Spirits Collide, page 12
part #2 of Evil Awakened Series
Because of her conversation with The Watcher, Pamoon wasn’t surprised when he called her by her title, and it signaled a fight was inevitable. Her exterior remained stoic; although, a cold sweat trickled down her spine.
Pamoon watched while Bobby and Ralph moved laterally, spreading out, attempting to surround her. Shifting her weight to the balls of her feet, sliding her left leg back, and bending her knees as Tihk had taught her, Pamoon readied herself to react for what would come next. She watched as Bobby and Ralph’s eyes turned to amber slits, their teeth fang-like. When Celia gasped, she sensed Scott’s had done the same.
Knowing a good offence was better than a good defense, she struck first. Depressing the button under her right pinkie, Pamoon snapped her staff to its full length and spun in a baton-like motion, knowing its movement would draw the attention of her combatants. With their eyes diverted, she commanded Scout to attack “Notin.”
In synchronized fashion Scout pounced on Ralph, and Pamoon spun clockwise, sliding both hands down to one end of her weapon, yelling, “Duck,” as she did. Her staff whipped in a wide arc as it swept past a ducking Celia, smacking Scott on the temple. He landed with a thud, unconscious before he hit the ground. As she completed her three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spin, she snarled at Bobby and depressed the button on her staff under her thumb, springing a six-inch blade from each end.
Bobby was fast, faster than she remembered, but he was bulky and ran straight for her. Pamoon’s build was lean, her agility heightened from all the hours of training, making it easy to dodge his blade. She spun under his arm and ended up behind him. She tucked her arm into her torso, holding the staff close and twisted her body into a side-kick, catching Bobby just below the ribs with the steel-toe of her boot, causing his diaphragm to spasm. Before he could catch his breath, Pamoon lunged, pressing the tip of her blade against the front of his neck. “Move and I’ll drive this blade into your skull.”
She cut her eyes to find Ralph on the ground, Scout’s teeth partially buried in his neck. “Nichimina,” she commanded, telling Scout to hold him where he had him. She felt the end of her staff move and knew Bobby thought he could get away. Her attention back on her one-time friend, she hissed through gritted teeth. “One word from my lips and Scout will rip into Ralph’s carotid arteries. He’ll bleed out before you can save him.” Pamoon could see the veins on Bobby’s arm were engorged with blood, his frustration growing. “Throw your knife into the woods and head back to the reservation, or I’ll end this now.”
Bobby’s arm quivered as a guttural yell escaped his lips. Pamoon pushed the tip of her blade forward drawing blood.
“I won’t ask again.”
With an even deeper growl—an animalistic growl—Bobby tossed his knife into the trees, his eyes and teeth returning to normal. Not taking her sight off Bobby she spoke to Ralph, who still held his blade. “You, too, Ralph, throw your knife.”
Ralph didn’t hesitate. He threw his knife as far as he could in his compromised position. “Just call of the wolf,” his voice cracked.
“Pakitin ekwa aswêyimêw,” she commanded.
Scout let go of Ralph’s neck, obeying Pamoon’s command to release and guard. He stepped back, baring his teeth, red with Ralph’s blood, snarling at his prey.
His complexion crimson, Bobby turned his back to Pamoon. With a quick wave of his arm, he ordered Ralph to follow. They both grabbed Scott and lifted him off the ground, life stirring in his eyes. “This isn’t over,” Bobby scowled as they walked away.
“It is for now,” Pamoon answered, watching the three leave, shoulders slumped in defeat. She reached down with her free hand and helped Celia off the ground and commanded Scout to stay hidden but follow the guys back to the reservation. “Kata ekwa asko.” He looked at her and whimpered. “Stay hidden in the trees and make sure they head home,” she said,” scratching him behind his ears. “We won’t go anywhere until you return. I promise.” With a dip of his snout, he disappeared into the woods.
Once Scout was out of sight, she glanced at Celia, never taking her eyes off the path, wanting to make sure guys wouldn’t try to double back and attack again. After a few minutes, she relaxed, lowering her guard. “Are you okay?”
