The door went BKK! and Isabella jerked awake. “Ya’at’eeh,” Mama said, opening the door and stepping aside for the three Diheneh men. “Yah oohkaah.”

Isabella sat up. It was still dark outside, and someone had lit a kerosene lamp and set it on the table, lighting the room. Alijandra lay next to her on the mat, still asleep. To-Ho-Ne? Isabella wondered—and then the old woman waddled into the house, following the men. Jack loped in after her. 

Who? Isabella asked herself, before she recognized Ahiga, the native man they had met at the Scorpion Tail trading post several weeks ago, and then again, when they had found the venomdrake’s carcass. With him was a thin old man, no taller than Isabella, whose face looked like a piece of paper that had been folded and unfolded and folded again a thousand times. Also with them was a boy, much older than Isabella, but not yet a grown man. The boy was carrying a big yucca-string bag. The three of them wore their hair long, in two braids: Ahiga’s and the boy’s were black; the old man’s was gray. Except for Ahiga’s hard, black, pointy-toed boots, the three men wore the usual Diheneh clothes: long-sleeved shirts, leggings made from antelope hide, moccasins of the same. Ahiga and the boy wore round, black hats. The old man had a bright blue headband, and a silver bracelet studded with turquoise stones. 

Jewelry’s only for girls—doesn’t he know that? Isabella thought. Jack padded over to her. He sat down and licked her face. She ruffled his fur. “Good boy,” she whispered. His tail thumped in agreement. 

Moving to the other side of the little room, closer to the wood stove, Ahiga and the old man murmured to Mama in the Diheneh language. She pointed to the floor, where the crate that held Pearl rested, and then she and the Ahiga and the old man squatted down beside it, still talking quietly. The boy looked around the room, scowling.

Yesterday, after the cougar had attacked them, they had walked back, Alijandra carrying Pearl. Dark had come before they had arrived home. Then Mama had bathed both girls, paying particular attention to Isabella’s cuts and scratches. As soon as they had arrived home, To-Ho-Ne and Jack had gone off somewhere, back out into the night, but Isabella had been too tired to notice. Within a minute or two after lying on the mat, next to her sister, Isabella had fallen asleep. 

To-Ho-Ne opened the stove, tossed in another piece of firewood, shut it. Started brewing more coffee. Jack lay down next to Alijandra. Isabella’s arms and legs and chest and back ached as she slowly rose to her feet. She was wearing one of Mama’s old nightgowns; hers had been torn and bloodied by the cougar.  

“To-Ho-Ne,” she whispered. “Who are they?”

“Good morning, little cub,” To-Ho-Ne said, wrapping her arms around her. “You shouldn’t be up yet. You should still be asleep. Yesterday was a very bad day for you.”

“I’m all right,” Isabella said. She didn’t entirely believe it, but she said it anyway.  “Who are they?” she asked again, cocking her head towards the men. The boy glanced at her.

“That is Naalnish, Ahiga’s father, the one who taught Ahiga and your Papa how to tame dragons,” To-Ho-Ne whispered. “The other one is Shiye, Ahiga’s son. He is learning to tame dragons, too.”

“Why are they here?” Isabella asked.

“I asked them to come,” To-Ho-Ne said, “because Naalnish is a healer. Perhaps he can save Pearl.”

“What do you mean?” Isabella glanced over at Alijandra, but the little girl was still asleep. “Is Pearl dying?” To-Ho-Ne nodded. “How? What’s wrong with her? I thought she was getting better. She must have been, to leave the house.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” To-Ho-Ne admitted. “She was getting better. Maybe she hadn’t fully recovered from the venomdrake’s poison. Maybe the sun and the heat were too much for her. Maybe, somehow, she hurt herself when she made lightning and killed the cougar. Maybe all of those things. Maybe none.” She shook her head.

The three men—Ahiga and old Naalnish and young Shiye—sat down on the floor beside the crate. Mama came over and hugged Isabella. “Good morning,” she whispered, kissing the top of her head. “How are you?”

“I’m all right,” Isabella said. “I hurt a little,” she said, “but not too bad.”

“I told them everything we know about Pearl,” Mama said. “Naalnish isn’t sure what’s wrong with her. But he says he’ll try to help her. He says he’s never seen a dragon like Pearl before. He’s not even sure she is a dragon.”

Ahiga opened Pearl’s crate and pulled out Pearl by her neck. “Don’t pick her up like that!” Isabella said. The three men looked up at her. “She’s hurt!”

