Spirits Collide, page 21
part #2 of Evil Awakened Series
Pamoon lifted her head, her nose running, her eyes bloodshot, “I never should have allowed White Eagle to go with me.”
“You couldn’t have stopped that old fool from going any more than I could have stopped Kamenna from loving you.” A weak smile crossed Nuna’s lips. “We are all in your debt, Pamoon. Cree, Seminole, Choctaw, and all the First Peoples.”
While Pamoon rested her head back on Nuna’s chest, she heard the hinges on the meeting room door squeal and the door open. Stepping inside were Micco, Holata and the rest of the Seminole council, all in full ceremonial dress. She watched as Holata stepped to the front, stomped his foot on the wooden floor and began to chant. The others followed, each stepping forward and doing the same before they all began to dance around the room, chanting and tossing tobacco and sage in the air.
“What are they saying?” Pamoon asked Tsomah, who spoke Seminole.
“It’s the Seminole celebration of life. They are calling on Kisemanito to protect the people, but mostly you, from harm or danger.”
48
Blood Oath
After a long night in the makeshift infirmary, the next day started early. Pamoon, along with the surviving Cree tribe spent most of the day on the Seminole reservation saying goodbye to White Eagle and all who had been massacred by Michi-Pichoux and the other demons. Micco made sure White Eagle received a chief’s burial and a spot of honor in their cemetery. By the time the sun began to set, Pamoon knew she had to go home and face what was left.
It was dusk before Pamoon traveled through the woods with Ayas and Scout by her side, her friends close behind. The mist so thick the day before was nowhere to be seen as they traversed the woods. As they passed the bent trees, Pamoon felt a presence. Scout must have felt it also, for he stopped and pawed at the dirt.
“It’s okay, boy,” she said, scratching him behind the ears.
“What is it?” Ayas said, shrugging his bow from his shoulder.
Pamoon said nothing but surveyed the trees until she spotted a fleeting shadow. “It’s Jim.”
Jim, please come out. You’re among friends.
From the far side of a large oak tree, the wendigo emerged. The creature that emerged was not the wendigo of legends, but a shy, misunderstood being.
As he made his way to the path, Pamoon met him half way and threw her arms around his torso. “Thank you for what you did.” She craned her neck and looked into his mournful eyes. “If not for you, everyone would have been massacred.”
I did what I could, but most were gone before I arrived, Jim lamented.
“I know. Opa told us of your bravery. It won’t be forgotten.”
Our promise, Jim said. Did you mean what you said?
Pamoon stepped back and nodded. “I did. During my conversation with Opa, she told me that the Stikini are not able to put you back into deep hibernation.”
There is still the other alternative.
“I don’t know what the outcome of that would be. There is a good chance, you’ll die. Are you sure that’s what you want?”
The beast nodded. I can’t live like this. The scent of flesh is overwhelming. I don’t ever want to kill again, but if I stay like this much longer, I won’t be able to control the urge.
Pamoon understood, reached back, and drew her sword.
“What are you doing?” Ayas asked.
“What I promised,” she answered.
As the others looked on, Pamoon called forth the fire, her sword aglow in flames. Jim stood tall, his fifteen feet looming over her, his arms spread wide, his eyes closed. Although she feared the outcome, she knew what she had to do, so without further discussion, she plunged her sword into his chest, piercing his heart.
As soon as the blade cut into his heart, Jim’s mouth and eyes gaped in agony. The wendigo fell back as Pamoon withdrew her sword. Pamoon reached back over her shoulder, the sword melding into her dress, as she dropped to her knees beside him. The wendigo writhed in pain as she hunched over him. “Fight it, Jim!” she yelled. “Don’t let death take you. I know you have it in you. The flame can cleanse as well as kill. Fight. Please.”
Jim—the wendigo—inhaled deep, his chest rising one last time, before a dark cloud, much like smoke, shot from his chest and mouth, dissipating into the night air. His body, lifeless, lay on the pine-needled path, much like a toddler’s discarded stuffed-animal.
