off. The figure raised his hand in reply, and Victoria waved at him. The blanket behind Ata'halne moved aside as a woman emerged. She wore a smaller blanket around her shoulders, and silver medallions flashed about her waist. Thick hair framed her face and flowed over her shoulders in a waterfall of shimmering sable. The woman raised her hand toward them as well. Victoria smiled as she waved back.
Then nearly fell off her horse.
Victoria gripped the saddle horn with her free hand, trying to steady herself. The blood drained from her face. Once she had waved long enough to be polite, she turned her head away. Fear twisted inside her, even in the light of the noonday sun. It was all she could do to keep herself from spurring her horse into a gallop.
Naalnish looked at her. "What is wrong?"
"This Anaba," Victoria said, "how much do you know about her?"
"Not much," Naalnish replied. "She is not a young woman like you, but she is not old. She has no mother, but I do not know how her mother died. She has no children."
"And that was her? With Ata'halne?"
"Yes."
"Naalnish," Victoria said, "I believe the woman that has been hunting us is this Anaba."
"This is not possible," he said. "We have no people of that kind in our village."
Victoria couldn't help stealing a glance over her shoulder. The woman had turned away from them, but Victoria knew she hadn't been mistaken. The woman's face had haunted her in dreams and the waking world; she knew it all too well. "But what if she is?" Victoria asked. "What if this woman has been living with you all this time?"
Naalnish shook his head. "No," he said. "She is quiet and sad, but she is not..."
"A witch?" Naalnish refused to look at her. "I am not lying. That woman back there is the one who kidnapped me."
"No," he said again, but his voice was weaker. His eyes did not leave the horizon. "Anaba is the daughter of the singer. She would not choose... that path."
"Are you certain of that?" His silence was reply enough. "I think I can find my way from here if you want to go back and speak to the singer."
Naalnish dropped his gaze. "I do not want you to get lost."
"No need to worry," Victoria said more confidently than she felt. Her mind was exploding from the implications. Cora needed to know, and Naalnish needed to warn his village. Now that the skin-walker, this Anaba, knew that they were on to her, she might become more aggressive and unpredictable. Victoria didn't want any harm to come to Naalnish, the singer, or any of the other innocent people in their village.
What if she was wrong, though? The poor widow could simply be that, a woman whose husband had been heartlessly killed by the U.S. Army. Maybe Victoria had been mistaken. Maybe she was just afraid, seeing the witch in every Indian woman's face. She had been so certain when she first saw Ata'halne's friend, but now she wasn't as confident. If Naalnish accused Anaba of being a witch, they might shun her or kill her. Victoria knew history well enough to understand that such accusations were seldom taken lightly, and they almost always resulted in death or some other form of punishment. By speaking her mind, she may have well just condemned an innocent woman to be burned at the stake, or whatever form of execution the Navajo used for their own witches.
Naalnish turned his horse around.
"Naalnish," she said. He looked over his shoulder. "Don't hurt her if she isn't a witch."
"We can show her no kindness."
"But only if she is a witch," she said. "Promise me you won't if she isn't."
"The singer will decide," he replied, then turned away.
Victoria watched him recede into the distance. Her hands twitched, eager to spur her horse after him, to ensure that the woman would be safe from any unjust punishment. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if Anaba died because of a guess made through a fog of heat and fear.
The skin-walker and her vampire pet had to be stopped, though. If they weren't, more innocent people would die. Pride firmly swallowed, she would ride back to Ben's Print Shop, tell Cora what she'd learned from Naalnish and the Navajo singer, and ask her to ride against their enemies that night. They would need new horses, fresh supplies, and the handful of ash she carried in her satchel. God willing, they might