Ghost Warrior

by Lucia St. Clair Robson

  “The traders from Alamosa will come soon,” said Morning Star. “We can trade the mules we took in Mexico, for corn and gifts. We can slaughter my share of the cattle and dry the meat for the feast.”

  Victorio was glad to lie down on the blankets. He and the others had traveled for three days and nights, dozing in their saddles. He closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar smells of home.

  “People are saying that your sister is di-yin, a shaman,” She Moves Like Water said.

  Victorio grunted. He had detected the change in Lozen as soon as he saw her. When he left she had been uncertain of her gift of far-sight; but now that most of the women in the band had witnessed it, she believed it herself. He saw that certainty in the set of her mouth, the confident look in her eyes. Power did that for those who possessed it.

  She Moves Like Water lifted her tunic over her head. She let her skirt fall around her ankles. She lay down next to Victorio, and he stroked her neck, shoulder, arm, hip, and thigh. He lost himself in the pleasure of her smooth curves. The longing for her consumed him, but he could not finish anything he might start here.

  “Should I ask Corn Stalk to marry me?” he murmured.

  When She Moves Like Water spoke, Morning Star could hear the relief in her voice that her sister would be cared for.

  “I could use help gathering mesquite beans and digging roots.”

  Victorio sighed. He would be responsible for another person, but if he married his wife’s sister, he wouldn’t have to wait three years to enjoy a woman. And he wouldn’t have to acquire a second mother-in-law. That was almost a bigger advantage than the first one.

  AS PEOPLE VISITED RELATIVES IN DISTANT BANDS, THEY spread the word of the powers of Victorio’s sister to see enemies. When Victorio and She Moves Like Water sent invitations for Lozen’s Da-i-dá, the Ceremony of White Painted Woman, everyone accepted. Everyone.

  During Da-i-da the spirit of The People’s original ancestor, Istún-e-glesh, White Painted Woman, entered the girl being honored. She gave her the power to bestow health, children, prosperity, and long life on those she blessed. For four days the candidate became White Painted Woman. How much more powerful that blessing would be coming from a di-yin to whom the spirits had given the gift of far-sight.

  Cheis and the Tall Cliffs people had ridden from their territory to the west. Red Sleeves and his followers had come from the Santa Rita area. Long Neck brought his family and other Enemy People from their stronghold in the Sierra Madre. Even He Who Yawns, whom many now called Geronimo, made the trip with the In Front At The End People.

  The guests set up their shelters along the river and on the surrounding hillsides. They went from camp to camp visiting friends and relatives. They laughed and talked long into the night. Horses grazed everywhere, and packs of boys stole rides when they weren’t committing other mischief. They threw rocks at the girls and at each other. They snatched blackened slabs of ribs from the fires as they chased through the camps.

  The Warm Springs women set up long arbors around the ceremonial ground. For days they peeled and sliced and chopped. Kettles of venison and mule stew hung over the fires. Breads of acorn, mescal, and cornmeal baked on flat rocks in the coals. Smoke and aromas blanketed the valley.

  The men led in mules loaded with wood. They stacked a small mountain of it in the center of the dance ground. They piled more of it at the perimeter. Loco led the Gaan, the Mountain Dancers, into the nearby heights to prepare for their performance.

  Songs, prayers, and the cackle of laughter drifted up from the sweat lodge under the cottonwoods as Broken Foot and his five helpers and drummers purified themselves. When they finished, they charged out naked and glistening and jumped into the cold river water. They spent the rest of the day making the sacred items for Lozen and Stands Alone.

  As afternoon lengthened, people put on their finest clothes and gathered for bi kehilze, the Dressing. Broken Foot and his helpers laid out the musicians’ drums and two large, shallow baskets of yellow pollen. They added the two sacred staffs, the turquoise prayer stones, the six eagle feathers, and the two drinking tubes and scratchers tied onto thongs. The sound of bells preceded Lozen and Stands Alone through the low door of their ceremonial lodge. A murmur rose from the crowd at the sight of them.

