Soul of the Sacred Earth Page 9

  The military men stood apart from the savages, and although he’d made it clear that mass was no place for the carrying of weapons, they were all armed—no doubt because the captain had ordered it so. Given the recent unfortunate experience with the Navajo, he saw a certain logic in the order, but still, the captain’s disregard for Church doctrine was something he could hardly ignore. In fact, if Lopez committed another sin such as the one he had committed with the Hopi woman, he would have no choice but to inform not just Captain Lopez’s father-in-law but the territorial governor as well.

  A breeze nearly as hot as the winds of hell plastered his robe to his body. If only he could remove his hood—but there was no way he was going to go bareheaded. The savages, for reasons he didn’t understand but for which he was grateful, accorded anyone in uniform or costume a measure of respect, and he was determined to capture that respect today.

  “We adore You, O Lord Jesus Christ, in this Church and all the Churches of the world,” he began. “And we bless You, because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the world.”

  Pablo, Madariaga, and the others bowed their heads and crossed themselves. So did Lopez, but not until the others had begun. As for the Hopi—

  “Yet for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist.”

  Through whom we exist. Touched by the simple power of those words, he turned his face to the heavens, and if his voice filled with tears as he thanked God for this opportunity to spread His word, so be it. Embraced by God’s glory, he took in the assembled Hopi. He suspected that not every member of the tribe had been induced to attend services, but certainly the majority had been suitably impressed by the military presence. Either that or their so-called holy men had predicted that whatever spirits they worshipped would strike the padre dead, and they all wanted to see that.

  They would be disappointed! Sorely disappointed and disillusioned with their religious leaders.

  He’d begun to bow his head again when his attention was drawn to a young woman standing in the midst of a group of elderly women. At first he didn’t know why she’d caught his eye, but then he recognized her as the one who’d been called upon to care for Pablo.

  “Lord,” his voice echoed off the nearby stone walls, “Lord, look down on this multitude and see that a miracle has been wrought. We are gathered here in worship and humility. Although many of us are ignorant of You and Your teachings, You have seen fit to send me, your servant, to spread the Word. Stand over us today and all our todays and guide us from darkness into the light.”

  An infant whimpered, but he ignored it. “If, in Your wisdom, You wish the gathered to understand the glories that will become theirs once they are believers, I pray their hearts and minds will open today, that—”

  He swayed, and quickly spread his legs for balance. What had happened? He looked around, but no one else appeared the slightest bit alarmed. If there’d been an earth tremor, certainly he couldn’t be the only one affected.

  “This land may be new to You, oh Lord, for this is the first time You have been asked to spread Your word here, but—”

  Once again the ground—or something—shuddered, stopping him in mid-sentence. Pulling his hands free of the long sleeves, he reached out for support, but it wasn’t offered. The adult Hopi stared unemotionally but the children, at least those who were brave enough to peek out from behind their mothers’ skirts, gaped openmouthed at him. He’d intended to direct much of the sermon at them since a child’s mind was more malleable and the devil hadn’t, he prayed, had time to corrupt them, but now he could barely remember what he’d been going to say.

  “God’s glory is upon us,” he intoned. “I placed all my confidence in God, and He saw me safely here. There can be no doubt that my mission was meant to be, that—”

  Was that the wind? Cold fingers slid down his spine, clamped onto his belly, touched his heart. Afraid he might pass out, he struggled to clear his vision, but the sudden mist refused to lift. Occasionally he drank enough wine to become lightheaded, but although this sensation reminded him of that, he didn’t feel at all relaxed.

  “Captain?” His voice no longer echoed but squeaked like that of a frightened mouse.

  Lord God, what—

  “No! Devil, I cast you out!”

  The effort of speaking sent his head to splitting, but he refused to be silent. “I am God’s servant. I will continue! I will, and my words will free us all. This place—this place will become Yours, oh Lord. The dark forces are cast out, now, never to return, never . . .”

