HEAT. HEAT AND hair in his face, and the big hands clutching his torso with searing hand prints had Ash thinking he was back home for just a second. That’s exactly what Cooper would do when Cooper had a bad dream, when his past came to haunt him, or when glimpses of their uncertain future flashed through his dreamscape like so many ominous sentinels.
Cooper didn’t talk about those dreams, but Ash knew of them, because when they made love and it was transcendentaly awesome instead of just really good, their minds would merge as one. The resonant frequency they shared might have made that possible, or maybe it was some as-yet-undescribed strangeness inherent to who they were and what they were able to do.
But Ash knew of Cooper’s dreams, of his hopes, and also of his love.
He knew Cooper better than he knew his own self at times, and this was one of those times, since Ash struggled to orient himself in time-space. Only when he tried to roll out of bed did he recall that, oh yeah, they were camping in a round canvas structure on a layer of straw and carpets, which in turn rested over several feet of snow.
Oh, that’s right, he had to carefully clamber out of the box filled with evergreen boughs and blankets and furs.
And, yep, there was no bathroom just next doors, and as much sense as it would’ve taken to just whiz into the snow behind the gher, nobody did it, because people were grownups and had self-control, dammit.
It all came down to self-control, didn’t it?
And he had lost his back in the lake.
Images rushed at him so hard, he stumbled and caught himself against a tent pole. The structure shook, but held.
As Ash put on a parka and a pair of snow boots – over the long-john underwear he didn’t own, and what was with that? – he trudged down the path and away from the lake, where the oversized composting toilet accommodated a sizeable crowd of Cooper’s relatives and friends.
He wasn’t sure whether his mind was playing a trick on him, but the campsite was fuller now. There were no more spaces along what he had thought of as the “main drag,” and new paths were carved into snow, curving around the round gher structures and leading to a secondary row of portable accommodations.
And the people – they were everywhere, and a whole group of them seemed to have been building a large, long tent in the middle of what could have been considered the town square.
He hurried to do his need, uneager to talk just yet.
Stuff had happened. Bad stuff.
By the time he exited the bath house, he knew what he had missed. He had left Cooper’s uncle Greg behind, and he had slept for more than just one night.
“Ash!” Nikko Anneveinen waved him over as he got closer to their part of the encampment. “Come have some coffee!”
Coffee sounded good. Divine, even, but water would be even more welcome. He didn’t know why he was so parched. “In a minute,” Ash called back with a wave.
He hurried to get dressed, and he wiped down with a cold, wet wash cloth. On a more regular morning, he’d have a snow bath and connect with the spirit of the land. Or he’d have a quick dip in the lake and –
Oh. Oh. So that’s what had happened. There would be no dips in Lake Superior for him. Not when Bob was a malevolent and capricious spirit who demanded a blood sacrifice just for the privilege of getting his toes wet safely, but who didn’t have the decency to honor the bargain.
As he pulled a clean waffle-weave Henley on, Ash stroked his bandaged arm. It hurt underneath. He wondered whether they had given him butterfly bandages, and he didn’t relish the idea of having a scar.
He needed no reminders of his failure to return for Greg Nightwind, or for not sparing Cooper the trauma of having to live through his worst nightmare of entering water, and drowning.
Ash got dressed. There was no denying Nikko’s request for an audience, which is what the coffee invitation was. He tucked Cooper in, lightly kissed his forehead, and quietly stole out of his gher.
NIKKO AND ANNABELLE Anneveinen’s gher was almost as cozy as grandma Olga’s. Cooper’s mother was absent, but Nikko had fresh coffee perking on top of a metal grate over the fire. A cast-iron Dutch oven, covered in the ashen coals of spent embers, peeked out of its hot nest. Feather sat next to Nikko, looking glum. Ash recognized uncle Owen, and nodded to him in greeting. Finally a soul he could relate to without feeling like a self-conscious, abject failure.
“Good morning,” Ash said with unusual formality. He hoped it was one.
