Armageddon: An Apache Story

By Pablo Zaragoza

Bal'am possesses young Luis on a spiritual quest in the Apache Medicine Society whose members embrace oneness with nature.

Upon entering Luis, Bal'am begins his reign of terror and destruction. Luis lands in prison, and through Bal'am's deceptions and brutality, he usurps control of the Mexican Mafia.

He also morphs into Reverend Bronco, a fame-driven televangelist who affords demons the opportunity of possessing the innocent. He builds a mega-church, from which he spreads his evil words to the world via televised broadcasts.

There, Bal'am sets his eyes on Luis's young daughter, Raven. By impregnating her, he knows he can dwell in the well of the soul. Though still possessed, Luis thwarts Bal'am's diabolical plan, at least temporarily. The demon eventually overcomes Raven, and now possessed, she finds a mate, conceives, and incarnates as Emmanuel, who launches a life of destruction.

Emmanuel forces the band of believers to seek him in different places. They use Apache and Christian traditions to ward off evil wherever it lurks and to hunt for this incarnation of evil.

Time is running out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pablo Zaragoza
• Release date: Mar 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393573814

Book preview

ARMAGEDDON

An Apache Story

Pablo Omar Zaragoza

Susan Giffin, Co-Author

To my family—my children, father, mother, brother, uncles, and

cousins—whose stories inspire me to write

Pablo Omar Zaragoza

To my parents, my brother, sister, cousins, niece, and extended

family for their support and encouragement

Susan Giffin

Table of Contents

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

CHAPTER SIXTY

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALSO BY PABLO ZARAGOZA

COPYRIGHT

PROLOGUE

Who am I? I’m the nightmare that creeps into your mind in the middle of the day, the eyes that look back at you in the night, and the horror you know you are capable of if you let yourself go. I’ve been here since the universe was new and He hadn’t finished making the stars. I walked on that miserable piece of dirt when the rocks were molten and no grass or animal crawled on the surface. I was one of the first created, along with Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, but I refused to bend my knee when He told us His greatest creation was man.

I Bal’am, beloved of the Morning Star, His most beloved when He spoke to us, His Legions, that He was wrong that we, the first ones He had created, were the beautiful, the most precious in creation, and that we should make Him see that we should be the ones, and these monkeys should bend their knees to us. We followed, and as we did, our beauty, our magnificence turned to hate. We changed physically because our thoughts transformed us into hideous creatures with bats’ wings and not the angel feathers that had once adorned us. Our bodies began as leather, our fingers became talons, and our teeth fangs, but we didn’t perceive the change because arrogance and rage filled our minds.

We stormed over the everlasting hills but were unaware that as we moved closer to the Citadel, the firmament behind us dissolved into a dark abyss. There on the field of battle, I met the First Ray, the defender of the faith, who is like God, and his fiery sword I felt upon my flesh. Michael, he who is like God, fell upon me, but I battled and showed I would not fall easily. The rest fell upon the Legions Raphael, Gabriel, and Uriel, and we were swept back closer and closer to the abyss.

I am one of those that fell that day, and my story started before yours began. We saw Him on the wall of the Holy Citadel; we felt His sorrow at seeing the carnage. His beloved Lucifer had caused so much pain that before our eyes, He split Himself into three so that His anguish would not fill the heavens. Uriel unleashed his fire, sweeping us closer to the darkness. Michael continued to batter us relentlessly, and by the end of the seventh day, the corpses covered the once green fields with their blood, and those that remained were at the edge of the abyss, asking for mercy. But with one final push, Michael took hold of me, lifted me over his head, and threw me into the darkness, never to see the face of God again.

We found ourselves anchored in this pit of desperation, collared to the wall by a massive black iron choker. Our waist was girdled to the wall, our feet chained, our movements restricted, freedom which we once knew gone for eternity, all because we would not bend our knee and deem man superior to us, the first created. For this sin, we who had been the favored of God were banished never to see His face again. This was our punishment never to see Him, the Father who had created us, nurtured us. We would have died for Him, but we would not serve His beloved creation—man.

In the darkness, I and my brethren brooded. In our suffering, we wanted to make the object of our suffering feel pain. Many of us found solace in the ethereal plane, a place where our minds could be free, if not our bodies.

