Find Your Own Truth

by Robert N. Charrette

  Only the three shamans would be involved in the ritual. Father Rinaldi would have been glad to assist, but he also pointed out that it would stretch the ritual team’s resources to protect him, a virtual mundane. Sam had reluctantly agreed to construct the workings without including the priest, but he worried that without Rinaldi’s store of knowledge, he wouldn’t be informed enough to deal with any unexpected ripples in the mana flow. But the priest had come to the mountain anyway, as moral support prior to the actual working. When the time came he would take his place in one of the carefully chosen lookout points around the perimeter.

  Hart would be out there, too. They had all decided that the magic would be purer without mixing her hermetic tradition into the basically shamanic ritual. Pure magic was strong magic, and Sam wanted all the strength he could get into tonight’s. He wished he knew more shamans he could trust even as far as he did Rikki and Manx, but those two would be all the help he had tonight.

  At least they wouldn’t be disturbed. Father Rinaldi professed no particular skill as a scout, but the priest was acutely observant, and his astral sight would be an invaluable aid. Then there were Hart, Ghost, and Gray Otter, all professionals. No Council troops would approach unseen.

  Forcing away his worries and concerns, Sam returned his concentration to what he was doing. Colored sand dribbled from his fingers to fall to the ground, each grain taking its place in a growing, intricate pattern. The site would be ready soon, but only barely soon enough. He’d spent most of the last two days here, laying out the patterns with Father Rinaldi’s help and consecrating the site in preparation for the ritual. The sand paintings were the last step, and they could not have been done before tonight.

  The priest finished his inspection of the clearing and came up behind Sam, “The paintings look good.”

  “I guess so. I’m not much of an artist.”

  “The intent and the symbolism are more important than the rendering.” Rinaldi laid an encouraging hand on Sam’s shoulder. “The picture is fine.”

  Sam frowned. “I wish we didn’t need to put Raven in it. He’s Trickster as well as Transformer.”

  “This is not the time to reopen that discussion. Raven is a powerful totem, especially here in the Northwest of North America. We designed this ritual to incorporate as many elements as possible from as many traditions as could be brought together. Raven belongs here.”

  “I know.” Sam let the last of the black sand dribble from his fingers, completing the dark image of the bird. “I’m just nervous, I guess. Want everything to go right.”

  “So do we all, Sam.” Rinaldi scanned the sky. “It’s almost time.”

  Sam checked the height of the orange moon and nodded. He stared at it for a minute, massaging cramped muscles, then gathered his jars of sand back into their carrying case. By the time he’d stowed the case in his pack Rinaldi was gone, and the clearing was quiet except for the night sounds.

  Sam whispered the words that would set the first glimmers of power alight in the medicine circle. A faint glow, all but lost in the growing moonlight, suffused the clearing. The ritual ground was five meters across, its boundary marked by a ring of small stones. Smaller shapes lay just inside the ring at each of the cardinal points. At the northern point was a bare, circular patch of ground on which sat a tall ritual drum. The southern point had a similar patch, but this one contained a multicolored rug on which lay a long wooden flute. The eastern area was a man-sized and -shaped outline of stones, head to the center. The western shape was the same, but the outline was half again as large. A third bare patch, bounded by a ring of red sand, lay in the middle of the ring like a hub. In its center, marking the heart of the medicine circle, sat the opal Sam had taken from the cave, aglow with moonlight and magic. Between the central patch and each of the outer areas was a circular sand painting.

  The soft padding of footsteps sounded from the path as the other shamans entered the clearing and nodded their readiness to Sam. He nodded back. Rikki stepped into the medicine ring and took his place in the drum circle. Rikki’s music, unlike Rinaldi’s accompaniment to Sam’s astral voyage, would not be simply for mood. Tonight’s music would have its own magic. Manx entered the flute circle and seated herself on the rug. She arranged her long black hair over the shawl around her shoulders and settled her necklaces and pendants to her satisfaction before picking up the flute.

