Death Chant Read online

  “What about somewhere else? I don’t want to charge to Ghost Totem only to discover I’m wasting my time.”

  He locked eyes with her. Something jumped inside her, a reminder that she was a woman and he was a man.

  “I wish I could give you something more,” he said, “but that’s all I’m aware of.”

  She worked a lump out of her throat. “What’s it like?”

  “Beautiful.” He whispered the word. “Ancient. My ancestors and other tribes camped in the area for centuries, but since that part of the mountain is one of the more popular areas for visitors, it’s been trampled on a lot.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah.” Still looking at her, he nodded. “So am I.”

  He was making it nearly impossible to think. “Could parts of it be so rugged that most hikers don’t venture into it?”

  “Wild and impenetrable, you mean?”

  She swallowed. “For all but the most physically fit.” Like you.

  “It’s that, all right, and your professor isn’t in the best shape.”

  Jay’s comment served as the reminder she needed of why she was here. She mentally shook off his impact on her. “Is Ghost Totem far from here?”

  He didn’t hurry his reply. “Five miles. The trail starts at the parking area and is marked.”

  That sounded easy enough, but what if Doc had struck off cross-country? What if he’d had a heart attack or injured himself? Damn him for not telling anyone where he’d gone.

  Of course, she wouldn’t have met Jay Raven otherwise.

  “My hiking boots and pack are in my car.” There. That was a practical and necessary statement.

  “You’re not going to take off now, are you?”

  She needed to be on the move, to do something. Besides, being alone in the wilderness would give her the opportunity to try to make sense of why she was reacting to Jay like she was.

  In addition, solitude might force her to come to grips with her reaction to the blanketing unknown. To open herself up to what, a wolf?

  Only in her dreams.

  “I’m an experienced hiker and camper. This spring, I hiked through much of the Chocolate and Palo Verde Mountains.”

  His smile touched a deep place in her. “Those aren’t mountains, Ms. Barstow. They aren’t the kind that swallow people. I lived in Southern California for a couple of years, so I’m aware of the difference.”

  “You’re right. There’s a huge difference between the climates. Do you ever want to go back?”

  “Not really.”

  Right now, neither did she. She started toward the open door so she could get her hiking gear from her car. Before she reached it, however, an older man using a cane stepped into the room. His weathered skin, long gray braids and eagle feather necklace contrasted with his jeans and flannel shirt and made her think this was what Jay would look like in thirty years. Granted, Jay was considerably taller, but both of their features were Native American.

  Like hers.

  She studied not just the striking silent newcomer but also the change in Jay’s demeanor. His full attention was now locked on the older man. She sensed both affection and wariness between them. Jay’s gaze went from the man’s face to his legs, then back to his face.

  The newcomer pointed a leathery finger at her.

  “Yakanon,” he said. “Yakanon.”

  Her heart beat painfully. “What—”

  “Take my message into you and listen to its wisdom.”

  Still unnerved, she flicked her gaze to Jay, but he was still staring at the newcomer. Shock transformed his features.

  “Yakanon,” the man repeated.

  The word was both beautiful and unnerving, multilayered. “What?”

  The older man started to lift his arm only to let it drop, as if he’d considered touching her. “Your soul does. Open yourself to its messages.”

  “Look, if you’re thinking to scare me—”

  “He isn’t,” Jay interrupted. “That isn’t his way.”

  Maybe she shouldn’t, but she believed the ranger. The older man started to rub his right thigh. She debated suggesting he sit down, but this wasn’t her place. It belonged to Doc.

  No matter how much she wanted to question the man she suspected was Jay’s uncle, that would have to wait until she’d accomplished what she’d come here for. Even her soul would have to take a back seat to that.

  * * * *

  “Why did you say what you did?” Jay asked his uncle after closing the door behind them. Winter Barstow was jogging back. Earlier, he’d simply wished he didn’t have to spend time around her, because, if he was being honest with himself, she spoke to the male in him. The last thing he wanted to do was be concerned for her, but he had no choice.

