WARNING: What ain’t mine, ain’t mine. Also, any Hopi words cannot be guaranteed to be 100% accurate. Liberties may have been taken. This is a work of fiction.

The New Warrior Maiden

Chapter 1 – Raccoon Maiden of the Stars

8-23. In the year 2025, August 23rd became the new September event that would very quickly be dubbed “The Decimation” occurred. At the G-9 summit in Shanghai, China, a teleport-bomb killed the British Prime Minister and the American President, and at the same time, several different evil groups laid claim to parts of the planet.

On the night of the 25th, in a house, in a village on the Third Mesa, in the Hopi Land, in Arizona, the United States of America, a girl was having a nightmare. She bolted upright, and an unearthly scream erupted from her mouth.

She looked around. She was still in her home in the Rez. Check. She still lived with her brother and mother. Check. Her father, Miro Sefiewa, died a long time ago, and not just a few moments ago. Check. And…the world had still come unglued. Check. Stella Laaya Kalashiavumaana Kokyang-Sefiewa went to a mirror, and noticed her bloodshot orange eyes. Ever since the Decimation happened, since she heard that President Sandra Anya Frasier was dead, and the replacement started acting weird, she hadn’t been able to get much sleep. And her fur was a mess.

She was different from almost everyone else on the Mesa. Her mother, who was still alive, was human, and Hopi, of the Kokyang or Spider Clan. From her late father, a Ya’a Naomi, she got the brown fur covering her, the raccoon-like face, complete with black rings around her eyes, claws, and a ringed tail, or sua’a in Naomian. The only other one like her in all of Hopi-land was her younger brother, Phil Yafala Kalashiavutaaka Kokyang-Sefiewa.

A deep breath filled her lungs, and she thought about the nightmare she had, one she last had in the year 2014, when she was six, when her world was shattered before. The nightmare was a replay of events. The first vivid thing she remembered was a large sign. Just a couple of days before that her father had pointed out it had a big “THANK YOU” on it. An old pickup truck crashed into the sign, causing it to bend over. It was a picture of several Koshare, or “Hopi Clowns”, with their distinct black-and-white stripes, carrying cameras and recording equipment, and a likeness of the Crow Mother Katsina (or “Kachina”) holding her hand in the “stop right there” pose, and the text said “SACRED AREA: Respect the village. Thank you for not photographing, recording or documenting in public areas beyond this point. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE CEREMONIAL DANCES TO BE RECORDED! Thank you for your understanding. ~Hopi Tri-Mesa Tribal Council”

The people who exited the pickup were hardly understanding. They all wore white suits, dark flak jackets, and sunglasses, and most of them wore dark traffic-cone shaped capotains, or “Pilgrim Hats.” But one of them wore a hardhat, one had a military officer’s cap, and yet another one wore a white conical hood that only had holes for the eyes. They carried a mixture of guns, knives and blunt objects. Joining the pickup was a squad of men on motorcycles.

“We heard you injuns have Outers among yourself. That ain’t right. We killum raccoons for you…” she didn’t hear the rest of the speech, as her mother quickly pulled Laaya and Yafala away from the men, and they were rushed home. Loud noise erupted. Gunfire. She and her brother were rushed into a back room in their house. Her brother was crying, and her parents were doing everything they could to reassure them that things would be alright.

She wished her parents were right then. It was amazing how while most things were a blur, she remembered that day quite well. That very morning, Miro had promised to drive the family to dinner that night.

The gang, a White supremacist group called the New Pilgrims, broke into her home, and went on a rampage. The man in the hardhat carried a chainsaw, and said he was “done ready to cut them furry young ‘uns in half an’ use their fur.” But his leader spared them from such a fate. Instead, Miro was dragged out, dragged to the public square, where ceremonial dances were often performed.

