Wind Spirit [Ella Clah 10] (2 page)

Ella was standing at the back of the gathering far from the speaker, but she could hear her brother’s voice clearly as it rose in a Song of blessing. When his voice softened slightly toward the middle of the Song, she became aware of the faint sound of children’s laughter somewhere behind her. Recognizing the dangers inherent in that area because of all the uncovered and undocumented mine shafts, she wondered why anyone would bring kids here, even if it was Saturday.

Ella turned her head and caught a glimpse of one of the boys peeking around a washing machine–sized boulder. Julian, her brother’s eight-year-old son, had recently told his father that he wanted to become a
hataalii
when he grew up. Like any proud papa, Clifford now allowed his son to accompany him as often as possible. But Ella was sure he’d counted on Loretta, his wife, to keep a better eye on him, particularly since they’d allowed Julian to bring his friend, Tim Manuelito.

Ella glanced around, trying to locate her sister-in-law, and finally saw Loretta helping a late-arriving Navajo woman to one of the few folding chairs provided for senior citizens. Ella recognized Susana Deerman. Her husband and son had died of Red Lung many years ago and Susana’s granddaughter had not lived to see her first birthday. The child had been born with severe birth defects due to the contamination of the soil and drinking water around their home. The legacy of uranium mining had cast a long dark shadow over many families here in the Four Corners.

The words of her brother’s chant, particularly poignant under the circumstances, touched her. “Beauty before me, beauty behind me, beauty above me, beauty below me. Beauty all around me,” he intoned.

Feeling the heavy weight of sadness, Ella looked down at the barren soil. She wondered what possible good he could do here after all that had happened to this land.

Once again, Ella was distracted by the scuffling noises created by the two boys who were playing somewhere behind a cluster of boulders several yards away. Annoyed, she decided to haul them back to Loretta. It was dangerous to allow them to run around unsupervised, and Ella was certain Clifford didn’t want his son to come across any skinwalker ritual items that might have remained in the area despite numerous searches.

Ella slipped quietly around the rock wall and managed to grab Tim Manuelito by the arm before he realized she was
there. “This is an important ceremony, not recess,” she said to the startled boy. “Go back to my sister-in-law and stay put.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Without looking back Tim hurried toward the group gathered around Clifford.

Julian stood up from atop his hiding place on a nearby boulder, climbed down, then came over to her. “I’ll go back too, Aunt,” he said, looking crestfallen.

“If you really want to become a
hataalii
someday you’ll have to do a better job of listening and learning from your father.”

“But the ceremony is
so
long.”

“This is only a short blessing made up of prayers from the longer Sings. A full ceremony can take more than a week.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered softly. “But my friend lives way over by Hogback. He and I never get a chance to play together.” He kept his gaze fastened on the ground, avoiding direct eye contact with her out of respect.

“I understand,” she said, remembering how hard it had been for her to stay still at his age. “You just have to learn to be patient. Now come on. Let’s go back. The land around here is sick, so you shouldn’t be running around. You could fall into a hole or something.”

As another underground blast shook the earth, Ella felt the earth shifting beneath her feet, like quicksand. She took a quick step to maintain her balance, but the ground between her and Julian suddenly collapsed. Julian yelled, then fell back, sinking into an ever-widening hole.

Ella dove forward onto the boards that had obviously been used to cover a mine shaft, grabbing the boy by the hand as he slid down. Sand was slipping out of sight like water down a drain. Ella held on to him, but she didn’t have enough leverage to pull him back up. The rotten planks she was lying on were creaking and sagging as the support beneath them fell away.

Julian dangled helplessly over the edge, staring at her with terrified eyes. “I’m going to fall!”

“No. I won’t let go.”

Ella yelled for help, but as the ground rocked from another blast of explosives, her words were lost in the cheerful shouts of the crowd. Afraid the ground would shift again, she tightened her hold to a death grip, then inched closer to the edge of the shaft. Using every bit of strength she possessed, she slowly raised Julian up. “Grab my other hand and hang on tightly as I pull.”

Seconds felt like eternities, but finally she managed to lift him to the edge of the boards and onto the surface where she was lying facedown. Julian was crying and Ella pulled him into her arms.

“I thought . . . I thought . . .” he managed, never quite finishing.

Ella hugged him tightly. “I know. But you’re safe now. Crawl off these boards and get back over to solid ground. Then call your father to come and get you.”

Ella watched Julian scramble clumsily out of the sandy depression they were in. Worried about the stability of the ground beneath her, she remained still until he’d cleared the area, then started to gently ease off the old wooden cover. The splintering boards were the only thing between her and an open pit that might continue down a hundred feet or more.

As she reached the edge and moved onto what she hoped was solid ground, the bottom suddenly fell out from beneath her. A wall of sand came sliding down and before she could cry out, Ella felt herself plummeting down a narrow tunnel.

Ella clawed wildly for a handhold, but nothing was there except cool sand and the darkness that engulfed her. Then she hit solid ground, the impact knocking the wind out of her. For several seconds she simply struggled to take a breath. She couldn’t even scream for help until her lungs recovered.

Although Ella had no way of gauging how far she’d
fallen, she was alive and that was all that really mattered to her at the moment. The soft sand beneath her had cushioned her fall and kept her from breaking any bones, as far as she could tell. She blinked several times, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but opened or closed, all she could see was an inky blackness.

