“So you can fly,” I murmur.
“Well,” Kai says, “it’s more like hovering, being held up by the winds—”
“And shoot lightning from the sky.”
“I can direct what’s already there if—”
“Kai,” I cut him off as we reach the top of the hill. “It’s badass. That’s all I’m saying. Very”—I glance down at his T-shirt, clinging to his wet skin—“very metal.”
He smiles, a little sadly but at least I know I haven’t lost him. “I saw you destroy an army of locust men with a lightning sword. That was pretty metal too.”
I raise a hand in a horned salute. He laughs.
“The others are in the guardhouse,” I tell him. “They need medical attention.”
“Others?”
“Rissa and Ben. Ben’s Hastiin’s niece. You’ll like her. She never listens to anything I say, and she’s got a catalog of old pop songs to torture you with. She’s fun.”
“Sounds like you’ve been busy.”
“Yeah. But it’s time to go home.”
“Yeah, Mags,” he whispers against my hair. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 46
The morning dawns bright and crisp on Keshmish, but I wouldn’t know because I slept in. Kai tells me later that he and Tah had been up for hours, putting the finishing touches on his new hogan. They wanted to get it done before Grace and the family come over for dinner. Ben’s been in the kitchen for hours, whipping up a feast, allowing me in only for a cup of coffee. The coffee is Grace’s Keshmish present to Tah for nursing Caleb back to health. Tah informed us that Caleb’s keeping his metal wings for now. The youngest Goodacre is still not convinced that Gideon was all wrong. I know Kai’s planning to talk to him about what happened, about Gideon’s Armageddon, and I’ll leave him to it. It’s not a conversation I’m interested in being part of.
I did promise Rissa we’d have a remembering ceremony for Aaron. She brought back his aviator’s cap and she thought it would be nice to make a memorial to him, back here in Dinetah, where he always wanted to be. Ben immediately volunteered to cook something special to feed his spirit, too, so after dinner, we’ll get together and do that.
There’s a blanket of snow on the ground. Not like we used to get back before the drought, but it’s a least a few inches. My dogs run crazy through the white stuff, barking and spinning and throwing themselves down hills. I watch them for a while from the window, sipping my coffee and wondering how I got this lucky.
“You okay?” Kai asks, coming up behind me. He presses a hand against my shoulder and his lips briefly brush the top of my head. I lean into him, just a little, and he takes my weight. Pours me more coffee and hands me a cookie that Ben made, dusted with cinnamon and anise. No idea where the spices came from, but there have been lesser Keshmish miracles.
I take a bite. It’s divine.
“Yes,” I say. “For once I think I’m okay.”
Chapter 47
The thin layer of ice covering Black Mesa cracks under his moccasins. The winter wind blows feral, tossing his long raven hair around his shoulders. Snow whirls in the air, chilling him beneath his flint armor, but he is not deterred. He has been searching for weeks, chasing every rumor, every whisper.
He finds the spot. A stretch of earth like any other. Unmarked, unremarkable. He slings the pack off his back. Pulls the shovel free and begins to dig.
The day stretches long, the sun wheels across the winter sky.
He is about to give up, concede another story proven false, when he sees it. A feathered hoop. Mica glittering in the harsh light like flakes of shattered rainbow. He grasps it in his muscled hands. Pulls. At first it won’t come. But then it loosens, and he sees it is tied around a man’s neck. He gently clears the dirt away. Gets down on his knees in the hole he’s dug and wrenches the hoop wide. Slips it from the buried man’s head.
The earth begins to bubble and roil. He scrambles back as the sand collapses around him, rushing in to fill the space as the man rises from the earth. There are other hoops holding him, and he hurries to clear those, too. Until the man stands before him, finally free.
“Brother?” he whispers, hopeful.
Neizghání’s eyes open. “Brother,” he echoes. And then, “Where is she?”
“She has used the sword.”
“How?”
“She had help. The Water-sprinkler, Tó Neinilí.”
Neizghání’s face darkens. “Meddling old man. Then it is as we feared.”
His brother Tóbájíshchíní’s face is grim.
“The world is out of balance. We must prepare for war.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks to everyone who helped make this book real.
To my ladies Irette and Kaia, for being my strength and my sounding board.
To my husband and daughter, who have weathered the good and the bad and the wtf and are always, always by my side.
To my Navajo friends and family, who love me and nurture me and have encouraged me to go on this adventure. Who are proud of me for being the first in the family to write a book. Who see themselves in Maggie and Kai and love the representation. Who laugh with me and cry with me and encourage me to be brave and be better.
To my editor, Joe Monti, who had the wisdom to have me write book two well before book one hit the shelves. Best idea ever.
To my agent, Sara Megibow, for making sure I got the chance to write two books.
To the incredible team at Saga Press, who made this happen.
To Tommy Arnold, for coming up with that Trail of Lightning cover and, when tasked with the Storm of Locusts cover, said, “Hold my beer.”
To the fans, who embraced Maggie even though she was a solid bitch and loved her anyway. Thank you.
About the Author
Photo copyright © Stephen Land Photography
REBECCA ROANHORSE is a Hugo and Nebula Award-winning speculative fiction writer who was also awarded the 2018 John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer. Her novel Trail of Lightning is the first book in the Sixth World series. She lives in northern New Mexico with her husband, daughter, and pug. Find more at rebeccaroanhorse.com and follow her on Twitter at @RoanhorseBex.
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Trail of Lightning