“Morning, Ash. How are you feeling? Reishi or coffee? Your choice. They don’t go together well.” Nikko, always congenial, wore a pall of concern over his usually cheerful features.
“Coffee, thank you. I’ve slept enough, I think.” He paused. “How long had I slept for? Nobody told me.”
“Three days,” Owen said. “You were all spent. We came close to losing both of you. But that discussion can wait. You must be ravenous.” He moved the ashes off the Dutch oven with a poker, and lifted the lid carefully. “How’bout some biscuits and sausage? It’s just ordinary store-bought stuff thrown together. Makes camp life tidier, y’know?”
Ash sat down, let Nikko fill his coffee mug and doctor it with cream and sugar, and he ate the surprisingly delicious biscuits from a can and sliced-up kielbasa. When he finished, he took another good sip of coffee, set it on the ground next to his pillow, and looked around.
He met their eyes – he owed them that much.
“About yesterday. I can’t begin to express how terribly sorry I am about uncle Greg.”
Nikko barked a laugh. “It’s been three days, my boy. We thought we’d lose all three of you. The fact that you and Cooper made it out is a miracle, all things considered.”
Ash writhed. “But uncle Greg – I just... there was no time. The spirit took his attention off me, I think. I heard Cooper, and I know he can’t swim, and since uncle Greg is an expert water-walker, I had thought he’d be alright.” He didn’t say he hoped he’d come back for him, because it wasn’t true. Nothing but Cooper could’ve gotten him back into that lake after Bob had shown his true colors.
“It was either Cooper or Greg,” Feather said bitterly, and for the first time, Ash realized the obvious family resemblance between Feather and the missing Greg Nightwind.
“Yes. I’m so sorry.” He picked up his mug and turned it in his hands, enjoying its heat. “When I had thought it had been just a day, I was going to suggest a few of us could go back in there and find him.”
And he had thought that. Even though there was strength in numbers, the idea was insane. He knew it – yet he felt he owed it to Greg and to the whole clan. He had never before left a man or a woman behind and in harm’s way.
Never.
“It’s been three days, Ash,” Nikko said with unexpected gentleness. “You’ve slept all the way through, recharging what you had depleted entirely. And Greg Nightwind’s body was found floating in the swimming hole yesterday morning. He was in his dry-land form, and we don’t know exactly what happened.”
The coffee grew bitter in Ash’s mouth, and the biscuits and sausage in his stomach roiled. “So he’s dead,” he said quietly.
“Um, not exactly.” Feather spoke up with hesitation. “I can’t explain it, but some of us can still feel his power signature. We don’t think the lake spirit had absorbed him, the way I’d thought you had absorbed Cooper’s soul.” He paused, then gave a nod of appreciation. “A neat trick, by the way. Where did you learn it?”
“In Prague,” Ash said miserably. “The Kiss is forbidden. I’ve never seen it or heard of it, but over there, harvesting souls is known but no longer done. It had always been a barbaric, cannibalistic practice and now it’s strictly forbidden. Yet my young cousin had saved a life of a suicide who jumped off a bridge and got buried in the mud underwater – and I knew Cooper was in trouble.” He bit his lip nervously, fearing judgment. “I saw no other way.”
To his surprise, they all nodded. “It’s a tool, like a hammer. You can drive a nail with it
to fix a life-saving ladder, or you can bash someone’s head and kill them,” uncle Owen said. “I wouldn’t spread this technique too broadly, just in case, though.”
Murmurs of agreement filled the air.
“But it’s true the mud can be as dangerous as water itself,” Nikko mused. “An interesting problem. Would your rivers be similar?”
“Yeah,” Ash nodded. “I do see the occasional body down there. When the river police finds a floater, the body’s already bloated. The gases lift it out of the mud.” He gave a dry swallow, trying desperately to get to a more positive topic. “So anyway, the jumper was a Fire Man,” Ash continued. “He’d been burning down his bed, he couldn’t keep his family safe from his talent. The usual story, you know? No training, and no bloody idea what he was, except for the knowledge that the family house fires were somehow his fault.”
