Blackening Song (40 page)

“I’d capture the man who murdered my father.”

“I wasn’t alone. Others stood with me while I stole the strength from the preacher. What about them?”

“I’ll see that each of you face’s justice, one at a time if necessary.” The horrific image evoked by his admission filled her
with rage. Ella held her gun steady, refusing to let it waver for even a second. “You’re not going anywhere. Put down the shotgun. That’s your only chance. I won’t warn you again.”

“I’ve always loved you, Ella,” he said, then squeezed the trigger.

The porch support splintered into kindling and buckled. Ella dove to one side, off the porch. She was trying to roll behind the Bronco when she felt
buckshot from his second blast sear the side of her leg with fire.

Blood flowed quickly, soaking her pants leg. She crawled to the opposite end of the vehicle, staring at Peterson.

He fired again, crouched behind an overturned bench. “You’re wounded and outgunned, and in no position to fight. I’ll give you one chance. Stay behind cover if you like, but throw your pistol out onto the ground where
I can see it.”

“Why are you being so generous?” She clutched her gun firmly and ignored the damp warmth creeping down her leg. If she was going to die, she’d take him with her.

“There are secrets in your past about which you know nothing. The evil will call to you too, and soon.”

“Yeah, right. Well, I’ve fought you to a standstill and I’m still here. Most of your buddies aren’t.”

“You’re kidding
yourself. You’ve accomplished nothing, unless you count killing your father-in-law a victory. But even that is not over. The chief’s
chindi
now occupies another living body. He’ll take your life unless you join us.”

“Right. And the tooth fairy is your sister.”

For his answer, a blast of buckshot peppered the ground beside Ella, stinging her face with sand. “Enough. Either throw your weapon over
here or die alone. You’re too stupid to realize what you’re dealing with. You’ll be forgotten before the next sunrise.”

Bessie Tso came out from behind the corner of the building. “No, she won’t be forgotten,” she said, her voice clear. “I was offering my prayers to the dawn when I heard gunshots. I came to see if I could be of help, and it seems I’m just in time. You’re not alone in your fight
anymore, L.A. Woman.”

“So I kill two bitches instead of one. This whole area will be the playground of skinwalkers. There’s nothing you can do to prevent it,” Peterson said and swung around, firing at Bessie and missing her by inches.

The middle-aged woman moved with surprising speed, and the buckshot only tore a chunk from the corner of the building. Ella squeezed off a shot of her own, forcing
Peterson to the ground. He grunted as it struck.

Suddenly at least a dozen more adults came toward the police station, advancing warily, but approaching nonetheless. The sounds of violence had apparently alerted other early risers in the neighborhood. Ella heard Herman Cloud’s voice. “What’s going on?”

As Bessie filled him in, Ella shifted her vantage point to the other end of the Bronco, searching
for the opportunity to gain the upper hand. “Give it up Peterson, it’s over.”

Ella’s heart stuck in her throat as she saw Herman step out into full view, six others beside him. “You can shoot one, maybe two of us, but you won’t escape the rest. Or our justice.” His voice was harsh and convincing.

Ella knew they would tear Peterson apart with their bare hands if he fired again. She waited, scarcely
breathing.

Peterson stood up, leaving his weapon on the ground. Blood ran from a bullet wound below his collarbone. “I’ll take my chances in the courts,” Peterson said, raising his arms as much as his injury would allow.

Ella saw the murderous intent on the faces of the people moving forward. Part of her would have liked to hand Peterson over to the angry civilians, then just turn her back and
walk away. “If one of you will open the door for me, I’ll take him inside to a cell.”

Bessie came up to her. “You shouldn’t move. You’re still bleeding.”

“Not badly. First we’ll take care of Peterson, then I have to get help for Wilson Joe, my brother, and Samuel Pete.”

Herman smiled. “No need. The old man called me on the CB ten minutes ago, from one of the pickups out by the warehouse. Everything
is over up there. In fact, it was that call that brought the rest of us here. We don’t live as close as the professor, or we would have been here sooner.” Herman nodded to three men, who grabbed Peterson’s arms.

