Ni'il: the Awakening

By James Boyle

When several people are brutally killed in the town of Placerton, on the isolated Oregon coast, most locals think a rogue bear or cougar is roaming the forested hills near town. Police Chief Dan Connor is not so sure. He has witnessed some very strange things lately, such as disembodied voices, muttering a strange foreign language and an old Indian man who seems to be near every crime scene, but disappears before he can be questioned.

Dan's investigation takes him to the local Sihketunnai Indians and their legend of the Ni'il, magical shamans charged with maintaining the balance between humans and the natural world. According to the elders, one of the Ni'il is responsible for the murders and intends to kill everyone in the community. It is Dan's job to stop it.

It sounded unbelievable, but was the only explanation that fit the facts.

As a violent Pacific storm crashes ashore, cutting off power and washing out roadscutting the town off from the outside world--Dan finds himself entering a strange world of myth and magic that was not covered in his police training. He must use all his wits and new-found powers to save himself and his community from the Ni'il.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 2, 2008
• ISBN: 9781440108686

James Boyle

James Boyle is the author of the award-winning novels “Ni’il: The Awakening” and “Ni’il: The War Within.” He is a graduate of the University of Oregon and an organizer for the South Coast (Oregon) Writer’s Conference. He is single and lives in Gold Beach on the Oregon coast with an aging black lab named Mikey.

Book preview

Ni’il The

Awakening

James Boyle

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Bloomington

Ni’il, the Awakening

Copyright © 2008 by James Boyle

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4401-0867-9 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-0868-6 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 11/24/08

For my mother and father, who have always believed.

No project such as this is ever done completely by one person. My heartfelt thanks go out to all my friends who agreed to read and offered their insights and suggestions about the work. My thanks also go out to my extended family, who have never doubted my calling, or maybe obsession, as a writer and especially to Mo, for her invaluable proof reading assistance and moral support.

Thanks, also to my editor, Heidi Ratner-Connolly, for her insight and encouragement.

When the last red man has vanished from this earth, and his memory is only a story among the whites, these shores will still swarm with the invisible dead of my people. And when your children’s children think they are alone in the fields, the forests, the shops, the highways, or the quiet of the woods, they will not be alone. There is no place in this country where a man can be alone. At night when the streets of your town(s) and cities are quiet, and you think they are empty, they will throng with the returning spirits that once thronged them, and that still love these places. The white man will never be alone.

Seattle

Chief of the Dwamish and allied tribes of Puget Sound

Speech to Governor of Washington Territory (1855)

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

About the Author

Prologue

The banks of a small creek in Oregon’s Coast Range Mountains. The water splashes over a jumble of rock and fallen logs in its steep, headlong rush to the river. Rainbow and cutthroat trout lie in ambush in the shelter of its shallow pools. Deer and elk trails lead to and beside its icy waters.

Occasionally, a glint in the gravel points to the presence of gold.

The forest grows right to the edge of the bank here, an ancient forest of cedar and hemlock. None of the trees are less than a hundred years old; some are much older. Most trunks are more than two feet in diameter, their bark gnarled and deeply scarred. Beneath the canopy, a soft yellow carpet of cast-off needles contrasts with the rich green of the fern, huckleberry, moss, and poison oak that thrive in the perpetual twilight of the forest floor.

Now the images begin to tremble and fade as though the giant trees were dissolving. With them go the fern and other undergrowth and in their place appears a low structure of unpainted, rough-hewn cedar planks. A tanned hide serves as the building’s door and smoke seeps from a small opening in the roof. A cooking fire burns on the bare ground before it.

Good. The old man nods, more to himself than to the young woman standing beside him. This is good. A good place.

The young woman peers off into the distant ranks of forest. I feel it. It knows we’re here.

No matter, the old man says. It is not us it is seeking.

The young woman takes a deep breath. So now what?

We prepare for the battle. And we try to alert the others.

The young woman looks troubled. If we interfere, don’t we risk upsetting the balance?

