Shield Skin

by F. E. Arliss

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gift from the Crones

  When Emery came out of her stupor, the fire had died and she was laying beneath one of the thin silver emergency blankets that Dorothea seemed to have hidden everywhere. Deira had settled down and Don Juan was curled up asleep in a small knot that she could feel on her stomach. The three crones sat sipping tea and occasionally stoking the fire. Emery could hear them murmuring among themselves.

  “Sit up girl! We know you’re awake now,” Dorothea demanded. “What do you think of your familiars?”

  Don Juan chittered in agitation as Emery sat up, interrupting his beauty sleep on her stomach. She could already see they were going to have to make some sort of more stable habitat for the little guy. Deira, it seemed, had just glued herself behind Emery’s ear and was imperturbable.

  “I think they’re wonderful,” Emery enthused, which stopped the tiny mouse’s grumbling as he rustled around in her sweatshirt pocket. “I’ve been ever so lucky!” She saw the three old ladies’s faces settled into more relaxed lines.

  “We were worried you might be disappointed,” Bertha said slowly. “Often new witches want large familiars like wolves or bears.”

  Don Juan snorted into Emery’s navel. “I’m fine with small ones,” Emery said grinning. “So far they’ve saved my bacon repeatedly. Good things come in small packages. I’ve got no idea how I could actually go to college with a bear by my side!” Emery giggled. “That would be ridiculous!”

  The crones all laughed in relief, showing yellowed teeth and receding gums as they chortled happily.

  Straightening, Letty held out her hand towards Emery and said, “I’ll take the pearl and have it made into an earring for you, dear. Would you like that? There’s a jeweler on the way home that I can drop it off for you,” she added, her eyes alight at the idea of getting the earring made.

  “That would be wonderful, Letty,” Emery said in gratitude, dropping the pearl into the older woman’s outstretched hands.

  Don Juan’s tiny voice piped up, “Nothing tacky! 22k gold only. Strong, not thin!”

  “Yes, sir!” Letty intoned, cackling happily to herself as she reverently put the glowing pearl in an embroidered hanky and secreted it in one of her many pockets. “Very powerful energy, your pearl,” she said absently.

  “Course it is!” Don Juan squeaked loudly. “Had to bring her something with healing powers as you old biddies keep almost getting her killed off. That pearl has more than the ordinary abilities of pearls to heal wounds. I had to get on one of those enormous stinking freighters, ride it for weeks, navigate the back alleys of Fiji, and then come all the way back on a different ship. Though that one was pretty good as it was a cruise ship and they had some really great food,” this came out on a wistful note, as the tiny mouse’s voice drifted a bit as he remembered the tables of cheeses and goodies in the enormous dining hall on the ship.

  “Stole it from the chief of the village while they were all in one of those kava trances. Not hard, since they’re all half-witted when they drink that stuff. Had to touch every single one though, to find the right one. More time consuming than you think,” the little mouse huffed, twirling in his nest of tissue scraps, as he tried to settle down again. “Hundreds of pearls, all thrown willy nilly into drawers and baskets and in pouches. Quite exhausting. Then I had to carry it all the way back to the port. Caught a ride on a fishing boat. That was awful. It stank and they kept flopping fish into the bottom and splashing the stink water up towards me. I hate water,” the grumble died away as Don Juan settled into a curled ball and wearily rubbed one tiny paw over his whiskers.

  “Well, thank you Don Juan. I think it’s beautiful and I’m going to wear it up here in the curl of my ear,” Emery said, touching the tip of her finger to the upper fold of her outer ear lobe. “It will look so good! Thank you.”

  The cousins had looked at each other in shock, when Letty burst out giggling. “That’s a good idea. I mean, really, it’s one pearl. It’s got to go somewhere. She’ll want a matched pair for her earlobes!” The two cousins shrugged and nodded. Letty continued to preen at her good sense.

  “We wanted to give you something for your graduation and your familiar ceremony,” Dorothea said slowly, clearing her throat. “We’re proud of you and want you to know it,” she sniffed. Emery would have suspected the wrinkled old woman was getting emotional if she hadn’t known better.

