The Day of Small Things (41 page)

(Birdie)

N
ow the path is opening afore me. Now there will be no turning back. This one last time I will sing the Calling Song and use the Powers. This one last time, if nothing don’t happen, I will see the Little Things and ask their help.

As many years as it’s been since I lifted my hand to the Old Magic, I don’t know what’s ahead—magic is a tricksy thing and the Yunwi Tsunsdi may not be forgiving of me after the way I turned away from them. And it could be that, having left it so long, my old body is too weak a vessel to hold the Powers—that they will work against me instead of doing my will.

It don’t matter. Now that I have made my decision, with every breath I take the Power is pouring into me, filling my body.

Me and Belvy are both of us quiet as we gather our different strengths. Belvy’s eyes is closed and her mouth is moving in prayer. I don’t doubt she’ll do her best, but, like I told her, she don’t speak the Raven Mocker’s tongue.

Dorothy, all shut-mouthed and blank-eyed, is driving the car like she was doing it in her sleep. When we came to her house, she tried to stop there, but at a word from Belvy, she went on past and took the turning that leads up the mountain. I don’t know whether Belvy still has her in hand or if Dorothy has just pulled back into herself to get away from what she don’t understand.

Could be she is wondering if she did the right thing, asking me to use the Powers. Every once in a while, she swivels her head around from the road ahead, back to me, then to Belvy, and again to the road. We are in sight of the top of the ridge now, and when I look behind us to the west, I see that the sun has set. I remember one of the things Granny told me, how this dim in-between time is good for magic. Things shifts and changes and Evil don’t have the full power it will have once that it is black dark.

“Have you got a flashlight in this vehicle, Dorothy?” Belvy is squinting out the window at the sky. “Might be that—”

“We’ll not need a flashlight.” The words rise out of me without my bidding. “This matter’ll be settled, for good or bad, afore dark.”

It has been a long time since I spoke like that, speaking with the sure knowledge of all those people in me—John Goingsnake and Granny Beck and the girl we buried so long ago—the quare girl called Least.

The Power is flowing through me now with a great rush; from the tingling in my fingertips to the way the little fine hairs on my arms has lifted, I can feel it washing through me. And the joy of its coming blots out all the aches and pains of old age that are my familiar companions—the knee that all time wants to give way, the nagging ache of old arthritis in my hip, the stiffness of my finger joints—
they’s every one of them gone or, no, not gone but covered over. I feel like I could race up the road, outpacing this car, like I could tear open the sky to bring down justice, like I could stand my ground and spit in the Raven Mocker’s face.

I think of a leaf fire in fall, flaring up in one last blaze of glory before blinking out into black ashes. It may be that in the doing of this thing, I will be destroyed, but if I can save Dorothy from the hurt of losing this child she loves so much, I’ll be content.

“They ain’t no one up here.”

The pain in Dorothy’s voice stabs at my heart. The car is topping the ridgeline now and we can see in every direction but there’s not the first sign of the young uns we’re seeking.

Dorothy stops the car and wrenches open her door. She leaps out and opens her mouth to holler but me and Belvy both raise our hands and she falls silent. She stands there turning about and seeking with her eyes but at last she gives it up and gets back in behind the driver’s wheel.

“They’re somewhere down the Godwin Holler,” says Belvy, “the boy, the girl, and the three evildoers. No need to let them know we’re coming.”

“You didn’t have to—” Dorothy starts to say, then catches herself. “No, you did right; I should of known better.” She points a ways along the ridge. “Want me to run the vehicle on over there?”

“That’s right, Dor’thy.” I lean up and pat her shoulder. “Their car is on down that other road, where the little girl’s people live. You park this vehicle right where the Godwin Holler road comes out on the top and they won’t be able to get by. And backing down these narrow roads ain’t easy.”

We creep on up the dirt track to the gravel road and Dorothy pulls her vehicle slantwise across it, blocking it good. It’s a narrow road that cuts across a steep slope, and was a car to slip off, it would likely tumble over and over till it fetched up against some of the trees below.

Dorothy pulls on her parking brake and sets there, shaking her head like trying to get loose of cobwebs.

“Now, what is it you’re of a mind to do up here, Birdie? Are we waiting for the police?”

I lay my hands on her shoulders, sending calm into her. This is one of the first things Granny taught me for we hoped to use it on Mama but the anger that she had carried so long was too much for such a simple spell. Oh, the calming spell gave her a night’s rest now and again, but mostly she just fought against it. She never did like to be touched nohow.

Dorothy ain’t so contrary and I can feel the stiffness draining out of her shoulder muscles and hear her breathing slow and sense her spirit calming.

“Dor’thy honey,” I say, when she has quieted, “I’ll tell you what it is we’re going to do.”

(Birdie)

D
orothy and Belvy take the lead down the gravel road. Belvy has Dorothy’s arm to steady her and the two of them are clipping right along, their voices trailing after them.

“He is my rock and my salvation: He is my defense; I shall not be moved.”

Belvy is a white-topped pillar, a warrior mighty in the Lord, marching as to war and saying scripture as she goes. And Dorothy is at her side, coming in with the
amen
’s.

“The Lord is my strength and my shield.”

“Amen! Tell it.”

“My trust is in the Lord.”

“Hallelujah!”

