by Sara Clancy
“You can’t just blurt out that Death is here,” she said.
“Aren’t you the one who keeps saying I should be more open with the things I’m experiencing?”
“Yeah, but . . .” she huffed, not sure how she could regain higher ground in the conversation. “Just read the room.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Wapun said she needed to know the reality of my situation to help me. If she can’t handle your favorite Grim Reaper coming over for a visit, then how’s she going to deal with everything else?”
“You just wanted to freak her out.”
“Do my motives change the facts?”
Nicole thought about that for a moment before releasing her anger with a bitter huff. “I hate when you win arguments.”
“I know. That’s why I love it so much.”
He repeatedly nudged her with his elbow until she broke and shoved him back.
“God, you’re annoying,” she chuckled despite herself.
“I know.”
One more nudge and she turned to shove him. Unfortunately, Wapun picked that same moment to emerge from the sweat lodge. Nicole cringed back in embarrassment. She always felt like a child around her Great Auntie, and this wasn’t helping assert herself as a full-fledged adult.
“Everything’s prepared,” Wapun said.
Nicole nodded hurriedly and avoided eye contact with her snickering best friend. He truly loved to push her buttons.
“Thank you, Auntie,” Nicole mumbled as her cheeks flamed.
Wapun’s piercing gaze fixed straight onto Nicole. “He’ll take this seriously.”
Not a question. A statement and a warning.
“Yes, he will,” Nicole hurried to assure.
It only took a split second to get her eyes on Benton, but she found his mouth already open in preparation for a snide comment. He caught her pleading look. The words died in his throat as a broken crackle, and he heaved a sigh.
“Yes, I will,” he said solemnly. “Thank you so much for this opportunity.”
Wapun nodded once, seemingly satisfied, and moved back into the sweat lodge. “Come in when you feel mentally prepared for it.”
The moment the curtain closed, Nicole beamed up at him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Yeah, well, this really means a lot to you. So . . .”
“I’m going to have to hug you now.”
While Benton heaved a long-suffering sigh, he did lift one arm to invite her in. She took advantage of it to quickly squeeze his neck.
“Are you ready?” she asked as she pulled back.
“I have no idea what I’m preparing for, but, yeah, let’s say I am.”
“Everything will be okay. I promise.”
“Comforting. But completely lacking any further information.”
“It’s as good as you’re going to get,” she said. “Get inside.”
Putting up little fuss, he slipped into the darkness, Nicole quick on his heels. Stepping into the steam was like jumping into a lake, leaving her instantly damp with sweat. They had all changed to prepare for the heat, but it still wasn’t anywhere near enough to compensate. Sage was scattered across the ground, producing an earthy scent that went straight to her head. The combination was like breathing fire.
Benton clearly reeled from it at first. Wiping a hand over his face, he endured and slumped onto the patch of earth that Wapun motioned towards. Nicole moved to sit next to him.
“On the other side of the stones,” Wapun said.
Obediently, she followed directions. The scorching stones made the air ripple, distorting her vision of Benton. He had a talent for saying a lot in a single expression. Right now, he was telling her that he was a little creeped out and not too happy that they had been separated. I don’t like this. I feel like a freak.
She nodded at him. It’s going to be okay. The silent reassurance was enough to have him remain in place.
Wapun dashed the stones with medicine water, making them glow red and spew steam like an angry dragon. Benton’s pale face turned a dangerous shade of red, and he hunched forward, bracing his elbows on his knees to try and keep his balance. The sizzling hiss and babble of the nearby stream was the only sound for quite a while.
“I’m guessing that the heat’s necessary,” he said in barely more than a whisper.
“Of course. The sweat lodge is a gift from the Creator. It cleanses your spirit just as water cleanses your skin. The traditions are important. We’re already changing it enough to accommodate you.”
Benton actually looked bashful and hunched his shoulders like a turtle retreating into its shell.
“The sweat lodge is the womb of Mother Earth. You are safe here Benton,” Wapun continued. “Nicole and I are here to guide you. We’ll bring you back from wherever the spirits lead you.”
Nervous energy started to show in the tight press of his lips. He gripped his hands tightly, soon releasing the hold again when the heat grew too uncomfortable.
“Breathe the steam in deeply,” Wapun instructed.
His first attempt to suck it in left him coughing. Wapun hid her smile.
“Keep trying. Focus on your breath. Clear your mind and open yourself up to the spirits around you.”
“That seems like a horrible idea.”
He jolted at Wapun’s scoff.
“White folks,” she whispered to her niece.
Nicole giggled before she noticed Benton’s questioning frown.
“Siksika don’t really have the same perception of the paranormal as other cultures do,” she hurried to explain. “We just accept it as another part of nature. There’s no real need to rationalize it.”
Something clicked inside his brain. “That’s why you’re always so keen to jump on the crazy train?”
“How is it crazy if I’m right?”
Wapun cleared her throat, and they both fell silent. When she was satisfied, she settled her focus onto Benton alone. “I’ll admit that there are evil spirits. But you have to acknowledge that there are good ones, too. Invite the good ones to come to you now. Approach them humbly, and they will hear you.”