As ages passed, we found the minds of some men who could travel to this plane, and there they found us. We tricked them, finding passage out of the torment of our imprisonment by influencing the lives of those we trapped. Some of my brethren polluted their bodies, and there inside, human bodies tormented their host to death while others lingered with their human counterparts, causing misery and pain to those they had not possessed.

I have walked among you, and I don’t know why you are worthy of redemption. You who are given free will to lust, hurt, murder, and destroy one another; then at the final moment of life, you ask for forgiveness and receive absolution.

I sat, waited, and took the road not afforded me. As one who had fallen from grace, I wanted what you had—salvation from my miserable plight. Ethereal existence doesn’t afford redemption but only by becoming incarnate, born of woman. Thus, could I find forgiveness? For my arrogance and pride, could I be saved? However, creatures like me who have been deprived of the light for so long will walk the earth, corrupting all who meet us.

Thus is the tale of a demon’s incarnation. His plan to find what the Most High had given to lesser beings—salvation—is my story. I had to find someone who would carry me, inseminate a partner, and, on inception, transfer me to occupy the Well of the Soul. I would be the soul of that newborn, and thus in this state, I could seek forgiveness. It took centuries to find the right one. This is my song, one of despair and sorrow, my first attempt at salvation for myself and my kind, because with my salvation, I could save my fallen angels and take over the heavens. We could show the Father that man was an error, and His first creation should have been the ones to inherit the Kingdom of Heaven.

CHAPTER ONE

Grandfather’s story, at least I want to call it, makes for interesting reading in the chronicles of God-fearing churchly men. Dear Grandpapa started as one of twenty-seven children in a migrant worker’s camp in south Texas. His old man was the steward working the people in the fields. A tall white man with a gray handlebar mustache, he rode a horse, lording over his folks, the sheep that planted and harvested crops.

He was especially fond of his women workers, and at night as he made his rounds. He’d visit them. If they were married, he’d send the husband out to the fields to do some meaningless task. If they were young and unmarried, he’d move them into his bungalow, making them part of his harem. When the women got older, twenty-six, twenty-seven, he’d pack them up and send them away. Their children screamed because they had to stay behind to work the fields. The deal was that the other steward would pay Great Granddaddy money for these new young women. So, the old man till his death had at least four to eight young wives servicing him hand and foot. He died when my grandfather was seven years old, and his mother prayed the rosary for his eternal soul. Funny: beaten, raped, and sodomized since the age of fourteen by this animal, she still prayed for his eternal rest. She forgave him of all that he had done to her and her child.

When the new steward came, he kept Grandfather’s mother with him. She was special. The others of the old man’s harem were carted off to other camps. Since my grandfather now was school aged, he could go to town and get his book learning and do his numbers. He got to the seventh grade and was very gifted, according to some, but that year, his mother died, and the man had no use for a teenaged boy who didn’t work. So, from being an honor roll student, he became a day laborer thrust into the fields with the other young men.

His day started with the others at 3:30 a.m., and they came in from the fields at 7:30 p.m. A few corn tortillas, beans, and rice comprised his usual dinner and breakfast while on the farm. He put the little money he got into a coffee can and put the can underneath the floor boards beneath his bed. He read as much as he could, whatever he could get at the public library, schooling himself. He started to work on motorbikes when he was seventeen, getting books and figuring out what did what, where each part went.

He saved enough by the time he was nineteen to buy a bike, a Hog. It was an old beat-up one but it was his. He worked on it at night—new carburetor, lines, chrome—and when he was done, he knew it was time. He kicked the stand and turned on the engine. It hummed like a bird. The dust and rocks flew from his back tire.

As he left the farm, he gave the old homestead the Brooklyn salute when he passed the gate and went down the road. He traveled through Texas and New Mexico, doing odd jobs for gas and food. He had no place in this world, orphaned, no family that he knew of, and so he roamed the highways without direction or care.

He found his way to Santa Fe where he worked as a cook. At the restaurant, he flipped burgers, and the people in their nice clothes would sit down and order unsweetened tea and a club sandwich. If the person had been unpleasant to the waiters, he made sure that a little extra mayonnaise went with the sandwich—the stuff that came out of his pecker, that mayonnaise. He would add a little urine in their unsweetened tea to give it an extra punch. People never noticed, and if they did, they didn’t say anything. Grandpa knew what they’d just eaten.

