Dark Tales Of Lost Civilizations (30 page)

“To send
you
a message? Then why did Honovi choose
my
kiva, Cacique?”

“Impossible to say.” Koa’ki stepped past me to the ladder, placing a hand on one of rungs. “I suggest you put it out of your mind. We have more important worries.”

“More important? What is more important than a dead man in my home?”

Koa’ki turned his head halfway around, presenting me with the side of his face. “Kala, you should pack your things. Prepare your family to travel.”

“Travel? Travel
where
?”

The cacique ascended the ladder back the to surface, leaving me without an answer, but only for a short time. Later in the day, when Tawa watched us from straight above, Koa’ki addressed the village. We gathered in front of the festival altar, which hadn’t seen use in months; there was little to celebrate. I brought my entire family: my older sister, Hwara, her husband, two young children, and one infant, cradled against her breast; my younger sister, Terala, not yet old enough to be wed; and my widowed mother, whose frail utterances of “what’s happening?” I answered only with “wait and see.”

Koa’ki climbed up the steps and onto the stone plateau, followed by a few solemn assistants in ornate robes. Most of them were old men, accompanied by a few women, just as old. When I was younger, I had asked the cacique—Koa’ki’s predecessor—for permission to study with him. I was denied, not because I was a woman, or even because of my age, but because I had not rejected the old gods as they did.

“My people,” said Koa’ki, spreading his arms out in front of him. “For many years, we have suffered through famine and disease. War and drought. We have looked to the spirits for an omen, a sign for us to follow. This morning, we were given one.”

A murmur rose up from the crowd. I saw Hwara’s husband, a short, timid man, whisper something in her ear, which she then relayed to me. “Is this about Honovi?”

I hadn’t told any of them about Koa’ki’s warning in the kiva; what good would it do? I shook my head and pursed my lips. “I don’t know.”

Koa’ki’s booming voice drowned out mine. “Our friend Honovi took his own life to send us a message. The spirits no longer want us here. We were once blessed, but no longer. We must seek out a new home.”

I expected my people to cry out in anguish. I expected them to fight back—violently, perhaps. I was too optimistic. I saw relief wash over the faces of those nearby, disgusting smiles spreading across their faces. My own family, who I hoped would feel betrayed as I did, joined the rest in excited chattering.

Terala tugged on my dress and sidled up behind me. “Where are we going?”

I could not answer her. My throat tightened, and I began to worry that my anger would suffocate me. I worked hard—sewing garments all day, firing pots instead of sleeping at night—to afford a home in the High Palace for my family. It had taken even longer to obtain our own kiva, so that I could pray to the old gods without any disapproving glares. The cacique wanted to take it all from us. I forced myself to breathe.

The people quieted, and Koa’ka continued. “We have no reason to stay here any longer. We have heard of the bounty in the south. Our ancestors have showed us our path. We leave with the dawn, tomorrow.”

I spat on the ground. How dare he invoke our ancestors, the ones who built our homes and blessed us with rain and harvest? It was only when we turned from them that they revoked their gifts.

“We must get started,” my mother said, limping back toward our home. “Only a single day… not much time…”

“Mother, stop.” I placed my hand on her shoulder. “We’re not going. We can’t. You won’t make the journey, you’ll die.”

My mother’s lips parted, revealing the few stubs of remaining teeth left in her mouth. “If we don’t leave, I’ll die just as surely. There’s no food left, and Lowlanders will only leave us be for so long.” She patted my cheek, the same as when I was a child. “You must trust the kachina. If it is meant to be, they will protect me. If it is my time, they will take me into the sky with your father.”

I glanced at my sisters, who nodded in agreement. Hwara’s girl-child clutched her spirit doll to her chest and turned her eyes away. I often voiced my disapproval of the kachina figures, and the children had learned not to flaunt them in front of me. It wasn’t as though I disbelieved in the spirits, but to me, the dolls represented a desertion of the old gods. Wasn’t there room for both? But now was not the time to reopen those wounds, so I gave the girl a smile, knelt down and kissed the top of her head.

“Hwara,” I said, standing. “Take them to our home. Begin gathering our things. I shall be along shortly.”

