Billy Buckhorn and the War of Worlds, page 6
Now he briefly saw a short black-and-white mini-movie of an elderly Native American man smudging and praying over a small medicine pouch and then placing the pouch’s strap around Little Shield’s neck.
“Sorry,” he said as he released her hand from his grip. “I have to make sure all the people we’re working with now have good intentions. There are those who would do us harm or block our progress.”
She smiled awkwardly as she turned to face Billy’s entire Underworld Takeover Prevention Team, seated in the living room and eagerly anticipating the meeting and possible news. Raelynn made the rounds, greeting everyone in the room.
“I’ll get right to it,” Little Shield said, pulling some paperwork out of her briefcase. “The Reverend Dr. Samuel Miller of Limestone, Texas, was arrested by the FBI and is being held in the Texarkana prison awaiting trial. He’s the one who bought the skeletal remains from Peter Langford, the director of the Spiral Mounds Archaeological Site. Langford is also there awaiting trial. Both are charged with the illegal sale of Native American human remains and other related charges.”
That pleased everyone in the room.
“Miller admitted to being a broker for a buyer in another state, but, unfortunately, he hasn’t revealed who that buyer is. He’s not really motivated to talk, so we’re at an impasse there for the time being.”
That pleased no one in the room.
“As far as the cape and staff originally buried with those remains and stolen from the radiocarbon dating lab in Athens, Georgia, we do have one lead,” Little Shield added.
From her briefcase, she pulled out multiple copies of a page containing two grainy photos and passed them out. A closeup of a muddy license plate was visible in one picture, and the side of a white van with a logo on the door could be seen in the other.
“These images were captured by a surveillance camera near the facility,” she explained. “Both the license plate and the logo are partially obscured with mud. That seems to be intentional.”
The Underworld Takeover Prevention Team peered intently at the photo’s details as the investigator pointed them out.
“Fortunately, the FBI lab was able to reconstruct the portions that had been blotted out,” she continued. “The plate and the logo belong to the state penitentiary in Angola, Louisiana.”
“Huh?” was the collective response.
“That was my exact reaction,” Raelynn said. “What does a prison in Louisiana have to do with Native American burial objects from eastern Oklahoma?”
While Little Shield had been talking, Billy had scanned her energy field to get even more of a read on the woman. Her energy seemed clean and her intentions true.
“Now that we’ve met you face-to-face and found that you don’t have any hidden agendas, we can share a little more information with you,” Billy said. He gave her a quick rundown of how the human remains and the burial items fit into the larger scheme of things, the ancient prophecy, the immediate timetable, and the consequences of not locating the stolen objects.
“That’s all a little too far out there for me,” she replied. “What proof can you offer to validate any of it?”
Billy searched the levels of internal and external spiritual guidance he had available to him. The apparition of an elderly Native American woman appeared just behind and to the side of Little Shield and presented Billy with a message.
“Your Arapaho great-grandmother just told me that she’s proud of what you’re doing now,” Billy said. “Getting her remains out of that museum in Chicago and back to your tribe’s homelands for reburial was very important to her.”
The stunned look on Little Shield’s face revealed the truth of Billy’s message. She glanced back over her shoulder as if she might see the elder standing there.
“You saw her just now?” the investigator asked. “And she spoke to you?”
“Yeah, that happens sometimes,” Billy replied.
Little Shield looked at the faces of the people seated around her to see if she could detect any hint of insincerity or falsehood. Neither were evident.
“You should tell someone in the federal government about this impending catastrophe so they can warn the American people,” she said.
“Who would we warn, and what could we tell them?” Ethan replied. “They’d react the same way you reacted when Billy told you.”
“Well, somebody’s got to do something,” she concluded as she began putting papers back into her briefcase.
“That somebody is you,” Lisa said, getting up out of her seat. “And what you can do is fast-track this investigation! Those stolen items will play a big part in the prevention of national— maybe worldwide—disaster!”
