Alex rode up the last incline and into the clearing with the string of ponies trailing behind. The wolf had followed moving parallel with him but keeping his distance. It had taken the horses a while to get use to the sight and smell of him. The wolf was always close by. Alex was concerned as the animal seemed agitated, on guard, overly cautious. Unaccustomed to the actions of the wolf and the silence of the forest, it triggered all of Alex’s alarms. He was too experienced to ignore the warnings.
Nothing moved around the cabin except shadows of the coming nightfall thrown by the trees. The door was open but no evening lamp had been lit. Inside it was dark. The bucket between the mountain stream and the cabin was out of place. The wind picked up and rustled through the branches of the trees in the forest, giving a faint eerie whisper. He reined in his horse and dismounted, tension rising in him. White Cloud snorted and danced nervously as he tied the pack mule and the string of ponies to the hitching rail. He knew what he’d find, somehow, when he went inside, but he didn’t want to believe it.
Not even when he stepped over the threshold, found a match, and lit the lamp, did he comprehend it at first. It took a few minutes for it all to sink in, the overturned shattered table that he had spent all one day making, the smashed gourds and clay pottery, the wool blankets that hung over the door and windows now torn off and wadded up in one corner like rags.
That was where he found Nizoni, in the far corner, half off of the bed they shared, discarded like a piece of garbage. She looked so small and defenseless, sprawled and broken as a child’s doll. Bruises and streaks of blood marked her tawny skin. Her mangled and bloodied breast made him choke back hot tears. Patches of her skin savagely torn away as were her eyes, fingers and toes. All he could hope for was that she had already been dead...
He knelt beside her and lifted her gently into his arms, straightening her arms and legs, pulling the remnants of her buckskin dress back over what was left of her body. He always loved the way she called him Alexander, making his name sound regal and important. He knelt there holding her. He felt remorse at the thought of how frightened she must have been, the horror she must have endured, how he had not been here to protect her. How concerned she had been, her fear, clutching and clinging to him.
Iron bands were now constricting his chest. He sucked in a deep breath and realized that he had been holding it, unwilling to smell the heavy sweet smell of death that was already intense in the small cabin. He staggered to his feet, unwilling to put Nizoni down. As he stood holding her he grimly studied the interior of the dimly lit cabin, filing away each clue as to who or what might have done this to her. She bothered no one, mistrusting everyone, and he knew she would have never let anyone willingly in.
He forced himself to put her on the small bed frame with the mattress she had made for them from blankets filled with sweet mountain grasses. She was so cold now in his arms, her silky black hair matted in places still wet and sticky. He pulled it clumsily around her face. The silence was overwhelming as he piled all of their belongings together on the bed with her, kissed her gently one more time before taking the lamp and backing out of the cabin. He hurled the lit lamp onto the bed igniting it instantly and stood back along the tree line with his horses and watched the red hot blaze devour everything. Fatigue had settled in his back and shoulders and the tight knot in his chest had not lessened. Alex felt oddly separate as if in a time-warp when he left the smoldering cabin.
About half-way down the mountain he came across another gruesome sight, an entire family dead, all bound to heavy wood; men, women, children. The sight was atrocious. That was days ago and he was finally in the White Mountains. His mind was still churning. Only a sorcerer would use body parts in the small circles he had found in the dirt, or use snake venom on victims leaving rattlers dangling in the trees like guardians. He had heard of this before but did not believe it…did it really exist?
Half hidden in the shadows of thick cottonwood trees standing along the Cibeque Creek, he heard horses snort, it was a sign he had found the Apache Rancheria. Indian ponies were barely visible among the enormous tree trunks steadily blackening in the twilight. The small herd tightened and moved nervously as he rode past them, his own trail of horses following. White Cloud surged then snorted and reared in response to the nervous animals, tossing his head anxiously. Alex expertly pulled him up then gave a reassuring pat on his neck momentarily forgetting about the wolf trailing behind him.
Before Alex could do anything, several of the mares exploded at the sound of their foals squealing in terror, cow-kicking and stomping forefeet with heavy sounds of air blowing through nostrils. His stallion danced sideways, the ponies he had on the string reacted in fear by jerking and pulling on the line, panicked.
