Wallace sighed. It all sounded so reasonable. So proper. So right. But why couldn’t they just leave the uranium where it was? Why couldn’t they just hide it, forget it ever existed? Why did Hatathlie bring these men out here? Why did he have to start this whole thing?
Wallace shook his head. He wished for words, old words, powerful words that could change the world. Words that would make Hatathlie change his mind in an instant. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Hatathlie shook his head. “No choice? None?”
Wallace shook his head and looked at Niyol. Niyol looked away.
“I understand,” Hatathlie said. “It’s a difficult thing to think about. We’ve been small and poor for so long that we can’t think of ourselves as rich and powerful. But it’s time to end the tyranny of that idea.”
“I never thought we were poor,” Wallace said.
Hatathlie laughed. “You’ve seen the American movies, their sprawling modern homes, the families with two cars and a television, and you think we’re not poor?”
“Those are only things,” Wallace said.
“Things matter.”
Wallace shook his head. “I am Wallace Chee of the Big Water Clan. That matters.”
“And I’m Niyol Chavez, Chiricahua Apache Clan. Hello, brother.”
Hatathlie frowned and put his hands on his hips, as if confronting a stubborn mule.
“You look Diné, but you are white,” Wallace said.
Hatathlie’s frown deepened. “If President Lincoln hadn’t accepted King Mongkut’s gift of the elephants, this might be a very different world today. It is time for us to accept our own elephants.”
“No,” Wallace said.
“No,” Niyol said.
Hatathlie sighed. “Maybe you’ll listen to reason in the morning.”
Not if it’s your reason, Wallace thought.
He turned away from the boys and addressed Herbert and Frans. “I understand we’re in business.”
“There’s an entire vein of high-grade ore running into Mount Taylor,” Herbert said, pointing at a map. “And more, scattered here and here.”
“This appears to be an area extremely rich in uranium ores,” Frans said.
The three men shared a new bottle of whiskey around and huddled over the map, laughing and gesturing excitedly. The boys could have been statues. More than once, Wallace thought about running, but he couldn’t imagine outrunning the men.
The men eventually finished their discussion and agreed to take turns watching the boys as they slept. Wallace sighed and lay down on the ground as far from the fire as he could. Niyol lay beside him.
Wallace looked up at the stars, bright and cold and uncaring. Even though he was exhausted, sleep wouldn’t come.
“I’m going to leave,” Wallace whispered. Herbert had been watching them. Now he sat by the fire, head down, apparently sleeping.
“Where?” Niyol hissed, eyeing Herbert.
“Away from here.”
“Who are you going to tell?”
“Everybody.”
“What can they do?”
Wallace frowned. “I have to try.”
Silence for a time. Wallace wished that an airship would pass over them, low enough that he could shout for help. He wondered if they would stop.
“I’m going,” Wallace said.
“I’ll stay here,” Niyol said. “In case he’s not asleep.”
“What will you do if he isn’t?”
A crescent of white teeth showed in the moonlight. “I don’t know.”
Wallace smiled back. He turned over on his belly, as if rolling in his sleep. He waited, then edged forward, pulling himself away from the camp. Slowly, over a period of several minutes, he crawled away from the camp.
No noise from Herbert. He snuck a look back. The man’s head still hung at an uncomfortable angle.
When Wallace was about twenty feet away, he moved to hands and knees, crawling fast. Still nothing from Herbert.
Wallace stood and jogged as quickly as he dared, his feet making soft shushing sounds on the loose sand and dust. His shoulder blades itched, as if an invisible sight were trained between them. He remembered the flunky’s head exploding, drops of gore spattering his face. He resisted the urge to look back. Soon he would be far enough away, over a series of low hills and behind some of the taller scrub. Then he’d have a real chance.
Wallace sprinted up the first hill, rising like a bread-loaf mound in the desert. He held his breath as he crested it and dropped out of the camp’s line of fire. At the bottom, he grinned and looked back, happy to see that he could no longer see the embers of the fire, the car, or the plane.
