In the story "I'll Always Be With You, Boys", I seeded it with all sorts of things which I have returned to over and again. One of those early hints was concerning the day the Mortenson Party arrived on that creek and their Navajo guide fled upon recognition of where he was. As he ran, Jonathon S. Mortenson, the financier and lead of that expedition, called him a "yeller rabbit" as he disappeared in the brush. As the story took several months, by the time I neared the end and our story Hero neared the nicer of the two remaining saloons in that town gone to rot, one founded long before by another Sultan long dead (still don't know his story though he's appeared in the background of other Tales... this is how it works). I needed a name for that saloon and I was reminded that it was known as the Yellow Rabbit for reasons only a few remaining might recall. Even our Hero in that story, Mr. Alexander Gitney, needed this reminder for twenty hard years is a long time for trifles to be forgot.
I now had two rabbits.
Now this story I began with knowledge of what was in that cave. What I needed to do was get what was needed into that cave. Thus I needed four Kachina. At least half of my life has been spent in the northern parts of Arizona which is not the same as the southern part insofar as ethnic populations. I live in Yavapai County, named for the Yavapai people. As well, the Diné have a heavy presence here, both Apache as well as Navajo from just to the north. Some of the oldest Nations to exist here, the longest ethnic footprint in this region, are the Pueblo tribes such as the Hopi in Arizona or the Zuni in New Mexico. In fact, the oldest continually inhabited settlement in North America is the Hopi community of Oraibi. It is the Pueblo, the Hopi and Zuni, to whom the world owes the beauty found in the craftsmanship of Kachina, in my humble opinion, some of the most beautiful religious art ever... but I'm biased. I've lived with Kachina art about me my whole life.
Thing is, um, I took it for granted. I knew little beyond what I remembered from school field trips to archeology museums and the constant soaking up of anything of historical reading merit. It wasn't much and I only knew, I confess, for sure the aspects of two Kachina at the start of this adventure. That research I've mentioned? I am no expert in any way on Kachina art, the craft, the beliefs and faith behind, but I know more than I did when I started this story.
I also learned quite a bit about the Hopi during this adventure, such as their reputation for distance running. This, something more prized than the skills of a warrior in a peaceful community, allowed me to justify my geographic position with this story. Of course, I had to figure in the physical distance needed to travel and just how fast some mangy scum could get on an old horse with a mule tied behind bearing four stolen artifacts before those tireless on foot could justifiably reach him. My math is probably suspect, but who's going to run that distance and call me out. It got me to the valley I needed to be and the one those six Hopi in chase recognized from legend.
Of those six, I needed names for only three. After following many links to abandoned hopes, I came at last up a good resource of Hopi names and their meanings. As I was scrolling through them, reading those meanings in contemplative interest, one lit in gold as my eye passed over it. The meaning of the name was "Yellow Rabbit". This was one of those moments when no one is around and you stand in your chair with your hand to your mouth as possibilities flood through your mind in crashing waves of epiphany. The opening was set!
My Hopi do not appear beyond that admittedly violent opening. I mean, goodness, I see all sorts of disclaimers in submission calls saying "no animal cruelty" but gosh, things of natural course happen and I sold my first story with a hoof in a gopher hole while racing across a broad meadow ringed by pine and oak with a cottonwood lined beck bisecting it. Ah yes, this meadow so beloved here offered me a blank canvas in which to paint a tragedy. Hototo I somewhat feel bad about, but Sikyatavo, "Yellow Rabbit"? He was brash, that he was.
Oh, I think I should dispel something here real quick. In this culture that allows me the freedom to write such Tales, colors are all imbued with meanings, often multiple. We can be blue as well as true blue, just for a simple example. Yellow is often associated with cowardice and this we can all remember as Bluto swam a yellow streak furiously away from Popeye. Yellow does not mean cowardice in every culture. There are those that associate it with bravery. As I learned this, well, the irony of Mortenson's comment twenty-nine years later has relevance.
I had my Rabbit and I had my reason. Horatio Parsons and his mule were free to seek their safety, a place to rest from his fall and wait out his pursuers. I'm just going to say, it was lucky he found that cave, or at least he thought so. I knew I was lucky for I now had all the elements gathered, including what yet waited... and what would from there inspire roughly 13,000 years back story.
There is much more in this Tale which I could speak on and am so tempted to, but I shouldn't, not now. I figure that those things I want to mention will probably come out elsewhere as I discuss other things though I probably won't state much direct. More of a reference and a wink and a nod to specific details that would reveal the game or the story to those who have yet to read. This is my stew and while I might list some of the ingredients and how they were gathered and maybe even prepared, the secret sauces are just that. That's for you to discover and judge.
"Kachina" was accepted in early 2018 in Weirdbook #38 and published shortly thereafter. I carried my contributor copy around with me until I had read every story in it, delighting at the talent that I shared this space with. This is how it came to be known outside of those few that I was engaged in something so untoward as penning astounding tales of nightmare and woe while pretending to earn an honest paycheck. It answered a lot of questions for my fellow employees and now at least they have a reason for some of the ways I express things.
To Mr. Doug Draa, the editor of Weirdbook, I will ever be thankful. Holding this book in my hands, seeing my name in the contents and my work made real that first time is one of those highs in my life that I'll always remember. For those two or three people who discover this blog penned late at night in an old, mountain ghost town, please, do yourself a solid and read Weirdbook. I can't say it enough so I'll probably say it an awful lot. I am just flat out honored to be amongst such talent and yes, this is where the talent is found, in the labor of love that goes into such publications offering a place for dreamers to share their most beautiful nightmares.
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