Zia Summer, Rio Grande Fall, Shaman Winter, and Jemez Spring

  “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 sleepy, 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.

  “Chica!” he called, and she answered with a bark.

  The short, fat candles sitting next to the Bowl of Dreams cast a flickering bronze light on the bowl. Lorenza was burning copal in the bowl. The smoke rose in wisps, like thin white feathers rising in still air, like clouds whispering in the New Mexican blue sky.

  Sonny heard don Eliseo’s voice.

  “On the first rung of the bowl is written the dream of creation,” the old man said softly, his words in rhythm to the drumming.

  “The many stars are the children. They fly across the heavens into the farthest reaches. Our Zia sun, too, is born, and the voice of the creation expands throughout the universe. In the cosmic wind, our souls wait to be dressed in flesh, the flesh of the earth.…”

  Don Eliseo knows the secret of the glyphs!

  “Here are signs for the oceans, for the continents, for the mountain chains, for great rivers. There is a sign for each tribe that has walked the earth and dreamed of peace.…”

  Sonny was mesmerized by the bowl. It seemed to turn slowly in the candlelight, revealing the trail of glyphs that wound their way around the outside to the lip at the top. The bowl can’t turn by itself, he thought. Lorenza must be turning the bowl so I can follow don Eliseo’s explanation.

  He looked for her in the dark.

  “The bowl contains your dream. Enter the bowl. To enter the bowl is to enter the dream of the earth. Do not be afraid to enter your dream. The glyphs are keys to your dream.”

  “Yes,” Sonny whispered in acceptance.

  Don’t look for answers in this world. My task now is to enter the dreamworld, the world of spirits.

  When he said this, he saw the shining door of prior dreams. At the door stood don Eliseo, ready to go to the cornfield to meet Raven. Sonny stood and held the dream catcher like a shield. He would meet Raven like a warrior.

  He looked back. In former dreams he had observed himself dreaming, but he was no longer that person. Now he was the actor in his dream.

  He turned and faced the web of the dreamworld that spread before him. Don Eliseo waited for him. Next to him waited a patient Chica.

  “Grandmothers,” Sonny whispered, “I come to claim your spirits. You belong to me and my dream, not to the sorcerer who holds you prisoners.”

  The bowl continued to turn slowly. The glyphs began to blur.

  Forms appeared. People—or ghosts—for they poured from the lip of the bowl and rose in the copal smoke. People from ancient civilizations, from the past. Statuesque African women, carrying bowls of water to the fields. Peruvian stonecutters from the Andes, strong and nimble, cutting and lifting great monoliths to build their cathedrals to the sun. Druid women from the plains of Stonehenge and Avesbury, shaman women so powerful their gaze alone was a communication across the earth’s song line. Men with Asian wisdom from the steppes of Manchuria, monks from Tibetan mountains turning prayer wheels in sanctuaries worn by time, chanting to the one Buddha, chanting to the one spirit that was both earth and universe. The gods from the Egyptian pantheon appeared in the glyphs, then rose and walked on desert sands; light-footed, they stepped aboard boats that sailed the blue Nile, blessing the fields on either side of the great river, praising the sun god. Dark women bearing flowers in canoes cut from giant logs floated down the broad river of the Amazon. Medicine men and women from the Anasazi pueblos appeared, offering corn pollen to the new day, praying to the spirits for rain. Ancestors of the Maori walked the deserts of the southern continent, stretching the song line across their land. Their melody passed through Sonny’s heart, a humming sound like the sound of the earth turning. He could see the words of the song, shining like filaments of a spider web, spreading over the earth. He recognized the song. It was his own.

  On and on the procession rose from the womb of the bowl, the Calendar of Dreams freeing itself so Sonny could peer into the past and see the dreams of those who dreamed of peace.

  I asked for booze or a chew of peyote, to make the dream a little easier, but don Eliseo s
aid no. Now I understand. I don’t need hallucination; the dream is real. I am the dream!

  “Yes, you are the dream,” Lorenza’s voice echoed.

  He smiled, satisfied. So this is it. I don’t need a shot of anything to get into this. I’m it.

  The glyphs in front of him resonated to his soul, the dream of the Americas etched on volcanic rocks of the New Mexican desert that he knew so well. Carved thousands of years ago by ancient wanderers on the land, those who carried the dream on their migrations. This was the covenant of the Americas! Carved into the sun calendar of the Aztecs! Each day had a name and a face, as did groups of days, as did centuries held together with golden cords of time. Each star, planet, and moon had a name. The sun had a name, Zia sun!

