Spirits Collide, page 20
part #2 of Evil Awakened Series
Celia squeezed back. “What are you going to do?”
“End this,” Pamoon growled. She grabbed her sword and stomped across the field to where the witch and her remaining followers stood. Just as she was about to engage the witches in battle two things stopped her in her tracks. First, the witch standing next to the leader reached behind her and dragged Shikoba, tied and gagged, in to view.
Pamoon’s feet felt like lead as she looked upon her frightened friend. Regaining her composure, she pointed to the lead witch. “Let him go, or I’ll kill every one of you.”
The leader just cackled louder. “You might be able to kill us with your tricks and magic,” she looked to her left to where her followers stood and then behind her, “but I don’t think you’d stand much of a chance against him.”
Pamoon felt as if the entire world turned against her as Jim, the wendigo, turned and appeared behind the witch.
“Like I said before this all began,” the witch howled, “I will stand on the Mount and rule the Spirit Realm. You, little girl, will die alongside your pathetic warriors.”
Pamoon looked at Jim, her eyes heavy. We had a blood oath.
We still do.
Pamoon cocked her head to the side, confused by his mixed signals but didn’t have time to dwell on them as the lead witch grabbed Shikoba and held a knife to his throat.
“Step forward, girl, and give me your sword.”
Pamoon snarled at the bony finger that beckoned her. If she’d been a couple feet closer, she would have bitten it off. When she didn’t acquiesce, the witch pressed the blade into Shikoba’s flesh, drawing a bead of blood. “Okay,” Pamoon said. “I’ll give you the sword if you promise not to hurt anymore of the Kowi Anukasha.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to bargain, do you?”
Pamoon eyed the witch. “A plea from one warrior to another. As a leader of your people, your word is binding. Spare the Little People and I will surrender my weapon.”
“No!”
Pamoon turned to see Ayas run across the field.
“Well, well, well,” the witch seethed. “It seems my son is still alive after all.”
Pamoon’s head snapped back. “Your son?”
“You mean to tell me my precious boy has been keeping secrets,” the witch snickered. “She pointed a finger and wagged it back and forth in a mocking fashion. “Shame on you, Ayas.”
Pamoon felt the heat of Ayas’ body next to hers but didn’t look. Couldn’t look.
“Ayam, you stopped being my mother the day you convinced me to try to alter my destiny by scratching my image into the wall of the Spirit Cave.”
“You’ve always been weak, just like your sniveling father,” the witch shrilled. “You could have been chief, instead you’re nothing but a fool. A fool in love with an imposter.”
Pamoon saw Ayas white-knuckle his blade, readying for an attack. She placed her hand on his and looked him in the eye. “Don’t,” she whispered. “It’s for the best that I give your mother my sword.”
“But—”
“No, buts,” she breathed.
Pamoon stepped forward, mere feet from the witch. “Ayam,” she said, using the witch’s name, “do I have your word, you will let everyone, including Ayas, go free if I give you my sword?”
“What the hell,” Ayam shrugged. “I’ll have no use for any of them once I take my place on the Mount. You have my word, little girl.”
Pamoon glanced at Shikoba, who was shaking. She glanced up at Jim, who stood behind Ayam. In return, he held up his palm, the one Pamoon cut during the blood ceremony, but said nothing. Pamoon lifted her sword and presented it to Ayam. “You must use your left hand when grasping it,” she said.
“Don’t mess with me, girlie, or I’ll slice this maggot’s throat.”
“I’m not messing with you,” Pamoon said, holding up her right hand. Her free hand. “Watch.” Pamoon switched hands, making sure to hide the flame on her left palm as she did. Gripping the sword with her right hand, the white-hot steel turned cold. The beauty of the golden blade turned an ugly gray. In spots, it even started to rust.
Murmuring could be heard between the witches. “Put it back in your left hand,” Ayam demanded.
Pamoon obliged and the sword regained its luster. She didn’t call forth the flame, so it appeared benign.