  Uncle Talio shifted the cane to his other hand and wiped sweat off his forehead. That would be the only indication he’d reveal of how much getting here had taxed him.

  “I felt compelled to,” Talio said.

  “Compelled? I need more than that.” Jay crooked his arm so his uncle could take it. They started after Winter. “Saying ‘Yakanon’ isn’t exactly the same as ‘Hi, how are you?’”

  “Do you remember what it means?”

  On the verge of pointing out that he was no longer a child needing to be taught about his heritage, he nodded. “Yakanon mourns the death of the soulless one, and yet you told her to listen to her soul. What was that about?”

  “That’s for her to decide, if she has the courage to seek the truth.”

  Not for the first time, his uncle was talking in riddles. “You brought up Yakanon that day out on Cha’lak’at’sit, when everyone had gathered to decide about Dr. Gilsdorf’s request. Wasn’t that enough?”

  “I wish but, no, it isn’t. My spirit rules my words.”

  Even though he didn’t want to, and long experience had left him with no doubt that it wouldn’t do him any good, Jay couldn’t help but study the trees for a raven. He saw nothing. Felt nothing.

  “Eagle told me where to look for her,” Uncle Talio said. “He was aware of her existence before she arrived.”

  He didn’t tell Uncle Talio that he envied the man’s belief system, because that would open a box that needed to remain closed. Life would be simpler if his so-called spirit guided him like Eagle did his uncle, but Raven had never been more than a young man’s misguided belief that something had happened during his spirit quest.

  “Why would Eagle care?” he asked.

  “She’s Native American.”

  As if that explained everything. “Just because she is doesn’t mean she’d have any idea what you were talking about when you mentioned Yakanon. And even if she did, death talk is the last thing she’d want to hear right now.”

  “I didn’t want to have to come here today.” Talio indicated the leg he’d nearly lost in the automobile accident that had brought Jay back to Washington. And what might keep him here for as long as his uncle lived.

  “I wish you hadn’t.”

  Uncle Talio fixed somber eyes on him. “Someone needed to hear Yakanon’s message. All I knew was where I needed to go to say the word.”

  “To Dr. Gilsdorf’s cabin? Maybe he’s who the message is about?”

  “I cannot say. Jay, it might be for you.”

  With his uncle’s words, the old wound opened up. He hated the idea of being soulless, but it might be true. After all, he’d turned his back on a core part of his heritage.

  Chapter Four

  The western hemisphere’s largest virgin temperate rainforest had a rhythm. Trees so tall and thick and dark she could barely comprehend the hundreds of years it had taken to create them closed around Winter. The trail to Ghost Totem was marked, but that didn’t stop the shadows from surrounding her. Her attention strayed to the wall of green to her left.

  Massive trees grew so close together that even if there had been no mist or clouds, the sun would have made little impact. The scent of loam, dampness and decay made the air
heavy. Brush hid the ground, and great, moss-covered boulders littered the area to her right.

  Green. Deep and dank. Vivid beyond belief.

  As an experienced hiker, she’d automatically brought along her backpack with sleeping bag, water, granola bars and a jacket, but the idea of spending the night out there was disconcerting.

  Although she’d researched the area, only now did she truly appreciate not just its mass, but its pulse and beat. Maybe its spirituality.

  She couldn’t say she loved this place. The land was wilder than she’d imagined and spoke to her on a level she couldn’t ignore or deny.

  The deep, faint whisper that was the forest’s voice rose as a gust of wind chased overhead, then faded into almost nothing. Why had the old Native American said what he had? She couldn’t figure out if he’d been speaking to her or Jay. Maybe he’d been warning or blaming her for something, but, if so, he should have spelled it out. Now that it was too late, she wished she hadn’t taken off. Given a little more time, the older man might have explained.

