by Karen Glista
“I understand,” Donja gushed. “When Torin marked me, I was scared shitless but after a few minutes, I wanted him desperately, but he backed off. Funny what that bite does to you.”
Makayla’s mouth dropped. “Oh my God. He’s already marked you?”
“Girl, I insisted when I found out another Iridescent like Scarface could lay claim if I wasn’t marked.”
“Wow! I guess you know he’ll be proposing.”
“He already did, kinda.”
“Oh my God, really?”
“He didn’t ask, he just said I would be a consort soon. Rather disappointing when you think of it.”
“Did you sleep with him?” Makayla asked, suddenly serious.
“No, like I said, he backed off. I was so flustered because I wanted him.”
“Wait a minute,” Makayla smirked. “Let me guess. Some lame excuse about the Council?”
“Yes,” Donja scowled, “something about getting their approval, oh and he mentioned wine and roses. To be honest, I was disappointed, but now I can see that it was probably for the best, not my brightest moment if you get my drift.”
“Hmm, I suppose,” Makayla said noticing sunlight spilling past the curtains. “Well, we best get dressed, the day’s up and running.”
“Yeah, let’s go check out this professor.”
Makayla bounced to her feet. “I’m all for it, but exactly what do you hope to accomplish?”
“Safety for my family,” Donja sputtered as she stood up and stretched. She cocked her head. “Hey, are there any drive-throughs where a gal can get a vanilla latte?”
“I know just the spot.” Makayla beamed.
~~~
Donja turned the Mustang up the double lane strip paralleling the St. Mary’s River. She braked for a pedestrian crossing, then eased into the campus parking lot of Lake Superior University. She finished up her vanilla latte and got out, sunlight reflected off her dark sunshades. She glanced out from the hillside campus to the St. Mary’s River, past International Bridge to the Canadian Soo. A gentle breeze ruffled her locks which were pulled tight into a ponytail. “Wow, what view.”
“Isn’t it nice,” Makayla cooed.
Donja turned and surveyed the sprawling university. “This looks different than any college I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s old…very old,” Makayla remarked. “It was originally Fort Brady, but they turned it into a university. I read once that several of the original buildings here are listed on historic registers.”
“Interesting, but I don’t like old places. They have ghosts,” Donja remarked as they headed for the administration building.
“Phft! You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Donja said with a wandering gaze. “Who knows, maybe, it’s the sci-fi in me.”
“Or one too many horror movies like ‘The Walking Dead,’” Makayla scowled.
Donja smiled but it was anything but. “Whatever.”
“Sorry,” Makayla mused. “You look pissed.”
“Naw,” she dragged the word. “It’s easy to let our personal beliefs define us, but keep in mind. Just because we fail to believe, doesn’t make it a given. Iridescents are a perfect example. I didn’t believe and yet, they’re real.” She nodded. “I rest my case.”
“Point taken,” Makayla sighed.
They breezed across the parking lot, catching the eyes of several guys. They entered the building through double glass doors, a babble of voices echoing the hallways. Finding the information desk, they waited in line. A clerk, middle aged with salt and pepper hair gave them a sugar-coated smile that didn’t match her judgmental demeanor. She scanned Donja’s makeup, skinny jeans and T-shirt that barely covered her midsection with obvious disgust.
“I’m looking for Professor Bapttise,” Donja said forcing a big smile.
“I think he’s in the lounge, third door to the right,” she said pointing down the hallway with glossy tile floors where students were disappearing into classrooms.
“Thank you,” Donja said with a fast gait, Makayla matching her stride. Nearing the lounge door, a man perhaps sixty, chinless with wispy gray hair and thin black glasses perched on the end of his long nose, exited the door.
“Sir, are you Professor Bapttise.”
He turned to look, lowered his chin and with protuberant eyes gazing over his glasses, grumbled. “Pardon?”
“Are you Professor Bapttise?”
“I am,” he barked, and Donja was instantly reminded of her Pinocchio stuffy from Disney World.
