by J. M. LeDuc
Atahk, having left the fight as commanded, flew back into the Spirit Cave where she attempted to pick up a piece of burning wood with her claws but the pull of evil coming from the tied beast was too much to ignore.
Hearing her friends squawk in agony, she wanted to help, but the magnetic pull of the beast overtook her rational mind.
You can’t win alone, she heard the beast say. I’m weak, but if you untie me, I will help you defeat Kanontsistonties.
Atahk lost in a sea of despair; her friends’ cries of death echoing through the cave, dropped next to the beast in a moment of weakness. As she pecked at the ropes that bound the beast, the proximity to evil caused her eyes to change from yellow stars to black pools. She could feel her blood and spirit darken.
Bobby, still in Kanontsistonties’ power, used his remaining strength to bite at the small bird.
As his muscular jaws clamped down for the kill, Atahk heard Kahkakow cry for help once more. “Astam!”
At the last second, she jumped toward the fire, causing the demon’s jaws to bite and break her wing instead of her body. She crowed in pain as her wing snapped, her little body tumbling next to flames. She was stuck between two worlds. The inherent goodness of the fire and the evil of the beast at odds inside her body and spirit. Her nature stuck between heaven and hell.
Hearing Kahkakow’s command echo, she floundered to her feet, busted wing dragging the dirt, and bit down on a piece of wood. Expecting the searing agony of the flames, she felt an inner, healing warmth. The energy coursed through her body, driving away the evil and concentrating its force on her broken wing. In an instant, she was whole. With renewed strength, Atahk flew back towards the netherworld.
* * *
On one knee, Pamoon fought for her life as Kanontsistonties dove between her weakened defenses. She had managed to slice off its arms, part of one wing, and cut the skull numerous times, slowing down its subsequent attacks, but failed to stop it. Swinging the staff with diminished speed, she missed her foe in an arching, awkward movement.
With defeat imminent, and with eyes blurred by sweat, she saw movement approaching fast from behind Kanontsistonties.
As the demon opened its jaws to bite down on the Kiche, a fiery piece of wood fell from the air, landing in its gaping jaws. The demon shrieked in a wailing howl that could only have been born in hell. Kanontsistonties burst into flames and dropped with a cracking thud onto a jagged rock, next to her prone body.
Pamoon pushed herself up on quivering arms and gazed at the skull. It was no longer covered in flesh and its eyes no longer hate-filled, but hollow. Void of life.
Relieved and exhausted, Pamoon slumped to the ground, splayed out on the jagged rock. With a barely audible voice, she stared up at the ravens still in flight and breathed a thank you. “Ay-hay.”
62
Aboveground
March 23, 1:00 a.m.
* * *
Ayas had picked up Pamoon’s scent as well as that of the chestnuts long before Kanontsistonties. He fidgeted nervously, reacting to every little noise and odor as he kept watch on the demon. It took all his restraint not to follow when he witnessed the demon drop from the top of the giant pine and disappear into the hole at the base of the tree.
Still in his spirit form, Ayas looked on impatiently as Atahk and the ravens kept their position. What are they waiting for? He thought. About to transform into his human shape and scream at the raven to go after Kanontsistonties, he heard Pamoon’s yell for help.
“Astam!”
The cry for help, so piercing that if he had skin, he would have jumped out of it. A slight sense of relief washed over him as the birds wormed their way into the tree’s hollow, obeying her command. As soon as all the ravens had funneled into the hole, he dropped from above and transformed. Conflicted on what to do, he stared at the entrance to the netherworld, sweat covering his bronzed skin while the hair on the base of his neck tingled. For the first time in over one hundred years he smelled nothing but his own fear and heard nothing but his heart thump against his chest.
Kisemanito’s words reverberated in his psyche. You cannot do anything that might alter her destiny. He knew if he chose to fly into the netherworld to help in the fight that was exactly what he would be doing. But, he could also hear Pamoon’s stern scolding. He was torn. Should he heed Kisemanito’s warning, or should he follow his heart and help his friend?