“You know that’s like trying to get the tail to wag the dog.” Little Shield finished closing up her bag and threw the strap over her shoulder. “What I can do is make your case my top priority,” she said with finality. “I’ll rearrange my schedule and immediately head from here to question Samuel Miller one more time, and then I’ll go straight to the prison down in Angola to talk to the warden.”
Raelynn began heading toward the door.
“What if one of us goes with you?” Lisa asked. “Is that allowed?”
Raelynn stopped with one hand on the front doorknob. “I’m supposed to coordinate my fieldwork with the FBI and no one else,” she said. “But, in general, my investigation has a low priority in law enforcement circles.”
Opening the door, she turned to Lisa. “But I could use some company on the trip. How quickly can you be ready to go?”
“Is fifteen minutes soon enough?” Lisa said.
“Okay, we leave for Texarkana in fifteen minutes,” Raelynn said as she stepped out onto the porch. “I hope I don’t get fired for this. I love my new job.”
Lisa gave Billy a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Let me know when you are in a room with Miller,” Billy said. “I may want to eavesdrop.”
“Sure thing,” she said and literally skipped down the hallway to pack a suitcase.
Billy returned to his patients, who’d been patiently waiting on the front porch.
reyson Greenstone wasn’t always what he appeared to be. In fact, he was a rather unusual shape-shifter. Not only could he transform into an animal—a desert horned viper, to be exact—he could also shape-shift into a couple other human appearances.
Today, for the welcoming ceremony, he would be the charismatic orator Nahash Molok, the prophet who could handle snakes and reincarnate his followers into a new life of their choosing, or so he promised. Few people knew that the name Nahash Molok was Hebrew for “Snake King.”
Now it was showtime for Molok. Or rather, time for his monthly ritual performance, held in his concealed underground ceremonial chamber constructed inside the center of the earthen platform mound at the Three Rivers Indian Mounds Park.
An audience of some two hundred souls had gathered this night, all eager to join the First Temple of the Reborn and one day hopefully be born again, as a snake is reborn by shedding its skin. That was what the recruiting messages promised. A banner above the stage included the image of a snake halfway through the skinshedding process.
As he stood in the wings just offstage, the handsome, lightskinned, thirtyish Greenstone morphed into his stage persona: the gray-haired, darker-skinned, ethnically mysterious priest Nahash Molok. Then he grasped the greenish stone amulet that hung from his neck and took a deep breath.
“Zôl-Coatl,” he whispered in the ancient Nahuatl Aztec tongue, invoking the power of a very deadly snake.
He took a second breath, this time drawing in more than air. He drew in energy—dark energy from the lower supernatural regions, the source of his power.
“Serpent power,” he whispered, “flow through me that I may spread it to the underlings of the Middleworld.”
Now fully prepared, the orator stepped from behind the curtain and onto the stage. With great flourish, he fanned his serpentine-green cape in a wide gesture as if to share his power with the audience.
“In the Quran, the Prophet Muhammad says Allah told Moses to throw down his staff,” the orator began. “And lo and behold, it became a writhing snake, demonstrating the prophet’s divine power. And Allah said to Moses: ‘Fear not, for you are my prophet.’ Then Moses came before Pharaoh to free his people from slavery.”
The man paused for effect as he gazed out on his audience. Faces of every shade looked back at him, eager to hear his every word and follow his every gesture. Multiple cameras recorded the spectacle for live streaming and later broadcast.
The orator continued with much bravado. “In the Gospel book of Mark, we find these words of Yeshua Messiah. ‘And these signs shall follow them that believe: They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.’”
Those few souls in the audience who’d attended the man’s previous public events knew what was coming next. However, for most attendees, this was their introduction to his exotic teachings and their first time experiencing this man’s legendary performance.
“Bring me the sacred cup of toloache, elixir of the soul and portal to the supernatural world!” Molok commanded.
Toloache was the Nahuatl Aztec word for the medicinal plant known as datura in North America, used for centuries by many tribes and cultures for spiritual vision quests. But if the plant was used unwisely, or ingested in too large a quantity, it brought sickness and death.