Celia nodded.
“We’re safe,” she said, grasping Celia’s hand. “They won’t be bothering us anymore.”
“You mean, anymore, tonight,” Celia said, her body quivering.
“Yeah.”
When Scout returned, she depressed both buttons on her staff, snapping it back to its smaller size, the blades retracting into the ends.
“Well done, Kiche.”
Pamoon shifted her left foot forward, bending her knees in a fighting stance. “Who said that? Show yourself.”
From the shadow of a tree, Kwanokasha emerged.
Pamoon’s eyes widened, her posture relaxed in relief. “Were you here the whole time?”
He nodded, an ear-to-ear smile plastered on his bearded face.
“Why didn’t you help?”
“I would have if you needed it, but you and your wolf had things under control. You didn’t even need the Chieftain Blade,” he said, pointing to her knife.
“The Chieftain Blade?” She slid the knife from its sheath. “Does this knife hold a special significance, I mean . . . besides the ceremony?”
“It is said that it once belonged to our first chief and that he used it to kill the enemies of the Little People. The story goes that he found it next to where he slept one morning after dreaming of the Creator and a great war. As he neared his death, he passed it down to the next leader, and the leader after that, and so on down the line, with one instruction; it was to be given to the one who would save our people, the one who would lead us into the great war, but not until she could pass one test.”
“The test you gave me,” Pamoon thought aloud.
Kwanokasha nodded, then pointed at Celia. “You have not introduced us.”
Pamoon blushed. “Celia this is Kwanokasha—The Watcher—the leader of the Choctaw Little People. Kwanokasha, this is my friend, Celia.”
Pamoon watched as Kwanokasha’s nostrils flared as if he was sniffing Celia. “She carries the blood of the Water Panther. It is faint, but it’s present.”
“We know. That’s why we’re traveling to the Spirit Cave. I’m hoping to find a way to remove her curse.”
Kwanokasha walked around the pair. “Remember, Kiche, a curse is just one side of a coin, on the other is a gift.”
Celia looked at Pamoon. “What does that mean?”
Riddles, Pamoon thought, rolling her eyes. “It means we won’t get any clearer answer until we reach the cave.” She pointed at Kwanokasha, a realization dawning on her. “Wait a second, I saw you vanish along with Mantema and Shikoba. What are you doing here?”
“I came with news from the valley.”
“News from the Valley of Blood? What news? Is Ayas alright?” Pamoon’s questions rifled one after another.
He held up his hands. “Calm down, your warrior is fine. He is tired, but fine. He spends most of his time on the eastern border of the valley. A mist grows thick along that border. No one know what he does when he disappears into the woods, but he does so each morning before sunrise, and he doesn’t come back until nightfall. Others have tried to follow him, but they are rejected by the mist.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Briefly, to let him know that most tribal little people will fight beside him.
“Then, what news?” she interrupted. “Wait, you said most Little People.”
“The prophesy is beginning to evolve. People who should be fighting together are starting to choose sides.”
“Meaning?”
“The Wampanoag Little People—the Pukwudgie—have sided with the Skadegamutc.”
Pamoon’s eyes shifted high and right as she thought of what she knew of the Wampanoag Little People. “But the Pukwudgie are harmless pixies?”
“Usually,” Kwanokasha agreed, “but these are dangerous times; their wings give them an advantage in battle. They have shared the same lands with the ghost-witches for centuries. The Skadegamutc high priestess has convinced them that they would have a place on the Spirit Mount if they sided with her, and that she would make them suffer before killing them if they didn’t. I tried to convince them otherwise. I even told them of you and your passing of the test, but they thought I was lying. They have sworn their allegiance to the high-priestess. They have chosen their fate.”
“Have the ghost-witches arrived at the valley?”
“Only scouting parties, easily defeated by your warrior.”
“What are they waiting for?”
Kwanokasha’s eyebrows raised. “If I was to hazard a guess, I would say two things: the arrival of the wendigo and you.”
