“When I saw that giant thing climb out o’ the top of that little ol’ lady’s head yesterday, I thought it was time. That was somethin’ that didn’t belong in this world.”
“You’re right about that,” I said.
“Yeah. But now I don’t know if I did the right thing. Mr. Benally knew about it — he’s one o’ the few people who believed me — and he was tryin’ to tell me, no, don’t waste it now, save it for the skinwalkers, but I didn’t listen.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of Darren’s body. “Now I’m thinkin’ maybe I shoulda waited, you know?”
If only.
“Even if you still had the jish, Frank,” I pointed out, “you couldn’t have saved him last night without interrupting your sing.”
“True,” he said. “But that don’t make me regret what happened any less.”
There was nothing I could say about his regret, except to perhaps offer the advice to suppress it savagely. It keeps you functioning.
“What happened to the hippies?” I asked, to distract both of us from our regrets.
“Oh. Well, Changing Woman told me they’d wake up eventually, but she didn’t say when. It was summertime and hotter than a branding iron down there, and part o’ me thought it’d serve them right to get sunburned, since they wanted to be red men so badly. But then I thought they might get seriously burned, and I didn’t want to be responsible for that. So I did my best to drag them into the shade. One of them was too damn huge and I couldn’t move him, so I put my hat over his face and hoped he’d be all right.”
“That was kind of you,” Granuaile said, smiling at him. “I know from experience that a bad sunburn can make you terribly sick, so that was a good precaution.”
“What could you see after Changing Woman touched your eyes?” I asked.
“Most things were the same. But some things weren’t. I saw some colors around my jish that weren’t there before. I could see which homes had been blessed well and which ones hadn’t. And whenever I did ceremonies after that, I could kinda see what I was doing, see everyone’s spirit and how the songs and the sandpaintings could change them, bring them into harmony with the Holy People, and unite the spirit world with the physical. And sometimes I’d run into people who had colors around them too. People like you. People like that lady with the death goddess inside.”
“How about Mr. Benally?” Granuaile said.
Frank squinted at her. “Well … yeah. Him too.” He looked at me. “You know who he really is, don’t you?”
“I think so,” I said. “He—”
“Wait,” Frank said, holding up a hand. “Don’t say any names. That’s important.”
I didn’t understand, but I wasn’t going to argue with him. If he thought it was important, far be it for me to gainsay him.
“I think he’s one of the First People,” I said, hoping that wasn’t stepping over any lines.
“Yep. I think so too. Problem is figuring out which one. They’re capable of trickin’ a fella pretty good. Let’s say no more about it.”
I shrugged. He seemed to have a pretty good idea it was Coyote, so I wasn’t going to force the issue.
“You’ll be all right for a while?” I asked.
“Aw, sure. Where you goin’?”
“Gotta walk the dog.” Oberon’s tail swished energetically through the air at this announcement. “Might head north.”
Frank looked at me sharply. “You be careful.”
I nodded acknowledgment at him and called Oberon, who’d been quietly watching all this time. “Ready to do a little bit of hunting, buddy?”
<Sure! Hunting for what?>
I switched to mental communication. Skinwalkers. Let’s see where they went. If they’re hiding in a cave, maybe I can get Colorado to collapse the entrance and solve our problem for us.
<Okay, but I need a drink first.>
“All right, let’s go,” I said. Granuaile joined us as we walked down to the car. We stepped softly around Darren’s body. Oberon whined once, then put his nose down to the ground.
<They came this way. They used the road. That burnt-rubber scent is easy to follow.> We paused at Granuaile’s car and poured some bottled water into one of those collapsible dog bowls. We also took the opportunity to fill our tanks with some beef jerky and crackers. Then we took an extra couple of water bottles each for the trip ahead.
<Ready,> Oberon announced. He trotted back to the base of the hill, snuffled around a little bit, then turned north. <Footprints here, strong smell, occasional blood drops too from that one you speared. This is going to be simple.>
I expect it will get harder soon.
“What’s the plan if we find them, sensei?” Granuaile asked. We broke into an easy jog to keep up with Oberon.
“Depends on the situation,” I replied. “I’d prefer to call in an air strike, but unfortunately that’s not a viable option. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on poking them awake and suggesting a duel. Whatever we do, it will be from a safe distance and completely cold-blooded.”
The trail ended on a small knoll three miles away. My improvised javelin was there, stained with blood, and there were plenty of tracks and smells for us to decipher. I wouldn’t be able to smell any of it while in human form.
“Fair warning: I’m getting naked,” I said to Granuaile as I unslung Moralltach and stripped off my shirt. “I need to shift and find out what Oberon’s smelling.”
Granuaile made no reply, but she let out a wolf whistle when I shucked off my jeans. I shifted quickly to my hound form so she wouldn’t see me blush.
I sneezed immediately, as I often did when I changed to a hound. The potent sense of smell that comes with the form is far more jarring than suddenly walking on all fours. What hit me first was the burnt-rubber scent Oberon had described, except there was something fouler mixed in. It was like placing your face next to the exhaust port of a city bus just when it accelerates from a stop; it was asphalt and rubber and oil and everything black and smelly in a single, lung-destroying cloud. But underneath this were other scents: the blood and sweat, fear and anger of two humans, two bobcats … and something else.
<Atticus, you smell that?> Oberon asked.
<You mean the thing that kind of smells like chicken but not really?>
<Yeah. It’s a big bird, whatever it is. But it doesn’t smell like a hawk or a raven. Not a crow either.>
<Hmm. I see the bobcat prints here, the human prints too.…> These were mostly smudges and scuffs in the sandy dirt; there was nothing like a perfect print in the mud waiting for us there. <Look for bird tracks. Careful where you step.>
<Well, I think I found some. These aren’t bobcat claws.>
<Let me see.> I padded over to where Oberon had his nose to the ground and considered the outlines of two large talon marks. It was an incomplete print — impossible to tell the species without a clearer picture, but it was definitely a larger bird.
<You think they flew out of here?> Oberon asked.
<Yep. They used this little knoll as their staging area. Fly in here with bobcat skins in their talons and land. Shift out of bird skins and leave them here. Shift into bobcats and attack us. After they killed Darren, they probably came back here and shifted out of their bobcat skins too, because they had to talk. So I stuck one, and that’s when they returned and shifted into birds again. Perfect way to prevent anyone tracking them home. But one was injured right at the shoulder, so his buddy probably had to carry him. I doubt he’d be able to fly in his condition.>
<Is that physically possible, for a bird to carry another one?>