by Karen Glista
He closed his eyes.
Val.
Misery
It was fall, the trees dressed in fiery splendor, and for the past few days the sky had been a perfect collage of silver and white; today a blast of cold air spawned from Lake Huron had arrived with threats of a hard frost looming. Lisa glanced out the kitchen window, Affiliates, ten thick surrounding the manor. She sighed, heavily, Anna in her mind. She loaded a serving tray with chicken soup, crackers, cheese, chocolate cake and a tall glass of ice cold milk. Balancing the tray, she headed for the stairs and in the living room, noticed Carson and Frankie with Antonio, Milos, Val, Gage and Makayla listening intently as Larkspur spun tales of the Seventh Miigis, the Circle of Fire and Midewiwins.
She climbed the stairs with a heavy heart.
Anna, you saved her…just like you said you would, but now it is you who needs saving.
Down the hallway with diaphanous shades casting a silver glow and floorboards creaking, she noticed light escaping Donja’s old bedroom, the one she hated, yet demanded when she got home. She paused, then tapped the door jamb with her foot announcing her arrival.
“Come in,” Torin called out.
Lisa pushed the door which was ajar. It creaked opened.
Torin stood up, his face etched in concern.
Lisa quietly padded to the bedside and placed the tray on the nightstand. A glance to Donja’s face sent her heart into a tail-spin. “Honey, you need to eat,” she said, leaning down and removing the ice pack from her blackened eye.
Donja turned away, sobbing.
Lisa glanced to Torin, who wore his misery like a crown. “Could we have minute…please.”
“Yes,” he muttered, “I actually need to be in on the battle plans.” He leaned down and kissed the back of Donja’s head, her face to the wall. He winched his eyes tight, muscles bulging. “Try to eat,” he whispered his voice breaking.
“Are you sure our baby’s alive?” Donja sobbed without looking.
“Yes,” Torin whispered. “Now put your fears to rest and try and eat. I’ll be back soon.” He took his leave and as soon as the door closed, Donja turned and reached for Lisa. They embraced, Lisa caressing her while she cried.
“It’s all behind you now, baby,” Lisa cooed softly. “Let’s get some food in you, you’re thin as a rail.”
“I’m afraid I’ll throw up,” Donja sobbed as she pulled back from Lisa’s embrace and faced her. “It’s not behind me, Mom, it’s all around me, I can’t escape it.”
“Oh honey.” Lisa whispered. “Try to forget it...”
“I can’t,” she interrupted, gripping her head. Scarface almost raped me and now…Grandma will face the same. He’s a monster, you have no idea,” she sobbed, “and it’s all my fault.”
“No honey, it’s not.”
“Torin’s best friend is dead,” she cried, her voice breaking, “dead, along with hundreds of others, all dead because of me…how can I live with that?”
“Oh honey.”
“I almost lost this baby,” she said gripping Lisa tighter. “Garret fed on me,” she sobbed as if the horror was upon her. She pulled back, then slid her pajama pants to her thighs. When Lisa saw her groins, bruised by multiple bite marks, she grimaced. She embraced her holding her tight while she cried.
“Why would he do that?” Lisa whispered.
“After he found out I was pregnant, and that Frankie had been changed, he said I was nothing but a Participant. He was furious and took his anger out on me. I fought him,” Donja sobbed clinging tighter, “but he beat me to the point that I feared for the baby, so I gave in. I had to,” she groaned. “I can’t even look Torin in the eye and it’s killing me. How am I going to tell him?” she sobbed. “He’ll leave me!”
Lisa swallowed her tears as she stroked Donja’s hair, the pain forcing a breath to stall in her throat.
“What are we going to do?” Donja sobbed harder. “Every time I close my eyes I see Grandma and I know she’s in hell. “Why did she do it, oh Jesus? This is all my fault,” Donja blubbered, burying her face to Lisa’s shoulder. “Now I’ve lost Torin and Grandma too.”
Finally, finding her voice, which was cracked, Lisa whispered. “Torin loves you and your grandma knew what she was doing,” Lisa said, pulling back to face her. “Grandma’s tough, she’ll get past this, I just know it,” she whispered, praying Donja bought her guise. “The men are devising a plan as we speak to free her. Just have faith.”
