Our peace chief raised his pipe, Feathers fluttered from the long stem. “I tell you again. The great council has decided. Our People are allied with the English. We will help them push the others out. We will secure our lands and our power as friends of the English from now on. If we fight this war well, we will never have to fight the whites again. Maybe we can even make peace with them. That is that.”
Ian prodded my shoulder from behind. I tried to ignore him. We had argued politics for days. He was making me furious and breaking my heart. He poked my shoulder again. Father, who sat next to me, leaned over and said, “Are ye not ken to playing fair, Daughter? Your husband has something to say. Let him speak.”
Everyone heard Father’s words. There were nods and craned heads. Young girls twittered at the hope that handsome, exotic Ian, with his white skin and blue eyes, would address the town. Boys and young men looked over at Ian eagerly, wanting to hear his wisdom. Ian was a favorite of the People. He could play the stickball game as wildly as any Cherokee man. He could throw a tomahawk as if born to it. Unlike me, he laughed and joked; he believed the world was a very good place, overall. I preached doom and gloom and saw demons, great and small, everywhere. I was always on guard.
Ian, on the other hand, was inspirational. Our chief waved his pipe, granting Ian some floor time. “Eonah may speak,” he said.
“Go ahead and have your say,” I said to him coldly, over my shoulder.
Ian whispered, “Will you be talking the language for me or is your heart too hard?” Ian’s Cherokee was acceptable but hardly nuanced enough for a speech at the council meeting.
“You can trust me to repeat your words fairly, Husband,” I vowed without pleasure.
He stood. “Like my wife’s father, Fire Hair, I was born in a place where the English rule. When I was a boy they drove my people out of the place called Ulster—my parents starved because of them, and so my parents put me on a boat to save me, they put me into a big canoe to cross the big river between my home and here. I came here all alone, when I was no bigger than Squirrel—” he pointed to the grinning little boy who helped him at the forge—“and I was a servant to an Englishman in the big town of Philadelphia. That bastard . . . that Englishman . . . owned me. I was no better than a slave. If I ran away, he had me tracked down. I have whip scars on my back because of that bastard . . . that Englishman.
“I learned to make iron into tools; I became a blacksmith; people respected me. But I was still owned by the Englishman. When I finally earned my freedom from him I decided I would never be any Englishman’s slave again. I traveled here to the mountains of the People to see what a man could become outside the white towns ruled by the English. I found good people—he swept a hand at the faces around us—and I found a good family—” he pointed to Red Bird, Turtle, and my father—“and I found my heart.”
He put a hand on my shoulder, a gesture that made tears rise behind my eyes and caused my voice to break for a moment. “I am not Ian Thornton anymore,” I went on, speaking for him as he spoke, “the slave of an Englishman. I am the husband of Mele of the People. I am of her clan, the paint clan. And I do not want to see her people, my people, the Cherokee, trust the English. I will never trust the English. Never. And I intend to fight the English.”
My father, a fellow Ulsterman who hated the English the same way, nodded. “I agree with Ian,” he said in Cherokee. I do not believe the English will be good to their word. I do not think they will protect Wonaneya and all the other towns of the People.”
A revered old woman named Climber spoke up, thrusting a sharp finger at me. “No one sees demons but you. Maybe they play tricks on you. Maybe your mind isn’t good. What if you’re wrong about this war?”
“I’m not wrong, old mother. I’m telling you what the spirits show me.”
“You speak to spirits and trust they are good ones. How are you to know which are good and which are not?”
I shook my head. “There are spirits clinging to the poles of this council house. Soft and bright, sweet souls. Can you see them? I can.” People looked up at the ceiling warily, their eyes wide, then shook their heads and traded amused looks. I sighed. “I can only do what my guides tell me. We are all lost in the darkness without their help.”
“You go ahead and trust your spirit guides,” Climber hissed. “The rest of us have to trust what we see that’s real. Are we supposed to listen to you instead of the People’s war chiefs? Is this little town of ours supposed to take sides against all the other Cherokee towns and the English too? No! You’ll get us all killed!”
