Spirits Collide, page 8
part #2 of Evil Awakened Series
The next brought understanding. In this carving, she witnessed Mike as the michi-pichoux, an ominous black panther that had morphed since she had last fought him. He now possessed saber-like fangs that hung from the roof of his mouth and a muscularity and size she didn’t think possible. What was even more disturbing was seeing Bobby, Scott, and Ralph back in their demon forms. Bobby, a rabid canine, coyote in design, but not in build. He was buffed up, as if he’d been on a steady diet of anabolic steroids. Scott was again a giant lizard with a forked-tongue curled outside its jaws, and claws that looked as sharp as razors, while Ralph took the shape of an armor-covered, wingless gargoyle. The three of them were bowing in front of Mike as if pledging their allegiance to him.
Staring, open-mouthed at the etching, Pamoon remembered what Kise told her months ago after her final battle with the demons. She had told her that with the death of Kanontsistonties, Mike, the water-panther, became the greatest of all demons and ruled the Netherworld.
The memory of those words and her battle with Mike in which she almost lost her life, and would have if not for Ayas, chilled her to the core. Rubbing the goose-bumps on her arms, she moved away from the walls and stood by the fire, looking up at the tapestries. Two hung from the ceiling. The first telling an eerie story. The blanket bore the figure of the wendigo. Remembering the power the tapestries possessed, Pamoon placed her left palm close to the threads but did not touch them. Doing so, she witnessed a spectacle she had not expected. As she watched, the tapestry morphed as if it were a film, scene after scene bombarding her senses. The movie began with the wendigo being forced to break its hibernation by an unseen force. She watched, unblinking, as the monster moved east to a town she knew well—Nuna’s home town—where it captured Jarrod Hanson, but for some reason, didn’t kill or eat him. I knew Mr. Hanson wouldn’t lie, she thought.
As she moved her hand left to right in front of the tapestry, she witnessed the wendigo hiding in the woods looking longingly towards a town. The monster’s expression was no longer one of anger, but one of sadness. Taking a huge chance that she might get sucked into the tapestry, Pamoon stretched out her arm, allowing her palm to almost touch the blanket. Her palm burned, as it barely touched the threads. She felt the pull of the tapestry’s power but was ready for it. She leaned all her weight backwards fighting the pull, but not wanting to be released from it. She needed to understand what she saw in the wendigo’s eyes. The muscles in her arm and shoulder began to quiver as they tired from the exertion, but she refused to command the tapestry to release her.
Closing her eyes, she tried to put herself in the place of the wendigo, tried to feel what it did. “Kêkwây mosihowin?”
The image of the wendigo turned and looked straight at Pamoon. Understanding her question: What emotion are you feeling? A tear streaked its cheek.
In Pamoon’s head, she heard its response. “Wîsakitehewin.”
Pamoon pulled her hand away from the tapestry in disbelief. All of the stories about the wendigo tell of a soulless creature mad for human flesh. A creature who hunted without remorse, yet the wendigo just told her that it was heartbroken.
“It has a soul,” she muttered.
Again, she placed her palm against the threads and asked, “Tânte etohteyan—where are you going?”
Again, the wendigo responded. “Nôhtê-kîwêw, ôcênâs Rosesu, mâka ekâ kakeh ispayik.”
Pamoon translated its thoughts. “He wants to go home to the village of Rosesu, but he says, it’s impossible.” She thought aloud. “Nîsohkamâkewin—How can I be of assistance?”
“Nipa niya.”
Pamoon yanked her arm away, stumbling backward, shocked at the wendigo’s answer. Kill me, she thought. “No,” she spoke, shaking he head. “I will find another way.”
Shaking, Pamoon was afraid of what the second tapestry might hold, but knew she had to see. Stepping in front of it, she smiled. She saw Kise standing on the Spirit Mount. Without hesitation, she slapped her thigh, commanding Scout to follow and stepped though the tapestry.