“Astam!” he heard again. This time the word seemed to carry pain along with panic.
Hearing Pamoon’s cry, his mind was made up. About to transform again and dive in the hole, a black mist, blacker and larger than any he had seen, swarmed him, practically swallowing him in darkness before it morphed into a massive brave. At the sight of this monster, Ayas stumbled backward, landing on his backside. What stood before him was a brave, but it wasn’t mortal. The specter, at least nine feet tall, had the face of an old man but a physique that seemed to be chiseled out of granite. The goliath, naked but for a loin cloth; in his hand, a tomahawk the size of Ayas’ thigh. The monster’s eyes, more dead than alive.
With a bellowing grunt, the giant lunged toward him, swinging the blade at his head. Ayas dove to the side just before the axe cut him in two.
“Your time of wandering is over, spirit,” boomed the demon. “Our time to rise has come.”
“Not if I can help it,” Ayas labored as he scurried toward thicker foliage, trying to figure out how to slow the brave down. Slipping behind a large Oak, Ayas drew an arrow, loaded his bow, and readied himself for battle. The ground shook as the brave neared.
“You can run all you want,” the giant laughed, “but you will die here in these woods.”
Ayas turned his back and slid left around the tree as the monster ran by on his right. I need to stay hidden and become the hunter instead of the hunted. As the brave crashed through a thicket of smaller trees and brush, Ayas used his speed and agility to climb the Oak. If I can attack from above, I might have a chance.
Ayas jumped, noiselessly from tree to tree and followed the monster, close enough to see him, yet hidden by the thick blanket of branches and leaves. The more the brave searched, the angrier he became.
Ayas took aim with his bow and shot an arrow at a large tree, shaking loose some pine cones. The brave heard and ran towards the sound. If I can keep him on the run, I might be able to tire him out. Ayas made the same play twice more, causing the giant to run in circles. The monster pinched his lips together, his fist white-knuckling the tomahawk. The goliath hacked and chopped at anything in his path.
Ayas noticed that with each swing of the tomahawk, the monster’s speed and strength were lessening. The cuts were not as lethal as they’d been. He slid an arrow from his sheath and silently lined it up on his bow string. Taking aim at the exposed neck of the giant, he pulled back and readied to let loose his arrow. Just before the arrow took flight, he heard someone yell.
“Hassun! Stop!”
Ayas relaxed the bow string and turned to see another old man. This one, just a man.
From high in the tree, he watched as this man, walked toward the monster. “Hassun, I have come in friendship. It’s me, Powaw.”
Powaw? The tribe’s spiritual leader, Ayas thought. He was the one who first called me to these woods.
Eyeing Powaw, Ayas could hear him begin to chant as he neared the brave.
The monster issued a bellowing laugh. “I stopped being Hassun as soon as I was welcomed by my master.”
“You weren’t welcomed, you were condemned. I have come to reunite you with your brothers.”
Ayas was amazed at the elder’s bravery, but his words seemed to anger the brave. The monster, known as Hassun, raised his tomahawk above his head to attack the old man. Without thinking, Ayas drew back an arrow and let it fly.
It hit the back of the brave’s leg, striking his hamstring, causing him to hobble and fall. Hassun stumbled to his feet and hopped towards the old man who was too feeble to run away. Ayas screamed, �
�Nooo,” as he witnessed the axe rear back. Dropping his bow, he dove from the tree, pulling his knife from his belt. Lunging with his blade, he extended forward with outstretched arms and plunged the length of the blade in between the monster’s shoulders.
The giant screeched in pain, arching his back and neck, his head lifted skyward. Stumbling recklessly, he tripped on an exposed root. Falling, he stretched out both arms to try to break his fall, letting go of his weapon and hitting his head on the trunk of an Oak, knocking himself cold.
Ayas picked himself off the ground, retrieved his knife from the beast’s back and laid eyes on the old man. “You remind me of the Kiche,” he said, examining the fallen brave.
“We are from the same tribe.”
“She isn’t Indian,” Ayas replied.