  Starting from the feet of the larger outline, Sam walked halfway around the outside of the great circle, chanting the opening song of the ritual. At the smaller outline he pivoted and completed the circle backward. Rikki began a steady drumbeat, and Sam repeated his course. This time he added extra steps, making his progress a solemn dance. Manx’s haunting flute music accompanied the third circumnavigation of the ring, and Sam’s steps became quicker. The glow of the magelight grew stronger with each pass until the clearing was nearly as bright as day.

  Chanting, Sam entered the medicine circle at the feet of the large outline, crossing it and a band of red sand that bisected the sand painting to reach the center. He paused to touch the opal, then continued on, crossing a second sand painting and the smaller outline. At its foot and still within the outer ring, he crouched facing the center, changing the chant to the calling song.

  Opposite him, outside the circle, Janice stepped out of the darkness.

  “Welcome, Wolf." he said. “Join us in our magic.”

  “Willingly." she replied, then stepped over the boundary rocks and into the larger outline. She lay down on her back, head toward the center of the ring. Sam walked the inner boundary of the circle to close it magically. Then he walked around Janice, sprinkling her with herbs to complete the seal. Returning to the central area, he sealed himself in.

  There was little room in the circle; his crossed legs nearly touched the opal. He reached out, laying the fingers of both hands on the gem stone. Pushing himself into trance, he felt for Dog’s presence. He wanted his totem’s strength to add to the gathered power, but the fickle presence remained aloof. As you wish, old hound. With the focus stone and the ritual, there would be magic enough.

  Rikki took up the harmony chant in his squeaky, shrill voice while Manx’s flute purred a haunting counter-melody. Distantly, he heard his own voice begin the transformation song. Sam let himself drift, gathering power. Anchoring himself through the opal, he gathered the strands to weave them into a shining pattern. Under his shirt Sam’s fossil tooth thumped against his chest, and he merged its aural image into the configuration, enmeshing it in the net. Foundation complete, he reached toward distant influences and warped them into conformation with his will.

  Clothed in scintillant power, he turned to Janice. She was only an aural image of ill-defined shape. Beneath the surface he felt the lurking darkness of the wendigo nature warring with the struggling but weakening human soul. He wrapped her in the power, cocooning her like a caterpillar. Soon, he sang, she would emerge a butterfly.

  When he called her forth, she made the ritual responses. Obeying his order, she stood and crossed from the larger to the smaller outline, skirting the central area as she went, then lay down again. Sam felt the surging power and struggled to guide it, trying with all his might to mold it to his desire. For all his attempts to control it, the power remained unfocused as they reached the crucial point of the song. Then the threshold had been crossed, the passage made, and there was nothing to do but sing the conclusion of the ritual. The voice of the flute softened to silence, while the drum, steady and insistent, shifted to a new rhythm that called Sam back from the realms of power.

  He opened his eyes. Janice lay to his left, overflowing from the smaller stone outline. She remained a wendigo. All the preparation and sacrifice had been in vain. The ritual had failed.

  A screech, seeming to encompass Sam’s despair and rage, shredded the night and ripped the music into silence.

  14

  A huge humanoid shape bounded from the darkness to stand hunched at the edge of the medicine cir
cle.

  Its long, ape-like arms flailed. One gnarled hand held a tree limb that it swept back and forth, scattering the stones of the outer ring.

  Two more creatures like the first shambled from the darkness to also stand at the edge of the broken circle. All three were massive, alike in general but idiosyncratically different in particulars. Covered in rough hides studded with irregular patches of dermal bone, the creatures were three meters of lumpy muscles. Asymmetric horns crowned misshapen heads that wobbled as they turned to scan the clearing. Bloodshot eyes gleamed evilly in the flickering magelight.

  The first creature flung its tree limb toward Sam. The missile struck the ground a meter short, gouging the earth and plowing through the stones of the ring to come to rest at Sam’s feet. Shrieking, the monster charged. Scrambling out of its way, Sam jumped to the side, scattering colored sand as he fled the ritual circle.

  He took cover in a jumble of boulders. Already there was Gray Otter, crouched with her SCK100 machine pistol in her hand. Sam didn’t know if he had stumbled onto her watch station or if she had returned upon hearing the ruckus. Whichever, he was glad she was there. He wished Ghost and Hart were there as well.

