“Someone please cancel Supernatural already and give us at least five seasons of this badass indigenous monster-hunter and her silver-tongued sidekick.” —The New York Times
“An excitingly novel tale.” —Charlaine Harris, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Sookie Stackhouse series and Midnight Crossroads series
“Fun, terrifying, hilarious, and brilliant.” —Daniel José Older, New York Times bestselling author of Shadowshaper and Star Wars: Last Shot
“[C]rafts a powerful and fiercely personal journey through a compelling postapocalyptic landscape.” —Kate Elliott, New York Times bestselling author of Court of Fives and Black Wolves
While most of the world has drowned beneath the sudden rising waters of a climate apocalypse, Dinétah (formerly the Navajo reservation) has been reborn. The gods and heroes of legend walk the land, but so do monsters.
Maggie Hoskie is a Dinétah monster hunter, a supernaturally gifted killer. When a small town needs help finding a missing girl, Maggie is their last best hope. But what Maggie uncovers about the monster is much more terrifying than anything she could imagine.
Maggie reluctantly enlists the aid of Kai Arviso, an unconventional medicine man, and together they travel the rez, unraveling clues from ancient legends, trading favors with tricksters, and battling dark witchcraft in a patchwork world of deteriorating technology.
As Maggie discovers the truth behind the killings, she will have to confront her past if she wants to survive.
Welcome to the Sixth World.
About the Author
Rebecca Roanhorse is speculative fiction writer and Nebula, Hugo, and Sturgeon Award Finalist. She is also a 2017 Campbell Award Finalist for Best New Science Fiction and Fantasy writer. Her novel Trail of Lightning is the first book in the Sixth World series, followed by Storm of Locusts in 2019. She lives in northern New Mexico with her husband, daughter, and pug. Find more at RebeccaRoanhorse.com and follow her on Twitter at @RoanhorseBex.
Read an Excerpt
Trail of Lightning
The monster has been here. I can smell him.
His stench is part the acrid sweat of exertion, part the meaty ripeness of a carnivore’s unwashed flesh, and part something else I can’t quite name. It fouls the evening air, stretching beyond smell to something deeper, more base. It unsettles me, sets my own instincts howling in warning. Cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.
I can also smell the child he’s stolen. Her scent is lighter, cleaner. Innocent. She smells alive to me, or at least she was alive when she left here. By now she could smell quite different.
The door to the Lukachukai Chapter House swings open. A woman, likely the child’s mother, sits stone-faced in an old dented metal folding chair at the front of the small meeting room. She’s flanked by a middle-aged man in a Silver Belly cowboy hat and a teenage boy in army fatigues who looks a few years younger than me. The boy holds the woman’s hand and murmurs in her ear.
Most of the town of Lukachukai is here too. For support or for curiosity or because they are drawn to the spectacle of grief. They huddle in groups of two or three, hunched in morose clumps on the same battered gray chairs, breathing in stale air made worse by the bolted-up windows and the suffocating feel of too many people in too small a space. They are all locals, Navajos, or Diné as we call ourselves, whose ancestors have lived at the foothills of the Chuska Mountains for more generations than the bilagáanas have lived on this continent, who can still tell stories of relatives broken and murdered on the Long Walk or in Indian boarding schools like it was last year, who have likely never traveled off the reservation, even back when it was just a forgotten backwater ward of the United States and not Dinétah risen like it is today. These Diné know the old stories sung by the hataalii, the ancient legends of monsters and the heroes who slew them, even before the monsters rose up out of legend to steal village children from their beds. And now they are looking to me to be their hero.
But I’m no hero. I’m more of a last resort, a scorched-earth policy. I’m the person you hire when the heroes have already come home in body bags.
My moccasins make no noise as I cross the cracked tile floor to stand in front of the mother. Whispered conversations hush in my wake and heads turn to stare. My reputation obviously precedes me, and not all of the looks are friendly. A group of boys who must be the teenage boy’s friends loiter along the far wall. They snicker loudly, eyes following me, and no one bothers to shush them. I ignore them and tell myself I don’t care. That I’m here to do a job and get paid, and what Lukachukai thinks of me beyond that doesn’t matter. But I’ve always been a terrible liar.
The mother has only one question for me.
“Can you save her?”
Can I? That’s the real question, isn’t it? What good are my skills, my clan powers, if I can’t save her?