  Shaking off her thoughts, she attempted to orient herself, but plant life pressed in on all sides. Thank goodness for the well-trodden trail. Needing to assure herself that she existed separate from her surroundings, she touched the base of a cedar so tall she couldn’t see its top, its thick bark covered in lichen. When she pushed her nail past the vibrant growth, she encountered rock-like resistance.

  Some of the giants were three hundred feet tall and a thousand years old. In their own complex way, they lived and breathed. Maybe they even held memory deep in their cores—memory waiting for her to tap.

  She’d never pondered the possibility while hiking in Southern California.

  A muted and unexpected sound cut a path through her half-thoughts. Poised on her toes, she strained to hear. She hadn’t encountered anyone the whole time she’d been walking.

  Unease licked up her spine. Could someone be singing? No, not singing, because there was no rhythm or melody to that faintest of whispers. Rather, it was as if the forest was about to create music.

  A faint buzzing caught her attention. She should be able to dismiss a swarm of insects. Just the same, she’d spent enough time alone in the wilderness that she’d never discount anything.

  Leaving the trail, she scrambled onto the remnants of a downed tree. She longed to take in her surroundings, but the mass of brush and trees made that difficult. Even on the tree stump, her field of vision was compromised. At least up she was able to determine that the sound came from her left. After leaving the tree carcass, she hiked a little farther. If there was a hornet’s nest out there, she needed to locate it. Before she could put her decision into action, however, the wilderness seemed to start breathing.

  It had become something alive.

  Unnerved, she touched the utility knife at her waist and called out a loud, “Hello.”

  No one answered, but the buzzing continued. After a half-dozen sliding steps in the direction it was coming from, she was all but certain she heard flies. Not hornets. They might have been attracted to animal excrement, but would even a bear’s scat draw that many? Bear? And her with a small knife. Her second thought, the one that slowed her even more, was that a dead animal was responsible. This afternoon, she didn’t want to be hit with proof of the end to life’s cycle.

  Jaw clenched, she pushed her way into and then past a thick grove of ferns. That was when she saw him. Or rather, that was when she saw the blood and flies. Acceptance took a few more seconds.

  Doc.

  Dr. Anthony Gilsdorf lay on his back, his body twisted so his face was toward her. One scratched and cut hand was clamped over a gaping wound in his throat, as if he’d been choking himself. At first, she thought—prayed—he was looking at her, but he wasn’t.

  Dried blood soaked his clothing and the ground around him. The right side of his head had been smashed in. A long horizontal gash split his left cheek apart. His eyes had no sheen of life. Ants trailed over his face.

  “Doc!”

  The wilderness swallowed her cry, held it for too many heartbeats, then threw it off into the wind. She felt alone and yet surrounded.

  Finally, fighting waves of horror, disbelief and revulsion, she came closer. Came to a halt. Widened her stance. Then she forced herself to kneel beside Doc and furiously fanned the air until the flies darted away. They hung over her, eager to return.

  Oh, please, not Doc. Not him!

  Her face grew hot. In contrast, her fingers felt frozen. A thudding in her temples became a violently beaten drum, the pounding making her sick. Her stomach contents lodged in her throat.

  Ignoring what she’d learned from TV programs about not touching crime scenes, she pried Doc’s too-stiff hands off his throat. The mangled carotid artery was exposed and drained.

  “Doc, no-no-no-no,” she crooned stupidly. She brought his frozen fingers near her mouth and breathed on them. “I’m here. You’re… You aren’t alone anymore. I’m here. Please. Oh, God.”

  Her mouth felt dry, her muscles both numb and on fire. She lost the ability to move and couldn’t get her eyes to focus. This wasn’t a nightmare. There’d be no awakening to daylight and sanity. Some monstrous excuse for a human being had done this obscene thing to the most important person in her life. Because this was no animal kill. No, those cuts had been made with a knife. This was murder.

