The Obsidian Mirror, page 5
“I don’t want to stay here and wait for Mahaha!” Sierra protested.
At that moment, she heard footsteps crunching on the gravel road, coming towards their campfire. She turned in terror, looking for the hatchet she had used earlier to splinter kindling for the fire. Before she could locate it, a man stepped into the firelight. Just an ordinary man, clearly not an icy-clawed monster. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt with a padded khaki vest over it, jeans and hiking boots. Another camper, obviously. Sierra’s heart began clambering its way down from overdrive.
“Hi,” said the man, looking around. “I came to see if everything was OK over here. I heard some really strange noises.”
Sierra recalled the crashing, snarling and squealing of a few minutes previously. She also remembered the mannegishi and whipped her head around to locate it. Whatever would this person think of the melon-headed, saucer-eyed thing at her campfire?
But there was no mannegishi. There was only a coyote wearing a beaded collar, sitting on its haunches and wagging its tail in a friendly manner.
“Oh,” she said weakly. “I think you must have heard, um, Chaco, here. He heard something in the bushes and went after it. But everything is fine here. Really.”
She smiled up at him and caught her breath at the wide, white grin that responded.
“Nice-looking dog you’ve got there,” said the camper. “You say his name is Chaco? What breed is he?”
“Yes,” said Sierra, wondering why everyone thought Chaco was a dog. “He’s um, he’s a Navajo sheepdog.” Chaco gave her a cool yellow stare.
“I thought they didn’t allow dogs in the park?” he asked.
“Oh? Well they didn’t say anything when I came in,” she responded, truthfully.
“Maybe I’m mistaken,” he said cheerfully. “Well, now that I’m here, mind if I sit down for a few minutes? I’m camping on my own, but it’s nice to have a little company, too.”
“Be my guest,” Sierra said. He really was nice looking. He was tall, with gray-sprinkled sandy hair and a nice build. He had kind-looking blue eyes with deep laugh lines at the corners.
“Would you like a glass, uh, cup of wine?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Sierra poured wine into another enameled cup and passed it to him. He sat cross-legged near her. Chaco heaved an exaggerated sigh and flopped over, belly nearest the warmth.
“My name is Aiden,” he said, sipping. “What’s yours?”
“Sierra. Aiden sounds Irish.”
“It’s Irish all right, but I’ve got as much Irish in me as anything else—you name it. Italian, German, Serbian, a little bit of Spanish. I’m a real mutt, very American. Sierra is an unusual name.”
“My parents were nature lovers,” she said fondly. “They loved hiking and the mountains. It actually means ‘serrated’ in Spanish, but they named me after the Sierra Nevada Mountains, of course. I’m a mutt, too. A little bit of everything, even some American Indian, so goes the family lore.”
They talked for nearly an hour as the campfire waned. Sierra learned that Aiden lived in the area, he had recently been in a long-term relationship that had broken up (he didn't blame the woman or complain, Sierra noticed, which was good), and he was out in the woods to think things over. Aiden learned nothing about Sierra except that she was in high-tech public relations and liked camping and hiking. Sierra enjoyed the conversation but found it hard going. She was afraid she would blurt out something like, “And tomorrow, I’m going to go see Quetzalcoatl with my friend the coyote and find out what he wants.”
Sierra finally got up to add more wood to the fire as the chill of the night began to creep through her windbreaker and the sweater beneath. Aiden pulled himself to his feet and set down the enameled cup.
“Well, better get back. It’s bed time,” he said reluctantly. “I guess whatever was crashing around in the bushes is gone. Anyway,” he added with a smile, “You’ve got Chaco here to keep guard.”
Aiden leaned down to ruffle Chaco’s fur—which, Sierra was relieved to see, Chaco accepted with a doglike thump of his tail. Sierra watched Aiden’s tall form disappear into the night until she could no longer see the bobbing circle of his flashlight.
She turned to find Chaco in his human form. The mannegishi was sitting on its fat bottom nearby, its orange eyes glowing like traffic reflectors in the firelight.
