by J. M. LeDuc
“It is what I choose,” she mouthed. “It’s my destiny. One I choose freely.”
* * *
Pamoon stood at the edge of the woods with Powaw by her side. A place where she always felt at peace, but now looking past the crime scene tape, she felt fear. Her heart pounded in her ears as her apprehension grew. Every time she tried to step from the reservation into the woods, she hesitated.
“What would happen if my friends bit me?” Pamoon asked as she stared at the dense pines.
“It depends on their spirit,” Powaw answered.
She turned her attention towards the elder. “What do you mean?”
Powaw crouched down and piled some dirt by his feet. “You have been taught about light and dark,” he said, continuing to play with the dirt. “You have been told that darkness cannot live in pure light.” He hesitated for a moment and gazed up at the sun. Taking a small mirror from his pocket, he placed it on the ground so the sun’s reflection shone in the glass. “What you have not been told is that light, no matter how strong, cannot live in pure darkness.” With his final word, he scraped the pile of dirt on top of the mirror, blotting out the light. “If there is still light in their spirit, your blood will break the curse and return them to their human state. If darkness has taken their spirit, your blood will strengthen that darkness and condemn them to live their lives as beasts.”
“And each day out there,” Pamoon pointed to the woods, “their spirits grow darker.”
Powaw dropped his head, his words barely a whisper. “Eha.”
She reached down and squeezed Powaw’s hand. “Kanontsistonties’ spirit is strong,” Powaw said, as he stood, “but the demon is no match for the Kiche. Use the powers of the Skinwalker to your advantage.”
As if the raven understood, Atahk flew from her perch on the top of the staff and landed on her head, pecking her.
Powaw’s words echoed those he had spoken about not showing her hand until she had to.
Courage grew with the beat of her heart.
Pamoon stood on her toes and gently kissed him on his cheek. She then commanded Atahk back on the staff and stepped into the woods.
49
Kanontsistonties
March 17, 1:00 p.m.
* * *
From the top of the pine tree, the demon peered down through the thick blanket of branches and needles at the Sky Spirit Goddess, who dared to step inside his domain.
Come to me, little one. Come.
As the demon watched the Kiche move deeper into the woods, Kanontsistonties became agitated, saliva building and dripping from its gaping jaws. Glaring down at her, two emotions swirled together: a craving for the Kiche’s blood. And fear. The Kiche’s spirit has strengthened. She must be defeated soon.
Satan’s spawn twitched in agitation. It knew its time hadn’t come. For the demon’s plan to work, it needed the Kiche weakened.
Kanontsistonties needed its demonic hoard to debilitate and decrease the goddess’s power. Then, with the blackness of night which brought strength to the dark spirits and fear to those who flourished in the light, it would take what it desired—the blood and spirit of the Kiche.
Perched motionless on the branch, the scent of the Kiche was too much to bear. Kanontsistonties shook away the pervasive odor and looked away from its prey. The sight and scent of the goddess is like an aphrodisiac, the demon salivated. I need to wait until the allotted time.
With its final thought, Kanontsistonties dropped from the top of the tree, transformed into black smoke, weaved its way through the branches, and flew into the hole at the base of the trunk. Retreating into the netherworld.
* * *
The winged-demon wasn’t the only one on watch.
Ayas looked on from afar, his heart thumping at the sight of the one he was to protect. She’s beautiful, he thought.
From his peripheral vision, he saw the demon drop from the tree and disappear, but his attention was on the girl. At that moment, all he cared about was following omiyosiw: the beautiful one.
50
Everglades
March 17, 3:00 p.m.
* * *
For the second day in a row, Tihk dragged himself off the cot in the cabin. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to erase the burn and blur which accompanied a lack of sleep. All night, his mind was bombarded with thoughts of ancient wars—spiritual wars of his people. Wars spoke about by the elders in stories from around the campfire. Stories of his childhood. Stories he thought were just that—stories—not truth. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
The spirits seemed so real, he thought, as he loaded a few supplies in a blanket roll and tied it to his back. Are the stories true? He rubbed his eyes once again, trying to rub the thoughts away at the same time. He needed a clear mind to cross the Glades and enter the woods.
