by Sarah Dreher
“Yeah. They do.”
She slipped an arm around her niece’s shoulders. “So do we.”
“Not quite the same way.” Stoner took Aunt Hermione’s hand and rested her head against her neck.
“We have. Many, many times. I think we’ve been just about every kind of nice couple two people can be. This time, we’re a family couple.”
“Do you think we were ever lovers?” Stoner murmured.
“I know we were. I’d give you details, but you’d be… perturbed.”
Stoner pulled away a little to glance at her. “I would?”
“Only because you couldn’t keep the lifetimes separated. And you’re so very proper.”
“Someday I might shock you.”
“Surprise me, maybe. But not shock me.”
Stoner perched on the window sill and folded her arms. “Aunt Hermione,” she began.
“Yes, dear?”
“What’s going on?”
“You know,” the older woman said, looking hard at her, “I really can’t figure it out.”
“Are you scared?”
“A little. Are you?”
Stoner nodded. “It all comes down to me, doesn’t it?”
There was a very long silence. “I think it does,” Aunt Hermione said in a low, apologetic voice.
“Damn.”
“Damn, indeed.”
“I want to do the right thing.”
“I know you do. Whatever you decide will be the right thing.”
It was growing dark outside. “It must be around eight, eight-thirty, don’t you think?”
“Around that.”
Stoner looked up at her. “I think I’d better call Elizabeth.”
Hermione looked down into the younger woman’s honest face and troubled eyes and thought how very lucky she was to know her.
The return ticket would have to wait for a while.
Chapter 11
The cat was sunning himself on the front step, taking up every available inch of passing room, even though he really wasn’t all that large.
She wondered how he managed it. But cats were like that. She remembered that from her sometimes-traumatic years with Aunt Hermione’s cat, Diablo. He could be light as a feather, or sound like a herd of elephants stampeding through the living room. As small as a mouse when you tried to hide something away in a tiny nook. No crack or hole was tight enough to keep him out. Or space-taking as a Great Dane. He could cross the room so delicately even the dust wasn’t disturbed, and two seconds later bump his tail against the TV dial so hard it turned the TV off.
Shape shifters. Enigmas. With that look of seeing through you and into you and beyond you with an expression that said they were listening very hard to someone you couldn’t see. Cats always seemed to know something, and they weren’t about to tell.
Stoner reached across him to ring the bell just as Elizabeth opened the door.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Talking to him?”
“Trying to figure him out.”
Elizabeth threw up her hands and said, “Uhh,” in a way that clearly said, “Don’t even bother.” She turned her attention to the cat. “Come on, Charles, move it. Let the woman in.”
Stoner smiled. “‘Charles’ is it? I see he won.”
“Don’t they always?” She scooped up the cat and held him. “In,” she said to Stoner. “Hurry.”
She returned Charles to his step and closed the door.
It sounded to Stoner a little like the slamming of a cell door. No getting out now. Kind of like the moment they lock you into the House of Horrors ride, and you suddenly realize it was the last ride in the world you’d ever intended to get on but it was too late, the car was moving and no one could hear you and even if they could they’d think your screams for help were all part of the entertainment and you were having a great time.
“Okay,” Elizabeth said, and led her into the Journey room. “You might try breathing,” she added with a little smile.
“Right,” Stoner said, and gulped air.
“Now, we’ve already established that you’re afraid of this but don’t know why.” She sat on the floor and motioned for Stoner to sit beside her. “Suppose I run through what we’ll do and what you can expect, and you stop me at any point that makes you feel anxious.”
Stop, Stoner thought.
There was a soft thud from outside the room, someone else in the house, moving around upstairs. Stoner glanced up.
“That’s Karen. She won’t bother us.”
“Is she a Shaman, too?”
“Yep. You’re surrounded. You might as well surrender.”
Stoner felt herself blush. “It’s not that bad.”
