Heart of Ice

by Barbara Pietron

Chapter 9

  Ice ducked inside the lodge, surprised to find it chilly inside. Ashes colored the inside of the cold hearth at the end of the room. Immediately the aroma of roasted meat assaulted his senses and his stomach growled.

  "Welcome, welcome," said a gravelly voice. "Join us in the dining room."

  Ice moved to the arched opening on the left. He stopped, awe-stricken, just inside the doorway and admired the table laden with food.

  "Have a seat, Ice," his host invited. The man stood at one end of the table, his bushy hair nearly touching the ceiling. He smiled invitingly.

  Two people were already seated at the table; one man was hunched over a plate, using his teeth to rip meat off a bone in his hands. The other, Ice recognized as he moved around the table and the boy's face came into view: Corey. Ice opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forth.

  His friend met his gaze with troubled eyes. A piece of meat lay on his plate. Corey held a fork in his right hand and his left floated over a knife as if he was deliberating on whether or not to use it.

  The host—perhaps an ancestor, since he seemed familiar and he knew Ice's name—pulled out a chair and gestured with his hand for Ice to sit down. The man's white hair framed a pale face, and as Ice came forward to sit, he could see the silver, wiry hair on the man's knuckles. "We have roasted duck, steak, kidney pie…" the man went on naming each dish on the table.

  Ice looked across the table at Corey who was watching him carefully.

  The tall man lifted a platter mounded with pork chops and held it close to Ice's face. The salty, smoky smell of the meat wafted into his nose and the juices glimmered on the plate. His stomach rumbled again and Ice felt saliva building in his mouth. He lifted his fork and transferred a chop to his plate.

  Corey, looking a little less nervous after watching Ice, picked up his knife and sliced into the meat on his plate.

  Fork in hand, Ice studied the man at the end of the table for a moment. If he knew Corey and their host—even though he couldn't quite recall the host's name—he must know this other man.

  As if feeling Ice's gaze upon him, the man looked up. His greasy lips stretched into a triumphant grin and his yellow eyes glittered with madness. A rivulet of meat juice formed at the end of his chin and fell to his plate.

  Ice dropped his fork in horror.

  He wanted to shout "No!" to Corey, but it seemed only the host here could speak. Instead, Ice lunged across the table and knocked his friend's fork from his hand before the meat skewered on the tines landed in the boy's mouth.

  A great roar sounded in Ice's head like a wave breaking and crashing on a beach and the table dissolved beneath him. He opened his eyes to blue plaid. He was facedown in bed, one arm extended above his head and the other hanging off the side of the mattress. His heart was thrumming like a squirrel treed by a dog. He rolled over and scrubbed his face with his hands, finding his forehead slick with sweat.

  The dream was clear in his mind.

  He fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, blinking when the display blazed to life. He quickly brought up his contact list and placed a call. As the phone began ringing, Ice sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, swiping the damp strands of hair away from his face. "Come on," he breathed. "Pick up, pick up."

  Finally the ringing cut out and was replaced by a slurred voice. "Ice? Geez dude, it's like five a.m."

  "Yeah," Ice said. "Were you just dreaming? Do you remember?"

  The line was quiet for a moment and then, "Yeah. Whoa… you were in my dream."

  "Uh-huh, I tried to stop you from eating, right? Please tell me you didn't eat."

  "How do you… were you… did you have the same dream?" Corey eventually spit out.

  Ice blew out an exasperated breath. "Corey! Did you eat?"

  "No, you knocked the fork out of my hand." His friend was beginning to sound fully awake. "What's going on? Is this about the cannibal?"

  "Yes, that's exactly what this is about. Look, I'll try to explain later; I've got to call Nik now. But do me a favor, try not to go back to sleep. If you do, and you have that dream again, don't eat anything."

  Corey spilled out some choice words about not getting to sleep in, then grudgingly agreed to get up. "I'll play video games or something," he grumbled.

  "Cool. I'll talk to you later." Ice ended the call and immediately dialed Nik.

  The medicine man's voice sounded much like Corey's sleep-saturated voice except three octaves lower. "What's going on Ice?"

  "I had the dream. The North Wind offered me food and I nearly accepted it," Ice spewed in a rush of words.

  He heard Nik swear under his breath.

  "I don't think it was an accident that I saw the North Wind during my dream quest, Nik. Somehow all this must have to do with me."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "I wasn't the only there—at the demented dinner, I mean. My friend Corey was there. It's personal now," he added grimly.

  The churn of water from a faucet sounded in the background as Nik said, "Was anyone else there?"

  "Yeah," Ice replied, his voice flat. "Nesbitt. And he was chowing down."

  "Mmm." A dull clunk, followed by a slurping noise, filled the gap in conversation and Ice recognized the sound of Nik's coffee maker.

  A sudden thought made Ice's heartbeat jump to his throat. "Nik," his voice was so low it was nearly a whisper. "Do you think Great Cloud could've given me the charm? He used to give us little trinkets every now and then."

  "Ice," Nik said firmly. "Breathe. Calm down. You're not making sense."

