“Whatever happens in the battle,
We must not let him win.
I am singing a war song for you,
Little Olhoni. I am singing
A hunter’s song, a killer’s song.
I am singing a song to I’itoi
Asking him to help us.
Asking him to guide us in the battle
So the evil ohb does not win.
“Do not look at me, little Olhoni,
Do not look at me when I sing to you.
I must sing this song four times
For all of nature goes in fours,
But when the trouble starts,
When the ohb attacks us,
You must remember all the things
I have said to you in this magic song.
You must listen very carefully
And do exactly what I say.
If I tell you to run and hide yourself,
You must run as fast as Wind Man.
Run fast and hide yourself
And do not look back.
Whatever happens, little Olhoni,
You must run and not look back.
“Remember it is said that
Long ago I’itoi made himself a fly
And hid himself in the crack.
I’itoi hid in the smallest crack
When Eagle Man came searching for him.
Be like I’itoi, little Olhoni.
Be like I’itoi and hide yourself
In the very smallest crack.
Hide yourself somewhere
And do not come out again,
Do not show your face
Until the battle is over.
Listen to what I sing to you,
Little Olhoni. Listen to what I sing.
Be careful not to look at me
But do exactly as I say.”
The song ended. Rita glanced at Davy, who was looking studiously in another direction. He had listened. He was only a boy, one who had not yet killed his first coyote, but she had trained him well. He would do what he’d been told.
In the gathering twilight, Rita glanced at the clock on the mantel across the room. Seven o’clock. Fat Crack must come for her soon, because the singers were scheduled to start at nine. The very latest he could come was eight o’clock, an hour away.
One hour, she thought. Sixty minutes. If they could stay alive until Fat Crack got there, they might yet live, but deep in her heart, Rita feared otherwise. As he tied them up, she had looked into Andrew Carlisle’s soul. All she saw there were the restless, angry spirits of the dead Apache warriors from Rattlesnake Skull Village. They had somehow found this Mil-gahn’s soul and infected it with their evil. Andrew Carlisle was definitely the danger the buzzards had warned her about, the evil enemy who Looks At Nothing said was both Ohb and not Ohb, Apache and not Apache. And although the process had been started, Davy was still unbaptized.
The man sat on the floor in front of her, unmoving, seemingly asleep although his eyes were open. She had heard of these kinds of Whore-Sickness trances before, although she herself had never witnessed one. She knew full well the danger.
Looking away from their captor, Rita stared over her shoulder at the basket maze hanging on the wall behind her. She remembered the ancient yucca she had harvested to find the root fiber to make it. Howi, a yucca, an old cactus, had willingly sacrificed itself that Diana Ladd might own this basket.
And, suddenly, Rita knew that I’itoi had heard her song and sent her a message even without the use of Looks At Nothing’s sacred smoke. She would be like the plant that had given up its life so I’itoi’s design could spread out from the center of the basket. Davy Ladd had become the center of Rita Antone’s basket. She would be his red yucca root.
“Whatever you’re going to do,” she said softly, “the boy should not see.”
Andrew Carlisle seemed startled, as though she had peered into his brain and read the secret plans written there. “Do you have a better idea?”
Rita nodded. “There’s a root cellar,” she said. “Off the kitchen. Put the boy in there. I will stay with him.”
“A root cellar?”
Carlisle sounded almost disbelieving. He had been worried about how to handle the growing number of hostages in case the priest showed up as well, but now here was the old lady helping out, solving the problem for him. Carlisle knew all about root cellars. There had been one in his grandmother’s home, a place where he’d been left on occasion for disciplinary purposes. A root cellar would do nicely.
He rushed into the kitchen to see for himself, worried now that Diana might return before he was ready. And the old lady was absolutely right. Except for a stack of musty old boxes and a few canned goods, there was nothing else there.
Back in the living room, he grabbed the boy and carried him into the root cellar. Then he hauled the old woman to her feet and helped her shuffle along. With both prisoners safely stashed inside the room, he slammed the door shut and locked it with the old-fashioned skeleton key that was right there in the lock. For safekeeping, he put the key in his boot along with his hunting knife. Smiling to himself, Carlisle hurried back to the living room and stationed himself out of sight behind the door.
Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of having those first few minutes with Diana all by himself-just the two of them, one on one, sort of a honeymoon. He pulled a whetstone from his pocket and began to sharpen the blade of the hunting knife. It wasn’t necessary-the blade was already sharp enough, but it gave him something to do with his hands while he waited.
The dog had already had two accidents in the priest’s car between Dr. Johnston’s office and the driveway. Diana was embarrassed. The vet had been right all along. She should have left Bone there overnight to recuperate.
“I’m sorry about your car, Father,” she apologized.
“Don’t worry about it,” Father John said, driving into the yard and stopping in front of the house. “These things happen. Would you like him inside?”
Diana shook her head. “I don’t think so. There’s no sense taking him inside and having him be sick in there as well. If you can, take him on out to the back patio, while I work on cleaning up this mess. Ask Davy to fill his water dish with fresh water and take it out there for him.”
The vet had sent the ailing Bone home on a borrowed leash. Using this, Father John coaxed the now-docile dog through a gate at the side of the house and into the backyard. Meanwhile, Diana dealt with the lingering physical evidence of the dog’s illness, removing soiled blankets from the priest’s car and draping them over the wall for a quick hosedown.
She was surprised that Davy wasn’t waiting on the porch to greet them, but she was so busy cleaning up after the dog that the idea never quite surfaced as a conscious thought. Leaving the windows open to let the car air out, she started into the house.
With his heart hammering in his chest, Carlisle watched the car pull into the driveway. Damn! The priest was there. What the hell should he do now?
The man and woman in the car spoke briefly, then the priest got out, opened the door, and bent into the backseat. What was he doing? Getting the dog? Goddamn! The dog was back, too? What the hell kind of constitution did that dog have?