Blackening Song (38 page)

Ella sat there in stunned silence.

“For years, our families were in competition. My father wanted me to prove that I was better at virtually everything Clifford ever tried. He even had me study with a
hataalii
and learn everything I could about our ways. I did it to please him, but I always
knew that my life’s walk would take me in a different direction. He died while I was still in high school. Suddenly I was free—and eager to discover my own strengths and weaknesses. As I found myself, Clifford and I became friends.”

Clifford led the way through the narrow opening to the cave, lighting the path with a flashlight they’d found in the Bronco. “All our lives are at stake now. We’ll
need to use every shred of knowledge we have to stay alive.”

“I’m still not sure who actually killed Dad,” Ella admitted slowly. “And that’s the man I really want.”

“Only someone he trusted could have made him stop on the highway that night,” Clifford said.

“Maybe it was my father-in-law,” she observed. “No, that makes no sense. As police chief, he didn’t have to use lethal force to make sure
my father didn’t interfere with the skinwalkers. He had too many legal options open to him.” She paused abruptly as the full brunt of the betrayal her family had faced dawned over her. “Peterson Yazzie!”

Clifford nodded. “He’s the logical choice. He was our father’s favorite nephew. Peterson loved him.”

“How can you say that? He killed him.”

“Peterson had to kill someone he loved, someone dear
to him, for the skinwalker magic to work. He had no brothers or sisters, and his parents passed on years ago. Our father was the person closest to him.”

Ella tasted bile at the back of her throat. “He’s mine,” she whispered. “Leave him to me.”

Clifford gave her a long look, then nodded. “All right.”

“Don’t talk to him when you meet; don’t let him distract you,” Wilson added. “When you face
him, remember that it’s a battle to the death. He won’t surrender to you, no matter what he says.”

“I’ll take him down, trust me, but not by sacrificing my honor. He’ll either surrender or die.”

Clifford moved a large tumbleweed away from an opening in the wall of the cave, revealing two metal footlockers. Wilson and Ella helped Clifford pull them into the center of the cave. Clifford opened
the first one, and the preparations began.

While Clifford prepared an herb mixture, Wilson sprinkled cornmeal as an offering to First Man and First Woman.

“This offering serves a dual purpose,” he explained. “Their help is never assured, understand. But if we appeal to them, then we can at least count on them not to interfere with whatever good may come our way tonight.”

Clifford started assembling
a medicine bundle for each of them to carry. “Flint to repel the
chindi,
and to confuse our enemies. Do you remember the story?” he asked Ella, showing her the stones.

“Flint originated when the supernaturals who preyed on the land were destroyed. It has power because of its hardness, and the flashes of light from its facets represent lightning and the time before dawn.”

Clifford nodded in approval.
“We’ll carry flint-tipped arrowpoints, and other flint-tipped weapons, plus a small piece of turquoise to give us power and strength. Remember that when Sun placed the Turquoise Man inside his child, he promised it would make him invincible to any evil he encountered.”

He added rock crystals to the contents of the leather medicine pouches beside the turquoise. “At creation a crystal was placed
on the tongue of each person, so that everything he said would come true.” Clifford sprinkled pollen into each bag. “The pollen is for well-being; the crystal for prayer.”

“So the medicine bundle becomes like a holster, meant to hold our weapons.”

“Only this is to attract good, not just repel evil.”

Wilson started a small fire as Clifford crouched next to a pile of herbs that had been stored
in the footlocker.

“We need to burn these five chant herbs,” Clifford explained, spreading out a small rug taken from the footlocker. “Then we’ll dip the flint in the ashes and use the rest for Blackening.” Blackening, the rite traditionally used to frighten evil away, might work against skinwalkers whose beliefs were steeped in tradition. And if nothing else, it would be good camouflage.

She
watched the two men prepare the mixture. Clifford placed the flint in the chant dish, then poured water from a sealed jar in five directions. At length, the dish was set on the blanket with the other bundle items. After her brother completed the chant, they each reached for the ashes, applying them to their faces. Ella was surprised at how natural she felt during the ritual. She would have expected
to feel silly doing any such thing.

