by J. M. LeDuc
Mesmerized by the dancing flames, she grew weak. Unable to hold her arms out any longer, they dropped to her sides, her staff falling against her shoulder. Her knees buckled as she tried to back away from the fire. Her eyelids drooped, heavy and burdensome. With trembling hands, she grasped the staff, planted the tip on the ground, and leaned against it for balance. She fought to keep her eyes open but failed. Her sight dimmed and darkness came. The last thing she remembered was the sound of her weapon striking the stone floor.
* * *
She felt Scout nudge her with his snout. Pamoon pried open her dry eyes, licking her parched lips. A white smoke filled the cave. Frightened that the tapestries had caught fire, she attempted to crawl her way out. Turning back toward the opening, her face blanched.
A stone wall now stood where the cave opening had been.
If Pamoon had felt like an invited guest before, she now felt like a prisoner.
Shivering with fright, she heard a deep yet soothing voice.
“Relax, little one. There is nothing to fear.”
Pamoon whipped her head around, yet saw nothing. “I must be dreaming.”
“You are not dreaming, nor are you awake,” the voice said. The sound was soft and feminine, yet it commanded attention.
Pamoon scrambled to a sitting position. The thick smoke swirled, but it no longer appeared to come from the fire. It rose and hovered near the ceiling like puffy clouds on a spring day.
Pamoon’s eyes darted back and forth. Her fear turned inward, anger and frustration bubbling just below the surface. She gripped the staff, ready to attack. Clearing her throat, she tried to be brave, but her weak voice elicited fright. “Show yourself.”
The smoke danced and swayed until it took the shape of a woman. As the figure sharpened, Pamoon saw an olive-skinned, Native American woman. A woman so beautiful, Pamoon found it difficult to look directly at her. She fought the compulsion to turn away, wanting a better look at this apparition.
The woman’s eyes sparkled and brought warmth to the cold cave. Her black hair hung like spun silk past her waist.
The flames, Pamoon thought, they’re touching the rugs; why don’t they burn?
“Is that the only question you have?” the voice giggled.
“You…you can hear my thoughts?”
“Yes. And you, mine.”
“Who are you?” Pamoon’s voice cracked.
“I’ve been called by many names, but Kisemanito or Creator will suffice.”
“God?”
“That depends on your definition.” The spirit smiled.
“Why are you here?”
“To help guide you on your way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Whenever evil is present, good must vanquish it. If the evil is in spirit form, the good must also be.” The Creator became flesh as her feet touched the cave’s surface. Pamoon now found it easier to make eye contact. “You must learn to exist in spirit if you have any chance of sending Kanontsistonties back to the netherworld—back to its grave.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Only spirits are able to defeat other spirits.”
“You’re a spirit, I think, why can’t you send Kano—the Flying Head back?”
“Since man called it forth, only man can send it back.”
“I’m just a girl. How am I supposed to send it back?”
“You, my dear, are much more than just a girl.”
More riddles. “You said you were here to help guide me, will we be seeing a lot of each other?”
The Creator smiled. “Possibly. It just depends on how much guidance you need.”
“Trust me, I’m gonna need a lot,” Pamoon mumbled. “Since I have a feeling we’re going to be talking a bunch, do you mind if I call you, Kise? It’s easier than Kisemanito, and,” she shrugged, “less formal than Creator.”
“Kise. I’d like that,” the Creator beamed. Opening her arms and spreading them toward the walls, Kise said, “Everything you need is all about you.”
“Your thoughts sure do jump around a lot,” Pamoon whispered.
Again, Kise spread her arms.
Pamoon gazed at her surroundings with a new appreciation. “Does everything on these wall and blankets have meaning?”
“Everything has meaning to somebody. You must decide what holds meaning to you.”
You sound like the chief, Pamoon thought.
Kise laughed. “I take that as a compliment.”
Pamoon blushed. “You can read my mind.”
Kise smiled and nodded. “I thought we already established that fact.” Her eyes shifting toward the walls, she said, “Tell me what you see.”
Pamoon walked around the cave, trying to make sense of everything she saw. “There is so much here,” she said. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Start at the beginning.”
Turning in circles, Pamoon asked, “The beginning of what?”
“You must use your past experiences to understand your present.”
“Now you sound like Kamenna,” Pamoon said. As she spoke, she remembered something Kamenna had taught her—something she had said during a camping trip in the Everglades:
* * *
After three days of camping, Pamoon had been sure she knew everything she needed to know about the area and wanted to explore on her own. Kamenna disagreed, but as part of an experiment, she let her lead on the walk out of the camp. Kamenna said nothing as Pamoon continued to walk, getting more confused the longer she trekked. Everything looked the same. She walked in circles, becoming more frustrated each time she
passed their campsite. Overcome with frustration, she shed her backpack and plopped down on the grass: arms crossed, lips set in a pout.
Kamenna said nothing for the longest time, but when she did, she spoke in a quiet yet knowing tone.