“Then maybe, I—”
“No. Ayas gave me specific instructions when he sent me to see you. He told me to tell you to gather an army and do it quickly. Our lives depend upon it.”
“An army from where?”
“Demons will fight demons. Those who should be fighting alongside each other will battle each other.”
Before Pamoon could ask for an explanation, he was gone.
Pamoon heard a rustling in the branches of a pine tree. Looking up she saw an owl, that until now had gone unnoticed. As soon as they laid eyes on one another, the bird took flight.
29
Ayas
Ayas toiled tirelessly in the woods, although the growing mist and the loss of daylight made it difficult. Thinking back to his conversation with Kwanokasha gave him added strength. He was relieved when earlier that day Kwanokasha and the tribal little people showed up in the valley. He knew they could be counted on to help prepare for the upcoming battle and even more so to recruit other warriors. On hearing of The Watcher’s meeting with Pamoon, his heart jumped. Warmth filled his body, numb from the mountain cold.
“May I ask one favor of you?” he had said, placing his hand on Kwanokasha’s shoulder.
“Anything for the cause,” Kwanokasha answered.
“Are you able to go to Pamoon and deliver a message?” The Watcher nodded. Ayas told him what to tell her and thought of adding that he loved her, but thought better of it. That message should come from me, he thought.
With his message delivered, he turned and made his way back toward the mist. As he turned, he witnessed Kwanokasha bang his staff off a rock and disappear.
The woods that marked the eastern border of the valley had grown thicker each day with mist, yet had been inviting to Ayas. Today they felt different. Ayas felt eyes on him, although he saw no one. With the growing darkness, he gathered his tools and was just about to quit for the night when an apparition appeared before him.
A woman, beautiful and young, walked toward him wearing a white, flowing gown. Her skin was bronzed, her hair, long and black as night. She wore no jewelry or shoes, her only adornment was a pair of totem beads wrapped around her right wrist. Although he had not seen her in over a hundred years, he would know this woman anywhere, for she was his mother.
Knowing the Misty Woods could conjure spirits, alive and dead, he was apprehensive as she approached. She smiled as she moved toward him, her steps light and soundless. Only my mother can smile and move like that.
“Son,” she said, her silken voice whispered through the mist.
“Mother,” he smiled back, “how is it you are here?”
“Like you, my spirit lives.”
“Yes, but unlike me, your body was laid to rest moons ago.”
“Times are different here in the mist,” she replied.
He nodded in agreement. “Have you come to help fight the demons?”
She nodded. “If you will have me, my sisters and I will fight beside you to defeat the enemy.”
Close enough to touch her, Ayas dropped to his knees, hugging her waist. “Of course, I’ll have you.”
He felt her arms lifting him so he could look her in the eye. “A great battle is before us, my son. A battle for the Spirit Mount.” Before he could say anything, she continued, “We will stand side-by-side and fight for what is rightfully yours.”
His brow furrowed, remembering that it was her urging that caused him to badger Kisemanito to allow him to stand on the mount. “What are you saying? My place is not on the mount. The Creator made that clear when she banished me for my foolishness. My place is to fight for—”
“Your place,” her voice sounded like gravel, its pitch so high it hurt his ears, “is to stand on the mount and control all you survey.”
He closed his eyes, disappointment chilled his spirit. She has not changed. Opening his eyes, he stumbled back, tripping over a root. Quick to stand, he stared at the monster in front of him. His mother was hideous: her bright blue eyes, gone; her full, rosy lips, pale and sewn shut; her bronzed flesh, pale and opaque. “You are a ghost-witch?” His words just a breath, not even a whisper.
“Not just any ghost-witch, I am their high-priestess.” Her voice no longer came from her lips, it now screeched from the trees.
“This can’t be so. How?”
