BLOODLINE: The Spirit of Darkness

Bloodline

The Spirit of Darkness

By

Carol Colson

Copyright 2024

All Rights Reserved

ISBN:

Paperback: 978-0-9894226-6-6

Hardcover: 979-8-9914292-0-7

Ebook: 979-8-9914292-2-1

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Epilogue

Prologue

An unusual fog crept across the Clearwater’s fertile valley, covering the ground like a wet blanket. Only part of the western mountain peaks jutted out in the distance. To a newcomer in Kalispell, the sinister fog would not have had any meaning. For the few uneasy locals who had witnessed it before, – it was a warning carrying an unsettling message.

Bess stared out of her large picture window; frown lines etched across her forehead. Feeling the chill, she clutched her favorite shawl even closer. She knew it was time again.

Chapter 1

In a wooded grove of elms atop a hill in the Kalispell Valley, a large black bird perched itself on a branch and called out its daunting message. The two men who stood hidden at the edge of the tree line did not bother to look up or pay attention to the bird’s somber warnings.

One man that had barely hiding himself, stepped out into the open and raised his pair of high-powered binoculars, bringing into view his ‘used-to-be’ stately ranch and the well-built home seated in the bowl of the valley below. The younger of the two chose to stay well hidden.

Buck re-focused his high-powered binoculars. It’s been a long time. Too long he mumbled. A grin crossed his face, and he gave a low whistle. Even the old barn is still intact. His view returned to the main house, and he checked up on the A-framed roof. It could use some work."

After surveying the splendid ranch and the miles of his still-owned private pasture surrounding the wealthy spread, he spat out a wad of chew.

It was a pleasure to discover that the logged fence which surrounded his pasture still looked great. Twenty sum years ago, he had carried those heavy posts, dug up the untilled ground with a simple pic, and established them. His father’s words echoed in his mind. It’s good to work hard for a living, son, and your hard work will stand up forever. He believed his father was a good man.

A sudden breeze swept through the grove of trees, rustling the fallen leaves on the fertile ground. The younger man shivered not so much from the gust of wind that tousled his unbraided hair but in anticipation of his sudden luck. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, anxious to speak his peace and get on with it.

So, what exactly are we looking at, Buck?

Annoyed by being interrupted, the man who seemed to be in charge refrained from answering. He licked his lips with expectation, raising his binoculars again and boldly stepping out from the tree line to get a better view. He wondered if his masterpiece had ever been lit since he’d been gone. Bess never did appreciate my many talents His complaint had always been the same. Constructing that fireplace in the great room took him well over a year.

Absent-mindedly he rubbed the back of his neck recalling what seemed to have been a ton of hand-picked rocks brought back from the famous Yellowstone River to create his fireplace. Unfortunately, that great idea cost him his back and hell – nothing he ever did was right for Bess; her words to him became like a broken record, always the same – nag, nag, nag. By the end of that build, he had a mind to wall her up in it. Now, that’s one way to shut up a pain in the neck. He grinned, recalling their last argument. At least his sense of humor hadn’t been robbed.

It’s all good now, he muttered; things were about to change." He had returned. Now, he just needed to find the deed with his signature in the house. There had been no death certificate on him, and no one cared to look.

Quietly humming a simple tune, he re-focused. Since he looked last, a new addition came into view! An old, faded blue Volkswagen bus was parked beside the large picture window; the curtains were only partially closed. Was someone actually visiting her?

The younger man’s shoes continued to shuffle the fallen leaves, and he tried to shake off his worried thoughts that were beginning to bother him again. Leaving the safety of the trees and standing out in the open was taking risks. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?" he offered the thought.

Seems so. Buck scratched at the shadow of his unshaved chin, reflecting on the gossip spread around about him. And, yes, I do have a plan.

His stepson stepped back, shaking his head. He agreed to be part of Buck’s plan only because Buck had a back door, but Buck’s failure to follow his own hard, fast rules gave him second thoughts. ‘Timing,’ that was Bucks's motto.

Buck turned to his ‘soon-to-be partner’ as if he knew his thoughts. Just trust me in this, I know what I’m doing!

Well, then stop measuring your manhood, showing off out there like a peacock and taking unnecessary risks. He always had a distaste for his father-in-law. His projection of a mountain man failed him. He was always looking to prove something by strutting around in somebody else’s kill wearing the tanned deer skin jacket with the long fringe. It just didn’t do it for him. Desiring, planning, and then doing this job were going to be two different animals. So far, all he could see was someone wanting to take something that wasn't his.

