Storm of Locusts

Chapter 29

I’m sitting on the curb, watching the sun climb higher in the sky, when I hear him approach. I think about shooting him on principle, but I don’t understand all the forces at play here. Why the casino won’t let me in, why Coyote is pretending to be an exiled god, and how the hell I’m going to break whatever spell is holding my companions prisoner.

Granted, it’s a luxury kind of prison, but they’re in there and I’m out here, both of us stuck all the same.

So, when Ma’ii holds out a bottle to me, just behind my shoulder, I don’t rip his arm off like I want to. Instead I turn slightly to get a better look at what he’s offering. Winged demons of some kind cavort across a gold-edged label, arms raised and mouths open.

“I hate tequila,” I say, reading the label.

“Unsurprising. Your tastes have always been somewhat dull.”

I squint pointedly at the sun, still hours away from its zenith. “Besides, isn’t it a little too early for booze?”

“What is time to a coyote?” Ma’ii, still in the guise of the god Nohoilpi, sits down beside me. He stretches his red-clad legs out, crosses his feet at the ankles, and straightens the turquoise on the chain around his neck before taking a swig from the bottle.

“Don’t suppose you have coffee?” I ask. “I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”

“Then I shall endeavor to procure you one in the near future, because killing is exactly what I need you to do for me.”

And there it is. Or at least part of it. But I’m not much in the mood to do Ma’ii any favors. “I’m off the killing these days. Trying a new leaf, or whatever you call it.”

“The phrase is ‘turning over a new leaf.’ ”

“Yeah, that one.”

“You could not have considered this new leaf before our last encounter?”

The last time I saw Coyote, I shot him dead. Slit his throat, cut off his head and threw it off a rooftop for good measure. Clearly, I should have done more. Because here he is, reminding me that the problem with immortals is that they don’t stay dead.

“You deserved it.”

“That is your opinion, and clearly debatable.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “But I am not here to debate it,” he says hurriedly. “I forgive you.”

I shrug. I couldn’t care less about Coyote’s supposed forgiveness. The only reason I’m not taking his head off again right now is because I’ve got a feeling that I might need his help. Later, after I’ve rescued the others? We’ll see.

“Since when do you drink tequila anyway?” I ask, curious. “I thought you were more of a whiskey man . . . coyote?”

“Well,” he says, coughing slightly. “I ran out of whiskey a few weeks ago. The bourbon soon after that. But if you must know, it all began when I imprisoned the real Nohoilpi in the presidential suite of this fine establishment.”

“You did what?!”

He stares into the distance, eyes on the horizon. “It seemed reasonable at the time.”

“To you.”

“Yes, to me,” he says, sounding slightly annoyed. “Who else would it sound reasonable to?”

“No one.”

“Well,” he says with a huff. He takes another drink from the bottle. “So, there I was, fretting about how I was going to escape this particularly tricky situation, and a godslayer literally flies over my head. What are the chances?”

“I’m not a godslayer.”

“More’s the pity. Because I’m desperately in need of one.”

“I don’t know where that name even came from. There was this woman near Lake Asááyi . . . What is it?”

Ma’ii’s looking at his toes, face decidedly guilty. And I can guess why. “You started it, didn’t you? The whole ‘godslayer’ name? It’s your doing.”

“It’s a bit aspirational, perhaps, but not wholly untrue.”

“Damn it, Ma’ii. You’ve got people calling me that. And some nutjob cult guy thinking it too.”

“Interesting. Which god does he wish you to slay?”

My mouth drops open. Of course. “I have no idea.”

“You should probably find out.”

“Yeah . . . ,” I say slowly, mind racing with a million scenarios I hadn’t considered. “I’ll get on that.”

Ma’ii sighs and pushes his hat back.

“Does the Cat know?”

“That I am not her long-lost paramour? That the real love of her life is tucked away with a micro-kitchenette and a wet bar? Not exactly.”

“When are you going to tell her?”

“In due time, Magdalena.” He twists his body to look at me. “Why were you flying over my casino?”

“It’s a long story.”

“And here we are, with all this time.”

What the hell. Coyote seemed to genuinely like Kai, so maybe he’ll help. “I’m rescuing Kai. Remember that nutjob who wants me to kill a god? He abducted Kai.”

“Ah, Kai Arviso,” he says wistfully. “A lovely boy. So, you did take him to your bed as I advised? Did you shake the very heavens with your lovemaking?” His voice is sly, suggestive. Confident.

“No,” I say flatly. “I killed him, too.”

He chokes. Drops the bottle. The tequila sloshes violently, and I reach out a hand to right it before the bottle spills. I stare at it a moment and decide what the hell. I pick it up and tip it back, letting the alcohol run down my throat. “Don’t worry,” I say after I swallow. “He obviously didn’t die either. Huh . . .” I take another swig as the idea occurs to me. “Maybe I really am losing my touch.”