“Oh, Aiden, tell me more about yourself,” Chaco mocked in a falsely sweet voice. “Where did you say you were from, Aiden? Oooooh, Aiden…”
“Shut up!” Sierra said in a menacing voice. Hanging out with Chaco was like having a pesky little brother sometimes.
“Where did the mannegishi go while Aiden was here?”
“He just disappeared,” said Chaco. “They’re good at making things disappear. Have you seen your wallet lately?”
Sierra lunged for her backpack and rummaged through the side pocket where she stowed her wallet. The pocket was empty. She turned to the mannegishi, who cowered and produced her wallet from nowhere.
“See what I mean?” said Chaco.
“Uh-huh. Does it have a name?”
Chaco looked at the mannegishi, which rolled its eyes madly in different directions and squeaked, “Fred.”
“Fred? That’s ridiculous. He can’t possibly be named Fred,” said Sierra.
“My real name is Shoemowetochawcawewahcatoe. It means ‘High-backed Wolf.’ You can call me that if you like.”
“Right. Fred it is,” Sierra said. “Listen, Fred. If you ever steal another thing from me—even a scrap of paper—I’ll see to it that your name is Dances-with-Speeding-Cars. Got it?”
Fred nodded vigorously, eyes wheeling.
“Here’s a granola bar.”
Fred grabbed the bar and had it unwrapped and in his slit of a mouth in a split second.
“Now,” said Sierra, “Let’s talk about this Mahaha. It sounds nasty and extremely scary. I vote for a nice motel.”
“I will protect you from Mahaha,” Chaco said, his voice assuming tones of nobility. “I’m going to sleep with you. He won’t dare come near.”
“Oh, no you aren’t.”
“Yes I am.”
“No, you…”
Chaco transformed back into coyote form.
“How’s this?” he asked, showing two rows of sharp, white teeth in the firelight.
“Sounds good,” Sierra said, and headed for the tent.
She zipped herself into her sleeping bag. Chaco’s furry form came through the tent flap and curled up beside her. She saw the side of the tent sag slightly as Fred leaned against the exterior. Chaco’s warmth and presence did make her feel safe, and she dropped off quickly. Although she was aroused once or twice by vigorous, behind-the-ear scratching, her dreams were pleasant and free of nightmares.
Chaco—now on two legs—woke her before dawn with a steaming cup of coffee, poured into one of the same blue-enameled cups they had used for wine the night before. She propped herself blearily on one elbow to sip the brew. It was barely light outside and the birds were still asleep. Not even the wind stirred the pre-dawn stillness.
“Do we have to get up in the middle of the night?” she complained to Chaco.
“I thought you wanted to move quickly—remember Mahaha?”
Oh, right. Stay ahead of the ice-clawed demon, she recalled. She unzipped her sleeping bag and crawled out, groping for her shoes.
When she emerged from the tent, rumpled, her dark hair braided askew, Chaco had scrambled eggs and bacon ready. The mannegishi was busily stuffing itself, using the twelve digits on its two front paws to shovel food into its little mouth.
Chaco handed her a plate.
“Eat up,” he said. “We’ve got a ways to go today.”
After breakfast, Sierra hoisted her backpack over her shoulders.
“Lay on, MacDuff,” she said.
Chaco morphed back into coyote and plunged into the brush, quickly disappearing from sight.
“Chaco!” she called. “I can’t see you!”
He trotted back.
“OK, I’ll walk like a turtle. Humans!” He began walking with exaggerated slowness, still heading into the undergrowth. The mannegishi was resting by the campfire, its six-fingered paws in the air, belly comfortably distended.
“Are you coming, Fred?” asked Sierra.
“Nope,” said Fred. “It’s a long walk. See you when you get back.”
When Sierra looked again, there was nothing to be seen.
Swearing under her breath, Sierra followed Chaco into the brush. She had studied a map of the park the previous day, and Chaco was heading away from the marked trails. She hoped they didn’t run into a ranger, who would be bound to cite her for hiking off-trail. A ranger would be unlikely to cite a coyote, she thought, bitterly, so Chaco was safe enough. From rangers, anyway.