One day, a redskin goddess came into the shop. It was early and the waitress hadn’t set up. Grandpa asked the woman what she wanted.

What can I get for eighty-nine cents? this Indian princess with long black braids and hourglass body asked.

Anything you want, sweet thing, anything you want. Grandpa smiled at her, and she lowered her eyes and smiled back.

She asked for a big cheeseburger, fries, and a Cherry Coke. Grandpa laid three patties of meat on the grill for the girl’s sandwich. He looked at his customer through the window in the dining room. She was six feet tall with a rock-hard ass. Her breasts were coming out of her shirt as she fidgeted in the chair. She knew he was looking.

The snap and hiss of the meat meant it was time to flip the burgers and put the fries in the cooker. Oil splattered everywhere. Grandpa got burned, but he didn’t notice it. His mind was on this girl. That day, she had on red hot pants and a low-cut red T-shirt. He was hooked. He put the American cheese on the patties and took the fries out of the cooker. Lettuce, tomatoes, pickles on the bun before he placed the meat on it and took the plate to her. He sat next to her and watched her eat.

She dug into the burger, juice spilling all over her face. Purposefully, she used her tongue to clean off the sides of her mouth and then took another bite.

He asked her name, and she said, Cecilia.

What do you do, Cecilia? Grandpa asked.

Whatever I have to do. I’ve picked pockets, sold cheap tours to the people on the buses, peddled shitty beads to the tourists from Japan, and I’ve run games of chance on the street. The only thing I won’t do is whoring. I give myself to whom I want and when I want. She looked at him straight in the eye and meant every word. He could feel her strength through the words she spoke.

Cecilia, I get off at 8:00. I can pick you up and we can go to the movies, he said in a submissive voice, not wanting to threaten her and because Grandpa had never done much dating while on the farm.

I’ll come by here if I want to go to the show. I have to think about. She smiled, not a smile of invitation but one that says, ‘We’ll see.’

They went to the movies that night. He was a perfect gentleman. About halfway through the movie, she turned toward him and kissed him. She laid her head on his chest. The movie ended and she didn’t move. It felt natural to have her head there.

She wrapped her arms around him as they rode his bike back to the restaurant. He was about to stop when she told him to go three blocks down and turn left.

She took him to a one-room apartment with a small refrigerator and stove. The sofa bed had a patchwork of many colors. She offered him something to drink, and they sipped beer together.

In those days, he wasn’t known as Bronco but Luis Sanchez. My grandmother thought that the name didn’t fit his character, and if she took him to see her people, then the shaman might find his true name. Grandmother was Apache, a Mescalero.

My grandfather smiled. He didn’t want to lose her so soon, though he didn’t believe in that nonsense.

She looked at him. Let me make a couple of things clear before we go further. One is being called squaw, I’m no one’s pussy. I’m a proud Apache woman. I work to live. I may take advantage, I may steal, but the love I give to whomever I want isn’t for sale. The other thing is I always need the truth. Don’t hide it, just tell me. I’d rather hear the truth than find out you’ve lied to me. I will not forgive you. There are no re-do’s. We move our separate ways.

Grandfather says that that was the only time in his life he had felt like a bug. That day, he gulped down hard and told Cecilia that he understood. That night, they snuggled, kissed, and although he was ready for more, Cecilia knew how to keep him on the hook and gave nothing away that night. They dated and snuggled for several weeks.

She told him that they had to leave the city before December because that was the time of renewal for the Hopi; although she was an Apache, she liked the festival. The Indians would dance the spirit dances of their ancestors to welcome the coming year.

Grandfather told her that money was tight, but she looked at him and said, There’s money in the cash register. The Friday night receipts will do us just fine.

Grandfather looked at her in amazement. He’d never considered stealing as a way of life, but Cecilia was right. He wasn’t going to get anywhere flipping burgers for minimum wage. Yes, José had given him a job, but it would go nowhere. He felt his conscience gnawing at him.

Cecilia, I can’t do it. José has been good to me, and he doesn’t deserve me stealing from him. I’ve got a little money, and on the bike, it won’t cost too much.

She looked at him and smiled. You’re a good man and you’re right. We’ll live off what we’ve got, and God will provide the rest. They left a note for José and told him that he was going to the Hopi festival, and he’d be back.

At closing, she helped clean up the place, and he left his note on the cash register, so José would see it in the morning. He may not have a job when he got back, but he thought it was important to help Cecilia.

