Trail of Lightning (The Sixth World Book 1)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

  He looks up from his ministrations, eyes intelligent and sharp as an eagle’s. “Chewing?”

  “Yeah. Digging out her throat, actually. With his teeth.”

  Tah uses his stick to pry the mouth apart. It comes open with surprising ease.

  “That’s strange,” I say. “No rigor mortis. Shouldn’t his jaw be stiff?”

  “Look at this, Maggie.” He motions me closer, pointing the stick at the monster’s teeth. I lean in. They’re all uniformly straight and blunt, like old wooden dentures. “No incisors, no canines. It’s like a mouth full of molars.”

  “Weird. Since he was obviously a carnivore. Shouldn’t he have pointy teeth?” It certainly explains why he was simply gnawing on the girl and making slow progress. And why he didn’t break through my leather jacket.

  “No tooth decay, either.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “An adult animal with no tooth decay?” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t happen.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “Nothing yet.” He lets the mouth fall closed and turns to a shelf behind him. He retrieves a handsaw and a pair of long pliers. “Let’s see what’s inside.”

  I wander away while he goes to work on the skull. I’m not squeamish. Okay, I’m a little squeamish. I mean, I cut the thing’s head off, but that was in the heat of the moment. For some reason it’s a little harder to take listening to a saw hack away on a skull in the light of day while sipping my rare Aztlán coffee.

  “Come look,” Tah says.

  I return to the table. “What should I be looking for?”

  “Shrinkage. Abnormalities. Sickness.”

  I look closely, feeling a little foolish. I don’t know anything about brains. The ones I see are usually in bits, scattered across the ground or splattered against walls from bullets from my own gun. This creature’s brain looks like any other brain, as far as I can tell.

  “Am I missing it?” I finally ask Tah.

  “No. There’s nothing to see. The brain looks normal.”

  “This thing was not normal.”

  “I believe you.”

  “And you saw the weird teeth.”

  “Yes, yes,” he says, shuffling over to the sink. He runs the water, washing his hands with a bit of root soap. “You do not have to convince me.”

  “I’m not trying to convince you.”

  He lifts his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shuffles back to the sink and pours himself a glass of water. I huff, irritated. Sometimes talking to the old man is like going to a confessor. He makes me feel guilty even when I haven’t done anything wrong.

  He motions for me to sit, then pulls out the chair across from me and carefully lowers himself down. He takes a moment before he speaks. “Tell me what you saw. Out there, in the forest. Tell me what this creature did.”

  “I told you. He was trying to eat this girl. I shot him through the heart, a clean shot that should have taken him out. I took another shot and blew out his shoulder, but he still kept coming. Turned into a knife fight. I won.”

  “Did he speak to you?”

  “Speak to me? There wasn’t exactly time for conversation.”

  “I mean did he use words?”

  I run through the confrontation in my mind, coming up blank. “I can’t remember. No, I’d say no.”

  Tah drinks his water, staring out into the distance.

  “Talk to me, Tah.”

  “I think this is . . . very bad.”

  “Yeah. I do too. But why don’t you tell me why.”

  “Why her throat, Maggie? Why not her heart? Or her softer belly?”

  “Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Unless there was some reason, something he wanted.”

  “Like what?”

  He exhales heavily. “I don’t know. It’s not in any stories I know, this monster who eats the throat.”

  “Do you think there could be more?”

  “More monsters?” He shrugs his thin shoulders. He pushes himself up from the table. Stands there for a moment. Then sits back down. “I can’t say for sure, but this creature . . . I think it was not born but created. By someone powerful.”

  “Created?” The walls around me seem to shimmer, hazy and insubstantial. I want to blame the caffeine, but I know it’s a sudden rush of fear making me dizzy.

  He looks at me, his eyes wrinkled and kind. One of his hands rests on the table. The other is wrapped loosely around the old blue tin mug. An oversize silver ring on his middle finger glints weakly in the artificial light. “You’re not going to like this.”

  “I already don’t like it, and you’re making me nervous.”

