Him Standing (4 page)

CHAPTER NINE

I
explained what had happened as best I could. After checking the tapes from the security cameras and seeing that I had never touched the old woman in any way, they let me go. There was nothing they could hold me for. Amy was waiting outside the security office. When she saw me, she ran up and gave me a big hug.

“Lucas,” she said, “what was that? Why was that woman so terrified of you?”

“I don't know,” I said. “What was it she called me?”

“It was odd. A name, I think.”

“Him Standing,” I said. “
The shaman has returned
.”

“Yes. That's what she said.”

“What does it mean?”

“I have no idea. It was weird though. Really, really weird.”

“Got that right.”

We walked past the mess in the aisle. The janitor was sweeping up the dry goods. His partner had a mop and was sopping up the spills. I shook my head at the weirdness of it all. Amy grabbed my arm and stopped me in my tracks.

“Lucas,” she said, “what's that?”

She pointed to something lying just under the edge of the shelving. It looked to be a small feather. I got on my hands and knees and slid it out. I picked it up and handed it to Amy. It was a small brown feather with speckled bits of brown and white at its bottom end. The spine was decorated with three tiny beads and a loop of leather thong. The beads were wonderful.

“What are they?” I asked.

Amy studied them awhile and rubbed them with the nub of a finger.

“Glass,” she said.
“They look handmade.”

“People make handmade glass?”

“Artists do. They use a torch to melt
glass together to make beads.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at the beads. Do you see how they have all kinds of different swirls of color in them?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So,” she said with a smile, “a glass artist heats glass into a blob with a metal rod through the middle. Then they turn it so it gets round. Then they melt other colors of glass into the original blob and create unique kinds of beads. That's what this is.”

“You know a lot about this,” I said, impressed.

“I have a lot of jewelry that's made out of glass. I read up about how they make it.”

“So you think the old lady made this?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe. Or she bought it from someone who works with feathers and Indian kinds of materials.”

“It's nice,” I said. “We should get it back to her.”

“
And maybe we could ask her what she meant by all that shaman stuff,” Amy said. “I don't know what she meant by
you
are not invited
either. It was weird.”

We rode our bikes over to Amy's place. She lived in a nice condo in a cool, light pink building. The color reminded me of a drink they serve with tiny umbrellas sticking out of it. It was a nice place. I liked going there. Her
place had floor-to ceiling windows that let in a
lot of light, and it just felt good in there. Amy also had a lot of nice furniture and a kick-ass stereo system. She got me to listen to music
I'd never heard before. I liked doing that.
She knew I was embarrassed because I was poor, but she always took care to make me feel comfortable. I never felt out of place there. But I still preferred to sleep in my room.

She had a computer too. After we'd eaten and had some coffee, we went into her den to search online for places where glass beads were made and sold. It was odd, but with all the light in Amy's place, I didn't feel any of the strange things I'd felt working on the mask. She was a whiz on the computer, and it didn't take her long.

“Look, Lucas,” she said, holding a finger to the screen.

I leaned in and read.

“Sally Whitebird. Fused glass from a Native perspective.”

“She would know where this came from,” Amy said. “And it's only a short walk away. Wanna check it out?”

“Sure,” I said. “It'd be good to get a handle on this weirdness.”

Amy smiled. “Nice to have you back,” she said.

I kissed her. I felt safe. I felt like myself. Amy was good medicine.

We walked out of her building and headed into the neighborhood where Sally Whitebird's glass studio was. Whitebird. It sounded like an Ojibway name, but I had never met anyone called that. I wondered if she knew anything about some shaman called Him Standing, and why someone might confuse me with him. I wondered if she knew why the woman in the market would be so scared.

We found the place easily. It was small, like a cottage. There were a lot of trees and bushes in the yard, and flowers and ferns everywhere too. It looked peaceful.

Amy rang the bell and we waited. We could hear a drum and chanting. The sounds stopped, and there was a moment of silence before we heard footsteps. I took the beaded feather out of my jacket pocket and held it in front of my chest. We heard the rattle of several dead bolts, and the door opened a crack. We saw a brown eye. Then we heard a groan. Then a cry. Then the sound of a body falling to the floor.

I tried to push the door open, but the body was blocking it. I pushed harder and got it open just enough for Amy to slide between the jamb and the door. I heard her rustling around. Then the door opened and there she stood, with the body of a woman lying on the floor behind her.

“My god,” she said. “It's the woman from the market, Lucas.
She's
Sally Whitebird.”

CHAPTER TEN

S
he must have given herself a good conk on the noggin, because she didn't move at all when I moved her to her couch. She was tiny. She felt like air in my hands. Amy arranged pillows behind her head. I found the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a cold cloth. The old lady still hadn't stirred.

Her home was what some people would call exotic. All the furniture was made of wood. There was no glass or chrome anywhere, except for mirrors. The carpets were the old-fashioned rag kind. The kind old ladies like my grandmother used to make. The only flowers were dried, and there were tree branches in the corners of the room. The branches were hung with feathers and beads like the ones we'd found. There were a couple of stuffed birds and a hornet's nest on a shelf. On the wall above a small fireplace was a bear hide. A large seashell decorated a coffee table that looked like a section of tree trunk.

