Books by Linda Conrad

by Conrad, Linda

  Not when the gaudy red sunset was still peering teasingly over a distant mountain peak. She had never witnessed such a profusion of colors. The whole of the afternoon had dazzled her with a whirl of sights and sounds and smells.

  She’d met Navajos of every age, with skin and eyes in a thousand different color combinations. Nutmeg, cinnamon, mocha, bronze, even a color Tory would have to name cognac. Women with raven hair and ebony eyes and dressed in multicolored long skirts so brilliant and exciting they competed with the scenery for attention had cooked and chatted and laughed all afternoon long.

  Her ears had been assaulted by heavy male chants. Then low-pitched songs from both sexes had been sung to the Yei gods, whose vibrant-colored masks had been worn in the earlier ceremony. The spicy smells she’d identified as smoke and sage and pine. Going on sensory overload, she was glad to have found a spot to catch her breath.

  Wanting to locate Ben, she easily spotted him surrounded by family and at the center of their attention. A lump formed in her throat as she watched him laughing and interacting with both elders and young children.

  She found herself bombarded with emotion and need as she continued to stare at him. Feelings chased through her that were so foreign they might as well be from Mars.

  Trying to sort them out, the first one she identified, of course, was sexual need. That gleam of desire whenever he was around tickled her like an old friend. Ben’s image enchanted her mind with memories both soft and sharp, electrifying and numbing.

  But she was adult enough to keep those needs from coming between them or from interrupting their tenuous friendship. It was more the hidden emotions, underlying the lust, that were harder to define. Finally, she dropped the ancient walls around her heart and just admitted she was jealous of him. Crazy, right?

  But there it was. Watching him surrounded by people he loved and who loved and respected him in return. Knowing he felt his roots and traditions every minute he was standing on Dine land. It made her, well…feel left out.

  That was crazy. She’d been raised in a huge Irish-American family and couldn’t possibly ache to belong to yet another big group. But she did.

  Her own family had never understood her. When she’d decided to become a doctor, her brothers had all assumed it was because of the money she could make. She’d tried to explain, but none of them ever understood. Just as her ex had never really gotten into her true motivations, either.

  None of them spoke the same language as she did. They talked dollars. She talked about making a difference.

  Navajo had turned out to be a much easier language for her to learn.

  She kept watching as two youngsters with long ebony hair came over to Ben and threw their arms around his waist. They grinned up into his eyes and Tory detected another subtle shift in her feelings.

  This time, when her heart finally put a name on the emotion, she forced herself to admit it was love. Though she was sure she’d never experienced such a thing before, the feeling she’d just dug up from the depths of her gut had to be what other people called love.

  What else would cause this desperate need to please him—beyond any consideration for her own pleasure? To protect him—even at the cost of her own well-being?

  As if he could hear her thoughts, Ben lifted his head and sought her out. When their gazes met and locked, the tension sparked between them as if it was a live electric wire. The intense heat, the meeting of minds and hearts in agreement—she felt all that and much more in every tendon and muscle of her body.

  He turned and started in her direction. With each step he took, her temperature increased by degrees.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as he got closer.

  Her first impulse was to simply nod her head because her throat was tight with emotion.

  But she’d trained herself to speak aloud in case he couldn’t see her movements. “Yes. And you? How’s your vision?”

  “So far, so good. I’m sorry for leaving you on your own. I couldn’t seem to break away from ceremonial duties. Are you unhappy you came?”

  “Not a bit. I enjoyed watching the ceremony, and the food has been terrific. All your family has been most kind. Can you sit with me for a while now and explain some of the things I’ve seen?”

  “Well…I could. But your presence has been requested by my great-uncle, Hastiin Lakai Begay of the Salt Clan for the Big Medicine People. He’s the family patriarch and we have some trouble telling him no. Do you mind?”

  “My presence? Without you there?” She had a moment of pure panic. “You know my Navajo is not very good. What could he want from me?”

  Ben laughed, and the sound was so sweet that her fears fled in a rush of warm goodwill.

  “Don’t worry about the language,” he told her with a wave of dismissal. “Uncle Lakai speaks perfect English—when he wants to. And he’s nearly blind these days, so he’s not threatening in the least.”

  “Blind? Not…”

  Once again Ben laughed. “No. His blindness is quite normal for a man of his age. Macular degeneration. Nothing exotic. But he does tend to use it sometimes to explain away his more…uh…eccentric behaviors.

  “And as for what he wants from you,” Ben continued with a smile, “no doubt he wants you to be a fresh audience. Uncle Lakai is the family storyteller. All of us have heard his tales so many times that we have trouble sitting through them anymore.”

  Ben crooked his elbow and offered it to her when she stood to follow him. “You probably aren’t going to like knowing this,” he told her in a conspiratorial tone. “But the traditional Navajo way of storytelling means that no one teller ever finishes the tale. It’s an ancient social custom, meant to give everyone a chance to be the star for a time. It can be rather frustrating unless there’s a circle of storytellers standing by ready to finish up.”

  “You’re kidding,” she sputtered with a laugh of her own. “So nobody gets to tell their own punch line?”