“You truly are a marvel,” Ma’ii says once he gets his breath back.

My voice is as dry as the Mother Road. “Thanks.”

We sit for a while. Watch the sun make its steady ascent. It’s starting to get hot. It’s my first morning out here beyond the Wall, and the heat is no joke. In the hour I’ve been sitting here it must have climbed twenty degrees. I’m still wearing the cowl from my disguise last night, and I pull it off, sweating. My hair sticks to my head, cakes around my neck.

“What are you doing out here, Ma’ii?”

Ma’ii fusses with the crease of his pants, smoothing the line between his thumb and forefinger. “It seems I am persona non grata in Dinétah. The Diyin Dine’é were not happy that I borrowed the naayéé’ats’os. Or raised the monsters. I am barred from crossing the Wall.”

“Forever?”

He takes a drink. “What is time to a coyote?”

“So why is everyone trapped in the casino? What did you do to them?”

“I did nothing. It is the magic of the place. It has a mind of its own, and it does enjoy company. It will let them out eventually.”

“Why didn’t it let me in?”

“It didn’t want you.”

I pull my knees to my chest, feeling myself irrationally offended at being rejected by a sentient casino.

Ma’ii glances at me. “Oh, Magdalena, be reasonable. Perhaps because you wear that sword? Perhaps because you have always been more than what you seem and the tricks that work on others do not work on you. Perhaps because despite your dislike for the appellation, it is not incorrect to call you a godslayer and there is, in fact, a god in residence.”

“Whatever,” I growl, realizing I’m a little drunk.

He shakes his head, exasperated. “I suppose Nohoilpi could intercede with the casino on your behalf, should you convince him. It is his casino, after all.”

I hold out my hand for the bottle. He gives it to me, and I drink one last long swallow. I draw my arm back and throw the bottle as hard and as far as I can. It smashes against the pavement, shattering into a dozen sharp-edged pieces. I pocket the cap, a round, gold-colored top.

“The bottle wasn’t empty,” Ma’ii protests. “We weren’t done.”

“We’re done,” I say, standing. I’m a little unsteady on my feet, but otherwise fine. I think. I start walking back toward the entrance, swaying only a little.

“Where are you going?” he calls.

“To fight your friend. That god.”

“Drunk?”

“I’m sure as hell not doing it sober.”

“Fair point.” He scrambles to his feet, dusting his backside and hurrying after me. “What is your plan?”

“Can you release him? From the presidential suite.”

“Of course. It’s actually quite simple. I just—”

“Do it.” I roll my shoulders, stretching my neck. “Now.”

“And what will you do?”

“Just bring him to the front of the casino. You said he’s a god of gambling, right? Like games?”

“Indeed.”

“Then I guess we’ll play a little game.”

Minutes later, Ma’ii rushes out the door to where I told him to meet me. It’s clearly him because he’s looking over his shoulder, his brows bunched up in worry. “He’s coming,” he warns me, “but he’s not happy. Seems the minibar ran out days ago.”

“I don’t need him happy.” I draw Neizghání’s sword from its scabbard.

Ma’ii gasps excitedly behind me. “A battle for the ages!” he exclaims. “Cleaved by the lightning sword! After you defeated Neizghání, I knew it was only a matter of time before you confronted the gods themse—”

He cuts off abruptly as I lay the sword down on the pavement at my feet.

“Give me your shoes,” I tell him.

“Pardon?”

I motion impatiently toward his feet. “Shoes. I need them. Before he gets here.”

I untie my moccasin wraps, unwinding the length of soft elk skin that stretches from my heels to my knees. Pull off my red suede moccasins.

“Is this some sort of clever battle strategy?” he asks, doubtful.

“Give!”

He sighs and slips off his shiny shoes. Toes them over toward me. I line up his pair next to mine. Tuck the tequila bottle cap into Ma’ii’s shoe on the far end. Scoop up a handful of sandy dirt and pour it into Ma’ii’s shoe. He makes some sort of gargling noise in protest. I do the same to the remaining shoes until they are all filled with dirt.

I take a seat behind the line of shoes, face toward the doors. Think back to the songs of my childhood, the ones my nalí taught me. The ones sung only in the winter months. The ones that the animals sang.

“The shoe game,” Ma’ii murmurs. “You know I invented this game.”

I pause my song. “I know you tried to cheat to win.”

“This will never work. Where is the yucca? The blankets?”

“Quiet. It’ll work. You said he likes games.”

He snorts but doesn’t respond past that. Instead he takes a seat, sitting back on his heels and waiting, I assume, to see what happens.