“Ho,” Alex’s voice was steady but firm, “you must go back the horses are not used to you.” The wolf turned back and silently disappeared into the darkness, seeming to understand the tone of Alex’s voice. He finally got his frighten horses settled down, and decided to leave them with the herd to graze, hobbling one or two to keep the herd from moving too far.
All animals either showed a fight or flight response around the wolf. Most humans just wanted to kill him. A wolf pelt was still bringing twenty-five dollars in bounty which was a fair sum of money. Alex had a deep respect for the wolf, he felt it was reciprocated. Their relationship had grown strong, rare and uncanny, bound by an ancient primal bond.
Late evening storm clouds had begun to gather in the night sky, making the air heavy. Small fires twinkled to life in the distance, visible only from certain viewpoints. He rode the now clear trail that moved deeper into the shadows of the giant trees along the tributary down a small ravine and up the other side. A sudden brisk cool wind filled with the promise of rain blew hard against him as he emerged and entered the small Apache encampment walking his horse amid curious looks.
Alex stopped at the domed brush and grass Wickiup that sat in the center of the village. He dismounted and uncinched the Mexican saddle from the belly of the stallion and laid it on the ground. The saddle was large with a silver plated horn and long hooded tapaderos stirrups. He had taken the saddle from a Mexican who had tried to kill him only last year but he had been much faster with his knife.
“White Cloud,” Alex murmured, admiration for his magnificent horse shinning in his eyes. The stallion had brought him far. With a final pat he turned him loose to rest and graze. He was here to seek out Gopan, the respected medicine man of the Pinaleño, the band of Western Apache who lived along the head waters of the Salt River and the tributary of the Cibeque; his mother’s people; his people. That sounded strange to him. Now he found himself in need of wisdom from his mentor, the respected part seer and known witchcraft dispeller, Gopan, who knew the mythic history of the ancients older than the mountains better than anyone. Gopan was the only one who could help him.
When the old man acknowledged him, McCallister bent low and entered through the door of the hut. A heavy pungent smoke hung in the air. Gopan was seated on a mat near the central fire. In the red-tinged glow Alex could see his face looked older than he remembered. Behind him, ribbons hung from the wall with feathers, gourds, and a buffalo skull. A prayer stick was stuck in the mound of earth in front of him. The old medicine man silently indicated for Alex to sit across from him.
Gopan studied the young warrior. He was bare-chested wearing thigh high brain tanned leather pants with fringes on the side and the long Apache breechcloth. He was handsome and well-proportioned, his arms sinewy with threads of muscle standing out like steel cords. His black hair held back with a red cloth tied around his head.
The warmth from the fire spread through Alex but did little to appease him. The old man held a calumet in his right hand and lit it with an ember from the fire, his eyes glittering silently as the shadows thrown by the firelight danced around the walls of the small structure. A painted turtle shell rattle lay to his left. He smoked the calumet then blew the smoke towards Alex and handed it to him. Alex took the calumet in his hand and smoked from it.
“Ho, it is good to see you Talking Boy.” Gopan spoke in Apache, “the last time I saw you, you were angry and wanted nothing to do with being Apache. I am told you now help the White Eye’s?” His voice held a slight accusing tone, as his eyes locked onto the face of the young man with a bit of a mocking stare, glaring at him.
Alex felt the tension gnaw at his insides, news travels fast. “I have come to seek your wisdom.” He answered back in Apache ignoring Gopan’s hint at his disloyalty. He did not want to discuss his past
Lightning flashed outside with the sound of distant thunder rumbling. The old man held a slight frown on his aged face. Then his voice shifted in tone, softer, more tolerant.
“Um…remember that first you are Apache. You speak the English of your father and possess many skills to communicate these words, this is power, but you must never forget there are forces in the world, other powers that can kill you or make you wish you were dead that the White Man’s tongue cannot fight.”
“Yes it has been many moons since I have come. I still feel the sting of two worlds that collide within me, like two wolfs fighting each for their own way, but my journey here is for a different purpose, I seek your wisdom.” Alex answered slowly, respectfully.
