them on the tibicena too long, because it had quickly become apparent that the tibicena, like Guayota, was a creature of fire, of the volcano where it had been birthed. As a test, I hit the beast hard, sinking the tines in a few inches, then jerking them out.
The wounds glowed red, and something bubbled out for a moment, but it took two seconds—I counted—for the holes to close. I didn’t dare hit it any harder, or I’d lose my weapon. The wounds also disturbed whatever it was that kept me from seeing the tibicena, and I caught a glimpse of it, huge and hairy.
Guayota was turning in a slow circle, ignoring my fight with his tibicena as he searched for something—Christy.
I danced faster.
For a few minutes, we were at a stalemate, the tibicena and I. I couldn’t hurt it, but I was moving too fast for it to hit me. As long as I could keep the speed up, and my coyote could sense its attacks, I was okay. A few minutes is a long time in a fight—and all I had to do was hold out long enough for Darryl to come.
But there were two tibicenas. I caught a glimpse of the second one when it slapped me on the head with its paw.
I stood on cracked blacktop in a school yard. There was a swing set in front of me, and Coyote sat on the only swing, moving it back and forth a few inches by wiggling his bare toes on the ground. It was one of those swings you see in parks and schools, with thick chains attached to a big, flat strip of rubber. The pink scrunchie was gone, his braid bound by a strip of white leather.
“I’m dreaming,” I said flatly.
“You’re dying,” corrected Coyote, lifting his head from where he’d been watching his feet, to meet my eyes. “Your neck is broken. Do you feel any different? I always wondered what other people feel when they are dying. For me it is usually like this—” He let go of the chains and clapped his hands once. “And I’m back to normal except not quite where I was a moment ago.”
“How do I kill Guayota?”
He shook his head and backed up slowly, letting the swing ride up his back. “You can’t. It isn’t possible. Besides, you are dying.” It didn’t sound like my death bothered him very much. He tilted his head, and said, “Do you know that burn on your cheek looks like war paint?”
“Gary thinks you’re just playing with us,” I told him.
Coyote nodded soberly as he hopped gracefully on the swing and let it carry him forward, then back. “Gary has reason to, but he doesn’t think like you do. He thinks—Coyote hates me and has me thrown in jail.” He leaned into the swing and used his legs and back to build momentum. “You think—what good comes from Gary Laughingdog in jail with the gift of prophecy he hates so much? Could it be that perhaps, just perhaps, both of Coyote’s children have a chance of surviving if they are working together?” He gave me a sly look. “Not that it wasn’t funny to see his face when he realized we’d stolen a police car, and he was parked in front of the police station.”
I thought about what he’d said. “Why did you show me the tibicenas?”
“Didn’t you want to save your friend Joel?”
“You answer a lot of questions with questions.”
“Do I?” His smile turned smug, and he leaped out of the swing, landing on his feet but letting his body fall forward until his hands rested lightly on the ground. He lowered his eyelids and suddenly there was nothing lighthearted, nothing funny about him, just a primordial fierceness that burned down my spine.
“I guess you aren’t dead yet, are you?” he whispered, and the words wrapped around me as my vision went dark. “Good thing coyotes are hard to kill.”
I opened my eyes and realized I was crumpled on the cool damp grass, and there was a tibicena crouched over me, licking the long wound in my arm. I couldn’t move. My body knew that moving would hurt, and it just wouldn’t respond to my urgent demands that it do so.
I could hear fighting, but it was Auriele’s battle cry that let me take my eyes off the tibicena guarding me.
I’d never seen Darryl and Auriele fight together, and they were beautiful. For the first time in my life, I