by Sandy Wright
Maya's partner knelt beside a mound of dirt, digging his hands deep, cupping the soft red earth and lifting it as he stood and began to chant.
"Dust to dust,
The rocks in time dissolve
Into the oneness of the Universe.
I call forth the Ancient Ones
To join us and impart their wisdom."
Nicholas's voice sounded different from his normal soft, formal speech. He raised his arms in front of him and parted his fingers, allowing the soil to fall between them to the ground. As he looked to the heavens, his hood fell away, revealing his shoulder-length black hair.
His intensity and power was palpable. The hairs on my arms raised in response to the energy pulsing around him. My heart beat in my chest like a trapped bird. Time slowed to a crawl. I watched the breeze ruffle Nicholas' hair in slow motion. I smelled the earth, tangy with pine resin, as it fell, grain by grain, between his long, pale fingers. As I watched, the soil began to swirl like a tiny dust devil in a powerful wind. The whirlwind grew larger, then separated and bloomed, multiplying into individual twisters. Dozens of ghostly dust plumes swirled around him, nearly obscuring his form in the center.
Suddenly Nicholas stepped outside the dust storm, turned and looked directly at me. I swayed back as though he had pushed me in the chest. He held my gaze for several seconds, mouthing words only he could hear. The dust devils, now nearly filling our ring of human bodies, spun faster, seemingly excited by his voice. Again he raised his eyes to the dark sky, moving his arms in a sweeping motion, as if catching and gathering something. When he flung his hands outward, the candles on the altar danced wildly with the force of the motion. Nicholas yelled, to be heard above the noise of the swirling dust and sand:
"At this time the veil between the worlds thins.
The gates are thrown open.
I welcome the spirits who have gone before,
The Others who pass between two worlds.
Ancestors of old, arise now!
Join the human bridge awaiting you!"
From the shadows cast by the flickering fire, I watched one of the dust devils separate from the others and spin toward me. Its outline had changed. I stared at the top of the swirl. Two glowing eyes stared back. An arm formed, then a second, reaching toward me. The air in the circle had become unbearably hot. I wiped sweat out of my eyes and was slammed with a sudden vision of a person inside the swirling dust, so clear it stopped my heart for one terrified beat. This can't be happening! The wraith bore the face of my mother, dead for three years.
I tried to get away, but my feet tangled with the woman on my left. The ghost grabbed for me, raking the back of my hand with her fingernails as I fell. I screamed, sucking my breath in ragged pants. She reached for my face with both hands, but I scrambled away from her outstretched arms and hid my face behind the legs of the old woman next to me. The ghost dropped her arms and stepped back, her eyes filled with sadness. Terror gripped my mind like a vise, I could think of nothing but escape. I flailed and kicked and crawled from the circle until I could stand, and run.
* * * * *
The pain under my ribs finally slowed me to a walk. Panting in panicked, shallow breaths, I stumbled alone along the narrow lane leading back to the highway, trying to stop shaking. What had I seen? Nothing but the wind.
I took a deeper breath of the cold air and straightened my back, raising my eyes from the dark road to the endless stars above my head. What I thought I saw. I kept hold of rationalization, clung to it like a life raft in a stormy sea.
The bright moon and the concentration of putting one foot in front of the other in the dark slowly calmed me. Of course the whole thing was an illusion. The atmosphere of the ritual affected everyone. It ignited my imagination. Or maybe there was a hallucinogen in the incense. I heard the words in my head and pre-tended they were spoken by one of my old Midwest friends.
But I wasn't in my old home. I walked on a dark road, by myself, running from something I couldn't escape. Every time I tried to think, the image of my mother's face appeared in my mind. She looked so real and so worried. Had she really been there? I ran my fingers across the welts on the back of my hand.
As I walked, the adrenaline-fueled terror drained out of me, leaving empty numbness. I lectured myself and filled the numb-ness with shame. What did you expect tonight? The truth punctured my ego. You were just play-acting. You didn't expect to have a true psychic experience. You had no idea how deep this magic stuff really goes, well beyond this physical world. I blinked back the tears welling in my eyes. Faced with a concept outside the realm of my reality, outside the border of my boring, ordinary life, what did I do?