“Today,” he said, throwing the leather straps over his shoulders and tying them around his waist, “I won’t be turned away. I don’t care what signs the spirits give me, today I’m going home.”
Before locking up the cabin, he checked the edge on his bone knife. Happy with the sharpness of the blade, he slid it into the sheath tucked inside his belt and walked confidently towards the woods. That momentary confidence waned as he neared the edge of the Glades. Spotting the woods in the near distance, his stomach grumbled and spasmed. His muscles weakened with each step, and fever grew as he neared the giant pines. By the time he could see the delineation line between the two ecosystems, he was downright sick.
His teeth chattered as a cold sweat poured down his face. He lurched forward, dry-heaving next to some scrub pines. Wiping his mouth, Tihk looked east toward the woods. His stomach cramped as he fell to his knees, his legs no longer able to hold him. Blinking away the pain, an apparition materialized out of thin air and flew a broad circle along the edge of the woods, before landing right in the path he needed to travel.
Salty sweat burned his eyes, his body weaker than the previous moment. I can’t possibly be seeing what I think I am. It’s not possible. That thing isn’t even real.
No matter how many times he told himself so or tried to blink it away, the thing was still there. Afraid the creature would spot him, Tihk retreated into the high grasses of the swamp. The further he backed up, the better he felt. About fifty yards into the swamp, his nausea and fever abated.
Staying low among the vegetation, a crack of thunder rumbled as lightning streaked the sky. Tihk looked up at a thick, black, bank of clouds racing in from the southwest, yet stalling as it hovered above the woods. Looking away from the sky, he clutched his stomach as another cramp ripped through him. “The spirits have spoken,” he whispered to no one, through clenched teeth. Pulling the blanket off his back, he laid it on the damp grass. “I will wait until they speak again.”
51
Attack
March 17, 4:00 p.m.
* * *
Before making her way towards the Glades, Pamoon searched the woods for any sign of Tihk. Using what she learned from White Eagle and Powaw, she studied the woods for any clues. Not finding anything, she spent time at the campsite her friends used for their late-night parties, hoping for some sort of sign. She tried in vain to communicate with them, but felt nothing. Not even a whiff of the foul odor that accompanied Kanontsistonties. With no luck in her search, she was adamant to make her way to the Glades to find Tihk. She couldn’t say why, but she knew he needed her—and she, him.
With Atahk, they moved in a southwestern direction, a straight line for the Everglades. Soon after they began to make their way, the skies darkened and a storm blew in: thunder and lightning struck, and the clouds opened in a torrential downpour. Winds blew straight at her and rain peppered her skin. Part of her was thankful, at least the weather cooled things off; the rest of her was none too appreciative of being sandblasted by pellets of water.
Pamoon thought about taking shelter until the storm passed, but already soaked, she kept moving. Drenched from head to toe, she trudged through the mud and
muck.
The sense of serenity she felt earlier was gone. Maybe it was her imagination, but she swore she could feel a sense of foreboding. Whatever it was, her senses tingled, keeping her on her toes. With every movement of branch or animal, she spooked. The only thing that kept her from teetering over an emotional cliff was Atahk. The raven remained calm. For once, the bird didn’t wander but stayed right with her the entire time.
About two hours into her trip, the rains began to slow and Atahk’s movements began to quicken. She bounced from the staff to Pamoon’s shoulder and back again. At first Pamoon figured Atahk was just trying to dry off or that she was happy for the reprieve, but with time, the raven’s actions seemed agitated. Holding up her finger, she commanded the bird.
Atahk bounced from staff to finger. “Keko?” Pamoon asked.
Pamoon expected Atahk to answer, to tell her what’s wrong by doing something familiar, such as pecking her nose and flying off, but the bird just stared back, her wings fluttering at a frantic rate. Pamoon brushed Atahk’s wet feathers from her eyes, hoping to calm the bird.