She remembered how her father was dressed that day, in an aqua “Hopiness is a Warm Sun” t-shirt with an image of Tewa, and a diagonally checkered laari, or Naomian men’s sarong. New Pilgrims took turns punching him in the stomach and the head, and the leader kicked him in the groin. The pickup truck drove over to him and turned around, revealing that the back bed had a mounted motorized Gatling gun. A pair of Pilgrims kept onlookers from interfering, and others grabbed Laaya and Yafala and forced them to watch their father. The gun revved up, and when the barrels were at full speed, gunfire erupted, quickly reducing Miro into a bloody mess, while the Pilgrims laughed, and some of them fired off celebratory gunshots. When the gun was turned off, many of them were ululating, in a “mock Native” manner. “You’re next,” Laaya was told, but she was never put before the gun, as loud sirens blared, and several police helicopters hovered overhead. The Quadri-state Pueblo-Diné Joint Tribal Territorial Police S.W.A.T. team descended from the choppers, and a quick fight broke out. The Pilgrims were defeated, with most of them still alive.

For just over a decade, the dreams left her alone, but since the Decimation, they had come back. She got herself a glass of water. Something else went through her head. A story told to her by her Suo’o, meaning grandmother in Hopi. It was about He’e’e, the warrior maiden. In a society that prized peace, even leading to their proper name, “Hopituh Shi-nu-mu” which means “The Peaceful People”, it was even more of an anomaly than in other Native groups that had more warriors. But she had to defend her village when no warriors were on hand. Laaya was quite agile, and quick. Being part Ya’a Naomi, she had retractable claws. With refinement, she could use them the way ninjas used neko-te or “cat’s claws.”

She was told many times “don’t make a rash decision.” But things were different. The Quadri-state Pueblo-Diné Joint Tribal Territorial Police had just been disbanded by Presidential decree, and martial law was declared, but, predictably, that part meant nothing in Hopi land, there was “nothing of interest” in the area, according to the powers that were in Washington.

She gathered some clothing. She had a pair of worn out old moccasins, that weren’t that good for anything. She removed the bottom, as Ya’a Naomi feet were made for all surfaces, unlike those of human. Her feet each had five equal toes that were spread out, marking one thing that was neither human nor raccoon about the Ya’a Naomi. She wrapped an orange and yellow manta, or wrap dress, and secured a black and red belt to keep it in place. She put on several necklaces, finishing with a traditional Naomian flower necklace, and put on a crown of leaves, also a Naomian accessory. She wore items that honored the two parts of her heritage. Her father was a son of the Goddess YaYa, after whom the homeworld of the Ya’a Naomi, YaYa-Niaferia, is named. Her mother was a daughter of Tewa, the Sun. She decided on a name as well. “He’e’e-Yania”, honoring both He’e’e, from the Hopi legend, and the word “Yania”, Naomian for “woman.”

She walked back to her bed, and fell onto it, abruptly.

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“Laaya,” called a man’s voice. Laaya looked around. She was in a strange place, it was like a cave, but no walls, and columns everywhere. “LAAYA!” yelled the voice. She saw her father.

“Aren’t you dead, Afatua (Dad)?”

“Yes, but you are not. You did not have a random thought. You have great potential in you. On both of your sides, there is great knowledge, on both of your sides, there is a gift, of great powers. Use them well.” He hugged her, but then disappeared, and she flew between the columns at high speed, while hearing the ramping up music from the Beatles’ A Day In The Life.

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“STELLA!” yelled another voice, this time female. Her eyes slowly opened, to see it was the day. She looked around, and standing above her, was her mother. She had long black hair, and almond eyes. A look of consternation adorned her face. “Stella Laaya Kalashiavumaana, why are you dressed like that? Is something wrong with your sleeping-yara?”

A yara meant a kind of loose Naomian dress. She slept in them, because they were comfortable, and the ones she got from her Dad’s homeworld already had a tail-hole. Other clothing had to have tail-holes made, as finding clothing for anyone with a tail in the general area was hard at best. There was a nasty boy who told her that there were skirts with tail-holes on sale in a store in Tuba City a year ago, when she went with her mother, the boy was already there, and laughed at her. It was a cruel joke.

“This isn’t like you. You’re usually up with the sun!”

“I had problems falling asleep, Mom!”

