by Megan Hart
“I beseech thee, hawk,” she whispered. “Your will is your own, your heart wild and free to roam the bayou. But if possible, I need your help. By the power of the universe that created you to fly and me to walk on land, I ask that you appear.”
She paused and cocked her head to the side, straining to hear its presence above. A cold chill chased down her spine. What if Hanan had managed to free himself of the hawk’s talons and kill it?
No. Surely she would have heard or felt some sign of such a catastrophe. Annie tried again.
“Please, help. We need that flute. Just this one favor is all I ask. With the flute we can stop Nalusa and contain the birds of the night—ishkitini—that prey upon you, as well. In the name of all the holy saints, please, come. Amen.”
She kept her eyes pressed shut, hardly daring to breathe. Every second that ticked increased her agitation, and her fingers stroked the soft feathers braided in her hair. Annie crumpled the cinnamon stick in her hand and held it to her nose. The sweet spice odor calmed her mind, allowing her to focus. She pictured her hawk, flying high above the oaks and pines, wings spread majestically, eyes sharp and probing, searching below. Seeking, seeking. In its left talon, its gnarly claws clutched the thin reed—the flute that held their hope and safety. Salvation. How very fragile and small it appeared in the sky. So much rested on such a fragile instrument.
Have faith.
Grandma Tia’s voice commanded—pristine and visceral—cutting through the static of the cacophony and doubt swirling through her mind.
That’s all ya got to do, child. Faith moves the mountains and makes all things possible. Yer stronger than ya know. Make me proud.
If only her grandma were sitting beside her, holding her hand. She could do it then.
But Grandma Tia was miles away. This was something she had to do alone. Something sacred and holy between her and the hawk.
“I’m waiting,” she whispered. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”
The beating of wings roared above, loud as a hovering helicopter. Annie looked up. Her hawk screeched and flew close, so close its rapid heartbeat fluttered in her ears, and she heard the wind rustle its feathers. The flute was clamped in its hooked beak.
Annie tentatively held out a trembling hand. The hawk was upon her; she smelled the dusty scent of its skin beneath the feathers, felt its hot breath on her face. She wanted to run, wanted to tell it to give the flute to Tombi, but to do so would betray its trust, would repudiate the their bond.
She sank her heels into the red clay, determined to stay rooted.
The hollowed tube thudded onto her opened palm, and she curled her fingers on the warmed wood...
And nearly dropped it when the hawk took flight, disappearing in a loud roar, as suddenly as it had first appeared. Annie clutched the flute to her chest, watching in humbled awe as the hawk became a speck of brown in the darkened sky and then became one with the shadows. Would she ever see him again?
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Tombi stepped in front of her, waiting for her to gather her emotions. “Your hawk came through. I’ll be damned.”
“No. You’ll be saved.”
He laid his dark hands over her own. The flute pulsed like a living creature. Joyful notes teased her mind; the Choctaw artifact knew it had come home once again.
“This belongs to you,” she said, placing the flute between his fingers.
Tombi lowered his head and rested his forehead on hers. The moment was as sacred and precious as a wedding kiss, a vow of love, the promise of a future. All the things that could now be theirs.
He pulled away. “It’s time. Thanks to you, we have a chance.”
“More than a chance. You can’t lose now.”
“We won’t.” He squared his shoulders and took her hand. “Wait until the others see this. Tonight’s ritual will be one of celebration.”
* * *
Sparks of fire crackled and swirled upward, whipped by the Gulf breeze. The scent of burning oak, salty air and purifying sage signaled the welcoming of the full moon, sights and sounds he’d experienced since he was a young boy. The murmurs of his people were solemn and hushed, even more so than usual. Not finding Hanan had been a blow to their confidence.
Tombi came to an abrupt halt. “Wait.”
Annie skidded to a stop beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Thanks to you.” Tombi pressed the flute into her hands. “You should be the one to carry this in.”
She shook her head and tried to hand it back. “I don’t care—”
“No argument.” He took long strides away from her, emerging from the wooded path and into the field, Annie trailing behind.
The murmur of voices halted as they all stared at their approach. Annie hung back, and Tombi motioned her forward.
“We’ve got great news,” he declared.
Tallulah broke from the group. “Did you find Hanan?” she asked, peering behind his shoulders.
“Even better news.” He turned to Annie. “Show them.”
Hesitantly, she raised the flute.
“The ancient instrument that will help us defeat Nalusa has been returned to us.”
Tallulah was the first in line to celebrate. She eyed it critically and then faced Annie. Her throat worked. “Thank you,” she said gruffly. She threw her arms around Annie and hugged her.
Tombi grinned at the round oh of astonishment on Annie’s face.
“—knew she could do it.”
“—never doubted her—”
“Tonight we win—”
“—Hanan is dead meat.”
One by one, every hunter shook Annie’s hand. Pride swelled Tombi’s heart at her humble acceptance of their tributes. She’d won them over, had become one of them.
