Spirits Collide, page 7
part #2 of Evil Awakened Series
Pamoon ran to him, knelt, and helped him sit up. “Are you okay?” she said, brushing his grey hair from his face.
White Eagle stood, picked up his knife, wiped the dirt from the blade on his pants, and slid it back into its sheath. “I’m a little sore, mostly just bruised pride,” he answered. “It appears this is as far as I go,” he said, staring at the bent tree and the mist that lay beyond.
Pamoon hugged him, but before she could let go, he grabbed her by her arms. “Don’t underestimate the power of the mist or the warning it gave you.” His eyes darted from the etched bark than back to her. “There is much you don’t know—”
Pamoon interrupted him with a kiss on his cheek. I need to see what the Spirit Cave has to say, and then I promise to return.” With her last word, she pointed to the opening between the branches and commanded Scout, “Pihtokewin.”
Scout barked his response and leaped, entering the Misty Woods. Pamoon grinned a lopsided smile to her uncle and then climbed up and dropped between the branches.
19
The Watcher
As Bobby and the others followed Pamoon with a stealth they did not possess, the Choctaw Little People, Mantema, Shikoba, and Kwanokasha—The Watcher—followed the boys in silence. The Kowi Anukasha tracked the young girl and the old man, while keeping an eye on the intruders.
The three of them hid behind rocks, fallen leaves, and branches as they witnessed the chief tossed back from the mist. Shikoba, his eyes wide, jerked, fell back, and bit down on his lower lip out of shock at what he saw. Kwanokasha peered back, placing his finger on his lips, and shook his head. They continued to watch as both the wolf and the one dropped with ease into the Misty Woods.
Mantema, anxious to follow, stood up and began to move forward before being held back by Kwanokasha. Their leader pointed to the dense pines to their left just as the three boys came into view. In silence, they listened in on the conversation that ensued.
“What the hell just happened?” The largest boy, the one named Scott said. “It looked like the chief was thrown out of the fog.”
“Don’t be stupid,” the leader, Bobby, answered. “He’s old and probably lost his balance and fell.”
Bobby pointed to the other, the one Kwanokasha had heard called Ralph, and told him to climb the tree and jump through the branches. Without hesitation, Ralph did just that. No sooner than he disappeared into the fog, the others saw him flying back, screaming in shock. He landed hard, curled into a ball, and grabbed his wrist. “I think I broke my arm,” he moaned.
The Kowi Anukasha—the Choctaw Little People—watched, mesmerized by what they saw. They witnessed Scott running to aid his friend while Bobby, seemed to only pay attention to the tree and the fog beyond.
Bobby crept up to the tree, constantly scanning left and right, not knowing what or who threw Ralph backward. Standing directly in front of the tree, he looked left around the trunk and saw nothing unusual, no mist, just woods. Peering around to the right, he witnessed the same. But when he looked straight between the branches that formed the Y-shape, the mist was so thick, he couldn’t see anything. He reached high, grabbed the arms of the Y, and tried to see through the fog. As he stuck his head in, his eyes transformed from brown to amber, his pupils from round to crescent-shaped. He saw nothing at first, but felt a power, a power he wanted more of. As he pulled himself up and attempted to jump though the opening, he heard his friend Mike’s voice.
“It’s not yet time for you to join me. Wait and I will call upon you when the time is right. When the Spirit World is ripe for our taking.”
Bobby shook his head in disbelief. This isn’t possible. Mike is dead.
He heard a baritone laugh—Mike’s laughter. “Dead to the weakness of man, but alive in the strength of the Netherworld.”
Bobby still not believing what he was hearing, closed his eyes and once again, shook his head. Opening them he saw Mike standing on a thorn-filled path. As he watched in awe, his friend transformed into Michi-Pichoux, the Water Panther. The black cat, muscular and lean, slunk up to Bobby and rubbed his fur against his face. Purring in Bobby’s ear, all of Bobby’s memories returned in an instant. He remembered being bit by Kanontsistonties, helping to hunt and turn Celia into one of them, and he remembered their final battle against the Kiche—against Pamoon. The battle in which he was too weak to stay in his demonic body. Remembering this angered him. He growled and hissed at the memory.
