“Okay, so we’ve got the gifts from all four sacred mountains,” I say to Łizhin. “What’s next?”
Łizhin says, “Our work as heralds is done. We must return to our mountains in case our guardians need us. Na’ashjéii Asdzáá’s house is just across the canyon. We will take you there, but then you must continue your journey without us.”
I stand up and give Łizhin a hug around her neck. “I think I already miss you.”
“And I you, little hero. Now, hop on my back for one last ride. The sun is getting higher and you are running out of time.”
The heralds take us across the gap to the rim of the canyon beyond and there they say their good-byes. After they’re gone, we head up the road they said would take us to our destination.
“There’s something you should know before we get there,” I say as we walk. “Łizhin told me the Spider Woman used to eat children.”
“What?!” Mac says.
“That would have been good information to know beforehand,” Davery observes.
“That’s what I said!”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Yazzie scoffs. “That’s a story from long ago. You’ll all be quite safe.” He cocks his head and eyeballs my brother. “But just in case, maybe Mac should stay close to me.”
“Are you sure this is it?” Mac asks as we make our way up the dusty road. The lushness of Canyon de Chelly is behind us, and if we turn around, we can still see Spider Rock. But up here, on the lip of the canyon, there’s just a trailer home with an old pickup truck in front. I didn’t know what I expected Spider Woman’s house to look like. Maybe a massive web, or a dark cave where you can’t see your hand in front of your face, but there’s nothing like that around here.
We reach the driveway and pause. A sign on top of an old tin mailbox reads THE NA’ASHJéII. RUG WEAVERS EXTRAORDINAIRE! in red and black letters.
“This must be the place. Mr. Yazzie?” I ask, peeking down into the neckline of my hoodie, where our guide is sound asleep again.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t wake him,” Davery says. “He’s probably traumatized after what he went through with Mac.”
“I’m traumatized, too!” Mac mutters. “You don’t see me napping.”
“Don’t be rude. He’s old.” Then, eyeing the trailer door, I say, “Well, we didn’t collect all these gifts just to stand here and not find out whether this is her. Let’s go knock.” I pat the backpack pocket holding our three precious items, touch my mom’s necklace (which I’m wearing for as long as I can) for bravery, and march forward.
I look at the area around the trailer. Besides the truck, there’s a small fenced-in yard with a massive satellite dish and a little toolshed. Thick green extension cords run from the shed to the trailer, and as we get closer, I can hear a television blasting from the home, the laugh track echoing. Seems normal enough. No piles of children’s bones out here. Of course, who knows what’s hiding in that toolshed.
I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and let it out, reminding myself that I’m a descendant of a Hero Twin. I can do this. I think?
I climb the three front stairs and raise my fist. Knock three times, firm and heavy. I hold my breath and wait for the door to open, but nothing happens. Just more fake laughing.
“Do you think maybe she can’t hear us over the TV?” I whisper to Davery.
He shrugs. “I didn’t know spiders liked sitcoms.”
I knock harder. “Hello?” I yell, just in case. “Is anyone home?”
The television shuts off, leaving the yard suddenly quiet. Footsteps clomp across the floor inside as someone comes to the door. I wring my hands nervously.
“Who’s there?” comes a woman’s voice. She doesn’t sound mean, but maybe a little irritated, like we just interrupted her favorite show.
“Sorry to bother you,” I shout, cupping my mouth and leaning close to the door, “but we’re looking for…” I hadn’t thought this through. I can’t say Spider Woman—that would be too weird. Because what if this is the wrong house? Then we’d really have some explaining to do. But I can’t just stand here. I clear my throat and try again. “We’re looking…” And then inspiration hits. “To buy a rug!” Genius, if I do say so myself. If Mrs. Na’ashjéii is just a regular weaver, we won’t seem completely loony showing up at her door.
The door creaks open slowly. I half expect spiders to scuttle out and crawl up my legs, but instead, a beautiful Navajo woman stands there. She’s wearing a black-and-red robe that trails all the way down to her feet, and her long black hair is tied back in a messy bun like one an artist might wear. Small gold-framed glasses perch at the tip of her nose, and she squints down at us. She holds a remote control in one hand, and she props the other on a hip. “You kids want to buy a rug?” she asks skeptically.
“Yes!” I say enthusiastically. Maybe too enthusiastically, because her eyes narrow, and it looks like she might not let us in.
“We would love to see what you have for sale,” Davery adds helpfully, and I sigh with relief. He always knows the right thing to say.
“You would?” she asks, sounding surprised. “Well, come on in, then.” She pushes the door open wide enough to allow us in and walks back into the trailer. The three of us and the sleeping Mr. Yazzie, still tucked in my hoodie, follow her inside.
“You kids want some pop or something?” she asks over her shoulder. “I got Dr. Thunder. That’s it. We’re not fancy in this house.”
The trailer is small and cluttered. The walls are covered with rugs of all sizes and colors. A large weaving loom sits in the middle of the living room, surrounded by three smaller ones, and behind them, attached to the wall, is the biggest TV I’ve ever seen.
“Nice!” Mac says. “That TV has got to be at least seventy inches!”
“Seventy-five,” the woman says, smiling. “You like TV?”
“I prefer YouTube.”
“Too bad,” she says. “There’s some real good shows, especially the telenovelas. So you want some pop, or not?”
Davery and I exchange a look, and Mac nods vigorously, but I’m thinking of the whole eating-children thing. What better way to trap kids for a cook-up than by offering them poisoned Dr. Thunder?
As if she knows what I’m thinking, the woman turns around to fix me with a stare. “I’ve never known a kid to say no to pop, so what’s the problem?”
“We’re watching our sugar,” Davery says quickly.
“We are?” asks Mac, seriously disappointed.
The woman eyes us suspiciously, but I give her a thumbs-up.
“Suit yourself,” she says with a shrug.
“You wove all these rugs yourself ?” I ask. “They’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She gestures toward the looms. “These are the rugs I’m working on right now. There’s more in the shed, but you’d have to wait until my husband comes back to take a look at those. He has the only key. So maybe you can pick one you like now, and I’ll finish it for you.”