And had won his heart, as well. If they defeated Nalusa this evening... No. Tombi gritted his teeth. Tonight was all about the battle. Nalusa and his shadows would pay for the deaths of his parents, for Tallulah’s suffering, for the suffering he’d caused everyone in the bayou. He would not be distracted from his destiny and duty.
Mela, the drummer, began beating the hand drum. Its rhythm was a call for celebration. Chulah and Pisa took Annie by either hand and led her to the fire. Tombi gathered with the others, and they encircled the bonfire piled with dried sage. The drumming stopped. Through the smoke and heat waves, he saw that all eyes were on him, awaiting the signal to begin. He raised his right arm, and the drumming began, slow and measured. Each put their right hand on the back of the hunter in front of them and stepped forward on their left foot, then slowly dragged their right foot beside the other and stomped.
The tempo increased, then slowed back down to its original pace, his signal to begin the antiphonal chorus. Tombi released two war cries and sang an old, old song calling upon the sun for power. After every stanza, the hunters repeated the verse until the song had been sung three times through.
He looked back at Annie and winked. She had a look of dazed excitement. This full-moon ritual was undoubtedly more colorful and exciting than the paper-burning ritual she and her grandmother shared.
“Enough,” he said. “Let’s save our energy for capturing Nalusa.”
A large cheer erupted.
“You each know your assignments. Release as many wisps’ souls as possible, and then at the first note of the flute, we attack.”
Chulah raised a fist. “Tonight it ends!”
Tombi waited until the resulting cheering died down. “We have every reason to be confident, but don’t take anything for granted. Even in a weakened condition, Nalusa is powerful and cunning,” he cautioned. “Plus, Hanan may still be out there. So be on the lookout.”
He stared each hunter in the face, and they nodded grimly. Childhood fac
es of friends he’d played stickball with, had wrestled with, gone to school with since kindergarten. “Courage and luck be with you, my friends.”
In groups of twos and threes they disappeared into the darkness of the woods, until it was just Annie and him standing by the dwindling fire. Silently, she handed him the flute, and he carefully placed it in his backpack.
“I’ll put out the fire, and then I want you to stay inside the cabin until I return. Don’t open the door for anyone.”
Annie lifted her chin. “I’m going with you.”
Why was he not surprised? “No. You’ve done more than enough.” He dragged over a bucket of sand by one of the tents and threw it on the fire.
Annie grabbed another one, her small body bent over double from lifting the fifty pounds. “I want to be with you.”
“You would be a distraction,” he argued, relieving her of the bucket and tossing it on the dying embers.
Which was partly true, but the thought of Nalusa sinking his fangs into Annie would destroy his soul like a battalion of shadows couldn’t. If she didn’t want to save herself, at least she’d listen to reason about hindering his safety.
She opened her mouth, as if to offer more objections, but he kissed her—hard and swift. If all else failed, he had to know that Annie lived on, that his life had been worth something, that he had helped her control her gift.
Annie loved him, but he’d held a bit of himself back, and she knew it. If he died, he wanted her to move on and find someone who could give her all of himself. Someone who could put her happiness first.
Tombi told her none of this.
He ended the kiss. The longer he waited, the more difficult the parting.
“Go inside,” he said gruffly.
She shook her head.
“Please.”
Annie bit her lip. “Maybe I could help if you take me with you.”
“No. I would be looking out for you and not focusing on anything else.”
“If you’re sure—”
“Very. Go.” He stepped back and crossed his arms. “I’ll watch until you get inside.”
With a sigh, she nodded and walked slowly back to the cabin.
Her silhouette appeared in the den window, and she pressed her face against the glass.
He longed to go to her, to the warmth and light of the cabin. But his duty was clear, and he would not stray. Tombi turned away and headed into the inky blackness of the bayou swamp.
* * *
Annie restlessly paced the cabin; burning some energy moderately helped manage the terror. She’d done everything she could do, lit incense, prayed at her makeshift altar and called Grandma Tia and asked her to do the same. She stared out the window, willing Tombi to materialize from out of the darkness, to walk across the field and back into her arms. Alive and safe and victorious.
Nothing but night’s black veil. She drew the curtain and started to turn when a speck of light appeared in her peripheral vision. Annie stared again into the night.
A blue-green orb skittered to within a few feet of the window. Its shaped wavered and flickered like a candle in the wind; the green color pulsed rapidly within its core.
High-pitched wailing assaulted her ears. She recognized that voice.
Bo.
Tombi was in danger. Annie flew to the door and ran down the porch stairs. “What’s happened?”
“You must come. Quick. Bring your herbs.”
“Is it Tombi?” she asked, already rushing back up to the door.
“No.” She could have sworn she heard sobbing. “It’s Tallulah. Hurry.”
Relief washed over her, followed by a tinge of guilt. She didn’t want anybody hurt or killed. Annie grabbed her pocketbook and went to her altar, stuffing in everything available: candles, herbs, essential oils, Florida water, tea.
