Blackening Song (36 page)

Wilson and Ella worked slowly, deliberately inviting the scrutiny of anyone who might be watching. Once the task was finished and the body interred, they walked to Wilson’s pickup and placed their digging tools inside.

“If your brother knew what you’d done with his blanket, I believe he’d strangle
you with his bare hands,” Wilson said softly.

Ella smiled. “Yes, I think you’re right. That’s why I was considering having you tell him.”

“Me? No way. In fact, I want to be in Arizona when he finds out.”

“Not a bad idea. We’ll both go, then call him on the phone.”

“What now? Where do you want to set up surveillance?” Wilson asked, putting the pickup in gear.

“In that canyon to your left.”

“There’s not much ground cover there.”

“I know, but the boulders are enough to hide us. I would have preferred higher ground, but we might run into our enemies inadvertently and be forced into a premature confrontation.”

“Okay, I’ll leave the truck in that stand of salt cedar.” He pointed to the gray-green cluster. “We’ll have to hike about a quarter of a mile back to the canyon, but that’s the
only cover big enough to hide this vehicle.”

They were in place twenty minutes later. Ella lay on the sand, using Wilson’s hunting binoculars, her gaze fixed on the area around the grave. “We won’t be able to see them until they’re almost there.”

“We’ll have some advance warning. From my position, I can see a stretch of open desert surrounding the grave.” Wilson paused and looked across at Ella.
“Do you think anyone will take the bait and show up tonight?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m sure they’ll want to gather a medicine bundle. Clifford was their most powerful enemy.”

“No, not their most powerful one,” a low voice said from behind them.

Ella rolled onto her back, drawing her pistol. She was already starting to squeeze the trigger when she recognized Clifford, squatting behind a bush, rifle
in hand. She stared at him, aghast. “How—”

Wilson fell back to the ground, his breath coming in rapid gasps. “Damn, healer, you’re supposed to fix heart attacks, not give them.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Clifford said, inching forward, between them, and peering ahead. “I thought you would have heard me coming.”

“You made no sound,” Ella protested.

“Ah, then I’m still in practice,” he
said with a nod.

“Why are you here instead of in bed?” Ella demanded. “What’s the matter with you? Your body isn’t ready for something like this.”

He shifted and winced. “Oh, I still hurt. Quite a bit. But someone had to keep watch over you two.” He smiled thinly. “Besides, you aren’t the only ones who want to know who the other skinwalkers are.”

“How did you find out we’d be here?” Ella demanded.

“Blalock called the tribal police from our house before he left with Paul and Loretta. Mother put together the rest, and filled me in when she got to the Bowmans’.”

“And she approved of this?” Ella demanded in a harsh whisper.

“Actually, no. But she saw the need, so she and Angela Bowman gave me some herbal drinks, and my body did the rest.”

“You don’t exactly look full of energy, my brother,
so if anything does happen, stay here and cover us, okay? The last thing we need is for you to fall into our enemies’ hands.” She knew Clifford had almost superhuman willpower, but she’d never expected him to be able to do this. Perhaps the herbs had blunted his pain, and he was operating mostly on sheer stubbornness.

“I won’t take foolish risks.” He glanced around. “We should spread out more.
I’ll take a different observation point. Below the summit of that hill, there’s a spot clustered with boulders. I’ll hide there.”

“No, you stay here,” Wilson said. “We’ll go.”

“You don’t have to be concerned about me,” Clifford argued. Ella saw her brother’s jaw set.

Wilson was right, but Clifford hated admitting weakness. Hoping to outthink him, she said, “You saw us burying my ex-father-in-law,
right?”

Clifford scowled, caught off guard by the abrupt change of topic. “Yes, I did,” he replied harshly, “in my beautiful ceremonial blanket.”

“Okay, we both owe you one. So we’ll move—it’s the least we can do.” Not giving him a chance to reply, she led Wilson away.

“Good strategy,” Wilson whispered after they were in position once more. They were now slightly above the grave, but a little
farther away than before.

“I had to think fast. This could be a long stakeout, and I wanted to make sure he had a vantage point that would provide him with substantial shade no matter what the position of the sun.”

“Do you think they’ll go after what they need for the medicine bundle while it’s still daylight?”

