Shaman Winter (43 page)

“Yes, Chica, you will go with us,” don Eliseo said.

Sonny shook his head. He didn't understand. “Chica?”

“Yes,” the old man nodded, rubbing Chica. “Maybe that's why she came to stay with you. She's not too old to nip at Raven's heels.”

Sonny wasn't understanding the old man at all. Don Eliseo was preparing to go into Raven's circle and face possible death, and still he was kidding. He was talking of taking Chica with them, as if they were going on a walk. It didn't make sense.

“Long ago, one of my compadres at Sandia told me, the people kept dogs around the village to keep away Raven. This is when he was pulling a lot of bad tricks on the people.”

“Is it dangerous for her?” Sonny asked.

“Everything has an inherent danger in it,” don Eliseo said. “If the thing is not used properly, according to our instructions from the ancestors, then even an ear of corn can cause injury. Time itself can be dangerous. Time flows this way, then that way, and the sorcerers of evil mount it like a wild stallion to trample us. Each day has a face, a mask that can be good or evil. But it is not the fault of time that this last day of the cycle of the sun has a dark face. It is Raven who clouds the face of the solstice. When the face of the day grows troubled like this, the old people say prayers. It is important for the sun to rest in peace, to be gathered in the arms of the great ocean where it rests at night. In the womb of mother ocean it can sleep, dream, and in the morning it rises renewed, as a man rises renewed from peaceful dreams.”

“Gracias a Dios,” Lorenza whispered.

“Sí, gracias a Tata Dios, a las kachinas, a los espíritos de nuestros antepasados. The day about to be born is not only the beginning of a new season, it is the beginning of a new age on earth. We have come to the edge of a great cycle of time enveloping the earth, like a river comes to a waterfall. There ahead of us is the abyss where Raven lies waiting, ready to destroy the mother. We, the old warriors, must do battle with the forces of evil. It has always been dangerous, but we are prepared.”

He took the Zia medallion from Lorenza and slipped it over Sonny's head.

“The sign of the sun has been blessed by a woman,” the old man said, acknowledging Lorenza's role as Sonny's guide. “Now you will wear it to meet Raven. Do not let go of it. He will come for it, but do not let go. He was wearing it during the Zia summer, but he possessed it only because in a prior age he took it from us. This gold of the sun has been with us since before the pyramids were built. It is timeless. It does not belong to Raven, it belongs to us.”

Us, the old man said. The Zia medallion didn't just come into play a few months ago, it was the symbol of prior ages. People had been passing it down through the ages.

“A long time ago, the people knew how to catch dreams. Well, they screwed up and lost the ability,” don Eliseo said, a mischievous look in his eyes. “So they began to make dream catchers to catch the good dreams. So I have made you one.”

He held up the large dream catcher he had placed at the foot of the bed when he entered. The dream catcher hoop was made from a juniper branch. Perfectly round, it was almost two feet in diameter, and the web was made of thin strips of deer leather. Painted in different colors so that even in the candlelight the colors glowed. Four eagle feathers hung at the bottom.

“Rainbow colors,” Sonny muttered, taking the dream catcher.

He remembered Rita had bought him a small one at the arts and crafts show at the State Fairgrounds when they first met. It hung on the ceiling over his bed, but he was so accustomed to it, he had forgotten about it. Now he looked up at the dream catcher that had gathered dust. It paled in comparison to the vibrant one don Eliseo had made for him.

At the center of the dream catcher's web, there was a round empty space. Good dreams would catch on the webbing and belong to the dreamer, but bad dreams would slip through the hole and be gone.

“My vecinos at the pueblo say it's strong medicine. I believe it. It carries the colors of the rainbow, and so the good spirits are in it. It will be your shield.”

“Shield?”

“Pues, look at it this way,” don Eliseo said. “I put some leather straps on each side. So when you strap it to your arm, it's a shield. You know, like the knights used to wear.”

Sonny smiled. Even now, after all he had been through, it seemed every time he entered the world of the spirits, the world of dreams and nightmares, there was a new twist. And often it verged on the ludicrous. But that was only before he understood the proper role of rules and objects associated with the journey.

“I'm supposed to hold this up and Raven's sword won't cut through it?”

“If you hold it right,” don Eliseo said, “like this.” He showed Sonny how to wave the dream catcher like a shield, how to turn it, how to approach Raven. “Turn like this when he strikes. He cannot touch you. When you catch him off guard, turn it like this and he will pass through the hole in the middle. That's what you want to do,” he said, his voice rising. “Make him pass through the hole.”

