Black Stump Ridge (28 page)

The sobs slowed. Fred’s arms encircled her in a tight embrace. She squeezed back. She felt his lips against her neck. She resisted the urge to pull away. His lips moved up and brushed her ear. She felt his breath against her cheek.

Are you ready for this?
her mind asked.
Are you really ready to take it to that level?

Fred pulled away slightly and looked down at her eyes. As his lips came down to meet hers she thought,
No, not now. It’s too soon. We don’t need this. I don’t need this.

With that, she pressed the palms of her hands against his chest and gently pushed him back.

“No, Uncle Fred,” she murmured. “Please.”

He looked down into her eyes. The moment seemed eternal. Finally, he nodded and pulled away from her.

•

“No.” Fred’s voice was calm. He showed no outward sign of the terror that boiled within him.

“Why not?” Amanda’s exasperation showed clearly. “I don’t see any choice. We have to do this.”

“No. We don’t.”

“We can’t leave it free to do what it wants to.”

“Why not?” Fred asked. “Me an’ it been doin’ fine for twelve years doin’ just that.”

“Don’t you see? It’s your fault it’s out there. Well, partly. Yours. Dave’s. Charlie’s. Peete’s. Even my dad’s. If y’all hadn’t gone up there that Thanksgiving, it would still be locked inside the mountain.”

“You don’t know that,” he rebutted. She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. He tried to stare her down but failed. He looked away. “Not for sure.”

“Yes, I do. And, so do you.” She poked her finger into his chest. “You know it right here, even though you try your best to deny it. It’s what drives you to drink. Guilt. Guilt and the nightmares.”

“You don’t understand,” he whispered. She couldn’t know that the creature was the least of his fears.

“No, I don’t.” She replied. “Not the fear. Not the terror. Maybe if I did, I’d be frozen, too. I do know, however, that my father had a hand in this. Since he’s not here to fix it, then I’ll have to do it for him. And, you need to do it, too, if for no other reason than to give you a decent night’s sleep.”

He saw the resolve in her eyes, the determination in her clenched jaw. He sighed. “I can’t do it. I can’t go back there.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and covered his eyes with his hands. In the back of his mind he could hear the mountain calling to him. It was a song he’d ignored all of his adult life. It sang louder since that night – so loud no amount of alcohol could deaden it.

Amanda looked at him. She felt sympathy boiling up inside her, but she also felt, what? Disgust? Was that it? Disgust at this alcohol-soaked, spineless creature sobbing on the bed before her? She took a deep breath and then let it out in a heavy sigh. She held out her hand, palm up. “Keys.”

“What?”

“The keys,” she repeated. “The keys to the cabin. Directions would help, but all I really need is the address and zip code. I have those.”

Fred looked at her hand and blinked. “Why do you want the keys to the cabin?” He looked up at her face. Realization dawned. “No.”

“No, what?” Amanda asked.

“No keys.” He stepped toward her, his arms wide.

She shook her head.

“I can’t let you do this.”

“Do what? Clean up your mess? Yours and Daddy’s?”

“I can’t let you go up there alone.”

“It would go better with your help, but you’re too frightened for that. Less easy would be the keys and directions, but it looks like you won’t do that, either.” She reached for her purse. “That leaves going there on my own. I don’t really need the keys since the cave’s in the front yard.”

“Amanda.”

“What?”

“Don’t do this.”

“I don’t want to,” she replied. “You don’t leave me any choice.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“No, I probably don’t.” She turned toward the door. Her hand grasped the knob.

“Wait.”

“Why?”

“I need time to pack a few things. I can’t let you go alone. Besides, someone has to explain it to the medicine man, and I don’t think you can do it second hand.”

“I don’t want you doing this if you’re too scared. It might make things, I don’t know, more dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as going up there ignorant, child.”

