Spirits Collide, page 6
part #2 of Evil Awakened Series
She watched Nuna open her mouth to speak, but White Eagle cut her off. “Whatever belonged to Kamenna is yours now.”
Pamoon nodded, slid the blade back into the sheath, and laid it back on the kitchen counter.
16
Secrets
“Why didn’t you let me tell her the truth?”
White Eagle looked at his sister. “She has enough to worry about without knowing that the sword she’s carrying is the sword of angels. The sword Archangel Michael carried into battle.”
Nuna stared at her brother. She knew he was holding something back. “You know where that thing came from, don’t you?”
“I have an idea, but I’m not sure.”
“Spill it.”
“Her mother.”
“I hope you’re talking about our sister, Kamenna.”
White Eagle shook his head. “Her birth-mother.”
“How?”
“I need to check some things, and then I can answer that question.”
“There’s no time like the present, Chief. Whatever you have to check on, do it now, and I’ll keep Pamoon company. We have much to discuss. I want to be sure she understands what Jarrod saw and the horror of its truth. The wendigo makes Kanontsistonties seem like a Halloween prop.”
White Eagle nodded. His thoughts a million miles away. “I need to get a look at the letters her mother wrote Kamenna,” he muttered. “They’re under her bed.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s where she put them the day I gave them to her. She’s never touched or read them. She didn’t even take them with her when she moved into the teepee.”
White Eagle watched his sister ring her hands together in worry. “I don’t know what to think,” she sighed. “Just find the answer to the infernal sword.”
White Eagle nodded. “Take her to the mall or somewhere girls like to go. I need a couple of hours.”
Nuna convinced Pamoon that a trip to the mall for some clothes shopping and to get her nails done would help her feel better. During that time, White Eagle searched the letters Pamoon’s birth-mother had written Kamenna. It took him a while before he found the one he was looking for, the one that first mentioned the sword. Opening it, he read:
“Hi Kamenna, thank you for the new pictures of Pamoon. I can’t believe she’s going to turn thirteen in just few weeks. Time sure does fly. Anyway, I have something to tell you and I’m not sure how, so I’m just going to say it. I’m sure you remember when I told you about my visit from the angels just after Pamoon’s birth. The one when they burnt those strange symbols into the lining of my jacket and told me to leave my baby at the reservation instead of the orphanage. I was never visited by them again—until last night. I know I’m rambling and it might not sound like I’m making any sense, but it’s true. I promise, I’m not on drugs, I’ve been clean for more than sixteen years—since my first angelic visit.”
White Eagle took a deep breath, remembering back to the day when Kamenna found Pamoon, just days old, on the steps of the Big Swamp Reservation medical center. It was a confusing but happy time, especially for his sister, Kamenna, who was barren and unable to have children of her own.
With a warmth in his heart, he continued to read the letter.
“Last night, I dreamed I was in the middle of a garden; it was the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. In my dream, I walked along a path in the garden until I came to a tree, a tree that seemed to radiate gold and red. As I approached the tree, thunder struck so loud, I felt the ground shake and lightening shot from its branches. I covered my head in fear, and when I opened my eyes, a man, no, an angel stood where the lightening had scorched the ground. I know he was an angel because I saw his huge wings before he tucked them into his back.
“The size of this man should have frightened me, he was at least ten feet tall and solid muscle, but somehow, I knew he meant me no harm. Instead, I knelt before him. He spoke to me, not in words but in thoughts. He told me that the heavens sang songs that told of my life and sacrifice. He told me that my daughter—our daughter—was going to change the world, but in order to do so, she needed to be armed. That’s when he reached behind his back and drew a sword of flame. I swear it was just that. It wasn’t steel or some metal on fire, it was fire. Fire that burned so hot, I felt its heat though he kept it high over his head and away from me.