“Relax, my friend, the panther purred. “Soon you and the others will take your rightful place by my side.”
“What would you have me do, master?” Master? Bobby thought. Why did I call Mike, master?”
The Michi-Pichoux just purred, deep and menacing in response. “Tell no one of this conversation. Our friends are not yet ready for the truth. Go and keep watch on the Kiche while she is in the natural world.”
Bobby nodded, pulling his head back out of the mist, his eyes reverting back to their natural state. As he left the mist, he thought he heard the panther say, Beware the wind. His thoughts were interrupted by Scott yelling for help and Ralph’s groaning.
Seeing the angle of Ralph’s wrist, he knew it was broken. He pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and wrapped his friends arm and wrist as tight as possible without causing further pain. The three of them walked in silence toward the reservation medical center. All the while, Bobby thought about his encounter with Mike.
Once the three left the area, Kwanokasha led the other two out from under the rock and into the small clearing. They walked up to the tree and looked high up at the mist that lay beyond.
“My brother is a great climber,” Mantema said.
Kwanokasha looked back at Shikoba who was nodding vigorously.
“I must see this for myself,” the Watcher said. He looked around and pointed his walking stick to a bunch of rocks that lay around the area. “We will build a rock ladder for me to climb.”
Being great builders, the Kowi Anukasha, quickly went to work building a solid rock ladder up against the truck of the tree. Finished, Kwanokasha handed his walking stick to Shikoba and climbed up far enough that he could stand on his tiptoes and look between the branches. Seconds later, he scampered back down.
Mantema looked at his brother before speaking. Both seemed at a loss for words as they witnessed something they had never seen before in Kwanokasha’s expression. Fear.
“W, what did you see?” Mantema asked when he had built up enough courage.
Kwanokasha, his eyes, dilated and wide, eyed his followers. “Evil,” he mouthed. “I saw evil.”
As the Kowi Anukasha walked back and entered their lair, Kwanokasha finally spoke. “You two gather some supplies and head back to the bent tree. When the girl returns, bring her to me.”
“What are you going to do?” Shikoba asked.
“Prepare for her test,” the watcher answered without looking up from his supplies.
20
Spirit World
As soon as Pamoon’s boots touched down on the other side of tree, she knew she was in the same Misty Woods she saw while under the effects of peyote. The woods, ominous and dark, were not inviting. Before her lay a path covered with thorns; the trees, hidden in a thick mist, brown from death.
Scout, protective in nature, tried to step in front of her, but she held him back. “Namoya,” she said, pulling on his collar. “Stay behind me and protect us from what I can’t see.”
Heeding her command of no, Scout retreated behind Pamoon.
Pamoon reached over her shoulder and gripped the handle of her sword with her left hand, feeling a tingle—a power—run through her palm, up her arm, and settle in her neck. She slid the sword from its sheath, making a sound of metal-on-metal. The sheering, not so much a scrape but almost musical in its tone, emitted a note that seemed to announce the blade’s presence to the mist, which in turn, faded further back into the woods. The trees, no longer engulfed in fog, showed few signs of life. As she pointed her steel at the path, the thorns retracted, giving her room to walk.
She and Scout moved as quick as safety allowed up the mountain trail. Her eyes darting left and right, up and down, she looked for signs of life, but except for the few trees now visible, witnessed little except for the thorns. Her hearing on high alert, Pamoon waited for the tree people to speak, but they were silent. It felt as if they were being stifled by an unknown force.
When she and Scout came to a point on the trail where the path was only wide enough for her to traverse sideways, Pamoon stopped and again pointed her sword at the thorns that impeded her way.
