Chapter 11

 

 

A pale peach glow spread along the horizon, highlighting the irregular shapes of the hills that marked the eastern boundary of the land he’d called home for over seventy years. This was his favorite time of day. He stood in the doorway of his hogan and surveyed the desert floor that gently sloped away from him. Good drainage for those brief and irregular rains that fell sporadically during the growing season. He always felt his own life renewed each morning as he watched the desert come alive. He idly watched a prairie dog pop up from its burrow, check its surroundings and then drop back into the hole it called home. Many of the desert’s animals had symbiotic relationships. Burrowing owls, snakes, lizards—even the desert tortoise spent ninety-five per cent of its time underground away from heat and cold. Adaptation. The animals had done a better job of mastering their environment and helping each other than humans had.

Times had changed so much. When he was Nathan’s age, he had stalked and killed a black panther. Now, if one was even sighted, it was cause for celebration. The complexion of the land had changed. The old ways were disappearing, forgotten, never to be passed from generation to generation. Even domestic animals were changing. Who kept horses or donkeys anymore?

Young men preferred the white man’s transportation. And the grasslands to feed the sheep? Farther and farther away from the communities that owned the flocks.

Even the Navajo language was considered to be in an endangered status. Currently there were somewhere between one hundred twenty thousand and one hundred seventy thousand speakers remaining—thought to be all reservation dwellers. All too often he saw young people turn to adults for an explanation of a chant by elders. Or stumble over the correct words to reply to a grandmother or grandfather.

He looked up the road to the north, past the tin can that had passed for the home of his sister. An abomination—the white man’s frivolous waste of money. Camping? Well, don’t forget your memory foam mattress or your chemical toilet. And make sure you have enough propane to cook dinner on your gas range. He shook his head.

His ancestors must be laughing. And his sister had hated it, but it had been free, a gift from her nephew, his grandson, and did not require waiting to set up. As the elder in their family, he had warned her to be careful. But she was already aware of the spirits it embodied. Of consequence, she did no weaving inside, and even food preparation was mostly done outside. She had been a good woman, worthy of their clan. A model for young people. He gently moved the can of accelerant with his foot and stepped through the hogan’s door.

Didn’t he already know what he had to do? Hadn’t he possibly made one mistake already? Put years of time into grooming someone to follow in his footsteps only to have that person make a mockery of the Witchery Way? Had he failed as a teacher? He had been tutored by his grandfather and then his father. He knew the requirements. Today’s youth exhibited a lack of trust, of understanding. They relished the power but not if it required work to maintain.

There was time. He could right this error in judgement. He would entice a younger novice to join him. He would not let the line of Skinwalkers die out. And didn’t he have the perfect young learner in mind? K’e or kinship, was all important. He would choose an acolyte from his own clan, adding strength to the journey ahead. He smiled. Yes, this was the path shown to him. He must honor the deities.

He leaned down and picked up the can of gasoline and tucked a box of kitchen matches in the cloth belt at his waist. Keeping the tin can in sight, he started up the road.

 

* * *

 

“Dr. Pecos, my apologies, I know it’s not even six.”

“Chief Billie, not a problem, what can I help you with?”

“I need to run something by you. I have a situation here that I hope you can help with. Nathan’s grandmother’s camper trailer was torched. Not unusual when there’s a death but it leaves Nathan without a more permanent shelter. I really don’t want him moving in with his uncle—I remember sharing my feelings on this with you before. Would you still consider letting Nathan continue to stay with you and your son?”

“Of course. That wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

“Good. One more thing. I’d like to promote you as temporary guardian for Nathan. Put a more legal spin on things. Would you consider that?”

“I’d be pleased to step in if I can help.”

“Nathan needs the support that you and Zac can give him. This is a turning point in his life. He needs to be protected. I know I’m leaving you with a lot of questions, but I’ll explain later. Right now, I really need you to come pick Nathan up. He’s with me at his grandmother’s house.”

“I’m on my way.”

“And Dr. Pecos? Thank you. This means a lot—I’ll share the news with Nathan.”

Ben slipped his phone into his jeans’ pocket. Odd. Something was going on but he was glad to help Nathan. He pulled a T-shirt over his head and went to get Zac. Zac didn’t need prodding—he was excited to finally see his friend. They were in the truck and on the road in under five minutes.