Jett closed his eyes and held his hands palm side down over Stephen’s chest. Instantly a panic filled Jett’s mind. He immediately pulled his hands away as if they had been seared by a tremendous heat. Jett even looked at his palms to see if he had been burned, before shaking his hands to relieve some of the discomfort that remained.
As if in response, Stephen opened his eyes, which bulged eerily from their sockets and rolled toward Jett.
“It’s you,” Stephen’s voice was barely a rasping whisper but the guide shakily raised one hand toward Jett, “She… she told me… you would come.”
Jett quickly, yet gently, took the dying man’s hand in his own. The burning he had felt a moment ago did not come again. He held LaRose’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting manner.
“She? Who told you?”
“The… the Deer Woman.”
There were collective gasps that momentarily paused the chanting in the room, but it quickly resumed as Jett leaned in closer in order to keep the strain LaRose was feeling from speaking to a minimum.
“I have… a… message… for you.”
Jett nodded, “I’m listening.”
Stephen LaRose’s neck began to strain as his head lifted off the pillow, “I… I was not the prey. Not… the… prey!”
Jett frowned, “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“I… not… prey.” The man’s voice was growing weaker with every word.
Jett looked around the room. People were crying, some more hysterically than others, but Cottonwood just looked on as if bearing witness to the man’s passing with a sorrowful and concerned look on his face.
“Ok,” Jett said, “I heard your message. You can rest now.”
“Not… not… prey.” It seemed to take all the effort the man had left in his body but he shook his head, “I… was... bait.”
Stephen LaRose’s eyes drifted up, glazing over and with his final breath Jett felt the effort of the man’s very spirit defy his death, so that he might speak out his last words.
“…bait… was… bait.”
The remainder of the air in Stephen LaRose’s lungs came out as a sigh, sounding very much like a man who had been working far too hard, for far too long, and was finally able to let his pain go as he was granted relief and eternal rest.
Jett watched as La Rose’s body seemed to deflate while his head slowly lowered back down onto the pillows. Jett gently set the guide’s hand down before saying a small blessing in his own Native Squamish language, and then he rose from his seat near the bed.
He was about to turn away when Cottonwood stepped next to the bed, “What did he say?”
Jett was angry, “He was so sick, I don’t know if he was confused or babbling.” Jett turned an angry scowl to the elder, “He should have been taken to a hospital.”
Cottonwood shook his head and reached for the bed sheets covering LaRose. Gently he peeled back the sweat soaked sheets to reveal LaRose’s shirtless torso. Jett’s eyes widened as he instinctively brought his hand up to cover his mouth in shock.
Over the right side of LaRose’s body there was a horribly jagged wound, as if cut by a serrated rock instead of a blade, which stretched nearly a foot across along the underside of the ribs. The wound had been poorly stitched back together with what appeared to be animal tendons, and it was suppurated and weeping pus while the skin for several inches past the wound was discolored in angry purplish-red splotches.
“What in God’s name…?” Jett whispered.
“The legends say the Bakaak have a reputation for…” Cottonwood looked away from Jett and at the people in the room, before lowering his voice to a whisper, as he returned his gaze back to the now still form of LaRose, “It is said that the creature consumes the liver of its prey.”
Jett looked at the wound and knew it was, at least, in the anatomically correct place on the body, but how could the man have survived without such a vital organ?
Jett could only respond in a whisper, “That’s not possible.”
Cottonwood nodded, “The legends say that once the liver is consumed, the Bakaak will replace the organ with a stone or some other object and stitch the body back together. The magic of the Bakaak keeps the victim alive for a time, almost as if no mortal wound had occurred, then one day the victim rapidly deteriorates and dies.”
“Why would they do that? Why not just kill him?”
Cottonwood just looked at Jett helplessly, “It supposedly has to do with the fact that the Bakaak were repudiated to be obsessive hunters when they were alive.” The elder shrugged, “Hunters keep trophies and eat their kills. My guess would be this is a leftover remnant of what drove them in life.”
Jett studied the wound, then turned and spoke to those gathered in the room, “May I check his wounds?”
Everyone turned to an older woman, perhaps LaRose’s mother, who wiped tears off her face before nodding to Jett. Jett gave the woman a respectful bow of his head before turning back to LaRose’s corpse and placed one hand just to the side of the ragged wound. Foul pus began oozing from between the stitches the instant Jett pressed down with the slightest pressure and the smell of rot caused Jett to wince. Carefully Jett palpated, gradually increasing the pressure on the boggy, swollen flesh so as not to cause the body fluids to erupt from between the stitches, until his fingertips felt something very hard in a place where no bone was supposed to be. His finger was in position to be touching the lowest lobe of LaRose’s liver, which should have felt firm but not hard. What Jett’s finger felt now was very hard, like immovable bone. Jett had read about how some tumors can feel like a fixed stone in surrounding soft tissue and Jett was about to ask if LaRose had any medical conditions when the entire hard mass rolled under his fingertips… just the way a large stone might if placed in a body and was suspended in the swelling body fluids.
