Death Chants by Craig Strete Page B

of white writing. He wants
something with your name written on it."
    The girl thrust her
arm out from under the blanket, pushing her purse into view.
    "Could you look in
there for me? I feel real tired. There must be something in there with my name on it."
    I didn't much want
to do it, but I did. I rummaged around in her purse. I got her wallet out and found her driver's
license. "Mind if I use this?"
    "No," she said.
"And thank you."
    I stuffed the
wallet back into her purse and handed the old man the plastic driver's license. It had her
picture on it, as well as her name. It was an old photo and she looked younger and healthier in
it, almost like a different person.
    The old man took
the card, looked at it and nodded that it was what he needed.
    Death Catcher stuck
one end of the card in the right-hand corner of the sand painting, filling in the corner block
around it with black sand.
    I have never seen a
driver's license used in a sand painting like that before. I wondered if the old man was playing
some kind of joke on them.
    But the old man had
much too evil a reputation to be one for jokes.
    I watched the sand
painting unfold. I knew it would take a long time until it was finished.
    I got up to go. I
had to get rid of some of last night's beer. I went around the side of Two Racer's house and
relieved myself.
    When I came out, I
saw my uncle Stormbringer standing down by where Jim Longfeather was sitting. They were talking
and Longfeather was pointing in Death Catcher's direction. I sensed that my uncle was saying
something that would shake the air like a storm.
    I walked down to
where they stood because I sensed that something was wrong.
    My uncle had a very
strange look on his face, like a man who understands the taste of poison.
    "I don't
understand. What are you trying to say?" asked Longfeather, fear in his face and eyes.
    My uncle had his
eyes turned away. "I said Death Catcher is not his only name, just the name that is his when the
black winds blow and give him power. When he paints sand paintings, they call him Death
Catcher."
    "So what?" said
Longfeather. "So he has more than one name."
    My uncle just shook
his head sorrowfully. "My heart walks on the ground for you. You have been too long from the
people or you would know. They call him Death Catcher because he only does sand paintings for the dead. As a person takes his name out of
the world, on that day, Death Catcher makes a sand painting for them."
    "Nobody is dead
here," said Longfeather in confusion.
    "He paints them
just before the person dies. In all the years Death Catcher has walked the earth, he has never
made a mis­take. Never. When he sand-paints for someone, that person leaves the world in death,"
said Stormbringer and he was genu­inely sorry when he said it.
    Longfeather
screamed. He pushed my uncle aside and bolted toward Death Catcher and the blanket-wrapped figure
of his white girlfriend.
    "No!" he shrieked,
and he knocked the old man aside. The old man, frail with many winters in his bones, fell heavily
on his back, a clay pot of corn pollen flying over his shoulder and smashing against a
rock.
    Death Catcher lay
flat on his back, not hurt, his eyes closed.
    I had run after
Longfeather, hoping I could stop him, but a night of drinking doesn't make for a good runner the
day after. He had me beat by at least ten steps.
    He thundered
through the sand painting, scuffing and kicking at the rainbow-colored pattern, scattering it to
all four direc­tions.
    It was
desecration.
    I jumped on
Longfeather and tried to knock him down, afraid he was going to try to hurt the old man. He
bobbed his head and threw me off his back like a duck shaking off water.
    I landed in the
wreckage of the sand painting.
    Longfeather ran to
the girl. The figure beneath the blanket did not move.
    He picked her up
gently and I heard him say something to her but she was strangely silent.
    I sat up slowly,
stiffly. I had