Spirits Collide, page 15
part #2 of Evil Awakened Series
“Is that the opening to the cave I was trapped in before you rescued me?”
Pamoon nodded.
A waft of foul air—the scent of the Water Panther—crept from the tunnel on the right. Creature, you belong to me. Come and receive your destiny.
Pamoon caught a whiff of the scent, her attention on Celia. She dropped her hand onto the handle of her knife as Celia’s eyes turned amber, saliva dripping from her lips. “Fight it, Celia! You know the beast is lying.”
Come to me. Now!
Celia growled and stepped forward.
“Fight, Celia! Please, fight with all your strength. With what’s in your heart.”
Scout reached up and bit into the back of Celia’s pants trying to hold her back, but Pamoon commanded him to release her. “She needs to decide on her own.” Scout let go and whimpered.
“Remember all you’ve been through,” Pamoon said in a calmer voice. Remember your words. ‘Together we’ll fight what comes against us.’”
Celia stopped her progression. She looked back at Pamoon and growled. She then looked into the bleak, black cave and screamed. “No!” She pointed to the opening. “This—you—are not my destiny. My destiny is mine to discover. I will not be told what to do. I am not a creature. I am not a demon.”
With her last word, her eyes turned from amber to brown before they rolled back, showing just the whites. Her arms fell to her sides, her shoulders drooped, and her head fell forward; her body collapsed in Pamoon’s arms. “Take me away from here,” she mouthed.
34
The Great White North
Back in the Spirit Cave, Celia regained consciousness but her body trembled. “Let me help move you closer to the fire,” Pamoon said.
“But—”
“No buts, just do it.” She steadied her friend as Celia shuffled towards the fire. Stepping closer to the flames, they burned brighter. “The eternal flame senses your spirit,” Pamoon smiled, “you are no longer cursed.”
Tears of joy or maybe relief poured down Celia’s cheeks as she reached toward the flames. She felt inner warmth, the same one she felt from Kise’s touch. It started deep within her core, until it warmed her entire being. “I wouldn’t have thought this possible when we first entered the cave,” she breathed.
“Anything is possible when you hold it in your heart. Anything is possible with faith.”
Celia collapsed next to the fire, falling into a deep sleep.
Pamoon used the time to explore the etchings. She had hoped they changed, but they hadn’t. That’s when she noticed a third set of petroglyphs. In the first, the wendigo, massive in size, faced off against a much smaller opponent, a young girl who had a feather tucked into her hair. A young girl dressed like herself. Pamoon reached up and felt the raven feather tucked behind her ear. With everything that happened, she’d forgotten all about it. Stepping to the next etching, the wendigo appeared defenseless. Its arms hung by its sides and it no longer bared its fangs. But the girl lunged at the beast with her sword.
“No,” Pamoon whispered, her lips quivering. The next etching was worse. Here, she saw the sword pierce the beast’s chest, right where its heart would be. She expected to see shock or pain in the wendigo’s eyes, but when she looked closer, she saw what looked like relief. I don’t understand, she thought.
Shaking, she stepped in front of the last panel. This one made no sense. She saw the girl hugging a man. Who is that?
Pamoon’s head was spinning when she stepped away from the wall and stood in front of the tapestry of the wendigo. The beast appeared to be in the same place as before—an alley in some city—gorging on a hunk of meat. When she held her left hand up to the threads, she felt the power of her birthmark.
“Jim,” she said, “can you hear me?”
The tapestry morphed. The wendigo moved its head and nodded. Please help me, it said. Please kill me before I lose control.
“Hold on, Jim. I’m coming.”
Pamoon woke Celia and told her she had to leave for a while. She told her to stay with Scout and not to move away from the eternal flame.
Celia’s eyes fluttered then closed.
“Do you understand me?” Pamoon said. “Do not leave the protection of the flame.”
Celia nodded and fell back to sleep.
Pamoon knelt next to her friend, her protector. “Scout, I need to go see if I can help Jim.” She pointed to the wendigo. “I need you to stay here and protect Celia.”
Scout whimpered, but nodded. Pamoon hugged him. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
Scout licked Pamoon’s face then lay down, curling next to Celia, resting his head on her body.
“Good boy.”
Pamoon stood in front of the tapestry and mouthed, “I’m coming, Jim. I’m coming.” With her left hand, she reached into the tapestry and stepped through it.
She emerged in an alley. An alley dark and full of fear. Not hers, but the wendigo’s. “Jim, I know you’re here, please come out and face me.”
The wendigo, which had been standing next to her, turned its body so it faced her straight on. Now visible, Pamoon’s eyes widened. The beast was huge, at least fifteen feet tall and solid muscle. “How did you do that?”
In response, the beast turned sideways, disappearing, again. It’s how I can go unnoticed. My body is so thin it’s as if I’m not there at all. Turning again, the wendigo reappeared. It wasn’t smart for you to come here. I can smell your blood, your flesh.
“Do wish to eat me?” Pamoon said, not a tinge of fear in her voice.
No, you’re . . . different, somehow.
“I’m your friend. I don’t fear you. I think your hunger is stirred by the fear you smell.”