They are a brave pair of Christian soldiers and I have no doubt that their faith will keep them safe. Prayers and scripture will be a help—but fight fire with fire, as the saying goes. Outsmarting this Raven Mocker witch will need all the Cherokee Magic that Granny taught me.

I take a moment to linger behind; to turn and raise my stick to each of the Four Directions and to call on all that is under heaven: fire, water, earth, air, and all living things to be with me.

The air is cooler up here and the breeze that brushes over my face seems to say
I will
and the long grass nods a promise as I start down the road after the other two.
If the Little Things are willing
, I think,
if all the Gifts are still with me …
and it seems that I hear the tapping of far-off drums.

I catch up with Dorothy and Belvy at the big black car parked there in the road where we knew it would be, and the scent of the Raven Mocker is strong—the smell of burnt wet wood and rotting dead things. Belvy is gazing off into the trees towards the gloom of the laurel hell and her nose is quivering like it used to do, all them years ago when we was playmates.

“In there,” she points and I can’t tell at first if this is her Prophesying or if she can smell them too.

Dorothy is all a-tremble with eagerness to face those three and snatch her Calven back. She has built up her own ration of Power with her love for Calven and her anger at the ones who have took him from her. It’s a
kind
of a Power, that mixture of love and hate, but it ain’t easy to direct.

I study on this; I want the shield of their prayers; yeah, buddy, at this pass I need every bit of help there is. But I can’t have these two at my side, particularly Dorothy, who
might fly out in some unconsidered way when I need to be concentrating all my strength. Besides, it’s the Little Things that I am placing all my hope in and they may not come out in the face of all that prayer. As Granny Beck told me, the Jesus people treated them bad, back of this, calling then evil spirits and such, so prayers is as like to spook them as not.

I think about this as we all start into the woods. Those two’ll not turn aside from danger just on my say-so but there’s another way. Slowing my pace to let them go on ahead, I put up my stick and ask the trees for their help.

On the next instant, there is a squawk. A big old iron-wood has thrown out an unexpected root across the path and Dorothy has tripped and would have fell but for Belvy having ahold of her.

“Oh, my Lord,” Dorothy whispers, fighting back her tears, “here I’ve gone and turned my ankle.”

She tries to walk like it don’t hurt but after a few steps she is shaking her head.

“It ain’t no use,” she says. “It’ll be all I can do to hobble to the road. What shall we do? Belvy needs—”

Belvy holds up her hand. “Dorothy, we’ll make our way back together. Prayer ain’t weakened by distance. We’ll do our part from there while Birdie carries on alone. I know that’s how she wants it,” and she looks me in the eye, “ain’t that so, Birdie?”

As they start for the road, I hear them praying, but as soon as they are out of my hearing, I make a beeline straight for the laurel hell. It seems to me that I fly along as if I was a young girl, the branches bending out of my way and the path flattening before me.

I sing the Calling Song as I go
Oh hee, Oh hi, Oh hee
, and all around me there is the answering hum and buzz of
the Little Things and the low tapping of the drums, like a thousand little beating hearts. It is as if no time has passed and I am the same girl that called them so long ago and, just as then, they are swarming to me on every side.

You came
, I say and I feel their answer humming in the air.

We came
.

It ain’t for me
, I tell them.
It’s two lost children, facing the old Evil and in dreadful need of your help
. And I can feel the strength of the Little Things swelling and they are carrying me on with them towards the children and it is most like I had wings.

At the edge of the laurel hell I pause and listen. There are angry voices not far away and all at once there is the
boom
of a single gunshot. It echoes around me, but before it has died away, I am hurrying on, twisting through the web of gnarly branches, moving unhindered like in a dream.

And like in a dream I bend and wiggle and wind through the thicket of crooked stems and trunks, my old body suddenly snake-supple. The laurel twigs that catch at my hair and clothes slide away, letting go their hold as quick as they touch me. At times, I think that John Goingsnake is just behind me; at others times, it seems he is carrying me and calling me Granddaughter.

It still seems like a dream when I go a little farther and, in the middle of the laurel hell, there is a kind of a clearing, like a dancing ground. They are all of them there, posed like folks set out for a dance square, except that one of them, a big feller, is laying still on the ground. Over to the side is a rock ledge with an open place beneath and I know that more of the Little Things are waiting there.

Calven is standing with his back to me and on his right
hand is a strange bald-headed fellow. His body is young but behind his dark glasses is the wrinkled face of a Raven Mocker and he is holding a young girl by one arm and pointing a big revolver at her head.

And there, just beyond the Raven Mocker, is Prin. She looks as bad as a woman can, who is still young and what most would call pretty. Her bleached hair is like a rat’s nest and there are scratches on her face where the laurel has caught her. The worst is her eyes—black-rimmed and empty as holes in the ground. I believe that she is at the end of her road, her partnering with Evil having all but eaten up her soul.

I knew that the Drawing Spell I worked up in the burying ground with Prin’s hair would bring her back but I hadn’t meant to call the Raven Mocker as well. Magic is tricksy, like Granny used to say, and you may get more than you bargain for when you cast a spell. Still and all, now that I’ve laid eyes on the Raven Mocker, it’s my bounden duty to get rid of him before he does more harm.

Mr. Aaron and the black man named Rafe and the locomotive took care of the only other Raven Mocker I ever faced—and for a moment I wish that Mr. Aaron was here to help me through this one last trial. I don’t doubt that he has had his finger in bringing us all to this place but now he ain’t nowhere near.