The Chronicles of the Immortal Council: The complete 10-book collection

by D C Young

  “Wow,” Sam said, shaking her head.

  “I only learned all this from Black Buffalo when I got here yesterday.”

  “Yes. Speaking of Black Buffalo…” Sam continued.

  “I am here,” a voice called out from within the tent. All three of you, please come in.”

  The three looked at each other puzzled and then immediately followed the old man’s instructions; filing into the tent like obedient children entering the classroom. Black Buffalo sat cross-legged on his pile of skins across from the small fire. He gestured for them to sit down across from him.

  “I told White Eagle yesterday that I was waiting for the others that Black Elk had sent to me.” He turned to White Eagle and said, “Here they are, son. They have arrived. Now we can begin to tackle the real problems at hand.”

  ***

  Sam had never felt particularly spiritual until she had met an immortal guardian by the name of Archibald Maximus.

  She called him Max.

  Through their visits and talks and even a few metaphysical incidents, he had enlightened her on the true nature of the vampiric spirit that resided within her and every other vampire in the world. Though technically classified as a demon, her understanding of the non- physical world had been greatly enhanced.

  She had heard of the paranormal encounters which humans and other vampires around had and witnessed some of those interactions first hand. Such as the ghosts that walked the streets in New Orleans and the Parlange Plantation she had visited with her family.

  In fact, ever since Sam had gone through her transformation, she had developed a gift of seeing disembodied souls. They’d aided and interfered with her investigations ever since then. Not all immortals had that gift of sight neither did all powered humans; a fact she’d learned from Jade Benoir a generational New Orleans witch.

  “They can’t leave this place, it was all they knew then and it’s all they know now,” Jade said.

  “Why haven’t they crossed over?”

  “There’s a lot of reasons for that, each spirit has its own.”

  “And you don’t feel the need to help them move on?” Sam asked.

  “Personally, I don’t meddle, Sam. They’re happy right where they are. However, if a spirit is tormented, then witches and psychic people are obligated to offer guidance to put that spirit at rest.”

  In Sam’s eyes, That was the way things stood now. The vampires and the Sioux holy men and tribal leaders were obligated to deal with Wazeya, the wendigo, before all Hell broke loose on the country.

  Black Buffalo had done an excellent job of delivering a conglomerated version of the folkloric tales and the recent visions from Black Elk and then referencing them back to the activity on the land in the north of the reservation. He even agreed with White Eagle that the rise in violent crimes in the area was a direct result of Wazeya’s haunt.

  He made it clear what their objectives were and established that the fight was not his, but theirs. They were stronger and more gifted in such things than he was but he did have something of great value to offer them.

  Black Buffalo had sent them from the tent at around 9 a.m. to prepare himself and about an hour later he summoned them back in.

  Sam had never had much of a close encounter with the traditions of the Native American peoples before but she understood the importance of their traditions and her past experiences with the spirit world had wiped skepticism from her mind permanently.

  She couldn’t help but be awash with awe as Black Buffalo bestowed the blessing and protection of the smudging ceremony on them.

  She watched Black Buffalo intently as he took a burning stick from the small fire in front of them and lit a pile of dried herbs inside a dried calabash gourd on the ground before him. Opening her mouth, she inhaled the smells around her, instantly recognizing the scents of the herbs he was burning.

  They were a familiar combination that usually filled the rooms at Elysium House.

  Sage, Lavender, and Mint.

  The Holy man smiled at the three seated across from him and then he began to speak.

  “This smoke of the white sage will free you of all the evil that might have attached itself to you. Allowing you to, once again, think of your own free will.”

  As he used a fan fashioned from a crow’s wing to waft the smoke over each of them, he sang:

  “A voice, the dawn, hear it. It speaks low, hear it.”

  When Black Buffalo got to Lone Horn who was sitting last in the line of the threesome, he returned to Sam and continued on another round.

