Blackening song

by Thurlo, Aimée

  "Thanks. That's food for thought."

  What bothered Ella most was knowing she was being manipulated and led astray. She couldn't quite shake the spidery sense that someone was looking over her shoulder. She had learned, in her years as an FBI agent, that when things got risky you hedged your bets and waited for backup. In this situation only friends and family could be

  counted on for help—and she didn't have many friends on the Rez. Her own brother was wanted by the law. She had to plan her counter moves carefully.

  "Don't tell anyone what we've seen. It will only play into the hands of those who want to use confusion and superstitious fear to their advantage," she said.

  "Agreed."

  "I will not allow these people to defeat me this easily. If I go down, it'll be fighting them every step of the way." She saw Wilson smile. "What the hell are you grinning about?"

  "You haven't changed a bit. You have more courage than any ten people put together. And it's still based on sheer, undisguised stubbornness."

  Ella laughed. "Yeah, I guess I am a bit stubborn. But in my line of work, that's a real asset." It felt good to laugh, even at herself.

  "I've always admired that in you, Ella—your courage, that is. I could do without the stubbornness. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have on my side in a fight."

  "Except maybe Clifford," she mused. "You know, he may hold the solution to all this. Once he clears his name, we can use him to counter any fear tactics the skinwalkers use. People trust him. That's undoubtedly a big part of why they want to get him out of the way."

  "Let's hope people around here don't find out what we're really facing, at least not yet," Wilson said softly. "The last thing we need is a pack of vigilantes on a witchhunt. Innocent lives could be lost."

  Ella nodded somberly. "You know, to find out who's involved, I'm going to have to learn more about skinwalkers. The bad guys are obviously putting a lot of effort into making people believe they're truly magical. What do you know about skinwalker practices and rituals?"

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  "Probably more than most/' Wilson admitted quietly. "I've studied the subject for years. But speaking of the unspeakable will invite their attention/'

  "I don't think we need to worry about it. It's pretty obvious we already have their attention."

  Wilson nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right."

  "So tell me what you know."

  "Not out here. They've obviously made this place theirs. Come over to my place after you finish your other business. I'll make lunch and we can talk." Ella agreed, and Wilson climbed into his truck and drove away.

  Once he was gone, Ella retrieved the skeletal hand, using a couple of sticks to pick it up and place it in the paper bag. Setting the bag on the passenger-side floorboards of her pickup, she drove to the police station. Peterson's squad car wasn't there, nor Blalock's. Ella continued down the road to check the closest diner, and sure enough, Peterson was there.

  Ella walked into the lobby and bought a newspaper, making sure Peterson saw her. Returning to the pickup, she started reading. Five minutes later, Peterson wandered by.

  "Hi, Ella. You wanted to see me?" he said cheerfully.

  "Yes. Have a seat, but watch out for the bag on the floor, okay?" Ella gestured. "I need some info on these people." She handed him the list of four names, which she'd reco-pied.

  Peterson glanced at it. "Reverend Williamson we both know is a pain, but harmless as far as I can tell. Gene Sorrel-horse is trouble. He's a self-styled vigilante who has a tendency to solve problems with his fists, kind of like Wilson Joe. Willy Ute is an old friend of your father's, one of his converts too—in fact, I think he's taken over the earlier service at the church. There's nothing particularly noteworthy

  about Charley Atcitty. He works construction, that's all I know. What makes you suspect these particular people?"

  "I didn't say I did. Their names have come up as I spoke to others, and I wanted to know more about them."

  "I'll do background checks if you want, see if anything turns up."

  "Please."

  "Anything else? I've got to be going before one of our units drives by."

  "You could have one of the forensic people write up a report on what's in the bag by your foot."

  "Jeez, it smells," Peterson complained, looking down at it. A big blue fly clung to the side of the bag. "What's in there?"

  "Somebody's hand." Ella shrugged. Before she could explain, Peterson jumped out of the pickup as if his pants were on fire.

