Blackening Song (11 page)

“You’re not one of us anymore,” Wilson Joe said quietly.

“How can you say that?” She whirled and faced Wilson angrily. “You studied off the reservation longer than I did. From Mom’s letters, I know that you only recently returned to live here.”

“If you can’t understand why these people feel uncomfortable around you, and you have no patience
with that,” he said harshly, “then you’re
not
one of us, despite what you think.” He regarded her coldly.

She exhaled softly, conceding his point. “That’s exactly what my brother would have said,” she observed ruefully.

“I know.”

“You were always closer to Clifford than I was.”

“It was easier for me to be his friend, since I wasn’t uncomfortable around him.”

His comment struck a nerve, and
she stepped out of the food line, moving away from the crowd. Wilson followed, and she turned back to him. “You think I was?”

“Don’t forget how long I’ve known you and your family,” he answered gently. “I realize you love your brother, but you’ve always been a little in awe of him, maybe even a bit frightened. At first you avoided any ceremonies he took part in. Eventually you stayed away from
anything to do with our traditions. Those who didn’t know you very well thought you were doing that because you’d become a Christian like your father. But that wasn’t true at all.”

“My beliefs, or lack of them, are my business. They shouldn’t concern anyone else.”

“No, but your behavior prior to your leaving is all they have to remember you by. You haven’t even been back here since your brother’s
wedding.” He shook his head slowly. “You need them to trust you, but that won’t happen, at least not right away. Do you realize how much of a stranger you’ve allowed yourself to become? You haven’t lived on the reservation since you were eighteen.”

“I know all that. Yet I hoped our people would help me, though they won’t help the bureau. I have to break this case fast. I’m afraid for my family,”
she said honestly.

“Your brother is in a great deal of trouble,” Wilson conceded.

“Why did he disappear? He’s making himself look guilty, and believe me, the circumstantial evidence against him is impressive. He’s got to face this squarely, or he’s going to be in so deep no jury will ever believe him.”

After a brief pause, Wilson said, “The danger to his life is real. The ones who killed your
father also want your brother dead.”

“Wait a minute. He and my dad were on opposite sides of every argument. Why would they have the same enemies?”

Wilson pursed his lips and regarded her thoughtfully, as if trying to make up his mind. Finally he spoke again. “I don’t think either of us is in the mood for food right now. Let’s take a walk.” He led Ella away from the gathering, uphill through
a rugged stretch of sagebrush and buffalo grass.

“Where are we going?”

“To the site where your father wanted to build his new church. The trouble starts there.”

“His insistence on building a church so close to the community college led to some anonymous threats. Do you know who was behind those?” she asked, watching Wilson out of the corners of her eyes.

“No, but I guarantee Clifford had nothing
to do with them. It’s not his style to do things behind anyone’s back.”

“You’re right. Clifford has never been shy about voicing his opinions.” She smiled ruefully.

They reached the top of the long, gently sloping hill. Wilson gestured down into the canyon. “Your brother spoke out publicly against the Anglo church and was trying to find legal means to stop its construction.” A small, leveled
section partway up the reverse slope contained the ruins of a building at least a century old.

“Do you know about this place?” Wilson asked.

“Clifford said something about it once, but I don’t recall what. I know he didn’t like to come around here.”

Wilson glanced back at the gathering, a half mile or more behind them, then turned again to look at the ruins below. “Let’s go a little closer,”
he said, with a trace of reluctance.

Ella could tell, from the lines of tension around his eyes and the rigid cast of his shoulders, that he was apprehensive. Maybe he was worried about losing visual contact with the others. That could lead to gossip that might damage his standing as a professor. She discarded the thought almost immediately. Wilson wasn’t like that.

“Tell me about the ruins,”
she said softly.

“About one hundred years ago, a Christian church was built there. During the first service, lightning struck the steeple. Several people died, trapped by the rubble or burned to death.”

“So the site was abandoned, considered to be contaminated by the dead. That explains why nobody ever really talks about this place, and why Clifford would have been uneasy here.”