  She stood on quivering legs and looked all around. She cursed the trees that blocked out the sun, then pulled her knife out of its sheath and gripped it in both hands. Doc’s dry blood stained her fingers in chilling contrast to the knife’s silver handle. She swayed and quickly locked her knees in place.

  Giving in to the need, she threw back her head and drew in air until her lungs protested. Then, vision once again clear but control lost, she let loose a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream. Her heart cracked and bled.

  Once again, she filled her lungs and released what she could of her agony. This time, the sound came out more howl than cry. It belonged not to a human being, but to something horribly wounded.

  On the brink of shattering.

  Her throat burned, prompting her to rub it. Reality returned as the sounds she’d made faded away. She wasn’t an animal, not anymore.

  She couldn’t do anything for Doc. No one could. She could keep the flies and ants off him, but, eventually, they’d return. Before long, nothing would remain of the man she loved and admired. He’d become part of the wilderness.

  He’d been murdered. The horrible wounds, plus his soiled and torn shirt, told her how desperately he’d fought for life.

  Had he known his killer? Maybe it was someone he’d antagonized. Maybe he’d come across something he shouldn’t have.

  The effort of taking a backward step exhausted her. Her heart feeling as if it had been jammed into her throat, she strained to listen, but the wind refused to be silent, and the damnable flies were again landing.

  Nerves edged around her subconscious again. Judging by the dried blood and state of decay, Doc had been dead for what could be days. She was standing in a place of death.

  Alone in the wilderness.

  Leaving Doc to the elements, she spun around so she could start back and alert the authorities, but she’d only taken a single step when the need to say some kind of goodbye overwhelmed her. She whirled around. Already, Doc was half-hidden by his surroundings. She was losing him, had already lost him, needed to make her peace with reality.

  She again knelt beside him and attempted to close his eyes, but his lids were too stiff. A killer was out here, someone with utter disdain for her mentor’s life, a man or woman with reasons and motives and—

  The wind brought a soft yet deep-throated howl to her, stopping her in mid-thought. Wolf. She’d never seen a wolf in its natural state, but the creatures had always fascinated her. Her dreams about the predators when she was a child had somehow sustained her. Given her something to believe in.

  But she was no longer that small girl
. Still, for a heartbeat, she accepted the ageless cry and again made it part of her.

  A wolf when she understood there were none left in the Olympic National Forest?

  She placed a hand over her heart. The fingers gripping her knife threatened to cramp, but she didn’t dare release her hold.

  Deep and clean, the howl again sped through the forest.

  Despite everything, she felt herself being drawn to the sound as if she was tethered to the unseen and impossible animal. She wanted to run, to plunge so deep into the forest that it became her. Instead, she stood frozen in place.

  The afternoon air felt cold on her arms and face. A twig broke under her boot. She smashed fragile spore capsules growing from a carpet of moss.

  The back of her neck prickled. Every nerve and muscle taut, she scanned her surroundings. For a long time, she saw only the forest. And then—

  Eyes. Yellow and hot, bracketed by black, watching her from a riot of growth.

  “No!” Shocked by her outcry, she forced herself to be silent. No human had eyes like that. She wasn’t looking at Doc’s killer.

  Or was she?

  The burning orbs belonged to a wolf. She could now see the outline of a powerful body, large head and small, alert ears. A deep rumble came from the depths of that immense chest.

  A wolf. Primitive. A creature that had once thrived here but had been hunted to extinction.

  She detected no fear in that magnificent, impossible body. And no aggression, either. Rather, it simply studied her, blinking, pointing its dark muzzle at her, taking in her scent.

  Her legs wanted to run while her heart begged her to stay. Swaying a little, she struggled to make sense of what was happening. She wouldn’t, of course, but she longed to approach the creature, to touch it, to make it part of her.

  When it started toward her, she told herself it had read her thoughts and was going to grant her wish. At the same time, survival instinct warned her to run, not that she could escape a predator.