Captive Spirit (23 page)

Startled, I swallowed back a sob.

But then I leaned into him, forgetting all about my tears.

Honovi’s lips were silky from the rain and they tasted sweet, just as I remembered. He parted my lips with his tongue, searching for mine.

Too soon, he pulled away and pressed his forehead against mine to catch his breath, but I only sunk deeper into his chest. Kisses weren’t enough. And breathing could wait.

My heartbeat quickened with his.

“Aiyana,” he exhaled as his mouth drifted to my earlobe. His hands moved from my neck to my arms, gently at first and then urgently, until they found themselves underneath my deerskin, slipping it over my neck. Like the rest of his body, his hands felt hot. I wanted them everywhere.

How I’d wanted—craved—this moment with Honovi. And to think others had almost taken it from me.

I pressed my hands against his chest, feeling its rise and fall underneath my fingertips, as his tongue moved down my neck. His touch set my skin on fire.

Around us, the wind howled and rain fell in blinding sheets, drenching our bodies with the World Beyond. I wrapped my arms around him and threaded my hands through his hair, the hungry urgency building between us. Apache warriors, Diego, even Pakuna, none of them mattered, not for this single moment. There was only Honovi and me.

Together, we fell backwards into the cool wet grass and shared what no man could steal from us again.

Yuma always told us that in the desert we could not know peace without storms. So it seemed fitting that it rained the day Honovi and I finally returned to home.

When we first spotted the outline of Sleeping Mule Deer, the clouds hovering above it looked like swollen rabbit skins, bright white with patches of grey and black. We could smell the rain long before it touched our skin. The sky was bursting with it.

“Now it rains,” Honovi said, lifting his head upwards, his arms extended. The small deerskin we’d been carrying—Diego’s pouch, the one with his map—dropped like a rock from his hand. Honovi stuck out his tongue to catch a few heavy drops and prodded me to do the same.

My throat was just as dry, my lips equally as cracked, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the mountain. Our mountain. I never thought I’d lay eyes on its jagged edges again. It looked more beautiful than ever, despite the black scorches.

I fell to my knees, exhausted from travel but grateful for the nearness of everything familiar—the desert, mountains, sticky hot air that hung like honey on my skin. I wanted to wrap my arms around it and keep it always.

Pulling my shoulders back, I inhaled a giant gulp of the desert and let my hand trail along the warm dirt. I picked up a handful, watching the reddish brown sand slip through my fingers. My skin had grown even darker than the sand.

“Aiyana?” Honovi said. He knelt beside me.

I looked sideways at him, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion, too relieved and happy to speak. Together we had survived the World Beyond. My head tilted into the curve of his neck. The moments following our escape from the Apache Village had been some of the best and most frightening of my life. Returning home tasted a little bittersweet. But we didn’t have a choice. We had to come back.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Everything will be okay.”

“I know,” I said, pausing. “But nothing can ever be the same.”

Honovi didn’t answer. He felt it, too.

“We have to warn them about Diego.” I said. “He’ll be back. And surely he will bring others. Our people are no longer safe here. Not anymore.”

Honovi nodded. But first he pulled me closer and then kissed the top of my head as we took another moment to gaze at the stark beauty that surrounded our village. It was as if we saw it for the first time—the unapologetic shapes, harsh colors, heat that shimmered.

But instead of endless sage and cactus, the mountains were scorched with ugly streaks of black and grey, a painful reminder of Diego and his men. The faint smell of burning ash still filled the air.

Reading my thoughts, Honovi said, “A few rainy seasons will cleanse the sky. The desert will heal again.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Just like we did.”

Even so, I still feared what waited on the other side.

Honovi and I had plenty of moons to discuss it, especially after we had to kill Diego’s horse. We left him at the bottom of Apache Mountain underneath a tree. In our haste to escape the village, the horse leapt too urgently over a boulder near the bottom of the mountain, injuring his front leg. The leg bent strangely at the hoof, hobbling him.

At first we hoped the leg would heal, so we walked alongside it, allowing it some rest. But then the horse’s pain grew unbearable. It whimpered uncontrollably, dropped to the ground, and began to froth at its mouth. Soon after, it lay lifelessly on its side, moaning. No one followed us from the Apache Village, miraculously, for surely they would have heard the horse.

We saw no other way.

Honovi sliced its neck with his dagger, ending its pain forever. I could not watch. But the smell of more blood brought me to my knees.

As we walked home, we slept in caves, trees, high grasses, and alongside streams, always mindful of the Apache and Diego. We stayed hidden whenever possible, and we tried to make sense of Diego’s map, looking for clues that would lead us back to our village, but it was mostly black lines that crossed in confusing ways that didn’t make sense. We found our way home our way: we followed the sun and the Sky Wanderers until our feet touched the desert again.

