Goddess Girl Prophecy

by C C Daniels

  “I’m going to ride then.”

  MawMaw nodded.

  She looked surprised to see the needles in her lap. She smiled, picked them up, and began to knit as though nothing was amiss.

  I toyed with changing clothes, but it was the end of the day. I’d just ride with the jeans I had on. At the back door, I sat on the bench to pull off my shoes and put on my cowboy boots. They were pretty beat up.

  Maybe I should get a new pair, I thought.

  “The old boots are just fine!” woo-woo MawMaw called from the living room.

  I froze and felt the blood drain from my face.

  MawMaw, I thought, can you hear me?

  “Well, of course, dear,” she replied right back.

  I bolted out the back door almost hitting the officer with the screen door. “Sorry.” I didn’t stop, though. Just kept running to the barn. Inside, I leaned on the wall and closed my eyes for a few moments. I really, really, truly, really hated my new quirk.

  Chapter 14

  Ella whinnied at me, eager to go. I quickly saddled her and led her outside. I didn’t even bother to close the barn door. I just mounted and let her gallop onto the trail. The ride-in-ride-out feature was the best part of MawMaw’s property. To be just seconds from the Rocky Mountains was pure heaven to me, especially when I needed an escape.

  I loved MawMaw’s house. It wasn’t new when she bought it, but she said it had good vibrations when the realtor showed it to her. Over the years, she updated it several times, the bathrooms and kitchen especially. It was vintage looking outside, but totally modernized inside.

  Retired now, MawMaw spent most of her career as a professor at two universities in Colorado Springs. Then, she got published. A published Ute woman with a PhD. Her notoriety in the field allowed her to teach and speak on the academia lecture circuit—when she felt up to it, of course. She was very proud of being able to afford a house on her own.

  It was small and cozy, but it was the location that I loved the most. The adobe-sided home sat on a cul-de-sac that backed up to Pike National Forest on one side and Garden of the Gods on the other.

  “C’mon, girl.” I urged Ella into Pike National Forest. She responded favorably. She preferred the Forest to the Garden. Now I knew why. “I should have listened to you last time.” Ella snorted. I took it as an I-told-you-so.

  I didn’t even guide her. Instead, I just lightly held on to the reins and let her wander where she wanted, while I enjoyed the solitude and the breeze in my hair. About fifteen minutes later, Ella turned around to head back.

  “That was quick. Are you tired?” I patted her neck.

  It wasn’t long enough for me. Even though it was starting to get dark, I wanted to stay away until I forgot that MawMaw had heard my thoughts—that Amaya and Kanaan had heard my thoughts. When we came through the trail by the house, Uncle Jun’s truck was in the driveway. I dismounted and led Ella inside the barn. While she drank from her trough, I put her saddle and gear away.

  Just as I was cleaning her up, a bloodcurdling scream sliced through the quiet sunset.

  I dropped the brush and ran for the house—nearly getting hit by the pizza delivery car pulling in next to Uncle Jun’s SUV. The deputy stood in the doorway, facing into the house and talking into a device clipped to his shoulder. Move, I ordered. Eyes wide, he stepped aside so I could get though the threshold.

  Inside, Uncle Jun held MawMaw’s hand. A stream of bright-red blood dripped to the wedges of iceberg lettuce on the cutting board. Drops fell to the floor, too, creating crimson Rorschach-like splotches on the tile.

  “The knife just slipped.” MawMaw’s voice was a far-off whisper, as if in another realm.

  On one level, I understood what she meant, that it was an accident. But the blood—the scarlet blood everywhere—was all I could see. Then, the vision morphed into pools of red forming under Dad’s head. The odor of fresh blood invaded my nostrils. My throat closed up at the repulsive metallic stench.

  I dropped to my knees, totally immersed in the past, reliving the murder of my parents like I was right there in our New York apartment. The red puddle grew and grew, even after the light went out in Dad’s stare. Mom stroked Dad’s cheek and sobbed.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Gunshots recoiled through my memory.

  Mom stopped stroking.

  And sobbing.

  And breathing.