Our council put it to a vote, but only to be polite. The decision was no surprise. Some of the younger warriors grumbled. That small faction would follow Ian wherever he wanted to take his personal war against the English. But the majority would not. Wonaneya would fight on the side of the English in a war for the soul of everything we held dear.
We were doomed, either way.
*
I huddled on our bed late in the night, clutching a blanket around me, red-eyed and quietly frantic. Ian sat on a stool by the fireplace with his own blanket around his shoulders, his face grim. He held out his hands in frustration. “Mary, this is making no sense to me. If you see the fecking English losing this war, then why are you so against me fighting them?”
“I know you hate the English. You’re an Irishman and so you want to go and fight them no matter why. I understand. But you’re a Cherokee now, too. You’re my husband. You must not choose sides against your Cherokee family.”
“I’m not siding against your folk. I just want to knock off a few fecking Englishmen.”
“The Americans will win without your help. No need for you to go to war at all. Stay here with me.”
“Mary, hiding from a fight sure the feck isn’t my way. Ay, ’tis a pisser if I do and a pisser if I don’t. Most of the men in this town are readying to join the damned English and go to killing Americans. But you and me both ken that there’s no purchase in that way of doing. The Americans will just take revenge and go to killing every Cherokee in these mountains. I’ve got a right good bunch of the men here who’ll go me to represent the Cherokee on the American side. To fight the American cause.”
He thumped his chest. “I’m an American, Mary. And so are you. And that’s what the American folk need to know. That at least some of the people of Wonaneya town are not fecking loyalists to the fecking English crown.”
He turned my own logic against me. Except for one thing: I knew the prophecy of the pog who came to me in white light. “You will not be safe,” I told Ian hoarsely. “You will not be all right if you leave this place. We’re under a protective charm here. The spirit of the Talking Rock has told me. I’ve seen that spirit, the spirit of the valley, here in our home. It will take care of us. But not if you leave.”
“Aw, Mary-girl, where is this talking rock of yours? Have you ever seen it? Show me. My love, isn’t it just one of the stories the old people tell around their fires, like your big snake and your little fairy people and so on?”
I sagged. I had never visited the rock except in my dreams. There was nothing like it near our cabin—no rock where a giant snake and a tiny spirit woman gave me counsel. No living, breathing rock that was home to the markings I drew on my amulets. Nothing that hosted the being who spoke to me in white, sparkling light.
But it was as real to me as my own skin, and what hurt me to the bone was realizing that Ian had never done more than humor me. I bounded off the bed and ran to him. “I killed Susannah St. Johns. A demon came out of her body and I banished it. You helped me fight that demon, whether you believe me or not. I turned you into a panther and you fought a demon alongside me. You are a soul hunter by trade! But before I banished her she swore her mate would take revenge on us. Ian, we may have a vengeful demon coming after us!”
Ian looked up at me with tender frustration. “Aw, Mary, I love you like my own skin, and I don’t fault you for saying whatever it takes to keep me
in place. You turned me into a puss cat, did you? Aw, Mary. Sure you did.”
“You don’t believe in my visions! You don’t believe in spirits. Then you don’t believe in me.”
He stood. “That’s not a damned bit true and you know it. It’s just that I’m thinking sometimes your spirits say what you want them to say, love. You don’t want me to join this fight so your spirits come up with fine reasons why I shouldn’t. But I promise you, love, ’tis the right thing for me to do. Why, me and the boys’ll go kill us a few Englishmen and be home by springtime. You’ll see.”
“You’ll die,” I yelled at him. “You’ll die if you leave here. And I’ll die here without you.”
His hard face crumpled. “Love, love, no. Calm yourself.” He took me in his arms. I tried to shove him away, but he held on gently until I gave up inside his bear hug. He whispered against my hair. “I’ll love you forever, you ken? And I’ll never leave you for long or for no good reason. Never.”
