Star Gift

Chapter Eight

When everyone was seated at the table, there was a frozen, quiet moment when Jasper began the meal holding his open hands out and upward. He then softly recited a Navajo prayer. Once again, Blake could see the sincerity in his weathered face. It was clear to him and Russel that the Native American people, at least the older generation, were close to their roots and traditional convictions. As the group began serving the food to one another and themselves, the newest guest, Michael, spoke up with surprising eloquence.

"I understand we'll being seeing some interesting things tomorrow, Blake. Some elements discovered by your father which you are willing to share with us?"

Blake merely nodded.

"If you're wondering how I'm aware of that, and my association here, I must confess . . . Jasper called me and invited me to attend this outing tomorrow."

"OK . . . great," was all Blake could think to say.

"You see, though Jasper and I are from different tribes, and not without some friction between our peoples over the ages. . . as shamans, we consider maters of the sky and its distant messengers, our heritage."

Russel stopped chewing his food upon hearing this. He looked up and slowly nodded as well.

"So . . . which of the universities on the West coast do you two hale from?" Michael casually asked. He inquired this while picking up a large portion of barbecued chicken with his fork and laying it carefully on his plate, smiling at Dan as its benefactor.

"UC Santa Cruz," Blake answered, while serving himself a helping of potato salad. "Do you also . . . attend somewhere?" he asked, safely convinced he must, based on Michaels educated diction and delivery.

"Well, I'm on Spring Break now, but yeah . . . Yale, actually. My major back in New Haven is world religions. I've already started my senior paper on the tenets of my people . . . the Zuni."

"Nice," Blake responded, almost incoherently with his mouth full of food.

The tea was being poured and passed around, with Russel secretly wishing that the rust-colored liquid was actually ice-cold beer. Clearly it was not.

"So, it's pretty commendable, Blake, Russel . . . for you two to bring us in on your father's finds tomorrow . . . however impressive they may be. You see, Jasper briefly filled me in on William's tireless industry over here. For so many years. And considering what he may have uncovered and stored away . . . well, it most likely concerns us, the Zuni as well."

"Blake just nodded again in agreement, realizing with relief that Jasper had actually given them a more beneficial role, hopefully, to insure their safe exit from the surreal world they had found themselves in.

"And so . . . what's up with your young life, fair Valerie?" Michael asked the youngest of the dinner attendants.

Valerie lit up with this unexpected directing of his attention to her. Appearing somewhat embarrassed, yet eager to engage with him, she made a gesture of turbulence in the air abover her plate and smiled. "Lot's going on," she answered. "School . . . my community projects . . . family, and well, I don't know . . ."

"Facebook?"

"No way!" She indignantly denied. Then smiled, "Instagram!"

Everyone laughed, including the young interrogator with the black ponytail and piercing eyes. It was that very look Michael projected that no doubt had to do with his power—perceived or real, being a young shaman among his Zuni people to the east.