Chapter Thirty-Six

 

10:45 a.m.

 

I flew past large open spaces of land and over lakes, bald eagles soaring by my side, diving in the water for prey. Soon, I glided over a forest with poachers hiding in trees and behind bushes, animals running for their lives. When I landed, I traveled along a wooded path, the crisp scent of pine filling my senses, birds singing in the trees, critters scurrying around my moccasins, gathering food and supplies for the long winter ahead, for the hard times when resources dried up and survival kicked into high gear.

The sky darkened, but not from storm clouds. Something else—an invisible enemy, shrouded in mystery—shadowed the forests and plains. I glanced down at the path, and a mutilated elk baby cried out to me, its mother sobbing nearby. Other elk babies vanished before my eyes, and I couldn’t figure out why.

Grizzly bears stalked the tree line. Wolf packs chased a newborn bison, but the elders of the herd shielded him from harm. Mother elks nursed their newborns in pastures. And yet, the herd showed older animals as though none of the babies lived long enough to grow into adulthood. Predators only hunted enough prey for nourishment, not to drive a species to the brink of extinction.

Nothing made sense.

More and more flashes of mutilated elk calves fled through my mind, and a war broke out. Hunters blamed the Wolf packs. Scientists defended them. But no one stopped it. Meanwhile, elk numbers plummeted.

Why were all the babies dying?

The older elk led me to the water’s edge. Why no bears here? Wasn’t fish a priority food source for them? When I dove into the water, I collided with a massive lake trout in pursuit of prey. An invisible force threw me back on land, where I stood, holding a long chain. One by one the links unraveled, clanging on the rocky shore, breaking my heart more and more, my chest heaving at the destruction.

We did this. Humans caused the chain of life to unravel. Not sure who murdered those elk babies, but somehow, the blame for their extinction in this area lay at our feet. A fire raged within me, a burning, unquenchable passion. I still hadn’t figured out how or why the elk babies died, but I knew—deep in my gut—I only witnessed a mere fraction of the unnatural mayhem occurring in the world today.

With a renewed sense of purpose, my eyes flashed wide, and I jolted upright, shaking my hand for someone—anyone—to pass me the eagle feather.

My grandfather said, “Wait.”

And I almost bounced out of my skin.

“Collect your thoughts and process what you’ve seen, child.”

Too hyped up, my knees bounced with excess energy.

The eagle feather Shicheii held in front of me. “Mourning Dove, give your offering, close your eyes, and breathe. Find your center, child. Find hozho.”

And so, I laid Spirit Crow’s feather on the Grandfathers, the ends sizzling, curling, folding inward as Shicheii sprinkled blessings over the quill, my eyelids rolling closed.

Singing, Mr. Mayhem thrummed the ox-skin drum. Without sight, I matched the beat with the rattle. Breathed in… breathed out… in… and out… in… and out… The drumming stopped, silence riding the heat inside the sweat lodge, sage encircling my head.

When I reopened my eyes, the eagle feather stood upright in my hand. “Tiny elk calves were dying by the dozens. None of the Wolf packs killed them. It wasn’t the fault of grizzlies or black bears or mountain lions. I feel like it was all caused by a fish, but logically, that makes no sense. All I know for sure is a fish caused the elks to lose their young. But somehow, this vicious cycle of death and destruction started with us. Can you help me understand why?”

I passed the eagle feather to Shicheii. “Your vision is spot-on, Mourning Dove. Many, many years ago, fishermen stocked the lake in Yellowstone with lake trout without considering future consequences. These fish predate on cutthroat trout—members of the salmon family—and they have an insatiable appetite, each individual killing forty cutthroats per day. Numbers plummeted from a healthy twenty thousand down to a meager one hundred. Forty-two other animals also depend on cutthroat trout as part of their regular diet, but lake trout were wiping them out faster than the fish could reproduce.”

Shicheii poured water on the Grandfathers. Steam sizzled and rose, filling the sweat lodge, and creating an even hotter environment, but the added heat didn’t bother me—filled with a renewed purpose, a fiery passion, a new direction.