That night, they camped underneath the stars, sharing an old sleeping bag. Grandmother gave him entrance into her mystery underneath a sky filled with stars and flashes of meteorites. Their passion became more heated as they heard creatures of the night—the coyote, owl, and hawk. The air was cold, making all their senses come alive. Grandfather’s desire for her was great since she’d not given away her valuable gifts so easily. She in turn knew that she had a good man. This was the man she would take to meet her people after the festival. He needed to know his guardian spirit, even though he didn’t believe. He needed to know about the other world, the world of power animals, which help and protect all peoples. She would help him, but first he needed to know some of the Indian ways.

CHAPTER TWO

They drove north the following day to Black Mesa and the Hopi reservation. Grandmother told him that these were an ancient people with much natural wisdom, but they kept their secrets to themselves, sharing little with others. Her people and the Hopi had been mortal enemies in the past, the Apache and Navaho, raiding into their territory, as had the Spanish. The Hopi, with the help of other Indian peoples, stopped the Spanish, the sons of Coronado, but were weakened by the wars. The Navaho took much of Hopi traditional land, art, and religion, but when the white man came, both had a common enemy, so a strange peace emerged between the two peoples.

They drove through the Painted Desert. Its colorful rock formations glowed in the sun. They headed to the third Mesa to the village of Bakabi up Route 66. The road then had no lights; only the stars showed them the way. It was well past midnight when they arrived at the village. She told Luis not to enter until they were invited. The Kikmongwi, the village chief, stumbled out, half asleep to see who the hell was out here on a cold night. He was six feet three inches tall with gray hair down to his shoulders. He wore blue jeans, a red flannel shirt, and a down jacket because the night air was frigid and snowflakes fell on them.

The old chief approached them. You are not Hopi, Apache. what do you want with us? Hostility trembled in his voice.

I offer you, Ma’saw. She took from her pack a few ears of corn and handed them to the old man. We come to see the dancers and seek their wisdom. My man and I are alone in the world and need them to guide us. We know that they bring powerful gifts to the people, and we wish their blessing.

You sound truthful, but this horse that you bring with you is not Indian. He’s of mixed breed, yes, a Spaniard, maybe mixed with your people or a dog. The old man’s voice soared as he said Spaniard.

He doesn’t know his people. He believes his mother was Mexican and his father from the island of Puerto Rico, but he’s not sure, she pleaded.

I will let you pass, Kyamuya. Tomorrow night, the Kachina spirits will come down Nuvatukyaovi, the Place of Snow on Top, and begin the new cycle of life. I will let my wife look at you, and she will decide if you stay or go. The old man turned around and asked them to follow him.

For a chief, his house was a modest one made from adobe and straw. He showed them a place on the dirt floor where they could place their sleeping bag, close to the fire, and in the morning his wife would make the decision if they could stay. Grandmother thanked him and wished him a good night. They slept warm and comfortably on the dirt floor. The house dog came by with little interest in the newcomers, as though it was another clan member coming home for a visit.

The sun came through the window, and the shuffle of feet woke the couple. Two young women were making breakfast—hot cornmeal, bacon, and flour tortillas—while an old woman sat staring at the couple. There were symbols newly drawn on the floor by their feet. Grandfather learned later that they were to protect them from evil spirits that come from below the earth to plague people.

The old woman puffed on a wooden pipe filled with a pungent tobacco that watered the eyes of everyone in the room, but no one complained. As my grandparents said their good mornings, the old woman got up from her chair and came toward them. You may stay for the arrival of the spirits tonight, even your horse friend. He needs their guidance the most. This will cause you both much sorrow.

She stared into my grandfather’s eyes. Horse, you must open your ears and listen tonight. It is easy to hear but very hard to listen. Do not let the Chuchkut distract you with their dancing, but listen to all that the Kachina says to you. It will make your life better if you do as they tell you. She returned to her seat and her pipe, staring at the two women who were finishing the meal.

They served her with great reverence, because she was the head of the house, the clan. Yes, her husband was the chief, but she ran the village. The girls served her, then their guests. The food was warm, heating up their cold insides. The girls had made coffee for them, but only Grandfather drank it.

The old chief was not to be found. He had left early in the morning to talk with the others about tonight’s dance. The old woman told them that they should wander through the village and see what the people had made for the upcoming festival; plus, she needed to clean house, and they’d be only in the way.