22
Spirit Mount
Pamoon stepped on to the mount and saw Kise standing on the cliff’s edge looking over the valley. Pamoon stood a few feet behind, right where she landed when she stepped through the tapestry. As Kise turned to greet her, Pamoon was in awe of her beauty. Her black hair, luminous, hung down below her waist, blowing gently from the warm, welcoming breeze. Her olive complexion, flawless; her brown eyes, gleaming with unconditional love. Pamoon couldn’t help but ogle her statuesque frame, curved like a woman should be, yet modest in its appearance. Her buckskin dress worn just above the knee hugged her perfectly. Her makeup, scant, just a small amount of beige painted on her eyelids, streaks of white paint highlighting her high cheekbones. The only jewelry she wore was a turquoise and bone choker on her neck, the same pattern wrapped her wrists and ankles.
“Why do you stare?” Kise smiled.
“I forgot how beautiful you were.”
Kise laughed. “I am but a reflection of what you will become, Kiche.”
Pamoon stepped up and hugged Kise. “It doesn’t seem possible that I could ever be what you imagine.”
“Yet your path is written in the stars. You have continued to walk the path written by the ancients before time began. With each step, you become what you are meant to be.”
Pamoon broke her embrace and looked out over the mount. The valleys and mountains below teemed with life. Animals that should be enemies living harmoniously, sharing the land and water.
“Why can’t animals live like this in the natural world?”
“A question often asked, yet never answered. A better one might be, ‘Why can’t man?’”
Pamoon’s mouth twisted and her brows raised. “More riddles,” she said.
“Truth,” Kise replied.
They stood in silence, Scout between them, for the longest time before Pamoon spoke. “The visions I saw in my dream, how accurate were they?”
Pamoon looked up at Kise, the Creator’s smile fading. “More accurate than not.”
“Meaning?”
“What did the cave reveal to you?”
Pamoon thought and shrugged. “It was confusing. I saw things, beings that weren’t natural. First, they were just orbs of light, then they appeared to be,” she paused, “I don’t know, the only word that comes to mind is witches.”
“Your intuition grows stronger.”
Pamoon’s jaw dropped open. “Witches? For real?”
Kise bowed her chin. “I’m afraid that when the doors to the Netherworld were opened during Kanontsistonties’ release, many other demons escaped with him.”
“But why now? Why didn’t they show up before?”
“They have been awakened by the one who controls the Dark Realm.”
“Mike.”
Kise shook her head. “Mike ceased to exist during your battle. Michi Pichoux has used its power to awaken many who have been held dormant for many moons.”
“I saw Ayas at the same time I witnessed the witches. He stood next to one in the middle of a valley, but seemed conflicted. Why?”
Kise let out an audible sigh. “Ayas’ history is vast. His secrets more so. Only he can reveal his conflict.”
“The valley I saw, where is it?”
“The Valley of Blood is deep in the mountains in Cherokee territory.”
“The Blue Ridge Mountains?”
Kise nodded.
“Why did you call it the Valley of Blood?”
“It is written that the valley will turn red with the blood of many.”
“Whose blood?”
“That is yet to be written.”
Pamoon grew frustrated. “Written by who?”
“I don’t know,” Kise said. “Fire holds the key.”
Knowing this line of questioning would only make her more confused, Pamoon changed the subject. “The wendigo? Did the Water Panther awaken him also?”
“Eha.” Kise turned and faced Pamoon. “Why do you call the wendigo a he?”
“When I held my hand up to his image, I felt a humanity. It was deep and almost lost, but it was there.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that mean?”
“We are entwined in an external battle between good and evil, yet each of us, man, beast, and demon fight an internal battle of our own.”
Pamoon squinted trying to unravel Kise’s words. “Can his humanity be saved?”
“That is up to you.”
“How?”
“Use what has been given you. Use your fire.”
Pamoon grunted her frustration. “Can’t you please just speak clearly and tell me what you mean?”