Okay. Buck was sensing his stepson’s negative attitude again. So, just what do YOU suggest?

Well, now that you’ve ‘looked around, again, can you see any reason not to do it tonight? Anything’s better than just looking into other people’s windows. His voice rose. How many times have you been up here, Buck? Two? Five? Twenty-five? Why don’t you just give her an anonymous call and send her somewhere.

Buck suddenly turned and grabbed a handful of his stepbrother’s lightweight jacket and twisted his fist in it. "Remember, I’m in charge here. Are you going to be in or out? I need to know. If you want this to work, everything, and I mean everything, needs to be timed. I can’t afford any loose ends.

He let loose his partner’s jacket, and his tone changed remembering how irresponsible, not to mention dangerous, his stepson had become.

Look, everything I need is always in her safe, he explained again, but we can’t just waltz in there and take it. You know, it’s got to look like a robbery. He wiped the sweat from his brow. I am sure Bess already has her suspicions of something because of her so-called warnings. He looked up. The hawk had flown. Away. I mean, they have always ruled her. She has turned into a sentry walking the halls every night. It can’t be then. Bess needs to be gone, and she rarely leaves for long."

He looked toward the house again. But I think we just got lucky. One problem solved. She has company and will be taking them to the Celebrations this week. Folding his binoculars, he placed them back inside their pouch, almost as if in a grateful prayer.

Be ready. It will be a tight timeline. Your job won’t take long. He stated with surety. The Celebration is coming up. Bess will be attending after all. He smiled, knowing his ex. She can’t help but show off.

By now his stepson’s eyes had grown dark. And like an animal ready to strike, he suddenly reached out to grab Buck’s throat.

Okay. Buck apologized. Backing up. Didn’t know you were so – touchy, he lied.

His stepson’s words were aggressive. I will get you your papers – wherever they are. Don’t underestimate me – Got it? He knew this was probably his easiest chance to retrieve the prized necklace at the house, and, he still had his own plans." He shrugged off his temper. Buck wasn’t so different than he was. His so-called stepfather walked out on his wife choosing a life with a Sioux raising two illegit sons – him being one. He was driven from his own clan. Now, whatever he did, it would be his choice and done his way.

Tired of the game, Buck ran his hand through his thinning blond hair, trying to compose himself. He understood the pain. What he really wanted was his Mavericks back and what was left of his land that Bess was slowly selling off. It was his turn to hold all the cards.

His grandfather had settled the Clearwater Valley in the 19th century and built a log cabin where his own stately ranch house stood. The grove of trees he was standing next to, he planted!

He glanced down at the empty space again on his ring finger. Memories. He spat on the ground as if he could rid himself of them. Through years of bitterness and rejection, hate was rooted in his heart. It was too late now to change. Bess hadn't made any attempt to contact him and kept everything that was his—even his father’s ring.

Looking at his screw-ball stepson, he wondered what measures he would take to get the papers back. He let out a heavy sigh. He was not stupid enough to do his own dirty work. Yes, he needed him, and whatever happened to Bess, or his stepson would no longer be his problem.

Let’s get out of here. Buck agreed. The sooner we get started, the better. Buck went to lay his hand on his partner’s shoulder then thought better of it. He put forth his hand.

They both had a good laugh that was forced; the pact was made.

Chapter 2

Deep within the splendor of the forest, Nhaya’s voice rang out with laughter. Like a child, her steps quickened when she saw the fire burning in the distance. The hike up the mountain became longer, but seeing her great-grandmother was always worth it. She was thankful that her grandmother was still living. Each time she came to see her great-grandmother, the location would change, but it would not be too far for her to find. She knew to follow her grandmother’s signs. The move was partly to keep herself safe from people like Damien, those whose desire for her power would never end.

Nhaya was met with a look of pleasure on her grandmother’s weathered face. I’ve missed you so much! Nhaya hugged her lightly.

Once again, she had the privilege to sit beside a warm fire that was waiting for her, and the cares of her world melted away.

The high mountain air always seemed chilly to her. Perhaps it was because the dense forest let in little sunlight Nhaya shivered and reached over to pull the soft, worn Indian blanket over her lap. She looked down to see the wooden cup that sat beside the fire. It was meant for her just as the blanket was.

