Blackening song

by Thurlo, Aimée

  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.

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  ''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."

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  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

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  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.

  Ella slipped into the chamber, staying in the shadows, and took her first clear look. The skinwalkers had painted their shoulders red and white, and drawn yellow spiders on their arms. At the far side of the circle was a small basket filled with a reddish substance.

  Ella struggled to see the face of the man who was leading the ritual, but it was concealed in shadows. He dipped one hand into the basket and sprinkled some of the powder onto something on the ground before him. She edged in closer, keeping a low profile, and saw it was a human leg. The skin seemed to be festering and rotting. She swallowed quickly, afraid she was about to vomit.

  The leader began to chant again, all the while sprinkling more powder on the leg. The sk
in seemed to shrivel right before her eyes. The woman beside him took some of the dust and placed it inside a pouch.

  Ella angled for a better vantage point, but before she was completely in place, she heard her brother's voice rise in a chant that countered the cadence of the skinwalkers' rite. The clash of sounds echoed frighteningly in the confines of the chamber.

  The leader jumped to his feet, and she recognized Peterson Yazzie. "Don't move. You're under arrest," she snapped, bringing up her pistol. She felt foolish—the words seemed so out of place here. Should she read him his rights next?

  Two of the men threw some powder in the air and flooded the cavern with a bloodcurdling cry. Ella coughed as the reddish cloud filled her lungs.

  Suddenly a large bear appeared where no animal had

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  been, forcing Wilson back into the runnel. Four wolves with turned-down tails appeared from the further recesses of the cave and ran directly toward her and Clifford. Their teeth flashed in the dim firelight. Their eyes glowed. Clifford raised his ax and lightning seemed to fly from its razor-sharp blade, incinerating the animals before they could complete their leap.

  A woman skinwalker came toward Ella, chanting and unafraid. Ella felt herself sinking into murky blackness. She struggled to make her hand work, but her fingers seemed frozen around the pistol.

  Then something flew past her, and an instant later the woman fell to the ground, transfixed by Wilson's stone spear. Ella turned around and saw him trying to untangle her shotgun from the rifle sling. She had no time to grab it. Catching a glimpse of movement, she pivoted and spotted Peterson running down one of the side tunnels. She snapped off a pistol shot, but it ricocheted and he was gone.

  Three men and one woman remained standing, held at bay by Clifford and his flint ax, which he was swinging back and forth menacingly. Wilson struggled to get into a position to use his rifle without hitting Clifford.

  Clifford shouted, "Go after him! We can handle things here."

  Ella needed no further encouragement. She shot into the darkened tunnel, determined to catch Yazzie before he escaped the cavern. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she could hear the hollow sound of running footsteps ahead. She increased her speed, her thoughts clearing and her instincts awakening. Then she ran around a natural bend of the passageway and into an ambush. The woman's eyes glowed fanatically in the harsh light of the lantern she

  carried. Before Ella could bring her pistol to bear, the woman threw a handful of white powder directly into her face.

  Ella choked and gasped for air. She staggered. The woman's image shimmered and grew. Ella blinked furiously, unable to focus clearly.

  The woman seemed to slowly split in two. Ella stared intently, trying to figure out which was the real image and which was the illusion. Both images came closer, and Ella fired once at each as she staggered back, slamming against the tunnel wall. Her heart was hammering too fast for her to draw in a breath. She sank slowly to the ground, her knees weak.

  One thought pounded through her hallucinogen-clouded brain. Peterson was going to get away unless she got moving again. Ella felt a rumble, then the cavern walls shook. Or was that an illusion?

  Using all her willpower, Ella slowly rose to her feet. At first her steps were halting, and once she fell, hard, on her knees. The effort to remain upright seemed to take all her energy. Surely Peterson and the woman had reached the exit by now, but she had to maintain pursuit.

  The cave rocked beneath her again, but this time she managed to stay on her feet. No, she would not give up. Peterson would not elude her.

  A new surge of energy shot through her limbs, and she felt steady once again. Now if she could only figure out which way to go. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Instinct was the only ally she had in this all-encompassing darkness. Still, she'd relied on it often as a federal cop, and had always come through alive.

  The cave continued to shake as she moved on, and sev-

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  eral times she felt the vibrations of a tunnel collapsing somewhere behind her.

  Finally she saw a faint glow of moonlight ahead. She hurried on, knowing she didn't have far to go. As she stepped outside, through a narrow crack in the rocks, the ground shook again. She drew in a breath of fresh air, and her mind seemed to clear.

  Before she could even glance around, the tunnel behind her collapsed. Dust flew out, then slowly settled. In anguish she stared at the rubble where the cave opening had been. Her brother ... Wilson. Had they made it out? Ella glanced around, hoping they would somehow appear in the dark, unharmed. She shut her eyes for a second, reaching out mentally. Surely she would feel it, somehow, if anything had happened to them.

