by F. E. Arliss
Several times that afternoon Emery examined her arm minutely. Circling Wind arrived with a truckload of ancient elders garbed in a strange array of clothing, though each was as dusty and wizened as the next. They sat around drinking tea and talking in the low tones of Navajo that Emery couldn’t understand. Nevertheless, she let each of them poke and prod her arm and most of her body before they were satisfied. Some of the old ladies even wanted to look at her teeth.
A satellite phone call had been made to Dorothea and after that Emery had to repeatedly relate her turtle tattoo and the entire meaning of her protection ceremony - done earlier that winter back at the King mansion. Finally, the oldest, most shriveled of the old women made a statement, waved a hand at Emery and the entire clan trudged shakily to the truck and climbed in. After a few minutes only a small cloud of dust could be seen and quiet fell over the campsite.
“I’m going to bed,” Emery said, exhaustion threading her voice to barely a whisper. “I assume they’ve made a decision about something?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, they’ve decided that your turtle tattoo and protection ceremony has given you a barrier of safety that didn’t allow the rattler’s fangs to break through. They feel you are very blessed,” Eagle Rising said, smiling faintly. “I think we can both agree to that.”
Emery nodded wearily. She could agree with that. She had been blessed. She wasn’t dead and she didn’t have a single hole in her from the strikes. It was too weird to be true, but it was. The whole thing had been very disquieting and she barely managed to launch herself onto the narrow overhead bunk, pull off her boots and jam the antler hat over her ears before she gathered the scratchy donkey blanket over her head and sought the escape of sleep.
Eagle Rising had arranged a purification ceremony for her at the end of the week. After profuse sweating in a brush lodge lined with animal hides and a lot of chanting provided by a mass of nearly naked elders from the “snake incident” as she would later call it, Emery had been plunged into a small pool at the base of a minute waterfall, a trickle really, and rinsed of her stink. She was then shoved onto a flat rock to gaze into the small fire the oldest of the women had built.
A wooly blanket was wrapped around her shoulders and her dark blue antler hat jammed onto her wet hair, casting strange shadow-shapes that mimicked animals dancing on the rock cliff behind her. The chanting began again as the elders emerged from the sweat lodge, wrapped themselves in blankets and settled around the fire on the periphery of her vision. Before Emery knew it, she was gone into the haze of smoke.
Disappearing into a billow of sage and what she would later find out was a tiny bit of dried peyote, a hallucinogenic plant, she emerged on a mountain top. A large stone altar graced once side of the narrow plateau she found herself on, its center scooped out slightly from either years of use or purposely for some reason she didn’t understand.
A small trickling stream ran gently out of a large stone that capped the plateau to one side. On either side of the deepest part of the stream, flat stones had been laid as though to allow for a landing area with which to access the depths of the pool. On the far side, a narrow, twisting set of stairs disappeared into a black recess in the mountain, a silky darkness obscuring any evidence of what lurked beneath.
A tall, dark skinned woman, her hair worn twisted up into a coronet of satiny braids emerged from below. She was dressed in a white robe and her face was painted black from the tip of her nose to the top of her forehead. It gave her a strangely menacing look and Emery instinctively stepped away from her.
“Don’t run, child. You are meant to be here. Look out. Look around you. Where would you go?” the woman asked her, gesturing to the dark green vistas that spread out below the mountain, a smirk edging her mouth.
Emery looked now, beyond the altar and the steam and the stairway into the depths. As far as the eye could see, a canopy of jungle spread away from the base of the mountain in a rolling endless sea of green. She was on a mountain in a jungle. A vast, never ending jungle.
“I am the caretaker of the gods here at Calakmul. We will meet again,” the haughtily serene woman said calmly. “Go now. You will return to me in the near future.”
With that pronouncement, Emery was flung back away from the fire. Her naked form went sprawling into the dust. Slowly she sat up to meet the concerned gaze of Eagle Rising. “Are you ok?” the old woman asked, a crease marring the skin on her already wrinkled forehead. “I take it you saw something.”