“My name is Donja Bellanger and I need your help.”
“In what way?” he winced as if annoyed.
“I’m in need of a Midewiwin.”
He scratched his head. “Are you Ojibwe?” he asked scanning her head to toe.
“Over half.”
“Bellanger, hmm,” he said with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “Come with me,” he mumbled, shuffling his feet. Six doors down the hallway he entered his office. “Have a seat,” he motioned as he rounded his desk and plunked down in a squeaky leather chair which had seen better days.
Donja sat next to Makayla, the redolent smell of burned coffee and body odor all but forcing a grimace.
The professor busied himself at his computer and after a few minutes he peeked over his glasses and his stark demeanor had shifted. “What was you grandfather’s name?”
“Ardrey Bellanger, but my Grandma Anna called him Beaver. I think it was a nickname.”
The professor’s fingers flew over the keyboard, eyes locked on the screen with his mouth gaping. “Yes, I found him, hmmm looks like he married Anna Beaty of the Durent Clan.”
“Yes, she’s my grandmother.”
“Where is she?” he asked, glaring down his long nose over his glasses.
“Why do you ask?”
“Well she…uhh,” he stammered, “never claimed any Chippewa royalties, not a dime and there are several blurbs over the years from the Durent Clan, which I might add are all but nonexistent, as to her whereabouts. I see one that states she might have died in a housefire.”
“She’s not dead, she’s just a very private person.”
He scrunched his mouth to one side. “So, if one wanted to communicate with her, how could…”
“You can communicate with me and I’ll tell her,” Donja cut him off. “Like I said, she likes her privacy.
“So, it would seem,” he said, the excitement in his eyes fading. He leaned back in his chair, which squeaked considerably. “Do you want to tell me why you feel you need a Midewiwin, because if it’s medical related, one of the area clinics would be your best bet?”
“It’s not medical. I need protection.”
He cocked his head to one side, gazing over his glasses and he did look like Pinocchio. “From what?”
“Evil, that’s all I can say without involving you.”
He swallowed hard, contemplating. Suddenly he picked up his desk phone and dialed a number. Within minutes he was conversing with someone in a strange dialect. He hung up, grabbed a pen and jotted on a note pad. He handed it across his desk, analyzing Donja’s face intently.
“Go to this address. You may or may not find what you’re seeking, but it’s the best I can do for you.”
“That language you just spoke. What is it?” Donja asked.
“Ojibwemowin.”
“Chippewa?”
“Yes, though it belongs to the Algonaquian linguistic group, sister to Blackfoot, Cheyenne, Cree, Fox and many more.”
“I vaguely remember hearing my grandma and grandpa speaking the same language,” she said with a faraway look in her eyes. “I would love to learn it someday.”
“I would be glad to assist,” he said. “After you remedy your spirit problem, check on some classes,” he said as he handed her his card.
“I didn’t say it was spirits.”
“Your eyes did,” he said. “Good luck, Miss Bellanger, and please, get back with me in a
few days. I’d love to hear of your encounter with the Midewiwin,” he replied with a broadening smile.
Donja and Makayla took their leave, traversing the hallway out the building to the parking lot. “That had to be the longest nose on a human I’ve ever seen,” Makayla giggled.
“No comment, I refuse to make fun of anyone again,” Donja said. “Karma will get you, I’m living proof.”
“You’re right, he was handsome.”
Donja frowned. “Lying is just as bad,” and though she tried to be serious, they both laughed.
“What address did he give you?” Malaya asked.
Donja passed it to her, eyes on a huge ship traversing the locks. Makayla scanned it while they walked. “Wow, this is in the territorial district. That’s probably fifty miles the other side of the big Soo.”
“Can’t be helped. I’ve got to find a Midewiwin who can cast protective spells.”
“Spells?” Makayla simpered. “That sounds like a witchdoctor.”
“It’s a medicine man,” Donja scowled.
“Do you really believe in this stuff?”