Back out the door she followed the flickering, agitated wisp that held Bo’s soul. Even without the light, she could locate Bo from the grief-stricken melody that flowed out of him like a mighty river. On and on she stumbled through the swamp until a stitch cramped her side, and each breath felt like inhaling flames of fire.
Annie stopped and leaned against an oak, trying to catch her breath.
“Almost there,” Bo urged.
Reluctantly, she straightened and pressed on.
Another few feet and Annie heard a low moan of pain.
“Here. Help her!” The wisp pulsed in and out with agitation above a cypress, and then its light faded away. Underneath, Tallulah cowered, hands clutching her temples.
She rushed over and dropped to her knees. “Tallulah, it’s me, Annie. What happened to you?”
Eyes fogged with pain looked up at her in confusion. “Wh-what are you doing here? Dangerous. I sense a wisp is nearby.”
“We’re safe for the moment. Where are you hurt?” Annie pushed Tallulah’s hair from her face, searching for blood or a wound.
Tallulah placed a hand on the back of her skull. “Here.”
Annie felt the baseball-sized knot. “How did this happen?”
“Felled by my own weapon,” she said bitterly. “I shot a wisp, and one of the ishkitini grabbed my stone and threw it back at me.” She whimpered as Annie probed the damage. “Strange. That’s never happened before.” She stopped and drew a shaky breath. “Wasn’t...expecting it.”
“Nalusa and his shadows grow stronger,” Bo said.
Tallulah stilled. “Did you hear something? Or did this blow to the head make me crazy?”
Annie scrambled in her bag and pulled out a bottle of water. She added a tincture of willow bark. “This might help the pain,” she said gently.
Tallulah lifted the bottle to her lips and drank greedily.
“Is she going to be okay?” Bo asked anxiously.
“I hear something again.” Tallulah straightened. “I swear it sounded like... Bo? Are you out there? Can you hear me?”
The wisp glowed and flickered before them.
“Tallulah. My love.”
Wonder clouded Tallulah’s eyes. “Bo! I can hear you.” Tears ran down her face. “I’ve missed you so much. Come back to me.”
“If only I could.”
Bo’s voice was filled with such sadness, Annie felt her own eyes fill with tears. She couldn’t imagine how awful it would be if something were to happen to her love.
“But it’s time to let go of the past,” Bo said. “For better or worse, the battle ends tonight. Before it starts, I need you to do one thing for me.”
“Whatever you want,” Tallulah promised at once.
“Release me. There’s nothing more I can do to help.”
“But...if I release your spirit, I’ll never be near you again.”
“I’ll still be with you. I’ll be there when the birds sing at morning’s awakening, when the wind lifts the hair from the back of your neck during the noonday heat, and when the stars glow in the heavens at night, I’ll be watching over you.”
Tallulah wept, and Annie cried, too, for the gentle man who had been Tombi’s best friend and who had been taken so young and had been so in love.
“And I’ll look for you and remember you. Always.” Tallulah dried her eyes and struggled to her feet, a rock in her hands.
Annie turned her back. The moment was too intimate and personal to witness.
A whoosh of sound and the air shimmered with a splintering of light, until one lone glow remained. It hovered a few seconds and then sped up into the heavens.
It was done.
“I thought he’d never leave.”
Tallulah spun around, but Annie absorbed the shock in the pit of her stomach. She turned slowly, as if her body was weighted by cement blocks. As if some small part of her mind had known this was inevitable.
“Run, Annie,” Tallulah demanded.
“No.” Annie stepped close to Hanan. She had her hawk and her hoodoo, while Tallulah was only armed with a bag of rocks.
Hanan roughly pulled her tight against his body and jerked her so she faced forward; the bite of the belt choked into her neck until she could barely breathe. “Leave or I’ll kill her now,” he warned.
“You son of a bitch,” Tallulah snarled. “I can’t believe I ever—”
“Screwed me?” Hanan asked, amusement lacing his words. “You quite enjoyed it. Over and over again. Remember?”
An ishkitini screeched nearby. Annie lifted a hand and signaled for Tallulah to go. Pain erupted as Hanan twisted her neck, so fiercely Annie heard sinew and tendon pop from deep within. She whimpered.
“Stay and watch your friend suffer,” he spat. “The ishkitini will do much worse to you.”
Tallulah scowled at Hanan and turned to Annie. “I’ll get help,” she vowed.
Annie stared at the promise in Tallulah’s eyes until the acorn-brown pupils disappeared and blurred into the stygian darkness.
The night was alive with the drone of stinging insects, the thrashing of tree limbs, a rumble of distant ocean waves and the rasping breath of her captor hot in her ears. Through the symphony of terror, she heard her own heart thump as violently as a trapped rabbit’s quivering.
She’d never felt so utterly alone.
CHAPTER 19
The eerie shrieks of the ishkitini prickled the flesh on Tombi’s forearms, yet he continued on, ever deeper into the woods, until the air became dense with a suffocating miasma, which meant wisps were nearby.