He raised his left arm, a gesture that allowed the sleeve of his robe to fall away and reveal a tattoo depicting the winding vine of a datura plant with its trumpet-shaped flowers wrapped around the arm. A similarly robed assistant rushed onstage carrying an ornate glass chalice. She handed the container to the orator, bowed to him, and exited as the man continued speaking.
“Then he took the cup, gave thanks, and passed it to his disciples, saying, ‘Drink from it, all of you, for this is the gateway to the world of immortality.’” The orator swallowed the dark contents of the cup in one long gulp, then gasped for air, wiped his lips, and dashed the cup to the stage floor with a great deal of flourish. He turned to his audience. “When you join our ranks, you, too, will be able to partake of this mind-expanding potion at our monthly rebirthing ceremonies!”
Excited murmurs in hushed tones spread through the crowd, and the orator knew they were hooked. He then raised his right arm and signaled to someone stage right, again allowing the sleeve of his robe to fall away. The snake tattoo that spiraled along this arm from shoulder to wrist became fully visible then, further adding to the drama of the moment.
Two assistants quickly wheeled in a portable hundred-gallon terrarium and left it next to the pulpit. Inside that chamber, behind its glass walls, writhed a half dozen venomous snakes of various sizes and colors. Rattlesnakes, copperheads, cottonmouths, and cobras squirmed and twisted in a frenzied pile.
“Now I will demonstrate the combined power of trust, faith, and knowledge,” the man proclaimed. “Today you will understand the truth of the command: fear not the serpent.”
As if on cue, a rattlesnake in the terrarium hissed and struck at the glass wall that kept him imprisoned. The orator opened the container’s lid, quickly reached in, and grabbed that very snake by the back of its head. The crowd gasped.
After pulling the reptile out of the enclosure, the man held the creature out toward the audience. It bared its fangs and hissed loudly, and audience members instinctively and collectively jumped back in their seats. As it writhed and wriggled, the man stepped forward to the stage’s edge and marched back and forth so that everyone was able to appreciate the danger the snake presented.
What no one in the crowd knew was that this priest/performer/ entrepreneur/con man had for a long time been regularly dosing himself with rattlesnake venom—minuscule quantities at a time— to build up an immunity to its effects. And also, most of the poison had been drained from the snake.
Then he held the rattlesnake’s open mouth about a foot away from his own face and uttered an incantation in a language unfamiliar to the people who watched. As he spoke, he moved his other hand in a smoothing, wavelike gesture in front of the reptile’s eyes.
To everyone’s amazement, the snake fell asleep and went limp in the orator’s hand. He marched back and forth on the stage, displaying his impressive accomplishment. As the adulation continued, two beautiful dark-skinned female assistants came onstage. One took the unconscious reptile from the man and put it back in the terrarium. The other assistant, carrying a handheld microphone, spoke directly to the crowd.
“Everybody, let’s make some noise for the incredible supernatural priest Brother Nahash Molok!” she shouted, and the room filled with applause as he left the stage. “Are you ready to believe?” she called out with a broad smile on her face.
“Yes!” came the resounding reply.
“Are you ready to come forth, join us, and start your journey toward immortality?” she continued. “All who do shall be reborn like a snake that sheds its skin, and begin a new life. Remember: judgment day is coming so very soon. Those who stole this land from its rightful owners will be removed from power! They shall be punished for their deeds, but the descendants of the colonizers who repent and denounce the actions of their ancestors shall be saved. Are you ready?”
A roar of approval and shouts of “We are ready!” came from various parts of the standing crowd.
“Well then, step to the back of the room, where you can pay your initiation fee, receive your welcome packet, and begin learning to merge mind, body, and spirit,” she said, pointing to a row of tables with attendants. “Your packet also contains your first free portion of toloache, the gateway serum, and an amulet made of serpentine stone like the one Brother Molok wears.”
