Shades

6

"The legend was handed down to our people throughout the generations. None of the shamans who told the story knew for certain what the legend was about. But in the end, after the crash of the spaceship that brought you to our world, the shaman who trained me decided that the Visitors could cause the return of our ancestors from the ghostlands."

Max walked at River Dogs side as they approached the Mesaliko village. "Had the Mesaliko people seen"… even after everything he'd seen, Max still hesitated over the term… "had they ever seen ghosts of their ancestors before?"

River Dog had told him that several people in the tribe over the past few days had begun having visions of dead family members. At first, those visions had been elusory, vaguely glimpsed shadows that could have been a trick of the light. But none of them had manifested physically as River Dog's ancestor had.

"In those long-ago days," River Dog said, nodding, "they saw the ghosts."

"What did they do to make them go away?"

"At first," the shaman said, "they didn't. My people picked up and moved from these hills. After a time, when hunting grew scarce and life turned hard in the areas they'd traveled to, my people sent scouts back into the area. The ghosts were gone, and people moved back into the territory."

"Why were the ghosts gone?" Max asked.

River Dog lifted his shoulders and dropped them. "No one knew. One of the shamans tried to take credit for their absence. He had prayed and danced for such a thing to happen, and in the end he said it was his efforts to get the favors of the gods that took the ghosts away."

"How long was the tribe gone before they came back and found the ghosts had disappeared?"

River Dog shook his head. "My people have never measured time the way the Europeans did. They didn't care to mark the years, much less weeks, days, or hours. There was only before and after. I know considerable time had to have passed, because several scouts were sent to these lands again and again to learn if the ghosts still walked."

"Do you believe that my friends and I are responsible?" Max asked, watching River Dog carefully.

River Dog shook his head, then grimaced. "No. I don't think you and your friends are malicious or mean my people any harm."

"Then why did you send for me?"

A smile twisted River Dog's lips. "Just because I don't think you're responsible doesn't mean I don't think you can be of some help."

Max stared at the man. "I've never seen anything like this."

"Then we will learn together of the misfortune that has befallen my people." River Dog headed toward one of the small houses on the outside of the small village. A carefully tended herb garden grew beside the house. Two folding lawn chairs occupied a small wooden porch that stuck out from front of the house. Shelves bearing small ceramic pots that contained more herbs stood on the porch as well.

Max followed River Dog up onto the porch. The jutting roof blocked the heat of the sun.

"Sit," River Dog instructed, pointing to one of the lawn chairs.

His mind whirling, Max dropped into one of the chairs. He was worn out and hovering near exhaustion. Worrying about his son and his relationship with Liz had occupied his waking hours and his dreams. Nightmares plagued him constantly. Tess had killed Alex. She'd planned to take him, Isabel, and Michael back to become prisoners.

What would she do with his son?

River Dog disappeared into the house. The screen door slammed behind him.

Max sat in the lawn chair, feeling the straps give under his weight. As he looked out at the nearby houses, all of them pretty much replicas of River Dog's home, he saw that a number of people were watching him with suspicion.

River Dog returned only a short time later. He carried two Mason jars of dark tea and ice. "It's sweet and strong," the shaman warned. "I like it that way, but if you drink it too fast in the heat like we have today, it'll make you lightheaded, maybe even make you pass out."

Max sipped the tea, finding it almost too sweet for him to drink. He wished he had a bottle of Tabasco sauce to tone the flavor down. "What makes you think I can help with this?" he asked.

"I had a vision," River Dog answered. "You were part of it."

"In the vision?"

"Yes." River Dog settled into his chair. An old, arthritic hound came up from under the porch and settled at the shamans feet. River Dog kicked off his shoes and massaged the animals back with his callused toes.

"Tell me more about the prophecy," Max suggested.

"It has been with my people since the dawn of memory. One day, when they first settled into this area, Raven tried to eat the sun."

"Who is Raven?" Max asked.

"He is the Trickster," River Dog explained. "He was the person that could travel between the earth and the places of the gods. In other tribes of the People, Raven is sometimes known as Coyote. He's always portrayed as a man more than human but less than one of the gods. His agenda is always his own."

Max listened as politely as he could. He tried to concentrate on the sweat beading up on the glass of iced tea in his hands. He wished he could pull the numbing chill into himself so he couldn't feel the anxiety that rattled through him.

"On that day, so the story handed down through our tribe goes," River Dog said, "Raven went forth among men and watched them dying of old age. Raven never aged and he didn't understand how men could die, or why the gods would let them."

Max nodded, not knowing how what River Dog was telling him applied to him. There was also the whole unresolved issue of how he was supposed to help. But he waited.

"Raven thought for a long time," River Dog said, "and he decided that since the sun was necessary for all life, to make the plants grow and to warm the world, then it must also hold the secret to eternal life. So Raven flew from this world to the sun."

