Shield Skin

by F. E. Arliss

  Emery settled onto the small cushion she used for meditating, placed her palms open on her thighs and began to focus her mind on the lights glinting inside the old crystal ball Dorothea had sat on a concrete block draped with a moth-eaten, black velvet shawl.

  Emery had no idea how long she sat there, but nothing happened except she had a very nice meditation. Neither old woman said a thing when they roused her from her contemplations. They sent her home with a piece of chocolate cake and the reassurance that she had been successful with smoke and would only get better with time. Most witches couldn’t scry at all, let alone scry with more than one thing.

  The last night of the full moon was the water scrying experiment. Emery loved the old stone basin and settled happily in front of it, delighted that one of the small blue frogs was resting lightly on the far side of the basin. He didn’t move, just rolled one large amber eyeball towards her, keeping her in constant sight.

  Bertha and Dorothea cackled, a sound that would have scared off a less intrepid frog. “He’s gonna make sure you’re doing it right,” Bertha clucked. “That’s a good sign.”

  As Emery relaxed into her meditative state, she kept her mind focused on the blue glint of the tiny frog’s reflection. Time receded. The water sat still as glass. Gradually a bright golden light began to pulsate out from beneath the dark recesses of the basin’s bottom. A sun. Glowing high in the sky baked down on Emery’s bare skin. She was lying on a red stone altar. Sweet smelling oils were being poured over her body and a tall woman with long black hair and a blackened, painted face hovered over her chanting in something that sounded a bit like Spanish. Somewhere nearby Emery could hear water dancing over rocks. As she stared into the sun, she began to melt. Finally, she was nothing but the rays of the sun. Her essence exploded out over the world in a stream of brilliant light. She could see all.

  When Emery woke, she was laying on her back in the midnight-darkness of the conservatory room. An old blanket had been thrown over her and Dorothea and Bertha were chanting in low voices. The small blue frog still sat on the edge of the stone basin that loomed over Emery’s position on the floor. He’d moved around to the side near her so he could gaze down on her from above.

  She groaned. Her head hurt. The chanting stopped abruptly. “You’re alive are you girl?” Dorothea rasped out, one gnarled hand reaching out to whip the blanket off her prone form.

  “Yes. Yes I’m awake and alive. My head hurts,” Emery groaned again, aloud this time. “Holy cow, what a headache.”

  A hot mug of a pungent tea of ginger, feverfew and peppermint was shoved into her hand. She drank it, having long ago learned that whatever Bertha was shoving in her hand at the moment was needed. It helped almost immediately, as the two cousins waited impatiently for her to finish it.

  “Tell us what you saw,” Dorothea demanded.

  Bertha put a restraining hand on her cousin’s shoulder and helped Emery into one of the broken-bottomed white wicker chairs among the forest of potted palms. The blue frog hopped into the pot nearest to her.

  After a grilling of almost an hour, Emery had told the cousins, twice, in detail, everything she’d seen. She still had a headache and just wanted to go home and lie down. Finally, the two agreed she could leave, though Emery could tell they wanted her to go through it all again.

  Dorothea had almost choked on her own tea as Emery had described the vision for the first time. She could tell both cousins were excited about the strange shamanistic woman with the black hair and black-painted face. Emery’s head hurt so badly that she didn’t care and would wait until the next day to find out what it all meant.

  She slid into the woods and was soon ensconced in her saggy-mattressed twin bed under the eaves of the rickety clapboard house she shared with her family and fell sound asleep.

  Chapter Six

  Study

  The following months were spent trying to repeat the water and smoke scrying experiments and in learning more about herbs, the formation of spells and hours of learning different types of tarot formations, rune markings and other ways of foreseeing things. Dorothea explained that all apprentices were exposed to a variety of ways of developing premonitions, and then the type they were most attuned to were focused on. Emery didn’t mind tarot cards and runes, but she was more interested in things that involved the natural world. Consequently, they focused on smoke and water scrying.

  Emery was also very good with herbs and was excited to begin her training in communing with the elements. She had seen Dorothea call to the air and create wind and it was very exciting to her that she might be able to communicate somehow with the earth or sky.

  Bertha urged her not to get her hopes up, as few witches were powerful enough to move air the way Dorothea could. Dorothea scoffed and said that if Emery could scry smoke and water, then she could probably connect with air, water or fire. The cousins bickered over that too. They just liked to bicker. It was their way of communicating. Emery didn’t mind because in this instance, she could tell they didn’t mean anything by disagreeing with each other. It was more a way to lay out all the possible scenarios and think about them.

  Over the next six full moons, leading up to the spring break at school, Dorothea consulted the charts and during each full moon they practiced connecting to whatever element ruled that month’s moon.

  The first full moon in January was ruled by air and since it was freezing cold, Emery was bundled up against the chill like an eskimo. During the ceremony her eyes watered and she couldn’t feel her feet. She blamed this for the absolute nothing that answered her summons. Frozen stiff, all three of them retired to the house for a cup of hot tea and a half hour in front of the fireplace to soothe their disappointment.

