by M J Preston
Blackbird, too weak to climb the tower, stayed with his cousin and the other three. While waiting, they talked back and forth in Chocktee.
2
Only half an hour before, the squabbling was muted by the distress call from Hardy. Testimonials from Bobby and Charlene reinforced that something, human or supernatural, had blasted through Angela’s Diner. This, coupled with Hardy’s distress call, was what finally softened the resistance from Logan and his officers. As a result, they brought Blackbird out of the interview room, where he gazed upon his people for the first time since standing in shame fifteen years before.
He looked almost as old as Toomey now. One of his eyes had fogged up in the pupil, and he was worn and beaten by the relentless pursuit. When they first encountered him at the police station, Toomey barely recognized him, and Proudfoot was aghast.
“Dan?” Proudfoot questioned.
“Hi, Johnny,” he said, managing a weak smile that barely hid his exhaustion. Even his voice had aged, losing its wind between syllables. He bore a striking resemblance to Grandfather, and in his aging, the aboriginal side dominated his appearance.
“What happened to you? Oh, Dan, what did we do to you?” Proudfoot moaned. Was this man really his cousin? The young kid that once strutted about the Spirit Woods as his sidekick? He was always smiling, ready to follow him anywhere, sometimes falling victim to his jealous fits, and mean-spirited pranks – and now look at him. “My God, Dan, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Johnny. It’s made me age.”
“We do not have time for this,” Toomey scolded, but even he was caught off-guard. Taking in the gaunt figure before him, he recalled that last meeting on the day he banished him, and for a second he searched for something to say. When he could not find the words he shifted his attention on Logan and asked, “Is there a place where we can watch without being seen?”
3
They were getting ready to load Steel into the ambulance when the first paramedic pulled back from the gurney. Hardy and Oddball were side by side, Oddball’s arm slung around Hardy to offer some kind of comfort. As they watched the first paramedic pull away and put his hand to his mouth, Oddball spoke up. “Hey what the heck are you doing?”
Then the second paramedic got a look at what his partner had seen and also jumped back.
It was Steel’s eyes: they had snapped open. Then they began to fill up. They did not bulge or increase in size but filled with what one of them would later describe as mercury. The whites and pupils seemed to wash out until they became mirrored, like polished ball bearings. The gurney moved just a bit, and Oddball almost jumped forward to stop it when Steel snapped straight up.
Hardy cried out.
Steel cocked his head back in the direction of the creature. “Kaw seu, Igwhot!”
“Don,” she moaned.
“Kaw seu, Igwhot,” Steel called out again beckoning the Master, and then he convulsed twice, a thin runner of blood trickling from his left nostril. A maniacal grin crossed his face, and Hardy knew then that this was not Don Steel, but something else.
It might have run amok at that moment and killed them – except for the belt they had secured across his waist and legs. Dumbly it looked about and fumbled with the straps – and then it began to speak. “Bring me the Hunter.”
“Steel.” Oddball was unlatching something from his belt. “What’s the matter with you, Don?”
“I will kill everyone,” he hissed turning his attention on Hardy. “Bring me the Hunter, and I will spare your child.”
Oddball shot a glance toward Hardy, then back to Steel – or, the thing he had become.
“You’re pregnant?”
“What the hell is going on here?” the first paramedic piped up.
Hardy didn’t respond to Oddball’s question. She stood like a statue, caught in the deadly gaze of its chromium eyes.
“Shut up for now,” Oddball barked at the paramedic.
“Kaw seu, Igwhot,” Hardy suddenly whispered, never breaking its stare. Then she reached down and unsnapped the safety strap on her holster.
“Get down!” Oddball screamed at the paramedics. He brought up his weapon and pulled the trigger. Steel fell back on the gurney, letting out a horrific shriek that tore through their ears. Simultaneously, Hardy collapsed, as if the trance Steel had her in was all that had been holding her upright.
4
Blackbird knew his journey was almost over. His joints ached, and his right eye had gone blurry in the night. He supposed that the aging process came from leaving his body for another and that the presence of his spirit was what controlled the clock. He knew he looked terrible, but the look on Johnny’s face told him how bad off he really was.
“When they come down, Johnny, you should go up for a look,” he said.
“You can come with me, Dan; we’ll look together.”
“No. I can’t climb those steps. Something tells me that I’m going to need every ounce of energy I can find when Old Jake comes down those stairs.”
“I’m sorry, Dan. I should have come with you. You have paid a high price, and I should have stood by you.” He choked back the tears that wanted to come, but it was hard.
“How do your kids like the Spirit Woods?”
His expression changed, the look of sadness replaced by the smile of a proud father. “My two boys love the Spirit Woods. They got a moose last year. They are very much like we were; fighting, but always together.”
“What are their names?”
“John and Dan.”
Blackbird laughed. “John and Dan. I wish I could meet them, Johnny.”
“You can; when our business is done here, you are coming back with us.”
“Yeah, okay.”
But Blackbird doubted he would even see tomorrow, let alone walk the Spirit Woods again. He was not saddened by this: he longed for this journey to be over, to put the death and killing behind him. The fiery vengeance he carried in his heart was dwindling. He closed his eyes, exhausted, wanting nothing more than a few minutes of undisturbed sleep.