Pamoon, exhausted from all the death she’d witnessed, lay on top of the prone lifeless body and wailed a silent cry. As she mourned the death of yet another friend, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Leave me be,” she cried, not wanting to let go.
“Oh my god,” Celia mouthed, her words barely audible. “Pamoon, look!”
Pamoon heard but didn’t move, not until she felt the beating of a heart against her ear. Startled, her head jolted from the creature’s chest. The hand she felt was not Ayas’ or one of her other friends, but Jim’s. The wendigo was gone and lying on the ground was Jim Johnson. Weak, but alive.
“Jim, can you hear me?”
Jim’s eyes fluttered open, a weak smile appearing on his cracked lips. “Am I . . . am I still a monster?” he sighed. Each word followed a shallow breath.
Pamoon glanced up at her friends before looking back at Jim. “You are not and never were a monster, but now you are once again human.” A soft giggle escaped her throat.
Jim felt his face, his fingers running through the scruff of his beard, and laughed, coughing as he tried to breathe.
“Does anyone have a mirror?” Pamoon asked.
Tsomah reached into her purse and retrieved a cosmetic clutch. Opening it, she handed it to Pamoon. Pamoon turned the mirror towards Jim. “Look and see.”
Jim’s eyes lit up at the sight of his face. A smile spread across his face, his complexion reddening with life. “Not bad for one hundred and thirty.”
Pamoon threw her arms across his chest and covered his cheeks with kisses. “Not bad at all,” she said.
The six of them sat around the campfire in the woods, Jim sipping water from an animal skin pouch Ayas had provided. There, Pamoon told her friends the story of her blood oath with Jim and the idea that her sword could give life as well as take it.
“How did you know?” Tihk asked.
“I didn’t, not really,” Pamoon said. “But something Kwanokasha had said made me think it was possible. “I promised Jim if he helped us defeat the ghost-witches and their war party, I would help him. I didn’t know if the blade would kill him or rid him of the wendigo’s spirit, but I knew that either way, he’d be in a better place.”
Jim wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I can’t believe after all these years the curse has finally been broken. I don’t have the words to thank you.”
“No words are necessary.” Pamoon beamed.
The logs on the fire pit mere embers, Pamoon stood. “I still need to go home,” she said, the others nodding, “but I need to do it alone.”
“That’s crazy,” Celia said. “We’re not letting you go back to the reservation by yourself.”
Pamoon shook her head. “It’s the way it has to be. Just me and Scout. The rest of you can wait by the woods until I have seen what I must.”
“But why?” Tihk asked.
“Because she is the Kiche,” Ayas replied. “It’s her responsibility, not ours.”
They walked in silence until they reached the dividing line between the woods and the reservation. There, Pamoon, thanked them all for their understanding, and she and Scout walked under the light of a full moon onto the only land she knew as home.
49
Rage
Even though Opa had told Pamoon of the carnage that had befallen her people, what lay before her was still a shock. Everywhere she looked there was blood and signs a demonic killing spree.
Mindless of where she was headed, Pamoon’s legs seemed to have a mind of their own; before she knew it, she stood on Powaw’s doorstep. The door, unlike many others she’d passed was still intact. It looked pristine. Staring and thinking, Pamoon understood the reasoning why. Because of his bravery in meeting Michi-Pichoux out in the open, the demons never entered his home.
Turning the door knob, she found the door unlocked. She made her way through the front room and into his bedroom. She ran her hand over the spines of the worn, leather-bound books that adorned a shelf, a sad smile crept through her sadness as she remembered happier times. She thought back to the day when Nuna and the other women of the tribe dressed her in traditional Cree attire and painted her face. It was the first time she actually believed she just might be the Kiche. It was also the first time she met Achak, the raven.
