Eagle's Last Stand

by Aimée Thurlo

  After dinner, they retreated to the sofa and chairs. The blazing fireplace would keep them warm and comfortable. “Your letter, the one Hosteen Silver left for you, is on the third shelf of the bookcase,” Kyle said to Rick.

  “Although I’m tempted not to read it, that would be showing disrespect, and I owe Hosteen Silver everything,” Rick said, walking over to pick it up. They’d all been left letters to read upon their foster father’s death, but Rick’s undercover work had kept him away. This was the first time he’d ever even seen the envelope.

  “We’ve all read ours, so yours is the last,” Kyle said.

  Rick sat on the hearth and stared at the envelope in his hand.

  “The longer you put it off, the harder it’ll get,” Kim warned softly.

  Rick tore open the sealed envelope, his expression hard. In a gesture of solidarity, Kyle came over to stand beside his brother as Rick pulled out the small piece of paper.

  No one spoke as Rick read it silently. “As cryptic as ever,” he said at last, then read it out loud. “‘It’s not Eagle’s nature to accept what seems to be. As what is hidden comes to light, your fight will begin. You will walk in beauty only after blue overcomes red and your eyes are opened to a truth that eluded me.’” Rick placed the paper on the coffee table so they could all see.

  “There’s something different about your letter, bro,” Kyle said. “First, it doesn’t really look like Hosteen Silver’s handwriting. It’s shaky. Then look at the date on top. That’s the same day we think Hosteen Silver disappeared.”

  Rick took a closer look at the letter. “It’s his writing. Look at the f with that extra loop in its center. The g is also not connected to the letter following it.” After a moment Rick added, “I’m guessing his hand was trembling.”

  “The man was without fear. Maybe he was sick at the time he wrote it,” Kyle said.

  “That’s what I think, too,” Rick answered.

  “What’s that stuff about blue overcoming red?” Kyle asked. “It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t nail it down.”

  “It’s part of the story Hosteen Silver used to tell us about the Hero Twins and their special prayer stick.”

  “Who were the Hero Twins?” Kim asked.

  “Navajo creation stories tell us about the sons of Changing Woman and Sun. The twins were great warriors, so their father, Sun, sent them on a great quest to destroy mankind’s enemies. Before they left, they were given a special prayer stick that was covered with blue paint and sparkling earth, symbols of peace and happiness. They were told that anytime the prayer stick turned red, a deadly battle lay ahead.”

  Kyle nodded. “Now I remember.”

  “I think he was telling me that there’s a mission I have to complete here, a wrong I have to right before I can find peace,” Rick said.

  “But if he didn’t tell you, how will you know what that wrong is?” Kim asked.

  “That’s the essence of all of Hosteen Silver’s predictions,” Rick answered. “You don’t have to go looking for answers. Eventually what you’re after, or what you need, will come to you.”

  After the revelation, everyone’s mood turned somber. Although they remained by the fireplace for several more hours, they were quiet for the most part, all lost in their own thoughts.

  Finally, Erin stood and stretched. “I’m going to bed. I can show you your room if you like, Kim.”

  “Tonight I want to keep a lookout, so I’ll be sleeping on the sofa,” Rick said.

  “How about we trade off keeping watch? You could crash in the remaining bedroom when I’m on duty,” Kyle said. “We’ve got cameras rigged up at a few key points, too, so we’ll get an alert the minute anything larger than a coyote comes down the road or approaches the house. The system immediately starts to record, too, so just open the cabinet and check the monitors if we get a hit.”

  “Works for me,” Rick said. “I’ll take the first watch and wake you up in four hours.”

  “I could help,” Kim said. “I’m a good observer. Right now I can tell no one’s around. There’s a coyote howling in the distance, and I don’t think it would announce its presence if humans were around.”

  Kyle smiled. “No one ever hears Rick move—not unless he wants you to, that is. We used to call him Shadowman.”

  Rick smiled. “It’s a gift.”

  “You said you’d train me, and here I am. Let me help,” she insisted.

  “All right,” Rick said at last. “Neither of us got much sleep last night, but together we can keep each other alert.” Rick looked at his brother. “I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

  When Kyle and Erin left, Rick turned off all the lights. Only the glow from burning piñon logs in the fireplace—and the monitors—illuminated the room. “I’m glad you volunteered to stay up. I’m tired and it’ll be easier to stay focused with a partner.”

  She smiled, glad to be considered a partner. “Tell me more about that note,” she said, taking a seat on the hearth. “If I read you right, there was something else about it that troubled you.”

  He nodded slowly. “My gut’s telling me that Hosteen Silver wrote that after he knew he was dying. Since I’m the youngest, he probably put me last on the list when it came to his final message. I think that’s why his handwriting was so shaky,” he said. “I know Hosteen Silver was trying to tell me something, but he always overestimated my ability to understand him.”

  “I have a feeling he knew exactly what he was doing when he deliberately chose you to do what needed to be done,” Kim said. Rick could be gentle, but his strength never wavered. Remembering the way he’d kissed her, she felt her skin prickle. “How are you different from your brothers?” she added, forcing herself to focus on the conversation.