I keep singing, low and steady. The minutes pass, and nothing changes. The sun keeps climbing, and my throat is getting dry. The tequila sloshes around in my otherwise empty stomach, making me queasy. Another five minutes of singing and I’m beginning to think maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

The sword lies nearby, my other option. But one I want to avoid except as a last resort. To wield the sword is risky enough. The use it against a god? At the behest of a trickster? If there are worse scenarios, I don’t know what they are.

Ma’ii clears his throat to catch my attention. I look over toward the doors and smile. Someone’s coming across the lobby. Someone in a red suit and a black hat. Someone that looks exactly like Ma’ii.

Nohoilpi opens the door. His eyes dart to Ma’ii, who could pass for his doppelgänger. Nohoilpi’s face clouds, and he takes a step toward the trickster. Thunder booms somewhere in the distance, and the wind that didn’t exist moments before picks up. I sing louder, stressing the words to turn his attention. It works, and the god comes to stand in front of me.

I keep my voice steady, strong. Try not to show my fear, although I have no doubt he can sense it. He looks at me, studying my face. I let him. His eyes flicker to the sword lying beside me.

He crouches down in front of the shoes, eyes roaming curiously and then eagerly. And just like that, I have him.

“It is an ancient game,” he says, his voice probing, curious. “Is it true that the five-fingereds play it still in Dinétah?”

“We do.”

“And you think you can beat me?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

He taps the stick he’s holding against his opposite palm. I didn’t see him pick the stick up, or where it came from. My adrenaline spikes, reminding me I’m not just playing the shoe game with a man, but with a god, and this is not the same as that one time I swept the tournament at my grade school gym over Keshmish break. And that Nohoilpi has likely played this game for eons.

He waves the stick over the shoes, back and forth, scrutinizing. His hand moves toward my left moccasin.

“Wait!” I say. “What do I win if you’re wrong?”

“Another chance.” He grins, smile spreading. “We play until the day changes.”

“I win, you help me get my friends back. You talk to the casino, or whatever you have to do, and you get them free.”

“And you promise not to harm Ma’ii,” Ma’ii adds hastily.

“I don’t care what you do to Ma’ii. That’s between you and him. But my friends . . .”

Ma’ii’s eyes bulge, but I ignore him, keep my focus on Nohoilpi.

“Let us play,” Nohoipli says, “and then we shall see.”

“You will help me?”

“I will consider your request. Should you win.”

And I know that’s as good as I’m going to get. “Deal.”

I remember the reason that the shoe game is played. To commemorate when the day and the night were set in place. I probably should have suggested we play roulette instead. But it’s too late now. Once we’ve begun, I can’t quit without forfeiting, and I’m not going to forfeit.

Nohoilpi picks. Incorrectly. Ma’ii marks the score.

I turn my back and Nohoilpi resets the game, moving the bottle cap to a new shoe. “Your turn,” he says.

I take up the stick. Weave it through the air above the shoes, looking for the one with the cap in it. They all look the same.

“Why do you do it, monsterslayer?” Nohoilpi asks, his voice a slithering worm in my ear.

My eyes flicker up to his face before turning back to the shoes.

“Why do you chase the silver-eyed boy who told you not to follow?”

Uneasiness rolls down my spine. “How do you know about that?” I ask, trying to sound casual, even though all my alarm bells are going off. I hadn’t anticipated he would know about Kai. Or what he said to me on the videotape.

“He’s trying to distract you,” Coyote warns.

“I know.” It’s part of the game. I’ll do the same to him when it’s my turn. But for a moment I could swear the shoes have changed. Something subtle in the placement of my last moccasin, the one I was going to pick.

I move the stick across the shoes, deciding.

Nohoilpi’s smile is as sharp as a blade. “What if you are making a mistake? Risking your companions’ lives for nothing but a fantasy? Chasing this boy, the same way you chased Naayéé’ Neizghání.”

I wince as the barb strikes home, right in my heart. I resist the temptation to touch the scar Neizghání’s dagger left on my flesh. I lose my concentration, the stick almost falling from my fingers.

“Magdalena,” Ma’ii hisses. “Focus!”

I blink. Grip the stick. Touch it to a shoe before I can change my mind. Nohoilpi nods, and I dig my hand into the dirt inside. My fingers brush the cap and I pull it free, triumphant. Ma’ii marks the score in my favor. Nohoilpi turns his back and I reset the game, burying the cap in one of Ma’ii’s dress shoes. Nohoilpi picks up the stick. We start again.

“What did you do to get yourself get kicked out of Dinétah forever?” I ask him.

Now it’s Nohoilpi’s turn to grimace. “They were jealous of me.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“What have you heard?” he asks, a hitch in his voice. “From Neizghání? From others? The Talking God?”