From Powaw’s she crossed the reservation and headed to White Eagle’s. Blood smeared the streets and buildings. Every dwelling she passed had claw marks gouged into the busted doors. As she passed one such home, she heard the hiss of the vulture. Lifting her staff from her belt, she snapped it to its full length and using stealth-like movements made her way to the entrance. Peering inside, she saw a committee of vultures gnawing on a disembodied leg. Her vision of the hideous creatures in the clearing next to the Spirit Cave flashed across her mind. Blinking the vision away, the fire that had been smoldering in her gut burned hotter. With a guttural sneer, she depressed her thumb on the staff, springing its blades free from their confines, burst into the home, spun the staff, and she sliced the parasites’ heads off before they could attempt to take flight or attack.
Pamoon knew she couldn’t leave the leg of one of her people to rot, but the odor of decaying flesh was intense. To quell the smell, she pulled the cape of her dress across her face and bagged up the leg of the deceased as well as the dead birds. Taking the bags outside, she used her sword to burn the contents before disease and pestilence could set in.
Turning from the burning piles, she continued towards White Eagle’s but stopped at the house next door. It was the home of Machk, Ralph’s uncle.
“Oh, no,” she breathed, hesitant to step forward. Ralph, now one of Michi-Pichoux’s demonic hoard, would have known that his uncle was the tribal elder who was in possession of the Book of Spirits: the ancient tome that contained all of the Cree secret rituals.
She gripped Scout’s collar with her free hand, her other clutching her staff as they eased their way into his home. Entering, Pamoon had an eerie feeling they weren’t alone. She crept from room to room, keeping her back against the walls so no one could attack her from behind. In each room, she noticed what could only be described as an organized disturbance. Keeping her steps light, her mind was on over-drive. Whoever or whatever broke in knew what they were looking for and where to look, she thought.
Making her way through each room in the small house, Pamoon found it odd that there was no sign of a struggle. Machk, meaning bear, was a large man, and she knew he wouldn’t have given up without a fight. Standing in Machk’s bedroom, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she could see the fur along Scout’s spine do the same as he began to claw at the wood floor. Letting go of Scout’s collar, she used hand signals to command him to move to the opposite side of the room. Using the end of her staff, she tapped on the hardwood. When she came to a board that made a hollow sound, she stepped back, then using the point of a blade, she pried open the board in question. As soon as it loosened, a mountain of a man burst through the floor, grasping a long-knife, and lunged at her.
Pamoon reflexively twisted her body away from the knife and swept her staff at the man’s ankles, causing him to stumble forward. Scout leaped on the giant’s back, forcing him to the floor before he could recover his balance. The wolf’s jaws were clamped around the attacker’s neck before Pamoon realized it had been Machk who’d tried to kill her.
“Pakitin ekwa aswêyimêw,” Pamoon commanded.
Scout obeyed, releasing and standing guard over Machk.
“I didn’t know it was you,” Machk said, staring up at Pamoon.
Pamoon saw fright on Machk’s face, his voice high-pitched and frail—two qualities she never would have associated with him.
Pamoon eyed Machk’s right hand, he still had a vice-like grip on his knife. “I don’t think you mean me any harm, and I certainly don’t mean you any,” Pamoon stressed. “If you toss your weapon across the room, I’ll put away my staff.”
Machk nodded to the best of his ability since Pamoon’s blade was close to piercing his neck and tossed his knife onto his bed. Pamoon responded by squeezing both buttons on her staff, snapping it back into a benign cylinder. Placing the twelve-inch rod in her belt, she helped Machk off the floor.
“You look like hell,” Pamoon said, “let’s get you a drink, then we can talk.”
Pamoon watched as Machk guzzled the large glass of water before filling up a second from the tap. “Why were you under the floor boards in your room?” she asked.
“When I saw the lizard-like demon slither towards my house, I planned on facing and killing it. But even from across the street, I could see its eyes.” He shut off the running water and stumbled towards the table. “They were Ralph’s eyes.” His lips quivered. “I know that sounds crazy, but I’d know my blood anywhere.”