  “There!” Sonny cried. The Zia sun hung in the sky, its glyph was carved into the bowl. Like the sun sign of the medallion hanging on his chest. This was it! Home! Bowl! Earth!

  The bowl stopped turning. The drumming stopped. On the bowl’s sensuous curve shone the round emblem of the Zia sun with its four radiating lines. Lines pointing north, west, south, east. The four sacred directions of the earth. The four quadrants of the universe.

  From the sun symbol a stream of light shone on Sonny’s medallion. A door of light.

  Don Eliseo pointed. “Esta es la puerta de luz,” he said. “La puerta de los sueños.”

  Door of light, the same door Andres Vaca had stepped through to continue his journey north to La Nueva México. Door of dreams, the same dream Hernán Vaca had dreamed in 1680, his dream of home in New Mexico, his dream of Caridad de Anaya. Lisandro and Epifana’s dream after the American invasion. Billy the Kid’s dream to settle down with Rosa, to raise a family, and Pancho Villa’s rescue of Soledad. Everything was before him. The door was there, the dream could continue.

  The Bowl of Dreams was the door, chalice of love, vessel of the blood of the living earth.

  Around don Eliseo stood the Lords and Ladies of the Light, the light of the blessing sun, the kachinas of the new millennium.

  “Now you know,” don Eliseo said.

  Yes, now he knew. Only in moments of love with Rita had he known this power of transcendent flight, the commingling with pure light. Now he knew.

  “Enter your dream,” don Eliseo said as they passed through the door out to the cornfield where Raven waited.

  Sonny waved his dream catcher and his stage appeared. A simple stable in a small New Mexico village bathed in starlight. A cold December night. In the distance, the villagers dressed as shepherds approached.

  A bright star hanging in the frozen sky illuminated the manger. Four girls appeared, the young women Raven had kidnapped.

  I’ve done it! Sonny cried. I set the stage and found the girls. Look!

  He hurried forward. Lordy, Lordy, this is easier than I thought! There they were, sitting around the stage, each one occupying a sacred direction. He had called for the stage to appear and the kidnapped girls came with it! How much easier could it get?

  Don’t hurry, don Eliseo cautioned him. Chica whined nervously. Raven was near.

  Sonny, the girls cried, save us. We came to witness the birth of the child and now we’re prisoners!

  I’ll free you! Sonny cried, lunging forward, waving the dream catcher. Like this! I catch you in my web and return you home.

  No! Don Eliseo cried. Even Chica tried to stop him by barking a warning, but Sonny didn’t pay attention. He leaped forward without paying attention to the trap that lay between him and the girls.

  Step back! Don Eliseo called sharply.

  Sonny turned to look at don Eliseo, and at that moment he realized that he had stepped into Raven’s circle. Around him a ring of black crows descended, flapping their wings angrily, encircling him. Chica barked and rushed into the evil circle to help her master. She snapped at the crows, but she was no match for their vicious beaks.

  Step back! Don Eliseo cried again, but it was too late.

  The crows rose angrily, striking at the spirit dog that bared her fangs. Then a larger shadow appeared in the circle, and Chica whined and retreated, seeking shelter between Sonny’s legs.

  Welcome, Raven cried as he stepped forward. Welcome to my world.

  Get back into your dream! Sonny heard don Eliseo shout.

  It’s too late! a defiant Raven called. Tonight he dies! Death forever! Chaos forever!

  He raised his curved sword and struck at Sonny, who raised the dream catcher to ward off the blow. The sword glanced off the dream catcher, but the force sent Sonny reeling. A second thunderous strike followed, this time knocking Sonny to his knees, exposing him for the final blow.

  Time to die! Raven shouted, and raised his scimitar.

  Only don Eliseo jumping into the circle and throwing himself at Raven saved Sonny. With what strength he had, the old man held Raven back.

  For a moment they locked in combat, the old man straining against Raven, shouting to Sonny: Step back into your dream!

  Fool! You entered my circle to die! Raven cursed.

  Not yet! don Eliseo groaned, and raising the drum he struck a powerful blow that momentarily stunned Raven.

  Don Eliseo turned, grabbed Sonny, and pushed him out of Raven’s circle. His strength and magic allowed Sonny to tumble safely into the circle of his dream.

  Stay in your dream! Don Eliseo shouted, and like a warrior, he turned to meet Raven’s onslaught.