  Looking back at the clearing, he saw the creatures rampaging about, kicking through the sand paintings and heaving rocks randomly into the surrounding dark The magelight died away and night dropped back onto the mountain.

  Rikki crawled up beside Sam and Gray Otter. “What are those things?”

  “Dzoo-noo-qua." Gray Otter said softly.

  “Doo-zoo-what?” Rikki asked.

  “Name doesn’t matter, Rikki. They’re trouble.”

  “Big trouble." Gray Otter agreed.

  Sam searched the darkness for any sign of his sister or the other shaman. “What happened to Janice and Manx?”

  “Dunno." Rikki replied. “Ain’t healthy out there. They must’ve decided the same.”

  A sudden burst of light illuminated the clearing. Someone had popped a flare. Sam hoped it was Ghost’s doing, or Hart’s. They didn’t need Salish-Shidhe troops complicating things now.

  The harsh white glare let him see what had happened to Manx. Fleeing the attack, she had not chosen her direction wisely. One of the dzoo had her cornered at the edge of the clearing where the slope fell sharply away down the mountain. The creature advanced on her menacingly, while Manx responded with flaring darts of arcane power that ripped into the dzoo.

  Instead of howling in pain or breaking off its advance to seek cover, the creature merely lowered its head and bulled forward. The magical energy shed from its shoulders like water. With nowhere to dodge, Manx could not evade the sweep of the monster’s long arm, which gathered her in. As soon as it laid its second hand on her, she began to scream. It didn’t bite or claw or squeeze her, but she screamed. Her hair faded from its midnight black as her struggles weakened. Her skin sagged and wrinkled. Clothes that had hugged her full-fleshed body flapped loosely as she struck and kicked.

  The creature seemed to grow larger, but that was an illusion born of dread. At least Sam hoped it was. The dzoo raised its head and howled at the moon, and the joy in that cry chilled Sam thoroughly.

  With a howl of his own, he stood up. Gathering the power, he felt the mask of Dog descend over his features. He bared his teeth and cast the energy in a stun-bolt at the dzoo. The thing staggered, dropping the husk that was all that remained of Manx.

  The dzoo turned its bloodshot eyes toward him. Ivory reflected in the flare’s light as it grinned at Sam. With a grunt, the creature charged.

  The chatter from Otter’s gun drowned the sounds of Rikki scrambling away. Sam hoped the Rat shaman was seeking a better location from which to cast his own spells. Though tired by his first casting, Sam prepared a second to follow up Otter’s fire. Though on target, her attack had little effect. Bullets sparked from the creature’s dermal armor to ricochet into the night. Sam was still gathering his power when the dzoo reached their refuge. With a back-handed blow, it sent Otter tumbling away. Sam jumped back but landed badly, his ankle twisting under him, and he fell The dzoo grinned Dark, spadelike nails gouged the loam as the creature groped for him. The drooling, leering face came closer, and he felt the thing’s fetid breath on his skin. Then the fang-mouthed visage was rising, a look of stupid confusion replacing the former avid anticipation.

  Janice had come to Sam’s rescue. In a display of phenomenal strength, she lifted the dzoo over her head. The thing struggled, but her grip on its dermal armor remained firm until she slammed the creature into the ground. The dzoo whuffed out its breath and flailed spasmodically with its limbs. As one dirty foot caught Janice at the side of her knee, her leg buckled and she fell within reach of the dzoo’s arms. Clawed fingers raked at her, digging furrows of blood. The wounds were healing even as the dzoo half leaped, half crawled onto her. The two titans kicked and gouged as they rolled over, locked in one another’s grip. Biting and spitting, the heaving melee of fur and leathery hide pitched about until the combatants finally rolled out of the flare’s range and into the darkness.

