Evil Awakened (The Kiche Chronicles Book 1)

by J. M. LeDuc

  “Huh?” she said.

  “Whatever happened to them was not of this world. And we won’t know anything until you find and enter the Spirit Cave.”

  Nuna spoke up. “I’m not letting my niece, a sixteen-year-old, go into the Misty Woods. You know better than most what has happened to our people when they’ve tried.”

  Pamoon had never seen Nuna mad. She sat, biting her lower lip as her aunt pointed to each person around the table. “They never came back!”

  “Eha,” Powaw agreed. “But,” he looked straight in her eyes, “Pamoon is not Cree. Not by birth.” Pamoon watched as he turned his attention on everyone else at the table. Looking each in the eye, he said, “You all know what the legend says.”

  “It’s just a legend!” Nuna said.

  To Pamoon, it sounded more like Nuna was trying to convince herself of this fact.

  “A girl, ‘white as the winter snow’, will save the nations,” Powaw recited.

  Pamoon’s breath caught in her throat as Powaw looked at her again. “Pamoon was brought here for a reason. Before she or any of us can do anything, she must find and enter the cave.”

  Arguing erupted around the table: Nuna and Tsomah making a case that she shouldn’t go. That it was too dangerous. Powaw arguing that she must. White Eagle and Tihk just sat and listened.

  “Enough!” White Eagle slammed his hand down on the table, causing everyone to jump. “We have all read what is written on the jacket, but only Pamoon was able to see what our eyes could not. It is not our decision to make.”

  “I’ll go,” she said, without hesitation.

  The room went silent.

  She saw everyone staring at her. “I don’t know anything about anything. But my birth mother believed angels wrote those words. There is only one way to find out. Only one way to find Bobby and the others.”

  “Then it’s decided,” White Eagle said.

  Nuna stood, pushing her chair away from the table. “I’ll tell you what’s decided, chief. If you’re all going to be irrational, I’m leaving and taking Pamoon with me. I just lost my sister, I’m not losing my niece.”

  “No,” Pamoon said. She watched as Nuna snapped her head in her direction. “It’s what Kamenna would have done. It’s what I am going to do.”

  She stood and walked out, the others arguing anew.

  * * *

  Pamoon sat on the curb outside of the hall, Scout by her side, twirling her ring around her finger. A few minutes later Powaw and White Eagle came outside.

  “If that is your decision,” White Eagle said, standing in front of her, “we must get you ready. Come.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Battle.”

  “Wait,” Pamoon said, following them. “No one said anything about battle.”

  18

  Lessons

  March 3, 2:00 p.m.

  * * *

  Pamoon had been waiting in Powaw’s backyard ever since they left the meeting. Minutes passed like hours as she waited for her uncle and Powaw. Her thoughts were as scattered as the fallen leaves.

  They never came back. She couldn’t shake the fear in Nuna’s voice when she spoke of those who had entered the Misty Woods. Pamoon’s anxiety increased to full-grown panic as she rethought her decision. She felt like she would crawl out of her skin by the time White Eagle and Powaw showed up. Powaw was sprinkling tobacco as he walked, while White Eagle carried a wooden pole in his hands.

  “What’s that?” she said, pointing at the stick.

  “Your weapon.”

  “A stick?”

  “A staff. The most basic of our weapons.” He pointed to the chair and asked her to sit.

  Pamoon sat as he came closer. He stood a few feet in front of her and planted the staff on the ground, so it stood in a vertical position. He leaned into it and dropped his head, his braids falling forward. She saw his chest rise and fall as he breathed deep. “I don’t know exactly what you’re up against, but whatever or whoever it is comes from the Native American world. You must fight it using our weapons.”

  “No one said anything about fighting.”

  He looked her straight in the eyes. “By ‘fight’, I don’t necessarily mean a physical altercation, but you know what you saw in your dreams. That needs to be dealt with in one manner or another.”

  She watched as his posture stiffened.

  “You won’t know what is asked of you until you find and enter the Spirit Cave, but you need to be ready for whatever comes your way.”

  “And I’m supposed to be ready for some stank-eyed, bloody skull by swinging a stick at it?” she mocked.

  She rolled her eyes at Powaw. The entire time the chief spoke, he moved in a large circle, chanting and throwing tobacco.

  “Look at me,” White Eagle said.

  He stood with the staff perpendicular to his body, his arms out straight. “Stand and face me. Whatever I do, you are to remain perfectly still. Keep your focus on me.”

  Pamoon’s breath caught in her throat when she peered into his eyes; they were hardened, like a warrior’s. He started spinning the staff, first slowly and then faster; two hands, then one. Soon it was moving with such speed that the object became a blur, but she could hear it. It made a whirring sound as it spun in front of and then around his body. White Eagle began dancing around the circle Powaw had made, as if dancing on air. His eyes always on her’s, he spun the staff as if it weighed nothing.

  Pamoon’s heartbeat quickened as he moved closer. The strands of her short hair stirred from the breeze made by the spinning staff. She wanted to flinch, to move away, but she stood still, statue-like, afraid to even take a breath. Through the blur of movement, she continued to stare at White Eagle. Without warning, he jumped to her right, grabbed the spinning staff with both hands, emitted a guttural yell, and swung it at her head.