“Grizzly bears were most affected,” he continued. “Without that nourishment, their survival was at risk. Newborn elk calves have virtually no scent. Predators like wolves cannot detect them in the tall grass. Grizzlies, however, are one of the few predators who can. Without the cutthroat trout as a resource, they had to adjust or risk death. But killing and consuming so much meat caused other problems, like parasites and diarrhea. It’s not a sustainable way for a grizzly bear to live. They need fish in their diet. But lake trout are too big, too mean, and too fast to catch. So, you see, your vision didn’t fail you. A fish caused elk numbers to plummet in Yellowstone, perpetuated by man.”

He passed the eagle feather to Mr. Mayhem. “As I told you once before, when one link breaks, the entire chain falls apart.”

I bounced up and down, and he passed me the eagle feather. “I was holding the chain as it crumbled.”

They both gasped.

“What’s wrong?”

Neither moved. Four hopeful eyes stared back at me, waiting for me to put the pieces together.

“This is my lifepath, my passion.” Tears flooded my eyes. “Helping the Natural World is my destiny. The animals need me. Not sure how I can help yet, but I know I need to try to fix the damage before it’s too late.”

Tears streamed down both their faces, and I bawled.

“I’m right. Aren’t I?” I passed the eagle feather to Shicheii.

“Yes, Mourning Dove. I’ve seen you on your lifepath, and you are magnificent and strong and beautiful, inside and out. It will not be an easy road, however. Sacrifices and adversity at every bend, but I’ve spoken with Cheveyo, and he and I will help you.” He passed the eagle feather to Mr. Mayhem.

“Hate to ruin this beautiful moment with a dose of reality. However, there are variables to consider. What about your career? What about your life?”

I parted my lips to speak, and he held up the feather.

“I want you to think this through.”

After a few moments, I nodded, and he passed me the eagle feather.

“I’ll figure it out. Nothing is more important than saving the Natural World. I just found the beauty in nature. I can’t lose Her now.” The voices of my ancestors rose within me, grounding me, centering me, a warm rush of peace washing over me. “This is my destiny. I feel it in every part of my being. This is what I’m meant to do. This is who I’m meant to be. And I need to start today. Right now.”

I passed the eagle feather to Shicheii. Without a word, he passed it to Mr. Mayhem.

“The organization?” He passed the eagle feather back to me.

“Yeah. I’ve got an idea.”

I handed the eagle feather to Shicheii, and he smiled. “She has an idea. Well, then, we better move on to the closing prayer. Her destiny awaits.”

By the time I emerged from the sweat lodge, my body tingled from head to toe.

Mr. Mayhem passed me spring water. “She has an idea,” he echoed, taking a belt off his bottle. “Imagine that. Care to share your revelation?”

“I need to check on something first.” Soaked from sweat, my hair clung to the shape of my skull when I spun and bolted to the cabin, leaped all three stairs, and through the screen door, heading straight for my bedroom in the back, where I dumped out the backpack on the bed. Rifling through the stuff from Worthington’s home office, I found the folder I stole from his desk. What was I wearing that night? I tore through my dirty clothes. Leggings. Shit. Where’d I put it? I dumped out my Converse sneakers, and the key clanged against the hardwood.

Gotcha.

With the folder under one arm, I snagged the sidebar key off the floor and raced into the living room. Shicheii was coming through the door. Behind him, Mr. Mayhem had Poe on his shoulder and Spirit Crow cradled in one arm. Between that and the birdshot wounds running up his bare arm and neck, the visual stopped me cold, the excitement coursing through my veins bottoming out.

He’s right. None of us walked away unscathed. He’d paid a heavy price—again. How could I be so insensitive?

“Mister Mayhem, I’m… I… uh… shouldn’t’ve said…”

“Let me put your mind at ease. We’re good.” He winked. “Better than good.”

