Spirits Collide, page 5
part #2 of Evil Awakened Series
You promised to help us, why haven’t you? Please, help, we’re dying.
She snapped her head around, her skin flushed with goose bumps. The Tree People, she thought.
Speaking in Cree, she answered. “I haven’t forgotten you, or my promise. I still don’t know how, but I will find a way to free you.”
Not all of us, some of us are ev—
The voice was cut short as if someone or thing had gagged it. Using the tip of her blade, she reached out and gently stabbed the bark of the nearest tree. She expected sap to appear where she had cut into it, but instead blood dripped from the hole. A painful howl rose all around her, surrounding her in a pain-filled morn, her shoulders shrugged upward in an attempt to cover her ears. The sight of blood made her realize that it wasn’t just the people’s spirits trapped inside. Oh, my god, she thought, the actual people are trapped in them.
Flushed with fear, she wanted to run, but the roots of the tree started to wind toward her. Using her training, she sliced them as they neared. With each cut, blood spattered from the ends. The more she killed, the faster others sprang up. Concentrating on the ones in front of her, she never saw the roots that now wrapped around her feet, jailing her where she stood. Before she could think or act, the world disappeared around her. She felt as if she had been picked up by the wind, and sucked into a black hole.
Landing with a thud, she found herself standing in the clearing that led into the Spirit Cave. It was not the clearing she had known. The large, moss-covered trees forming the canopy over the clearing were gone, in their place were rotting skeletons of their former self. What branches remained were either broken or dying. Her bewilderment was abated by the sound of nearby birds, but this was not the cawing of ravens.
Pamoon stepped silently toward the trees, following the strange drawn-out hissing noise. Craning her neck around the far side of the trees, her heart skipped a beat, a cold sweat soaked her skin. Unable to move, she stared at a committee of black vultures, at least one hundred in number, as they fed on the carcasses of dead ravens. She gasped, breaking her silence, causing many to stop eating and make eye contact. With the flesh of the ravens dangling from their beaks, she would have sworn the vultures were smiling at her—a searing, evil grin. Making matters worse, some spoke mockingly. “You promised to help us, why haven’t you? Please, help, we’re dying,” while the others laughed. The shock and fear were too much. Her sword dragged along the dirt, its tip scorching whatever it touched, dirt, debris, or rock, as she stumbled back toward the clearing, never taking her eyes from the vultures.
Before she could reach the clearing and enter the Spirit Cave, they attacked. Swarms of silent, black birds caged her in a circle of feathers and beaks and began to peck at her clothes.
Using her sword, she cut through the creatures, a piercing wail rising with every swipe. Each time she killed a vulture with her sword, they instantly flamed to ash. There were so many that no matter how fast she struck, more attacked. About to give up, she heard Ayas’ voice. “Run, Kiche. Hurry. I need you. We all do.”
Her heart jumped as she found a new-born strength. Gritting her teeth, she wielded her sword with increased dexterity, cutting down the vultures faster than they could regroup and attack. Just as she reached the rock wall that protected the cave, she heard Powaw’s voice. “Pamoon, wake up! You’ve been under too long. You must wake.”
She shook her head, “No, I need to enter the cave. Ayas is in trouble.”
Pamoon reached her left hand out and swept the vines away from the wall, searching for the flame carved into its surface. Just as she saw it, hands grip her shoulders and yanked her from the wall. Suddenly, as if she were trapped in a wind tunnel, she stumbled backward. Her feet no longer on the ground, she spun in space, trying to fight the pull.
“Don’t fight it. Relax your body and mind.”
Pamoon, sensing Powaw’s apprehension, gave up the fight.
She woke outside the sweat lodge to Scout pawing her face. Shaking her head side to side, she muttered, “Ayas, I need to find Ayas.” Those were her last words before she blacked out.
14
Sword of Truth
Nuna trembled as she applied a salve to White Eagle’s blistered palm. “I don’t like this, any of this,” she whispered through gritted teeth.
