by Aimée Thurlo
TWO
Ella woke up to hear her name being called. She opened her eyes slowly, expecting pain, but was surprised to discover that she actually felt warm and comfortable.
“Come on now, Bright Eyes. You’re all right,” the familiar voice urged.
Ella blinked, clearing her vision, and then stared in shock at the man crouched beside her. It was her husband, Eugene. They’d run off and gotten married when she was barely out of high school, but after his death . . . She gasped. “I’m dreaming—or dead.”
“Neither, really—or both—depending on how you look at it, sleepyhead.”
Ella sat up, trying to figure out where she was or, more to the point, what she was now. “Would it kill you not to speak in riddles?”
“No. Actually, nothing can kill me now,” he answered with a wide smile.
She looked at him and laughed, recalling their brief time together with a sweet nostalgia now that the nightmares of his sudden death had long since faded. He was the same man she remembered, with strong, chiseled features, wide shoulders, a gentle touch, and a smile that was contagious. But there was one major difference. His body glowed as if it were lit from the inside. “You’re a ghost.”
“You know me, Ella. I don’t believe in ghosts,” he answered. When he touched her face in a light caress, she felt it clearly.
“What are we then?” she asked, aware that her own body glowed too, though less so.
“We are. Let that be enough.”
“Okay. I’ll let that pass for now if you tell me this—where the hell are we, or can’t I use that word here?” She glanced around. They appeared to be in a low valley bordered by tall rock formations, some fifty or more feet high. The spires were colored in layers of yellow, red, and orange. The ground was sandy but it glittered, like wet river sand.
“It looks like Angel Peak, Bryce Canyon, or someplace like that, but much more colorful,” she added. Looking back down at the ground, she noticed something odd.
“But there are no shadows . . . and light seems to be coming from all over the sky.” She paused, listening. “And there’s something else . . . it sounds like water along the shore.” She stood up and looked into the distance. “I see a blue line out there, and the air smells moist and fresh. It’s a lake, right?” She looked at him again and repeated, “Where are we, Eugene?”
“This place has no name. Like us, it just is.”
“And the water?”
“Not just a lake. It’s the ocean.”
“In New Mexico?”
“You always walked two contrary paths, Daughter,” another familiar voice said from behind her. “This place is what your mind creates for you—an in-between place that reflects who you are.”
Ella turned and stared at her father. Tall and dark-haired and in a faded corduroy sports jacket, he appeared much younger than she remembered. He looked like the man she’d known as a child. Love for her father softened the pain of bittersweet memories. But he’d been dead for years now. She’d returned to the Rez to investigate his murder almost a decade ago. “I am hallucinating. Very kind of you to point it out.”
“No, you’re not hallucinating, Daughter. This place really exists. As a Christian preacher I believed that there was a veil separating the spirit world from that of mortals. But that’s not quite right. You’re simply there and we’re here. There’s no real division, it only appears that way because the spirit eyes of those in the mortal realm are closed. They can’t see us, but we can see them and that allows us to keep watch over our loved ones.”
“Then I hope you know that I’ve finally come to terms with the anger that drove me away from home—and from you, Dad. I really regret not getting to know you better when . . .”
“I was still alive?” He chuckled. “Don’t give it another thought. I always knew you loved me in spite of my shortcomings.”
“I didn’t know you had any,” she said softly, then grinned, letting him know she was teasing.
Ella walked around, looking at the plants. They were so beautiful they seemed straight out of a fairy tale garden. Reaching down, she touched a beautiful red rose that was growing between two black rocks that gleamed like obsidian. The colors here were more vibrant than anything she’d ever seen before. She felt the velvety coolness of the petals as a warm breeze drifted past her. It was all too real to be only a product of her imagination.
“Why am I here?” she asked. “What happened to me—besides the obvious, I guess.”
Eugene spoke again. “You’re to be given a choice, Ella. You can stay and progress with your life here—or return to the other level of awareness.”
In this landscape of conflicting features, Ella felt at peace, comfortable and at ease, more so than she’d ever been before. She wanted to stay. She was ready to leave the dangers of her job behind her and never again have to worry if the witness standing in the doorway was about to pull a gun, or if another human being would die at her hand.
She was tired of suspicious looks from strangers who believed in legends of evil associated with her clan, of talk behind her back, and the anxiety of citizens when they found out who she was. Her job was often thankless, no matter what she accomplished. Being a cop often wore her down, and coming home late, day after day, after her daughter was already asleep had become increasingly frustrating. Here there was only peace.
Yet the peace would come at an unspeakingly high price. To possess it she’d have to leave her daughter who needed her. As her love for Dawn tugged at her, she thought of her mother and all the other people in her life who mattered to her. Her life, with all its ups and downs, was still worth fighting for. The scent of Mom’s fry bread, the taste of pecan pie, the adrenaline rushing through her system as she collared a criminal, the warmth at her feet when Two curled up at night at the foot of the bed. All these would be gone, too, if she stayed.
