PREFACE

Shrouded in mystery, veiled in legend and mythology, the dark beauty of the Wapiti Hills harboured secrets beyond the imagination of most people. A world of depravity concealed in the blackest corners of the mind.

For one thousand years it had lain dormant, arising now and then to alert the good citizens of the town of Maskek that its raw and decadent power still rumbled beneath the beauty of mother Earth.

And now it was growing, pulsating and tired of waiting. Expanding and spreading its heinous tentacles ever upward. Soon it must spew out the gnawing bestial ache within its distended bowels and within its cold heart.

CHAPTER ONE

Previously in Book one:

Talulah Bearhead’s village; Loon Lake, December, 1968

Inside the sweat lodge the entity within Deacon’s body was stirring, the steaming heat beginning to loosen the grip Arcus held over the youth. It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable for the demon to remain encased in Deacon’s form. It thrashed about, tossing the borrowed body from side to side, its hold weakening as the temperature began to climb.

Drawing strength from the medicine power contained within the beaded necklace, Deacon Spirit of the Wind asked the Great Spirit for courage and endurance to deliver him safely from his steaming tomb.

The energy force within the necklace was growing and expanding until it began to vibrate around him and around the lodge.

As eyes riveted on the sweat lodge, Doctor Jeremy Lodge quietly prayed.

~ * ~

Up on Bittern Creek, Damien Drew pulled the heavy robe around his shoulders, his blue eyes as icy as the waters below. He guided the apprehensive youth through a tunnel of grasping branches.

“Do not fear, my friend. Have I not promised you everything you desire?”

For a moment Damien paused, his thoughts on the young Cree Indian he’d first met over two hundred years ago. When he looked up his eyes were moist with tears.

~ * ~

Within the circle of death beneath the charred and upturned crosses a tortured lament fractured the frigid air.

CHAPTER TWO

1940 Cranmore Clinic, Edmonton Alberta Canada

“Your wife is still in labour, Mr. Brewster,” Doctor Bradshaw was telling him, “She’s quite a bit older than the usual women who come here. Pregnancy is hard on a woman of thirty-five. I’m astonished she made it this far. She’s well under weight, has she been eating?”

“Yes, she says she’s eating for two but I don’t know where it goes, she just keeps getting thinner. Doc, how can she be in labour it’s only been four months. I bought her here because she was having problems and I thought it’d be the safest thing to do. She can’t be having it yet.”

“Four months?” Doctor Bradshaw raised his eyebrows. “Your wife must have got the dates wrong, she’s at least seven months along possibly eight.”

“It can’t be. It’s not possible. She told me when it happened, it’s definitely no more than four months.”

“She told you? You say that as though you weren’t there…”

“I…”

“I know this woman, Doctor Cranmore you need to come now.”

The doctor turned toward Nurse Kathy Morgan, the young woman was agitated and flustered.

“Excuse me, Mr. Brewster.”

Leaving Brewster sitting in the lounge of the private clinic, Doctor Cranmore followed Nurse Morgan into the patient’s room. Rita Brewster had been struggling with her labour for thirty-nine exhausting hours. Her strength was depleted, her eyes deeply sunken, her body skin and bone.

Doctor Cranmore glanced anxiously at Nurse Morgan his expression troubled. “It’s almost as if she’s being attacked from inside, eaten alive so to speak…”

“How is that possible?”

Women and young girls were bought to Cranmore clinic when they had nowhere else to go or something to hide, something that could not be known or shared in their community.

Doctor Cranmore didn’t differentiate between wealth and poverty. Based at his home the clinic was there to help anyone in need. And this poor emaciated woman desperately needed his help. She was screaming in agony, clawing at the sheets with hands so thin they appeared about to break.

“Push, Rita, push,” Nurse Morgan was saying, “Not long now we’re almost there. One more push, Rita.”

Moving in front of her Doctor Cranmore waited to steady the child as the head presented.

In the stunned silence that followed, Nurse Kathy Morgan saw the colour leave the doctor’s face his steady hands begin to tremble.

“Quickly nurse, get a blanket. You asked me how it’s possible to be eaten from inside out, well I think we have the answer.”

Out of earshot of her patient, holding the new born in her arms Kathy gasped, “This child is not just deformed it’s an abomination. Let it die.”

~ * ~

Abandoned in the cold the child cried out to its father. 