Pamoon sat at the table waiting for him to continue. “Even though I knew Ralph was gone, I mean the boy I loved, I just couldn’t face him.” Machk sat across from Pamoon. “I knew what he was coming for, so I ran back inside, locked the door, grabbed the Book of Spirits, and hid in a spot I had hollowed out when I became the keeper of the book. I didn’t really think anyone would try and steal it, but a gut feeling told me to have a secure place just in case.”
Pamoon reached across the table and clutched Machk’s massive hands. “You did the right thing. Before Ralph—the creature—headed towards your home, did you see anything else?”
Machk nodded; his eyes closed, his shoulders hunched.
“What happened?”
“Before all I just told you, it seemed like a normal day, except for the fog—”
“The fog?”
“Eha. A fog rolled in about an hour before everything occurred.”
That’s when the demons arrived, Pamoon thought. When the Misty Woods spilled into the natural world. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said, “please continue.”
“I heard the screams of our people,” Machk said, shaking his head. “I didn’t know who or what was attacking the reservation, but I knew it was bad. I grabbed my knife and headed outside to try and help.” He looked at Pamoon, his eyes red, rimmed in dark circles. “That’s when I saw Powaw talking to the beasts.” He shook his head. “I didn’t understand what was happening, I mean, I knew what was happening, but I didn’t know why. Powaw glanced at me and used a hand signal telling me to stay back.” Pamoon watched Machk raise his water glass, his hand shook, the water spilled over the lip, splashing on the table before he could bring it to his lips. “I stayed on my porch, and for a minute, I thought Powaw was actually convincing Michi-Pichoux to stop the slaughter.” He lowered his glass, and wiped the water that dripped from his chin.
“What happened?” Pamoon mouthed.
“Just as it looked as if the panther was about to leave, the other beast attacked Powaw, t-tearing into his n-neck and killing him.”
Pamoon wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. “What other beast?” she exhaled.
“It was the same one White Eagle had shot during the awakening of Kanontsistonties. You remember.”
Pamoon slumped over the table, drained of color, but full of anger. “That beast was Bobby, or used to be,” she hissed. Raising her head, the white of her eyes burned a fiery-red. “Mark my words, I’ll find him, I’ll find them all, and kill them for what they’ve done.”
Pamoon stomped toward the door, when Machk yelled, “Wait.” Turning, she saw him disappear into his bedroom. A moment later, he returned with the Book of Spirits in his arms. “Take this,” he said. “I don’t know if it will help, but I know it’s safer with you than with me.”
Pamoon placed it in the pocket of her dress, thanked Machk, and asked him if he would do her a favor and go stand with the others on the edge of the woods.
Once he was safely off reservation land, she made her way to White Eagle’s. Standing at the door, she was surprised to find it in one piece. Walking around the perimeter of the house, the same could be said for the windows and back door. I don’t understand, she thought as she walked back to the front of the house. If Nuna was attacked, why are there no signs of damage? That’s when she remembered Jim telling her that he found Nuna in the medical center when he saved her. As she stood there staring at the door, she heard Scout howl. It wasn’t a howl of anger or even one of warning, no this was the sound he made when his heart was broken.
Pamoon gripped her staff and ran towards Scout—towards Kamenna’s home.
The amount of damage done to her childhood home took her breath away. The outside didn’t look like the other damaged homes she’d seen. This damage seemed personal in some way. It wasn’t just the door that had been busted, it was everything. Windows, shutters, Kamenna’s herb garden . . . everything. Inside was no different. Things weren’t just broken, they were demolished. From the furniture, to the wall hangings, to the knick-knacks Kamenna loved to collect, nothing was left untouched, everything was destroyed.
Pamoon’s heart thundered against her chest wall by the time she and Scout made it to the back of the small house, back to where her bedroom had been. She didn’t have to enter the room to see that this had been the room that was at the center of the annihilation. The furniture, her personal belongings, even the box of letters from her birth-mother—the ones she’d never read—were shredded beyond salvage. But the wall behind her bed was her emotional tipping point.
Gouged into the wall were Cree words. Words not left by an animal but an intelligent demon.