  “No, no, no,” I whispered. I didn’t want to remember. I wasn’t ready. I wouldn’t ever be ready.

  A deafening noise threatened to burst my eardrums, as though a jet engine, roaring but in reverse, abruptly materialized inside MawMaw’s kitchen. Of course there wasn’t a jet in the kitchen. It was my imagination, my delusion.

  I held my ears and closed my eyes squeezing tight against the piercing sound, against the pain that tore through my belly, against the cutting sharp slices of flashbacks that ricocheted through my heart and soul. “Please, make it go away,” I whispered for mercy.

  Mom.

  Dad.

  Dead.

  Scorching heat pushed out from under my eyelids. “Oh, please.” My senses overloaded, I put my face to the kitchen tile, hoping that the cold would provide some relief. But what I felt under my cheek wasn’t smooth kitchen tile.

  It was grit.

  I opened my eyes, and cheek pressed to the ground, looked around. The barn? I was in the barn? I raised my head too fast. On my knees, I raised my fingers to my throbbing temples and applied pressure.

  The earsplitting noise was gone, but the echo of it still pulsed inside my brain. Aside from that, all sound was gone and I recognized the eerie silence. And, yeah, I was in the barn. Ella was at her water trough, frozen in mid-drink. Slowly, I turned my head to look outside.

  The tree branches were still. A bird, her wings spread wide, had just landed on one of MawMaw’s bird feeders. I pushed up from the ground and stumbled to the barn door. That was the first time I changed places when the world froze.

  “Well, this is different,” I whispered to myself.

  Down the block, a car was at the stop sign ready to turn onto our street. The identical make and model as the one that had almost run me down. It even had the same crooked pizza company sign on the roof. But the pizza delivery guy had already pulled in beside Uncle Jun’s truck.

  Confused, I stepped outside so I could see the car in the parking spot. My breath caught. The car wasn’t there. The spot next to Uncle Jun’s SUV was empty. I took three steps to my left and gradually turned my aching head so I could see the house.

  The motionless cop stood to the side of the back door. He had his hands clasped in front of him in a relaxed position, like nothing was wrong.

  Beyond him, in the kitchen window, MawMaw stood at the sink holding a head of lettuce under the faucet. The water didn’t move. It was in freeze-frame just like the rest of the world. My attention zeroed in on the head of lettuce. It was completely intact. It hadn’t been cut and neither had MawMaw’s hand. “No way,” I whispered.

  I glanced down the street at the pizza delivery car one more time. When I turned my head back to the house, I caught sight of Ella. Her saddle was on her back. I had removed it, and the blanket.

  My attention flew between the empty parking space, to the car down the street, to Ella, and MawMaw in the kitchen window.

  No doubt about it. Time had reset. I had gone back in time. Only by a few minutes, but…

  “Oh wow.” I put my hand over my mouth.

  The far-off airplane noise started very low in my hearing, melding and muting the remaining pulsing echo. It was a signal that time would restart soon. Could I stop MawMaw from cutting herself? I had to try.

  I backed out of sight of the deputy and got set to run. The second the breeze came back, I sprinted for the house. The at-ease police officer stepped aside and nodded at me. I nodded back and, heart beating with excitement and hope, went in.


  “Hey, MawMaw.” I smiled at her and just took the lettuce out of her hand. “I’ll make the salad.”

  MawMaw, in PhD mode, raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “I’m hungry.” I shrugged. I picked up the knife resting on the cutting board and, hands trembling, carefully cut it into wedges for iceberg salad.

  MawMaw leaned in to look me in the face. She smiled and cupped my cheek. It almost felt like she was saying thank you.

  “Pizza guy’s pulling in.” Uncle Jun reached for his wallet. He and MawMaw argued over who was going to pay for it.

  While they did, I gave silent thanks. For the first time in my life, I was overjoyed about one of my quirks, giddy that I was able to prevent MawMaw from cutting herself. I glanced at her totally healthy hand, which Uncle Jun was closing around her money. With a wink, he stepped around me to exchange a twenty-dollar bill for the box of pizza.