Pamoon froze at the sight of Atahk’s face. One eye yellow, the other black.
Pamoon buzzed with adrenaline. Every cell in her body seemed electric. “Oh no,” she muttered, her voice cracking. Taking a deep breath, she yelled, flicking the raven from her hand. “Tapasîwin. Kaso!” Atahk listened and flew from her finger, looking for a place to hide.
Taking a frantic look around, Pamoon began to run as fast as her leadened feet would allow.
* * *
Mike and the other demons watched the entire scene unfold. They, too, were thankful for the rain; it helped keep their scent from wafting. Before exiting the netherworld, Kanontsistonties had informed them of Bobby’s capture and had given them simple orders. “Don’t bite or kill the Kiche, just weaken her and keep her in the woods.”
They devised a fool-proof plan. Mike kept vigil on their targets’ near side, while Scott had moved to the opposite. Ralph tracked her from behind. Celia, their newest member, had flown ahead, patrolling where the woods met the Everglades, making sure if the Kiche somehow managed to escape the others, she wouldn’t make it any further. Between the four of them, they had her boxed in.
What the demons didn’t plan for was an unlikely trio. The bird, the brave they fought just days before . . . and the other.
* * *
Ayas lagged behind the demons. Since he’d previously made the mistake of giving his scent away when he helped the stranger, he needed to keep his distance. The stiff headwind was a double-edged sword. It kept his essence from the others, but because he had to stay in his spirit state to stay hidden, he too, was just wind. Normally this would be a good thing, but not when fighting a strong headwind. He had been slowly losing ground on the demons when the weather finally broke.
That’s when he heard her scream.
* * *
That’s when Tihk heard her scream.
* * *
Pamoon ran through the dense trees, huffing with each labored breath. The downpour had made the ground ice-like in its grip, causing her to stumble on the slick, fallen pine needles, slowing her pace. With each gasp of air, the smell of evil grew stronger.
Using her staff and free hand, she shoved branches to the side, but her legs betrayed her. Her muscles grew tired and cramped with each footfall. She felt pressure come at her from all sides: her eardrums felt like they would explode, she couldn’t hear a thing. It was as if she had fallen into the ocean and was sinking too fast. Disoriented, she stumbled and swerved, her knees buckling from exhaustion. Moving to her right to avoid a large tree, she was struck on her side by a creature she didn’t see until it was too late, shoving her hard into the trunk.
She hit the ground, dropping her staff, stunned from striking the jagged bark. Sprawled on the dirt, she felt a sharp pain in her ribs with each shallow breath. She shook her head to rid her haze. Pressure bombarded her from all sides: suddenly deaf, her eardrums felt like they would explode; she squeezed her nostrils, closed her mouth, and exhaled. Hard. Her ears popped on the first breath allowing her to regain some balance.
Pamoon grabbed her fallen staff—gripping her weapon with both hands—dragged herself to her feet, and stared, unable to turn away, at a monstrous beast. Wiping her sweat with her shirtsleeve, she eyeballed a wildcat. This was no cat she had ever seen nor heard of. Not trusting her vision, she shook her head, trying to focus through her labored breathing. The monster facing her was a black panther, but bigger, as if beefed up on steroids. But that wasn’t what made it hard to breathe. What made it hard to breathe was her escalating fear. She could see straight through the beast. It seemed to blur the boundary between spirit and flesh.
The wraith growled a sound so base, Pamoon felt the fillings in her teeth vibrate, as if she’d bit down on tinfoil. She inhaled audibly, keeping her attention on the cat. It sneered, showing its yellow fangs, and pawed at the ground. Pamoon had seen those same actions once before. Just before Bobby had pounced on her.
“Okay,” she growled back. “I don’t know which one of my friends you are, but I don’t have time to figure it out. Let’s do this.”