We will not fight for them, the old man smiles. Just cure their blindness. They will have to fight for themselves.

Chapter One

From Highway 101 as it swung down toward the north bank of the river, the community of Placerton looked as precarious as a newly-founded colony. It clung to a narrow strip of land pinned between the mountains rising to the east, the ocean and river to the west and north, and the layer of mottled cloud overhead. The mountains, though low by western standards, were steep and rugged and darkly ominous. A thick forest of fir, red cedar, and hemlock trapped pockets of mist along the slopes and seemed to press at the edges of town.

Police Chief Dan Connor drove across the Skookum River bridge, which had replaced ferry service barely sixty years ago, and headed into town. He waved as Harry Perkins passed heading north in the Electric Co-op’s service truck, climbed the low rise above the Port and its small forest of masts and headed down a quiet Main Street to the Police Station.

He parked in the lot behind the municipal building and stepped out of his car into the morning. It was going to rain again. The wind, though light, was warm and from the south and when the wind was from the south, it rained. It was a better forecaster than the Weather Service. Of course, it was November and it had rained all but two days this month already.

A half dozen seagulls hovered on the wind overhead, screaming for a handout, then allowed the wind to whisk them off when they didn’t get one.

Only one other vehicle was in the lot this early, Stephanie’s white Honda Civic. Its engine ticked slowly in the cool morning.

He adjusted his sidearm and walked into the station.

Stephanie Amis looked up from her desk and smiled. Morning, Chief. The coffee’s fresh.

Someday, I swear, I’m going to get here first and make you coffee.

Stephanie smiled at the old joke. Both knew she was a morning person, while he liked to stay up to watch the late movie. Most mornings, he barely dragged himself out of bed. Today, she looked particularly fresh in a cream-colored sweater and tweed skirt.

Any calls?

She shook her head. Have you heard about the storm?

What storm is that? He hadn’t bothered listening to the weather this morning. It was going to rain.

It’s supposed to be as big as the Columbus Day Storm, she said. Maybe bigger. It’s still too far out at sea to be sure.

He paused in the act of pouring himself a mug of coffee. When’s it supposed to hit?

She shrugged. They don’t really know.

The Columbus Day Storm was the stuff of legend. It had been a Pacific hurricane that made landfall on Columbus Day, 1962, causing a physical and economic disaster stretching from Northern California to British Columbia. The coast was used to and prepared for heavy wind and nearly a hundred inches of rain a year, so a storm as destructive as this one was memorable. It was also the last time the lower Skookum River had flooded.

Has the Weather Service issued a bulletin yet?

Stephanie shook her head.

We’ll have to keep an eye on it.

Dan finished filling his cup with Stephanie’s coffee and turned toward his office. Anything else I should know about?

I don’t think so, Stephanie told him. Jason didn’t leave any notes lying about. It looked like a routine night.

Dan was relieved. No notes meant there’d been no more dogs reported missing. They seemed to be in the midst of some kind of dog-napping epidemic lately. None of the dogs had turned up yet.

That fact bothered him.

Has he asked you out yet?

Jason? The young woman blushed, but shook her head. He’s seeing someone.

Not anymore. I’ll have to put a bug in his ear.

Don’t you dare!

Dan smiled into his coffee and stepped into his office. He could not help but feel a wistful attraction for the blond woman with the bright red face. She was intelligent and lovely and had a modesty he’d thought extinct in the age of in your face.

But Stephanie was ten years younger and he was the Chief of Police, her boss. Even if she did feel the same way about him, their relative positions raised all sorts of ethical issues.

The phone rang.

Stephanie answered immediately.

He eased down into his desk chair and set the mug of coffee on the desk’s gray metal surface. Some would think his office small--it certainly was by big city standards--but it suited him. It was large enough for his desk, a computer terminal and phone, an old-fashioned steel filing cabinet and two chairs. The walls held a map and aerial photo of the city as well as several photos of him and his wife. A small window looked out over the asphalt of Eighth Street and the State office building across the way.