Ella holstered her pistol and pulled out the flint knife. “Hold this at his throat while I search him for weapons or keys.” She gave the blade to Herman, who looked at it for a second
before swinging it to within a quarter inch of Peterson’s throat.

Yazzie froze, then began whimpering softly in obvious terror. Ella searched him thoroughly, dropping everything in his pockets on the ground, including his wallet, keys and a large lock-back pocketknife. Removing his belt, she stepped back and nodded to the men, who hauled him into the station none too gently.

Ella limped toward
the building, with Bessie supporting her. Hearing a vehicle speeding up the road, Ella stumbled around to face it, gun out again. A familiar voice shouted, and she saw Wilson at the wheel.

The truck came to a sliding stop in the gravel, and Clifford jumped out. He studied her wounds. Then, taking her arm, he helped her move toward the building. “You did well, Little Sister.”

“Just barely.”

“You accomplished what you set out to do,” he said.

“We’re not finished yet,” she answered hesitantly. She was about to tell him what Peterson had said when Herman Cloud came toward them.

“We need one of you to accompany us. We’ve put him in a cell and locked the door, but none of us can make sure we do everything necessary to keep him there.” He handed Ella a ring containing a single large double-cut
key.

“Legally, he’s not about to get off, so I guess they want the services of a
hataalii,
” Ella said, glancing at Clifford.

Clifford helped her through the door and down the corridor to the holding area. “We each have jobs to do. You completed yours. Now it’s my turn.”

From her vantage point in the hall, she saw her brother sprinkling sacred pollen on the bars that held Peterson prisoner.
He was standing against the back wall of the enclosure, deliberately looking away from Clifford’s activities. For one brief instant, Peterson’s eyes met and held hers.

“We’re not finished with you,” he uttered.

A shudder rippled through her, and she looked away, toward Clifford.

TWENTY-FIVE

Two weeks later, Ella sat outside on her mother’s porch, listening to Blalock’s account of the legal proceedings against Peterson. The agent was in much better spirits now that he knew Clifford had not been seriously wounded and no charges would be brought against him.

“We worked on Yazzie for eight hours. He just sat there and smiled. Then the temporary police chief—the guy appointed
by the tribal council—came in and told Yazzie that he’d personally post bail for him. All the time he talked, he kept thumbing the blade of a nasty-looking stone knife. Then he reminded Yazzie that he would notify the community of the time of release, for their own protection, of course.

“Yazzie turned whiter than me, then damn near choked. He started foaming at the mouth, claiming that little
voices told him to kill your father. He’s obviously decided to start working on an insanity plea. He said the voices told him it was either your father’s life, or his own.”

Ella shrugged. “There might be a tiny element of truth to that. But an insanity plea, that’s weak, even for him. He participated willingly in the murder, and had a definite motive, no matter how warped that motive may seem
to the courts.”

Silence stretched between them. Blalock looked away. In the distance they could hear the rhythmic beat of ceremonial drums. Blalock’s expression grew taut. “Doesn’t that annoy you after a while? It’s really getting to me. It’s been going on for nine days now. I don’t know how I’m going to stand this godforsaken country another two years.”

“Full credit for the collar went to you.
I thought you said they’d be letting you transfer out.”

“Hell, that’s what I thought too. But I was told that my success with this case shows I understand the Indian mind. The bureau decided I could serve best by staying here.” He shrugged. “Who knew?”

The sounds of the drums intensified. Blalock pursed his lips. “How much longer is that going to go on?”

“Tonight’s the last night. It’s a Night
Way chant.”

“Everyone’s down there—must be thousands of people.”

“Troubled times make people come together.”

“But now that it’s over—”

Ella shook her head. “That’s the problem. Some people don’t believe it’s over.”

“Do you?”

She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Our way teaches that whatever happened once may happen again.”

Rose came outside. “It’ll be time to go soon,” she
told her daughter. She glanced at Blalock with an “Are you still here” look that was hard to miss.

“I’ll be ready.”

Blalock waited until Rose went back inside the house. “How long before you return to duty? Your leg is healed up pretty good. I hear the L.A. office is eager to get you back. Somehow you came out of all this smelling like a … gardenia?”