“Interesting,” I said.

Amy looked up from mopping the woman's brow with the cloth and scanned the room.

“She really likes to keep nature close,” she said.

“Wonder what the rest of the joint looks like?” I said.

“Probably a lot like this room,” Amy
said. “She seems like a very rustic person.”

The woman groaned. Amy laid the cloth on her forehead and took her hand. I saw the old woman squeeze it.
I could see the blue of her veins through her light-brown skin. Her skin was papery and brittle-looking. Slowly she came back to herself. Her eyes fluttered
and then opened, and she looked at Amy.

“You found me,” she said.

“Yes,” Amy said. “It wasn't hard. The Internet and all.”

“A whole other kind of magic,” she said, and then she looked over at me. She didn't panic. Instead, she gazed at me steadily. “I'm Sally Whitebird.”

“Amy One Sky. And this is Lucas Smoke. He's my boyfriend, like I told you at the market.”

“He did not follow you here,” she said.

“Who?” I asked.

“Him Standing,” she said. “Or his agent.” Amy held the water glass to Sally Whitebird's mouth, and she took a small sip. Then she lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Amy looked at me with a worried expression. I whirled one finger around my ear, and she frowned at me.

“You were really scared at the market,” Amy said. “You thought Lucas was someone else.”

Sally groaned and put her forearm over her eyes. She breathed deeply and steadily
for a few moments.

“He was there. I saw him in your face.” She turned to me and looked at me with clear,
dark eyes. “His shadow was all around you.”

“But he's not here right now?” I asked.

“No. You've been to a place of light.”

“What does that mean?” Amy asked.

“The dark shamans do not like light.
It robs them of their energy.”

“We were at Amy's,” I said.

“A place of light?” she asked and blinked.

“Yeah,” I said. “It always has been for me.
I like it there. Different from where I live.”

“He cannot venture there. It is a strong place. Like here. Dark medicine cannot enter here. There is too much shining, good energy.”

“That's why you're not afraid of me now?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “I was scared at the door. But not now. Now I see that things have come to their proper place.”

“We don't understand any of this,” Amy said. “Our lives have actually been really strange this last little while.”

“He is trying to return,” Sally said. “He has been gone for generations, and I once thought that no one knew of him anymore, that he existed only as a legend.”

“Bring a legend to life,” I said.

“What?” Sally asked. She struggled to sit upright, and Amy reached out to help her. She was so small, her feet barely reached the floor.

I told her about Gareth Knight. I told her about his challenge on the boardwalk and about the big lump of money he gave me.
She listened intently. So I told her about my grandfather, and how he'd passed his carving skills on to me. I told her about the trick with the knife that I could do. Then I told her about Knight's directions for me to dream and carve a spirit mask to bring a legend back to life.

“Only I never saw a legend. I only ever saw the face. A painted face.”

“Black. With three wavy red lines down one side. The right side,” Sally whispered.

“Yes. Does that mean something?”

“It is not the heart side,” Sally said. “It means he does not feel like we do. His emotions are blocked. He is a weaver of dark magic.”

“And Gareth Knight?” Amy asked. “How does he fit into this?”

“A man dressed in black is the agent of the dark shaman. He is a summoner, a follower of Him Standing's medicine way. He is a shaman himself but without the great
power of Him Standing. He wants the spirit of the dark shaman to inhabit the mask so he can wear it and assume that power.”

“How did he find his way to me?” I asked.

Sally crossed the room and picked up a rattle made from a turtle shell. She shook it in a wide circle. It sounded old and powerful.

“Your grandfather knew these things. He put legends into spirit masks. When he taught
you, that energy was transferred to you.”

“But he never told me anything about any of this. He only taught me to carve,” I said.

“That is the weakness they take advantage of,” Sally said and shook the rattle again. “Those who know the how of things but not the why. They know how to do things but not the spiritual reason they do them.”

“What do we do then?” I asked.

She looked at me with iron eyes.

“We fight,” she said.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
he way Sally told the story, it seemed like a movie she'd seen. Him Standing was a member of a dark-medicine society. They were wizards. Sorcerers. They were at war with the shamans of light. The good-medicine people. The dark shamans wanted to control people, make them do their bidding. To make themselves more powerful. The shamans of light worked with the people to make them stronger. To guide them in spiritual ways that would keep them safe and strong. They were a threat to the wizards. As long as they were around to make people stronger, the dark medicine had less power. So the dark shamans created powerful magic that robbed people of their power. They were scary. They were heartless. They were the reason behind wars. Their power was in the fear they created.

Him Standing was the most powerful of the dark shamans. He had been raised with good-medicine people. But a dark master offered him riches and power. He was only a boy and was easily swayed. He became the dark master's student, and he learned quickly. By the time he was a young man, Him Standing was feared far and wide. Sally said it was because he understood both kinds of medicine and combined them to build his power. All he had to do was stand at the edge of a village, and the people fell under his control. A lot of good-medicine
people died fighting him.

