Blackening song

by Thurlo, Aimée

  Clifford nodded. "We're fighting an ancient evil. It uses the skinwalkers for its own purposes/'

  "What do you think that purpose is?" She kept her voice cool, nonjudgmental, trying to maintain the poker face of a successful agent. She wanted him to keep talking. Many times her ability to listen without revealing her own thoughts had helped put witnesses at ease and aided her work.

  "I don't know, not precisely. But evil always works at the expense of the majority." This time, when his eyes narrowed, it was from outrage and frustration, not lack of sleep. Ella could feel Clifford's struggle not to let negative emotions like anger cloud his thinking.

  "Evil or not, whoever killed our father is as human as you and me. I have to catch that butcher before he harms anyone else." Ella took a deep breath. "In the meantime, I'm worried about you and the rest of our family.

  "Our enemies are human, true, but what drives them goes far beyond that. Everything exists in two parts; there's evil and good in each of us. When something happens to upset that balance, a hataalii is needed to restore harmony." Clifford crossed his arms.

  Ella knew from Clifford's rigid stance and stony gaze that his mind was made up. Still, she had scored a partial victory. She'd gotten him to talk openly about the situation, and that was the first step.

  She studied the hogan carefully. Clifford's old model 94 Winchester rifle was propped up near the door, alongside two boxes of .30-30 cartridges, and across the hogan, a Ruger Blackhawk revolver sat in a leather holster on a blanket roll. The pistol looked to be a nine-millimeter. If need arose, she and her brother could share pistol ammunition.

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  Her heart pounded as she realized the implications of this analysis.

  Clifford had followed her gaze. Ella was sure that he could sense her tension and the urgency that was driving her. "Do you have any idea who we should be looking for? These skinwalkers have to be people who live in the area/'

  Clifford shrugged, uncrossing his arms and clasping his hands. He was nervous. "I can't make wild guesses—you know what would happen if I accused someone who was innocent/'

  Ella smiled grimly. "Yeah, they'd be hiding out somewhere in an old hogan with half the world out to get them." She took a peek out the door to make a point.

  "I'll give you the names and backgrounds of a few people I've had run-ins with and the name of someone our father had bad dealings with on occasion. Be very discreet when you look into this. These people could all be innocent."

  Ella handed him her pocket notebook and a pen, but he already had the list and thumbnail descriptions written on a piece of brown paper torn from a grocery sack. She was grateful that he'd had enough confidence in her investigative abilities to prepare the list beforehand. She glanced at the names and pocketed the list. She'd follow these up soon. Right now there was another urgent matter to handle.

  "Thanks. Now let's get back to your situation. It's my opinion, as a law enforcement officer, that you'd be better off turning yourself in. At least you'd be safe and I could devote my time to finding the real criminals instead of worrying about you."

  Clifford shook his head immediately. "My—our—enemies are everywhere. It's a lot easier to get into a jail than

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  out of one. I'd be dead overnight. Besides, I have to fight for our People from the outside. Here, I can do the ceremonies needed to protect all of us. There's magic that needs to be countered."

  "Let me do my job and track down the killers. Even Houdini couldn't get away from me once I had my hands on him. Give yourself up. I'll escort you in and make sure you're placed in protective custody." Ella knew his mind was made up, but she had to try.

  "You're not listening. To succeed, we have to fight on two fronts," Clifford said, his voice rising slightly. "You deny the existence of the unknown, which is my area of strength."

  "I prefer to keep my goals straightforward and simple." She wasn't going to let an argument about spiritual or religious matters cloud her thinking. "Talk to me. Tell me how to find the one who killed our father. My strength is in tracking down criminals, not ghosts."

  "I am telling you!" Clifford held up his hand. "I can't believe this. You're still the only person I know who can make me lose my temper." He turned away, gathering his composure again. Ella watched his shoulders slump. "I don't know who the murderer is. I only know where we have to look to find him."

