Death Chant

by Vella Munn

  “I wouldn’t call it an exchange. Dr. Wilheim was even more adamant than Dr. Gilsdorf that we Hoh had to cooperate with higher education. According to him, we owed civilization something. Fortunately, he wasn’t here that much.”

  “Just enough to rub our people the wrong way. Now he’s determined to make it clear to Winter that she has to get out of his way.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  Wasn’t the logical question whether Winter agreed with Dr. Wilheim or intended to oppose him? That would matter to most people, but his uncle wanted something deeper.

  “I’m not sure. I just got through talking to the lead investigator. He has concerns for her safety, and I tend to agree.” He glanced out of his cabin window. Christian hadn’t come out and said he believed Winter was in danger. He’d said it was a possibility, which was why he’d asked Kasey Rasmussen to spend the night at the Potlatch office and periodically walk around the settlement. “But this is more than an academic agenda for her.”

  “Yes.”

  Yes, as in continue. “You were right. It’s personal for her.”

  “And now for you.”

  As Jay hung up, he once more acknowledged how well his uncle knew him. What was it? Maybe his tone when mentioning Winter’s name had sent out vibes that sprang from when they’d torn at each other’s clothes. He needed to keep his distance from her—act like a forest ranger and not some sex-hungry male.

  Not see her anymore?

  He couldn’t do that.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Winter pulled the memory stick out of her pocket and sat at the table where she’d placed her laptop when she’d moved into the cabin. She trembled, not from exhaustion any longer but in anticipation. Doc had meant for her to find the storage device. He’d placed it somewhere that had no meaning for anyone else. While she waited for her laptop to boot up, she took off her shoes and stretched her spine.

  She’d done what she could to lock the door—not that it would keep anyone out if they were determined enough. Even with the security Christian was providing, the logical thing would have been for her to get in her car and head for the nearest town. She’d check into a secure-looking motel and engage the deadbolts. Come morning, she’d contact Christian and ask him what else she should do to ensure her safety.

  But Christian might remind her that she was no longer needed here. Ask her why she wasn’t returning to San Diego.

  She couldn’t, because Wolf might not be anywhere except here.

  Eyes partly closed, she cupped her hand over the symbol of what had anchored her childhood. Without the wolf of her dreams, she wouldn’t have had anything to hold onto. Wolf had disappeared when she became a teenager but fortunately had returned. The mask that had been Wolf’s conduit was her responsibility. She had to find a safe place for it until she decided what to do with it—and until she could give it up.

  She tried to picture herself handing it over to Jay, only to surrender to thoughts that had nothing to do with an ancient artifact. Being around Jay was like standing over a flaming campfire. She’d get burned if she got too close, but the flashing reds mesmerized her. He made her hot, turned her reckless, challenged her to see what would happen if she stripped off her clothes before him.

  Like you don’t know.

  When the cursor started blinking, she fought her way back to the present. She pushed the memory device in and accessed the drive. A long list of files popped onto the screen. The one with her name caught her eye, and she opened it.

  This isn’t the time for pleasantries, she read. As I see it, you’ll only be looking at this if I’m dead.

  Her hand went to her throat. She glanced around, reluctantly lingering on the dark window beyond the small table. Still battling fear, she forced herself to start reading again.

  My guess is you’re in shock. I would be, too, except I’m dead. For the record, I deleted all files from my laptop. Maybe you already know that. However, it’s possible that whoever did me in—sorry for the euphemism—got his hands on my computer. I’ve been using it in part because I want whoever is watching me to believe he knows where he’ll find everything.

  How long had he been in fear for his life, and why? Determined to learn more, she went back to reading.

  The joke’s on that bastard. You believe I’m a benign and boring university professor, but being here is bringing out a side of my nature I wasn’t aware of. Survival instinct, for lack of a better term.

  “You didn’t survive,” she muttered.

  I wish I could see you right now. Please, damn it, don’t let what I’m writing be for nothing. Who found my body?

