Ian knelt, trailing a finger through the dirt. “Who are you?”
“I am Elder Smoke Speaker, the last of my people in these great mountains.”
“How do you know all of this? How to find Cole?”
Smoke Speaker lifted his head. His eyes burned through Ian, and he sensed fear, arrogance, and contempt. But at the same time he saw grief in his face, the portrait of a mourning man torn between decisions and beliefs. “These are my ways, young man.”
“Okay…If I do this…how will I know what to do?”
“You will have a guide.”
“Who?”
“One that Creator chose for you. One that was born so that the world may change.”
“Okay.” Ian blew out a nervous breath, slightly irritated by the riddles, pressured by the lack of time. “Why can’t my wife come with me?”
“This is not her journey.”
Ian was quiet for a moment, thinking that even if he were to die on this so-called journey, she wouldn’t bat an eye. The thought put a bitter taste in his mouth, and he decided that the only reason he was going through with the offer was because of Cole.
“Okay,” he said slowly, unsurely, to the Elder, who clasped his hands together and seemed neither surprised nor disappointed, but complacent. “What do I need to know before I go?”
Smoke Speaker stirred the fire, and dozens of embers floated up into the bright blue sky. “The Land of the Dead is a place of emptiness. It is a place of temptation, of hate, of desolation. Your nature, your devotion to the truth, your very soul, will be tested against the forces of Death. You will experience pain like no other. If you give in, if you fail, you will not return to this world. You must have faith,” he said when Ian drew back and shook his head. “In yourself, in your guide, and in your son.”
“What if they find his body before I do?”
In response, Smoke Speaker cupped his hands over the fire, so close to the flames that Ian marveled over the fact that his flesh wasn’t melting off the bone. The Elder said a few words in a language Ian couldn’t understand, and the smoke began pouring up from the hearth, creeping through the old man’s fingers and engulfing them both in a gray haze.
Then without warning a strange, cold fog rolled in. It was so thick that Ian could barely see the Elder not two feet in front of him. His clothes were damp in seconds and the burning embers faded, leaving behind only thin wisps of smoke.
“They will not find your son,” Smoke Speaker promised, slightly amused by the look of amazement on Ian’s face. His mouth was parted in shock, eyes darting around the clearing as through determined to see something, anything, through the fog. The Elder stood, grasping an intricately carved walking stick. “Now, Mr. Daivya, it is time we prepare.”
Ian watched silently as the old man produced a small, knotted bowl carved of oak from a pouch at his side and a handful of leaves from his pocket. Smoke Speaker broke pieces of the sage with his gnarled fingers and said a prayer in his mind, then lifted the leaves to his nostrils and inhaled deeply before dropping them into the bowl.
He offered the items to Ian. “Sage,” he informed the man, his old voice creating a story out of the instruction, “is a powerful medicine among my people. The white smoke cleanses the soul, purifying the body for ceremonies, for travel. Let the touch of each leaf heighten your senses, the sweet smell fill your soul, and say a prayer.”
Feeling a bit foolish, Ian did as he was told and mimicked the Elder’s actions, tearing the sage into tiny pieces while saying a prayer. For good measure he prayed for his son’s life, then smelled the herb and thought there was nothing remarkable about doing so. Smoke Speaker took the bowl from him when he was finished, pulled a burning stick from the fire, and lit the sage.
As pure white smoke began to trickle up from the bowl, the Elder closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Ha Unelanvhi,” he prayed to Creator in a loud lilting tone that echoed off the trees, while Ian watched, mesmerized, “elohi nvdoigaehi, galvlohi a le amequohi. Nihi hawinaditlv, a le negadv gvwadu weda.” He repeated the tune three times, his soothing voice creating an ancient atmosphere that brought back the old ways of his people, then translated for Ian, “Oh, Great Spirit, earth, sun, sky, and sea. You are inside, and all around me.”
Smoke Speaker lifted a hand and wafted the smoke towards his thin, brittle body, letting the sweet gray fog roll over his flesh and cleanse his body. He cleaned himself from head to toe before turning to Ian and doing the same. Ian fought back a sneeze when the smoke blew in his face, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, and thought it best to simply wait it out.
