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  The Family at Serpiente

  © 2017 by Raymond Tolman

  All Rights Reserved.

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  eBook 978-1-61139-504-4

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Tolman, Raymond, 1948- author.

  Title: The family at Serpiente / by Raymond Tolman.

  Description: Santa Fe : Sunstone Press, [2017] | Series: The Serpent trilogy

  ; volume one | Description based on print version record and CIP data

  provided by publisher; resource not viewed.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016057498 (print) | LCCN 2017011906 (ebook) | ISBN

  9781611395044 | ISBN 9781632931726 (softcover : alk. paper)

  Subjects: LCSH: Indian mythology--Fiction. | Domestic fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3620.O3285 (ebook) | LCC PS3620.O3285 F36 2017 (print)

  | DDC 813/.6--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016057498

  For Judy Tolman,

  My soulmate.

  Preface

  The setting for The Serpent Trilogy is Aztlan, the home of the Ancestral Puebloans that encompasses four modern states with Chaco Canyon in New Mexico being the center of this ancient world. It was the home of a people commonly referred to as the Anasazi. Named by the Navajos, that means ancient enemies. The history of this ancient world has been lost in the sands of time, however new discoveries are continually being made by archeologists and scientists which enlightens our understanding of those ancient people and, in so doing, rewrites the history of this dynamic era.

  Few other regions in this world can boast about such archeological treasures, beautiful scenery, dynamic geology and diverse people as modern New Mexico. Many languages can often be heard wherever people gather in this multicultural landscape. Long ago, forward-thinking and influential individuals recognized the extraordinary cultural heritage of this region. One thing above all that is unique to this region, that cannot be displayed in a museum, purchased or owned, is the profound mysteries that exist throughout this land. One of those mysteries that this novel is based upon is the Native American’s metaphysical belief that serpents are shape-shifters, known as Skin Walkers in their natural form. Archeologists have discovered that serpents have been associated with human civilization, on every continent from the earliest of times. From dragons in China to Quetzalcoatl and Kukulcan in South America, they are an enigma to both the archeologists and historians who document such matters. In the American southwest, serpents known locally as Skin Walkers have always been part of the cultures of the Native Americans and currently feared among those communities.

  However, this novel explores the dynamic interactions between people far more than serpents. The Serpent Trilogy explores the history of the Americas through the eyes of Penny Anderson, a high school junior, who escapes an untenable home situation and flees across the country to join her Uncle and Aunt in Serpiente, New Mexico. The Navajo Hidalgo, a history detective, who works with the family, tries to warn Penny of the dangers of Serpiente. She persists and, in the end, wins the confidence and hearts of this unique family. As a team they uncover the mysterious creatures that have, throughout history, enjoyed vexing and manipulating humans to evolve into warring creatures for their own evil reasons. In time, using the tools of Science and Native American folklore, the detectives discover the secret to making peace with the serpents. Unfortunately, antiquity thieves discover and attack the serpents, resulting in a new war between the human clan and the serpent clan. The family conducts academic field research that reveals the ultimate truth about the serpents, leading to a plethora of other mysteries. This is part of a cautionary tale of both serpents and humans exploring the premise that good and evil are subjective concepts as well as the possibility that, through cooperation, mutually beneficial solutions are the result.

  Long before I decided to become an author, I experienced mysteries while growing up in New Mexico that questioned my outlook on reality and sparked my curiosity in science. As a child I was in awe when I first viewed the beautiful Spiral Staircase of the Loreto Chapel of Santa Fe, which defied construction practices of that time. While deer hunting above Cuba, New Mexico, I found my first dinosaur track, a twelve inch footprint that looked like a huge bird track made in a different age. While visiting the Slick Skillet Turquoise Mine in Manassas, Colorado, I was intrigued as I learned about how deposits of turquoise and other minerals were hidden away during the pueblo revolt. As a student of geology, I wondered what worlds were forever hidden

  Part 1

  The Legend of

  El Montano del Serpiente de Cascabels

  It is not in the stars to hold our destiny

  but in ourselves.

  —William Shakespeare

  Be wise as serpents harmless as doves.

  —Matthew 10:36

  Penny’s Dream

  As I slept I became aware, to my amazement that for some reason flashes of intricately woven patterns of red light appeared in my mind, moving and forming the most detailed tendrils of patterns I could imagine. Normally I would have panicked, experiencing something like this, but I became curiously interested in the light show having never experienced a dream so vivid and inviting. Seeing such transformations was hypnotizing. Then my head bounced just enough to wake me as the Greyhound bus hit a chug hole in the old pavement. Glancing out of the window I could see that the bus was coming into another tiny town, but I could only see the words San Jon on a road sign. In the deadly monotony of the trip I had given up trying to keep up with my location. I only wanted to go back to an undisturbed sleep without having to deal with unwanted attention from unruly male passengers. The bus finally came to a complete stop to exchange a passenger; I had never been so bored in my entire life. For just a moment, I was awake, and then as the bus came to a full stop, I fell back into a deep sleep.

