Evil Awakened (The Kiche Chronicles Book 1)

by J. M. LeDuc

  March 27, 6:00 p.m.

  * * *

  It had been three days since Ayas disappeared, and White Eagle, Nuna, and Scout continued to wait for some sign of Pamoon. Day after day, hour after hour, they spoke less. By the third day, they just sat and stared. Each exhausted, yet neither giving in to sleep.

  Through the stillness of the early evening’s thick humidity, White Eagle smelled the sweet, musky scent of birch.

  “Smell that?”

  “What?” Nuna said.

  White Eagle lifted his head toward the breeze, his nostrils flared. “Birch. It’s him.”

  They practically leapt from the ground when the breeze formed a small funnel cloud, lifting leaves and ash off nature’s floor. Seconds later, Ayas stood in front of them, cradling Pamoon in his arms; her body, lifeless.

  “No!” Nuna cried.

  “She’s alive,” Ayas said. “Just unconscious.”

  Seeing Ayas stumble, White Eagle extended his arms. “Here, I’ll take her.”

  Nuna brushed leaves and dirt off a wool blanket spread out next to the fire pit. “Lay her down.”

  Nuna cleaned Pamoon’s injuries with a damp cloth, while Scout licked her hand. White Eagle went to help Ayas, who could barely stand. “You’re hurt. Sit, I’ll check your wounds.”

  Ayas collapsed on the ground, waving him off. “My wounds don’t matter.”

  White Eagle ignored the brave’s comments and commenced bandaging his leg. When finished, he looked the young brave in the eyes. “Thank you for saving Pamoon. I don’t know what happened down there, but I am certain that without you, she’d be dead.” Ayas grimaced at his words. “You did the right thing,” White Eagle said.

  Ayas dropped his chin, slowly shaking his head. “No,” he said. “My actions altered her destiny.”

  “As soon as you stepped into her world, you altered her destiny,” White Eagle said, placing his hand on Ayas’ shoulder. “That’s what happens when people come together.”

  Ayas listened, but didn’t answer. “I must go,” he finally said.

  “Go where?”

  “I don’t know. To wander until Kisemanito calls again. If she calls again.”

  “Look,” White Eagle said, “I know you made a mistake many years ago, but mistakes can be forgiven if you ask.”

  “Ask who?”

  “The Creator.”

  “I can’t go to the Creator,” Ayas breathed, his eyes glued to Pamoon. “I’m not worthy.”

  “Maybe that’s what’s been missing,” White Eagle said.

  “What’s been missing?”

  “When people wait to be good enough, hoping to better themselves before they go to the Creator, they end up waiting far too long, possibly for eternity. But,” the chief emphasized, “if we go to Her and humble ourselves, she will answer. Our needs will be met. Forgiveness will be granted.”

  “How do you know such things?”

  The corner of White Eagle’s mouth curled upward in a lopsided smile. “When I was a young brave, I was full of self-pride. I thought I was better than the others in my tribe. Because of my ignorance, I was shunned by my friends, but I didn’t let it bother me. I just went on being a pompous jerk. When I was older, about your age, someone help me see my short-comings, but I still felt I wasn’t good enough to come to Kisemanito in prayer. I spent much wasted time waiting for forgiveness, just like you.”

  “Who helped you become aware of your weaknesses?”

  “A very brave and beautiful woman loved me enough to point them out.”

  Ayas glanced at Pamoon. “Like Pamoon.”

  “Yes. Like Pamoon.”

  “And because of this, Kisemanito forgave you?”

  “No.” White Eagle shook his head. “I went to Her. Then I—”

  “How does a mortal man go to the Creator?”

  “The same way you do. In prayer.”

  Ayas didn’t respond to White Eagle’s words, he just continued to stare at Pamoon.

  “The hardest part,” White Eagle continued, “was forgiving myself.”

  White Eagle heard Pamoon groan, turned to see her nestling her head in the scruff of Scout’s neck. “Go to her,” he said.

