by J. M. LeDuc
Repacking her bag one last time, she glanced at Scout. He seemed unfazed by everything happening around him, and just lay on the bed with a look of boredom in his eyes, following her every move.
“Well, I’m glad someone’s chill,” she said, scratching behind his ears. A hard knock on the door startled her, causing Scout to sit up and growl.
Nuna poked her head in the room. “It’s okay, boy, it’s only me. Pamoon, are you ready?”
“I think so,” she said, wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans.
“If you’ve reconsidered, just say so. There’s no shame in changing your mind. It’s a woman’s prerogative,” she added with a wink.
Pamoon shook her head and took a deep breath. “No, I’m good.”
Nuna gave a quick nod.
Grabbing the staff, Pamoon followed her out of the room. She was surprised to see Tihk and Tsomah waiting in the kitchen. “Hey, what are you two doing here?”
“You don’t think we’d let you go off without wishing you luck, do you?” Tsomah wrapped her arms around her, practically breaking her ribs as she held on tight. “You be careful; you hear me?”
“I will,” Pamoon mouthed.
“Come on,” Tihk said, grabbing the leather jacket from the table, “I’ll walk with you.”
Pamoon looked at White Eagle and Powaw. White Eagle nodded and told her to ‘stay on the path’. Powaw just threw tobacco at her and chanted.
21
Bent Tree
March 3, 9:00 p.m.
* * *
Tihk stopped at the border where the reservation met the tree line. “This is as far as I go.”
“Can’t you just walk with me a little further?”
“I’m afraid not. The legend of the Misty Woods is clear. The entrance to the woods can only be seen by the one chosen, and only when that person is alone. If I go with you, it will only slow your progress.”
Pamoon shivered, rubbing her arms.
“Here,” Tihk said, holding out the jacket. “Put this on. Hopefully, the spirits will recognize it, and it will help keep you safe.”
“And if not?”
Tihk shrugged. “No one knows what the Misty Woods are like, but it can’t hurt.”
“Good point,” Pamoon said, taking off the backpack and shrugging into the jacket. She considered the woods ahead, and looked back at Tihk.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” he nodded, taking a seat on the grass. “Right here. Go.”
* * *
Pamoon stepped into the woods, her staff in one hand, Scout by her side, and headed straight for the bent tree she had seen earlier.
Nearing the two large pines that stood in front of it, Scout pulled back on the leash, practically ripping it from her hand.
“What is it, boy?”
He pawed at the ground, the corners of his upper lip rising, teeth showing in a fierce growl.
“It’s okay,” Pamoon said, patting his back. She tried to step beyond the trees, but Scout jumped up and bit her shirt, dragging her back. Her confusion building, Pamoon remembered Powaw’s words.
When you’re confused, look to the animals for guidance.
“Okay, you win,” she said. “We’ll go the long way around.”
* * *
Down the small, hidden path, behind the twin pines, a rabid canine and a black wildcat waited for their prey. When the girl and her wolf turned away, they snarled, gouging the packed dirt with knife-like claws. In a flash, they disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.
* * *
Pamoon forged a path through the woods, approaching the twin pines from the backside. As she and Scout neared, it was her turn to jerk to a full stop. “What the heck?” she said. “Where’s the bent tree?” She drew a mental picture of the woods in her head, remembering her walk with White Eagle and her run through the woods early yesterday morning. She pulled out the chief’s map.
Her mouth twisted as her nose scrunched, she folded the map and shoved it back in her pocket. “This is definitely where the Y-shaped tree stood. I know it is,” she thought out loud. She looked at Scout for answers, but he just licked her hand in response. “Now what do we do?”
As she studied White Eagle’s map, Scout sniffed at a pile of leaves. Her attention drawn to the wolf, she smiled. We let the woods talk to us. That’s what we do.