He nodded.
“It was a long time ago, but people moved away, and most avoided coming around again. It’s only recently that construction started coming closer to it. Then your father decided that the new church should be built right here. To him, it was a way of showing everyone how his chosen religion could triumph over paganism.”

She shook her head. “Now I know why this church became such an issue. Dad never
told me his plans. I should have asked what the problem was, but I didn’t take the time. Clifford, of course, would have opposed him with everything he had.”

“Our Way clearly teaches that any place tainted by death is dangerous to the living.”

“Why didn’t they do a Blessing Way, a purifying rite, over the spot?” Ella kicked one of the loose bricks that were scattered everywhere. The fact that
no one had scavenged any salvageable building materials attested to the strength of the cloud of fear that surrounded the place.

“It’s not that simple. There are other problems that would also have to be dealt with.”

“Like what?” She leaned back against one of the many boulders that littered the sides of the canyon. The coolness of the rock, and the solid feel of it pressed against her back,
helped push away the fear that seeped through her. This was why she’d left. Here, rules shaped by logic and nature sometimes twisted, forming a different reality.

“Six months ago, we started to find slaughtered—not butchered—livestock in this area. Lately, people in nearby communities have been reporting instances of animals being born deformed.”

“Do you really believe this place is cursed?”

Wilson hesitated. “I know that evil comes in many guises. It can be an intangible force that can only be recognized by the results it produces. Bad things have happened here. That’s an indisputable fact. By insisting on building his church here, your father was challenging forces he didn’t understand.”

“He understood them, all right—he just didn’t believe they had power over him,” Ella explained.

“And now he’s gone.”

Wilson moved away from the circle of debris. He had helped her, and in deference to his obvious reluctance to linger, Ella followed. The tip of her boot struck something hard, and she stumbled. She managed to break her fall with her shoulder, but as her hand slammed into the rocky soil, something sliced into her palm.

With a cry, she jerked her hand away. “Son of a gun,
that hurts!” Ella rose to her feet slowly and looked at her palm. Blood flowed from a long cut. She kicked at the sand, trying to figure out what had cut her. “What the heck is down there?”

A metallic something caught the sunlight, shimmering brightly. She tried to pry it loose with her boot, but it resisted. “It’s stuck fast.”

“Are you okay?” Wilson asked, his gaze on her hand.

“Yeah, the
cut’s not very deep; it just smarts, that’s all.”

“Let me see what’s buried there, then.” Wilson quickly dug free a belt buckle. As he started to pull it out, they saw it was attached to the tattered remains of a leather belt.

“Not everyone is afraid of this place.” Venturing a silent guess on how a man’s belt might have been lost in that remote area, Ella smiled.

Wilson used his handkerchief
to wipe the surface of the buckle clean. “The leather’s been damaged, but the buckle’s in good shape.” He glanced at the inscription on it, then dropped the belt as if it were scalding hot. Disgust was etched clearly on his face.

Ella, who’d been tying a handkerchief around her hand, stopped and stared at him. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s a prize rodeo buckle. It’s got Ernie Billey’s name on it.”

She searched her memory for the name. It sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. “Let’s take it back with us. Maybe we can find him.”

Wilson shook his head. “I hope we never even come close to finding him. That man’s been dead for ten years. His grave is halfway across the reservation. This was buried with him; he wore it all the time—when he was alive.”

“Someone dug him up?”
She glanced around her quickly. “But where’s the rest of him?”

“Like I said, I don’t want to know!” His eyes narrowed as he glanced around them. “This is the work of skinwalkers. They rob graves.”

Ella retrieved the belt and started to roll it up.

Wilson stared at her. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t touch that.”

“It’s evidence.”

“It proves nothing. Besides, you can’t take that among all
those people! You’ll create a panic. Have you forgotten everything you were ever taught? You’d be endangering yourself
and
others.”