CHAPTER THREE

Maskek, Alberta Canada; January, 1969

“I was so relieved when Jeremy told me that you and Talulah had managed to destroy the demon,” Emily Simpson told the young Cree Indian, “When Steve and I saw the fire, the lights and the red mist over your house on Christmas Eve I panicked, it was like an electrical storm. All kinds of terrible thoughts were running through my head. I wanted to help you but I had no idea what to do.” She leaned towards him, her voice a whisper, “Is he dead? Did you destroy the demon?”

“Yes, ma’am he’s gone. Let’s hope that’s the end of it.”

Deacon’s thoughts returned to the night his Cree Indian grandmother medicine woman, Talulah Bearhead and his cousin Lone Wolf placed him in the sweat lodge, in the hope that Native magic and the heat from the stones would free him from the power the demon Arcus held over him and from his father’s eternal and tortured legacy. A powerful, heinous force that began in 1750, after his father Jonathan’s chance meeting with dispossessed Englishman Damien Drew.

When he didn’t reply immediately, Emily asked, “Are you alright Deacon?”

“Yes ma’am. I couldn’t have done it without my grandmother she’s special. I’m proud to be her grandson.”

“Then I would call her a wonder woman.”

Deacon threw his high school teacher a disarming smile, “I guess you could say that.”

His hands hooked into his hand tool leather belt, he lounged against the bar of Maskek’s one and only coffee house owned and run by Native Canadian Stanley Cut Hand.

To escape the bitter cold of Maskek’s winter, Emily ducked into the coffee house hoping to thaw out. Delighted to find her most favourite student alive and well and passing the time with Stanley Cuthand she had asked him to join her at the table.

“Are you coming back to school?”

“Nope, I’m working now. Momma’s struggled long enough, it’s time I took over.”

“That’s very commendable, Deacon. What are you doing?”

“Clayton and I joined the Forest and Wild Life Rangers.” Ever since he watched the junior rangers on the television Clayton has wanted to join up. “And I figured it would be a good way to protect the wildlife in this area.”

“Clayton’s not going back to school either?”

“No point, we’re both eighteen now don’t need any more school. I never liked it anyhow you know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Emily replied her thoughts travelling back to Deacon and Clayton’s last six months at Maskek High. She could recall the fighting with fellow classmate Ryan Hoffman, the blatant sexual interest Melissa Ragan, Leona Rangel and half the girls in class had for Deacon, and his regular clashes with Assistant Principal and Science teacher Peter Gibson. Remembering too the agonisingly painful episodes Deacon had suffered in his head, resulting in a frightening change in his behaviour that left Principal Emett no alternative but to keep him away from school. She remembered too how she had become unwittingly embroiled in his father’s tortured legacy.

Country music was playing loudly in the background. Three couples wearing jeans, checked shirts and cowboy hats, two-stepped in front of the juke box. Merle Haggard was in fine voice. When the juke box wasn’t belting out country singers, the local Swamp Radio could be heard blasting out the latest rock and pop tunes.

Emily smiled her amber eyes sparkling. “You do know that Mr. Emmet would like you to return to school now that you’ve conquered your demons? It was never his intention to keep you out indefinitely.”

“No chance! It was kinda nice staying home.”

“Clayton wasn’t over thrilled about it.”

“Yeah he did complain a lot…every morning and every night.”

“He missed you dreadfully. He said it was as if half of him was missing. But then you are best friends.”

“That’s how it is when we’re not together.”

Stanley Cuthand meandered over as if he had all the time in the world. “You guys want coffee or are you gonna sit there all day?” A huge grin split his dark features.

Turning to Stanley, Deacon chuckled, “If it means you doing some work, cousin yeah we do.”

“Mr. Cuthand is your cousin?” Emily asked in astonishment as Stanley shuffled away.

“Mr. Cuthand? Nobody ever calls him Mr. Cuthand.”

A Cree Indian of thirty-six, Stanley Cuthand owned and ran the only coffee house in Maskek. Because of whom he was Stanley took a huge risk setting up a business amidst a town of white entrepreneurs; it had paid off almost immediately with the people of the town welcoming a fresh outlook on their main street. The times were a-changin’ and the town’s founding fathers were eager to progress towards the next decade.

Stanley wore his hair short in the style of the whites, lived in Levis and covered his feet with black, Cuban heeled boots. He was anxious to be known as a ‘modern’ Indian.

“He’s my cousin, somehow,” Deacon replied, “I just haven’t figured out the ‘how’ bit yet. Native relatives are different to those of the white man. Anyhow, people here tend to forget that Maskek grew up around the French trappers and the trading posts. And at that time the only other people here were us Indians. Can’t see why there should be a problem for Stanley.”

“I still can’t find any information relating to this sequestered town except how to reach it…if you can find the road. There was little documented history, it’s as if it doesn’t exist. I’m no further along than I was last year.”

