Chapter 8
The fishing expedition was successful. The two pairs of men and boys came back with three walleyes, each about sixteen inches in length.
Daniel reported that they’d caught two that were well over twenty inches, but in keeping with good conservation practices, had released them back into the lake.
Luke had never cleaned a fish before, and Waaboo, who was already an avid fisherman, delighted in showing him how.
Daniel did the filleting. Stephen took responsibility for disposing of the fish remains in the woods, hundreds of yards away so as not to attract predators to our campsite.
I prepared the fish, dropping the fillets into a ziplock bag half-filled with my own special breading mixture, a recipe I’ll keep to myself.
I’d brought along a single-burner propane stove, but every site has a fire pit, so I put the skillet on the grate over the fire I’d built.
During all of this, Stephen and I had said nothing to the other men about the blood on the tree.
I didn’t want to scare the boys. While Stephen, Waaboo, and Luke cleaned up after supper, I asked Daniel and Mal to help me gather more firewood.
When we were well away from the campsite, I filled them in.
As I’ve already said, Daniel is an officer with the Iron Lake Tribal Police.
Me, I was a cop for a good part of my life and now am an occasional private investigator.
Mal was a priest. We each had a different perspective on the darker side of human nature.
We stood in the deadfall area where I’d gathered the wood earlier, speculating.
“I can’t think of any reason someone would tie up another human being that way,” Mal said. “Especially out here. You’re sure about this?”
“I can’t be sure of anything. But it looks pretty concerning.”
Daniel said, “Always err on the side of caution, Mal. We’ve got boys along. What do you think, Cork? Should we call it in?”
“Like I told Stephen, I’m not sure what I’d say. At this juncture, we don’t really know anything concrete.”
“Do you think we should head back?” Mal asked.
“Your boys. Your decision,” I said to them both.
Daniel and Mal eyed each other for a moment. Then Mal asked, “Any chance we might run into these guys farther in?”
“Always a chance,” I said.
“Then what if we just stayed put,” he suggested. “This is a big lake. We could canoe it for another day, do some more fishing, then head back.”
Daniel said, “I agree. But I think we should call it in, just to be on the safe side.”
So we did. I took the satphone well away from the campsite so the boys couldn’t overhear, contacted the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department, and talked with Sheriff Marsha Dross.
I’d hired Marsha, the first female on the force, when I was the county sheriff.
She had been an excellent deputy and was now a fine sheriff.
“That’s it?” she said. “Bloody scratches on a pine tree and dark dirt around it? Nothing else?”
“It might well have been the group Cordell Bishop guided in. If so, it looks like he lost control of those guys. They pretty much trashed the campsite here on Shrike. That doesn’t seem like something Cordell would’ve allowed if he was still in charge.”
“You’re saying you think Cordell Bishop is in trouble?”
“I’m saying that’s what it looks like.”
“Have you seen him or anyone from his group?”
“They came in ahead of us. I don’t know how long before. You could check with his wife.”
“I’ll talk to Babs,” Marsha promised. “I don’t have enough to authorize an investigation, but I’d advise you to come back out. Or at least don’t go any farther in until we know more. I’ll check with the Forest Service, see if anyone else has reported anything suspicious.”
“Thanks, Marsha. At the moment, we’re planning on staying put. I’ll let you know if plans change.”
When I came back from making the call, Stephen was tending the fire alone.
“Where’d everybody go?”
“Swimming. Just there, off the point. See them?”
They were in view, men and boys, fathers and sons, skinny-dipping, a Boundary Waters tradition, creating waves that were blue-black under an evening sky.
“That water’s cold,” I said.
“And they’re loving it,” Stephen said. “So what did you find out?”
“Marsha’s going to talk to Babs Bishop, see what she can learn about Cordell’s group. And she’ll check with the Forest Service to see if anyone else has reported anything suspicious.”
“That’s it? She’s not sending anybody out?”