When the cleansing was complete, Smoke Speaker raised the bowl above his head and offered the sage to the seven sacred directions. “Kalvgv,” he prayed to the East. “Wudeligv,” to the West. “Uyvtlv,” to the North. “Uganawu,” to the South. Then, “Galvladitlv, Eladitlv, Ayeli,” to Above, Below, and Center.
For the Center, Smoke Speaker drew the sage-filled bowl to his chest, bringing the ceremony to a close. The two, one a believer in the old ways and the other a skeptic in search of a belief, were cleansed for their journey.
The Elder set the bowl down by the fire, placing a hand at the small of his aching back before getting a firm grip on his walking staff and gesturing for Ian to rise. “Our souls have been cleansed. Now we may begin.”
Ian cleared his throat, wondering if he was supposed to feel different after the ceremony, and feeling nothing but cynicism. He was just seconds away from abandoning the entire thing, whatever that thing was, when Smoke Speaker started walking into the woods, leaving Ian to follow.
Smoke Speaker led Ian through the trees, limping slowly and painfully on ankles and knees swollen with arthritis. Ian trailed behind, at a loss for words as he prepared himself for what was to come. He had no idea what to expect, no idea what he was doing, no idea if he was wide awake but hoping that this was all one horrific nightmare.
There was no distinct path to follow, so the two were forced to step over fallen trees and wrestle with vines as they walked slowly but steadily deeper into the wilderness. The further they walked, the less Ian could hear of civilization, and soon there were no sounds of society, but of nature instead. Warblers sang to one another, the river pounded against rocks, a cool breeze trailed lazily through dark green leaves. Under less unfortunate circumstances, Ian would have taken the time to carefully observe the plants, maybe take a few cuttings, learn the names of the native vegetation. Now, he kept his eyes straight ahead, wondering how much longer they would be finding their way through the thick clouds. The Elder already lived two hour’s walk into the woods, and it felt like they’d been walking even more hours in the fog.
Ian didn’t have to wonder much longer. Soon the nearly invisible trail opened up to a small, crystal-clear lake surrounded by enormous pine trees. By some kind of magic the fog didn’t touch the lake, but floated around the shore, hovering inches from the ground. The sun broke through the gray in one solid beam, illuminating the lake in a thousand sparkling bits of gold.
While Ian stopped on the shore, Smoke Speaker kept walking until the water reached his thighs. He turned around with an impatient gesture. “Come.”
“Why?”
“You are ready to take the journey?”
“…Yes.”
“Then come.”
With a sigh, Ian stepped into the lake. When the water hit his thighs, he stifled a shiver and hated the fact that his shoes would now be completely soaked for the rest of the day. “What are we doing here?”
Smoke Speaker drifted a hand across the surface, creating a flurry of ripples that glittered in the lone ray of sunshine. “The water is a powerful medium,” he said quietly, his old voice soothing Ian’s nerves. The ends of his long hair touched the lake when he reached for Ian, taking him by the arm. “If you wish to visit the Land of the Dead and return, water is the only substance capable of such travel.”
Ian watched as the Elder lif
ted a knobby hand and let the clear water fall from his fingers. The tears of water descended to the surface as though in slow-motion, and Ian could swear that he heard each individual droplet touch the water.
“So…what do I have to do?”
The Elder released Ian’s arm and held out his hands. “You must immerse yourself completely, to the point of unconsciousness. Then, your soul is loose, and I can direct it to the Land of the Dead.”
“And what happens when I’m unconscious?”
“I am here, young man. I will watch over you. On that, you have my word. Are you ready?”
His heart pounded so hard it hurt, a fearful sensation he hadn’t felt since the death of his mother when he was sixteen. He took a few deep breaths, shaking his hands when a tremble raced through them. He couldn’t believe how terrified he was. Ian couldn’t remember ever being this afraid. He was always in charge of the situation; he was the designer, the architect. Even now, with his son promised to be dead and his wife hating the very sight of his face, Ian resisted the Elder. With nothing to lose but his life, he still wanted control. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was afraid to trust the old man, even though he was sure he could easily overtake him.