  “I can’t tell you much about this monster, but I know it craves human flesh. But not for food. I think it’s looking for something. Like I said, something it’s missing. And the only way that could happen is if someone made it, used bad medicine to shape it.”

  “Witchcraft.” My voice is soft, breathy. “I know. I smelled it on him.”

  Diné witches are powerful, men and women who trade their souls for dark magic, who take the shape of night creatures to travel under the cover of darkness, who dress in jewelry raided from freshly dug graves. It was a witch who led the pack of monsters that attacked me the night I met Neizghání, whose violence still haunts me. Am I really going to go looking to stir up something like that? Now the kindness in his eyes makes more sense.

  “This is not my problem, you know,” I mutter under my breath. “I did my job and got paid. If I go running off now to try to find this witch or whatever it is, no one’s going to pay me for it.”

  “You came to me for a reason, Maggie,” Tah says quietly. “I know you’ve been sitting alone in your trailer these months, waiting for Neizghání. But maybe it’s time you move on without him.”

  “I don’t know, Tah. I have clan powers, sure, but I’m no Neizghání. I’m not immortal. That witch gets to me, I’ll die like anybody else. And I don’t really want to die.” He doesn’t say anything, so I spit out what’s really bothering me. “Cannibal. Witchcraft. It’s all a little too familiar, isn’t it?” I may not talk about the night that I met Neizghání, but he knows the general details.

  “Are you scared?”

  “Hell, yes.” I push back in my chair. “I would be stupid not to be, taking this on alone.”

  “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says brightly. “I know someone who would make a great partner.”

  Chapter 5

  “Your grandson?” I try to keep the incredulity out of my voice.

  Tah nods big. “He’s been staying with me since the end of the summer. Learning the Medicine Way. He’s pretty good with the prayer songs, remembers them real good. Protection prayers too. Healing.”

  Summer? And it’s already November. Has it been that long since I visited Tah? And what does that say about me that I didn’t even notice? “Has your grandson ever hunted a monster?”

  He shakes his head no. “But his prayers are strong, his memory’s good. And he’s smart. Real smart.”

  “And he’s from the Burque?”

  “The Burque,” he confirms.

  “And why is he here in Dinétah now?”

  “Learning, I told you.” He leans forward, like he has a secret. I lean in too. “He’s going to bring back the old ways. The Weather Ways. Help us. Help the Diné. Maybe help all people.”

  “The Weather Ways?”

  “To call the rain. Break this drought. Maybe heal the land from the Big Water.”

  That’s a tall order. And the great joke of the Big Water. The rest of the world may have drowned, but Dinétah withers under a record-breaking drought.

  “And you think your grandson can do that?”

  I’ve never heard of such a thing beyond the stereotype of the Indian rain dance. But Tah’s not talking about some show put on for tourists way back when, he’s talking about manipulating real power. Creating and sustaining life. Controlling the force
s of nature. A shiver dances across my scalp and I scratch at my head reflexively.

  “That’s great, Tah, but what does this have to do with helping me hunt down this monster?”

  “He’s your age. A good young man.”

  “A good man,” I echo . . . and things come together. His little speech earlier about me being alone, his questions about Neizghání. “Are you trying to set me up?” I thought the old man was talking about finding me a partner to help me track the monsters, but this sounds like he’s more interested in playing matchmaker.

  He’s not even embarrassed. “You would be good for each other.”

  I laugh, louder than I mean to, but the thought is ludicrous. I’m talking about battling the monsters, and Tah is worried about my love life.

  Tah scowls at me. He thinks I’m laughing at him, but it’s not that at all. I try another tactic. “You’re telling me that he’s a healer, right?”

  “A good one. Big Medicine.”

  “Right, big medicine. Well, then you don’t want him around me. All I can teach him is death.”

  He grunts. “You go up against that witch, no gun is going to help you. You need strong medicine, and my grandson has it.”

  Okay, so maybe he’s not only talking about my love life. And he’s got a point. I don’t relish fighting a witch powerful enough to create monsters without medicine of my own. “Maybe I shouldn’t be going after this witch at all.”