“Stop right there,” said a voice, behind him. In Navajo.
Wallace froze.
“Turn around.”
Wallace turned, slowly, to face the voice.
A man stood in front of him, clothed in traditional Diné garb. The bright colors were gray and pastel in the moonlight. His skin glistened as if oiled. Smooth black hair piled above deep eye sockets. He looked like a picture out of a history book.
“I am Ahiga, of Shining Elephant Clan,” the man said, in Navajo. Wallace frowned, the words running ahead of his ability to translate. When they’d all registered, he said, clumsily, “I am Wallace Chee, of Big Water Clan.”
Ahiga bowed. “Greetings, Wallace Chee. Why are you here? Why are you leaving your companions?”
“I, uh…” Wallace searched for words. “Men come…to steal land.”
“Speak English, if it’s easier.” In English.
“Yes. Thanks,” Wallace said. He started a quick account of who the men were and why they were there, but his voice died when he saw the elephants.
Two of them, standing quietly in the shade of one of the low hills. Covered with some kind of blankets. If they hadn’t moved, he never would have seen them. One still carried a rider.
Ahiga’s gaze flickered to the elephants and back to Wallace. He cocked his head to the side and told Wallace to go on.
Wallace had to explain that the men had found a precious metal and were plotting to take over Dinétah. He told Ahiga about Benjamin Hatathlie. He told him about Niyol, still in the camp. He asked for Ahiga’s help.
Ahiga said nothing. He made a gesture with the fingers of his right hand, and the elephants walked over to stand at his side. They moved almost silently.
Up close, Wallace could see that the rider of the other elephant was an older man, also dressed in traditional garb. Wallace couldn’t see his eyes, but he got the feeling the old man was looking at him.
“I am Yiska Laguna, of Shining Elephant Clan,” the old man said, his voice thin and reedy.
Wallace told him his name and clan. Yiska nodded once, as if satisfied.
Shining Elephant Clan. Like the Elephant Ironclads, shining in the orange light of sunset in a thousand old paintings. But the elephants they rode weren’t armored. They were covered with heavy blankets, layered like scales.
Blankets with frayed edges that exposed tiny lines of shining metal. Blankets that clapped against one another with a faint metallic song.
They’d padded the armor. Of course. That made sense.
Wallace felt suddenly light-headed. The Elephant Ironclads still exist, he thought. They’re real, and they’re still here!
Wallace knew he had to be dreaming. He slapped himself in the face, willing wakefulness.
Nothing changed. The elephants still stood before him. Ahiga gave him a strange grin. Yiska sat imperturbably on top of the other elephant.
“Are you…are they the Elephant Ironclads?” Wallace asked.
“They have been called that,” Ahiga said.
“They’re beautiful,” Wallace said.
And they were. They were everything he imagined. They stood towering over him, topped by the multicolored warriors of legend. Wallace imagined the scene set against a backdrop of sunrise, with airships rising from the east. It was Diné, it was Dinétah
, it was everything that Benjamin Hatathlie wasn’t.
“Where have you been?” Wallace asked.
Ahiga smiled and looked around, as if indicating all the land. “Everywhere.”
“But…nobody believes you really exist.”
“People who need to know, know.”
“You don’t know how important you are!”
Ahiga just looked at him.
“Will you help me?” Wallace asked.
“With what?”
Wallace realized he hadn’t finished his story about Herbert and Frans and Benjamin Hatathlie. The mention of uranium produced only blank looks. Wallace tried to explain about nuclear weapons. More blank looks. Finally, he settled for telling them uranium was something like gold, and the men wanted to mine it.
Finally, Yiska stirred. “These bilaganna want to tear out the heart of Mount Taylor?” Yiska said.
“That’s where they said the vein was,” Wallace said.
Yiska’s ancient face puckered into a deep frown. “This Hatathlie…he agrees?”
“He’s helping them,” Wallace said.
