She went to the ladder and climbed into the last slanting rays of sunlight. Redcrop heard Cloudblower speak to someone; the soft voices carried.
Steps thumped the roof, and the War Chief called, “Redcrop? My uncle and I wish to see the Matron. Will it disturb you?”
“No, War Chief. Come, please.”
Browser and Stone Ghost climbed down the ladder and crossed the room.
Redcrop sank to the floor beside Flame Carrier and rested her head on the old woman’s bony shoulder, as she had done a hundred times. When she’d been a little girl and frightened, this had been the only place in the world where she’d felt safe.
“I’m here, Grandmother,” she whispered and nuzzled her cheek against Flame Carrier’s new dress. “I’m right here.”
Stone Ghost gently lifted the Matron’s stiff arm and looked at it, then he unlaced and opened the front of her blue dress to examine her chest; he seemed to be searching the deepest wounds. The War Chief stood back with his arms folded, watching. He appeared confused, but curious.
To Redcrop’s horror, Stone Ghost parted Flame Carrier’s freshly washed gray hair, lifted her severed scalp, and stuck his finger into the hole in her skull. Blood welled into her hair again.
Redcrop said, “Elder? We just washed her. What are you doing?”
Stone Ghost made a small sound, then dug out a bloody object.
Redcrop leaped from the bench with her hand to her mouth in horror. Witches shot objects into people to kill them! She had seen Healers suck them from the bodies of sick people and spit them onto the floor. Is that what this was? A witch pellet?
“Oh, gods, what is it?” Redcrop cried.
Stone Ghost replied, “It is not what I expected. I thought I might find a copper bell.” He held the object up to the firelight. “This is a tiny turquoise wolf. Crudely carved, but a wolf just the same.”
“What?” Browser rushed forward. “I don’t understand. Why would someone place a fetish inside a dead woman’s skull?”
Stone Ghost placed the bloody wolf in the War Chief’s palm, then
wiped his hand on his turkey feather cape. “She must have felt remorse, Nephew.”
“You mean, the murderer?” Browser asked as he turned the wolf in his hand.
“Yes. After she killed your Matron, she carved this wolf and gave it to her to make sure the Matron’s afterlife soul would find its way to the Land of the Dead.” Stone Ghost tilted his head and his eyes moved as though deep in thought. “But why did she think it would work? Wolves carved by the First People had the Power to guide a soul, but wolves carved by Made People don’t …” His voice drifted away.
Browser said, “Don’t what?”
Stone Ghost stared sightlessly at the floor, as if deep in thought.
Browser pressed, “Do you think she sees herself as a saviour? As some sort of deity who can breathe Power into objects like the First People used to?”
As if he had not heard, Stone Ghost stared out at nothing, his eyes unfocused. “Perhaps,” he whispered, then relaced the Matron’s sky blue dress. “Or maybe the murderer is trying desperately to save her own soul.”
Redcrop wet her dry lips and said, “Please tell me what you are speaking about.”
Stone Ghost walked over, took Redcrop’s hands, and held them tightly, while his black eyes searched her face. He talked to her as if she were an adult, not a child. “I’m not sure yet, Redcrop. All I know is that the woman who murdered your grandmother is in great pain. Her souls have loosened. When I see things more clearly, I will tell you. I promise.” Stone Ghost patted her hands. “Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”
“I—I was thinking I would sleep on the bench next to Grandmother. Cloudblower will be here all night tending the ritual fire. I thought she might like the company.”
“I’m sure she would.” He released her hands. “I will hope to see you later then.”
Redcrop nodded. “Yes, I’ll be out. Soon.”
As he and Browser walked toward the kiva ladder, Redcrop heard Stone Ghost whisper, “I would like to go with you when you tell the elders about Aspen village, Nephew.”
“Of course, Uncle, but—why?”
“Because I want to see their expressions.”
Browser’s steps faltered. He stared hard at the back of Stone Ghost’s white head as the elder started climbing the ladder, and Redcrop saw the War Chief’s eyes narrow. Browser stood at the base of the ladder for several instants, not moving, not even blinking. Though he stared at Stone Ghost, he did not seem to see him. He appeared to be deep in thought, as though Stone Ghost’s words had stirred suspicions he’d never considered.
Finally, he climbed out into the sunlight after Stone Ghost, and Redcrop sank down on the bench above Flame Carrier’s head and began gently stroking her bloody hair.
PIPER LIES ON HER BACK IN A TUNNEL THE RABBITS MADE
through the brush. Thunder rumbles. She listens. Vines weave around her, some as thick as her arms. Through the holes she can see golden leaves wiggling and hear them whispering to each other. She can also see Mother.
This is a Bead Day. Mother came home with blood on her hands. She sits on the ground, turning bones into beads, grumbling to herself. It is the grumbling that sounds like thunder in Piper’s ears. This is not Mother’s usual voice, but deep and filled with storms. It is her Bead Day voice.