Finding food had not been difficult. Finding water was harder, although we had a little help along the way. When we reached the desert foothills, we survived on rabbits and the water stored inside saguaros but even the saguaros weren’t as plentiful as they once were. Their berries had all shriveled and turned black, never having had a chance to ripen.

“Ready?” Honovi said, extending his hand, as he motioned to Sleeping Mule Deer.

I nodded and then placed my hand inside his. He lifted me to my feet.

“Good,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Then let’s go home. I made a promise to your father. And I intend to keep it.” He stopped then he smirked, the sun at his back. He looked at me strangely.

“What?” I said, smiling up at him.

“Promise me one thing?”

“Anything.” I laughed.

“Please promise that your next wedding ceremony will include me?” His brow wrinkled playfully but his somber tone contradicted his expression.

I nodded and smiled. I reached for his forehead, his skin darkened by the sun just like mine, and ran the back of my hand across it, smoothing his brow.

His face curved into my hand.

“As if I have to make such a promise, Honovi,” I chastised him. But then in a softer voice I said, “You are my life.”

Honovi kissed my palm.

Behind me, Lobo whimpered. His tail thumped like a drumbeat against the dirt.

“Come on, old friend,” I said, reaching for the top of his head with my other hand. I stroked the soft spot between his eyes. “Too late to turn back now. You’re stuck with us.”

Lobo.

I hadn’t been surprised when Lobo raced down Apache Mountain after the sun reappeared in the sky. Truth is, I prayed that he would. I wanted him to return with us. I’d grown so fond of his expressive golden eyes and his big clumsy paws. When I looked upon his face, it was almost as if I could tell what he was thinking.

Lobo was also the reason Honovi and I survived the long journey home. He hunted rabbit when we were too weak and exhausted. His snout found water in the most unlikeliest of places. The wolf was a gift from Hunab Ku.

And Lobo was a constant reminder that our village was a lot smaller than Honovi and I ever imagined.

***

No one could have prepared me for what waited on the other side of Sleeping Mule Deer.

Honovi had tried to describe our village after the fire but the reality was far worse than the images I had painted inside my head.

By the time we climbed to the top of Sleeping Mule Deer, black ash coated our sandals and clung to our deerskins like death that would never brush off. Everywhere I turned, my lips tasted fire. The village below was uncharacteristically lifeless, silent and grey. Only storm clouds rumbled overhead.

My body shuddered uneasily from the quiet, and my nose wrinkled from the rotting smells. They filled the air.

Honovi sighed. “It gets worse, Aiyana. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “How’s that possible?” Hopelessness hung over our village like a cloud. “And where are our people?” I said, more a question to myself.

Honovi didn’t answer.

My eyes scanned the pit houses, what little remained of them. Like the fields, their sides were scorched black, brittle and crumbling. Without the thatched roofs, the insides were exposed, not that it mattered. No one made a home inside any of them. No one prepared stews and dried meats in the courtyards. Sweet flute music did not fill the air. Everyone was gone.

Vanished.

“Gaho?” I said aloud. “Ituha? Where are they?” I started to jog down the side of Sleeping Mule Deer, slipping on the ashes when the ground grew too steep.

Honovi ran beside me, his hand underneath my elbow.

When we reached the bottom, I started to race alongside the familiar path that snaked around the river, passing the hiding spot where Diego found me. I ran straight for my home, not stopping. Honovi followed and Lobo ran beside me.

“Gaho?” I yelled when I got closer. My throat thickened. “Ituha?”

Impatient, Lobo ran ahead, zigzagging in front of us, confused and anxious.

“Where is everybody?” I shouted. My voice bounced eerily between the crumbling walls.

I didn’t stop running until we reached the courtyard that joined our pit houses. A low wall was all that remained. I barely recognized it in all the destruction.

Tears welled behind my eyes when I saw the ground littered with shards of clay jars and half-burned baskets. Black streaks covered the wall where Onawa drew pictures of Sky Wanderers in red and brown paint.

“Where’s my mother?” I said again to Honovi, numbly.

Next to me, Lobo growled.

“They’re gone,” snapped a tired, flat voice. “They’re all gone.”

Honovi and I both spun around.

Honovi’s eyes narrowed. His whole body stiffened against mine.

“Pakuna,” he said.

“White Ant,” Pakuna spat. The corners of his mouth turned up in a grin. “You came back.” He seemed surprised. Then his empty eyes settled on me.

I stood closer to Honovi. He draped his arm across my shoulder.

Pakuna’s eyes glared at him.

Behind Pakuna, Miakoda strode toward the courtyard, leaning heavily on his familiar stick. He’d grown thinner. His face was grey like a storm cloud. But his stick still dug into the ground with each deliberate step. The sound still made my insides flinch.