It was clear that Benton wasn’t ready to believe that. He hasn’t had much contact with things that weren’t terrifying, Nicole acknowledged to herself. Still, he drew in as deep a breath as he could, given the scented steam, and closed his eyes. Wapun began the ceremony. Although Nicole didn’t come to the sweat lodge every year, she knew the prayers and songs enough to notice the parts that Wapun had altered. It was still the same overall request; guidance and protection. Nicole swept her plaited hair over one shoulder and tried to relax. Wapun’s words stuttered to a stop when the temperature of the room suddenly dipped.
The stones continued to sizzle, spewing a continuous stream of heat into the air. Wapun dropped another ladle of the medicine water onto the stones. Still, the chill remained, a growing wall of ice that drifted across Nicole’s back. Wapun shivered a second later. It’s going around the circle, Nicole realized with a start.
“Benton.” It came out like a broken whisper.
He didn’t open his eyes, instead choosing to hum in acknowledgment.
“What’s behind me?”
His eyes snapped open, growing wide as he quickly glanced around, never focusing on anything for more than a few seconds.
“Benton?”
***
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The heavy rhythm was the only sound that remained in the world, each one a thick squelch that came from near and far at the same time.
“Nic-” He didn’t get through the full word before he noticed what was off.
While the rhythm remained stable, the rest of the world had slowed down, reducing to a slow creep that stretched the seconds out into minutes. The muscles of Nicole’s face gradually bunched. It took him a long moment to realize that she was speaking.
The sudden screech of an owl made him jump. The flaps of the tent rattled as the bird beat its body against it.
A rapid, wild fluttering that didn’t match the slowed down world. He looked helplessly to Wapun and Nicole, looking for some form of guidance. Neither of them could shake off the effects that had settled upon them. Heart slamming against his rib cage, he got to his feet and hesitantly approached the exit. His fingers trembled as they wrapped around the edge of the flaps. All the while, the sound continued.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Trust in the good spirits,” he muttered to himself.
One final glance back and he gripped the curtain tight. Before he could stop himself, he ripped it back and stepped out into the blinding light. Icy air bombarded his overheated flesh, freezing his sweat, making him shiver violently.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Hands balled into fists, he stepped forward, his legs threatening to drop him. The camp was set far from the sweat lodge to give its users some privacy. He could still spot people in the distance, each one of them suffering the same state as Nicole and Wapun. Whatever the cause, the influence went far beyond the sweat lodge. Crows hung high overhead, the flock moving far too slow to stay aloft. Trees looked more like seaweed swaying with the soft motion of placid water. The grass swayed and rippled.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He glanced around to find the bird, the only other creature he knew of that wasn’t trapped in the elongated time. Its caw came in a burst from behind him, and he whirled around to see it.
“Bird?”
His somewhat pet flapped its colossal wings, the feathers moving soundlessly through the air. Mind whirling, he could only come up with one answer.
“I don’t know anything about this,” he babbled nervously. “Is this what they mean by a ‘spirit animal’? Like, you’re here to help me?”
Bird made a weird rattling, clicking noise, almost a purr. Benton took that as confirmation. So mine’s the omen of death? Great. Isn’t that a refreshing change?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The noise sent dread pulsing through his veins. His bravado shattered like glass, and he couldn’t gather up the pieces again. Trembling slightly, he turned his head towards the sound. It’s by the river.
“We don’t have to go over there, do we?” he asked Bird.
The horned owl beat its wings once and took flight. Looking serene and majestic, it swooped low to the earth before climbing higher, all the while heading off behind the sweat lodge. His dread turned to fear as he realized Bird was carving a path towards the one place he didn’t want to go.
Don’t go, a voice whispered in the back of his head, even though he knew he didn’t have a choice. Whatever was going on, it was for a purpose. And he doubted that the creature in control would allow him to leave until the purpose was complete.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heartbeat fell into step with the slick beat. Grass crunched under his feet and brushed against his hands as he made his way to the stream. At first, the walk seemed to take hours. A constant trudge forward. Endless. Terrifying. Then the grass parted, and the river came into view. The banks were lined with figures, hunched down so that their bone-thin legs were folded on either side of their torsos. The skin of their back was stretched so tight, it showed off every contour of their arched spines. There wasn’t a single stitch of clothing on their haggard forms, leaving only their long, matted hair to cover themselves. In perfect unison, arms that looked barely strong enough to lift a feather flipped soaked clothing over their heads, slamming them back down onto blood-soaked stones.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Bloody water oozed from the fabric with every strike. There were dozens of the withered women, the combined efforts staining the river red. Whispers hit his ear. A thousand people speaking at once.
Names.
It hit him like a solid blow. Just like waking from his dreams, knowledge that wasn’t his own became lodged in the forefront of his mind like a burning spike. Prophesies. They’re all speaking the names of people who are going to die. Throwing himself back made his knees buckle. The moment he hit the ground, the distorted women snapped their heads around, locking their tiny eyes upon him. Panic swelled within his chest until his ribs threatened to shatter. He gulped for breath but still felt like he was drowning.
