Chapter Text
When he fell, he didn't even kick up any sand.
It was a sharp, dull thud. So precise that it barely made a sound.
He couldn't straighten up immediately; his back ached as if struck by a thousand lashes. Then, he felt heat; intense enough to burn. It stung so fiercely he could have sworn the sensation was spreading all the way to his lower body.
He moved his hands. He cursed under his breath when he felt the sand.
He tried to scream, but no sound came out.
As he straightened up, his bones cracked. He looked up and frowned, shielding his eyes from the sun; it was an annoyance to look at it from below.
A second scream. Again, nothing.
He tried to take a step. His whole body began to tremble the moment he lifted his foot even slightly. He inhaled, exhaled, and let it drop.
This time, he fell face-first.
He got back up and tried again. He didn't manage to take a successful first step until his third attempt.
His posture was all wrong. His arms and legs were spread too wide, and his back was more hunched than recommended. In fact, anyone seeing him could easily mistake him for a crab.
Honestly, he looked ridiculous, but he couldn't help smiling at his achievement.
He managed to stay calm for a few seconds. Even his feet adapted to the heat of the sand. Yet, one question remained: where was he supposed to go?
He spread his arms and waited for the wind to push him, but nothing happened.
He frowned again. He filled his lungs and let out a great rush of air. Nothing.
He hated not being able to scream and curse the heavens in moments like these. Instead, he simply picked up a stone and hurled it toward the clouds. For obvious reasons, it didn't reach them.
He didn't go unanswered, however; a crack of thunder rumbled in the distance. His lips twisted into a grimace as he felt the first drop of rain land on his face.
He hated getting wet; he had always thought it just made you clumsier than usual. Besides, he found the trickles of water running down his body intrusive.
He kept walking, disoriented, for several minutes; just kicking the sand and biting his lip whenever he accidentally stumbled upon a rock.
He was incredibly bored. Why had they dumped him in a desert? There was nothing to see, nothing to smell, nothing to hear, nothing to feel. NOTHING.
And perhaps that very thought was what drew his first misfortune upon him. A howl pierced his ears like a lightning bolt; He could feel the hair on his body stand on end, and every part of him went on high alert. He didn't know how to walk, but he knew one thing: it was time to learn to run.
He felt his joints begin to loosen up as he moved forward. His breathing grew ragged; he couldn't tell how much was due to the exertion and how much to fear, but he was terrified to stop.
He heard growls behind him, but he didn't want to turn around and risk tripping.
For a few seconds, he blessed the rain, for it had cooled the sand beneath his feet. However, darkness was falling—a shift that would mark a turning point in his mortal life.
As the natural light faded, he noticed a glimmer in the distance. He squinted and ran even harder. The closer he got, the more clearly the settlement took shape before his eyes.
He had barely set foot inside the territory when he stumbled. He spun around immediately to see the animals pursuing him; one lunged to bite his arm, but the boy kicked it away. When another tried to grab his leg, he rolled aside to dodge it. A third leaped toward his face.
Before the boy could react, a ball of fire shot out toward the animal.
He looked up to see a man standing over him, brandishing a flaming staff.
"Back!" the man shouted. "You aren't welcome here."
The trio of animals growled and retreated into the desert.
The boy kept panting, still unsure how to react to what had just happened.
"Are you all right?" the man asked, extending his hand.
He didn't answer; he simply backed away slightly.
"You have nothing to fear; I won't hurt you," the man insisted.
He took the hand upon hearing another howl in the distance.
"Coyotes are cunning creatures," the man said, helping him to his feet. If you cross paths with them, the best thing to do is turn back.
He didn't answer.
His expression softened. "Tell me, where do you come from?"
He tried to speak, but still couldn't make a sound.
"I'm Dasan," he introduced himself. "Do you have a name?"
Nothing.
He noticed the bite on his arm. "Come on, let's get that treated."
He followed without a second thought. He had more control over his body now, so he could attack if the situation called for it.
It didn't take long to reach a structure made of branches and logs; it looked small, but that was deceptive, for upon entering, he realized just how long it was.
"Have a seat," Dasan said.
The boy obeyed and sat on the floor.
Dasan picked up a small vessel and sat down beside him. He began applying an ointment to the boy's arm. At first, the boy squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, but it was only for a moment.
"Show me your feet."
The boy obeyed.
He stifled a laugh. "Just look at how hurt you are," he said, sprinkling a bit of powder on them. "You’re quite the roadrunner, aren't you?" he joked. He got no response. "It’s clear you can’t speak, but where do you come from? Just point north, south, east, or west. That’ll help me figure out if we’re kin."
The boy tilted his head slightly and looked around. After thinking for a few seconds, he pointed at the ceiling.