They strolled down the narrow streets of the village. A small group of children and their emaciated dogs followed them around. At the doorway of each house was a small carving, a doll six to ten inches tall. These effigies, painted in bright colors, were called tihu and were given to children, as one of them told Grandfather. They are not to be played with but represent the spirit that protects the child from birth.

They walked most of the day, meeting other Hopis that were preparing tihu for the ceremony that night. They passed by a dome-shaped structure in the middle of the town. It had a large hole coming out of it, and smoke seemed to rise from it. This was the kiva, the children told them, that during Soval, the spirits would come out of the kivas and be with them. The mist, smoke, and clouds were the spirits that helped grow the corn, giving water to the birds, animals, and men. The water gives life, and they come down from the mountain to spread it to the people. They provide us, the children said, with the wisdom of our ancestors, for they ride the clouds with them. They took them to the edge of the town and pointed to the mountains, to the clouds circling around the peak, and told them that there is where they lived in the vapors of the clouds.

They walked back to the chief’s house where food was waiting for them. The old woman was at the door, pipe in her mouth, making smoke. She raised her head to greet them. Well, Horseman, did you learn something from the little ones or did you just hear what they were saying and paid it no mind?

Grandfather was tired of being called Horse. He looked nothing like the animal but didn’t want to offend the women, Why do you keep calling me Horse?

A good question, and I hope the first of many before you take your journey. I call you Horse out of respect for your spirit guide to strengthen him so that when you make your journey, he will be able to find you, the old woman explained. I know only that he is weak because you’ve not accepted him yet, so I recognized him and with that strengthen him.

You’ve got to be shitting me? You believe there’s an invisible animal that’s supposed to guide me? Like some guardian angel or something? Disbelief, sarcasm spilled out of his mouth.

Ask your questions tonight when the spirit dancers come out, and they will help you on your way. Be open to what they tell you. Directing her eyes from Cecilia, she turned to Luis, Believe or not, think of them as animals or angels. It makes no difference. They are there and can guide you through life, if you listen. The old woman went inside and they followed her.

Cecilia tried to explain that spirit guides take the forms of animals, plants, and rocks and help us in our daily lives by guiding us. She’d received her guide at the age of thirteen, and it had been with her for many years. Then one day, she felt weak and afraid. She searched for answers, but her guide had left her. Part of the reason for her journey here was to establish a link with her guardian spirit and find out what she must do. She told him that these spirits can come and go at will, and new ones sometimes take their place, but many times, one must journey in the spirit world to find them.

At this point in his life, Luis didn’t believe in much. Rough living in the farming camp had stripped him of hope, religion, and faith. He looked at her, wanting to tell her to wake up. This is the twentieth century. There is no such thing except what we can touch, see, smell, and feel. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to change her mind.

Night was cold up in the mesa. One’s breath froze upon exhaling. The villagers began to gather around the kivas. Smoke bellowed out from the small hole at the top. The smoke filled the small plaza, and from behind it, the dancers emerged. Two chief Kachina dancers dressed in black with a hand painted on their chest started the dance. They swirled and jumped around the women. These were called Mastop and Death Fly, and they prayed for the fertility of women and the dead. They swirled and chanted around Cecilia and Grandfather.

Another emerged from behind the smoke. He was Soyal, the Return Kachina. He walked among the people, touching each one there. Then from the smoke, a series of other dancers came out. These were the Chuchkut Clowns. They swirled around the children, giving them treats and talking to them. One of them, a fat, mud-smeared dancer with doom mask and feathers came toward the two outsiders. He chanted around them, singing in the native language and jumping around them. He had a rattle in his hand, shaking it to make noise, which was amusing to them.

He came right up to Luis and Cecilia and in English spoke to my grandparents, The answers you want aren’t here, children. They lay south in the desert country beyond Nogales. You will follow a stream to the village of her ancestors, and there you will both take the journey. When you take the journey, Horse will bring no one back with you, other than your spirit guide. Demons inhabit the world of the spirits, evil ones who want to plague the people because they envy the fact that we live in the sunshine. Love each other, for you are blessed with fertility this night. The little one will have a hard road. He jumped and then moved from side to side, dancing and chanting as he went to the next person he needed to address.