  Ella didn't want to be the only one left to continue the battle. But now it was up to her. She wouldn't give up. She gathered her courage and walked away from the blocked entrance, trying to figure out exactly where she was.

  She stood amid the low walls of the old church ruins, the wooden foundation forms of the new church just yards away. The skinwalkers' chamber had been directly beneath the old ruins. The ill-fated church, with its blood-soaked catacombs below, had been the perfect place to foster fear and welcome the chindi.

  The wail of a coyote rose slowly from the top of the mesa. Its ululating cry sounded almost like human laughter. Ella broke into a run, heading toward the residential community just a mile or so away. She'd borrow or steal a truck there and continue the pursuit.

  Ella was out of breath when she reached the construction site for the new college. A vehicle was speeding up the road toward her—probably someone investigating what he or she had perceived to be an earthquake.

  As the pickup drew near, she recognized Samuel Pete behind the wheel. She wasn't sure whom she could trust, but she'd take her chances with him.

  Ella stepped into the center of the dirt road and flagged him down.

  "I need your truck. I have to get someplace fast!" She yelled, wondering what he was thinking. At the moment, she had to resemble a crazy woman, what with her dirty, haggard appearance, her flint knife, and the pistol still in her hands.

  "Get in, I'll take you. Does this have to do with the earthquake?"

  "That was no earthquake. Tunnels and caverns beneath the church site were collapsed, probably with explosives. Let me take your truck. You can wait here. It'll be extremely dangerous for anyone to be with me right now."

  "Then it's begun," he said, and again waved for her to get in. "Your brother warned us that a confrontation was coming, and that no one would be able to stay on the sidelines." He gestured to the rifle rack behind the seat of the cab. "I've got a Winchester with me, and I can use it. My eyesight's as sharp as it ever was."

  "I could use the help, but you'll be risking your life," Ella said bluntly.

  "I've been your family's friend for a long time. If you need my help, you've got it."

  Ella gave him directions to where she'd first entered the tunnels. "Go as fast as you can."

  Samuel nodded. "I understand you're afraid to trust

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  anyone, but I have a right to know what I'm facing if I'm to fight it alongside you."

  Ella considered his words. They'd all trusted Peterson Yazzie, and he'd been working against them from the beginning. On the other hand, she didn't really have anything to lose by telling the old man what had happened. She filled him in, concluding, "It's possible Clifford and Wilson were able to backtrack and get out the way we came in."

  "If there was a way out, your brother and his friend would have found it. They could be on Yazzie's trail right now."

  Ten minutes later, they could see the disabled vehicles, still parked outside the building. Ella looked around, searching in the glare of Samuel's headlights for her brother and Wilson.

  "Drive closer, but stop before we reach the cars. Then I can use the truck for cover while I look around."

  As Samuel parked, Ella spotted tw
o figures hurrying toward them. She had her pistol out in a heartbeat. "Stop! FBI!" she called out.

  Then she recognized Wilson, who was supporting Clifford's weight and hauling him along. Her brother's arm was looped around Wilson's shoulder. Ella lowered her pistol and rushed to help. "I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life. I was so worried about you both."

  "Two skinwalkers escaped," Clifford said, forcing himself to stand unaided, "but they're somewhere nearby. We made sure they couldn't reach their vehicles. Somebody made it to the Bronco, though. I heard it leave."

  Samuel Pete, hurried toward them, Winchester in hand. "We can't stay, Nephew," he said, using the term out of custom, not kinship. "You're in no shape to fight now."

  "Neither are they/' Clifford answered with a tiny smile. "We'll stay."

  His bravery tugged at Ella's heart. He was exhausted, and injured, yet he'd never lost the courage to fight. "It must be Peterson who got to the Bronco, but I think I know where he went," Ella said with certainty.

  Clifford had his rifle in a sling over his shoulder, and a bloody-looking stone ax in his hand. Wilson carried a rifle and a big flint spear. Samuel Pete held out his keys to Ella. "Here. Take my truck. If your brother wants to remain here, I'll stay and help. Both of these warriors look like they still have some fight in them."

  "We'll be okay," Clifford told EUa reassuringly. "Do you still want to run Peterson down and arrest him?"

  "You couldn't keep me from it. He's gone bad as both a cop and a Navajo. He's betrayed everything I value."

  "Then go," Clifford said.

  Samuel Pete took an ammunition box from a shelf behind the driver's seat, then stepped back. "She's all yours. Good luck."

  Ella headed straight for the highway. Time was short. She couldn't allow Peterson to leave the Rez. As a cop, he'd know only too well how to hide deep within the Anglo world, covering his trail.

  As she raced down the highway, the indigo skies started turning to purples and deep blues. Traces of light fringed a few thin clouds on the horizon. Dawn. She felt relief washing over her. She preferred the daylight, where any fight would be stripped of the overtones traditional beliefs might give it.