Instead of retreating, she swore she heard them screech, as if they held an intellect, and attempted to attack like a snake striking its prey. Instinctively, she swiped with her blade, cutting the first to strike. When the edge of her blade cut the vines, Pamoon heard a painful shriek; the thorns immediately withered and died. Raising her sword in front of her eyes, the razor’s edge of her blade dripped red with blood. Because of her previous vision of the tree that oozed the same, Pamoon’s surprise was brief, but she was shocked by the reaction of the other thorns. The vines emanated anger in a high-pitched whistle and attacked in large numbers. Using the techniques she’d been taught in the martial art of Okichitaw, Pamoon used dexterity of wrist movements and body pivots to slice, chop, and kill as fast as the vines could grow and attack. With Scout watching her blind side, she spun toward the greatest threat before the thorns had a chance to bite into her.
Once the most aggressive of the thorny-plants were butchered, the vines still alive slithered backward, clearing the path and scraping the debris of the dead vines along with them. Moving to a more secure area, Pamoon removed a bandana from her back pocket to wipe the sweat from her face. Pulling it away, she noticed the moisture wasn’t sweat, but blood. She immediately flashed back to her first vision of Ayas. Was that how his face became so bloody? The longer she stared at the cloth, the more anxious she became for answers.
“Come on, boy, we need to get to the cave.”
The terrain steepened as she and Scout continued to climb, the oxygen level thinned, forcing her to breathe through her mouth. Stopping to catch her breath, she peered up the steep slope, spotting the clearing that led to the Spirit Cave. The sight of her destination gave her the impetus to continue her climb.
A few steps later, the trees began to speak. Hurry, Kiche, our death is immanent. Use your fire to kill and to free us from our burden.
Their words of warning and wanting to die both frightened and angered Pamoon. Fire? She thought. What fire? She then scanned the woods and spoke aloud to the trees. “I won’t let you die,” she answered. “Stay strong and hold on a little longer. Please,” she cried.
Climbing with a renewed purpose, she found herself on the plateau that led to the cave. Her heart and spirit lightened when she discovered it was not dead, not totally, as it was in her vision. The trees whose branches formed the canopy over the clearing were withering, but still held on to life. Their bark peeled and their leaves spotted in brown, but the sap still oozed and the greening of life was still abundant.
Looking up, relief washed over her like a hot shower on a cold day as she spotted the ravens—her friends and followers. She looked for Achak among the many but didn’t spot her. A flicker of sadness touched her heart, but Pamoon knew she would see her friend again someday. As she studied the woods that guarded the clearing, she spotted the devilish eyes of the vultures, hiding behind the pines. A chill rustled from her core outward until she trembled at their sight. They must have felt her fright because they began to move out from their hiding places, hissing in their delight. The ravens, not to be outdone, began to caw, drowning out the vultures’ song of death.
The ravens’ bravery steadied Pamoon’s resolve, helping to quell her fear, and garner her strength of spirit. In turn, the vultures silenced their call and retreated back into the depths of the mist. As Pamoon raised her head to thank the ravens, a black feather tinged in violet floated down from the trees. Her eyes followed the flight until the quill landed by her feet. Bending down, she picked up the gift and tucked behind her ear, thick in her hair as close to the flame on her neck as possible. Her actions pleased her friends who crowed louder and flapped their wings in response.
Pamoon bowed her head in thanks before turning her attention to the rock wall. Wasting no more time, she ran to the vine-covered cliff face which hid the Spirit Cave. She sheathed her weapon and fisted her staff which she held in her other hand. Pressing the shallow indent under her pinkie, the staff snapped to its full length of five feet. Using the pole as she had in the past, she moved the vines aside. The rock wall now exposed, she found the flame etched into the stone and placed her left palm on top of the mark. Electricity shot through her palm, fiercer than ever before, bore its way into her body until she felt as if she were aglow, making its way up to the flame on her neck. The mountain and wall quaked as the electricity burned through her until she felt as if she might combust. Her eyes squeezed shut, her teeth clenched in pain, she was about to pull away in defeat when she heard Scout howl. His response gave her the will to hold on a little longer, praying to Kisemanito for help. I need you, Kise, she prayed. Please help.
Your spirit is stronger than you know, Kise answered. Stand in its power.
Pamoon, weak from the shock wave pummeling her body, screamed out. “I won’t give in! Niya nanihkitisawew kiya tawina!
The Spirit World, hearing her command, opened the entrance to the cave.