  "Dammit! Why didn't you tell me before I sat right next to it?"

  Ella told him about meeting a skinwalker, but left out Wilson and the other details.

  Peterson looked at her skeptically. Finally he took the bag, gingerly, and agreed to see what he could find out about recent grave-robbings.

  He drove off quickly when a police car appeared. Ella waited until the unit drove by, then left herself.

  148 * AIMEE & PAVIP THURLO

  'Teaching, or living alone?"

  "Both," Ella answered.

  "I really enjoy teaching. The sense of satisfaction in the job is very rewarding. I'm helping people learn how to learn and how to make their thoughts clear to themselves and others. That, in turn, shapes lives."

  Relaxing inside the adobe one-story home, nestled near the base of a mesa, Ella understood why he'd chosen to live there. The soothing quiet was interrupted only by the occasional cry of a bird and the soft sounds of the breeze rustling through the pirions. "I've grown so accustomed to hearing traffic outside, I'd forgotten there were places like this," she commented.

  "I remember hearing you complain, back in high school, that your parents lived too close to the highway. You loved to go off by yourself and hike in the desert."

  She smiled, surprised he remembered. "I'd spend hours dreaming of what I'd be, or what I'd do with my life." Ella had also gained experience in orienting herself outdoors, a skill she had used the day before, when Wilson had tried to confuse her by driving in circles.

  Ella glanced around the living room. Care had been taken to make this home special. Each piece of furniture had a distinctive touch. The leather sofa had intricately carved oak sides. The design was repeated on the armoire, and on the legs and arms of a nearby easy chair.

  "These must be antiques," Ella commented. "They just don't make furniture like this anymore. How long have you been a collector?"

  "I made most of the furniture here. It took me the better part of a year to carve the Navajo designs into the wood."

  Standing beside Wilson, Ella studied the carvings on the doors of the armoire. She recognized the beings that repre-

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  sented the cardinal points within the Sacred Mountains. "I remember these. Darkness Woman, Evening Twilight Woman, Dawn Man, and Horizontal Blue Man."

  "Some paint in colors. I create in wood." Wilson waved a hand, indicating his work.

  "This place really has your mark on it," Ella observed with undisguised admiration. The whitewashed walls and the openness of the living room created a sense of freedom. "You've made a good home for yourself."

  "Tell me about your home in the city."

  "It's just an apartment, a place I use mostly to sleep and shower. I don't even own the furniture. I found my center in my work."

  Wilson had started to say something when his stomach growled. "Oops." He laughed. "My stomach's never been much for silent suffering. Let's see if there's anything in the kitchen that will make a decent sandwich."

  Ella helped him assemble thick sandwiches of cold cuts, lettuce, and tomato. The kitchen was fully equipped with modern conveniences, and Ella knew that his gas appliances depended upon a propane tank in the back. That's the way it always was in outer areas of the Rez.

  "Tell me about your life," Wilson urged. "Is working for the FBI all you thought it would be when you joined?"

  "In a way, it's more. I've enjoyed traveling, seeing new place
s, learning new things." Ella grew pensive. "That's what I had thought my life would be like when I got married, but fate stepped in."

  "I heard about the accident. It must have been very hard on you," he said sympathetically. "I really admired the way you got yourself together afterward."

  "I didn't have a choice." She reminded herself not to use her deceased husband's name to avoid worrying or offend-

  ing Wilson. "I'd found my identity through being his wife. When that was abruptly taken away from me, I had no idea what to do with myself. I came home for a while, to sort out my thoughts and my life/ 7

  "I remember. I tried to visit, but Clifford said you weren't seeing anyone."

  "I needed to figure things out in my own head, and I didn't want anyone's help. For once I was determined to find my own answers."

  "But you'd always done that," Wilson protested.

