The Wind Caller

 by P. D. Cacek

Prelude

The hot summer day was gone, conscripted against its will into the army of rolling black clouds that had been marching in from the west since mid-afternoon.  And it wasn't happy about going, either.  He could still hear the day complaining about its forced enlistment, rumbling and gnashing its teeth from somewhere deep within the boiling mass of clouds.

Gideon Berlander leaned against the front porch railing and licked his lips, smiling up at the random lightning flashes and nodding.  To a casual observer, he might appear to be nothing more than just another dry-land farmer, silently beseeching the heavens to open up and save his crop from ruin.

But looks can be deceiving.

Gideon Berlander was no farmer and there no one, casual or known, observed him without his permission.  And permission was something he didn't give often.  The wind was the only thing he allowed to have free reign on his land.

If it behaved itself.

Gideon watched a tiny dust devil dance across the parched front yard, inscribing unknown words into the dirt with its tail, and wondered if the message was a curse of a blessing, not that it mattered.  The rust-scent of water was stronger now and whatever had been scratched into the ground would soon be obliterated by rain.

"And it's about time, ya greedy ol devil," he muttered at the whirlwind as it spun itself out, "Ya think ah don't know what yer doin?"

The wind suddenly shifted, gathering in strength as if swept in from the ridge above the cabin.  Gideon watched it come, flattening a path through the dry grass like a herd of invisible buffalo, and shook his head when the wall of air coiled over on itself and slammed into the widow-maker next to the cabin.  The twisted oak, that had been struck by lightning thirty-odd winters ago, disintegrated into a mound of kindling.

Gideon yawned.  "Was that supposed to impress me?"

And when a smaller gust, littered with aspen leaves and pine needles, swarmed at his face, he lifted one hand and brushed it away.  The heavier needles beat the leaves to the ground.

"Gettin' a mite playful in yer ol' age, ain"t ya?"

A rumble of thunder answered him.

"Quiet down now," he yelled up at the densest part of the clouds.  "It's gettin' on to mah supper time and ah don't want to have to listen to yer bellyachin' all night.  Likely to ruin mah digestion."

The wind softened to a gentle breeze.

"That's better, now, stop playin' nice and start the waterworks.  Mah ridge's been lookin' poorly for long enough."

The growling in the sky dissolved into the sizzle of rain as the wind gently wound itself around his legs like a pet cat.

"That's better," Gideon said and leaned out into the warm rain so he could watch the thirsty ground take a good long drink.  And thats when he saw it, the thing that didn't belong on his land.

He smiled, but felt the muscles tighten across his shoulders as he watched it pick its way through the dense brush that surrounded his front yard.  It whimpered when it saw him. Poor little thing.  Too small to be a coyote and nowhere near the right color.

"Hand Jesus another nail, Mary."

He hadn't meant to scare it, least not yet, but his sudden laughter sent it belly-flat into the newly formed mud.  It was a dog, or at least its ancestors had been dogs. From where Gideon stood, dripping sweet rain, it was hard to see any connection between the half-wild, rawboned hounds of his boyhood and the lump of nothing cowering in the muck at the edge of his yard.  The miserable thing was no more dog than an old biddy's canary was an eagle.

If that.

"Hell, yer hide wouldnt even make a decent pot-holder."

At the sound of his voice, the creature, Gideon still couldn't think of it as a real dog --cocked its head and whined with the sound of a rusty gate opening.  A bedraggled pink bow, the same color as the sparkly collar it wore around its scrawny neck, flopped down over one bulging brown eye when it lifted its head.

"Yer one of them ugly son-of-a-bitch Frenchy dogs, aren't cha?"  Gideon kept the tone of his voice gentle even though he had to shout above the constant hiss of falling rain.  "Ah seen pictures in books, but damned if ah ain't never seen one of yer kind in the flesh.  Homely as it is.  So, ya get yerself lost, did' cha?"

Gideon smiled when the dog sat right up on its haunches and pawed the air with both front legs.  Damned if the thing's nails weren't painted the same color as its bow and collar.  Someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble fussing with it.

"Well, ah suppose yah'd like to get in outta the rain, huh, little fella?" 

The animal brought its tiny paws down into the mud with a slash and barked.  Gideon could see its sodden tail whipping the mud into a froth.  Sometimes it was just as easy to fool an animal as it was a man, not often, but enough times to keep life interesting.

"Well, what'cha waitin' for," he said.  "C'mer."

Sopping ears twitching at the familiar command, up on all fours, the little animal took one tentative step forward.

"That's right," Gideon coaxed, "c'mer you mangy runaway from a freak show.  C'mer, little fella."

It began to move forward, picking its way between the larger puddles, tail wagging a mile a minute.

"Poor little mite," Gideon crooned at the animal's simpering advance, "bet yer folks are goin' crazy lookin' for ya, ain't they?"

It was less than six feet away, snapping its jaws together and whining like it was trying to talk.  Like it was trying to thank him for his kindness.

Stupid thing.

Gideon backed up to the center of the porch, putting a little more distance between them.

"Well, whatcha waitin' for?  Git it."

The animal stopped, not understanding that the command was not directed at it, and cocked its head.  It managed to get out one think, ear-splitting yelp out just before the funnel of rain-jeweled wind sucked it up like candy.

Gideon leaned down and watched the speck of muddied fur spin inside the swirling void --three feet . . . then five . . . then ten feet off the ground . . . tumbling in midair, tail over head, legs over spine while the wind stripped the flesh off its bones.  Thin ribbons of rain-diluted blood danced around the outer edge of the cyclone like a devil's halo.

It was a beautiful thing to behold.