“When you were banished, I went to your father, but he was a fool. He said I had done enough damage and needed to leave your destiny in Kisemanito’s hands. When I couldn’t take his blabbering any longer, I squashed him like the bug he was. I knew my only hope, our only hope, was to fight the gods with as much power as possible. My sisters and I almost succeeded many moons ago until Kisemanito used her fire to destroy us. But, She no longer controls the fire, no one does. It’s our time to rise and take what is rightfully ours. Join us and take your place as our chief, as our king.”
A mixture of sadness and anger melded together in Ayas’ heart. “No! I fight only for the one whose destiny is to rule the Spirit World, for the rightful heir.”
His mother howled a demonic laugh. “Choose wisely, my son.” She spread her arms and looked around. Hundreds of ghost-witches appeared in the mist. “If you choose to fight against us and for a girl whose destiny is a lie, you will surely die.”
“You stand there without remorse and tell me that you killed my father, your husband, the man you pledged your life to in a sacred ceremony, and you have the gall to ask me to fight by your side.” Ayas puffed out his chest. “I loved you once with the unconditional love between mother and son, but that time has passed. My love now belongs to Pamoon. I will fight for her destiny to become the Kiche.”
Ayam snapped her wrist, unraveling her beads. As she shook them, the ground trembled. “Then your blood, along with hers, will be spilled in the valley.” With one final shake of her beads, she transformed into an orb of light and disappeared along with the rest into the mist.
Ayas dropped to his knees, tears for the mother he once loved spilled at his feet. He closed his eyes, memories of her words convincing him to gouge his figure into the wall of the Spirit Cave, an action that sealed his fate, poured into his conscious mind. He wiped his eyes and stood. “I have spilled my last tear for what was.”
As he walked out of the mist into the valley, a warmth spread through him as he remembered what Kwanokasha had told him, and what his mother failed to know. Pamoon now controlled the fire, she just needed to learn how to harness it. He prayed to Kisemanito that Pamoon would learn how before it was too late.
30
Misty Woods
Pamoon and Celia, hand in hand, walked the path of mist with Scout watching their backs, until they stood at the bent tree. Pamoon read what was etched on the bark of the trunk.
“What does it say?” Celia asked.
“Tread with care and speed for a war grows near.” She squeezed Celia’s hand. “Come on. We’ve lost time because of Bobby and the others. We need to get to the cave.”
Pamoon pointed to Scout and then at the Y of the tree. “Kwâskohtowin,” she commanded.
Scout didn’t hesitate and jumped through the opening. Pamoon slid her staff into her belt and with her free hand, grabbed the left branch that formed the Y, never letting go of Celia’s hand. “You do the same on the other branch. We jump together.”
Celia’s body trembled, but she nodded, took a deep breath, and did as Pamoon said. Together, they stepped through the opening, landing in the Misty Woods.
Pamoon felt Celia pull her hand free of her grasp. She jerked her head in Celia’s direction, her friend had both hands covering her mouth. Her eyes wide, her pupils dilated.
“What is this place?” Celia whispered, her words muffled. Due to the frigid air, her breath seeped from between her fingers like puffs of smoke.
About to explain, Pamoon noticed thorns winding toward them. She jerked Celia’s hand away from her mouth and intertwined their fingers. As soon as she did, the thorns stopped their approach but didn’t recede. Pamoon reached over her shoulder, unsheathing her sword, her steel whistled as it slid from its resting place and the woods seemed to take notice, every tree, vine, and rock appeared to stand a little taller. She pointed her blade at the thorns and heard a faint wail as they slithered in retreat. Never moving her blade, she eyed Celia. “No matter what happens, don’t let go of my hand.”
“How did the thorns know?”
“Everything has a spirit,” Pamoon said. “Just like the natural world, there is just as much evil in this world as there is good. The thorns will stay away as long as we are one. If we separate, they’ll attack you.”
Celia dropped to her knees, her body quivering. “I don’t know if I can do this?”
Pamoon dropped beside her. “You can, and you will. Just stay with me.”
Celia’s expression hardened. She wiped her hair from her face, planted her walking stick in the cold ground, and stood. “I’m tired of living in fear, so let’s do this.”
