Bayou Shadow Protector

by Debbie Herbert

  “Here’s what you need to know. Our men are old-school. Extremely protective. They don’t want us fighting alongside them.”

  “But that’s so...so archaic.”

  “True. Believe me, I agree. And I’m working to change Tombi’s attitude.”

  “Tallulah is one of them,” she pointed out. “If she can, I can.”

  “Tallulah was born with shadow-hunting ability and trained along with Tombi.”

  “I have abilities, too...” No, actually she had none. Grady had royally screwed her out of her Fae birthright. “Scratch that. But there has to be another way I can help. I won’t be left behind to wait and wonder.”

  Joanna spoke up. “The shadow hunters’ wives aren’t shrinking-violet sort of women. We aren’t good at waiting and wondering.”

  April glanced back and forth between the women. “Then how...?”

  “There are other ways,” Annie said in her quiet fashion. “Sneakier ways.”

  “Such as?”

  Annie shrugged. “We follow behind them on nights we know there is high danger. Like tonight.”

  “But...don’t they hear you?”

  Joanna rocked, looking calm enough to be discussing the menu for dinner. “I’ve been caught a time or two over the years. Each time, I told Nita I’d never do it again.”

  “That’s great. But they generally go their separate ways in the woods to scope different prearranged perimeters.”

  “Chulah told you all this?” Joanna asked. “They’re usually tight-lipped about their methods.”

  April squirmed. Joanna couldn’t know she’d observed them firsthand. “Uh-hum,” she muttered noncommittally. “But my question is—when the men scatter, how can you find them?”

  “Easy,” Annie broke in. “They end up in the same place every time. If something major goes down, you can bet they’ll wind up on their sacred ground. There’s an ancient tree there, and inside of it, Nalusa Falaya is forcibly contained. You’ve heard of him, right?”

  “Of course. He’s the worst bayou shadow spirit, the one Hoklonote wants to free.”

  A red flicker of light strobed in from the front window. Annie rose from the bed and motioned them to the window.

  Outside, a bonfire roared in the yard. The hunters gathered around it, their faces set with deadly intent. By the tree line, where field met forest, dozens of fairies hovered. A drum sounded.

  “It won’t be long now,” Annie said softly.

  Chapter 18

  The drumbeat echoed in his gut like the roar of the ocean on the sea breeze. Hoyopahihla, their ancient war dance, set his hunter senses soaring. His legs and feet automatically shuffled. Back and forth, side to side, left right, right left right. Slowly, every hunter moved around the bonfire’s circle until each had returned to his original position.

  The drum ceased its beating at once.

  Chulah stared into the fire, hypnotized by the crackling embers, the licking flames leaping higher in the night sky, the blue core dancing to its own living rhythm. Tombi started the chanting. Old war songs, hoyopa-taloah, that their ancestors had sung through the ages. He sensed the connection to them, an unbroken link.

  His father was nearby, with him in spirit. Not as clear as when his dad appeared and spoke to him on a vision quest. But in these ceremonies, his father’s spirit manifested as a warm, settled presence deep in Chulah’s heart.

  Silence abruptly descended again. Their energy quickened with anticipation. Waiting.

  Tombi opened his mouth.

  Chulah knew what was coming. They all did. And yet that didn’t lessen the startling impact of the nightmarish war whoop. The hoyopa tasaha that signaled time for battle.

  They each joined in, a chilling chorus of deadly intent.

  The ritual was over. He was ready. From here out, the hunters would maintain as profound a silence as possible—gliding through the gloomy depths of the bayou like warriors of old.

  Chulah stared at the trees that shielded the good and the evil within its borders. For years, all he had known was the evil side, the Ishkitini, will-o’-the-wisps, Hoklonote and Nalusa Falaya. But April had come into his life. And there was a beauty he’d never suspected that lived in the heart of the woods. A fairy realm.

  Perhaps not “good” according to mankind’s ethical compass, but a different dimension with their own rules, filled with beings capable of much beauty and much cruelty.

  Just like humans.

  Tombi raised his arm and stepped out of the circle. Chulah fell into step behind him and the others aligned in their place with military precision. A single line, marching in the same footsteps of the preceding hunter.