“She is in spirit. We are one in the same.”
Ayas, sensing his sincerity, relaxed his posture. “Hmm. That explains your bravery, or your foolishness.”
“And you are the young brave who helped save her life,” Powaw stated as he stepped toward the body of his old friend.
Ayas shook his head. “I only helped her defeat the demons. Her life, her destiny, is her own.”
“Each of our destinies,” Powaw said, “is altered when we encounter others. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.”
Ayas stared off into the distance. Did I alter her destiny; the one thing I was told not to do?
“You, Wandering Spirit, have bettered Pamoon’s life with yours. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.”
“Arr,” moaned the monster at their feet.
Reacting to the sound, Powaw grabbed a rock and struck his old friend on the temple. He then reached for the tomahawk.
“Stop,” Ayas yelled, grabbing Powaw’s wrist. “You cannot kill him, at least not like a mortal man. If you take his life, you will send him back to the netherworld. Pamoon is in the netherworld.”
Powaw, realizing his mistake, thanked Ayas. “We have just minutes before the new moon apexes the sky. We will know at exactly two a.m. what to do. If Pamoon has defeated Kanontsistonties, Hassun will change. If not, we will kill him.”
Ayas nodded his agreement.
* * *
As the clock increased, growing closer to the hour, Hassun remained unchanged. Powaw glanced up at the night sky, and with deep sorrow in his eyes, took the axe from Ayas. “If his blood must be on someone’s hands, let them be mine.” He raised the heavy blade above his head with both hands, closed his eyes and plunged it downward with all his strength, aiming for the neck of his lifelong friend. The blade struck nothing but dirt and rock, causing it to vibrate up the long handle into his hands. Opening his eyes, his friend was gone. “What happened?” he mouthed, staring at the empty space.
“As you swung the blade, he turned to ash.” Ayas smiled, pointing at a small pile of dirt where the beast had lain.
“Why do you smile at his demise?”
Ayas wrapped his arm around the neck of Powaw pulling him into a hug. “I don’t smile at his demise; I smile at the success of the Kiche.”
Powaw’s eyes opened wide as he realized Ayas’ words were true. Only the defeat of Kanontsistonties could have caused Hassun to turn to ash. He dropped the tomahawk and wrapped his arms around the young brave. Both laughing with joy.
63
Netherworld
March 23, 1:59 a.m.
* * *
The ravens descended from above, landing on and around their leader, cooing their appreciation. As Pamoon reveled in their love, she heard a painful cry slice through the tranquility. Instantly, she knew its origin. Hearing her best friend groan in pain, her heart jumped as if shocked by electricity.
Pamoon scurried to her feet and witnessed Scout, bloody and beaten; a black panther, atop his prone body, biting down on his exposed neck. In a flash, she recognized Mike’s brown eyes.
“Mike,” she screamed. “Pakitin!”
The panther stopped, relaxed his jaw, let go of Scout, and turned its head towards her. Snarling and swiping its tongue across its bloodied lips, the animal studied the one who commanded him to let go.
Pamoon, staff still in hand, stumbled on wobbly legs toward her friend. “It’s over,” she said in a calming tone. “Step away from Scout. Please.”
Blinking, Mike’s eyes changed to oval and brown before settling on cat-like and black. With a final swipe of his tongue across his bloody teeth, he prowled clockwise around his new victim. Before he could pounce, another menacing growl thundered from above.
Bobby, strong and menacing, stood on the same outcropping where Pamoon and Scout stood earlier. Snarling, he commanded Mike to back away. As the panther retreated, Bobby leaped from the stony perch.
Pamoon’s eyes darted back and forth between the two, confused by their actions. All the other beasts were again human, why not them?
“Kanontsistonties is dead,” she yelled, pointing her staff at the skull.
Seeing their master defeated seemed to make them angrier.
Why aren’t they human?
Fearing their attack, she remembered what Powaw had told her. Your blood will either turn your friends back into their human form or condemn them to live their lives as beasts.