“He told me that it was the Sword of Truth, and could only be wielded by the one who was as white as winter’s snow and destined to save a nation. I was confused who he was talking about and was about to tell him so, but he must have read my thoughts. He used the word, Kiche to describe this person. I don’t know what this word means, but somehow, I knew he was talking about Pamoon.
“He warned me that it must be kept within its protected sheath and not handled by anyone but the one it was destined for. Before I could ask any questions, I woke up. I thought it was some crazy dream, but when I got out of bed, I found the sword cradled in its protective covering lying on top of my dresser.
“Kamenna, I know I promised never to meet you in person, but I’m going to have to break my promise. Please write soon and let me know how we can meet. This sword must be given to Pamoon.
“Warmest regards, Joanne.”
White Eagle trembled. His skin glistened in the sheen of sweat. His fingers fumbling, he folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, before removing the one that followed. His heart pounding, he took it from the faded envelope, unfolded it, and read:
“I was so relieved when your letter arrived today. Relieved but scared you would tell me you didn’t want to meet. When you mentioned a similar dream, I knew we were destined to meet. I think your idea of me using my job as a social worker is genius. That way I can meet you and Pamoon. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.
“I won’t break my promise never to interfere in her life, but knowing that I’m going to get to meet her, no matter the circumstances, fills my heart with joy. I look forward to meeting you both on Pamoon’s thirteenth birthday.
“I agree that the sword should stay with you until a time when Pamoon is old enough and wise enough to know its true meaning. I will keep the sword in the trunk of my car until the time is right to pass it to you for safe keeping.
“Warmest regards, Joanne.”
White Eagle heard the sound of Pamoon’s jeep pulling up in front of the house and hurried to put the letter and the box back under her bed. He just made his way to the kitchen when Nuna and Pamoon walked into the house.
Nuna’s gaze fell on him, her eyes wide, brows raised. He nodded his confirmation which seemed to give her a sense of relief.
“I’m going to go take a quick shower and get ready to try and enter the Misty Woods,” Pamoon said walking past her uncle.
“Eha,” he replied with a nod.
He and Nuna remained silent until they heard the bathroom door shut and the shower turn on.
“What did you find out?” Nuna asked.
“A lot,” White Eagle said. “The letters between Pamoon’s birth-mother and Kamenna were more in depth than I knew.”
When he hesitated, Nuna crossed her arms and glared at her brother. “Spill it.”
“You better take a seat.”
“I’ll be the judge of when I sit and when I stand.”
White Eagle nodded. “Do you remember Pamoon’s thirteenth birthday?”
Nuna’s eyes rolled up and to the right. “Vaguely. Refresh my memory.”
“It was the day when that social worker appeared for no apparent reason.”
Nuna’s eyes widened. “Now I remember. We were all afraid she was there because there was a problem with Pamoon’s adoption.”
“Eha. Well, that meeting was planned by Kamenna.”
“Why?”
“That social worker was Pamoon’s birth-mother.”
“What!”
“She was there to give the sword to Kamenna.”
Nuna fell into a kitchen chair. “I don’t understand.”
White Eagle sat, held her hands, and told her what he read in the letters. Nuna just shook her head. “It’s funny, because now when I think back, I remember telling Kamenna that I thought the woman looked a lot like Pamoon. Our sister just laughed and said all white people look alike. I remember laughing at her comment. I also remember that woman wanting to see where Pamoon lived, and Kamenna driving with her to their house. I thought it was weird that they drove since Kamenna’s home was just a few blocks away. It makes sense now, since the sword was in the trunk of the car.”
“Eha. It seems our sister was full of secrets.”
The conversation stopped when the door to Pamoon’s bedroom door opened and she walked out wearing the leather jacket her mother left with her when she dropped her off at the reservation.
“It looks like you’re ready to leave,” White Eagle commented.
“Almost,” Pamoon said, grabbing the sword off the counter and strapping it across her chest so it lay flat on her back. “Now, I’m ready.”
