Moonlight and Magic

by Rebecca Paisley

  A sixth warrior, painted black from head to toe, appeared but did not join the other five. He stood still and silent by the fire, and Chimera took careful note of the wide berth he was given by the spectators. He did not wear a wooden headpiece; only a bunch of feathers was attached to his mask. He wore a skirt of woven yucca that touched his ankles. In his hands were wands of spruce, and he had spruce tied to his arms.

  Chimera gasped when Venus was brought forth by the squaw who’d taken her earlier. The woman laid Venus, who was in a wooden cradleboard, on the ground in front of the man who beat the drum and then left to join the audience. The four warriors who wore the wooden headdresses began to dance around Venus, making strange noises and bending to the right, left, forward, and backward. They spun in a circle on their right foot and then repeated the action on their left foot before running through the camp, waving the wands they carried.

  “Sweet heaven, Sterling,” Chimera choked when the dancers surrounded Venus again. “I think they’re going to beat her with those sticks!”

  “They’re not hitting her!” Sterling yelled when she started toward the group of dancers. “Chimera, they’re only passing those wands over and around her. They must be having some kind of religious ceremony. You mustn’t interrupt it, or who knows what Cochise will do?”

  Chimera returned to Sterling. “Maybe they’re going to sacrifice her!” she cried, tears rolling down her face when she saw the wizened man who’d been beating the drum pick up the cradleboard.

  “Chimera, he’s only holding her. And you swore on Xenia’s soul that you would stay here,” Sterling reminded her, and was relieved when she returned and sat by him again.

  The man with the silvery hair held Venus to the east, west, north, and finally south before returning her back to the east. As he held her to the four directions, the dancers continued to wave their wands over and around her. Then each dancer took his mm holding her to the directions, not relinquishing her to the next dancer until he had held her to his chest for a moment. All the while they continued whistling, chanting, and singing. The Apache women contributed to the din with piercing shrieks. The white-painted dancer moved in frenetic motions. The warrior who was painted black remained unmoving and quiet.

  “The dram beater is sprinkling something over Venus,” Chimera said anxiously.

  “Looks like yellow powder. Pollen?”

  “It’s making her sneeze! Sterling—”

  “Chimera, listen to me. We cannot antagonize these people. So far they’ve shown us mercy, but that could change if we aggravate them. The worst thing they’ve done to Venus is make her sneeze, and they haven’t hurt us either. The only thing we can do at this point is wait. When we understand what they’re going to do with Venus and with us we can respond to their intentions.”

  “Dime lo que paso con la madre de la nina.”

  Sterling snapped his head toward where the Spanish command had come. A warrior stood in the thick shadows. Sterling couldn’t see his face but noted the Indian’s tall, muscular frame and the elaborate red and yellow beadwork around the bottom of his buckskin shirt. The Indian had asked what happened to Venus’s mother, and Sterling had heard a note of sorrow in the question. Had the man been related to the woman?

  “What did he say, Sterling?” Chimera asked anxiously, she, too, staring at the shadowed form nearby.

  Sterling translated, commanded her to stay seated beside him, and then spoke to the warrior.

  The Indian made a sound of anguish.

  “What did you tell him?” Chimera asked.

  “That I found the mother in the foothills, that she’d been stabbed, that she was in labor, that she died shortly after giving birth to Venus and that I buried her where I found her.”

  Chimera squinted to see the warrior better but could not make out his face. “Tell him—”

  “Chimera, he’s talking to me, and he’s very upset. You stay quiet, and when his business with me is over I’ll tell you everything that transpired between us.”

  She sighed, but, sensing the wisdom of his order, she nodded in consent.

  The warrior in the darkness was silent for a long moment before asking Sterling if he remembered where the mother’s gravesite was.

  Sterling told the warrior everything he could remember about the grave’s location.

  “And do you know anything about the one who took her life?” the warrior asked, still speaking Spanish.

