Gabriel's Stand

by Jay B. Gaskill

  Realizing that she had raised her voice, Snowfeather took a deep breath, and softened her tone. “You people go out and bay at the moon or whatever you do, but I want no part of it.” She regarded her carefully. “Okay?”

  Susan glowered. “I promised Tan you would agree to be initiated.”

  “Tan? Who the crap is Tan?”

  “Oh. Tan is Louise Berker’s Earth-Name. I thought you knew.”

  “No, I did not. You all have these names?”

  “Yes. You will too.”

  In your dreams, you idiot. “Susan, you surely realize that I have a perfectly good ‘Earth-Name’ already?”

  At first, Sanchez seemed taken back; then she smiled. “You know what? You are exactly right. I promise to fix that with them.” When Snowfeather got up to leave, Sanchez gently restrained her. “In the meantime, can’t you just look at it from another point of view?” Snowfeather sat back down. Sanchez almost seemed sincerely concerned for her. “We are all serving the same cause, right?”

  “Yes,” Snowfeather said resignedly.

  “In this cause, we all need to be able to trust each other. You agree?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “And keep our secrets and confidences?”

  “Of course.”

  “And be there for each other even when it gets hard.”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes. I get all of that.”

  “Do you attend a church?”

  “What makes that your business?”

  “Nobody believes any more, Snowfeather.”

  Snowfeather remained furiously silent.

  “For some of us, Gaia fills that hole. Is that so bad?”

  There was another pause. “Of course not,” Snowfeather said wearily.

  “Do you?”

  “What I believe or don’t believe is my damn business, Susan. I just don’t see the need for some ritual of initiation.”

  Sanchez stood. “Do you know what we mean when we say, Jee-Ah?”

  “I suppose that is your pronunciation of Gaia.”

  “Yes. But it is also our secret name for the Supreme World Being. Gaia Alpha.”

  “I see.” Holy crap. A secret name. A pagan God. This is a nutter cult for sure. Dad, you were right.

  “We have many secrets. Tan and Gloris are waiting for you upstairs. We would hate to lose you.”

  Lose me? What did that mean? I wonder which one is Gloris?

  “This is your decision point. The moment when you tell us whether you are on the inside, or back on your own.” Snowfeather looked puzzled. Susan pressed on. “Knight Fowler listens only to Tan.”

  “In Tan’s special group, you are either totally in or you’re totally out. Clear?” Susan put her hands on her hips. “Didn’t they tell you?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Well now you’ve been told. So, I’m going upstairs. I’ll let them know that your sacred Earth-Name is Snowfeather. Not negotiable. Right?” Sanchez smiled with all the sincerity of a used car salesman who had just offloaded a lemon by adding free floor mats. “I just know they would never consider taking away an authentic Native Earth-Name. May I say that you are on the way up?”

  “Me? Upstairs? You’re serious? Right now?”

  “Now or never.”

  Susan lumbered up the stairs.

  Crap.

  Snowfeather folded, but with deep misgivings. As she saw it, her choice was to walk away, possibly from the opportunity of a lifetime, or to play along, possibly for the greater good. In her mind, she was riding one more wild horse; confident in her resourcefulness, sure that she could get off the horse whenever she wanted.

  ——

  The initiation ritual was held at midnight a few days later in a densely forested area about two hours outside Seattle city limits. Snowfeather had made her peace with her parents about Christmas, and had attempted to mollify Vince’s objections about “joining that damned coven.” Remember, Vince. It’s me who is playing them, not the other way around. And now she was slumped in the back seat, where she was blindfolded with a black silk scarf.

  It was the winter solstice.

  The van turned onto an unpaved road. Snowfeather, dosed with a mead-based drink and filled with huge misgivings, tried to clear her head. She had completely lost track of the traffic noises or the passage of time. She was completely at the mercy of this…damned coven.

  The van bumped down the abandoned road for another ten minutes, then stopped. For a moment there was the sound of pinging metal as the engine cooled; then Snowfeather was gently escorted out of the car. She walked barefoot through cold moss and wild grass for several minutes. There were no traffic sounds, nothing but the whisper of the wind and the padding of bare feet on the wet forest floor. She smelled the recent rain against the ferns and old growth conifers.

  “Stand here,” someone whispered. Snowfeather could hear the rustle of heavy wood being arranged against damp dirt and the faint crackle of tiny flames. The wind made a wild noise, then it died. The silence was complete.

  “Jee-Ah, we are here.” It was Berker’s voice. “Our circle is open.”

  Six voices chanted, “Our circle is open. Our circle is. Our circle.”

  “From You, we were born,” Berker said. “And to You, we will return. You are our womb and our grave. Our cradle and our redeemer.”

  Again the chant.

  “Our cradle. Our grave. Our circle. We bring a candidate into our sacred circle. If she displeases you, may she die in this place.”

  “Die in this place.”

  “Into the earth with her.”

  “Return to you.”

  Snowfeather felt a deep coldness grip her chest, like no chill she had ever felt before. She shivered as she heard the sound of a dense fluid being poured seven times—the sound was muffled, but close by.

  “If she pleases you, she may drink and live in your service.”