  Then the filaments of color returned and with the same brain chemistry as someone who realizes the epiphany of a great truth, I discovered I was somewhere else, watching a world coalesce around me. There were two other people who seemed eerily familiar to me. Then, in a burst of colors I suddenly became a character in the dream.

  I became mesmerized by the yellow flames of a campfire dancing in the brown eyes of a Navajo man. Except for his eyes he was invisible sitting in the shadows with no real form yet I knew, for some reason that he was Navajo. He looked up at me for just a second, staring into my soul. I ducked his gaze by looking around and pulling my sweater a little tighter over my arms; it was getting cold now that the sun had gone down despite the fire. For some reason I thought to myself that nights in the New Mexico desert should not be so chilly. I glanced uneasily at a young man who appeared to be nervously feeding the crackling campfire, while watching the sparks fly. The sparks flickered upward into the sky producing the most fantastic and intricate swirls of fire I had ever seen, then vanishing into a growing silence. It came to me that only the Navajo seemed at ease in the flickering shadows whereas everyone else felt fear and dread. For a moment I could see many things moving in the otherworldly silhouettes of darkness. Out of the shadows a snake appeared and raised its head as if to strike; it struck but it was too far away to actually s
trike me. It immediately recoiled and then disappeared back into the darkness.

  The panic attack the snake produced lasted only a second but it was incredibly real. Turning and carefully watching where I was stepping, I returned to the confines of the fire circle, casually poking a stick into it creating new spark patterns. I cleared my throat and listened to myself say aloud, “Tell us the story of the serpents, and tell us the legend.” Then I said it again but more softly, “About the serpientes, please tell us about the rattlesnakes.”

  The weathered Navajo sighed and began his tale “It is a story of ages past, and a caution. The serpientes and the people of this country are old, older than you know. Human clans count their lives in generations, rarely being able to trace their lineage back more than a few hundred years. Human historians can trace their history back only a few thousand years, and scientists can trace human ancestry only a few hundred thousand years. Rattlesnake clans, on the other hand, go back much further.

  “Humans have had an intriguing culture, but rattlesnakes have had an enduring culture; their lineage goes back millions of years. To an outsider visiting this lonely planet, the rattlesnake would be considered a far superior creature to the humans. Rattlesnakes have been around a lot longer and are in many ways far more successful than we humans. In fact, I suspect they will still be here long after we are gone! To the human clans with their herpetologists, rattlesnakes can be a mystery and new species are still occasionally being found.”

  The Navajo took a long drink from his coffee cup before he continued. “Unfortunately for the rattlesnake, we are far too large to swallow. However, for a smart rattlesnake we can easily be absorbed into the local food chains. As predatory creatures, rattlesnakes are deadly and almost invisible, easily blending into the environment until an unwary person walks by. After striking, they steal away and hide, feasting on the life energy that you are losing as you die. They allow their prey, even human prey, to crawl off and die, then, while you are decomposing, your worthless carcass attracts all kinds of smaller creatures who will dine on you. The rattlesnake then dines on them!”

  The Navajo seemed amused by his story but the young man and I glanced at each other and shared a feigned grimace of disgust. I found, in that instant that I was absorbed by the mysterious man’s eyes. He was young and his eyes were brilliant blue with what looked like cracked glass in the iris.

  The Navajo says, “Many of my people, and the people who lived here before my ancestors came, hold a unique perspective, an original view of the world.”

  The young man tossed another large piece of wood into the fire and everyone watched the patterns that the sparks made, in my altered state of mind the sparks created a maelstrom of delicate red patterns each punctuated with a spark of light. The Navajo continued, “Well before the non-humans, the early, cruel Spanish, and the barbarians from Texas and beyond to the east, it was the old ones who knew the best stories about rattlesnakes. My people are their descendants, and we are now old ourselves. We are isolated in personal as well as cultural patterns. We are living in a universe constructed from lifetimes of experiences, all held between the wrinkled old ears of our elders. They know the best stories about rattlesnakes from living out among them. But what you need to understand is there is far more out there than mere rattlesnakes.”

  A Visit from a Bruja

  I was instantly awake as an elderly lady wearing a veil over her face and dressed in what looked like funerary attire asked me in Spanish if I would move over, letting her sit down beside me. I had no idea what she was saying but her hand motions were crystal clear. I moved out of her part of the seat, as fast as I could. Sitting stiffly, the elderly lady parked her cane between us but didn’t release her grip on it. The cane was hand carved with the curve forming the head of a snake. Such an inanimate thing, yet it was on guard, with the triangular head always watching. It seemed to repel any thoughts of touching it or the lady.