“My guess is no, but then again, they’ve had the guts to attack in daylight before.
There’s no second-guessing them, and that makes them doubly dangerous.”

Time passed slowly. Twice, Wilson checked on Clifford, bringing him water.

At around four that afternoon, thick clouds gathered, giving them some respite from the heat. Strong gusts blew swirling masses of sand and dust all around them. Lightning forked across the sky. Each thunderous blast sent its reverberations clear
through her.

“Nothing goes easily for us, does it?” Ella murmured, not really expecting a response.

Rain poured down in torrential sheets that obscured everything beyond a hundred yards. Ella huddled behind the largest boulder.

“At least it isn’t freezing,” Wilson observed, rain dripping down his forehead.

Ella turned up the collar of her denim jacket, trying to keep the rain from slipping
inside. Sandy mud splattered her clothing, only to be washed away by the steady downpour. The lightning flashes intensified, becoming a spectacular display, slicing horizontal jagged lines across the dark skies in great forks she’d never seen anywhere other than the desert. Or maybe she’d never bothered to look for such simple beauty anywhere else. It was a different world in the city; diversions
and other concerns filled each waking hour.

Ella tried to keep a lookout on the grave site, but the rain was coming down in such thick sheets that her visibility was severely limited. The binoculars, though waterproof, were useless. She could hear torrents of water flowing through the arroyo behind them. She hoped the pickup was on solid ground and would not be carried away or trapped in the
mud.

The rain continued, at varying levels of intensity, for several hours. The warmth had long since leeched out of her; once the sun vanished below the horizon, she grew even colder. An uneasy twilight descended on the valley. The lavender hues that blanketed the ground were as striking as they were unusual.

“They’re coming,” Ella whispered to Wilson, then wondered how she’d known. Still,
there was no doubt in her mind that she was right.

The soft, whistlelike call of a mourning dove floated through the air. She recognized the sound as her brother’s signal. “He’s seen them,” she said to Wilson.

Wilson tensed. She could see the muscles of his back and shoulders become more pronounced beneath his rain-soaked clothes. “Your pistol, is it dry enough?” he whispered, checking his rifle.

“It’ll work,” she assured him.

She heard a coyote wail. A heartbeat later, another answer, then still another. Ella felt her skin prickle, but she shook off the dread she knew came from superstition. Concentrating on the job at hand, she reached into her backpack and pulled out an infrared scope. Scanning the area, she said, “Coyotes are drawing near, but I don’t see anyone close to the grave
site.” She handed Wilson the scope. “I wish I had two more of these.”

“Your brother won’t need it. His night vision is incredible. I’ve gone camping with him lots of times.” Wilson looked through the scope, then handed it back to Ella. “This is very strange. I can hear the coyotes, but I can’t see them anymore.”

“Something’s happening. Do you feel it?” she asked softly.

“Not even the insects
are making noise,” he whispered. “I don’t like this at all.”

Ella spotted a lone figure cautiously approaching the family grave site, but couldn’t make out his face. “Here.” She handed Wilson the nightscope. “The walk looks familiar. See if you can figure out who that is.”

After watching for several long moments, Wilson said, “I have no idea. Why don’t we just go down there and take him?”

“No, I want this guy for more than grave-robbing. Let’s hang back. Hopefully he’ll lead us to the others.”

“If we lose him, we could wind up with nothing at all.”

“While he’s busy digging up the body, I’m going to move in and get an I.D. Then we’ll tail him.”

Ella bided her time until she was certain her prey’s energies were focused on the job he was doing. Finally satisfied, she moved closer.

“Try to approach from the opposite side, but remember, he’s not alone,” Wilson whispered.

Ella had just slipped behind the thick cover of a cluster of sagebrush when the skinwalker reached down and struggled to pull up the corpse. He tugged the body away from the grave, then unwrapped the blanket. As the body rolled free, he jumped to his feet. In that split second, he turned toward Ella and
she finally saw his face.

Sergeant Peterson Yazzie, her cousin, stood staring at the corpse. She felt sick to her stomach. He was her friend. At least it had appeared that way. Now she knew that his kindness, and the consideration he’d shown her, had been nothing more than a skinwalker trick, meant to get her to lower her guard. He’d lied to her, and he’d stalled her, again and again.