“He will pass away like a bad nightmare?” Sonny said. “Will he die?”

Don Eliseo looked at Lorenza. Would this man never learn, his look seemed to say.

“Raven cannot die,” Lorenza whispered.

“Let me continue,” don Eliseo said. “Pay close attention. Your life will depend on it. Raven is holding the young women he kidnapped. They will appear in their spirit form. So we will catch them like this.” Again he showed Sonny how to turn the dream catcher. “In this way we capture their spirits and bring them back from the underworld.”

He peered at Sonny. “You got it?”

“I got it,” Sonny replied. He had to trust the old man, he knew that. He and Lorenza hadn't been wrong yet. But did he have the courage to meet Raven's scimitar charge with only a few dance steps and the dream catcher? Shouldn't I be thinking of my pistol? Or Coyote? Yes, the guardian spirit would help. But a fragile dream catcher?

“What if I can't get Raven to pass through the hole?” he asked.

“Then you die,” don Eliseo responded.

Die, Sonny thought, die in the dream I create.

“Follow his instructions,” Lorenza said, and handed Sonny the small leather pouch that contained the coyote hair she had gathered by the river. The string was knotted, like the old quipu cords of the Incas. The knots had been undone, one by one, until only one remained.

Tonight the sun was tethered to the Sun Post at Macho Picchu; tonight the sun grew pregnant, desiring to rise over the pyramids of Teotihuacán. If Sonny could overcome Raven, it would rise again. If not—

“Maybe I should have a drink,” Sonny said, half in jest, half serious. His anxiety was mounting. He was expected to bring back the girls and conquer Raven with a dream catcher?

“No, no drink,” don Eliseo said. “We go with clear heads.”

“Not even a little of that peyote you chew with your vecinos at the pueblo?” Sonny smiled.

“We are going beyond the realm of Señor Peyote,” the old man replied. “Señor Peyote can lead us into one vision, but the world you are about to enter is deeper and more powerful. It is so true and real that it will attract Raven. He will come sniffing around, like the trickster that he is. He may transform himself into an animal, perhaps a beautiful woman, or he may come as a friend. You must recognize him. He wants the sacred sign of the Zia sun, the medallion you wear around your neck. If he gets that, he gets your soul.”

“Listen to don Eliseo,” Lorenza said. “He has been there. He knows the ways of the Raven.”

Yes, the old man fought Raven and his cohorts long before I came into the picture. He taught me the way, and so I must trust him.

“I understand,” Sonny said.

“Raven knows you're coming,” don Eliseo continued. “He knows how strong your dreams have become. He will take chances. He is very crafty. Perhaps he will offer you one or two of the girls. Or he might offer to sit and talk with you, perhaps play cards, winner take all. You must be as crafty as Coyote. Do not let him trick you.”

“And when I find him?” Sonny asked.

“It is a battle to the death,” don Eliseo said solemnly.

27

“Are you ready?” don Eliseo asked.

“Yes.”

“You dream your own dream, entiendes?”

Sonny nodded.

“It's your show, your stage. He's got his circle, and he's going to try to get you in there. You stay in your dream. You bring him to you, to your power.”

Yes, Sonny thought. Maybe a cantina. I could have Billy there, and Coyote. Maybe even my bisabuelo could show up, and Pancho Villa. Like the Old West dreams I've been having.

No, he was sleepy, he wasn't thinking straight. He needed a stage that had to do with the kidnapped girls.

“The girls he took had something to do with a play about the birth of Christ.…”

“You choose,” don Eliseo said. “I will be the drummer tonight. I will carry the drum into the dreamworld. You follow with the dream catcher. Pay close attention. Don't step into Raven's circle. Don't let Raven trick you, and don't take anything he offers you.”

The old man went to the window and looked out. A thin moon shone on a cold earth. In the dim light his cornfield stood sere and withered. Among the frozen cornstalks a shadow moved.

“He's here,” don Eliseo whispered.

“Here?” Sonny started to get up. “Where's my pistol?” He had forgotten where he put his pistol.

Lorenza's touch told him to remain still. “The pistol is useless. Follow don Eliseo!” she commanded, her voice harsh.

Don Eliseo stood at the window a long time. Sonny watched. The old man began a steady drumming, which he kept up for a long time.