  “They prefer team efforts, but I like working solo. That’s why I volunteered for undercover work.” He stood by the side of the window, pulling back the heavy curtain to look out into the canyon. The desert was bathed in moonlight and every rock and patch of open ground wore a faint, glowing blanket.

  “You’re fine working with your brothers, though,” she said.

  “That’s because I trust them, but I still like taking point.”

  “Wow, talk about double-speak. Or is it ego?”

  He chuckled. “Maybe both.” He walked to the note Hosteen Silver had left for him, picked it up off the table, folded it and placed it in his back pocket.

  “What I don’t understand is the reference to Eagle. Who or what is he?” Kim asked.

  “That’s also linked to our Traditionalist beliefs. Hosteen Silver gave each of us a special fetish, and mine’s Eagle. The spirit of the animal is said to become one with its owner, and by sharing its special qualities, it enhances my own.”

  “You mean you can see things that are far away?” Kim asked, trying to understand.

  “No, it’s not like that. Eagle stands for vision and power through balance. It’s not distance vision, however, it’s the ability to see the overall picture, something any investigator has to learn to do.” As he checked the monitors, he added, “Eagle’s about honoring knowledge by knowing when it’s okay to share it and when it’s better to withhold it.”

  “Sometimes I get so sidetracked by details, I lose the overall perspective. I wish I had Eagle’s ability to see the whole picture.” Kim took a deep breath. “When I lost my job at Angelina’s I was terrified. Having my apartment wrecked after that made things even worse.

  “Now that I have a new perspective,” she added, “I realize that getting fired from Silver Heritage was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

  “Angelina made it that tough?”

  She nodded. “I liked to take time to talk to the customers, to get a feel for what they were really looking for, but Angelina was all about making the sale—” She stopped
abruptly and her eyes widened. “I just recalled something that may be important.”

  Rick nodded. “Go on.”

  “About three weeks ago there was a curious incident at the store. An Anglo man in his late forties came in. He was a professor at a college in Durango. He asked if we could connect him to a local Navajo medicine man who was said to occasionally use Hopi fetishes in blessings for protection.”

  “Did he mention Hosteen Silver by name?”

  “No, but I was sure that’s who he meant, so I suggested he speak to Angelina. At the time, I didn’t know about the bad blood between her and Hosteen Silver. The instant I mentioned her by name, the professor politely declined and left the store. That’s the last time I saw him.”

  “You don’t have a name?”

  “Sorry. I never asked, but I’d recognize him if I saw him again. If he’s still teaching up in Durango, there’s got to be a photo of him somewhere.”

  “Good thinking. We’ll look that up in the morning.”

  They kept each other alert until 2:00 a.m. when Kyle came into the room, unannounced.

  Rick grinned. “So I see your internal clock is still working.”

  “Go to sleep, you two,” Kyle said, ushering them out. “You’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

  Rick walked Kim to her bedroom. “Sleep well.”

  “You going to be in the next bedroom, Rick?” she asked.

  “Nah, I’ll crawl into a sleeping bag in front of the fireplace. I prefer to be on hand in case Kyle needs me.”

  She went inside the room and, exhausted, stripped down to her underwear and crawled in between the heavy blankets. Almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was fast asleep.

  Kim never woke until the sun peered through the curtains, yet it wasn’t the daylight that had nudged her awake. Unsure of what it was, she went to the window and peered out.

  It was dawn, but the canyon floor was still in shade because of the cliffs. Rick was already outside. She saw him check the immediate area, including the shed beside the house, then head up the canyon.

  Curious, she dressed quickly then went into the living room. It was empty. Kyle had gone back to bed. Making an impromptu decision, Kim slipped out the front door. Being Rick’s backup was part of her job now.

  Bundling her coat around her tightly, and trying to protect herself from the cold breeze, she followed the trail Rick’s boots left in the sand.

  Chapter Eight

  Rick looked up at the pine trees dotting the top of the mesa. They glowed in the sunlight that had yet to penetrate to the desert floor. The cliffs were layered top to bottom in a kaleidoscope of color, from yellow-orange to a pale cranberry-red that turned purple above the shadow line. It was more beautiful here than he remembered.

  This was his turf, but he still didn’t feel at home. Maybe he just needed to reconnect. He jammed his hands inside his leather jacket and continued walking.

  Every day at this time Hosteen Silver would leave the ranch house to go offer his prayers to Dawn at a spot high atop the sandstone bedrock. His voice, filled with power and conviction, would echo in the walls of the narrow canyon.

  Without charting a course, Rick moved farther up slope, deep into Copper Canyon.

  It was here that he’d heard his foster father cry to the morning sky, “Hozhone nas clee, hozhone nas clee,” which translated meant “Now all is well, now all is well.” Then he’d scatter pollen from his medicine bag as an offering to Dawn, so he could continue to walk in beauty.

  Memories crowded Rick’s mind as he stared into the brightening cliff wall to his left. That’s when he remembered the other reason he’d come this way as a boy. Hearing the spring-fed creek that ran the length of the canyon year round, he smiled.