Pamoon could practically see Ayam’s mind working. The witch looked to her own left hand which held Shikoba and the knife and then to her right hand. She tossed Shikoba to the witch next to her and reached for the sword with her left hand, but hesitated as Pamoon presented the blade. “I’m not dumb enough to grab the blade, hand it to me, grip forward.”
With a flick of her wrist, Pamoon flipped the sword so she was holding the blade, the hilt now facing Ayam. The witch’s greed got the best of her and she fisted the handle. As soon as she did, Pamoon could hear the searing and the smell of burned flesh. The whites of Ayam’s lifeless eyes turned blood red as she dropped the sword and stared at her withered hand, the flesh having been burnt clear off.
“Kill them! Kill them all!” Ayam screamed between yelps of pain.
Before anyone could move, Jim raked his massive arm down the line of witches, knocking them to the ground.
As soon as they hit the ground, Ayas lunged for his mother, but she transformed in to an orb of light before he could plunge his blade into her heart.
Pamoon grabbed Shikoba by his shirt and tossed him behind her as a parliament of owls blanketed the sky. They flew to where the stunned witches lay, shifted into Stikini, and pecked their beating hearts from their chests, killing them once and for all. When it was over, Pamoon looked for Jim, but he was nowhere to be seen.
46
Mist
On the ridgeline, next to the Misty Woods, Pamoon glanced at Celia who was helping a bandaged Tihk drink some water. Spotting her uncle, drained of color, she knelt over White Eagle. Scout licked his face and whined as Mantema and Kwanokasha worked feverishly to heal him. Pamoon wiped his long gray hair from his face and could see his life fading. “Can I—”
“I don’t know,” Kwanokasha said, “his wounds are even more severe than Celia’s were.”
“I need to try,” Pamoon said. She felt White Eagle’s hand grip her arm as she reached over her shoulder for her sword.
“No,” he breathed. His eyelids fluttered open; his bluish lips cracked open to speak, each word weaker than the last. “I can see my beloved. Hurit is calling me home.”
But, I need you,” she cried. “The tribe needs you.”
Her uncle shook his head. “It’s my time.” She felt him squeeze her arm one more time. “I’ll see you when you take your place on the Mount, Kiche. Until then, do what you were destined to do.”
“I love you,” Pamoon bawled, her chest heaving with every word.
The corners of White Eagle’s lips curled upward as his spirit left his body.
Night settled over the valley as Pamoon gathered with Ayas, Tihk, Celia, the Kowi Anukasha, and the remaining braves in a moment of silence for all who gave their lives. They then gathered at the spot where the Stikini had placed the ghost-witches’ hearts. Pamoon drew her sword, called forth the flame, and lit the organs on fire. A sense of relief could be felt as the hearts became nothing more than charred meat.
With the last flame doused, everyone began milling about, not sure what to do next. Pamoon gathered and addressed the braves. “You have repaid my favor with more than I could ever ask for. Enter the mist; there you will find a path that will lead each of you home. Go and be with your loved ones, live in peace, and never renter the mist unless I call for you.” The braves, one-by-one, thanked her for what she’d done before disappearing into the mist.
Addressing the Kowi Anukasha, Pamoon hugged each of them, thanking them for their trust and sacrifice. She saved Kwanokasha, Mantema and Shikoba for last. “I don’t know how to thank you for your trust in me,” she said, “but you will always have a special place in my heart.”
Kwanokasha nodded. “You have shown yourself to be the true embodiment of the Kiche. Because of you, the Mount is safe. We are forever in your debt and will always be by your side, if you should call upon us.”
Pamoon hugged him and bowed out of respect. She did the same to Mantema, thanking him for his healing abilities. “Because of you, my dear friend, Celia and Tihk live. She reached behind her neck and removed a dreamcatcher that she’d worn ever since Powaw had given it to her before her battle with Kanontsistonties. She squatted in front of Mantema and placed it around his neck, fastening it in the back. “Wear this as a token of my love and admiration. When people see it, they will know you to be a healer, a giver of life.”