  Bertha rolled to her feet and stiffly straightened, digging one trembling hand into the pocket of her soiled bib-overalls. Finally, having searched several pockets, she found what she was looking for. Pulling something with a gentle chinking sound from her pocket, she held it out to Dorothea.

  Struggling to her feet, Dorothea creakily motioned for Emery to stand. Letty quickly rose to her feet too.

  As the three crones approached, Deira crawled forward and perched in the front crevice of Emery’s ear, straining to see what the gift was. Don Juan also wriggled his head out of the sweatshirt pocket and stared in anticipation.

  As Dorothea raised the item to the firelight, Emery gasped. A glimmer of purple light speared into the night. Something fluid that looked like warm skin spilled from the crone’s palm. When the wrinkled fist opened, a great purple gem flashed blinding light over the group, as old gold spilled like a web of silky skin from between her fingers.

  It was a necklace. A choker to be exact. Nothing dangled to get caught in hair or flailing hands. Dorothea stepped behind Emery and fastened the necklace around the girl's slender neck. Cupping her trembling hands around Emery’s neck, she began to chant. Letty and Bertha picked it up. Soon, Emery could repeat it and added her own voice.

  Slowly, as though in a dream, Emery began to feel the warm, old metal move. It slid up her neck and began to tighten, gradually weaving itself together as though becoming a living thing. The enormous purple stone slid to one side, coming to rest just to the left of Emery’s throat. An immense sense of heat began and an instant later, a searing spear of fire lanced into the night. Emery cried out and dropped to her knees.

  All three of the elderly women rushed to her side and helped raise her to her feet. “Are you ok?” Bertha cried.

  “Of course she’s ok,” Dorothea snapped. “She’s just had an extremely powerful protector stone welded to her neck. Give her a minute!”

  Letty clucked at the two cousins reprovingly. “Let’s all go inside so that Emery may see the gift in the mirror. The fire is dying anyway and it’s getting colder. A nice cup of tea will end the evening well.”

  Settled in a chair in the conservatory, Emery introduced Deira and Don Juan to the little blue dart frog that usually sat behind her ear. Deira had hissed at him, then grudgingly scooted to the top of Emery’s ear so that the tiny frog could nestle into the curve of her neck behind her earlobe.

  Don Juan had squeaked a shaky, “Hi,” then skedaddled back into his pocket nest.

  Emery ran her hand over the necklace that now adorned her slim neck. The metal felt warm as though it was a living thing. When Letty returned, trotting in her haste, carrying a hand mirror, Emery couldn’t wait to hold it up to see the gift. Dorothea and Bertha crouched on the front of their chairs, waiting for her to look in the mirror.

  The old gold of the necklace was dull and rich. It gleamed faintly with an inner glow and the rows of interlocking links were woven together in an oddly mesmerising pattern that seemed to move and twist as she gazed at the image in the mirror. Celtic dragons and horses writhed in a majestic twist around her throat. To one side, just above her left carotid artery, an enormous oval amethyst glowed subtly. It was the size of a bird’s egg and while huge, didn’t seem to be pressing into her skin.

  Curiously, as her fingers explored the length of the intricately woven choker, she found no clasp.

  Dorothea, as though reading her mind, said, “There is no clasp. It cannot be removed. The spell has made it part of your living skin. The necklace was sent to you by our dear friend and mento
r from the isle of Iona in Great Britain. The entire community worked on it and wove great protective magic into it at our request,” one withered finger indicated the three crones. “Amethyst is a powerful protective and intuitive stone. It will keep you safe and help you know the future. It cannot be taken from you except by death.”

  This flat statement sent a shiver down Emery’s spine. “I think it might be best to keep it covered as much as possible with a scarf or high-necked top. As I’ve said before, people covet what they can see. Though we have also placed a glamouring spell on it to make it look less valuable than it really is. To others it will look dull and boring. Only to your eyes will it show its true beauty,” Bertha added this with a wink. “Though I think your average person will still think it’s totally cool!” Letty giggled. Dorothea rolled her eyes. Emery grinned.

