Blood-Moon

by Pagan Writers Press

  Recognition hit me.

  A concussion seemed to ripple across her skin and suddenly the jaguar was transformed into a stunning woman with glowing eyes.

  Recognition hit me again.

  You!

  Pocahontas strolled over toward me as a similar metamorphosis swept through the group. Dead eyes were transformed, and within an instant, eight further pairs of intensity shone back from a group of exceptional looking people.

  A voice in my mind said: Your time has arrived, we cannot delay.

  My time! What? How are you doing that?

  I discovered I had been holding my breath and inhaled sharply. That triggered a surge of electricity along my spine that almost broke me in two. Every molecule of my body was vibrating like I was going to explode.

  This brought a chorus of growls from the people about me, who were moving closer now in anticipation, crowding in, as if eager to touch. Each seemed to be carrying something?

  I hardly felt the hands that pressed me down, the claws that tore my clothing from me, or the animal skin belt that was placed about my waist. So consumed was I by the building volcano inside me, that I thought I would burst any second.

  Suddenly, I was flipped onto my back and Pocahontas snatched my right hand toward her. Without warning, she bit my palm–although I didn’t register the pain–and then did the same to herself.

  Grasping my bleeding hand firmly in hers, everything suddenly went still.

  I felt as if I was standing on a hilltop with my rescuer in the eye of a storm. The hurricane raged about us, but left us untouched. My sight was smeared, as if viewing the scene through a distorted lens and I listened to her mind as if it was carried to me over the wind.

  That’s how I witnessed her people’s history unfolding before me.

  A voice said: I am Clizyati, the first of the Anasazi of long ago to undertake the great Walk…

  I saw a small group of Native American Indian people, the Yeenaaldlooshii–or skin walkers–being driven from their tribe for learning forbidden ancient ways, Antiihnii ways, prohibited by their elders. They were hunted and those that failed to undergo the change to elude their pursuers were viciously massacred.

  The voice continued: My mate, Yanaba Brave Heart, stood alone to fight the purge and died to prevent their success. But to appease our new tribe, we were forbidden to sing our Black Song…

  The scene swam and I saw a small group of Anasazi arriving at a new home in lands further south, to be taken in by a more considerate people, the Quechan. Although fearful, they offered shelter to the group–and protection–so long as they agreed not to sing their curse songs within tribal grounds.

  The story continued: But we knew vengeance would follow. Some of our number stayed while we departed, taking the secrets of our Antiihnii with us, for skin walkers we were and always will be. Sacrifices were made! A new sacrifice was required to ensure our survival…

  Again, time rolled forward, showing how tribal descendants from the original hunting lands made a great journey south, seeking retribution and sacrifice.

  Realizing that they would be hunted forever, a choice was made. Most of the clan chose to stand and fight, but ultimately die, while the Clizyati and a select few made their escape in their animal forms into a new and distant land where they could begin anew.

  Sure enough, the ruse worked.

  The ancient tribe, joined by some of their Quechan benefactors, pursued the family to the very edge of a vast new continent where battle was joined. Skillfully, tragically, the clan allowed itself to be named and defeated, fighting as if to the last…until it was believed they were no more.

  At last the story drew to a conclusion: For generations we remained hidden in forests never before seen. Claiming new totems, we removed ourselves from the world until the cry was heard for new growth. The blood-moon demands for understanding to be passed and blood is the key to the passing of knowledge. Thus is our line increased, thus is the way maintained–Our Way–the Anasazi…

  I then witnessed a small group of survivors, eking out an existence in an endless forest to the south, remaining hidden and unknown to a world at large that grew and prospered about them. Ever alert, always cautious, they waited patiently for the right omens to indicate a new time of growth had arrived.

  At last, centuries later, on the night of the Black Song, a blood-moon signaled the time to return had arrived. But for that to occur, new blood was required–my blood!

  I understood now. I was able to reminisce on a life that had endured for centuries. I could hear her thoughts, witness her memories, and experience her loneliness as it was passed down from generation to generation by those who shared the blood.

  As the Clizyati, she had to increase the clan. To do that, she needed a new mate. When the time was right, she would return and reclaim her lands and I would be at her side.

  I awoke to calmness and serenity.

  The blood-moon was high overhead now and the surrounding forest was silent. Its apprehension at our presence was palpable.

  I looked to my new friends, four males and four females, and knew them instantly–their lives, their histories, their hopes, and fears–as they too had waited an age for the time when they would be free to roam their home ranges again.

  Then I turned to my mate with new eyes, seeing her properly for the first time. I knew in an instant my whole life had been bewitched and mapped out for me from the moment I was bitten.