“In that outfit? Of course you would.”

“No. I was in my night-yara before. But I had the dream again. The one where the Pilgrims…”

“I thought you stopped having those, Stella!”

“Mom, things aren’t the same. The new President is weird, and the radio says that all the countries…”

“We’re in the safest place in the continent. Nobody cares about us. Don’t worry. Your father wouldn’t want that.”

“My Dad spoke to me, in another dream. I was told I have great knowledge and a gift of great powers, from both sides. And this was after I put on the manta and leaves and…”

“But what does your dream mean? Are you going to become a super hero?”

“Yes,” was Stella’s reply.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?” she asked. “Stella, it is very dangerous!”

“I care about you.”

“THEN DON’T DO IT!”

“I want to be like He’e’e, I remember Suo’o telling me about the Warrior Maiden. And she told me that dreams reach beyond the universe, they…”

“He’e’e? HE’E’E? Kalashiavumaana, He’e’e just fought off some Navajos who had arrows. He’e’e would be dead in today’s world. The entire Posse superhero team was slaughtered last Christmas in Japan, or have you forgotten? Stella, I don’t want to loose you or Phil like I lost my husband.” She broke into tears.

Stella did her best to calm down her mother. “Mom, I won’t do anything rash.”

“You won’t just run out and…”

“I’ll change into something else, Mom, and do what I was going to do. I’ll go to the store, and this afternoon there’s a dance at the public square.”

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A Four Corners Transport bus pulled up to the side of a road near the foot of the Third Mesa. A signpost, just showing a Tewa symbol and “Third Mesa”, stood at the side, as did a small parking lot, with a drug store and a café next to it. A man stepped off the bus. Dust billowed from him as he walked, and dust made his blue jeans almost brown. Above his waist, he wore a plaid shirt. A grey mustache was the only hair he had, and a John Deere cap graced his head. He carried a pair of duffel bags. The bus driver waved at him, but the man didn’t reply. As he closed the door, he whistled a generic blues tune. In the bus-driver’s mind, the dusty man who stepped off the bus seamed a bit cliché, he was expecting to hear resonator guitars twanging, and the man to speak with a Southern accent. The man was surprisingly silent, though.

As the bus took off, the man grabbed his bags and started up to the Mesa. “I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said. “And there ain’t no police now. I’ve got me some skinnin’ to do!”

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Later that day, Stella headed with Phil to the public square. They were both going to take part in a Butterfly dance. Both of them wore large butterfly wings on their backs, as well as necklaces and feathers. She wore a belted manta with geometric designs and her “bottom-less moccasins.” He was in a belted sarong-like garment with elaborate geometric designs, and footgear similar to his sister’s. Both stood out because of their fur, faces, feet, and tails. A steady drum beat, rhythmic singing, and shaking of bells and rattles were the sounds of the dance. A mixture of Hopi and tourists watched with an indescribable awe. It was a dance, like many other Hopi dances, to call for rain, a rarity in this part of the country.

All that worried Stella before was at the back of her mind. That would shortly change. She and Phil, being Ya’a Naomi and having more sensitive hearing, were the first to hear something that wasn’t in harmony with the drums. A rather distinct buzzing noise. They thought nothing of it, until the buzz was punctuated with a few loud roars. The drumming stopped, and people started speaking. Then they saw what the interruption was. The man in the plaid shirt, who was also wearing a hardhat, goggles, and earplugs. And brandishing a chainsaw.

“I’m glad I got all of y’all attention. I was put away for many years. And now I’ve come to finished what I started. I’m gonna skin me some live raccoon!” He revved the chainsaw for effect. “I’ll hang them heads on my rearview mirror!” He faced Stella and Phil. “I’m talking about you!”

Almost everybody else was fleeing. “STELLA!” yelled their mother, as she grabbed Phil’s hand, and guided him away. She ran between Stella and the maniac. “She’s my daughter!”

“Move, squaw, or my Automatic Beaver will move your head off your body!” She did not move, until Stella yanked her, and she moved in front.