“I’m not happy about being burned, either,” White Eagle said.
Nuna lifted her eyes to meet her brother’s, and if looks could burn, he’d be aflame. “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.” She wrapped the gauze tight enough to hurt emphasizing her point.
“Owe. Damn it, woman.”
“Don’t damn me, damn you,” she seethed. “Where the hell did that infernal thing come from and why did you pick it up?” She pointed to the sword lying on the kitchen counter.
“I found it among Pamoon’s things.”
“Where did she get it?”
“Don’t know.”
“And . . . it burned you?”
“Eha.”
Nuna shook her head. “How?”
White Eagle opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out an oven mitt. “It’s best I show you.” He put the mitt on his good hand and touched the sword’s ornately leather-wrapped handle, quickly drawing back. The mitt was black and smoking where it touched the handle. Carefully, White Eagle used two fingers to slide a few inches of the blade from its protective sheath. “Put your hand over the sword, but don’t touch it.”
Nuna ran her hand over the exposed blade, keeping it a foot or so above. “My god, it’s like running your hand over a flame.”
“Eha.”
“But how?”
“Look closer and you’ll see a blue tint to the metal? And a flame etched into the steel.”
Nuna studied the sword. “What does that tell you?”
“Two things,” White Eagle said, sliding the blade back into the sheath and removing the oven mitt. “Remember back when we were kids, one of Nimosôminan’s favorite stories was the one where Michael gave his sword, the Sword of Truth, to the one who would save our people?”
“Of course, I remember our grandfather’s stories, but you can’t be serious. They were just fables.”
“You mean like the stories of Kanontsistonties were just fables?”
Flashbacks of the mythical flying head and Pamoon’s near death in battle chilled her to the core. Her voice rose in amplitude and pitch. “Are you actually standing there, telling me that Pamoon is in possession of Archangel Michael’s sword?”
White Eagle stared at the sword, the kitchen light bouncing of the blade giving it an almost heavenly glow. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Nuna leaned against the kitchen table, her shoulders slouched, rubbing her hands together. “You said two things, what’s the second?”
“The flame etched into the blade,” White Eagle said. “It’s an exact match to Pamoon’s birthmarks. It was meant to be hers.”
“But—” Nuna’s thoughts were interrupted by Pamoon’s voice coming from the room at the end of the hallway.
15
Family
Pamoon opened her eyes. She tried to lift her head, but a throbbing headache forced her to stop. “How did I get here?” she moaned. “Is anyone home?”
“Welcome back,” White Eagle said, walking into the room.
“Uncle? Where did you come from? I thought you were in Canada visiting Nuna. And how did I end up in your house?”
“I was, but I came home yesterday. And from the looks of things, I was right to do so.”
“What day is it?”
“January ninth.”
Pamoon rubbed her head. “I’ve been out for two and half days?”
“More or less.”
“Huh?”
White Eagle ignored her question. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and then Nuna will cook us some breakfast.”
“Nuna! She’s back?” Pamoon’s eyes were wide as her voice hung on the last word.
“Eha. She’s back. And she has much to tell. Hurry and take a shower, you smell like pigeon.”
Pamoon heard Scout’s nails scratching the wood floor. She could tell by the sound he was excited to see her and pictured his paws moving so fast, they slid on the polished wood. She squatted down readying herself for his hello. He was all fur and tongue as he bounded into her with yelps and kisses.
“It’s good to see you too,” Pamoon said nuzzling his fur and kissing his snout. Where were you last night?”
“If you mean while you slept,” Nuna answered, peeking inside the room, “I made him sleep in the hall. I didn’t want him to wake you.”
As Pamoon made her way into the kitchen, she glanced at White Eagle and noticed his right hand was wrapped in gauze. She was about to ask him what happened when her aunt wrapped her in a hug while continuing her rant. “If you’re referring to the trip you went on while under the effects of peyote, I have no idea.” Breaking the embrace, she picked up the spatula she’d been using to cook the eggs and waved it in the air, spattering grease on herself and on Pamoon. “And I’ll tell you one more thing, if that crazy old man ever uses peyote again in your presence, it will be his hide sizzling in this pan.”