“That’s because the people living here want it kept quiet. Someday I’ll tell you all about the history of this town. Are you teaching the senior classes again?”

Shaking her head, Emily sighed despondently, “We’re leaving Maskek and returning to Edmonton. I’ve caused enough heartache in the time I’ve been working here.” Taking his hand, she peered earnestly into his face. “I never thanked you for not telling the Principal about my disgraceful conduct with you in the stockroom. I still feel terribly guilty about it…

(Told in Child of the Heathen)

“No, you don’t,” Deacon replied amiably, “it’s what you wanted.”

“I didn’t exactly plan it, not quite like that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It wasn’t what Mrs. Simpson, it was who and it wasn’t completely your fault,” he winked at her, “was it?”

Emily smiled relieved that he hadn’t taken offence. “Not completely mine.” She sat up abruptly. “What do you mean it’s what I wanted?”

Tilting his head to the left Deacon locked eyes with her, the answer plain on his face.

“Yes. I didn’t realize at first how attracted I was to you. Were you aware of it before anything actually happened between us, was it that obvious?

“Yes ma’am.”

“No wonder Clayton lost it with me sometimes.”

Now it was Deacon’s turn to be surprised. “He did?”

“Indeed. He warned me off but I wouldn’t listen. If I’d known the first time I saw you, how things were going to turn out I would probably have run a mile, but I’d never met an American Indian before….”

“That’s Canadian Indian, Mrs. Simpson,” Deacon grinned, “The American Indians are over the border.”

“I’ll remember that in future. I was both fascinated and intrigued with you and I let it get away with me…with a little help from Arcus. Have you ever taken a good look at yourself Deacon, I mean really looked? You are a sight to behold. At my age that’s a bad sign.”

Deacon’s high cheek boned native features were stunning, his black eyes warm and inviting. The vermillion shirt he wore unbuttoned almost to his waist emphasized his smooth, toned chest and the copper colour of his skin. His waist-long hair as black as the inside of a coal mine, hung loosely at his back. Black denim jeans snuggled against him in every place that counted, and a red and white beaded necklace, a gift from his great-great grandmother hung around his neck.

“What’s age got to do with it?”

“In this back country town age has a lot to do with it. It’s a matter of impropriety.” Emily smiled as Deacon attempted to get his tongue around ‘impropriety.’ English being his second language he still struggled with some of the words.

“Not in my book,” Stanley Cuthand announced, placing a tray on the table. “Coffee and blueberry pie for two. In my experience you’re only as old as you feel and you most certainly are not old.”

A warm flush spreading over her face, Emily said, “It’s been a long time since I was paid a compliment like that.” She glanced at the two mammoth slices of blueberry pie and then at a smiling Stanley, “We didn’t order this.”

“I know but you got it so eat it. No charge.”

Emily eyed Deacon questioningly.

“Go ahead and eat it. Stanley does things like that.”

Picking up the fork and spoon Stanley had bought with the pie Emily stuck it into the scrumptious dessert. “Stanley’s quite a good looking man in a rugged kind of way.”

“Yasmin thinks so. She’s his woman.”

“He’s spoken for then, that’s a shame. I’ll miss you and Clayton. I’ve never enjoyed teaching a class so much. I shall treasure the memories of my time with all of you.”

“We’ll miss you too, Clay and me.”

“Where is Clayton by the way, he’s usually glued to your side?”

“He’s with his father.”

“Where is his father? He never mentions him and I’ve never seen him.”

“If it’s up to Clayton you never will. They don’t get along. He visits because it’s expected of him. He’ll be around later tonight. Is it good?” indicting the blueberry pie. “If Stanley can’t find blueberries, he uses Saskatoon berries. He makes the pies himself.”

“It’s delicious.”

“Have you found a position in Edmonton?”

“I’m not going back to teaching. In order to keep the peace between us my husband has decided that I should become a lady of leisure.”

A broad grin splitting his handsome face, Deacon said, “A lady of leisure? I can’t see it.” He dug into Stanley’s legendary pie. “You ever taste Saskatoon berries? One of the places they grow is along the North Saskatchewan River that runs through Edmonton. Maybe you’ll get a chance to pick them.”

“Perhaps I will. I’ll have plenty of time to kill. I’m not convinced I’ll enjoy being a lady of leisure but I promised I’d give it a shot. Steve has every right to divorce me after the way I behaved. I’m very lucky.”

“Will you in stay in touch?”