  “I did. Damn it, I did.”

  Sorry, I’m rambling, but it never occurred to me that my life would be in danger. Someone doesn’t approve of what I’m doing. Unfortunately, I’m not certain who, even though I have suspicions. Winter, I’m not perfect, as you’re about to discover, but you’re one of the best things that happened to me. I wasn’t the perfect husband or father, but I believe I had the capacity to be a first rate grandfather.

  The words blurred. She wasn’t sure she’d show this to Pearson.

  I hope I made a positive impact in your life.

  “You did.”

  You’re so self-contained. I’ve told you that enough times, but now I have a larger point to make. I have no doubt your first reaction to my death will be to work to take over the project. You’ll believe you owe it to me, but you don’t. I helped guide you toward you a way to support yourself, but you taught me a great deal about what it means to pick oneself up by her bootstraps. Independence. We’re even.

  Much as what he’d written enriched her, she suspected he was putting off telling her something. Maybe she shouldn’t continue until she’d emailed the file to Pearson. They’d read it at the same time. Make a joint decision.

  No, not Doc’s son. Instead, she’d go to the person who’d made the most impact on her since she’d come here.

  She’d stood up before what she’d just done sunk in. Much as she needed Jay around, she didn’t dare let him see this tonight. Maybe she never would.

  It’s time to tell you about the mask.

  She’d been leaning against the chair while reading but couldn’t continue until she was again sitting. She felt hot and cold, scared and excited.

  I was committed to finding proof of Natives’ presence inland. I’m convinced Natives kept a number of their sacred objects somewhere safe from the elements. I consider that statement the ultimate carrot I dangled before the grant committee. I wasn’t sure they’d buy my argument that Northwest Natives had gone to extraordinary lengths to protect their valuables. I may have overstated my conviction. Hell, between you and me, I deliberately did.

  Her mouth sagged as she reread the last few sentences. Doc had never said anything about attempting to con the grant committee.

  Are you shocked? Maybe you no longer respect me. Of course, the ultimate success would be if I uncovered a treasure trove the likes of which the world has never seen, but the sad truth is, I fabricated some of the so-called hypothesis. No one, not even Dr. Wilheim, tried to verify my statements. To put it crudely, my BS worked.

  Her head pounded.

  Call me self-absorbed. Call me crazy for wanting to be remembered for something other than teaching classes and writing articles. When I was putting the grant request together, I did so much fantasizing about what I hoped to accomplish that I now wonder if I lost the line between hypothesis and reality. A part of me realized my mindset had become skewed, but the rest—that glorious and childish rest believed that ancient Native treasures were out there waiting for me to uncover.

  “I wish you’d told me.”

  Here’s the rub, Winter. I was right. Stop and digest that, let it sink in. Ancient Northwest Native Americans indeed had a location where they safeguarded what was sacred to them.

  “How did you discover…” She felt drunk. “Did you just stumble…?”

  This is t
he really difficult part, the great confession. I’m tempted to go to my grave not telling anyone, especially you. But if I do, what I started will end with my death. All you’ll have is the ceremonial wolf mask. I want you to go forward with this. Hell, I need you to. At the same time, am I asking you to risk your life? At night, when I’m in the cabin, I sometimes sense a presence. Sometimes, when I’m in the field, the feeling of eyes on my back comes over me. There have been sounds—

  “Wolf? Oh Doc, has Wolf…”

  Being stalked is unnerving. That in part is why I decided to write this.

  “Why didn’t you tell me or law enforcement?”

  I’d like to insist I bear no responsibility for my death, but that’s not true. Winter, I did something no one in my position ever should. Searching the forest for signs of an ancient Northwest Native American settlement armed with old maps and a few writings of the area’s early explorers was a fool’s mission.

  How that must have hurt.

  I asked the local tribes to work with me, but they refused to. The Hoh denial was particularly disappointing, because I saw Hoh River as my jumping off place.

