Blood Oath, Blood River (The Downwinders Book 1) Page 25

“That might take a long time,” Deem said, dropping back into her chair.

  “Is your mother one of those Okazaki kind of sisters or is she more a jello and funeral potatoes kind of sister?”

  “The latter,” Deem said.

  “Well, then yes, it might take a while,” Carma said. “But you rest assured, my dear, it will all work out for the best.” Carma’s head drifted to the right, staring out the large windows. “I remember my excommunication just like it was yesterday. I sat in that Bishop’s Court, looking at all those old white men staring back at me, accusing me of immorality, and I could sense that most of them were imagining the act, picturing me as their partner! I knew right then and there it was all bullshit – please pardon my language – and I felt the spirit of the Lord wash over me, the Holy Ghost filling me with the most wonderful sense of calm and peace, and I knew – I knew, I tell you – that everything was going to be alright and that the right thing was happening. They didn’t want me around them, and I didn’t want them around me. And there hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t been happier and more full of joy and peace than any day before that, let me assure you.”

  “Did you join another religion?” Deem asked.

  “Opiate of the masses, my dear,” Carma said. “You don’t need religion to be full of joy and peace. I found it usually just gets in the way of the joy and the peace. Now, about the blood on your windshield last night. Winn?”

  “Huh?” Winn said. He’d been tuning out the joy and peace stuff.

  “Your windshield last night?”

  “Oh,” Winn said. “Someone killed a dog, drained its blood onto the windshield. They wrote the words ‘suffer’ and ‘atone’ in the blood.”

  “Do you know what it means?” Deem asked Carma.

  “Yes, well, context is everything,” Carma said, shaking her head. “They’re messages. The ‘atone’ is a disgustingly literal reminder of ‘blood atonement.’”

  “You accused Dayton of that!” Winn said to Deem. “Remember?”

  “I was just trying to upset him,” Deem said. “I didn’t think he’d actually do it. That was before he had Claude killed, of course.”

  “What exactly is it?” Winn asked.

  “Blood atonement is a doctrine that was popular with Brigham Young,” Carma began. “The idea was that some sins you might commit were so grievous, the blood of Jesus Christ couldn’t atone for them, so your own blood had to be shed if you were to receive forgiveness for them. Murder was one of the sins that required blood atonement. More sins were added to the list as it became convenient, to scare and control people. Apostacy, mixing of races, things Brigham didn’t like. They did away with the concept recently, but the idea of it lingered on in these parts. When the state executed Ronnie Lee Gardner in 2010, he said he wanted the firing squad because of his Mormon heritage. Supposedly it’s only valid if blood is shed and spilled on the ground. Doesn’t count if you’re hanged or die of lethal injection. So it’s still around, even to this day. That’s why all the throat slitting.”

  “I’ve lived here for twenty eight years and this is the first I’m hearing of it,” Winn said.

  “Well, they don’t teach it in history class, my dear,” Carma said. “It’s a part of history they’d rather forget.”

  “What about the word ‘suffer?’” Deem asked. “I assume they mean us. Are they saying Winn and I should suffer by atoning with our blood?”

  “Not exactly,” Carma said. “It’s more subtle than that. I think, in this context, ‘suffer’ refers to the penalty for the old blood oaths, in the temple. After making each oath, they’d agree to a penalty that went with the oath. You’re familiar with the penalties; slitting the throat. Disembowelment. The penalties were to keep the oath secret, and the person was agreeing to have the penalty executed upon themselves if they ever divulged it. The words they would use were, ‘rather than do so, I would suffer my life to be taken.’”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Winn said.

  “They did away with the penalties in the ceremonies in 1990,” Carma said, “but there’s plenty of older people who remember them, who said those words. Just like blood atonement, they linger on. And all those people believe those penalties were the word of God, so they take them seriously. When the crazies and the religious freaks get involved, watch out – cross a line where they think you’ve broken an oath, and they’re happy to execute the penalties on you. Remember the Lafferty boys? Slit that poor woman’s throat from ear to ear, and her fifteen-month-old baby, too. Blood atonement for failing to follow a blood oath. Execution of the penalties.”

