Chapter 18: Evil

Cocheta cursed to himself as he pushed his way through the tangle of brush. Both of his slawin had been killed and that damn Mexican had called him out. The Wet-Back actually threatened to kill him, Cocheta, a Brujo of the second order.

"I'll have wolves next time and they'll gnaw on his bones," Cocheta muttered to himself as he pushed through another thicket and emerged on the shoulder of a dirt road. Still muttering to himself he turned left and started walking.

"Kill the baby he said," Cocheta spat. "Mentor never said he had protectors. Master ... I must not think of him as Mentor. He is the Master," Cocheta scolded himself as he walked. He remembered the words and the pain when he called Eli his Mentor.

"Calling me a Mentor makes me think you will want to be my equal some day," Eli had said softly as pain flared through Cocheta's nervous system. "You will never be my equal worm," Eli had said as he bent over Cocheta's writhing body. "You will always be nothing more than my thrall, my slave. Do you understand that worm?"

"Yes Master," Cocheta had screamed. "I won't forget. You are the Master. I am the worm. I won't forget Master."

"I won't forget, Master," Cocheta snarled to himself as he trudged down the road. He heard a car coming up behind him and turning, put his thumb out. He tried to smile but the rictus that appeared on his face was a cross between a grimace and a snarl. The car slowed but, when it got close enough for the driver to see him, started to speed up again. He was too late. Cocheta locked eyes with the driver and commanded the man to stop. The car fishtailed to a stop when a spasm of pain shot down the drivers leg causing him to stomp on the brakes. "That's a lesson I won't forget Master," Cocheta muttered as he walked towards the car. He moved the pain to the man's vocal cords to stop his screaming. People made so much noise when they were in pain.

Cocheta was Navajo and liked the quiet and solitude of the mountains. His Master was a white man, or more accurately, a French/Mexican mixed blood. He liked the hustle and bustle of the cities. His Master liked to hear the screams. Cocheta thought they were bothersome unless they served a purpose like gaining cooperation from someone he couldn't influence.

He opened to passenger door and looked at the man's wife. Cocheta had locked her muscles so she wouldn't start causing trouble. She was frozen in the seat staring straight ahead. Cocheta grabbed her chin and turned her head to face him. He admired the wide terrified eyes that he forced to meet his gaze. He thrilled in the tears flowing down her cheeks. She was pretty in a post-hippy way that Cocheta found amusing and attractive.

Cocheta had laughed at the Hippy movement over the last fifteen years. The intellectualism of the Beatnik movement in the fifties had succumbed to pressure of Hippy's and the anti-war movement in the sixties. Their worship of the lowest common denominator had evolved into a burgeoning political agenda that found a home in one of the political parties during the seventies. Cocheta often said that maybe the Indians still had a chance to win if the whites continued to hamstring themselves.

Cocheta knew that he couldn't win the war with the white-eyes but he could win some of the little battles, like the one with these Hippy wannabes. Cocheta smiled as he tweaked the woman's back muscles and she arched her back which pushed her chest out. He casually caressed then squeezed one of her breasts before nodding his head in satisfaction. This was one of the little battles that he would enjoy fighting, and winning. He released some of her muscles and commanded, "Get in the back seat woman."

He watched as she jerkily climbed out of the front seat. She tried to resist and he let her try. It was fun seeing the pain bloom behind her eyes. She tried to strike him. Cocheta smiled a genuine smile as he manipulated her muscles to let her start to swing at him. Of course, he didn't allow the blow to touch him. The closer her blow came to him the more pain flared in her arm and she dropped to her knees with a whimper. He would train the man and woman the same as he trained his thralls except they would be much easier to train than a wild animal. They didn't have the will of a wild animal. "Get in the back seat woman," Cocheta repeated. He let her struggle for a moment as she tried to resist before increasing the pain.

"I'll do it," the woman panted as she clawed at the door handle. "Please, no more," she gasped as pain seemed to blossom through her body. Cocheta didn't release the pain until she was in the back seat. He smiled to himself as he closed the front door and slid into the back seat beside her.