The Equinox

by M J Preston

  Blackbird wept.

  “You need not miss me, Young Daniel, I have been at your side all these years as you walked the soles off so many pairs of shoes. Do not weep for me, as we will again make palaver and watch the sun fall and rise in many worlds. Death is not the end: it is only the beginning. Do you understand?” Then the old man lit the pipe, puffed twice, then handed it across the fire to Blackbird.

  Blackbird drew in the sweet tobacco, not wanting to take his eyes off the old man for fear he would fade, then exhaled out over the fire. It hung there magically above the flames as he handed the pipe back.

  Grandfather took another deep draw and expelled the smoke out over the fire. As it intermingled with Blackbird’s smoke, it began to swirl and reflect light.

  “You have seen the orbs?” the old man started. “They are the guardians of this world and the next. They hold sentry in what the white man calls the Northern Lights or Borealis. That is but one portal, Young Daniel, from this world to the next.”

  The smoke that hung above the fire became a sphere and turned slowly between them, becoming semi-solid.

  “The ones you saw Jackanoob consult have been here as long as the earth. Each is a living entity, and when it glows brightly, they share knowledge as they give us safe passage from this world to the next.”

  The old man took a long draw on the pipe and exhaled more smoke and handed it back across. Blackbird puffed again, then blew his smoke into the fire. As he did a second orb formed beside the other. But this orb was different: its surface was darker, and as it solidified it became bluish black.

  “This is the black orb. It also is a guardian and a living entity, but it is the sentry for darker worlds where evil lurks. When our people ate of the man, they summoned the dark orb, and it opened the portal to a place where those with hearts that are black and cold lurk. Some call the creature that came forward Wendigo or Skinwalker – the white man has many variations on these creatures. Some are a fable, but not all. When Chocktee ate of the man, they brought with it madness. The Elder Jackanoob was a brave Chocktee, and though his bargain brought a curse upon our people, he paid a heavier price.”

  “He killed you,” Blackbird said.

  “The Elder named Jackanoob has been replaced by a predator that eats of man and holds captive the soul of an Elder who was set to take his place as a guardian. Jackanoob would not have passed into the next world; he was destined to be a guardian, and the only one of our people with the power to summon them. He sacrificed his being to save his people, and he had to do it of his own free will.”

  He reached out and ran his fingers through the smoke: the orbs collapsed.

  “Is he still in there? Jackanoob?” Blackbird.

  “He is.” Grandfather blew a fresh rush of smoke. “Jackanoob resides within the creature’s heart, forever witness to the horrors of its unending hunger. That is the punishment he suffers for making a pact with a creature from the black orb.”

  Blackbird considered this as he took the pipe from Grandfather and thought of when he was walking with the Elder. He too was a man of wisdom, not unlike his grandfather.

  “Can the curse be lifted?”

  “The cycle cannot be broken, only righted.”

  Grandfather waved his hand, and a new layer of smoke flickered in the firelight, taking on a life of its own. For a moment it shone radiantly – then it coalesced, forming a hologram which showed a burly man in a police uniform who looked out on over an excavated cornfield as men and equipment worked.

  “This man will be of help. You will need to make contact, Young Daniel. You cannot be a lone wolf.”

  Blackbird recognized him from a newspaper clipping. “Logan.”

  “Yes, the man they call Logan. You must make contact with him. This time the skinwalker will stay to fight. There will be much blood, many deaths, but there is an opportunity at hand to stop it.”

  Once again Grandfather waved his hand, and the hologram swirled away.

  “The arrows I used had no effect. How do I stop him without a weapon?”

  The old man touched his face, then pointed.

  “The feelings you get, that is from the mark it left on you. If you concentrate you will begin to see what it sees, feel what it feels – but be careful how deep you look into its soul, or you will find yourself lost in its blackness.”

  Blackbird stroked the scar with his index finger, felt the tingling and began to concentrate as he looked within. At first, he felt only madness coupled with need.

  “The hunger is a pain,” he said aloud.

  “Yes, hunger drives it.”

  He felt its irrational side, the confusion, the hate, and the vulnerability of being tracked. Blackbird would have never thought the creature could feel insecure.

  It fears me, he thought. But why?

  “Your enduring drive consumes it with fear, and it is terrified at the prospect of going back to the void,” Grandfather said. “This is a powerful tool, Young Daniel. You can confuse and intimidate it.”

  “I can’t very well scare it to death, Grandfather.”

  “No. This man Logan; he is the key.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The old man took another draw on the pipe and began to explain. Blackbird listened intently as they continued their palaver. All the while, as he listened to his grandfather give counsel, he prayed that he would remember.

  Then time shifted, began to distort their world. Daniel could feel himself pulling away from the blazing fire and falling backward through time as if he were an autumn leaf being tossed about in midnight storm.

  “I will see you in the passage, Young Daniel,” Grandfather called after him. “We will palaver again.”

  I must remember. Mustn’t forget, he thought as the darkness enveloped him, the amber light and the distant voice of Grandfather fading out and being replaced by a steady vibrating purr and growl.