She considered what he said. Finding the belt indicated that grave-robbing had taken place, but that was it. There was no way of telling how long the belt had lain there, or who’d brought it. Wilson had wiped it clean when he’d pulled it from the ground. “What would
you like to do with it?”

“Take it farther down and bury it.”

“Why not put it back right here?”

“Disturb
this
ground again? No way.” Wilson used his handkerchief to take the belt from her, then, holding it at arm’s length, he headed around the bend of the canyon.

A hot, dry wind from a halfhearted whirlwind passed by and blasted them with heat.

“S-s-su!”
Wilson muttered.

She recognized the
expression. It was the equivalent of “scat.” Dust devils were said to be animated by evil spirits. What a time for one to appear!

Wilson’s presence helped her push back some of her uneasiness. Old, shadowy fears, sprung from rituals she’d never truly understood, were now resurfacing, demanding she face them squarely. She wished she could find someone with a sensible explanation for what was going
on. She thought of a new tack to take. “My brother is much better equipped to deal with the type of trouble we’re facing. I wish he wasn’t in hiding.”

“He would be very surprised to hear you say that you want him around, but he would be pleased.”

“I love my brother, but I will never be completely comfortable around him,” she admitted slowly.

“Why? You know he would never harm anyone, particularly
you.”

She paused, measuring her words carefully, wanting Wilson to understand. “The things he does make me feel … off balance.” Her hands grew clammy as her mind drifted to the past. “When we were kids, he could make people overlook objects that were right in front of them, or make them see illusions. He could never manage it with me. I knew it was some kind of magician’s trick, but I could never
figure out how he did it. He always scared me.”

“He’s a very special
hataalii.
He uses all his abilities to heal, and to restore harmony.”

She glanced around her. “I have to admit Clifford belongs here; he’s part of everything, the tribe, the desert. I’ve always felt like a guest, one who has nothing special to offer and can never quite figure out a way to fit in.”

“You’ve kept yourself separate—you
still do—but you’re not alone.” He captured her gaze and held it. “You have a place here. What you have to do is find it.”

The strength behind his steady gaze bathed her with new confidence. Without stopping to think of the consequences, she asked the question that had been in her mind since her arrival. “Are you truly my friend, or am I one more obligation you’re fulfilling for the sake of my
brother?”

“I’m here with you now. My friendship with your brother doesn’t require that.”

“If you are my friend, then why don’t you trust me?”

“Why do you ask me for something you can’t give me in return? To walk in beauty, there has to be balance.”

He was right. There was nothing else she could say. Time was what they needed most, and what they most lacked.

Wilson stopped at a soft, sandy
spot halfway up a hill. “We’ll rebury the belt here. Then we’ll go back.”

He dug a hole with a stout branch, then dropped in the belt, along with the handkerchief he’d used to handle it. Once he’d covered them with dirt, he reached into his pocket and brought out a small pouch of pollen. He touched a pinch of pollen to her lips, then to his own, while uttering a prayer. Then, he released the
yellow dust, scattering it to the winds. “May our trail be in pollen.”

She remembered the ritual blessing. Pollen was light. It signified peace and prosperity. It was hope because from it came life. For that one instant, she felt the power of beliefs that were as old as the Dineh. Once again, she was part of what she’d left behind.

As they started back, a feather floated across her path. Ella
said, “The dust devil swept something good toward us. I remember my brother teaching me that feathers stand for beauty and happiness, and are present whenever a transformation is about to take place.” She reached for the feather, had just grasped it, when Wilson said, “Let it go.”

“Why? It’s beautiful. Look at the brown and white markings. It’s almost striped.”

She held it toward him, but he
brushed it out of her hand. Seeing the surprise on her face, he pursed his lips, pointing Navajo style. The rotting carcass of a dead owl, covered in similar feathers and bursting with maggots, lay at the base of a nearby piñon tree.

“That bird is a sign of ill omen to the Dineh; surely you know that.” Wilson took Ella’s hand and, led her away.

“Then it’s a good sign that the owl is dead, right?”
Ella asked.