The pain of the current coursing through her body and the trembling of the land stopped as quick as it started. Pamoon dropped her arm, a dead weight slapping against her thigh, and leaned heavily on the staff. Opening her eyes, the gate to the Spirit Cave stood where the wall had been. She panted her relief, Scout jumping on her and licking the sweat from her face. She hugged her friend, thanking him for the encouragement, and nodded for him to lead the way.
Scout’s tail whipped back and forth as he stepped into the cave, helping to give her a sense of peace as she followed close behind. As soon as she stepped onto sacred land, the eternal fire which sat in the middle of the cavernous space came to life, setting the cave aglow.
21
Spirit Cave
With Scout by her side, Pamoon stood next to the fire, warming from the inside out until she no longer felt the cold of the Misty Woods. She eyed the white smoke of the fire as it hovered near the ceiling hoping it would solidify and transform into Kise as it did in previous trips, but it didn’t. She eyed her surroundings, comforted by the known, yet apprehensive of the unknown. Like other times she’d been in the cave, the walls were etched in petroglyphs and tapestries hung from the ceiling close to the fire.
Walking the perimeter of the cave, she studied the petroglyphs, hoping for answers, but found more questions. The first etching showed a valley, empty except for a lone figure standing in its center. Ayas, she thought. Her heartbeat quickened. Stepping to the next, she witnessed what appeared to by balls of light filling the trees. They look like lights on Christmas trees, she smiled, but as she reached toward them, her sense of wellbeing disappeared. In its stead, she felt apprehension which grew into fear the longer she held out her left hand.
Pamoon dropped her hand by her side, rubbed her palm against her jeans as if she could scrub away her fear, then stepped to the next petroglyph in the series. The balls of light no longer present, she now witnessed grotesque beings. Their flesh hung from their bones, their long, matted hair tied in a nest-like mess, dead twigs entwined in their locks. The next etching showed one such demon approaching Ayas, who now held his bow with an arrow pinched upon the draw in one hand, his knife in the other.
Trembling, Pamoon moved to the final etching, praying she would not see the bloodied image of the one she loved, as she did in her vision. In this picture, the demonic being was vivid in its appearance. Its face, female, lacked life: its eyes opaque, lacking color or pupil; its mouth sewn shut, no way to speak. In the petroglyph, the demon reached towards Ayas with a skeletonized hand, as if she knew him. In turn, the figure of Ayas appeared to be frozen, his knife and bow down by his side.
Pamoon stepped closer to the wall and saw a look of confusion on his face. She knew, somehow, that the demon who approached him was familiar, but his stance was one of indecision. His right leg appeared to be moving towards the figure, yet his body seemed to be twisting as if to move away. Pamoon squinted and cocked her head to the side. “What are you trying to tell me, Ayas?” she mouthed. Raising her left arm, her birthmark tingled. Turning her hand over, the flame was blood red. Turning her attention back to the etching, Pamoon placed the flame on her palm on top of the figure of Ayas. It was just a figurative way to show she wished she was with him, but the result was anything but figurative. As her palm rested on his chest, she felt a heartbeat—his heartbeat—pulse through her hand. She sucked in air, frightened yet wanting more, as if his heartbeat was life-sustaining.
Along with his heartbeat came his emotions: she felt his hatred for this thing course through him—and ultimately, herself, but the longer she held her hand over his chest, another emotion, a deeper, older emotion washed through. Love. Trying to make sense of these polar yet unyielding emotions coming from Ayas, Pamoon’s mouth twisted and her nose scrunched. She tried to force an understanding of what she felt, but the harder she tried the less she comprehended.
Getting nowhere, she moved further down the wall, her fingers tracing the figure of Ayas, not wanting to let go of the connection she felt and longed for. Pamoon walked to the opposite side of the cave where she spotted another set of etchings. There was no confusion in what she saw there. The first carving showed Bobby and his two male friends approaching the bent trees and the Misty Woods. Alarmed, Pamoon moved quickly to the next petroglyph. This one showed them in the Misty Woods. “How is that possible,” she mouthed.