Standing in front of Shikoba, he looked forlorned, his eyes averting hers. She placed her hand under his chin and raised his head so she could see his blue eyes. “You, are the bravest of all,” she said, holding back her tears. You fought with bravery and heart, where others would have faltered. When faced with the gravest of situations, you were steadfast and trusting of my actions.” As a tear formed and ran down her cheek, she slid the Chieftain knife from its sheath and handed it to him. “Carry this as a symbol of your bravery.”
Shikoba’s eyes widened. He glanced at Kwanokasha who nodded his agreement. Taking the knife from her hand, Pamoon could see his posture straighten with pride. It was if he grew a foot taller.
“Never again shall you feel inferior to others. When you look at it or touch it, know that you are a man among men. A leader to your people.”
Shikoba threw his arms around her neck, swearing his love and loyalty to her, and never once did he stutter.
Pamoon stood and wished the Kowi Anukasha a safe trip home. As she pointed to the west, dismissing them, they disappeared in a twinkle.
Alone with her friends, Pamoon allowed herself to feel for the first time. Her eyes grew heavy as she noticed all the cuts in her dress, the red of blood staining the garment. The poison from the witches’ blades, she thought. Barely able to carry her own body weight, she stared down at the body of her uncle. “How will I get him home?”
“I’ll carry him,” Ayas said. “We’ll take him home for a proper burial.”
She nodded, no words were necessary.
As she and the others traversed through the mist, Tihk suddenly pulled up and eyed the woods with trepidation. “Something’s not right.”
“What?” Pamoon said, too tired to add anything else.
“You’re right,” Ayas replied to Tihk. “Michi-Pichoux, why hasn’t he shown himself? Why haven’t he and his demons appeared? This would have been the perfect opportunity for him to attack.”
Pamoon felt dizzy, her blood running cold as she thought of the only reason the Water Panther would have stayed away. She looked blankly at Ayas and her friends, not wanting to say what she thought in fear she might be right, but the words slipped past her lips, feeling like acid as they burned her throat. “The reservation.”
“Oh no!” Celia breathed.
Pamoon looked at Ayas, who nodded. “Go! I’ll take White Eagle.”
Pamoon commanded Scout to run ahead. Looking at Celia, she asked if she could carry both her and Tihk. Celia didn’t even respond, she just shifted into the piasa. Tihk leaped onto the piasa’s back, grabbed Pamoon’s hand and pulled her up. As soon as she was balanced, Celia took to the air.
Celia flew through the Misty Woods as fast as possible while carrying both riders. As she neared the bent trees, she landed, letting her friends know to jump off before she shifted back to her natural form. Facing the Y-shaped tree, they jumped through the eye of the branches. Pamoon stumbled as she landed, weaker than before. The mist now covered the woods which bordered the reservation. Drawing their weapons, they ran towards home. Running, Pamoon smelled the scent of copper.
“Do you smell that?” Celia huffed as they ran.
“Blood,” Tihk replied.
Pamoon nodded, fear gripping her soul.
At the border of the woods and reservation, they were met by Micco and a Seminole party. The chief held out his hands, stopping them from going further.
“What is it?” Pamoon huffed between heavy breaths.
Micco’s eyes somber, his crow’s feet deep, his lips drawn, he spoke, “Everything you told us was true. We are sorry for not listening.”
“What are you talking about? This is no time for apologies. I need to get home.”
As they argued, Opa, in the form of an owl, flew from the direction of the reservation, touched down, and transformed. She looked at her tribesmen in distain before setting her sights on the three she fought beside. “Your wounds are many, Kiche. The ghost-witches poison runs through your blood. You too, she said, eyeing Celia and Tihk. Before further conversation, I need to draw the poison from your bodies.”
Pamoon stomped her foot. “I don’t have time for this,” she said, her frustration growing. “I need to warn the Cree.”
Opa dropped her head. “It’s too late.”
“What do you me, mean, it’s too late,” Pamoon stammered.”
“It just is.”
Before she or anyone else could argue, Opa opened her hand and blew a yellowish powder in their faces. They collapsed in a deep sleep at her feet.
“Do you think that was wise?” Micco said.
