Sacred Burial Grounds (An FBI Romance Thriller (book 2))

Sacred Burial Grounds

       
      By Morgan Kelley

Copyright 2012 by
Morgan Kelley LLC
All rights reserved.

No parts of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

including photocopy, recording, or in an information

storage
or retrieval system without written consent from the

author. All characters are fictional and any similarity to real

life or individuals is coincidental.

Third
Edition
©
Copyright 2013 by
Morgan Kelley LLC

All rights reserved

So begins Ethan Blackhawk’s story…

~ Prologue~

He was Indian. Not full blooded like his one brother, but half like his other brother. All three had the blood of ancient warriors running through their veins. There was never a doubt that he was just as good as they, if not better, because he had the ability of the shaman. Communing with the Great Spirit, to see what the mere man couldn’t comprehend, and make the sacrifices needed to appease those already gone ahead into the afterlife. The bloodline was his inheritance and was his right. All that was left was to claim it and stand among his ancestors- present and past.

One brother wasted his heritage, ran away and chose the path of the white man; the other stayed, and made nothing of his life. Both misused what was so freely given to them. They had the birthright, and the names that they were born with while he had the generic name of his mother. Oh, how he longed to be special like them
, and have his father and grandfather acknowledge his existence. Alas, they didn’t see him, even when he walked among them daily. He was invisible to them and almost a ghost. They were barely aware of his presence.

Looking down at his flesh in the moon’s glow, he felt revulsion. The Great Spirit hadn’t blessed hi
m with the tan that his brothers had inherited, but the paleness of white man. Even his features were a disappointment. Void were the lines and angles that gave him the look of his lineage, and ever present was the reminder that he was his mother’s child. For a while, he doubted that he was even one of them, but his mother had promised him the man they called father was also his. Swearing she slept with him and conceived him one night during the blood moon. The attraction was strong to his genealogy. The shaman ran deep within his body yearning to be free. His greatest desire was to show them all what he knew to be true. Not only was he one of three and the youngest, but the most powerful of them all.

He was brother and shaman.

All of this was necessary, just to prove that he was not less, but more. Once the truth was out, he would be welcomed into their lives, and to be allowed to sit with them and to join in their ceremonies. Finally heritage would be his. A vow would be made to them that he would not walk away from his heritage, like the other two had done so easily. He only needed to bide his time, practice his skills, and one day he would make his mark on them. It was his oath to those that came before him. Time was his as he waited patiently for them to acknowledge that he was family. If they wouldn’t acknowledge the truth, he would force them to see him. No more would there be lurking in the shadows. He would erupt into the spotlight to take back what was stolen from him.

His
absconded heritage and lineage.

As he stood over the hole safeguarding the gaping chasm
, there was nothing felt for the women whose spiritless bodies lay within. They were a means to an ends. Their bones used for ritual, and their bodies used for release and the creation of life. Now their souls would be released to the spirit world upon completion.  He helped them make life, and it was his to take away. They gave the ultimate sacrifice; they gave to the man who would be revered by his people one day. Now it was time to make them see him, and turn against the ones that had forgotten his existence. By using all the Great Spirit had to offer, no longer would he be invisible. It was only a matter of time.

Walking through shadows, as the trees blocked the moonlight, he returned to the woman bound to the tree. Her head hung, as she bled from the arrow piercing her body. Soon she
’d exsanguinate and die, joining the others in the unmarked grave. She would rest with them until her flesh left her bones, and all that remained was the precious skeleton that he needed so desperately. Harvesting what he required and wanted, allowing the bugs and worms to do the dirty work. Nature would consume the flesh from them, making them pure white and ready. It was all about the power of the bones, his runes to see into the spirit world. Once in his hands and with a few well-chosen words, he would have the spirits at his control. Shamanism would make him strong and mysticism would place him just out of his family’s reach. The proof would be in the greatness he could achieve, and he would feel the power of his people. In his sack were the smallest of the skulls being salvaged, as tokens of the job he had ahead of him. They would travel with him home, as a constant reminder that life was for the powerful to control. Much like his had been created and shaped by the shaman before him.

This wasn’t his
first or only collection of remains. Oh no, it had taken six years to perfect, and fine-tuned his craft of making a human disappear. It was careful, precise work to pick the ones that weren’t going to be missed. First came the romancing and luring them to him, and then came the sweet words to convince them to begin growing life deep within. It was a carefully planned seduction. All to please the spirits during the sacrifice; these bones had the extra special power in them. They were growing purity, and life. They were the unborn, yet to be rejected by their families or their lineage. They were still unmarked by society, and best used in the rituals. They were his favorite victims, not only because their mothers fought harder to save them and keep them protected, but because he would be the first to hold their tiny skeletons and use them to do great things. Somewhere deep inside him there was a twinge of guilt, but he must continue forward. One day when he found the right woman, worthy of his Native heritage, he would allow his progeny to be born, but only after his family accepted him. As of yet, the perfect woman had eluded him. The others were unworthy to walk beside him as shaman.

The woman by the tree sighed, releasing her last breath and passing into the spirit world. It was time. Now nature would continue on and resume the work, and in a few months when he returned, he would have the bones he needed for the rituals that made him stronger. One day when he was accepted, all of their sacrifices would be remembered and appreciated. They were the stepping stones to the strong future he deserved. Each one held a special place in his life
. After all, they were part of him. 

Freeing her from her bindings, he checked her pulse. When he was certain there was none, he carried her to the chasm, sliding down into its hungry mouth with its next meal. It wasn’t easy to maneuver, but he took the utmost care to not step on the others. Crushing their beautiful white bones under his boots would be the ultimate affront to the Great Spirit, and a precious waste of time. These bones came at a price, and they must not be wasted. Placing a chaste kiss on her forehead in goodbye and thanking her for her sacrifice, she was given her new home.
Below her were the varying degrees of decayed corpses, being worked by nature and time. Soon she would be one of them, and offer up the precious contents he held so dear. Surveying them he nodded in appreciation of his cache. Death had found each one of them, and the spirit world would call them home during ritual.

Pulling the custom made arrow from her heart, he examined the tip. It was made specifically for the kill, and there was pride behind the craftsmanship.
Since he was an outsider and invisible to the family, there was no one to teach him the basics of Native hunting skills. It had been up to him to do research on how to create the perfect arrow for the kill. One day his father and grandfather would feel remorse for not advising him, but until then, he would find the answers he sought online and from books. Touching the tip of the arrow, he appreciated the efficiency of the kill. Now this arrow would be retired and join the others in the special quiver at home, marking the count. This woman would not be forgotten, and neither would be the gift she had given him.

With one last count of his inventory, he felt pleasure at how well his plan had come to fruition. He cou
ld remember each of their names and the time they had spent together. Each one held a fond memory for him. As the count was complete, he could make the journey home. All of his women were present and accounted for in the grave.

In the distance, there was the howl of the great wolf and he took it as a sign. The wolf was a strong totem guide. It stood for perseverance, success and the spirits. He knew then that he was doing the job he was meant to do. The path he stood on would lead him ultimately to the life he deserved, as he continued the work of the Great Spirit. One day his brothers the
raven and the fox would understand and they would beg to have the Bull in their presence. After all, he was their blood. Soon they wouldn’t be able to deny it.

The time was coming.

The first shovel full of dirt covered the women, and for now he bid them farewell. In the near future they would be reunited. It was just a matter of carefully planning his move into the family and finding a way to replace the brothers that he had no need for anymore. Blood may be thicker than water, but he wasn’t letting that stop him.

This was his destiny.