Pamoon glanced back at White Eagle who shrugged and winked. Pamoon squeezed her aunt tighter and kissed her cheek. “I love you, too.”
Nuna reddened. “Sit. Eat. Then talk. We,” she said, eyeing her brother, “have many questions. Maybe your words can deflect some of them before we start asking.”
“So,” White Eagle said as Nuna cleared the table. “What happened while you were under the influence of the herbs?”
“Herbs, pff,” Nuna mumbled, her back turned away from the table. “Call it what it is. Peyote’s a drug.”
White Eagle ignored his sister and waited for Pamoon to answer.
“It was all pretty weird,” Pamoon began. “The first time Powaw used it as part of my training—”
“My god,” Nuna said, throwing her arms in the air. “How many times did he make you use it?”
Pamoon rubbed the goosebumps that sprang up on the arms. She didn’t like to see her aunt mad. “Anyway,” she continued, “While I was meditating in the sweat lodge, I saw Ayas in my visions. He was covered in blood and seemed . . .” She looked up and to the right trying to think of the right word. “I don’t know,” she shrugged, “it was if he was in shock or something. He wasn’t so much looking at me, but through me.” She looked at her aunt and uncle who were both sitting at the table and leaning in as if her words brought life-sustaining oxygen. “Before I broke from the trance, I heard him tell me to run, and to hurry.”
Nuna shook her head. “I don’t like any of this.” She pointed one of her chubby fingers at Pamoon. “Don’t believe anything that happened while under the influence of peyote. It’s all nonsense.”
Pamoon looked at her uncle for a rebuttal, but he just nodded and told her to continue.
“The second time, the last time,” she emphasized, “I asked Powaw to use the herbs, so if you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at me.”
“I’ll be mad at whomever I choose,” Nuna said. “Now tell us what you saw.”
“The second time everything was more vivid—more real. I woke in the woods. I searched for the bent trees but they weren’t where we found them before.” She stared at White Eagle, who just grunted. “I followed nature’s trail and found them on the eastern edge near the old airport.”
“Did you enter the Misty Woods?” he asked.
“Yeah.” It was more of a breath than a word. “I entered the Spirit World, but it wasn’t the world you remember.”
“Explain,” White Eagle said.
“You remember me telling you about the first time I ever entered the Misty Woods and how I fell into the thorn bush and was healed when I entered the Spirit Cave?”
“Of course.”
“And when you entered the Misty Woods with me, there were hardly any thorns, and you said it was because the thorns were used to keep out those who didn’t belong, but since that was my world, they were no longer trying to keep me out.” Pamoon’s volume increased as well as her pace as she continued. “Well, this time, the woods were covered, and I mean covered in thorn bushes. The vines wrapped themselves around the trees as if trying to choke them and covered the path to the point that I had to use my sword—,” Pamoon spied her sword lying on the kitchen counter. I wonder what that’s doing out here.
“Continue,” White Eagle said.
“I um,” Pamoon kept staring at the sword wondering who and why it was brought into the kitchen.
“Pamoon,” Nuna said, clutching her wrist, “tell us about the thorns.”
“Oh, yeah. They were so thick, I tried to cut them back from the path with the sword, but it was if they knew what I was going to do.”
“Who knew what you were going to do?” White Eagle interjected.
“Not who. What,” Pamoon said. “The thorns. They retreated as soon as I unsheathed the sword.” She stopped to collect her thoughts and take a sip of coffee from her mug.
“Is that everything?”
She shook her head at her uncle. “No, not even close. The trees spoke to me like they did when you were with me.”
White Eagle leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “What did the Mistik Ayisiniwak say?”
“The Tree People asked why I hadn’t freed them. I told them I didn’t know how, and I promised I would find a way. That’s when everything got really weird.”
Nuna threw up her hands. “Now it gets weird.”