  She glanced at the battered old suitcase by the bedroll. "But you're thinking they might find you first."

  "I have to be prepared to fight them any way I can. They'll come after me because as a hataalii I'm the biggest threat against them. They also know their actions against my family have ensured that I'll do my best to destroy them, not just what they represent. I have to use every kind of weapon to ensure my own survival. Every morning I prepare myself physically and mentally. I've also fortified this

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  hogan with hozonji, our Good Luck Songs, and I've sprinkled it with sacred corn pollen. I've done the same thing for the homes of our friends and relatives/'

  ''Do you know why our father was chosen as their victim?"

  "A symbol mostly, but anyone involved with the new church or the college is in danger. That entire area is infused with evil. The skinwalkers have chosen it as their home and will not give it up to anyone. You've been to the site of the church; Wilson told me. Didn't you feel something while you were there, a wrongness about that place?"

  Ella wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. "Spooky stories can bother anyone," she replied with a shrug. "It made me nervous."

  "I know what you found there. You should be afraid. Can't you understand that it's all interwoven?"

  "I'll tell you what I do see. The evidence against you is mounting. The police have a silver concha with your mark on it. Did you know that?"

  "I don't see how. All of mine are accounted for. I took two off my belt and melted them down to make a bracelet for our baby." He twisted around to show her the two spaces on his belt, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "The bracelet is now buried with the child. There are no others that I know about."

  "I'm so very sorry for what happened," Ella said, her voice strangled. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She had to maintain her objectivity as an agent to continue questioning him effectively. "Have you been to the church site recently?"

  He remained silent for a few moments. "The last time I went there was to do a Blackening Song to exorcise the evil, or at least weaken its power. Before I could complete the

  ceremony, Paul came to find me. Loretta had gone into labor. My son was ..."

  "I know/ 7 Ella said gently.

  "The evil in that place has already caused the death of our father, and my tiny son. My enemies are now after my wife. I need your help, little sister."

  "Loretta's being looked after, and I'll watch over Mom. Can you identify the people trying to stop construction of the new church? If you're right, they're the ones who murdered Dad."

  "Why do you insist on only seeing half the problem?" Clifford asked wearily.

  Ella considered her reply carefully. The power of magic, of skinwalkers, was bolstered by the people involved in those activities—and by those who feared them. She toned down her answer. "Evil needs to be in people to do harm," she responded, keeping her voice coolly logical. "I've been trained to track down criminals. I'll go after the people; you can take care of the other half of that equation. If you won't turn yourself in, that's the only deal I can offer you."

  He nodded. "All right, but don't trust anyone outside our family except Wilson. Until we know who the skin-walkers are, they have the advantage."

  "Do you know anything about the threats made against Dad? Unsigned notes were sent to him, warning him to drop the idea of building a church. If only I had known how far they were willing to go!" Emotions reverberated in Ella's voice. Then she realized from the puzzled look in Clifford's eyes that her father hadn't t
rusted Clifford not to side with his enemies.

  "I don't blame you for assuming the notes were nothing more than a way to scare him ..." His voice trailed off.

  "There's a 'but' in there someplace."

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  He shook his head slowly. "I wish you'd never chosen to leave our land. There's so much you haven't learned. Now you're vulnerable."

  "I followed the life's walk that was right for me. I don't regret my decision."

  "Then you shouldn't have returned. You're not prepared to handle any of this. Go back to the world you adopted."

  She struggled to forgive the hurt his words caused her, because she knew they'd been spoken out of concern for her safety. "I can carry my own weight. Just because you don't see what part I'm to play in what's happening, don't discount me. Isn't that what you've always said about traditional beliefs?"

  Clifford's eyebrows rose slightly. "You argue well, but this is no parlor game."

  "No," she replied somberly. "This is my job. It's what I'm trained for. That's why you can't afford to turn down my help. In a life-or-death situation, you use every weapon in your arsenal."