“My grandma believed, that’s good enough for me.”
~~~
Forty-eight miles past the Canadian Soo, Donja, with the windows down and the lyrics to Taylor Swift’s, ‘Bad Blood’ all but drowned by road noise, sipped Mountain Dew while Makayla sang along.
“Could you change that CD?” Donja asked. “How about The Cure?”
“No problem,” Makayla said.
“You’re starting to like my music, aren’t you?” Donja teased.
“Hmm, some.”
Passing a road sign which was the first she had seen in the last twenty miles, Donja braked hard on the two-lane asphalt, tires squealing. She flipped the stick into reverse and backed up on the deserted road, then glanced to the address given by the professor.
“This has got to be it.”
She turned right on to the dirt road with a plume of dust flying behind. She drove for endless miles through forested land, not a house in sight. Frustrated, she was just about to abandon the quest when she saw a mailbox. She glanced at the address on the notepad, then pulled into a dirt drive which was only about ten feet long. She got out as Makayla slammed her door and came around the front of the Mustang. “Is this the right address?”
“Yep, this is it.”
“So, where’s the house?” she asked suspiciously.
“There,” Donja said pointing to a beat out path with horse hooves and motorcycle tracks in the sandy sod. “That’s got to be the way.”
They followed the cow trail into a thick forest.
“Donja, there are bears in these woods,” Makayla breathed nervously. “We better go back.”
“Just hold on,” Donja said climbing a sandy hill. “There it is!” she pointed.
Makayla joined her side and observed a small rundown shack with a rusted tin roof.
“Come on,” Donja said, trudging in the sand. They crossed a crude bridge crafted of logs over a babbling brook and meandered through a spruce-filled meadow. Nearing the dilapidated shack, Donja saw horses grazing. Suddenly, an old yellow dog came running out barking an alarm.
“I don’t like this,” Makayla frowned.
“Let’s just check it out.”
Nearing the structure with the windows covered in plastic, the old dog ran around them in circles, yapping. Donja saw an elderly man, obviously of Indian descent standing in the doorway. His hair was long and gray, his skin wrinkled and loose with dark eyes and bushy brows in need of a trim.
“I’m Donja Bellanger,” she said as a young man, perhaps twenty came from around the house, dressed in jeans and a dirty white T-shirt with a motorcycle helmet in his hand.
“I’m Johnny,” he said, tossing his waist-length ebony hair, to his back, “and this is my grandfather, Artrese. I told him you were coming and that you needed a Midewiwin. Do you speak the language?”
“No.”
“Then I will interrupt for you. Please come out back to the fire circle.”
Donja followed, a bit nervous and now that the events were falling into place, her stride faltered and she wanted to run. Spirits, ghost and anything to do with the afterlife spooked her. Then she thought about Scarface and the dangers facing her family. She swallowed her fear and forced her feet to move.
Must find a way to save them.
Out back of the shack, Donja and Makayla took a seat on a rock wall that circled a blazing bonfire. Donja took a breath, the heady smell of cedar and ash wafting.
The old man, bent toward the shoulders with a hoppy gait, conversed with Johnny who pointed to Donja and spoke in their native tongue.
Donja cringed as the old man approached her. He eyed her up and down and then without warning, he plucked a hair from her head. She shivered, clinging to Makayla as the old man made his way back to the fire.
“Now tell me of your fears,” the young boy blurted.
Donja nervously retorted. “I fear for my family’s safety and I seek protection.”
“From what?” Johnny asked.
“A creature so evil, few if any would believe.”
Johnny and the old man gibbered back and forth, the elder’s eyes locked upon Donja.
Finally, Johnny asked. “For which members of your family do you seek protection?”
“My mother, brother, stepfather and her,” she said pointing to Makayla.
The elder once more approached Donja, took her hands and examined her palms. He raised her hair from her neck and examined the back of her skull as well as the site where Torin had bitten her. He twisted her face, studying her profile and then he lifted her eyelids, searching intently. He grasped her upper lip and examined her gum lines, then backed away and spoke to Johnny.