“Okay.” Ian blew out a breath and closed his eyes, picturing his son. He still wasn’t sure that he believed in what he was doing, and couldn’t explain why he was going along with the plan, but he supposed it was because of that thin shred of curiosity that wanted to see just what would happen.
He knelt down in the water, stopping just before he went under. “Anything I should know?”
The Elder stared down at him with eyes that had seen the birth and death of an entire world. “There are creatures of the Darkness you must avoid. Never linger in one place. And remember, as soon as you surface, head for the land beyond the Western Sun. Now.” He put a hand on Ian’s head as though to encourage him to go under.
“Wait,” Ian protested, wanting as much information as possible on the off-chance that this ridiculous ritual actually succeeded. “My guide…What’s his name? How will I find him?”
“You’re guide’s name is…Kanegv,” Smoke Speaker answered, a tone of sorrow in his voice. “Trust your guide, and you will succeed. Now, you must go. Kanegv is waiting, and the Land of the Dead is no place to be alone.”
Ian prepared himself, then ducked under water. To keep him from rising to the surface, Smoke Speaker placed a hand on his chest. Unsure what to do next, Ian stared up at the wavering sky, starting to feel a bit idiotic. Here he was, a grown man, floating underwater and staring up through the blurred, surreal surface at an old man he knew nothing about. And worse, nothing was happening. He felt like he always did, had the same thoughts, the same sensations. The only difference was that he was underwater.
When his last breath escaped in a flurry of tiny bubbles, Ian paused just for a moment to decide whether or not he was actually going to take himself to the point of unconsciousness. The thought only made him feel more like a fool, so he abandoned the far-fetched experiment just as his chest began to tighten. Shaking his head, Ian started to head back for the surface, only to be held in place by the Elder’s force.
Confused, Ian lifted a hand out of the water to signal that he was done. He placed a firm foot on the murky lake floor and pushed up against Smoke Speaker’s hold, but the old man possessed a strength he never would have imagined possible. The Elder shoved Ian deeper beneath the surface until he was tangled in the underwater ferns, and in less than a second had his cane pressed against the man’s throat.
In a blind, furious panic, Ian lashed out against the old man. His fists connected with flesh, fingers desperately grasped at the wood that pinned him underwater. A blazing fire surged through his lungs, gripping his chest in a tight, painful hold of suffocation. In a desperate attempt for air, Ian gasped, sucking in a mouthful of water, choking as he kicked and splashed, fighting to get his head above the surface. He was no match for the Elder.
The sound of his own screams echoed in his head as the water mocked him, welcomed him, dragged him down deeper into the mud, into darkness. As a gray fog crawled its way across his eyes in a cold, frightening blanket of death, Ian stopped struggling, silently pleading for help, praying to be saved from this horrible mistake, from these lying, psychopathic Indians who murder for thrill.
Just before the fog engulfed him in his final moment of life, Ian managed to peer through the glazed, golden ripples at the Elder. As he faded into death, the last thought that crossed his mind was one of marvel, that an old man could drown another with such a look of calm, cool, unaffected complacency.
When his victim finally stopped kicking and squirming and his muscles had relaxed in submission to fate, Smoke Speaker released his hold on Ian’s limp body and straightened, again placing a hand to his aching back. He was exhausted, his arthritic bones screaming in angry pain, but he still had work to do.
The Elder kept Ian’s body beneath the water by placing a foot on his still chest. He tossed his cane close to shore, then sprinkled bits of white sage over the water. “Unelanvhi,” he said, the fog swirling like smoke tenders up to the Great Spirit, “give him strength. He will need it.”
Then he tipped back his head with closed eyes, holding his arms out to his sides. The frayed edges of the leather tunic grazed the water, his white hair lifting in the breeze as the wind picked up speed, howling across the lake. Pieces of sage spun beneath the water around Ian’s body, creating a furiously spinning vacuum as the cold fog swallowed the lake in a gray haze.