Chitsa walked alongside him, just as slowly, her grey hair matted and tangled about her face.

“Where is everyone?” Honovi said.

“Dead,” Pakuna said without emotion. “Or fled.”

“Fled? When?”

Pakuna sighed, as if considering whether to tell us anything. Finally, he said, “Many starved during the Season of Shorter Days. There was barely any food in the desert, no animals to hunt. The crops, all gone.”

“But what about Ituha and Gaho?” Honovi asked impatiently, his eyes scanning the deserted village, what was left of it. “They were here when I left.”

“The rest of your White Ant Clan left like cowards.” Pakuna spat to the ground, barely missing Honovi’s feet. “It was after the sun disappeared from the sky. Many believed it was a sign to abandon the village, even Yuma. He convinced them to leave.”

“Leave?” I blurted. “Leave where?” There was no
where
. There was only this courtyard, this village, this place where the people of the White Ant and Red Ant Clans lived for generations.

Pakuna’s eyes finally unlocked from Honovi’s and met mine. At first he regarded me coolly. Then he nodded over my shoulder to the boulders that were as jagged as Eyota’s teeth.

“There,” Pakuna said. “Where the sun rises each day.”

I turned and looked up at Honovi. “Then we must follow them.”

Honovi nodded. “My family left with yours. I’m certain of it.”

“Wait!” Miakoda lifted his stick. His empty eyes suddenly found life. “Your place is here, Aiyana. You were promised to Pakuna! Your father agreed to it. This is your home, your village. This is where we will rebuild.”

My eyes widened. I swallowed, hard. I couldn’t imagine rebuilding with Pakuna and Miakoda, even if I had been promised. Surely Ituha would understand. Wouldn’t he?

But then Honovi stepped in front of me. “No,” he said, answering for me, for us, his voice remarkably calm. “Aiyana’s place is with me now. We are joined.”

Pakuna’s eyes blazed with outrage. “Insolence, White Ant! She was promised to me—”

Honovi raised his hand when Pakuna stepped closer. “And that promise has been broken, brother.”

“Brother? You dare to call me
brother
? I’d die before I’d ever regard a White Ant my brother.”

“So be it,” Honovi said, still eerily calm.

“Just because you found Aiyana and returned with this—this coyote—” Pakuna pointed to Lobo, “—you think your life is different?” Spittle foamed at the corners of his cracked lips. “You think you’re better than me?”

Honovi smiled. He didn’t answer. This time he didn’t need to.

But his silence only fueled Pakuna’s anger. He lunged for Honovi, ignoring Lobo’s warning growls.

I held back Lobo as Chitsa, remarkably, stepped between them.

“Wait!” Chitsa demanded, surprising even Miakoda. She placed one hand on Pakuna’s shoulder. With the other, she reached for my face, pressing her dry palm against my cheeks, my eyes, my chin.

“It’s me, Chitsa. It’s Aiyana,” I said. “Daughter of Gaho and Ituha.”

Her hand dropped to my shoulder, satisfied. Her lips crinkled as her tongue dragged over her toothless gums. “This must stop, this fighting. Now. This is no way to begin.” She paused and then drew in a ragged breath that wheezed through her gums. “Hunab Ku will not allow it. And I fear we’ve already angered him enough.”

Pakuna and Honovi dropped their arms but continued to glare at each other as they made half-circles on either side of Chitsa. It was like ball court all over again.

“And you, Aiyana. Remember what I told you? The night you were taken?”

I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered.
Run when you think you should walk.
How could I forget her words? I really didn’t understand what she meant then.

But I learned.

I pulled my shoulders back. “I cannot marry you, Pakuna. My place is with Honovi and his family.” I turned to Honovi. In a clear voice, I said, “It’s where my heart always belonged.”

Pakuna snickered. I ignored him.

Then Honovi reached for my hand. I threaded mine through his and placed both of our hands against my stomach, and Pakuna’s sneer faded. I was as married to Honovi as I’d ever be.

We had to leave—Honovi and I and the new life that grew inside me.

“You must leave here, too,” I said to Pakuna. I turned to Miakoda and Chitsa. “All of you,” I warned. “The man who took me. He calls himself Diego. He’s from a village called Spain. He’ll be back. And the next time he’ll bring others. They’ll kill you. Or sell you as slaves. I’m certain of it.”

Miakoda stepped forward, his brow furrowed, unconvinced. “And how would a simple White Ant girl know of these things?” His tone was doubtful.

“I saw greed in the man’s eyes when he held a handful of yellow stones. The mountains beyond Sleeping Mule Deer, the highest one, where trees grow as high as the clouds. That mountain belongs to the Apache and it’s bursting with these stones. I saw them scattered at the bottom of their creeks like ripe berries underneath a tree.”