Chapter 29

 

 

It had been wrong, and he expected to be punished. But locked in the cage at the back of the waterfall cave wasn’t something he expected. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Had someone forgotten him? Was his uncle so mad that he wanted him to die? No, he couldn’t believe that. He had been a disappointment, but the old man needed him. He was the last of his family’s line rooted in the secret society of witches. He had proved his worth by killing his uncle’s grandchild and relieving his uncle of having to live with a bad choice. But the stepmother of his friend, the wife of the man who had befriended him, offered to pay for him to have a new life; he couldn’t let her die.

But hadn’t it been a test? To see if he possessed the evil that was necessary to carry out orders? Hadn’t one of the Skinwalkers, maybe even his uncle, pried loose the boulder sending it down the woman’s path? Set up the murder to see what he would do? And to them, he had failed the test.

He pulled his sneakers out from under a low bench. He’d hidden a corn cake in one of the shoes. It wasn’t much but it would give him some energy. He sucked on the hard, nutty, coarse bread, finding it difficult to swallow without water. But he would force it down. He had to be prepared to escape, and he would need sustenance to go far.

He didn’t trust the men of the society. He only half believed that his uncle would protect him. His family’s association with witchery was more than just a way of life; it was a pledge, as well as an inheritance. And once you took that pledge, there was no turning back. You were prepared to carry out any heinous crime dictated by the group that owned your soul. In an oral tradition, he had grown up hearing about the escapades of Skinwalkers. Some stories so bloody and gruesome, and meant to scare, that he remembered losing sleep—afraid to even close his eyes, knowing that a monster could come for him at any moment.

Was this the life he wanted? He knew he was expected to step into his uncle’s shoes when he passed. But then what? Life would never be normal. He would be robbed of any family, any schooling, travel—any life that wouldn’t be loaded with danger, death-defying feats meant to maim or kill human beings or things that they loved most. He thought of how he would feel if someone killed Apache or Rain. Or Zac. The newfound friend had almost become his brother. Was it too late? Was there time to join Zac? Play soccer? Skin a walrus? He laughed out loud at this last part.

Could he leave the only home he’d ever known? But, if he stayed, could he become the embodiment of evil? A killer? Someone whom everyone would fear? He had no parents or siblings. His grandmother had died. He had killed the child her brother had raised, and this man, his uncle, was elderly. He wouldn’t be on earth that much longer. In many ways there was probably nothing to lose and so very much more to gain. But he was Navajo, a member of an indigenous tribe. Not an immigrant or second-generation implant from some European country that he’d read about in his school books. This was his land, his religion, his past, as well as his future. It said as much about who he was as his name. Could one just walk into another world and fit in? Belong in a meaningful way? And he was not quite thirteen. Was he old enough to know what he wanted? To take a chance on a life that would give him friends his own age?

He hadn’t heard the three old men approach the cave until one of them was approaching the cage. His uncle needed him. He was ill and only a family member could tend to him. He must come with them. One old man shuffled to the front of the others, put a key in the lock and opened the door, moving to one side, and beckoning him to follow.

He stood, looked around him and, in that moment, vowed that he wouldn’t return. He would not be locked up to die or, at the very least, be pressured to become what he was beginning to think wasn’t meant to be. Hadn’t the deities shown him his true self in allowing him to save Zac’s stepmother? Proved that he wasn’t evil? He followed his three visitors, taking one last look at the pictographs before stepping through the waterfall and into the sunshine.