Shaman Winter

  Sonny told him about the other girls. He didn’t tell him about Rita’s miscarriage. Long before he dreamed of being a father, he had thought if he had a girl he would name her Cristina, after his great-grandmother.

  Now the daughter would not be, Cristina would not carry his dream. Raven had killed the most innocent, the weakest, and the girls he held were next.

  “What the hell does it mean?” the chief had asked in a subdued voice.

  “It means that Raven can hold the city, and the state, hostage,” Sonny replied. “At best. At worst, it means he actually is connected to a group that wants to take over the government.”

  “Damn, why here?” the chief moaned. “Why here?”

  “We are a spiritual center,” Sonny replied, speaking almost to himself because he knew the chief really didn’t understand the nature of Sonny’s struggle. “Now we’re a center of technology. A center where the fire of the gods has been created. Los Alamos, Sandia Labs, Intel, Phillips, the research at the university, that’s why. Raven wants to take over that center of fire. Destroy the dream, destroy the world.”

  “He can’t get away with that,” the exasperated chief mumbled.

  “Has so far,” Sonny said, and shrugged.

  It didn’t matter what the chief believed. It didn’t matter if Raven was connected to the Avengers or not. Raven had his own reason for blowing the world apart.

  “There’s more,” Sonny said simply.

  “You’re goddamned right there’s more!” Chief Garcia said loudly. “I’m calling Paiz! I’m going to rake him over the coals for not letting me know what he knew! My job is to protect this city! Damn, where do those pinche FBI boys get off!”

  Garcia’s parting words rang empty. He was on a linear track; the dream was circular. From where he lay, Sonny glanced at the dresser where Owl Woman’s bowl rested.

  A rustling sound made him turn toward the door. Lorenza appeared, dressed in a white embroidered cotton skirt and huipil. Her long black hair fell over her shoulders. It was glossy, like silk. He felt like touching it, running his fingers through it, like he did so often with Rita. Rita always loosened her hair when they made love. He loved the way it fell over him.

  “You look—” He started to say “beautiful,” but any compliment would fall short. She had been with him through thick and thin, and for a moment he wondered if he had fallen in love with her. Was she still only a guide, or much more?

  “Gracias,” she said, accepting his thoughts. “And you? How do you feel?” she asked, sitting on the chair by the side of the bed. Her eyes were clear, almost radiant. A sweet fragrance clung to her, a faint trace of herbs or the aroma of the sweet grass she burned when she performed her cleansing ceremonies.

  “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done,” he said, and taking her hand, he kissed it.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Hey, you’ve taken a chunk out of your life. Nearly gotten killed. And I have nothing to give to you.”

  “Maybe in the future,” she whispered. Her eyes shone in the dim light. She was looking into him, and the strong attraction they had always felt for each other rose like a pleasant wave.

  For a moment he wanted to reach out and draw her down beside him, make love to her, let go of the blame and anger he felt inside. Entering her flesh would erase the pain and loss he felt. He needed some measure of peace and stability right then, and dissolving into Lorenza was one way to get it. But no, Lorenza meant much more to him than a quick fix.

  “Right now we have to attend to your journey,” she said. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don Eliseo,” she said, turning.

  Sonny heard the kitchen door open and close; he sniffed the air. Chica looked up and let out a friendly whine. She, too, recognized the old man’s sounds.

  “Why?” Sonny asked, still afraid to get the old man involved.

  “I need his help,” Lorenza replied.

  “You mean I need his help,” Sonny said.

  “Yes.”

  “But you said it could be dangerous for him. His age—”

  “He insisted—” Lorenza said, and Sonny turned to see don Eliseo enter the room. Dressed in well-worn, soft buckskin pants and shirt, the old man looked like one of his vecinos at Sandia Pueblo, a medicine man in prayer garb.

  Sonny had never seen don Eliseo dressed so regally. A feather clung to his white hair. He was holding a small drum. He didn’t look like a withered old man of eighty; he looked like a young warrior.

  “Don Eliseo?”

  The old man bowed. “At your service.” He lay a large object at the foot of the bed and solemnly looked at Sonny. “I am sorry Rita got caught up in this.”

