Captive Spirit

by Liz Fichera

  His face curved into my hand.

  “As if I have to make such a promise, Honovi,” I chastised him. But then in a softer voice I said, “You are my life.”

  Honovi kissed my palm.

  Behind me, Lobo whimpered. His tail thumped like a drumbeat against the dirt.

  “Come on, old friend,” I said, reaching for the top of his head with my other hand. I stroked the soft spot between his eyes. “Too late to turn back now. You’re stuck with us.”

  Lobo.

  I hadn’t been surprised when Lobo raced down Apache Mountain after the sun reappeared in the sky. Truth is, I prayed that he would. I wanted him to return with us. I’d grown so fond of his expressive golden eyes and his big clumsy paws. When I looked upon his face, it was almost as if I could tell what he was thinking.

  Lobo was also the reason Honovi and I survived the long journey home. He hunted rabbit when we were too weak and exhausted. His snout found water in the most unlikeliest of places. The wolf was a gift from Hunab Ku.

  And Lobo was a constant reminder that our village was a lot smaller than Honovi and I ever imagined.

  ***

  No one could have prepared me for what waited on the other side of Sleeping Mule Deer.

  Honovi had tried to describe our village after the fire but the reality was far worse than the images I had painted inside my head.

  By the time we climbed to the top of Sleeping Mule Deer, black ash coated our sandals and clung to our deerskins like death that would never brush off. Everywhere I turned, my lips tasted fire. The village below was uncharacteristically lifeless, silent and grey. Only storm clouds rumbled overhead.

  My body shuddered uneasily from the quiet, and my nose wrinkled from the rotting smells. They filled the air.

  Honovi sighed. “It gets worse, Aiyana. I’m sorry.”

  I shook my head. “How’s that possible?” Hopelessness hung over our village like a cloud. “And where are our people?” I said, more a question to myself.

  Honovi didn’t answer.

  My eyes scanned the pit houses, what little remained of them. Like the fields, their sides were scorched black, brittle and crumbling. Without the thatched roofs, the insides were exposed, not that it mattered. No one made a home inside any of them. No one prepared stews and dried meats in the courtyards. Sweet flute music did not fill the air. Everyone was gone.

  Vanished.

  “Gaho?” I said aloud. “Ituha? Where are they?” I started to jog down the side of Sleeping Mule Deer, slipping on the ashes when the ground grew too steep.

  Honovi ran beside me, his hand underneath my elbow.

  When we reached the bottom, I started to race alongside the familiar path that snaked around the river, passing the hiding spot where Diego found me. I ran straight for my home, not stopping. Honovi followed and Lobo ran beside me.

  “Gaho?” I yelled when I got closer. My throat thickened. “Ituha?”

  Impatient, Lobo ran ahead, zigzagging in front of us, confused and anxious.

  “Where is everybody?” I shouted. My voice bounced eerily between the crumbling walls.

  I didn’t stop running until we reached the courtyard that joined our pit houses. A low wall was all that remained. I barely recognized it in all the destruction.

  Tears welled behind my eyes when I saw the ground littered with shards of clay jars and half-burned baskets. Black streaks covered the wall where Onawa drew pictures of Sky Wanderers in red and brown paint.

  “Where’s my mother?” I said again to Honovi, numbly.

  Next to me, Lobo growled.

  “They’re gone,” snapped a tired, flat voice. “They’re all gone.”

  Honovi and I both spun around.

  Honovi’s eyes narrowed. His whole body stiffened against mine.

  “Pakuna,” he said.

  “White Ant,” Pakuna spat. The corners of his mouth turned up in a grin. “You came back.” He seemed surprised. Then his empty eyes settled on me.

  I stood closer to Honovi. He draped his arm across my shoulder.

  Pakuna’s eyes glared at him.

  Behind Pakuna, Miakoda strode toward the courtyard, leaning heavily on his familiar stick. He’d grown thinner. His face was grey like a storm cloud. But his stick still dug into the ground with each deliberate step. The sound still made my insides flinch.

  Chitsa walked alongside him, just as slowly, her grey hair matted and tangled about her face.

  “Where is everyone?” Honovi said.

  “Dead,” Pakuna said without emotion. “Or fled.”

  “Fled? When?”

  Pakuna sighed, as if considering whether to tell us anything. Finally, he said, “Many starved during the Season of Shorter Days. There was barely any food in the desert, no animals to hunt. The crops, all gone.”

  “But what about Ituha and Gaho?” Honovi asked impatiently, his eyes scanning the deserted village, what was left of it. “They were here when I left.”

  “The rest of your White Ant Clan left like cowards.” Pakuna spat to the ground, barely missing Honovi’s feet. “It was after the sun disappeared from the sky. Many believed it was a sign to abandon the village, even Yuma. He convinced them to leave.”

  “Leave?” I blurted. “Leave where?” There was no where. There was only this courtyard, this village, this place where the people of the White Ant and Red Ant Clans lived for generations.

  Pakuna’s eyes finally unlocked from Honovi’s and met mine. At first he regarded me coolly. Then he nodded over my shoulder to the boulders that were as jagged as Eyota’s teeth.

  “There,” Pakuna said. “Where the sun rises each day.”

  I turned and looked up at Honovi. “Then we must follow them.”

  Honovi nodded. “My family left with yours. I’m certain of it.”