Smiling, he let the wind play with the denuded carcass and ruptured gut sack for a few more seconds, before nodding that playtime was over.  On its final rotation, the wind shot the frayed body toward a clump of old-growth pine.  The remains joined those of other "Missing/Beloved Pet" (Reward/Please Call/Owner Worried) that had wandered up from the new development butted up against the foot of his property.

Damn people and their damned animals.

He kept hoping that one day one of those worried owners wouldn't stop at this posted NOT TRESPASSING/VIOLATORS WILL BE EATEN sign and join their beloved pets.  Now that was something hed love to see.

The rain lightened into a mist as the wind funnel died. 

"What do yah think yer doin'?" he asked, glowering through the drizzle at the twisted thing that lay in the middle of the yard.  "Yah ain't finished yet."

The wind brushed against him, tugging at his beard.

"Ah thought ah taught yah to pick up after yerself."

Gideon pointed and watched a mist funnel instantly appear above the sparkly collar and pull it from the mud.  A few of the glittery stones were missing by the time it reached Gideons outstretched palm, and there was a small patch of fur-covered skin wedged under the metal buckle, but once it was washed off it would make a fine addition to his collection.

"This'll make bout twenty-seven, ah think," he said, flicking the skin away.  "Just don't appreciate uninvited guests, man nor beast . . .

. . . and that goes double for Indians."

"Ah woulda thought yahd know that last part by now, Joseph."

Gideon waited until the soft sounds of boots in mud stopped before looking up.  And when he did, he couldn't help but smile.

The old Hopi was soaking wet.

Water trickled down the gullies and arroyos of wrinkles that covered his sun-leathered face and dripped from the twin braids he had wore since they were boys.  Keeping the traditional ways even after the once raven's-wing black had turned the color of tin.  There were some traditions worth keeping, and Gideon had fought hard all his life and would continue to fight to keep those . . . but things that made a man look like a Dime Store dummy went far beyond ceremony and duty.

Even to the gods.

"Don't remember invitin yah up for a visit, Joseph," Gideon said and felt a small chill race up along his spine when he noticed the man was standing in exactly the same spot that the animal had occupied not a moment before.  "And yah know ah don't like unexpected guests."

"Was that necessary?" the old man asked, pointing to the collar in Gideon's hand.

"My land, my laws," Gideon answered, forcing himself to keep the wry smile in place.  Joseph had always made him feel like he wasn't good enough, that whatever he did was tainted by being white.  One day he was going to pay for that condescending attitude.  One day. But not today.  "And mah first law is -- No Tresspassin' . . . thought yah'd see that sign, ah made it big enough."

The collar almost slipped from his fingers when Joseph shook his head. 

My land . . . my laws. His own words mocking him.  You still understand nothing, little brother.

Little brother.  The buckle bit into Gideons palm as he tightened his hand.

"Yah dare to come onto mah land and say somethin' like that?  What's the matter?  Gone brave in yer old age?  Aint like yah Joseph . . . yer were always so scared.  Goddamn coward who couldn't even face the greatest gift a man might get without hiding.  Hell, Joseph, yah wanna have it out now, go for it.  Yah can even have the first " --

A cold gust of wind -- heavy with wet leaves and smelling of blood -- hit him full in the face.

Sputtering a curse as old as the tradition that had kept Joseph in pigtails, Gideon wiped the debris from his lips and threw the collar.  It hit the muddy ground exactly where Joseph had been standing.  Had been.

"God damn yer black soul, Joseph!" he shouted at the empty yard.  "Yah try that again in person and see what happens."

The wind trembled in the tall weeds that had overrun the abandoned tomato patch.  His daughter had loved tomatoes, couldn't get enough of them . . . ate them at every meal.  He should have burned it off right after she died and sown it with salt.  He should have done a lot of things.

A distant rumble of thunder in the eastern sky brought him back.  He glared at the shivering grass.

"Yah think that was funny, Joseph?" He spoke into the wind, letting it caress his face in atonement. "Ah swear by the gods that if ah see yer face again, real or not, ah will take it as a challenge.  Yah hear me, ol'man?"

The wind whispered against his ear, tugged at the thin hairs at the back of his neck.

"Yah take him that message."

Gideon followed the wind out across the front yard, watching the shallow puddles ripple as it passed.  When he bent down to retrieve the collar, he could hear it singing down through the cottonwoods of the lower canyon.  A minute or two and it would reach the new developments cookie-cutter homes.  A half-minute later it would reach town and then it was a straight shot across the desert.

"Yah tell that olman and make him understand.  This is mah land and ah will defend it.  Even against you, brother."

**

The wind delivered the message hidden in a puff of sand.

Joseph Longwalker brushed the sand-colored grit from the front of his shirt and shivered even though the wool was dry and warm. His other self could still feel the clinging dampness against his skin and smell the bitter-sweet stench of the poor animal's blood. 

He hadn't even been thinking about  the man who had become his brother so long ago, he'd gotten  up to go into the kitchen to make a cup of tea and then, suddenly, he found himself standing, drenched and shivering . . . .

Joseph shook the image away from him and focused on the voice of the wind.  He had always pictured her as a child'a thing of whim and little direction, full of mischief and pranks who needed a firm hand to hold when she was frightened and to guide her and keep her from harm.  Gideon, his brother, saw none of this.  To him, the wind was a slave to do his bidding and nothing else.

His bedroom window rattled softly.

"I know, Little One," Joseph whispered as he placed his hand over the narrow crack in the pane.  His daughter-in-law was only a few yards away, preparing dinner in the kitchen.  "You've done well.  Don't worry, I understand."

The wind brushed against his palm, tickling his skin.  He smiled and watched it dart away, dancing itself into a tiny funnel as the first rain drops began to fall.

Shivering again, Joseph lowered his hand and watched patterns form on the dry earth.

There was another message there, one that would change things forever unless he was very lucky.

"Yopancha," he mouthed without speaking, "help me."