“I am not a statue,” the crystal boy says, sounding like a slightly irritated wind blowing around the inside of a glass bowl. “I am the guardian of this mountain. I belong here. And you do not. More importantly, I’m asking the questions.” He turns clear eyes toward me. “And I believe I asked who you were talking to.”
“Oh, well, see,” I say, trying to sound reasonable and not terrified, “it’s my friend. He’s a horned toad, but he’s very wise, and he brought us here, but then it was so cold that he kind of froze, but I’m sure he’ll wake up—”
The crystal boy gives me a look and I stop.
“You’re talking to a frozen lizard?” he says ominously. “And you think I’m weird because I’m made of crystals. Who’s the real weirdo here?”
“Well, when you put it that way…” I squeak.
For a minute, it looks like he’s going to shoot us with the arrow on principle. Then his face breaks into a grin, and he lowers the bow.
“Why didn’t you say so?” He returns the arrow to his quiver and drapes the bow over one shoulder. He takes a step toward us, and we all take a step back.
He laughs. “I won’t hurt you. For now.” He leans over to peer at the neck of my hoodie. “Yá’át’ééh, shicheii,” he says. “Welcome back to Sisnaajiní!”
The crystal boy holds out a hand. I understand what he wants, and I lift Mr. Yazzie gently from his impromptu bed and place him in the boy’s outstretched palm. The crystal boy blows across the toad’s frozen body.
“Won’t that make him colder?” Mac asks.
“No,” says the crystal boy. “Watch!”
And sure enough, Mr. Yazzie stirs back to life, stretching and yawning like he’s just awakened from a nice nap. He opens his eyes and looks up sleepily at the guardian of the mountain.
“Well, yá’át’ééh, my old friend,” he says. “Don’t suppose you have a place where we could warm up? Seems these old bones can’t take the chill the way they used to.”
“Of course, Grandpa,” the crystal boy says. “And then I’d like you to introduce your friends.”
The crystal boy, who tells us his name is Rock Crystal Boy but we can call him RC, leads us across the snowy field to a small house in the distance. The structure is eight-sided and sort of low and wide. I recognize it as a hogan, a traditional Navajo dwelling. It looks surprisingly snug and cozy, and a stream of blue smoke wafts merrily from the pipe protruding from the center of the domed roof. RC leads us inside, hanging his bow and arrow by the door. We all hurry in, grateful for the fire that’s burning in the wood stove in the middle of the large, open room. There’s a big couch, and a table and chairs, and RC tells us to take a seat. Minutes later, he brings each of us a mug of tea. He pours Mr. Yazzie’s onto a plate for easy drinking.
“Now, if you could introduce yourselves,” RC says.
“I’m Nizhoni,” I say, waving.
Mr. Yazzie makes a strangled noise. “Not that way, child. The proper way. Give him your name and clans.”
“You could have told me that.…” For once, I’m glad Grandma made us learn our clans and the Navajo way to greet people.
“Yá’át’ééh,” I say, using my formal voice. “My name is Nizhoni Begay. My mother’s clan is Towering House. My father’s clan is Bitter Water. My maternal grandfather’s clan is the Mud People clan, and my paternal grandfather’s clan is the Crystal Rock people.”
RC shakes my outstretched hand. “Crystal Rock clan, did you say?”
I nod.
“Then we’re related! You are certainly my granddaughter!”
“But you’re not much older than me,” I say in as polite a tone as possible.
RC laughs. “Thank you for the compliment. I do adhere to a rigorous skin care regime. But I assure you, I am much older than I look. I’ve been the guardian of this mountain since the beginning of this world. What matters, though, is that we’re related.”
“Why does that matter?” Mac asks.
“And who are you?” RC asks.
“I’m her brother.”
“Introduce yourself the right way,” I say, elbowing him.
Mac holds out his hand to RC, stating his name and clans, the same as mine. RC smiles and shakes his hand, and then Davery follows suit. His clans are totally different than ours, and his mom’s side isn’t even Navajo. But as Grandma once explained to me, Navajo people like to know who you are, whether you’re Navajo or not, so Davery saying his maternal clan is African American is just fine.