Moved by Deacon’s request she felt the tears start. “I’d like that Deacon. Would it be alright with your mother? We have had a few issues in the past. Like the time she found out that you came to my house unannounced and uninvited.”

“Sure, it would. She doesn’t dislike you she just got upset.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Shifting her position, she glanced through the window overlooking Main Street and beyond. Serene and inviting Loon Lake glittered in the winter sun. The ice speckled water sparkled like a crystal chandelier, drawing her towards its frozen beauty. Even the sinister Wapiti Hills back dropping the lake filled her with awe. At thirty-five and widely travelled she had never experienced such untamed splendour as this country displayed before her. Wherever you looked in Maskek you could see Loon Lake. It was as if the town had grown out of the water.

“I’m going to miss this wonderful place. I’ve grown to love everything about it. It grabs you right in the heart and I don’t want to leave. I’m going miss it almost as much as I’ll miss you. You’re so lucky to live out here. I’m really not looking forward to returning to the city.”

“Why did you come to this town on the edge of civilization?”

Bemused she asked, “Edge of civilization why do you say that?”

Deacon gestured to the window. “Look around you. What do you see beyond here?”

“I see a very beautiful wilderness.”

“Only to the white man is it a wilderness. Beyond Maskek there are deep forests, hills of grass, vast lakes and swift flowing rivers. There are no roads and no towns. Here, the people of Maskek say civilization ends. For my people there is plenty of life beyond Maskek. If it flies, crawls, runs or swims you will find it out there and some creatures you would rather not see.”

Emily listened touched and intrigued by his spoken thoughts. Only now when it was too late was she beginning to realize that she did not know the real, true Deacon at all.

“You have not answered me. Why did you come here?” His accent peculiar to the Cree thickened when he spoke about the earth. Emily adored the sound of it.

“To escape the city like many other people and because Steve heard that real estate was rife in this part of the country. When I look at the view through this window, I can well believe it and now it has captured my heart.”

“Does your husband know how you feel?”

“I tried telling him, but he’s not listening. I can’t blame him really. He’s put the house on the market he’d like it sold as soon as possible. We’re leaving tomorrow. I just hope that whoever buys the place won’t have to contend with its sordid past. Do you think it’s over?”

“The demon is dead and Damien has disappeared…I don’t know whether it is over I hope it is. If you are leaving tomorrow can you come over to our house tonight?”

“I’ve already said my goodbyes.”

“Please.”

“How can I resist a plea like that? Should l come over about eight? Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s cool. Do you need a ride home?”

“Thank you, I’d like that.”

“Spirit of the Wind,” Stanley Cuthand called from the back of the bar, “Your mom just phoned she’s wants you home….”

Spirit of the Wind was Deacon’s true name given to him by Lupin, his Cree Indian mother and Jonathan Sparkling Eyes his father.

“Wondered how long it would be before she called. I don’t think she trusts me.”

“Maybe if you didn’t give her reason not to trust you, she’d let you alone,” Stanley Cuthand cracked, “Anyhow I said I’d send you along in a little while.”

At Emily’s questioning glance Deacon grinned, “Don’t ask.”

“How long have you been using your Cree name?”

“My people have always called me Spirit of the Wind but it wouldn’t have gone down to well with the teachers or the school board. Deacon Pierce was easier for them to accept. Now that I am no longer in school and when I become chief of my village I will be known by my true name.”

“How did you come to be raised by Mrs. Pierce and your grandmother, what happened to your parents?”

“They were killed within six months of each other. Nonie Pierce was working for my father at the time. When he was dying, he asked her to take care of me. I was born in the village so she took me back there to my grandmother. When I was six years of age, she chose to adopt me and bought me to Maskek.”

“Why not stay in the village with your people?”

“She wanted me to be educated in the local school rather than the residential schools.”

In the 1960s, as well as the ongoing horrors of the residential schools, the Canadian government wanted to integrate Native children into white society by having white families adopt them, thereby removing them from their homes and culture. In 2008 the Canadian government realized its mistake and the Prime Minister issued an apology to all the families of the First Nations who had been affected.

“Perhaps that was the best thing for you. If she hadn’t sent you here, I wouldn’t have met you. How did you come to meet Clayton Rykker?”

“I’ve known him since we were six or seven. In the summer momma took me to Wilderness Park, Clayton was already there with his mother. I watched him struggling to make a bow, I showed him how. He didn’t speak Cree I didn’t speak English. No words were needed, we understood each other. Later I taught him sign language and that’s how we got along. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“That’s thirteen years. That’s a good friendship.”

Emily pointed to Deacon’s shirt, eyeing him suspiciously, “You didn’t come dressed like that did you?”