  In February, it was a full moon ruled by water. Since it was still cold out, the only body of water that wasn’t frozen was the birdbath top in the conservatory. Emery helped the two women, who she now knew were referred to in the Wicca terminology as “crones,” set up the altar for the ritual. Emery figured from the two cousins’ explanation that crone basically meant old, wise women.

  Again nothing happened to move the water. She did see some images again, but not as clearly as when she’d been concentrating solely on scrying with the pool. Again the tiny blue frog appeared, and though she was tempted to let him sit on the arm of her chair, Dorothea rumbled a warning deep in her bony chest and shook her head in warning.

  March rolled in and late in the month the full moon was to be ruled by fire. Emery didn’t really see how she would be able to connect with fire as an element, since Dorothea said she had a very strange birth chart that had zero fire elements in it. It seemed to Emery that if you had no fire elements in your birth chart that you would be a dud with fire.

  This time it was mild enough to be outside and Bertha had set up a small pile of wood to burn in the black kettle at one end of the stone slab the old bird bath had set on. As they prepared the items for the ritual, Emery felt a little despairing. She didn’t really think she was ever going to be able to connect with an element. It was beginning to seem impossible.

  Trying to be positive, she at least could feel her feet and with the fire didn’t need her gloves. As Dorothea began the chants to cast a circle of protection, Bertha handed Emery a handful of sage to throw on the fire. Emery knelt on the ground and carefully staring into the glowing embers, scattered the crumbled sage into the heart of the fire. Smoke billowed up, stinging Emery’s eyes. After blinking furiously a few times to clear her vision, Emery raised a hand to block another billow of burning sage and wished the smoke would turn the other direction. Almost miraculously it did.

  Dorothea faltered in her chant and touching Emery on the shoulder, urged her to pick up the words. She did. Having heard them enough times as the two women built the fire to know what came next. Steadying her voice after the first repetition, Emery let her voice build as she looked deep into the flames, then raised her eyes to look into the smoke.

  Images danced in
the billowing smoke as Bertha fed small amounts of sage into the flames. Emery unaware of time, watched the scene in the flames, unconsciously moving her hands to direct the flames away with the smoke for a clearer view of the images. Later, Dorothea would assure her that she was moving the flames - it wasn’t just a coincidence. Emery - with no fire in her chart - could control flame. Each astrological birth chart has sixteen divisions ruled by the elements. It was very unusual for someone to have a chart that had absolutely no fire, but Emery’s didn’t. Perhaps that was why she was devoid of that sign in her chart. Fire was not a part of her. She was other to it and could control it because she could not be harmed by it. Or, at least, that was what Bertha hoped and was very vocal in explaining.

  To Emery, it was almost too much to believe. Dorothea assured her that only time would tell.

  “How?” Emery asked.

  “At spring break, I wish to send you to Arizona for nine days. If you tell your mother you’ve gotten a scholarship from the nursing program, do you think she’ll let you go?” Dorothea asked, her raspy voice slow as it floated the idea.

  “Ummm, I don’t know. I can ask,” Emery said. “What would I be doing in Arizona? I’ve never been anywhere. Will I have to fly in a plane? Who will I stay with? What am I going to be doing?” The questions flowed out in an unending stream.

  “Ask your mother first, then we’ll see about answering all those questions,” Dorothea said, pursing her already wrinkled lips into a thoughtful knot. “I’ll make some calls while you find out if it’s even a possibility.”

  It turned out to be easier than Emery had thought. As soon as her mother heard that she’d have one less child to worry about over the school holiday, she was clearly relieved and readily gave her consent. “What are they going to be teaching you?” her mother asked.

  Her siblings, ever supportive, chorused, “It’s a bedpan changing seminar!” And ran off erupting with laughter.

  Emery shrugged and said to her mother, “Don’t really know. It’s possible it’s bed pans.”

  Her mother grimaced and said, “I hope not, but have a good time, dear.” And that was the last Emery had to explain to anyone.

  Chapter Seven

  Canyon de Chelly

  Emery had never heard of the Canyon De Chelly, which sounded to her like ‘daShay’ when the old woman pronounced it. They were sending her to one of their friends, an old Navajo woman named Atsa Haseya. Her name meant “eagle rising” and Emery thought that was pretty awesome.

  Atsa was supposedly a very powerful hitaali or ‘singer’ of the Blessing Way - a ceremony that young girls underwent as a right of passage to womanhood. According to Bertha it would also give them insight into some of Emery’s gifts, as the hitaali would “see” some of them during the ceremony.

  Emery was to have a ceremony, which would also name her and bless her. She would learn herbalism during the rest of the week. It was all very exciting, though Dorothea warned her it was cold, the ground she would be sleeping on was hard, and the food was truly awful. Still, it was to be an adventure. The greatest adventure Emery had ever had. Plus, she was indeed going to get to fly in an airplane. It was all so exciting.

  The cousins had bundled her into the beat up old car of their other friend, Letty, and they’d gone off on a shopping trip to the largest town in the county. Instead of the department store Emery had envisioned, the battered brown Chevy pulled into the parking lot of a large Goodwill and the old ladies crawled out accompanied by their various canes, walkers and miscellaneous tote bags.

