didn’t you open the door sooner?”.
Keane looked relieved.
The dog continued to give Keane an appraising look, then, without warning, her black eyes disappeared beneath jets of burning blue flame.
“That is a nice trick,” said Keane, convinced that what he was seeing was the result of a concussion his Indian friends had probably anointed him with.
It was the dog’s turn to look surprised. She’d only just emerged from the darkness that had shrouded her for more than 150 years, and already a man, not even a Navajo man, was capable of seeing her for the Spirit she was. Satisfied with this reality, she proceeded to trot past him, disappearing into the black shack. Nascha followed, tail high, stride for stride, their bodies touching, the two of them already thick as thieves. “Those dip shits must have really pounded me. I could swear that dog’s eyes really were on fire.”
Just as Keane turned to retrieve Nascha from the shack, certain they needed to leave as soon as possible and preferably under the cover of darkness, a kind, feminine voice addressed him.
“I am sorry, Keane…”
Whirling around, Keane was instantly overjoyed to see Doli. He was sure he would have recognized her even in the pitch black. “Doli!” he cried, tears springing from his eyes. Keane didn’t cry as much from their reunion as from the relief he felt at having someone familiar at his side.
She embraced him lightly, gently patting his back. Keane couldn’t help but shrink from the pressure of her body against his many cuts and bruises. “You’re hurt,” she said, immediately starting to inspect his body for any obvious broken bones or bleeding.
“I am okay,” Keane said, “just hold my hand.” Carefully, Doli took his hand and they both sat on the ground in front of the poisonous looking hut.
Doli looked as thoughtful as the sliver of moon that had slid behind her head. “I would have been here sooner, but my aunt only mentioned you in passing well into the night. Rather, she mentioned a ‘tall, strange young man’ who’d said he was looking for a Megan. She thought you were after something that I am not. She says to tell you thank you for buying the necklace and that it should bring you good luck. I am sure she did not intend for anything bad to happen to you.”
“I’ll be sure not to tell her about my four new Navajo friends,” Keane said, trying to smile. As much as Keane was trying to be cool, he listened as though this woman were his friend from some past age. He imagined she shared things he should already know because their eyes always saw colors in the same way, on the same horizons, at sunrise and sunset, even miles apart.
“Come,” she said, “we should leave this place. It is several hours to my aunt and uncle’s house, if you would like to come with me.”
Keane couldn’t imagine a better idea.
Getting to their feet, Keane called for Nascha. “Here, girl.”
In answer, Nascha and her strange partner burst from the shack at a run.
Doli screamed in shock as the white booted terrier blazed past.
“What is it?” Keane said. “You know Nascha. She likes you.”
“That Dog, that is no ordinary dog! She is a Spirit.” Doli’s eyes followed the new terrier as it raced in circles behind Nascha, its blue eyes aflame, trails of sparks exploding through silvery dust.
“I think I see what you mean,” said Keane. “I just thought I was seeing things.” He pointed to one of the larger knots on his head as he looked at the dog’s unnatural eyes. Whether Doli was right or wrong about the dog’s status as Spirit didn’t really matter. He was prepared to believe anything since his grandmother’s spirit had spoken to him. What would have felt like an alien invasion just yesterday—Spirit Dogs and grandmothers talking from beyond the grave—now seemed natural, possible, real.
Doli’s face shimmered with awe for Keane. “You don’t understand. Spirits have not freely shown themselves since we lost our struggle against the white man’s advance so many years ago. The Spirits who could visit themselves upon us are now only gossip. If a Spirit has come to you, it means everything.”
Keane watched the two dogs playing. He smiled at the thought of Nascha and her new friend, the magical dog.
Doli could tell that Keane was missing the point, and though her mind swam with the possibilities and the meaning of what she’d just seen, she decided to let it drop. Still, she did not let the Spirit entirely out of her sight, and made sure to always keep at least half an eye on it.
Keane bent to one knee. “Nascha, here girl.”
Nascha immediately tore over, stopped on a dime before Keane, and kissed his face with her long, wet tongue. Keane pushed her away, laughing. As he did so, he felt the new dog rub up hard against his legs, tail wagging. He saw that Doli had backed up several feet.
“Come on, Megan. She’s great,” Keane said, shrugging his shoulders and pointing at her shyly.
Megan didn’t move.
“What’s your name, girl?” Keane said, rubbing both her ears at the same time and kissing the top of her head. He’d expected to feel something other than fur, but there was nothing unusual here, just a happy dog, eyes aflame or not. “Come on girl, what’s your name?”
The terrier seemed to understand. She backed up a step onto her haunches and barking loudly. Her eyes spat bigger sparks. Keane read the message opening up in his head. Somehow, he had known she was going to speak to him.
“Doli, she says her name is Dezba.” He half hoped she’d be impressed.
She was.
“She communicates the way my grandmother did.”
Part of Doli had already known the truth about this boy’s power. She did not consider her own meeting with his grandmother pure coincidence. Doli’s fear and surprise abating, she bent down to stroke Dezba and Nascha. Her hand frequently rubbed against Keane’s.
“Come on, girls,” Keane said, forcing his broken body into an abbreviated run. “Last one to the car has to sleep alone.”
Keane laughed out loud as Doli flew past.
Several hours later, Keane was fast asleep on a small couch in a smaller living room, Nascha at his feet, Dezba having disappeared into the night the moment they’d arrived. Doli and her aunt had patched Keane up and filled him with a large, steaming cup of healing tea. All things considered, Keane had endured an enormous amount of change for anyone only eighteen years of age. Had he known it was only the beginning, he might not have slept so easily.
The sound of delicate feet coming up behind Keane made his pulse quicken. Twenty-three-year-old Keane’s long black hair hung heavy in two thick braids. Lean, muscular and extremely tanned, it was hard to see the same man who’d so unwillingly traveled to see his grandmother just five years ago. As he turned his neck to watch his wife approach, he observed the unique angles of her young Navajo face were laced with excitement and grim resolve; he beamed at her inquisitively. At that very moment, Keane looked more like Archer than he had in years.
“What brings you to my garden?” Keane said, feigning surprise. The garden growing