  Michael Simpson—have you met him?—is a man with his head in a financial noose. He’d love for me to put the forest on the map. Keeping him off your back isn’t going to be easy. Simpson isn’t the only person here I’m having issues with. As the park historian, Booth Deavers wears a number of hats. Where Simpson is desperate, Deavers is ruled by ambition that’s almost laughable, considering how few people care about what he does. I am impressed by his efforts to get Native oral histories into a permanent form and have borrowed them. I didn’t give him the due he believes he deserves, and our relationship has eroded.

  Wilheim has become a real irritant. He’s concerned as I am that our department will experience cutbacks. Maybe the bean counters will decide that anthropology doesn’t need two senior professors. He believes he’ll be safe if I fail here and he rides in to save the project. What concerns me is if you and he lock horns over who takes over. He’s the one with clout.

  “But Dr. Wilheim isn’t aware of Wolf.” She pulled back her top so she could see the tattoo.

  Here comes the hardest part. The thing I wish I didn’t have to tell you. I bribed someone. Waved money and, more importantly, liquor in front of him. He works part-time at a sporting goods store in Forks, so meeting and talking to him about what kind of hiking gear I’d need looked innocent. In truth, I’d been looking for a Native with weaknesses I might be able to use to my advantage. His brother unwittingly led me to him.

  She’d already been sick to her stomach, but this made it much worse.

  I asked the brother, a totally physically competent man if there ever was one, how the local Natives earned a living. Only a handful work for the Forest Service like he does, and I—

  Moaning, she began rocking.

  I’m sure he thought I was a fool, because many Natives are involved with local fishing. He probably explained as much as he did so I’d leave him alone.

  “I don’t want to do this. Damn it, Doc, do you have any idea how wrenching this is?”

  Long story short. The ranger was worried about his brother’s drinking, but at least he had a job. He said enough about that job that I was able to narrow my search. Winter, I found a Hoh who was willing to talk to me in exchange for alcohol.

  “I hate this! Damn it, Doc, I hate you!”

  Her ears were still ringing from her outburst when she thought she heard a howl. Galvanized by the sound, she hurried to the door and started to open it only to slam it shut. She listened intently for several minutes, then, awash with emotion, returned to the laptop and forced herself to continue.

  I befriended the young Hoh. He wants to do right by his heritage, but the devil has a powerful hold on him. When he’s drunk, he talks. Floyd’s parents are dead. He and his brother were raised by their uncle, who is a tribal elder. His addiction embarrasses him. He has disappointed his relatives. He feels isolated from other Hoh. I was there when he needed to talk, someone who listened without judging.

  “Do you mean it or were you exploiting him?”

  I’m tempted to give you the details of what we talked about, but that’s because I’m still attempting to justify my actions. To cut to the chase, after several weeks, I took him out for drinks and dinner. It wasn’t the first time I’d supplied him with what loosens his tongue. I didn’t want to pull information out of him he wasn’t ready to give, because he might see through it. We had a wonderful meal, steaks. And drinks. More drinks on his part than mine. I told him I was getting discouraged. He wasn’t the only one who felt as if he’d failed.

  Doc had always been able to use words. As a result, she had no trouble imagining how he’d pulled Floyd into his lies.

  I confided in him when no one had done that with him for a long time. My guess is one of the last things he remembered before he got too drunk that night was his new and much older friend admitting he felt like a failure because there weren’t any Native artifacts for that drinking buddy to bring into the light of today.

  A blank page briefly made her fear Doc hadn’t written anything else. Maybe he’d unconsciously left his finger on the enter key.

  Two days later, Floyd brought the wolf mask to me. He didn’t say anything, just walked into my cabin and handed it to me. I watched him leave. I couldn’t speak. The mask was—I don’t have to tell you what it meant to me.

  “No, you don’t.”

  I attempted to call him, but he didn’t answer. As soon as I could get away—Michael wanted to hook me up with Seattle media—I went to see him. Floyd wanted nothing to do with me. He said he’d done something he couldn’t forgive himself for. I tried to convince him that the world deserved to see what his ancestors had created, but he ordered me to leave. I couldn’t tell whether he’d been drinking. Finally, I begged him to at least tell me whether the mask represented what I hoped it did, which was part of a greater whole. He nodded. That’s all he did, just nod.