  Slowly he nodded in acquiescence. "All right. As long you agree to do the same."

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  the position of the mountains in the distance as she'd left the hogan.

  Suddenly Wilson braked and veered sharply to the right. Ella reached for the dashboard to steady herself. "What the heck are you doing?"

  "There's a police car parked ahead of us. I'm going to have to avoid it."

  "At least that's proof they don't know where Clifford is," she commented.

  The pickup headed up a steep slope. The truck slowed, and Wilson commented, "The ground is muddy from the recent rains."

  "You have four-wheel?"

  "Sure, we'll make it."

  Instinct told her differently. She could feel the truck's speed become erratic as the tires bogged down, extracted themselves, then repeated the process; the rear end of the vehicle fishtailed drunkenly. "Can't you find firmer ground?"

  "I'm trying, but it's not easy."

  They traveled downslope slowly, the truck sliding dizzily. "Look, maybe you should let me take the blindfold off. I could help you keep an eye out."

  "No. We'll be fine. Have confidence in me."

  Abruptly the truck's nose plummeted, practically tearing Ella out of the seat belt. She gritted her teeth. The pickup was still, canted on an angle.

  "Are you okay?" Wilson asked quickly, concern evident in his voice.

  "Yeah, but why do I get the feeling that we've fallen into a ditch?"

  "ESP?"

  She exhaled softly. "It's already late afternoon. If you're

  going to dig us out all by yourself, you're going to have to do it pretty soon. I don't want to have to walk out of here blindfolded if you can't get us unstuck, especially in the dark when you won't be able to see ..." She let the sentence trail off, hoping he'd concluded that he needed her help.

  "Wait here while I go take a look."

  She heard squishing footsteps as Wilson made his way around the truck. It sounded like a swamp outside. She shifted, listening intently.

  He came around to her side. "Here, let me take the blindfold off."

  Ella squinted for a moment, but the sun was behind a gathering thundercloud, and easy on her eyes. She glanced around, grimacing. "Jeez, you really had to look to find this lousy place."

  "Thanks a lot. I didn't plan to get stuck out here in the middle of nowhere ..." He gave her a playful glance. "Then again, the company's not half bad."

  "Aw gee, thanks. But save your flattery for better surroundings."

  He handed her a shovel. "You're right. Here."

  "Hold it, buddy boy. What will you be doing while I'm digging?"

  "I'm going to chop some brush. I've got an ax in the back. We'll need to put something under the tires for traction." He studied the muddy, reddish-colored sediment that surrounded them. "You won't be able to really dig; the ground is too soft and the mud will only flow back. So try to uproot some grass and weeds that we can place in front of the wheels."

  They spent forty minutes building a path for the tires, laying down lines of vegetation and branches. The mud seemed to claim each piece, swallowing it as soon as the

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  truck's weight hit it, and the vehicle bogged down repeatedly.

  Ella rubbed her back. "I need a break. Let's take five, okay?"

  Wilson nodded. "I suppose it's okay. We're making good time."

  Ella stretched, unkinking her sore muscles. "I'm going to walk around a bit."

  "Trying to figure out where we are?"

  She shot him a cold look. "I know where we are. We're stuck in the muddiest wash I've ever seen on the reservation." As a matter of fact, Ella did recognize the particular wash they were trapped in. She'd been there before, though not recently.

  Wilson cringed. "How about letting me walk with you? Or would you prefer me to throw myself in the mud to provide traction so you can drive away?"

  She pretended to consider it, then gave him a grudging smile. "Come on." She cocked her head. "Let's get out of the sun."

  Searching for the coolness of shade, she led the way to a cluster of junipers. "At least this didn't happen before the clouds came. We would have roasted."

  "Too much city air-conditioning?" he goaded playfully. "I thought FBI agents were supposed to be hardened and tough."

  "Tough, yes, but smart too," she clipped. "Our work is hard enough without inviting extra hardship."