He walked over to his favorite photograph and looked at it for the ten millionth time. It showed Jennifer in waders and a down vest struggling to hold up a salmon nearly as big as she. Her smile was so wide it threatened to break her face.

After two years, he still missed her nearly every day.

Chief?

He turned to Stephanie, standing in the doorway.

That was Evelyn Larsson on the phone.

Victor’s widow?

She nodded. She says something happened to her dog. Actually, she said someone stole her dog.

Another one? He sighed, and took one last sip of his coffee before heading out the door.

The Larsson house was a neat little ranch style set amid a carefully sculpted garden of shrubbery, lawn, and perennials, dormant now, but lushly green with the winter rains. In the summer, it was spectacular as hell. Particularly when compared to the raw forest directly across the street.

Dan parked in the driveway and called in to let Stephanie and the Sheriff’s dispatcher know he would be out of the car.

He heard a door bang and looked over as Evelyn Larsson marched down the sidewalk toward him. She was a spry, seventy years old and even when bundled up in a heavy jacket and knit cap, couldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds. She definitely was no taller than his chest.

They took my Simon! Kidnapped him right out of the back yard! She seemed to think it dereliction of duty that an officer hadn’t been posted to guard the canine.

Dan calmed her down as much as he could and got her to give him some details. It seemed her dog had disappeared sometime during the night while she slept. She had not seen anyone take Simon, nor had she heard anything.

Let’s go take a look, he said.

He followed the elderly woman around the house to the back yard. Her only concession to the infirmities of old age was a cane she used to steady her footing on the wet grass.

The back yard was small and less meticulously groomed than the front. In several places, the lawn had been dug up and a rough circle worn through where the dog had run, exposing the pale orange soil. Piles of feces slowly dissolved in the weather.

A stainless steel chain made a bright silver line through the grass from the southeast corner of the lot, where it was stapled to a dog house. It simply ended in the middle of the worn circle. There was no dog.

Has Simon slipped his chain before?

Mrs. Larsson shook her head. Never. And that’s a new chain.

He nodded. Please wait here.

Dan walked over to the chain, stepping carefully to avoid trampling any evidence. He didn’t see anything significant--there weren’t even any visible tracks--but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. The chain itself was heavy and did seem brand new. There was no rust or tarnish on any of the surfaces and in this climate it didn’t take rust long to get started.

As if agreeing with him, a couple of fat drops landed on his hat.

How was the chain attached to Simon’s collar?

With one of those springy things. What are they called? You know, like you use to put a leader on a fishing line?

Dan nodded and squatted down to pick up the end of the chain. The final link was twisted and stretched. He let it drop again.

The chain had not been cut. It had been broken.

Who could break a brand-new steel chain like that? And who would, when detaching it from the dog’s collar would be so much easier? How could they do it without waking the neighbors or the dog’s owner? How could they do all this without leaving any sign of their exertions on the muddy, rain-soaked ground?

Are you going to put out an A.P.B. on my Simon?

Dan returned to the old woman, suppressing the urge to smile.

Actually, All Points Bulletins are pretty much reserved for humans, he told her as they walked back around to the front of the house. But I promise you all my officers will be keeping a sharp eye out for him. This is a small town. Either we’ll spot him, or he’ll find his own way home.

Mrs. Larsson looked skeptical, but thanked him and returned to the warmth of her house.

Dan walked back to his car through a stiffening rain, removed the baton from his equipment belt and slid behind the wheel. Ninety percent of his job consisted of relatively meaningless calls like missing dogs, lockouts, or prowlers that didn’t exist. It was part of the job and he kind of enjoyed it.

However, something told him this wasn’t an ordinary missing dog case. There were too many unanswered questions, too many oddities that simply didn’t fit where they should. Most of all, he couldn’t even hazard a guess why someone would want to steal Evelyn Larsson’s dog. Or what he was going to do about it.

He jotted a couple of ideas in his notebook and backed out of the driveway.