  Steven walked outside the line, muttering, “There’s no room for me. What the hell am I supposed—”

  Chulah frowned and raised an index finger to his lips. Damn it, he’d told the little man to stand at the end of the line after the ritual ceased. Either Steven was insulted at being last, or he had a memory as small as the no-see-um insects that plagued the bayou in summer. Hard to have respect for someone who mistreated April. Once he’d discovered she’d lost her Fae essence, he had no use for her. Steven was as big an elitist as the other Fae who scorned him as a halfling. Actually, he was even worse. A hypocrite. He despised the Fae for their denunciation, but executed the same attitude at the now-powerless April.

  Impatiently, he motioned Steven to cut ahead of him in line. At least this way, he could keep an eye on the little man. It was in the Fae’s best interest not to cross the hunters, but Chulah had a healthy skepticism toward all not part of the hunter brotherhood. Besides, even innocent errors in judgment could be fatal.

  Now as one, they filed across the field, away from the warmth of the dying fire and toward the dark, hidden core of the woods. With every step, Chulah sank deeper into relying on his hunter instincts. Each noise and smell increased in significance. The crunch of frost beneath them, the lone howl of a coyote, the Gulf wind cutting tunnels of chill in the swamp. The scent of moonlight and water and soil as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

  They walked the main path, headed due west. As arranged, the small, glowing fairy lights streaked ahead and then blinked out to blend in the dark. First sight of a wisp or owl, they would kill it. Should it be a large cluster, one of them would return to the hunters and communicate the location to Steven.

  An illuminating flash of blue and green erupted and then faded, followed by a thin curl of smoke spiraling upward, and at its tip, a clear white spirit ascending to the After Life.

  Score one for the fairies.

  The silence weighed on Chulah. The quieter the night, the fewer attacks along the path, only meant more concentrated evil gathered in one location. It signaled that they awaited the hunters on Choctaw sacred ground by the venerable ancient tree housing the trapped Nalusa Falaya and the kidnapped fairy queen. Waiting, biding their time, ready to strike.

  So be it.

  The only question remaining was whether the shadow spirits would try to cut down their ranks at the edge of the consecrated ground, or if they would wait until they actually set foot on sacred soil. Hatred burned in Chulah’s chest at the creatures’ arrogance in desecrating the land.

  Nalusa must be writhing in the tree, excited, reveling in the nearby evil power of those who would once again obey his bidding upon release. The old shape-shifter would be twisting and coiling his snake form inside the cramped hollow of the tree. Hissing, its forked tongue flicking in and out of the flat roof of his venomous mouth, testing the environment and priming its poison. Unlike a true rattler, Nalusa’s eyes were capable of glowing red. They would shine like banked embers in his black prison, alert for the first opportunity to escape and strike.

  Their best chance was to capture Hoklonote before he loosed the monster. Thankfully, Hoklonote was ignorant of the words that held such power. His best chance was to force it from them, killing each hunter one by one until they broke.

  Chulah straightened, shoulders back, ch
in raised.

  He would not break. Not ever.

  Tombi signaled, pointing both his hands outward in both directions. Silently, they changed tactic, spreading out in a horseshoe formation.

  A foreign energy form from above niggled at Chulah’s awareness. He poked Steven and pointed a finger at the treetops. Steven nodded and tapped his chest, and pointed upward as well. The fairies were with them. Chulah could only hope that Hoklonote wasn’t aware they had joined forces.

  Tombi dropped his hands to his sides and the hunters advanced as a single unit, quiet as stalking jaguars.

  Evil tainted the air in a malevolent miasma, worse than Chulah had ever encountered. The wisps were responsible for most of it. That was one of their powers, to invade a man’s thoughts and smother his hopes, replacing dreams with misery and dread. It could lead to a broken spirit or suicide or betrayal of one’s loyalties. As toxic as chlorine gas. The wisps’ own version of chemical warfare. Once you got too close to one, you were vulnerable. That was why he and the others shot them from a distance.

  Something niggled at the edge of his senses. Chulah glanced around and behind, then looked up. Dozens of Ishkitini swarmed.