Dasan frowned. "From the sky?"
He nodded. Then, he mimicked a fall with his hands.
"I see," he murmured, unsure of how to react. "It’s late; you can stay and rest if you need to. In fact, I’d recommend it," he said. "I have to step out for a few minutes, but I’ll be back. Rest for now."
He obeyed; not out of trust, but because he was truly exhausted.
He found a sheepskin laid out on the dirt floor and lay down on it. He didn't fall asleep immediately; in fact, he could hear Dasan returning with two other people.
"It’s not safe having him here," a woman said.
"Takoda, he doesn't look dangerous," Dasan replied.
"He’s a Yee naaldlooshii."
"That’s impossible! I’m telling you, he looks like one of us, not an animal."
"A more powerful demon, then!"
"He was fleeing from coyotes," he insisted.
"Maybe Ma’ii wanted to protect us, for a change."
"You’re being irrational."
"You’re being reckless."
"Shillah!" Both of them looked at the man accompanying them.
Silence fell for a few seconds.
"Let me see the boy," he said finally.
The cloth covering the entrance was pulled aside, allowing them to enter.
The boy quickly closed his eyes to pretend he was asleep.
He felt them sit down around him. "He looks human," Shillah remarked.
"I told you so!" Dasan smiled.
The girl clicked her tongue. "I still say that doesn't mean anything," she said, crossing her arms.
Shillah placed his hands on the boy. He could only struggle to keep his breathing steady.
"Let's keep him under observation," he said.
"What if he harms us?" Takoda asked.
"Then I’ll get rid of him myself," he said, standing up. "Dasan, we need to prepare a Nightway."
"Sure," he nodded.
"Takoda, gather the warriors. Have them guard this hoogan; if our guest has ill intentions, they must notify me immediately."
"Yes," she agreed.
"Does he have a name?" she asked Dasan.
"He can't speak."
"We need a way to address him."
He thought for a few seconds. "Roadrunner."
He smiled. "So be it."
—.—.—.—.—.—.—.—
He woke up when the first rays of sunlight hit his face. He winced slightly as he opened his eyes. He sat up and rubbed his face, then lay back down, feeling his head throbbing.
He squeezed his eyes shut and held his head with both hands.
The previous day had been horrible. He had felt so many things at once that he hadn't even been able to process his pain.
"You're awake," Dasan said, entering the hoogan.
Roadrunner looked at him, annoyed.
"How is your arm?" Dasan asked, crouching down to his level.
He held it out warily.
"Let's see..." Dasan took it. "It’s already healed! That’s good; it means the bite wasn't deep." He smiled. "I brought you some clothes and food. Come see me when you're ready. There are things we want to show you." Roadrunner waited for him to leave before getting up.
He studied the clothing for several seconds. He had never been forced to wear anything like it—though, then again, he had never possessed such a human body before. It was made of what he suspected was deerskin, given its softness.
After dressing, he approached the food. It was a plate containing beans, bread, and a few pieces of fruit.
He had never eaten before and was genuinely curious. First, he tried the bread—it was cornbread; his eyes lit up the moment it touched his tongue, and he finished it in less than two minutes. Next, he tried the beans—lightly roasted, with a mild, slightly earthy flavor; he loved them. The fruit was his favorite; its sweetness restored all the energy he needed, and he devoured it, seeds and all.
When he finished, he stepped outside, just as Dasan had asked.
He found him a few paces from the hoogan, talking to other people.
"Roadrunner, over here," he said, waving his hand.
The boy looked at him in confusion, then pointed at himself.
"Yes, you, come here," he insisted.
He obeyed.
"I’d like you to meet Takoda, my future wife," he said, gesturing toward the woman from the night before.
He took a moment to admire her. There was no doubt she was beautiful, with down-turned yet piercing eyes, a straight nose, defined cheekbones, and long, wavy, coal-black hair.
"Hello," the girl replied reluctantly.
Roadrunner simply waved his hand in response.
"And this is Shillah, my grandfather," Dasan said, pointing to the third person.
Shillah was a much older man; it was difficult to even guess his age. His eyes were smaller, and his nose was hooked. He also appeared more deeply tanned than his grandson. Yet, it wasn't his physical appearance that drew attention, but the aura—peaceful yet stern—that he exuded just by standing before him.
"Good morning, lad," the old man greeted him. "It’s a pleasure to have you with us. Tell me, has Dasan treated you well?"
He nodded.
"I’m glad," the old man smiled. "He mentioned that you said you fell from the sky."
He mimicked the fall with his hands again.
The old man chuckled softly. "I see," he murmured. "Tell us, what are you doing here?"
He shrugged, frowning. He scooped some water from a bowl and let it trickle down slowly.