Squatting next to her, she said, “To understand your surroundings, you must look at the whole before you can understand the pieces. Once you do, you can start to see what belongs and what doesn’t. Then you can use this knowledge to retrace your steps and find the beginning.”
* * *
At that time, Pamoon had just rolled her eyes at yet another riddle.
But now, the words began to make sense.
Pamoon dropped into a squat and pulled Scout to her. Hugging his neck, she nuzzled his scruff. She needed to clear her mind of what she had seen. She wanted to be able to open her eyes and view the room as if for the first time. The more she concentrated, the more muddled her thoughts became.
About to give up, she felt Scout’s nose rub against her arm. It was the same thing he did at night, helping her shut off her thoughts so she could sleep.
That small act changed everything. Pamoon felt her body and mind relax, allowing her to clear her head of all distractions.
Opening her eyes, she kissed Scout on his snout and stood up to look around the cave.
“These paintings and carvings tell the story of the Cree people,” she thought out loud. “They show evil spirits that have tried to destroy the nation . . .” Pamoon walked the room as she continued, “but the Cree stayed strong in their faith and traditions and vanquished the spirits back from where they came.” Her eyes stopped when she came to the etching of fire. The flames a carbon copy of her own. “What is this?”
Kise stepped forward, gently grabbed Pamoon’s wrist, and turned her hand palm up. “The eternal flame,” she said, tracing her birthmark. “The mark of the one who is destined to save a nation.”
Pamoon pulled her arm back and clutched her own hand. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that and each time it freaks me out. What does that mean?”
“This and other questions will be answered when the time is right.” Before Pamoon could argue, the Creator looked back at the wall. “What else do you see?”
Pamoon huffed her frustration and went back to reading the walls. Eyeing the painting of a book, she asked “What’s this?”
“It is the Cree guide for calling forth spirits, both good and bad,” the Creator answered. “It is guarded by a chosen person in each tribe.”
Pamoon waited for the Kise to continue, but her only response was silence.
Walking the perimeter of the room, Pamoon ended up back where she started. She pointed at the drawings of the evil spirits, “None of these look like what I saw in my dreams. Is one of them Kanontsistonties?”
No answer was given.
Changing her questioning, Pamoon looked at Kise and pointed at the book. “Can someone call Kanontsistonties from the netherworld with this book?”
Kise nodded.
“Can it be used to send him back?”
Kise’s eyes closed slightly, losing their sparkle as she shook her head. “No. It is only through the power and wiles of man that Kanontsistonties can be sent back.”
Realizing that she wasn’t going to get any useful information, Pamoon turned back to the walls and was about to study the tapestries when another petroglyph caught her eye. This one appeared to be cruder than the rest. Pamoon stood in front of it, but the pictures didn’t talk to her as the others did.
“This one is unlike the rest,” she pointed.
“How?”
“Well,” Pamoon answered, “the picture itself is unfinished and it seems to have been created by someone with less skill. Perhaps a child.”
“In the Spirit Cave, the environment contains all the knowledge we need at any given time.”
“Like nature?” Pamoon interrupted.
“Nature?” Kise viewed Pamoon with a questioning eye. “Explain.”
“It’s just something White Eagle and Powaw taught me. They said that if we’re patient, nature and our surroundings will teach us all we need to know.”
Kise smiled. “Your elders have taught you well.”
Pamoon thought back to when she was growing up and all the times she’d given White Eagle and Powaw trouble. “Trust me, it wasn’t easy. They have a lot of patience.”
“One of man’s greatest virtues.”
Pamoon glanced back at the wall. “Everything you just said about nature and patience is interesting and stuff, but what does it have to do with the scratches on the wall?”
“There was a boy who was called to greatness. When he grew to be a young man, his impatience grew as did his ego. While in this cave, he took it upon himself to hurry nature. Using a knife, he tried to carve a depiction of himself standing atop the Sacred Mount.”
Sacred Mount, Pamoon thought. Is that where I am?
Apparently, ignoring her question, Kise continued to speak. “Ayas, the young man, was banished and forced to stay part of your world as a Wandering Spirit until he could prove he’d changed.”
Pamoon felt sorry for the boy as she wiped the dust and dirt from the carving. “Where did he go?”
“At times, I call on him to use his gifts to help me with something or someone in your world. When not called, he spends most of his time up north among the Birch trees.”
“What gifts?”
“Ayas can transform into wind. It’s his spirit identity. Seldom does he take human form.”
Something Kise said brought back a flicker of a memory but it was gone quicker than it came.
Changing the subject, Kise walked to the middle of the cave. “Tell me about the tapestries.”
“The blankets,” Pamoon mumbled, watching the flames flicker. “Wait. You never answered my question, why don’t they burn?”
“The wood that lights this fire is everlasting. The fire is pure light. It keeps darkness away and can never be extinguished as long as one believes in its power. It is a representation of our spirit. Although we can see it, it is not a natural flame; therefore, it does not burn as others do.”
More riddles, Pamoon thought.
“You’ve lost sight of the topic,” Kise said. “You were about to tell me about the tapestries.”