  He laughed apologetically. "Oops. I think I struck a nerve."

  She gave him a quick half smile. "Maybe you did. I'm protective about the bureau." Ella looked around, hoping to pinpoint the exact location for future reference.

  They approached a circular, hollowed-out circle in the middle of an expanse of rocks. Wilson stopped abruptly, saying, "I don't like this. Let's go back."

  "Let me check this place out first," Ella said, curiously studying the big bowl-shaped feature. "It looks like a place where cattle have lain. Am I right?"

  "No. Come on. It's going to rain soon, and I want us out of here by then."

  She crouched down on the far side of the circle, trying to make out a pattern in the ashes that had been strewn there. "It almost looks like a dry painting, but it's made from ashes, not sand. Here's something that looks like a bird. And what's this?" She pointed to a human-looking figure with two faces.

  "Those are used in skinwalker rituals," Wilson said, his voice barely audible. "It depicts the person they intend to harm or kill. Come away from there."

  Ella ignored his warning and studied the picture carefully. "It's so faint now, I can barely make anything out. The winds have almost obliterated it."

  "Don't touch it."

  "No one's here," she reassured him calmly, "and it's not raining. Don't worry." Wilson seemed increasingly edgy. Was he really that superstitious, or did he have some other motive for wanting her to leave?

  "Your brother is right about you," Wilson grumbled. "You're just plain stubborn."

  Ella was at a loss to explain how, but without any warning, the feel of the place suddenly changed, and she felt cold all over. She stood, suddenly uneasy, as some sixth sense worked overtime to alert her to danger. "Let's get back to the truck."

  Wilson nodded. "Something's wrong. I sense it too."

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  "Keep your eyes open." Ella was angry now. Was Wilson's mind-set about evil making her feel threatened, or was it something about the place? She'd had this feeling before, with no ghosts in the vicinity. She recalled how the man in the diner had set her teeth on edge just before he'd started blasting away. Maybe her instincts for survival did function after all.

  They strode back to the truck quickly. Working fast, motivated by a strong desire to leave, they extricated the pickup from the mud. Wilson accelerated slowly until they were out
of the muddy arroyo, then braked to a stop, leaving the motor running. "I'm going to make sure the tires are still intact."

  Ella took her pistol out of the glove compartment, fastened the holster to her belt, then stepped out of the truck. Her hair stood on end, as if she were about to be struck by Hghtning. She'd felt this way before, usually before a case went really sour. "The truck will make it now. Let's get going," she urged, looking around for someone who might be standing in the tree line. A sniper could pick them off quite easily.

  Wilson was just coming from the rear of the vehicle when Ella spotted an elderly man coming down the arroyo to their left. Wilson saw him too. "I don't recognize him," he said warily.

  "His face is hidden in the folds of that blanket," Ella commented, worried that Wilson, who had lived here most of his life, should not recognize the man despite the blanket. Her body was tense, her muscles so tight they screamed with the strain. There was the possibility that Wilson and Clifford had planned this whole encounter, for reasons she couldn't begin to guess.

  The man approached to within twenty feet, then

  stopped and pointed his gnarled finger directly at them. "You can't escape what surrounds you," he warned, his voice hollow, as if he were speaking from a cave. "Death wraps itself around you even now." He began a bizarre, incomprehensible chant, which grew progressively louder as he repeated each stanza. It sounded somehow familiar, yet not.

  Wilson backed up a step, then, seeing that Ella had held her ground, reached out and pulled her back. "Stay away from him."

  "Yeah, he's crazy," Ella said softly. "But there's nothing supernatural about him. He's human like you or me." The volume of the man's chant had increased to an ear-shattering pitch.

  Wilson stepped in front of her and scattered pollen into the air, invoking Changing Woman's protection.

  The man's face contorted in rage, and he reached into a fold of the blanket.

  Ella instinctively unsnapped the strap of her holster and reached for her pistol.