  Of course his mentor was right, Ice realized, and he sucked air into his lungs, releasing it slowly as he listened to Nik's logic.

  "Great Cloud would never give something of such importance to a child. And Ice, you have no connection to Nesbitt whatsoever. You've been training with me for over five years now. I'm confident you didn't invoke the North Wind accidently."

  Ice's pulse regulated and his racing mind slowed to allow him to focus and reason. "Then whoever did is trying to spread the Windigo curse. We need to figure out who has that charm."

  "And the sooner the better," Nik agreed. "Any luck talking to Dale last night?"

  "No."

  "Then I'll call Mrs. Quinn when it's a decent hour."

  "Don't bother. Dale didn't think she gave any stuff away yet. Plus, I don't think she knows anything." He got up and began pacing his small room. "People were at the house for the funeral. What we need to know is if something's missing, and Dale's probably the most likely to know. I'm going to call him and tell him he's helping us."

  After a moment's pause, Nik agreed. "Get back to me as soon as you're done talking to him."

  Ice thumbed through his contacts for Dale's number, hoping an early morning wake-up call would convey the urgency of the matter. He was done asking nicely.

  After his first two calls this morning, Ice expected the same bleary answer. But Dale's voice was clear and sharp, as if he'd been up for a while.

  "Yeah," Dale said.

  "Things have changed," Ice said without preamble. "We need you to help us determine if any of Great Cloud's things are missing. You'll know better than anyone else. Our only other alternative is to try and talk to Grams."

  Dale breathed a long sigh that ended in a near groan. "Fine. I'll get the key. But you're driving."

  "No problem," Ice replied immediately. "Can you be ready in half an hour?"

  "Yes." Dale uttered his terse answer and then ended the call.

  Ice told Nik to meet them at Great Cloud's house and then headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. Forty-five minutes later, the boys stood on the porch, their breath making puffs of vapor in the crisp morning air as Dale wiggled a key in the lock.

  Once inside, Dale moved quickly across the living room and paused outside the door to Great Cloud's study. "I don't know if my mom's packed stuff up in here, or what," he said sullenly and then swung the door open.

  A w
ave of nostalgia struck Ice and he stood frozen in place. The room appeared the same as it did the last time he was here, so many years ago. To his right, two chairs flanked a window. Between them stood an antique table with a lamp. Great Cloud's easy chair was located on the back wall, a standing floor lamp behind it and a small table which doubled as a magazine rack on its left. A built-in shelving unit with drawers dominated the left side of the room, its shelves stuffed with books. In the corner nearest the door was a good-sized wooden table with a chair where Great Cloud worked on various projects—making dance sticks or painting medicine stones. Today the table was empty.

  The room with its myriad memories brought home a crushing loss, greater than Ice's feelings on the day of Great Cloud's funeral.

  "My mom hasn't touched this room." Dale spoke in a hushed tone. He motioned to the shelving unit. "He kept his medicine stones and stuff in the top drawer."

  Ice remembered, but he didn't say anything, just moved in that direction. He let Dale open the drawer. The items were neatly compartmentalized by plastic divided trays. Ice stared for a few moments, drawn back in time by the sight of the familiar items. He was sure a few things had been added or used up in the half-decade or so since he'd last been in here with Dale and Great Cloud. Surely the stack of feathers and assortment of smudge sticks would've been used and replaced, but Great Cloud's medicine pipe was as familiar as the contents of Ice's own dresser drawer.

  Dale reached to the largest of several hide pouches and passed it to Ice. "Count them," he said.

  Ice set his keys on the work table and poked his fingers into the bunched top to pull the sack open. Inside were medicine stones. He looked at Dale. "Wait, no. What we're looking for will be made of bone."

  Dale took the bag, cinched it shut, and dropped it back into the drawer.

  "When's the last time you looked in here?" Ice asked.

  Dale shook his head. "Maybe a month or so ago." He surveyed the contents of the drawer. "Everything seems to be here. I don't think anything in here is carved from bone anyway." He slid the drawer closed and looked at Ice. "If this charm was that important, or if he knew it was dangerous, maybe he kept it hidden."

  Ice scrubbed his face in frustration."If he knew he had to have it with him when he died, you'd think he would've carried it with him."

  Dale grasped the handles of the next drawer down and slid it open. Ice took in the drawer full of shells, beads, rawhide, and string, and raised his gaze until he met Dale's wide eyes.

  "Bone beads," they said at the same time.

  Ice's eyes dropped to Dale's neck. "The necklace," he said, suddenly excited. "Great Cloud always wore it."

  Dale frowned, his hand moving toward his throat. "You think this is the charm?" He laughed humorlessly. "It can't be this necklace, I've been wearing it ever since Great Cloud died."

  Ice blinked, his brain following the chain of possibilities. "Since he died?" he repeated. Then he lifted his gaze to stare directly into Dale's eyes. "When did your mom give you the necklace? Was it before Great Cloud died?"

  Dale glared back at him, his brow knit tightly above confused eyes. He didn't answer.

  The puzzle pieces in Ice's mind fell into place and began to form a picture. His eyes grew wide in realization. He clutched Dale's arm. "It was you!"