Emery sat up, brushing dirt out of her hair and slapping dust from her now disheveled antler hat. Pulling the donkey blanket she’d been shrouded in against the chill of the Arizona night more closely around her, she tried to order her thoughts. One of the old women handed her water as she took a few minutes to rub her pounding head.
“Well?!” Eagle Rising said, impatience ringing in her voice. “Are you alright? What did you see?” she asked, coming to kneel in front of Emery and placing a cool hand on her already excruciatingly sensitive forehead.
“I’m fine. Bad headache,” Emery whispered, taking another sip from the canteen the older woman had jammed into her shaking hand. “Saw a woman. White gown. Face painted black from here up,” she said, gesturing from her nose to her forehead with one unsteady hand. “She said she was the “caretaker of the gods at a place called Calakmul.” Emery halted, thinking.
Eagle Rising went stock still.
“It was on a mountain top in the middle of a very large, very scary jungle,” Emery added. “There was a small creek, a stone altar, and stairs that descended into a dark hole.”
“You’ve done well,” the old woman said, gently stroking Emery’s dirty hair back from her head. “Let’s rinse you off again and tuck you into bed with a nice cup of aspen and feverfew tea to cure your headache. Come, child,” she said, and dragging Emery to her feet, dunked her once more under the tiny waterfall. Pulling her out just as abruptly she said, “You are called Shield Skin now, of the Rock Gap clan.” Bundling her once more in the scratchy wool blanket and sadly wilted antler hat, Emery was being tucked into her bunk in a matter of minutes.
“She said she’d see me again soon,” Emery murmured to Eagle Rising. “That I would go to her for training, or something like that. She was scary,” the words trailed off as the feverfew tea took effect. “I like Shield Skin so much better than Donkey Girl. Thank you,” she whispered and then slept the sleep of the exhausted.
A few minutes later, Eagle Rising used the satellite phone and made a call. “She saw the priestess of Calakmul. The vision said she was to go there to train. She found it unsettling. All that jungle and the painted face. Just thought you should know. Her name is Shield Skin, of the Rock Gap clan. It was decided by the elders.” With that the old woman slammed the receiver shut and stumped into the trailer for her own cup of tea. The elders had put out the fire and disappeared while she was putting Emery to bed. She was tired too. Stinking jungle. She’d not taken any of her training at Calakmul, all that wet sodden jungle. All those snakes and bats. Creepy. Maybe Dorothea wouldn’t send Shield Skin to the priestess.
Chapter Nine
Romance - Not
When Circling Wind brought the small plane to a halt after a bumpy landing on the narrow field back home, Dorothea, Bertha and Letty were there waiting. They appeared to be having a picnic on the hood of the ancient Chevy, though it was very cold out. All three old ladies were bundled up in long mink coats, obviously designed in another era, as the sleeves each held a hand muff attached by a long thick cord. They looked very much like ladies from the 1920’s in the pictures of Amelia Earhart they had shown her when convincing her to wear jodhpurs and boots.
Emery was happy to see them and gave each crone a firm hug. When it was time for Circling Wind to take off again, she was sad to see him go. She’d enjoyed flying with him and clearly surprised everyone by hugging the withered elder firmly and kissing his grizzled cheek.
As they bundled into the low-slung boat of a Ch
evy, Dorothea handed her a small travel mug and a napkin wrapped around a lump of something hard. It turned out the picnic was of hot mulled wine and rather shingle-like fudge. By the time they reached the King mansion, Emery was out dead to the world, having never had an alcoholic beverage, let alone one coupled with a sugar rush.
She’d staggered home, thumped her suitcase down next to her bed and when her curious siblings had asked what she’d done on the seminar, she muttered, “Bed pans. I’m so tired,” and fell asleep to the sounds of their mingled laughter.