  6

  Blackbird opened his eyes his face pressed against the cold glass of the Greyhound bus window. It was over. He was back, and this was no vision.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ticket stub. In nine hours he would arrive in Thomasville, and then he would try and make contact with the man named Logan.

  “He is the key,” Grandfather had said.

  Blackbird had no idea what that meant. All he knew was that he hoped this would provide an end to his long journey. He reached up and touched the scar on his face. It tingled a bit, and he pulled his hand away, afraid of what he might see or say aloud.

  The pull of the walker was getting stronger as they closed the distance.

  I’m coming for you, he thought, but there was no answer.

  ***

  Chapter 10 - Misery

  1

  John Parkins was killing time. It was Saturday, Ronny was delivering grain, so he was left here to mull over how utterly useless he felt. Inside the house, Olivia was milling about under the influence of her pills. He was resentful of this: she got to take off on her pill wagon vacation while he was expected to keep it all together.

  Nothing makes sense anymore. What is the point, really?

  To pass the time he decided to remove an old storage shelf from the workshop wall. He had meant to do it for some time, as it had become nothing more than a collection point for junk. Up until now, he’d been putting it off, but with nothing to do but brood and pick at his wounds, he thought it would be a good distraction.

  Pulling a plastic garbage can across the workshop floor, he set it in front of his proposed project and began unloading the contents of the cabinet. There were empty plastic containers, stiff paint brushes and a bunch of other things. He reached in, taking an item and deciding whether to place it on the bench or turf it.

  Empty jar? Garbage. Paint brush? Garbage. Old racing magazine? Garbage.

  On it went. It seem
ed nothing would be salvaged: he dropped one item after another into the bin.

  He was halfway done when he came across something that made him stop. Reaching into the cabinet, he felt something cold then hot drag across his middle and index finger.

  “Fuck,” he cussed and retracted his hand.

  For a second there was no blood: just two perfect slices cut diagonally across the middle joint of the two digits. John stared at, wondering what caused the cut and pulling the skin back to inspect it. It was bad; almost to the bone.

  Then blood began pouring out of the wound at a ferocious pace – but John Parkins was not alarmed. He didn’t move: just watched the blood spill onto the bench.

  I wonder how long it would take to bleed to death this way?

  The pool of blood expanded to the size of a pie plate and still he was mesmerized.

  I could just do nothing; let the poison flow out of me. Lose consciousness. Silence the voices.

  He stood there, his first aid kit only a foot away, deciding what to do.

  2

  Olivia sat in Tommy’s room staring at the mess. It was a typical little boy’s room. Clothes hung sloppily out of the hamper and toys were secretly hidden under the bed and dresser in haste to get outside on another school-free day. She had told him to clean up his room, but he’d rushed out the door on his way to go fishing. She hadn’t really looked at his room until now, but if she had, he wouldn’t have gotten out.

  Part of this was John’s fault. He was far too soft with Tommy, always making her the heavy. Other boys had to help out with chores. Farm boys didn’t even think about fishing until the work around the house was done. But John insisted that summer was a boy’s time off and that he should be out catching frogs or fishing for brook trout, rather than becoming the workhorse of a parent.

  “That’s why I hired Ronny,” John told her. “Tommy’s too smart to be a hand like me. I want him as far away from farming as possible.”

  In her view, Tommy took full advantage of this, continually dodging chores. It went against how Olivia was raised. “There’s no sin in hard work, John.”

  “This boy needs to be a boy, Olivia. When I grew up, I worked from the age of ten. I never got to be a boy really, and you know how it was with your dad. Trust me on this: he’s going to be just fine,” he reasoned.

  And, as always, she succumbed to that reason. She didn’t like being the authoritarian; she was a little jealous of the love they shared and often felt she was on the outside looking in. It wasn’t often she put her foot down.

  But that final day, enough was enough. She specifically told him to clean this room up before going out the door.

  When he got home, she was going to have a talk with him.

  Better yet, John would be the one to set him straight.

  She sat on her son’s bed and waited for John.

  3

  “I can’t believe he’d be this irresponsible,” Olivia exclaimed.

  “What?” John was now standing in the doorway to their son’s room.

  Tap. Droplets of blood fell to the hardwood floor rhythmically from the two bandaged fingers on his right hand. The gauze was already soaked, sopping with claret, and every three or four seconds it released a new droplet.

  Tap.

  He couldn’t hear the splash of blood: his focus was on his wife, who stared at him defiantly.

  “Who are you talking to, Olivia?”

  Tap.

  “I specifically told him to clean up his room before he went out, John, and I have had enough of being ignored.” She stared right at her husband – but she didn’t see him.

  Tap.

  “Olivia.”

  “You’ve got to talk to him, John. Set him straight and...”

  Tap.

  “Olivia.”

  “… tell him that he can’t cut corners …”

  Tap.

  “Olivia, Tommy is gone. We buried him two days ago,” John croaked.

  But she kept going. “…like this. He’s been getting away with too much, John.”

  Tap.

  He moved forward and took her by the shoulders. His right hand left a bloody mark on the shoulder of her robe.