  The struggle’s savage fury almost drowned out Ghost's shout. Without thinking Sam ducked, diving to the ground and rolling. His quick reaction saved him from having his head split open by the tree trunk that came smashing down where he had just stood. He was not fast enough to escape unscathed, however. Sam’s arm blazed with pain as the weapon shredded his sleeve and scraped skin and flesh from his right arm. Dazed, he staggered to his feet, then fell. He was too groggy to focus a spell, and his arm was numb from the shock. His gun wouldn’t have done any good anyway. The tranq bullets wouldn’t have slowed the thing down fast enough, even if the needles managed to penetrate the dermal bone. He looked up into the hungry face of a second dzoo-noo-qua.

  Ghost hit the creature hard with a cross-body strike to the back of the knees. Surprised , it began to topple backward. Ghost hit the ground first, but rolled away before the bulk of the dzoo could pin him. The Indian came up with both Ingrams out, and the guns spat lethally. He concentrated his fire on the creature’s neck, where the armored plating was light. Bullets chewed through the bulky muscle, mauling meat until the neck was half-severed. Pumping blood, the dzoo-noo-qua rose and charged Ghost, who evaded its clumsy rush The dzoo blundered past him, crashing into the brush. Its howling trailed off as it tumbled downslope, ending with a solid thump as the creature crashed into a tree that refused to yield.

  The clearing fell silent.

  Ghost looked Sam over and nodded, seemingly satisfied that he would survive. Otter limped her way to them. She was bruised but had sustained no serious injuries. She had Rikki in tow; he was grimier than usual, but unhurt. Hart arrived at a full run, weapon in one hand and spell energy glowing around the other. At Ghost’s “It’s over." she let the spell fade away and dropped her weapon to hang from its sling. She threw her arms around Sam, who returned the embrace.

  “I’m all right." he told her.

  “I was too far away." she said. “Janice?”

  “I don’t know. She was fighting one of the dzoo-noo-qua, They rolled that way into the brush.”

  “That fight’s over, too." Ghost announced.

  “Janice?” Sam said.

  Ghost said nothing.

  Fearing the worst, Sam bolted in the direction he had seen the fight heading. Hart raced at his side. They did not have to go far, for the combatants’ struggle had taken them no more than a dozen meters from the clearing.

  Janice was alive. Her wounds were closing as Sam watched in shocked silence. It was not the magical healing that shocked him, but what she was doing.

  Janice was eating her former opponent.

  When she realized she had an audience, she stopped and looked up. At first, Sam saw no recognition in her eyes, only hunger. Then the feral gleam faded a bit, and she slunk away into the shadows. Stunned, he didn’t follow. Hart laid her hand on his bruised arm, but he was too numb to flinch.

  The beast was rising.

&nbs
p; Unnoticed, Father Rinaldi had joined them. “This is very bad, Sam. These dzoo-noo-qua, they are not animals.”

  Sam refused to believe that. “Paterson’s Paranormal Animals lists dzoo-noo-qua as nonsentient. And the Salish-Shidhe Council offers a bounty on them as vermin.”

  “The Council also offers a bounty on wendigos." Rinaldi pointed out.

  The priest’s cruel reminder made Sam clench his jaw to repress a sob. Books and bounties weren’t always right. Paterson’s guide also said that dzoo-noo-qua were trolls that had been turned into something subhuman by an infection of the transforming HMHVV virus. Some researchers thought the same virus turned orks into wendigos, but what did the scientists really know about magical beings?

  Rinaldi and Hart coaxed Sam away from the corpse of the dzoo-noo-qua and got him back to the clearing. The priest began to dress Sam’s; wound. As he was finishing he said sadly, “I’ll have to talk with Brothers Mark and Paulus about this.”

  Sam nodded without meeting Rinaldi’s gaze. “Do what you have to do, Father. I understand.”

  “I hope you do, Sam.”

  Another nod. “Each of us does what he must do.”

  The priest eyed him strangely but said nothing. Gray Otter appeared at Rinaldi’s shoulder with an offer to guide him back to the metroplex. The priest thanked her and began to gather his things. Over his bent back, Otter caught Sam’s eyes. He mouthed the word “slow." and she nodded.

  Each of us does what he must do.

  As Rinaldi and Otter departed, Dodger stepped up to Sam’s side. Sam didn’t wonder how or why the decker had come to the clearing; he was just glad that Dodger was there.