Perhaps Little Rain remembers.”

Head wagging up and down, she confirmed. “I do, Dedenaan.”

“See? Hence why your grandfather is giving you a crash course. You’re already behind, Cat. Yet it’s vitally important for you to feel grounded, connected. It’s everything.”

“Okay.” Geez, he didn’t have to rub it in. “I get it.”

“For your sake, I hope you do.”

Silence surfed the air inside the rustic log cabin as Shicheii sketched a star map, sage and patchouli warming my insides, my heart fluttering from the sense of community, of family.

Once he finished the drawing, he laid the star map next to the sketch of the universe. “Dead center is Polaris, the North Star, depicted as the Central Fire—the heart of a Hogan. Below Polaris is the First Man, called Nahookos Biká or Male Revolving One.”

Index finger raised, Mr. Mayhem said, “If I may interject a moment…”

Shicheii waved him on. “Please.”

“You may recognize the First Man or Male Revolving One as the Big Dipper, but it’s important for you to learn and understand these star stories. Male Revolving One is a warrior. He is not, as Caucasian culture has conditioned you to believe, an inanimate object like a ladle.” His eyes rolled upward. “He is a warrior with the pattern of the stars on his shirt. In simpler terms, those who refer to him as the Big Dipper are only seeing one small piece of the First Man.”

A revelation hit me hard, my eyes flashing wide. “They’re only seeing his shirt.”

“Correct.” A continuous nod. “They’re blind to the rest.”

“Wow.” How have I never heard of this? Did Mom fear star stories would lead me to Navajo Nation and straight into the arms of my killer? “When you think about it, it’s kinda sad that they can’t see the full picture.”

“She is learning, old friend.”

“It’s beautiful to witness, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, it is. Please. Continue.”

“Thank you, Cheveyo. Male Revolving One wears an Eagle plume on his head and carries a bow and arrows on his back. He dons turquoise for protection while wearing a bow guard and holding an arrowhead. See it here?” He hovered the charcoal over the star map. “He also carries a medicine bag. Male Revolving One is a warrior, as Cheveyo rightly explained, but he’s also the father of the family. Taking care of and protecting the family—the People—is his role in the universe.”

A light tap, tap, tap sounded behind me. When I twisted around, Poe stood outside the window. What’s he want?

Shicheii pointed to the other side of Polaris. “If Male Revolving One sits here, who sits above the Central Fire?”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Raising my voice over Poe’s knocking, I guessed, “Female Revolving One?”

“Very good, child.” He moved his open hands like scales. “Notice the balance.”

“To the white man she’s called Cassiopeia.”

“Once again, Cheveyo, thank you for your input. Our People call her Nahookos Bi’aad or Female Revolving One. She is also a warrior who wears an Eagle plume. If you look at her wrist, she has a turquoise bracelet for protection. She carries two weapons—the grinding stone and the stirring sticks—and with those she feeds her family and keeps them healthy.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

He could stand there all night for all I cared. Maybe a Great Horned Owl would do me a solid and take him out.

“Like Male Revolving One, she never strays from the Hogan. Ever present in the home, they represent the ideal mother and father. Questions?”

“I do.” My arm shot above my head, and Shicheii nodded for me to continue. “If they never leave the Hogan—the Central Fire in the sky—does that mean their stars don’t move? Because I could swear the Big Dipper moved, and if that’s the pattern on Male Revolving One’s shirt, then he must move. Right?”

“That may be the most intelligent, well-thought-out question I have ever received.” Shicheii and Mr. Mayhem locked gazes for an eternity of moments, and I had no idea why. Finally, he said, “Great idea,” as though responding to a suggestion delivered telepathically. “Little Rain, can you answer Mourning Dove’s question?”

“Yes, Shicheii.” Her innocent face brightened with joy. “They all move together.”

“Very good, child. Your birth parents did a great job of instilling a sense of place in you.”

“But I thought Polaris didn’t move.” I scratched my cheek. “Isn’t the North Star always in the same spot?”

“It is. The Central Fire—Polaris—remains centered while Male Revolving One and Female Revolving One rotate around it in a counterclockwise motion. Always connected. Always in balance. Always as one. In Western astronomy they’re considered three constellations, but our People see male, female, and Central Fire as one collective group of stars called Nahookos Constellations. See here?” He motioned to the ring on the sketch. “They never leave this central ring.”

“Oh, okay.” The fog cleared from my mind. “I see what you’re sayin’ now.”

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

Man, that bird was persistent. Go away already.

“That’s why we use the Central Fire—Polaris—for navigation, as it remains a fixed point in the sky. They put these stories in the sky because landforms can change. We can experience floods, a mountain can slip down, but the stars stay the same. In the sky these lessons, these virtues, these ancient ways of living are always there to remind our People.”

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

Ignoring the pain in the ass behind me, I said, “Cool.”

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

Leaning to the side to look around me—there goes my night—Mr. Mayhem rose. “Excuse me for a moment, please.” He pushed open the screen door and Poe soared into the living room, tossing me a snide how-dare-you glare before landing on the floor. With a fluff of the feathers—head held high and proud like he owned the place—he hopped up on Shicheii’s knee, beady eyes narrowed on me.

“Moving outward, do you see Coyote—known as Ma’ii—at the bottom? He’s waving a blanket full of crystals.”