Gathering her courage, Ella stood up slowly. She was either at the bottom of the shaft or on a wide ledge. It was cold here, wherever that was. Ella reached out gingerly and felt the sandstone sides of the shaft. The walls were vertical and cut too smoothly to offer any handholds, though she searched by touch as high as she could reach.

Then she reached down, feeling along the ground, hoping to find a boulder or piece of wood she could use to dig with. Her hand touched something soft, and she flinched, thinking it might be a spider. Reaching down again, she realized it was a big feather. Picking it up, she noticed how heavy it felt. Attached to the bottom of the feather were two pieces of string, and at the end of each string was a round, rough-feeling bead.

That’s when she remembered the skinwalker den she’d discovered last year. This belonged to one of them. Holding the feather away from her she tossed it aside, wanting to put as much distance as possible between her and the witch item.

Hoping that her nephew had seen her fall, Ella began to yell for help and continued for a long time, but no one came. Soon her throat stung and her voice began giving out. It was difficult to breathe down here and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was actually drawing toxic air into her lungs every time she took a breath.

Panic knifed at her gut. Even if Julian hadn’t seen her fall, she was certain that he’d soon notice her absence. Clinging to that, she took her pistol out of the holster, where it had somehow remained during all her tumbling and began to tap on the sides of the shaft, hoping the noise would carry to the
surface. Then she tried to scrape out handholds. But every time she created a small shelf by digging out the sand, it would crumble away the minute she put any weight on it.

Ella yelled for help again, tapping the butt of her pistol against the sides of the tunnel at the same time. She’d always assumed she’d make it to old age, providing she managed to avoid getting killed on duty. Never once did she think she’d die alone, like this, with her death serving no purpose. It wouldn’t even merit a heroic tale her daughter could take comfort and pride in.

Anger filled her. She wasn’t ready to go. There was too much she’d left undone. She’d wanted to see her daughter grow up into adulthood. She’d wanted to be there for Dawn’s
Kinaaldá
, her womanhood ceremony, and take part as their family sang the first prayer.

She wouldn’t die here. Not like this, not now. Determination gave her strength. Ella began to yell again, tapping the sides of the shaft and ignoring the raw pain at the back of her throat. Long after her voice had faded from the exertion, she kept tapping on the wall with her pistol.

Then, surprisingly, she heard an answering sound. Someone was tapping above her. Just to make sure, she tapped twice, then waited. Two taps from up above sounded in reply. Ella cheered, though her voice was scarcely more than a whisper now. But her victory was short-lived. In the time it took to go from one breath to the next, there was a resounding crash and a wall of sand came tumbling down on her. Ella hugged the side of the shaft, covered her head, and tried to make an air pocket as tons of sand closed in around her.

It was a fight she couldn’t win. Sand reached her nose, then her mouth. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t move. Then something hard slammed against her head and there was nothing.

Ella woke up to hear her name being called. She opened her eyes slowly, expecting pain, but was surprised to discover that she actually felt warm and comfortable.

“Come on now, Bright Eyes. You’re all right,” the familiar voice urged.

Ella blinked, clearing her vision, and then stared in shock at the man crouched beside her. It was her husband, Eugene. They’d run off and gotten married when she was barely out of high school, but after his death . . . She gasped. “I’m dreaming—or dead.”

“Neither, really—or both—depending on how you look at it, sleepyhead.”

Ella sat up, trying to figure out where she was or, more to the point,
what
she was now. “Would it kill you not to speak in riddles?”

“No. Actually, nothing can kill me now,” he answered with a wide smile.

She looked at him and laughed, recalling their brief time together with a sweet nostalgia now that the nightmares of his sudden death had long since faded. He was the same man she remembered, with strong, chiseled features, wide shoulders, a gentle touch, and a smile that was contagious. But
there was one major difference. His body glowed as if it were lit from the inside. “You’re a ghost.”

“You know me, Ella. I don’t believe in ghosts,” he answered. When he touched her face in a light caress, she felt it clearly.

“What are we then?” she asked, aware that her own body glowed too, though less so.

“We are. Let that be enough.”

“Okay. I’ll let that pass for now if you tell me this—where the hell are we, or can’t I use that word here?” She glanced around. They appeared to be in a low valley bordered by tall rock formations, some fifty or more feet high. The spires were colored in layers of yellow, red, and orange. The ground was sandy but it glittered, like wet river sand.

“It looks like Angel Peak, Bryce Canyon, or someplace like that, but much more colorful,” she added. Looking back down at the ground, she noticed something odd.

“But there are no shadows . . . and light seems to be coming from all over the sky.” She paused, listening. “And there’s something else . . . it sounds like water along the shore.” She stood up and looked into the distance. “I see a blue line out there, and the air smells moist and fresh. It’s a lake, right?” She looked at him again and repeated, “Where are we, Eugene?”

“This place has no name. Like us, it just is.”

“And the water?”

“Not just a lake. It’s the ocean.”

“In New Mexico?”

“You always walked two contrary paths, Daughter,” another familiar voice said from behind her. “This place is what your mind creates for you—an in-between place that reflects who you are.”

Ella turned and stared at her father. Tall and dark-haired and in a faded corduroy sports jacket, he appeared much younger than she remembered. He looked like the man she’d
known as a child. Love for her father softened the pain of bittersweet memories. But he’d been dead for years now. She’d returned to the Rez to investigate his murder almost a decade ago. “I
am
hallucinating. Very kind of you to point it out.”