Trail of Lightning (The Sixth World #1)(32)

“Earth surface world?” Kai asks.

“Dinétah.”

“And before you lived in dreams?”

“Dreams and visions,” Ma’ii acknowledges. “Legends and songs.”

“And now?”

“And now with the rise of Dinétah and the Sixth World, we are as we were before.”

“And by ‘we’ you mean?”

“We. The Diyin Dine’é, or as you call them, the Holy People. And those of us who are Bik’e’áyéeii.”

“So you are not one of the Diyin Dine’é?”

He leans his head to the side, looking like a dog trying to understand the stupid human, and says, “I am Coyote.”

“Of course,” Kai says easily, not missing a beat. “And there are others like you?”

“There are others—Badger, Bobcat, Wolf—but none such as me.” He preens a little and fluffs his cravat.

“And what about the monsters?” I ask.

He pauses for a moment, thinking, before he continues. “Some, it is true, were vanquished long ago and did not return. But others were spared by the Monsterslayer and still live. Hunger, poverty, old age. All these were once called monsters. But we also had the great Yeiisoh, the lumbering water dragon whose skeleton lies not far from here across the mountaintops. And then there are the monsters of your own creation. The yee naaldlshii, witches who sell their humanity for power, ch’?dii, the spirits that contain the evil of all men and women upon their deaths. And the ones who Magdalena favors in the hunt. The ones who devour young girls.” His eyes slide my way.

He’s baiting me, but it makes me think of something else. “What about tsé naayéé’?”

“Alas, I do not know this monster.” His eyes wander away from me to look at the wall.

“A man-made creature, maybe something made from witchcraft? It resembles a person but eats human flesh. Or at least tears out throats. And it can’t speak words. I killed one up on the mountain yesterday. It’s the thing that took the little g—” I stop myself. I don’t want Kai to know the details about Atty, not yet. I cover my abruptness with a fake yawn that turns real.

Ma’ii watches me for a moment, clearly thinking about something, before he says, “It has been many moons since I’ve enjoyed such fine conversation. Stories, and an evening meal shared among friends. It is just what a lonely Coyote needs.” He smiles at me encouragingly, which frankly, isn’t a pleasant sight. The face he wears is meant more for sneers and haughty disdain. Trying to work that long thin face into something passably friendly is ridiculous. Nevertheless, he’s earnest. And then I realize what he said.

“I never said I’d cook for you.”

As if on cue, Kai’s stomach growls, loud enough for us both to turn.

“Traitor,” I mutter.

Well, perhaps having Coyote here isn’t a total loss. He seems willing to talk to Kai, so maybe there’s a kernel of information in there among his stories that will help us figure out more about the tsé naayéé’.

“Okay,” I say, pushing myself up from the chair. “I’ll feed you both. Dinner and, yes, more coffee. And then you go, Ma’ii. I can only take so much of your friendship at a time.”

He touches a claw to his forehead.

“Thanks, Mags,” Kai says. He gives me that big smile that lights up his whole face. I shake my head. Kai has charm, I’ll give him that. And the fact that he’s charmed Ma’ii is pretty extraordinary. But that doesn’t mean he and Ma’ii getting along is a good thing. More likely it’s a disaster in the making.

“Great!” I say brightly. “You two talk. I’ll be in the kitchen.”





Chapter 14


Their voices keep me company as I work. There’s a gentle songlike quality to their conversation, and the sound flows through my tiny trailer, filling the space. I only half listen, and not to their words, but to the rhythm of the talking itself.

I look around the kitchen. I’ve been on my own for so long that it takes me a moment to think about what I can possibly make them to eat. I usually eat standing over the sink, and the food I eat is cheap and convenient. Dried meat. A handful of nuts. Things that come in cans that I can open with a pocketknife and heat in a single pot. Again, remnants of a life with Neizghání despite being without him for the better part of a year. But now I need, no, I want to make a meal.

I’m not much of a cook. In fact, my natural lack of homemaking skills scandalized my nalí when I was young. But even I can heat up some canned beans and make frybread. I find a can of diced chiles and toss it in with the beans. Next comes a little lard, scooped in a flat pan to melt. I unfold the towel that I keep my soft lump of dough in. I mixed it before I got the message to go to Lukachukai, so it’s still good. I dip my hands in the flour and pound out three pieces of dough pat-a-cake style, the slapping sound bringing back memories of my nalí’s kitchen and the daily ritual of making bread.

My nalí. She raised me herself, just the two of us living in a trailer not unlike the one I live in now, up along the isolated pine ridge above Fort Defiance. She was a good woman, not overly warm or loving, but she made sure I was fed and clothed and she got me to school every day. My grandmother didn’t deserve what happened to her, what happened to us, on that winter night all those years ago.