  Sonny nodded. “Thank you for calling us.”

  Don Eliseo shook his head. “When she called, I knew what had happened. Now it is up to us.” He paused. “Lorenza told me you have your legs back.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You need strong legs where we’re going.”

  “After Raven?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have to go alone, don Eliseo. I can’t let you do this,” Sonny said, starting to rise from the bed. Lorenza’s touch told him to stay put.

  “It’s after midnight,” the old man said, motioning to the window where the fading crescent moon provided little light. “The sun will rise and the hour of the winter solstice is not far away. At that moment when the sun stands still, Raven will act.”

  Lorenza and don Eliseo knew what lay ahead; Sonny could only guess. But he did know it was dangerous for the old man.

  In the darkness, Lorenza lit a candle.

  “Raven will kill the girls and take their spirits,” don Eliseo said, his voice a whisper that drew a whine from Chica. “For his evil reasons he will offer their blood to bring down the sun. For a few moments the sun hangs in a balance. We pray it will return north on its normal cycle. The days will get longer, spring will come, we will plant again. Mother Earth will nurture us.”

  Kill the girls, Sonny thought, and wed their souls to his. In each evil quadrant of his dark world, he’ll keep a spirit captive.

  Lorenza moved to the foot of the bed. Sonny looked at don Eliseo. So this was the final lesson of the old man’s way of life. He had taught Sonny about the Path of the Sun, now he would walk with him into the underworld.

  “Raven can fly,” the old man had cautioned Sonny, and it wasn’t until Lorenza helped Sonny find his coyote guardian spirit and fly into Raven’s circle of evil that Sonny began to grasp what flight meant.

  Now as don Eliseo peered at Sonny, his face was the face of a child, his eyes filled with light.

  Ah, Sonny thought, he can fly. The old man can fly! He truly is a shaman. He can fly.

  Sonny looked at Lorenza. She nodded. Yes, don Eliseo was a shaman. Not an evil brujo, but a good one, a man devoted to the path of light.

  Don Eliseo had spent his life studying the essence of the old Nuevo Mexicanos and of the Pueblo Indians. He had filled his spirit with light, until there was perfect clarity. He had become the spirit of light. He could fly.

  Chica whined, rose, and went to the edge of the bed, sniffed don Eliseo’s hand.

  “Yes, Chica, you will go with us,” don Eliseo said.

  Sonny shook his head. He didn’t understand. “Chica?”

  “Yes,” the old man nodded, rubbing Chica. “Maybe that’s why she came to stay with you. She’s not too old to nip at Raven’s heels.”

  Sonny wasn’t understanding the old man at all. Don Eliseo was preparing to go into Raven’s circle and face possible death, and still he was kidding. He was talking of taking Chica with them, as if they were going on a walk. It didn’t make sense.

  “Long ago, one of my compadres at Sandia told me, the people kept dogs around the village to keep away Raven. This is when he was pulling a lot of bad tricks on the people.”

  “Is it dangerous for her?” Sonny asked.

  “Everything
has an inherent danger in it,” don Eliseo said. “If the thing is not used properly, according to our instructions from the ancestors, then even an ear of corn can cause injury. Time itself can be dangerous. Time flows this way, then that way, and the sorcerers of evil mount it like a wild stallion to trample us. Each day has a face, a mask that can be good or evil. But it is not the fault of time that this last day of the cycle of the sun has a dark face. It is Raven who clouds the face of the solstice. When the face of the day grows troubled like this, the old people say prayers. It is important for the sun to rest in peace, to be gathered in the arms of the great ocean where it rests at night. In the womb of mother ocean it can sleep, dream, and in the morning it rises renewed, as a man rises renewed from peaceful dreams.”

  “Gracias a Dios,” Lorenza whispered.

  “Sí, gracias a Tata Dios, a las kachinas, a los espíritos de nuestros antepasados. The day about to be born is not only the beginning of a new season, it is the beginning of a new age on earth. We have come to the edge of a great cycle of time enveloping the earth, like a river comes to a waterfall. There ahead of us is the abyss where Raven lies waiting, ready to destroy the mother. We, the old warriors, must do battle with the forces of evil. It has always been dangerous, but we are prepared.”