  “The Lavender serves to be calming to your soul; clearing your thoughts so you may be a contrast to this spirit which is utter disturbance.

  Again, he sang:

  “The spirit of the dry wood. Those coming are pleased.”

  “The mint will heal the physical damage that has already been done and that which is yet to come from the evil which will seek to take root inside you.”

  This time, the Holy man did not sing. He stood up and made his way around the fire. Sam and the two men stood to meet him.

  Standing in front of them, Black Buffalo gave them curt instructions, then began the last of the ritual. He used the wing to waft billows of smoke over their bodies. He started at their heads asking the ancestors to clear their minds and free them from sickness.

  Sam closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of the fan wafting the smoke around her face and head. Black Buffalo brought the fan around their faces four times and asked the ancestors to clear his warriors minds.

  Time seemed to stand still as he continued the ritualistic fanning over the rest of her body

  He moved the fan around their torsos four times, asking for their hearts to be cleaned and freed of encumbrances. Finally, moving down to their legs where he asked the ancestors to send the warriors on their true path, which they were now prepared to understand.

  When he was finished, he sang:

  “The spirit of the dry wood. Wazi is going away.”

  Black Buffalo returned to his seat in the other side of the fire and set his accouterments down beside him.

  “Let us pray,” he said and they all bowed their heads reverently.

  It was an ancient, traditional prayer. One that moved Sam immensely.

  “From the rising sun I heard many voices.

  And they were traveling west.

  Ahead came an old man with white hair and a cane.

  He said, "Good men be good.

  And you will live long.

  I will give a cane to the aged, and to this young woman.

  There is the father coming.

  “You shall live,” he says as he comes.

  Chapter Eight

  Tammy wasn’t sure why she spent so much time looking up into the sky or why she had suddenly started paying attention to birds of all kinds. Was it because of the ancient spirit from her former life or had Black Elk just gotten under skin and made her paranoid? Did it really matter? She didn’t seem to have control over it, anyway. Though she hadn’t specifically agreed, not in so many words, to help Black Elk, she was pretty sure that he wasn’t finished with her and she would be called back to him at any moment. That, though she was adapting to it better all of the time, was what really had her paranoid.

  It was a different voice which called out to her and drew her into the vision. In fact, it wasn’t a voice at all which called her, not a speaking voice, anyway, but a singing voice. It was quite musical and charming actually, and she didn’t resist it like she had when Black Elk had called to her before.

  “Tweedle deeeeeeeeee,” the voice sang. It was a sweet sound and it made her smile. There were several rapid chirps and then there was another long, music tune. “Tweedle deeeeeeeeee.”

  When she went through the moment of blurriness that usually drew her from the physical world and into a vision, she felt a great warmth for the bird, especially the tone of its sweet song. When the singer of the song came into focus, she was looking at a b
lack bird with red spots on its wings.

  “Tweedle deeeeeeeeee,” it repeated and then it changed from singing to speaking, though there was a musical tone even when words started coming from its beak. “Thorn Girl, you are awake?”

  Tammy couldn’t believe that a bird was speaking to her. This is about as weird as it gets. She snorted at the thought, and then decided to respond anyway, just to see what kind of messed up vision she was about to have. She responded, “Yes, I am awake.”

  “I am Black Bird,” he said.

  “Of course you are,” she responded.

  “I have been sent to bring you to Wakinyan,” he continued.

  “I thought he was a bird. How did he…” she cut off the question before she finished it. What point was there in arguing about forms when she was talking to a black bird who was also talking to her?”

  “He is a falcon, actually,” Black Bird responded.

  “Isn’t that a bird?” she asked with an accusing grin.

  “Not if you are a bird. Come, follow me, I will take you to him.”

  leap She ducked and covered her head instinctively.

  “Do be afraid, Thorn Girl,” Black Bird called out. “I would never harm you.”

