Bad Grrlz' Guide to Reality: The Complete Novels Wild Angel and Adventures in Time and Space with Max Merriwell by Pat Murphy Page A
Authors: Pat Murphy
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numerous as ants on an anthill. The white men were as busy as ants, busy destroying the world. Tearing down the hills and throwing dirt into the streams to poison the fish. Cutting down trees and building dirty, crowded villages to which more white men came. Poisoning themselves with their own powerful firewater and letting the visions tempt them to fight and kill their fellow white men—and any others who strayed into their path.
Malila’s people grew sick with diseases—fevers and poxes that killed without mercy. Her mother died of a fever, though her grandfather treated her with herbal medicines and chanted over her sweating body. Against Hatawa’s wishes, Malila’s father went to work in the white men’s mines, saying that he would return with food and clothing and an understanding of the ways of these strange people. But his friends returned without him and told Hatawa that the riverbank had collapsed in an avalanche of rocks and dirt, burying Malila’s father.
When Malila was twelve years old, her village had moved away from the place where their ancestors had lived, building a new village higher in the hills, where the winters were colder but the streams still ran clear. That same year, Malila had been visited by powerful dreams that convinced her grandfather that she had the potential to become a shaman.
High in the mountains, Malila had gone on a vision quest. For three days, she had fasted and prayed. Alone beside a creek, she had drunk a tea that Hatawa had brewed, a sacred drink that brought visions. As she sat in the sunshine, she listened to the creek whisper and babble as it flowed among granite boulders.
One boulder drew her eye. Mottled gray granite, worn smooth by flowing water and blowing wind, it resembled a wolf that had curled up to sleep. Sunlight reflecting from the flowing water played on the boulder’s surface, making the stone look like fur, rippling in the breeze. Malila squinted at the stone, surprised by how much it looked like a sleeping wolf. A shadow formed an ear; two dark streaks marked the animal’s eyes.
As she watched, the stone that was a sleeping wolf opened her eyes, pricked up her ears, and lifted her head to look at Malila. The wolf’s eyes shone in the sun like the gold that the white men sought. Malila closed her eyes, startled at the vision.
She felt hot breath on her face and opened her eyes. A great gray wolf stood before her. The animal’s nose was just inches from Malila’s face. Golden eyes stared into hers. In the pupil of each eye, she could see her own reflection: dark hair, dark eyes wide with excitement.
The wolf spoke to her. “I am glad you have come, my daughter. You will join my pack.”
Malila saw that the other stones were moving, too. A black boulder shook itself and became a black wolf with green-gold eyes. A mica-streaked stone was a silver-gray wolf with pale blue eyes. The landscape shifted around her as the wolves came to sniff her face.
“You will come with us,” the first wolf said.
Once, as a child, her cousin had jumped from a high cliff into a deep pool in the river. Not to be outdone, Malila had followed him, launching herself into space. In that moment of falling, there was joy and terror, an exhilarating rush ending in a splash of ice-cold water.
As she stared into the eyes of the wolf, Malila felt that rush again. She was falling, dizzy, tumbling through space with a rush of joy and terror. Then the rush changed to the headlong rush of running—she was running on all fours. All around her were wolves, great beasts with sharp teeth, grinning and running in pursuit of a deer. The terrified deer stumbled, and the lead wolf, the great wolf who had come to Malila first, leapt up to grab the animal’s nose and pull her head down. The pack was on the deer then, ripping at her haunches and tearing at her throat. Malila was attacking with the others, her teeth bared, her heart burning with a fierce joy.
She came back to her body in
Malila’s people grew sick with diseases—fevers and poxes that killed without mercy. Her mother died of a fever, though her grandfather treated her with herbal medicines and chanted over her sweating body. Against Hatawa’s wishes, Malila’s father went to work in the white men’s mines, saying that he would return with food and clothing and an understanding of the ways of these strange people. But his friends returned without him and told Hatawa that the riverbank had collapsed in an avalanche of rocks and dirt, burying Malila’s father.
When Malila was twelve years old, her village had moved away from the place where their ancestors had lived, building a new village higher in the hills, where the winters were colder but the streams still ran clear. That same year, Malila had been visited by powerful dreams that convinced her grandfather that she had the potential to become a shaman.
High in the mountains, Malila had gone on a vision quest. For three days, she had fasted and prayed. Alone beside a creek, she had drunk a tea that Hatawa had brewed, a sacred drink that brought visions. As she sat in the sunshine, she listened to the creek whisper and babble as it flowed among granite boulders.
One boulder drew her eye. Mottled gray granite, worn smooth by flowing water and blowing wind, it resembled a wolf that had curled up to sleep. Sunlight reflecting from the flowing water played on the boulder’s surface, making the stone look like fur, rippling in the breeze. Malila squinted at the stone, surprised by how much it looked like a sleeping wolf. A shadow formed an ear; two dark streaks marked the animal’s eyes.
As she watched, the stone that was a sleeping wolf opened her eyes, pricked up her ears, and lifted her head to look at Malila. The wolf’s eyes shone in the sun like the gold that the white men sought. Malila closed her eyes, startled at the vision.
She felt hot breath on her face and opened her eyes. A great gray wolf stood before her. The animal’s nose was just inches from Malila’s face. Golden eyes stared into hers. In the pupil of each eye, she could see her own reflection: dark hair, dark eyes wide with excitement.
The wolf spoke to her. “I am glad you have come, my daughter. You will join my pack.”
Malila saw that the other stones were moving, too. A black boulder shook itself and became a black wolf with green-gold eyes. A mica-streaked stone was a silver-gray wolf with pale blue eyes. The landscape shifted around her as the wolves came to sniff her face.
“You will come with us,” the first wolf said.
Once, as a child, her cousin had jumped from a high cliff into a deep pool in the river. Not to be outdone, Malila had followed him, launching herself into space. In that moment of falling, there was joy and terror, an exhilarating rush ending in a splash of ice-cold water.
As she stared into the eyes of the wolf, Malila felt that rush again. She was falling, dizzy, tumbling through space with a rush of joy and terror. Then the rush changed to the headlong rush of running—she was running on all fours. All around her were wolves, great beasts with sharp teeth, grinning and running in pursuit of a deer. The terrified deer stumbled, and the lead wolf, the great wolf who had come to Malila first, leapt up to grab the animal’s nose and pull her head down. The pack was on the deer then, ripping at her haunches and tearing at her throat. Malila was attacking with the others, her teeth bared, her heart burning with a fierce joy.
She came back to her body in
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