  He took the Zia medallion from Lorenza and slipped it over Sonny’s head.

  “The sign of the sun has been blessed by a woman,” the old man said, acknowledging Lorenza’s role as Sonny’s guide. “Now you will wear it to meet Raven. Do not let go of it. He will come for it, but do not let go. He was wearing it during the Zia summer, but he possessed it only because in a prior age he took it from us. This gold of the sun has been with us since before the pyramids were built. It is timeless. It does not belong to Raven, it belongs to us.”

  Us, the old man said. The Zia medallion didn’t just come into play a few months ago, it was the symbol of prior ages. People had been passing it down through the ages.

  “A long time ago, the people knew how to catch dreams. Well, they screwed up and lost the ability,” don Eliseo said, a mischievous look in his eyes. “So they began to make dream catchers to catch the good dreams. So I have made you one.”

  He held up the large dream catcher he had placed at the foot of the bed when he entered. The dream catcher hoop was made from a juniper branch. Perfectly round, it was almost two feet in diameter, and the web was made of thin strips of deer leather. Painted in different colors so that even in the candlelight the colors glowed. Four eagle feathers hung at the bottom.

  “Rainbow colors,” Sonny muttered, taking the dream catcher.

  He remembered Rita had bought him a small one at the arts and crafts show at the State Fairgrounds when they first met. It hung on the ceiling over his bed, but he was so accustomed to it, he had forgotten about it. Now he looked up at the dream catcher that had gathered dust. It paled in comparison to the vibrant one don Eliseo had made for him.

  At the center of the dream catcher’s web, there was a round empty space. Good dreams would catch on the webbing and belong to the dreamer, but bad dreams would slip through the hole and be gone.

  “My vecinos at the pueblo say it’s strong medicine. I believe it. It carries the colors of the rainbow, and so the good spirits are in it. It will be your shield.”

  “Shield?”

  “Pues, look at it this way,” don Eliseo said. “I put some leather straps on each side. So when you strap it to your arm, it’s a shield. You know, like the knights used to wear.”

  Sonny smiled. Even now, after all he had been through, it seemed every time he entered the world of the spirits, the world of dreams and nightmares, there was a new twist. And often it verged on the ludicrous. But that was only before he understood the proper role of rules and objects associated with the journey.

  “I’m supposed to hold this up and Raven’s sword won’t cut through it?”

  “If you hold it right,” don Eliseo said, “like this.” He showed Sonny how to wave the dream catcher like a shield, how to turn it, how to approach Raven. “Turn like this when he strikes. He cannot touch you. When you catch him off guard, turn it like this and he will pass through the hole in the middle. That’s what you want to do,” he said, his voice rising. “Make him pass through the hole.”

  “He will pass away like a bad nightmare?” Sonny said. “Will he die?”

  Don Eliseo looked at Lorenza. Would this man never learn, his look seemed to say.

  “Raven cannot die,” Lorenza whispered.

  “Let me continue,” don Eliseo said. “Pay close attention. Your life will depend on it. Raven is holding the young women he kidnapped. They will appear in their spirit form. So we will catch them like this.” Again he showed Sonny how to turn the dream catcher. “In this way we capture their spirits and bring them back from the underworld.”

  He peered at Sonny. “You got it?”

  “I got it,” Sonny replied. He had to trust the old man, he knew that. He and Lorenza hadn’t been wrong yet. But did he have the courage to meet Raven’s scimitar charge with only a few dance steps and the dream catcher? Shouldn’t I be thinking of my pistol? Or Coyote? Yes, the guardian spirit would help. But a fragile dream catcher?

  “What if I can’t get Raven to pass through the hole?” he asked.

  “Then you die,” don Eliseo responded.

  Die, Sonny thought, die in the dream I create.

  “Follow his instructions,” Lorenza said, and handed Sonny the small leather pouch that contained the coyote hair she had gathered by the river. The string was knotted, like the old quipu cords of the Incas. The knots had been undone, one by one, until only one remained.