Hwara shifted the infant from her right side to her left and clucked her tongue at me. “What are you planning?”

“I just want to speak with the cacique. Perhaps I can change his mind, or at least get more time.”

Hwara snapped her fingers at the two older children and pointed them toward our home. Her husband, Terala, and Mother followed after them.

“Have you considered,” said Hwara, “that none of us
want
you to change his mind?”

I did not answer her, so she turned from me and walked away.

Koa’ka was still conversing with some of our people. I hoped that a few of them possessed the same concerns as me, but instead, they seemed only to be praising the cacique’s holiness and begging for blessings to keep their families safe. I waited for my turn, as I did not desire to speak to Koa’ka amidst all the adoration. I approached him when he was at last alone. He pretended not to see me, so I spoke first.

“Cacique Koa’ka. May I speak with you?”

He took a deep breath. “We have already spoken, Kala.”

I had bitten my tongue long enough. “My name is Mansi’kala, Cacique.” It was a name I’d earned in my consecration, and with all the things he wished to take from me, I would not allow him to have this one.

“Of course,” he replied. “I apologize. I prefer Kala. It is an elegant name.”

“But it is not mine.”

Koa’ka snorted and waved his hand at the ground. “What did you want to say to me?”

“You should reconsider your plan. We cannot leave our home.”

Koa’ka reached out to touch my arm, so I took a step back. He frowned and rubbed his chapped lips. “Our home is where the spirits watch over us, and they no longer watch over us here. Our people have seen it. Your family has seen it. Your cacique has seen it, Mansi’kala. It is time to move on. The spirits demand it.”

“You say the spirits wish this of us, but you refuse to speak to all of them!”

Koa’ka’s nostrils flared. “I will never understand why you insist on clinging to the old gods. You are like a wild horse; stubborn, unwilling to accept change when it is demanded of you. This is why you haven’t found a husband, I think.”

I felt the tips of my nails cutting into the palm of my hand. Were this anyone but the cacique, I would have struck him down with a single fist. “I have not
found
a husband because I do not
want
a husband. I have a family, Koa’ka. I work hard for them, and for my people.” I thrust my hand forward and Koa’ka flinched, but instead of striking him, I flicked one of the leather strips hanging from his ceremonial headband.

“I made this, Cacique, because your wife cannot tan skins or sew. I taught your nephew to use a bow after the rest of your family decided he was no good.” Koa’ka began to protest, but I raised my voice and continued. “I have plenty of work to do and people to support without a husband.”

The face on Koa’ka’s skin tightened and a bulging vein appeared above his left eye. “Do what you want, woman! For all the responsibility you think you have, I have more! It is my duty to ensure our people’s survival! If you believe the old gods have a better way, then go to your kiva and speak to them!”

He was goading me. He knew his words would infuriate me.

“The old gods do not visit the High Palace anymore!” I said.

“Precisely,” said Koa’ka. “They do not speak to us any longer.”

“If you would only send a few men to the Low Temple . . . “

“Out of the question!” Koa’ka raised a finger to my eyes. “The Lowlanders hunt at the Temple now. I will not send what few able men we have left to die on a quest to tell us what we already know. We are not wanted here.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “If you will not send them, I will go alone.” The Lowlanders did not frighten me. If I was right, the old gods would protect me. If I was not, then I was already lost.

“You wish to abandon your family and your people for this?” Koa’ka mumbled a curse to himself. “If you are so selfish, perhaps you are not as deserving of your name as you think. Perhaps you are a child after all.”

I watched Koa’ka leave. I was filled with such blinding rage that I could do nothing except stand in the courtyard and feel Tawa’s rays burning my skin. Tawa. The god of light. The god that my people no longer believed in. I watched the sky for hours, hoping for some sort of sign. But Tawa simply fell toward the horizon, as he did every day, lighting the heavens on fire. Dusk drew near, and I had no answer. If there was to be any chance of saving my home, it would be in the Lowlands.

The High Palace was unusually quiet tonight. Normally the children would be taking advantage of the last of the daylight, but a malaise seemed to have possessed the village. My people should have been making the most of their last night here but, instead, they were cowering in their houses. If this is what had become of us, perhaps we no longer deserved our home.