That did it. People made a mad dash to the back of the room to be first in line. They’d heard the rumors, read the testimonials, and seen the online videos of these mysterious rituals. They longed to belong to something bigger than themselves and hoped there was more to life than the short, mundane physical existence here on earth. They were ready—that is to say, ripe for the picking!
Once he was offstage, Molok hurried to his dressing room, where he began changing clothes and identities once again. His true self, the one who held secret powers and controlled hidden forces, emerged. Or rather, it was uncovered and revealed, a sorcerer whose real name was known only to those in his inner circle but whose nickname was Snake-Eye. There was no obvious physical difference between Molok and Snake-Eye. The distinction was internal.
After adjusting the black patch that covered an empty right eye socket, the sorcerer pushed a button on his dressing room intercom.
“Has our guest arrived?” he asked an assistant as he brushed locks of gray hair back from his scarred, leathery brown face.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “He’s waiting in the meeting chamber below.”
“Good, good, good,” the man replied. “Let’s get this alliance restarted.”
Snake-Eye, followed by two assistants, stepped out of his dressing room, then walked across the backstage area and into a small elevator car. There were only three buttons on the control panel, and he pushed the middle one. That, he knew, would take him to another subterranean floor that contained his circular meeting chamber, along with a small conference room. That was where his guest would be waiting.
Snake-Eye had chosen this location for his rebirthing ceremonies on purpose. It was, after all, one of the oldest mound sites in North America. Some of his own ancestors had been involved in its construction and operation. They, too, had held ceremonies there for hundreds if not thousands of Indigenous people hoping for better lives now and after their deaths.
Stepping out of the elevator, the sorcerer signaled his assistants that they could return to the main floor. When the elevator doors closed, the man adjusted his eye patch one more time and walked into the conference room. There, he found his guest, Thomas Two Bears, the head of the Night Seers, seated at the conference table and sipping a glass of water. Molok greeted his guest and approached him with an extended hand.
“Thomas,” he said in a friendly tone. “Welcome to my world headquarters, here on the second-largest Mississippian mound complex in North America. I’ve waited so long to meet you in person.”
“I saw some of your—I don’t know what to call it—performance,” Two Bears responded in a less than friendly tone. “What kind of name is Nahash Molok, anyway?”
Snake-Eye relaxed his outstretched arm when he realized Two Bears wasn’t going to shake his hand. “It’s all part of my public persona to attract followers,” the one-eyed man said. “It’s from Hebrew, actually. Nahash is the word for snake, and Molok translates to ‘king’ or ‘lord.’ It means ‘Snake King’ or ‘Lord of the Snakes.’ The name is symbolic.”
“What you preach is just a mishmash of things, isn’t it?” Two Bears said in a criticizing tone. “A little of this and a little of that. But who and what are you really?”
The snake man pushed the shirtsleeve up on his right arm, making the spiraling snake tattoo visible. Then he clenched his right hand into a fist and held it tight as he replied. Mysteriously, Two Bears began feeling a constriction around his throat.
“The name on my birth certificate is, appropriately enough, Valerio Culebra,” the man answered. “It means ‘Powerful Snake’ in Spanish. You see, my parents were very conscious of my lineage.” As Snake-Eye spoke, the Cheyenne medicine man began to feel like he was going to choke. The sorcerer continued talking.
“But ever since I lost this eye in an accident and began wearing the patch, some people call me Ojo Culebra, Spanish for ‘Snake-Eye.’”
Two Bears continued to have trouble breathing. That was when he finally realized this Snake Cult leader was causing his discomfort. The Night Seer wasn’t used to this predicament because he was usually the one using his supernatural powers to control someone else during these kinds of interactions.
“Here’s a little genealogy lesson for you,” Snake-Eye said. “According to oral histories, on my mother’s side I am a direct descendant of Monkata, the Snake Priest. I believe you would be familiar with him. And on my father’s side, I am a descendant of the great Moctezuma, ruler of the Aztec people when the colonizing Spaniards invaded Mexico. So, you see, I am Indigenous royalty all the way round.”