The wendigo nodded. Did you come to kill me? I hope that’s why you came, to put me out of my misery.
Pamoon looked down the alley into the street which bustled with cars and people. “Is there someplace we can go and talk that’s more private?”
The wendigo grunted. There is a park in the middle of the city. It’s deep and deserted this time of year. Go there, I’ll find you.
Pamoon walked through the city following the signs to the park. When people started staring at her, she remembered she was still wearing her dress and her weapons. She became self-conscious, then laughed. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I’m headed to a costume party or a comic con. That’s when she noticed that everyone was bundled against the cold weather. She exhaled, her breath a deep white. She looked down at her almost shear dress and wondered why she wasn’t cold. There is more to this dress than Kise let on.
A while later, she tramped through the deep snow into a dark, dense part of the park, her dress, now as white as the snow. Finding a large rock, she wiped off the snow, sat, and waited. The still and the quiet of the woods made the seconds and minutes tic by like hours before the wendigo finally arrived.
Not knowing what to say, and after a moment of awkward silence, Pamoon asked, “How did you find me?”
Every person has a distinct scent. I followed yours.
“Please sit and tell me about yourself.”
The wendigo huffed, but did as she asked. Even in a sitting position, the monster still towered over Pamoon. It looked down at her and frowned. You’re not going to put me out of my misery, are you?
“Tell me your story, and then I’ll decide.”
The wendigo told Pamoon about his nightmares, the visions of his past. When he was finished, Pamoon wiped the tears from her eyes. “Jim, I’m sorry for what was done to you. I’m so sorry for your loss, but,” she reached out and held his large hand in hers. She eyed the long, blood filled nails that tipped each finger, and gently caressed the back of his hand, “I don’t want to kill you.”
The wendigo pulled its hand back. She could tell he was angry. She reached for and took his hand again. Holding the beast’s hand, the images she’d seen in the petroglyphs started to make sense. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
What deal?
“I have a favor to ask. If you agree, when everything is over, I will kill you if that’s what you still want.” She looked up into its red eyes. “But I think I have a better solution.”
What favor? What solution?
“First tell me about the witches who helped you. The ones that put you in hibernation.”
There isn’t much to tell. One day, after I attacked a village, there were a parliament of owls near my nest. The next thing I knew, they changed and became witches—part owl, part human. They told me it had been their village I attacked. I expected them to try and kill me, but they didn’t. They said they understood my actions were not of my own will. They understood I had no control over what I had done, and that I only did what I needed to survive. I had never felt sympathy from anyone or anything before. I was stunned. The witches offered to place me in a deep slumber with a spell and that I would never wake up, if that’s what I wanted. I agreed and slept in peace until I was awoken by the demon that calls me.
Pamoon nodded when he was finished. “The owl witches were brave and generous. I will have to thank them when I see them.”
The wendigo’s eyes widened. You know where to find them?
“Not yet, but I will.”
You haven’t asked what you want from me. Your favor?
“The spirit—the demon—that woke you is Michi-Pichoux, the Water Panther. It now presides over the Netherworld. You’re not the only demon it woke. It called others to fight its battle and rose the ghost-witches from their graves. They are gathering in a valley, the Valley of Blood, for a great war. If they win, they will control the Spirit World. They will take their place on the Spirit Mount.”
How is that possible? The Spirit World and the Mount are a place of peace. A place only gods can walk.
“A lot has changed. It’s a long story, but unfortunately, the gates to the Netherworld were opened, and all of its evil escaped. It’s up to me to stop it. To put every demon back where they belong and close the gates.”
How? You’re just a girl.
Pamoon stuck out her left hand and showed Jim her palm. She felt him try to pull away, but she held his hand in her grasp. Then she shifted her hair and showed him the flame on her neck. “I’m more than just a girl. I’ve been marked with the flame. I am the Kiche.”
She watched as hatred filled the wendigo’s eyes. She knew the Kiche was the mortal enemy of all demons.
The wendigo turned its head away from her. You must leave.
“I came here to help. I’m not leaving until you answer the question I came to ask. Then if you still wish me to leave, I will.”
Ask, so I can be done with you.
Pamoon stood and held the wendigo’s head, trying to turn it towards her. It was too strong and resisted. “Jim, please look at me.”
The beast turned towards her. Calling it by its given name seemed to have an effect on the wendigo—softened its demeanor, somehow. “The battle will take place, and you will play a pivotal part in its outcome, one way or another. I came to ask you to fight alongside me, and not against me.”
And if I agree?
“When it’s over, when we win, I will do one of two things. I will ask the owl-women to put you back to sleep, or I,” she paused, knowing the gravity of her next words, “will help you transform back into Jim trapper Johnson.”
The wendigo shot up, unfurling to its full height. You lie! That’s not possible.
Pamoon stared down the monster who began to rage. “It is possible.”
There is only one way to do such a thing and that is not the things of a mortal girl. It is only the way of the angels.
“Not any angel,” Pamoon said. “The only way for you to once again take your mortal form would be to be stabbed in the heart with the Sword of Truth. By the sword of Archangel Michael.”
Then how?
“You answer me first, then I’ll tell you.”
