Soul of the Sacred Earth

by Vella Munn

  “Without you and other newcomers, our women and girls would not be full of fear and sometimes cry themselves to sleep. Our men would work and pray and hold ceremonies as they have since our Emergence.”

  “Stop it!” He clamped his hands over his ears. “Have you not heard a word of my sermons? You, more than anyone else, should know what I am saying! Believe in God and vow obedience to Him, disavow your pagan—”

  “What is pagan? Because our beliefs are not yours, they are wrong?”

  “Stop it. Stop it!” He pressed against his temple so hard that the skin there turned white. “Oh, Lord, why must I suffer so? I gave my life over to You, gladly devote myself to Your teachings, and yet these children are blind to Your wisdom.”

  She’d heard him speak like that before and knew his words would blind him to anything else. Still, she couldn’t walk away yet.

  “Padre, you are a gentle man, unlike other Spanish. Hopi women too are gentle. When they are forced to submit, their hearts tear and bleed. Cannot you tell the newcomers that, order them to—”

  “You want me to command young men to live lives of abstinence?”

  “Yes.”

  “You do not understand. You never will.”

  • • •

  After Morning Butterfly left, Angelico struggled to turn his attention and energies back to the question of how to construct an adequate roof given the few suitable materials at his disposal, but his mind refused to dismiss the just-finished conversation.

  In the past, Morning Butterfly had been unassuming, keeping her eyes respectfully downcast and attending most of his sermons. It had pleased him—no, it had pleased the Lord—to watch her, and he’d allowed himself to believe the rest of her people would follow in her footsteps.

  But it had all been deception. She understood nothing. Worse, she did not seem to want to understand.

  Chapter Twenty

  On their bellies, Cougar and Blue Swallow worked their way closer to Oraibi. The two had left their horses at Little Wind Canyon, which was halfway between the Navajo village and the Hopi pueblo. Cougar would have preferred to come alone, but Blue Swallow had insisted on accompanying him, pointing out that if something happened to one of them, the other might live to warn their people. Although Cougar acknowledged the brave’s courage, Blue Swallow reminded him of a young elk determined to challenge an old bull’s dominance.

  At the moment, Blue Swallow was slightly ahead of him, frequently rising to peer over brush and boulders. Perhaps the time would come when Blue Swallow would learn the wisdom of caution, but if he didn’t and his recklessness cost him his life—

  “The padre’s house grows taller and taller,” Blue Swallow pointed out unnecessarily. “There must be many in his family. Otherwise, what need does he have for something that big?”

  “Perhaps the Spanish believe they need to build walls around everything,” Cougar offered. “Maybe they think they can keep the Hopi from escaping that way.”

  “The Hopi will never run. Look!”

  Blue Swallow pointed at a distant shadow east of the unfinished church. Shading his eyes, Cougar recognized a gray wolf, its nose pointed into the wind.

  “Perhaps your chindi-wolf . . .”

  “Perhaps,” Cougar said when his companion’s voice trailed off.

  “Has it approached you again? Have you dreamed of it?”

  “Dreams, yes, but although I sat alone for a better part of a day and a night, what I saw once has not returned.”

  “Maybe it was not a chindi then?”

  Instead of replying, Cougar continued to study the creature as he asked himself if Blue Corn Eater had turned into a chindi after the soldiers burned his body and either blamed Cougar for his death or wanted revenge. Although the motionless wolf made him uneasy, he knew to wait for the answer.

  “Perhaps,” Blue Swallow continued after a short silence, “the wolf has never seen a church and seeks to make sense of it.”

  “If that is so, he will starve before the truth comes to him.”

  Blue Swallow chuckled, then turned serious. “I did not say this before because . . . maybe because I wanted my words to be heard only by you—but you were right. You saw into the soldiers’ hearts and knew what was most important to them: emeralds. I am glad they are gone.”