"A waterfall?" Dasan tilted his head.
"Rain?" Takoda guessed.
Roadrunner hopped lightly, grinning from ear to ear.
"Rain?" Shillah raised an eyebrow. "Did the rain throw you down here?"
He nodded, looking more annoyed than before. Then, he pointed to his throat.
"It won't let you speak, either?"
He shook his head sadly.
The other three exchanged confused glances.
"Well, it did rain heavily yesterday," Shillah noted.
"Even so, what is this supposed to mean?" Takoda asked.
"If he was sent here, there must be a reason," the old man said, looking at them. "We have to take care of him; we can't just leave him to his fate."
"But the hózhó..."
"We need to bring him into it." He placed a hand on Roadrunner's shoulder. "Dasan, shall we begin preparations for the Nightway?"
"Yes."
"Let's get started, then."
Roadrunner looked at them, frightened.
"You have nothing to worry about," Dasan told him. "This is going to help you. You’ve been through some very hard times, and we need to stabilize you so you can find peace; you can't stay angry at the rain forever," he explained.
He didn't know how to react to these words.
"We won't hurt you, we promise." Those words only drove them further apart.
Shillah let out a heavy sigh. "Leave me alone with him for a while," he said, looking at the younger ones.
The pair nodded and walked away.
"Come with me, Roadrunner," he said, starting to walk.
The boy followed, a few paces behind.
"We haven't been here long, either," Shillah said. "We come from the north; we migrated when the climate became too cold for us to survive. It took us months to find the right place, and then we came across this." He stopped.
Roadrunner didn't see anything special.
"Higher up," Shillah said, gesturing with his chin.
Then, a mountain came into view. For a few seconds, he felt his breath catch due to the altitude; he had never felt so small before.
"This is Tsoodził, the mountain of the south. To the north lies Dibé Nitsaa, to the east Sisnaajiní, and to the west Dook'o'oosłííd," he explained. "They mark the boundaries of our territory. They were created by the First Man and First Woman to hold up the sky above the earth, and within them dwell the protective spirits of our people. The least we can do in gratitude is offer something in return and preserve the hózhó they gifted us."
Roadrunner tilted his head.
"It is a state of total peace and harmony with oneself and the surrounding universe," he replied. "It is the foundation of our community. As long as it remains intact, we are safe." He took the boy's hands. "You say you fell from the sky, which means something isn't right with you. You harbor resentment, fear, and inner torment; that may be normal for the moment, but in the long run, it is dangerous. We can protect you, we are willing to welcome you into our community; but to do so, you must adapt," he said. "If you prefer, you could go to one of the other villages, but the answer would be the same."
The boy said nothing for several seconds. He simply gazed at the mountain; he was certain it was the most beautiful thing he had seen since arriving on earth.
He closed his eyes and felt a gust of air strike his face; he could have sworn it carried a few drops of water. He let out a soft laugh and looked at Shillah.
"Are you ready?"
He nodded.
"Let's go, then."
The ceremony lasted nine days and nine nights.
The first two were the most confusing for Roadrunner. During the day, he performed purification rituals—consisting mostly of chants, prayers, and sweat baths—and at night, he sat upon a figure made of cornmeal while dances were performed to impersonate deities and cleanse him of his pain and suffering.
On the fourth night, the prayers and chants continued until sunrise.
He rested on the fifth day.
For the final four days, he sat upon sand paintings while masked deities danced around him.
On the ninth night, he witnessed the climax of the healing: the ceremonial dance of the Yéʼiibicheii.
By the tenth day, he was supposed to be cleansed, yet he was summoned to a hogan once more.
Upon entering, he found Dasan seated on the east side of the structure, with about five people to his left. Roadrunner wanted to approach him, but Shillah—one of the seated men—stopped him and invited him to sit nearby.
The boy obeyed, confused.
Minutes later, four more people entered and sat on the right. Shillah stood up and picked up a bowl of water and a ladle. Then Takoda entered, carrying a small basket; she sat beside Dasan and placed the basket in front of them.
Shillah scooped up some water with the ladle and brought it over to the couple. Both of them took some and washed each other's hands.
Roadrunner simply watched in silence, curious, wondering if they, too, needed healing.
Shillah chanted a song before scattering corn pollen from east to west and north to south. Then, he sprinkled some of the pollen onto a bowl of mush, from which Dasan ate, followed by Takoda.
"It is done," the elder smiled. "You are married."
The couple smiled and exchanged a brief kiss.
"Let's eat," Dasan said, rising and offering his hand to his new wife.
She smiled back. Then she looked at Roadrunner.
"You know what this means, don't you?" she asked him.
He shook his head.
She laughed. "It simply means: welcome."