  I’d never have a normal life, but who wants normal when you can have this.

  I glanced at the lights in the valley below. That wasn’t my world anymore, it held nothing for me.

  Responding to my mate’s signal, we surged away from the ridge. Triggering the change, my molecules vibrated into a frenzied dance for just a moment, before my body exploded into its true state.

  My jaguar-self was harmony in its purest form. I felt whole for the first time in my life and like the swiftest wind, I ran toward my new destiny, knowing that wherever that may be, she would always be with me.

  Also from Author Andrew P. Weston

  Guardian Angels

  Looking out of the coffee shop window, twenty-two year old Samantha Drake was musing on her day.

  It had started like any other day, woken again at dawn by her four-year-old son, Joshua. He was a hyperactive black hole who sucked in the time, energy, and attention of everyone around him at the cost of their patience and sanity.

  He had bounced with unceasing energy on the end of her bed shouting, “Mommy, what are these for? Mommy, why do you keep those in there, why can’t I have one?”

  She knew he would have gone on and on until his curiosity was satisfied, so she had responded quickly. She was used to that; she wanted to quiet Joshua as soon as possible so that he didn’t anger her useless excuse of a boyfriend while he slept beside her.

  Yes, he was Joshua’s father, but no one would have known that from his total lack of response to his son. Samantha had learned very quickly never to hope that he would drag his sorry ass out of bed to help, preferring instead to let her do virtually everything “messy” and difficult, especially if it was inconvenient for him to be a parent at those times.

  It was the same old routine with Joshua, day after day; “What’s this, what’s that? Give me this, get me that. No, I don’t want to get dressed, I don’t want to eat Chocó Pops for breakfast, I want pancakes.”

  But at least today was better.

  After an unexpected call from her best friend, Sophie, they had met in Exeter for coffee later that morning, and of course, Sophie would be as fresh as a daisy. And in her shoes, who wouldn’t be?

  Sophie’s four-year-old, Chloe, born only two days after Joshua, was the complete opposite of her own little demon. Quiet and contented, she was the perfect child. She had delighted her parents by sleeping through the night from about two-weeks old, much to the envy of Samantha, who had forgotten what it was like to sleep and who had contemplated strangulation on more than one occa
sion.

  But at least she was savoring the delight of this brief respite.

  Josh had worked himself into an exhausted frenzy chasing the seagulls and pigeons that infested the city centre, and he now lay in a sweaty little heap, almost comatose in his stroller, dead to the world. If only she could get him to do that every night from eleven to seven, life would be so much better.

  Still, at least she had these few minutes to herself, dissecting the latest gossip with Sophie.

  After half an hour, Sophie stood and began edging in between the chairs. “Watch Chloe for me, I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Yeah, sure, no problem,” replied Sam, knowing full well that where Chloe was concerned, there wouldn’t be anything to do, especially since both children were fast asleep. “Do you want more coffee before we go?”

  “Just a small one, otherwise we’ll be going from bathroom to bathroom instead of shopping,” Sophie warned.

  Smirking at the truth of the remark, Sam checked the children in their strollers to make sure they were still asleep and went over to the short queue to order the drinks.

  As she waited, the unforgettable chorus to “Mr. Lover, Lover” announced to everyone in the café that Sam’s boyfriend was calling, causing quite a few to titter and shake their heads as she tried to answer her cell phone as quickly as she could.

  “Babe, where are you?” he asked sleepily.

  “I’m in town with Sophie. Ryan, are you still in bed?”

  “Yuh, just getting up now, wondered where you were.”

  A voice cut in. “Excuse me.”

  “I said I’m in town. Sophie and I should be another hour or two yet, why?”

  “An hour or two, but I’m out of beer and Dave’s coming round soon to watch some sports on Sky, what will we do?”

  “Well go and get it yourself. I’m not going to rush.”

  “Excuse me, young lady.” The same voice repeated, louder this time.

  “Hang on a minute, Ry.” Sam turned to find an anxious looking middle-aged woman tugging on her arm. “Yeah, what do you want?”

  Turning back toward where they had been sitting, Sam saw Sophie returning from the bathroom and nearing the table. The older lady pointed and said, “Is that your little boy who’s just gone outside?”

  Immediately, Sam’s eyes zeroed in on Joshua’s empty stroller, and a spark of alarm shot along her spine. Looking toward the doors, which were wedged open for the fresh air, she caught sight of a mop of blond hair bobbing along outside the window, and a squeal of delight as the first of a group of pigeons began to flee from their latest tormenter.