“I know.” Elizabeth grinned. “A little Shamanic humor. Bad Shamanic humor. Actually, most Shamanic humor is pretty bad. But you are surrounded, you know, by beings of light. Every minute of every day and night, wherever you go, spirits are there to help you. All you have to do is call on them.”
Sounded claustrophobic to her. “And if I don’t, they’ll stay away?”
“Well...” Elizabeth hesitated. “Not always, actually. Sometimes they have to intervene, if you’re in real danger. But it’s always for your own good.”
Just like all the wonderful things people do to one another “for your own good,” Stoner thought. People like mothers and doctors and dentists and fathers and fundamentalist Christians.
Elizabeth had noticed her dropping out of the conversation and waited for her to come back.
“Sorry,” Stoner said. “My mind wandered.”
“Anything I should know?”
She shook her head. “Just that ‘for your own good’ stuff.”
“Ah.” She thought for a moment. “What the spirits are most interested in is helping you find your true path. It’s completely different from that other ‘own good’ razz-ma-tazz.”
Stoner laughed. “Well, since I haven’t the slightest idea what my true path is, it must be pretty confusing for my spirits.”
“Not for them. They already know. Maybe they can give you a hand with that, sort of a reward for courageous behavior.”
Stoner grimaced.
“Which brings up a good point,” Elizabeth went on. “The most important thing when you’re Journeying is to form a definite intention and hold to it. Unless you’re just going on a Journey to look around—kind of sight-seeing in Non-Ordinary Reality—in which case ‘looking around’ would be your intention.”
“Uh-huh,” Stoner said, and felt a headache begin.
“Our intention for this Journey is to see what you can do for your aunt. Do I have that right?”
“I guess so.”
“So, as we begin, just say to yourself, ‘This is a Journey to find out how to help Aunt Hermione.’ Or however you’d put it. Keep that focus and relax, and let the spirits do the rest.”
Oh, sure. Perfect trust, relax, nothing to worry about. Just like handing over your luggage to an airline.
“Here’s what’ll happen. You’ll lie down and cover your eyes. Find a place, real or made up, that feels safe to you and can provide an entrance to the Upper World or Lower World. It can be a staircase, or a tree trunk, or a cave, anything you like. Hold your intention steady. I’ll rattle and whistle and sing a little to invite the spirits to join us. When I feel them here, I’ll put on the drumming tape and we’re off.”
Stoner could feel her anxiety fighting to break through, like the bubbles in a shaken Champagne bottle. “This is a little scary,” she said.
“Because it’s your first time.” Elizabeth gave her a reassuring glance. “Once you’ve done it, it won’t be so frightening. Remember, your Power Animal is there to protect and guide you.”
“What if I don’t have a Power Animal?”
“I think one will come forward for you. If it doesn’t, don’t worry. Sometimes they take a while to show themselves. If you meet a certain animal on your Journey that seems familiar, or you have an affin
ity for—or one that appears to you three times—it’s probably your Power Animal. Simply welcome it, and follow its direction.”
“What if it’s a liar, or a trick?”
“Spirit isn’t like that. They have more important things to do.” Elizabeth took a sip of water from the glass beside her. “There’s only one word of caution...”
Here it comes, Stoner thought. The hitch.
“If you meet an animal with fangs, who shows them in a threatening manner, turn around and go the other way.”
“Turn my back on it? That doesn’t sound wise.”
“It won’t hurt you. It’s simply warning you not to go in that particular direction.”
Yeah? Well, how come nobody’s showing up to warn me not to go in this particular direction?
“Okay?” Elizabeth asked.
Stoner nodded. “Okay. Let’s get it over with.”
“Need a bathroom break?”
“No, thanks.” God, it was like going to the dentist, or the first day of school, or—
Elizabeth touched her arm. “Remember, Stoner, I’m right here with you. If anything goes wrong, I’ll pull you out.”
“Right,” Stoner said. “Now you tell me. At the last minute. Something can go wrong.”