Glancing at his shirt, he said, “You don’t like it?”

“I meant did you come without a coat?” She was looking for his magnificent fur lined parka made from animal skin and beaded with intricate designs. Although traditionally worn by the Inuit and Aleut people in the Arctic conditions of Canada’s far northern areas, Deacon chose to wear it throughout the long cold winter rather than any other garment. The beautiful beaded and porcupine quill designs representing his woodland home had been applied by his grandmother, Talulah Bearhead.

“It’s hung at the back,” indicating with his thumb to where a wooden rack stood behind and to the side of the bar. This was the coat he’d been wearing when he’d arrived unexpectedly and unannounced at Emily’s home last year.

“Oh yes, I see it. I love that coat. It made such an impression on me the first time I saw you wearing it when you came to my house.”

“Let’s no go there,” he said, his black eyes clouding over, “I still don’t recall what happened that night but it caused far too much heartache.”

“I know what happened…”

“Please, Mrs Simpson I don’t wanna talk about it. That’s the past, okay? I’d like it to stay that way.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring it up. When did you learn you were to become the chief, you never mentioned it at school?”

“I suspected it, but I didn’t know for sure until momma told me who my true parents were. Now it all makes sense. Nobody at school needed to know.”

“You’ll make a wonderful chief. How do you feel about it?”

“If I can be half as good a chief as my grandfather Eagle Hawk, that’s all I ask.”

“I’m sure you will be. Even at school you seemed to have natural leadership abilities. Tell me about the Rangers. I remember you and Clayton saying you wanted to join the Rangers.”

“A lot of folks would like to join the Rangers. We got lucky I guess.”

“You’ll be enforcing the law, won’t you?”

“Wild life laws mostly.”

“That’ll suit you. I shouldn’t think there’s much you don’t know about protecting the Earth and its creatures, with your heritage.”

“Ain’t it about time you came home?”

Deacon glanced up to see his best friend and blood Brother Clayton Rykker, grinning at him from the other side of the bar.

“Hey Clay,” his black eyes lighting up, “Thought you were with your father?”

“I was until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Why, what’s up?”

Clayton shrugged and slid into the chair next to him, “Got another woman with him. This one he says he’s gonna marry.”

“Honest?”

“So, he says. She’s kinda young though, about twenty-three I’d say. Pretty…but she isn’t right for him. He’ll ruin her life just as he did my mom’s. Hi Mrs. Simpson it’s good to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Clayton.”

Emily watched her two most favourite ex-students discussing Clayton’s father, Keel Rykker’s dishonourable intentions. In his own way Clayton Rykker was as enchanting as his best friend Deacon. He had the most beautiful personality, but lacked the enigma shrouding his childhood friend. With his curly red hair and jade green eyes Clayton was as pale as Deacon was dark. At five feet ten inches, he stood a couple of inches shorter than Deacon. The two boys were inseparable. Clayton was wearing blue jeans, a fleece lined lumberjack style shirt, thick woolly green sweater and his parka. Despite the cold he refused to relinquish his tan cowboy boots.

Stanley Cuthand reappeared, cup and pie in hand. “While you’re here, Clayton you may as well eat.”

“Far out, thanks Stanley.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Why are you here?” Deacon asked as Stanley moved away, “Did momma send you?

“That she did,” Clayton told him, “You have been gone most of the day.”

“I had things to do and some stuff to pick up for her. Besides I wanted to spend time with Cuthand.”

“That ain’t the only reason I came. Captain McNally called, he wants to see us on Monday, eight o clock sharp. Captain McNally’s in charge of the Rangers,” he explained to Emily, “he’s our boss.”

“I’m really pleased for both of you. A Wild Life Ranger is certainly a worthwhile career. That will put a spoke in the wheel back at school for sure or do they already know?”

“They haven’t seen Deke since November and I didn’t tell ‘em.” Devouring the pie Clayton downed his coffee and turned to Deacon, “It’s time we left, I promised your momma I’d bring you home.”

“Better go then.” He helped Emily with her heavy winter coat and reached for his parka. Pulling it over his head he adjusted his long hair over the fur lined hood. “Catch you later, Cuthand.

“Sure. Give your mom my love.”

“I will.”

“It’s good of you to drop me off,” Emily said climbing into the front of Deacon’s red pickup truck, “it’ll save me calling Steve. I feel quite privileged.”

“Can’t think why,” Deacon chuckled.

“It’s not every day I get to ride with an Indian chief.”

“Fog’s coming in!” somebody shouted frantically as Deacon was about to drive off. “Everybody get inside now!”