  Her chest rose and fell with an exaggerated breath as the staff stopped less than an inch from her cheek. She heard nothing but the pounding of her pulse in her eardrums as she burned a look of consternation into the chief. The tension of the moment dissipated when Powaw began to laugh.

  “Only the one spoken about by the fates could have acted like that. If there was ever any doubt, it is gone now.”

  White Eagle held the staff out in front of her. “This is to stay with you at all times until this is over. You are to sleep with it by your side, and when you are awake, it’s never to leave your grasp.”

  Pamoon gripped it with both hands, surprised at its weight when the chief let go. “Wow, that’s heavy. What is it made of?”

  “Birch.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “I made it.”

  “Out of?” Pamoon let the last word linger.

  “A Birch tree.”

  I should have known, she thought. “How’d you ever spin it so fast?”

  “You’ll find that weight can work in your favor as well as against you. Once you learn to control the weight, you will be able to control one that is much lighter.”

  “That sounds backwards,” Pamoon said. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to start with a lighter one first?”

  “Many truths sound backwards in the beginning,” White Eagle responded.

  Pamoon ignored the chief’s comments and tried to spin the staff like he did, but the weight caused it to slip from her fingers, echoing as it struck the hard ground. “Are you going to teach me how to use it?” she asked, picking it up.

  “No,” White Eagle said, shaking his head. “I’m going to leave that to others.”

  Great, more riddles.

  “I’m going to show you something more important.”

  “What?”

  “The woods.”

  Pamoon was confused. “I already know about the woods.”

  “Not like a Cree.”

  19

  The Woods

  March 3, 3:00 p.m.

  * * *

  Back at White Eagle’s, Pamoon sat at the kitchen table with an anti
cipatory look, while White Eagle unfolded a large piece of paper.

  “This is a map of the woods around the reservation.”

  Pamoon recognized the old runway, the Everglades on the opposite border, and the campsite. Other than that, all she saw were stick figures marking trees, rocks, and water.

  “Everything in nature has a purpose. I have spent years mapping the woods.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Kamenna taught you that the woods were sacred. You heard me repeat it on our walk.” She nodded. “Every living thing has a spirit. Everything,” he emphasized. “Not just people. Everything from the largest lake to the smallest animal. And each can talk to you.”

  “They can talk?”

  “Not like you and I, but they can communicate.”

  “Like the bent trees?”

  “Eha. If you open your heart and spirit, they will tell you what you need to know.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Everything on this map has spoken to me during my many years walking in the woods. You will carry this with you when you go in search of the Misty Woods. The landmarks may help you find your way by speaking to you.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “Come, let us travel.”

  * * *

  Pamoon soon found herself in the woods once again. This time, Powaw was with them.

  “Since Powaw is our spirit leader, I will let him explain,” White Eagle said.

  She watched as Powaw stopped a few feet in front of them. “Come,” he said, “and tell me what you see.”

  Pamoon stepped beside Powaw and pointed at a tree. “I see a pine tree.”

  “What does it tell you?”

  She shrugged. “It’s just a tree.”

  “Look closer.”

  Pamoon concentrated on the tree. As she did, she remembered something Kamenna had taught her. You must understand the small things to understand the big things.

  Pamoon closed her eyes trying to erase what she had seen. Opening them, the branches and the pine needles came into sharper focus, like the hidden pictures in a Highlights magazine. “The branches are leaning to the east,” she said.

  “What does that tell you?”

  “That they are…searching for the morning light.”

  “Eha. What else?”

  * * *

  She reached out and touched the branches. “The needles on the lower branches are bent, some broken. That tells me someone or something has been by here. That they grabbed the branches hard enough to break them.”

  “Eha. Good. What else?”

  Pamoon again closed her eyes.

  “See them with your inner eye,” Powaw said.

  “My spirit?”

  “Eha.”

  Opening her eyes, she looked again. “Each branch that was grabbed is not as green as the others.”

  “Why?”

  “They feel the pain brought by being broken or bent,” she said, her voice rising, not sure if she was correct. “They’re wounded.”

  She looked at Powaw for affirmation. He nodded and smiled. “Continue,” he said.

  She lightly brushed her hand over the needles. There was a slight shake of the branch. To Pamoon, it felt the same as when she would lightly rub Scout’s fur. “They can sense we come in peace. They know we are alike in spirit.”

  “Eha. You are a fast learner. Definitely Cree,” Powaw said. “Come, we will explore deeper.

  * * *

  Over the next couple of hours, they repeated the lesson. Checking out leaves that had fallen on the ground, as well as rocks and water supplies—from puddles to the Everglades—each told her something different. Each had their own story to tell.

  As they walked back to the reservation, Powaw stopped. “Look at Scout. You see how he is sniffing at the ground?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Go look at what has his attention.”

  Pamoon bent low and studied the ground Scout was sniffing and digging in. “There’s a small hole buried under the leaves. A burrow of some sort.”

  “Does he appear frightened?”

  “No, just curious.”

  “Look up at the birds in the trees. Do they seem frightened?”

  “No.”