“Nothing can go wrong. I’m trying to reassure that part of you that doesn’t believe that. Some people like to carry a life jacket even on dry land.” She got up. “Come on. Stretch out on that rug, make yourself comfortable, and cover your eyes.”
Stoner lay down and put the bandanna over her eyes. “Happy trails,” she said.
Above the hiss of the rattles, she could hear Elizabeth’s silver bracelets singing against one another. The sound reminded her of Marylou and was comforting. Marylou was so solid, so everyday, so Just There. A little surprising for a Scorpio, but Aunt Hermione said it was because she was evolved. Evolved Scorpios could change and transform themselves as easily as a snake sheds its skin. They could even soar like eagles, leaving behind the stinging, secretive parts of their natures. An unevolved Scorpio, on the other hand, could be a very nasty thing indeed.
Mind wandering.
She yanked it back.
Elizabeth began to whistle, a windy kind of sound. It reminded Stoner of a night breeze blowing down a long canyon. She could almost smell the sage, opening its pores to the evening in hopes of capturing a drop of dew.
She was suddenly homesick for Arizona, even though she’d only been there for a couple of weeks. But there had been something about the place that had felt easy and right. Past life stuff, Aunt Hermione would say. Maybe, maybe.
Drifting again. She grabbed the reins of her thoughts and gave them a good, hard tug.
Hold the intention. To learn how to help Aunt Hermione.
Now Elizabeth was singing, or chanting. She couldn’t make out words. It sounded strong and deep and old. Very old. She was tempted to uncover her eyes for a second, but was afraid she’d see, not Elizabeth, but some old medicine man. And it wouldn’t be this Northampton, Massachusetts, room they were in, but a dark place where a fire crackled and roared, and sparks flew up to join their star cousins in the night sky.
Hold the intention.
She could see the sparks and the stars and the raging bonfire and felt her feet trying to leave the ground. She didn’t fight it this time, but let herself float skyward with the sparks.
A moment of silence, and then the drums began. Softly at first, like running footsteps. The volume rose rapidly until it filled her head and blocked out all the sound around her. Her heart gave a little lurch, then joined the tempo of the drums.
Whoa, she thought, a person could have a coronary doing this. Concentrating, she slowed her heart to every second beat, then every third, and every fourth. It felt smooth, like gliding.
A slight pressure against her hip as Elizabeth lay down beside her. Okay, she said to herself silently, for Aunt Hermione.
A large, old tree rose in front of her as she rode the drums. So large she could fit inside. So old it had rotted to form an entrance door. She slipped inside the door and found herself in darkness, engulfed in the silence and the odor of decaying wood. The pleasant, damp odor of cool, rich soil.
Elizabeth had said she could go up or down from here. Which should she do? The trunk opened to the sky, and down into the earth.
“Hey,” she called, her voice resonant in the hollow wood, “which way am I supposed to go?”
From below she heard a snorting, snuffling sound.
“Are you talking to me?”
More snorting.
“Okay,” she said, “I’m coming.” She took a step toward what looked like stairs made from roots, and found herself falling.
No, not falling exactly, floating downward like a feather on a breeze.
The tree trunk became a tunnel with walls of earth, then stone. Black stones, roughly squared but not sharp. It was pleasantly cool in here, and quiet. She realized it had been several minutes since she’d heard the drums, but when she focused her hearing she could make them out, very, very far away.
Like falling asleep, she thought.
Hold the intention.
The tunnel leveled off and widened and she was standing. She reached out to touch the wall. The coal-like stones were cool and wet, but not slimy. Bits of moss and fern grew in the interstices. Beyond lay the entrance to the tunnel, and beyond that the sight of brown sand and blue water.
The snorting sound came again. It was almost like a chuckle. Tentatively, she approached the entrance.
A large, soft pillow-like nose, then a pair of tawny pointed ears appeared.
Stoner laughed. “Burro,” she said.
“So, Green Eyes, you haven’t forgotten your old friends,” said a familiar, rough voice with an undertone of gentleness.