  “Josh!” shouted Sam, in the vain hope that for the first time in his short life, he would actually take notice of his mother. “Josh, wait!” she screamed, louder this time, causing the whole coffee shop to fall silent. Everyone turned, searching for the cause of alarm.

  “Oh no!” someone near the window gasped.

  Sam’s skin turned cold as she fought her way to the door among the crowded tables. She had a clearer view now, and saw Joshua momentarily stop, raising her hopes that he had actually listened for once, before she saw the object of his interest, the only small group of pigeons left in the near vicinity. The birds were strutting on the curb next to the busy road. They didn’t seem bothered by the elderly lady who stood nearby.

  His face twisting in glee, Joshua sucked in air, and, shrieking at the top of his little lungs, charged at the intruders who had dared not to fly away with the others.

  Unaware for a moment that they were the focus of the charge, the pigeons continued in their own little world, hopping on and off the curb and into the road, hoping to snatch a discarded crumb before the next vehicle got too close and caused them to abandon their endless quest for food.

  “JOSHUA, NO!” roared Sam, hoping the use of his full name might carry more weight.

  But of course it didn’t and, with his full attention on the birds, he ran and jumped toward them, arms flapping wildly, totally oblivious to the fact he was nearing the edge of the curb, and totally unaware of the truck, now only fifty yards away. The driver, absorbed in the stock manifest of his next delivery, was also unaware of the existence of the little boy about to step out in front of him.

  What happened next varied depending upon who you spoke to.

  The driver didn’t realize anything was amiss until the last moment, when he glanced up from the manifest and actually looked at the road.

  And there he was, a little boy only yards away, right in front of him.

  It was too late to do anything except realize that there was a child where there shouldn’t be one. It was too late to brake—too late to do anything except shut his eyes and wait for the inevitable impact.

  The sound of crushing metal filled his ears and the front of the truck dipped sharply, lifting the rear completely off the ground, throwing parcels and equipment forward and all around the driver. How on earth could a little boy do this to a truck? He must be dead, oh my God; I’ve killed a little boy!

  Broken glass and stock flew around his head in the confined cabin area, and he caught his breath as the vehicle seemed to pause, suspended for a moment, and balanced on its nose, before crashing back down to the earth with an almighty bang and the sound of grinding, protesting metal.

  The windscreen had shattered and whatever glass was left in the frame tinkled lightly to the ground, accentuating the silence outside as the aftermath of the collision began to register.

  Joshua had been completely unaware of what was about to happen. His whole world had been full of flapping wings, and squeals of delight, and his sense of triumph as the last bird flew up into the air beyond his reach. Suddenly, he was where he shouldn’t be.

  Where is mommy?

  Why am I in the road?

  The only sound he managed to utter was a sudden sharp intake of breath at the last moment as he realized something big, something hard, something travelling so very fast that blocked out the sunshine, was about to hit him.

  There was no time to move, no time to even scream as an irresistible force slammed into him, throwing him backward, knocking the air from his lungs, and rendering him instantly unconscious.

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  About the Author

  Andrew P. Weston was born in the city of Birmingham, in the UK, and grew up in the towns of Bearwood and Edgbaston. He eventually attended Holly Lodge Grammar School for Boy’s where he was School Captain and Head Boy.

  He was an active sportsperson for the school, college and a variety of rugby, martial art, swimming and athletics teams throughout the city.

  On graduation in 1977, Andrew joined the Royal Marines fulfilling a number of specialist roles both in the UK and abroad.

  In 1985 he became a police officer with the Devon & Cornwall Constabulary, and served in a variety of uniformed and plain clothed departments until his early retirement in 2008.

  Between joining the military and retiring from the police, Andrew wrote and illustrated a selection of private books for his children regarding the life of a tiny kitten, called, “The Adventures of Willy Whiskers”, gained further qualifications in Law, Astronomy and Religious Studies, and became a member of Mensa. He also continued to be an active sportsperson, providing lessons free of charge to local communities.

  An unfortunate accident received on duty meant Andrew had to retire early from the police force, but after moving to the sunny Greek island of Kos to speed up his recuperation, he was at last able to devote time to a concept he had developed over his years in the military and police, and which led to his first novel, Guardian Angels.

  When not writing, Andrew enjoys Greek dancing and language lessons, and being told what to do by his wife, Annette. He works diligently in his local community saving veteran Kamikaze circus mice from a life of substance abuse, has built up an impressive collection of comedy mustaches, and has
been known to hunt shadows in the dark.

  Andrew is now contracted to Pagan Writers Press and Ishtar Press for a total of eight novels and short stories. His preferred genres are science fiction and paranormal fantasy.