The beast’s nails, razor sharp, sprung from its paws like switchblades and gouged the earth.
Pamoon stared back at the creature with matching intensity. If I didn’t know any better, I would think it was sizing me up.
Just as the panther appeared ready to pounce, Pamoon heard the shrill sound of a flock of birds. She watched the beast’s eyes dart skyward in time to see a murder of black ravens, hundreds of them, heading straight toward it.
Atahk. Good girl.
Just as they broke through the trees, the murder split. Half headed for the cat, while the other half flew past. She wondered where the second angry mass was headed, but her eyes stayed locked on the cat, crouched just yards away. She white-knuckled her staff at one end like a baseball bat, waiting for an opening, while watching the panther fight off the ravens.
With amazing agility and speed, the ghost-like cat cast off the birds as fast as they came. The beast used its tail, head, and claws to bat the birds away before they could inflict any damage. Pamoon knew she had one chance. And it was now.
Before the cat could pounce, she did. Pamoon ran straight at the wraith and swung the staff as hard and fast as she could at its head, connecting on the first blow. As the hard wood struck the side of the cat’s skull, the impact caused the pole to vibrate. The blow struck with such force, she was afraid the staff might have splintered. Eyeing the enemy, she slid her left hand down the wood, relieved her weapon was still in one piece.
I can’t see through it anymore, she thought as the panther came in to clearer view. Pain must strengthen its flesh—weaken its spirit.
The cat, momentarily dazed by the blow, gave the birds a chance to peck at its eyes and ears. As it wailed and fought off the ravens, Pamoon readied her attack, again. Rearing back to swing, her attention was briefly averted by the rustling of trees and the shrill sound of the second flock ravens behind her.
* * *
When Pamoon had first screamed, two things happened simultaneously. Ayas rushed forward from her backside, wrapping himself around the lizard-beast in front of him and spun into a tornado. His speed increased, lifting the giant reptile off the ground. With a final burst of power, he whipped the creature into a nearby rock formation. On impact, it morphed into black smoke and disappeared. Hearing the squalling birds and the cry of the one he was to protect, he turned from wind to human and ran towards the fray.
Coming from his right, he saw a huge, lumbering monster heading straight for the girl. Ravens attacked the beast from all sides, but it appeared unfazed. Running, Ayas lined up an arrow on his bow, drew back the string, and let the arrow fly, only to see it bounce off the giant creature’s hide. Never losing stride, he slid his knife from its sheath and ran straight towards the demon. A few steps from the gargoyle-like monster, he sprung from the dirt—his a
rm and blade above his head—and leaped for the hell-beast.
* * *
At the same time Ayas heard Pamoon’s cry, so did Tihk. He had regained his strength, heard the paralyzing wail and recognized the voice immediately.
“Pamoon,” he mouthed, jumping up from his prone position among the swamp grass. He drew his knife from its sheath, and ran as fast as he could toward the scream. Nearing the woods, he realized the apparition he saw earlier was nothing of the sort. It was real and beyond his imagination. He had no choice but to run straight at the dragon-like monster that stood in his way.
The prehistoric beast must have heard him coming because Tihk saw its head spin in his direction, lift its enormous wings, and screech as he neared. Running at full speed, he was surprised it didn’t attack. The beast had a look of hate and hunger in its eyes, yet never ventured from its position.
Tihk, much smaller than the ten-foot creature, tried to use his size and speed as an advantage. He knew from experience, that a larger opponent never expected a smaller one to attack straight on. So, that’s what he did. Side-stepping and ducking the twenty-foot wingspan, he prepared to dive underneath the beast, like sliding into second base. He knew under the gargantuan would be the one place where the creature would be at a disadvantage, and where he could mount an offensive. Although his idea was valid, he underestimated the dragon’s speed. With one final juke, he attempted to slide between its front legs.
The last thing he remembered was being struck on the side of the head by a wing that felt more like a two-by-four than feathers. The force of the blow knocked him cold, unconscious before he hit the ground.
