Death Chant

by Vella Munn

  “Generation gap?”

  “It’s more than that.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to anyone about his relationship, with not just his uncle, but with who he was. It had to be their isolation and death’s reality that had him wanting to tell her more. “Uncle Talio has never lived anywhere else. He barely comprehends that there’s more to the world than Northwest Washington.”

  “And Doc intruded on what the local tribes consider their territory—at least that’s how they saw it. Maybe one of them resented him enough to—”

  “That isn’t my people’s way.” Unless someone believed Grandparents Cave was threatened.

  “You said your brother is an alcoholic. Does that mean he’s an outcast? What about others who don’t fit into the romanticized mold?”

  Why was she pushing? “The Hoh held a meeting after Dr. Gilsdorf made his request for assistance. Like the other tribes, they decided not to. End of discussion.”

  She was briefly silent. “He told me that, but he had no idea why.”

  Because more was at stake than Doc could possibly have comprehended. More than Winter could comprehend, either. They weren’t Hoh.

  “Doc was murdered,” she said softly. “You can’t blame me for needing to know who did that to him.”

  “That’s law enforcement’s job.”

  “And I should, what, simply bury him and go on with my life?”

  If he’d been in her position, he would be asking the same questions. The thing was, when he’d told her his people weren’t violent, it wasn’t strictly the truth. When drunk, Floyd had put more than one fist through a wall. Several of the younger Hoh had threatened to storm Washington D.C. when it had taken Congress so long to deed the tribe a measly thirty-seven acres because erosion was destroying what land they had. Congress had finally granted their request, but there was still resentment on the part of some tribal members. The relationship between the Northwest Natives and Park authorities was complicated and sometimes adversarial. Some Natives saw Dr. Gilsdorf as just another bureaucrat.

  “I don’t get Native Americans’ animosity toward Doc. He was an anthropologist doing his job.”

  “That’s your take on it.” He made no attempt to keep his disagreement out of his voice. “But there’s another side to the issue.”

  She didn’t respond for so long, he wondered if she intended silence to serve. Darn it, she’d been through hell today. He should be focused on comforting her, not whatever was happening.

  “What’s the other side?” she asked.

  “Some educators see the world as a lab. To an anthropologist, the cultures he studies aren’t the same as living, breathing people.”

  “Now there’s a generalization if I’ve ever heard one.”

  Imagining her with fire in her eyes had him sitting up straighter. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he might not have a choice. One thing, talking might keep her from focusing on the nearby body and encroaching wilderness.

  “What did he hope to accomplish?”

  “Something he’ll never be able to.” Tears thickened her words. “All right. I need to do this. Anthropologists and historians have long assumed that Northwest Native Americans lived on the coast and thrived from what the ocean and other waterways provided. Artifacts such as canoes and their houses bear that out, but being close to the sea also made the natives vulnerable to their enemies.”

  “Because their enemies know where to look for them.”

  “Exactly.”

  She sounded excited, which reminded him she wasn’t that different from Dr. Gilsdorf.

  “After his wife died,” she said, “Doc threw himself into his work. I’m not sure what initially prompted him to decide to take another look at conventional wisdom with regards to the Northwest tribes, but, once he did, it became an obsession.”

  Did she feel the same way? If she saw the past as nothing more than something to be studied, he’d spend as little time as possible with her.

  Hopefully she was worthy of his, what, his attraction?

  “Doc formulated the theory that Northwest tribes occasionally moved inland. He believed it entailed more than hunting camps. If he was right, entire villages relocated many miles east of the shoreline and at a distance from the rivers. They did so both for safety reasons and because fishing is seasonal. When the fish weren’t running, hunters went after the plentiful game in the forest. They took their families with them.”

  More than just their families. But that wasn’t something a Hoh would ever tell an outsider. “Was he just obsessed, or did the drive for job security factor in?”

  She didn’t immediately answer, and when she did, her tone was terse. “The university only has two tenured anthropology professors. Doc was one of them, so, no, he wasn’t afraid for his job.”

  “What about his reputation? Leaving a legacy?”

  “That factored in. Can you blame him?”

  “No.” He meant it.

  “Regardless of how you and the rest of your tribe feel about what he was doing, the bottom line is he’d convinced the grant committee to provide him with the funds necessary to prove his hypothesis.”

  “Or disprove it.”

  She sighed. “Yes. Another professor—Dr. Wilheim, my immediate supervisor—presented the grant committee with basically the same hypothesis.”

  “It doesn’t seem strange to you that they’d reach identical conclusions?”

  “Their offices are side by side. They run—ran—in the same circles and shared the same interests. I’m sure they’d discussed the possibilities.”

  “So we wound up with two competing professors after the same status and money. Put you in an awkward position, didn’t it?”

  “Sometimes. I tried not to let it.”

  “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen now?”

  “As far as the research is concerned? I have to talk to the grant committee.”

  “Maybe Dr. Wilheim will take over.”

  “Maybe.”

  Unless he was reading her wrong, that was the last thing she wanted to see happen.