“You wanted to know why it matters that we’re related?” RC asks Mac once the introductions are done. “Because that means we share k’é.”
“And what is that?” Mac asks.
“Well, it’s very complicated, but I think it is enough for you to know that it means I take care of you, and you take care of me, because we are extended family.”
“I like that,” Mac says.
I don’t say it, but I like it, too.
“So perhaps now you can tell me why you’ve come to my mountain and what I can do to help you.”
“Thanks! I mean, ahéhee’,” I add quickly, remembering the Navajo word. It seemed like the right thing to say, since we’re talking to a Navajo elder, and it must be, because Mr. Yazzie smiles at me encouragingly. I vow to practice speaking my language more often in the future.
“We are looking for a white shell to take to Spider Woman as a gift,” I say. “Can you help us?”
“Not just any white shell,” Mr. Yazzie adds hastily. “It must be perfectly formed. No chips, breaks, or scratches.”
“There are many shells here,” RC says, tapping his chin in thought. “I am very busy and cannot help you look, but I can show you where a perfect shell might be found.”
Hmm. He doesn’t look that busy, but maybe there are secret guardian duties I don’t know about. RC stands up from his seat and walks to the small window facing east.
“See the white peak in the distance?” he says, pointing toward the snowcap with a push of his lips. “Walk that way, until you reach the base of the mountain, and you will come upon the white shells you seek.”
“I still don’t understand how there are shells on a snow-covered mountain,” Mac says. “Don’t people usually find shells at a beach?”
“It is said that, when the Holy People made this mountain to mark the easternmost edge of Dinétah,” RC explains, “they adorned it with white shells to make it shine in the sunlight and mark its beauty.”
“It is very beautiful,” I say.
“We learned in school that this land was once underwater and all kinds of sea creatures lived here,” Davery adds.
“So it is said,” RC agrees. “The world may change around us, but if we look closer, we can always see its bones.”
“Bones?” Mac yelps. “No one said anything about bones.”
“And since it is such a beautiful morning,” RC says, ignoring him, “I will walk with you a ways. Once you finish your tea, of course. And let me find Mr. Yazzie a sweater.”
We all empty our mugs, and RC digs around in a box full of what looks like scarves, mittens, hats, and other cold-weather gear until he produces a tiny sweater the perfect size for a horned toad. It’s snowy white, just like the mountains around us, and it looks thick and warm.
“This should do the trick, little cheii,” RC says as he slips the sweater over the lizard’s bony spine. The turtleneck catches on Mr. Yazzie’s left horn, but after a sharp tug, it’s on nice and snug.
“Why did RC call Mr. Yazzie ‘little grandpa’?” Mac asks me.
“It’s respectful,” I explain. “He is our elder, after all.”
“Are we ready?” the guardian of Sisnaajiní asks. We all say yes and he opens the door to lead us back out into the rosy dawn light and pink-tinged snow.
“If you don’t mind,” Mr. Yazzie says to me from the table. He gestures toward the little nook on my shoulder where I had tucked him earlier. “It was quite nice being up so high.”
“Of course,” I say. I reach out an arm and let him climb to his new favorite spot.
He snuggles in and says, “Onward!” and I follow everyone else outside.
The snow is deep around the hogan, and we have to slog our way through. It comes up past my ankles, making my sneakered feet cold. But the farther we get from RC’s home, the thinner the snow gets until it’s only a sprinkle of frost underneath our feet. We walk for a while, the white peak getting closer and closer, but the sun doesn’t rise any higher in the sky. After what seems like hours, RC stops.
“That is what you seek,” he says, pointing to something in the distance.
Now I can see that what had looked like a snowcapped mountain is actually a massive mound of white shells. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Okay, definitely thousands. Piled higher than my house. A three-story pile of shells.
And somehow I have to find the most perfect one in the bunch.
“That’s a lot of clams!” Mac exclaims.
“Good luck!” RC pats Mac on the back. “I’ll just wait here for you to finish. I’d help, but as I said, I’m very busy.”
“He doesn’t look busy,” Mac mutters as we watch RC head back to his nice warm house.