“I can find her,” I say. And I can, no doubt. But saving and finding are two different things. The mother seems to sense that, and she shuts her eyes and turns away from me.
With a clearing of his throat, the man in the cowboy hat pushes himself up from his chair. He’s wearing old faded Levi’s that probably fit ten years ago but now shrink back to leave his belly protruding over his belt buckle. A similarly ill-fitting cowboy shirt covers his aging paunch, and the look he gives me through bloodshot eyes tells me he’s already in mourning. That maybe he doesn’t believe much in saving either.
He introduces the mother, the boy, and then himself. First and last name, and then clans, like you’re supposed to. He’s the missing girl’s uncle, the boy is her brother. They are all Begays, a last name as common here as Smith is to the bilagáanas. But his clans, the ancestral relations that make him Diné and decide our kinship obligations, are unfamiliar to me.
He pauses, waiting for me to give my name and clans so he and the others can place me in their little world, decide our relations and what k’é they might owe me. And what k’é I owe them. But I don’t oblige him. I’ve never been much for tradition, and it’s better all around if we just stay strangers.
Finally, the older Begay nods, understanding I’m not inclined toward proper Diné etiquette, and gestures to the cloth bag at his feet. “This is all we have for trade,” he says. His hands tremble as he speaks, which makes me think he’s as bad a liar as I am, but he raises his chin defiantly, eyes wide under the brim of his hat.
I step forward and crouch to look through the bag, doing the quick math in my head. The silver jewelry is nice—beads, old stampworked bracelets, a few small squash blossoms—even if the turquoise is sort of junk, missing the spidery veins that make the rocks worth big trade. I can exchange the silver for goods at the markets in Tse Bonito, but the turquoise is useless, no more than pretty blue stones.
“The turquoise is shit,” I tell him.
A loud grunt and the brother pushes his chair back. The metal feet screech across the tile in protest. He makes a show of crossing his arms in disgust.
I ignore him and look back at the uncle. “Maybe you should find someone else. Law Dogs or Thirsty Boys.”
He shakes his head, his moment of bravado leaking away under the weight of limited options. “We tried. Nobody came. We wouldn’t have sent a runner if we weren’t . . .”
Desperate. He doesn’t have to say it. I get it.
The runner was a kid on a motorbike. Short and squat, so runner was a bit of a misnomer, but he wore a pair of ancient Nikes, duct tape wrapped carefully thick around the toe and reinforcing the seam at the heel, so what do I know? He sat in my yard with the bike’s motor idling loudly, making my dogs bark. I came to the door to tell him to go the hell away. That I wasn’t in the monster-hunting business anymore. But he told me Lukachukai needed help and nobody else would come and there was a little girl and besides they were paying. I said it wasn’t my problem, but the kid was persistent, and the truth was I was interested. All I’d been doing the past nine months was staring at the walls of my trailer, so what else did I have to do? Plus, I was getting low on funds and could use the trade. So when the kid refused to leave, I decided I’d go to Lukachukai. But now I’m starting to regret it. I’d forgotten in my months of self-imposed isolation how much I hate a crowd, and how much a crowd hates me.
The uncle spreads his hands, eyes begging where words fail. “I thought, maybe once you saw . . .”
And I do see. But I figure the Begays are holding out. Maybe they don’t want to pay because I’m a woman.
Maybe because I’m not Him.
“This is bullshit,” the brother says loudly, and his challenge sends a nervous titter rippling through the gathering. “What can she do that we can’t do?” He gestures to encompass his posse of friends along the wall. “Clan powers? She won’t even tell us what her clans are. And Neizghání’s apprentice? We only have her word for it.”
At the mention of Neizghání’s name my heart speeds up and I can’t breathe past the knot in my throat. But I force myself to swallow down the familiar hurt, the ache of abandonment. The pathetic flutter of desire. I haven’t been Neizghání’s anything for a long while now.
“Not just her word,” the uncle says. “Everyone says it.”
“Everyone? Everyone says she’s not right. That she’s wrong, Navajo way. That’s what everyone says.”
A general burst of murmuring through the crowd, comparing notes on my wrongness, no doubt. But the uncle quiets them down with a flapping wave of his hands.
“She’s the only one who came. What do you want me to do? Send her away? Leave your sister out there at night with that thing that took her?”
