A NARROW STRIP OF ROADWAY had been carved into the foothills leading up Ioligam’s eastern flank. Winter rains had left it rutted, uneven, and washed out in spots. Even in four--wheel drive, Leo’s Toyota struggled to make the climb. Closing her eyes, Lani shut out the noise of the laboring engine and prayed that Rita Antone had been right and that somehow the spirit of Kulani O’oks would be with her.
They drove past the small clearing where Fat Crack had pitched the tent while Lani had lived through her sixteen days of exile, her e lihmhun—-the traditional Tohono O’odham purification ceremony required after the killing of an enemy. Because Lani Walker had indeed taken a human life. Andrew Carlisle, in one last bid for vengeance against Lani’s mother, had sent a fellow inmate, Mitch Johnson, to kidnap and kill Lani. In a final confrontation inside Ioligam’s network of caverns, Lani had managed to turn the tables on her would--be killer. The crew of experienced rock climbers that had finally removed Mitch Johnson’s remains from the depths of the cavern had reported that he had died in a fall.
For years only Lani and Fat Crack Ortiz had known the whole truth about what had happened—-that she was the one responsible for the man’s death. She had used her bare feet to push a fragile stalagmite loose from its moorings and send it plunging into the depths. Johnson had still been alive and moaning until the rock hit him. Had anyone examined the remains of the rock, they no doubt would have found Lani’s footprints on it, but the medical examiner and the detectives—-who had zero interest in climbing down into the abyss—-had been satisfied with the idea that the fall alone had killed him.
During those long and lonely sixteen days with her face painted black, Lani had fasted during the day. In the evenings, Fat Crack brought her the only meal she was allowed—-a dish of salt--free food.
It was during that period of time that she had come to truly understand her relationship to Kulani O’oks, that long-ago medicine woman, whose given name was Mualig Siakam—-Forever Spinning.
That was the secret Indian name Rita Antone, Lani’s beloved Nana Dahd, had given the child long ago just as the old woman had also given Davy, Lani’s older brother, his secret name Olhoni—-Little Orphaned Calf. As a child Lani had believed that she’d been called Mualig Siakam because of her love of dancing and twirling. It was only on those nights with Fat Crack that she came to understand that Kulani O’oks and Mualig Siakam had been one and the same.
After the confrontation in the cavern, two more secret names had become part of Lani Walker’s store of names: -Gagdathag O’oks—-Betraying Woman, the name of the girl the -people of Rattlesnake Skull village had left to die in a cave as punishment for her treachery—-and Nanakumal Namkam—-Bat Meeter. That was the spirit of Betraying Woman, a ghostly presence that had kept Lani company during the terrible hours she’d been locked in the limestone cavern with a killer. It was the fluttering wings of a tiny bat that had given her the courage to fight back.
Now traveling up that narrow road for the first time in many years, Lani understood she would need help from all those names and spirits if she was to accomplish her goal that night. She would need them, and so would Gabe Ortiz. If Lani’s plan worked as she hoped, he would come away from this night with a secret Indian name too—-Ali Gihg Tahpani, Baby Fat Crack, in honor of his grandfather, and also after his uncle Richard, who shared the same name but who was simply called Baby.
The Toyota ground to a halt. “This is as far as we go,” Leo announced. “Everybody out. From here on we walk.”
Lani stepped out onto a shoulder that was so rough she had to struggle to maintain her footing. When Gabe finally clambered out of the backseat, she stood there waiting for him with her hand outstretched.
“What?” he asked.
“Phone,” she answered. “Give it to me.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re leaving it with your dad.”
“But what if I decide I want to go home? What if I need to call him?”
“Then you’ll have to do it the old--fashioned way,” Lani told him. “Try smoke signals.”
Dance of the Bones
J. A. Jance's books
- A Spool of Blue Thread
- It's What I Do: A Photographer's Life of Love and War
- Between You & Me: Confessions of a Comma Queen
- The Light of the World: A Memoir
- Lair of Dreams
- The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall
- The House of Shattered Wings
- The Nature of the Beast: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel
- The Secrets of Lake Road
- Trouble is a Friend of Mine
- The Appearance of Annie van Sinderen
- The House of the Stone
- The Bourbon Kings
- The English Girl: A Novel
- The Harder They Come
- The Sympathizer
- The Wonder Garden
- The Wright Brothers
- The Shepherd's Crown
- The Drafter
- The Dead House
- The Blackthorn Key
- The Girl from the Well
- Dishing the Dirt
- Down the Rabbit Hole
- The Last September: A Novel
- Where the Memories Lie
- The Hidden
- The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady
- The Marsh Madness
- The Night Sister
- Tonight the Streets Are Ours
- Beastly Bones