  He didn’t hear or see Ayas move, but when he turned back, the brave was gone.

  68

  Mist and Reason

  March 30, 5:00 p.m.

  * * *

  “She’s been at Kamenna’s house for three days,” Nuna said. “She won’t even come over to our home to eat. Don’t you think you should talk to her?”

  “I’ve tried. She won’t answer. She needs time to grieve in her own way,” White Eagle answered.

  “Three days,” Nuna punched him in the arm. “Try harder, chief. She needs you. Get your butt over there and talk to her.”

  White Eagle rubbed his arm. “For an old woman, you still pack a punch.”

  “You’ve seen nothing yet,” Nuna said, pointing to the door.

  White Eagle rolled his eyes, mumbling in Cree. He walked next door, let himself in, and knocked on Pamoon’s bedroom door. “Pamoon, let me in. We need to talk.”

  “Go away.”

  Well, at least she answered.

  Trying the doorknob, he found it locked. Turning to walk away, Nuna was standing a few feet behind him, arms crossed, tapping her foot. White Eagle reached up and ran his fingers along the top of the door frame. Bringing his arm down, he held a key.

  * * *

  Pamoon saw the light from the hall peer in through the door and pressed her eyes shut to keep out the intrusion. She flipped onto her belly and buried her head in her pillow, trying to shut out all fragments of light.

  “My god,” White Eagle said, opening the blinds, “it smells like the sweat lodge in here. Let’s open some windows and get some fresh air.”

  “Ugh,” Pamoon moaned, burying her head deeper in her pillow.

  She felt her uncle’s hand gently squeeze her leg. “We need to talk,” he said.

  “I already know everything you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Hmm,” came White Eagle’s only response.

  “Please shut the blinds and leave me alone,” Pamoon whined, turning her head to look at her uncle.

  “Before all this began, you had questions about your mother—your birth mother. Today, I have some answers.”

  Pamoon threw the pillow and scrunched her face in a mixture of disgust and frustration. “Are you kidding me?”

  White Eagle squeezed her leg. “If you want to hear about her, I’ll be at the bent tree. Wear your jacket.”

  “Not today!”

  “It’s today or never,” White Eagle answered. The door shut before Pamoon could whine her next objection.

  * * *

  Arriving at the tree, the mist was so thick that it seemed to seep from the Misty Woods to surround White Eagle who stood in front of the bent tree. He seemed serene, lost in thought as she approached.

  “Why is the mist so thick?” Pamoon said, looking between the branches.

  “If I were to guess, I would say it’s because of your spirit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You told me that the first time you entered the Misty Woods, you and Scout could barely see right in front of you.” Pamoon nodded. “But, when I went with you, there was hardly any mist. And,” he emphasized, “the vegetation was different. Less thorns.”

  Pamoon stared through the eye of the tree. “So why is it so thick now?”

  “I think the stronger your spirit became, the less the woods tried to keep you out. In fact, they seemed to welcome your presence.”

  “And now?” Pamoon swallowed.

  “And now, you’re not so sure of your destiny so the mist grows. Your spirit is like a two-faced animal, each pushing and pulling in opposite directions."

  Pamoon looked away from the mist. “I don’t want to talk about that. You promised to tell me about my birth mother. Was that just a lie to get me out here?”
r />   “No, but to talk about one is to admit the other.”

  “Riddles. You’re going to talk to me in riddles?”

  “Come,” White Eagle said, lifting himself up and through the eye. “We’ll talk as we walk.”

  Pamoon was about to tell him she didn’t want to go into the Misty Woods, but he was gone. “Damn it,” she said, grabbing a branch and jumping through the needle.

  The air was so dense in the Misty Woods, she could barely make out the outline of her uncle, who stood right beside her. She felt paralyzed, a shiver, having nothing to do with the climate, running up her spine. “This place is freakier than ever.”

  “Eha,” White Eagle agreed. The path in front of them was so overrun with thorns that they couldn’t move forward without being pricked. “I guess this is as far as we go. Sit.”