  “He’s dead, Olivia! You were there! We buried him. Please stop this: I can’t do this alone.”

  Tap.

  She fell silent, his words finally breaking through, her face dawning with comprehension – and then she started to scream.

  “Stop it!”

  John drew up his hand, ready to slap her, an arc of blood spattering on the World Series Pennant that hung above Tommy’s computer desk.

  Then she said something that stopped him.

  “He came out of me,” she cried. “He always listened to you and loved you more, but he came out of me. I carried him all those months, Johnny. I loved him just as much as you, but he loved you more.”

  John Parkins stood frozen, his eyes welling up with tears. Then he dropped his hand in shame and pulled her toward him.

  “He loved you too, sweetheart. Every boy loves his mom.”

  “I want my baby back, Johnny! I want him home!”

  “He’s gone, Olivia. I’m sorry. It’s my fault! I should have taken the day off. It’s all my fault!” he cried. “He’d be alive right now if I had been a good father!”

  “He came out of me, he was my baby, and I want him back!”

  They held each other in the emptiness of their son’s room, drowning in despair. Surrounded by the memories of what was taken from them, little league pictures, baseball trophies, and from all sides pictures of their smiling little boy.

  Gone forever.

  4

  “Hello?”

  “Erin. It’s John.”

  His hand was freshly bandaged now, and Olivia was in the other room, dozing in and out. He’d given her two of those God-forsaken pills this time.

  “John, how are you?” his sister asked, then began to cry. “Oh, what a bloody stupid question, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not doing so hot, Sis, but Olivia is even worse,” he croaked. He almost lost control but caught himself.

  “The poor girl. She looked so messed up at the funeral. Both of you guys have suffered such a tragedy. I don’t know what to say, Johnny. I’m just a fucking airhead!” She cried even harder. “He was such a sweet little boy! Me and Rick just loved him so much.”

  John cut her off. “I need a favor, Sis.”

  “Anything, Johnny! You know that.”

  “I need some time to sort things out, and Olivia needs to get out of this house for a while. Everything in this place reminds her of Tommy. She just won’t accept that he’s gone. I try to talk to her, and she screams. She’s stoned out of her head on pills, and I have a tough enough time keeping it together.”

  “I understand.”

  “Can she come to stay with you guys for a short while, at least until I get things sorted out?”

  “Sure, Johnny. Maybe you should come too.”

  “No!” he blurted. “I need some time away from her. I’m so wrapped up in my own misery I just can’t deal with hers right now. She needs someone to look out for her, Sis and someone to keep tabs on the God damned pills. I just can’t help her right now. Could you come to get her tonight?”

  “We’ll be there after supper.”

  “Will Rick mind?”

  “No! Of course not, Johnny; we’re family. You hang on, and we’ll be there around seven o’clock.”

  They ironed out the rest of the details over the phone then John went about redressing his hands after dousing them in peroxide. He then cleaned up the blood from Tommy’s floor and packed a bag for Olivia.

  5

  They arrived just before 7 pm. The sun was still high, standing vigil over the grain and corn that was yet to be harvested.
/>   Erin’s husband, Rick, was a loan manager at a bank. They had a mansion on snob hill in Brandon, with no kids, so there was plenty of room. Erin and Rick had never had children. Instead, they spent their time traveling and focused their love on their only nephew. They might have been rich, but they both loved Tommy a great deal.

  John dressed Olivia in a summer dress with a button sweater. As they came up the walk, he slipped another pill into her mouth. She swallowed it and said, “When is our boy coming home, Johnny?”

  He just said, “Soon.”

  When they got to the door, he set the bag down, and Rick snatched it up while Erin took Olivia under the arm. He kept his hand low and hidden, not wanting to provoke questions and prolong the meeting.

  Rick asked if he would like to come too and he declined.

  Once Olivia was in the car they spoke briefly on the porch, and when the words became awkward and emotional, they turned and went to the car.

  “Call me tomorrow, Johnny, just so I know you’re okay,” Erin called back.

  “I will. Take care of her, Sis,” he said and closed the door.

  He watched through the window as Rick backed the Chrysler 300 out of the driveway. The big hulk of a car looked like a chariot of death as it whisked his wife away into the night.

  “I’m sorry Olivia.”

  Then he left the window, no fight left in him, knowing he would never see his wife again.

  ***

  Chapter 11- The Big Blind

  1

  Blackbird stepped off the Greyhound bus just as the prairie sunset was giving way to the dark pastel blue of the dusk sky. He was the only one to get off. While he took in his surroundings, the driver reached into the compartment below the bus and handed him the weathered knapsack he had toted since leaving Chocktee for the last time. It was now a bit lighter: the bow he carried, along with the arrows, were confiscated in Chicago and never returned. Since then, he saw had no need for it and now he dismissed it altogether.

  No one had considered the consequences of Skin breaking free from the ritual circle, not even Grandfather. There were no contingency plans, no weapons. The silver tipped arrows that the elders had given him were based strictly upon the assumption that Skin was a Wendigo. Now with the vision of Jackanoob burned into his mind’s eye he really wasn’t sure what it was or if it could be beaten.