She followed the signs nature had left. A dead branch told her when she searched in the wrong direction. A warm breeze at her back pushed her forward when she was on the right track. Listening to nature and following its signs, Pamoon began to see wisps of fog rise from the forest floor. A mixture of fear and excitement grew as she and Scout followed the mist. If it became thinner, she changed direction. If thicker, she continued on the same path. Over the next two and a half hours, she followed, until she saw the familiar silhouette of branches—pinched at the bottom, wide at the top.
Nearing the tree, she kept one eye on Scout. He didn’t become protective or growl. The pattern of the mist changed as she stepped closer. It no longer formed a vast carpet of white, but narrowed, forming a clear path in front of her. Standing directly in front of the tree, Pamoon was amazed that the mist was nowhere to be found, except between the two branches.
Without moving her feet, she leaned to the side and peered around the left branch. Although it was dark, she could tell there was no mist anywhere. Repeating the process to the right, she found the same. Scratching her head, she looked between the ‘V’ formed by the tree and stared into the blanket of mist which lay directly between the boughs. Squinting, she tried to peer through the thick fog; a soft glow of light emerging. Taking a small step to either side, the light dimmed. Back in the center, it brightened.
Eyeing the branches with a keener eye, Pamoon noticed carvings on the branches. This looks like the same sort of thing I saw yesterday morning. Tracing the markings with her left hand, her palm began to tingle.
She grabbed her cell phone out of her back pocket and flipped on the light. The flames on her hand were bright red, yet she felt no pain. Weird, she thought, wiping her hand on her pants. She shined the light on the tree and realized the carvings were Cree.
ᓵᐳᐢᒋ ᑕᐱᓴᔨᐦᑲᐣ ᐱᔭᐠ ᐱᑯ ᐱᐦᑐᑫᐃᐧᐣ
Pulling Kamenna’s book of translations from her backpack, she deduced what was etched into the bark. “Through the eye of the needle, one must enter,” she read out loud.
“Well, boy,” she said, squatting down and scratching Scout between the ears, “I guess we need to climb up and through the branches.”
Scout yipped a happy bark and wagged his entire body.
Pamoon placed her staff between the branches, allowing it to lean on the intersection of the two. Using her hands and feet, she pulled herself up and jumped through the eye. Scout needed no prodding, leaping straight through the middle of the branches behind her.
22
Misty Woods
March 4, 12:05 a.m.
* * *
As soon as her feet hit the ground, Pamoon knew she was no longer in the same world. It was as if she had entered an alternative universe. The mountainous terrain surprised her, but the real shock was the weather. A cold chill made her eyes water, and as she exhaled, she saw her breath for the first time. Fear of the unknown held her in its grasp. She turned back, thinking she might have made a mistake, thinking maybe she should just jump right back through the eye, but that choice didn’t exist.
The tree was gone.
Scout didn’t share her apprehension. Invigorated by the weather, he pulled at the leash.
“Okay, you lead the way,” she said, once again shortening his leash.
Taking small steps on the narrow path, Pamoon kept her head down, making sure she didn’t trip over any of the exposed roots. Thorns from the sides of the path pricked her jacket. Staring at the surroundings, she took note that the thorny vines covered everything—the ground as well as the trees.
Continuing on the narrow path, her head swiveled, ex
amining the vast wilderness. She had never seen such a dense forest and lack of leaves. Having spent her entire life in Florida, she had never known winter, nor had she ever seen straight through the branches of one tree into the path of another, and another, and another, for as far as the eye could see. The only thing that seemed to stop her from seeing into forever was the mist. The farther she looked the thicker it became until it looked like a backdrop to a painting.
The further she and Scout traveled, the steeper the trail became. Happy she had the staff, she leaned on it for support and used it to move branches of thorns out of her way.
With the increasing angle of the slope, her legs weakened, but she continued to shuffle forward. Stepping on a rock, it wobbled to the side causing her to lose her balance. Instinctively, she reached out to break her fall, stabbing herself on the thorns. Her pulse raced as she looked at her hand, a long scratch now marred her flesh and blood seeped from the wound. Crap!