Jett’s hand shot away from the body and he stepped back in surprise and revulsion. He tried to cover his reaction from the rest of the family in the room, but clearly did a poor job of it, as the older woman immediately started crying again.
Jett turned to her, his face a disconcerted mix of fright and sorrow.
“I’m so sorry,” Jett said before he began to walk quickly from the room.
Jett closed the hotel room door behind him and took several quick gulps of air in an attempt to rid the stench of decay from his nose.
“That bad?” Ursula asked as she moved to his side.
Jett nodded his head as Cottonwood opened the door and moved into the hall.
Jett turned to the elder, “I owe you an apology.”
Cottonwood held up one hand, “Unnecessary. I understood the reason behind your objections. You simply didn’t understand everything. Frankly, I’m surprised someone from your Tribe would even know of the Bakaak.”
“Because it is a legend surrounding the Great Lakes region and Tribes?”
“Exactly.”
Jett nodded, “My grandfather was a professor of North and South American Native History and Folklore.” Jett shrugged, “It made for some very interesting campfire stories, but clearly not all the stories were as complete as they could have been.”
Jett frowned as something, beyond the obvious, was troubling him.
“Edward,” Jett asked, “what could LaRose have meant when he told me that he wasn’t prey?”
The elder looked at Jett with concern, “Is that what he said to you?”
Jett nodded, “He said that he wasn’t prey, but that he was bait.”
“He thought he was bait? For what? The Bakaak?”
Jett shook his head, “I don’t know. The Bakaak had already hunted him, had apparently consumed his liver and sewed him up again, which as impossible as it sounds to say out loud, can’t really be argued at this point.”
Ursula, who hadn’t been privy to that information gasped as her hands covered her mouth. Jett gave her an apologetic look and placed a hand on her shoulder, but the daughter of the Ancient Bear Spirit recove
red quickly, “You said these Bakaak were hunters, right?” The two men nodded, “And hunters are always looking for the best trophy animal to take on their hunts?” The two men nodded, “Is there something out there that would be a better trophy to them than a human hunter?”
Jett turned to look to Cottonwood for an answer, but the old man just shrugged, “The stories say that the Bakaak are partial to the strong, always wanting to hunt the fiercest of the tribe’s warriors as a show off their power.”
Jett understood immediately and turned a worried look to Ursula, “The police officers. Don’t you see? They trapped a hunter so they could lure in warriors.”
“Chief Tull and his men?” she responded immediately.
Jett nodded, “We need to see if there is any word on them.”
“Should we go after them now?” Ursula reconsidered and asked, “And how do we stop these things if we find them?”
Jett shook his head, “The stories I’ve heard say there is no way to defeat the creatures… or maybe there is a way but no one has ever figured it out and survived.”
Cottonwood volunteered, “The word for the creature, ‘Bakaak’ is actually an Anishanaabe word and a derivative of ‘bekaakadwaabewizid’, which translates to ‘thin, skinny or poor’ when describing the living, and in this case, ‘bones draped in skin’ when describing the creature. The only solution I have ever heard for such a thing would be to crush the bones of the being and scatter the remains.” Cottonwood looked uneasy, “Obviously this would mean confronting and defeating the creatures without somehow being hunted down by them instead.”
Jett looked at Ursula, who seemed to understand something unspoken between them before whining in a falsely exasperated tone, “You only keep me around as muscle.”
Jett smiled, “I do like your muscles.”
Ursula met his gaze and smiled back, “Yeah you do. Any ones in particular?”
“What are you two talking about?” Cottonwood seemed bamboozled by the change in subject.
Jett never took his eyes off of Ursula as he answered the elder, “We have a plan.”
“You do?”
“Yup.” Now Jett became very serious, “Tomorrow morning I’m going into the forest to track down these bastards.”
Cottonwood looked as though he was going to object but his words caught in his throat as Ursula’s smile widened and she let out a low-pitched, not quite human, growl.
Jett smiled back at her and said, “And then, I’m going to introduce them to my sweetie.”
Chapter 14
“Not that we don’t appreciate the company,” Ursula said conversationally, “but you really didn’t have to come.”
Cottonwood made a show of taking in a deep breath of the misty morning air and then let it out with a contented sigh, “It is a spectacular morning for a walk in the woods, wouldn’t you say?”
Ursula smiled as she gave the elderly man her hand while he negotiated a fallen oak tree, “It certainly is at that.”
“Besides, I do feel that the tribe should be involved in this in some way,” he explained.
“Why? Is the tribe responsible for them?”
“I don’t know,” Cottonwood shook his head, “but because this creature, or creatures, come from our mythology, I feel as though we have at least a responsibility to know… something?”
Jett called unseen from the trees ahead, “You guys see anything back there?”
“No,” Ursula called back.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes, why?”
“Are you completely sure?”
“Why?!”
“Well, it’s just you are taking so long to move that I thought you must have found something really interesting and are taking your time to study it in detail!”
Ursula rolled her eyes at Jett’s disembodied voice as it echoed through the forest.
“In fact,” Jett continued, “if you guys have stopped for coffee without me, then I’m going to be seriously pissed!”
“How could we stop for coffee, stupid? You have the Thermos.”
