CHAPTER 12
liver weaved the Volvo through the narrow twisting streets
toward Darkling Lane. He was driving as carefully as possible, but
the old roads were uneven and Casey winced every time the station
wagon went over a bump.
“It will be good to have you home safe, Casey.”
Home, yeah, thought Casey, curled up in the passenger seat, his head resting in the crook of his elbow. Safe? I wonder.
Oliver glanced over and cringed. Bruises patterned Casey’s face and forearms.
“You’re a tough kid, Casey. I know you’ll recover from being banged around, but you went through something very traumatic,” said Oliver, as casually as he could. “Don’t carry the burden of it all alone. You can always confide in me and your mother.”
“I know.” Casey sat up, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked directly at his father. “Dad, I’m kind of confused. We went through those artifacts on Tuesday night. And on Wednesday…”
“On Wednesday, you were supposed to go to Bobby’s house but you wound up in the hospital instead,” said Oliver. He directed a piercing look in Casey’s direction. “You slept through Thursday and—“
“I slept for an entire day? So that makes this Friday morning and tomorrow night is Halloween.”
Casey pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the car window, and wondered where Pike could be, hoping he was safe. He felt around in his pockets again, although he knew the howlite wasn’t there. Too bad. On this particular Halloween, there were sure to be monsters all around, and they weren’t looking for candy.
“Dad, if you go in to school today, can I tag along? I’d like to take another look at the artifacts and spend some time in the library. I’m really curious about the Kokinoke tribe.”
“The college does have a pretty vast collection of rare books, and doing some research seems like a nice quiet way to spend the afternoon,” said Oliver with a smile. “I’m glad to see you so intrigued, and not just brooding after your mishap.”
Sitting on the steps of 13 Darkling Lane was a Jack-o’-lantern with a jaggedly smiling mouth. Orange, red, and black Indian corn decorated the front door. The creaky old house looked well suited to the spooky holiday.
“You’re home!” Margo ran across the room, grabbed Casey, and squeezed him hard. “I was so worried.”
“I know, Mom, but I’m okay. Really,” said Casey as he untangled himself from his mother’s hug. “I just got a little banged around. I’m real sorry. I promise to avoid getting blown up from now on.”
The Saint lay stretched out majestically in front of the fireplace, waiting patiently for her share of the attention. Casey snatched an oatmeal cookie off a tray on the dining room table and laid it on top of Penny’s gargantuan white paw.
“I owe you a big thank you.”
Twenty minutes later, showered and changed, and with Wilberforce's journal hidden in one of the big patch pockets of his wool jacket, Casey walked downstairs as nonchalantly as possible. It took some time to convince a worried Margo to let Casey out of her sight, but she finally accepted the argument that he should be safe in a library with his father nearby
As soon as the Volvo pulled to a stop at Bridewell Hall, Casey put his plan into action. He had his mission thoroughly mapped out. Step one was a quick stop at his father’s office. He slipped the journal into a convenient hiding spot between some of the books piled on his father’s desk. With the journal safely disposed of, he headed across the campus to the imposing Arcayne College Library.
Beyond the carved doors of the library was a vast lobby, its paneling nearly black with age. The bronze chandeliers glowed overhead and light filtered through the diamond shaped panes of slender mullioned windows. Casey approached a circular workstation where a tiny woman sat bathed in the green glow of an old computer. On the lapel of her nubby tweed suit, she wore a silver brooch shaped like a spider. A little brass sign on her desk read, Arachne Greenwebbe, Head Librarian.
“Hello. I am Professor Wilde’s son,” said Casey. He offered what he hoped was a winning smile. “My father has been working with Native American artifacts. I’d like to see what the library has relating to Kokinoke legends.”
“Yes, your father telephoned from the archaeology lab and told me you are eager to do some research.”
The little librarian removed her old fashioned pince-nez glasses and tapped them gently on the desk. She had an oval face with skin so pale it seemed translucent, and intense owlish eyes ringed with a web of fine lines.
“I really appreciate your help.” Casey smiled at her again, nodding his head. “I haven’t been able to find much information so far.”
“Come with me.”
Following the librarian up three flights of stairs, Casey thought he detected a faint whiff of butterscotch and mothballs. They stepped into a private reading room, its walls lined with locked cases crammed with rare volumes. In the center of the room, four rather dusty desks sat empty. Miss Greenwebbe pointed at one and hustled over to a low doorway. She pulled a rattling key ring out of her pocket, and vanished through the door.
Casey opened his black and white notebook and studied the symbols that he had copied from Victor Wilberforce’s journal. He pulled a ballpoint pen out of his pocket, sat thoughtfully chewing the end of it for a few minutes, and then began writing down his thoughts and sketching the creatures that had invaded Pearl’s room.
“Very interesting,” said Miss Greenwebbe.
Casey nearly jumped out of his seat. The librarian had unexpectedly materialized at his shoulder carrying an armload of old books with deeply embossed covers.