The frown deepened. Yiska motioned Ahiga over to his side, and they had a short conversation in Navajo.
“We will help you,” Ahiga said.
Ahiga mounted his ride and reached down to help Wallace up. Wallace sat behind Ahiga. The warmth of the elephant, even through the plates and fabric, was almost overwhelming. Wallace realized he could feel the beat of its heart, a low thudding beneath his legs. He laid his head on the elephant’s back and heard the rush of breath in its lungs, the faint creak of bones and muscles, the singing of tendons.
Ahiga made a small noise, and the elephant started moving. It was like his first time riding a horse when he was very, very small and the horse seemed very, very large. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
Wallace looked up at the stars. They were no different from the stars earlier. But they no longer seemed cruel.
The elephants approached the camp almost soundlessly. Wallace saw the last embers of the fire, tiny red sparks in the charcoal-drawn landscape. Herbert was slumped to one side, snoring. The other two men lay on the ground, unmoving. Niyol was still wrapped in his sleeping bag.
“Which is your friend?” Ahiga whispered.
Wallace pointed at Niyol.
Ahiga caught Yiska’s eye and pointed at Niyol. Ahiga nodded.
Yiska made a low, harsh bark.
The elephants charged. Wallace grabbed at the fabric to keep from being thrown off. He felt wind in his face. He didn’t know elephants could move that fast.
The elephant’s footfalls merged into continuous thunder. They raised their trunks and trumpeted.
In camp, Herbert was first to jump up. He grabbed at the .30-06 and started bringing it up, squinting into the night. Then he stopped and stood openmouthed, the .30-06 dropping butt-down in the dirt.
Ahiga’s elephant charged straight at Herbert. And for a moment, it was as if Wallace were watching the elephants through Herbert’s eyes. Monsters from hell, huge trumpeting demons with scaly gray skin and great shining white fangs that shrieked in anger and towered over them. Painted in nothing but moonlight and darkness, they were impossible, heart-stopping.
Wallace smiled. This is the weapon of the Diné.
Benjamin Hatathlie and Frans Van der Berg threw off their covers and scrambled for weapons. When they looked up, they also stopped, eyes wide in terror.
Ahiga’s elephant struck Herbert with its head. Herbert’s .30-06 flew into the night and Herbert tumbled to the ground. He scrambled to get back up, but Ahiga’s elephant had already stopped. It put a foot on Herbert to hold him in place. Herbert scrabbled at Manycows’s knife, still at his side. The blade glinted with reflected firelight. The elephant bore down on him. Herbert groaned and dropped the knife.
Three shots rang out in quick succession. Wallace saw Benjamin Hatathlie calmly firing at Yiska’s elephant as it charged toward him. The elephant bellowed and shook its head. Hatathlie’s eyes went wide as the beast bore down on him. He squeezed off another shot and turned to flee.
Yiska’s elephant picked up Hatathlie with its trunk and shook him like a rattle. Hatathlie tried to point the gun at the elephant’s skull. The elephant shook him harder and Hatathlie dropped the gun.
Ahiga leaped off his elephant to chase Frans, who was running toward the car. Ahiga caught him when he was opening the door, slamming the bigger man into the car with a sharp metallic bonk. Frans’s head cracked against the window frame and he slumped to the ground.
“Wallace?” Niyol’s voice came from below him.
Wallace looked down at his friend and grinned. “Who else?”
“I thought I was dreaming.” Niyol stepped forward to touch the elephant’s fabric-wrapped armor. The beast turned its head to look at him, but did nothing more.
Ahiga dragged Frans back to camp. Soon, all three men were securely tied, facing a new fire that cast their shadows into the night. The elephants grazed calmly in the background, their fabric-covered armor making soft rustling noises.
“Fellow people, why do you bind us?” Hatathlie asked, speaking Navajo.
“We bind for truth,” Yiska said. He sat facing the three men, backlit by the fire. “Strong accusations have been made.”
“What has the boy said?”