She crawled back to the path and fumbled to her feet, steadying herself before moving on. Stepping forward, she became disoriented and woozy. She blinked as the terrain blurred, her feet growing heavier with each step, forcing her to place most of her weight on the staff. She felt like she’d been punched in the gut as nausea flushed her body. Within moments her stomach was empty. Bent at the waist, she continued to dry-heave as cramps swept through her abdomen. Panic, her only emotion.
Regaining her composure, she wiped the spittle from her lips, took a cleansing breath, and was about to continue her climb when she heard an eerie sound. Voices that seemed to call out from the trees. Help us.
“Who said that?” she mouthed. A cold sweat poured down her face, her clothes clinging to her body. Shrugging off her pack, she reached for the tobacco and threw it at the trees.
Come! You belong to the mist.
Pamoon’s eyes widened in fear as she tried to move faster. Tripping again, Scout bit down on her jeans, stopping her fall. Trembling, with every twist of her head, she became even more disoriented. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to clear her vision, yet when she opened them, her dizziness was worse. The trees blurred and swayed, faces appeared and disappeared in the bark.
Don’t stop. Keep moving, she heard one say. The Spirit Cave is your only hope. Our only hope, said another.
Another wave of cramping coursed through her, forcing her to dry-heave once more. Her fear escalating, she heard birds cawing in the distance. Pamoon tried to look through the mist, but the curtain of fog so thick, she could only see an arm’s length in front. Tears ran down her muddied-face, the constant crowing, louder with each step, tearing at her sanity.
The noises seemed to be coming from further up the trail, the same direction she needed to travel. With no choice left to her, she and Scout picked their way along, making sure to stay on the winding path. The longer they traveled, the steeper the trail became. Nuna’s words repeated themselves as she placed one foot in front of the other. They never returned.
Weak, now unable to stand, Pamoon picked her way on hands and knees: the higher she climbed the harder it was to breathe. Glancing at Scout, his tongue hung from his mouth, panting. “I know you want to rest,” her words were jumbled, “but we need to keep moving.”
He answered by tugging on the leash.
The higher they climbed, the louder the birds shrilled; the noise overwhelming her senses. The thorn bushes had grown so thick, they covered the narrow path. Now what? She thought. Using her staff to part the thicket as best she could, she thought she spotted a clearing in the distance.
Pamoon pointed at Scout, and commanded, “Kisata.”
He stayed as she tried to unclip his leash. Her fingers numb, she fumbled with his collar, finally unclipping the leash.
Reaching into her backpack, she retrieved a pair of leather gloves, awkwardly donning them.
She commanded Scout. “Kisata cîkâhtaw.”
Using her gloved hands and staff, Pamoon stood slowly. Weak from the poison coursing through her body, she moved the thorns from their path. Scout obeying her command and stayed right by her side.
The next sixty feet seemed like miles as she tediously cleared a path for them to maneuver. Clearing the last bush out of the way, a sudden wave of exhaustion rolled over her.
“I need to rest, Boy,” she mumbled, taking a shallow breath between each word. Falling on the frost-covered path, her vision faded. Her head thumped on the hard ground as she lost consciousness.
The incessant cawing, louder than ever, startled Pamoon awake. Looking up from where she lay, she gasped. The mist had lifted, revealing a vast clearing. The ground in front of her was flat and the trees were huge. The trunks appeared to be at least four feet around, and so high, they seemed to touch the sky. She blinked repeatedly, trying to clear her vision. The limbs of the trees that lined the clearing curled inward, meeting in the middle, forming a canopy.
In awe of what she saw, she spotted the birds that were responsible for the racket. Large black birds, thousands of them, perched on the overhanging branches.
Scout must have also noticed because he started to howl. Pamoon snapped her head in his direction, her vision swirling. Blinking hard, she saw him standing tall, his head reared back—with each breath, he continued to howl. She remembered Powaw screeching in the woods, and glanced upward, but the birds were unfazed. They didn’t take flight or move from their positions. Instead, it seemed to her as if they were bowing their heads, as if in a sign of respect, although she couldn’t be sure.