“We’re supposed to go through all these?” I say, dismayed. “There’s no way.”
“It does look daunting,” Mr. Yazzie admits, “but it can be done. The mountain seems huge, but I know we will find the perfect shell. With a little patience,” he says, hopping off my shoulder to land on the white mound, “and positive thinking.”
“I appreciate what you’re saying, Mr. Yazzie. I really do. But I just don’t think positive thinking is going to be enough.”
“Well, that’s negative thinking right there!” Mac says, eyebrow raised in my direction.
“Nonsense, Nizhoni,” says the horned toad, climbing higher on the mountain. A trail of white shells trickles down behind him. “It is a challenge worthy of a hero, which you are!”
“I thought being a hero meant I was going to fight monsters.”
“One step at a time, young slayer,” he says, already halfway up. “One step at a time.”
“Come on,” Davery says. He tightens the straps on his backpack and looks at the foreboding pile. “We better get started.” He follows Mr. Yazzie up the hill.
“I still say it’s impossible,” I mutter, “but I guess we’re doing this.” I adjust my own backpack and take a deep breath. I step onto the shell mountain. The sharp edges of broken shells poke at the canvas of my sneakers. Ouch! I try to ignore the pain and take another step. I immediately start to slide downward. I flail my arms for balance, letting out a not-so-heroic yelp, before I lean forward and dig in. Every move I make cracks shells underneath my feet. I can feel a wail building up inside me. How am I supposed to find a perfect shell when each step breaks some? It seems impossible. Even more impossible than fighting monsters. At least that’s exciting. This is just hard.
I look up and see that Mac, Davery, and Mr. Yazzie are already halfway up. “Wait for me!” I shout, scrambling forward, my feet slipping. I lean over and use my hands, and immediately the shells cut into my palms. I’ve barely begun and I already feel like quitting. But I remember what Mr. Yazzie said. You wanted to be a hero, I tell myself. This is part of it. So I start searching. But all the shells look the same. Nothing is standing out.
The sun rises hot behind me. It feels like there’s a heavy weight slung over my shoulders, and that weight is making me tired and hungry. Give up, it whispers. Why try so hard? No one will notice if you quit. No one really cares. You’re only a kid, after all. You can’t really fight monsters.
For a moment, I want to do what the voice says, but I don’t. My dad needs me. And I definitely don’t want the world to be overrun with monsters. So instead of giving up, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and imagine the shell I want. Unblemished white and shiny, the ridges aligned perfectly. It’s so clear in my mind that I can almost reach out and touch it. I lean down, stretch forward, and let my hand graze a shell. And I know it’s the one.
I open my eyes and look. A perfect, smooth white shell rests in my palm.
Yessssss!!! Victory!
“I found it!” I shout. Mr. Yazzie, Davery, and Mac look down at me from higher up on the mountain. I wave the shell over my head. “I found a perfect one!” They all hurry over, sliding down the mountain and sending shells scattering as they come.
Mr. Yazzie is beaming with pride. “I knew you could do it! One gift down, three more to go. And it only took half the day.”
“Half the day?” I look up at the sky. I thought it was eternally dawn on this mountain! But sure enough, the sun is hanging high overhead, telling me it’s noon. “I guess I lost track.…” My heart sinks. That’s a half day more my father has been in captivity, and I still have no idea where he is. To keep myself from crying, I concentrate on wrapping the shell in a semi-clean tissue from my pocket and tuck it in my backpack.
“That wasn’t so bad. Where to next?” Mac asks as we make our way down the shell mountain. This is like a game to him. I’m glad he doesn’t have to worry about Dad.
Before Mr. Yazzie can answer, a dark shadow crosses between us and the sun. We all look up as something the size of a car swoops over our heads. Something with huge wings, a feathered tail, and a sharp black beak.
The giant bird circles and then lands fifteen feet in front of us. Its feathers are a glossy midnight black, and it fixes us with an unblinking eye as it opens its mouth ominously.
“Birds eat horned toads,” Davery murmurs.
“Do you think he’s here to catch Mr. Yazzie?” Mac asks anxiously.