“Bella, it’s all right,” Mama said. “They won’t hurt her.”

Pearl opened her tiny white eyes and snarled weakly at Ahiga. He grunted and handed her to Naalnish. The old man took Pearl in both hands and whispered to her. As he started singing softly, Naalnish gently lowered Pearl into his lap. He stroked her back. Pearl lay still, staring up at him.

“Mama?” Alijandra asked. She was sitting up. “What’s going on?” 

“My little bird is awake,” Mama said, picking up Alijandra. “You remember Ahiga, Papa’s friend?” The little girl nodded. “He and his father and his son are going to help Pearl get better.” 

“What are they going to do?” Alijandra asked.

“I don’t know,” Mama said. “Watch, and see.”

Still stroking the little dragon, Naalnish sang softly. He leaned over and tapped Shiye on the leg, then pointed at the bag they had brought. The boy handed the bag to Ahiga, who opened it for the old man. Still singing, still stroking the little dragon with one hand, Naalnish reached into the bag with his other hand and felt around inside for a moment. Then he pulled a small leather pouch from the bag and gave it to Shiye. The boy untied it, and the old man held out his wrinkled hand. Carefully, Shiye poured out a small pile of yellowish-white powder onto Naalnish’s palm.

“Corn pollen,” To-Ho-Ne whispered to the girls. “Naalnish is beginning the Hand-Trembling ceremony.”

“‘Hand Trembling?’” Alijandra asked. “What’s that?”

“Watch,” the old Diheneh woman replied.

Still singing, Naalnish stopped stroking Pearl and began swaying slightly—first left and right, then forward and back, then left and right, then forward and back again, and so on. He gently sprinkled the powder from his hand over Pearl. He started at her head, careful not to get any into her solid-white eyes, and moved along her neck, down the left front leg first, back up the leg to her shoulders, down the other front leg and back up again. Then down her spine, to her back legs—left first, then back up, then down the right, then back up. Then down her tail.

“I don’t understand,” Isabella whispered. 

“To-Ho-Ne, is it magic?” Alijandra asked.

“Not so loud, not so loud,” the old woman replied. “It is a kind of magic, yes.”

Naalnish sang and swayed. Three more times he sprinkled corn pollen on Pearl just as he had done before, from her head to her tail. His swaying slowed as he held his hands inches above Pearl. No one said anything: the only sound was the old man’s singing. 

Naalnish’s hands began to shake. Slowly, he passed them over Pearl, still inches from her skin. He held them over her head, then down her neck, then down her sides and legs to her tail, then back again to her head. Four times he did this, and then suddenly, he stopped.

With a sigh, Pearl closed her eyes. 

“Why did he stop?” Alijandra asked. “Is Pearl all right?”

“The ceremony is over,” To-Ho-Ne said. Slowly, gently, Naalnish lifted Pearl off his lap. Ahiga held the crate out for him, and slowly, gently, the old man settled Pearl into it. Then he closed the crate and set it back on the floor. “She’s sleeping—probably the best sleep she’s ever had,” To-Ho-Ne added. 

“What did he do?” Isabella asked. “What was all that?”

“The Hand Trembling ceremony is the first step in healing,” To-Ho-Ne said. “It tells Naalnish what he must do next to heal Pearl.”

“What does he do next?” Alijandra asked.

“Another ceremony,” To-Ho-Ne answered. “When the sun comes up.”
 
 

Naalnish, Ahiga, and Shiye sat, cross-legged, in front of the little house, facing east. They said nothing. Pearl’s crate rested next to the boy. Mama and Isabella stood outside. Clutching her ragdoll to her chest, Alijandra sat in To-Ho-Ne’s lap as the old Diheneh woman leaned against the front of the house. 

To-Ho-Ne said, “For the ceremony, the four of us need to wait here, away from them, and remain very still and very quiet.”

“Do you girls think you can do that?” Mama asked, looking at Alijandra.

“If we aren’t still and we aren’t quiet, will the magic not work?” Alijandra asked.

“No, it won’t work,” To-Ho-Ne replied. “Unless we’re still and quiet.”

“Can you do that? For Pearl?” Mama asked.

“Yes, Mama,” Alijandra said.

“Yes, Mama,” Isabella said.