The following few months seemed to fly by. The crones were excited about her vision of Calakmul and talked to her about it at great length. It was a jungle ruin at the very tip of Mexico. It had been a powerful city and dated from around 550 B.C.. To Emery that seemed like the time of dinosaurs. The inhabitants of the city had worshiped bats and then snakes as their spirit guides and she could see why Eagle Rising had thought the place was creepy. It sounded creepy. No matter what Dorothea and Bertha said. Both of them had trained there, and though neither raved about it as a good time, they both said they had learned a lot.
One of the reasons those few months to summer break seemed to fly by was that Emery was being courted. At fifteen, she was beginning to be a very pretty girl. Long gold-blond hair and bright blue eyes set in a face graced by stunning cheekbones and a firm chin, topped a tall, slim athletic form.
A star baseball player had started asking her to sit with him, then out on dates. She’d gone on half a dozen Friday night dates and was enjoying them. Kissing was ok. The guy smelled a little funky sometimes but she did like that he was a good hugger and had a nice strong chest and arms. Towards the end of May he began to pressure her to have sex with him and though she wasn’t that interested, she was curious.
The crones had given her the lecture on condoms, etc., and she thought she’d might as well get the whole thing over with. When the time came, however, Emery took one look at what her giggling classmates called “the junk” and decided she was in no way, shape or form having anything to do with that thing that looked like a chicken neck and gizzards. It was appallingly ugly. That had been that. End of boyfriend. Emery supposed later that she’d probably scarred the guy for life and most likely could have handled it all better.
When she showed up for a cup of tea earlier than Dorothea had expected, the old woman had shoved the tea into her hand and they’d all retired to a small fire in the conservatory room. Emery had said nothing, simply sat ruminating and sipping her tea. The small blue frog leaped onto the arm of her chair. Dorothea stood and tried to shoo him away. Emery was too addled to do anything and when he leapt onto the back of her hand as she held the cup, she just looked at him. “Hi, dude,” she whispered. Dorothea and Bertha froze in place. “Whatcha doin’?” Emery continued.
The little frog rolled his eyeballs up into her face and slowly shuffled along her fingers until he was opposite her on the edge of the cup. Emery lifted it and took a sip. The frog didn’t move.
“I had a weird night,” Emery told the poison frog. “I had no idea men were so ugly...you know, down there.” The two old ladies, now beginning to see that no deadly reaction was taking place, and that Emery had been, indeed, correctly named as Shield Skin, receded into the background, exhaling deep sighs of relief and looking at each other in astonishment. Then, finally processing her words, bit back snorts of laughter.
The frog bobbed its head. “Oh, so you knew that did you. Would have been nice if someone had told me,” Emery said, emphasizing the “me”. “It was startlingly awful. I have no idea how anyone could bother with the whole business after seeing that,” she added, lifting her other hand and stroking a gentle finger down the tiny frogs silky-smooth, humped back. “You are much prettier. Though I’m not planning on kissing you or having sex with you, even if you happen to turn into a prince. I’m completely off that for now.”
The frog bobbed again, then hopped onto the hand she’d used to stroke him with and flitted up her arm, stopping only when he’d settled into the curve of her neck just behind her ear. The two old ladies probably couldn’t see him, but Emery could feel him, his tiny belly moving ever so slightly as he breathed.
“Well, I guess you’re not going to drop dead from the poisonous frog,” Dorothea said quietly. “That’s a first. Never heard of anyone being immune to blue dart frog. Also, they’re usually very aggressive about their territory, though I suppose he’s used to you by now.”
“Glad you didn’t drop dead, girl,” Bertha cackled suddenly. “But don’t ask me to touch him.” She continued to giggle and it would be only later that Emery realized she’d made the communication with the frog aloud. The crones knew all about the utter failure of her short-lived romance.