Smoke Speaker turned his palms up towards the sky, and his arms trembled from an invisible weight cast upon them. Then, in a terrific burst of energy from his tired body, he slammed his hands together, the force of the blow rippling across the lake. Enormous waves crashed against one another as water exploded up from the murky bottoms, reaching high into the clouds, then cascaded back down in a thick, shadowy curtain that distorted the trees behind the waves.
It was that distortion Smoke Speaker feared, for it was there that Ian would soon find himself, lost in a vague impression of the world he once knew.
Chapter 6
Aggravated and exhausted, Ray Forbe took a break at the Daivya campsite, where a large police tent had been set up to accommodate the growing number of search parties. He threw his hat to the ground and unzipped his jacket, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee Lisa Bard offered.
“Nothing at all?”
Forbe shook his head, blowing on the hot liquid before taking a sip. He looked at Lisa sadly. She was a younger version of Julia, with curly blonde hair that cascaded down her back and pretty green eyes that could make a man do and say just about anything. Her nose was just the slightest bit crooked, giving her a cute, pixie-ish appearance, and she wore old, flowered clothes that reminded the sheriff of a hippie, with a spacey attitude to match. But she was nice enough, and her love for her older sister and missing nephew was unmistakable.
“I can’t believe this fog,” he said with incredulity. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“It came so fast,” Lisa agreed, peering to her sides, then above her head. “You can barely see three feet in front of you.”
“I swear,” Forbe began, hating himself for what he was thinking, “it’s almost like Mother Nature herself doesn’t want us to find Cole.” Lisa didn’t respond, but instead stared at her hands as she warmed them around a cup of coffee.
“Sheriff Forbe.” Forbe turned around, offering a smile to Julia Daivya. He gently touched her arm, and Lisa wrapped a blanket around her big sister’s shoulders, hugging her tightly. Julia barely registered the affection. “Anything at all? Clothes, footprints, his PSP?”
“Not yet, but we’re not giving up. We’re setting up a broader perimeter, and taking the search a few more miles downriver, where the rapids open up into a smoother area. Once this fog lifts, things will go a lot smoother.”
She didn’t believe him. “You happen to come across my husband out there
?”
“No. One of my deputies said he went on a search with Whisper.” At Julia’s confused frown, Forbe quickly explained the nature of the stranger. “Whisper is one of the locals, one of the last few Cherokee natives around these parts. She and her mentor live up in the mountains in a place known around here as Howling Vines. Sometimes when we need help finding a missing person we look for her to come out and give us a hand.”
“Why?”
“She and her mentor, Elder Smoke Speaker, have lived in these woods all their lives, know them better than anyone else you’ll ever find. She can track just about anyone or anything.” Forbe put his hands on his hips, picturing the young woman. “Some say she’s got an ability to speak to nature. That’s why they call her Whisper, because things talk to her.”
“And you believe that?”
Forbe shrugged. “No reason not to. There’s never been a missing person she hasn’t been able to find.”
Julia didn’t believe a word of that kind of talk. She faced the sheriff with bitterness and scorn spread across her sleep-deprived face. “Mr. Forbe, since she’s so great at finding missing people, did you ever think that she and this Smoke Speaker had something to do with their disappearances in the first place? For the recognition of finding them, or the reward money?”
“Julia,” Lisa said then, attempting to comfort her older sister, “don’t think like that.”
“Why not?” Fighting back tears, struggling to maintain the hope that her son was still alive but sickened by the thought of him out there, alone and scared in the fog, Julia smirked furiously. “You don’t find it suspicious that this woman shows up out of the blue and suddenly offers to help? Did she even ask what Cole looks like? How old he is? Anything?”
“Well…no,” Forbe admitted, “but—”
“And now she’s out there with my husband. Well, isn’t that wonderful.” She wouldn’t say it to them, but she knew that Ian was just looking for a reason, any reason, to get away from her. He’d been looking for months now, probably, as Julia suspected, so he’d have a justification for his office fling. The fact that he so willingly went into the woods with another woman without telling her only confirmed the fact that their marriage was over.
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