“Not quite,” Nuna said. She went to the fridge and pulled out some water and a bag of beef jerky, then placed them in a worn leather messenger bag. “Take these with you. Both you and Scout will need to eat.”
Pamoon hugged her aunt. She knew Nuna didn’t want her to go into the Misty Woods, so it meant a lot that she was helping her prepare for her trip. “Thank you. I promise to stay safe.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Just come back to us in one piece,” Nuna said, kissing her on the cheek.
“I’ll walk you to the Misty woods,” the chief said, grabbing his knife and placing it in the waistband of his jeans. “Come.”
17
Fear and Remembrance
The wendigo had made its way to the outskirts of a town in Northern Minnesota named Rosesu and remained there for three days unwilling to go any further. The demon that called it forth and told it to head south bombarded the beast’s mind with thoughts and commands to continue moving. Each communication fiercer than the last, but the beast refused to listen. Something compelled the wendigo to stay in the woods that bordered the town. Not understanding why, the wendigo couldn’t and wouldn’t make its way into the town. The beast could have chosen a roundabout way around Rosesu, but it didn’t. There was a need to understand its fear. A compulsion to enter the town, it just wasn’t brave enough.
Tucked under a large snow drift in the woods, it slept—and dreamed. The wendigo dreamed of a time long ago. A different time. One it longed for, but could never go back to.
The year was 1886 and Rosesu was a tiny outpost known for its fur trade, it delineated civilization from the wilds of the Great North. In its dreams, the beast saw a man: a happy, contented man with a loving family. Each time the wendigo envisioned the man, it was both attracted to him and repulsed by him, but mostly it felt fear. Fear of what would happen next. The emotion so strong, the fear woke the wendigo from its sleep, sweaty and shivering. The nightmares caused the beast to retreat deeper into the woods, but each time, it felt the need to retrace its steps and longed to enter the town.
On that third night, when the wendigo lay down to slumber, tired from its thoughts and the bombardment of the evil spirit’s commands, it promised itself that no matter what happened in its dreams, it would not wake from the fear. As it slept, the dreams came and once again the man appeared. The wendigo felt its heart jump and its fear increase, but it fought to stay asleep.
As the man, tired and cold, entered the only tavern in town, he was welcomed by the proprietor. “Jim,” the barkeep said, “you’re a sight for sore eyes. I haven’t seen you in town for days.”
“Been out checking my traps,” Jim replied.
“Any luck?”
Jim smiled broad, “It’s been a good season. Bear and wolf a plenty.”
“Then we must celebrate,” the barkeep, Maurice, said, placing two shot glasses on the bar.
Jim waved him off. “You know I’m a God-fearing man and don’t partake in the devil’s drink.”
“Ahh,” the man waved him off, pulling a bottle of his finest whiskey from under the bar. “Come on, just one. It will warm you from the inside out.”
Others seated at the bar joined in with the barkeep prodding him to join them in one drink before heading home to his wife and daughter. Jim gave in to the peer pressure and agreed to one drink. As the barkeep poured, the men in the tavern applauded. The ‘keep raised his glass and toasted. “Here’s to the best trapper in all of Minnesota, Jim Trapper Johnson.”
Jim, flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pride, raised his glass, watched the others down the brown liquid in one swallow and did the same. It burned as it passed his lips and rolled down his throat. He expected it to be repulsive, but like Maurice said, it warmed him from the inside out. Before he knew it, another man, one new in town, one he’d never seen, slapped a silver piece on the bar. “One more the famous trapper I’ve been hearing stories about.”
Not wanting to be rude, Jim nodded, thanked the gent, and downed the whiskey. A few drinks later, Jim, his mind fuzzy from the alcohol, thanked everyone for their kindness, and bade his leave.
Stepping on unsure legs, he made his way outside followed by the kind stranger. “I know what it’s like to drink on an empty stomach,” the man said, patting his back. “Here,” Jim squinted at the man as he pulled a piece of jerky from a leather pouch, “eat this. It will make you feel better.”