“Send me!” he shouts.
“No! The mountain’s no place to be after dark. The monsters . . .” His eyes flicker to me, the person he is willing to send up the mountain after dark. But there’s nothing like consternation on his face. After all, he’s paying me to risk my life, although it’s a pretty stingy deal. The nephew is a relative, and another matter. “We already lost one,” he finishes weakly.
For a moment the boy looks like he’ll challenge his uncle, but he catches his mother’s gaze and his shoulders fall. He exhales loudly and slumps in his seat. “I’m not scared,” he mutters, a final volley. But it’s not true. He’s all show in those army castoffs and he surrendered quick enough. I glance over at his boys against the wall. Quiet now, looking everywhere but at their friend. I revise his age down a few years.
I let my eyes drift toward the boarded-up window where outside the sun is swiftly setting. If I had a watch, I’d make a show of checking it.
“Seems to me all this talk is just wasting my daylight,” I tell them. “Pay me what I’m worth and let me do my job or don’t pay and let me go home. Makes no difference to me.” I pause before I look at the mother. “But it might make a difference to your daughter.”
The boy flinches. I get a small tick of pleasure watching him flush in shame before a voice cuts through the heavy air.
“Do you have clan powers?” It’s the first thing the mother’s said since she asked if I could find her daughter. She seems startled by her own outburst and raises her hands as if to cover her mouth. But she stops short, lowers her hands to her lap, and grips the fabric of her long skirt before she adds quietly, “Like him, the Monsterslayer. The rumor is you do. That he taught you. That you’re . . . like him.”
I’m not like Neizghání, no. He is the Monsterslayer of legend, an immortal who is the son of two Holy People. I’m human, a five-fingered girl. But I’m not exactly normal, either, not like this brother and his friends. If the others asked, the boy or the uncle, I would refuse. But I won’t deny a grieving mother.
“Honágháahnii, born for K’aahanáanii.” Only my first two clans, but that’s enough.
The crowd’s muttered suspicions rise to vocal hostility, and one of the boys barks something ugly at me.
The mother stands up, back straight, and silences the crowd with a hard stare. Her eyes fill with something fierce that stirs my sympathy in spite of my best efforts not to give a damn. “We have more,” she says. The uncle starts to protest, but she cuts him off, her voice louder, commanding. “We have more trade. We’ll pay. Just find her. Find my daughter.”
And that’s my cue.
I roll my shoulders, shifting the shotgun in the holster across my back. Habit makes me briefly palm the belt of shotgun shells at my waist and the Böker hunting knife sheathed against my hip. Fingertips brush the throwing knives tucked in the tops of my moccasin wraps, silver on the right, obsidian on the left. I sling my pack over my shoulder and turn on silent feet, moving through the muted crowd. Keep my head up, my hands loose, and my eyes straight ahead. I push the door open and step out of the stifling Chapter House just as the brother shouts, “What if you don’t come back?”
I don’t bother to answer. If I don’t come back, Lukachukai’s got bigger problems than one missing girl.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I have been waiting to read this for FOREVER. Soon as I was approved, I kept making excuses on why I had to read it right then. I really wanted to love this book, but it ended up being just ok. I mean, there are TWO monster fighting scenes in the whole book about a monster slayer! Maggie Hoskie has been walking the earth with fellow five fingereds and even gods and heroes. But this also means there are monsters not far behind. After fighting off one for a small town, Maggie learns there is something way larger at stake. She and her "friend" Kai have to race the monsters to keep the five fingereds safe. I really liked certain things about this book, but others, not so much. One of the things I didn't care for, was the fact that this book was about a Navajo monster slayer, AND THERE ARE TWO MONSTER FIGHTS IN THE WHOLE BOOK. This book is over 300 pages and there are only two fights in the whole thing. I was just disappointed in it. Call me terrible, but I wanted to see more fighting and more monster slaying. "Retired" or not, I just wish there had been more. However, I really LOVED the Navajo myths and legends and how they were depicted. THIS is the magic of #ownvoices y'all! I found myself getting swept away to Maggie world and wanting to understand it all, so I went and looked up some of their myths and legends and their gods and heroes to get more information on them. It was so interesting and I loved seeing the twists and turns that resulted in the one that this book was about. Then there was the writing style. It wasn't my favorite, but it wasn't BAD either. It just seemed like a filler; like it had second book syndrome, but it was the first one. (I'm not sure how else to explain it.) But, with the events from this book, the sequel will be EPIC and I can't wait to see what happens to a certain someone and I can't wait to see what will become of them. This wasn't exactly the read I was expecting, but it was entertaining. And it taught me so much. And that's how I know that I've fallen for a book. If it can entertain me and teach me at the same time, then I know that this book was what I needed.