Pamoon leaned on the staff, stood, and stumbled forward. With each step, more of the birds appeared to bow.
Her attention on the world around her, she noticed a speck of green. The first color she’d seen since entering the Misty Woods. With uneven, quickening steps, she moved toward it. Her heart and head were pounding in unison. As the world around her came into focus, she saw an immense outcropping of rock covered in green vines, so big that when she stepped close and tilted her head back, she couldn’t see the top. Unsure if thorns lay hidden among the vines, she moved the veil aside with her staff. Sweeping them to the side, she revealed the rock wall behind them and froze, almost dropping the staff. The muscles of her legs tightened, yet felt weak. She stared, openmouthed, at the familiar etching of a flame. The exact same one she bore on her palm and neck.
The palm of her left hand tingled as she ogled the carving. Unable to look away, the burning intensified. She used her teeth to tear the glove from her hand. Staring at her palm, the birthmark had turned a blistering red. Pamoon looked back and forth from her hand to the wall, and back again. The flame on the rock was an exact match to the one on her hand. In both design and size.
Staring at her hand, the muscles in her arm involuntarily twitched in odd movements. An unnatural attraction, like a magnetic charge, forced her hand towards the wall. She tried to step back but was cemented in place. Grunting, she fought to pull her arm away, but to no avail. Opening her mouth to scream, her palm slapped against the rock, the flames covering one another. As they touched, an electric shock shot through her hand and up her arm.
The ground and the mountain of rock started to shake. It felt as if she was in the middle of an earthquake, afraid the rock would tear free and crush her.
Her sweat ran cold and her heart felt like it would burst from her chest as the electricity tore up her arm, into her torso, and up her body. When the pain reached the flame on her neck, it was so intense, her eyeballs started to roll back. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw, expecting the worst.
Suddenly, the tremors stopped, the pain ceased, and her arm flopped to her side. Slack-jawed, she gaped at an opening. A cave now stood where the vines and rock had been seconds before. Her entire body trembled as she stared into the mouth of the Spirit Cave. Looking at Scout for confirmation, he wagged his tail, jumped up, and licked her sweat-soaked cheek.
Turning in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle, nothing else seemed to have changed. Looking up at the trees,
she took note that all the birds had disappeared. It was if they’d never been there.
Scout yipped and bit down on the leg of her jeans, tugging her toward the opening.
She removed her other glove, stuffed them into her back pocket and leaned on her staff. Her heart no longer felt like it might explode from her chest. Taking a deep breath, she spoke, “Lead the way, boy.”
23
Spirit Cave
March 4, 2:00 a.m.
* * *
Rubbing her arms vigorously trying to shake off the cold, Pamoon stood just inside the entrance of the cave. A dim light coming from somewhere in the recesses of the cave allowed her to see all around, shadows everywhere, and everything a shade of gray. Stumbling forward, a cobweb clung to her face. “I hate spiders,” she spit, pulling the web from her face. Using the pole, she knocked down the remainder of the snare and continued to explore.
The walls were covered in murals; some painted, while others were petroglyphs, carved into the rock. Tapestries hung from the ceiling. Below them, in the middle of the cave, sat a small fire. A shiver ran up her spine, a reminder of the chilly environment. With the hope of gaining warmth, she advanced toward the flames; with each step, the fire burned brighter. As the fire grew to illuminate the cave, she spotted the bright colors woven into the tapestries.
Standing next to the fire, her head cleared, no longer feeling drugged. She no longer felt the pain brought on by the thorns. Reaching toward the fire to warm her body, Pamoon didn’t feel the flicker of the flames. Instead, she felt a heat different than anything she’d ever known. A heat kindled deep within her that somehow calmed her nerves, giving her a sort of inner tranquility. It seemed to start in the depths of her soul and emanated outward. By the time it reached her skin, she felt as if she was glowing.
