Free Poltergeist II - The Other Side by James Kahn

this Evil One’s power. Maybe Taylor hadn’t.
    “We start with prayer.” He closed his eyes, lifted his face upward, hummed a powerful, atonal melody, and spoke to the heavens: “Hear me, Kachinas. This boy, whose spirit lives with you in the clouds and who harbors the loneliness of the Navajo within him, would seek your counsel and assistance in helping him ward off this Evil, which surrounds his family, which is in disharmony. Hear me and come.”
    He held his arms outstretched, up toward the sky, and indicated that Robbie should do the same. Robbie did so, with an expression of awe and total dedication.
    Steve saw them like that as he walked from the garage to the front yard—saw them and felt momentarily annoyed. Robbie had never looked at him that way. He said nothing, though, and strode off.
    When Taylor finished his silent supplications he brought his arms down, motioning Robbie to follow. Then, with great moment, he said, “Are you ready now? To do battle with the Evil One?”
    Robbie nodded solemnly.
    “Good. First we must give you a new name—a name to be called, so the power of your true name is not revealed to our enemy. A person’s true name is sacred and should be spoken only rarely.”
    “The power of my true name—you mean Robbie?”
    Taylor nodded, his lips curving down.
    “You mean Taylor’s not your true name?” the boy asked in wonder.
    Taylor shook his head, his lips curving down again.
    “Well, what’ll we call me?”
    Taylor stared at Robbie’s gaping mouth, filled with orthodontic hardware. “From this day,” said Taylor, “you are Iron Jaw.”
    “Wow,” said Robbie, moved. Then, even more quietly: “What’s your true name, Taylor?”
    “Second,” said Taylor, “we must get you the proper totems.” He picked up the quartz crystal and the armadillo scale. “These I give you as gifts—though you will always draw your greatest strength from the things you find or champion or make your own. But these fetishes will be your first, and there is a power in that, too.” Robbie took them ceremoniously as Taylor continued. “The stone is a pecos diamond—it holds light of many colors, and such beauty is a harmonious thing. The other is the scale of an armadillo—it will protect you . . . when I cannot.”
    Robbie stared at his gifts, wide-eyed. “Awesome,” he whispered.
    “And finally,” said Taylor, “we will annoint you in the Battle Ceremony.” He pulled a jar of pigmented dye from his knapsack.
    “War paint!” Iron Jaw said, beaming.
    Yes. He was ready.
    When Diane showed up at the tent an hour later carrying a plate full of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, she was rather upset to find that not only was Robbie’s face painted with sinister green and white designs, but his Louisville Slugger baseball bat, sitting across his lap, had snakes and symbols carved all over it.
    “What’s this?” she asked in as neutral a tone as she could muster.
    “Hi, Mom!” Robbie answered quickly, hoping to forestall the inevitable. “I’m gonna help protect the family.”
    Diane set down the sandwiches. “Go inside and wash your face.”
    “Hey, I can handle this and—”
    “And I’m still your mother. Go inside and wash— now, mister.”
    “Thanks, Mom.” He exited, embarrassed for her more than by her.
    Taylor gazed quietly at Diane. “He wants to be a man.”
    “There are lots of ways to be a man,” said Diane. “I’m not sure wearing war paint is one of them.” She didn’t like war or violence.
    “How would you know?” he asked politely.
    “What?”
    “You are not a man, are you?”
    “Okay, I’m not a man,” she admitted, “but you’re not a mother. It’s my job to do everything I can to make my children part of a normal world—a world of school and friends and lovers, and families of their own someday.”
    “That’s good.” Taylor nodded. He approved, but he didn’t understand the division Diane was making.
    His easy agreement flustered