  Each of six voices then said, “In our circle,” in turn, followed by the unmistakable sound of drinking.

  “We call you to the circle as Snowfeather. Will you drink with us and serve Jee-Ah?”

  “Yes,” Snowfeather said, adding, “to save the earth, the mother of all…” Snowfeather kept the rest of the quotation from Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce to herself: The earth is the mother of all people. Let Berker and her witches think what they will.

  Apparently the response was good enough for Berker. Snowfeather’s blindfold came off. She found herself standing in front of a candlelit altar made of a huge fallen tree trunk, surrounded by the Sisters, each seated on a stump. The shrine was in a clearing in the forest, limned by the flickering light of seven candles. Berker looked different, her normally pinched but attractive face was peaceful, and her body exuded this air of open spirituality that was almost tangible. Snowfeather had to give her credit, she looked the part of a true evangelical leader that befitted her Earth-Name. Berker wasn’t Berker; here was Tan. So it was Tan who reached down and picked up a wooden cup.

  “Drink,” she said handing it to Snowfeather. “Drink it all.”

  Snowfeather gagged when she tasted the blood. Angry and defiant, she slowly upended the cup, letting the contents spill to the forest floor. Hands shaking, she spat. “How dare you!” she bit out, each word spoken with quiet emphasis.

  “Did you taste it?” Tan asked.

  “Of course!” Snowfeather said.

  “Are you with us?”

  “In spite of this…yes.”

  “I do understand this is not your people’s ritual.” Tan turned to the rest. “I say she is one of us.”

  Each of the sisters raised their cup in a silent salute. “Sister!” they said in unison. Blood spotted their lips, dark in the flickering light.

  The forest began to spin slowly. Snowfeather reached out unsteadily. Tan helped her to a vacant stump. The colors in the candle flames seemed to smear together.

  “We call to the quarters.” Tan’s voice seemed a thousand miles away. Snowfeather’s head lolled. �
�To the lost creatures of the East.” All sound faded. Her eyes closed.

  Snowfeather awoke swaying in the back of the van. Blinking, she found the window. Just over the silhouette of a Sister, she could make out the twinkling lights of the Seattle skyline. Comforted, she closed her eyes and fell back into sleep.

  ——

  The next morning Snowfeather awoke with what felt like a brutal hangover. As soon as she had coffee and a little food, she called Vince. “Come over here. Please.”

  An hour later the two sat at an isolated table at a coffee shop near campus.

  “I’ll bet some drug was in that blood,” Vince said.

  “You think?” Snowfeather rubbed her temples. “And in that awful drink they gave me beforehand.”

  “They probably doped you to the gills. Snowfeather, these people are stark nutters. You know that, right?”

  “I won’t argue the point.”

  “Can you get out of it?”

  “Out of what? Mr. Fowler is writing the checks. You can bet he has nothing to do with this ritual crap. He contributes to my dad’s campaign. As far as I’m concerned, I’m working independently and being funded by a major contributor in a good cause. These lunatics are just to be tolerated. Every movement has them.”

  “Not at the top. You should call your father again.”

  “I can’t talk about this, Vince. Not now, anyway. I just barely broke the news that I’m not coming home for Christmas. That was enough for Mom to swallow.”

  “When will you tell them about this?”

  “In the new year, when things settle down, I’ll talk to Dad first.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  ——

  Snowfeather had called home from her room on Christmas Eve and again on Christmas day from a hotel room Vince had rented for the night. She hadn’t even hinted at the initiation ritual, because she knew her mother would flip out and her father would be immediately dispatched to fly to Seattle. Besides, Dad has Senator Smith checking into the group.

  With Vince’s help, Snowfeather finally moved into her new offices on January eighth. She would be managing public opinion, which meant courting the media, coordinating demonstrations, issuing statements and presumably whatever else suited the agenda of Berker and the Sisters. At this point Snowfeather was willing to play along and look for opportunities to do something worthwhile.

  On January 15th—Snowfeather’s birthday— Alice and Gabriel flew to Seattle took her and Vince out to dinner, visited her new offices, and left the next day. Not a serious word was spoken.

  In the following weeks, Snowfeather sent Gabriel and Alice occasional e-mails but managed not to call. Her new office space was top of the line, and her administrative assistant was a pro. But it soon became evident that Snowfeather had been hired for her decorative value: her real role was as an attractive public front for the movement because her Indian name and pretty face were reassuring for those who would have been put off by Berker’s ill-concealed radicalism. Since her public appearances had been infrequent, Snowfeather began spending most of her extracurricular time away from the Sisters, at her new office or in the dorm, busy with her own life, and spending more and more tender hours with Vincent.

  Chapter 16

  It was a blustery February day outside the Fowler Building in downtown Seattle. Vince Marconi looked up from his carrel in the law firm’s library.

  “Looks like someone in the Justice Department wants to recruit you,” said Jimmy, a fellow clerk in the law firm of Price, Farthwell, and Longworthy.

  “Me?” Vince said.

  “No kidding,” Jimmy said. “Here is the card.”

  “Where did you get this?”

  “My uncle works for the Bureau.”

  “The FBI?”