Gopan silently stared at him, his eyes holding the hues of the firelight. He seemed reticent.
“Does the teacher travel with you still?” It was a demanding direct question. Alex knew the old medicine man was speaking of the wolf. His face blanched slightly over his amazing ability.
“Yes.” Alex said simply in a quiet voice.
Gopan nodded approval. “I have seen him in a vision. It says much. The wolf is a medicine sign and a great blessing to you. The purpose of medicine is power and to use that power you must learn about your own character. Observe the four-legged and winged ones and all the forces of nature that we have observed for thousands of years. Know your closest kinship within yourself and know that you truly share the powers of the wolf, that you too have those powers; only then will you heal.”
The old man reached for green cedar and sage which he had placed next to him and scattered them onto the fire clock-wise creating thick smoke. He washed his face and hands in it instructing Alex to do the same so that he may be purified and heal his mind. He produced a leather pouch full of sand pouring it between them on the hard packed earthen floor smoothing it over. The thick smoke continued to swirl around them. Taking his prayer stick he made a circle in the sand from East to West. Starting at the top, he drew a small wavy line through the middle of it.
“This line represents the present, today.” Gopan held out two native silver horn crystals, then placed one to the right of the line and one to the left. “The crystal that points to the East is your future, the one to the West your past. These crystals help us speak with the power beyond that of mortal beings and help us to see into the spirit world. They are sacred to our people.” He sang in a low melodious chant, some of it mere syllables, but interspersed with words. Then he smoked from his calumet again and blew the smoke over the circle.
“Great Spirit, Ussen! Have pity on us; Great Spirit make us strong. Hear me my ancestors, to you we owe honor and reverence. East, South, West, North! Sacred crystals help Talking Boy to know, to see, to hear, and to speak of the journey that has come before him.” Lightning flashed across the sky revealing the exaggerated gaunt features of the rugged old Indian through the Wickiup door, showing a face that looked like it had seen too much life. The sound of strong wind running hard ahead of the approaching rain could be heard outside. A clap of heavy thunder came sudden and rolled across the landscape as the storm hit with force from the west moving eastward as fierce rain slashed hard against the tiny structure.
“Talking Boy, a bridge from the Indian world to the White world exists within you. To know your self is to know the way.” He spoke softly as he called on the wolf, Alex’s medicine power. “Feel your power, feel the strength of the wolf, sense the power of the crystals. Now speak.”
An uncertain darkness had clouded his mind, Alex desperately wanted to forget but in a single instant, the door inside him opened…the images became clear. “I was coming down from the high country,” he began, and over the next hour Alex told the sordid tale. When he finished he glanced up at the old man, feeling his insides fill with the loathing that was building in him. He inhaled. Nizoni’s face flashed in front of his. “The entire place, even the very air was heavy, thick with a vice, almost a veil of darkness…” He finished.
The old man remained quiet and continued to smoke his calumet. Finally he spoke with his words evenly spaced and precise.
“Like a great snake eating its own tail these acts you speak of were performed by a Yenaldooshii to attain power. A supernatural night witch, he cares not about gender or age. The Yenaldooshii is a traveler of the dimensions. In the White tongue he is known as Skinwalker because he wears the skin of his victims, it is his power connection.”
Alex had heard of the Yenaldooshii but had assumed the fear was born from scalpers, vicious men, stealing body parts from men, women even children then selling them to the highest bidder. Brutal as they were, Alex now knew that type of death was far better than the one Nizoni suffered from this night witch, spawned from sorcery and black magic. No one deserved to die like that.
The old man began speaking again, his voice barely audible as if his words would be carried to unwanted ears.
“It is said that a Skinwalker lives in a reverse element and as such can sense our thoughts before they become words. The most powerful ones are stealthy and cunning. Few barriers can stop them.” He pointed with a movement of his chin in the direction of the darkness seen through the drenching rain out the doorway of the hut. His movements alarmed Alex.