“I am. You must learn to listen with your spirit and heart, not your ears.”
“But I have no fire. I have two birthmarks in the shape of a flame, but neither carry fire. How and I supposed—”
“You carry fire on your back, you must learn to use it.”
“On my back?” Pamoon twisted her body and head, seeing the tip of the handle on her sword. “All I carry is a sword that once belonged to my mother.”
“Then you must ask her the question you posed to me.”
“Kamenna is dead.”
“Eha.”
Before Pamoon could think of what to ask next, a convocation of Golden eagles flew up from the valley and circled the mount. “Eagles? They look like the same one I saw one in the woods by the reservation.”
Kise nodded. “Messengers.”
“Messengers” From where?”
“Not from where, but who.” Kise replied. “Ayas sent them to watch over the spread of evil. If they have come, they have come for you.”
Pamoon’s heart quickened. “Is Ayas in trouble?”
“He is in over his head. He has been trying to protect you from what you must do, but in return he has put himself in harm’s way.”
“How can I find him?” Pamoon’s voice rose in pitch, her words blending together as if one. “How do I find the Valley of Blood?”
“First you must discover the power of your fire.”
Pamoon stomped her foot. “How?”
“Go to your mother, for only she has the answer.”
Pamoon opened her mouth to repeat that Kamenna was dead, but Kise had begun to transform. Her feet no longer touched the ground. Her body began to fade to white smoke. “Please don’t leave me. I don’t know what to do.”
“Seek the Little People and find The Watcher. He will guide you along your way.” With her last word, a stiff wind blew, scattering the white smoke—the spirit of Kise—throughout the Spirit World.
Little People? Watcher? What is Kise talking about? Pamoon felt lost, maybe more lost than ever before. She needed to find Ayas, but to do so, she needed to . . . she didn’t know what she needed to do. But she knew she needed to head home before she could do anything.
Turning, she bent down and hugged Scout, a tear wetting his fur. “Come on, boy, we need to get home.”
They ran into the cave at the back of the mount, past the murals that told the story of the First Peoples, and finally back into the Spirit Cave. Pamoon wanted nothing more than to leave the cave and head home, but there was no cave opening. A rock wall stood where it should have been.
Frustrated, Pamoon dropped next to the fire and groaned. She threw her head back, knowing she was missing something. Standing, she retraced her steps, reread the petroglyphs and tapestries, but they told her nothing they hadn’t already revealed. She leaned against the rock wall, closed her eyes and thought back to the other times she had been in the cave. What am I missing?
Her eyes snapped open. “The jacket!”
Pamoon removed the sheath that held her sword and then her leather jacket. “How could I be so stupid?” she breathed. “The lining of the jacket may hold the answers.” She laid the jacket open on the ground next to the fire and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw words burnt in the leather. She took a deep breath and read what was written in Cree.
“Demons can only be defeated by other demons. Gather an army by use of fire.”
“Fire!” she yelled. “Again, fire?” She closed her eyes, calmed her nerves, and looked down at the jacket again. The words burned into the lining transformed. “Seek The Watcher. Seek your mother.”
Pamoon fell back and lay on the stone floor. Please help me, Kise. I don’t understand what is written.
Listen to what is written on your heart. Have faith in who you are to become.
Pamoon felt her eyes grow heavy with tears, but refused to cry. Wiping the wetness from them, Scout began to whimper. “It’s okay, boy,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
Scout licked her cheeks and then bit down on her jacket, dragging it away from the fire.
“What are you doing?” Following his movement, she saw the cave opening. With renewed strength of spirit, she donned her jacket and sword, called Scout by her side and ran through the mouth of the cave, down the mountain path and back to the bent tree.
23
Kowi Anukasha
Without stopping, Pamoon leaped up and through the Y of the tree and back into the natural world. About to run towards the reservation, she pulled up, shocked at what stood in front of her. There on the trail were two small men, barely two feet tall, both holding spears; their points blocking her progress. Scout pushed his way in front of her, showed his teeth and growled as he pawed at the dirt.