My eyes cut involuntarily to Ma’ii.

“From the trickster,” he says, his voice disdainful. “He is a fool.”

“He trapped you in the presidential suite.”

“I chose to stay,” Nohoilpi says roughly. “I will make it my new home. Take everything from unsuspecting travelers the way I did before the Talking God stopped me, tricked me into losing all I had. My wives, my riches, my home.”

He taps a shoe. Digs for the cap. A win.

Ma’ii marks the score.

He resets, I pick up the stick, and we go again.

“Why bother with this silly quest?” the god croons, and his voice seems to echo through my head. “Why not go home? Lick your wounds and start again? What do you owe him, this boy?”

“Kai is my friend.”

“A strange friend. Did he not lie to you? Use you? Did he not keep secrets?”

“Who told you that?”

“It is known.”

“Is it known that he sacrificed his life for me?” I bite back.

In a rush, I pick a shoe. Drop the stick and dig my hand in. No cap.

Nohoilpi’s smile widens. “Once again, you have picked wrong.”

We reset.

And so it goes, for hour after hour. Winning and losing, Ma’ii keeping score. We go back and forth. Nohoilpi whispering my darkest doubts, trying to break me. Me working to keep his voice out of my head. Trying to find his weak spot.

The sun rises to directly overhead, unbearably hot even in the shade of the breezeway. The air is oppressive, not even a hint of the gentle wind I felt before at his arrival. At some point Ma’ii disappears briefly and comes back with a pitcher of water and a tall glass. When Nohoilpi picks up the stick for his turn, I take the minute of reprieve it offers to guzzle the water down. The tequila has passed from my system, leaving me dehydrated and needing to pee, but I don’t know the rules for taking a break. I’m afraid there aren’t any. He said until the changing of the day, which I take for sundown. I glance to the sky. Sundown, even in December, is still hours away.

I shift, miserably uncomfortable, trying my best to ignore my aching bladder, the unrelenting sun, and the sea of doubts Nohoilpi’s raised in my head.

And we start another round.

“What if the silver-eyed boy does not want to be saved?” Nohoilpi asks.

“Too bad. He’s getting saved anyway.”

“Destined to make the same mistakes over and over again,” he says, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“No. This is different. Neizghání was never my friend. Kai is. And that’s what friends do. They don’t give up on someone just because they’ve fucked up.”

Ma’ii’s watching me intently. Nohoilpi notices. “Is there no betrayal too large to be unforgiven?”

“We all do things that need to be forgiven,” I say, thinking about Rissa’s and Aaron’s whispered confessions in the plane.

I pick a shoe. Correctly.

Look up at Nohoilpi. His dark eyes are focused on me.

“Indeed,” he murmurs. “But forgiveness is not always offered.”

“Do you wish you could be forgiven?” I ask him.

“It is my only wish,” he whispers.

The lights of the casino flicker on in neons of pinks and gold. I glance around me, realize the sun is going down. We have played through the entire day.

As the last rays of light fade below the horizon and full dark settles in, I set the stick down.

“What’s the score, Ma’ii?”

Ma’ii makes a show of counting off the marks. “It is a tie.”

Nohoilpi stands, fluid and supple. I unwind myself from my spot, muscles aching from sitting so long, bladder screaming.

“Despite what you might think, some things cannot be changed,” Nohoilpi says. “The order of the day. The rising and setting of the sun. And not all things can be forgiven. You will learn this the difficult way, I think.”

“I want my friends back.”

“As do I. But they have all forsaken me.”

“Let them go.”

“They are free to leave as they please. If they want to come outside, they will.” He touches the brim of his hat, a parting salute. Pauses and fixes his eyes on Ma’ii. “I do not like you. I suggest, brother Ma’ii, that you find a new skin before I peel that one from your body. I learned many new things in my time among the Nakai. Do not force me to demonstrate.”

Ma’ii touches the brim of his own hat, a mirror image of Nohoilpi. The god and the trickster stare each other down. Until finally Nohoilpi turns sharply on his heel and heads back through the glass doors. At the threshold he turns back and says, “A word of advice, in exchange for seeing Mósí safely to me. Go to the old man at Wahweap.”

“We’re going to a place called Amangiri.”

“Wahweap first. If you do not, your mission will fail. Mark me, monsterslayer. Wahweap.” And with that he’s gone.

I look at Coyote. “What is a Wahweap?”

He yawns.

“Thanks.”

“He was not deceiving you,” he says, eyes lingering on the doors. “Your friends are free to leave the casino should they choose. I suggest you get comfortable and wait the night. You will know with the rising sun.”

“Fine, but first I’ve got to find a bathroom.”