Monias and Fortier were at the base of the stairwell, waiting for them to return while Proudfoot and Blackbird conversed. Michano came back in from outside, a knitted wool blanket under his arm. Above the clunking of boots echoed through the church as each man took a turn peering through the surveillance scope.
“Johnny Proudfoot,” Michano called. “Here is what you asked for.”
Proudfoot stood, thanked Monias as he took the blanket and laid it on the lap of his cousin. Once he did, he sat back, watching as Blackbird slowly opened his eyes and looked down on the blanket. “What’s this?”
“It’s for you,” Proudfoot said.
Blackbird slowly unfolded the blanket, unwrapping the enclosed artifact. At first, he thought it was a copy – but then he saw the hairline fracture and understood that he was holding the closest thing on this earth to his grandfather’s memory.
“God, Johnny. You’ve had it all these years.”
He traced his fingers down the crooked body of the diamond willow stick. There were seven knots, each shaped like a diamond and brown against the weathered grey wood. At the top, the nub worn by many walks was polished by Grandfather’s grasp. It shone not from any lacquer or polish, but from the natural oils in the old man’s hand.
Both Proudfoot and Blackbird had wanted that stick all through their adolescence, and on one day it became the source of argument.
When Grandfather caught the two boys fighting, he displayed a side of himself neither had known existed. He pulled them apart and shook each boy violently, yelling, “Stop this now!” Then the fire went out of his eyes, and he told them both to sit down while he did what he did best.
He taught.
“Respect is not measured by who carries a stick. It is measured by what you carry in your head and heart. I
f your head and heart are empty, no stick can hold you up in the eyes of your people. You both have a lot to learn; lucky for you the Spirit Mother has granted me the wisdom and patience to teach you.”
Grandfather stepped out onto the great stone platform that overlooked the Spirit Woods. “I could throw this out there and bear it no mind, but my back is crooked, and my knees are boulders. Do you want me to ache into my dying days just so that you two will not fight over this piece of wood?”
The two cousins lowered their eyes in shame.
“No, Grandfather; it is your wisdom I seek. I am sorry,” Proudfoot said first.
“Young Daniel?”
“I want you to walk straight and tell us all your stories. I will not fight over your walking stick again. I do not want it.” This was a lie of course: both boys still wanted it, but they would never ask again.
Blackbird recalled the night Johnny stomped off holding the broken pieces, but he never thought about after that. The moment the old man expired the stick became inconsequential.
Now, it had gained new symbolic importance. Blackbird reached into his knapsack and produced the only three items left to his name: the knife, the tattered feather, and the broken dream catcher. Proudfoot glimpsed the feather, his eyes grew wide but he said nothing.
“I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything, Dan.”
“Do you still have your knife?”
“Yes.” Proudfoot lifted his pullover to reveal the sheath that carried the knife.
“I may never get to see my young cousins, but I would be proud if you would pass mine and yours on to them.” He handed all three items across to Proudfoot. “These are for you to take back to the Spirit Woods if I fall today. I would also ask that you bring my body home and bury it in the Peace Garden with my mother.”
“You have my solemn promise,” Proudfoot said, his teeth clenched as he fought to stave off tears. “You are more like him than I could ever be, Dan. I promise to do all these things if you will promise me the same and do one more.”
“If I can.” Blackbird reached out and touched his cousin’s hand.
“If Old Jake doesn’t get us all killed today…” He smiled momentarily and then turned serious. “I want you to come home to Spirit Woods and palaver with my sons and me. I want them to meet a true Chocktee. I want them to see that you are no tale told by a fire. That you are the hunter the people of our village speak of often.”
“I left in disgrace, Johnny. Why would anyone speak about me other than to say I caused the death of so many people? Children, children have died because of me. I am no great hunter. I am a fool who was too arrogant and stupid to listen to the words of Grandfather.”
“No, Dan, that is not true.”
“But it is, Johnny.” Blackbird wiped a tear from his eye. “If I had listened to you and Grandfather I would never have been fooled. Many people would not have died, including him. I have so much to be ashamed of; nothing about me should be celebrated.”
“You have been on the hunt for many years. You have never stopped looking, holding firm to your promise. If not for that we would not be sitting here today. No man is without fault, Dan, and it was not you who cursed our people. Remember that when this is over.” Proudfoot pulled his hand away from his cousin and sat back.
No, but I may have cursed these people, Blackbird thought, closing his eyes, then said, “I will return to Chocktee with you if the Spirit Mother permits it.”
Beyond them, the three were coming down the cramped stairwell of the bell tower. Their boots clunked on the wooden steps as they made the final flight and Logan looked upon them, trying to think of what to say.
Toomey took care of that.
“We have to move very fast. We need to draw it away from that street and to a place where the earth is sour. There we will face it.”
He was not talking to Logan or Mick, but to everyone.
5
“Oh my God, you killed him!” cried the paramedic.