“He said that you will tear out the heart of our land for some metal that shines like gold. He said you will give our land to our enemies.”
Hatathlie sighed. “May I speak my vision?”
“Yes,” Yiska said.
“You are a proud group,” Hatathlie said. “Descendants of the men who won our land from the Americans. I did not know you existed. I salute your bravery and what you have done. I hope your resolve will help you understand what I see for Dinétah, and for the Diné.”
Yiska nodded, his expression blank.
“I see the Diné rising again. It has been said that we will one day save the world. Some people say this is what our codetalkers did. I do not think they did. I think the prophecy is literal truth, and we will save the world.
“You may know that the United States has an atomic bomb, as does the Soviet Union. Two powerful nations, now both with the power to destroy the world. Dinétah is a small nation, rich in culture. Now we find we are gifted with the resources to make our own atomic bombs, to become a nuclear power. Two legs do not make the stool. We can be the third leg. We can be the counterbalance. We can stand aside and say no, this land is sacred, it shall not be destroyed.”
“After you’ve mined all the uranium,” Wallace said.
Yiska looked at Wallace and shook his head. Wallace felt his face grow red.
“With this atomic bomb, we would be as powerful as the Americans?” Yiska asked.
“Yes!” Hatathlie said. “We would never have to worry about losing our land again. We could go to Washington and speak as equals. Maybe even more.”
Yiska nodded again. “Diné could sleep secure in their hogans, knowing this.”
“Yes!”
“And we could keep the land as we once did.”
“Yes.”
“After we remove the heart of a sacred mountain.”
Hatathlie’s mouth clicked shut.
“You did not introduce yourself or your clan when we met,” Yiska said.
“I…I was scared. I’m Benjamin Hatathlie of Chiricahua Apache Clan…”
Yiska sighed, stood up, and turned his back on Hatathlie.
“What…what does that mean…,” Hatathlie said.
Ahiga stepped out of the shadows from behind Hatathlie. He held a long blade that glowed orange in the reflected firelight.
The blade fell, swiftly, slashing Hatathlie’s neck. He gurgled and screamed and fell over on his side, tugging at the ropes that bound his hands and feet. His eyes, wide and dark, seemed to settle on Wallace. Wallace tried to keep his face expressionless, but he wanted to smile.
You were not Din�
�, he thought.
Hatathlie’s struggles became weaker. Eventually, he lay motionless. A great sigh passed out of him, and he was still.
Wallace heard a sob. Beside him, Niyol was crying.
“Why are you crying?” Wallace asked.
Niyol just shook his head and turned away.
Was it possible that his friend believed what Hatathlie said? Did he stay with them because he wanted to be part of the great new nation?
A low noise from Frans broke his thoughts. The man was mumbling something, his eyes heavenward. Praying.
Herbert looked Ahiga directly in the eye. There was no fear in his expression.
“Go ahead,” Herbert said. “Kill me. It doesn’t matter. There are lots of others like me. And it’s either us or the United States. And you know what the United States did to you. You could have worse partners than the mob.”
Yiska shook his head. “We will not kill you.”
“What?” Herbert said.
Frans stopped praying and looked up.
“This is for Diné. You are not Diné.”
“They killed Diné!” Wallace said. “They killed four of us!”
“Is this true?” Yiska said.
“They attacked us first!” Herbert said.
“Is this true?” Yiska asked Wallace.
“They…these men shot first.”
Herbert frowned. “If we hadn’t, they would have taken the money. And maybe killed these kids.”
“Is that true?” To Wallace.
Wallace looked away. It was true. He doubted if Gerald Manycows would have left any witnesses.
But they had to kill them! What Herbert said was true! It was them or America. Eventually, one of them would come in and take everything away. Wallace envisioned US Army tanks rolling across the orange-red desert, to face a line of Elephant Ironclads ridden by brightly clothed Diné warriors. It would be an incredible sight. In its own way, it would be beautiful.
The Del Rey Book of Science Fiction and Fantasy Page 5