Shaman Winter (42 page)

The cop shone his light on the wrecked wheelchair that stood twenty feet away. “He won't be using that again.”

“Help me up,” Sonny said, holding out his hand. “I'm okay.”

“You're not supposed to move,” the officer said, shining his light on Sonny's muddied face. “Ambulance will be here soon. Chief Garcia called. He's on his way, too.”

“Never mind the ambulance,” Sonny complained. “Did you guys stop the black van we were chasing?”

“No,” the cops answered. “We didn't see a black van. We were following you.”

“Damn!” Sonny cursed. He pushed his leg to brace himself and felt it respond. For the first time in months the leg had actually responded to a command to move. He tried again and his leg moved, a surge of energy filling the muscles.

“I think I can—”

“Best not to move. We've got an ambulance coming,” the officer that knelt by him repeated. He shone his flashlight in Sonny's eyes. The guy didn't appear to be drunk or on dope, and he had just escaped uninjured from the wreck, but his eyes seemed happy, juiced up, maybe the adrenaline.

Somewhere in the excitement an angry Chief Garcia appeared at the top of the ditch, then scooted down.

“Sonny! You sonofabitch! You could've gotten yourself killed!”

“He wasn't driving,” Lorenza explained. She had taken off her coat and covered Sonny. The night was freezing.

“Was it Raven?” Garcia asked, scowling.

“Yes,” Lorenza replied, and turned her attention to Sonny. “Can you feel anything?” She squeezed his hands.

“I'm okay,” Sonny groaned. He was fully conscious now, and the first thought that crossed his mind was that they had lost Raven and the girl.

“You're bleeding,” Lorenza said. Blood was dripping from a scrape on his cheek.

“You were chasing Raven?” Garcia asked.

“Till your boys got on our tail,” Sonny said.

“This van was doing over a hundred on this stretch,” the cop who had knelt by Sonny said to the chief. “We had a report that someone driving a van had just kidnapped a girl at the Kimo Theater. These two were running fast.”

“Raven took a girl?”

Sonny nodded. “Help me up.”

“No, stay on your back,” Lorenza ordered.

“An ambulance will be here any minute,” the officer said again.

“No, help me up,” Sonny insisted.

“You sure?” Garcia asked. “The ambulance is here. It's best if they strap you down and take you in.”

“Dammit! Help me up!” Sonny repeated.

Garcia and the cop lent a hand, and Sonny stood up, unsure of his strength for a moment but aware that a change had taken place during the crash. His legs, which till now had felt so numb and useless, felt strong. He tested them by taking a step forward.

“Sonny? You sure you can—” A worried Lorenza spoke to him.

Sonny smiled, wiped mud away from his lips, and took another step. “I can walk! Help me out of here.”

Garcia and the cop helped him up the steep side of the ditch, and when he stood at the top, Sonny was breathing hard, but there was no doubt about it, his legs were responding. He pushed the two aside and took a step forward.

“I can walk!” he shouted into the glare of the police car lights.

A clanging fire truck from Ranchitos drove up, followed by an emergency rescue vehicle. Two attendants jumped out.

“You the injured party?” one asked, looking at Sonny.

“Do I look injured!” Sonny shouted. “I can walk!”

26

Sonny rested in his bed. A hot shower and aspirin had eased some of the soreness, but what had really buoyed his spirits was knowing he could walk again. Some of the despair he felt over Rita's miscarriage lifted.

“The shock must have cleared up the circuit board,” Lorenza said as she bandaged the cut above his left eye. “Your brain finally can get messages to the legs.”

“The blow to the head?” he asked.

“Probably. We'll see what your neurologist says.”

“Yeah,” Sonny whispered. He stroked the sleeping Chica.

Chief Garcia had given them a ride home. Sonny had not only been able to walk to the police car, he had walked from the car into the house. Whatever had happened was miraculous, and he kept reaching down, rubbing his thighs, checking their strength. The numbness was gone. His brain said flex, and the correct muscle grew taut to do his will.

Still, the feeling of elation alternated with blame for losing the girl.

Garcia contacted the Saavedras, and after he spoke to them, he let Sonny talk to the distraught mother. It turned out that Sonny was distantly related. These Saavedras were from Tomé, near Belén, and that family was related to the Jaramillos, Sonny's mother's side of the family.

“Distant relations,” he murmured as he hung the phone.

“Todos somos primos,” Lorenza said.

“Including Raven and me,” Sonny mused. Raven was his alter ego, his other self, the dream of chaos in the memory. He was sitting there now, in the middle of his evil circle, gloating over his conquest.

“I've got an officer at the Saavedras,'” Garcia said. “I'll go over there myself. Damn Raven!”

Yeah, damn Raven, Sonny thought. If Garcia only knew how much he wanted to damn Raven to hell! And now it might be too late. Four girls and four grandmothers were in his clutches. Sonny's time on earth could be measured by hours. Tomorrow was the solstice. Raven would use his sorcery on the grandmothers at the exact solstice moment, when the sun hung in a balance, and Sonny would disappear from the face of the earth.

“Is there time?” Sonny asked as he looked at Lorenza making preparations.

“Yes. You have a few hours left before the solstice. Don Eliseo will be here any minute now.”

“Is there another way? Not to involve don Eliseo?”

“No,” she replied.

“He has to help,” Sonny whispered.

“Yes,” she said, and disappeared. A short time later the aroma of sweet grass filled the house. She was cleansing the house, preparing for the ceremony. Still later he heard the shower running.

Yes, dangerous or not, it was time to meet Raven. He lay back on the bed, trying to relax, trying to find the power of Coyote and draw it into his soul. He was about to enter the most important dream—nightmare really—of his life.

On the way home he had tried to explain some of the details to Garcia, as much as he dared.

“I knew Paiz was after Raven. Hell, I've been chasing him, too!” the chief had retorted. “But God Almighty, Sonny. This is science fiction! Plutonium? Raven has a ball of plutonium? And he's running around 'Burque? I don't believe it. But I do know he's got this girl, and I'm going to nail him! I've got the city shut tight.”

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.