  A screech pierced the silence. The owl signal to strike. Chulah loaded a stone in his slingshot and waited. The owls needed to come a few yards closer for him to launch his most accurate shot.

  Almost there. Another couple of yards. His tight biceps and forearms quivered with tension and anticipation. The Ishkitini kept coming, close enough now to smell the rot and decay they feasted upon.

  Chulah drew the slingshot back one more inch and released his shot. A thud and an Ishkitini dropped. Another bird was a foot away, flying directly at him, feet and talons extended, ready to sink its claws in tender flesh. His flesh. Quick as lightning, he loaded another stone and pulled back. In all directions, he heard the whir of rocks speeding through the sky and thudding against Ishkitini as his fellow hunters attacked as well.

  And then the unexpected happened.

  Pastel lights flickered among the Ishkitini and they dropped from the sky at the hunters’ feet. Dead and undangerous. The half a dozen remaining birds flew off, screeching in alarm. That ought to tick off Hoklonote. Nalusa could command every Ishkitini to fight to the death, but Hoklonote didn’t equal Nalusa’s power. The moment the Ishkitini caught on to the Fae ambush, the few left had enough self-preservation instinct to get the hell away from the slaughter.

  Steven nudged his side, a smirk of pride lighting his ruddy face. Chulah nodded an acknowledgment of a mission well accomplished. The fairy ambush had worked. But he knew better than to celebrate too soon. The owls were only the first line of defense.

  Next up, the will-o’-the-wisps.

  Sure enough, large columns of flickering orbs appeared, the trapped spirits inside them a pulsing teal glow. The wisps were parasitic, needing their victims’ souls to provide a life-giving heartbeat. Once a spirit escaped, the wisp died moments later, extinguished. Again, Chulah quickly loaded his slingshot and began shooting. But they were so outnumbered. The fairies ambushed as best they could from the back and sides, but the wisps had seen them attack the Ishkitini, so the surprise factor was lost.

  Teal flares illuminated the woods as a few wisps were killed. But yet they still advanced.

  Chulah’s eyes watered and his throat constricted. They were getting too close. Way, way too close. They’d all die if they came too much nearer.

  The wisps stopped, less than ten yards from where he and the others held their line. Why would they do this?

  Ah; he started to slap his forehead. Hoklonote, of course. The shadow spirit had stopped them, was holding them in check as a threat. He still needed the hunters alive in order to free Nalusa Falaya. Rather, he needed Tombi alive.

  Torture time.

  The column of wisps parted down the middle, like the parting of the Red Sea. The wizened figure of Hoklonote hobbled between them until he stood before the hunters, wisps guarding his back.

  Leaning on a hickory cane, he made his way to Tombi. “Say the words that will free Nalusa.” His voice was wobbly and weak. To Chulah, he more resembled an old gnome than a shadow spirit.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tombi said.

  “Don’t lie to me. As leader of the shadow hunters, you alone know the words to unbind Nalusa from the tree. Do it.”

  “I will not.”

  Hoklonote smiled. “Very well. The misery of your hunters will only make the wisps stronger. And amuse me as well.”

  His heavy-lidded eyes darted to Chulah. “You first.”

  * * *

  April bit down on her lower lip to stifle the scream. Annie laid a hand on her arm and shook her head, cautioning silence.

  Easy for her to do; it wasn’t Tombi facing Hoklonote’s wrath at the moment. April glanced at Joanna, who glared unflinchingly at Hoklonote’s back.

  April parted the underbrush slightly for a better view, never loosening her grip on the black mojo bag Annie gave them before they ventured out after the men. She needed all the supernatural protection she could muster.

  “Can’t you do anything?” she whispered fiercely to Annie.

  Annie squeezed her hand. “Have faith.”

  Chulah stepped forward. Hoklonote raised his cane; a laser of white-blue light extended from its tip like a lightning bolt. It struck Chulah’s left shoulder and the stench of burned flesh had April on her feet and running to Chulah’s side. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”

  All eyes were upon her. One frozen moment in time. It was all she had. Her eyes lit on Steven. “Call in the fairies!”