“I’m not ignorant,” she said, smiling inwardly. “And, if you call me child or girl once more I’ll serve your balls on a plate – with spaghetti.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No,” she turned to face him. “I don’t. After what you’ve told me, I’m scared shitless. I won’t lie. Someone has to clean up Daddy’s mess. Kevin can’t handle it or even understand it. I’m not sure I understand it. I just know I’m the only one left to do this – besides you, of course. So, I have to.”

“Then, I guess
we
have to,” he replied. He turned and pulled a small bag from the closet. He kept his back to her as he tossed clothing into the bag. The song was louder. And, more insistent than ever. It pulled at him. Cajoled him. His hands trembled, but not from fear.

 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Diane Ravenfeather felt wrong. There was no other word to describe the feeling that nagged at her relentlessly.She wandered aimlessly about her kitchen. She felt like a thunderstorm was building inside of her.

She pulled things from the cabinet only to put them back moments later. She opened the refrigerator door and stared inside for several minutes, and then closed the door without removing anything. She filled a teapot with water at the sink, set it on the stove, and turned on the burner. Perhaps some tea would help her to focus. She set a cup, saucer, and spoon on the counter next to the stove and then walked into the living room. She stood before the sliding glass door that looked out onto her patio. She pulled back the curtain and looked outside. The failing afternoon light painted everything with an orange glow. Whatever was coming was close. She felt its bony fingers dancing on her skin. In the kitchen the teapot began its shrill whistle.

She released the curtain and went back to the kitchen to make her tea. As she stirred the pale liquid, the aroma rose filled her nose. She breathed deeply, allowing the fragrance to work its magic within her. Relaxation and calm spread through her. The nagging feeling refused to leave. It provided a jagged note of discordance to an otherwise harmonious sonata.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. She set the cup back on the counter. She wiped her hands on the sides of her black denim slacks and crossed to a narrow door. A gentle push revealed a ceremonial garden on the other side.

A glass bowl hung just inside on the left of the door. A red-orange candle burned within – the sacred fire that was never permitted to go out. A few steps farther led to a circular area filled with fine beige sand. Multi-colored stones, mostly black and white, formed a cruciform shape in the middle of her medicine wheel.

The room was open to the sky at the moment. The flick of a switch would close the roof in the event of inclement weather. Should she decide to leave it open to the elements the sand was designed to drain without flooding the rest of the house.

She walked to a two-tiered gardening table that stood against the left wall and opened a drawer in the upper shelf. She removed a foil cylinder, extracted four charcoal disks, and put the package back into the drawer. She took a taper from a bundle standing in a tall, narrow glass and lit it with a wooden match. She carried the taper and the charcoal to the center of the medicine wheel. She placed the disksin the center of the fire pit and lit them with the taper. She watched as they fizzled and sparkled. Satisfied that they were burning properly, she disrobed.

Diane twisted her long, black hair into thick horsetails and bound them with colorfully beaded ties. Each strand of beads told a unique story. The black ropes of hair fell over her now unfettered breasts. Although she was nearly fifty, her breasts showed no sign of their inevitable surrender to gravity and time. This was partially because she’d borne no children. Also, a life of manual labor helped to maintain her muscle tone. At five foot four and one hundred forty pounds she was stocky of build but not fat.

She had never married. She’d had lovers – three – but none who were willing, in the end, to share her with her calling. Had she chosen simply the life of healing, perhaps things might have been different. Her calling carried an added dimension. She was a sorceress. As such, she had to walk a fine line. If she strayed too far into the world of magic, she faced the danger of being branded a witch. In the white man’s world of neo-Paganism and Wicca, being called a witch was high honor. A Cherokee witch, however, was not a benign creature. Even today the prescribed penalty for such was death.

