Chapter 3: The Shaman
1182 Words
Chapter 3: The ShamanIN A DARK FOREST GLADE, the shaman stared into a campfire, focusing on the vision dancing in the flames. A young woman lay dead, her body horribly mutilated. Police moved around her, looking but not seeing what was there. An old Ojibwe man stood over a footprint. He sees, the shaman thought. He sees, but won’t let himself believe.
The shaman passed a hand before the flames. The vision faded.
The voices returned. The voices never left for long now. Neither did the hunger.
Comdowtah, the voices called in Ojibwe.
“That is not my name,” the shaman replied, speaking to the air. “Comdowtah died long ago.”
You carry his spirit. It is he who drew us to you. It is he that we see when we touch you. To us, you are Comdowtah.
The shaman now called Comdowtah shrugged. “So be it.”
Beyond the fire, two shadows detached themselves from the blackness of the forest. They were huge and identical to each other, with the suggestion of something feline in their outlines. But Comdowtah knew these were not cats. These were something else. The shadows drew closer. Comdowtah suppressed a shiver.
You grow concerned.
“Another killing. Just a week after the first,” the shaman said, eyes fixed on the two shadows, praying they did not come any closer.
A price you pay. It is necessary. You must feed the hunger you now carry.
“Ah yes, the hunger I now carry, as I now carry you. Like an infection.”
We are an infection to you?
Comdowtah swallowed but did not answer.
The killings serve another purpose.
“What purpose?”
You must draw to you the Wolf and Boy.
“So you’ve said. But why?”
Do you want the power we promised?
“Do I have a choice anymore?”
The voices fell silent. The two shadows retreated to wherever they went. The fire died to embers, blood red on black. In the darkness, the vision of the dead girl returned.
“What have I done?” Comdowtah asked the darkness. But like the voices, the darkness did not reply.
~~~
WILLIE TOLD THORNTON ABOUT THE print, and he called back the site team. He thanked Ed and told Willie and Mueller to take Ed home.
They were silent on the drive back. Then Ed finally spoke. “Mary didn’t make that print.”
Willie nodded. “Way too big. At least a size ten. Probably a guy.”
“But it was recent,” Ed said.
Mueller shrugged. “So there were two of them running from the guards. The guy just ran a bit faster.”
Ed’s anger rose again, but he didn’t take the bait. “Running barefoot?”
“Maybe they were making out. The guards and the dogs followed the other trail, so Mary and her boyfriend were taking a break. Big bad wolf or something busts up the slumber party. The guy takes off and leaves her.”
“So where are his shoes?”
“Grabbed ’em when he ran.”
“Yeah, sure. First thing he’d think of. So where are the animal tracks?”
“The thing didn’t follow him. Stayed behind to have dinner.”
“Shut up, Frank,” Willie snapped. Mueller shrugged, but he shut up.
Ed stared out the window. The sky was brightening over the trees in the east. “Something’s not right. Bear would’ve covered the body with sticks, leaves. Wolves would’ve eaten some at the kill site, but then they’d have dragged the—” He swallowed. “Dragged the rest to their cache.” Animals didn’t waste food. And that’s what Mary had been, how she’d ended her young life. As food. He caught a glimpse of the lake in the distance, and his dream returned.
“Cougar?” Willie offered.
Ed shook his head. “They cover their kills, too. Besides, there hasn’t been a cougar around here for a good year.” His thoughts took a sudden turn, remembering that last cougar.
“The guards said only two kids ran up the ridge,” Willie said. “And the other kid took a different path, nowhere near where we found Mary. So she was alone.”
“So who made that print?” Ed asked, as much to himself as anyone.
“Hey,” Mueller said, chuckling. “Maybe it’s like those stories you Indians have. You know, with people changin’ into animals and animals into people.”
Ed watched the dark trees flash past. He’d been thinking exactly the same thing.
~~~
THE COPS DROPPED ED BACK home just before 7 a.m. Vera was in the store, getting ready for the day. She looked up from restocking a shelf. He knew his face was as implacable as always, but it didn’t matter. She straightened, dropping a box of bran flakes, suddenly pale. “What’s happened?” she cried. Somehow, she always knew.
She broke down when he told her, and he held her in his arms as she sobbed. After a while, she stepped back, red-eyed. “Do Charlie and Elizabeth know yet?”
He shook his head. “Wanted to tell you first.”
“Ed, you gotta go. They’re going to be frantic already.”
He hesitated. “There’s something else.” He told her about finding the human footprint.
“An animal did the killing, and a person left the scene?” Her jaw clenched. “My god, that sounds like a Heroka.”
He nodded. “First thing I thought of.”
“Leiddia’s the only one of them around here now, isn’t she?”
Now. Ed didn’t miss that. “Only one I know of.”
Vera was quiet for a moment. “No,” she said finally. “No. Leiddia was Mary’s friend. She’d never have hurt her.”
Ed shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory of Mary’s body. “I don’t think so either. Besides, the footprint was way too big. Had to be a man.”
She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes again. “You should go to Charlie and Elizabeth. I’ll handle the store.”
He nodded. “Gotta get something in the back.” That was a lie, but he knew she wouldn’t agree with what he planned. Going into their little office in the back storeroom, he sat at their computer and typed in an email address. A picture for the contact popped up. Dark, shaggy hair framing a lean face above a square jaw, a long straight nose splitting sharp cheekbones, and black eyes. He started typing his message.
“Jesus Christ. You can’t be serious.”
He turned. Vera stood in the doorway, hands on hips. Always a bad sign. She was staring at the screen. “Gwyn Blaidd? You’re bringing him into this?”
He sat back, rubbing his face with both hands. In that moment, he felt a thousand years old. “The cops don’t give a s**t about this. Just another dead Indian. They’ll bury Mary’s file along with her. They’re already calling it an animal attack. Her killer’ll go free. Maybe kill again.”
“We have a Heroka killing—”
“May have.”
“—so you’re going to invite another one of them to town?”
“Gwyn knows this town. And he knows Leiddia. If she is the killer—and I’m sure she isn’t—then we’ll need Gwyn to stop her. If the killer was another Heroka, we’ll need Gwyn to find them. And to protect Leiddia.”
“Protect her?”
“We’re not the only ones who know that Leiddia is Heroka. Other elders know. Hell, Charlie and Elizabeth know. When news gets out about the footprint, somebody will suspect her, too. Maybe try to do something about it. And then, someone else will get hurt.”
Vera broke down again. “Oh god, Ed. Our poor little Mary. Who could have done such a thing?”
Ed took her in his arms. Who…or what? That dark childhood memory from when he’d found the footprint flitted through his brain again, but slipped away. “Dunno. But we need Gwyn. Even if the cops wanted to, they couldn’t handle this. They don’t know what they’re dealing with.”
“Why would Gwyn help Leiddia? Things didn’t end well between them, from what she told me.”
“If I know him, he still cares for her. And he’ll help me. He’s a friend.”
“I still don’t like it,” Vera said, her face set in hard lines. “Gwyn Blaidd attracts trouble. Always did.”
“We already got trouble,” he replied. He sat down and began typing his message again.
- Writer