  “There’s a good chance he’ll try,” she said at length. “He was furious when Doc got the grant.”

  “How furious?”

  She looked up from massaging her foot. “What are you saying?”

  “You know him. I don’t.”

  “I’m not sure I do. He doesn’t see me as an equal.”

  “Pompous?”

  “He has a powerful ego.”

  “Stay out of his way.”

  She didn’t respond, which gave him too much time to ask himself why he’d warned her. He wasn’t a detective. It wasn’t his job to figure out who’d attacked Dr. Gilsdorf, or why.

  As for Winter Barstow, she wasn’t his responsibility. Between taking care of his uncle and trying to keep his brother out of the bottom of a bottle, to say nothing of earning a living, he had enough on his plate. Tonight, he’d do what he could to keep the young woman from falling apart. Tomorrow, he’d go back to being a park ranger.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said. “If you had the final say, would you have let Doc work to prove his theory? Maybe you would have told him not to come.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t—”

  “You’re Native American, so don’t tell me it doesn’t matter to you.”

  “I care about my people’s quality of life. That’s as far as it goes.”

  “Is it?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  He heard her take a shaky breath. “I envy you,” she whispered. “At least you know who you are. Where you came from. Who you belong to. If you don’t embrace your heritage, I feel sorry for you.”

  Until now, he’d thought of her as a woman being buffeted by an emotional wind, her every mood and word painted by her loss. She’d started to reveal something about herself, but he didn’t know how to draw it out of her. Or if he should.

  “I’ll tell you what I tell my uncle,�
�� he deliberately bit out his words. “I’m a national park employee. Doing my job is my priority.”

  “That’s all?”

  “It’s enough.” It wasn’t.

  * * * *

  Her bare feet made a slapping sound as she ran down the empty trail. Her lungs burned, and her heart pounded, but she couldn’t slow down. Bony arms and legs pumped while long black hair trailed out behind her. Every time she looked up, she saw the same thing—desert.

  Fear toyed with her. She didn’t want to be alone. If only someone would take her into his or her arms, cradle her and tell her she was loved.

  But she’d never heard the words.

  After what seemed like forever, her legs caught fire. Her instep cramped, forcing her to stop. She pushed sweat-wet hair away from her eyes and looked around.

  Where were the sand, cactus and lizards that had always been there? The air wasn’t dry and hot. Instead, it tasted cool and damp.

  Confused but not alarmed, she took hold of her arms. They were still child-skinny. She had no breasts or hips.

  “Where am I?” Her voice was high. Like that of a child.

  No one answered, but then she was alone—always alone.

  Her heart still raced, and her lungs hurt. She’d run all she could tonight. It was time to face—what?

  Trees. Ferns. Bushes. Steep hills. And, in the distance, a curving, curling creek.

  “Where am I?”

  Not alone after all. A wolf was here.

  Tears burned her eyes and cheeks. Her hands shook as she extended them toward the dark form.

  “Wolf. You’re here.”

  The predator came closer, opened its mouth and gently held her fingers with long, sharp fangs.

  “You found me.”

  Wolf never spoke. In all the times he’d visited her, he had yet to send a single message. It didn’t matter, because she understood.

  Wolf didn’t want her to be alone.

  “I missed you. You’ve been gone so long, I thought— Where are we?”

  “Winter, wake up.”

  A man’s voice. Despite the hands on her shoulders, gently shaking her, Winter fought to stay in the familiar place. “You found me,” she whispered.

  The fingers tightened. “What are you talking about? Winter, you’re having a dream.”

  Winter. Cold night air settled along her neck and throat. Between that and Jay crouching over her, she reluctantly pulled herself out of the dream and embraced the reality his form represented. Still half asleep, she gave silent thanks for the return of what she’d thought she’d lost in childhood.

  Wolf was back.

  Maybe aware of what was happening to her tonight, to Jay.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have woken you.” Jay’s hands stayed on her. Warmed her. “But your dream sounded like it was pretty vivid. I was afraid it would turn into a nightmare.”

  Nightmare? She nearly told him that was the last thing that would happen. Wolf brought love. A sense of belonging.

  Then memories of what had happened a few hours ago swamped her. She placed her hand over Jay’s. The bit of human warmth helped. She couldn’t let go. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t.” He laced his fingers through hers.

  As more and more consciousness returned, her awareness of Jay Raven’s presence increased. Despite the dim lighting, the moon and stars revealed dark hair and features as well as a white undershirt stretched over muscles. Cold as it was, she wished she had something around her shoulders. At least her lower body was warm. Hoping he couldn’t see what she was doing, she glanced at his legs. He was wearing what appeared to be sweat pants. Tonight, this man in casual sleepwear was the only human in her world.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Because it’s fading?”

  “Not really.”

  She wasn’t sure how she felt when he released her hand and scooted back so she could sit up. Cold. Alone.

  “It’s an old dream,” she told him. “One I haven’t had since I was a child.” She reached under her nightshirt’s neckline and spread the fingers his hand had warmed over her tattoo. “I’m surprised I had it tonight.”

  “Surprised in a good way?”