  A whispery sound touched her nerve ends. Wolf. No doubt. Was the spirit aware of what she was reading? Once, she would have laughed at the thought. Now, she closed her eyes so she could concentrate on the quiet howl.

  “What am I supposed to do, to think?” she whispered. “To believe?”

  The howl rose and fell. She followed it in her mind until she half-believed she was drifting through the night with it. Much as she wanted to step outside and join the predator, she remained behind the closed door. Wolf was her past and present, maybe her future, but tonight belonged to Doc and what he’d left for her to read.

  Whimpering, she opened her eyes and waited for the words on the monitor to become clear.

  I saw Floyd the day I mailed the mask to you. I wanted to let him realize I’d help him make a decision he could live with so we could work together. He was drunk. Wasted. Winter, that, in part, is why I wanted you up here. You’re Native. If anyone can gain Floyd’s trust, it’s you.

  “You were willing to exploit me? Use me?”

  So here we are. Floyd is too young for his life to be over. If he gets help, if we can bring his brother on board—what am I saying? My dream remains the same. I don’t want my career and life to end without giving the world some reason to remember me.

  Faced with another blank screen, she scrolled down, but Doc hadn’t written anything else.

  After closing the file, she staggered to her feet and walked over to the window closest to the door. The moon wasn’t doing enough to lessen the night forest’s impact. Everything Doc had written tumbled inside her.

  Doc had warned her of danger, but he’d told her to come anyway.

  He’d exploited Jay’s brother’s weakness. As a consequence, he could prove the theory that had been his driving force for years. More than just prove a theory.

  Now, the risk and potential rewards were in her hands.

  She pulled out her cell phone and started to dial Doc’s son to tell him about the memory stick,
only to put the phone away. Jay would hate Doc for what he’d done. Maybe he’d blame Floyd.

  She couldn’t turn the mask over to him or Talio without implicating Doc and Floyd. Better to protect them.

  Until what or when?

  “Too many questions,” she moaned. “Not enough answers.”

  After unsuccessfully listening for Wolf for a few minutes, she debated going to bed, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep. It was better to do something. A perusal of several files revealed no useful information, but then she came across one containing material from Native oral histories that had been recorded more than a hundred years ago. Booth had fleshed out some of the transcripts based on, he said, what explorers had observed. Doc’s accompanying notes made it clear he viewed Booth’s work with skepticism. She found nothing she didn’t already know about Pacific Northwest Natives lifestyles, but their legends and beliefs served as a refresher course.

  Passages about Raven reminded her that a person’s spirit was more than a guide. Like many other Native American tribes, those of the Northwest saw Raven as the Trickster. No other supernatural being was as skilled when it came to outwitting whoever Raven wanted to outwit. According to the Tlingits of Alaska, Raven’s uncle Nascakiyel had created the world, but it took Raven sneaking into his uncle’s house and stealing the sun from the box where Nascakiyel kept it to light the world.

  How did Jay feel about such ancient legends? Maybe he wanted Raven as his spirit.

  The screen blurred, and she rubbed her eyes. Then the word ‘Thunderbird’ jumped out at her. Many tribes had believed in a version of Thunderbird. If she wasn’t so tired, she’d probably be able to recall the Northwest Native American version. Tonight, however, she was glad Booth had recorded what he had.

  Thunderbird had lived on top of the highest mountain peak and had a lake on its back. Thunderbird kept lightning as its pet. All Thunderbird had to do to cause a storm was to flap its wings.

  Yakanon.

  Shivering, she squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them. That was the word Jay’s uncle had used the first time he’d seen her. There wasn’t much about Yakanon in either Booth’s or Doc’s notes, just that the being or spirit or whatever it was had been able to speak with Thunderbird.