“The tree people tried to tell me not to free all of them because some of them were,” Pamoon leaned over the table and leaned on her elbows. “I think they were trying to tell me that some of them were evil, but it sounded muffled. That’s when I stabbed a tree with the tip of my sword.” Her voice trailed off as the vision of the memory stormed back.
“Pamoon, this is important. Please tell us everything.”
She nodded at her uncle. “I don’t know why I did it, but when I did, I expected sap to ooze from the bark, but blood seeped from the cut.” She ran her hands through her thick hair. “A high-pitched wail came from everywhere, as if all the tree people were connected, and tree roots attacked me. I cut them down as fast as I could, and with each cut, blood sprayed from the torn end, but they grew faster than I could kill. They wrapped themselves around my ankles, trapping me, and then,” she shrugged, her eyes wide, “I was gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?” Nuna whispered.
“It was if I was transported. I found myself in the clearing next to the Spirit Cave.” She shook her head in disbelief, her eyes downcast. “Everything was dead. The trees, the—” She welled up with tears and wiped them away with the sleeve of her shirt. “The ravens,” she finished. Pamoon inhaled, trying to gather her composure. “I heard birds, but not the cawing of the ravens. This was more of a long hissing sound.”
“Vultures,” White Eagle said.
Pamoon’s jaw dropped open. “How did you know?”
“They are the only birds I know that hiss.”
“I followed the sound. It came from behind the trees. That’s when I saw them tearing at the flesh of dead ravens. I must have screamed because they stopped and stared at me. I tried to back away, but they mocked me and attacked.” Tears now streamed down Pamoon’s cheeks. White Eagle handed her a napkin before she could use her sleeve again.
“How did they mock you?” he asked.
“They laughed and mimicked the same words the Tree People used. I tried to back away, but they attacked faster than I could retreat. I cut them down faster than I thought possible, killing them as they flew around me, until I reached the cave wall.
“I heard Ayas call for me again; telling me to hurry. That’s when Powaw woke me.”
She dropped her head on the table and sniffled. “I never had a chance to enter the cave. I need to get to the Spirit Cave. I need to figure out what’s going on.”
“Eha,” White Eagle said, “but not before you know what we know and answer some questions.”
“What do you know?” Pamoon said, raising her head.
White Eagle told of the mysterious attack in Nuna’s village.
“No one believed Jarrod’s story because he’s a drunk, but I believed him,” Nuna said.
“Eha. Me too,” White Eagle nodded.
“I met Mr. Hanson when I was staying with you,” Pamoon said, “and other than liking to drink too much, he seemed like a nice man. Why doesn’t anyone else believe him?”
“Because,” White Eagle said. “Jarrod claims he was attacked by a wendigo.”
“A wendigo?” Pamoon’s eyes were wide. “You mean the mythical beast? That wendigo?”
“Eha.”
“No wonder people think he’s nuts.” Pamoon waited for someone to agree with her, but they remained silent. “But, you both believe he was telling the truth?”
“We do,” White Eagle said.
“But the wendigo hasn’t been heard of for over a hundred years. Do you think it’s one of the beasts that escaped along with Kanontsistonties?”
“We’re hoping you can find the answer to that question inside the Spirit Cave.”
Pamoon sat, biting her lower lip, not saying anything. About to stand to pack her supplies, White Eagle cleared his throat.
“We have one more question.”
“What?”
“The sword. Where did it come from?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Her family just stared at her. “I mean, obviously you don’t know, or you wouldn’t have asked, I’m just surprised. I found it in the back of Kamenna’s closet.” She stood from the table and clutched the handle and slid it out of the sheath in the same motion. “Pretty cool, huh.” She watched her aunt and uncle’s expressions as she held the sword above her head. “What? I mean, I know it’s not a traditional Indian weapon, but I figure it’s sort of between a long knife and spear, and I did find it in Kamenna’s closet. I like it.” Both White Eagle and Nuna remained silent. “Is it okay if I keep it?”