  "No, not really," Ella answered with a sad smile. "I reacted to what was going on around me, that's all. I knew I was different from Clifford, and not in total agreement with either my mother or my father on the issues that affected our family most. So I avoided any decisions that might have restricted my options."

  "How did you finally settle on law enforcement?"

  "It seemed to suit me perfectly. Right and wrong are clearly marked. There are rules, and the opportunity to restore order. I decided to go to college and earn my degree, then apply to the bureau under a minority recruitment program. The bureau taught me to stand on my own, and gave me confidence I never had before. I realized I was capable of accomplishing anything I set my mind to. I made a place for myself, and I made a difference there." Ella carried the plates of sandwiches and potato chips to a small circular table.

  Wilson set down two tall glasses of cold lemonade. "I've always known I belonged on the Rez, and I always wanted to teach. I went to college and graduate school in Albuquerque, but came home as soon as I could. A few months ago I was finally offered a full professorship at the new community college and I jumped at the chance."

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  "So you are in favor of the college/' Ella commented.

  Wilson hesitated. "The college itself is a very good idea, though I do agree with Clifford that the choice of location is a poor one. I also wish your father had never insisted on building a church there."

  Ella finished her sandwich, then sat back and regarded Wilson speculatively. The openness of their discussion had done a lot to dull her suspicions. "Do you realize we've talked all around the one subject I came here to discuss?"

  "Yes," he admitted, the smile in his eyes never quite reaching his lips.

  "We can't avoid it," she said quietly. "I need to know more about the ones I'm fighting."

  Wilson leaned on the table, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "Didn't your brother ever talk to you about this?"

  "Only once, and in very general terms. At least that's all I remember."

  Wilson looked past her and out the window that faced the rugged side of the mesa. "Do you think you could stand a long drive, then a little hike? There's something I'd like to show you, but there's no way I'm going to that place after nightfall."

  "Where do you have in mind?"

  "A site skinwalkers used at one time. Though they abandoned it years back, you might still be able to learn something from it. We'll take my truck."

  "I'm ready whenever you are." She picked up the last few potato chip crumbs on her plate. "But how sure are you that they're not meeting there anymore?" Ella wondered why he would agree to take her to such a place, yet still speak of skinwalkers in a such a roundabout way. What was he really up to?

  "Your brother did a special ceremony to make sure they wouldn't return/'

  Questions filled her mind, like how and when had they found it, and what had they found there. Still, she remained quiet, knowing Wilson would tell her at his own pace.

  The drive, cross-country over rough terrain, took nearly an hour. Wilson's grip on the wheel was firm but not white-knuckled, as it had been the day before. Still, when Wilson at last braked the truck to a stop, the muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched nervously, matching the accelerated rate of Ella's pulse. "Come on. It's not far from here, but we'll have to walk." He pulled out a flashlight from the glove compartment.

  "Tell me about this place."

  "Your brother, brother-in-law Paul, and I encountered something here during spring break our senior year in high school. We'd gone on a hike, and Clifford and I were bragging to Paul how we knew this country like the back of our hands. He laughed and asked if we'd like to put that to a test. We foolishly agreed, so he had us tie handkerchiefs over our eyes. Then he led us around blindfolded for half an hour. When he took the blindfolds off, we walked in circles for a long time, trying to find our camp. Paul just grinned, telling us to use our skills to find the way. Finally we decided to take a break." Wilson looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

  "What happened?" Ella prompted him.

  "We heard several people talking nearby. Clifford was curious. He insisted on sneaking up to find out what was going on. I just wanted to get the heck out of there, but I couldn't leave him behind. Paul was with your brother, so I did what they wanted."

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  "Clifford always had a knack for sticking his nose where it didn't belong/' she commented.

  Wilson led her around a deep, narrow arroyo, then up a small slope littered with jagged boulders and sage. The uneven ground made walking difficult, and Ella had to concentrate to keep her balance. Thankfully it was much too hot for rattlesnakes to be roving about. Her boots were comfortable for walking, but definitely not thick enough to ward off a bite.