  She had to believe him and why shouldn’t she. How many talking birds, besides Missus Dunbar’s parrot, had she ever been around that had hurt her? She followed him, though she wasn’t sure why, since they were in a vision, they couldn’t just flash from one portion of the vision to another. So, she strolled along through a meadow of tall, thick grass following the black bird.

  When they came to the edge of the meadow, the black bird perched on a branch not far from the ground and began his song again. “Tweedle deeeeeeeee. Chirp. Chirp. Chirp. Tweedle deeeeeeee.”

  Tammy moved up to sit on a stump below the branch. She smiled up at the black bird, watching him in amazement and enjoying the sweet sound of his song.

  “Wait here,” Black Bird said after some moments and then flew away.

  The black bird had been gone for less than a minute before she began to hear the sound of a long screech from the sky above her. She looked up, searched the vast blue above, and finally saw the silhouette of a large bird with wings spread. A thrill went through her, though she wasn’t sure why. The smooth glide, plunging dive and then the graceful recovery as the large bird, which she recognized as a falcon, leveled off just above the top of the tall grass in the field and flew toward her. She ducked as the bird came closer and scrambled away from her seat on the stump as the falcon landed upon the same branch Black Bird had evacuated only moments before.

  Tammy pressed her back against the trunk of the tree and stared at the large bird. The mix of emotions was palpable. It was quite obvious that there were conflicting spirits inside of her the moment she was face to face with the falcon.

  “You have awakened, then? It is truly you?”

  Tammy hesitated a moment, but felt something rising up inside of her which she could no longer resist. It was thrilling and it felt as though her heart would leap out of her when she heard his voice.

  “It truly is,” she said.

  “It has been a very long time,” the falcon responded.

  “It has,” Tammy answered. She was beginning to feel that she no longer existed as Tammy, but had given way to the spirit of Thorn Girl. “Too long.”

  There was a long pause. Tammy felt like an observer of the exchange and the emotions, yet at the same time felt them inside of her. It was the strangest thing she had ever encountered since she had first become aware of her gift.

  “I just want to say,” the falcon began. He paused a moment before continuing. “I was wrong. I broke my promise to you. I am sorry. Will you ever forgive me and love me again?”

  “I always loved you,” Thorn Girl, inside of Tammy responded. “But how could I ever trust you after you broke your word?”

  “You always loved me?” the falcon gasped.

  “Yes. Had you kept your promise, then I might have come to you again,” she responded.

  The falcon sat quietly for a long time, gazing out across the heads of the tall grass rippled by the breeze. Tammy watched him, not only was the Thorn Girl part of her longing for something within the falcon, but even her own consciousness was impressed by the sleek, powerful form of the bird and the majestic way it was posed while the breeze softly ruffled his feathers.

  “And now, with this knowledge, it is all too late,” the falcon said after some time. “I am not what I once was. I am not the great Chosen Warrior of the Ancient One.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Tammy replied. “You are majestic and strong even now. I believe that though your heart and your form are smaller, the warrior’s heart still beats in your chest.”

  “My warrior’s heart shriveled up inside of me when you refused me,” the falcon responded. “It is lost forever.”

  “Nothing is lost forever,” Tammy replied.

  No sooner had the words left her mouth before she found herself back in the physical world where she lived as Tammy Moon. “O-M-G,” she whispered. “That was seriously intense.”

  ***

  Standing around the tailgate of the rental car later that day, Sam and Lone Horn carefully reviewed White Eagle’s collection of newspaper stories. They were in the parking lot outside the Sioux Tribal Agency in Fort Yates. While they read, White Eagle devoured a double cheeseburger, constantly asking if the pair weren’t hungry between his gigantic mouthfuls.

  Sam ignored his questions and read through the highlighted papers quickly, passing each one to Lone Horn when she was finished.

  “What are your instincts, Sam Moon?” he asked when they were finished with the last one.

  Sam paused for a moment, gathering the papers and stacking them neatly back into the folder. “My instinct is that my investigation into the motives of the corporate entities behind the pipeline have now been sidelined into something else entirely.”

