Evil Awakened (The Kiche Chronicles Book 1)

by J. M. LeDuc

  * * *

  The demon wanted to reach down and bite the stranger, but remembering its orders, retook its post, and waited. There would be plenty of time to feast later.

  * * *

  Pamoon, her attention back on the black beast, heard a sickening thud on her left. Snapping her head toward the noise, she saw a large lizard-like creature crash against a rock, then witnessed it disappear into a cloud of thick, coal-like smoke. Keeping one eye on her attacker, she noticed that when the lizard vaporized, the giant-sized panther moaned and stumbled.

  Pamoon didn’t think, she just reacted.

  Again, she wound up and swung her staff at the cat. This time, the beast seemed to expect it and pawed at it with its razor-sharped claws, knocking it from her grip. Even in its weakened state, the beast’s power and speed were overwhelming.

  Pamoon lunged for her weapon, but the cat anticipated her move, swatting her away with its paw. Expecting a mortal wound, she was relieved to feel the sharp sting of a laceration. The cut above her left eye gushed, hindering her sight. Wiping away the blood from her eyes, Pamoon could see the cat’s claws were retracted.

  Why?

  She had no time to wonder. She still had a big, black problem. Pamoon stumbled towards the fallen staff, but the cat mirrored her movements. She watched through hazy vision as it crouched low and continually licked the blood from its paw.

  Her blood.

  With each flick of the tongue and taste of her life-giving vital fluid, the beast seemed to become stronger in flesh and more frenzied in its movements. In its rabid state, she knew there was no way to reach her weapon.

  From her peripheral vision, Pamoon saw the ravens flying in formation, gathering for another attack. She raised her arm towards the army and yelled, “Akwana!”

  The ravens, hearing her command, swiftly flew circles around the cat, covering it in a sea of ebony feathers. In that momentary hedge of protection, Pamoon dove for and grabbed her staff. Gripping it, tight, she body-rolled to a standing position. Readying herself for another strike, she again commanded her soldiers. “Sisiwê.”

  On command, the ravens scattered in every direction, leaving her a direct line of sight.

  Pamoon gritted her teeth, furled her upper lip, and swung with every ounce of her strength. She swung lower, aiming her blow at the beast’s legs and hit her mark. She heard and felt the sound of breaking bone as the staff connected below the creature’s knees.

  The cat crumpled to the ground.

  Against all hope, Pamoon prayed it would stay down.

  Her prayers unanswered, the beast limped to its feet, its claws once again in full view, its eyes black and sinister. Pamoon watched as the cat hopped to her right, holding its left front paw in a non-weight baring position, frothy sputum dripping from its lips, hatred etched in its movements. She went to lift her staff once again but her grip was weak; the muscles in her arms and chest quivered and burned from swinging the heavy pole. About to make a run for it, the beast sprang off its back haunches, its fangs and claws ready to strike.

  Pamoon dropped to the wet dirt, her arms covering her face from the oncoming attack, but one never came. Through her fear and heaving chest, she heard the beast howl in agony. She opened her eyes in time to see an arrow sticking out of the cat’s chest, just before it collapsed into a black mist.

  Rolling to her left, Pamoon jerked her head around, trying to figure out where the arrow came from.

  She never would have imagined what broke through the trees.

  * * *

  After jumping toward the lumbering beast, Ayas had managed to leap onto its back and plunged his knife toward its neck, shocked when it bounced off. In the heat of battle, he hadn’t notice that the beast was covered in thick, hard scales. His futile actions just angered the monster.

  Ayas saw its head rear back and felt its tail whip forward. He knew it was trying to flick him to the ground. He flattened himself to the back of the giant lizard and wrapped his arms around its neck just in time before the massive tail swiped overhead, catching some of his hair in its scales, ripping the strands from his head.

  His hands gripped its neck tighter as the beast arched its back. Feeling the creature begin to buck, Ayas squeezed harder, realizing the front of its neck was soft and scale-free. He had found the beast’s weakness.