  Grandmother and Her Eyes Open had washed the girls’ hair with suds from the yucca plant, and it hung to the backs of their knees in lustrous cascades. A thick border of tin cones around the rectangular yokes of their doeskin blouses jingled each time they moved. The fringes at the shoulders fell to their wrists. Those along the skirt hems brushed their ankles. The tail of a black-tailed deer hung down the back of each dress. Beaded circles represented the sun, with long leather strips streaming from the center as its rays. Crescent moons and morning stars decorated the hems of skirt and top. The leather had been rubbed with ochre and pollen until it glowed a golden yellow.

  The murmuring grew to a loud buzz, and Lozen faltered. She had thought she was ready. Grandmother and Her Eyes Open had spent the past month explaining the ritual, but no amount of instruction could have prepared Lozen for this. Never had she seen so many Ndee, and they were all staring at her. They expected her to heal their sick, straighten their deformities, and give them long life. For the next year, if the weather turned bad, they would blame her for it. If the corn crops failed or someone fell ill, they would hold her responsible. The combined force of their anticipation, their fears, and their hopes hit her like a gale wind.

  Grandmother spoke behind her. “Stand on the deer hide. Hold your chin high.” She gave Lozen a gentle push. Broken Foot held the two tall staffs painted with black, yellow, green, and white bands. He had decorated them with eagle feathers, turquoise stones, and tin cones.

  “These canes were made of an acorn-bearing oak so that you will have many children,” he said. “The eagle feather will give you strength. The colors of the four directions mean that Life Giver will watch over you wherever you go.”

  Broken Foot explained the need for Lozen and Stands Alone to have endurance and patience for the long ceremony ahead. He admonished them to be virtuous so the blessings of White Painted Woman would have good effect. Finally he fastened the smaller eagle feathers to their shoulders with the small thongs sewn there. As he tied the large eagle plume onto the hair at the crown of Lozen’s head, an eagle circled four times above them and flew off toward the mountains. The crowd gave a cry of delight. It was the best possible omen.

  FOR DECADES MEXICAN TRADERS FROM THE VILLAGE OF Alamosa had hauled their cumbersome oxcarts along the rocky streambed and through the narrow opening in the cliff face. The Red Paint sentries had a special signal to advise everyone of their coming. Their arrival was always cause for celebration. The women flocked around them, craning to see what treasures they had brought. The children scrambled for the chicle and the pieces of cactus candy that they tossed from the rear of the carts. The little ones clambered aboard the sad-eyed oxen.

  On their last visit, Victorio and She Moves Like Water had traded every tanned hide, basket, and horse they had except Coyote and two others. They had received a stack of goods in return, but they hadn’t kept them long. They gave Broken Foot two of the remaining ponies. They added two tooled Mexican saddles and a stack of blankets.

  In return for the presents, Broken Foot had agreed to sing the entire sixty-four-song cycle for Lozen’s ceremony.

  As Broken Foot ended the first four-song series, Lozen glanced at Stands Alone. She was marking off the songs by twisting a fringe on her tunic whenever his voice died away and he gathered himself to start the next song. Lozen wondered if she would have enough fringes.

  Broken Foot’s singing lasted until sundown when the dancing began. Lozen and Stands Alone danced continually, striking the ground with their staffs at each step. She Moves Like Water danced beside Lozen, and Corn Stalk accompanied Stands Alone.

  After standing motionless all afternoon, Lozen’s legs ached, but She Moves Like Water smile
d encouragement at her. She danced so gracefully that Lozen couldn’t shame her by stumbling or grimacing. Fortunately, this was only a halfnight dance. When the full moon hung directly above them, Broken Foot and the drummers stopped.

  Lozen and Stands Alone, Grandmother, and Her Eyes Open could sleep a few hours. At dawn the girls walked out onto the dance ground. On the hides laid out in front of them sat baskets of pollen and others holding cowrie shells, chicle, nuts, tin cones, and fruit symbolizing the gifts that White Painted Woman would give to her people.