Before
Ella could fully come to terms with his betrayal, she saw Peterson throw his head back, mouth open in a silent cry. Grief? Was he still capable of that, or was it a curse of rage?

Peterson glanced in her direction, then slowly turned in a circle, studying the ground. She held her breath, wondering if she’d given herself away. A breath later, he shifted his attention and scattered pollen over
the blanket. His action made no sense to Ella. Pollen was a blessing, the opposite intention of a skinwalker who sought to harm. Then he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, used a small lighter to set it aflame, and tossed it onto the blanket. To allow pollen to be burned by fire was to destroy hope. In his rage, he would commit an ultimate act of desecration and burn blanket and pollen together.

She resisted the urge to stop him, knowing it would ruin their plan. Suddenly Clifford raced past her, running toward Peterson, rifle in hand. The fierce determination on his face frightened her.

Alerted by the sound of Clifford’s footsteps, Peterson spun around. He stared in terror at Clifford, and Ella realized Peterson believed he’d come face to face with a vengeful
chindi.
Peterson took a
step back, dropped the smoldering blanket, and ran away across the mesa, disappearing into the darkness. The long, mournful wailing of coyotes rose all around them, but none appeared.

Ella jumped out of hiding, gun in hand. Her brother, in his anger, was making himself a perfect target! “Get down!” Ella shouted.

Clifford dropped to the ground only moments before shots rang out. Ella fired at
the flashes, trying to cover her brother.

She glanced behind, wondering where Wilson was, why he wasn’t firing. A breath later, she heard the sound of a truck engine, strained to the limit. Wilson’s truck appeared, the vehicle virtually leaping out of the low spot, tires spewing mud as it fishtailed to a stop next to Clifford. Ella was at Clifford’s side a second later, helping him into the pickup.

“I’m okay,” Clifford said, clutching his side. “I just wasn’t up to a chase.”

Ella took a deep, relieved breath. “Then why did you interfere? He might have led us to the others!”

“No. You were so intent on trapping him that you missed the signs. He knew you were there, Little Sister. You were casting a shadow. That’s why he kept sneaking looks in your direction. He probably would have pretended
to leave after setting fire to my blanket and the pollen. Then, when you went to put out the fire, he would have shot you.”

Ella felt ashamed. She’d seen Peterson look in her direction and had wondered if she’d been seen, but allowed his actions to divert her.

“We can’t let Peterson get away,” Clifford said. “He’ll warn the others and they’ll all go into hiding. Then the danger will increase
even more.”

“We can still catch him. He’s heading north, not for the highway,” Wilson answered.

“He might be leading us into a trap,” Ella warned.

“I’ll hang back a bit, to give us time to avoid an ambush,” Wilson answered.

They followed Peterson’s mazelike route for nearly an hour, going back and forth down farm roads in a crisscross, zigzag pattern that defied prediction. Slowly, however,
one trend began to emerge. “He’s heading someplace specific.” Wilson’s grip tightened on the wheel. “We’re working our way west. Help me keep an eye out.”

They turned off a dirt road and continued cross-country. The recent rain had created large quicksandlike areas. Twice they got bogged down and the tires spun wildly, almost trapping them in the ooze.

The moon finally broke free of the clouds;
the silvery glow made their passage easier. “Why the hell doesn’t he slow down? This terrain is tearing my truck apart,” Wilson muttered through clenched teeth.

“Peterson’s been this way before,” Clifford answered. “Look at him go.”

Peterson was heading directly for a grove of trees and brush. Fear spiraled through Ella. It was a trap, but she wasn’t sure what kind.

Wilson slowed down instinctively.
“That’s a great place for an ambush.”

“Go around the way he did,” she snapped, watching Peterson’s truck swing out to the right around a tree, then cut back to the left so they could see him.

“No. We can gain some ground on him by going straight through,” Wilson argued.

The second Wilson cut to the left, Ella felt a chill that pierced her to the core, as if death itself had touched her. She
glanced at her brother, and saw the lines that framed his eyes.

“Stop!” Ella and Clifford ordered in chorus. Wilson slammed on the brakes, and the truck slid to a halt beside a tree. Ella heard a deep rumble overhead. “Get out!” she yelled.