Piper takes the tiny Turquoise Wolf and stone tool from her pocket and quietly continues carving. The wolf has a muzzle now. Tomorrow, it will have a tail.
“Do you hear her?” Mother shouts. “I hear her. She’s calling me. She won’t leave me alone!”
The thunder is louder, it rolls across the world and shakes Piper’s chest.
She looks up at the vines. They are hard and cold, dying. That’s why the leaves are yellow. Mother told her this.
The worst thing would be if Mother grew dead flying squirrel eyes. They are huge and empty. Mother does bad things when the dead squirrel sneaks inside her.
Piper feels the joint-stiffening disease tingle her hands. Her fingers curl over and her nails dig into her palms like knives. The wolf and tool drop to the ground. Only old people are supposed to get the joint stiffening, but sometimes it happens to Piper.
She looks down and sees the fists on her stomach and thinks: These are not my hands, not little girl hands.
Flying squirrels have hands. She has seen them. Hands with claws. Maybe the dead squirrel has sneaked inside her, too?
Piper rolls to her side and tucks her crooked fingers between her knees. Tangled black hair flows around her like water.
From somewhere far away a deep voice is saying, “Piper, Piper, Piper …”
She hears, but she doesn’t really. The voice is too far away to answer.
Piper closes her eyes and falls into the dark place inside.
The place with arms that hold her.
T
HE BRONCO CAREENED DOWN THE DIRT ROAD, SLITHERING and spinning its way along, while Dusty rapidly cranked the steering wheel back and forth.
After the first frantic sensations of panic, Maureen realized that while they were indeed sliding this way and that, Dusty was keeping them on the road. She forced herself to relax, and actually smiled as they scrambled up a slope and over the top of a low ridge. The Bronco yawed and pitched on the way down, sliding more than steering, and then Dusty skated them across the flats to the stand of juniper where Dale’s battered old camp trailer stood shining in the rain.
Sylvia’s Jeep pulled in behind them. Camp looked gray, wet, and cold under the low clouds. Rain continued to patter.
She looked over at Dusty. “Nice driving, Stewart. I take it you’ve had a little practice at this sort of thing.”
“A little.”
Maureen gestured toward the overgrown mound of rubble in front of them. It rose eight or nine meters from the desert floor. “I take it that’s Pueblo Animas?”
“That’s it.”
Maureen opened the door and stepped out. The mud was slicker than she would have imagined. Cold rain patted her hair and shoulders as she made her way toward the site.
Dusty caught up and walked beside her.
From behind them, Sylvia called, “Hey, boss? While you guys check out Pueblo Animas, I’ll unload the supplies, okay?”
Maureen and Dusty turned. Steve was walking toward them, but Sylvia stood by the Jeep, her freckled face shining with rain, and her brown hair fluttering in the breeze.
Dusty said, “Great, Sylvia. Thanks.”
Dusty led the way to the edge of the kiva.
When they reached the ladder, he made a sweeping gesture and said, “After you, Doctor.”
Maureen climbed down the ladder and looked around while Dusty and Steve pulled back the rain-drenched black plastic sheeting that covered the kiva floor. The plastic crackled and billowed in the cold wind.
The soil caught her attention first: black, loamy, with scattered chunks of fire-reddened sandstone, the color coming from the oxidation caused by a hot fire.
Dusty and Steve picked their ways carefully as they rolled back more of the protective plastic sheets.
The round structure was built into the middle of the large E-shaped pueblo. The internal diameter of the kiva was roughly seven meters. She could see the square rock pilasters that had once supported the roof cribbing. Though a slanting layer of soil still obscured the northern portion of the kiva, the kiva bench lay exposed in the southern half. Bits of bone littered the floor. She could see skeletal elements from just about every part of the body. And, at first glance, none of it looked adult.
“Stewart, why does the floor slope? Aren’t you the one who kept telling me I had to dig a level pit floor back at 10K3?”
Dusty turned, his face shaded by the brim of his ratty felt cowboy hat, and gave her one of those “I expected more of you” stares.
“Doctor, there’s a difference between testing—that is, putting in a pit to determine what’s under the ground when you don’t know—and excavation. We were testing at 10K3. What we’re doing here is called digging by natural levels. That means that we found the bone bed. Now, through careful excavation, we’ll expose that entire level based on its actual physiology.”
“I see. Well, at least tell me why it slopes?”
Dusty released his corner of plastic and gestured to the south side of the structure. “The burned layer of bones slopes because the south side of the kiva roof burned through, and hinged slightly as it fell. The bodies tumbled to the lowest spot. Which is why you can see the bench along the southern wall, and that’s also why the burned timbers are sticking up on the north.”
She frowned at the blackened logs. “Is that a core hole for a C-14 date?” It looked like the sort of hole a carpenter would drill in a log.