  “Keep the change,” he said to the delivery guy.

  “Would you like a slice, Officer?” MawMaw asked the deputy through the screen door.

  “No, ma’am.” He went back to his post.

  I put one lettuce wedge on each of three plates. Drizzled them with MawMaw’s amazing ranch dressing and sprinkled crisp bacon bits on top of that. The tomatoes and shredded cheese were already on the table.

  MawMaw took the salad plates to the table. “Sit, eat,” she said.

  During dinner, I was careful with my thoughts. It was tough because I wanted to analyze the time shift and try to figure out what happened. I couldn’t take the risk, though. So instead I listened to, and visualized, MawMaw and Uncle Jun’s discussion about Founders Day. When Uncle Jun brought up that she should be a spectator, she got stubborn.

  “I have been in that parade every year since I came to town.” She tapped the table with her index finger, punctuating every word. “And I shall walk in it again this year.” She looked defiantly back and forth between Uncle Jun and me, daring us to tell her no.

  Dare accepted.

  “You can ride,” I offered, “but you’re not walking the entire parade route.”

  “And that’s final,” Uncle Jun backed me up and took a swig of his soda.

  Angry, MawMaw stood quickly to take her dirty plate to the sink. She swayed and had to hold onto the table for a few seconds.

  “See,” I said, frustrated with her.

  She narrowed her eyes angrily at me as she moved slowly to the sink.

  “We can drive you in a convertible,” Uncle Jun said.

  “Now how authentic would it be for an old Ute woman, dressed in traditional garb no less, to ride in a car?” MawMaw asked. “It’d confuse the poor children watching the parade.”

  “Well, we’ll think of something,” he insisted. “But you’re not walking it.”

  Wobbling a bit, she put her plate in the dishwasher. And when she stood upright, she almost lost her balance again. Her eyes met mine. Her shoulders slumped. She wasn’t a wimp by any stretch, but I saw the defeat in her eyes.

  “All right. Perhaps walking isn’t the greatest idea.” She shrugged. “How about a covered wagon? We can probably borrow one from White House Ranch.”

  An old settler’s ranch on the eastern edge of the Garden had been turned into a working demonstration ranch. Sort of touristy, sort of museum-like, it showed what life was like in the area for both the settlers who started to arrive here in the mid-1800s and the native tribes who had to adjust to them.

  “I’ll ask Ms. Savage,” I said.

  Ms. Savage volunteered for all sorts of historical societies and museums. She said she enjoyed the legends and stories. I suspected she did it for access to historical documents.

  MawMaw rummaged in the pantry.

  “Or.” I stood to take my plate to the dishwasher. “We could transport you on an authentic travois.”

  MawMaw clapped her hands. “Brilliant!” She clapped her hands. “Now that was the way the Nuutsiu transported their elders.” She looked at Uncle Jun.

  He nodded while he chewed his last bite.

  A travois was a Native American version of a sled. Tanned animal skins or woven blankets were stretched between two poles. Before the horse was brought to North America, a dog would have been harnessed to the sled. They’d drag it and its contents along behind them. If the family didn’t have dogs, humans did the dragging.

  “That’s what I want.” MawMaw nodded.

  Uncle Jun polished off his soda and stood to go. “I’ll go round up the necessary parts.”

  MawMaw shoved jars around in the pantry. “Looks like we’re out of red paint too.”

  “Amaya and I just bought a big pot to share.” I packed leftover pizza in containers.

  MawMaw patted my cheek, then Uncle Jun’s. “Thank you.”

  Uncle Jun left and MawMaw went to her easy chair to knit.

  I finished cleaning up the kitchen. While I did, my head throb eased to a dull ache. I took a few sugar cubes from the jar and went to the barn to clean up a neglected Ella. She nudged me, kinda hard.

  “Sorry, girl.” I gave her a sugar cube to reward her patience.