I ran.
Gradually I noticed the silence. Birds, insects, all of the nighttime noises around me had stopped. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted and fear ran shiver-fingers down my back. Someone was here. I clenched my hands into fists, staring at the blacktop road stretching into the darkness, straining to see as adrenaline again twanged my muscles taut.
Ahead, a dark figure strode toward me, black robe billowing behind with every stride. He was furious, I could sense it even from this distance. His anger built as he approached, like a summer thunderstorm, pulling into it the very air surrounding him. I willed myself to stand my ground and wait for him, not to run away again.
Nicholas grasped me with steel fingers and pushed me into the shadows of the trees on the side of the road.
His face was hidden by his hood. But his scent, the remnants of our ritual bonfire incense, still clung to his robes, along with the faint scent of pine needles and dirt.
"You called her, didn't you?" I whispered. "You looked right at me and—"
"What did you expect?" He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back to look into my face.
I gave a stifled sob, and fought to free myself. His breath rasped hot on my face as he leaned over me, much closer than comfortable.
"You have no idea what you have stumbled into," Nicholas hissed, "and even less how to get out of it. You think this is but a whimsical diversion from your sad, lonely life? Why did you come here? You foolish, foolish little girl."
His words stung like a slap. "How dare you," I answered in a shaky voice. "You don't know anything about me, or my life."
"Indeed?"
He bent further over me, arching my back, one hand still tangled in my hair. I instinctively closed my eyes and fought to control my urge to struggle. After several heartbeats, he whispered into my ear. "I'm afraid I've made a grave mistake. You have neither the skill nor the intellect to be taught. There is only failure in you."
We remained frozen together, his breath on my throat, his hair trailing softly against my cheek. I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to see the loathing I heard in his voice. Eventually, his hands left my hair, moved to my shoulders and pulled me upright. He pushed me away, and I took a stumbling step backwards.
He looked past me to the road over my shoulder. His hand dropped and he stepped away as headlights washed over us.
Rumor's familiar convertible pulled alongside.
"Oh, Sam, we were so worried about you." Rumor turned to Nicholas. "Thank you! Is she hurt?"
Nicholas shrugged, his eyes averted.
Rumor turned to me. I shook my head. My throat felt too constricted to speak without crying. I tried to rub my eyes, but my hand shook so much I couldn't raise it to my face. In fact, I realized, my whole body was shaking. Rumor had the car door open, and I climbed into the back seat as my legs gave out. She wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, and rubbed my arms until my tremors subsided.
"I think she's in shock," Rumor said to Nicholas, who stood by the driver window. "What on earth happened? Why did she run from the circle?"
"I really have no idea," he murmured. The liar. He'd looked right at me before conjuring my mother's ghost. "Take her home, make some hot tea for her. She'll be better after a fair night's rest."
"
Do you need a ride back to your car?" Rumor asked Nicholas.
"No, thank you. The walk will clear my head."
I curled into a fetal position, my lips trembling, and stayed in a whimpering ball while Rumor drove in silence. She reached into the back seat every few minutes to rub my leg and murmur, "It's okay. You're safe now."
Finally she pulled into my drive and turned off the engine. "Let me help you inside. Nicholas suggested tea."
I shook my head vehemently. "Nicholas said a lot of things." I shook my head again. "He doesn't give a shit about my best interests." Tears welled then and I fled up the steps and inside without looking back.
Inside, I rammed hard into the table I'd moved into the entryway the day before. Damn redecorating. Bent over the table and rubbing my bruised hip in the dark, the dam broke. Racking sobs wrenched my chest. I cried and wailed, gasping for breath, as I collapsed in a heap on the floor.
I'll never be able to face these people again. They will know I'm a failure. Hell, even my own mother knows.... I thought of Nicholas, and silent tears again ran down my cheeks. Damn him. Damn him and this power he has, to see inside me and throw my fears in my face. I failed at my marriage. Now I'm failing at this new life, this new magical challenge, whatever it is.