“Power is prowling around here. The deeds of this sorcerer should not be recognized or spoken of. To do so can focus his attention on you. Everything we do, everything we are, rests on our personal power. If you have enough of it, you can change the course that destiny brings you. If you are to face him then the most important thing to remember in hunting is how to bait the trap. If you know the right bait, you can trap any being you want, but only if you know how to make the right trap. Learn the true character of any being or thing before you hunt it.”
His words were beginning to cause a profound agitation in Alex as if he were the one who was to rid the earth of this thing.
“Learn how to see the being for he likes to remain disguised. A powerful Skinwalker knows how to keep power and how to steal it. We humans are luminous, a Yenaldooshii is not. He is a mystery of little words, a dark mass, a being that can go on all fours at will. You might say that knowledge knew you were coming and was waiting for you. He may still be prowling out there. Your personal power must be strong to isolate his black magic from other things around you. A Skinwalker is of the highest order of witchcraft. He begins as a good medicine man, a great ally, until the cry of the chindi, entity of the dead, seduces him, haunting and bending his mood, whispering its taunts, mocking, until he becomes one with it. His knowledge of sacred plants is used in dark potent ways. This is part of his sorcery. It can make him more powerful or it can control him; that depends on the ancients. The burial of items and reverse circles connects him to the rattlesnake, guardian to the underworld; the snake shows him the way.”
“I’m not certain I understand,” Alex said tersely.”If you think..”
Gopan’s eyes mirrored the light of the fire. “There is no need to be confused. Confusion is a mood one enters into, but one can also get out of it. Understanding is up to your personal power. The warrior lowers his head to no one, but at the same time he does not permit anyone to lower his head to him. You must not bow your head to reason Talking Boy you must not half-look or half-see what has exposed itself to you.”
Throughout the centuries the teachings and methods of medicine men had secrets that held no explanation, they just were. Alex studied the old man’s leathery face, at the deep sunken eyes filled with forewarning and knew he had much to learn. Tension vibrated through him, set his teeth on edge, left him feeling raw. He had the clear sensation that a portentous secret had been revealed to him and it made him feel exposed. His mind was forcing him to realize that he had become connected to this evil with the death of Nizoni. That was a fact and the feeling ran strong in him, he also knew that he would come into contact with it someday, somehow. Where and when was up to fate.
This kind of evil was real, Alex was very aware of that. Once he saw a Black Witch cast a spell on a young girl in his village causing her to vomit up black beads until she died. He did nothing. It mattered not to him that every medicine man had made an attempt to rid her of the evil but they had failed. Alex heaped blame upon himself for not being able to save Nizoni. Somehow he had to find a way to defeat this man-thing.
Outside the rain had stopped, as fast as it had come, it was gone. Gopan watched the young half-breed intently with a slight frown on his gaunt face, his eyes that held a strange glimmer Alex had seen few times before. The old medicine man seemed to innately sense something.
“Did you touch any of the items in the circles?” The old man asked softly, tentatively, as if approaching an enemy.
“No.” Alex answered straightforward, firmly.
Gopan looked relieved and then grunted his approval. “It is important that you bathe yourself daily in sacred smoke to purify you’re spirit so all prayers said will be carried upward away from his ears. Pray for guidance. Listen to your animal guide, immerse yourself in sweat baths; always wear these.” He produced a small leather pouch filled with special talismans, an eagle claw, wolf fetish, corn pollen among other things to help ward off evil and handed the bag to over to Alex. He took it and tucked it under his waist band.
The next morning, after saddling White Cloud, Alex removed the tobacco from his saddlebags he had brought with him for the old medicine man as a sign of respect. As Gopan took the tobacco Alex could see the jaw muscles knotting in his face. The old man seemed to know what was to come.
“Listen to your medicine Talking Boy, it is very powerful. Learn from it. Before you can become an effective warrior you must become an expert hunter. To be the expert effective hunter you must first have knowledge of what you hunt. A Witch, especially this type is a very powerful force, but this force can be defeated. Your medicine, the wolf, can be a very dangerous and very courageous medicine at the same time. He is a powerful effective hunter, a master of the hunt. Be thankful for that and learn from him. Let his medicine guide you. Trust in it.”