Mesaliko, but they appeared and disappeared with unnerving timing. They also shouted and raved, talking against the Visitors, ordering the Mesaliko to drive the Visitors from their midst, and from Roswell.
Resolutely, River Dog turned and continued his journey back up the hill. His eyes followed the whip-crack trail barely noticeable against the rugged rocks and scrubby cacti. The knoll and the cave it hid were less than fifty yards away.
River Dog leaned into the climb, putting more weight on the walking stick he used. The backs of his legs burned with fatigue, but he never hesitated in his assault upon the hill.
He had told Max Evans the truth when he'd said he hadn't known the location of the place where the Sun God had punished his ancestors and Raven. Rather than stay within the village for the spirits of his ancestors to haunt, he'd chosen to journey to one of his places of power. The cave was one of those places.
Sometime in the middle of his next step, a spirit materialized beside him, matching the step with ease, as if it had been there all along. The spirit was a wizened old man.
'River Dog,' the spirit said, and his voice sounded frail and weak.
'I do not know you,' River Dog said. He never broke his stride, putting one foot in front of the other as he continued the climb to the cave.
'I am called Hunts with Owls,' the ancient one said. 'I was once medicine man to our people.'
River Dog looked at the spirit's leathery face, taking in the intricate woven beads of his leathers and the tiny bone carvings of owls that held back his hair braids. The eyes
gaped like black holes in the shadows, but River Dog felt the heat of the spirit's gaze.
'I have heard of you,' River Dog acknowledged. 'You were very powerful in our tribe, and you helped many people with sickness brought by the Europeans.'
'I also fought and warred against those who took our lands,' the spirit said.
River Dog planted his walking stick and continued up the steep hillside. 'What do you want with me, Hunts with Owls?'
'What do you seek here?' the spirit asked.
'A better understanding of what is happening to my people.'
'We have tried to explain what is happening to your people.'
The one word, your instead of our, grated on River Dog's mind. How could the spirits feel that way? He turned his attention to the thing at his side. With the moonlight coming out now, the spirit turned pale gray and translucent.
'You are not of my people,' River Dog stated. 'You set yourself apart from us.'
'Your ways have changed,' the spirit snarled. 'You know they have changed, River Dog. You have fought those changes. These people now, they are not what my people were. Not what our people were.'
River Dog turned from the ghost and fixed his attention on the cave at the top of the knoll. 'I will hear no more. I do not know what manner of creature you are, but you are not Hunts with Owls.'
'Fool!' the thing snapped. In the next breath, the spirit was gone.
River Dog continued the walk up the hill. When he reached the cave, he went inside. The familiar dry and musty scent of the cave made him feel at home.
The cave was small, scarcely having enough room for River Dog to sit cross-legged under the low ceiling. He spread out his robes and sat, then began chanting, willing himself into a state that would be more receptive to the things that were going on in the world around him.
The spirits were not ancestors who had returned. All the violence he had seen until now had led him to think that way. And the fact that the spirits only became physical when Max Evans was around let River Dog know they were not what they claimed to be.
River Dog continued chanting, feeling himself slip into that halfway state that took him away from himself. Some days, when he cast his spirit out as he was doing now, he flew above the desert with Hawk and could feel the wind beneath his wings. At other times, he padded on tough leather paws with Coyote through the desert night. Not all of the young men he trained could still do such a thing. It was a way of life, a way of becoming one with nature that was disappearing.
Suddenly River Dog felt that he was no longer alone inside the cave. He opened his eyes, surprised at the mist that coiled at the mouth of the cave.
Four figures strode into the cave. They were manlike in shape, but much too tall and disproportionate. They wore silver and red skintight uniforms and red boots. Pale blue skin made their opalescent green eyes stand out in triangular faces ridged with heavy bone over the eyes and along the jaw. Their noses were almost flat. Mobile antennae, segmented like earthworms but chitinous as horn growth, twisted atop their heads.
River Dog tried to stand, but found his body unresponsive. He was trapped in his own flesh, unable even to cry out as the four figures closed in on him.
'You were warned,' one of the figures said. 'You should have listened.'
Helpless, River Dog watched as the lead figure reached for him, covering his eyes with a four-fingered hand. River Dog felt the hard chitin of the figure's hand close over his eyes, then his mind seemed to implode, flooding his senses with black pain that took him far away.
Max sat on the floor in front of the television in Michael's house. He watched the news programs and special reports in disbelief, flipping through the channels by using his powers. Story after story showed witnesses testifying about close encounters of the ghostly kind that had taken place during the day and were still going on in the evening.
'It's everywhere,' Liz commented quietly. She stood in the cramped kitchen by the table, a piece of pizza forgotten in one hand. They'd pooled their money together, even raiding some of the stash Michael had put back from the job out in the desert, and bought a modest dinner.
'It's not everywhere,' Isabel replied calmly. She sat on Michael's couch and watched the television. 'Only a few dozen people have claimed to have seen ghosts.'
Only a few dozen. Max repeated the words in his mind. Only a few dozen. But those numbers are growing. Less than three hours ago, they'd all rendezvoused at Michael's house, including Valenti and Kyle, fresh from the hospital with his arm tightly bandaged.
'However many ghosts there actually are,' Michael put in, 'those things are after us. Let's keep that in perspective too.'
'The question is,' Valenti said, 'why are they after you?'
Nobody had an answer.
Finally Maria said, 'Look, I didn't want to be the one to point out the obvious, but we have to consider that maybe these ghosts are things that Tess might have sent after you guys.'
'Why would she do that?' Michael asked.
'Because she didn't quite get her way when she left,' Maria said.
'She got to escape,' Michael said. 'She got Max to father her child, a child she might be able to get elected the new king.'
'Kings aren't elected,' Maria said.
Michael frowned. 'Whatever. The point is, maybe Momma Queen is going to have a lot of power too.'
The pang of loss vibrated through Max again. He could still feel the weight of his son in his arms, and he guessed that the feeling was probably a lot like the phantom pangs of an amputation victim.
'Tess didn't get everything she wanted,' Maria said. 'She wanted all of you to go back with her. That's why she killed Alex, remember? Because he found out she was here to set you guys up and turn you over to the enemies you had in your past lives.'
'This isn't Tess,' Valenti said in a quiet, calm voice. 'She'd claim credit if she was behind this.'
Max heard the pain in Valenti's voice. Tess had lived with Valenti and Kyle, becoming a sister and a daughter for a time.
'This is something outside everything you guys have been through so far,' Valenti went on.
'Then how do they know about us?' Michael challenged.
'Because maybe they can sense you the same way you can sense them.'
'We don't sense them,' Michael said.
'You see them,' Valenti pointed out. 'Every time there's been a ghost, you've seen them when no one else could.'