  Then, I pulled the heavy saddle and hot blanket off. Next, I cleaned out mud and rocks from all four hooves with the hoof pick and moved on to our favorite part: brushing the Garden’s red dirt off the rest of her. While I worked on Ella, I indulged in my own thoughts—going back over MawMaw cutting her hand, the PTSD-like flashbacks I got, right up to the moment I opened my eyes inside the barn and realized that I went backward in time.

  “Backward, Ella.” I whispered to her. She neighed.

  Amaya was right. Some quirks translated to power. That giddy feeling came over me again. It doused the memories of my last few days in New York under a nice numbing fog. Good. I truly didn’t want to remember. Any of it.

  But logic insisted that I do, and rather than it coming out at the worst-possible time—like after an accident with a sharp knife—I took a deep breath and allowed my mind to go there.

  Our New York City apartment had a denser, heavier front door with steel deadbolts that went all the way into the door frame. The gunmen couldn’t kick it in in an instant like they did MawMaw’s front door.

  It was late, the sun down for hours. Mom, Dad, and I were sprawled on the sectional watching the final minutes of The Neverending Story. The child empress held the glowing pea-sized Fantasia in the palm of her hand, showing what was left of her empire to Bastian —

  Boom! Something rammed our front door.

  Hard.

  The second wallop came immediately after. It was the third one that cracked the doorframe.

  Someone was breaking in.

  My heart beat faster just remembering my panic, remembering how large Mom’s eyes got, how fast Dad moved. Trying to stay grounded in the present, I rested my head against Ella’s side and slowly brushed her.

  “Cover!” Dad had shouted.

  Dad was a lot like Uncle Jun in that he insisted we prepare for anything. From a kitchen fire to intruders, we’d practiced what to do in every kind of emergency he could think of.

  Evacuate meant get out. Cover meant hide.

  On Dad’s orders and operating on pure rote learning from all our safety drills, I hurried down the hall—vaguely aware of abnormal noises outside on the fire escape too.

  I raced into the dark master bedroom, slid under their bed—the very bed with the hidden compartment—and tucked myself into the cubby-like space in the brick wall behind the headboard.

  The space was the very top of an old elevator shaft and only came up as far as the box spring. With the bed skirt down, no one knew it was there. It, and I, was totally hidden.

  Mom was supposed to hide there with me. I remember curling up as small as I could to make room for her, but she never came.

  I opened my eyes, already welling with moisture.

  Enough.

  I shook my head against the tide of emotions and refocused on grooming Ella’s coat. I switched to the gentles
t dandy brush we had. With big, long strokes, the soft bristles cleared away the tiniest specks of dust and brought out the natural shine of her hair. If Ella were a cat, she would’ve purred. She turned her face to me to make sure I didn’t forget it.

  “You love it, don’t cha?” I smiled.

  She answered with a nuzzle.

  With Ella set for the night, I let her have the last sugar cube, and closed up the barn. On my way back inside, my brain tried to stir up more memories from New York. I shut them down and instead mentally went through my list of makeup homework.

  I’d start with Ms. Savage’s mysterious envelope.

  Chapter 15

  Ms. Savage had taped her envelope securely. The front was labeled “homework labs” in her big, loopy cursive script.

  With scissors, I carefully cut the tape and pulled out the thick document. Clipped to the inside cover of the professionally printed paper was a note, also in Ms. Savage’s handwriting. She wrote the paper a decade ago for publication in a scholarly magazine, but she never turned it in for fear of ruining her career. Other than herself, the note said, I would be the only other person to read it.

  The title page read “Legends, Myths, and Scientific Evidence of the Nuutsiu” by Carol Savage.

  I adjusted the pillows on my bed, got comfy, and flipped the title page to begin reading.

  The principle legend of the Ute Indians maintains that the tribe has no beginning. They are the Nuutsiu, literally translated into English to mean the people who have always existed. As far as their oral history is concerned, they have always been on Earth, created right along with it, in fact.

  I already knew that story, but I continued reading.

  When placed side by side with recently discovered scientific evidence, such a legend becomes more than just a charming indigenousness myth. Archeologically speaking, evidence from controlled digs puts the Utes in the Colorado, Utah, and New Mexico territories as long as twenty thousand years ago.