As much as it hurt to admit, I knew he wasn't wrong. Perhaps I made a mistake by leaving home and my familiar surroundings, bleak as they seemed at the time. Perhaps I made a mistake experimenting with witchcraft, and had fallen deeper into the un-known than I could handle. Perhaps he really did see failure in me.
Unable to shake the despairing thoughts, I stood up, stumbled into the bedroom and crawled into bed fully dressed.
I dreamt of a twisted pinon tree growing in red earth, a raven winging past a full moon shrouded by dark storm clouds, and an old Indian raising his arms to the sky, fingers spread.
I woke, perspiring and shaking, my shirt cold with sweat. I heard the wind chimes' melancholy tinkling outside my window and knew I'd dreamt of death.
Chapter 9: Void of Course
I woke to the steady pat, pat, pat of rain dripping off the tile roof. Sedona had nearly three hundred days of sunshine a year. This was not coincidence.
"Haven't you learned yet?" The memory of Nuin's voice mocked me. "There is no coincidence."
I called the shop and told Rumor I was staying home for a couple of days. I didn't want to explain last night, at least not until I'd worked through it in my own head.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "Did you catch a cold?"
"I think so, just the sniffles." I didn't need to fake the huskiness in my voice. I'd been crying on and off all morning. "I'm sure it'll be gone tomorrow." I hung up, put the pillow over my ears and burrowed deeper under the covers.
I lay face down and studied the dust balls behind the head-board. I lay face up and memorized the scrollwork of the tin ceiling. I didn't want to think about the night before, but Nicholas's words spread inside me like a creeping sickness. "There is only failure in you." I seemed to disappoint all the men in my life. My father. My husband. Nicholas. I swallowed the lump in my throat and buried my face in the pillow, willing my mind back to sleep. What's the easiest thing to do? Nothing. Prove him correct.
The storm passed around midnight, leaving a chorus of toads croaking happily in its wake. I took my pillow and blanket out to the patio, dried off a chaise lounge, and let their night sounds lull me back to sleep.
I dreamt of my mother and remembered her never-faltering love for me. When I was little, she'd called me her blessed accident. She had me just before turning forty so I had her undivided attention, unconditional love and unwavering support growing up. I awoke certain she would never wish me harm. I had nothing to fear from her in life—or in death.
While the idea of seeing the dead seemed incomprehensible, the prospect of talking with my mother was oddly comforting. I hadn't been with her when she died. In the three years since, I often thought of little things I wished I could share with her. A perfect bunch of sunflowers in a cobalt blue vase she would surely want to paint. An apology for a thoughtless comment I'd made on her birthday. A book she would enjoy. Who knew, maybe she felt the same way. Do the dead still feel?
I ran a finger idly across the faint scratch marks on the back of my hand. I hadn't hallucinated, nor had I imagined the look of sadness and concern on her face. She wanted to tell me some-thing. Finally, I wanted to hear her. Maybe I could prove Nicholas wrong.
The next morning I opened the windows and shook out my depression with the fresh sheets. A mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand, I picked up the phone and dialed the number Rod Standing Bear had written on his flyer.
The message on the machine said, "Tell me what you want." Abrupt and to the point. What could I tell him and not sound crazy? I settled for my name and number, saying simply, "Standing Bear said to call."
The deep voice that called back belonged to John Green Raven Sinclair. He was full Lakota Sioux, despite the Americanized name. "My people are up north in the Oglala land," he said, "but the desert called me here many, many years ago." He didn't seem surprised Standing Bear had given me his number. "Not many people hear Spirit speak to them. When you hear it, you got to stop and listen."
"I'd never heard the language before," I told him. "I looked it up and translated snatches of it. But I have no idea what the message means." The reply caught in my throat. I was so relieved to find someone who believed me and accepted my experience without question.
"Don't worry. I will help you understand," he answered simply.
Sinclair told me he had lived outdoors since the age of five, to be closer to the elements. He gave me directions to an unnamed low plateau on the outskirts of town. I parked at the base and hiked to the top.