Donja wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.
“Now,” Lisa purred. “Let’s get this soup in you. That baby needs nourishment and by the way, Makayla’s been near crazy without you. I’ll let her know you’re awake.”
“Mom, please,” she begged with hysterical eyes, “don’t tell Torin what happened. I couldn’t bear it.”
“I would never betray you,” Lisa whispered, finding her gaze, “but listen to me. You have to tell him.”
“I can’t, he’ll leave me, I just know it.”
“He loves you, Donja. Just trust his heart. Now feed that baby and I’ll go find Makayla.”
When the door closed, Donja dropped her hand to her stomach.
My God, I thought I lost you, there was so much blood.
She squeezed her eyes tight, reliving the torture, his scent wafting around her.
Oh Torin, what’s to become of us…our love?
Hearing the door, she glanced up as Makayla stuck her head inside. “Are you up to a visit?”
“Yes, I need you,” Donja blubbered.
Makayla rushed for the bed. They fell together.
~~~
Torin, Larkspur and Makayla snuck away from the house, hours before the scheduled departure back to the Yukon. Makayla led them into the wilderness in search of the old Midewiwin, referred to Donja by Professor Bapttise at the university.
An hour past the Canadian Soo, they drove down the two-lane passage and found the dirt road.
“This is it,” Makayla said, seeing the battered mailbox.
Torin parked the Land Rover and they got out, the heady smell of spruce wafting in the gentle night breeze.
“Are you sure?” Torin questioned.
“Yes, the house is beyond those woods,” Makayla retorted, wishing desperately that she didn’t have to face the old Midewiwin again.
In moonlight, they crossed a babbling brook and topped a sandy hill. The Midewiwin’s dilapidated shack came into view, nestled in the shadows of towering trees. Torin caught the scent of fire and halted their trek. He cocked his head, nostrils flaring. “He’s not alone,” he whispered. “There are three others with him.”
“I can smell them,” Larkspur said with her chin up, testing the air.
Makayla exhaled. “This is spooky and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m scared. He told us to never to come back. Perhaps I should go back and wait in the vehicle.”
“No, you’re not safe alone on a dirt road, fifty miles from nowhere,” Torin said, moving forward with a star-studded dome overhead. Nearing the shack, the sound of mantra-like chants rang the night, and from the side and behind the shack a fiery blaze with tendrils of red breached the darkness. They crossed the yard, past a stone well, the sound of embers popping. Suddenly the chants ceased. Torin stopped, Makayla and Larkspur behind, the hoot of a distant owl chilling.
“They know we’re here, let’s go,” Torin said with a fast pace around the shabby cabin just as an old dog leapt up from the back stoop, howling. He came to them, leery, walking in circles, barking. Torin rolled his lips and snarled, Makayla clinging to Larkspur. The old dog yapped, then tucked his tail and ran. Torin moved toward the fire, not a soul in sight.
Larkspur moved to his side. “They are burning indigenous herbs and sage. It’s a ritualistic ceremony which follows the four cardinal signs, east where life begins, south to youth, west for midlife and north to the elders and afterlife.”
“Why, what does that signify?” Makayla whispered, clinging to her tightly.<
br />
“Cleansing,” Larkspur said, the flames lighting her face. “They fear something.”
Torin drew closer to the fire, testing the air. He scanned the thick forest just beyond the rocked fire pit. “I know you’re there!” he shouted. “I can smell you!”
From within the fire, embers popped as Torin took a step. “Show yourselves,” he barked. “I mean you no harm. We seek guidance, not blood.”
From the shadows, an old man, with loose jowls and gray braided hair which hung over his chest to his waist, stepped forward. He stopped short of the fire circle, half of his face silhouetted in darkness.
“I can’t see him clearly, but I think that’s him,” Makayla hissed.
“What do you seek, Descendant?” the old man said in his native tongue.
Torin, fluent in Chippewa, cocked his head. “We need your help to defeat the Seventh Miigis.”