She turned to the table and pulled down a bowl of fired clay. Into it she put aromatics – crushed and dried leaves, powders, and less recognizable things – and mixed them with a small wooden stick. Cradling the bowl in both hands, she carried it to the medicine wheel. After offering the bowl to the cardinal points, she knelt at the edge of the fire pit. She sprinkled some of the mixture over the hot coals. Immediately a thick cloud engulfed her. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. As she leaned back, she set the bowl on the ground beside her. The acrid smoke burned her throat, but she resisted the urge to cough. She held her breath as long as she could and then let it out slowly. She continued doing this for several minutes.

Suddenly, she felt herself lifted. She kept her eyes tightly closed. Despite that she still felt vertigo, as if she rode a lurching, swaying elevator car. After a few moments she felt the temperature change. Pine needles pressed against her bare legs. She smelt spruce and holly and laurel and cedar. She opened her eyes.

Her secret garden was gone. Instead, she knelt in a forest glade. Fog-shrouded mountains rose all around her. Before her stood five trees: holly, cedar, spruce, pine, and laurel. In front of the treeswere three figures. On her left sat a cougar, a magnificent mountain cat, his thick tail curled around his haunches as he regarded her impassively. On her right stood a horned owl, the largest she had ever seen – surely the grandfather of all owls. In the middle stood a Cherokee brave, a medicine man by his dress. She tried to guess his age but his features shifted. First he was young, a man of twenty summers; now a grandfather, old and filled with the wisdom of ages.

“Welcome, Granddaughter.”

“Thank you, Grandfather,” she replied. “Where have you brought me?”

“To the home of our people,”
he replied. He stretched his arms wide to take in the entire mountain vista.
“Once the Tsalagi called all of these mountains and valleys home.”

“No longer, Grandfather.” Diane pointed behind her. “Now we live far to the west. The white men drove us from our homes many years ago.”

“This is only land, Granddaughter,”
the man said.
“Grandfather Vulture sculpted it with his wings, but it belongs to no one. We were but caretakers. The whites are merely caretakers in their turn. Only the Creator may claim the land.”

“I hear you, Grandfather,” she replied, bowing her head. “I accept and understand this wisdom.”

“Granddaughter!”

Diane’s head snapped up.

“I, Ududu Gigage Yonv, did not call you here to talk of land and homes.”

She blinked. “Then, Grandfather Red Bear, why am I here? What do you wish of me?”

“I have a great undertaking for you. It may be your last such task. Even I do not know the end. Come closer, Granddaughter, that I might teach you what you need to know.”

•

Gigage Yonv –
Red Bear – spread his ceremonial blanket out on the stony ground. Although young for a
didanvwisgi
– medicine man – he felt confident he could handle the task ahead of him. The elders of
Kawenugoduhv
chose him for this great honor. The
Tsalagi
did not place their trust lightly. Their survival, the future of their people, rode on his young shoulders.

He knelt on the blanket and faced the cave. A cold fetid air drifted from the mouth and filled his nostrils. That was
his
breath, the creature Red Bear must face and defeat.
Asvyai gago wadiyi nana nudale ukadv
— He Who Puts on Another Face — lived within.

No one knew his true form. Those who survived spoke of monstrous bears and huge dire wolves. Others spoke of loved ones long gone – loved ones who first cajoled and then attacked. They spoke of hearing the beat of the
aholi
inside their heads. How it drew them.

Red Bear cared nothing for these stories. He wanted only revenge – a reckoning for what it had done to his bride to be.
Unegv Awinagina,
his beloved White Fawn, lay in her father’s lodge. She said nothing and did not stir. Red Bear visited when permitted, but she knew him not. She no longer held hands or laughed with her beloved
Gigage Yonv
. On the night of no moon, White Fawn had felt the
aholi
pounding in her blood. Three days later
Atsadi Tawedi
returned from hunting. He had White Fawn in tow. Her eyes were empty but all knew that her belly was full. Other women had been drawn when the moon hid his face. All returned the same. When their times came, all gave birth to monsters. More frightening, some looked human. None were permitted to live. The medicine women took the newly born to the wilderness and left them.