  Pamoon sat cross-legged on the small patch of clearing across from White Eagle. “When Kamenna’s spirit passed into the next world, she left something, like a will,” he said.

  “A wi—”

  White Eagle held up a finger to silence her. “When she became sick, she came to me with an envelope. She told me it contained her last wishes along with other important papers. She asked that I didn’t open it until she passed. She also made me promise to tell no one.”

  Pamoon wiped a tear as she listened.

  White Eagle reached inside his coat and removed a manila envelope. Opening the clasp, he took out a letter. “I read this after her ceremony. It says that all of her possessions, including her home, were to go to you.” He handed her the document. “It also talks of your birth mother.” He hesitated. “Kamenna had been in contact with her.”

  “How?”

  “She received letters from her and answered back. I don’t have the details of how your birth mother located Kamenna, but it’s not important.”

  “Not important?”

  White Eagle shook his head. “What’s important is that your birth mother loved you enough to reach out and find the one who took you in.”

  Pamoon eyed the large envelope. “Are the letters in there?”

  “Eha.”

  “Did your read them?”

  “Eha.”

  “What do they say?”

  “You can read them, if you wish. When you do, you will find a woman who loved you very much. A woman who was broken and who only wanted the best for you.”

  Pamoon caressed the worn envelope. “I’m not sure I want to read them.”

  “That is your choice.”

  “I’m kinda’ sick of making choices.”

  White Eagle stood and looked around the woods. “Life is full of choices. Most small, but some large enough to be life-changing. Each, small or large, change the path we walk. You have had to make some big choices at an early age.” He looked down at Pamoon, “And you have chosen wisely."

  Pamoon dropped her head. “If my choices were wise, why is Mike dead?”

  “Because he, too, had choices. He chose the dark, even when the light was offered.”

  “You sound like Kise.”

  White Eagle smiled. “I don’t have Her wisdom, but I am a man who has walked a jagged path and gained a lot of knowledge. A path of wrong and right choices. Each choice brought me to where I am today. The path I walked brought you to me. I have no regrets.”

  “What about your wrong choices?”

  “My wrong choices helped me grow. If not for the wrong choices of my youth, I would not have met Hurit. I would not know what love is, and I would not be the man I am today. She is why I have no regrets.” He pointed to the envelope in Pamoon’s hands. “Your mother had choices to make. She made many bad choices, but her bringing you to the reservation was not one of them. Her finding Kamenna and staying part of your life, in a small way through those letters, was not one of them.”

  As Pamoon thought about White Eagle’s words, she heard moaning coming from the woods.

  “The Tree People,” she whispered.

  “Eha. People whose spirits are stuck in these trees,” White Eagle said. “People who have made wrong choices.”

  “Are they stuck here forever?”

  “That is up to you. Up to the power of the Kiche.”

  “Why don’t you ever talk about Hurit?” Pamoon asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try.”

  “Do you know why I let you stay in your room for the last three days?”

  “Not really.” Pamoon shrugged. “I just figured you knew I wanted to be alone.”

  “I did it because I know how you feel. I know you think you’re the reason Mike didn’t make it back, the reason why the ravens perished; but, you’re not. I wanted you to work that out in your mind and realize that it wasn’t your fault.”

  Pamoon’s voice cracked as she spoke. “But it is my fault.”

  “No, it’s not. Just like it’s not my fault Hurit died.”

  “What? What do those two things have in common? Hurit died in an accident. Mike is a demon because I stabbed him. Maybe if I hadn’t—” Pamoon’s voice trailed off mid-sentence.