  He waited for the monster to buck, knowing that like a horse, it would have to steady itself before bucking a second time. As soon as its rear legs touched down, he sat up and plunged his knife into the unprotected flesh of its neck. The beast screeched in pain, its legs buckling. Wasting no time, Ayas repeatedly sank the blade into its flesh. With each cut, the beast wailed and its movements slowed until it collapsed under him. As soon as the creature struck the ground, it transformed into a cloud of black smoke and disappeared into the thicket of trees.

  Wasting no time, Ayas loaded his bow and ran toward the Kiche. Crashing through tree branches, he saw a beast—black as night—wounded yet lethal, readying itself to attack. He drew back the bow string with all his strength and let his arrow fly.

  * * *

  Waking from the blow he took on the head, Tihk was surprised to find himself unguarded. Making as little movement as possible, he spotted the giant winged beast staring into the woods. Without making a sound, he scurried in the opposite direction and hid among a patch of mature pines.

  52

  At First Sight

  March 18, 5:30 p.m.

  * * *

  Pamoon stumbled to her feet, staff in hand, trying to look as calm and collected as possible. Her skin tingled with excitement as a young brave—bare-chested—dressed in animal hide and war paint, burst through the trees with a bow clutched in his fist. She watched his eyes dart back and forth—dilated, but clear—as if expecting a fight. Pamoon sensed no danger as he slowed his pace and lowered his bow.

  Getting her first good look at the brave, Pamoon studied the young brave, as he moved toward her with a quiet grace. He appeared to be in his late teens and reminded her of her friends, but with more of a battle-worn maturity. Scars adorned his chest and arms, somehow making him more appealing. As he moved out from the shadows, his sweat and lean muscularity glistening with every refined movement. Mesmerized by the vision in front of her, she didn’t notice Atahk fly down and perch on her shoulder—not until the bird chirped in her ear. Atahk’s squeal alerted Pamoon to the possibility of foul play. She didn’t know who this brave was, or if he was sent by Kanontsistonties. Squaring her stance, she gripped her staff and reared back. “Don’t come any closer.”

  The brave stopped, cocking his head to the side.

  He doesn’t speak English, she thought.

  “Kisâcimiwêw,” she repeated.

  The young brave held his hand out in front of him and looked at her straight in the eye, “Itôtâ nama astâsiwin. Kisemanito ka sipwecisahikehk niya.”

  Pamoon translated his words as quickly as he spoke: “Do not fear. The Creator sent me.”

  Speaking in Cree, she answered, “Why? Who are you?”

  “I was sent to protect you,” the brave answered, continuing to near. “My name is Ayas.”

  Pamoon’s eyes widened. The Wandering Spirit. Lowering her staff, she blushed at his proximity.

  “You’re bleeding,” Ayas said, lifting his hand toward her forehead.

  Pamoon flinched as his fingers touched her skin. “Ouch,” she grunted.

  “We need to stop the bleeding,” he said, drawing his knife.

  The bloody, eight-inch blade directly in front of her face stole Pamoon’s attention. “Wha…what are you going to do with that?”

  In her fear, she forgot to speak Cree. Her heartbeat raced as Ayas wiped the blade on his pants, grabbed her t-shirt and cut a wide band of material from the bottom. Seeing the material in his hands, a huge sigh escaped her lips. She tried to remain calm as he tied the cloth around her head to help stem the blood. Inhaling the earthy musk of his sweat, she stared at his bare chest.
Pamoon looked up at his pale blue eyes, took a deep breath, and uttered, “Thank you for killing the—”

  “I didn’t kill anything,” Ayas said, taking a step back, his expression neutral. “I sent the demons back from where they came, but I killed nothing.”

  A bit confused, Pamoon opened her mouth to ask more questions, but just bowed her head in thanks.

  “Please don’t bow towards me. If anyone should be showing a sign of respect, it’s me.”

  Pamoon glanced around the woods, part of her expecting to find Kise standing behind her. Not seeing anyone, her attention was again on Ayas. “Me?”

  He nodded his response.

  “Why would you bow to me?”

  “You have garnered the Creator’s favor. You are the K—”

  “Don’t say it. I’m not a goddess, I’m just a girl trying to find my uncle. I’m tired,” Pamoon said, slumping against a tree, “and I really don’t want to fight any more of my friends.”