Jim, queasy from the alcohol, was happy to take what was offered. Biting into a large piece of the jerky, he chewed and swallowed. The meat was bitter, but didn’t taste foul.
“Eat it all,” the man smiled. “I promise it will help.”
As Jim ate, he thought he heard the man say something about the meat being life-changing, but couldn’t be sure because of his inebriation. Having eaten the entire slice of jerky, he finally managed to ask, “I don’t recall the flavor of this meat, what animal did you cure it from?” When he looked up, he quaked for the man was no man at all, but the feared monster, a wendigo.
“Not game, but human flesh. You are now one of us,” the beast howled.
Jim closed his eyes, shook his head, and when he opened them, the man once again stood in front of him. Figuring his mind was playing tricks on him, Jim thanked the man and headed home.
Drowsy from the drink, Jim kissed his wife and daughter and made his way to bed. As he closed his eyes to sleep, he licked his lips, the taste of his family lingered on his tongue.
When he woke the next morning, his wife and daughter were dead, torn to bits, pieces of their flesh missing. He quaked in fear, not understanding how he could have slept through such a brutal assault, and was about to run outside for help when he caught his reflection in the mirror. Blood covered his face and clothing, but the face he saw was not his own, but that of a monster.
The wendigo woke, trembling and covered in sweat, curled into a fetal position. Memories rushing back. The man was telling him the truth. The meat he ate was human flesh, flesh that turned Trapper Johnson into a Wendigo.
Emotions flooded in: loss, fear, resentment, anger, and sadness. A sadness that burned a hole so deep in his heart, nothing could fill it. He swore then and there, on the lives of his wife and daughter, that no matter what, he wouldn’t kill another man.
18
Woods
Pamoon and the chief entered the woods so entranced in their discussion that they didn’t react when Scout began growling and scratching the dirt, but the wolf grabbed their attention when he bit down on Pamoon’s leather jacket, raised his shackles, and snarled. White Eagle held Pamoon back, heeding Scout’s reaction.
“Wait here,” he whispered, then disappeared into the thick of the pines. When he returned, the chief reported what she already knew. “We’re being followed by the boys.”
“Figures, Pamoon answered. “Bobby, Ralph, and Scott have been following me for days when I go for my morning run, but they can never keep up,” she grinned. “I didn’t want to say or do anything that brought attention to their actions. Sometimes silence is the best response.”
“Eha, but we’ll need to stay sharp concerning their movement. From now on, we speak only Cree.” Pamoon nodded agreement.
As they walked the woods, Pamoon asked White Eagle how the entrance to the Misty Woods could have changed location. “It is said there many entrances into the Spirit World, all through the mist, but not all of them here. No matter where you are, the powers given to you as the Kiche will allow you to enter, if you just search for the clues.”
Approaching the old, dirt airstrip, the mist grew thick, and once again narrowed to a single path which ended at the Y-shaped tree. “Will all of the entrances be found at a bent tree?”
“No, it’s my understanding they manifest differently depending location.”
“My location?”
“Eha. The mist, although evil in many ways, has one purpose, to guide those worthy towards the Spirit World.”
White Eagle’s words were a mere memory as Pamoon studied the Cree language etched into the bark. Tracing it with her fingers, her birthmarks tingled. As she read what was written, the flame on her neck and palm burned a fiery red. “Beware, for evil has blossomed and encroaches on the sacred,” she mumbled.
In response. White Eagle drew his knife from its sheath. “We must be ready for whatever comes next.” He placed the handle between his teeth, and bit down, allowing him the use of both hands as he climbed up tree and tried to drop through the Y-shaped branches and into the Misty Woods. But the Spirit World was not welcoming. As Pamoon watched, it looked as if the chief bounced off a trampoline, propelling him back into the natural woods. He landed with a thud on his back, knocking the wind out of him, his knife landing by his side.