  Sterling heard the carefully controlled fury in the Indian’s voice but knew it was not meant for him, rather for the woman’s murderer. “One’s name was Bud, but he’s dead. I killed him with my own hands. The other one is Willard, and he might be one of the men your people killed at the big ranch below. He worked there. Now, will you tell me about the dance the warriors—”

  “Did you see this Willard’s body?”

  Sterling sighed impatiently but sensed the wisest thing to do was accommodate the warrior. “No. But there were many unrecognizable corpses in the barn that burned. Willard could have been one of them.”

  “Tell me what this killer looks like.”

  “Tall, sturdy. His face is full of small holes. His hair is dark brown except for a large streak of white that hangs on the left side of his head.”

  The warrior listened carefully, then turned to leave. “I’ve answered your questions, and now you answer mine,” Sterling called to him. “What is this dance for?”

  “The dancers are Gans. They impersonate the powerful Mountain Spirits. They dance the cha-ja-la. The Mountain Spirits protect our tribal territories, ward off sickness, and assist us with enemies. Tonight the Gans use their powers of healing to cure the child of whatever ailment she might possess.

  “The dancer whose body is painted white,” the warrior continued, “is the Clown. He has special healing powers and is dangerous. The black Gan who does not dance is the Black One and the most dangerous. No one can touch him. He is present to keep evil away, and sometimes the Mountain Spirits channel messages through him.

  “The one who beats the drum is a di-yin. He is Dee-o-det, the leading shaman of Cochise. He sprinkles pollen in the four directions and over the child because the most potent of the holy powers is attainable through the yellow powder. The good that comes from pollen is peace of mind and body.”

  “But what evil, what sickness is Venus being cured of?” Sterling asked. “She’s healthy and happy. Her only problem is that she’s hungry!”

  “The Mountain Spirits are being asked to cure or ward off whatever sickness or evil the crazy woman may have given to the baby or brought to the village, because it is not known if the spirits inside the crazy woman are good or bad. The Gans will dance until the huge fire burns no longer, which sometimes takes several days.”

  “So Cochise won’t harm the woman or the children?” Sterling queried. “When the Mountain Spirit dance is over, will we all be allowed to leave?”

  “Cochise will decide. Any message the Mountain Spirits send must be carefully considered first.”

  “And if the Mountain Spirits don’t respond?”

  “Cochise will be advised by Dee-o-det, and a decision will be made.”

  “But why would your people even consider harming us?” Sterling demanded angrily. “We’ve saved Venus’s life and returned her to the Apache! Do you think her mother would want to see her daughter’s saviors hurt?”

  The warrior turned to leave again.

  “Wait!” Sterling shouted. “When you asked about Venus’s mother, I heard sadness in your voice. You wanted information about her killer. I believe you cared for her. Who was she, and doesn’t she deserve to be considered in this matter? I can’t believe she’d wish us harm.”

  The warrior was silent for many moments. “The People do not speak the names of the dead, especially in the presence of relatives.”

  “But—”

  “Her killing did not allow her to cut the ties of devotion she had for her family. She was taken too suddenly and did not
speak her heart before she met her death. To speak her name would cause her ghost to respond.”

  “All right, don’t tell me her name. She was a relative of yours?”

  “She was...” the warrior began, his voice breaking, “my wife. The baby you have brought wears the amulet that I myself made. It is my daughter the Gans heal.”

  Sterling felt a rush of happiness that Venus would be reunited with her real father, followed by a wave of sympathy for the sorrowful brave. But he instinctively understood the Indian would not accept pity. He decided to speak kind words about Venus’s mother instead. “Your wife was beautiful and courageous. She knew she was dying, yet she struggled to save her baby. She made me take the amulet you made. And even with all her pain, the last thing she did before she died was smile. You must have loved such a woman very much.”

  “For me, the sun has not shone since the day I lost her. My days are black, my nights are blacker.”

  “But you have your daughter,” Sterling reminded him.

  “And my son.”

  “Venus has a brother?”

  “By proper relations, Truenito is her cousin. He is the son of Satcha, who is sister to the woman whom I loved. Truenito’s father died before he was born. I did not have to marry Satcha so soon after the death of the woman whom I loved, but she was alone, and she was carrying a child. She had no one to care for her. I could not allow the sister of the woman whom I loved to go in need.”