Knowing she wasn’t going to get a clearer answer, Pamoon turned her attention to the blankets. “The tapestries are different from the etchings,” she thought aloud. “On each is woven an animal or nature scene, but. . .” Stepping closer, Pamoon touched a blanket, “there is something weird about them.”
“Weird?”
“Yeah, something that’s a little . . . I don’t know how to describe it,” Pamoon said, trying to find the right words. “It’s as if I’m not just looking at the animals, I’m also looking through them, if that makes any sense.”
Pamoon felt Kise stand next to her. “You are beginning to see them for what they truly are: their spirit and not their form.”
Pamoon scratched her head. “Why can’t you just say what you mean?”
Kise reached out and held Pamoon’s hand to the blanket depicting a running brook, making sure that the mark on her palm touched the threads.
When it did, Pamoon drew in a breath and pulled away. Shocked, she looked down and saw water dripping from her hand.
Wide-eyed, she stared at Kise. “What did you do?”
“I did nothing, my little bird. You control your own world and everything in it.”
Pamoon wanted to ask what she was talking about and why she called her a little bird but her consciousness again began to fade. As she fell, Kise caught her and laid her gently next to the fire.
“You must follow what White Eagle gave you in order to discover your power. The power of the—”
Pamoon blacked out before she heard the rest.
* * *
Waking, she found herself atop a cliff. Looking behind her, she saw what she thought was the mouth of the cave. Kise and Scout were standing next to her.
“This place feels different,” Pamoon whispered, sniffing the fresh air.
“How?”
“I’m not sure. Pure, if that makes sense.”
“It does.”
“The evil spirits carved into the wall of the cave; can they come here?”
“No.” Kise shook her head. “The Spirit Mount and its surrounding valleys allow only light to enter. Beings which harbor darkness are not allowed.”
The Spirit Mount, she thought. “This is the place Ayas carved?”
“It is.”
“What about the cave?” Pamoon asked. “Can evil spirits enter there?”
“Your intuition is strong,” Kise answered. “The cave is the closest place to the mountain. The gateway, if you will. Though darkness can enter, any evil spirits remain weak.”
Pamoon suddenly remembered what happened in the woods. “What about the Misty Woods? What happened when I was pricked by the thorns?”
“The Misty Woods guard the Spirit Cave. Only a few can enter, and only those who have been chosen by the fates can find their way. The thorns capture those not chosen.”
“The voices I heard, were they real?”
Kise nodded. “Those pricked by the thorns become part of the woods. Their spirits become one with the woods.”
Pamoon squinted, confusion flushed her expression. “Some of the voices seemed to be helping me, while others tried to lure me off the path. Why?”
“It’s human nature.”
Pamoon looked out at the valley below as she pondered Kise’s words.
“You are Kahkakow, the raven,” Kise said, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Wha—”
“You are kâkesimototâkew, one who communicates with the spirit world,” Kise continued. “It’s why you could hear the spirits of the woods. You must find your powamow, your animal identity.”
Pamoon opened her mouth to ask what Kise was talking about, but before a sound could be uttered, a strong wind blew her off the cliff’s edge.
* * *
Pamoon woke soaked in sweat, Scout licking her face. She was once again in the cave, lying next to the fire, with Kise present.
“Why did you let me fall?”
“Why did you wake up?”
“Because I didn’t want to die,” Pamoon said. “Hey,” she said in an animated
voice, “is it true that if you fall in a dream and die that your heart will stop and you’ll die for real?”
“I suppose there is only one true way to find out.”
“Yeah, but if it’s true, I would be dead.”
“The fall won’t kill you, it’s the landing that would be troublesome,” Kise laughed.
“Yeah, but—”
“You must learn to ride the wind.”
Scratching her head, Pamoon eyed Kise. “Is this riddle going somewhere?”
The Creator just smiled. She no longer stood on the stone floor but hovered above it. Pamoon found it harder to look straight at her as she watched her drift higher. Reaching for her, Pamoon’s hand passed right through her as Kise’s body faded from sight.
“Please don’t leave,” Pamoon begged. “I have so many questions.”
White smoke hovered and danced where Kise’s body had been. “You must follow what was written and discover your power.”
Pamoon’s fear once again began to grow as the Creator’s shape dissipated and turned back to smoke. “Don’t leave me!” she yelled.
The smoke began to swirl around Pamoon. “I am all around you. I am inside your heart. Now, find your inner spirit.”
Those were the last words spoken before the white smoke expanded, once again filling the cave, before dissipating.
Feeling alone and scared, Pamoon trembled. She closed her eyes, curled into the fetal position and sobbed. She felt abandoned and useless. She was locked in a cave with no way out and had no idea what she was supposed to do.
Through her fear, the Creator’s words rang loud. “Follow what White Eagle gave you and discover your power.”
Pamoon wiped her tears, opened her eyes, and watched the flames dance. Thinking hard, she brought the translated words from the jacket to the forefront of her mind. These words were written by the gods and cannot be fully understood unless they are read inside the Spirit Cave.