  “But Winn and I haven’t taken any oaths,” Deem said. “That I know of.”

  “Never went through the temple?” Carla asked. “Either of you?”

  “No,” Deem said.

  “I’m not Mormon,” Winn said. “Never was.”

  “Then I think the messages on your windshield were really intended for others,” Carma said. “You were meant to relay them. Which you’ve just done, so they were intended for us, I guess. For me and Lyman. And any others they think are helping you. It’s a reminder that they’ll execute the penalties on us, just like they did on Claude.”

  “So Claude had taken oaths?” Deem asked.

  “He had,” Carma said. “He was Mormon, way back before he apostatized. Took those old oaths and penalties right there in the St. George temple. And he took other oaths, too, the secret oaths that people like Dayton take. Oaths you take when you join a secret group.”

  “Claude was a member of the secret council?” Winn asked, surprised.

  “He was,” Carma said, “a long time ago. When he apostatized, he lost his church membership and his church calling, and that kicked him out of the council by definition. But the oaths transcend the membership, they all know that. When he decided to talk to you about the council, he violated his oaths of secrecy. That’s why they executed the penalty on him.”

  “You knew Claude?” Deem asked.

  “I did,” Carma said. “And he knew Lyman. Lyman considered him an ally.”

  “If Claude had been part of the council, he must have been gifted,” Deem said. “He told me he wasn’t.”

  “Well,” Carma said, “he wasn’t being completely honest with you. He was gifted, back in the day. Not a lot, mind you, but he had it. It left him, for some reason, over the years. I think from lack of use, but who knows, it might have been the radiation.”

  Deem sat in silence, letting what Carma had told her sink in. Things ran much more deeply than she had imagined.

  “When we’re done with the shaman,” Deem said, “I’ll have some time to come back and start reading the documents in the boxes we brought the other night. I was thinking it might be a good idea to scan them, digitize them, so we have a copy.”

  “Oh, that is a good idea!” Carma said. “Run each one right through a scanner after you read it! Smart child.”

  “Would you mind if I brought in a scanner and my laptop so I could do that?”

  “Not at all!” Carma said. “Of course you may. Aren’t you the polite child asking in advance and all! Oh, I could just eat you up, you’re so cute!”

  Deem smiled awkwardly. Sometimes Carma said the strangest things.

  “It might take a while to go through them,” Deem said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “You take as long as you want,” Carma said, rising from her chair. “That can is empty, let me get you another.” She held her arm out to Deem, waiting for Deem to hand her the Diet Coke can. Deem passed it to her and she walked out of the room.

  “That stuff about the penalties,” Winn said, “is freaking me out.”

  “When this is over,” Deem said, “I’m going to do some serious research. Utah history, that kind of thing. I wasn’t paying much attention to history in high school.”

  Carma returned to the room with a replacement Diet Coke, which she handed to Deem.

  “How long have you been excommunicated?” Deem
asked her.

  “Must have been thirty years ago,” Carma said. “It was just after I was sealed to Lyman, so yes, that would be about thirty years.”

  “You and Lyman are married?” Deem asked.

  “Yes,” Carma said, smiling. “He proposed when I was just twenty, and I accepted immediately. He is so handsome, don’t you think? And intelligent. Smart as a whip.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone marrying a ghost before,” Deem said.

  “What do you think they’re doing in that big temple in St. George, my dear?” Carla said. “Sealing dead people, all day long!”

  “You have a point,” Deem said. She knew Mormons went there to perform proxy sealings for the deceased.

  “Lyman and I were sealed by the ghost of John Taylor. Not many people can say that. Some gifted fundamentalists, that’s about it.”

  “The third president of the church?” Deem asked. “He’s a ghost?”