“You don’t want my mother, you want ME!”

“You’re damn right!”

“Come catch me!” She ran away from her mother, and around a house, while the maniac followed her.

“You think this chainsaw is heavy? I’m a real man, I’ll get you, and then you’ll get it!”

He chased her up a short staircase, but she tripped at the top. He raised the chainsaw as he ran, and prepared to strike Stella and rip her apart with the motorized metal teeth. Stella rolled out of the way, so the chainsaw blade bounced on the ground and kicked up a cloud of smoke. The man coughed, before looking around and seeing where Stella was going. He revved up the chainsaw again, and rushed after her. People were watching through windows, all afraid he would turn on them in any moment.

Stella came to a tree, which she started to climb. There weren’t that many around, given the climate, so she was fortunate. He wouldn’t be able to get me up here, she thought. She was able to climb it quickly, but quickly discovered her mistake. “I’m a lumberjack, and you’re NOT ok!” He started to a sideways cut through the tree. Stella leapt off just before it collapsed. She picked up a medium sized rock, and threw it at him. It hit his back, and he stumbled. “FUCK YOU!” He turned around until he could see her, and chased after her again. She saw her mother and brother running out from their house in the distance, and that gave her an idea. She didn’t want to put her family at risk.

She dashed in through the open door, and ran aside. The maniac was slow. She found a large decorated pot. She had to improvise. Then she climbed out through a window.

With a loud thud, the pot was slammed onto his head from behind. “WHO TURNED OFF THE LIGHTS? IS THIS SOME MAGIC?” he screamed. Stella’s claws were thrusted into his back and they scratched sharply. “GET OFF ME!” With a jerk, he threw Stella backwards. He didn’t bother to remove the pot from his head, but instead, opted to rev the chainsaw. “I’ll just kill EVERYONE!” He spun around with the chainsaw, while ululating. She threw some pebbles at him, and he changed from spinning to just running towards her, still not removing the pot.

She wondered how he could sense her. Was he like a bat or something? Yet how would he be able to feel noise when the chainsaw motor was running full blast? It didn’t matter, all that mattered was she get out of the way. She came to a wooden pole. It was for supporting electrical wires, as many wires in the area were still not buried. This pole, however, also had an electrical transformer, inside a sturdy box. It was just above her head. She had an idea.

From her mouth came forth every imaginable insult in English, Hopi and Naomian, with a couple of Spanish and Diné (Navajo) thrown in for variety.

“I’m gonna slice you in half!” He raised the chainsaw above his head and ran forward.

Stella rolled out of the way and lay low on the ground. When the chainsaw blade cut through the casing, a shower of sparks flew in all directions, and smoke erupted, as though a volcano had sprouted out of the support pole. Lightning arced, and the maniac was thrown backwards, smoke coming out of his skin. The chainsaw flew backwards, and the blade broke when it hit the ground. A moment later, the gas tank of the device burst into flames. The pot cracked, revealing that the man’s face was also burned. He stood up, although barely.

“Come on,” he mumbled, “I will win, I am better!” He used incomprehensible slurred gibberish, and fell onto the ground.

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The Kalashiavumaana had become the local hero, for how she dealt with the chainsaw-wielding maniac. An impromptu gathering gave all villagers a chance to meet the newest hero, who decided she would call herself He’e’e-Yania. She showed up in the same garb she had put on in the middle of the night before.

“I am Hopi and I am Naomian. My mother, Diamond-Lucie, is a daughter of Tewa. My dad, the late Miro, was a son of YaYa. Yania means girl or woman in Naomian. He’e’e was the warrior maiden. So I am He’e’e-Yania.”

They were delighted, but at the same time, worried. That a hero was needed for their area, meant bad things. But that was the reality.

That night, Stella slept much better.

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A few miles away, and underneath the ground, a worm-shaped drill-tipped vehicle emerged into an enormous underground chamber. Small white LED lights ran along the length of the vehicle. Floodlights emerged from the sides to illuminate the room, and a plug door came out and slid open, with a staircase descending. Out of the vehicle stepped four individuals. The first one looked human, except for pink worm-like skin and a deformed face. He wore brown pants, a lab coat, and a doctor’s headband-light.