Pamoon watched as the wendigo seemed to size her up. It sniffed the air around her and then leaned in to smell her. I don’t smell fear or deceit when you speak. If there is a way for you to reunite me with my family, I will agree to fight with you in this war.
Pamoon’s eyes fluttered shut. “I can’t control time. No one, not even Kisemanito can reunite you with your family. I will help you find what family you have left; the ones living today, but I can’t raise the dead. I’m sorry.” She turned away. “I’ll leave before you tell me to.”
Wait. Show me how it’s possible that you, a girl, can make me a man again, and I give you my word that I will fight beside you.
Pamoon closed her eyes and prayed. Kise, give me a sign. If I’m wrong, I will ruin any chance of winning this battle. She stood, her eyes squeezed shut, and continued to pray when she heard a familiar sound. Her eyes shot open, her sight set on the trees. The branches full of ravens. The woods to her far right full of mist.
She smiled and sighed. “Thank you,” she breathed.
Facing Jim, she reached behind her and drew her sword. She held it in front of him so he could see it clearly before lifting it high above her head and called forth the flame.
She kept her eyes on the beast as the flame burned in the dark forest. The wendigo’s red eyes blinked from red to blue. Its face taking on the features of Jim Johnson, before changing back. The wendigo fell to its knees and wept. You have my word, Kiche.
Pamoon sheathed her sword and took her knife in hand. She took the wendigo’s hand, turned it palm up, and with her blade, she cut deep enough to draw blood. She then did the same to her own. Gripping his hand in hers, their blood mixing as one. “A blood oath cannot be broken. Promise me your allegiance.”
You have my word. Not the word of a wendigo, but the word of Jim Johnson.
Pamoon let go of his hand and reached for some snow to stem her bleeding. “I can’t ask for any more than that.”
How will I find the Valley of Blood? I don’t want to continue to follow the voice of the beast that beckons me.
Pamoon pointed to the mist, to a Y-shaped tree that stood in front of it. “I want you to stay in these woods and wait. That tree over there is a gateway to the Misty Woods. Camp by its edge but don’t enter. When you hear me call, enter and follow my voice.” She looked up at the birds. “I have a feeling the ravens are here to stay. If you lose track of my voice, follow them.”
The ravens, having heard the conversation, flapped their wings and cawed a battle cry.
The wendigo nodded. I know I’ll hear that, regardless of whatever or whoever is yelling.
Pamoon laughed. “A joke. You told a joke.”
The wendigo realized what it had just done and laughed in return. I guess I did.
The two sat and talked for hours. As the bell tower from a nearby church chimed the hour of nine, Pamoon realized how long she’d been there. “It’s getting late,” she said. “I have to go.”
I know. The wendigo squeezed her hands in response. I will wait until you call for me.
“The Michi-pichoux will try to get to you, as it has others. You need to stay strong.”
The wendigo looked down at the cut that had scabbed over on its palm. Nothing will break my blood promise. It looked around at the woods. How will you get home?
Good question, Pamoon thought.
Use the dress, she heard Kise say. Use the power of the dress.
Pamoon and Jim said their goodbyes and then Pamoon began to spin. The white of her dress blending in with the white of the snow until one could not be distinguished from the other. When she stopped spinning, she stood in the middle of the Spirit Cave.
35
Ice
After another long day of preparing for what was to come, Ayas fell fast asleep as soon as he lay down in his tee pee that bordered the Misty Woods. Most nights he dreamed of Pamoon but not tonight. He tossed and turned, in and out of sleep, until his mind and body finally succumbed to exhaustion.
“Wandering Spirit wake up and receive what is just.”
Ayas sat straight up, eyes open, heart pounding as the deep voice bellowed in his ears. The voice, deep enough to rattle his bones, was commanding yet calm in equal balance.
Ayas reached to his right to grab his knife but felt nothing but rock, ice-cold rock. Blinking, against a frigid wind, he realized he was not in his tent but on a mountain top in a land that was not his own. Knowing the gods could do just about anything, he didn’t question how he got there or if he was dreaming, he just asked, “Where am I?”
“Stand and face us,” growled the voice.
A blanket of pitch-darkness and the salty tears from the wind made it hard to see, but Ayas spotted shadows in front of him. He stood, weaponless, no way to defend himself, and waited for what was next. “May I have the dignity to look upon those who have called me?”
“The answer to your first question,” said another voice, this one feminine yet assertive, “you stand at the gates to the afterlife in front of the council of gods.”
Ayas trembled at the words spoken. “Was I attacked in my sleep? Am I dead?”
“No,” the first voice rang out.
“Then why am I standing at the gates of the afterlife? And who am I standing before?”
“You ask many questions for one who has been shunned from the Spirit World,” the female voice rang out.
Ayas tried to focus on where the voices came from, hoped to put faces to the shadows, but no matter how hard he stared or how wide his eyes, the darkness could not be overcome. “I am working on my deficits,” Ayas answered, “hoping to one day make up for my impetuousness and be allowed to walk the Spirit World.”
“Why?” The female asked.
“Because I want to please Kisemanito.”
“I don’t wish for the answer you think we want to hear, but the one true to your heart.”