  Hearing his own voice calmed him, but although he’d always believed in the power of prayer, today he couldn’t quite find peace in it. Instead it seemed that he’d faced a test; he couldn’t say whether he’d passed or failed, just that it wasn’t over.

  • • •

  Cougar would have preferred to lose himself in the knots of Hopi gathered around the padre, but he needed to stand out. He hadn’t intended to enter Oraibi, since standing on the isolated mesa made him feel trapped, but for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, the villagers—and, most importantly, the soldiers—had gathered here. Most of the Hopi men were shirtless in deference to the hot day. Since he, too, wore nothing from the waist up except for the large turquoise necklace that covered much of his chest, he should blend in until it was time for him to speak.

  Forcing himself to relax, he turned his attention to the Hopi; hopefully, one or more of them had learned a little Spanish. He noted the dull look of incomprehension, the slackening interest, but here and there, mostly among the older Hopi, someone was paying attention, occasionally nodding or shaking their heads.

  Whatever he’d been thinking died as he took a second look at a young woman surrounded by others old enough to be her mother or even grandmother. Her eyes never left the padre, and yet he sensed she was also aware of the soldiers. She gave no outward sign of her reaction to what the padre was saying beyond a change of color in her large, expressive eyes. Those eyes said she was taking measure of the small man, perhaps looking for strengths and weaknesses in him, listening to his tone of voice but more importantly, his choice of words. At one point, the padre stretched his arms toward the sky and fairly screamed something that put Cougar in mind of the sound circling vultures made. The woman—her squash-blossom hairdo told him she was unmarried—leaned toward one of her companions and whispered. Then she did the same with another, this time eliciting a shake of the head.

  She understands.

  Cougar licked his dry lips and reassured himself that he hadn’t lost the bag containing the highly polished green rocks that he’d brought with him. He was still convinced his plan was a worthy one, but he hated being here. Hated feeling so vulnerable.

  Whatever the padre was doing went on and on. Sometimes he spoke with his eyes open, but occasionally he grew weary, closed them, and nodded as if falling asleep. For the most part he stood, but at least four times he dropped to his knees and remained there while continuing that ear-hurting chant of his. He indicated he wanted the Hopi to kneel when he did, but although a handful of those closest to the soldiers followed suit when the military men knelt, most simply watched. Someday, maybe, he’d ask the young woman the meaning of the padre’s words—and her reaction to them.

  But for now . . .

  • • •

  Someone was staring at her. Alarmed, Morning Butterfly looked around. At first all she saw were the faces of her people. She was afraid one of the soldiers had come close, but they were still standing off by themselves. She grew aware that the staring came from her right. Slowly she turned in that direction.

  There. Part and yet not part of the gathering stood a man. An outsider would think him Hopi, but not only didn’t she recognize him, he carried himself in the way of the Navajo, bold and aggressive. His eyes held on her, and he nodded. When her mouth parted involuntarily, he covered his lips with a finger. D
espite her shock, she nodded. After a moment, he jerked his head, indicating he wanted her to come stand beside him. Much as she hated it, she couldn’t ignore his unspoken message.

  Leaving her companions and making her way to him took a long time because she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. Fortunately, a number of Hopi children had become restless and their relatives were engaged in trying to make them remain quiet.

  Finally, for the first time in her life, she stood close enough to a Navajo to touch him. His necklace was magnificent, its clusters of small turquoise pieces within silver of Zuni design.

  “I am called Cougar,” he whispered in Hopi. “You are . . .”

  “Morning Butterfly. How is it you speak the language of the Peaceful Ones?”

  “When I was a child, my parents came across a Hopi with a broken leg. It was winter and the boy stayed with us until spring. He and I became like brothers.”

  She acknowledged his explanation with a brief nod, then looked at the padre to make sure he still held the majority’s attention.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I must speak to the newcomers.”

