Blackening Song (26 page)

“What the … It’s a coyote!”

“Don’t stop. Drive on!” Wilson yelled.

Before Ella could react, another coyote jumped into
the bed of the pickup. Growling, teeth bared, it stuck its head through the gaping hole in the rear window.

Ella drew her pistol and fired, hitting the coyote squarely between the eyes. As the animal staggered and fell back, she turned and fired again at the creature on the hood, striking it. She gunned the accelerator. The wounded coyote, yelped and dropped to one side, rolling off as Ella sped
toward the highway.

After they’d traveled several hundred yards, Wilson released his death grip on the dashboard. “Okay, slow down. We can’t take that thing in the truck bed back into town with us.”

“Why not?” Ella’s ears were still ringing. She shook her head, trying to clear the annoying buzz. “That’s precisely what I was going to do. Maybe there’s an outbreak of rabies or something. That
was not normal behavior for a coyote. And don’t try to tell me those were skinwalkers; those animals were the real thing.”

“How do you know that?” Wilson asked.

“Didn’t you get a look at them? They were mangy-looking, half-starved.”

“And what did you expect?”

She started to speak, then pressed her lips together and slowed the truck. “We’ve all heard stories that wolves or coyotes with turned-down
tails are really skinwalkers, but these animals looked like the real thing to me. They were crazy, out of control, but nothing marked them as anything other than coyotes.”

“You’re looking for signs of humanity within the form of the beast, but you won’t find it. Those who choose to follow evil eventually lose themselves and become more beast than man.”

“I don’t accept that,” she said, shaking
her head. “Every instance of magic like theirs has a logical explanation if you look into it closely enough.”

“You’ve seen a lot of things since coming home that can’t be explained with conventional knowledge and logic. You’re fighting yourself by trying to make sense out of something that operates under rules you don’t understand. There’s too much at stake for that kind of confusion.”

“And
what would you have me do with the animal in the bed of the truck? It’s dead. You can see that for yourself. No living creature can survive a hollow-point nine-millimeter slug in its skull at point-blank range.”

“We have to burn the body.”

“At least let scavengers take it,” she argued.

“We have to set fire to it,” he repeated adamantly.

“Look, are you sure you want to do this now? I really
don’t want to hang around out here…”

“I’m sure,” he said, interrupting her. “Let’s get to it. This is an open stretch. We’d see anyone approaching in plenty of time to react.”

She didn’t share his confidence, and the weight of her pistol was of very little comfort. The last thing she wanted was to face another assault. She only had a few rounds left in her clip.

Ella and Wilson worked quickly
to build a fire. Once the flames were going strong, Wilson uttered a prayer for protection and dragged the animal into the fire. Flames licked the carcass; a putrid smell rose into the air. Ella began to cough. “It smells like a sewer!”

“Get downwind, but we have to stay until it’s consumed.”

“Hey, I went along with you on this, but we have to get out of here. The fire won’t spread, and I’m
not—”

The air was shattered by an unearthly howl. The creature jumped up amid the flames, its body covered in bright orange tongues.

Ella stared at it for an endless instant. It wasn’t possible. The animal should be dead. But as the beast leaped for her throat, she fired again and again.

Her finger kept snapping the trigger long after she’d run out of rounds. The thing collapsed back into the
fire.

Beside Ella, Wilson kept his gaze on the creature until the flames turned it into a black, shapeless mass. “It’s over.”

Suddenly wild howling rang out all around them. The sound rose until it became an earsplitting wail.

Wilson grabbed her arm and half dragged, half raced Ella to the truck. “Drive! And don’t stop for anyone!”

SIXTEEN

Ella sat beside Clifford in a small depression behind a clump of sagebrush. It was early evening, the next day, and the ground was cool by the old garage.

“I can’t believe you actually went out searching for the skinwalkers’ meeting places.” Ella shook her head slowly. “You’re just opening yourself up to more danger.”

“I’m doing it during the day, and staying away from the community
and the college construction site,” Clifford explained. “I’m being very careful.”

Ella closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s still one helluva risk.”