Inside my own house, my family had arranged our possessions in a pile. Put together, they looked so small and meaningless. A few sets of clothing, some utensils, some kachinas, a pair of bows and accompanying arrows. Water. A few sacks of vegetables, nuts and grains. This is what my life was worth.

I thanked my sisters for their help, and Hwara’s husband as well, though he only grimaced in response. He had never liked living with me, though he never voiced displeasure with eating my food or sleeping under my shelter.

“Mother’s already gone to bed,” said Hwara. “And the children as well.”

“Good,” I replied. “You should sleep too. If Koa’ka wants you to leave at dawn, you should be well rested.”

Hwara glanced at her husband, who nodded. It was a common gesture between the two. It meant that Hwara wanted to speak with me alone.

“What about you?” she asked. “You’re coming with us.”

“I don’t know. I will try to come back, but I don’t know.”

“Come back? Come back from where?” Hwara straightened her back. She liked to flaunt her height when she was angry with me.

“I am going to the Low Temple.”

Hwara’s eyes widened. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I must speak with the old gods before I leave. I cannot walk away from our home without knowing the truth.”

“The
truth
?” Hwara stood on her toes, towering over me. “The truth is that we don’t have enough food to feed our people. What other truth matters?”

I needed to find for myself the meaning of the words Honovi carved into his skin, but I could not tell Hwara that. She accepted things too easily. If the cacique said the sky was brown, then it was brown.

“I don’t know. But I have to go.” I started to gather what I would need for the night. Nuts to quiet my stomach, a waterskin to quench my thirst, and one of the two bows to fend off any of the Lowlanders I might find.

“No,” said Hwara. Her eyes started to water. “I forbid this. Mother forbids it.”

“You cannot forbid me to do anything,” I said, strapping a bag of arrows over my shoulder.

“I am your elder!”

“In age only, sister.” I tied the food and water to my belt, then looked into Hwara’s face. Tear streaks cut into the dirt caked onto her skin. “I am sorry, Hwara. But I must do this.”

Hwara moved quickly toward me, and I raised my arms for fear that she would strike me. Instead, my sister wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me into her chest. “Please, Kala. Please don’t leave us. What would we do without you?”

I stood paralyzed by Hwara’s sudden affection. She sobbed into my shoulder, pleading for me not to leave. At last, I circled an arm around my sister and kissed the side of her face.

“If I don’t come back, you will do what you’ve always done. You’ll be a better daughter to Mother than I ever was. You’ll be a better wife and mother than I could ever be.” Though I’d always considered myself more capable than my older sister, I still looked up to her, in a certain way. I had never told her.

“Momma,” came a voice from the room behind us. Hwara released me and turned. Behind her, I could see her girl-child, Ankti.

“Child, you should be asleep,” Hwara said, turning from me to kneel in front of the girl. “What’s wrong?”

“Is Aunt Kala leaving?” The child looked at me with puffy red eyes.

“Just for the night,” I told her. “I will be back in the morning.”

She sniffled and walked past her mother to hug my leg. “Do you promise?”

“I promise, little one.”

Ankti placed a finger in her mouth, and with her other hand, she held her kachina doll up to my face. This one had black skin, elaborate clothing, and a small cloth facsimile of a bow attached to its hand. “Will you take Cha’kwaina?” Ankti asked me. “He’ll protect you.”

Cha’kwaina was a spirit of exploration, not a protector at all. I felt no kinship to the doll; the grinning face and careless posture reminded me, more than anything, of our cacique. But I felt kinship to my niece, and so I took the doll and tied it to my dress. “Thank you, Ankti. I’m sure he’ll keep me safe.”

Hwara took her child back to the sleeping den then returned. Her melancholy gave way to a dull, emotionless expression. “When will you leave?”

“Now,” I said, checking the knots on my belt one last time.

“Be safe, sister.”

“And you.” I stepped close to her, forcing her to look into my eyes. “If I do not return in the morning, you must leave without me. Do you understand? You cannot wait for me. You must go with our people.”