Johnny listened to the old man, his face a mix of fear and disbelief. Finally, he cut his eyes to Donja as the old man began to chant. “He says you are in great danger due to your blood lineage. He said forces are joining against you and that your life hangs in the balance.”
Donja rose to her feet and Makayla joined her side. “Am I going to die?”
Johnny fell silent his eyes on the old man who was chanting in native tongue.
“What is he saying?” Donja asked hysterically.
Johnny ignored her as if in a trance.
The elder’s chants intensified. He skewed his face, dancing in circles with animated arms over his head. Suddenly he stopped, eyes on the blazing fire, mumbled incoherently and tossed the hair from Donja’s head to the flames.
Johnny, who looked as if he had seen a ghost, turned to them. “He says that one of the seven Miigis, who are known to our ancestors as Radiant Iridescents, has cursed your blood lineage.”
Donja shook her head innocently though she doubted she looked the part. “I don’t understand?”
The boy moved around the fire, to a point, then stopped. “He said the spirit Miigis who roams the land in search of you and your Chippewa bloodlines, is powerful beyond human comprehension. He said many have died…all female… all possessed by this Miigis who is more ancient than the trees or mountains, as deadly as the bear or cougar and as needy of you as the air provided by the earth mother. He said you must desert this land as did the other females of your blood clan else you will be taken and if not killed, transformed unto evilness yourself.”
“And what of my family?” Donja asked
Johnny and the old man conversed back and forth. Finally, the old man shook his head as if suddenly afflicted by some unseen force.
Johnny turned back to Donja. “He says that depends on the decisions you make. He asks that you leave and never return for fear of inviting death to his home.”
“But I need guidance.” Donja pleaded. “My family’s in danger. Please, ask him to help me.”
“Go!” Johnny commanded, suddenly hostile as he took a step toward them.
The old man began to chant with his arms lifted to the sky.
Johnny grabbed
a burning limb from the fire and raised it over his head. “You’re not welcome here!” he shouted. “Go!”
Donja felt Makayla grab her arm, dragging her.
“Go!” Johnny shouted.
Donja staggered as a wretched moan escaped her.
“Let’s go!” Makayla shrieked as the old dog circled them, barking.
Weak in the knees Donja managed to follow, clinging to Makayla. They left the meager house, crossed the creek, ambled through the forest and found the car. Back on the road as Donja found a bit of composure and her heartbeat slowed, she whispered. “What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know,” Makayla answered, “but the hair on the back of my neck was standing up. The old man’s creepy as hell and that boy, he looked like he wanted to kill us.”
“I don’t think he wanted to kill us, I think he was terrified of what we might lead to his door. I think they both truly believe in this evil Miigis.”
“What is it?”
“Not positive, but if I had to guess, I’d say Scarface.”
“Really?”
“Search online and see what you get.”
Makayla grabbed her phone. “Hey, we have hit on the pictures from a man who says he has information. He wants to meet and he’s offering to buy them from us.”
“Is that the same man who offered a reward?”
“Yeah,” Makayla mumbled,” he keeps saying they were stolen.”
“Yeah right,” Donja sputtered. “Stolen, put in an attic and enclosed for God knows how long to what avail. Tell him we will meet him tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m curious to see what has to say. Now, look up Miigis.”
Makayla’s fingers flew over the screen. “How do you spell that?”
“Try M-E-G-I-S.”
“Nope.”
“M-I-G-I-S.”
“Found it,” she mused, “it’s spelled M-I-I-G-I-S and it’s a spirit, Professor Bapttise was right.” She scanned the phone, reading. “Ojibwe history speaks of seven great Miigis, Radiant Iridescent beings that appeared to them. One of them was evil and killed those in its presence. The other six were teachers and established dooden, which means ‘clans for the people’ and then they returned to the river.”
“And what about the evil one?”