“Things aren’t going anywhere on the case. You couldn’t exactly report the attack on us to the police. And your checks with doctors and hospitals didn’t turn up any gunshot victims. We have to take the offensive.” Clifford lowered his voice
and looked around to make sure no one was anywhere near the abandoned building.

“You should trust me to do that, and stay put.”

“I’m trusting you to help Loretta and Mom. I don’t expect you to do it all, or to work miracles. You’re the only one who expects that.” Clifford looked her straight in the eye.

“You may have a point.” Ella glanced at her watch. “I’d better be going. I’ve got to pick
up Mom at the chapter house. She’s at the fund-raising meeting the progressives called on behalf of the college, to pay for landscaping and outdoor sculptures.”

“I’m surprised she went to that. I didn’t think she’d want to get actively involved, particularly on the night of the Enemy Dance. I realize that these days the dance is mostly a summer social, but some of us still take it very seriously.
It used to be done only when needed, to eliminate contamination from outsiders and their influences. Only we traditionalists realize that the tribe is in dire need of it right now.” Clifford turned his head to watch as a car full of Navajo teens drove slowly down the highway. The hollow thump of amplified music reached them despite the distance.

“The meeting will be over before the dance starts.
Our mother wouldn’t have gone if she thought there was a conflict. The only reason she went was because she was invited by an old friend of father’s.”

“Is our professor friend going to the ceremonial?” Clifford reached for a can of cola Ella had brought him, along with a few sandwiches.

“I don’t know. Even if he is there, I’m going to be too busy to socialize. I need to use this opportunity,
while most of the community is present, to find out if anybody is talking about our little shoot-out, or if anyone is missing or injured. Hopefully I’ll be able to pick up something.”

Clifford shook his head. “Remember, part of the evening is still a religious ceremony. For it to bless the tribe, onlookers have to help the participants by keeping their thoughts on the ritual.”

Ella could have
argued with Clifford. A meeting like that was the ideal time to observe, especially in light of what had been going on recently. But she knew she wouldn’t convince him of the validity of her point of view. She’d just do what she had to.

She stood. “The meeting should be over soon.” Smiling at Clifford, and giving him a thumbs-up, Ella walked through the brush to a low spot that was out of sight
from the road. Her father’s pickup was too shot-up to drive around without raising eyebrows. It was parked in Wilson’s garage, out of sight. Ella had told her mother it was being worked on, and had leased a new truck in Farmington.

Less than an hour later, Ella arrived at the chapter house, where the meeting was still going full blast. Ella wasn’t surprised to hear loud voices coming from inside
the building. According to custom, issues were debated until everyone could vote unanimously. That often took a very long time.

Wilson was standing outside the building. Had he been waiting for her? Ella started to cross the parking lot to meet him. Two pickups, each carrying five or more Navajo teens crowded in the cab and back end, pulled up at the chapter house’s entrance. Something about
the teenagers’ expressions warned her of trouble.

Wilson quickly came to stand beside her. “They don’t belong here,” he mumbled.

“I figured that,” she said, as they jumped out of the trucks and crowded through the door. She raced into the building, Wilson at her side.

“This meeting is over. You won’t interfere with our religious ceremonies ever again,” one of the boys shouted.

Ella brushed
past two youths at the entrance, appraising the situation at a glance. The boys, who ranged in age from sixteen to their early twenties, were circling the seated adults like vultures. Suddenly a tall, muscular-looking Navajo boy lunged at Wilson. Ella tripped the youth; he didn’t fall, but turned on her with a roundhouse punch. She grabbed his wrist, sharply twisted the boy’s arm behind his back,
then kicked him away. In an instant another one was on her, grabbing the back of her hair. Ella leaned into the attack, then stomped down hard on his instep and kicked back, spinning. By then, the room had erupted in a free-for-all.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wilson flatten one of the boys with a punch, turn and pull another away from one of the older men, then pitch the boy through
the open door. The practical efficiency of the move, and the strength it had taken, surprised her. She wondered where he’d learned to fight like that.