  “Thank you all so much. This has been the greatest night of my life. I am honored,” Emery whispered. “I hope I can do you proud in the Badlands. I love you all.”

  That night they all slept well. Under cover of darkness, all three of the crones wept tears of emotion. Their girl was a wonder! Dorothea thought perhaps her tears were also of relief. Getting the Templar Stone around Emery’s neck had been a great burden of fear off her mind. Nothing could kill the girl now. Not people, not witches, not anything.

  No one else, except the Goddess Mother of the Isle of Iona, knew how powerful the choker really was. The Templar Stone had been Dorothea’s great-great-great-grandmother’s and had been stored on the Isle for over a hundred years. Dorothea hadn’t needed its powers, nor had her mother or grandmother. Now, it seemed Emery did need it. People just kept trying to kill the girl. Now Dorothea could rest easy. With that thought, she slid into the deepest sleep she’d had in years.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Into the Badlands

  On this trip, Circling Wind bounced the rickety old plane to a halt, greeted the old ladies and then gave Emery an aeronautical map and asked her to plot the course to Red Shirt, South Dakota. Several opinions were offered by the crones, and a few corrections, but finally Emery had what she thought was a correct course. Perhaps geometry wasn’t so stupid after all.

  Hugging the crones goodbye, she threw her bag into the back of the small plane and at Circling Wind’s gesture, climbed excitedly into the pilot’s seat. Grinning through the worn glass at the old ladies’s concerned looks, Emery went through the pre-flight checklist with Circling Wind. Then, with less confidence than it appeared, waved firmly to the crones and bumpily eased the old plane down the grass air strip and into the air. Only when they were airborne and Circling Wind’s reassuring voice had halted once they were on course, did Emery realize that her arms and neck ached from the tension of her first solo take-off and flight.

  Turning to grin at Circling Wind, she thought he looked a little pale under his bronze skin. “You did well,” he said firmly. Then, looking at each other, they broke into gales of laughter, releasing the tension they both knew was there. “Well, we didn’t die,” he added. They laughed harder.

  The flight only took a couple of hours. The day was sunny and bright, so Emery had no problem staying on course and Circling Wind pointed out visual landmarks that could easily be seen from the air. South Dakota looked very empty from the air. Then, as they flew further west and to the north, things took a more interesting turn. The land had some interesting looking hills that loomed upwards like jagged teeth. This, Circling Wind assured her, was the beginning of the Badlands. The eastern part of the state had been a patchwork of fields and grasslands. Now the piercingly sharp and convoluted twists of the Badlands dominated the view with empty greenish-beige prairie flowing out from its edges like a punctured tablecloth.

  Following Circling Wind’s instructions to the letter, Emery brought the plane down in an easterly direction. They were within a few hundred feet of the ground before she could see the faded orange windsock and the narrow strip of low-mowed grass in the field they were to land in.

  Emery thought she knew what a bumpy landing was, but in hindsight realized she knew diddly. Circling Wind kept saying, “Keep firm hold of the controls. Ease it down. Grip firmly.”

  When they finally touched down, Emery realized why. The wheels never hit a flat patch of grass, they just hit mound after mound after mound, interspersed with ruts and holes. It was the most nerve-wracking thing she’d ever done - apart, she admitted later, from having climbed out of the sacrificial well in Calakmul. Mostly, she was worried she was going to lose control of the plane and ruin Circling Wind’s means of income.

  At last, she brought the little plane to a shuddering halt, applied the brakes, wound down the engine and turned the ignition off. Then, she simply put her head down on the controls and took a series of deep gasps, trying to unknot the kinked-up cords in her neck. She didn’t look at Circling Wind until he said simply, “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  Glancing at him with astonishment, she said, “You’re kidding! I thought I was going to wreck us!”