  “No!” Fortunately, her fear of the soldiers was enough that even in shock, she kept her voice low. “Navajo wounded one of them. They hate you.”

  “I know. My cousin was shot during the raid. He—I wanted to come back for him, but I did not dare. He—is he alive?”

  “No,” she whispered. Then: “The captain had his body burned.”

  “Atch, no. His death spirit . . .” His mouth drawn into a hard line, he continued to take in his surroundings, putting her in mind of a deer watching wolves.

  “You say you wish to speak to them. What if they do to you as they did to your cousin?”

  His eyes narrowed, but if he was afraid, he didn’t show it. “Then our spirits will be joined. We may become chindi together.”

  “Chindi?”

  “It does not matter now. You speak their language.”

  She’d been right to think of him as bold and aggressive. Yes, his tall, muscular body was so taut that she thought he might fly apart, but she couldn’t imagine him running from danger. He smelled of earth and grass, of the wind even, and she envied him without knowing why.

  “Yes,” she told him. “How did you know?”

  “I watched you. Saw the truth in your eyes.”

  The padre looked as if he was going to kneel again, but instead he tucked his hands up in his long sleeves, bent his head and stared at his feet. Earlier, when he’d first stood near an abandoned sipapu, or Hole of Emergence, inside a kiva, he’d acted as if he was in the grip of an angry spirit, and she’d hoped his heart would stop beating, but he’d managed to calm himself. She should concentrate on what he was saying, but it no longer mattered.

  “I am not the only one who understands their words, at least some of them,” she explained. “I do not want the newcomers to know.” Then whispering low in her throat, she told him what had happened to her sister after the Navajo raid.

  “She would still be an innocent if not for what you and others of your tribe did. The captain became like a puma after his man was wounded. His rage and frustration—there was nowhere for it to go except in a sexual way. Rape.”

  “Do not say that. It is not the truth.”

  “Not!”

  “Do you really believe the soldiers would have gone forever not touching a woman? I apologize to you for having to care for that man. That thing was my doing, but the Navajo did not turn the newcomers into dogs in heat.”

  Needing to sort out her thoughts, she tried to concentrate on her surroundings and renew herself in the familiar, but his presence made that impossible. Her family occasionally traded with the Navajo, and she’d watched Hopi and Navajo men together and concluded that physically they were little different one from the other. What set Hopi and Navajo apart was what went on inside them.

  “Morning Butterfly?”

  “What?” If only he would go away!

  “You say you do not want the newcomers to know you understand them, but if you are ever to be rid of them, you must do as I ask.”

  “What do you want to say to the soldiers?”

  “Not want, but must.” Moving as little as possible, he reached inside the bag around his waist and pulled out several chunks of green rock. “Emeralds,” he said.

  “Ha! They are worthless rocks that have been polished until their color shows. Only your necklace has any value.”

  “But the soldiers do not know that. They will look at them and go in search of more—leave Oraibi.”

  “You can promise that?”

  “We must try. Otherwise they may be here forever.”

  The service ended then. The padre clapped his hands and indicated to the soldiers that he wanted them to walk among the Hopi, forcing them to bow their heads.

  Both Cougar and Morning Butterfly joined what he assumed was some kind of prayer, and although doing so didn’t seem to bother her, it was all he could do to submit. He kept his eyes open, his attention drawn to the nearest sacred Hopi place they called a kiva. The Hopi youth his family had cared for had described them to him, and he’d been fascinated by descriptions of kachinas and the role the meeting places and spirit-figures played in pueblo life. He wished there was time to ask Morning Butterfly about the sipapu and why it had frightened the padre.

  “Now,” he whispered to her when the Spanish god-man finally stopped talking.

  “I am afraid.”

  Of drawing attention to herself? Of course she was, he admitted, regretting what he’d asked of her. Still, she hadn’t refused. After briefly meeting his eyes, she walked toward the padre, head high and graceful, and began to speak.