“So you took him in and trained him,” Feather surmised.
“Well, they did. I don’t speak Czech at that level. Just tourist-type stuff. But that’s all in the past.” Ash took another deep breath. “I have some questions about what happened. Let me tell you what I had seen.” He narrated his adventure from the time of his blood sacrifice, to the point when he had captured and then restored Cooper’s soul, but he didn’t mention Old Man Allegheny, and he didn’t talk about the benevolent source of searing heat that had seemed to be helping Cooper. “So, tell me then,” he concluded. “Have you felt the presence of any unusual entities?”
The other three men looked at each other in puzzlement, then shook their heads one by one. “If we didn’t feel it, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t there,” uncle Owen said sensibly. “You’ll have to trust your gut on this one. But if you think some god or spirit is your guardian angel, make sure it goes both ways. Old Man Superior wasn’t always a capricious jerk, either.” He stared into the embers glumly. “I think he’s losing his patience with us. The lake’s getting polluted and the water’s warming up. No wonder he didn’t want Cooper to crack his ice! I think he needs our help, and we’re failing him.”
CHAPTER 11
JARED
“Look!” Ameru-san nudged Jared’s elbow with her own, and pointed toward the weeping cherry tree. There, standing knee-deep in the creek and showing stark against the cloud of the blush pink blossoms, stood a man.
Bronze-skinned and older, his long, salt and pepper hair hung limp well past his shoulders. Aside from a necklace of shells and beads, he was naked.
“Who is it? That’s not the Wielder. That’s not any Wielder at all!” Whereas Ameru-san would’ve been outraged at the intrusion before Jared had arrived, now she sounded merely intrigued. “And look at him. All naked!”
Jared suppressed a chuckle at her appreciative tone. “He looks familiar,” he allowed. “As though... wait. I think I know him. He’s from the other branch of the family.” At her quizzical look, he continued. “We’re not related by blood. It’s a cousin’s cousin type of a thing, but we’re still in the same clan. He’s some kind of a chief, or something. I haven’t seen him in ages.”
And if he appeared here at this state, he must’ve been scared and confused.
Jared stepped out, putting on his most welcoming and least threatening demeanor. “Uncle? Hello, Uncle! Welcome!” The familiar honorific covered many bases, and he had a feeling this man took it as his due.
The man looked up, and now his high cheekbones and prominent nose reminded Jared of who he might be. He was the one from Canada, and in life, he had been a chief. Or an elder of some sort. If he could only remember the name of the tribe.
Jared hopped off the boardwalk and picked his way over the decorative boulders until he reached him. “Hi, and welcome,” he said with a shy smile. “I’m Jared. You probably remember me from when I was a little kid.”
The man gave him a searching look. “You still are a little kid to me. You’re the one who can see, but cannot do.” He sighed. “Do you remember my name?”
Hesitantly, unwilling to admit to a weakness, Jared shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t. This place, it takes a toll on your memories. But I know your family is from Canada, and you’re an elder from one of the native tribes up there. We’re related through second cousins, but not by blood.” He gave him a hopeful look. “Does that help any?”
“Not yet, but it will. Keep reminding me.” The man’s smile was a crooked jag in his face, and went all the way up to the crinkles around his eyes. “I think I made a terrible mistake, and people died as a result. And now I’m here. And you’re little Jared.” He gave him an appraising look. “Maybe not so little anymore. So tell me about his place, Jared. Where are we?”
“We’re inside Cooper’s spirit sword,” Jared said, happy to be able to answer at least that simple question. “And this being a spirit world, you can conjure whatever clothing you want. Unless you want to streak around, that is.”
“Do I, now,” the man said. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and within moments he was covered in familiar, ceremonial garb. “I went for something familiar and comfortable,” he said. Then he looked down. “Oh. A bit more formal, but okay.”
“A lot more formal,” Jared said as a bubble of relieved laughter escaped him. “Now I know who you are! You’re Uncle Greg Nightwind, the Ojibway shaman. And I still have that dream catcher you made for me when I was a little kid.”