  Cougar tried not to think about what Captain Lopez and his men were doing, where they were, and what they might do after they’d searched the great canyon, but trying and accomplishing weren’t the same thing. If his prayers were answered, a chindi would send the soldiers to the edge of the canyon—and then over it to their deaths.

  And if no spirit heard his prayers—

  Forcing his thoughts off what he wasn’t ready to face, he concentrated on Blue Swallow. Silent as a snake, the brave had started crawling forward again. A spider the size of his thumbnail clung to Blue Swallow’s shirt, reminding him that Spider Woman had taught the Dineh how to weave. Perhaps this tiny creature was one of Spider Woman’s children.

  They were getting close enough to Oraibi that speaking was unwise, and he was grateful for the silence—or he would have been if he wasn’t consumed by thoughts of Captain Lopez.

  Blue Swallow seemed to have forgotten the wolf; either that or his attention was now fully on remaining hidden. A wise man puts safety before anything else when he is among his enemies, and Cougar struggled to take his cue from Blue Swallow’s wisdom. He’d taken note of the increased activity in the various Hopi farm plots and was glad the crops hadn’t been left to die. He’d heard that other priests at other villages claimed most of every harvest and sent it far away. If Fray Angelico attempted to do the same thing, would the Hopi rise up against him?

  Blue Swallow stopped so suddenly that Cougar nearly ran into him. Chiding himself for once again allowing his thoughts to distract him from what he was doing, he peered in the direction his companion was staring. So close that he could reach him in no more than two bounds stood a soldier. The young man was unclothed from the waist up, revealing a broad chest and surprisingly slender arms. His legs were long, his boots large. His shoulders had been burned by the sun and the skin was flaking off in places. He held nothing in his hands but had strapped a short knife to his waist.

  Shocked to see a soldier when he’d thought they had all gone with Captain Lopez, Cougar signaled to Blue Swallow that they should move around the man. Blue Swallow nodded agreement, but instead of crawling away, he continued to study the stranger while Cougar, who had felt cruel Spanish hands on him, only wanted to leave. He was still trying to get Blue Swallow’s attention when the sound of approaching voices froze him. By blocking out the wind’s soft laughter as it played with the grass, he managed to identify several Hopi women’s voices; not only that, he could understand their conversation.

  One was convinced that the padre was little better than a coyote because he let the Hopi do the work and then claimed what food he wanted. Another pointed out that at least a coyote had a sharp nose and long legs with which to protect itself, while the padre would be easy prey for any scavenger if he ventured too far into the desert.

  The last to speak had little to say beyond warning her companions that no one except a fool would dismiss a coyote’s teeth; despite her near whisper, Cougar recognized Morning Butterfly’s voice. It swirled around him like fog, light as a hummingbird.

  Even in his dreams, he hadn’t allowed himself to believe he’d see her again, and as she came into view, his surroundings faded. He was barely aware of Blue Swallow, and the soldier no longer mattered.

  She was alive, healthy if he could believe what her voice told him. No harm had come to her, and most important, she hadn’t been forced to accompany Captain Lopez.

  With his body pressed to Mother Earth, he caught only glimpses of her. She walked in the middle, the other two shielding her from his view, insulating her and—

  Alarm slammed into him at the realization that they were approaching the soldier, who’d turned toward them. If he hadn
’t spent his life in tune with his world, Cougar might have dismissed the man’s hungry look. As it was, he sent out a silent warning to Morning Butterfly.

  In the middle of taking a step, she halted, placed a restraining hand on the other women’s arms, then squared her shoulders. Fear shared space with respect in Cougar, for truly this was a woman who faced life and all its dangers.

  He couldn’t understand what she said to the soldier, just that whatever it was made him say something that caused her to draw away from him. With his hand pressed low on his belly, the Spaniard stepped toward Morning Butterfly and the other women. Gasping, first one and then the other turned and fled, but Cougar paid them no attention because Morning Butterfly hadn’t moved.

