Doc had turned around at Straub’s voice, blinking his rheumy old eyes.
Why did it remind him of Las Graces, New Mexico?
There had been a pueblo, forty miles or so north, and a kiva. Doc had been made welcome, and the shaman had taken him through a healing way that had eased all the tension and all the worries from his mind and body.
The voice of Straub reminded him of that ceremony.
But there was something different about it. Dark steps led down into the circular kiva, and the smell of the smoke and the voice of the elderly Navaho calmed him. But now it seemed as if the man wore a shape-changer mask that hid his face and altered his words, rendering evil for good. Doc blinked again, puzzled. Straub walked into the circle of light from the nearest of the fires, bowing slightly to the visitors.
He was slimly built, a little over six feet, around fifty, with a shaved head that glistened and reflected the orange flames. There was a large opal in his right ear, and a gold tooth glittered at the front of his mouth as he spoke.
Ryan noticed that the man had unusual eyes. They were so dark a brown they seemed to be almost black, with tiny flecks of silver whirling in them.
Straub wore a black shirt and black jeans with silver rivets. A silver snake was embroidered around his black Western boots, and a necklace of raw turquoise hung around his neck. He didn’t appear to be armed.
He walked slowly around the main table, pausing to shake hands with each of the outlanders, muttering their names as if to fix them in his memory.
His clasp was surprisingly strong, his eyes staring intently into Ryan’s face. “Good to have such a large and well-armed party along with us,” he said.
For an odd moment, Ryan felt slightly sick. The food in his mouth tasted of bitter ashes, and he nearly spit it out in the trampled dirt beneath the table.
Then Straub laughed quietly, and it felt like a spell had been broken.
Krysty was next along.
“Ah, the woman with the most wonderful hair of fire in all Deathlands. It is truly an honor to meet with you.” He stooped and kissed her hand.
He paused and paid particular attention to Jak.
“A pure albino. Forgive my using the word, won’t you, young man?”
“Why not? What I am.”
Straub touched the great mane of stark white hair, running his fingers through it and holding the silken strands so that they caught the reflected light from the fire.
He breathed out in a languorous sigh. “Magical. Truly magical. So fine and so long.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” said Mildred, next around the table.
Straub crouched and looked into her eyes. “You know about medicine,” he said in an oddly accusatory manner. “Now, how can that be? I see knowledge that” He straightened, his brow furrowed. “That I don’t understand.”
Mildred saw sudden danger from this strange man, and she quickly changed the subject. “But you don’t think very much of my hair?”
“I like the beading, Mildred Wyeth. But the hair itself is, forgive me, common.”
“Oh, I forgive you. ‘Course I do.”
“Whereas both Krysty and Jak have absolutely wonderful hair. Among the most rare I have seen. And I do know what I’m talking about.”
“You don’t spend all your time with these people?” Trader asked.
Straub looked at him. He ignored the question and asked one of his own. “The suffering has become less over the last two or three years, hasn’t it?”
“That comes under the roof of my fucking business, not yours,” Trader retorted.
“You a seer?” Dean asked. “You can see things about people? Can you?”
“Sometimes, young man. Both Mildred and the venerable Doc have shades to their auras like none I’ve known. And Krysty also.” He shook his head. “But time is wasting and the food is getting cold.”
Ryan felt as though a load had been removed from his shoulders. There had been the bizarre sensation of countless ghostly fingers probing inside his skull, as though they were searching through a cobwebbed attic in an ancient mansion for something valuable long hidden.