Two hours later, having clawed her way uphill through manzanita, scattering its waxy pink bells, through deer brush and coffee berry bushes, and across rough and broken rock, she called a halt. Sitting on a semi-flat boulder, Sierra pulled a water bottle out of her pack and drank deeply. She was hot and sticky, and strands of hair stuck to her neck.
Chaco’s form melted and flowed. A young man again, he sat beside her. She saw with annoyance that he hadn’t even broken a sweat. Her hair was full of twigs and if she didn’t have ticks, it was just sheer good luck. She was certain that at one point, she had brushed an arm against a young poison oak vine, shiny with pustule-inducing oil.
“How much farther?” she asked, trying not to pant too obviously, as sweat trickled down her face.
Chaco took her water bottle without asking and took a generous swig.
“It’s just up this next rise. We’re almost there.”
He handed the bottle back to Sierra, and she didn’t bother to be discreet about wiping the opening before drinking again. He just grinned.
“You can’t catch cooties from an Avatar, you know,” he said. “We never get sick.”
“How nice for you,” she replied tartly.
Her feet ached, and ever since the idea of poison oak had occurred to her, she felt itchy all over.
Chaco let her rest for a few more minutes, then pulled her to her feet.
“Off we go. That’s my girl.”
He morphed and began to climb up a particularly nasty scree. On four legs, he maneuvered it easily.
Groaning, Sierra hefted her backpack and followed. She slipped several times on the treacherous, shifting gravel of the scree and skinned her palms. Sweating and bleeding, she finally made it to more solid ground, where Chaco was waiting. He rose to his four feet and, like a shadow, glided between two enormous granite boulders.
Sierra followed. Concealed by the boulders was the mouth of a cave. She felt a stream of cool air from the opening, like a long sigh. Chaco had already disappeared into the darkness. Sierra really didn’t want to go into a cave. She had never been a spelunker and preferred her cave visits complete with pre-wired lighting and a guide with a two-way radio. There could be anything in an unexplored cave, including drop-offs of hundreds of feet waiting in the darkness for the unwary wanderer and mazes of little twisty passages leading nowhere. She slid her pack to the ground and rummaged around for her flashlight.
“Are you coming?” asked Chaco, reappearing in the cave mouth. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m just getting my flashlight. I can’t see in the dark, as you have already pointed out.”
“You won’t need a flashlight. Come on, he’s waiting for you.”
Sierra’s groping hand closed around the cool barrel of the flashlight and she drew it out. She felt safer with it in her hand.
“Coming.”
She walked slowly into the dark of the cave, pausing to let her eyes adjust. The roof of the cave was a few feet over her head. The walls were just rough rock, easy to see in the light still visible from the outside, but the cave extended before her into the darkness. It ran straight for a few yards, and then appeared to turn. A faint light shone from around that turn in the passage.
“What is this place?”
Chaco trotted back to where she was standing.
“It’s part of a cave complex that runs through this whole area. The part that’s open to the public is called Black Chasm, but the complex is much, much bigger. This part is actually more beautiful, so it’s a good thing the entrance is so well hidden. People would’ve been all over this cave, breaking off stalactites for souvenirs. Come on.”
Sierra followed him down the rough rock corridor. As she went around the bend, the ceiling began to rise and the mysterious light became stronger. Finally, she emerged into a huge chamber that seemed to glow softly with its own light. Far overhead, great draperies of caramel-striped rock flowed, and stalactites hung like sparkling crystal spears. The walls seemed covered with frost, but a closer look revealed curlicues, shoots, and squiggles of white crystals everywhere. They grew out of the rock wall in all directions, like crystalline roots, or spurts of water frozen into ice in mid-air.
Sierra gawked for several minutes, then registered that there was another presence in the great chamber besides herself and Chaco. Seated cross-legged on a flat outcropping of rock was an old man. His face was brown and deeply lined. He had the great, high-bridged nose of the Mayan Indian; large, almond-shaped eyes and a firm, narrow-lipped mouth. His cheekbones were high and prominent. His long, silvery hair was braided down his back like Sierra’s (but more neatly). Around his corded neck he wore a heavy necklace of carved green stones.