  Ben shook his head, but his eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Not with the oldest generation, no. Don’t worry, though. One of the younger, more modern generations will be happy to fill you in if it’s a legend we know.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  She looked up at his profile just in time to see a wry grin. “If it’s not, then I guess we’ll just have to teach you how to have a Navajo imagination so you can make up your own ending.”

  Terrific. First the language, then the plant remedies and the legends, and now she had to get a Navajo imagination, too? Whoo, boy. She had most definitely dropped out of the sky and wasn’t in Kansas anymore, scarecrow.

  Ben had been so proud of Tory that he nearly pledged his undying allegiance right there on the spot in front of the entire clan. When he’d introduced her to his formidable uncle Lakai, she’d greeted the elder with a few well-pronounced Navajo phrases and made the man an admirer for life.

  As with the rest of his clan, ninety-year-old Hastiin Lakai Begay was enthralled to meet the blond doctor who was trying so hard not to stand out from the crowd. Tory might not know it, but that was also a big part of the traditional Navajo Way. Fitting in. Belonging.

  Ben loved her for somehow empirically knowing that tradition and for being the kind of person who would care about such things. He…hell, he just loved her for who she was.

  But he caught himself wishing for an answer to the problem of some day having to set aside his love. Ben was more and more convinced that losing her in the end would be completely devastating. Forcing himself to shove the growing concern about it out of his mind, he had to find a way to move ahead with his life and live more in the moment.

  Settling her and Uncle Lakai down on a couple of camp chairs behind one of the newly lit bonfires, Ben asked one of the women to bring them the traditional cups of coffee that were a big part of the storytellers’ tradition. Then he left them to get acquainted. He found it hard to walk away from her side for any reason.

  But he needed a few minutes to talk to some o
f his cousins in the Brotherhood who were attending tonight’s clan ceremony. Hunter, Kody and Michael Ayze were waiting for him to start the strategic planning session concerning their next moves in the Skinwalker war. The men also needed to discuss the potential suspects who might be qualified as the “medicine dude” that the teenager had mentioned.

  It was important to track down any leads about the ones who looked like Navajos most of the time but who could turn into Skinwalker witches at will. More than important, actually. It was a matter of life and death. The life and death of the entire Navajo Nation.

  “You are the one who is working with the Plant Tender?” Uncle Lakai asked as he sipped his coffee.

  The question surprised Tory into a few seconds of stunned silence. She’d been expecting questions about her relationship to Ben, or about her plans for the future on the reservation, or even about current research being done on macular degeneration. But the question about Shirley took her back.

  “I’ve been learning the plants and remedies from Shirley Nez, yes. I find it an interesting and pleasant occupation.”

  Uncle Lakai had both hands wrapped around his steaming mug of coffee. But as he lowered the mug, he turned his face in her direction. Blank, black eyes stared out over the top of her head.

  “Lessons are much more than simply pleasant and interesting for the future Plant Tender,” he said abruptly.

  Before she could ask what he meant, he began again, “I have sight.”

  “Excuse me?” Was he talking about getting his own vision back?

  “I have ‘seen’ my nephew’s days in the future. Ben Wauneka will be able to see his own grandchildren come into the world.”

  “Oh.” Uncle Lakai must be a fortune-teller. Tory wished Ben had warned her. The man didn’t seem odd in any other ways, though.

  “You will find his salvation.”

  “Me? But I’m not a researcher. Does that mean you think one of the outside people I’ve contacted will know of someone who’s working on a new cure?”

  Uncle Lakai shook his head. “Not outside. You must never leave the land between the sacred four corners. The People need you.”

  “But…” The old man’s words confused her with his strange rambling.

  She cleared her throat and tried again. “I will do whatever I can for the People while I fulfill my obligation and complete my contract. And I’ll try my best to locate someone with a cure for Ben before I go. But eventually I’ll have to leave Dinetah. This is not my home. I’m not a part of a clan here. I don’t belong.”

  The old man clucked his tongue. “Ben Wauneka’s cure will come from here in Dinetah, a gift from the Yei. Do not deliberately be obscure with me, young woman doctor. Your only obligation will forever be to the Navajo and to the clan whose roof shelters you. Our Plant Tender would not have chosen you if this were not so.”

  She took a deep breath and gave up. “Okay. Thanks for…uh…telling me.”

  “I have more to tell. Two things are very important for you to know.” He stopped talking and took another long sip of coffee.

  Tory sat back, waiting. This ought to be interesting.

  Finally, the old man closed his eyes and began to speak. “Long ago, before the days were counted by the rise of the sun but after the time when the Changing Woman had given us rules to live by,” Uncle Lakai said in the singsong voice that reminded Tory of the old Irish legend tellers.

  “A hataalii discovered a new dark wind and named it greed,” he went on. “That medicine man joined with others to turn certain powers given to them for only good into something used for only evil.

  “The evil hataalii was a very powerful and smart human,” Uncle Lakai continued. “But he longed to become one of the Yei. Hidden in a cave under a river, this evil man discovered the powers of witchcraft. And soon he designed secret powders, made from sacred minerals and plants, that would give him superhuman strength. He went beyond nature to learn how to turn himself into animals who did not abide by the rules of Changing Woman.”