“Now we’re ready for the rest.” Clifford brought out the traditional weapons from the second footlocker and sang over them. He kept the flint ax and handed Ella a large flint knife. Last of all, he handed Wilson a short-handled stone spear.

Ella noted the more conventional weapons stored inside the second footlocker with a relieved sigh. “Don’t forget these.”
She handed Clifford a carbine and a box of cartridges. His own rifle had been smashed by the pointed log when it struck the truck. She kept the shotgun, a nice Winchester pump model with an eight-round capacity.

“No chance of that,” Wilson answered, opening the breach and checking his own rifle, which hadn’t left his sight since they’d abandoned the truck.

Fifteen minutes later, they were headed
back down the mountain in their stolen vehicle, Ella at the wheel. “Let’s hope they’re still there.”

“They will be,” Clifford assured her.

“Let’s get something clear,” Ella warned. “We’ll use only as much force as necessary to subdue them. I’m primarily interested in Peterson Yazzie. If the others make no move against us, we hold our fire.”

“We can’t,” Clifford said quietly.

Ella took her
foot off the gas, ready to stop. “This isn’t a vigilante raid. We’ll identify and capture those we can, then turn everything over to the tribal council. Let them decide what they want to do about it.”

“The evil ones will resist,” Clifford stated calmly. “Navajo witches cannot permit themselves to be taken alive. The minute their activities are exposed, their lives will be ruined. They have to
fight.”

“If they don’t attack us, we won’t use force. Is that clear?” Ella snapped.

Wilson and Clifford exchanged glances, but it was Wilson who finally spoke. “Do you honestly believe the skin-walkers will give up and go quietly into captivity? They’re all accomplices to murder, and a host of other crimes. They’ve given up everything to protect one of their own.”

Ella exhaled softly. “We’ll
do whatever has to be done, but not in a way that makes us no better than they are. Are we all agreed on this?” She waited until Clifford and Wilson nodded, then pressed the accelerator and continued on their way.

When they reached the top of the mesa, the cars were all still there, each with two flat tires. No alarm appeared to have been raised. At Ella’s insistence, they split up and approached
the building from three sides. They crept up slowly, each watching for signs of danger.

The continued silence was as unnerving as it was puzzling. Ella could sense her brother’s position and, looking through the darkness, caught a glimmer of a shadow she knew was Wilson. At the moment, she was closest to a window. She would have to look inside.

She rose slowly and peered in. The building was
as empty as before. Hearing a soft footstep behind her, she spun around, shotgun ready.

“Whoa!” Clifford whispered.

“No one’s in there.”

“Close your eyes for a moment. Feel. They’re there.”

Ella shut her eyes. Her other senses seemed to become more finely tuned. The air around them seemed to vibrate, or hum. It made her skin crawl and set her nerves on edge.

“We have to go inside,” Clifford
said.

“They’re close by, yet not,” she said and shook her head. “I’m not making sense.”

Wilson approached. “The back door’s not locked. Let’s go get some answers.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Ella led the way; Wilson brought up the rear. Clifford, the most vulnerable, would be safest between them. They slipped into the building noiselessly and looked around, but no one was there.

Ella stopped beside some cardboard boxes, her back pressed against the wall. Her gaze stayed sharp, and her body was tensed in anticipation. An odd humming noise, hard to pinpoint, came from
everywhere and nowhere. She glanced at the others and knew they heard it too.

Clifford gestured to a wooden pallet in the center of the room. “There,” he mouthed.

Ella approached carefully. The humming grew more intense as she drew closer. The sound seemed to pierce her, winding around her, icy cold. Her scalp prickled.

Fear descended over her in waves that made it difficult to keep her thoughts
focused. The sound heightened every terror she’d held in check.

Taking a deep breath, Ella forced the fears away. “We have to move this,” she whispered.

Clifford took one side and Wilson the other, lifting the wooden barrier noiselessly, revealing a large, dark opening, like a sightless eye. A ladder had been propped against one earthen wall of the vertical shaft. Ella peered down, trying to
gauge the depth of the cavernous drop-off, but it was impossible. She suppressed a shudder, thinking it would be like climbing into your own grave.

