Chapter Six

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There were scattered houses out across the broad landscape. Climbing higher on the road, half way to the top of one of the table-like mesas, a narrow driveway curved up to an adobe house among an outcropping of large boulders. A boney jackrabbit suddenly darted out in front of them and quickly disappeared behind the fieldstones. From this elevated point Blake could see the small town of Kayenta below them and the full expanse of the rust colored desert and plateaus in the distance. The darkening sky was prominent behind the small, two-level house, and soon the first bright stars would be twinkling clearly in the heavens.

"This here is the house of Jasper Sani," Ranger Dan told them. "He's an elder of our Navajo community and a senior member of the Navajo council. These guys oversee all our lands out here. You have to know. he's also a shaman . . . and that's an honor with our people. It requires special respect.

"OK," Blake said as the Bronco came to a stop and Dan turned off the powerful engine.

"I honestly don't know how he's going to treat you two," the Ranger said softly. "So don't expect much, alright?"

"That's cool," Blake answered. "I'm just glad to meet him."

Dan got out of the vehicle and Blake and Russel followed up to the blue door of the partially wood and adobe-walled house. The dwelling was Hopi-style and seemed to blend in with the environment well. Aside from a clothesline with colorful articles of apparel hanging from it nearby, it could have looked presently vacant with its small, shuttered windows.

Dan did not need to knock on the door as he approached it. It opened quickly and an elderly man of short stature and a weathered face appeared framed in the doorsill. He had long gray braids on either side of his head and wore a silver and turquoise neckless of considerable size and weight. His white shirt was loose-fitting and slightly soiled. He sported faded jeans and a pair of worn eather sandals.

"Jasper, these here are the boys I told you about. They want to share something with you. Something they say . . . they found."

Blake felt his mouth dry and swallowed with difficulty as he stepped forward. He held out his hand but the old man did not take it.

"Come in," he said quietly, under his breath.

They followed Jasper into the main room. It was ablaze with colorful masks on the walls, deer antlers, and an oak wood floor covered by rugs with geometric designs which ran over to a corner fireplace. He directed the three of them to sit in wooden chairs, seemingly already set up for their arrival. Jasper took a seat across from them.

"What's this all about?" he asked in a serious voice, looking accusingly at Russel.

Blake could not get over how quiet it was outside, so far away from the town.

"My father was the man who was killed out here, recently" he said to break the silence and bring the attention to himself. "I came to collect his things this week. But there was really nothing. Mostly just rubbish. Then, in another location, I came across a lot of other stuff . . . objects and photos he must have collected over the years. Pretty shocking stuff."

The old man was motionless, expressionless. But his blue eyes were wise and piecing.

"And well . . . I just want someone to tell me why.  Why he was murdered. What those things I saw today . . . have to do with him."

"Your father was a good man," the shaman finally said, somberly. "I knew him many years. He was allowed to live here with us. On our land. A trusted soul with the council. In a world where not many souls can be trusted."

This made Blake feel strangely emotional. It was a difficult and new sentiment he had not felt before about William, his father.

"Well you see, I really didn't know him because . . ."

"Yes, I know." The old man said curtly and just nodded pensively.

Blake nodded back, satisfied he somehow understood.

The old shaman then closed his eyes for several moments, thinking, as if waiting for some providence or insight. He then opened them again, staring directly at Blake. 

"These things you saw today . . . were they related to . . . the Star People?"

Blake was surprised at the question. But also not surprised, based on what he and Russel had been hearing  about the area since they arrived. He was just shocked at how forthcoming and frank the shaman was about it. 

Blake looked over and could feel Russell's fear next to him, possibly a growing panic, as he could sense  to his friend's mind, they were now somewhat trapped.

"Well, the few things I saw looked like . . . ancient people had tried . . . I suppose that would be your  ancient people . . . to tell us . . . to let us know that . . . those beings were here  at one time."

The old man nodded his head silently in confirmation. 

"Your father spent most of his days and nights out there searching for such things," Jasper told him. "He knew much about our people and our past. He was trusted to keep our secrets."

"So . . . then why did he have to die?"

The shaman got up from his chair and unexpectedly walked toward the kitchen, watched by the three from the main room. "

"We will drink some tea," he called back in passing. 

Ranger Dan motioned to the two of them to be patient. "Just take it easy, guys," he whispered. "You're on Indian time here."

After several long minutes, the shaman brought back a tray with four small ceramic bowls full of a steaming liquid. He offered one to each of them. The brew smelled of licorice and honey, though other unrecognized herbs were evident in the pungent aroma. All of them waited until the shaman drank from his bowl. Then they too tasted of the strong elixir. 