  “If you do not wish to be called by your birthright, what should I call you?”

  “My name is Pamoon.”

  Ayas smiled. “That makes sense.”

  “Why does my name make sense?”

  “Only in my dreams, have I seen someone as beautiful as you.”

  Pamoon blushed, speechless, her palms sweaty. She gazed into his eyes and mumbled, “Thank you for your help.”

  “You called those demons your friends, why?”

  “Those things we fought are—were—my friends. They were bitten by Kanontsistonties and became . . . whatever they are.”

  “I see.”

  Pamoon saw doubt in his eyes. “You don’t believe me?”

  “I believe you,” he mouthed, more alert to their surroundings than seconds before.

  Pamoon’s posture stiffened as she watched Ayas draw back an arrow on his bow string, his eyes darting in every direction.

  “What’s wrong? What are you looking for?”

  Ayas, his attention still on the woods, his facial muscles twitching, glanced in her direction. “How many of your friends were bitten?” he said.

  “Five, but one is no longer a threat.”

  “We defeated three,” Ayas whispered, stretching the bowstring even tighter.

  Pamoon’s eyes opened wide in acknowledgment. “That leaves one.” She squeezed her staff, her hands ratcheting back and forth, her feet pivoting in a tight circle. Seeing nothing, she commanded Atahk to scout the area and see if she could find the enemy.

  “You command the ravens?”

  Now it was Pamoon’s turn to nod. “I do.”

  “So, what I saw on the wall of the cave is true,” Ayas said, sounding shocked. “You are the Yee Naaldlooshii.”

  About to answer, Pamoon was stymied by the shrill sound of Atahk. Looking up, she noticed her friend wasn’t alone. Atahk hovered at the front of the murder. It had been depleted from the fight, but they were still many. Some bled while others appeared broken and bruised, yet they waited on her command.

  With one wave of her hand, she dismissed all but Atahk whom she ordered to lead her and Ayas to the lone and final beast.

  As Atahk flew above the trees, Pamoon ran, trying to keep pace; Ayas at her side the entire time. Even with all the adrenaline pumping through her vessels, she couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he moved. It’s as if he floats.

  As they neared the Glades, Ayas grabbed her shirt, pulling her to a stop.

  “What’s wrong?” Pamoon asked, drawing next to him. “Do you see something?”

  “No, but this is as far as I can go. I cannot leave the woods.”

  “Why?”

  “The Creator sent me to protect you while you are within its boundaries. I must stay within those limitations.”

  While pondering his words, Atahk landed on her head, pecked at her, flew to the staff and back again. She’s doing the same thing she did when she sensed the beasts. “I don’t think leaving the woods will be an issue,” Pamoon said.

  * * *

  Tihk, who had spotted Pamoon, wanted to warn her and the brave she traveled with, but had no way of doing so without also drawing the unwanted attention of the demon. Instead, he crept along unseen, shadowing the pair, waiting to help if needed.

  * * *

  Changing her stance, Pamoon put her right leg forward, bent her knees, drew her staff up and back, and waited for an upcoming attack.

  Expecting Ayas to load his bow and fight beside her, she was surprised when he took off running through the woods to her left.

  She didn’t question his actions; her attention was glued to Atahk. The raven flew slow and silent, leading her toward the unseen.

  Breaking through the last tuft of thick pines, Pamoon dropped to the ground and lay prone, attempting to camouflage herself in the leaves and dirt. Peering between the thinning brush, she witnessed something she had only seen in books. A mythical, winged-beast known as a piasa. An infernal creature, resembling a dragon covered in stone-like scales, yet donning a human face. Pamoon felt a deep sadness as she stared at the eyes of her friend, Celia.

  Her tongue thick and dry, she tried to swallow her sorrow. Through her anguish, she sensed Ayas’ movements in the distance. Hearing his voice, she turned her head and saw him moving with a quiet determination toward Celia. More astounding was the fact that he was talking to the beast.