  Lone Horn nodded his head and they both turned to White Eagle who was finishing his food. They waited till he had swallowed the last bite so he could respond.

  “Personally, though I think the council would understand considering what we might be up against here,” White Eagle began, “Something Black Elk said to me makes me feel that just chasing after the wendigo is not the best course of action.”

  “I don’t think I’m following,” Lone Horn said.

  “I think he means there might be more than meets the eye with this creature and by going after it, stalking it to the towns it’s been ravishing in an effort to catch it we may lose its trail altogether.”

  “Exactly!” White Eagle confirmed.

  “The theory is intriguing,” Lone Horn said, folding his arms in front of him. “What’s your theory?”

  “I think the spirit has taken a human form. It’s assimilated and that’s why Black Elk has intervened. He knows Wazeya will be able to roam freely and wreak his havoc so long as he maintains this cover.”

  “It’s a good theory,” Sam said. “But who is he posing as?”

  “That I’m not sure of. I’d just started to piece together a very weak thread when I left to see Black Buffalo. Lord, knows I hoped he’d have more answers than he did.”

  “We will need to determine his identity,” Lone Horn said. “Are there any clues that tie these attacks together?”

  “Just one,” White Eagle replied, “And it’s a far reach still. I don’t have enough evidence.”

  “Spill it,” Sam said curtly.

  “Well, I roughly mapped all the murders then lay them out chronologically. Then as a hunch, I made a list of all the Dakota pipeline executives that were present on Cannonball Ranch the day the burial grounds were disturbed. I figured Wazeya might have latched on to someone that was present and seemed powerful.”

  “That was a good thought. What did you find?” Sam asked.

  “There were only three men and one woman there from the corporate office, the rest were heavy equipment
operators and one foreman. I decided to concentrate on the three men. That’s when I noticed a huge coincidence. One of them, Matthew Highridge, had been traveling the region quite extensively doing a lot of footwork for the company. He’d been meeting with landowners, town council members and even locals getting a feel for the local response to the development and reporting on it back. As it turns out, Mr. Highridge was in the vicinity of each of these murders when they occurred.”

  Sam didn’t have a chance to react to White Eagle’s revelation. As soon as he was finished, her phone started ringing loudly from inside the cabin of the car. She ran around to the driver door to answer it.

  ***

  A sweet song drew Tammy into her vision with a smile on her face and eager anticipation.

  She had been in a very different state of mind since she had felt the presence of Thorn Girl inside of her while she watched the majestic falcon in the sky over that green meadow.

  Though it was Thorn Girl who was truly in love, not with the falcon, but with the spirit which lived in the falcon, Tammy could feel the warmth of it throughout her being. Even when she was in the world of reality and not in her vision, the sun seemed brighter during the day and the stars twinkled with greater intensity at night. A thrill leapt through her as she heard the bird’s sweet song.

  It wasn’t the sweet “tweedle deeeeeeeee,” of the red winged blackbird, which she had heard before, but a more complex tune. As her eyes began to clear from the cloudiness which often accompanied her arrival into a vision, Tammy searched the branches of the tree for the singer of the tune. On a low branch, not far away, she noticed a small, dark bird with orange on its head and orange on its wings. She remembered enough of Black Elk’s story to recognize the bird as Fire Owner.

  “Hello, pretty little bird,” she said. “What a pretty song you sing.”

  “It is a garbled up bit of croaking, if you ask me,” the little bird responded, bowing its head and turning its eyes away from her shyly.

  “It is nothing of the kind,” she replied. Though she had considered it odd to be talking to birds in her vision the time before, she had come to realize, much through the help of the other familiar paranormals who shared her gift, that it was not abnormal, especially when the source of her vision related to ancient entities from the world before any white man had set foot on the American continent. She continued without hesitation. “I could sink into the grass by the trunk of the tree and listen to you singing all day long.”