Blackening Song (14 page)

“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 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.”

“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 lightning. 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.

Suddenly the man threw
something large at them. Gun in hand, Ella dodged as Wilson jumped back. With a dull thud, the object landed by Ella’s feet. The chant continued unabated, like the wailing of an animal.

Ella glanced down at the thing and shuddered. It was the head of a recently killed goat. The beast had been born deformed, without eyes. “Back away,” she ordered Wilson. “I’ve got you covered.”

Wilson started
to move closer to the truck, never turning away from the old man. “We need to leave. Now,” he shouted over the man’s screams.

The chant echoed in the confines of the canyon. The fanatical mystic reached inside the blanket and pulled out a desiccated, skeletal human hand. Ella raised her pistol; Wilson reached into the cab of the truck, groping for his rifle.

The old man held up the bony hand,
continuing to chant, then abruptly threw the hand at Ella. Though she jumped back, the thing brushed her extended gun arm. Her skin prickled; she shuddered with disgust and rubbed at her skin to remove all traces of the foul thing.

“That’s it. I’ve had it,” Wilson growled. He raised the rifle and fired two rounds into the air. The sharp cracks reverberated back and forth from the earthen walls
around them.

To Ella’s surprise, the old man tumbled to the ground. She glanced back at Wilson, but the barrel of his rifle was still pointed toward the sky. Ella broke into a run, wondering if the man had suffered a heart attack.

“No! Don’t go any closer,” Wilson yelled.

“I’ve got to!” she yelled back.

Wilson ran to catch up with her. Ella stopped three feet away from the bundle of blanket
and cloth that lay crumpled on the sand. Scarcely breathing, she studied the shape. Something was very wrong with it, she realized, heart pounding. There was no body—nothing lay beneath the blanket except ground. Before Wilson could stop her, she tossed the blanket aside and stared in mute shock at the expanse of grayish sand beneath. No prints or marks marred the smooth surface.

“What the…,”
Ella whispered.

“Get away from there,” Wilson said sharply, then handed her a small piece of flint from the medicine bundle tied to his belt.

She stared at the flint for a moment. “Protection from the
chindi?
That man was as real as you and I.” Her tone was too shaky to pass as genuine conviction, but that was just from excitement.

“You’re wrong,” Wilson insisted. “Only a very powerful skinwalker
could have done something like this.”

“Or a trickster.” Like her brother. Ella looked around, searching for anything that would provide her with a logical answer. “A holographic projection of some sort, perhaps.”

“Not everything can be explained rationally.”

Ella clung stubbornly to logic. “He was an illusionist, a good one,” she said flatly, “but that’s all.” She wondered again, glancing at
Wilson, if he’d set her up, perhaps with Clifford’s help. Wilson, after all, was the only one who had known where she’d be at this time. Maybe it was all a scheme to make a believer out of her.

“I’ll take the blanket with us as evidence,” she said finally. “Maybe we can learn something about the identity of the owner from hair, or cloth fibers.”

Wilson grabbed her hand. “Forget it. You’re not
putting that thing into my truck.”

“But it’s just…”

“No. This isn’t open to discussion. Now let’s leave.”

She didn’t have much choice, but gave in gracefully. Silently, Ella vowed to come back for the blanket later, as soon as she could borrow the truck from her mom. Sitting beside Wilson as he slowly drove away, she could sense his disapproval. He obviously wanted her to admit that what they’d
seen was a perfect example of a skinwalker’s powers. The problem was, she knew better. Superstition could cloud anyone’s thinking, and she had no intention of letting it affect her assessment of this case. What surprised her the most was Wilson’s eagerness to believe in things that defied reason. Maybe it was all an act for her benefit. Maybe he was as much a con man as her brother. If not, despite
the honesty and caring on his face, the gap of understanding between them would grow wider with each denial she made.

Ella stared across the cab at Wilson, who stubbornly kept his eyes on the road. She decided to give him a chance to come clean. “I’m going to uncover the truth, count on it. Someone’s playing with me, and I don’t like it. Whoever’s behind this is about to find out what a mistake
it is to take me on.”

“First, consider what your brother said.”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t the time for you to start to learn about things that have always frightened you,” Wilson said softly, his eyes shimmering with emotion. “You’re not equipped to fight the evil that’s at war with your family. Leave the reservation while you still can.”

“I know you’re worried, but you don’t have to
be,” she assured him calmly, her mind rapidly sorting through various reasons Wilson might have for wanting her to leave. “I’ve been in some tight spots, and always come out ahead.”

“It’s not your courage that’s in question,” he insisted. “It’s your safety…”

“My family deserves my loyalty and my protection. Whoever we’re fighting attacked me, too, by killing my father. I won’t back away.”

He nodded reluctantly. “Then we’d both better learn to be more careful.” They’d reached the Destea house. Wilson walked her to the front gate, then wordlessly returned to his truck.

Ella watched him leave. Her mother’s old mutt came up to her, tail wagging hesitantly. She patted him on the head. Together, Ella and the animal walked to the front porch.

“You’re back early,” Rose said, opening the
door. “I’m just getting ready to fix dinner.”

“I feel like I’ve been gone for a long, long time,” she muttered, following her mother into the kitchen. Ella sat at the table, sketching a crude map of her afternoon journey so she could find the place later.

Dinner that night was a simple meal, leftover mutton stew and fry bread. Neither woman seemed in the mood for chitchat, and long silences
filled the house. Ella had no intention of discussing the day’s events with her mother. The last thing she needed was more mumbo jumbo, or someone else telling her to leave the Rez. Still, the kitchen felt homey, and Ella was able to relax and unwind. The dog curled up in front of the back door, and Ella briefly wondered if the animal for some reason had decided to keep a closer eye on its owner.

Thinking about the list of names Clifford had given her, Ella decided to ask Peterson do a background check on each person.