Oddball was leaning over Hardy, desperately trying to bring her around while the other paramedic named Willy watched. He snapped his fingers in front of her face, ignoring the cries from behind for the time being.
“Sandy. Sandy.” He shook her, now mindful that she was pregnant. Then he slapped her face gently trying to rouse her. “Sandy, can you hear me?”
“Is she dead?” Paramedic Willy asked.
“How ‘bout a bloody hand?” Oddball snapped, and that got him going. “And you! Drama Queen! Get another strap on that man on the stretcher!”
“Why? You killed him.”
“He’s not dead, pantywaist, I zapped him with a taser! Now strap him in before he wakes up!”
Under his hands, Sandy shifted slightly, and his eyes jerked onto her. Her eyes fluttered beneath their lids. Jesus Christ, let her be normal. Please let her be normal. He unsnapped his gun just in case.
The paramedic quickly strapped Steel down and then cowered away from the gurney. His crotch was moist: he had pissed himself. There was not enough left in his bladder to cause a large stain but had there been it would have expelled it entirely.
Hardy opened her eyes. “Oddball?”
“You okay, Sandy?”
She blinked and looked to the gurney. “Don?”
“He’s out like a light, kiddo. I had to taze him. He had you in some kind of a spell. I was afraid you were going to go postal on the lot of us.” He smiled, showing off his crooked chompers and then started to help her up.
“The sky,” she said, and they all gazed upward at the clouds as they churned and rolled. There was no wind, and yet they were rolling in from all sides. “What is going on, Oddball?”
“I have no idea!” He helped her to her feet with Paramedic Willy’s assistance.
“We have to get to the Chief, Oddball! He needs us!”
6
People in Thomasville were beginning to fill the main street, cordoned off from the massacre at Angela’s Diner only by a roadblock and a couple of saw horses. The mayhem that had occurred was just a part of the phenomena, and as the officers and natives gathered outside the church in a loose circle of conversation, people from all over town were looking to the skies and the anomalous churning clouds.
Above the thunderheads rolled not from one direction, but from east, west, north, and south. Where they collided they twisted into a great vortex, darkening the sky. Within the black vortex, distant rattles and far off thunderous collisions echoed behind the walls that separated worlds.
“Give me the vial of blood, Dan,” Toomey ordered.
Blackbird reached into his bag and produced the vial of black fluid. Toomey took it from him and whispered something in his ear. Blackbird nodded and stepped back. The rest of them were looking to the skies, hypnotized by the majesty. Toomey knew he would lose them if he didn’t move fast. He shouted: “Chief Logan, I am going to perform a ritual that will require all! We have very little time. If someone is afraid, send them off!”
He uncapped the vial with one hand and brought up an eagle feather with the other. “We must draw it to the sour earth.” He dipped the tip of the feather into the vial and touched it to his own cheek while waving his four companions to come forward. “All of you, focus on me! Do not look to the skies or you will be lulled to sleep!”
That got their attention.
First Proudfoot stood before the old man as he muttered something in Chocktee and brushed the feather against his cheek, leaving a minute smear. It burned into his skin like dry ice, then subsided.
“You bear its mark. You are its keeper. Fear not, brave hunter. The Spirit Mother will guide you.”
Then Fortier, Michano, and Monias took their turn. Blackbird did not come forward; he had already made the oath fifteen years before and wore its mark on his cheek. As Toomey performed the ritual, the others tri
ed not to watch the skies and the turning of color while the electric storm silently exploded in flashes and pops overhead.
“Can you feel it?” Logan asked his officers. They all nodded.
There was no sound to be heard, but in their heads was a chorus of crashes and bangs, sounds of symbols and thunderclaps colliding as the fabric of time rippled and hemorrhaged. Logan could feel it pulling his eyes upward, just as the others, and he knew that the sounds he heard inside his head were simulcast with the atmospheric violence above.
Do not look up. It will lull you and steal your thoughts, Toomey was saying, and Logan realized that the words were in his head. He dropped his eyes up to meet the Chief Elder. Toomey nodded, and he heard, Come forward, brave hunter.
“God help us,” Jim West said, and Logan realized that they were all looking at the old man and that he had been addressing everyone. The old Indian smiled, and that sent a wave of reassurance through the group.
All except one accepted the invitation.
Above them the apocalypse rolled and flashed, thinning the walls between this world and the next.
Logan did not know if what he was about to do was a sin or a slight of God, and under any other circumstances he might have sworn off the blood oath – but his people were watching. He had to do this.
Even in my darkest moment of uncertainty, they look to me for guidance, he thought, stealing a glimpse of the sky above, watching the black clouds roll a churn, electric flashes pulsing green and blue mutely. The air reeked of ozone and intermingled with unmitigated fear.
Then Logan considered his kids and brought his eyes back to meet the old Indian. Without another thought, he stepped forward. If it would shelter them from this, damn the consequences.
Toomey smiled and when he spoke Logan could smell sweet Indian tobacco pass between them carried by his words. “You are the Elder of this place, a wise protector who has sworn himself to stand against the darkness. Before I mark you now as its keeper and as a hunter, do you swear to do whatever it takes to protect the people of this village?”