  “Yes. He was reassigned to a special project. I talked you up, your connections with the movement, your interest in the big issues. Just call, okay?”

  “Thanks. I think I will.”

  ——

  The meeting was after hours in the business district. “Thank you for coming,” said Agent Arnold Wang. Vincent thought everything about this meeting was cool. Mr. Wang was a man in his forties, unremarkable except for the fine scar on his chin and the bulge under his jacket. They were alone in a coffee shop downtown just before closing time. “Actually I am on leave from Justice, currently working with the Senate Sub-Committee on terrorism, headed by Senator Thurston Smith.”

  “You’re not recruiting me, then?”

  “Oh yes we are. Do you know about a call a while back from Senator Standing Bear Lindstrom to my boss, Senator Smith?”

  “No.”

  “Your girlfriend, Snowfeather, is into something that has caused her father a lot of concern.”

  “Oh. You probably mean those Sisters people.”

  “Who?”

  “The Women’s League for Earth’s Restoration—the Gaia people, I should say.”

  Wang nodded. “I’d worry, too, if I were you. Your main concern should be to protect Snowfeather from these fanatics, Vincent. Now we would like you to do something for us. And we have an offer to make in exchange.”

  “Offer?”

  “Nothing you don’t deserve on your own. You are a rising star, Vincent. I used to work in the Environmental Section of Justice. There are a lot of dedicated lawyers in Justice working to save the environment. There is a job for you there after you pass the Bar.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Any cause can be ruined by extremists. Don’t you agree?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I want to stress, we’re not anti-environment, here.”

  “Okay.”

  “You can be uniquely helpful in gathering certain information about this Gaia group. I promise your name will never be used.” Vincent frowned at that. “And this means a job in Washington, beginning with a paid internship in the Environmental Section of Justice, and, depending on how you do, an excellent shot at a regular appointment.” Vince continued to frown. “You are with the Longworthy law firm right now? Vince nodded. “Trust me, before long, you will be looking for other work. Your grades are excellent. We can easily do this for you.”

  “I am not willing to break any trust with Snowfeather.”

  “I respect that.”

  “I would have to tell her what I am doing for you.”

  “That is completely up to you.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to be able to find anything useful?”

  “We have information about a document. Without a warrant, we can’t go inside and examine it. Worse, we can’t ask for a warrant without tipping off our targets. But you could do that without the involvement of the Committee or the government.”

  “This is like the old Watergate break-in?”

  “Yes and no.” Wang smiled. The kid knows his history. “Snowfeather has the keys to the Earth Planet bookstore and the Women’s League offices. If you want to involve her, then you tell her what’s happening, ask to borrow the keys and make copies. I know a trusted locksmith. No one will know. Then, in a few days—we’ll tell you when—you will just go into that old office building after hours, take pictures and leave. A cinch. You won’t disturb a thing. You won’t take anything. This will be a straightforward intelligence gathering operation. And if it appears too risky, for any reason, even at the last minute, then we just don’t want you to do it. That’s it.”

  “Suppose I don’t want a job at Justice. Why should I do this instead of one of your own operatives?”

  Wang paused. “Because you might find something about these people that would persuade Snowfeather to break off with this group. And I suspect that same information may make you reconsider a career with the Longworthy law firm.”

  Finally Vince’s frown faded. He nodded. “You think Longworthy is in with the Gaia crowd?”

  “We are interested in seeing exactly what this document says and who signed it. It is something called Blood Scro
ll.”

  ——

  The next night Vincent was in Snowfeather’s room. His usual relaxed bravado had clouded over. “So I need those keys for an hour or less, to duplicate them.” He was holding Snowfeather’s hand.

  “Oh, Vincent,” she said, pulling away. “I’m sorry I ever called Dad.”

  “Why?”

  “I was doing just fine working around these loonies and getting something done. Then I call Dad for advice and now the Smith committee people try to turn my boyfriend into a spy.”

  “Have you considered that the Sisters really might be planning to kill people? That talk about collateral damage you overheard. What else could they mean by being antibodies? These people will get you in trouble, Snowfeather, I just know it.”

  “Some of them are lunatics; some of them just pretend to humor the lunatics; and the rest of them are well meaning people like you and me, Vince. They’re probably engaged in political action, a PR project. Whatever their secret rhetoric, they aren’t idiots. Violence of any kind would be self-defeating. They’re probably like those drawing room revolutionaries who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “Snow, look at me.” Vincent put on his serious, cop face. “When you called your Dad, did you think they were dangerous: yes or no?”

  Snowfeather smiled slightly. “Yes.” Then she stood and started pacing. “Okay. I never should have gone as far as that weird initiation. I had no frigging idea, Vincent. But…” Snowfeather clenched her hands into fists and pressed them to her forehead. There was a long pause. Vince reached out to touch her. She sighed, gently shaking off Vincent’s arm. “This is how it is. I believe I’m doing something really important. And I really don’t want to jeopardize my relationship with them, because the cause is something worthwhile.”

  Vincent held her lightly by the shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. “You are doing something really important. I saw you on national television. You don’t need them. They need you. You are a leader in your own right.”