“Not enough to go on. Not yet anyway.”
“So, we’re on our own.”
“We’re fine. Whoever was here, they’re ahead of us.”
“And if they come back this way?”
“It won’t be tonight, in the dark. Tomorrow we’ll keep watch.”
The fathers returned with their sons, and as evening gave way to night, we sat around the fire that my son had tended, and we did what people have done around fires for thousands of years. We told stories.
“Do you know how our people, the Anishinaabeg, came to Minnesota?” Stephen asked Luke.
“Uh-uh,” the boy said, shaking his head.
Stephen looked to Waaboo. “Want to tell this story, or should I?”
“You,” Waaboo said. “You’re a good storyteller.”
Stephen smiled, pleased at the compliment. “Our people used to live far to the east. You know where New England is?”
“Sure,” Luke said.
“Long, long ago, that’s where we lived, there and north into Canada. But we had enemies, fierce enemies who wouldn’t let us live in peace.”
“The Pilgrims?” Luke asked.
“European settlers were part of the problem. But we also fought with other Native people, the Iroquois. But before that, we were given prophecies about what would happen in the future. We call them the Seven Fires. The prophecy of the first fire was that the Anishinaabe people would leave their homes in the east and follow the sacred megis shell of the Midewiwin to an island shaped like a turtle. The second fire prophecy said that the people would follow the shell but lose it, and the way of the Midewiwin would diminish. But a boy would be born who would lead the Anishinaabe people back to their traditional ways. The third fire prophecy was that our people would find a path to a place where food grows on water.”
“Food doesn’t grow on water,” Luke said. “It needs ground.”
Stephen held up a finger. “Just wait. The fourth fire came from two prophets. They said that light-skinned people would come. If they came in brotherhood, that would be a good thing. But they could also come bringing death. We were warned that the face of brotherhood and the face of death could look very much alike.”
“How could you tell them apart?” Luke asked.
“If they brought only knowledge and helpful ways, that was the good face. If they brought weapons, that was the face of death. The rivers would be poisoned and the fish unfit to eat.”
“Which one came?”
“In the end, both. The fifth fire prophecy told of a great struggle among our people. Choices had to be made, and the wrong choice could mean our total destruction.
“The sixth fire prophecy told of a time when our children would be taken from us and our elders would lose their purpose and their way. Those elders who still held to the old beliefs and ways would be hidden, out of sight but not out of memory, so that when the right time came, they could be brought back.”
Stephen fell silent. The fire crackled. Luke’s eyes were wide in the wavering light of the flames. In the dark, from somewhere on the lake not far from the point, came the mournful cry of a loon.
“What happened?” Luke asked. “Did the prophecies come true?”
“Every one. The Anishinaabeg left their homes and came west. They found the island shaped like a turtle. On maps of Lake Superior, you’ll see it called Madeline.”
“We’ve been there,” Luke said and looked to his father.
“We have,” Mal said.
“And we found the food that grows on water,” Stephen continued.
“What food?”
“Wild rice.”
“What about the light-skinned people with the faces of brotherhood and death?”
“Like I told you, both came, the first in friendship, the second in war. And in that war, our people were nearly destroyed. After that, our children were taken from us and sent to boarding schools, and many of our elders lost hope.”
“Tell him about the seventh fire,” Waaboo said.
“In the seventh fire, a new people will emerge. They will call upon the elders who’ve been asleep or in hiding, and the old knowledge will be brought back.
The Anishinaabe people will be strong again.
The light-skinned people will have a choice of two roads to follow.
If they choose the right road, an eighth fire will be lit, a fire of eternal peace.
But if they choose the wrong road, all the destruction they brought with them in their coming will be turned on them and they will risk being destroyed. ”
Luke looked down at his bare arm. “I’m light-skinned.”
Mal said, “Then the choices you make are going to be important.”
Luke stared into the fire, silent and thoughtful. Then my satphone rang.