But strangest of all was the sense Sierra experienced that this was not a man at all. His presence seemed to fill the great cavern with massive, shadowy coils that she could not quite see. He breathed quietly, and yet, it seemed the breathing of a giant creature, its unseen bulk receding into the depths of the mountain.
The old man raised his dark eyes to Sierra, and he smiled at her. His face crinkled into hundreds of tiny wrinkles, like the surface of a cooling lava flow.
“You have come,” he said. His voice was soft, but it seemed to Sierra it filled her up entirely, her and the vast cavern in which she stood. “Thank you for coming.”
Sierra stood awkwardly before him.
“You’re Quetzalcoatl?” she asked, her tongue forming the final click of the “tl” as though she had always known how to do it. Once out of her mouth, it seemed a stupid question, but the old man nodded without irritation.
“I didn’t understand your…invitation. If Chaco hadn’t come to get me, I wouldn't have made it here.”
Quetzalcoatl glanced at Chaco, who had flopped to the floor to one side of the flat rock where the other Avatar sat.
“Coyotl is a good boy,” said Queztalcoatl fondly. “Now, my child, we must discuss something of great importance. I need your help.”
Sierra sensed the shifting of great coils in the dark and shuddered. She felt as safe in the presence of the great Avatar as she had ever felt in her life, and yet she felt danger waiting beyond the circle of power present in the cave. She sat on the cave floor, at the old man’s feet.
“Tell me,” she said.
Chapter 6
“There are times when the balance between light and dark, between good and evil, is overturned,” said the old man. “This is such a time.
“I have seen times like this before. The Maya people lived hundreds of years ago in a paradise. They had everything they needed: rich soil, abundance of food, clean water. They built a great civilization. Now all their temples lie empty and abandoned, and the people are scattered and without power. How could this happen? The Maya were the greatest power in all the lands they occupied. What could bring them down so completely?”
“Maybe they sacrificed too many people to the gods,” Sierra suggested, but even as she spoke, the hair at the nape of her neck stirred with fright. Quetzalcoatl had been one of those gods.
“I think you are partly right,” he responded gravely. “In the midst of plenty, they worshipped pain and blood. This I never demanded of them, though my brother has always delighted in slaughter and suffering.
“It was my brother who led the Maya to destroy the earth that fed them. They drained the soil of its nutrients and would not replenish it nor allow it to recover. As the crops began to fail and the people were hungry, they shed more blood and still more blood, hoping to appease the gods. In the end, the people just abandoned the cities, letting the jungle reclaim their houses and temples. And my brother moved on to other peoples, still hungry for blood and ruin.
“But now is a time of peril not just for one tribe of people, but for all people. And not just people, but for every living thing on the earth.” His voice was tired and sad.
“Are you talking about climate change?”
“That is a great danger. But there are other dangers, too. There is poison in the air and in the waters and in the soil itself. In the past, when people have destroyed their own land, the damage was confined to a small area. Eventually, the earth was able to repair itself. But now you have spread to every corner of the earth, and it is the earth itself that is dying.”
“Are you saying it’s too late?” Sierra asked fearfully.
“No. It is not too late. But I fear that my brother may triumph this time. Do you know his name?”
“Mmm, not really. Fred said it, and Chaco shut him up. Chaco said to call him Neco-something.”
“Necocyaotl,” said Quetzalcoatl. “Necocyaotl means ‘Enemy of Both Sides.’ His real name—which I will not speak here—means Obsidian Mirror. It is a fitting name for him. When people follow him, it is as though they are all gazing into an obsidian mirror, dark and distorted. All they can see clearly reflected are their own beings. Their actions and their thoughts are all for themselves, their comfort, their pleasure, their wealth. They cannot see beyond themselves at all, and once they gaze into the mirror, they are helpless to look elsewhere—such is his power. These are the followers of Necocyaotl. He does not need blood rituals now. Much blood will be shed in the end. All the blood of all the creatures of earth.”