“I sent in my resignation yesterday.”

Blalock just stared for a moment. “You did
what?
I don’t believe you! You’re tossing away your career just like that?” He snapped his fingers. “What for? What could you have been offered that’s better than what you already have?”

“Not a thing. At the moment, I’m unemployed. Believe me, it wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

“So what are you going to do for a living? Law enforcement is in your blood.”

“I filled out an application for the tribal police. There are a few positions open right now,” she answered with a wry smile, “and I’m qualified. I’ve got a whole binder full of commendations.”

Blalock guffawed. “You’re trying for the police chief’s job?”

“Why not? I have excellent training and experience.”

“Do you think you’ll get it?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure they’ll find room for me
somewhere.”

Wilson joined them on the porch. “Ella’s needed here, and the People know it. She won’t have a hard time finding a place for herself in our police department.”

Blalock shook his head. “Well, I wish you the best of luck,” he said finally, shaking his head. “I’ll be seeing you again, one way or the other.”

“Thanks.” Ella watched him go, knowing that a chapter of her life was coming
to an end.

“Do you regret resigning?” Wilson asked softly as Ella’s mother emerged from the house.

“No. I belong here. I’ve never been as certain of anything before in my life.”

Moments later, the three of them set off for the new churchsite in Wilson’s new truck. “Today,” Rose said in a heavy tone, “I fulfill my last obligation to your father.”

“It’s time to let go, and look to the future,”
Ella said softly.

“For all of us,” Rose answered.

The silence that settled around them was a comfortable one that no one seemed eager to break. Finally they approached the dirt road leading to the new church. “It’s still too close, just a mile from the previous site,” Wilson muttered. “This place will always make me uneasy.”

“That’s why we’re all here early. The first church service won’t be
for several hours, and Clifford needs to do a
Hoh-chon’-jih Hatal
to clear the area of
chindi.
Then he’ll do a blessing on the land that will keep the skinwalkers away from here for good.”

As they reached the church—still only a foundation and concrete pad—they saw Loretta and Clifford, waiting hand in hand. “She looks happy at last. I’m glad,” Ella said softly.

“A young woman is too alone without
a husband,” Rose answered dryly.

Ella tried not to look at Wilson, but she knew he was smiling. “Real subtle, Mom,” she whispered sternly, shaking her head.

As they left the vehicle, Clifford greeted them. “Everything’s ready. Now that you’re all here, I can begin.” He moved away from the others and invoked the four Lightnings.

Clifford stood back for a long moment and gathered power into himself.
At last he led them toward a sand painting prepared on buckskin that had been placed on the ground. The Sun was depicted in blue and the Moon in white. Black and Yellow Wind completed opposite corners of the picture. As he sang over the painting, incense burning in a small pottery bowl sent a wholesome scent into the air.

Ella concentrated on her brother’s song, accepting the duty of supporting
his prayers to aid the ritual. Fear no longer held her back. She was stronger than she’d ever been.

After the Sing, Clifford destroyed the painting with his hands, in the order it had been constructed. Completing the ritual, he swept up the sand and carried it north, where he released it.

“It is finished in beauty,” he said at last.

Clifford’s face looked worn and Ella knew he was still very
tired. As Rose and Loretta walked back toward the church foundation, Clifford, Ella, and Wilson stood looking at the nearby mesa.

“It’ll start again,” Ella said. “We all know that. And next time, they’ll be wiser and tougher.”

“How much time do we have?” Wilson asked.

Ella shrugged and looked at her brother.

“I’m not sure either,” Clifford answered quietly, his eyes on the horizon.

Ella glanced
up at the thick dark clouds gathering. “It’ll rain again soon,” she said. A strong gust of wind whipped against them, and for a moment she thought she heard a strange wailing sound. She glanced at the others.

“A coyote, at this time of day?” Wilson asked in a hush.

“Not likely,” she protested. “It’s just the wind.”

“Wind carries only the truth,” Clifford mused softly.

Thunder rumbled in the
distance. Ella, her brother, and Wilson Joe turned to face it.