  After a moment, the padre called out something that caused the captain to look his way and then settle his gaze on Morning Butterfly. Still, she remained where she was, putting Cougar in awe of her courage. After shifting his musket from one shoulder to the other, the captain approached her. Morning Butterfly said something to the captain, then pointed at Cougar.

  “Come,” she ordered in Hopi. “They know you are Navajo and that you wish to show them something. They now also know the truth about me.” He heard the regret in her voice.

  “You blame me for that?”

  “There is no time for blame, Cougar.”

  As he closed the distance between himself and the Spanish, he sensed many eyes on him. Oraibi was like an anthill, alive with Hopi, and he didn’t belong—he and the newcomers. It seemed to Cougar that Morning Butterfly positioned herself so she was closer to him than to the padre or the soldier, but that might only be a trick of his mind.

  The captain said something and Morning Butterfly sucked in a deep breath, her eyes alive with concern. “He says he will kill you.”

  “If he does, he will never have what first brought his kind here.” The sun was on fire and yet he felt cold. “Tell him that.”

  She looked a heartbeat away from running; yet she stood her ground, speaking slowly in Spanish. She concentrated on the captain’s reply.

  “He wants you to speak to me and for me to repeat exactly what you say,” she translated. “Then he will decide what is to be done with you.”

  Feeling like a deer who has fallen into a man-dug trap, Cougar struggled to remain in control. “Perhaps the captain will believe I am lying to him, that we both are.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Because the Hopi were a slow-moving people with the patience to coax life from the hard ground, he’d wondered if their thinking was simple like an animal’s but now he knew better. As everyone stared, Cougar kept his attention on Morning Butterfly and prayed he’d been wise in trusting her.

  The longer she spoke, the more like flowing water her unfamiliar words became. The uniformed man stopped her several times to ask questions, and when she replied, she kept her eyes level on the man who had the power of life and death.

  “He is much taken with your necklace but it
is the emeralds he demands to see,” she said at last.

  “Does he believe they are emeralds?”

  “His eyes say he wants to, but he is cautious and suspicious.”

  As well he should be, Cougar thought as he held out his carefully selected collection of rocks. The sun buried a little of itself in the glittering surfaces and the soldier’s face took on the look of a hungry predator.

  Captain Lopez wasn’t the only one to draw closer. As he snatched the stones from Cougar, the other soldiers gathered around, along with Fray Angelico.

  “Emeralds,” Lopez said, savoring the way the word felt on his tongue. “Not gold. Emeralds.” He watched the Navajo out of the corner of his eye, looking for some sign of deceit, a subtle twitch that would give away the savage’s pathetic attempt at a lie, but his features remained impassive.

  “They’re that all right, Captain,” Madariaga announced. He all but licked his lips. “I’ve seen them on royalty, but never close up like this.”

  Ignoring the irritating impostor, Lopez asked the Hopi woman to repeat where the Navajo had found them.

  “At the edge of the great canyon,” she said. “Within its walls lie uncounted stones of great value.”

  “Hm.” He’d heard of the canyon all right, thanks to the writings of the colonist Pedro de Castaneda, who’d been part of one of the first expeditions. In August of 1540, Captain Garcia Lopez de Cardenas and twenty-five men under him had been the first explorers to set eyes on the massive cut into the earth. Three of their party had attempted the descent to the river at the bottom, but failed. If the canyon was as large as Castaneda had recorded, he might spend the rest of his life searching for the exact origin point of the precious stones he held in his hand. “And why do you say he’s willing to tell me this?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Because he fears your wrath.”

  That might be the most intelligent thing he’d heard since coming here. According to the woman, this Navajo hadn’t been with those who’d stolen the horses. When he’d heard about the theft, he’d consulted his so-called spirits and they’d warned him that Spanish soldiers wouldn’t allow the atrocity to go unpunished. Scared down to his bones, the brave had decided to try to atone by “paying” for the horses with emeralds.