  Barely aware of what he was doing, he inched forward. Blue Swallow gripped his ankle, but he didn’t take his eyes off the scene in front of him. Morning Butterfly hadn’t looked around for help, which told him a great deal, not just about her but about her people as well.

  The Spaniard, silent now, reached for the knife at his side. Drawing it free, he held it up for her to see.

  “Cougar, no.” Blue Swallow hissed as Cougar’s muscles tensed.

  Morning Butterfly said something to the knife-wielding man, then stepped toward him. When she spoke again, she’d dropped her voice so low that Cougar couldn’t catch it. Like his namesake, Cougar knew he was ready to attack—he would do anything to protect her.

  A ray of sunlight touched the knife blade Madariaga held, then danced away, uninterested in human concerns. Morning Butterfly took note of its deadly message, but it didn’t distract her from the Spaniard’s face. His eyes, so dark they might have belonged to one of her people, said he wanted her, and yet he wasn’t a stupid man.

  “You will not touch me,” she ordered. “If you try, my clansmen will call on our kachinas and your blood will flow.”

  “Kachinas?”

  Cougar knew kachinas were peaceful spirits, and a Hopi would never ask one to harm someone.

  “You know who I am,” Morning Butterfly continued. “The padre—”

  “He understands my weakness. And he needs me.”

  “Put away your knife,” she ordered. “Why do you draw a weapon against me? I have done you no harm, I am no threat.”

  “Hardly. Every other female runs away the moment she sees me. Only you look me in the eye and can talk to me. Do you have any idea how long it has been since I’ve talked to a woman? I have been so lonely,” he continued. “Fray Angelico, all he talks about is fulfilling his vows. He does not understand what it is to be a man alone; he cannot possibly.”

  • • •

  Wondering if she’d made a mistake by talking to Madariaga, Morning Butterfly glanced around, but if the padre was nearby, she couldn’t see him. The sense that she and the soldier were being watched tugged at the corners of her consciousness, yet she didn’t dare let herself be distracted.

  “I will not give myself to you,” she told him. “If you touch me, you will feel my body’s hate.”

  To her surprise, he sighed, and his face took on a wistful look. “Coming here was the biggest mistake I ever made. Only one thing makes it bearable.”

  Whatever sympathy she might have felt for him died with his first step toward her.

  “No.” She swallowed and spoke again, forcing courage into the word. “No.”

  She was certain he was going to say something, felt the words gather inside him, but he remained silent. His forward progress and the steady knife spoke for him. Something, tears perhaps, glinted in his eyes; despite herself, she backed away. After a lifetime of going barefoot, her feet were hardened yet sensitive to the land she walked; they told her she was balancing on a downward slope and if she weren’t careful, she risked falling.

  “I will not kill you, Morning Butterfly. I would never—you are so beautiful. I never thought I would say that about one of your kind, but you cared for Pablo and you and I have talked and . . . a man—a man can only take so much. This godforsaken place is driving me insane.”

  Madariaga launched himself at her, but she was ready for him, whirling to her left and propelling herself forward. Balanced on her toes, she fled up the incline, but the slope slowed her enough that he slammed into her and knocked her off balance.

  Recovering before she hit the ground, she shoved the soldier away and started to run. He moved quickly, locking his arms around her, clamping his free hand around her waist. The knife was so close to her side that she felt the whisper of contact.

  She spotted movement out of the corner of her eye even as Madariaga’s breath washed over her neck and sent fingers of heat into her hair. Repulsed, she jerked away, but the knife touched her side again, this time slicing through her dress.

  Movement again, closer, large and dark.

  Then she was free. Her attacker was locked in an embrace with a nearly naked man, and the one who’d come to her aid was the larger and stronger. Madariaga twisted his wrist so the knife was aimed at her rescuer’s naked flesh, coming closer, closer.

  “Look out!” Morning Butterfly screamed.

  Her protector reacted by shoving the Spaniard away. As he did, the knife sliced through air—then briefly found a home.