“These will get you started, but there is something else I am quite certain that you will want to see. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Casey opened a book bound in dark blue leather which turned out to be filled with charming but ultimately useless animal fables. The legends collected in a volume published in 1901 came a little closer to what he was looking for but no mention was made of the Kokinoke tribe. He closed the book with a sigh as Miss Greenwebbe walked up with a black cardboard box containing a crumbling handwritten manuscript.
One Among The Kokinoke
Nathaniel Goodridge
1640
“Wow. This is ancient,” gasped Casey. “I don’t suppose I’m allowed to check it out.”
“Technically, you aren’t even allowed to see it. However, judging by your sketches and notes, I thought it might be a prudent idea.”
Miss Greenwebbe removed the unbound pages one by one, placing them inside the cover of the box. She tapped a manicured nail against a page of flowery script.
“I am not quite sure what you’ve stumbled into, but I have never seen this name anywhere other than this manuscript and today in your notebook.”
“Malakaan!” gasped Casey.
“Nathaniel Goodridge claims to have recorded Kokinoke legends, and even taken part in their rituals.” Miss Greenwebbe continued to turn over the pages, standing next to Casey’s chair and speaking in a hushed voice.
“How could that be possible?’ asked Casey. “My father told me the Kokinoke tribe vanished almost a thousand years ago.”
“Legends were passed down through the retelling of stories from generation to generation. Maybe some of the Kokinoke legends spread to other tribes. Goodridge never reveals his sources,” said Miss Greenwebbe. “And unfortunately whole sections of the manuscript are damaged or missing.”
She turned several pages that were too water damaged to decipher, and then paused to let Casey look at an elaborate pen and ink drawing in which a dark haired woman was confronted by a man whose face and torso were covered with curving designs.
“Goodridge writes the tale of the demigod, Malakaan, son of a god and a Kokinoke woman. There’s a strange inconsistency regarding his appearance. The oldest legends describe Malakaan as a merciless warrior. In later ones, his appearance is monstrous. Malakaan became a nomadic fighter demanding gold and treasure as tribute before leading the tribes to victory in battle. Over the centuries, he set tribe against tribe to reap the spoils of their tribute, and drew power from their fear and rage. The Kokinoke understood that Malakaan was using them as pawns, so they made their homes high in the cliffs, where the warring tribes could not reach them. Malakaan’s greed eventually turned him into a vicious looter snatching whatever caught his eye.”
Arachne Greenwebbe walked over to a wing chair covered in wine colored leather and sat down on its arm. She removed her glasses and wiped them with an elaborately monogrammed, although somewhat threadbare, linen handkerchief as she gathered her thoughts.
“A lot of the stories are tied up with the Kokinoke reverence and respect for nature. Birds and animals are mentioned frequently, as are the spirits of trees, mountains, water, and rocks. There is a story about the ancient gods slowly disappearing into the twilight. I suppose they felt their presence to be of less importance as modern times and foreign influences descended,” said Miss Greenwebbe. She put her glasses back on and leaned back against the cracked leather. “Not wanting to leave the Kokinoke completely defenseless, the old gods sent a messenger in the form of a white stag, whose antlers were adorned with jewels. There is something about the stag leaving behind a white and silver stone.”
“Does it say what the stone is supposed to be used for?” asked Casey eagerly.
“No. Whatever the stone was supposed to do, it apparently wasn’t much of a success as a weapon. The Kokinoke tribe completely vanished.” Miss Greenwebbe tilted her head and stared at Casey. “There is a fragment regarding creatures called the Moquidin. They are apparently living shadows sent by Malakaan to spirit away his victims.”
“Really?” Casey gasped. His voice took on a note of urgency. “Does it say where they come from or anything about how to escape them?”
“No. It doesn’t go into all that. Mr. Wilde, you are trembling,” said the librarian. “You really are quite an unusual boy. You show up asking about obscure legends involving these virtually unknown creatures right after a series of abductions have taken place. Abductions involving your family, and, judging by Whistlebrass gossip, abductions of a very peculiar nature.”
She stood up and checked her watch as she walked across the room.
“I can let you look at that manuscript for another hour and then I need to return it to the rare documents room. I don’t think you’ll find much in there that I haven’t told you already. There is a reference to a circle revolving twice from east to west. There are also several references to a ceremonial bow of some type, but it doesn’t go into much detail. As I said, much of the manuscript has crumbled to pieces. I’ll be back in an hour. I hope you find something useful.”
She paused at the door of the reading room. “And just be careful.”
Stunned by what he had heard, Casey leaned back and let the librarian’s words sink in.
“Miss Greenwebbe,” said Casey in a very quiet voice. “I almost get the feeling that you believe I might have actually seen this Malakaan.”
“Do you, dear?” asked Miss Greenwebbe. “Well, let’s just say that I’ve seen a lot of strange things happen in Whistlebrass, and, after all, tomorrow is Halloween.”