  “Just meet him, Maggie.”

  “Fine.” I raise my hands in surrender. “I’ll meet him. Where is he?”

  We both look over at the empty couch, unslept in. I spread my hands to make a point. “I’m not waiting for him.”

  “Waiting for who?” comes a voice from behind us. A figure, outlined by the morning sun, stands in the open doorway.

  The stranger leans against the doorjamb, hands casually tucked in his pants pockets. Mirrored blue sunglasses hide his eyes, and shadows keep me from getting a good look at his face. He’s slim, medium tall. An inch or two shorter than my almost six feet. Probably my age, give or take a year either way.

  “Who are you?” I ask, hand automatically dropping to the Böker at my waist as I squint through the light.

  Tah stands up. “This is my grandson,” he exclaims. “Big Medicine!”

  Chapter 6

  Turns out Tah’s grandson’s name is Kai, not “Big Medicine,” and it’s pretty clear, pretty quick, that Kai and I are not going to be the match made in heaven Tah was hoping for.

  Maybe it’s his clothes. A dark purple button-up shirt tucked into teal pants, the creases still sharp, and a silver striped tie. Silver-colored dress shoes, as improbable on the rez as a glass slipper, and shined spotless despite the impossible red dust that gets on everything. And those blue-mirrored aviators that probably cost as much as my truck when both the truck and those shades were brand-new.

  Maybe it’s his face. Handsome. No, more than just handsome. Movie-star boy-band handsome, if movie stars and boy bands still existed. Perfect hair, styled in an artful mess, thick and black enough to have a bluish sheen to match the designer sunglasses and the fashion model clothes. Flawless brown skin that makes me self-conscious about the smattering of acne scars on my own cheeks.

  Or maybe it’s not so much the pretty-boy looks or the fancy suit, but the fact that he rolled up at Tah’s at a quarter before eight in the morning, clearly back from a night out that had only recently ended. And while he doesn’t look like he’s been partying—his hands are perfectly steady as he pours sheep’s milk into his coffee—he smells faintly of smoke and booze and sweat. Not unpleasant, but I’d bet dollars to donuts that while I was hunting down monsters, Kai spent the previous night partying with his friends and trying to snag some local girl.

  I respect Tah, I really do, but there is no way Kai’s going to help me hunt down the monsters.

  “You said your name was Maggie?” Kai asks me as he stirs the milk into his coffee, rings flashing on at least three fingers. I can’t see his eyes behind those mirrored sunglasses, but I get the feeling he’s staring at me. Sizing me up.

  Fair enough. I’m doing the same to him. “That’s right.”

  “And this is yours?” He glances at the monster’s head with a small frown, looking more curious than disgusted. I expected a little more reaction from him. It’s not every day you find a monster’s severed head on your breakfast table, but, to his credit, Kai seems to take it in stride.

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way,” I say, “but yeah.”

  “Maggie is a monsterslayer,” Tah chirps proudly. “Trained by Naayéé’ Neizghání himself. I told her about you. How you could help her fight the monsters.”

  Kai’s hand stills abruptly, the spoon scraping loudly against the bottom of the coffee cup. His frown deepens, small wrinkles marring his flawless face. “Did you say monsterslayer?”

  “Aoo’!” Tah exclaims, his level of enthusiasm enough to make me blush. Especially since I’m about to do something that’s likely to make him hate me.

  “Can I talk to you?” I ask Tah quietly. I glance over at Kai. He’s twirling his coffee spoon between his long fingers and watching me. “Privately?”

  “Hmm? Sure, sure.” We stand, and I give Kai a tight smile of apology as I lead Tah gently by the elbow over to the other side of the hogan.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “I’m sorry, Tah, but I can’t use him.” We’re over in the corner. It’s not far enough away for Kai not to hear us, but there’s enough distance between us that I don’t have to feel like I’m trashing the guy to his face.

  “Why not?”