That caught Max's attention. Was the story about space flight? "How?"

"Raven, like Coyote, has magic powers that he can use," River Dog said. "He used his magic to fly to the sun. Once there, he scooped up some of the sun's flames in his beak and flew back into the world. However, the suns flames were too hot even for Raven. As he reentered this world, his beak began to burn, and that is how Raven's beak came to be black. Unable to withstand the pain of his burning beak, Raven spat the flames out. The ball of fire crashed into the world where the Mesaliko reservation and the desert are."

Max sipped the tea and waited.

"The Elders say that when Raven spat the ball of fire from the sun," River Dog continued, "that was what created the parched lands of the earth. A few of the Mesaliko people who had gone to meet and aid Raven in his quest to steal the sun's flames died when the flames scarred the earth. Days later, their spirits rose again and went and spoke to the Mesaliko people."

"Why would the spirits rise?" Max asked.

"Because the sun was angry with Raven," River Dog said. "The sun punished Raven by taking away his feathers and making him go naked through the world for a time. Raven was embarrassed and angry, blaming everyone but himself, as Raven always did, so he stayed hidden in the mountains for a long time."

"The Mesaliko tribe moved because they were hunted by the ghosts of the dead warriors?"

River Dog nodded. "Those warriors who perished with Raven returned first, but as the days continued, other ancestors returned as well. In the end, the People had no choice but to go."

Max turned the story over in his mind. Somehow it seemed important that the ghosts of the warriors who supposedly accompanied Raven had come back first, but he couldn't figure out why. "What about the prophecy?" he asked.

"When the Mesaliko returned to this land, first by choice and then because the United States government created the reservations here, the shamans protested, saying that the ghosts would rise again. You see, the gods never forget, and the sun would never forget how men tried to steal the immortality that could only belong to the gods."

"Do you know where the Mesaliko warriors perished?" Max asked.

River Dog waved to include all the hills that lay before his home and the village. "Out there somewhere."

Max stood, and leaned against the roof support poles on the porch. He gazed up into the tall ridges overlooking the small village tucked into the foothills. The blue sky looked innocent, streaked by wisps of clouds. Flurries of dust skated over the harsh, parched earth.

"There has to be a reason these"… Max hesitated… "A reason that the ghosts have returned."

"Perhaps," River Dog said, "it's only to punish the Mesa-liko people for moving back into this area. But the shaman before me believed that since I had helped Nacedo recover from wounds that would have killed a normal man that I had angered the gods. Proud Redbird told me that the prophecy would return because I helped the Visitor live, and that the act was like Raven's attempt to give immortality to the People."

Max turned, shifting so he could look at the shaman. "Is that what you believe?"

"I believe many things," River Dog said. "But I also know there are many things that I know nothing about. Until Nacedo came to me, I thought people from another world were only inventions created by writers of radio shows, comic books, television programs, and old movies my father would sometimes take me to when my grandfather did not know. Perhaps if my father had not done such a thing, I would not have been so helpful toward Nacedo when he came among us."

From the tone in the man's voice, Max knew that River Dog harbored some regrets about the aid he'd given.

"You had a vision with me in it?" Max asked.

"Yes," River Dog answered. "You and your friends." He sipped his tea and looked up into the hills that would shadow the village as the sun began its descent into the west. "Somehow, you and they have a part to play in this."

Part of Max doubted that. Probably River Dog's vision was based on wishful thinking. Still, that wishful thinking wouldn't have existed if the ghosts/spirits/phantoms had not started manifesting.

"I don't want any part of this," Max said.

"But it will want you," River Dog said softly. "Until you arrived this morning, I had watched my ancestor for hours. Bear-Killer flickered in and out of existence, into this world from the next, then back again, without touching me. His voice had been only a whisper, not the shouts that you'd heard."

"I didn't do anything," Max protested.

"You were there. Somehow your presence made the ghosts stronger."

Max lifted his hands and gazed at them. A tremor passed through his fingers and wouldn't stop. He knotted his fists and put them away in his jacket pockets. "It's not me."

"It isn't you alone. There is something more than you that brought these ghosts from their rests in the world beyond ours." River Dog pierced Max with his direct gaze. "But you are part of it."

Max looked away, trying to figure out what to do. "I'm not part of this." Don't make me be part of this. I've already got enough things in my life that are going wrong.

"The ghosts will continue to get stronger," River Dog said. "Back when they returned the last time, the ghosts only appeared to the People and spoke to the families. After a time, however, they became violent. They could ride the wind and bring storms from a clear sky. And the touch of a ghost could bruise and eventually maim and kill. Bear-Killer could never touch me till this morning."