  Truenito, Sterling mused. Little Thunder.

  “When the woman whom I loved was found missing, I set out to find her. But I found only bloodied pieces of her clothing. I could find no trace of her body and thought her to have been food for the animals. I grieved for her. I still grieve, but I have done what was expected of me by our custom. Satcha has given me the boy, Truenito, whom I will raise as my own son. The Thunder People sang softly at his birth, and he is named for them in gratitude for their music. Satcha nurses him. Truenito will share his milk with my daughter.”

  “So you’ll accept Venus? You’ll love her?”

  “Accept her? I never refused her. I have loved her since the day she came to be in her mother’s womb. I have felt her mother’s presence since the time of Many Leaves, but I did not understand this. You have put light into the darkness for me. I know now that her soul wanders the earth because her death has not been avenged. You say this Willard might have died. He did not. The woman whom I loved has not ceased to cry for revenge. And I will never cease searching for the man who took her from me. Only when he is dead can the woman whom I loved find peace in the underworld.”

  Sterling understood completely what the warrior felt. If it had been Chimera who had died at Willard’s hands, he would have killed Willard in the most painful way he could devise. “I understand.”

  The Indian saw the tender look Sterling gave Chimera. “You care for this strange woman with hair like a black waterfall?”

  “Her name is Chimera. And yes, I care for her. And I admit she might seem strange, but she’s harmless. You must believe me when I say she’s no threat to any of your people. I swear this before my God and His Holy Mother.”

  “You do not have to make this oath. I see the truth in your eyes.”

  The warrior left then. Sterling called for him to come back, but he did not return.

  “Now tell me the entire conversation,” Chimera begged. When Sterling complied, she gasped, “You mean they’re asking their spirits to cure Venus of an ailment I might have given her?”

  Sterling saw the ominous look in her eyes and felt a deep dread. “Chimera—”

  “Sterling, that warrior said this dancing could go on for several days. He said his wife would feed Venus, but sweet heaven, as far as we know the woman might not be allowed to nurse her until the dancing over! Not to mention that Venus will probably accept food only if I’m there with her. No, Sterling, this has gone far enough. May Xenia forgive me, but I break my vow. Somehow I’ve got to talk sense into Cochise.” She stood and walked away.

  “Chimera!” Sterling straggled with his bonds, apprehension almost strangling him. “Chimera, come back!”

  She turned to him. “Sterling, while they call on their spirits, I will call on mine.” With swift and purposeful strides, she crossed to the bonfire.

  The Indians gave her a wide berth when she joined them. She went straight to Cochise, who was sitting on a tall stack of hides. “I’ve learned your drum beater is also your medicine man,” she told the chief. “I take that to mean he has magic. I’ve also learned that this dance is being done to request the aid of your Mountain Spirits. There are spirits who help me too. Well...sometimes they do.”

  Cochise stood. The Gans ceased dancing. Chimera forced herself to keep looking at him. Venus’s welfare was at stake; she couldn’t give into fear. “I’m a witch, Cochise,” she announced. “Bruja. I, too, have powers.”

  She walked to the fire. The Black One moved away from her, but she ignored him. “It doesn’t make sense to cure Venus of anything, Cochise. Her only trouble is hunger, and if you’d only allow me to be present while she’s being fed, you’d see that for yourself. But apparently you aren’t going to do that. So I’ll ask my spirits to send you the sense you seem to have taken leave of.”

  Closing her eyes, she lifted her arms before her, wiggled her fingers, and began to sway from side to side. “Spirits mine, not spirits theirs, hear my calls to you! Give good sense to this chief called Cochise—Um...” She glanced at Cochise again and saw the leather flap that covered the upper part of his buckskin breeches. The flap was tied tightly around his waist, but also seemed to be tied firmly around each of his thighs. She smiled. “Give good sense to this chief called Cochise, lest he’s gelded by the tightness of his codpiece!”