Nhaya’s grin widened when she saw what was in her grandmother’s hand. Oh, thank you! Nhaya accepted the piece of her famous dried elk jerky. I don’t know what you do to this meat, she declared again, and I don’t know that any can compare to this! Nhaya pressed her fingers to her lips in a silent apology, excusing herself from speaking with her mouth full, a bad habit she had acquired when devouring the peppery dried meat.

Sitting close to WindWalker now she felt their intimacy, like two old friends. Just being part of WindWalker’s world felt as if time had never passed. WindWalker continued to poke at the fire with her stick. With pursed lips in a knowing smile, she nodded to her granddaughter.

The regal woman drew the old purple shawl around her and then reached out to the flat rock and brought back a small pot. This time, her grandmother’s cup was not filled. Curious at what she had to offer her this time, Nhaya carefully watched her grandmother’s expression as she tipped it to her lips. The steaming aroma reached her senses even before she tasted it.

This time, the tea smelled and tasted like honey, but after the second swallow, it was like drinking bitter roots. Funny, her grandmother had always chosen what her body and soul needed. This time, she missed. Her grandmother quietly continued to sip on her own tea.

Nhaya set the cup down and pulled her blanket closer. As the flames flickered before her with a warm glow, her thoughts turned to the first time she met her grandmother. The first touch of her grandmother’s hand was gentle. She knew by her grandmother’s eyes that she had understood why she had come. After gently hugging her grandmother goodbye, the sweet scent of lilac and herbs clung to her own clothing long after she had left the security of the mountain. As she turned to wave goodbye, tears on her cheeks, her grandmother held up her hand. For a moment, captured in time, the silver strands of her hair lingered across her weathered face, touched by a wisp of wind. Her grandmother would always be as beautiful as she was then.

Nhaya carefully tucked away the precious memories in her heart. She glanced over at her grandmother and wondered how many more times she would climb the mountain. She seemed frailer this time, and they spoke less. She realized WindWalker was watching her, too. Her soft eyes did not reveal anything.

Her grandmother should not be left alone, a grand idea spoke to her. Yes! She would coax her into letting her stay through the summer and learn more about her special herbs, especially the ones left in her cup. Perhaps she could help dress out a deer and learn to make jerky. That skill was something she could pass on. Nhaya’s face lit. She was just sure her grandmother would agree!

Child! Quiet your mind. WindWalker suddenly spoke. The day of quiet has come for me. Now, you must hear me! Nhaya stared at her – at first, not understanding.

WindWalker took Nhaya’s cup and looked at the herbs left in the bottom. Slowly she stirred them around with her finger. Our days have been as sweet as this tea - but they can become bitter.

Nhaya was shaken. She stared at her grandmother.

The Great Spirit is calling out. WindWalker raised a frail hand toward the sky. Do you not listen Child?

It was the last thing Nhaya expected. Day of Quiet? That meant dying. She knew her grandmother had lived a long time, but she hadn’t expected the time to be now!

Wanting to comfort her, Nhaya reached out for her grandmother’s hand. But it was more for her own comfort. Had she not just entertained the thought of how long the magical moments had lasted, and now, as if some force knew her thoughts and decided it was such a time to suddenly snatch her away? In the back of her mind, had she hoped she could somehow prolong WindWalker’s life by being thankful? What nonsense. If that were so, her father’s untimely passing might have been avoided.

Nhaya understood the lesson of the tea now, but she just couldn’t accept it. She knew she was being selfish. This cannot be true. You can’t possibly leave now! Nhaya’s eyes suddenly brimmed with tears.

Quickly, she blinked them away. I… I need her. Please, God, I need her! Her heart pleaded.

Do not fear death, child, WindWalker spoke with surety. I will always be with you even as your father is now. WindWalker held onto her granddaughter’s hand – her gentle voice comforting her.

My father? Nhaya choked it out. She forgot to whom she was speaking as she rose. Did you forget? My father is dead! We were all left to fend for ourselves. It almost killed my mother! Her anger rekindled and stabbed like a knife into her unhealed wound. She stopped suddenly. I – I am sorry… please, forgive me, her voice calmer now. There must be something you can do, she whispered with passion. You have lived a long time.

WindWalker spoke again, crushing what was left of her hope. You have been faithful in walking the Red Road, she commended her. "But, Child, your spirit is weak. I fear for you. You must arise and take hold of your destiny. How long will it be before