  “Naw, that wasn’t too bad at all,” the old man said. “First time I came here, I skidded in a cow paddy and really did lose control for a few seconds. That’s why it’s so rough. This is federal land and can be grazed by local ranchers with a permit. The herds head through here occasionally and churn up the prairie with their hooves. It’s a mess.”

  No shit! Emery thought to herself, then helped Circling Wind anchor the plane and chock it, as the winds were not severe, but steady. They didn’t have to wait long and spent the next fifteen minutes eating the packed lunch Letty had sent with them. Later, she’d be glad she did, as the trek to the accommodations turned out to be long and wearying.

  A tiny, lumpish-looking dot in the distance slowly grew steadily into a weather-beaten woman riding a mule. Another mule was tethered to the saddlehorn of her own beast. A worn saddle crowned mule’s hairy back. It appeared to be an old civil-war era McClellan saddle with long ties hanging down the sides. When they got very close, Emery could see that the empty saddle was so old that the leather was cracked and crazed into a pattern so random it looked like a salt flat.

  The woman was probably younger than she appeared. Long black hair was covered with an old straw cowboy hat and streaked with gray. Her tan skin had web-lines of laughter radiating from her eyes and mouth. She wore a pair of worn jeans, lace up roper boots and a flannel shirt with the arms rolled back. Her forearms were charred a reddish-brown. Her mule bore a western saddle, equally as worn as the McClellan, but far more comfortable looking. Emery sighed.

  Circling Wind greeted the woman as she swung one leg high over the cantel of her saddle and slid to the ground. “Greetings, Kimimela Chatan!” Circling Wind said, while accepting a hug from the woman. Turning towards Emery, he held out a gnarled palm and said, “This is your apprentice, Emery Harlow. Dorothea, Bertha and Letty send their greetings and hope you will train her in the mastery of air.”

  Emery who had been hanging back a bit, slowly trudged forward. “You’re not going to try to kill me or anything, are you?” she asked, gazing at the woman as though she was trying to see through her. Deira snickered from behind her ear and Don Juan, startled by the question, squeaked in warning from the little pouch Letty had sewn for him in a belt that slung around her waist.

  The woman’s brown eyes narrowed for a moment as she studied Emery through her long black lashes. “Nope. Not gonna try to kill you. Though you may do that on your own if you don’t have much talent,” the older woman sighed ruefully. “Mastering air can be a real bitch if you get a little airborne, then flub it up!” She made a plummeting movement with her hand that gave Emery all the visual aid she needed.

  Cringing, Emery said, “Geez, I hope I don’t break both my legs or something awful like that! Aside from that, pleased to meet you,” she added, sticking out her hand.

  The woman shook it warmly and firmly saying, “Welcome.” Then added, “It’s happened before,” she stated cryptically, making a cracking sound with
her jaw, while waving a finger at her legs. Emery cringed.

  Kimimela Chatan waved a dirty finger towards the mule that Circling Wind had just finished strapping Emery’s backpack to behind the saddle. The long ties were now bound to her pack and it appeared firmly strapped in place. “Mount up. We’ve got a long ride ahead. This is the closest airstrip, but it’s still fifteen miles back to the cabin.”

  Circling Wind had pulled the small sheepskin mat out of Emery’s backpack and placed it over the worn old seat of the saddle, neatly tucking the loose ends under the edges of the saddle frame. Her butt-bones would thank him later. Emery had learned never to go anywhere without a sheepskin mat. They were bulky, but worth it. This time Dorothea had warned her that the ride would be long and arduous, so she’d packed the small skin just in case.

  By the time they’d topped the next hill, Circling Wind’s plane was airborne and disappeared altogether as they descended into a grassy valley lined by bone-white mineral deposits. That action would be repeated many times during the ride. They traversed hundreds of small hills, narrow dips full of mineral residue and finally began to weave their way through myriad narrow canyons lined with jagged teeth in a variety of colors. Truly, the Badlands looked like something out of a sci-fi film about Mars once you got deep into them. They were part of an alien and terrifyingly different landscape.