Pretty words. But the damage was done.
*
Ian threw the last of his gear over the saddle of his horse. “Do not be staying here alone, Mary,” he said dully. “Move over to your father’s place. I want to think of you safe at the trading post. Would you give me that much?”
I shook my head. All my tears had been shed. I was hard-eyed. “I know where I’m safe. I was safe with my husband here, protected by the spirit of the Talking Rock. But my husband refuses to listen to me. He wants to fight the English. He takes my cousins; he takes the young men who love war, with him, to fight a cause that is already won without his help. I tell you, stay here, with me, and we will all come out all right. We have work to do, capturing demons. Our war is with demons, not with the English. I need your help to fight that war.”
He rubbed his forehead as if the sound of my voice hurt him. “Maybe I see beyond what you and your spirits see, Mary. I see the future for people, real flesh and blood people, no matter the meddling of banshees and angels.”
“You see me waiting for you.” My voice broke. “But I will not be here.”
He took me in his arms. “Don’t lie to me, love. You’ll not get shed of me nor me of you. No matter what happens.” Tears slid down his face. “And no ken how long it takes, nor how mad you are right now, I’ll come home to you. And you’ll be waiting, you will.”
“Goodbye, forever, ” I said hoarsely. The words were permanent and agonized.
“No. You’re saying, ‘Good day to you, my beloved husband, and hurry home to me soon.’ That’s what I hear. Not the other.”
He mounted his horse, put his hand to his heart as he looked down at me, then rode away.
13
War raged. Skirmishes and ambushes occurred all through the Carolinas. Sometimes it was army against army, but just as often it was citizen militias, loyalists versus patriots. We heard news of Cherokees allied with the English attacking American settlements; killing and torturing people. And of American militias retaliating. So far the fighting was mostly in the flatlands to the east, but Americans were already attacking some of the lower Cherokee towns in the foothills. Wonaneya, higher in the mountains, was isolated and might escape.
I had not had a message from Ian in months. He and the warriors he led were somewhere in the flatlands, ambushing English troops and loyalist militias. They slipped through the woods to attack quickly then slip away. They had already become famous. Americans even gave them a respectful name. The Blood Cat Boys. Father was proud. Aunt Red Bird and Uncle Turtle said there was no shame in Ian’s decision to fight the English. But there were people in Wonaneya town who called Ian a traitor and turned their backs to me. I stayed at my cabin and kept to myself.
The being of white light from the Talking Rock came to me often. I think it would have touched me if I let it. It would have fingered me, licked me, let me pretend it was Ian on top of me. Good spirits were often bawdy. Intimacy and comfort included every positive feeling, and they didn’t draw distinctions. The being felt my despair. Believe in your husband’s love, it whispered. I bring you his love. It is part of what I am.
Will you tell me if he dies? I asked it.
He will never die, it answered. Only his body may die. And he will tell you himself, in that case.
Except for worrying about Ian’s part in the war, I had no interest in any of the battles or what the outcome might be. I had my own war to fight. The demons and their lesser allies, the banes, crept through our mountains more than ever. They were drawn to trouble, drawn to horror and the act of dying. They fed off suffering, and encouraged it. I couldn’t stop the war, couldn’t bring Ian home safe, but I could slaughter the dark spirits who made things worse.
*
There are paths. They follow the mantel of some other world, overlaid on our own, spirit paths, energies, forces that pull and push. The animals and the shamans sense them; sometimes our paths follow the same ways, leading people along with demons and angels. Some of the greatest cities and most terrible battlefields lay at the crossroads of those invisible, irresistible roads.
That summer I set myself alongside a path that followed a ridge above the valley of Wonaneya town. High and windy, nearly treeless in places, capped with rough stone helmets instead of soft earth, the ridge path was a coarse, high, desolate place, perfect for the secret wandering of dark souls.
Every time I stopped one of them, I lessened the terror, the torture, the pain they provoked.
I caught banes by the dozens.
