Blood & Ashes

Act II: The Ritual

Chaska slipped out the back door, the wolfskin headdress slung over an elbow and amá sání's ashes in hand. He'd locked Dyani in her room, knowing full well that wouldn't stop her for long once she realized what he'd done. He clutched the vase a little tighter and glanced to the mountains that were the reservation's border, their shadowed edges like dulled lapis lazuli. Chaska had discovered a nearly-sealed-off cavern along the mountain pass and had designated it the best place to perform the ritual. He glanced over his shoulder at the small house before he trekked into the blue evening.

He had known Dyani was following him for a while; he'd heard her footsteps before he even reached the edges of the reservation. Her arrows rattled in their quiver. He considered calling her out then and there, but what could he do? She'd fight him every step of the way back. Chaska grinned, shaking his head. He was surprised she'd kept a leash on her temper because even 100 yards in front of her, her fury burned a hole through his back.

He picked up his pace ever so slightly, listening for movement behind him. The timing of her footsteps were near-perfect with his even down to the rhythm of his gait. Chaska came to a section that he'd have to climb, which wouldn't be easy in the dusk. He removed the wolf pelt from his arm, wrapped the vase in it, and then tied the skin across his chest, cradling the vase like a baby. If he lost amá sání's ashes, his chance at helping Dyani would be gone. Scaling from the saddle to the next peak hadn't been as difficult as Chaska had expected and he easily pulled himself up over the ledge, pausing in a shadowed alcove. Pebbles plinked down the mountain to the bottom of the saddle, followed by a quiet huff, and Chaska just knew Dyani had rolled her eyes. He had the urge to chuckle, but the weight of what he was about to do and why Dyani followed him in the first place dragged the laughter back down. Instead, he tightened the knot of the wolfskin pelt and continued, only waiting a few seconds to make sure Dyani made it safely up the ledge.

The stones covered the majority of the cavern entrance in such a way that from any other angle, no opening would be visible. Chaska had to take off the wolfskin satchel and place it inside the cavern before attempting to squeeze his large frame through. His bare chest scraped the other side of the opening, and if he hadn't turned his head sideways, he didn't think it would have fit. Your head's swollen from your gigantic ego, Dyani would have teased, but the sound of her laugh turned to lead in his gut. Chaska pushed toward the darkness, the inside of the cavern damp and musty.

He could feel her watching him, studying him, her gaze piercing through flesh and bone. Chaska knelt at the center of the cavern, the dirt cool under his knees. He built a fire, and just as he began every other ritual, he sprinkled tobacco on the ground and lit a stick of Juniper, waving the citrusy cedar smoke. He tried to peer beyond his shoulder without moving his head, and through his peripheral, a small dark form glided along the wall. Without fully meaning to, he touched his left eye, curling his fingers lightly down his cheek. This would be worth it. It had to be. Steadying his hands, Chaska unbound the wolfskin, carefully unwrapping the ashes.

"Forgive me, amá sání."

He unsheathed the knife he had strapped to the back of his waist, the blade glinting in the firelight. The raywood ash and Juniper smoke hung in the cavern, the heavy heat accented with notes of citrus. Chaska scooped out a palm-full of the ashes, cradling them as though one wrong move would set them ablaze. With the knife in his other hand, he sliced the blade tip across the heel of his palm just below the pile of remains, blood beading in its wake. He whispered the preparation prayer he had been taught as a Shaman, hoping that the adjustment from water and pigment to blood and ashes would be the change needed to perform the Skinwalker ritual. He set the knife down and mixed the two life forces—one dormant and one active—combined to allow the living to control the path of the dead. Chaska dipped two fingers in the dark paste and smeared it over his eyes from one temple to the other. Then he traced a single line from his hairline and down the center of his face, continuing until he reached his navel. He repeated the movement for both of his arms and legs, the beginning of each line converging at the center of his chest. He closed his eyes and uttered the feared Navajo words. As he spoke, the web of lines on his chest seemed to synchronize his breathing with the rotation of the earth. His own life force swept along the painted lines, shooting to the tips of his fingers. A new wave of energy flowed through him like a feather grazing over the hairs on his skin. He dug his heels into the dirt. He wasn't sure if he could feel the beat of his heart in the soles of his feet or if the earth breathed. The ground pulsed like a drum and his own blood throbbed in answer. His head snapped back so fast his neck cracked.

Dyani stood before him, even her ruined eye laced with terror. She seemed frantic, her mouth open in a silent cry. Chaska snapped two fingers beside his ear, the sound ringing clearly. Dyani, he called. Dyani! She continued to yell, to claw at an invisible force holding her from him. Dyani! His voice escaped from her throat and filled the cavern, pressing against his mind like water. Even when her dead eye stared at him and her body twitched on the ground, his voice still called her name.

Chaska's muscles contracted, the veins ropes under his skin. Confusion and dread spread through his body, bile burning the back of his throat. His hands twitched as if on strings, moved by their invisible puppet master. Chaska collapsed to his knees, scrunching his eyes so tight he saw neon lights as if through a fog. He bared his teeth, the inability to scream a branding iron against his lungs.

"Chaska!"

The scream cleared his clouded mind like a breath of fresh air.

Dyani appeared from the shadows, her complexion pale in the firelight.

Where had she come from? She had followed him—he remembered now. She was still alive.

"Chaska!"

As though a fist were wrapped around his abdomen, the muscles compressed, nearly stifling his air. He wanted to warn her, tell her to get away, but an invisible power with grizzly bear force knocked Chaska onto his back. He lay there, his whole body stiff and convulsing, the cavern ceiling an enticing void. He had managed to fight onto his elbows, blood pounding in his ears, when the ceiling lunged for him, darkness rushing through his eyes and slamming into his mind.