Three other men, dressed in buckskin with braids, older if not more than the Midewiwin, emerged from darkness, taking vigil at his side.
“Immortals can’t match his fury,” one of the older men said, dragging his words in Chippewa.
Larkspur stepped forward, her face reddened by the flames. She bowed. “Great Midewiwin’s. I hear your words, but with combined forces, seven of your kind can create the ‘Veiled, Circle of Fire,’ and with smudging and Mide Mantra, unlock the spirit world and—”
“How would you know of such?” the older man interrupted.
“I have studied for years under the guidance of Running Elk, Midewiwin of the Falling Snow Clan.”
“You speak with a forked tongue,” he grumbled. “I know Running Elk well and he is gone.”
“Yes, he has passed and now dwells in the afterlife, but not before sharing his wisdom. I have knowledge of the Fire circle and the Mide Mantra and it’s possible with seven Midewiwins to open the dark veil.”
“And unleash what?” he roared. “Do enough deadly spirits not roam this land now?”
“I understand your fears, but we seek only the six. Over a thousand years ago, they prophesized that over time, as the moons wane and seasons pass one to another that the seventh would lose his powers. It’s happening,” she said, “and in desperation, he has taken residence within the body of a Descendant, walking this veil for short times, only to feed.”
The Midewiwin’s began to mumble among themselves, firelight dancing in their faces.
“We must act quickly,” Larkspur said. “He is seeking to kill a newborn and take its body and if that happens he will become an unstoppable entity and I assure you, none will be safe.”
“She speaks the truth!” Torin shouted. “He has already murdered females in and around the Soo. If we don’t stop him he will wipe out the Chippewa and then move on to the other tribes. He is drawn to your lineage, it’s in his blood and yes, I am his Descendant and I can smell your fear, you wear it like a heavy burden, but I’m on your side. My heart belongs to a Chippewa and I, like many of my fellow Descendants have learned to control the hunger. We do not kill, but hear me, Midewiwins. The seventh will unleash his wrath, it’s in his nature, it’s who he is and his lust for indigenous blood is insatiable. Do not turn your backs on your people, I beg you. Help us.”
A great silence fell upon them, the fire popping and in the distance, the haunting sound of a loon breached the night. The Midewiwin turned to the three and with arms draped one to another, heads bunched tightly in a circle they mumbled among themselves. After what seemed forever, though it was only a splinter of time, they stepped back and the old Midewiwin who had warned Donja, circled the fire, his gait stiff and measured. He stopped, keeping a safe distance between himself and Torin.
“You, with the pale hair,” he said, pointing to Makayla, “do you speak our language?”
“She does not,” Larkspur said but I’ll interpret, “go ahead, speak your mind.”
“Does this Descendant feed on and kill Chippewa?”
Larkspur spoke to Makala, who shook her head side to side. “No.”
“We feed on animals,” Torin said.
“And what of you,” he asked with steely eyes boring a hole into Larkspur.
“No, I may be Iridescent, changed by a Descendant, robbed of mortality, but in my heart, I am still Chippewa, Larkspur Anishe, Durent Clan, daughter of Mink and Great Wind Anishe, now dead hundreds of years. Their souls as well as that of all Anishinaabe cry for mercy. You must help us!”
The old man turned back to the elders, something unspoken flowing between them. Eventually with the fire popping, he heaved, turned back, and faced off with Torin. “We will help, but heed the warnings. We are dealing with spirits which may rob us all of life.”
Torin bowed. “I am honored, Midewiwin. I am certain that you have knowledge of the Mide Mantra and according to Larkspur, I am told that we will need seven Midewiwin to open the veil. Can you find three more to assist?”
“We will call upon the clans,” he said.
“Thank you.”
The Midewiwin turned back to his companions. “Let us gather and fill our medicine bags.” He turned back to Torin. “I want you to know that we help you for the sake of the Ojibwe, it has nothing to do with you or this woman,” he said eyes on Larkspur. “You are both demons and the misery brought upon the clans for the last thousand years cries for vengeance.”
“You’re wrong,” Torin said.
“Then I challenge you to prove that you speak the truth. Show us that you have a pure heart, that of a warrior.”