  Blood streamed from the warrior’s side. Ignoring his wound, he kicked out, his foot connecting with the soldier’s chin and propelling him backward. Madariaga threw his hands behind him in a desperate attempt to cushion his fall, and as he went down, his hands slammed against the ground and the knife flew out of his grip.

  Without thinking, Morning Butterfly dove for the weapon. Its weight was unfamiliar, but she felt stronger and more powerful with it in her grip.

  “Morning Butterfly, run!”

  Cougar!

  “What are you doing here?” His side streamed blood as he advanced on his fallen foe.

  Certain he meant to kill the momentarily helpless Madariaga, she grabbed Cougar’s arm, made his wild strength hers. “Please, if you harm him, his captain will kill you.”

  “You wish him to live?”

  No! Holding the word inside, she took in their surroundings, noting several Hopi who stared at them from a distance. She still couldn’t see the padre, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nearby.

  “Cougar, I beg you, leave!”

  He continued to strain toward the man he’d bested, but the fact that she could hold him back told her that her plea had reached him—or his wound had weakened him.

  There was so much she wanted to say to Cougar. He’d saved her from attack; maybe she would have died today if it wasn’t for him. And because of her, he’d been wounded. Those things needed words known only to the two of them, but there wasn’t time.

  “You are not safe here,” she said. “Our enemies will kill you if you stay.”

  “You want me gone?”

  “I—I want you alive.”

  He nodded at that, his sleek hair lifting and falling, chest and shoulders moving in unison. Then he turned toward her and looked into her eyes, and his smile heated her as the sun never had.

  “It is the Holy People’s will that I am here today,” he told her. “They guided me to you.”

  Maybe they did. “Cougar, my heart—my heart thanks you.”

  Someone shouted and, together, they turned to face the sound. A Hopi woman with a baby strapped to her back pointed in the direction of the church. Fray Angelico was running toward them.

  “Go! Now!”

  • • •

  “This is unforgivable. You were commanded to sin no more, were you not?”

  Madariaga’s gaze remained on the ground.

  “I will pray for your soul, my son; none is so deep into the devil’s clutches that he is beyond redemption, but I require some assurance from you that you are truly repentant this time and will not allow yourself to again be swayed by weaknesses of the flesh.”

  “Father?”

  “What?” Angelico didn’t attempt to disguise his irritation.

  “It is
not as if I did anything wrong.”

  Nothing wrong! If it hadn’t been for the Navajo’s intervention, the man he’d befriended would have ravished not just any Hopi, but Morning Butterfly.

  “Pray!” he ordered. “Pray for your mortal soul. We will discuss the manner of your penitence once I have decided upon its proper course. Mark my words, if you so much as look at Morning Butterfly again—”

  “What about the Navajo?”

  “What?” Angelico demanded, his anger at being interrupted barely in check.

  “The savage who tried to kill me, the one I wounded.” Madariaga continued his study of the ground. “Who knows what he might have done to her if I had not stopped him.”

  “He stopped you.”

  “No.”

  “Silence!” A modest, calm manner was a virtue, but there was only so much any man, even one who has devoted his life to God, can abide. “You think I did not see? Believe me, my son, there is little that takes place here that I am not aware of. Little that is not my responsibility. Just this morning, I offered you prayers, but obviously you are not capable of receiving them. Perhaps you believe you can stand up to the devil on your own.”

  “No, no,” Madariaga whispered, as the padre knew he would. One thing about simple souls, their fear of the devil’s influence was limitless. They might sin—they did sin—but then they were overcome by the need for repentance.

  Without prompting, Madariaga knelt and kissed Angelico’s feet and remained bent forward. Although Angelico believed himself to be without selfish pride, he nevertheless gained satisfaction from Madariaga’s attitude. In a world with few tangible rewards and endless trials, was a moment of victory a transgression?

  They were inside the roofless church, and although perhaps he should have dealt with the young man’s transgressions in a more public place, he’d labored too hard on the structure not to put it to use. He’d allowed—encouraged the Hopi to follow them in here, but only a handful had.