  As Lakai slowed down and took a drink, Tory almost interrupted him to ask a question. But something told her that would not be acceptable behavior. So she stayed quiet.

  “Evil soon became the given name of that hataalii,” he began again after a second breath. “Ancestors of the People also gave a name to the medicine men who had joined him in walking the earth in the skins of animals. Wherever their name was spoken, bad things befell the earth.”

  Uncle Lakai’s voice lowered to a rasp. Tory almost stopped him and wondered if she should call someone to take him home. She worried that he was overtaxing himself.

  He cleared his throat and shook his head, as if he knew of her fears and denied them. But his next sentences contained more Navajo words than English, and it became harder for Tory to keep up. He was obviously getting tired.

  “The evil hataalii was not content to simply rule by greed. He envied the Yei their ability to have life never-ending. As he grew ever more powerful, he finally came upon their secret….” Old Uncle Lakai stopped speaking, but his blank ebony eyes had grown bright and danced with amusement in the glow of firelight.

  “You don’t mean that’s where you’re going to end the story,” Tory grumbled without thinking.

  Uncle Lakai reached a warm, bony hand over and patted hers. “Always leave part of the tale for others to finish. It is the Way.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “There is one more thing that I must say now before I grow too tired. Shirley Nez has forgotten something that I have recently remembered.”

  Okay, now Tory really was confused. He’d completely changed topics again.

  “Tell the Plant Tender she must search for the skunk-smelling raggedy goat sage. And to remember that it has other uses. She has forgotten them, and no one else knows the truth.”

  “All right. I’ll give her the message. Now, let me find someone to come take you home.” Tory jumped up, but then turned back when she remembered an important question that had been in the back of her mind. “Please, so that I may know how to ask someone to finish your tale, what do you call it? Does the legend have a name?”

  “The story is one seldom told in public. Be careful who you ask.

  “It goes by the name the People gave to the followers of the original evil hataalii,” he added in a near whisper. “The ones who learned to change over and become animals. They still walk amongst us. Be careful of them.”

  Uncle Lakai’s voice faded away and Tory stepped over to check on his welfare. As she leaned near, she could hear him mumbling under his breath and realized he’d almost fallen asleep. But she bent closer and listened anyway.

  “Be careful, Plant Tender. They know you as you do not know them. Watch out for the…Skinwalkers.”

  13

  “D on’t worry about the Navajo doctor,” Shirley Nez told her with a shake of the head. “Ben Wauneka is safe in the company of the Brotherhood this afternoon. You must continue with your lessons. There isn’t much time.”

  Tory checked her watch and then stared at the back of Shirley’s head as the older woman headed up a narrow shale path toward what she’d called a special “collecting site.”

  “We have hours of daylight left,” Tory called after her. She hurried to catch up as she gingerly picked her way through the loose rocks and sand. Her head already spinning with plant names and uses, Tory was still determined to learn every new lesson Shirley could teach.

  She had on shorts while Shirley wore long slacks, but both sported wide-brimmed hats. Tory imagined herself looking like a lost Anglo tourist. Fortunately, her hat was made out of fashionable straw, while the odd-shaped thing sitting on Shirley’s head seemed to be created from a light-gray felt and was incredibly misshapen and ugly.

  The sun felt beyond hot up here at this altitude as the heat radiated off sandstone rocks and granite boulders. Shirley claimed they were going to a high place where the hataaliis regularly found sacred plants. But Tory wondered how any liv
ing thing could grow in such a harsh environment. This would be a good lesson for her to learn.

  Without stopping, Shirley began speaking over her shoulder as she climbed the shale footholds. “We are moving through one of many drainages on the eastern slopes of the Chuska Mountain range. It’s late spring now and the snow melt is mostly dried up. But notice the water seep starting to show up here and there?

  “You’ve already visited the low grassy areas where the hataaliis gather plants for Enemy and Life Way ceremonies,” Shirley continued as she climbed. “We are now searching for a much rarer plant that is very important to the heritage of the Dine.”

  The older woman stopped to take a breath. “It provided the People with much-needed moisture in ancient times of severe drought. But due to the modern ravages of strip coal mining and our water table being contaminated with uranium runoff, this Plant Clan has retreated and now hides in secret cliff dwellings.”

  “What is it used for these days if it’s so rare?”

  Shirley shook her head and took another step. “Only the hataaliis use it anymore, in their prayer sticks and for one or two special cures. They tell me it seems to make a patient’s breathing come easier, but there are other cures more readily available for that.”

  They rounded a granite boulder and Tory was amazed to discover they were suddenly walking beside a real stream of water. Amazed because a minute ago she couldn’t imagine a drier spot on the face of the earth except for either the Sahara or Gobi Desert.

  Deep shadows began to dance eerily against the granite canyon walls. Looking like jumping sheep or goats, the shadows made her think of the message she had to deliver.

  “By the way, Plant Tender,” she called out to Shirley. “Hastiin Lakai Begay asked me to mention the skunk-smelling raggedy goat sage to you and to say that you should remember it has other uses.”