“Very interesting,” he observed. He looked around, and noticed artwork on the walls. “This seems like Pueblo artwork, and the chamber resembles one of their underground worship chambers, but there is no ladder.”

“Why are we here again, Dr. Worm?” asked the second one, who was in a blue bodysuit with gold accents, and golden rings around the shoulders that resembled electron paths. On the chest was a golden P, also surrounded by electrons. On his back was a large back-pack, and his hands wore gauntlets with attached electrodes. “This looks like some kind of temple, are we going to play Indiana Jones?”

“Please, Particle Man, this is much more than that. There is a layer of unusually impenetrable bedrock beneath us, and surrounding much of this chamber. There are unusual energy signatures below. And we have full carte blanche to investigate, because the government is now on our side, with the Syndicate of Sin having orchestrated their clever switch scheme, accelerated by a convenient teleport bomb in Shanghai. This may only be an archaeological interest, then again, this may be something more.”

“He is right,” said the only woman in the group. She had a short build, long black hair, an Asian complexion, and wore a modest yellow nightdress, and a necklace with a moon on it. “A few cultures have a saying that behind the myths and legends is the truth. So say the Naomians, but they were not the only people to have that. There is a Hopi legend about humanity having come out of a world beneath ours, through a kiva.”

“And what’s a kiva?” demanded Particle man, “is that a kind of wormhole?”

“Actually, it is one of the sacred underground chambers used by the Pueblo people for ritual. The sacred societies of men meet in such places. Many kivas have a symbolic depression in the ground to symbolize the hole from the previous world. Whether or not humanity did indeed come through a hole, such a gateway to another world may indeed exist. Possibly a ge’ho or semi-dimension.”

“And if that is the case,” added Dr. Worm, “then we must know, and I must have the power.”

“That would be mighty fine,” said the last one, who wore a fringed jacket, jeans, and a cowboy hat with a Roman numeral for 3 on the hatband. Sunglasses hid his eyes. “Power is always mighty good, yee-haw!”

“Number Three, Don’t…” pleaded the woman, but her plea fell on deaf ears as he pulled out a pair of guns, aimed them upwards, and fired off a bunch of shots. There was an unusual echo.

“What’s the matter, Sullen Moon, you hate it when I do this?” He fired his guns some more.

“Yes, I do!”

“But Number Three’s antics have yielded a valuable piece of information,” noted Dr. Worm. “This is much larger than a normal kiva.” He produced something that resembled a pistol, and attached a pair of wires from it to the vehicle, and pressed a couple of buttons. “Observe!”

He squeezed the trigger, and a series of lasers shot forth in different directions. A few beeps were heard, and an automatic voice spoke up. “242 metres to wall, 50 metres to ceiling.”

“This place is indeed big,” added Sullen Moon. “Let the light SHINE!” She held up her hands, and all of the room started to glow, revealing extensive pictographs, and the structure of the room. Along the wall ran a platform that ramped on two of the sides, and an occasional bridge crossed over the gap. Two such bridges existed. At the bottom, there was a large square platform, which surrounded a large hole. Sullen Moon peered over the precipice of the platform she was on, and stared down to the hole. Its sides angled closer, like an inverted pyramid, and ladders could barely be made out.

“You could fit a small aircraft carrier in this chamber, why you would want to would be anybody’s guess,” mused Dr. Worm. “But if there is nothing else, this will make an excellent new headquarters for our operation. We still have supplies to obtain, to install electricity and lighting, and find out what is at the bottom of the hole.”

To be continued…

SPECIAL THANKS: Cristal-Marie “Chii” AKA Tang’aquamaana, gave me a couple of pointers and stuff, and she kind of was the inspiration in a way for the main character.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: So here is another story in the RSU (Ra’akone Showstopper Universe). So, what is in that hole there? You’ll find out soon enough. Ditto for Kalashiavumaana’s powers.