  While Emery had been disappointed at first, the interior of the crowded Goodwill soon revealed a treasure trove of goodies...if you had the patience and practice to spot the items that had quality. The next two hours were a learning experience of extraordinary value. Emery learned how to spot real cashmere wool, what the different textures of real silk looked and felt like, and the clearly superior-looking varieties of real leather versus polyurethane. It was a whole new world of quality, albeit used-quality. Letty spotted the first prize. A pair of sturdy vintage, lace-up boots with a rugged sole and thickly padded footbed. “Ahhh, Redwing. A very good boot,” Dorothea had said, stroking the smooth leather of the ankle shaft. Let’s hope they fit her.”

  After a thick pair of wool socks were added, they fit fine and the basis of her adventure week outfit was born.

  The next items were a pair of rugged, tan-canvas riding pants. Bertha called them jodhpurs, which Emery had never heard of. She could understand why they were good though, as the thick cotton of the pants fit snugly around the calves, but left plenty of room for movement. There were no seams on the inside either, so they were extremely comfortable. Letty informed her that was so that while in the saddle the seams didn’t chafe your legs. While Emery had no idea if she’d be riding anything or not, that seemed a clever idea too. She wasn’t too enamoured of the way the pants ballooned out at the side, but once Bertha pointed out that the famous female pilot Amelia Earhart had worn them when flying her plane around the world, Emery decided they were good enough for her too.

  Dorothea found a silk long-john set which fit her snugly. Emery was delighted with the smooth feel and lightweight weave of the underwear and couldn’t help but think how much nicer these were, even used, than the horrible waffle-weave cotton and polyester set she usually wore.

  Then came a denim long-sleeved shirt, which Bertha informed her was really something called “chambray” and a tubular piece of knitted fabric that she was to wear around her neck and could pull up over her mouth and nose if it got very cold or dusty. That seemed a bit of an extreme measure to Emery, but she’d also never been to Arizona so she wasn’t going to say no to something she’d never tried to use before.

  A super lightweight down vest in a horrible dirty-brown color was found in the men’s section, and though it was ugly, Dorothea assured her it would keep her warm and she’d be grateful for it later. When Letty handed her a camouflage-patterned windbreaker, she almost said no - Emery hated camo. All those guys at school that went around killing animals wore camo and she didn’t want to be associated with them in any way. Letty held the windbreaker out to her a second time and shook the item under Emery’s nose. “You’ll thank me young lady,” she said, nodding her head emphatically. “Wind can cut you like a knife. That will protect you.” Emery took it. It fit well over the vest.

  “She needs a hat,” Bertha said, shuffling over to the wall, where a display of various types of hats hung from pegs. Most looked dejectedly saggy or sported large snags. Emery picked up a blue hand-knitted cap that carried a set of cleverly-shaped deer antlers. She didn’t really want to try it on- too embarrassing- but it was unique. Before she knew what had happened, Bertha had pulled it from her hand and shoved it down over her hair. Letty and Dorothea oohed. Bertha aahed. Emery rolled her eyes.

  “I am not wearing an antler hat,” she stated flatly. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “Then why did you pick it up girl?” Dorothea snapped churlishly.

  Letty nodded consideringly. “You must listen to your inner voice. If you picked up the hat, it probably means there is something about it that calls to you. Look in the mirror before you say no,” she added.

  Emery, feet dragging, was shoved towards the mirror by an exasperated Bertha. The image in the mirror looked like someone she didn’t know. A slender girl stood in the mirror, rugged boots and close-fitting jodhpurs emphasized long-legs and were topped by the camouflage windbreaker and the collar of the down vest peaking out. The tubular scarf gave a bright pop of blue and orange color at her neck and on her head, the dark-blue hat with brown antlers gave her the look of a strangely tall, pagan goddess. Emery had to admit the hat was cool. Weird, totally weird, but cool. She’d keep it. Would she be brave enough to wear it? She wasn’t sure. Overall, she looked like a toss up between a homeless person and a 1920’s polar explorer.

  The ladies spent the next hour shopping for themselves. Emery found a battered leather belly-bag
that fit around her skinny waist and would hold her money and I.D. while she traveled. Her clothes for the trip would fit in the backpack she used for school, so she didn’t need anything else.

  Dorothea found a bright red wool coat with an enormous hood. Emery personally thought it looked like Little Red Riding Hood’s coat, but with her gray frizzy hair, it set off Dorothea’s complexion and suited her to a T.

  Bertha found two more of the horrible old pairs of bib-overalls she usually wore and Letty swooned over a truly ghastly fox stole that still included the head, beady amber-glass eyes staring vacuously into space. Dorothea forbade her from buying it and they eventually settled on an angora poncho that proceeded to shed fine hairs over all of them as the car vents wafted the fibers into eyes, noses and mouths on the way home. Emery was still pulling the annoying strands from her mouth hours later.

  Two weeks later the old ladies once again drove Emery to the neighboring town and waved her off as she boarded the small plane that would take her to Arizona. Strangely, there was no ticket and no one else at the small grass strip where the plane was parked. A skinny Navajo man, beaten brown by the sun, and well-wrinkled, helped her aboard, shook each of the old lady’s hands and then climbed in and took off.