ASH AND COOPER
On his way back to their gher, Ash had a feeling there was no way Cooper would still be happily snuggled in his nest of blankets and furs. Not with all that commotion going on outside – and tent walls were thin.
He was right. Cooper’s unmistakable, copper-red hair gleamed in the sun. He was in the thick of the big lodge construction, putting his training in architecture to practical use. The structure was up, and now Cooper and several other men were pulling on the ropes of a large hunk of olive green canvas, while a group of men and women were poking the canvas up with spare poles.
Ash ran over to see if he could lend a hand. “Where do you want me?” he called out.
“Grab a pole and poke up, will ya?” Someone handed him an oversized broomstick.
Tug by a tug, bit by bit, the long, narrow structure got its outer shell.
“This is the strangest way of raising a tent,” Cooper said from behind the canvas as Ash waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. “We should’ve raised the whole thing with the roof already attached.”
“But then it’s too heavy,” a male voice retorted. “We tried that already.”
“Had we stuck to traditional materials...” another voice said in an I-told-you-so tone. Ash didn’t try to follow the argument after that. He walked around, marveling at the size of the thing. He had never seen a tent this long and narrow before, but before he had a chance to ask about its purpose, more people came in, carrying rectangles of bent steel sheets.
“You must be Ash,” one of them said. “I bet you want to know what comes next.” He grinned. “I’m Dave, and I’m in charge of the fire pit. If you have a moment...”
Ash did have a moment, which is how he ended up lining a long channel dug in the snow with old, bent highway signs (“I work for the Department of Transportation and they let me have these,” Dave said with a wink.) The fire pit took on a long shape, weighed down with piles of rocks and firewood.
“I’ve never been to one of these ceremonies,” Ash admitted. “What are we doing tonight?”
“Ah,” Dave said with a laugh. “Poor you, you have no clue what you’re getting yourself into, then. And I guess Cooper wouldn’t know either.” He settled down two more boulders, straightened, and cracked his back. “We make this a warm, comfortable sweat lodge. The stones will retain heat, but it will be nice and dim after a while. And we will all ground and center, and meditate.” He gave Ash an appraising look. “I hope you don’t get embarrassed easily. This is mostly a power-raising ceremony, so expect people to be going at it in the dark. You don’t have to do anything, of course.”
&
nbsp; Ash nodded. Sex magic was a time-honored tradition, and he and Cooper had made use of this particular way of raising extra power before. “But we can’t,” he said suddenly, as an unpleasant reality came to him. “We, uh... we get destructive. Earthquakes and storms and floods kind of destructive. You don’t want us to, um, raise power that way.”
And not around other people – well, any other people might be okay, but lots of these were family.
“Awkward, isn’t it?” Dave nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
Ash suppressed a shudder. The idea of getting naked and intimate with Cooper in a tent filled with his sweating relatives gave him the creeps.
IT SEEMED THAT they had been excused from fasting due to their underwater adventure (Nikko’s words,) and the horrible ordeal they had to go through (Annabelle’s version, together with hand-wringing and wild eyes.) For once, Cooper agreed with his mother’s interpretation of the events. Between having to go in the freezing water, and knowing that he was letting Ash down by letting the lake spirit distract him, they had lived a nightmare he’d be getting over for some time.
“Look, your grandma was here,” Ash said, pointing at a bamboo tray with food. Her signature cookies sat next to two oranges, two bowls and spoons, and a large thermos of hot, thick soup.
“Fish and vegetables,” Cooper said once he opened the thermos and was able to smell the aroma of food that tempted because it was nice and hot as well as expertly seasoned. “Grandpa must’ve gotten lucky with muskie this year.”
“After the lake, I don’t mind eating fish,” Ash confessed. “But the elders think we are letting the lake down. Do you think there’s anything I can do that could help? I know Lake Superior is a lot bigger than any river I’ve ever tried to heal, but still. It’s worth a shot.”
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