The moment I reached to pet Spirit Crow, Poe screeched, and I jerked my hand away. “Relax. I just wanna see how she’s doing.”

“He’s still upset about the abduction. You understand.”

“But you’re the one who made me do it.”

Poe screeched again.

“Okay, okay. Geez…” Battered hands held in surrender, I backed away. “Guess I’m takin’ the blame.”

Before my grandfather asked questions, Mr. Mayhem changed the subject. “You said something about sharing a discovery?”

“Yeah. I was thinkin’ about the, um, uh, Crow’s Nest.”

Shicheii said, “The what?”

Mr. Mayhem’s eyes tilted downward at Spirit Crow.

“Anyway…” I spread the contents of the folder on the kitchen table. “They’ve gotta have a bigger facility. See this key?” I waved it back and forth. “This is a sidebar key. Unlike other keys that fit into the keyway both ways, a sidebar key doesn’t possess finger pins, so it can only turn the lock in one direction.”

Mr. Mayhem approached the table. “Used in high security vaults and safes. I’m familiar.”

“Exactly. So, Worthington must have a high security vault or safe. We find that—"

“And we find where they’re headed next,” he said, finishing my sentence.

“You’re reading my mind again. I told you I don’t like it.”

Mr. Mayhem and Shicheii both laughed.

“In Cheveyo’s defense, honey, you’re an easy read.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Mr. Mayhem scolded, “Hey—you are speaking to an elder.”

“Sorry, Shicheii. I meant no disrespect.”

“I know you didn’t, child.” With a quick sweep of my arm, his attention returned to the paperwork. “What should I be looking for?”

Mr. Mayhem raised two papers stapled together. “This, my friend. This is the golden ticket.”

“Is there an address on it?” I held out my hand, and he passed me the document. With a quick skim of both pages, the paperwork showed a freight container. “Container ship leaves tonight.”

“Yes, it does. Eleven p.m. sharp.”

I slapped down the paperwork. “We’ve gotta stop it.”

“The entire ship?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Here’s where forethought and planning come in.” He stroked Spirit Crow. “If this is truly what you want to do—remember, there’s always a price to pay, be it physical, spiritual, or emotional—we cannot go there with guns blazing.”

“You’re right.” I slumped into the chair, my fingertips raking through my wet hair. “So, whaddawe do?” Shoulders rising, I flung out my arms. “How do we stop this?”

Shicheii said, “If I may, Cheveyo…”

“By all means.”

“The body and mind require fuel and rest,” he said, lowering into the seat at the head of the table, clasping his hands, fully focused on me. “The spirit requires other forms of nourishment. We’ve fed the spirit in the sweat lodge. Next, we heal the body and the mind. Only then will you be ready and able to answer the call.”

“Listen to your grandfather. There’s a reason our People revere and cherish elders. They’ve walked this great land longer and farther than you or I, gathering knowledge and life experience along the way.”

“You win, Shicheii. I’ll slow down.” My gaze traveled up to Mr. Mayhem, still standing beside the table. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“I told you I would never let you fall, and I meant it.” Bill rubs for Poe. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to lie down for a while.”

Right on cue, Shicheii bustled into the kitchen. “One moment, Cheveyo. Let me fix you a nice cup of wild tea to take with you.”

“Sounds delightful. Thank you.”

“I’ll have one, too, please.” Because Spirit Crow climbed up to her shoulder perch, I ignored the beady-eyed glares from Poe and caressed her feathery crown. “You’re so quiet. Are you alright?”

She nuzzled her feathery cheek against my palm.

In a quiet voice, Mr. Mayhem said, “She needs time.”

“I get it.”

Once Shicheii reheated the wild tea, he poured us each a mug. Like Mr. Mayhem, I took mine to go and climbed into bed. As I sipped, honey waltzed across my tongue, my mind wandering back in time, mental flashcards displaying every move we’d made this weekend. By the time I sucked down the last few drops, my eyelids rolled shut, falling into a deep, peaceful slumber.