Chapter 8

 

 

The old man watched the moon first pop up above the horizon and then continue noiselessly upward to hang among a sprinkling of stars. Its light formed more shadows than it illuminated in the landscape below him, yet it seemed to smooth the wrinkles from the desert floor as it spread. The pale light pushed the darkness ahead of it leaving a blanket of ivory incandescence. Were the stars merely candles in the sky? Not the Milky Way, but a phosphorescent profusion to control, if not mock, the darkness? An ‘I’m better; I can show you the way. Your work would be nothing without my help. My making it possible.’ He sighed and adjusted the chamois neck covering. He must offer a prayer to this helpmate.

In silhouette, standing against the outcropping of rock, someone glancing upward to the ledge would see a majestic Pronghorn Antelope. The head fully preserved, human eyes looking outward from under a widely dark-striped forehead and nose, shaded by large bulbous, unblinking animal eyes smoldering mysteriously—all beneath the two-prong horns he was so proud of. A buck in his prime, a leader of his herd, now fittingly, his hide falling beneath the knees of his captor, taking on new life as the costume of a shape-shifter, a Skinwalker.

Was there a better-known witch in all the Southwest? He thought not. More recently reduced to scaring young children into doing good, he could still command the fear and respect of their elders. He was being blamed for this current evil that had befallen the tribe. And he must prove them wrong. A witch was always an easy scapegoat when science was beyond the grasp of most. Witches lived among the people. A witch, Yee naaldlooshii, translated from the Navajo means ‘with it, he goes on all fours’. He was simply a part of his people’s beliefs, something it would never dawn on them to question.

Some of his Skinwalker brethren were cougars, wolves, coyotes, bears, even snakes. All had the same purpose of members of the Witchery Way—to introduce and perpetuate evil within the tribe. Each chose an animal by capturing its spirit depending upon need—speed, strength, and stealth were popular, sought-after attributes. Often this animal impersonation was to cause death and then to use the bones of victims as tools or prepare concoctions from their bodies that would curse or harm others.

This was his seventieth year. His father, grandfather and great-grandfather had been witches. And the next generation? Had he passed on his skills? His power? A sigh. That might very well be his greatest failing. He had trusted his closest relative, his grandson, and all had not gone well.

A pledge would only be accepted by the secret society if he could perform the evilest of deeds—the killing of a close family member. Always better if it could be a sibling. The man who could do that had no boundaries, nothing to contain his evil. There could be no traces of remorse or sympathy. They would be free to walk among the people during the day as normal, natural humans; at night they would have the ability to shape-shift. The family killing would give them the supernatural powers they needed as a Skinwalker. And there would be no corner, no segment of their home territory safe from their evil. It was all up to them as to how their power would be used.

He shook his head slightly. The furred animal skull was heavy and hot, but it brought the maximum power to the wearer. The antelope skin draped over his arms exuded a musty smell of old fur. He used double walking sticks each covered with the antelope’s hide and carved from its femurs. He moved hunched-over, leaning heavily on the sticks. Their pointed ends were the animal’s original split-toed hooves. As he walked, he left a tracing of this distinct pattern in the sand. It was his calling card. His way of inciting fear, of giving warning that the individual being visited was being watched, possibly singled out for harm.

As a young man in school on the reservation, he had secretly stolen a National Geographic magazine from the classroom because there was an article on witchcraft. The author, a sociologist, referred to the practice as a way indigenous peoples controlled their environments, put restraints on what was considered right vs. wrong and punished those who ignored their prophecies. It also explained the unexplainable—the winds that scoured the earth, animals that leapt in front of cars causing accidents, epidemics of measles or chicken pox that marked its victims as it ravaged villages, fires from an overturned cooking pot, horses gone lame. The list was endless. Some pranks, some devastating. But all the evil intent of a Skinwalker.

Tonight his mission was different. He would appear to the gathering of people whose loved ones were dying as they gathered behind the tents of the white man. He would lend his powers to the medicine of the songs and stand to the right of the Shaman leading the ceremony. This scourge, which had befallen his people was a great evil—the power of many Skinwalkers across their land. It was only fitting that good and evil, the supernatural and the corporeal, must unite to establish balance and harmony to an upended universe.