  Sitting up and looking out of the window I could see nothing; it would be some time before sunrise. Looking at the seat in front of me I wondered if I was still experiencing a dream. I wondered about my sanity. I have never experienced a dream that left me considering my sanity. My mind was in overdrive with nowhere to wander except through my memories. It was as if I had just received an electrical shock.

  Looking over, with a flick of her wrist, the elderly lady adjusted the thin black shawl over her face, disappearing into her own world. Within a minute she was snoring softly, her serpentine cane guarding her, still grasped firmly in her white bony hand.

  I wanted to remember the vision; it seemed that I was familiar with the men in it particularly with the one who played in the fire, but when he looked at me all I ever saw was his eyes. It seemed that we stood there looking into the fire, listening to the Navajo’s words about rattlesnakes. I realized that I could remember everything the Navajo had said even though I did not understand it all. I thought about the word serpientes, the Spanish word for serpents and I knew it was also a place where my relatives lived in New Mexico. I could remember what the Navajo said, but I couldn’t remember what his face looked like. It was all so new to me. I tried hard to think about the faces of the two men. I knew without a doubt I had never seen anyone like them before.

  I was perplexed. Who were these spirits who visited my dream? Oddly, I could remember some details of the dream exactly but other things were very vague. I could remember the eyes of the two men. One naturally looks at the eyes; they are the gateways to the soul, but could not recollect their faces. It seemed that we looked into the fire while the Navajo told his story, and for some reason I was attracted to the one with the cracked blue eyes. Furthermore, I had no idea why I knew that the man was a Navajo. In my experience, growing up in East Tennessee, the only Native American I had ever met was a classmate; popular, smart and athletic. He was well mentioned in the school yearbook. My mother said that his family were Melungions who survived by doing lumber and carpentry work. His mother may well have been Cherokee but she looked to me like everyone else and so did her son. I remember him joking about it when he was filling out the forms every student has to fill out at the beginning of the school year.

  The dream had been far too intense; I could remember every detail of the snake, the cold, and the vivid colors; particularly those that came out of the fire but strangely, I could remember nothing about the two men except for their eyes. Sleep was out of the question, I was afraid to sleep. My muscles were tight, like a runner in the starting blocks. I had never experienced a panic attack such as this one before. Slowly I was able to slow my breathing and began to think about the circumstances that led me to a bus stop in San Jon, New Mexico.

  Memories are very human. They are a recording of our whole life, the essence of who we are. Most memories are like flowers pressed between the pages of a book. Over time they slowly lose their colors and fragrance until they finally crumble into tiny particles and fall from the pages. Humans sometimes rearrange those memories into meaningful patterns that make sense to us but often have little relationship to what actually happened. We don’t remember what really happened, and what we create in our minds becomes what happened. Our memories lie to us. They were not golden times but rather ordinary experiences that are now gold plated. Today’s ordinary experiences will someday become tomorrow’s gold plated memories.

  The things we experience outlast our mortality. Those things are like monuments that people build to honor heroes after they’ve died. They’re like the pyramids that the Egyptians built to honor the pharaohs. Only instead of being made of stone, they’re made out of the memories of our essence.

  We tend to forget what is uncomfortable and remember those times that were fun. We tend to remember the birth of a child but forget the pain of the labor. Perhaps it is a survival mechanism when we humans totally block out some memories, memories of pain and anguish can disappear quickly but some memories can be indelible. I tend to remember every moment of meaningful experiences, particu
larly those connected to grand adventures and fortunately, my life was to become a series of grand adventures linked to a family into which I was adopted. Sitting there in the bus as the first tiny hint of daybreak appeared on the horizon outside of the window, I considered my life story, the story of Penny Anderson.

  Childhood Reflections

  As a child, what few pictures taken of me show a lankly blond girl who would have been labeled as homely. I never thought of myself as particularly good looking. In fact, I thought of myself as being downright ugly and as far as intellect; I was not exactly known as the class valedictorian. I was a misunderstood child who was slowly morphing into a completely different person both physically and mentally.

  Teachers at Camp Creek Elementary School complained to my mother that I had too much energy. I would not sit still in school nor did I seem to care. Life offered too many exciting things to explore and I didn’t need a teacher to explore everything that life offered. Don’t get me wrong, Every once in a while I would take out time to actually look at those spelling words or even watch how the teacher did long division but I sure wasn’t about to waste my precious time practicing those skills. I didn’t need to. I simply looked at a page in a book and could bring the whole page back in my memory as if by magic.

  Much later, I would learn that I had a photographic memory. Unfortunately at the time, a school psychologist labeled me with something called attention deficit disorder; ADHD. The psychologist requested that I be put in special education classes where I could work in a controlled environment. I found myself in classes that were mostly composed of troubled but otherwise ordinary children. I stole the teacher’s answer books and memorized them.