“How?” Torin asked with pleading eyes, “how can I do that?”
“Protect our lineage.”
Torin dropped his head, Anstosa’s dying pleas in his mind. He swallowed the pain and raised his head.
“I will.”
~~~
In the wee hours preceding dawn, Larkspur gathered the Midewiwins inside Hampton Manor and in her native tongue, discussed the history of the Chippewa nation, miseries of the Durent Clan, the Seventh Miigis and finally…the Circle of Fire. The old Midewiwin’s chatted among themselves, pulling potions from their medicine bags, tossing dust into the fireplace which burned red hot, warming their faces. Finally, after blessings, prayers and hours of chanting, the Midewiwin’s retreated to the basement and after smudging, sat alone in their makeshift Sweat Lodge, meditating.
Just past dawn with sunlight breaking the horizon, they gathered outside Hampton Manor, new recruits from the Old World Council joining rank with the Canadian and U.S. forces.
Torin, who had slept beside Donja the entire night, holding her close while she sobbed, rose to his feet, and squatted beside the bed. He softly kissed her cheek.
“I know you’re in pain. Talk to me, Donja, I can’t take this any longer.”
“He has my grandma, she screamed. She’s in hell and it’s all my fault!”
“Shush,” he pressed his finger to her lips.
Her tears fell.
“It’s not your fault,” Torin said, as her bloodshot eyes all but sucked the life from him, but there’s something else, something unspoken in your eyes.
Donja covered her face with her hands.
“I can see the damage,” he paused, his voice breaking, we need to share this…together.”
“Just go,” she whispered.
“Don’t shut me out,” he pleaded, “your hesitation to even look at me, your tears, and this god-awful pain…it’s more than I can bear.”
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “Please just go.”
“I can’t leave you with this between us. Look at me,” he wailed. “What did that bastard do!” he bellowed, his body shaking?”
“I told you…he has my grandma!”
“We’re working on that, but what else, I can sense your misery.”
“He fed on me!” she screamed digging her nails into his arms.
He rocked her in arms of steel.
She clung to him, his heart pounding in her ears. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “that I couldn’t bring myself to
face you and Val…he’s dead. It’s my fault.”
“I already knew he fed on you,” Torin whispered stroking her hair. “I smelled the toxins from his fangs and as for Val, he died to save you, save our baby. I would have done the same for him. He wanted you free Donja. Let’s not let his sacrifice be in vain.”
“Are you sure that that you can live with it, do you still love me?” she sobbed.
He pulled her tight. “More than life itself.” He kissed her softly, then lay her head to the pillow. He pulled the covers tight, tucking her in. “I have to go my love, but hear me and know my heart,” he said, a bent finger to her cheek. “You are my life, nothing can ever change that. I will love you with my dying breath. Now rest and I’ll be back before you know it.” He kissed her one last time summoning courage. He fought the pain then took his leave. Just past the door where two Iridescents stood guard, he grimaced, Donja’s pain like a fiery brand to his soul.
“Bring her home!” Donja called out. “Promise me…oh please, bring her home!”
Torin kept walking, misty-eyed with a knot in his gut. “I promise!” he roared tilting his head to one side, his voice echoing the hallway. Atop the stairs, he paused and closed his eyes.
I will bring her home, or die trying, but not before killing the bastard that defiled you.
He balled his fist, his jaw held tightly as he descended the stairs.
You’re dead Garrett, you just haven’t fallen yet.
~~~
Around dusk with the evening sun taking refuge in the western sky, Hampton Manor succumbed to darkness. Along the riverbanks and from the depths of the primeval forest, Affiliates emerged from the shadows, marching for the front lawn. They gathered in silence, a thousand strong, eyes on the front door.
Without warning, Antonio and Milos materialized from spirit to human form, standing between the lion head statues which flanked the stoop. The masses dropped their heads respectfully.
“You have your orders,” Antonio barked, Milos repeating his words in Russian. “Now take to the forest, ride high on the mountains and draw no attention to our plight. Gather in the Yukon and wait our arrival. A great battle awaits us, my brothers. A battle that will forever determine who we are as Iridescents. Now go!”