A woman stood up. She'd been squatting patiently by another cottonwood down the dry creek bed, and Caroline knew that was her signal. That was the woman Grandmother Walks named. And again it was a title, not a name, in this dance of deep tribal secrets. The Hunter looked like First People, dark, middle-aged or older, stocky and rounded, but Caroline couldn't spot a single clue as to tribe. Nothing in her face and clothing, no jewelry, not even the way she'd cut her hair. Generic Indian.
She moved funny, as if when she lifted a foot she had to remember that it was supposed to touch the ground again. And the Brownian motion of the family moved them away from that cottonwood as Caroline moved toward it. This place worked like Aunt Alice and the House. Caroline's skin crawled with the same feeling as when the Spring woke up and noticed people and started asking questions.
The woman nodded hello. "She is dying."
So this was going to be English, too. No language clues, no nice definitive words or names to tie this mystery to a tribe. Making such a bald statement about Grandmother Walks might offer a hint, but that could just as easily point to whatever Society this "Hunter" represented. They'd be more accustomed to dealing with death and the dying. With ghosts. Unless she lived in the spirit world herself.
"She is dying. She asked me to speak with you."
The woman looked at Caroline, head to toe, eyes narrowed, openly weighing her L. L. Bean wilderness chic and two-hundred-buck boots. The desert air chilled. "This is not a thing for your whiteman school. I would not meet you if she would live long enough to finish weaving the blanket we started together. I do not know you. I do not trust you. You come from beyond my land."
Caroline looked away, out from under the cottonwoods and up to one of the mountains that ringed this valley. One particular mountain, dry and red-brown and sharp-toothed, dotted with scrubby juniper and pinyon pine, and one particular rock-face below the west ridge that showed a possibility of water. "Grandmother Walks-with-the-moon taught me many things. She did not need to teach me to keep my mouth shut. I am Naskeag. The grandmothers of my tribe and clan and hearth also have secrets."
Caroline sensed the nod, rather than seeing it. And then the woman stepped up beside her and followed her gaze. "She took you there?"
"She took me there. I will not speak of it, to you or to anyone. Even if I think you know it."
"It is good."
"This thing we hunt. My brother seeks it for you. He is a warrior skilled in such hunting. Is it dangerous? May a man see it? I ask for the safety of my brother."
Caroline heard a deep breath beside her — in, held, out slowly. "A man should not see her. This is women's business, women's magic. All things are dangerous. The Hunter drinks ghosts, drinks spirits living in the wrong bodies. My People have need of her."
Spirits living in the wrong bodies. Oh, shit. This could get sticky. Just breathing the word "skinwalkers" around here could spread nightmares across three reservations . . .
But this woman knew the way of secrets. "I tell you a story. My people live by the great sea, far to the morning. Many years before the English came, many many years, another people came from the great sea. Naskeags met them, met the Sea People in their white swan canoes. The Sea People joined their hearts to ours and lived with us, lived with us for centuries and became Naskeags. One of them was my brother's father. One of them was my father. You see this in my face."
Okay. Out with it. "The Sea People are Spirit People. They look just like other men and women, live and die just like other men and women, but some of them can change from men to seals. They are not magicians. They do not steal bodies. This change is in their blood, from ancient times. They are called selkies."
Caroline felt the tension beside her. This woman, whatever she was, this Hunter, did hate and hunt magicians who could change their skins.
No help for it. "My brother can do this. I have never tried. Grandmother Walks-with-the-moon saw this in my blood and named me, named me for the bright waters of my home by the great sea. Will the Hunter of Ghosts see this in my brother's blood and think his spirit lives in the wrong body? I ask for the safety of my brother."
Caroline waited. For a minute, a second minute, she thought the woman would walk away.
Caroline stared out at the mountain and thought about following Grandmother Walks up those jagged rocks, puffing and sweating to keep up with that endurance, legs burning with exhaustion, arms and face scratched by thorn and rock. Grandmother Walks had never looked back or slowed. And now the ancient woman lay dying. Caroline's sight blurred again.
Finally the Hunter took another deep breath and let it out, almost hissing. "She trusted you. I must trust you. This is not good. I do not know if your brother would be safe. What I think, I think that both bodies are no more than different shapes of the same body. That this is the proper way of your Sea People, Spirit People, not a sickness. I do not think the Hunter of Ghosts will wake from her dreams unless she is called. But I do not know this. I am afraid. Even I am afraid."
She turned and faced Caroline. "I say my people need their Hunter, I say the