She couldn’t believe it. “Siyamtiwa?”
“Who’d you think? Shirley MacLaine?”
The old Hopi woman showed herself from behind a palm tree. Or maybe not, maybe she just showed herself. Siyamtiwa was like that.
It brought tears to Stoner’s eyes. “It’s so good to see you.”
The old woman grunted. “Not always.”
“Well, you gave me some hard times.” She wanted to reach out and embrace her, but was afraid she’d disappear.
“You gave yourself hard times,”Siyamtiwa said. “Could have stopped anytime. Didn’t that old gypsy tell you that?”
“Old gypsy?” Stoner frowned in puzzlement. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
The Hopi stamped her foot impatiently. “You live most of your life with her, don’t even know who she is? I oughta turn you into a crow.”
“Aunt Hermione? A Gypsy? Oh, you mean in a past life.”
Siyamtiwa grunted again. “You’re some quick learner. Quick like Tortoise.”
“Thank you,” Stoner said.
The other woman rolled her eyes.
“You’re really here?” She was so glad to see her she could barely keep from laughing.
Siyamtiwa looked down at herself, then turned and looked behind her. “Yep, I’m here.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“I look dead? Gotta get more sun.”
“No, but you could be my imagination.”
“Maybe I was then, too.”
“They said you’d died. They buried you.”
Siyamtiwa nodded. “That’s what they say.”
“You were dead, officially.”
“When the spring comes and the snow melts, do you call the snow dead?”
“Well, no,” Stoner said, “we call it melted.”
Siyamtiwa shrugged poetically.
“Is Raven here, too?”
Siyamtiwa became Raven, then herself again, so quickly Stoner wasn’t sure she’d seen it.
“You’re the same… whatever.”
Stuck with each other,” Siyamtiwa said. “You listening to your aunt these days?”
“She’s why I’m here. She’s
having trouble.”
“I think maybe you’re the trouble she’s having.”
“What do you mean?”
Siyamtiwa shrugged. “I don’t know. Idea just settled on me. Like a butterfly.”
“Here’s another of our old friends.” Stoner stroked the burro’s ears. He nudged her with his nose.
“You treat that one with respect,” Siyamtiwa said. “That’s your Animal of Power.”
“This little donkey?”
“Burro. You call him Burro. Capital B. Perfect Power Animal for you. Slow, plodding, but gets there.”
“No offense, Burro,” Stoner said, “but wouldn’t I need someone faster and more… well, fierce?”
“Animal Spirits know, you don’t,” Siyamtiwa said. “So shut up, listen, learn.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Stoner said, humbled.
“And don’t say that ‘Ma’am’ at me. Makes me feel white. What’d you bring me?”
Stoner showed her empty hands. “I didn’t know I’d meet you.”
“What’d you bring me?” Siyamtiwa asked.
I’m sorry, nothing. I didn’t know I’d run into you.”
Siyamtiwa grunted. “When I was young, we didn’t go nowhere without taking a gift. Couple beads. Little bit of tobacco. Something sweet. Never know who you’re going to run into.”
“I’ll remember next time. I will see you again, won’t I?”
“You oughta wait until I leave to say that. Makes me feel unwelcome.”
“I’m sorry,” Stoner said.
“Maybe sometimes you see me now, any old day, just don’t recognize me.” She chuckled. “Maybe the boy that pumps your gas, maybe that’s me.”
Stoner thought of the skinny, dark-haired, acne-ravaged adolescent in baggy pants and sweat shirt who worked evenings in the local Mobil station. “I doubt it.”
Siyamtiwa folded her arms. “Well, next time you bring me something.”
“Anything. What would you like?”
“Twelve virgins.”
She was stunned. “Where would I get twelve virgins?”
“You figure that one out.” The old woman shook her head. “Why they always give me the hard ones?” she muttered to herself.
“Because you’re so good at what you do,” Stoner said.