Opa snarled in his direction and then hissed at Holata. “If you had listened to White Eagle—your fallen brother—instead of your pathetic brave, this conversation would not be taking place. Now make yourselves useful and carry the only real braves I see here back to my home.”
47
Broken Hearts
Pamoon woke covered in sweat. Although weak, she felt clear-headed. The body heat of Scout’s fur against her chest, his breath on her face, brought a sense of comfort. Lifting her arm to pet him, her muscles betrayed her; groaning with each movement, Pamoon hugged her friend. “Where am I?” she thought aloud, her eyes still closed. Scout responded by licking her cheek. Opening her eyes, she saw the hearts hanging from the rafters of the tee pee.
“Welcome back,” Opa smiled.
“Am I okay?”
“Eha. Your wounds were many, the poison in your body was strong, but your spirit was stronger. You’re quite the fighter.”
Pamoon tried to move, but Opa held her down. “I need to check on my friends. I need to get home,” Pamoon moaned.
“Your friends are fine. Celia’s piasa helped block many of her potential wounds and the work of the Choctaw healers made my job of removing Tihk’s poison an easy one. They are in the meeting hall with the others.”
Pamoon breathed a sigh of relief hearing her friends were fine. “My fami—”
“We have much to discuss, Kiche,” Opa interrupted.
As Pamoon struggled to sit, Opa handed her a bowl of hot broth.
Pamoon’s nose crinkled at the smell. “What is it?”
“Herbs to help your aches and pains. Drink.”
Having finished the soup, Pamoon felt a little better. Opa sat across from her and relieved her of the empty bowl. Opa called to one of her sisters, who came into the tent, took the bowl and left. Opa folded her hands on her lap and looked upon Pamoon as an equal. “The owl has a keen sense of hearing,” she began. “In the Valley of Blood, I heard screaming far off in the distance as the battle was nearing its end. My sisters and I followed the sounds back to the Cree reservation, but by the time we did,” her voice trailed off, “there was nothing left to do.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Michi-Pichoux and his followers ravaged the reservation. We searched for survivors but found none. We thought—”
Pamoon jumped up, but was pulled back down by Opa’s massive hands. “Is everyone . . . dead?” Pamoon whispered.
Opa shook her head. “Not all, but most.”
“My family? Nuna? Powaw?”
Opa struggled with her words. “I’m sorry but Powaw is gone. Those able to talk about what happened say Powaw faced the demons head on in an attempt to rationalize with them. Some say, Michi-Pichoux seemed to even show a degree of respect towards the medicine man, but,” Opa breathed dep and sighed, “in the end, the panther’s evil spirit won out. The survivors say if not for the extra time Powaw gave them, none would have lived. He died a hero’s death. Most of the tribe’s other elders have also passed into the spirit world. The demons seem to have targeted those with knowledge and power.”
“Nuna?”
“Alive, but injured. She suffered a broken leg and ribs, but managed to survive.”
“How?”
“The same way the others did. It seems the wendigo’s hearing is even sharper than the owl’s. He arrived before we did and saved all he could, driving the demons back into the woods.”
Thank you, Jim, she sighed.
A blood oath cannot be broken.
And won’t be, Pamoon agreed.
“Where is Ayas? I need to see my friends,” Pamoon said to Opa. “I need to go back home.”
Opa led Pamoon to the meeting hall, which resembled more of a triage unit than a hall. Pamoon stood at the door, stunned at what she saw. Nurses and doctors from the medical center were treating the wounded. IV bags hung from the sides of cots, feeding medicine into the injured. Scanning the room, Pamoon saw Ayas standing next to Celia, who was sitting next to where her parents were being tended to.
Pamoon smiled and was about to head their way when she spotted Tihk and his fiancé, Tsomah, sitting next to a cot. That’s when she spotted Nuna. She raced across the room and dropped to her knees, crying as she hugged her aunt. “I’m so sorry,” she wailed. “If it wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened. White Eagle, Powaw, and the others would be—”
“Dead,” Nuna said. “They would still be dead, but so would everyone else. If not for you, Kiche, we all would be dead, and the Spirit World would be under the control of the demons.”
