by Trinity Crow
When I woke in the morning, the water would nourish me and the garden beckon, quiet and serene.
Throughout this time, the fox came daily. His rusty calls and small yips taking away any sense of loneliness I might have felt. And I might have gone on that way forever, slipping slowly into the embrace of the land and its resident goddess, but then Nikki's shaman came.
***
He came early one morning as I was crouched between the garden beds. On the squash plants, the first golden flowers had appeared. Fat carpenter bees bumbled inside the blossoms, coating their bristly fur with pollen. The fox kept me company, amusing himself by playing his favorite game of chase the tail. Spinning faster and faster, he shed both flesh and bone, becoming merely a fox-shaped whirlwind of dust. Finally, he collapsed, panting by my side. I was startled when he, who had always disappeared when anyone approached, chirped the greeting I thought reserved for me alone. I turned quickly in surprise.
The man stood there as if he had sprung from the ground. His simple woven shirt and pants did nothing to hide the masculine beauty of that carved face and body. His hair was black as Nikki's, but his eyes seemed blacker still, though how it was possible I did not know. There was a wildness about him and yet a perfect stillness that Nikki had either lost or never possessed. I studied him for a moment, mouth open, and then became aware of my heart beating a little too rapidly and my gaze, a little too awed. Ducking my head, I spoke softly, “I suppose your cousin sent you?”
Warm laughter stroked heated fingers across my skin making me inhale sharply. “Cousin? You might call her that.”
His voice was smoke and honey and rumbled through my veins to swirl dangerously in the pit of my stomach. Unconsciously, I leaned toward him, wanting him to speak again. My indecent reaction stunned me and I pinched my leg sharply. In my experience, men were already simmering pools of lust. Acting immodestly would only inflame them further. I looked away primly, but found my eyes drawn back unwillingly.
His bright eyes studied me with open curiosity. “It's true that I am here to offer you help. Whether you choose to accept or not is up to you.”
I stood up, brushing my hands on my skirt. I had tried to wear the shorts and jeans from the store, but they left me feeling bith constricted and exposed at the same time. So I had chosen light, breezy skirts of a length that made me comfortable, but in colors bright as rainbows that had once been denied to me. I paired them with t-shirts that left my arms bare to the wind and air. Like a security blanket, however, my shawl had stayed, tied around my waist or within arm's reach. But under his assessing gaze, I felt almost too exposed. Something new fluttered deep inside me.
“Do I need help?” I asked, almost to myself. “Things are going well for me here.”
The man took in the land around me and then smiled, teeth white against bronzed skin, his snapping eyes staring deeply into mine. “You have been favored,” he told me. “But for such generosity, a return must be given.”
The drowsy awareness and building heat this man caused inside me fled, the warmth doused by a chill of anger and dismay. The words came too close to those the men of New Eden had used as they forced me to my knees, demanding I speak the words that would bind me forever as wife. The price for refusing had been steep. The memories boiled inside me and I stepped back.
The man watched, those knowing eyes bright, but he said nothing.
What would his god demand of me, I wondered bitterly. More obedience? More mindless devotion? My body? My soul? This man was not here to connect me with the goddess of the water and land, if he even knew of her. Was his god the thing that walked among the trees, the presence in the spiral or something else? And this primal heat between us, what was that?
“The giving frightens you,” he said. His voice held no empathy, only curiosity as if I were something he had not encountered before.
I shook my head, a useless denial but one that allowed me to catch my breath. Folding my arms across my chest, I lifted my eyes to his. “Just what would he ask in return?” I demanded. “And what would he do if I refused?”
The man blinked in surprise and then laughed a low, pleased sound that set the butterflies swirling in my stomach again, despite my resolve to maintain control.
“Woman,” he said, his voice low and husky, as he leaned towards me. My pulse leapt to sound of it. “Can you not see he is pleased with you? Do not your crops grow strong and fruitful? Is not the water sweet and the air cool and clean? Are you not given safety and a companion?”
The fox uttered a deep, rusty sound of agreement, but I ignored the fickle creature who would warm to a stranger so easily and one whose loyalty clearly did not lay with me. The man's scent floated towards me, masculine and warm. He smelled like tall grass and clover, curing under the sun's rays. A fragrant and comforting place to nestle into… I jerked my thoughts away from that path, color stealing into my cheeks.
“Why do you imagine such a loving presence would wish you harm?" He shrugged his shoulders and I watched, dry-mouthed, as the movement made golden skin ripple across hard muscles. "Perhpas he wishes only to share more love with you." His eyes watched my knowingly as a smile played about his lips.
Those lips. How would they taste on mine? I leaned in mesmerized, before jerking myself back.
“He killed the Hansens,” I blurted out. “And Felicite was murdered.”
The change in the air was palpable and a swift rush of wind blew through the garden, lashing at the tender plants. Thunder rumbled as the man's brows lowered into a scowl. Suddenly, he seemed larger and stronger and threatening. Those tantalizing muscles tightened and flexed against the loosely woven cloth as he fought his emotions.
“Even now, he is angry,” I whispered. “Just from me speaking. How can I live under such control?”