  “Wait!” Miakoda lifted his stick. His empty eyes suddenly found life. “Your place is here, Aiyana. You were promised to Pakuna! Your father agreed to it. This is your home, your village. This is where we will rebuild.”

  My eyes widened. I swallowed, hard. I couldn’t imagine rebuilding with Pakuna and Miakoda, even if I had been promised. Surely Ituha would understand. Wouldn’t he?

  But then Honovi stepped in front of me. “No,” he said, answering for me, for us, his voice remarkably calm. “Aiyana’s place is with me now. We are joined.”

  Pakuna’s eyes blazed with outrage. “Insolence, White Ant! She was promised to me—”

  Honovi raised his hand when Pakuna stepped closer. “And that promise has been broken, brother.”

  “Brother? You dare to call me brother? I’d die before I’d ever regard a White Ant my brother.”

  “So be it,” Honovi said, still eerily calm.

  “Just because you found Aiyana and returned with this—this coyote—” Pakuna pointed to Lobo, “—you think your life is different?” Spittle foamed at the corners of his cracked lips. “You think you’re better than me?”

  Honovi smiled. He didn’t answer. This time he didn’t need to.

  But his silence only fueled Pakuna’s anger. He lunged for Honovi, ignoring Lobo’s warning growls.

  I held back Lobo as Chitsa, remarkably, stepped between them.

  “Wait!” Chitsa demanded, surprising even Miakoda. She placed one hand on Pakuna’s shoulder. With the other, she reached for my face, pressing her dry palm against my cheeks, my eyes, my chin.

  “It’s me, Chitsa. It’s Aiyana,” I said. “Daughter of Gaho and Ituha.”

  Her hand dropped to my shoulder, satisfied. Her lips crinkled as her tongue dragged over her toothless gums. “This must stop, this fighting. Now. This is no way to begin.” She paused and then drew in a ragged breath that wheezed through her gums. “Hunab Ku will not allow it. And I fear we’ve already angered him enough.”

  Pakuna and Honovi dropped their arms but continued to glare at each other as they made half-circles on either side of Chitsa. It was like ball court all over again.

  “And you, Aiya
na. Remember what I told you? The night you were taken?”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered. Run when you think you should walk. How could I forget her words? I really didn’t understand what she meant then.

  But I learned.

  I pulled my shoulders back. “I cannot marry you, Pakuna. My place is with Honovi and his family.” I turned to Honovi. In a clear voice, I said, “It’s where my heart always belonged.”

  Pakuna snickered. I ignored him.

  Then Honovi reached for my hand. I threaded mine through his and placed both of our hands against my stomach, and Pakuna’s sneer faded. I was as married to Honovi as I’d ever be.

  We had to leave—Honovi and I and the new life that grew inside me.

  “You must leave here, too,” I said to Pakuna. I turned to Miakoda and Chitsa. “All of you,” I warned. “The man who took me. He calls himself Diego. He’s from a village called Spain. He’ll be back. And the next time he’ll bring others. They’ll kill you. Or sell you as slaves. I’m certain of it.”

  Miakoda stepped forward, his brow furrowed, unconvinced. “And how would a simple White Ant girl know of these things?” His tone was doubtful.

  “I saw greed in the man’s eyes when he held a handful of yellow stones. The mountains beyond Sleeping Mule Deer, the highest one, where trees grow as high as the clouds. That mountain belongs to the Apache and it’s bursting with these stones. I saw them scattered at the bottom of their creeks like ripe berries underneath a tree.”

  Pakuna laughed. “Apache? Trees as tall as clouds?” he snickered with disbelief. “Have you grown as mad as Chitsa?”

  Honovi’s voice got louder. His nostrils flared. “Aiyana speaks the truth. I saw them, too. And more.”

  “Diego will be back,” I said again. “He’ll bring others. I’m sure of it. You must believe us. You’re not safe here. These mountains can no longer protect you. Come with us,” I begged. “We’ll find the others together.”

  “Never!” Pakuna yelled. “This is our village. This is your village, too. If you leave here, you can never return.”

  Chitsa began to mumble to herself. She shook a necklace tied around her neck. Tiny river shells hung all along it. When the necklace moved, it sounded like rain.

  She was trying to remind me.

  I nodded at her, just once, and the corners of her wrinkled mouth turned up underneath so many folds of skin.

  Silently, I reached for Honovi’s hand and threaded my fingers through his. Lobo looked up at us, panting.

  And then we started to run.

  About the Author

  Liz Fichera wrote her first story about her collie, Lady, when she was ten years old. She’s been hooked on writing stories ever since although, mercifully, her story lines have expanded beyond furry animals that talk and dance. Liz’s path from hobby writer to published writer was neither easy nor quick. From the time of her first story till the publication of her first novel, Liz has worked as a woefully bad receptionist, teacher, technical writer, project manager, and IT Director for a Fortune 500 firm. Born and raised in Park Ridge, Illinois, Liz moved to Arizona after college, never expecting to live more than one year among cactus and people who’d never seen snow. She was wrong. When she’s not busy writing her next novel, Liz likes to travel, visit museums, support local theater productions and try to cook Italian dishes that taste as good as her mother’s. Liz and her husband, Craig, live in Phoenix, Arizona. Captive Spirit is her debut novel. You can visit her on her website at www.lizfichera.com.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4268-9039-0

  Copyright © 2010 by Liz Fichera

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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