by Vella Munn
“I hope it won’t come to that,” Jay muttered. But it might.
“Everyone with Chalat blood has the ability to connect with his or her spirit,” Uncle Talio continued. “Our grandparents and grandparents’ grandparents lived their lives according to their spirits’ wisdom.”
Although Uncle Talio stopped talking, Jay knew he wasn’t finished. His uncle wasn’t determined to make up people’s minds for them, but when he believed in something, he didn’t let go.
“The spirits are with us today.” Uncle Talio indicated the sky.
“It’s just thunder,” Floyd said. “He’s going to turn this into a history lesson when we have an important decision to make. Are you as tired of the whole spirits thing as I am?”
He was. Floyd didn’t live with Uncle Talio, which meant his brother didn’t have the ‘whole spirits thing’ as Floyd called it constantly hanging over him.
The thunderclap sounded as if it was directly overhead and was so loud it hurt Jay’s ears.
“T’ist’ilal.” A look of peace came over Uncle Talio’s features. “Thunderbird wants us to heed his wisdom as we make our decision.”
Floyd shook his head. “Does Thunderbird flip coins?”
Maybe Floyd had had more to drink than Jay had thought, because cold sober his brother would never show disrespect around their uncle.
“Who is T’ist’ilal to us?” Uncle Talio asked. “Thunderbird is one of the great ones. He lived in a lair beneath the Blue Glacier and loved whale meat. When he was hungry, he flew down to the sea, swooped and grabbed a whale as if it weighed no more than a salmon.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Floyd muttered. “And if you buy that, I have a bridge to sell you.”
“Sometimes,” Uncle Talio continued, “the whale would struggle out of Thunderbird’s grasp. When that happened, the whale fell to earth and died. It then changed into the great Whale Rocks near the ocean. Sometimes, Thunderbird grew tired from carrying the whale and set it down. The whale would thrash its tail, knocking down many trees.”
“And,” Ned said, “those actions helped form the land where the Hoh have always lived.”
Thankfully, Floyd didn’t say anything. No matter how many times Jay fought his uncle’s efforts to pull the past into the present, he never fully succeeded. Maybe today’s storm and the Thunderbird legend were simply coincidence, but what if there was something to it?
His ancestors believed Thunderbird, or T’ist’ilal, was one of the creators. The Hoh had been charged with protecting the land. However, forces beyond their control had spelled the end to their ancient way of life. These days the Hoh clung to a few acres. Grandparents Cave meant a great deal not just to the Hoh but every Northwest tribe. No one would let Dr. Gilsdorf get close to it.
Someone might resort to violence to keep that from happening.
Jay looked around for something to take his mind off the possibility. Uncle Talio was staring at him.
“Thunderbird does many things,” the man said. “Is many things. We can’t forget any of them.”
Jay sucked in more wet air. “What can’t we forget?”
“Thunderbird and Yakanon speak to each other of death,” Uncle Talio said. “Many times like when one of them sees something that has died”—he pointed at the fish carcass—“their conversation remains between them, but sometimes Yakanon hears news in the wind about the death of a soulless one. Because only Thunderbird comprehends Yakanon, Thunderbird agrees to pass on Yakanon’s message.”
A few people were trying to protect themselves from the downpour, but most stared at Jay.
Yakanon wasn’t real! The spirit or force or whatever the Old People chose to label it was a fairy tale. Part of his ancestors’ attempt to give order and reason to what they hadn’t understood.
Ned laid his hand on Uncle Talio’s shoulder. “Is that what you’re hearing today?” Ned asked. “Yakanon, through Thunderbird, is warning of such a death?”
Uncle Talio stepped toward Jay. “I hear thunder and stand in a storm. Those things remind me of what I learned from my elders, and I feel compelled to pass on that wisdom. Whether someone believes as I do or walks his own way is up to him.”
He tilted his head back. Rain washed his face. “If you believe this is simply a storm, that’s your decision. But if you believe, as I do, that Yakanon is looking into the future, then you must ask yourself who doesn’t have a soul.”
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About the Author
Vella Munn writes because the voices in her head demand it. She has had upward of 60 titles published both under her own name and several pen names. A dedicated hermit and shopping loather, she’s married with two sons and four grandchildren. She’s owned by two rescue dogs.
Email: [email protected]
Vella loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
Also by Vella Munn
Death Chant