“Get behind me!” I shout, fearing the bird is another monster. I grab Mr. Yazzie and tuck him into the neck of my hoodie. He sputters and hisses.
“Let me go!” he shouts. “The audacity!”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? I assure you, I don’t need protecting from the herald of Dibé Nitsaa! She is a noble creature.”
“Hello, cheii,” the bird says in a melodious voice. “I heard you were on Sisnaajiní this morning, and I had to come see for myself. And you’ve brought three children with you? How unusual.”
“These are no average children. These siblings have inherited the powers of Monsterslayer and Born for Water, and their friend is very wise, surely destined to be a scholar.”
His prediction doesn’t surprise me. Davery is already a genius.
“Do you know this bird?” I ask Mr. Yazzie.
“Yes! I mean, er, I think so. Surely we’ve met before. I just can’t quite recall.…”
“Didn’t you say she was the herald of Dibé Nitsaa?” Davery prompts.
“Of course!” Mr. Yazzie’s spikes pop out of the neck of his fuzzy sweater. “Now I remember. Łizhin. It is an honor.” He says her name like CLEH-zhin.
“The honor is mine,” Łizhin says, ducking her head in a small bow. “I am the herald of Dibé Nitsaa, the Mountain of the Folding Darkness, the northermost sacred mountain and the home of the Jet Guardians and the Black Bird Heralds.”
“Folding Darkness?” Davery murmurs. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“And while it is good to see you again, little cheii,” Łizhin continues, “I am here for another reason.”
“And what is that, Black Mountain Herald?”
“Jet Girl, our guardian, cannot be found. Without her, there’s no one to defend the mountain from danger.” Łizhin pauses and looks each of us in the eye. “And indeed, danger has come to Dibé Nitsaa.”
Mr. Yazzie makes a worried noise.
“What is it?” I ask.
“The four sacred mountains and their guardians keep Dinétah safe,” he says. “If one goes missing, all the people, animals, and other beings that live there are at risk.”
“That’s not good.” Mac, the king of understatements, strikes again.
“It’s Mr. Charles,” I say, sure of it. “You sa
id he would attack the land, and taking out a guardian seems like his style. He definitely has something to do with this.”
“While I never think one should rush to conclusions, I’m afraid you may be right,” Mr. Yazzie says. He turns to Łizhin. “What can we do to help?”
“Not you, cheii, but your ward.”
Łizhin bows in front of me. I look around and behind me, sure there’s been a mistake. “Me?” I squeak.
“Yes, Monsterslayer. You are also a guardian of Dibé Nitsaa.”
“I am?” This seems highly improbable, since I didn’t even know about the place until about five minutes ago.
“You must come and defend the mountain,” Łizhin says adamantly.
“We don’t have time,” Davery says. He pulls out the flyer and points to the third line of the song. “Four days to find you are not alone. I think this means we only have three and a half more days to get everything done. And we still have to find the other three gifts and go see Spider Woman before we even get the map.”
“If Dibé Nitsaa falls, there will be no Dinétah, and no Dinétah means no Spider Woman, which means no map, which means no path to the Sun,” Mr. Yazzie says solemnly. “It is all interconnected. You cannot let one fall without everything else falling with it. I hate to suggest it, but I believe we must split up,”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, feeling uneasy. This is hard enough as it is. Without Mac and Davery, it sounds impossible.
“It’s the only way,” he insists. “Nizhoni will go with Łizhin to Dibé Nitsaa. She will help find the missing guardian and convince her to give us the black jet gift for Spider Woman. Davery, you go to the Dook’o’oosłiid, the western mountain, and retrieve the abalone shell. Mac can go to Tsoodził, the southern mountain, and find the turquoise.”
“By myself ?” Mac says, his voice climbing an octave.
“I will go with you, if you wish,” Mr. Yazzie offers.
“Didn’t the song say we’re all supposed to stick together?” I ask. It also said we were supposed to beware the friendly toad.…
“We don’t have a choice,” Mr. Yazzie says forcefully. “We weren’t given much time to begin with. We will run out of time if we don’t split up.”
Race to the Sun Page 10