  I flush, uncomfortable. Glance over at Kai, who’s now thrown his tie over one shoulder and is leaning across the table to poke at the monster’s head with the flat of his spoon. “I know you said he was big medicine,” I say, pitching my voice even lower, “but look at him. The clothes, the hair. Come on.”

  Tah shakes his head. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Maggie.”

  Kai clears his throat and we both turn. “I don’t know what exactly you two are talking about, but I’d be more than happy to help.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine,” I say.

  Tah sighs deeply. “At least tell him what we know about the monster. My grandson is smart. He might know something.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Tah, but I think I’ll handle this one on my own.”

  “Don’t be stubborn. He can help you,” Tah urges.

  I feel like we’re talking in circles again, and it’s clear Tah’s not going to take no for an answer. I don’t have anything against Kai, I really don’t, but I’m going to have to be more direct if I want to get through to Tah. “Look, he may be your grandson, and, sure, maybe he’s learning some healing songs or whatever, but he’s a Burqueño, Tah. Do you really expect him to go fight monsters wearing that? No offense, but would he even know a monster if it bit him in the—”

  “Are you talking about this tsé naayéé’?”

  I freeze, midsentence. Turn, mouth open. “What?”

  “A tsé naayéé’. Well, sort of.” Kai takes his sunglasses off. Folds them and sets them carefully on the table. “A creature fashioned from a mixture of flesh and something organic. Wood, stone, even corn. But without the power of speech. Although it probably took a pretty powerful sacred object to animate it. There’s a few that might do it. You might want to start your research with the library in Crownpoint. A lot of elders’ stories are in the audio archives there. I’m pretty good at translating them. I mean, for a Burqueño.”

  He pats the monster’s coarse hair absently. The hair attached to the scalp Tah removed during his kitchen table autopsy. Raises his milky coffee to his perfect mouth and looks over at me before he takes a sip.

  I look over at Tah. He’s beaming. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he set me up.

  Chapter 7

  We’ve got the monster head, a half pound of sugar, two canisters of coffee, a jug of whisk
ey Kai insisted we bring, and provisions to last us a week packed in the back of my truck. Kai’s inside saying something to Tah that he swore required privacy and I’m leaning against the driver’s side door, idling, watching the Tse Bonito crowds make their way up and down the dusty street. The temperature’s already climbing, the close quarters and metal buildings of the town corralling the heat and forcing it up another dispiriting ten degrees or so. I can feel sweat trickling down my back as my leather jacket soaks up the sun.

  I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, two men in khaki uniforms and dark sunglasses coming my way. I turn casually, ducking my head, and open the truck door. Pray that they didn’t see me and I can slip away.

  “Well, well. Maggie Hoskie. Would you look who’s deigning to visit our little shithole town?”

  I sigh, caught, and step back from the truck. Slam the door closed. Turn around with my hands loose at my side and try to look harmless. “Longarm.” I greet the Law Dog on the left with the windburned face and the hard set to his jaw. “Just about to leave.”

  “That was what you called Tse Bonito last time you were here, wasn’t it? A shithole?” He grins, but there’s no humor in his voice. I can’t see his eyes past those damn sunglasses, but I know they’re small and mean.

  Longarm’s real name is Chris Tsosie, but anyone who’s been on his bad side before calls him Longarm. He’s the head of Citizens’ Watch and Guard, shortened to CWAG, or more often, just Law Dogs. Longarm’s the top Dog in a pack of bullies with badges, and, lucky me, I’m pretty high on his shit list. If there was one person I wanted to avoid in Tse Bonito, Longarm was it.

  “To be fair, when I said that, I was getting shot at,” I remind him.

  He grunts. “Does seem that every time you come around, there’s somebody trying to kill you.”

  “Not this time,” I point out, hopeful.

  “Day’s still young,” he quips. He rolls up to me, swagger on eleven. My eyes flicker to the gun at his belt. His hand rests on the butt. I’ve got my shotgun back on the gun rack in the cab of the truck. No way to get to it now. But I’ve still got my throwing knives tucked in my leg wraps and the Böker at my hip. And maybe Longarm’s just here to talk. Maybe not.