Cecilia looked at Luis, We’ll leave in the morning.

He didn’t protest but accepted the fact that they were going to Mexico. It was funny to him later how he just had accepted going there with her, never protesting, not worried about the job he had left behind, not even thinking about how they were going to live, just going. They returned to the hut where the old woman was waiting for them, wanting to see if they had learned anything. She smiled as they came up the dirt path called a street. Did you learn anything, children?

Yes, said Cecilia, and she told the old women what the Chuchkut had told them.

She told them that the clowns were the doctors, priests, and entertainers of the festival. Koyemsi, Mud Head, doesn’t speak to strangers. Count yourselves lucky. He usually throws stones at strangers. Now come on in and have dinner.

They followed her into the house and sat around a wooden, slightly wobbly table. Dogs wandered in and out of the kitchen as they waited for the evening meal. The couple talked about the costumes of the dancers, how the chiefs, Mongwi Kachinum, belong to their clan. Women of the clan feed them prayer meals. The wuya are the spirits of wisdom, the old women told them, and power. They mediate our earthly problems in the other world so that the rain comes, the corn grows and the people become fruitful.

As she said this, she came over to Cecilia. "They visited you, little one, and in the spring, look for another one to be with you. She will have a hard life if she survives her brush with evil, and a strong warrior she’ll become. Like the woman warriors of the old tales, stories will be told about all of you.

When he goes on his spirit journey, he needs to understand that it is a very dangerous place he is in, and many times, others come back with us that wish to harm others and ourselves. Demons believe that our world is theirs to play in and their games harm people.

She turned toward him. The road looks easy, but the way is hard for you, my son. You ride on your machine, but that isn’t the road. The spirit path for you is a dangerous one, but it is one you must travel.

She limped to the fire and stirred the stew in a large pot. The girls brought in tortillas and pieces of beef. Luis didn’t ask what they were eating; it was spicy and warm, and that was fine. At the end of the meal, he tried to help clean up but was told that he needed to go outside and fill his lungs with the clean air and make smoke. The old women gave him a pipe with her tobacco, and he stepped outside. He rested on the little adobe house and lit up the pipe. The smoke burned his throat and he began to cough.

The women inside the house laughed, and the old one yelled, Not into your lungs, Horse, but let it open your mind.

He started again, the smoke lingering in his mouth for a while, and then he started making rings. The gray-white smoke rings would drift into the atmosphere and be carried by the cold air blowing from the mountain. He felt strangely relaxed as the smoke left his mouth and floated in the air. The rings began to change in color from gray to blue, pink, orange, and red. The swirls of color pulsated to the rhythm of his heartbeat, and they began to twinkle.

His body was now next to him, and he saw himself smoking the pipe but he wasn’t inside. There was a silver cord from his belly button to this spiritual essence next to his physical body. He floated there for a while and then began to move toward the rings of pulsating colors. The rings were moving toward the plaza in the center of the town.

As he moved closer to the kivas, he saw the true Kachina dancers with brooms, mops, bags of seed, and clouds filled with rain, visiting each house. These weren’t the men dressed in costumes anymore but the actual spirits moving among the people, giving them the gifts of the coming year.

His disembodied self was being pulled into the hole at the top of the kivas by a tremendous force, which seemed to affect only him. He pulled on the silver cord, instinctively knowing that that was his only hope to pull himself back into his body. He felt his muscles strain, and every ounce of strength was needed to pull him away from the hole. He pulled and fought his way back across the plaza, back to the old woman’s house, and with great effort back into his own body. As he snapped back in, he gave out a large cry and opened his eyes.

The old woman was standing next to him with a cup of warm green tea. Horse, are you afraid?

Yes, especially at the end. The kivas tried to pull me in, and I knew if I went in, I wouldn’t be able to come back, he admitted.

Good journeys outside the body are very hazardous. Make sure that the silver cord is never broken or you will not find your way back. What did you see? the old woman asked as she handed him the tea.

I saw the dancers, but they weren’t people because I could see through them. They were sweeping, cleaning, bringing food and water. Then a great force took hold of me and tried to drag me into the kivas, but I was afraid to enter. I don’t know why I was afraid. The experience had affected him, and it sounded in his voice that he was still frightened.

You are not ready to go to visit the other world, but you soon will be. Now go and rest, my son, for tomorrow your true journey begins. For the first time, the old women hadn’t called him Horse but spoke to him in a kind and gentle manner almost like a mother.