Pamoon slid her right hand to the end of her staff and sliced her palm on the blade, coating it with her blood.
The smell of the Kiche’s blood enraged the beasts. They pawed at the earth and crouched into an attack stance.
Pamoon pointed towards Bobby, taunting him to attack.
In a split second, he pounced. Claws straining toward her, fangs readying for the bite. Pamoon crouched as low as possible, jabbed the bloody blade into his underbelly and flung him over her head.
She turned to see if he was alive, taking her eyes off her other attacker. Before he even hit struck the ground, he was human. She sensed Mike’s attack before she heard or saw it. Snapping her head forward, all she saw were teeth and claws as he sprung off his haunches. She threw the staff, like a spear, piercing the panther in its chest as it pounced.
The blade penetrated muscle and bone, finding its target, ripping into the beast’s heart.
The demon hit the ground, turning back into the person she knew. Her relief shattered as Mike transformed again into a black panther, then into a black mist before disappearing deep into the netherworld. She desperately wanted to believe he was alive, but in that moment, she realized her friend was gone—never to be human again.
Dropping to her knees, she gnashed her teeth and wailed in unparalleled despair. Her emotions no longer in check, she fell back, striking the back of her head on a rock.
64
Spirit Mount
March 23, 2:20 a.m.
* * *
Pamoon moaned, her eyes flickering against the bright light, Scout’s tongue licking her awake as Atahk pecked at her forehead. She gingerly sat up and squinted, trying to focus on her surroundings. “Where am I?”
“Where you belong,” Kise answered.
Realizing she was on the Spirit Mount, Pamoon asked, “Why is it so bright?”
“When darkness is vanquished, light brightens.”
“Darkness vanquished?” Pamoon mumbled. “Kanontsistonties is really dead?” her voice rose with enthusiasm.
“In a manner of speaking,” Kise smiled. “Evil never dies, but you have succeeded in sending him back to the far reaches of the netherworld. Once more, he can never leave unless man calls him forth.”
Pamoon stood next to the Creator with Scout between the two, taking in every word. She reached down and petted her friend, his coat glistening in the sun, his injuries gone.
The warm breeze blowing on the mount soothed her aching muscles, healed her wounds and rejuvenated her body and spirit. “If the ceremony to call forth Kanontsistonties is removed from the Book of Spirits then no one will ever be able to awaken him.”
Kise shook her head. “Man must always retain his free will to choose.”
“Bu
t—”
“There are no buts. So it is written.”
“Written where?”
Kise spread her arms and looked high and low. “On the stars, in time and space, and,” she placed her hand over Pamoon’s chest, “in men’s hearts.”
Pamoon pondered Kise’s words when she suddenly remembered her friends. “My friends . . . are they alive?”
Kise reached out her hand encompassing Pamoon’s with her own. “Come. We will continue our talk as we travel back to the cave.”
During the walk, Pamoon passed murals she’d never seen. Murals that told the entire history of all Native Americans—a history that spanned existence from the dawn of creation until this very moment. The last mural stopped her progression. It was a painting of her and Scout. A mural only partially painted. Parts were bright and vibrant, while others appeared dark or missing.
“Why is this one incomplete?”
“Because your story has just begun.”
As they continued, Pamoon asked about Mike. “I think I saw him turn back to his old self, but I’m not sure because I also remember him as a panther. Is he okay?” Her voice faded with the last few words.
“Your blood saved Bobby from his eternal fate, but Mike chose otherwise.”
“What does that mean?”
Kise stopped, her gaze sad. “He had a choice to stay a young man and fight the evil inside him or to succumb to its temptations. He chose the latter.”
Pamoon dropped her head, her throat as dry as a barren desert when she tried to swallow. “So, he’s dead. I killed him.”
“No and no,” Kise answered. “His body is dead, his humanity released, but his spirit lives on.”
Confused, Pamoon scratched her head. “If his body is dead, what will become of his spirit?”
“Evil doesn’t change, so I imagine it will find another Michi-Pichoux’s body to inhabit.”
