Thunderhead

“Pot polish?” Nora whispered, the coil of fear growing tighter within her.

“It only occurs to bones that have been boiled and stirred in a rough ceramic pot for a long time, turned around and around.” And then he added, unnecessarily: “It’s how you make soup.”

Aragon reached again for the coffee pot and found it empty.

“Are you saying they were cooking and eating people?” Holroyd asked.

“Of course that’s what he’s saying,” Black snapped. “But I’ve found no evidence of human bones in the trash mound. Though it was filled with animal bones that had clearly been consumed for food.”

Aragon did not respond.

Nora looked away from him, turning her gaze out over the canyon. The sun was rising above the rimrock, gilding the clifftops while leaving the valley below in Magritte-like shadow. But the beautiful canyon now filled her with apprehension.

“There’s something else I should mention,” Aragon said in a low voice.

Nora looked back. “More?”

Aragon nodded to Sloane. “I don’t believe the tomb you found was a burial at all.”

“It seemed like an offering,” Nora heard herself say.

“Yes,” said Aragon. “But even more than that, it was a sacrifice. From the marks on the skeletons, it seems the two individuals had been dismembered—butchered—and the cuts boiled or roasted. The cooked meats were probably arranged in those two bowls you found. There were bits of a brown, dusty substance lying with the bones: no doubt those were the mummified pieces of meat that had retracted and fallen off the bone.”

“How revolting,” Smithback said, writing eagerly.

“The individuals were also scalped, and their brains extracted and made into a kind of—how does one say it?—a compote, a mousse, spiced with chiles. I found the . . . the substance placed inside each of the skulls.”

As if on a macabre cue, the cook emerged from his tent, fastidiously zipped up the flap, then approached the fire.

Black shifted restlessly. “Enrique, you’re the last person I would have suspected of jumping to sensational conclusions. There are dozens of ways bones could be scratched and polished other than cannibalism.”

“It is you who use the term ‘cannibalism,’” Aragon said. “I’ll keep my conclusions to myself for the moment. I am merely reporting what I’ve seen.”

“Everything you’ve said has hinted at that conclusion,” Black bellowed. “This is irresponsible. The Anasazi were a peaceful, agrarian people. There’s never been any evidence of cannibalism.”

“That’s not true,” Sloane said in a low voice, leaning suddenly forward. “Several archaeologists have theorized about cannibalistic practices among ancient Native Americans. And not only among the Anasazi. For example, how do you explain Awatovi?”

“Awatovi?” Black repeated. “The Hopi village destroyed in 1700?”

Sloane nodded. “After the villagers of Awatovi were converted to Christianity by the Spanish, the surrounding Indian towns massacred them. Their bones were found thirty years ago, and they bear the same kind of marks Aragon found here.”

“They may have been facing a period of starvation,” said Nora. “There are plenty of examples of starvation cannibalism in our own culture. And anyway, this is far from Awatovi, and these people are not related to the Hopi. If this was cannibalism, it was ritualized cannibalism on a grand scale. Institutionalized, almost. A lot like—” She stopped and glanced at Aragon.

“A lot like the Aztecs,” he said, finishing the sentence. “Dr. Black, you said Anasazi cannibalism is impossible. But not Aztec cannibalism. Cannibalism not for food, but as a tool of social control and terror.”

“What’s your point?” Black said. “This is America, not Mexico. We’re digging an Anasazi site.”

“An Anasazi site with a ruling class? An Anasazi site protected by a god with a name like Xochitl? An Anasazi site that features royal burial chambers, filled with flowers? An Anasazi site that may or may not display signs of ritual cannibalism?” Aragon shook his head. “I also did a number of forensic tests on skulls from both the upper and lower set of bones in the Crawlspace. Differences in cranial features, variations in incisor shoveling, point to the two groups of skeletons as being from entirely different populations. Anasazi slaves beneath, Aztec rulers above. All the evidence I’ve found at Quivira demonstrates one thing: a group of Aztecs, or rather their Toltec predecessors, invaded the Anasazi civilization around A.D. 950 and established themselves here as a priestly nobility. Perhaps they were even responsible for the great building projects at Chaco and elsewhere.”

“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous,” Black said. “There’s never been any sign of Aztec influence on the Anasazi, let alone enslavement. It goes against a hundred years of scholarship.”

“Wait,” Nora said. “Let’s not be too hasty to dismiss it. Nobody’s ever found a city like this before. And that theory would explain a lot of things. The city’s strange location, for one thing. The annual pilgrimages you discovered.”

“And the concentration of wealth,” Sloane added, in a low, thoughtful voice. “Maybe trade with the Aztecs has been the wrong word all along. These were foreign invaders, establishing an oligarchy, maintaining power through religious ritual and sacrificial cannibalism.”

As Smithback began to ask a question, Nora heard a distant shout. In unison, the group turned toward the sound. Roscoe Swire was running down the canyon, bashing and stomping crazily through the brush as he approached camp.

He came to a frantic stop before them, still dripping wet from the slot canyon, breathing raggedly. Nora stared at him in horror. Bloody water dripped from his hair, and his shirt was stained pink.

“What is it?” she asked sharply.

“Our horses,” Swire said, gasping for air. “They’ve been gutted.”

32

NORA RAISED HER HANDS TO SILENCE THE immediate explosion of talk. “Roscoe,” she said, “I want you to tell us exactly what happened.”

Swire sat down near the fire, still heaving from his scramble through the slot canyon, oblivious to a nasty gash on his arm that was bleeding freely. “I got up around three this morning, just as usual. Reached the horses about four. The cavvy had drifted over to the northern end of the valley—looking for grass, I figured—but when I reached them, I found they were all lathered up.” He stopped a moment. “I thought maybe a mountain lion had been after them. A couple were missing. Then I saw them . . . what was left of them, anyway. Hoosegow and Crow Bait, gutted like . . .” His face darkened. “When I catch the sons-a-bitches that did this, I’ll—”

“What makes you think humans did it?” Aragon asked.

Swire shook his head. “It was done all scientific. They slit open the bellies, pulled out the guts, and—” He faltered.

“And?”

“Sort of made them into a display.”

“What?” Nora asked sharply.

“They unwound the guts and laid them out in a spiral. There were sticks with feathers, shoved into the eyes.” He paused. “Other stuff, too.”

“Any tracks?”

“No footprints that I could see. Must’ve all been done from the backs of horses.”

At the mention of the spirals, the feathers shoved into the eyes, Nora had gone cold. “Come on,” she heard Smithback say. “Nobody could do all that from the back of a horse.”

“There ain’t no other explanation,” Swire snapped. “I told you, I saw no footprints. But . . .” He paused again. “Yesterday evening, when I was about to leave the horses for the night, I thought I saw a rider atop the hogback