  For the rest of the morning the girls danced in a jingling of bells with She Moves Like Water and Corn Stalk next to them. Now and then Grandmother lifted Lozen’s heavy fall of hair and wiped her neck and forehead. She let her sip water through the drinking tube. At midmorning, Grandmother motioned for Lozen to lie on her stomach on the hide, and she massaged her all over to make her vigorous and strong.

  When Lozen stood up, she felt taller. Her legs no longer hurt. Her feet and hands, then her legs and arms tingled as the power of White Painted Woman surged through her.

  At midday the dancing stopped, and people crowded closer. This was the climax of the ritual, and no one wanted to miss it. To the east Broken Foot set a basket containing sacred pollen and ocher, a deer-hoof rattle, an eagle feather, and a bundle of grama grass. Spectators lined the track.

  Lozen looked down the narrow open space with dread. The welfare of her people depended on her four runs. What if she stumbled? What if she fell? What if she overturned the basket?

  This was when Grandmother earned the title She Who Trots Them Out. She pushed Lozen into the run and gave the high call as Lozen sprinted to the basket, circled it, and raced back. Broken Foot’s assistant moved the basket closer, and Lozen ran three more times while the spectators shouted and the women added their cries to Grandmother’s.

  At the end of the fourth run Broken Foot sang in a voice almost too hoarse to hear.

  White Painted Woman carries this girl

  She carries her through long life

  She carries her to all good things

  She carries her to old age

  She carries her to peaceful sleep

  The crowd’s excitement intensified as the Gaan dancers appeared with their tall, fan-shaped headdresses painted in the four sacred colors. They danced around the women through four more song cycles. Spectators began to shout when Loco in his guise as the Clown took a brush full of pollen dissolved in water and painted Lozen with it from her head to her feet. Lozen closed her eyes when the pollen crusted her lashes. When he finished, the Gaan danced away, and Grandmother wiped the pollen out of her eyes.

  Her people’s goodwill washed over Lozen. Tears ran down her cheeks, leaving tracks in the pollen. She felt as though she were rising off the earth and floating on the affection of those around her.

  “It’s almost done for her,” they shouted. “The end is coming!” “She’s beautiful! She brings us joy.”

  Broken Foot dipped the brush into the liquid pollen, and with flicks of his wrist, sprayed the crowd with it, turning so that the drops went in every direction. The din grew deafening.

  Lozen picked up the deer hide on which she had been standing. She shook it to each direction, to send away any diseases that might harm her. Broken Foot poured one of the baskets of fruit and trinkets over her, and the children rushed forward, laughing and jostling to pick them up. Possessing something from the basket assured them that they would prosper for years to come.

  When he had done the same for Stands Alone, Grandmother offered the basket of pollen to the four directions and took some of it on her fingers. She marked a stripe from cheek to cheek across the ridge of Lozen’s nose and painted another stripe along the part in her hair. Lozen marked her the same way.

  People formed a line that circled the perimeter of the dance ground and stretched off among the nearest shelters. As individuals reached the front of the line, Lozen and Stands Alone marked them with pollen. Mothers held their children up for their blessings. When He Steals Love approached Lozen, she tried to avoid his eyes, but he gave her a look of such longing that she almost dropped the basket of pollen in her confusion.

  When the last person had received a blessing. Lozen and Stands Alone went to the tall tipi of four poles raised to Broken Foot’s exact specifications. They passed between the food and gifts to be given away later and lay down on the thick bed of pine needles. Tonight Lozen and She Moves Like Water, Stands Alone, and Corn Stalk would dance with four of the Gaan dancers, circling in complex patterns half the night.

  The Gaan dancers wore black masks. They painted their bodies gray with magical black designs. The sight of their tall crowns silhouetted against the orange sunset sky as they came down from their hiding places had always terrified Lozen. As a child, she had screamed when her grandmother held her up so they could thrust their wands at her to drive away evil spirits.

  Now she knew who the men were inside those costumes. She also knew that her brother had had to use all his charm to persuade them to perform. If a man made a mistake in the ceremony, he could become ill or call evil down on everyone. If he didn’t put the mask on with the proper gestures, he could go mad. The touch of a dancer who had been made up by a stronger shaman could paralyze him.