  Cochise bellowed a command in the Apache language. Several warriors, clubs in hand, rushed toward Chimera but stopped abruptly when a strong wind began. It swept through the trees and through Chimera’s hair, blowing her night-black tresses wildly around her. One of the warriors spoke loudly to Cochise.

  Before the chief could answer, an owl hooted. Chimera watched a multitude of the Apache women grab their children and scramble to their wickiups. A swishing sound stole her attention from them. She looked up and saw the owl sail overhead.

  Cochise barked another command, and the warriors lit torches from the bonfire. With their blazing sticks, they successfully drove the owl away.

  Chimera watched, her worry for the frightened owl relieved when she saw he’d flown away unharmed. “All this ruckus for one little owl,” she mumbled. “What—”

  The Black One’s roar silenced her. She saw that all eyes were upon her.

  Sterling saw it too. “Dammit to hell, I knew she’d do something like this! I knew it!” He straggled against his bonds with every bit of strength he possessed, but could not loosen them. He could only watch in horror as several warriors grabbed Chimera and began dragging her toward a huge tree. At the base of the tree other warriors were piling firewood and hanging ropes from a branch above it. Panic such as he’d never felt before gripped him.

  Then he felt warm hands around his wrists. A quiet voice came from behind him. “No te muevas, y cortere las cuerdas.”

  Sterling recognized the voice. It belonged to the warrior with whom he’d spoken earlier. He obeyed the command given him and sat still so the brave could cut his bonds. “What are they going to do to Chimera?” he demanded.

  The warrior began sawing at Sterling’s ties. “They will burn her. She has confessed to being a witch. She chanted, and after her chant, Buu, the owl, appeared. Buu is wicked. The Black One says the Mountain Spirits have fled. The People have no doubt your woman has brought great evil upon us. She will be burned alive. You must fight for her. Go.”

  Sterling felt the ropes fall away from his hands, jumped to his feet, and fled toward Chimera, his fear for her life fueling his strength. He hurled himself at the warriors who had her and successfully knocked all three of them away f
rom her.

  He fought like a madman, swinging his fists in all directions and ducking when other fists came at him. Two warriors fell; more came at him. He saw the flash of a knife and kicked at the blade. It flew into the air but not before impaling his lower leg. Another sharp pain slashed into his shoulder. His shirt instantly became wet and stuck to the area. He realized he’d been stabbed twice. The sight of his blood, and Chimera’s terrified cries, fed his strength further. He rammed his head full-force into one warrior’s belly. The Indian’s howl of pain reinforced his determination to take as many of the Apache as he could before being defeated. He had no idea how many warriors he was fighting, but continued to battle them all in a frenzy born of his profound resolution to protect Chimera, even at the cost of his life.

  A vicious blow to the back of his head overcame him. He sagged in the arms of the two warriors who’d grabbed him. Blackness swam before his eyes, but he strained to see the light—Chimera. He saw her, saw her tears, and clawed his way from the pit of unconsciousness into which pain was pulling him.

  He heard Cochise’s voice. The sound seemed to be miles away, the chief’s form even farther. Everything was blurred. His body throbbed with horrible pain that worsened when the warriors who supported him threw him to the ground.

  “Sterling!” he heard Chimera scream, and tried to rise when several braves began dragging her to the tree again. “Chimera,” he called weakly. With the last of his strength, he staggered to his feet and started for her. He weaved, stumbled, but managed to put one foot in front of the other until he reached her.

  He swung at one of her captors and felt satisfaction at the resulting screech of pain. But his small triumph died away when her other captor landed a sharp blow to his jaw. Again, he fell.

  Through the haze of his pain, he watched Chimera fight like the demented woman the Apache suspected her to be.

  As she straggled, he saw something fall from her garments. He squinted to see the object on the ground and recognized it as the statue of the Blessed Mother and the Child Jesus he’d given her months ago. She must have been carrying it in the pocket of her skirt, he realized, and groaned when the warriors began tying her wrists with the rope thrown over the tree branch.