The rain Dan had predicted with the morning’s wind had, instead, turned out to be just a drizzle, one of those spitting rains that made you think some mischievous god was spraying the world with an atomizer. It barely made using windshield wipers worthwhile, but would soak you in a minute and a half.

Dan found an empty space in the parking lot of Gina’s, turned the collar of his coat up and strode across to the restaurant’s door.

Inside, the air was warm and dry and colored with the scents of marinara, pesto, and frying hamburgers. Subdued conversation, not unlike the rumble of distant surf, ebbed and flowed over the dining room. It was lunch time, and even during the off-season, Gina’s was almost full.

Dan waved at Marcia behind the register and found Sam Bartlett in a booth in the nonsmoking section. He nodded to Tim O’Hara, the school superintendent, who was sitting with John Hunter, the high school principal on the other side of the room, then slid into the booth across from the Sheriff.

Sam looked up from his salad and nodded a greeting. The server appeared and Dan ordered coffee and a meatball sandwich.

Meatball sandwich again? Sam said.

Dan shrugged and sipped his coffee. I like their marinara sauce. What can I say?

Pretty soon, Gina’s going to start your sandwich when she sees your car pull into the parking lot.

Then I’ll either change my order, or save a hell of a lot of time on lunch.

Sam laughed.

Though more than ten years older and with as much gray as black in his crew cut, Sam had been Dan’s mentor and one of his best friends for years. It had been Sam, himself Chief at the time, who had suggested Dan leave the Air Force to start a career in civilian law enforcement. Dan had been in town for his father’s funeral. He was newly married and thinking of starting a family and suddenly the migratory nature of military life didn’t seem as appealing as it once had.

Several years later, it had been Sam who’d recommended Dan as the new Chief when he’d left to become the County Sheriff.

So what’s new and exciting in the crime-ridden metropolis of Placerton? Sam asked. I heard you had a hot dog-napping this morning.

Dan nodded. Somebody snatched Evelyn Larsson’s dog from her backyard.

How many does that make now?

Five.

And they weren’t show dogs?

Dan shook his head. Just pets.

Interesting, Sam said and took a bite of his salad.

The unspoken thought in the room was the theory that many serial killers start out mutilating and killing pets. It was viewed as an early warning sign.

Didn’t you have some sheep killed a couple of weeks ago? Dan asked.

The Sheriff nodded. Up in Kimball Valley. Duane Simpson lost half a dozen head.

Dan nodded and bit into his sandwich, trying not to say the next thought that came to mind. It was just too weird.

Sam said it for him. It looked like a pack of dogs, Dan. I suppose it could have been some psycho with a machete, or sword, or something, but I doubt it. There was no evidence of human involvement.

Did you do necropsies? A necropsy was the animal version of an autopsy; a pathologist examined an animal’s body to determine the cause of death.

Sam shook his head. There was no reason to.

Dan nodded and silently wondered whether there might be some kind of connection between the slaughter of the sheep and Mrs. Larsson’s dog. If there was, it was neither obvious nor in the normal range of motives.

The Sheriff peered at Dan. You think this and your dogs are connected?

Dan shook his head. There’s no reason to connect them. Other than the fact that they were both attacks on domestic animals, in a way. I was just curious.

O’Hara and Bartlett, the high school brain trust, stopped to say hello on their way out the door. O’Hara was tall with a thin beard and short hair so curly it had to have been permed. Hunter was big and square, with huge hands that looked like they’d have been more comfortable laying brick than running a school. Both wore dress slacks and ivy-league sweaters over their shirts.

Solving the County’s crime problem’s over lunch? O’Hara asked.

Dan shook his head. We were just rolling dice to set the quotas for the month. What are you two up to?

Eating lunch, Turner said. Were you planning on coming to the basketball game this Thursday?

Dan nodded. You expecting some trouble?

Thursday, the high school team played their rivals from Brookings. Though neither team had much of a chance at the League Championship, the rivalry still burned just as fiercely. In the past there had been a few fights, some vandalism, and other mischief when the teams played.