  She was tempted to tell him about it, but this was so personal. “I’m all right.”

  “Try to get some sleep.”

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  “I thought you might say that.” He returned to his sleeping bag. “Would you like to talk?”

  “I don’t want to keep you awake.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I was only dozing.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “I’d rather you talk than keep things bottled up inside.”

  The night wasn’t bright enough for her to make out his expression, but maybe she didn’t need it thanks to his words. She wished he’d stayed at her side. At the same time, she needed distance if she was going to be able to concentrate on something other than him. “What am I going to do with Doc’s belongings? I need to ask Pearson—”

  “Pearson?”

  “Doc’s only child.” An unwanted thought lodged a moan in her throat. “I have to tell him his father was murdered.”

  “You could let law enforcement. Don’t ask too much of yourself.”

  Thanks for saying that. “It’s all right. I owe Doc that much.”

  “It sounds to me as if you believe you owe him a lot.”

  She was wrong about wanting to talk to Jay. It wasn’t as if she intended to keep her past a deep, dark secret, but it needed to stay like that until she could plan her explanation of what had brought her to this place in her life.

  Besides, come morning, she and Jay might go their separate ways.

  She sidestepped his comment. “Do you often spend the night out here alone?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you?”

  “I grew up here.”

  In other words, he belonged. When her chest started to ache, she realized she was rubbing her tattoo. Sometimes, she all but forgot about it, but it had been on her mind since Doc had sent her the wolf mask.

  “Have you been to Olympic before?” Jay asked.

  Grateful for the change of subject, she explained that she hadn’t, but that during her senior year of college, she’d joined other upperclassmen in a trip to the Makah Cultural and Research Center in Neah Bay, Washington. Seeing some of the fifty thousand artifacts that had been preserved as a result of an ancient mudslide at the whaling village Ozette had been an amazing experience.

  “I felt the same way when my uncle took Floyd and me there so we could get a sense of what Native life had been like back then. Despite the mudslide, everything from fishing nets to bark hats was intact. It wasn’t the first mudslide, so my question is why did they stay there?”

  Jay and she were on the same wavelength. But she didn’t tell him about her heightened sense of awareness the whole time she’d been in Neah Bay or the dreams of a wolf that had come every night.

  “Tradition, probably.” She shrugged. “Maybe they believed their spirits and gods wanted them to live there.”

  “That’s something we’ll never know.”

  Unless Jay, even though he wasn’t a Makah, comprehended more than he was letting on. Part of what had driven Doc was his belief that Northwest Natives had kept their history alive by passing it on. He was also convinced that the Natives deliberately kept some of their stories and traditions from outsiders. Natives considered their relationships with their spirit guides sacred and private, so it made sense that they felt the same way about their roots.

  Where had the wolf mask come from? Given its pristine condition, it must have been in the possession of someone experienced in caring for it. Jay had mentioned the park historian. Maybe the man knew something about where a Hoh artifact might have come from, but how could she poke around without raising his s
uspicions?

  What if the mask had been in a private citizen’s possession or Doc had come across it while in the forest?

  The forest? Was that possible?

  “Why don’t you lie down?” Jay asked.

  “My mind’s like a hamster running in one of those wheels. There’s nothing to do right now except think.”

  “You’re right.”

  For a short while, she’d forgotten that Jay stood between her and isolation. Now she debated asking why he’d become a ranger and what he’d done before that, but he might want an explanation of what had brought her to this point in her life, and she wasn’t ready to go there. It was better if they remained strangers in the night—except they weren’t. At least on a superficial level, they shared the same ethnicity.

  Too much pondering. Too much of everything.

  At first, she thought the wind was responsible for the sound. Then it became stronger, and she sat upright. The long, quiet howl wrapped itself around her. It stood in stark contrast to the sharp sound she’d heard when she’d put on the wolf mask, and carried none of the threat the one earlier today had.

  There was something exquisite about it, maybe a gift from this wild place.

  “What are you doing?” Jay asked.

  “Listen.”

  The howl rose and fell. By turn, it reminded her of a misty morning and a drumbeat. Ignoring the cold, she scrambled out of her sleeping bag and stood. She stared in the direction the sound seemed to be coming from. If she was certain of the source, she’d head toward it. Ignore all possibility of danger. Fully embrace the mystical appeal.

  “You hear something?” he asked.

  “You don’t?”

  “An owl a few minutes ago. Something, a rodent probably, is gnawing.”

  “A wolf. Listen.”

  Despite the lack of a response from Jay, she concentrated on the almost lilting sound. As a teenager, she’d convinced the managers of a wildlife preserve to let her volunteer for them. There’d been nothing glamorous about what she did, which mostly consisted of cleaning out enclosures. She hadn’t told anyone that her main reason had been so she could study the three wolves that lived there. Even though the wolves hadn’t wanted anything to do with her, she’d fallen in love with the remote creatures. She’d learned as much as she could about them, including how they communicated. Not once had the trio vocalized nonstop like this one was doing. Also, the preserve wolves’ yips hadn’t made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up like now.