"I will say a Navajo prayer before we continue," Jasper said quietly, moving to seat himself now on the floor. Dan instructed the two of them to follow his movements and sit in a like matter on the wooden floor with their bowls in their lap.

The old man began his incantation in his Navajo language, which like other prayers they had heard all their lives in English, was uttered barely audibly and with obvious deep conviction.

When Jasper and Dan ceremoniously drank the entire contents from their bowls, the two young men did the same, realizing the ritual was an overture to more, perhaps esoteric information.

"We the Pueblo people have been here on the Earth for millions of years," the old man told them, placing his bowl down next to him. "Hundreds of thousands . . . right here in these deserts. And we the Navajo, the Hopi and the Zuni from this broad area are all brothers. We've shared these lands since the time of the first Pueblo people, who just before the Spanish arrived disappeared without a trace. Our systems of belief are similar. We honor the Earth and the heavens. Because all creation came from the heavens. The stars above us."

Blake flashed his eyes over to Russel who was listening intently and remaining alert for any threatening gesture or words to be included in the shaman's unpredictable message to them.

"And we have always known that our ancient family extends to the deep universe. Those beings that have been our teachers and messengers since a time many cultures of the world call . . . dream time."

Ranger Dan nodded in agreement and appeared reverent toward these words.

"There are many facts and stories which the Whiteman . . . like yourselves, will never know about us," he contined. "And that is because we have learned from a long bloddy history of this land to never trust those who invaded our territories some five-hundred years ago from across the seas.

Both Blake and Russel listened carefully with growing anxiety. It all came with an uneasy fear as to what the old man would do or say to them a he continued in his cold and impartial way.

"But your father was a man who proved his worthiness to us," the shaman surprisingly added. "His lifetime was spent sharing with our people  his efforts . . . and our secrecy. he learned much of the knowledge we have . . . from me an other tribal leaders with the Hopi and Zuni to the south and east. Some of the Pueblo people's most sacred wisdom."

Blake was for the first time becoming enlightened about details surrounding his father's death. It was intriguing, but at the same time depressing, and overall frightening to learn about.

"For many years since the Second Great World War, there have come outsiders to our lands. These deserts," he continued. "They have tried to learn what has gone on here for thousands of years. What we Indians have known and what your father was allowed to know about our brothers, the Star People."

Both Blake and Russel were silent.

"These outsiders . . . working for governments of the world, have wanted to know more. They have wanted to steal from our heavenly brothers their timeless , spiritual knowledge. Their power. What the world calls today . . . advanced technology."

Russel was now staring over at Blake who reflected back a hidden but intense look. Silently screaming out that it was time to leave. Blake felt it too, but had an irrepressible  desire to know more. To learn how and specifically why his father's murder was carried out.

"What exactly did you two see, today? Of your father's things," the shaman asked them, running his finger around the rim of his empty bowl on the floor. "And where did you find these things?"

Russel's hand was tapping the floor nervously, signaling to Blake not to reveal anything more.

"We  just saw things made by your people," Blake said. "Probably very long ago. Images showing what you are telling us now . . . about your people and . . . them."

he then spoke even more boldly. Surprising Russel with a plea and proposition.

"I cannot tell you where this happened," he said, his voice cracking. "Not yet. Not until you assure both of us we'll be safe here. And that we can return home with no harm to us."

"This will be arranged," the shaman said. "Though you must take me to that place you found those things before I can assure you of that."

These words came to both Blake and Russel as a shock. An existential threat. The old man slowly  stood up again, this time signaling the end of their meeting and making a final comment that put much of what was happening there in the southwestern desert into a more sobering perspective.

"You must understand, my young friends. There are elements of your own military and government here who are capable of silencing the both of you. Eliminating you by simply a snake bite, a fall off a cliff, or like William, a bullit to the back of the head."

Only the strange hiss of the desert could be heard outside.

"And this,  for just knowing what you have told me here. They would do this to keep calmness and ignorance among the American people. Just as they have done for over a hundred years. You see  . . . they are very aware of our brothers in the heavens."

Blake and Russel remained frozen.

"You will lead me to where you have discovered these things in the morning.  And we  will then assist you with your escape from this threat."

Both young men understood well the gravity of their presence in this bleak and foreboding landscape, now seemingly so much farther from their homes. For the first time in their nascient  lives, they had come to the shocking realization that their mere survival depended on cooperation and a compromise with those whom they now recognized as benevolent captors.

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