I don’t know. There’s been some rumors, Hunter said. I’d rather be safe than sorry.

So would I, Dan nodded. I will be there.

Hunter smiled.

They shook hands and the school officials moved toward the door.

When they had gone Sam looked at Dan, just a trace of a smile playing over his lips. Is it true that they belong to some kind of wife-swapping, swingers club?

Dan shrugged. He had heard the same rumors, sourceless, and pervasive as all such rumors were. Especially in a small town. They couldn’t really be believed, but they usually began with a kernel of truth.

I have no idea, he said.

He didn’t tell his friend that Celeste Hunter, the principal’s wife, had made several unsuccessful and not too subtle passes at him over the years.

Sam nodded, smiled to himself, then shook his head.

The server appeared to clear away their plates and refresh their coffees.

Do you have any plans this weekend? Sam asked.

Dan shook his head. He would work Saturday and try to relax on Sunday. Maybe read, or rent some movies, or something.

Me and the missus were going to take the boat out and do some bottom fishing, providing the weather will let us over the bar. Would you like to come with us?

Sounds like fun. When were you planning to go?

They agreed on a tentative time early Sunday morning, paid their check and went back to work.

Dan returned to the station shortly before 5:00.

He’d spent most of the afternoon in a fruitless tour of Placerton’s darkest corners. Every town had its spots where the less upright of its citizens liked to dump things they might not be proud of. Placerton was no different, except that it was small. Dan and his officers knew most of the spots.

One by one, Dan had driven to each of the suspected areas, looking for the missing dogs, or any sign of them. There were only so many places you could hide a dog’s body without it being discovered. There were even less that would hide five bodies. But each time he’d come up empty. He’d found countless pieces of discarded furniture, but no dogs.

As he walked into the station, he still had no idea what had happened to Mrs. Larsson’s dog.

Stephanie looked up as he walked through the door and burst into a smile. Hi. I was just writing you a note.

That just about makes my day. He returned her smile.

Stephanie blushed and dropped her eyes.

What’s up? he hurried on, immediately feeling like a jerk for embarrassing her.

Mrs. Larsson has called at least three times to see if you’d found her dog. I told her you would let her know as soon as found anything, but she insists you call her.

Dan sighed and turned toward the coffee pot. I don’t suppose I could forget, do you?

You could, Stephanie smiled. But you’re in the book. She’d just call you at home.

You’re right. I’ll give her a call.

He filled his mug and turned to find Stephanie slipping into her coat.

She hesitated. It’s 5:00. I was going to go home. Unless you have something else you need me to do . . .

He shook his head. Stephanie looked particular appealing right now, weary at the end of her day and looking forward to home. He wondered what was waiting for her there. If some man was waiting for her.

She deserved to have a man waiting for her.

Anything interesting planned for tonight?

Not really, she said. Make myself something to eat, read, or watch TV until bed time. You?"

About the same,

Reviews for Ni'il

[literarilyspeaking1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This was a really easy read. I read it in two sittings, but it could've been finished in just one.The story was intriguing. I didn't find myself sucked totally in, per se, but I did want to find out what would happen. I liked that there was enough mystery surrounding the murders that most people could attribute them to wild animals, at least at first, but that those who looked closely enough and who asked enough questions saw that there was something more going on. The main problem, though, is that the summary from the back of the book pretty much tells me a lot of what I find out later in the book. I wish people wouldn't do that!The characters were likable enough, but I didn't really feel intensely connected to any of them. The main character, Dan, is pretty much your typical police chief -- He puts the good of his town and the people in it before his own well-being, often running around with a severely injured shoulder just to check on things. It was hard to tell how old Dan was supposed to be. Sometimes I got the impression that he was in his 30s, but other times he felt as if he was in his 40s. Not really a significant detail, but something I wondered about while reading the book.Boyle's writing is easy-to-read and accessible. He does a good job with giving detail and painting a scene. Sometimes, in the case of describing crime scenes, a little too much detail for my taste. There were several places, though, that could have benefited from an editor. The tenses of verbs changed from time to time, and there were a lot of extra commas, which got a little distracting.This book was an enjoyable, easy read. Boyle released the second book in this planned trilogy, Ni'il: The War Within, in late 2008. I'd be interested in reading it to see what happens because Boyle left us hanging at the end.