Chapter Ten
Calakmul
It took a few weeks at the end of the school year to get Emery’s gear ready for the trip to Calakmul. Dorothea had gone to see her mother and asked if it would be alright if Emery went on a long summer hiatus to learn about natural medicines in Mexico. The old women were using it to treat their arthritis. Of course, the King cousins would be paying for everything. Emery’s mother asked a few questions about who would be paying and, of course, chaperoning and upon hearing that the King cousins would pay and that the chaperone was a priestess from a local group that studied the rainforest, she had no problem agreeing. One child off the summer “what to do with” list.
Bertha assured Emery that she’d need breathable or linen shorts and pants, sturdy sandals, quick dry underwear, whatever that was, and long-sleeved swim tops - again, whatever those were. Who wore a long-sleeved top to swim? Emery had never even heard of it.
Finally, having only come up with a few pairs of ripstop hiking shorts and a canvas sun hat at the Goodwill store, the old women pulled out a battered L.L. Bean catalog and consulted its descriptions carefully. There were indeed long-sleeved swim tops, quick dry underwear and sturdy sandals for wet conditions. They piled the camouflage windbreaker on the stack and then argued long and hard about whether or not her backpack would do. Emery decided it would be fine. They bought a can of spray-on tent sealant and re-waterproofed the backpack.
She’d never seen sandals like the ones that arrived. They had a rugged lug outsole and a rubber-capped toe. Nylon straps allowed them to let air circulate, but kept them firmly in place. They were more like low-topped hiking boots than sandals, but thinking about snakes and the jungle made her glad they had come. Dorothea’s contribution was a folded up silver survival blanket. It made Emery uneasy when she saw it and having lifted it and quirked an eyebrow at Dorothea said, “Am I going to live through this summer?”
Bertha snorted. Letty said, “Well, dear, we’ve all been and we all lived through it. Granted it wasn’t the most fun summer ever. But we lived. You’ll be fine.”
Somehow that did nothing to calm Emery’s nerves and the last few nights before her departure she didn’t sleep well.
Other provisions included a first aid kit, sunscreen and bug spray containing DEET, which Letty showed up with, holding it aloft triumphantly. “You know how hard it is to find bug spray with DEET?” she’d shrieked. “I had to go three places. Finally found it at Farm King. Useless store! It’s about the only time they’ve had what I needed. Expensive too.”
Dorothea rolled her eyes at Bertha and whispered, “I think Letty has completely discounted what the name “Shield Skin” entails. I doubt she’ll need the bug spray.” Bertha grinned, ragged teeth showing in shared glee.
The departure day arrived and Emery jammed the small cell phone the King cousins had purchased for her into the side pocket of the backpack and stomped down the stairs. This time the sisters were not pleased that she was going on a trip. It was, afterall, to Mexico and they’d never been out of the country. Emery had been taking Spanish lessons for two years at school and had won a nationwide prize for fluency at the end of the school term. That win, coinciding with the trip as it did now, hadn’t endeared the journey t
o her sisters. They both rolled their eyes and turned their backs on her. One going so far as to give her the finger. So much for older siblings being supportive.
Emery’s mother hugged her gently. Said, “Have a good time, dear,” then went promptly back to watching the soap opera she was catching up on now that the school year was out.
Letty’s beat-up brown car sat in the drive at the King mansion, the enormously overgrown hedges hiding it and most of the grounds from prying eyes. Dorothea and Bertha were still bustling about putting things into the car when Emery rounded the corner of the octopus-like boxwood barrier and approached them slowly, feet dragging.
“Oh, don’t look so down-trodden, girl. It’s an adventure!” Dorothea said briskly. “Yes, it rains a lot. It’s hot. There are bugs and snakes and bats. But, still, it’s an adventure. Plus, you’ll get to see cool ruins, weird caves, and learn all sorts of jungle lore. You’ll see, it’ll be fun.” Bertha said nothing, only rolled her eyes. Letty hurriedly got in the driver’s seat.
Once again the long, rusted boat of a car surged down the road towards the grass airstrip outside town. Circling Wind was already there, sitting nonchalantly on the ground, cross-legged and chewing on a piece of grass. Emery, happy to see him and pleased at the prospect of flying again, ran to him and hugged him.