“We need to think good thoughts,” To-Ho-Ne added. “Think about things that make you happy. Games you like to play, or your favorite things to eat. Think about Caroleena,” she told Alijandra, tapping the little girl’s doll. “Or think about your Mama telling you stories,” she told Isabella. “If you think about Pearl, think about her being strong, not sick. Think about all the things you like about her.”

“I’m going to think about feeding her,” Alijandra said. “I like to watch her eat.”

“Right now, all I can think about Pearl is how she tries to bite me sometimes,” Isabella said. “But I shouldn’t think about that, should I? Or else the magic won’t work?”

To-Ho-Ne shook her head. “Bad thoughts will ruin the ceremony, and Pearl will not get better. Think only good thoughts.” She closed her eyes and rested her chin on the top of Alijandra’s head.

“You should be inside, asleep,” Mama told her. “You walked all day yesterday looking for Ali, and then you walked all night to Ahiga’s house.”

“It was not far,” To-Ho-Ne said. “And I rested there while the men got ready.”

“And then you walked back,” Mama said. “And you’re not young.”

“I stayed awake all night with the girls—and with you—when you were babies,” To-Ho-Ne said. “I was not young then, either. And we must have four people for the end of the ceremony. It can’t be three.”

Pointing straight ahead, Shiye leaned over and muttered something to his father. Everyone’s eyes followed the boy’s hand to a distant red glow in darkness, the thin sliver of the rising sun.

“It’s time,” To-Ho-Ne said. “Quiet, now.”

Ahiga leaned forward, nose almost to the ground, and very gently blew away tiny pebbles and bits of gravel. Ahiga and Shiye used their hands to smooth out a spot before the old man. When they were done, Naalnish and Ahiga sat up again and began singing softly, swaying slightly. Shiye watched them. 

Alijandra closed her eyes. “Good thoughts,” she whispered. “Good thoughts. Happy things. Caroleena. Feeding eggs to Pearl. Playing with Jack. Beans for breakfast. And…”

Can’t she ever shut up? Isabella wondered. Good thoughts. All right. Not having any chores. Taking a bath. Buying that book from the trading post. Getting out of the cold, here. I hate how it’s so cold in the morning, sometimes.

She imagined them—herself, Mama, Papa, Ali, To-Ho-Ne, Jack—walking home from Scorpion Tail. The sky was sunny, the air was warm but not hot. They came to the little stream and took off their sandals and put their feet in the water. It was clear and cold—but not too cold—and there were schools of tiny, darting, nibbling fish. Their travois was piled with the bags and baskets and all sorts of other things, too: new Ysparrian dresses for her and Mama and Ali. Stacks of books tied together with red ribbon. A basket with new dolls, and clothes, and wooden balls, and games. A cedar chest full of Diheneh blankets—striped red and black and yellow and brown and green—to keep them warm at night. A new pipe for Papa, with plenty of smoke. Everyone smiling, everyone happy. No one fussing or having to do chores. And all because Papa had sold another dragon, Pearl this time, and—

If the healing magic works, will Papa sell Pearl when he comes home? she wondered. 

Yes, of course, she thought. She’s a dragon. Papa sells dragons.

He can’t sell Pearl. She’s Ali’s dragon. Ali loves her. Besides, no one else would want her. She’s just little and mean. 

She frowned. Who buys those dragons from Papa, anyway? The Diheneh? Ahiga has a dragon. Brother Tunneler—that was his name. Did Papa sell Brother Tunneler to Ahiga?

Couldn’t have, she decided. Ahiga’s a dragontamer, too—didn’t To-Ho-Ne say that? So why should he have bought Brother Tunneler from Papa? He probably tamed him himself. So—

Naalnish and Ahiga opened the yucca-string bag and took from it several small pouches of antelope hide. They held up each pouch to the rising sun and sang, loudly now. Opening the pouches, they set to work, taking pinches of sand—yellow, red, brown, black, white—or powder—blue, green, copper—and dribbling them onto the flat ground. They hunched over, inches from the ground, as they patiently applied each color. 

The sun slowly rose higher to see what the men were painting with sand. Isabella, not as curious, sat down with her back against the house. Mama stayed standing. Slowly, a picture began to form: a yellow disc, as long across as Isabella was tall. Around the inside edge of the disc swirled strange but human-like figures with round heads; long, rectangular, black trunks; thin, outstretched limbs without hands or feet. 

In the center of the yellow disc was a circle; an X shape cut it into quarters. Two of the four parts were black; two were white. Spiraling from each quarter was a snake the same color as the circle piece they came from. The white snakes’ eyes were turquoise blue; the black snakes’ were coral red. One white snake faced north; the other white snake faced west. One black snake faced south; the other, east.   