  Tonight the sun was tethered to the Sun Post at Macho Picchu; tonight the sun grew pregnant, desiring to rise over the pyramids of Teotihuacán. If Sonny could overcome Raven, it would rise again. If not—

  “Maybe I should have a drink,” Sonny said, half in jest, half serious. His anxiety was mounting. He was expected to bring back the girls and conquer Raven with a dream catcher?

  “No, no drink,” don Eliseo said. “We go with clear heads.”

  “Not even a little of that peyote you chew with your vecinos at the pueblo?” Sonny smiled.

  “We are going beyond the realm of Señor Peyote,” the old man replied. “Señor Peyote can lead us into one vision, but the world you are about to enter is deeper and more powerful. It is so true and real that it will attract Raven. He will come sniffing around, like the trickster that he is. He may transform himself into an animal, perhaps a beautiful woman, or he may come as a friend. You must recognize him. He wants the sacred sign of the Zia sun, the medallion you wear around your neck. If he gets that, he gets your soul.”

  “Listen to don Eliseo,” Lorenza said. “He has been there. He knows the ways of the Raven.”

  Yes, the old man fought Raven and his cohorts long before I came into the picture. He taught me the way, and so I must trust him.

  “I understand,” Sonny said.

  “Raven knows you’re coming,” don Eliseo continued. “He knows how strong your dreams have become. He will take chances. He is very crafty. Perhaps he will offer you one or two of the girls. Or he might offer to sit and talk with you, perhaps play cards, winner take all. You must be as crafty as Coyote. Do not let him trick you.”

  “And when I find him?” Sonny asked.

  “It is a battle to the death,” don Eliseo said solemnly.

  27

  “Are you ready?” don Eliseo asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You dream your own dream, entiendes?”

  Sonny nodded.

  “It’s your show, your stage. He’s got his circle, and he’s going to try to get you in there. You stay in your dream. You bring him to you, to your power.”

  Yes, Sonny thought. Maybe a cantina. I could have Billy there, and Coyote. Maybe even my bisabuelo could show up, and Pancho Villa. Like the Old West dreams I’ve been having.

  No, he was sl
eepy, he wasn’t thinking straight. He needed a stage that had to do with the kidnapped girls.

  “The girls he took had something to do with a play about the birth of Christ.…”

  “You choose,” don Eliseo said. “I will be the drummer tonight. I will carry the drum into the dreamworld. You follow with the dream catcher. Pay close attention. Don’t step into Raven’s circle. Don’t let Raven trick you, and don’t take anything he offers you.”

  The old man went to the window and looked out. A thin moon shone on a cold earth. In the dim light his cornfield stood sere and withered. Among the frozen cornstalks a shadow moved.

  “He’s here,” don Eliseo whispered.

  “Here?” Sonny started to get up. “Where’s my pistol?” He had forgotten where he put his pistol.

  Lorenza’s touch told him to remain still. “The pistol is useless. Follow don Eliseo!” she commanded, her voice harsh.

  Don Eliseo stood at the window a long time. Sonny watched. The old man began a steady drumming, which he kept up for a long time.

  Sonny grew sleepy. We’re supposed to be chasing Raven, he thought, but don Eliseo didn’t appear to be in a hurry. The drumming grew hypnotic, the minutes stretched out.

  Sonny felt Lorenza get up, take the Bowl of Dreams from the bureau, and place it on the nightstand next to him.

  “Follow don Eliseo,” she whispered. “Enter your dream, walk upright. Be confident; be in control of your dream, for it belongs to you. It is your dream, no one else’s. Raven will envy the power and clarity of your dream, and he will come to you. Do you understand?”

  Sonny mumbled yes. His eyelids felt heavy. The dream catcher strapped to his arm grew heavy and uncomfortable.

  “Remember to sing your song.…”

  Sonny uttered the words to his song, composing as he went, fitting the sounds to the rhythm of the drum. “I walk the Path of the Sun.… I ask a blessing from the Lords and Ladies of the Light.… My soul so clear, it flies to my grandmothers.… I am their dream.…”

  He kept repeating the lines, adding to them, calling the dream that was his, and even as the trance of dream began to take hold, his questioning mind wondered how he would enter the dream.