Sonny grew sleepy. We're supposed to be chasing Raven, he thought, but don Eliseo didn't appear to be in a hurry. The drumming grew hypnotic, the minutes stretched out.

Sonny felt Lorenza get up, take the Bowl of Dreams from the bureau, and place it on the nightstand next to him.

“Follow don Eliseo,” she whispered. “Enter your dream, walk upright. Be confident; be in
control
of your dream, for it belongs to you. It is your dream, no one else's. Raven will envy the power and clarity of your dream, and he will come to you. Do you understand?”

Sonny mumbled yes. His eyelids felt heavy. The dream catcher strapped to his arm grew heavy and uncomfortable.

“Remember to sing your song.…”

Sonny uttered the words to his song, composing as he went, fitting the sounds to the rhythm of the drum. “I walk the Path of the Sun.… I ask a blessing from the Lords and Ladies of the Light.… My soul so clear, it flies to my grandmothers.… I am their dream.…”

He kept repeating the lines, adding to them, calling the dream that was his, and even as the trance of dream began to take hold, his questioning mind wondered how he would enter the dream.

“Chica!” he called, and she answered with a bark.

The short, fat candles sitting next to the Bowl of Dreams cast a flickering bronze light on the bowl. Lorenza was burning copal in the bowl. The smoke rose in wisps, like thin white feathers rising in still air, like clouds whispering in the New Mexican blue sky.

Sonny heard don Eliseo's voice.

“On the first rung of the bowl is written the dream of creation,” the old man said softly, his words in rhythm to the drumming.

“The many stars are the children. They fly across the heavens into the farthest reaches. Our Zia sun, too, is born, and the voice of the creation expands throughout the universe. In the cosmic wind, our souls wait to be dressed in flesh, the flesh of the earth.…”

Don Eliseo knows the secret of the glyphs!

“Here are signs for the oceans, for the continents, for the mountain chains, for great rivers. There is a sign for each tribe that has walked the earth and dreamed of peace.…”

Sonny was mesmerized by the bowl. It seemed to turn slowly in the candlelight, revealing the trail of glyphs that wound their way around the outside to the lip at the top. The bowl can't turn by itself, he thought. Lorenza must be turning the bowl so I can follow don Eliseo's explanation.

He looked for her in the dark.

“The bowl contains your dream. Enter the bowl. To enter the bowl is to enter the dream of the earth. Do not be afraid to enter your dream. The glyphs are keys to your dream.”

“Yes,” Sonny whispered in acceptance.

Don't look for answers in this world. My task now is to enter the dreamworld, the world of spirits.

When he said this, he saw the shining door of prior dreams. At the door stood don Eliseo, ready to go to the cornfield to meet Raven. Sonny stood and held the dream catcher like a shield. He would meet Raven like a warrior.

He looked back. In former dreams he had observed himself dreaming, but he was no longer that person. Now he was the actor in his dream.

He turned and faced the web of the dreamworld that spread before him. Don Eliseo waited for him. Next to him waited a patient Chica.

“Grandmothers,” Sonny whispered, “I come to claim your spirits. You belong to me and my dream, not to the sorcerer who holds you prisoners.”

The bowl continued to turn slowly. The glyphs began to blur.

Forms appeared. People—or ghosts—for they poured from the lip of the bowl and rose in the copal smoke. People from ancient civilizations, from the past. Statuesque African women, carrying bowls of water to the fields. Peruvian stonecutters from the Andes, strong and nimble, cutting and lifting great monoliths to build their cathedrals to the sun. Druid women from the plains of Stonehenge and Avesbury, shaman women so powerful their gaze alone was a communication across the earth's song line. Men with Asian wisdom from the steppes of Manchuria, monks from Tibetan mountains turning prayer wheels in sanctuaries worn by time, chanting to the one Buddha, chanting to the one spirit that was both earth and universe. The gods from the Egyptian pantheon appeared in the glyphs, then rose and walked on desert sands; light-footed, they stepped aboard boats that sailed the blue Nile, blessing the fields on either side of the great river, praising the sun god. Dark women bearing flowers in canoes cut from giant logs floated down the broad river of the Amazon. Medicine men and women from the Anasazi pueblos appeared, offering corn pollen to the new day, praying to the spirits for rain. Ancestors of the Maori walked the deserts of the southern continent, stretching the song line across their land. Their melody passed through Sonny's heart, a humming sound like the sound of the earth turning. He could
see
the words of the song, shining like filaments of a spider web, spreading over the earth. He recognized the song. It was his own.