By the time they had finished the dry painting, yellow sunlight bathed them. Shiye handed the crate to Ahiga. He sang softly over the crate, then opened it and held it out to his father. The old man reached inside and scooped out the little dragon. 

“Look, Ali,” Isabella whispered. No reply: Alijandra’s head was leaning against To-Ho-Ne’s shoulder. Her mouth was open and her breathing was slow and deep. To-Ho-Ne was asleep, too, snoring gently.

“Mama,” Isabella whispered, pointing at her sleeping sister.   

“Shh,” her mother replied, and pointed back at the men.

Singing, Naalnish held the little dragon above his head. Pearl’s neck and tail hung limp like wet rope. She looks like she’s dead, Isabella told herself. No—no bad thoughts. Think good thoughts. She’s not dead. Ahiga’s papa wouldn’t do the ceremony if he thought she’d just die anyway. She’s alive, and she’ll be fine. Just fine.

Naalnish laid Pearl on the circle, in the center of the sand painting. She didn’t move. Shiye reached into the bag and gave Naalnish a little clay bottle. He opened it and leaned over. Forcing open Pearl’s jaws, he tipped the bottle over her mouth.

What’s that? Isabella thought. I bet it tastes nasty. 

Naalnish touched part of the painting, then touched Pearl with the same hand. He touched another part of the painting, then touched another part of the little dragon. He started with her head and worked down, his lips murmuring while Ahiga and Shiye chanted. 

When he got to the end of her tail, he started again with her head. After he had done this ritual four times, he straightened and started swaying. The other two joined him. Swaying, the three Diheneh men sang and sang and sang. Mama yawned behind her hand.

How long is this going to go on? Isabella wondered. Shouldn’t something—anything—be happening? 

She imagined a soft white light beginning to glow from the center of the sand painting. The glow would grow, filling the yellow disc, rising into the sky, becoming brighter than the sun, so bright that Isabella would have to shut her eyes. The singing would grow louder as the wispy white spirits of the Diheneh ancestors would appear in the air, circling, chanting, dancing. Slowly, Pearl would rise into the air, borne aloft among twinkling motes like tiny, glittering stars. The cuts and scratches in her hide would vanish, and as she rose, she would grow larger and larger, bigger than Jack, bigger than Papa, bigger even than their house. She would open her milk-white eyes, spread her white feathered wings—

Pearl doesn’t have wings, she reminded herself. 

Her head jerked up and her eyes snapped open. There was no blinding white light, no circling ancestor spirits. Pearl, still no larger than a cat, lay, unmoving, in the center of the circle. The three Diheneh men still sat and sang. To-Ho-Ne and Alijandra were still asleep. Mama still stood, shifting her weight from foot to foot, not leaning against the wall, lest it get her clothes dirty.
 
“Mama,” Isabella whispered. “Is it working?”

She shrugged. 

“Does it always take this long?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve never seen one of these ceremonies before.”
 
Naalnish picked up Pearl and held her above his head. He gently lowered her to the center of the painting, then raised her up again. Their chanting became faster; sometimes only Naalnish would sing, sometimes only Ahiga would sing. Shiye took a thin tube carved from animal bone and blew through it, his cheeks puffing out, but Isabella didn’t hear it make any noise. He probably doesn’t know how to play that flute, she thought. And that’s going to make the magic not work. Stupid boy. No, no—no bad thoughts. Only think good thoughts. It will work. It will work.  

Naalnish raised Pearl again, holding her to his left, then to his right. Then straight in front of him, then behind his head. Then he lowered her to the center of the painting again.

Why does she left him do that? Isabella wondered. She remembered when they had brought Pearl home and she had bitten Isabella’s hand. It must be part of the magic.

The men stopped singing. Shiye put down the bone. 

Now what? Is it over?

“Wahnneeta Anerson,” Naalnish called.

“Yah oohkaah,” Ahiga added.

“Come on, ladies,” Mama said, squatting next to To-Ho-Ne and gently shaking her shoulder. “Wake up, dearest. They need us.” 

To-Ho-Ne’s head snapped up. She blinked a few times, then said, “I’m coming, Princess. A moment, please.”

Mama nodded and gently shook Alijandra. The little girl raised her head, opened her eyes, regarded Mama for a long moment. Put her head down again on To-Ho-Ne’s shoulder.