  "What?" Dale jerked away from Ice's grip. "What are you talking about?"

  Ice glowered at his former friend. "You don't have to play dumb any more. It all fits together."

  "You want to let me in on what you're accusing me of?" Dale spat, his voice uncharacteristically loud.

  "You're the one spreading the Windigo curse." Ice jabbed his finger toward Dale's chest. "You called the North Wind. Great Cloud's necklace is a conduit to bad medicine and you're using it!"

  Dale threw his hands in the air. "Why would I do that?" he shouted incredulously.

  "Because," Ice said, his voice low and soft. "Nesbitt was your teacher. What was your problem with him? Bad grades?" Dale's eyelids twitched up for a second. Ice continued. "Corey is your girlfriend's ex, and you think she's still hung up on him." Dale's steely gaze narrowed as he glared at Ice.

  "And you're pissed at me because I'm Nik's apprentice!"

  "That's all a bunch of bull-crap!" Dale snarled, but Ice thought he read a glint of fear in his eyes.

  "Is it? Jeez, Dale, you've been angry at me for five years!" Ice yelled back.

  Dale pressed his lips together and deep creases lined his forehead. He balled his hands into fists and for a second, Ice thought he was going to strike out, but Dale took a step backward. "Ha," he said. "You've just blown your own dumb theory. Even if Great Cloud's necklace is a bad medicine charm, I couldn't use it if I wanted to. I'm not a medicine man," he spouted.

  Ice gritted his teeth together. He wanted to shout back, but was at a loss for what to say. He'd thought his logic was sound, but Dale was right, he wasn't a medicine man.

  "What the heck is going on in here?" Nik burst into the room and looked from one boy to the other.

  Dale took another step back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Ask him," he growled, glaring at Ice.

  Nik turned to Ice, his eyebrows riding high on his forehead.

  Ice opened his mouth, then closed it, scrambling for where to start. "Dale has Great Cloud's necklace," he spouted, feeling like a six-year-old tattle-tale.

  Nik's gaze shifted to Dale, then returned to Ice.

  "It has bone beads, and Great Cloud never took it off. It may be the charm we're looking for."

  "That doesn’t explain the shouting," Nik said.

  Ice let his breath out in a rush. "I accused Dale of cursing people." He shook his head, bewildered. "It makes sense! He has a connection to all the victims."

  "He forgot one thing though," Dale sneered. "I'm not a medicine man."

  Nik purse his lips as he scrutinized Dale. "Did Great Cloud give you any training?"

  "No," Dale replied bitterly. "I wanted to, but he wouldn't. He said—" He broke off suddenly with a quick look at Ice.

  Ice kept his expression impassive, fairly certain what the other boy wanted to say.

  Nik's eyes didn't waver from Dale.

  Then Dale raised his chin as if in defiance. "He said my spiritual power is Druid; it comes from my Irish heritage," he announced.

  Nik nodded. "Can I see the necklace?" he asked softly.

  Dale reached behind his neck and fumbled with the knot of rawhide. He took a step toward Nik and dropped the necklace into the medicine man's open palm. Nik covered the necklace with his other hand and closed his eyes. The medicine man's brow creased slightly and when his eyes opened, Ice read the concern within them.

  "The necklace does contain a spiritual link," he said. He fingered the pendant thoughtfully. "Although, if it is the Windigo charm, why would he have taken the necklace off before he died?"

  "He didn't," Dale admitted. "My mom didn't want someone at the hospital to take it." His voice had dropped to a near whisper.

  "Great Cloud wasn't wearing it when he died?"

  Dale shook his head. A shadow of doubt clouded his dark eyes.

  "And your grandmother? His caretaker? Did she know?"

  "No, well, not until—" Suddenly Dale's jaw dropped and the color drained from his face. His eyes grew round with the dawn of realization and then filled with horror. He shook his head. "No," he whispered. "It can't be me," he spoke out loud but the words seemed intended only for himself. Curling forward as if punched in the gut, Dale steadied himself with a hand on the work table. When he looked up, his wide, haunted gaze sought Ice. "She knew," he choked out. "She knew but she couldn't tell me." Then he darted around Nik and ran from the room. Seconds later, the front door slammed.

  Ice and Nik stared at each other for a moment, flabbergasted.

  "Didn't see that coming," Ice muttered.

  The roar of an engine sounded from outside the house. Ice gaped at Nik, who reached in his pocket to withdraw his truck keys. A su
rge of panic hit Ice as he felt his own empty pockets, then he remembered dropping his keys on the table to look at the medicine stones.

  His gaze fell to the empty work surface. "He's taking my Jeep!" Ice exclaimed, and bolted for the door. He burst from the house in time to see Dale finish backing into the street and speed off.

  "Son of a gun!" Ice shouted. He spun to find Nik in the doorway. "He took my Jeep!"

  "Question is," Nik replied with an arched eyebrow. "Where's he going in such a hurry?"

  To me, an elder is one who reaches an age of wisdom. Someone who knows the cultural values and brings them forward. A teacher.

  Della Badwound, Oglala Lakota