Silence reigned for a moment as Ursula looked smugly in Jett’s general direction, and Cottonwood shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he suppressed a smile and waited for Jett to answer.
When Jett replied his voice was sounded as if he realized his mistake, and was awkwardly trying to respond with a clever comeback, “Yeah? Well… That… That means I’m taking a coffee break right now, and without you two!”
Cottonwood covered his laugh with a cough and Ursula smile widened ever further, “No, you’re not.”
“Damn it!” Jett shouted, but there was a laugh in the back of his curse.
“And you know all this shouting makes you the worst hunter in the history of mankind, right?” she teased.
“…I am employing a strategic technique to draw in our targets.”
“Will you stop shouting if I said we would be right there?”
“Fine!” Jett shouted even louder and Ursula couldn’t help but laugh, even as she helped Cottonwood along the way.
Cottonwood accepted the help, then released Ursula’s arm as his feet came back on the relatively level ground of the game trail they were following.
“So,” Cottonwood began awkwardly, “may I ask you an uncomfortable question?”
Ursula turned, giving the old man an uneasy smile as they continued to walk, “If I can ask one in return.” Cottonwood chuckled and nodded his agreement. Ursula returned the nod and said, “Go ahead.”
“Back at the Casino…” Cottonwood searched his thoughts in order to put his words into proper place, “You came across as more than you appear. May I ask if my impression was correct?”
Ursula nodded, “You’re right.”
Cottonwood walked several steps in silence, as if waiting for Ursula to continue, but quickly realized that no further explanations were coming, “Care to expand on that? Maybe if only to help me to understand how you are going to take on these Bakaak by yourself and expect to win.”
Ursula shrugged, “First, I’m not alone. Jett is far more capable than he lets on, but I know that isn’t what you are asking.”
Ursula paused and sighed, knowing this was always the hard part. The reactions were never good, as most either didn’t believe her or, if they did, were terrified by what she revealed. She hoped this tribal elder would be open enough to believe her and wise enough to understand she wasn’t malevolent.
“There’s no title for what I am. Basically, the best way I can tell you is by describing the fact that I am not, completely, human.”
Cottonwood kept walking, “I suspected as much. Perhaps if you give me a description, then I will understand.”
Ursula had thought Cottonwood would take that bit of information in stride. The old man seemed open to the idea of a supernatural being, given his understanding of the Bakaak, but now for the tougher part.
“All right. Well, I am basically the daughter of one of the Ancient Spirit Bears of the World.”
“Spirit Bears?”
“It’s something along the lines of the ‘Deer Woman’ or ‘Spider Woman’ spirits in this portion of the world’s mythology.”
At the mention of the Deer and Spider women, Cottonwood’s eyes widened. Clearly, he was familiar with those two, and it more than accurately conveyed the kind of power that Ursula came from.
“That…” Cottonwood stammered, “that shouldn’t be possible.”
Ursula laughed, “I know. People keep telling me that.”
Cottonwood searched her face, “You’re serious?!”
“Afraid so,” she said.
Cottonwood stopped walking and just stared at Ursula, as if he was trying to intimidate her with his glare, just to get her to reveal she was pulling his leg.
When Ursula just looked back patiently, Cottonwood’s legs started to wobble slightly and his voice cracked, “You…really?”
Ursula looked at him, confused at the elderly man’s reaction, �
�Why, yes.”
Cottonwood’s eyes started shifting quickly from side to side and he seemed to be searching the ground as he swayed from foot to foot.
“What’s wrong?” Ursula asked with concern as she moved toward Cottonwood in case he started to lose his balance.
“I…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Cottonwood made a motion as if he were going to kneel before Ursula, then thought better of it, “Never thought I’d meet a Spirit in the flesh.”
“Half-Spirit,” Ursula corrected, “and there is no ceremony or protocol necessary with me. Just treat me as you would anyone else.”
“Anyone else?” Cottonwood seemed baffled, “For the first time in my life I am in the presence of a Spirit, an actual Spirit who is not in the form of a vision but in the flesh. I’m even on sacred ground for God’s… ah, sorry.”
Ursula smiled, “It’s okay, but you don’t need to…”
Still excited, Cottonwood blurted out, “How old are you?”
Ursula lost her smile, “Why is that the first question everyone asks me when they find out what I am?”
“Um…oh, right. Lost my propriety senses there for a minute in my excitement. Never mind though, I have so many more questions…”
“Okay,” Ursula started walking to Jett again, “Can they wait until were done here?”
“Oh… Of course.” Cottonwood seemed to remember why they were in the forest in the first place, “Of course.”
“Can I ask my question now?” she said.
“Anything.”
“I know that the guide was a member of the Tribe, and you feel, as you described, a responsibility to get answers now, but why hasn’t the rest of the Tribe shown an interest? And why not take an interest in this sooner? Maybe the tragedy could have been avoided?”
Cottonwood sobered instantly and he hung his head slightly as he walked, “Truth be told, life has been hard for us on the Reservation. Do you know much about Reservation life?” he added.
Dark Spirits of the Forest Page 9