Sinclair sat facing the setting sun with his eyes closed, his face a timeless mask, as weathered and pitted as ancient wood. His long black hair was mingled with strands of silver. It was pulled back to reveal high cheekbones, and fell in a braided rope between his shoulders. He wore a leather vest and a loose-sleeved shirt, open at the throat, and a necklace of intricately carved stones interspersed with black feathers and what looked like canine teeth.
"Sit down." He didn't open his eyes. His voice was raspy and thin, as if he hadn't spoken out loud in a long time. "Do you understand why Standing Bear sent you to me?"
I sat on the rocky ground next to him. "No. He just said to tell you I'd heard the Song of the Ancients."
"He told you nothin' about me?"
"No."
Sinclair bowed to the setting sun, touching his forehead to the red soil, before turning back to me. He studied my face for a long moment.
"Standing Bear and I are of different tribes. I grew up in Dakota country. He's Yavapai. Grew up near here. But we traveled a common path. When I was a boy, I did a quest ceremony lasting four years, until my official manhood, a fifty-two moon quest of knowing." He spoke so softly I had to lean closer to hear. "So did Standing Bear. At the end of his fifty-two moons, he started painting the visions he saw during his quest. Rod is a vision seeker. Painting his visions is his life's journey."
"I went to his gallery." I nodded. "Yes, I can see visions in his painting."
"I'm an old man. My spirit journey happened a long time ago." Sinclair rested his eyes on the horizon. "But it sent me to these red mountains, on a path to a wife from another tribe."
He faced me. "And so, like a stone thrown into a stream, here you are. Sent by my nephew."
I felt the power emanate from him in shimmering waves. In-voluntarily, I leaned away.
"So, you're sensitive to energy." He studied me again, with more interest this time. "Very few, outside of my own people, recognize the wakhan, the energy, of a medicine man."
His eyes were pure black pools, pulling me into their depths. I wrenched my gaze from his and shook my head to clear it. Instead I concentrated on drawing circles in the loose dirt between my boots.
&
nbsp; He erupted in a deep, unselfconscious belly laugh. "A new bruja, are you? You recognize power, but don't know what to do with it."
"A what?"
"Bruja," he repeated. "Witch."
I stopped drawing in the dirt, shocked into stillness. "What? No, I'm not!"
His black stare no longer showed humor. "Yup, you are," he said. "I didn't choose my life. The Ancients chose this path for me, as they have revealed a path to you." He grimaced, showing a row of yellow, tobacco-stained teeth. "Somethin' happened to you just recently. Tell me."
Bruja. Witch. I tried on the labels in silence. I'd read about individuals finding spirituality and personal callings in a flash of insight or through a dream. Was my situation much different?
So, I took a deep breath and told the old man about the wind singing on Cathedral Rock. He didn't seem surprised, so I told him about my mother's spirit, backtracking to Nicholas and the cloak. As I talked, Sinclair stood and we slowly walked the perimeter of the plateau.
Finally, every bit of emotion wrung out of me, I ran out of words.
He gestured for me to sit down and instructed me to close my eyes. I felt him reach over and put his hand on mine. An odd gesture for this gruff man, but immediately I felt relaxed, almost drowsy.
"You're scared. New stuff is happening to you, coming at you fast from all directions." His voice was no longer raspy, but a soothing song. He put his face near mine and sniffed my hair, drawing in my scent with a long, noisy inhalation. "I sense the presence of powerful medicine. It's closing around you. Can't see why. Not yet."
He removed his hand from mine, brushing his palms together as if wiping off grit. Cold sweat formed in my armpits. It dampened my tee-shirt and ran down my ribcage.
"You can't let what's comin' take you by surprise. You have choices. Don't focus on the fear. Focus on what you know, what you can influence. Knowledge will come to you as you need it. Act with intention. Be patient."
I thought of my dark night in the middle of the road with Nicholas. "What if I fail?"
"There's no right or wrong in life, girl, only choices," he said in a quiet voice. "But remember, a choice is a decision, even if you choose to do nothing. Read the signs presented to you to make your decisions. All of nature sings to us and reveals her secrets. Listen to the earth. Don't shut out the lessons she is trying to teach you."