Max remained silent. Somewhere only a short distance away in one of the houses a radio came on, bringing a semblance of normalcy. A woman's voice said something that sounded urgent, and the radio noise disappeared. That sounded more normal and relaxing than anything he'd heard all morning.

"Maybe your people should think about moving," Max suggested.

"To where?" The shaman spread his hands. "This is our home. It has been for hundreds of years. My people can't go anywhere else, and the United States government would have to be dealt with." He fell silent for a moment. "I don't think you would want the government agencies looking closely into this matter any more than I do."

"No," Max agreed. He'd had enough of government agencies, secret and otherwise. None of them had his or his friends' best interests at heart. By not departing on the Granilith, they'd given up any hope of returning to their original birth world. The government agencies would take them away from the world they'd chosen to remain in if their secret was revealed.

Running feet sounded out in the dust-covered dirt road that threaded between the homes. The hound at River Dog's feet raised his gray-streaked muzzle and barked at the two small children who raced around a fifty-year-old Ford pickup parked next to the porch.

"River Dog! River Dog!" the two young boys yelled. "You must come!"

River Dog put his drink down and stood. "What is wrong?"

"Our grandfather," the oldest boy said. He wore ragged cutoffs and was brown from the sun. Dust covered his bare feet and legs. He pointed back down the narrow alley between houses.

"What about your grandfather?" River Dog asked.

"He has come back," the oldest boy said. He wrapped his arms around the younger boy, who was crying and holding his head. "He's yelling at Mom, saying terrible things to her!"

River Dog turned to Max. "Come on."

The last thing Max wanted to do was go with the shaman, but he felt drawn into the events. If River Dog was right about the occurrences somehow being connected to Isabel, Michael, and him, he needed to know.

River Dog led the way out into the alley, pausing only long enough to take each boy by the hand.

As Max trotted after the shaman and the boys, he heard a woman screaming in terror and pain. Other men and women ran from their houses, joining in the rush to reach the house where the sounds came from.

For a moment Isabel believed that the van bearing down on Jesse and her was filled with government agents. In that moment, she was certain that their secret had somehow spilled out again. Then she spotted the terrified woman behind the steering wheel.

The driver had her mouth open, screaming in terror, but the roar of the racing engine drowned the sound. The woman was looking over shoulder, staring in wild-eyed horror at something in the back.

Even as Isabel finally freed herself from the frozen moment, Jesse gripped her in his arms and got her into motion, pushing her back toward the picnic area. Caught off-guard, Isabel dropped the picnic basket.

Jesse propelled her from the path of the speeding van, but tripped as he shoved her. Isabel saw in an instant that he'd lost his footing and was unable to move to save himself. She turned and caught his jacket in one of her hands, then pulled him backward, acting like she'd tripped as well.

They went sprawling as the van rushed by, then hit the paved area of the rest stop hard enough to drive the breath from Isabel's lungs. Remembering the driver's frightened face, Isabel rolled from Jesse's protective embrace and turned to watch the van.

Evidently the driver came to her senses. The van jerked away from its course toward the stone picnic tables and benches. But the effort came too late and resulted only in causing the vehicle's tires to lose their precarious traction on the pavement. Rubber shrilled as the van's speed and weight tore the vehicle into an uncontrolled skid.

The passenger-side tires slammed into the high curb at the edge of the picnic area. Off-balance and riding high center, the van flipped over on its side. The momentum continued to flip the van another 180 degrees as the vehicle crushed one of the picnic tables and benches. The engine continued racing, revving out of control till it sounded like an explosion was imminent. The horn blared, holding steady and true over the banshee wail of the racing engine.

"Oh my god," Jesse said.

Isabel struggled to her feet. The woman inside the van might be still alive.

"Come on, Jesse!" Isabel cried. "We need to check on her."

"Who?" Jesse asked, not letting go of her.

"The woman driving the car." Then Isabel turned and started for the van.

"You saw a woman?"

"Yes." Isabel had to speak loudly over the screaming engine. The odor of burning oil and gasoline tainted the hot, thin air. "She looked scared. She was screaming."

Familiar electronic beeps caught Isabel's attention as she closed on the rear of the van. She turned at once, watching as Jesse punched in the three numerals on his cell phone.

"What are you doing?" Isabel asked.

"Calling nine-one-one."

Isabel grew more afraid then; 911 meant law enforcement personnel and reports, maybe even reports with Jesses name and her name on them. Her father was an attorney in Roswell; he looked at legal documents all the time. It was a stretch to think her father would see the report on the accident on U.S. 285, but the instant those reports were filed, that possibility existed. And if her father found out they'd been together, what would he do? And what could Max do? Thinking about her brother made Isabel feel even more guilty. Max had been through enough. Knowing she might have found happiness would make his own loss seem even sharper.

She looked around, knowing one couldn't do anything except wait for what was going to happen. All she could do was wait for the inevitable.