  “I mean you no harm, creature,” he said, waving it away with one hand while the other pinched both bow and arrow. “The demons you travel with have been defeated. Go, and you will not be harmed.”

  She watched as Ayas and Celia moved toward each other; neither sensing fear nor fight. Struck by his tenderness, Pamoon witnessed him gently draw his hand down her face. In return, the dragon-like creature mourned a soulful whine and gently stroked his cheek with her wing.

  Pamoon watched as the two appeared to communicate. She took Celia’s lack of aggression or anger as a good sign. Standing, she brushed herself off, and stepped out of the woods.

  Her appearance changed everything.

  As soon as Celia locked eyes with her, terror swept through Pamoon like a frigid wind. The beast slapped Ayas to the ground, running past him, and bounded toward her while emoting a sound so piercing, Pamoon thought her ears might bleed.

  The sheer size of the prehistoric monster dwarfed Pamoon, but as the ground shook beneath her, she refused to back down. She swung her staff with all her strength, but the monster swung quicker. The piasa’s wing smashing against her wounded ribs, Pamoon crashed to the ground, striking the dirt with her shoulder. Through her pain, she held tight to her weapon. Pamoon rolled to her right as the dragon-beast attacked from the left. With every revolution, she saw the massive clawed feet edging ever closer. Rolling, she thought she caught sight of Tihk running towards her from behind the monstrous bird. With the piasa almost on top of her and no escape in sight, Pamoon planted the end of the pole in the hard dirt, trying to vault herself to a standing position. When the tip of the staff dug into the earth, she lost her grip; her sweaty hands sliding down its length, causing her to flop on the needle-strewn dirt.

  Pamoon felt the hot breath of the piasa and waited for its bite. Before the beast could strike, she saw Tihk dive under the creature, spinning his body at the same time, and plunge his knife into its chest. The beast, surprised by the attack, faltered and stumbled. As its legs buckled, the piasa fell forward. Pamoon’s vision was filled with a huge talon-clawed foot trying to crush her. Pamoon screamed as the full weight of the creature bore on top of her. Her cry cut short by someone grabbing her leg and pulling her out from under the monster.

  Her head ached from a high-pitched rattle. Glancing to the side, she froze in horror to find the piasa impaled on the upright staff. The dragon’s head cocked awkwardly to the side, causing Celia’s eyes to be mere inches from hers. Before the demon dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, Pamoon cupped its face in her hands and whispered, “I’m sorry. I love you.” The beast’s eyes glistened a mournful
heartache as it faded into nothing.

  Collapsing in tears, Pamoon rolled into the fetal position. She was jarred from her state by the soft touch of a gentle hand. Looking up through her sadness, she saw Ayas looking down at her, his expression slack, his eyes narrowed.

  “Why are you sad? You defeated the enemy,” he looked around her, “with nothing but a stick.”

  “It’s not a stick,” Pamoon said, wiping her face with her forearm, “it’s a staff, and I’m sad because I killed my friend.”

  “Hmm,” Ayas grunted, as he squatted next to her. “You forget, these creatures cannot be killed.

  “At least not here.”

  53

  A Deeper Understanding

  March 18, 7:00 p.m.

  * * *

  Reunited with Tihk, they hugged and traded abbreviated stories from the past two days. Pamoon introduced him and Ayas, and all three made their way back toward the campsite in the woods. Tihk slowed his pace, using the opportunity to call Tsomah.

  Pamoon and Ayas walked along the path that she had forged earlier, with Atahk always close by. As the sun began to set, they reached the campsite where the boys had encountered Kanontsistonties for the first time.

  “This place is heavy with evil spirits,” Ayas said.

  “Are they present?” Pamoon gripped her staff and eyed her surroundings.

  Ayas gently placed his hand on her staff and lowered it. “You can lower your stick. They are not here now, but this is definitely the place where Kanontsistonties was released from his captivity.”

  About to correct him on calling it a stick, Pamoon saw a playful glint in his eyes. She blushed a response, lowering her staff. Pointing to the campfire, she asked, “If we are not in any immediate danger, maybe you would like to sit for a while? I still have so many questions.”