  She watched as Powaw raised his hands to his mouth and let loose a high-pitched howl. As soon as he did, the birds took flight and Scout barked. “When you are confused, look to the animals for guidance. Animals have a sixth sense,” he said. “They know when danger is coming before you do.”

  20

  Dinner

  March 3, 6:00 p.m.

  * * *

  Night had begun to settle on the reservation by the time Pamoon and the others stepped from the woods.

  “Let’s go and eat,” White Eagle said. “You have a long night ahead of you.”

  Opening the door to White Eagle’s, the smell of Nuna’s cooking had Pamoon salivating. Nuna, busy at the stove, glanced in their direction.

  “It’s about time. Dinner is getting cold.”

  Pamoon sat, her stomach growling. “I’d eat your cooking even if it was frozen.”

  “If you were any later, you might have. Eat. Then we’ll talk.”

  After dinner, White Eagle asked Powaw to explain what he had encountered in the sweat lodge.

  “The spirits echoed much of what Pamoon saw in her dreams. Kanontsistonties was summoned and is free to devastate the nation.”

  “Kanontsistonties?” Pamoon said. “I don’t know that word.”

  “It’s an Iroquois word for Pimihawin Mistikwân, or Flying Head.”

  “Why not use the Cree words? And what do you mean by it being summoned?”

  “You remember when we spoke of the powwow?” White Eagle said.

  “Well, yeah; it was just today.”

  “When a story is told by one tribe, we honor them by using their words when referring to it. The story of Kanontsistonties originated with our Iroquois brothers.”

  “And sisters,” Nuna added, her eyebrows arched.

  “And sisters,” White Eagle sighed. “Why do you have to be such a nuisance?”

  “To keep you humble, Chief. Not to mention, living in the twenty-first century.”

  Pamoon grinned at the sibling bickering. She always admired their relationship; through their non-stop verbal jabbing, their love and respect for one another never waned.

  Powaw exhaled loud enough for everyone to hear. “Getting back to the subject,” he said, “the reason I said summoned was because the history of the first people tells of a time when Kanontsistonties ran havoc over the tribes. The demon killed by biting its foe, growing stronger by consuming the spirit of humans.”

  “Did the demon kill everyone it bit?”

  “No. Legend states that some were turned to do Kanontsistonties’ bidding.”

  “Turned?”

  “Transformed into other demonic beings, like Kanontsistonties’ very own army.”

  Pamoon rubbed the goosebumps on her arms; a shiver ran up her spine.

  “No one could figure out how to kill the demon.”

  “Did they ever?” Pamoon was glued to his every word.

  “Eha. Well, sort of. You can’t kill what is not of this world, but you can send it back to its place of origin.”

  “And where is that?”

  “The netherworld. To answer your first question, the demon was destroyed on the earthly plane. The story our Iroquois brothers tell is that Kanontsistonties was hunting one night and smelled something sweet. Inside a nearby teepee, a woman was cooking chestnuts. The demon couldn’t resist. It entered the hut and dove for the morsels. In its hunger, however, it bit into and swallowed a red-hot hearthstone instead of a chestnut. According to the legend, Kanontsistonties was consumed by fire and disappeared in a ball of smoke.”

  “If Kanontsistonties was sent to the netherworld, how did it escape?”

  “The Iroquois say that since man sent the demon to the depths of the
netherworld, it could never escape, unless man summoned it back.”

  “Who would do that?”

  “No one,” White Eagle said, shaking his head; his confidence waning with each word.

  “Then how—”

  “I don’t know. That’s one of the answers I’m hoping you will find in the Spirit Cave.”

  Pamoon’s thoughts were interrupted by Nuna’s voice. “Speaking of the cave, I have something I want you to wear on your journey.”

  Pamoon watched as Nuna grabbed her purse from the counter and slid out a long, thin box.

  Nuna opened the package and lifted a beautiful turquoise and silver necklace from under the tissue paper. “This belonged to our mother,” she said. “Mother always said it brought her luck.” Pamoon watched her glance at White Eagle and saw a twinkle in his eyes. “We want you to have it,” Nuna continued. “It will bring you luck; it will bring you back to us.”

  Pamoon stared at White Eagle as Nuna fastened it around her neck. It felt cold and heavy.

  The corners of White Eagle’s mouth rose in appreciation. “Eha. It looks right on you. Kamenna would agree.”

  Pamoon’s heart warmed at his words.

  “Here,” Powaw said, taking a dreamcatcher from around his own neck, “wear this, also. It has been blessed by the spirits and will help keep the demons at a distance.”

  Pamoon was overwhelmed as Powaw stood and placed it around her neck. He then handed her a tobacco pouch. “The woods garner spirits. The tobacco will honor their presence. Sprinkle it along the path.”

  * * *

  It was nearly nine by the time Pamoon had stocked the backpack her mother had left with needed supplies for her trip into the woods. As she emptied and repacked her food, water, phone and other things for what seemed like the hundredth time, her mind was racing. What if I can’t find the Misty Woods? What if I do find it? How am I supposed to find this cave everyone keeps talking about and make it back alive when real Indians have failed? The more she thought, the more worried she became.