“Err…”

When I stumbled over my words, Shicheii continued, unfazed by my lack of vision and the crow perched on his knee, who didn’t take kindly to being ignored. Poe climbed up to his forearm, then to his shoulder, and still didn’t receive an acknowledgment.

Ha-ha, better luck next time, asshole.

“Many tribes have a trickster element,” he said, and I smiled at Poe, relishing the fact that his slick moves failed to gain Shicheii’s attention. “It’s universal. If you hailed from the Pacific Northwest, you would speak of Raven coming in and disrupting the order. If you were in Cherokee territory in North Carolina or Oklahoma, you would speak of Giant Rabbit coming in and causing chaos. But because we’re taking about Navajo Nation—remember the stars give you a sense of place, of belonging—it’s Coyote who disrupts the order.”

When Poe still didn’t get a reaction from Shicheii, he nuzzled his feathery head into the crook of his neck.

“Yes, my child? What can I do for you?”

Rattle, rattle, rattle. Poe’s love language.

“All right.” Once on his feet, he headed into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and slid out a Tupperware container. On the granite island, he sliced a few cubes of melon for the little bastard, and my mouth salivated for a bite.

“Can I have some, Shicheii?”

“No.” Mr. Mayhem shut me down.

“Why not? He’s already cutting cubes for the little mooch. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal, as you so eloquently stated, is Poe would like to enjoy his bedtime snack. You, dearest Cat, need to fully concentrate on the lesson. And you can’t if you’re eating.”

What kind of bullshit was that?

“When the Holy People were carefully planting stars in the sky,” Shicheii said, lowering to the floor with us, “Coyote became overly excited and wanted to be part of it. The Holy Ones gave in and said, ‘All right. You can plant one star.’ Coyote planted one, then he planted a second star, and he said, ‘Well, it’s kind of boring. I think I’ll make it all happen differently.’ So, when no one was looking, he grabbed a pouch from one of the Holy People and threw it up in the air.”

Slurping from Poe wolfing cantaloupe and honeydew melon made it nearly impossible to concentrate, and my gaze strayed over to the kitchen island. The little bastard stood facing me, fruit juices leaking out the sides of his bill—really rubbing it in—and it took all my power not to smack that smug look off his face.

“Hundreds of crystals strewn across the sky.” My grandfather’s teaching voice beckoned me back, my eyes side-shifting to Poe, my tongue running along the inside of my lower lip, my hand tightening into a fist. “Since they had no order, they would not have names. And that is the chaos Coyote created.” As if he sensed a vibration from Mr. Mayhem, he rotated to the side, candlelight shimmering across his warm chestnut complexion. “Cheveyo, did you have something to add?”

“I do. Thank you. Cat, you’ve experienced the Coyote factor. Just when you think life could not get more perfect, something—or someone—comes along and disrupts the order.”

I felt like sayin’, “Yeah, it’s usually you” but refrained. After we battled skinwalkers together, he and I reached a mutual understanding.

Other than my grandfather, there’s no one I’d rather have in my corner. In a weird way, Mr. Mayhem kept me grounded. He and I had such a long history—most of it terrifying—that once we came together, nothing could tear us apart. Still, I more than anyone knew exactly what he was capable of. A double-edged blade, for sure. But our past made us perfect, albeit unconventional, allies. Poe was a whole other matter. If given the chance, the little bastard wouldn’t hesitate to claw my eyes out.

“As a trickster, Ma’ii thrives on chaos.” My grandfather’s voice snapped me out of my head. “Coyote is a star called Canopus. Little Rain, are you familiar with Canopus?”

She tittered. “Yes, Shicheii.”

“Good girl.” His warm gaze settled on her, showering her with love.

Not sure how he pulled it off, but he made each one of us feel special like we were the most important people in his world and without us, he would cease to exist. Loving and nurturing us was his superpower, and we all reaped the rewards. Even Poe, as much as I hated to admit it.

“If we were in the southern part of the reservation, or anywhere else farther South, we could see Canopus. It’s due South and has a very tiny orbit that comes up and goes down, comes up and goes down, and only shows itself in about two months of the year. We also call Canopus the month-less star because it’s never visible for a full month. On or about the third week of September, Canopus will rise and sit directly South of Navajo land. Every three years when this star, Canopus, comes up, a thirteenth moon re-aligns the universe, returning order to the lunar cycle, to repair the damage caused by Coyote or Ma’ii.”

Mr. Mayhem said, “The lunar calendar and solar calendar are two different processes.”

“Gotcha.”

Maggie parroted me. “Gotcha.”

For hours, Maggie and I sat in silence as Shicheii told star stories, how the stars fit within the universe, and why they directly related to our People. Around 11 p.m., Mr. Mayhem suggested he save the importance of the Sun to discuss in the morning, so Maggie and I could catch a few zees before dragging us outside in the predawn hour to observe the sky and animal behavior.

In the back bedroom, Maggie passed out cold the minute her head hit the pillow, her arm flopped across my neck. But my mind spun, reviewing all the Sacred Knowledge I learned tonight.

About forty minutes later, my eyelids hooded, begging for closure, Mr. Mayhem padded into the room fully dressed, fedora and all.

Leaning over me, he mouthed, “Ready?”

“For what?”

Without a word, he rolled a finger, urging me out of bed. Once my bare feet hit the floor, he strode out the door.

What the hell?