  "It's just up ahead."

  Looking where he gestured, Ella saw a narrow opening covered with spiderwebs, leading into the earth. Traces of pollen were visible on the ground, and four weather-worn prayer sticks were placed around the hole. "We'll go in there," Wilson said.

  "Inside that hole?" The thought revolted her. She'd never much liked confined spaces, and even thinking of climbing into that narrow pit made her feel slightly nauseated.

  "It's a tunnel, not a hole. Once you're in, it's about four feet wide—plenty of room."

  She considered asking him to describe the site to her, but she'd been pushing him for concrete information. This was no time to back down out of groundless squeamishness. "Is it safe? I mean, it won't collapse or anything, right?"

  "No, it's sturdy."

  "How do you know?"

  "Your brother came here right before he went into hiding, to help himself start thinking like his enemies. He blessed it again; I suppose you noticed the pollen."

  Ella was pleased, Wilson was trusting her with informa-

  tion about Clifford's movements. But she still didn't care for heading underground.

  As they descended, she could feel the dampness of the cool, subsurface earth. Wilson led the way, lighting their path with his flashlight. The tunnel had been plastered with clay and dug well. They proceeded slowly, on their hands and knees. Unexpectedly, Ella saw a tattered white cotton curtain ahead. "Is that where we're going?"

  "We'll go past two curtains like that," he answered, "before we reach the place I want you to see."

  The sound of his voice reverberated inside the earthen tunnel, becoming distorted. She fought a sudden, sharp fear that they might be buried alive. The air was stale and filled with a strange smell like rotting leaves, but there were no plants around. She tried hard not to speculate on what else might be rotting nearby.

  Wilson pushed aside the second curtain. Like the first, it was made of an old flour sack, opened along its seams. Just past it, the tunnel expanded into a rounded, cavernous area about twelve feet high and twenty feet across. Ashes from a small fire pit were still visible, and strange dark markings on the hard-packed floor of the cave were crisscrossed with sacred pollen. Clifford had also been here recently, it appeared. The chamber seemed unnaturally cold. The intense
chill pierced her marrow and left her feeling violated and somehow soiled.

  "They were there," Wilson said in a hushed whisper, indicating a half circle that flanked the opening. Hollowed-out, sandy impressions on the ground suggested the cave had been used quite frequently. "About a dozen or so of them, naked. They were singing. The sound was monotonous and off-key, but rhythmic and compelling in an odd way. I mean, it made you listen."

  ''You recognize anyone?" Ella asked, hoping for a name.

  "A girl, about twenty years old, right on the other side of the fire. Her name was Allison Begay. She had a reputation for sleeping around. I guess it's natural that I remember her—naked and all. The others were hunched over, their faces in shadow. But to be honest, Clifford and Pete and I were all looking at Allison." Wilson scratched his head, as if trying to remember more. "It happened so long ago, and we never talked about it, not to anybody."

  "How come they didn't see you?" she asked. The curtain was so light, it was almost transparent. Then again, perhaps the years had made it threadbare.

  "No one looked up. They were all staring at a feather on the ground." His voice dropped even more. "It was danc-ing."

  "Dancing?"

  "What else would you call it?" Wilson challenged. "It was standing on end, moving up and down." He shuddered, then forced his body to become still. When he continued, his voice was flat and unemotional. "We heard them say that as long as it was upright, the skinwalker out in the night was still alive. If it fell, it meant he was dead."

  "What happened then?"

  "One of them—Allison, in fact"—Wilson laughed shortly—"finally looked up and saw us." He gestured back down the tunnel. "Come on. I'll tell you the rest once we're back outside."

  She wasn't going to argue with him. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to be out in the open, taking in lungfuls of clean air. He'd certainly picked a prime spot for spooky storytelling. The larger cavern, instead of reducing her feeling of confinement, had actually made it worse. The air was still and heavy. She'd had to continually