She looked around, taking in the beauty and breathing in the sweet smell of peace and serenity one more time. Finally Ella turned and smiled at Eugene and her father, wiping away an errant tear that had run down her cheek. “It’s wonderful here, and I’d really like to stay, but . . .”
“Your daughter needs you,” her father said with a nod, “and you aren’t ready to leave your responsibilities behind. It shows in your eyes.”
Ella nodded. “Despite the crazy contradictions I see here, like an ocean beside the desert, this place is very comforting to me. But I’m not ready to stay.”
“You’ll return to us someday. It’s inevitable. But, for now, I think you’ve made the right choice, Daughter. You’ve really only just started to discover who you are and who you can be.”
“We’ll see each other again,” Eugene added, reaching out to touch her hand one more time.
Suddenly everything before her faded to black. The next instant she was back in her physical body. She ached, and her throat hurt so much it felt as if it were on fire. She couldn’t see; she couldn’t breathe.
“I’ve done the Ee-nah’jih Hatal’, the Come-to-Life ceremony, but her wind spirit has drifted,” Ella heard Clifford say.
“We can’t give up,” Justine urged, desperation in her tone. “Let’s try CPR again.”
Except for muted sobs coming from somewhere close by, there were no sounds for a while, then something soft was placed over her face, probably a blanket. Gathering her strength, Ella pushed it aside and sat up. Justine gasped and jumped back.
“No need for CPR, Cousin. It worked,” Ella mumbled, then coughed. Her throat was raw and she couldn’t manage anything above a whisper. The sudden bright light made her squint.
Two paramedics she didn’t recognize were at her side instantly. Jeremiah Crow, the medical center’s helicopter pilot, was standing right behind them, looking very relieved. Ella knew the helicopter was grounded for lack of funding, so he must have been driving a rescue vehicle now. Like her, he went where he was needed.
Clifford’s eagle-sharp gaze was focused on her, probably reassuring himsel
f it was really her and not her chindi. Rose had paled considerably and her face was moist from tears, but she took a step forward and stood beside her son while the paramedics checked her vital signs.
“Your brother’s chant worked,” Rose managed. Then in a marginally stronger voice added, “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Daughter.”
“I’ll do my best, Mom.”
It was nearly two in the afternoon when, after a series of tests and doctor examinations that failed to indicate any real problems, Ella found herself alone in the small hospital room. Before she had much of a chance to think, she heard a knock at the door and saw Carolyn Roanhorse Lavery, the tribe’s ME and her old friend, standing there.
“I came as soon as I heard about the accident. How are you feeling? What happened?” Carolyn asked.
Ella motioned for her to come inside. “I’m not sure—to both questions,” Ella said with a weak smile. “I remember falling, then screaming my head off and tapping on the rocks with my pistol to get somebody’s attention. Just when I made contact and thought I was about to be rescued, the roof collapsed burying me in sand. I must have passed out. After that, I’m not sure . . .”
Ella reached for the water pitcher but Carolyn got there first and poured her a glass of water. Ella took a long sip, stalling. She just wasn’t ready to discuss her experience with anyone yet, which was why she’d deliberately been vague with her family earlier. Instinct told her that it was better to withhold a secret of this kind than expose it to others who would pass judgment on it. She needed time to sort things out in her own mind before she could confide in someone else. But one thing was clear even now—she’d never tell her family that she’d found a skinwalker feather with beads where she’d been trapped. The beads were usually made from human bones taken from a grave. All that would be too much information for a traditionalist to accept.
Carolyn didn’t press her for details, fortunately. “I’m nothing short of amazed that you’re still here and in such good condition. Those bruises and a strained voice are nothing in comparison to what might have been. From what I heard, the paramedics had already given up on you. Contrary woman that you are, that’s when you suddenly sat up and gave half the tribe a heart attack.”
“You suppose I was really dead?” Ella asked.
“Apparently not. I spoke to your brother down in the lobby before I came in and he told me that your wind spirit was knocked out of your body for a while. But because of his Come-to-Life ceremony it managed to find its way back.”
Ella nodded, taking another swallow of water.
“You find out who got to you first?”
“Yeah. A lot of people were digging, but it was Justine who found me, I guess. Then the paramedics uncovered me completely and carried me over to solid ground. They tried CPR while my brother did his thing. Mom said that Julian helped him out, too, by keeping everyone else back so my wind spirit wouldn’t be driven away. I’ve heard of those Come-to-Life rituals but I never attended one—until now.”
Carolyn nodded slowly. “The doctor wants to keep you under observation, so it might be a good time to work out how you’re going to be dealing with this event once you leave the hospital. Your life is about to become very complicated, old friend.”
Ella looked at Carolyn, understanding what she meant and weighing the implications. “Have you picked up any talk yet about the accident and what happened to me out there?”
“Justine is telling everyone your survival was a miracle. My guess is that Reverend Campbell and some of the other Christians will pick up on that as well, once they know the details.”
“I can live with that. What do you think the Dineh will believe?”
“Hard to say. But I know something about the history of those old mines. Some Navajo miners died in a cave-in near there fifty years ago. Their bodies were never recovered.”