  As his brothers before him, he’d staked out his own special place, one too private to share. Although his brothers’ spots were soon known to the rest of the family, no one had ever discovered his.

  He smiled, wondering if his sole treasure still lay nestled in that hole carved into the rock face, hidden by the thick spread of junipers that scented the air year-round. There was a gap in the cliffs here, one cleverly hidden from the curious by nature herself.

  Rick stepped around the tall rock that seemingly blocked further passage. Pressing his way sideways between the plants that formed a natural barrier, he walked up a rabbit trail that was almost obscured by permanent shadows.

  He never would have found this place as a boy, as a matter of fact, if he hadn’t seen a cottontail disappear into the cliff side. About twenty steps into the narrow opening, which closed off completely just around the curve, he stopped and searched for the familiar crevice created by the splitting of a sandstone layer centuries ago.

  He’d just reached in when he heard footsteps—not animal. He spun in a crouch instantly, gun in hand.

  “Whoa! It’s me,” Kim said, hands up in the air.

  “You followed me?” he asked, surprised. No one had ever been able to do that before. But then, he’d been on a walk, not trying to evade the enemy.

  “Yes, I’m supposed to be your backup. That’s part of my training, too. What if you ran into danger?”

  “If I had, what could you have done? You’re not armed.”

  “I can fight. I was deployed in Afghanistan as a cargo specialist,” she said. “And I’m armed, not with a gun, but with this,” she said, holding up a can of Mace.

  He smiled. “What they sell as Mace these days is usually just pepper spray. Anyone who’s drugged up or has any training won’t be deterred by that.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that you’d run into humans. I was thinking more of wild animals.”

  “I’m armed,” he said, putting his pistol away.

  “What if you’d fallen off a cliff or stepped on a rattler?”

  He decided not to argue the point. Her motives had been right on target, but he was curious how she’d pulled it off. “I know you didn’t follow me from the house, not visually. I’d have seen you.”

  “Tracks,” she said, pointing to the sandy earth. “I learned it at Boy Scouts. Actually, I had a friend who was a Boy Scout and he’d teach me what he was learning. It was far more interesting that what my Girl Scout troop was doing.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, that fits you.”

  “So why are you out here?” she said, changing the subject.

  He grew serious. “I was trying to reconnect with the place I called home for so many years. This was my special spot. When I first arrived at Copper Canyon, after Hosteen Silver convinced family services that I wasn’t beyond hope and took me in—as he had before with my foster brothers—I went hiking a lot. One day I found an arrowhead. It wasn’t particularly valuable, but I chose to see it as something this place had meant for me to find. It fit the image I had of myself back then—a survivor and a fighter.”

  “You still are,” she said softly.

  “Yes, I’m that—and more,” he said. Parting some branches, he reached into the shallow crevice in the sandstone wall. “Let’s see if my arrowhead is still...” He paused for a moment. “There’s something else back here.”

  He pulled out a pocket-size, metal breath-mint box containing the arrowhead and, along with it, a small, spiral notebook enclosed in a plastic freezer bag.

  Curious, Rick put the box that held the arrowhead back for a moment, then opened the plastic bag and took out the notebook. Inside, on each page, were ink drawings. “The Plant People.”

  “Who are they?” she said, trying to get a closer look at the drawings.

  “A Traditionalist Navajo believes our native plants are people who go where they will, and can harm or bless, depending on how you appeal to them,” he said. “These particular ones are the plants Hosteen Silver used for his ceremonies...but look at the top of the page.
That’s some kind of code.”

  “Do you recognize it?”

  “No, but he obviously left this here for me, so he thought I’d be able to decipher and read it.” He studied it for a moment longer.

  “This was your special hiding place, but you shared the location with Hosteen Silver?”

  “No, but it doesn’t surprise me that he knew,” Rick said. He held the notebook and leafed through its pages again. “I think there’s a good chance that he left this here for me the same day he went for his final walk into the desert. The numbers that make up the code are shaky, like the handwriting in his note to me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kim admitted. “Why would your father just walk off like that to die? Why not pass away in his house or call 9-1-1 and get help?”

  “That’s not the way of a Traditionalist Navajo,” he said, his voice heavy. “Had he passed away at home, many would have believed that the ranch house would have drawn his chindi and become cursed.”

  “You mean by his ghost?”

  “No, the chindi is not a man’s spirit. It’s only the evil side of him that has to remain earthbound because it can’t unite with universal harmony.”

  “Do you and your brothers believe in the chindi?”

  “No, not really, we’re all Modernists. But like most Navajos, we still respect the old ways,” he said. “The things I’ve seen on the Rez, and what I’ve learned from our Traditionalists, have taught me that there’s a lot more to life that what we see and can easily explain.”

  “Listen. I hear a voice,” Kim said.

  It was Kyle, yelling for Rick.

  Rick yelled back. “We’re okay.” He glanced at Kim. “It’s time to head back, but there’s something I need to do first.”

  He took the arrowhead out of the mint box and placed it in his pocket. Then, using his cell phone, he photographed each page of the notebook, enclosed it in the plastic bag and placed it back in the crevice.