Ella handed her shotgun to Wilson and thumbed off the safety on her pistol. Then, with one last glance at the others, she descended. The loud monotone chant rising from below repelled her, making Ella long to turn back. With effort, she kept going.
At the bottom of the ladder, she saw that the tunnel led into three passageways that seemed to swallow the light.

The chant was more distinct. She listened for a moment, then shook off the spell cast by the rhythmic, repetitive notes. They seemed to weave themselves into a fog around her mind.

Clifford and Wilson joined her a moment later. “Fight it,” Clifford whispered.

A pinpoint of light
suddenly pierced the gloom, and she saw that Wilson held a penlight in his hand.

“It’s not much,” he whispered, “but it shouldn’t give us away.”

“We’ll follow the sound,” Ella said softly.

They made their way slowly down the hand-carved tunnels, but twice they ended up in blind alleys or passageways that looped back to the beginning. Ella shook her head. “I can’t make heads or tails out of
this place.”

“Take your best guess,” Wilson suggested.

“No,” Clifford whispered. “Use your intuition. It’ll lead us down the right path.”

Walls of solid earth engulfed them on all sides, and for a panic-filled instant, Ella could scarcely breathe. There was a strange smell in the air. The place seemed to be pressing in on them, challenging her courage to the limit.

She forced herself to take
another slow, deep breath. The walls were stationary. It was just her imagination, and that damnable chant. For a moment she had the sensation that they were being lured in, that the skinwalkers would be waiting to spring a trap on them.

“We’re okay,” she said softly, trying to bolster her own courage. They walked for what seemed like miles, Wilson’s faint light their only ally. Each time they
came to a junction, Ella did not hesitate before deciding. She didn’t know if it was her instincts, or decisions based upon subtle clues she was aware of subconsciously, but they encountered no more dead ends.

She could sense Clifford and Wilson’s apprehension. None of them knew what to expect at the end of the tunnel. What if the ceremony ended while they were still searching, and their enemies
started returning? Could they remember which of the tunnels to take to avoid the skinwalkers?

Instinctively Ella touched the medicine bundle looped to her belt. The panic passed.

With every stretch of tunnel they traveled, the sounds of chanting became stronger. Her outward senses finally agreed with her instincts; they were heading in the proper direction. The walls changed from earth to stone.
Ella had to work hard to stop the trembling that shook her body. She’d always hated caves. Clutching her pistol firmly, she pressed onward.

Finally a flickering light appeared ahead, and the tunnel seemed to widen. Ella pressed her back against the wall, allowing Clifford and Wilson to look ahead.

The chanting rose to an unbearable crescendo, each note reverberating in the confines of the tunnel.
Clifford’s grip on his flint ax tightened. His face was mapped by the eerie firelight ahead. “Go,” he murmured. “Embrace your fear until it becomes an ally.”

Ella’s body was covered in perspiration. The way she figured it, her pistol would probably rust in her hand, despite its Parkerized finish, if this didn’t come to an end soon. And here was Clifford spouting something about
embracing
her
fear? Hell, it had invaded every cell in her body. She couldn’t have avoided it if she’d tried.

“If they have skinwalker powder, don’t let them touch you with it,” Clifford whispered, barely audible. “It’s red.”

At the mouth of the chamber, Ella flattened herself against the limestone wall of what was apparently a natural cave, dissolved from the earth by time and water. The stone felt cool
against her sweat-soaked back. She took another deep breath to calm her ragged nerves. The chanting had become strangely mesmeric, growing strong then faint in an even cadence.

Six men and two women sat in a circle inside the limestone cavern, around a strange stone altar. The altar was stained with a reddish-brown substance Ella suspected was dried blood.

Skinwalkers didn’t erect altars, nor
practice blood sacrifices—so far as she knew. As she studied the cavern’s interior, she realized several human skulls littered its floor. Without a doubt, it was an ancient ceremonial place, but not one that had belonged to their tribe.

“Toltec,” Wilson whispered.

“Appropriate. The Toltec practiced human sacrifice. This is a place of the
chindi.
The evil is here,” Clifford added as the chant
grew loud again.