Read Online The Visitant: Book I of the Anasazi Mysteries by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O’Neal Gear - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O’Neal Gear
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barely big enough for the body, where they squirmed in the darkness forever.
Who could have hated Ash Girl enough to have killed her and treated her like a witch? Or perhaps she had been a witch and had gotten what she deserved.
Catkin glanced around.
As always when fear taunted her, her thoughts turned to her dead husband, Wind Born. He smiled at her from the room in her soul where she kept all precious things hidden.
She had been a warrior for two summers before he became a man. As a boy, he had looked up to her. Every time she returned
from a raid, she found him waiting at the edge of the village, his eyes searching, eager for a glimpse of her. At first, she had trotted by him with the other warriors, her chin high. Later, she had made a point of stopping to speak with him, to satisfy his insatiable curiosity about her life and the battles she had fought.
Wind Born had once asked her, “You are tall and strong, of course, but aren’t the men stronger than you? How can you fight them?”
She remembered smiling at the thin, frail-looking boy, and saying, “Each blow of my club, each arrow I shoot, must hit its mark exactly. Men can afford to be careless, to strike three or four times, or to shoot several arrows. They know that even if their wounded victim reaches them, they will probably be able to fight him off. I do not know that. So. I do not miss. Ever.”
Wind Born had gazed up at her with worship in his wide eyes and then trotted at her heels as she’d made her way into the village.
It had been a full sun cycle before he’d become a man. In the moons that followed, he had courted her, often shoving his way through throngs of warriors to sit quietly at her side, gently touching her hand, and listening to the war talk. Dimly, gradually, Catkin had realized that his soft voice, and the way he tilted his head when he smiled, were very dear to her.
They had joined during the Falling River Moon when the aspens turned golden and the last mountain wildflowers blossomed. Wind Born had seen fourteen summers. He’d been ill since boyhood, but the Evil Spirits had finally nested in his lungs that summer. Catkin had spent their joining night holding him while he gasped for air.
She had lost him two summers ago, ten summers after they’d joined.
Catkin touched the malachite pendant she wore. When Wind Born could no longer walk, he’d lain in their chamber and carved. The malachite teardrop gleamed like green fire. Part of his soul lived in the pendant. She could feel him, loving her, smiling at her in that boyish way that always wrung her heart. He’d promised her that the pendant would protect her from all evil.
Catkin thought about Stone Ghost.
No one had ever dared call him evil, but Catkin wondered. One of the many stories her mother had told her described Stone Ghost
as a young man. He had supposedly lived in a brightly lit cave in the northern mountains. The light had come from the skulls that encrusted the walls, hundreds of them, filled with a fire that never died. Whenever anyone approached his cave, they heard snakes hissing and coyotes and owls making hideous noises.
It sounded like witchery to Catkin.
She suspected, however, that whether or not a person was accused of witchcraft depended on how much Power people thought he had. No one wanted to incriminate a witch who could point a finger and turn them into a pile of mouse droppings.
Singing rose in Talon Town. It sounded like the entire village had joined to pray.
Catkin bowed her head.
Poor Browser.
Catkin knew some of what he must be feeling. The tingling emptiness. The fear that withered the souls.
After Wind Born’s death, she’d been lost and lonely. Her grandmother had tried to marry Catkin to anyone and everyone who might be interested. Last sun cycle, she had tired of arguing and run away to join the Katsinas’ People.
She’d hoped to find a quiet place to heal, and think. A place where no one knew her.
Only three moons after
Who could have hated Ash Girl enough to have killed her and treated her like a witch? Or perhaps she had been a witch and had gotten what she deserved.
Catkin glanced around.
As always when fear taunted her, her thoughts turned to her dead husband, Wind Born. He smiled at her from the room in her soul where she kept all precious things hidden.
She had been a warrior for two summers before he became a man. As a boy, he had looked up to her. Every time she returned
from a raid, she found him waiting at the edge of the village, his eyes searching, eager for a glimpse of her. At first, she had trotted by him with the other warriors, her chin high. Later, she had made a point of stopping to speak with him, to satisfy his insatiable curiosity about her life and the battles she had fought.
Wind Born had once asked her, “You are tall and strong, of course, but aren’t the men stronger than you? How can you fight them?”
She remembered smiling at the thin, frail-looking boy, and saying, “Each blow of my club, each arrow I shoot, must hit its mark exactly. Men can afford to be careless, to strike three or four times, or to shoot several arrows. They know that even if their wounded victim reaches them, they will probably be able to fight him off. I do not know that. So. I do not miss. Ever.”
Wind Born had gazed up at her with worship in his wide eyes and then trotted at her heels as she’d made her way into the village.
It had been a full sun cycle before he’d become a man. In the moons that followed, he had courted her, often shoving his way through throngs of warriors to sit quietly at her side, gently touching her hand, and listening to the war talk. Dimly, gradually, Catkin had realized that his soft voice, and the way he tilted his head when he smiled, were very dear to her.
They had joined during the Falling River Moon when the aspens turned golden and the last mountain wildflowers blossomed. Wind Born had seen fourteen summers. He’d been ill since boyhood, but the Evil Spirits had finally nested in his lungs that summer. Catkin had spent their joining night holding him while he gasped for air.
She had lost him two summers ago, ten summers after they’d joined.
Catkin touched the malachite pendant she wore. When Wind Born could no longer walk, he’d lain in their chamber and carved. The malachite teardrop gleamed like green fire. Part of his soul lived in the pendant. She could feel him, loving her, smiling at her in that boyish way that always wrung her heart. He’d promised her that the pendant would protect her from all evil.
Catkin thought about Stone Ghost.
No one had ever dared call him evil, but Catkin wondered. One of the many stories her mother had told her described Stone Ghost
as a young man. He had supposedly lived in a brightly lit cave in the northern mountains. The light had come from the skulls that encrusted the walls, hundreds of them, filled with a fire that never died. Whenever anyone approached his cave, they heard snakes hissing and coyotes and owls making hideous noises.
It sounded like witchery to Catkin.
She suspected, however, that whether or not a person was accused of witchcraft depended on how much Power people thought he had. No one wanted to incriminate a witch who could point a finger and turn them into a pile of mouse droppings.
Singing rose in Talon Town. It sounded like the entire village had joined to pray.
Catkin bowed her head.
Poor Browser.
Catkin knew some of what he must be feeling. The tingling emptiness. The fear that withered the souls.
After Wind Born’s death, she’d been lost and lonely. Her grandmother had tried to marry Catkin to anyone and everyone who might be interested. Last sun cycle, she had tired of arguing and run away to join the Katsinas’ People.
She’d hoped to find a quiet place to heal, and think. A place where no one knew her.
Only three moons after
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