She produces a crumpled coffee filter, flying it down to her feet as she wipes the sweat off her tanned brow.
“Catori.”
She kept at her work, padding down pelts of cow dung; a bottle of horse piss sits with the rest of her workstation: a corporal’s spyglass, mason jars full of chartreuse powder, and valves of ghost pipe.
“Catori.”
Her industrious hands reach for her collection as her head swivels round to me.
“Nayali.”
“Tala needs you back at camp—you need to start getting ready for the Sunrise Dance.”
“Well, you can tell Tala I’m hunting with Chaske and the group tonight.”
“What?”
“We don’t have to worry about losing anyone, anymore. Look.”
She springs from her crouch to show me arrowheads licked in faint violet and three yellowed balls packed with feces.
“What’s so special about those?”
“Let me show you.”
Materializing an arrow now fitted with one of her one-of-a-kind heads, she unearths a bow adorned with ancient carvings and varnished with deer fat.
“That’s Tala’s!”
“And he’ll get it right back after I show you. Catch.”
She tosses me one of her earthly balls, foul-smelling with a mealy feel.
“Did you pack a herd in here? It smells—”
“Shush. Just watch.”
Her coterie of bottles splashes some clear liquid onto another arrow, setting the shot aside on the granite. Some agate and siderite find their way into her blackened palms, and she kneels along her work. A hoarse crack of sparks slews fiery embers on the glistening flint, and a small flame erupts before her.
“Catori!”
“Ready?”
“No!”
“Good!”
She notches the arrow quick along the bow’s arm, and my forehead now beads sweat like hers.
“Throw!”
I volley the orb far out from the cliffside, flying far out above Dragoon Mountain’s plains of oak pine and perennial lichen. The shot tails my throw just seconds after and the target rings a terrible boom along the valley, exploding into wisps of orange and hungry reds. I recoil far back and fall on my ass and cup my ears—there may be even more blasts.
Catori barely recoiled, only folding slightly at her knees to get a better look at the fire she had made. She drops the bow to the dust and lumbers toward my face; some hand signs and mouthed words that I can’t understand. Elucidating towards my ears, she brings her palms on her own and shows her removing and replacing them. The ringing in my ears lessens a bit, so I follow her lead and have my hearing quickly returned. No longer mouthing, her voice finally reappears.
“How was that?”
All I can think of is how frightening that noise was—reminds me of the thunder and war that Papa tells me about.
“Horrible.”
Her face of excitement droops, and she turns away to clean up her workplace. Laboring with a new intensity, her expression seems stern enough, almost as mean-looking as her Mama. Wrapping up her violent creations, she whips and swings around to clean as though this had been routine. I sit here still, astounded by her genius, and frightened by her ambition.
“Go home, Nayali.”
“If I go home without you, Tala’ll punish me.”
“Blame it on me, he’ll understand.”
“No, he won’t. Come with me, don’t be this way. Not now.”
“I need to go hunt; if I go back, then I’ll miss the party and they’ll go without me. This is my only chance. You know this—”
Just before I could respond, some gallops of ferric hooves itch my ear. A few horses rear up to the vista, sporting warriors armed with horrid rifles and crazed eyes. The leading rider wears a war bonnet, surveying the range, with the two other men looking down the sights of their rifles for whatever made that sound. Tala had come, and he had brought his sons with him.
“Catori, Nayali, you must both return. It’s not safe here. We need to find—”
“I made that explosion, Tala.”
His virile features focus on her, seeming unaffected. The boys maintain their scoping views of the range, clear enough that they can’t trust every word Catori says. Tala dismounts his stead, with speed telling of his age. As though the whole world was following Tala, all eyes trace his steps to Catori; he observes her with his unaffected face and motionless frame.