  “I think he was part gifted, myself,” Carma said. “He’s hung around for years. Some say he haunts the temple itself, in Salt Lake City. I contacted him at his gravesite in the Avenues and he agreed to do the sealing. He’s sealed Lyman to a couple of other women over the years. He’s a big polygamy advocate.”

  Deem leaned back in her chair. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said, “but this is kind of blowing my mind.”

  Carma laughed. “It’s OK, I’ll stop. Too much for one morning, eh?”

  “I guess I’m feeling overwhelmed,” Deem said. “Awan told me last night to alter my expectations around the secret council, and I’m starting to think he was right. He believes they’re going to take much longer to deal with than I was anticipating.”

  “Well, what were you expecting?” Carma asked.

  “I was hoping to find something in the documents that I could use against them. Something damaging that might destroy their group.”

  “I think Awan is right,” Carma said. “You might find something you can use, but destroying them might take much longer. Lyman’s been fighting them and other groups like them for a hundred and fifty years, and he’s much better at it than you. More experienced. He and Claude couldn’t bring them down.”

  “Awan made it sound like I’d have to live with them,” Deem said. “Coexist.”

  “And so you may,” Carma said, “once you find a way to show them you won’t be trifled with. I remind you, my dear, that your original goal was to locate your father’s journals, not to take down the secret council. The former is an achievable goal, while the latter is probably not.”

  Deem tilted her head to one side, considering this. She’s right, she thought.

  “I don’t mean to rain on your parade,” Carma said, perking up. “Not on the jubilant day when you’re learned you’re to be excommunicated! We should be celebrating, not moping. Why don’t you two run along and take care of that shaman, and come back here tonight for a dinner. I’ll make my special pot pies, and we’ll toast the Bishop’s Court!”

  Carma was so enthusiastic about the idea of the dinner that Deem couldn’t help but smile and agree to come. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

  “And you, Winn, you’ll come celebrate your friend’s departure from the clutches of old white men who want to run everyone’s lives, won’t you? Say yes.”

  “Yes,” Winn said, smiling at Carma’s expository. “As long as we toast with booze.”

  “Oh, how agreeable!” Carma said, clapping her hands together. “I’ll have to run to the store to get a few things. I want you to call me when you’re on your way, so I can pop the pies in the oven. I don’t care how late it gets, alright? We can eat and drink at two a.m. for all I care!”

  “Sure,” Winn said, rising from his chair. Deem stood too, knowing it was time to go.

  “I’ll call Awan and see how his mother is doing,” Carma said as she walked them to the door. “I hope she’ll be well enough that he can join us. Now, you two be sure to use those mindwalls Awan gave you. You’ll be safe if you do. Well, mostly safe. I don’t know how powerful this shaman is. I’ll see if Lyman can lend a hand too. You said the school is in Kanab?”

  “North side of town,” Winn said.

  “Well, I know his influence reaches at least as far as Colorado City,” Carma said, “and it grows every day, so he might be able to help you in Kanab. I’ll talk to him as soon as you push off.”

  Deem gave Carma a hug and Winn followed. Then they got into Winn’s Jeep and Winn drove them back to the interstate.

  “I’m not sure how to describe that visit,” Deem said. “Carma just blows my mind.”

  “I’m still creeped out by that oath and penalty stuff,” Winn said. “You Mormons are fucked up.”

  “This is a million miles removed from the average Mormon,” Deem said. “Most are so nice you can’t believe it. They’d be appalled by all of this. Anyway, I won’t be a Mormon for long. By next week, I’ll be off the rolls. Exiled. Denied the celestial kingdom in the next life. But you know what? If I wind up in the same place that Carma winds up, I think I’ll be OK. She’ll keep me entertained, at least.”

  “I wonder what will be in the pot pies? She didn’t say.”

  “Let’s hope it isn’t rabbit pee.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Winn handed Deem his whiskey flask, filled with protection. “Here,” he said. “Drink some.”

  “Damnit,” Deem said. “I forgot to bring my own.”

  “What’s wrong with mine?”

  “The alcohol burns.”