  “I grieved for months after Hurit died,” White Eagle said. “I even tried to step down as chief. I believed I caused her death.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  White Eagle sighed, the sound as mournful as the cries coming from the woods. “The day Hurit died in the car accident, she was taking a trip to see her sister in North Carolina. I was supposed to go with her. Early on the morning of the trip, we were up before dawn. I saw flames and dark smoke coming from the Glades. I told her to go alone because I needed to stay and investigate the fire. I ran through the woods and saw a huge fire burning out of control deep in the swamp. I called the Forest Service and notified them of the blaze. It took most of the day for them to get the fire under control. After, they said I was a hero. That without my warning, the fire would have spread and destroyed the woods and the reservation. By the time I returned to the reservation later that night, Kamenna told me of the accident.”

  “What would have happened if you ignored the smoke and went with Hurit?”

  White Eagle shrugged. “I can’t be sure, but it’s possible that many of our people might have perished.”

  “Then you did the right thing, and Hurit would have known that.”

  “Yes, she would.”

  Pamoon reached up and clasped her fingers in her uncle’s.

  “Tell me something,” White Eagle said. “What would have happened if you chose not to follow the message written on the jacket? What would have happened if you had never entered the Spirit Cave and never met Kise?”

  Pamoon wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. “That would have been crazy. If I’d never followed what was written, I never would have found these woods. I wouldn’t have found the cave, met Atahk, or,” Her voice rose, “met Ayas and Kise. Kanontsistonties would still be alive and my friends would be lost forever.” Her last word hung in the air as she realized the truth.

  “Your actions saved the lives of your friends, and the future of the entire tribe.”

  “You knew all of this before you told me anything about the letters or about Hurit, didn’t you?”

  “I knew that you were hurting inside for something that wasn’t your fault. Something out of your control, just like I was after Hurit’s death. Sometimes it just takes seeing it from a different perspective to see the bigger picture.”

  “How long before you got over feeling guilty?”

  “I carry Hurit’s death inside me. But I have learned to give that burden over to the Creator and to do the very best I can to live the life I was chosen for.”

  “Your destiny?”

  “Yes, my destiny. Now, you have the same choice to make.”

  “I’m not sure if I can live like that.”

  White Eagle stepped to the tree and lifted himself up. “You have time to choose.”

  “How do I make that choice?”

  “You go ba
ck to the place where your path began, then you choose your next step.”

  69

  Choices

  March 31, 9:00 a.m.

  * * *

  Pamoon stood in the clearing and gazed at the canopy of trees. There were no ravens to greet her. The vines covering the rock were brown and crumbling. She moved them aside with her staff and looked up at the symbol of the flame. She knew when White Eagle mentioned going back to where her path began that she needed to go back to the cave. She looked down at Scout and Atahk, both who seemed excited to be going back. She wished she felt the same.

  They seem certain of their destinies, why don’t I?

  With that and other questions swimming in her head, she placed her palm over the flame. Expecting an electric shock, she braced herself, but felt nothing. No shock, burning, or even a slight tingle. Nothing. The tunnel didn’t rumble or shake. The opening to the cave just materialized.

  The cave entrance was different. Lifeless.

  A cold sweat made her shiver as she stepped toward the opening. It wasn’t due to temperature but due to fear. The fear of what she would find inside.

  The cave was pitch black. Pamoon waited for her vision to adjust, thinking it was just smoke that darkened the space, but on closer inspection, there was no fire. Stepping forward as her vision adjusted to the lack of light, she saw the pit right where it should have been, but the logs were black. Not even a flicker of reddened ash glowed among them.

  With tentative steps, she walked to its edge and held her hand over the fire pit. It was filled with the charred remnants of wood, soot, and chestnuts, damp to her touch. There was no warmth, not on her hand, not in her heart. She slunk to the ground, fixated on the pit.

  Scout nuzzled his snout under her arm getting her attention. As she went to pet him, he clamped his jaws around her wrist and gently pulled. He continued until she turned to see what had caught his attention.

  The eyesight of the wolf was keener than hers, so she shined the light of her phone in the direction he was pulling. Sucking in a startled breath, her mouth and eyes gaped wide. The tapestry of the Spirit Mount was torn and tattered, hanging from the ceiling by a single thread, like a mildewed rag in an abandoned home.