  When the Gaan finished their performance, the social dances would begin. People would pair off and dance all night. This was the best of all possible nights to fall in love, and many would, but Lozen knew she wouldn’t be one of them.

  She didn’t care. Her brother had promised her something better. If she could endure the training that the boys received, she could go with him on a raid for the horses they desperately needed to replace the ones the family had given away. She fell asleep exhausted and smiling. She knew she would never feel such ecstacy again, but she didn’t care about that, either. To have experienced it once was enough.

  PART TWO

  1852 Apprentice

  Coyote Makes Women Valuable

  A long time ago, they say, Coyote saw a pretty woman. Coyote’s not bashful like those boys over there. He’s always wanting to have intercourse with women. They don’t even have to be pretty, but this one was.

  He smiled at her, and he joked with her, and he walked with her in the moonlight that shone through the branches of the cottonwoods by the river. He was about to put his penis inside her when he saw rows of sharp teeth in her vagina. So instead of his penis he poked a stick in there. Those teeth bit that stick in two with a loud crunch, and they gnawed the pieces into tiny little splinters.

  So then Coyote put a rock in and broke the teeth right off. Because he did that, the woman’s vagina became like it is today, without teeth.

  The woman was happy about it. She said, “From now on men will desire me, and I’ll be worth many horses and other good things.”

  That’s why these days men give horses and blankets and saddles and other valuable gifts to a woman’s family when they want to marry her.

  I’m talking about fruit and flowers and other good things.

  Chapter 13

  GETTING A LEG UP

  In the desert Rafe was used to light, heat, thirst, and his own inner imps playing tricks on him, but something here was amiss. Red whinnied. The four mules brayed and pitched their ears forward.

  In their haste to get to California, the gold rushers had left behind the usual broken-down wagons, furniture, cast-iron stoves, trunks, and millstones. Clothes caught on the prickly pear or blew along the ground like wounded birds. In the distance, though, two rows of dark forms paralleled the rutted trail.

  Coffee-colored Othello performed his mincing sidestep, rattling the traces in the process. His partner, the smaller, shifty-eyed Iago, tried to sit down. In front, Rosencrantz and Gildenstern each gave a kick, setting the iron chains on the whiffletree to jangling.

  Rafe squinted into the glare of the morning sun. The shimmering waves of August heat caused the figures to undulate. As he drove closer he saw pairs of
oxen and mules, horses and sheep facing each other across the trail, each pair fifteen or twenty feet away from the next one. They were all dead. Their blackened skin had shriveled around their parched bones and held them together. Someone had propped them up with limbs and rocks and boards. Rafe estimated that at least a hundred of them stood silent guard, and he realized that for the past few miles he hadn’t seen any dead animals with the abandoned wagons.

  Beef-on-the-hoof brought such a high price in California that driving them west could make a man rich, even if most of them died on the way. The ordeal of the trek killed thousands of dray animals, too. Whoever did this hadn’t lacked material for their creation. Rafe wondered who the jokesters were and why they decided to haul the corpses into place. Were they blessed with a sense of the ridiculous? Was this their comment on the folly of mankind? More likely, Rafe thought, a couple fellows had gone mad with the heat.

  The first animal in line was an ox with a desert wren perching in his eye socket. Flies still buzzed around the fresher bodies. The scene was eerie, unnerving. It was the sort of multitude that could make a man feel more than alone in the universe.

  He had neared the end of the line when he saw a horse with a saddle still attached. Hanging from the saddle was a holster with a book inside. Rafe stopped the wagon and climbed down. The book looked almost new. Romeo and Juliet. He glanced around, half expecting this to be an extension of the joke of the mummified entourage.

  He reached out a hand; then he drew it back. He could see no rock or plank scratched with the dread words, in various spellings, “Died of Asiatic cholera,” but that didn’t mean anything. No telling where this particular horse had expired or where his owner might be.