[cinnleigh · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Looking at a fairly unobtrusive cover, you wouldn't think that NI'IL, THE AWAKENING by James Boyle would hold as much as it truly does. I was expecting a good story with some thrilling moments, but was instead presented with a fairly compelling read.Using Native American spiritualism to add an air of mystery and mysticism to the book, Mr. Boyle introduces us to the story of Police Chief Dan as he tries to discover who or what is moving through his town, leaving behind a trail of bodies. The murders are grisly and violent; there must be some sort of large animal at work here. A bear or cougar perhaps? As Dan uncovers more about this chilling threat we learn that there may be a force much darker than anyone anticipated behind the cloud of death that covers the town.What made NI'IL, THE AWAKENING a really good read was Mr. Boyle's ability to keep us guessing throughout the story. The general plot was fascinating, but the addition of twists and turns in the book kept the reader guessing and helped to make this story difficult to put down. The plot twists weren't necessarily obvious either. Sometimes you go into a story and realize what the author is about to do with the plot. The twists still make for a good book, even if they may be predictable. I didn't get this feeling from Mr. Boyle's story. Instead, each twist felt new and moved the story in a direction I didn't expect it to take.The other aspect of a book that will make or break it for me is the character development. Fortunately, Mr. Boyle seems to have put a lot of work into making his character robust and realistic. Throughout the story we get a good bit of insight into Dan, give to us slowly and allowing us to learn right along side him. Stephanie, the secretary and possible love interest begins in the background and comes to the forefront as the story progresses. The romance that sparks between them adds that perfect touch of light to an otherwise dark story.I believe that paranormal fiction fans will find something to love in NI'IL, THE AWAKENING. This is the first in a trilogy that promises to get better and better with each book. Great characters, a mysterious plot, and the perfect amount of legend combine to create a dynamic book with great reread potential.

[cajunbooklady · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

What can I say about this one? *taps chin thinking* Well, I'll say that I thought it was TOTALLY original. Personally, I've never read anything like it. I enjoyed the believable and faulted characters that existed in this small town. I liked the storyline of the ancient spirit coming to take revenge on the people who have ravaged the land. I won't go into to much detail there because it would give away the story but I'll say that I was surprised by the ending. Not because of how it ended but because once I found out the whole "point" to the story I was really shocked!Don't let that pretty cover fool you though! This one definitely has the horror element to it with some blood and sacrifice mixed in....I liked it! It was scary and bloody and crazy all wrapped up in the deceivingly peaceful cover!Oh and there is some romance! I wouldn't put it in the romance category at all, but I think this book had a good balance that both men and women can enjoy. If your looking for something different then I think this one would be worth a try.

[knittingmomof3 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

From My Blog...Ni’il: The Awakening is the first in James Boyle’s trilogy. Someone or something is terrorizing the small coastal town of Placerton, Oregon. Police chief Dan O’Connor first thought the biggest worry in the town was the strange occurrence of dogs missing, until he learns their relatively quiet coastal town is about to be hit with a potentially dangerous storm and bodies start appearing with not one shred of evidence as to who or what is killing them. The Sihketunnai Indian elders inform Dan that it is the Ni’il seeking revenge. Boyle writes an intriguing story line of small town life, strange disappearances, murders and the added twist of mystical forces in the form of the Ni’il. Boyle’s storyline moves rather quickly and the characters are fairly well rounded. It was easy to relate to Dan and Stephanie from the sheriff’s department and the usual tension between the sheriff’s office and the Mayor’s office. For his first novel, Ni’il: The Awakening is an engaging, fast paced novel filled with ancient lore and suspicion. Ni’il: The Awakening makes for an intriguing twist for mystery fans as well as those who enjoy mystical thrillers.