“Actually, Doctor, that’s where we took a sample for dendrochronology—but a date is what we’re after, yes. We pulled that core three days ago. The same with the other beam to your left. Dale took both cores to the tree-ring lab at the University of Arizona. He’s going to put them under the microscope, and see if we can get a good date on the kiva.”
“Right.” Maureen bent down and frowned at the fragments of bone that littered the floor. Dusty, or his crew, had located them, barely exposing the surface, and stopped. That showed prudence. The soil kept the fragile bone from desiccating and decomposing.
At her feet lay a mandible, the jawbone of a child. “I’d say from the eruption of the incisors, this child was about eight.” She pointed to the discolored and broken incisors. “See how the teeth are heat-stained and cracked? When this place burned, it burned hot. The fire seared the lips, pulling them back, exposing the teeth to the extreme heat. That’s why they cracked and the front part of the mandible is charred. Back here, where the cheeks protected the molars, see these little ridges in the enamel? That’s dental hypoplasia. It usually occurs due to poor nutrition. The kid had a pretty tough time of it.”
“That makes sense, Doctor. From the different styles of masonry and the decoration and manufacturing techniques of the pottery, I’m guessing that this site was occupied in the mid-twelve hundreds by Mesa Verdean peoples. They were probably raided often, their food stores stolen, and their crops burned.”
“So this dates to the same time period as the 10K3 site in Chaco Canyon?”
He nodded, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a Ziploc. It contained a three-by-five index card covered with Dusty’s irregular writing and a piece of broken Anasazi pottery. As he handed it to her, he said, “I just finished the preliminary analysis of the 10K3 stuff that we dug last year, so I’m pretty familiar with the ceramics. I recovered this potsherd yesterday from this kiva under your feet. Except for the dirt it was in, I’d swear it was made by the same potter whose work we found at 10K3.”
The rain had dwindled to a few icy drops. Maureen studied the angular fragment of black-on-white pottery. “Do you know how improbable it is that these would be the same people?” Maureen looked up and caught the apprehension in Dusty’s eyes. That haunted look
had returned. She paused, then said, “So, you
do
know what a long shot it would be.”
Steve Sanders tipped his head in silent warning, then walked a few steps away and crouched to study the bone bed.
In an edgy voice, Dusty said, “It would help if you would tell me what you see in the bones, Doctor.”
She surveyed the fragments around her feet. “Well, I see a lot of mixed human bone, Stewart.” She pointed. “That’s a child’s humerus there, the arm bone, right side. From the size, the lack of epiphyses—those are the growth caps—I’d say that the kid was about seven. There’s a piece of frontal bone there at your feet. Even without brushing dirt away from the teeth in the maxilla, I can tell you the child was about five. That fractured innominate bone by Steve’s foot comes from a child’s pelvis. The state of ossification would lead me to guess the kid was eight or nine. That skull over there belonged to an infant.” Her practiced eye continued the inventory of visible bone.
“Jesus,” Steve said, “they are all children, just like we thought.”
“So far,” Maureen said, “and from the heat spalling, it looks like they burned in the flesh. If you’re right that the south half fell in first, there’s going to be a whole lot more material down there where the bodies rolled as the roof fell.”
“Yes, Doctor, we’re in agreement there.” Dusty gazed thoughtfully at the thick deposits clustered in front of the southern kiva bench. “We wanted you here before we opened that up.”
Maureen shook her head at the cremated bodies. “What happened here?”
“We don’t know, except that the children were on the roof when it burned. They may have been dead—killed in warfare, killed by a plague—and this was some sort of burial ritual. Or they may have been standing up here alive and screaming. Either way, it must have been a terrible sight for those down below.”
“Who would burn a bunch of children?”
Steve said, “Ask the Nazis. I’m sure they actually believed they had good reasons. Which means, in the final analysis, people stink.”
Maureen said, “Given the history of the twentieth century—Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, Milosevic—I’d say that’s a valid assessment.”
“The fire might have been accidental,” Dusty pointed out, but his gaze darted around the kiva uneasily, noting the locations of the timbers
and the bones. As he pulled his trowel from his back pocket, he added, “Only excavation will tell.”
The rain picked up again, splashing off Dusty’s felt hat and beading on Maureen’s face.
Dusty said, “Why don’t we cover this again, go make a hot pot of coffee, and drink it in the trailer until this lets up.”
Maureen nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’d like to take a look at that skull you found, the one with the hole in it?”
“I was thinking we’d do that over dinner. After we get your tent set up, etcetera.”
“Fine.”
Maureen took one corner of plastic, and watched Stewart and Steve as they grabbed other corners. Stewart was nervous, jumpy. Even though the chances were astronomical, he really did seem to believe this site had been occupied by the same people who’d lived at 10K3.
The plastic billowed in the wind as Maureen covered one of the children’s staring skulls, and a shiver tingled her spine.