Robert Tanenbaum - Malice

Shut up, you weakling! the sociopath Andrew Kane snarled as he took over from his weaker personality. Baring sharklike teeth, he took two steps toward Lucy but was brought up short as first one, then another of the arrows shot from Jojola's bow plunged into his chest. He clutched at their shafts and howled, then fell back into the roiling water and disappeared beneath the surface.

As frightening as that was, the next image was more disturbing. She and Jojola were approaching a path leading up a butte when their way was blocked by a swirling cloud of dark smoke. Flames could be seen inside the clouds and a menacing dark figure moved toward her. She wanted to turn around, but Jojola took her by the hand and led her into the cloud. You cannot run from the dark warrior, he said. You must face him or he will defeat you in the waking world.

Fear filled her as she felt a searing heat growing all around her. Then she lost contact with Jojola and fell to her hands and knees. Choking on the smoke, she was struggling to rise when a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. Looking up, she saw that it was S. P. Jaxon, an FBI agent and friend of the family. She felt relieved as she'd known "Uncle Espey" many years as a colleague of her father.

Then she saw his eyes. They were angry and she believed that he was the dark warrior Jojola had warned her about. The book, Lucy, he demanded. Where is the book? His fingers dug into her arm like hot nails.

Lucy looked behind her and saw in the swirling black smoke an old book lying on a rock. There was a curious emblem in gold on the front, but as she reached for it, the book was consumed by flames while a terrified voice screamed in agony somewhere back in the smoke.

Lucy turned and ran past Jaxon, who reached out to stop her but missed. She stumbled blindly, falling again and banging her knee hard on a rock. Then two hands grabbed her shoulders from behind.

Don't hurt me, Espey! she cried out. Please, don't hurt me!

The hands turned her, but instead of Jaxon's eyes, she found herself looking into the calm brown eyes of Jojola. It's okay, Lucy, he said. The danger has passed for now.

Lucy looked around and realized that the smoke was gone, as was the unbearable heat. She was standing in the bright white light of a full moon that had risen above the New Mexican desert. A shadow passed across the moon. Looking up, she saw a snow-white owl drifting over her; its golden eyes met her own before it wheeled away.

"How do you feel?" In the clear dawn, Jojola's voice brought Lucy back to the present…the sober present. She looked at him again and saw that he was smiling at her, the morning sun defining the eagle's beak curve of his nose and casting shadows in the rugged contours of his face. She returned the smile and stood up to stretch, gritting her teeth at the sudden pain in her knee. Looking down, she saw that her pants were torn and the knee bloody from a fall.

But I was asleep, she thought. She looked around and her confusion grew. She didn't recognize the campsite. Yes, there was a bed of soft cedar boughs, but otherwise nothing was the same.

"Weren't we over there?" Lucy said, pointing to a butte in the distance.

"Very good," Jojola said. "It's important to remember landmarks when traveling on foot in the desert. To the untrained eye, the desert all looks the same, and distances can be tricky. Some things appear to be close and yet you can walk toward them all day and never reach your destination; others seem to be far away, but the next time you look up, they are right in front of you."

Lucy's jaw dropped. "But how? I don't remember you bringing me here last night. I must have really been tired. How'd you carry me so far?"

Jojola gave her an amused look. "An old Indian man carry a big strappin' white girl like you across the desert? No way. We walked here yesterday-actually, you slept all day and we walked all night. It's only about five miles, but you stopped a lot to talk to rocks and bushes and animals."

Lucy's brow knitted in disbelief. "We walked here? I mean, I dreamed we were walking in the moonlight, but it didn't seem real."

Jojola shrugged. "What is real? You were still under the influence of peyote, if that's what you mean. Lots of first-timers think that the journey is over after the first period of hallucinating. Occasionally, there are moments of sobriety, or in your case, you slept until I woke you to continue your journey. But sometimes it is so subtle when it decides to take hold again that you don't even know that you've stepped back into the otherworld. What do you remember from your dream that was more than a dream?"

Lucy recounted what she could remember. When she was finished, Jojola nodded. "Yes, there are good and bad spirits that take the form of people in the otherworld, just as there are good and bad spirits that inhabit human beings in this world, too. But that is the natural order of things-the balance of dark and light."

"Like the way you had your face painted," Lucy noted. "Black on one side, white on the other."

"I did not paint my face," Jojola responded. "However, under the influence of peyote you were able to perceive that within all men there is the potential for both good and evil."

Lucy nodded. They'd had the conversation before about the duality of the universe. Yin and yang. Right and wrong. Her father and Andrew Kane. One dependent on the other to provide context and meaning.

Tears came to Lucy's eyes as she recalled the angry look on Jaxon's face. "How will I ever face him without seeing that or hearing those screams when he reached for me?" she asked after describing the vision.

Jojola's face clouded for a moment. "I did not see what you saw," he said. "I heard you cry out." He was quiet for a moment, a frown on his face. "It is important to remember that some of what peyote chooses to show you can be taken literally, but more often it can't. Or, what seems to mean one thing in a vision quest may not mean that on this side of the otherworld. Even someone who seems to be doing evil may just be acting out a role that in the end accomplishes great good. And it can be unwise, even dangerous, to jump to conclusions."

"What about the owl?" Lucy said. "Aren't owls harbingers of death? Like the vision I had of being buried alive."

Jojola nodded. "Sometimes. But whose death is not always known, nor do they necessarily represent one's own doom. Remember, too, they also are the animal that can see in the dark, which means that they represent the ability to see what might not be revealed or clear to others. And if the owl is your totem, it has been since you were born, yet here you are more than twenty years later, a healthy, beautiful young woman."

"Yes, but the death of others has often been a major part of my life," Lucy pointed out. "Maybe I'm like the owl. Maybe I'm a harbinger of death." The lingering tears now fell from her eyes.

Jojola walked over and wrapped her in the Navajo blanket. "Lucy, listen to me," he said. "If you're going to mix your own spirituality with American Indian beliefs, then you should know that we believe that this life, and our deaths, are preordained. We are born into a life that has been laid out before us like the path leading up this butte, and we die when the path alters course and leads us into the next world."

"We're all just actors, right?" Lucy said. "The thought is not encouraging."

"Yes, Shakespeare knew that universal truth when he wrote it," Jojola said. "But that doesn't mean we just sit back and let fate come to us. A warrior goes out to meet his, or her, fate."

Lucy was quiet for a time, letting the sun warm the blanket around her shoulders and the light, cool breeze refresh her. "So am I done with the peyote?" she asked at last.

"I think for the most part, peyote is done with you," Jojola responded. "However, you may notice the presence of the spirit for several days in small ways. Sudden clarity of mind. A subtle difference in how you perceive colors or sounds. But we will hurry the process now by sweating it out of you."