  “You don’t make yours with alcohol? I can’t believe it works.”

  “It was a recipe my dad showed me. They figured out how to make it without alcohol.”

  “Mormons,” Winn said, rolling his eyes. “Well, you’ll be excommunicated soon, so you can drink this.”

  Deem took the flask and gulped down two large mouthfuls.

  “Ack!” she said, gasping for air. “Why do people think alcohol tastes good?”

  “They don’t,” Winn said. “That’s why they mix it with things like orange juice.”

  Deem wiped her mouth and removed the beaded emblem from her pocket. “Time for this, too,” she said.

  “Lean over on me before you do it,” Winn said. “I don’t want you to crack your head open on the dash.”

  Deem summoned every thought she could invoke regarding the skinrunner and the shaman, and pressed the emblem against her forehead. She slumped against Winn, the emblem falling from her hand. Once she regained consciousness, Winn helped prop her back up.

  “You dropped it,” Winn said, pointing to the emblem on the floor of the Jeep. “You’ll need that to get it back out.”

  “What about you?” Deem asked.

  “I put mine in this morning,” Winn said. “It’s been squirming around in there for a while.”

  Deem shuddered. She still felt dizzy. She held the car door handle to steady herself.

  They were parked in front of a chain link fence, and fifty yards beyond that was the cement face of one of the buildings in the school complex. The school was on the outskirts of town, and there were no houses close to it. Winn had chosen a side of the school that seemed quiet and abandoned, where no one would notice their car.

  “Ready?” Winn asked, strapping a light onto his head.

  “Give me a minute more,” Deem said. “Still dizzy.”

  “No rush,” Winn said. “It’s early afternoon. We have plenty of time.”

  “What’s the game plan, exactly?” Deem asked, rummaging in her backpack for the video camera Awan had told them to bring.

  “Let’s start with this building here,” Winn said, “and work our way through the complex. From the pictures I saw on the internet last night, there’s at least a dozen buildings.”

  “Connected by underground tunnels,” Deem said.

  “Yes. Awan said he’s in the sub-basement of one of the buildings.”

  “Since he’s drawing power from this place,” Deem said, “would it ma
ke sense that he’s in one of the central buildings, as opposed to one on the outskirts like this?” She pointed to the building in front of them.

  “Possibly,” Winn said.

  “I’m going to trance,” Deem said. “See what I can see, before we go in. Maybe I can find him without us setting foot in there.”

  Deem closed her eyes and dropped into the River. She immediately saw a green hue at the fence, rising up and over the building beyond.

  Winn joined her in the flow. That doesn’t look good, he thought, observing the glow at the fence.

  Deem moved over to it and extended her hand. She pressed against the glow. It passed through a couple of inches, then stopped. Some kind of barrier, she thought. She dropped out of the River.

  “Well, that won’t work,” Deem said, back in the car. “I guess we have to hoof it.”

  “Feeling good enough to walk?” Winn asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine now,” Deem said, opening the car door and stepping out.

  They walked up to the fence. There were plenty of spots where the fence was compromised. Winn chose one and held the fence open as Deem passed through, then she turned and held the fence for him.

  Inside, they walked toward the first building. There was graffiti here and there on its face at the ground level. It looked like it was three stories tall.

  “Did you look at any of the YouTube videos of this place?” Winn asked.

  “Didn’t have time,” Deem said. “How do you get into it?”

  “There’s got to be a door or a window,” Winn said, starting around the side of the building. There were no windows they could reach. Once they turned the corner around the edge of the building they saw the other structures of the complex. There were six or seven in sight, similar in height and construction, spread out in front of them. Cement walkways connected them all. Weeds had grown up between cracks in the walkways. Grass that had once grown between the buildings had long since burnt and dried out, and tall weeds had invaded.

  “Wow,” Deem said. “So quiet. And desolate.”

  Each of the three story buildings in front of them had broken windows and graffiti. In large letters on the one closest to them, someone had sprayed in large black letters: “Indians Go Home!”