They never expected to meet a soul catcher outright. And so they paraded openly along the path, stinking, grotesque and misshapen—at least, that was how I saw them, but I couldn’t say how demons and banes looked to themselves. Maybe they thought they were pretty, and that we were the monsters.
“I see you,” I said quietly each time, and the captured bane would look up in shock to where I sat on a high rock, a place the being of white light had counseled me to use. An invisible place. “Be gone from this world,” I said next, and flashed a hand dramatically.
They shrieked as the wind pulled them apart.
Bigger demons, more powerful ones, like Liver Eater, couldn’t be bested so easy. Demons didn’t take the paths.
“I see you,” I called to a small, green, frog-like bane with nasty teeth. I raised my hand to banish him.
It growled up at me. “Who are you to judge me?”
I froze. Banes didn’t usually talk. They were more like animals. They muttered and chirped, or they made weird sounds, speaking in a language of their own.
This bane complained loudly. “My kind deserves to be here just as much as you. There would be no balance without us. Nothing to inspire people to improve themselves. It’s not our fault that human beings are so weak. Bah! Spare me your judgment, and in return I will tell you something important.”
I thought of Liver Eater. Maybe my pride had been my un-doing. “Maybe I’ll spare you. But tell me why I should believe you.”
“Oh, no. First, give me your word you’ll spare me. And then I will tell you about the danger headed straight your way. Whether you believe me or not is your business.”
I chewed my tongue. “All right. You have my word. You can go free. What is your news?”
“Your husband is just a few days’ ride away. At a white town called Ludaway. He is coming home.”
My heart soared. I showed no reaction but desperately wanted to believe him. The bane’s yellow teeth bared in a smile. “Unfortunately, a demon has led the English here. Soon all in Wonaneya will die.”
As he said those words, grinning, I heard gunshots in the valley below.
*
Wonaneya town was on fire. Smoke and flames rose to the mountains, mingling with the blue mist. Every dome-shaped reed hut in the valley was being destroyed. The People ran in every direction. The council house was ablaze. Bodies were strewn about like straw dolls. Redcoats walked through the town, shooting anyone or anything who did not obey they’re orders instantly.
> Others of their company raided the summer fields at the edge of town, piling ears of corn onto blankets, striping the beans from the stalks, pointing to mounds of potatoes they would dig up later. Still others rounded up horses, cows, and pigs.
A soul catcher does not command troops of angels. We cannot call on an army of good beings to attack our enemies, be they human or banes and demons. We work mostly alone, with only our closest confidantes, flesh or spirit, as allies. Why that is so, I did not understand. The Talking Rock told me there many ancient reasons for the way of the spirit world.
My eyes ached from the images coming into them. My body screamed. I watched as a redcoat bayoneted little Squirrel. He fell, blood spurting from his neck. I felt his sweet soul slip past me on the breeze. One day, in another century, I would meet him again.
Father, Aunt Red Bird, Uncle Turtle, where are you? Fury like a thousand fires burned inside me. I heard and felt the rush of banes around me, all of them gloating, running toward my people, my friends, my kin, to feast on their misery. I whirled. A mass of grinning, slurping banes loped and hopped and flew past me, heading for the dying of Wonaneya. This nasty flock could only have been drawn by a very powerful demon.
I singled out as many as I could with the point of a marksman. I see you. I banish you. I see you. I banish you. I see you. I banish you. They shrieked and exploded. But I was no match for so many. They leapt at me, slashing. I felt talons gouge bloody stripes on my arms, my legs, my body. A set of sharp teeth sank into one of my ankles. I went down to my knees, saying as calmly as I could even then, I see you. I banish you. Over and over. I see you. I banish you. Destroying them even as they hobbled me to the ground. A bane’s wound is spiritual, not real, yes, but it hurts and it bleeds and even my strong knowledge of the truth couldn’t resist the effect. Yes, I could recover from the wounds of banes, but not instantly.
Soul Catcher Page 19
