Trail of Lightning (The Sixth World Book 1)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

But I’m no hero. I’m more of a last resort, a scorched-earth policy. I’m the person you hire when the heroes have already come home in body bags.

But saving and finding are two different things.

A hole in the heart is a hole in the heart, no matter what makes it.

I’m not sure what kind of monster I just killed, but I do know he took too damn long to die, and that makes me cautious. Taking the head is about the only way to guarantee he won’t stand up the moment I turn my back.

Neizghání once told me that evil was a sickness. He told me he could see it on people, like a taint. That the bilagáanas had it wrong, and evil wasn’t just some spiritual concept or the deeds of a bad man. It was real, physical, more like an infectious disease. And you could catch evil if something evil got inside you. And once inside you, it could take you over. Make you do evil things. Destroy what you once cared for. Hurt people you wouldn’t have hurt otherwise, and eventually, kill. And if that happened, you ran the risk of becoming just another monster.

The Wall. The Tribal Council approved it back when the Energy Wars first started. Most Diné supported the Wall. We all grew up with the stories that taught us that our place was on our ancestral land, the land within the embrace of the Four Sacred Mountains. Others call the Wall absurd, saying it’s some paranoid attempt at border control that’s destined to fail, just like the wall the doomed American government tried to build along its southern border a few years before the Big Water.

And we were safe. Safe from the outside world, at least. But sometimes the worst monsters are the ones within.

“Greed is universal,” Kai says. His face is thoughtful, his eyes a little distant. “In the Burque we have water barons that are like that. They control everything. Deep wells and waterworks like you’ve never seen. Catchments and evaporators up in the mountains. Water making them wealthy like Renaissance princes.” He pushes his aviators up off his face, squints into the sun. “Seems anywhere there’s a natural resource, there’s someone willing to hoard it for themselves to make more money than they can spend.”

“You said nothing good could come from suffering. I’m saying that’s not always true.”

“That’s what I’m hoping, Mags.” I frown at the unfamiliar name. “You called me that before.” “Mags? It’s a nickname. Do you like it? Someone told me that you’re supposed to give girls a nickname. It makes them like you.” “Someone’s lying to you.”

“Open the front doors,” I say. “Me?” “Yes. I’m the one with the gun, so you’re the one opening the doors.”

“They’re still men,” he says, his voice a deep roll of thunder. “They are still five-fingereds. To call them monsters is to misname them.” “I don’t see how it matters what we call them. Dead is dead.” To me it’s splitting hairs not to think these men monsters. After all, there are plenty of human monsters too, just as twisted and evil as anything supernatural.

“Words matter,” he says. “The name you give things, it forms them when you speak. You must always be careful with your words.”

“Evil is a sickness,”

“Sure. We went to Crownpoint, saw a bunch of dead people, learned about a firestarter, and all I got was this lousy tote bag.”

“If he won’t hurt you, should I really come in waving a shotgun?” Kai whispers, even though we’re alone in the truck. I nod and whisper back, “Sometimes you need to make a good first impression.” The look he gives me is incredulous. “With a shotgun? Who the hell is in there?”

“Prepare, Magdalena. The monsters are coming.”

“The sad truth you do not wish to face, Magdalena, is that sometimes the ones we call our heroes are the greatest monsters of all.”

He calls me “Chíníbaá’,” a traditional Diné name that means “girl who comes out fighting.”

“Some people believe you destroy your enemies by making them your friends.” I mull it over. “Is that what you were doing? Destroying an enemy?” “Wasn’t I?” “I find a gun works pretty well too.”

“I’m just telling you that just because that Neizghání taught you there was one way to skin a cat, it don’t mean it’s the only way to skin a cat. Or that a cat’s gotta be skinned at all.”

“Let’s go, kids. The monsters aren’t going to kill themselves.”

“Being a hero’s not about being perfect. It’s about doing the right thing, doing your best to get the people you care about home safely.

You’re a girl, so they’re already betting hard against you,

“Maybe you should thank me.” “Fuck you,” I spit.

“Yeah, hoping to find the CliffsNotes to ‘How to Kill an Immortal Warrior who Just Kicked Your Ass and Defeat an Army of Flesh-Eating Monsters,’ but it’s not here.” I tap an empty spot on the shelf. “I guess Grace misplaced it.” “Ah,” Kai says, coming into the room. “It’s very popular. I’m sure someone borrowed it and forgot to return it.” “Those bastards.”

“Speaking of healing, how do you feel?” I sigh and lean against the bookcase, some of the levity of the moment gone. “Rode hard and put up wet,” I admit. He looks at me blankly. “I have no idea what that means.” “Such a city boy.” “Guilty as charged.”