Diverted, she almost didn’t see the folding chair one of the boys hurled at her. She ducked at the last minute and the chair caught another attacker in the back. As the teenager advanced toward her, she kicked out hard, catching his knee full force.
The boy yowled in pain, falling to the floor. Before Ella caught her balance, another young man lunged at her, but Rose stepped in and smashed him in the face with her purse. She continued hitting him, hard, and he tried to protect his head with his hands. In a flash, Rose was joined by three other angry women.

Ella moved toward an elderly man in a wheelchair. He too seemed to be holding his
own. He’d used his chair to trap one of the young men who’d been knocked down against the wall. Every time the boy moved to get up, the man would ram him with one of the metal footrests.

“Someone call the police,” Ella yelled.

Her words were lost in the angry shouts and screams that filled the room. She tried to move toward her mother, but one look at Rose jolted worry right out of her. She
and the three other women were ganging up on whichever young troublemaker was closest.

Wilson was blindsided with a solid punch to his jaw. As he staggered back, two more youths were on him. Ella deflected an arm that snaked toward her and kicked one of Wilson’s opponents in the crotch from behind. He went up into the air about a foot, then crumpled.

Grabbing a broom someone had left propped
against the wall, Ella jammed the handle into the stomach of the last boy on his feet, then brought it crashing down on the back of his neck. As the boy struck the floor, Ella heard sirens above the din in the room.

Wilson scrambled to his feet and, with Ella and several other adults, blocked the door. Those teens still able to move retreated to the opposite side of the room.

A minute later,
eight tribal police officers came rushing in, batons ready. The defeated attackers offered only token resistance.

Recognizing Peterson in the group of newcomers, Ella sighed with relief. He would be professional about taking statements, and they wouldn’t be detained any longer than necessary. Wilson helped the officers, relinquishing custody of two young boys he’d forced to the floor.

As the
troublemakers were led from the room, Peterson came over to Ella. “What the hell happened here tonight? How did all this get started?”

Rose Destea approached before Ella could speak. “I may be an old lady to them, but I can still take care of myself,” she said proudly.

Ella chuckled. “Yeah, I saw you. You sure took care of those punks, Mom.”

“All that trouble, and from them!” she muttered angrily.

“Who, Rose?” Peterson asked. “Do you know what this was about?”

“Hotheads, that’s all. They thought they could teach those who don’t follow the old ways a lesson. All they’ve done is hurt the cause of those of us who still value the old! People of both views were here tonight.”

“You mean these boys were traditionalists?” Ella’s eyebrows furrowed skeptically.

“That’s what one of them told me,”
Rose nodded.

“But then why would they do this tonight, when there’s an Enemy Dance scheduled? You’d expect them to be there, getting ready,” Ella added.

“The only answer I can think of is that they were incited by someone,” Rose replied. “Some were saying they were here because this meeting would force many of the Dineh to miss the beginning of the ceremonial. But that’s not true.”

Peterson
said, “I’m afraid it is. There was an error in the flyer that went out advertising the meeting here at the chapter house. It reported that the ceremony wouldn’t begin until moonrise. Actually, it was set for nightfall.”

“So it would have been impossible for anyone here to get to the ceremonial on time,” Ella said softly. “Who wrote the text for the flyer?”

“I haven’t been able to find that out
yet.” Peterson glanced at Rose, the unspoken question in his mind.

“I don’t know who’s responsible,” Rose answered. “It seems like a very stupid thing to do. The people conducting the ceremonial were sure to discover the mix-up.”

“That’s exactly what happened, and it got some of them very angry,” Peterson said.

The young people who’d started the trouble were driven to the station, but those
arrested also included some who’d fought off the assault but refused to cooperate with the police. Wilson stood beside Ella as the last squad car drove away. “This is really going to create trouble. Everyone will blame someone else, until they’re all at each other’s throats again. And it will interfere with the Enemy Way too.”

“Nothing can be done about it now. But you can bet that whoever planned
this little confrontation knew exactly what they were doing.” Ella surveyed the meeting room. People were picking up chairs and trying to straighten things up.