“I know how that works. Some may think I’ve been contaminated by the chindi of the dead miners.” Ella shrugged. Her people believed that the good in a person merged with universal goodness, but the bad side remained earthbound to create trouble for the living. Ella didn’t want to mention it, but she knew that there would also be others who would remember that the skinwalkers had used the area in the recent past as well. That, to some, would be even more frightening.
“Many will probably not worry about any association with the dead, choosing just to think of you as lucky. But either way, you’re going to need to have a Sing if you want to be able to do your job. If you don’t have one done, you’re going to scare Navajos every place you go.”
“Mom acted bravely around me. But were you around her long enough to tell how she really feels about this whole thing?” Rose was a staunch traditionalist and Ella couldn’t help but worry about her now.
“When I saw her, she was talking to your brother about finding a Singer who can do the branch of the Holy Way Chant you need. Clifford doesn’t know that one, apparently.”
Ella nodded slowly, taking another sip of water. Unlike some other tribes who depended on trances or spells, the Navajo equated knowledge with power. A medicine man had to perfectly memorize the prayers of a week-long Sing before he was qualified to conduct it. That was why no one hataalii knew all the Sings.
“Very few individuals go through an experience like yours and come out of it unchanged,” Carolyn said, interrupting Ella’s thoughts. “I’ll let you rest now, but if you need someone to talk to, just let me know and I’ll come by. I’m here for you, Ella.”
“Thanks, pal,” Ella said as Carolyn waved and left the room.
Alone again, Ella closed her eyes. When she woke up again, Clifford was sitting where Carolyn had been. Ella smiled at her brother.
“You should have woken me up,” she said.
“You needed some rest. I just came by to thank you again for saving my son’s life. He’s already told everyone how you kept him from falling, then pulled him out with just one hand.”
He paused and in a voice filled with emotion continued. “You risked your own life to save my son. I don’t know how to thank you, Sister.”
“I saved your son, and later he saved me. We’re even.”
“I just want you to know one more time how grateful I am for what you did.”
“You would have done the same thing for my daughter had the positions been reversed,” Ella said. “Don’t give it another thought.”
Clifford paused for a long moment, then continued, measuring his words carefully. “I didn’t want to mention this in front of our mother earlier, but there’s something else you should know.” Clifford took a deep breath and regarded her thoughtfully. “The first thing Justine saw was your hand. Your fingers were sticking up out of the sand. Do you understand the significance of that?”
Ella shook her head.
“We, as Navajos, are taught that life begins when wind enters the body at birth and that death happens when it leaves through the fingertips. Some who were there now believe that your wind spirit left your body and that it was the chindi who helped your body remain in perfect condition until it returned. I’ve tried to convince them that once the wind spirit leaves to report to Dawn Woman, it never returns to the person it left behind. It waits for another to be born. So you couldn’t have been dead. But there will be some, especially the locals who remember that the evil ones carried out rituals in those mines, who’ll now believe you have evil allies.”
Ella nodded. “My doctor friend and I discussed the contamination issue earlier when she came by. Once word gets out that I have no serious injuries, that belief is bound to spread,” she said. “If I have a Sing done for me, do you think they’ll stop being afraid?”
“Yes, but only one hataalii knows the Sing you need—hastiin sání,” he said.
The words simply meant “old man” but everyone knew that they referred to John Tso, who was believed to be in his nineties.
“You see, the ceremony that would be best for you is a branch of the Holy Way Chant that
has fallen into disuse so it’s nearly extinct. Hastiin sání has been trying to teach the ceremony to his grandson, but the younger man hasn’t learned it all yet.”
“How can I find the hataalii? I’ll need to have this Sing conducted as quickly as possible. If you remember, when I first returned to the Rez, there were very few Navajos who’d talk to me freely. Conducting an investigation under those conditions was nearly impossible. I don’t want to go through that again.”
“The Singer you need has gone on a spiritual journey. He’s visiting the shrines of his clan and could be nearly anywhere. I spoke to his grandson and he says that his grandfather does this from time to time and may be gone for weeks.”
“How long ago did he leave?”
“About two days ago.”
“We have to find him quickly. Can you help me, Brother?” she asked.
“I’ve already sent messages to some of his relatives and clan members.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate that. By the way, how’s Mom handling this?”
Clifford hesitated. “She’s a traditionalist and her beliefs tell her to beware of the chindi, but she’s also your mother and she’s really happy you’re alive and well.”
There was no doubt that she’d been given a second chance. But Ella still wasn’t sure what had happened. Had she imagined her encounter with her father and husband? Logic continued to battle against what her heart was telling her. The simple truth was that, deep down, she didn’t believe it had all been a dream.
“What are you thinking about?” Clifford asked.
“I want to see my daughter,” she said, changing the subject deftly.
“I’ll bring her tomorrow if they don’t release you in the morning.”
When Clifford stood up she saw the cowhide medicine pouch hanging from his belt. It was a larger version of the deerskin one he normally wore. “Carrying flint?” She knew that was a Navajo’s primary defense against the chindi.
“Yes. And I’ve got a bag for you, too. It has flint points, ashes, soot, and ghost medicine.”