He followed her into the house. Cecilia was already asleep. He lay next to her, exhausted after his out-of-body experience but afraid to close his eyes.

The morning came and the smell of bacon and cornmeal filled the kitchen where they were sleeping. The dogs were moving among the people, trying to get scraps of food. The girls tried to shoo them out with the broom, but they would filter back and try again. Cecilia was already up, talking to the old woman and her husband, the chief of the village they’d met two nights earlier.

The old woman turned to Luis, who was still in his sleeping bag, Get up, Horse! The day will be over soon, and you have not greeted the sun.

Grandfather smiled at her, poking his head out of the sleeping bag.

The old gray-haired chief looked at my grandfather and spoke, Horse, I’ve been carving something for you before you go. We give these dolls to our children. They represent their spirit guides. You must take care of your Kachina, giving it prayer, meals of spring water, and tobacco every month so that he will be with you and protect you against the demons that walk the earth and in the spirit world.

Grandfather came to the table and saw a six-inch figure carved out of cottonwood root. The effigy was that of a man with bow in one hand and what looked like a boomerang in the other. He wore a black and white mask with red ears and tongue. He had leather shoes and a cotton black-and-white apron. He looked at it curiously. He’d not seen this figure last night in his hallucination. He picked it up, carefully studying the craftsmanship of the piece.

It’s very beautiful, but I cannot accept this gift. You and your wife have been so generous already to us. Grandfather placed the doll back on the table.

This isn’t a gift. This is yours. The cottonwood root had been hiding from you until I found it last year, and I was told to carve it for my son. As you see, I have only daughters, and my wife last night told me that my son had come home. So, you see, my son, this is yours. I’ve been keeping it for you. His eyes glistened as he spoke these words.

The old man explained that this was Siyangephoya, the Left-Handed Kachina, an excellent hunter, and it would guide him on his spirit quest. The old woman took the doll and wrapped it first in green tobacco, then in butcher paper, and then told him to place it in his bag. The chief told him to take it out occasionally, speak to it, and ask for guidance in his journey in life. Grandfather took the Kachina from her and gently placed it in his riding pack.

The old woman came up to him, kissed his cheeks, and cried. Horse, I knew you’d come and see us. We are and always will be your parents, although we did not give birth or provide the seed to make you. Come back to us when your journey is done and rest with us here on the Third Mesa where you and your spirit belong. She cried as if she truly had been his mother.

It moved Luis greatly, and he kissed her on the cheek, not knowing what to say to her. He turned to the old man to shake his hand, but the old chief embraced him with tears running down his face. Be careful, my son. Know that this is your home, and that you, your Apache, and the little one that comes are all part of us.

Luis was swimming in emotions, and now he too was in tears because deep inside of himself, he knew that he belonged to these people, and that the farm, the road, and the restaurant he’d worked at weren’t his real life. It was here on the mesa, among the Hopi, between his true father and mother. They picked up their things. As they walked out, the two girls came up to him and hugged their new brother.

The old man walked with them to his bike, You will go south to a place past Nogales. The white man’s patrols will not see you cross the border. Once you pass Nogales, look for a small river, which will lead to a canyon. There you’ll find those that can help both of you. Be careful. The journey is not for the weak. Fast before the spirit journey for three days, cleansing your body and your mind. Be safe and return to us.

Luis embraced the old man one more time before they mounted the bike and started on the road south. The day was cool, and a light dusting of snow glistened from the asphalt. Few people were on the highway this early in the morning, so Grandfather got his bike up to 100mph. The cold wind burned their faces as they traveled closer and closer to Mexico. They reached Nogales at 3:00 p.m. and headed on the road further south. They paid little attention to the desert’s beauty, the red and orange rock formations that sprung up from the earth. Their only concern was to find the creek.

CHAPTER THREE

About forty miles into Mexico, they came upon a small stream that ran parallel to the road and then headed west. They knew that this was the stream the old chief had mentioned. They left the main road and followed the creek, which soon became a river. After about forty minutes, they came upon a small community of houses, teepees, and corrals. There were Indians, several with red bands on their heads, others with long hair and feathers. It felt like the place they needed to be, but was it? They parked the bike among the collection of houses and wandered about looking for a sign, a friendly face or some other clue that