  He scowled. “They don’t need us yet.”

  Bastard. So the Fae were going to hang back now that the going was tough and Hoklonote’s power was concentrated in one place.

  April lifted her head and raised her hands skyward. “Grady’s alive and working with Hoklonote. Our threat is greater than ever. Intervene now or die!”

  “April? What the hell.” Chulah awakened from his stunned stupor and whisked her behind his back with his good arm.

  Chaos broke out in a boom of sound and color. Lights in every rainbow shade flashed and popped. Shouts and whistles rang like cannon fire and the air became polluted with toxins. Her eyes watered and she swiped at them with the sleeve of her jacket. Burying her head in Chulah’s back, she coughed and drew a labored breath. She didn’t care if this was the end of the world. Better here, holding Chulah, than hiding behind a bush like a coward and watching him suffer and die.

  “Get down,” he said with a hiss. “Go back and hide if you can.”

  April crouched, but no way was she running for cover. Quickly, she gathered handfuls of the smooth river rocks the hunters had stacked in a large duffel bag. They could come in handy later, so she stuffed them in her jacket pockets.

  The hunters might still lose, but at least the Fae had entered the battle and she didn’t have to sit and watch Chulah being tortured. The Fae struck at the wisps, decimating their ranks from behind, as the hunters loaded and reloaded their slingshots in a volley of attack. But where was Hoklonote?

  April peeked from between Chulah’s legs. Tombi had wrestled the little weasel to the ground. His biceps bulged as he tried to force Hoklonote’s arms behind his back. The shadow spirit had a surprising physical strength she wouldn’t have suspected from his aged, wrinkled face and hunchbacked body. Hoklonote’s hand crept forward on the damp, cold ground—fingers outstretched. His cane was a mere six inches from his fingers. Hoklonote muttered some words and the cane began to inch toward his twisted fingers.

  April looked around. The other hunters had their eyes forward, preoccupied fighting the wisps. Tombi’s concentration centered on tying a rope around Hoklonote’s right hand, unmindful of his left.

  The cane moved another inch closer. If he got that cane, he’d swing it wide, carving a death arc through the shadow hunters. And Chulah was the closest target.

  If anyone cou
ld prevent that—she’d have to be the one.

  April squeezed through Chulah’s calves and ran, crouching and coughing. She dropped to the ground by Hoklonote and grabbed the stick as his fingers began to curl over the hickory handle.

  It burned her palm. The cane pulsed and sputtered in her hand like a live electrical wire—yet she tightened her grip, determined to hold on. Hot tingles shot through from hand to arm to shoulder.

  She would not let go.

  Tombi grabbed Hoklonote’s left arm and the spirit screeched—a long, piercing howl of rage. Tombi tied his arms together behind his back.

  And still, she held on to the cane, afraid Hoklonote’s power was capable of drawing it to him, the rightful owner of such dark magic.

  Chulah bent down and wrapped one large hand over the cane, and with the other he pried her fingers from their death grip. “Let go now. I have it.”

  His face was grim, eyes red and swollen from the toxins in the air. A cloud of pain dimmed them, yet his jaw and lips were firm and unyielding against the agony.

  “I’ll hold it. You’re needed to fight the wisps.”

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  “With my life.”

  “Then let go.”

  April withdrew her hand and he gave her a slight nod. “Good job.”

  Chulah stood, flourishing the cane at Hoklonote. “Call off your army.”

  Hoklonote glared. “My cane will burn your hand in two before I’d agree to your demand.”

  “You’ll burn first.” Chulah tapped the cane on Hoklonote’s right shoulder, burning a hole through the spirit’s shirt. Hoklonote screamed in agony. Chulah raised the cane, ready to strike again. “Call them off,” he warned.

  “Hell no,” Hoklonote muttered between clenched teeth. Beads of perspiration ran down his weathered cheeks, but his eyes burned with hatred.

  Again, Chulah lowered the cane, this time striking Hoklonote’s left shoulder. April cringed at the sound and smell of singed flesh.

  “Stop! I’ll do it,” he wailed.

  Chulah held the hickory cane at his side.