  Raven struck, the sword cut through don Eliseo’s chest into his heart.

  Time to die, old man.

  Don Eliseo put his hand to his bleeding chest. But we have come this far, he replied. He looked at Sonny. Stay … he whispered,… in your dream. You are strong.

  He offered his soul to the light glowing in the east, then slumped to the ground.

  He died to save you, Raven said to Sonny.

  A sob caught in Sonny’s throat. Yes, the old man had sacrificed himself so Sonny might have a chance.

  He was too old to continue the fight, Raven said. If he remained in his world, he would still be alive. He brought you here only to die.

  I don’t intend to die, Sonny replied, his gaze resting on don Eliseo.

  Raven laughed. But no one has said you have to die. He smiled, his voice now beguiling. No, you don’t have to die at all. You’ve been listening to the old man, and to Lorenza. She’s a witch, you know that. Always warning you, always making things a matter of life or death. That’s her way, but it’s not mine.

  Sonny looked from the crumpled figure of the old man to Raven. He looked invincible, resplendent in his black coat, glistening green and violet as the light shifted.

  You know if I can kill the old man, I can kill you. But I don’t want that. We can make a deal, Raven said solemnly.

  Sonny looked around him. Huddled in the middle of Raven’s circle lay the crumpled body of don Eliseo. Near the manger stood the girls he knew were Consuelo, Catalina, Carmen, and Celeste. Behind them hovered the four spirits of the grandmothers. And hovering over the crib, the aura of a young spirit.

  Sonny heard himself moan, a pitiful low cry. The spirit was the soul of Rita’s dead child, his child. No wonder Raven had grown so arrogant, in his circle he still held those most dear to Sonny. He had killed Rita’s baby and don Eliseo, and he would kill again.

  A quiver shook his body. He felt the weight of the dream catcher on his arm. Yes, this is what Raven intended, to show off his power and disarm Sonny. He had already killed don Eliseo, and now he was closing in on Sonny. If he was to survive, it was time to take on Coyote’s trickster nature.

  What kind of a deal? Sonny asked. Sheer force would not be what conquered Raven; Sonny had to get him through the dream catcher.

  A truce. So we both can live side by side, Raven answered.

  I agree, Sonny howled, the cry of Coyote rising like a whine when he and Raven argue over roadkill. But how can we deal when you stand in the middle of your circle. Step forward where I can hear you. You are very powerful now. You have won the rig
ht to enter my dream.

  Raven grinned, his croak a cry of victory. Sonny Baca was beaten, willing to bargain, and those who bargained with darkness were already lost.

  Very well, he said, stepping out of his circle into Sonny’s dream. See, you have nothing to fear from me. I am willing to meet you in your own dream.

  Sonny held the dream catcher ready, but Raven didn’t attack. He was talking of making a deal. Don Eliseo and Lorenza had warned him; Raven would offer bargains, he would trade. He was hoping to get Sonny’s guard down by stepping into Sonny’s dream and pretending to be a friend, but Raven only had one purpose in mind. To kill Sonny.

  What kind of deal do you want to make?

  A haughty Raven chose his words carefully.

  I have your grandmothers. If I kill them, you die. You understand that?

  Sonny knew he had to be ready and crafty. Moments ago he had been caught off guard and sucked into Raven’s trap, and it had cost don Eliseo his life. Now the same shadow of evil moved to control him in his dream.

  Yes, I understand, Sonny replied. You have played a very good game, Sorcerer. Learned to enter my dreams and steal my past. But I, too, have some power!

  None as powerful as mine, Raven replied, lifting his curved sword to strike.

  Sonny waved his dream catcher shield, and Raven jumped back, shielding himself from the strong pull of the hole in the middle of the dream catcher.

  Ah, so the old man and his medicine men have given you a toy to threaten me! Why do you wave that thing at me? I came as a friend.

  He’s afraid of the dream catcher, Sonny thought. If he slips through the hole, it will suck him into the land that is the origin of dreams. Let’s see what else he fears.

  Sonny began to move slowly around Raven. I have the shield, the Zia medal, the coyote medicine, he said to Raven, all the while watching Raven’s glistening eyes.

  So let’s make a deal. Take me, release the girls, Sonny said, realizing that the bargaining was part of an old game they played.

  Oh, no, I need them, Raven replied cautiously, also circling, feinting with his sword as he talked, frowning when Sonny easily stepped away.