Mama gently shook Alijandra again. “Oh, sunshine,” Mama whispered. “Oh, moonbeam. Time to wake up.”

“Ali, wake up,” Isabella said. “Pearl needs us.”

“Tired,” Alijandra murmured, rubbing her face. “Don’t want to.”

Ahiga said something and motioned to Mama. 

“We have to come now,” To-Ho-Ne said. “The magic won’t hold long.” She put Alijandra on her feet. “We have to walk. All of us. It’s for the ceremony.” With some difficulty, Mama and Isabella helped To-Ho-Ne to her feet. “Everyone take hands, now,” the old Diheneh woman said.

The four of them approached the dry painting on the ground. Pearl lay motionless. She’s not breathing, Isabella thought, her hand tightening on her mother’s. She looked up at her and she squeezed her hand.

“Good thoughts,” Mama whispered.

Naalnish reached out, picked up Pearl, and put her back in her crate. The three men stood and backed away from the painting. Ahiga pointed to it and said something.

“Lahn,” Mama replied. “It’s time for us to do our part. They want us to walk all over the painting. Shuffle your feet. Kick at it. Scatter it around. Get rid of it.” 

“It’s pretty,” Alijandra said. “Do we have to ruin it?” 

“Yes,” To-Ho-Ne said,. “It’s the last part of the healing ceremony. If we don’t, it won’t work.”

Isabella kicked off her sandals. Holding hands, they walked across the dry painting, Mama crossing it in two steps, Isabella and To-Ho-Ne in three, Alijandra in four. They turned and started back, Isabella dragging her big toe through a round-headed black figure at the edge of the disc. “Are these supposed to be people?” she asked.

“The Holy People,” To-Ho-Ne answered. “Keep going. We have to walk together.”

They walked and turned, walked and turned, faster now, kicking up a cloud of sand and pollen. Shiye took out the animal bone and began blowing through it again. Still, no noise came out. Alijandra wriggled out of To-Ho-Ne’s hand and started to bend down to scatter the painting with her free hand. Mama pulled her up before she could. “No. To-Ho-Ne said walk, so we must walk.”

“Yes,” To-Ho-Ne said, taking Alijandra’s hand again. “Keep walking. We can’t leave any of it.”

Mama and To-Ho-Ne and the girls kept at their task, walking, kicking, shuffling, sweeping away the painting with their feet. When they were done, Naalnish held out the crate and asked Mama something. 

“He wants to know who saw the dragon first,” Mama said. 

“Ali did,” Isabella replied.

“Then you have to take the crate,” Mama told her younger daughter. She stepped forward and held out her arms. Gently, Naalnish put it in her hands and spoke. Mama looked confused. She asked Naalnish something. He repeated himself. Mama frowned. “I’m not sure I understood him,” she told To-Ho-Ne. “What did he say?”

“He says they have done the Holy Way Chant and the Life Way Chant for her, to heal her,” To-Ho-Ne said. “He says, Ali, you have to take her and keep her somewhere dark and quiet until tomorrow morning.” 

Naalnish held out the small clay bottle and continued speaking softly. “This is water and sacred herbs from the Four Holy Mountains,” To-Ho-Ne said. “You must make her drink some four times before sunset and fun times after sunset.”

“I can’t carry that, too,” Alijandra said. “My hands are full.”

“I’ll take it,” Isabella said, reaching out to Naalnish. The old Diheneh man smiled and repeated what he had said to Alijandra.

“All right,” Isabella replied. 

“Naalnish says that you can’t let anyone touch the dragon or speak to her until sunrise tomorrow,” To-Ho-Ne said. 

“Ask him, if we do all that, will Pearl be all right?” Alijandra asked.

Naalnish shrugged. “He says he doesn’t know,” To-Ho-Ne said. “He has never seen a dragon like this before. He isn’t even sure it is a dragon. But he says he did the dry painting correctly and he and Ahiga sang the songs correctly. He hopes you remembered to think only good thoughts during the ceremony. Even one bad thought might ruin the magic.”

“I didn’t think any bad thoughts,” Alijandra beamed.

“That’s because you slept through most it,” Mama replied.

“I didn’t think any bad thoughts, either,” Isabella said. She pondered that for a moment. At least, I tried not to.

Naalnish spoke again, and To-Ho-Ne translated. 

“We’ll see.” 
 

© Kenton Kilgore, March 2008