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“Sky Stone” was Previously published in 2011 in Frontier Tales.
IRD SINGER DIDN’T LIKE anything about peyote—the bitter taste, the way it made the moon twist across the night sky, and especially the nausea. He tried not to think about those things while he chewed dried cactus buttons. Waiting was the hardest part of a vision quest. A holy man needed patience. “Help me.” His prayer was weak, but so was his magic. Rain Callers could make demands of the spirits, but a shaman like Bird Singer had to beg for visions like a camp dog at the cooking fire. “Please help me.” Coyotes sang to him from across the desert. Whether that was a good sign or bad remained to be seen. He released a pinch of corn pollen into the air and grasped the amulet bag he wore around his neck. Most of his helping spirits didn’t fly at night, but he called on them anyway. Lives hung in the balance. A coyote bit a woman three days ago. Would a killing spirit fill her mouth with foam? Would sickness spread through the pueblo? He needed answers. The wind nudged Bird Singer along a path through stray boulders and jojoba plants, just as she’d done
on the day his spirit helper chose him—the proudest day of his life, when he brought the red backed hawk down from the sky with a single pebble from his sling. Bird Singer moved where the wind pushed him until he came to a solitary set of Hopi sandal prints. What fool would travel alone at night? His eyes followed the gentle curve of the trail until he found the answer. I am the fool. Tricked into a circle. Peyote’s laughter filled the air, like music from an abalone shell wind chime. Then the melody stopped, replaced by harsh Apache words and more coyote songs. Were the marauders and the tricksters laying traps? With spirits, nothing was certain. “Help me.” A yellow light flashed in the western sky, and five red streaks reached toward the world. A dust cloud rose where the nearest bright finger touched the desert. Now Bird Singer knew where Peyote intended him to go, but he was in no hurry. —