Rebecca Roanhouse’s Trail of Lightning is a ferocious and intoxicating fantasy novel that will keep readers on the edge of their seat from start to finish. Maggie Hoskie only knows how to do one thing well: kill monsters. Not a bad skill when you live in a world where monsters walk the land, lying in wait for their next victim. Ever since her mentor abandoned her, Maggie’s been going it alone. When a job brings her into contact with a monster whose behavior deviates greatly from the ones she’s been hunting for years, she stumbles upon a mystery. Someone is using witchcraft to create these creatures. With little to go on, Maggie must accept help from Kai Arviso, a medicine man in training whose amicable disposition is a far cry from Maggie’s often hostile personality. Their journey leads them to more questions than answers and closer to an enemy that may be impossible to kill. Rare is the book that strikes a perfect balance between world-building and characterization, but Trail of Lightning does just that. Roanhouse’s post-apocalyptic setting sets the stage for a dangerous and unpredictable world. While much of the world outside Dinétah has been decimated, the reservation has protected itself with the Wall, meant to keep out the chaos that followed a series of environmental catastrophes. But resources inside the reservation continue to grow scarce and the Wall had no way of protecting the people from the monsters within. There are also the Diyn Dine’é, the “Holy People”, godlike beings who have once again emerged to play a role in the story of the Diné people. With the world taking new shape, many Diné have also undergone a metamorphosis. Supernatural abilities have manifested themselves in the form of clan powers. For Maggie, being part of the Honágháahnii (“one walks around) and K’aahanáanii (“living arrow”) clans, makes her unnaturally fast and an efficient killer. Maggie has been training and hunting monsters for years, her drive is borne out of a tragic past when she lost the last person who truly cared about her. It’s easier for her not to care, to brush off the whispers behind her back, to close herself off from the world. But she is haunted by the fear that she will eventually become like the monsters she hunts and without someone to pull her back from these thoughts, it becomes a large part of who she is and affects how she navigates the world. Kai is an easy character to take a liking to. Gregarious and charming, Kai is the more efficient investigator. While Maggie is willing to spill a little blood in order to get answers, Kai tapers this instinct, showing her that reaching for her trusted Böker may not always be the best way to handle a situation. Their friendship is slow coming, but every small step forward feels like Maggie is pulled further out from the cage she has built for herself. It is through Kai’s eyes that Maggie slowly comes to realize that she can be more than the killer she was trained to be. Roanhouse’s debut is easily my favorite book of year. Trial of Lightning captivates with its exhilarating action scenes, pulls you in with its multifaceted characters, and guts you with its epic ending. I cannot wait for more.
Trying to put this book down is like trying to lasso lightening.
Wonderful. Can't wait for the next book. Indian folklore deftly interwoven in a thrilling post-apocalyptic tale. Interesting characters.
I'm so happy I took a chance on this author.. An great original story with fantastic characters. Am very eagerly awaiting the next book!
I'll read the next one!
A new take on a post apocalypse world with a Navajo/Dineh twist. Main character is blessed or cursed with the ability to kill from her inherited clan powers. Intent of those powers is to kill monsters. Problem is, figuring out who & what are the real monsters. Good plot, plenty of twists to keep your attention. Will read the next book.
I really liked this book. Maggie has her flaws, she's no superhero but she tries to do the right thing. Coyote is his usual trickster self. I'm not familiar with the other gods in the Navajo pantheon but I want to find out more about them. I'm looking forward to the next book.
This was a very unique book. Not the run of the mill. Can't wait For storm of Locust.
Loved the world and characters! Can't wait for more.
A fantastic post-apocalyptic fantasy incorporating Native American legends and monsters, with a complex main character struggling with former trauma. I'm not usually a big urban fantasy reader but this one was fantastic, and I truly appreciated reading a book written with authenticity from a different cultural tradition than we usually find in the genre.
Well written, good character