But a wise shaman named Otter Tail found a way to beat him. One winter he challenged Him Standing to a race. They would race across a frozen lake. The first to make it across and back would win the right to work with the people of the village, who stood on the shore to watch. Him Standing laughed. The good shaman was small. There was no way he could match the wizard's strength and speed.

At first, Him Standing was far ahead. Otter Tail only walked. When he got to the far side, the dark shaman roared with laughter. It echoed off the hills. The people were scared. He began to run in big thumping bounds back across the lake. He followed his own tracks through the snow.

But he was heavy. The first crossing had weakened the ice. The second time he crossed the lake, the ice broke. Him Standing fell into the freezing water. His anger was
huge. His strength was enormous. He swung at the edge of the ice to try to get a grip. But his anger only broke more of it off.

He tried to use his magic to call fish to swim under him and lift him up. But the cold weakened him. No fish came to his rescue. He was drowning.

Otter Tail stood yards away from the hole in the ice.

“You must help me!” Him Standing said.

“Why?” Otter Tail asked.

“Because you are good,” Him Standing gasped.

“You were good once.”

“I know. I am sorry. I will change.”

“How do I know this is true?” Otter Tail asked.

“I give my word,” Him Standing said. “Please.”

“Let us make a trade then,” Otter Tail said.

“Yes. Anything.”

“I will trade you worlds. I will spare you, but you must reside forever in the dream world.”

“If I do not agree?” Him Standing asked. His teeth were chattering. His grip on the ice was loosening.

“Then die and have no world,” Otter Tail said.

Him Standing bobbed under. He flailed in the water. He got a grip on the edge of the ice again. His head was barely above the surface.

“Yes. All right. I will take your deal.”

With that, Otter Tail took a turtle-shell rattle from his robes. He shook it in a wide circle around Him Standing. He spoke in words they didn't understand. The people on the shore watched in amazement as the wizard was lifted from the water. He spun rapidly in the air. Then he vanished.

Sally paused and looked at me steadily. “He went to the dream world. He has lived there ever since. His followers have tried to bring him back many times. But they needed a source of pure magic.”

“Me?” I asked.

“Yes,” Sally said. “Your grandfather shared his gift with you. But you had it in you already. That is why you create so easily. That is why you do what you do
without study. It is pure magic.”

“Gareth Knight saw that on the boardwalk that day,” Amy said.

“Yes. He recognized it. Lucas is Ojibway. So was Him Standing. It must have seemed too good to be true for him,” Sally said.

“Knight is a dark shaman?” I asked.

“Yes. But not one with true power. Not yet. He needs the mask.”

“What about the mask?” Amy asked. “Why did Lucas carve his own face and not Him Standing's?”

“Him Standing lives in the dream world. Otter Tail did not tell him that the dream world and our world exist in the same time and place but do not meet. There is no doorway,” Sally said.

“But that's what he said.
The doorway is open
,” Amy said. “I heard Lucas say that.”

“Lucas has changed, hasn't he?” Sally asked.

“Yes,” Amy said. “It scares me.”

“He goes to the dream world. There he is under the power of Him Standing. The dark shaman becomes real through Lucas. The more he dreams, the more he carves. More dark magic goes into the mask.”

“I am the doorway,” I said. “When it's finished, it will hold the spirit of Him Standing.”

“And all of his power,” Amy whispered.

“Yes,” Sally said. “He is coming through you and into the mask.”

“A spirit mask,” I said quietly.

“There are good and bad spirits,” Sally said. “Your grandfather did not teach you this. It is the weakness they looked for.”

“This is really freaking me out,” I said. “How are we supposed to fight something like this?”

Sally reached over and took my hand. “Finish the mask,” she said.

“What if I can't?”

“What do you think might prevent you from finishing?”

“Fear,” I said quietly.

“Fear is a magic of its own, Lucas.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled. “Fear is a power that we all have. Except we are never taught to accept it as a power. We get taught that it is a weakness. We are ashamed of it. We think it makes us less. But in fact it makes us more.

“It's only when we walk fully into it that fear shows its powerful side. The darkness isn't the absence of light. It's the threshold of light. When you are courageous enough to stand in your fear, you are learning how to step forward into the light.”

I looked at the floor and considered what she'd said. “Are you telling me that if I finish the mask, even though it terrifies me to think about it, everything will be okay?

“No,” she said. “I'm telling you that you will be okay. That's what is certain.”

“I still don't understand.”

She took my hands in hers. “Walking through your fear makes you stronger. It makes you able to walk through other fears. It gives you courage. It gives you faith that there are bigger powers in the world than fear. When you walk through fear, you, Lucas, become a bigger power than the fear. It is its own medicine in the end.”

“What do you mean?”

“The only way to conquer fear is by facing it.”

I looked at her. She was calm. She was still and placid, and her hands were warm. She gave me a little smile, and I felt it in my chest.
I trusted her. “I'll finish the mask,” I said.