The women didn’t make a move towards him. They didn’t do anything but stare at him as their voices grew louder in his head. Harsh, hissed, voices that chipped away at his skull. There were too many names. All of it coming too fast. He couldn’t make any of it out.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Benton clamped his hands over his ears, trying to dull the onslaught. It was useless. The sounds only continued to grow until it rivaled the wail of a hurricane.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Bloody clothes hit the stones, spewing fresh torrents of crimson out into the water. A coppery stench filled the air, gathering until he almost gagged. Motion drew his attention back to the grotesque figures. Unseen hands rose up from the river, latching onto the women at random and dragging them down into the depths. It didn’t matter how many they took. The whispering never stopped.
A cry lodged in his throat as the strip of red began to bulge and writhe. Patches of ebony broke through the surface, rising up and forging themselves in the towering figures of the Grim Reapers. Benton scrambled further away, stopping only as his back hit a sheet of ice.
His breath lodged in his throat, choking off his scream. It was small comfort to find Mic, the particular Grim Reaper that had befriended Nicole, looming above him. Over the months, Mic had become a near-constant presence, and Benton latched onto that familiarity now. Like all the others, its body was a bottomless abyss gouged into reality, broken only by bone-white smears that served as its hands and face. Mic rippled under Benton’s pleading gaze, her body stretching out like living smoke, shrouding him, cocooning him, shielding him tight against the ever-increasing noise of the others.
Thump. Thump.
The silence shook him to his core. There was peace in it. An unstable serenity that left him panting hard. He didn’t recall gripping his head in his hands, and they shook violently as he peeled them off. The darkness was gone, replaced by the stark, almost blinding, white. Don’t look up, he told himself. Don’t react. This, like following Bird, wasn’t really an option. On his knees, he gathered his courage and glanced up, searching for another glimpse of Mic’s familiar oblong face.
The last tendrils of black smoke fell away from the glistening body of a young woman. Barely ten years older than Benton himself, the woman consisted of only two colors. A polished mother of pearl gray claimed the long, flowing tendrils of her hair and delicate skin. The dress she wore was of the same shade, making it hard to tell flesh from material. Her lips and eyes kept the Grim Reaper’s polished onyx. Slowly, she extended a hand, offering to bring him up to his feet. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it.
It wasn’t the human pliability of the skin that surprised him. Instead, it was the warmth. He was literally holding the hand of death. Shouldn’t it be cold?
She wrapped her fingers delicately around his. The gentle touch made him jerk his gaze up to hers. There was something haunting about Mic’s face. The lines and curves whispered something on the edges of his mind. Niggling at him until it clicked. She looks like me. A little rounder in places. Thinner in others. But nevertheless sharing the overall aesthetic.
“Mic?” he asked.
A small, wistful smile curved the corners of her lips as her eyes softened.
Logically, he knew that the Grim Reaper had chosen the image in some attempt to put him at ease. He was grateful for that. But there was no suppressing his eerie shudder. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror. He flinched away when Mic rose a hand. Her delicate fingertip hovered a few inches from the side of his face, testing to see if he moved again. When he held his ground, she closed the distance separating them and cupped his cheek. The tenderness in the touch almost burned him. He longed to move away but was terrified to leave the only slither of protection t
hat had been offered to him. He locked his knees and held his ground, enduring the contact as best he could.
Eventually, Mic’s had moved. Instead of falling away, it rose towards his hairline and sunk into his sweat-drenched hair. There was no hesitation in the motion. Her fingertips went straight for the scar hidden beneath his pale hair. The long, curved gash that marked where the doctors had repaired his shattered skull. He could almost feel the metal plate embedded in his skin warm at the contact. A fine tingle raced across his nerve endings, surged inside him until he felt like his skin contained the churning ocean. He tried to pull away and found that he couldn’t. The sensation increased, crackling within his lungs and sparking over his brain in fireworks.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sounds of the blood-soaked washing came sloshing back into his ears. Each pulse accentuated his thundering heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The whispering came along with the noise. Within seconds, it was back to its unbearable level, driving down onto him until his legs buckled under the weight. He dropped hard to the ground and found himself sinking deep into blood-stained muck. The noise grew louder still, echoing within the marrow of his bones, grinding him into the earth, burying him into the mud. Stray bones clattered against his limbs. The soaked soil was filled with rotting bodies and bare bones.
“Mic,” he gasped.
He looked up, desperate to find any form of help. What met him was a look full of sorrow. Slowly, she turned away from him. Through the searing pain in his skull, he followed her gaze, looking on in horror as monsters began to claw their way from the earth. An army of thousands. Millions. Watching the horde surge towards him turned his flesh to ice. The ground rattled with their approach. Strong vibrations that drove him deeper into the mud. Twisted reeds crept over his shoulders like living creatures, wrapped around him, and dragged him down.
The sudden jerk whipped him back, and he caught a quick glimpse of the woman hovering before him. Her skin like milk and her hair a flowing stream of black ink. Sick delight danced within her eyes as she watched Benton struggle against the tightening grass. The next hard pull dragged him completely under the surface and into his own grave.