Pamoon looked upon the little people, sensing a fear behind their false bravery. She knelt by Scout’s side, scratched behind his ears, letting him know they were not a threat. The wolf sat back on his haunches, while Pamoon studied the men. They were dressed in Native American attire: buckskin pants and bone chest plates, Their hair long and straight, their faces unpainted. The smaller of the two was partially hidden behind the other.
“We mean you no harm,” Pamoon said, stepping forward. “Who are you, and why are you here?”
The one in front lowered his spear and spoke. “My name is Mantema and this is my brother, Shikoba. We are Kowi Anukasha, and belong to the Choctaw nation. We have come down from the mountains of Louisiana in search of the Kiche.”
Pamoon squatted in front of the men and bowed her head. “I am the one you’ve been looking for, but why?”
“Our leader, Kwanokasha, sent us to find you. He wishes to know if you are the one the wind speaks of.”
Kwanokasha? Pamoon translated. The Watcher. “What does The Watcher wish to know?”
“If you will follow us, we will let him explain.”
“I don’t have time for games,” Pamoon said. “Is he close by?”
“This is no game,” Mantema said, “and yes, he is waiting for you here in the woods. Will you come?”
Pamoon nodded. “Kisemanito told me to seek out Kwanokasha. I would be honored if you would lead me to him.”
From behind Mantema, Pamoon heard the other’s surprise. “You communicate with Kithemanito?”
His lisp made her smile. An image of Bashful, one of the seven dwarfs from the story of Snow White flashed in her mind. “You have no need to hide, Shikoba. Please come forward so I may see you.”
Shikoba stepped farther into his brother’s shadow.
“My brother is ashamed of his lisp. He has spent his entire life being made fun of and doesn’t trust those he doesn’t know.”
Pamoon walked over to where Shikoba stood and knelt beside him. “Like you, I have spent my life ashamed of who I am. If you’ll allow me, I wish to be your friend.” She held out her hand in a gesture of friendship.
Shikoba’s face blushed, as he took her hand. When they touched, he smiled, his buckteeth protruding from his open mouth.
“You sure are cute,” Pamoon giggled.
His blush deepened. “You’re even more beautiful up clothe.”
Pamoon beamed at his sincerity. “Take my hand and lead me to Kwanokasha.”
Shikoba squeezed her hand, his chest thrust out in pride, as they walked through the woods to their lair.
24
Kwanokasha
Arriving at the rock that jutted from the ground, Pamoon realized why her birthmarks had tingled each time she had passed it. The Kowi Anukasha had been there the entire time.
“You will have to crawl to enter,” Mantema said as they stood by the rock. “It is deeper inside, but it still might not be big enough for you to stand.”
With Scout trailing close behind, Pamoon, on hands and knees, followed the Kowi Anukasha into the hole they had dug under the rock.
“Doth he have to come?” Shikoba lisped, pointing to Scout.
“He goes where I go.”
“You have nothing to fear from the wolf,” came a voice from deep in the earth. “Enter, Pamoon.”
Pamoon followed the men into a dirt tunnel and down into the earth. She crawled down a slope until the ground leveled off. Inside was lit by ceremonial candles, and standing in the middle of the room was another little person. This one appeared older, yet even wiser than his years.
She watched him as he moved closer, a walking stick in hand. “A sacred wind has spoken your name.” Ayas, she thought. “It tells us you are the one who can defeat the evil that has been released. As The Watcher, it is up to me to make that decision.”
“How?” Pamoon questioned.
“A simple test,” Kwanokasha answered, placing three bowls in front of her. “Before you are three items, you must choose the right one.”
Pamoon looked at where the old man pointed his stick. Each bowl contained just one item: in the first, a knife; in the second, berries; and in the third, an herb that Powaw had taught her about, an herb known for its poison.