With the words, a deep sadness swept over me. Had I traded one captor for another?
The wind stilled as the thunder faded away and then the silence between us began to fill with unspoken tension. I swayed where I stood, filled with a longing so deep that I could not put a name to it. A thick, syrupy need filled my veins and my senses glazed over from the sweetness and the wanting. The man smiled at me, an invitation. He stood, almost god-like. Need began slowly to spiral in the pit of my stomach. That black hair lifting gently in the wayward breeze, golden skin so touchable, kissable. . .
“No,” I said and stepped back. I spoke not just to the beautiful, young man in front of me, but the land and air around me attempting to filling me with the heady taste of desire. “I will choose what man and when and where. . .or no man at all. That is my right.”
The wind shifted and blew from the north, cool and fragrant with the spicy fragrance of elderberry blossoms.
The man grinned and shrugged good-naturedly, shedding the sexual allure like a skin. He dropped to the ground, folding his legs underneath him, and gestured to me to sit as well. “Shall we walk this path together and see where it leads?”
I felt irritation bubble beneath my skin “You mean ask him what he wants?” I said coolly.
The white teeth flashed again. “Perhaps his answer will surprise you, little sister. Mekka, here,” he gestured to the fox by my side, "he will be our guide."
It was the little sister that decided me, so different in tone than the way Sister had been used at New Eden, and the fact that he had not pressed his invitation when I said no.
I sat, hoping the answers I was about to receive were the ones I wanted to hear. With a swiftness that seemed impossible, he pulled flint and steel from a pocket and lit the tangle of weeds that was stacked beside the path, waiting for composting. The charred scent gave way to a fragrant herbal smell as nettles, goosefoot and sedge grasses burned.
The smoke rose between us and twined about, enclosing us in a hazy cocoon, and then, eyes wide open, we moved as one into the dream.
Chapter 24
The light flees and above us, stars wheel and dip in constellations unknown to me. Across from me
, he raises his head and the sound that pours out his mouth lifts the hairs on my head.
A brush of fur against my skin.
I jump.
Looking down, I see Mekka is pressing against me. I make no protest as he climbs in my lap. His presence is a welcome hedge against the currents of otherness that swirl darkly around me. His small body shakes. I cannot tell if it is from my shivering or if he too is unnerved by the howling man, streaked with flame and shadow.
The man lowers his head and looks at me, but the firelight does not reach his eyes. With no warning, he lunges forward. I shrink back in fear as a series of sharp yips explode from his mouth.
Behind me, wind stirs the bushes surrounding the clearing where we sit. The gusts make the flames shoot higher.
Again he howls, a song of loneliness rising from his heart to the vast, indifferent sky.
Another voice rises from the night and then another, yips and cries, deep-throated peals of supplication. From the shadows, someone barks and is answered.
Space and time shift in the trails of scented smoke rising from the flames. My reality shifts with them
I sit in a circle with other watchers, though their faces are all obscured. The fire, now yards away, is much larger and burns from stout logs, not weeds.
The yips and barks converge on us and from the far side of the circle, furry bodies rush in. The beasts mill about, licking and rubbing each other. Playfully snapping, they pounce and dart away. The pack is a river of motion, greeting each other once again and the smoke surges forward to be a part of it.
There is no fear. I am outside of this scene and merely an observer.
I strain to see. A blur of fur, a muzzle, a dark, knowing eye, and then I see a shoulder, golden skin, muscular and slim. A foot, the ankle encircled in a braid of fringe and bells, plants firmly in the dust of the earth. The air is thick with mist and mysticism, and I am not sure what I am seeing . . . until they step forward.
Warriors, clothed only about the waist and with decorative arm or ankle bands. Men . . . a pack of them. My breath catches, but they ignore me.
They are here to dance.
They stomp as one and the earth shakes from the thunder of their power. Dust puffs up from bare feet as their tracks make esoteric patterns on the dry earth. The rhythm of the dance is circular like time and creation, and the power is masculine and dominant. There is a music, a primal rhythm, to it, but it arises from heart beats and the whistle of the wind, the rotation of the earth, and the longing of all living creatures for a den and a mate.
Light rises in the east and the moon shines a silver upon the dance. The men slow as their movement lose the fevered pitch of testosterone and brotherhood.
A howl rises on the moonbeams that lay like liquid light across me. It is different . . . seductive, in its pull.
I see the chests of the men swell as they respond. Their stance widens as they seek to be seen as stronger, taller and more pleasing.
And so she comes. For every pack must have a matriarch.
She is silver shadows and wind, mystery and moonlight, a longing unrealized. She drifts among them as ephemeral as a sigh.
A warrior, my warrior, I realize for so he is, turns to look at me. The invitation spoken in pheromones. Every nerve in my body yearns in response. This, this he would offer me.
Matriarch, mate, queen.
The shadow nips him playfully and he rounds on her, snapping viciously. With a squeal, she fades away.
Not queen, I think.
But close . . . the whisper twines inside my brain, mixing with the pulsating longing to join him in that ancient dance.
I want him.
I want this.
I could give in.
It is, after all, close . . .
I stepped into the dance drawn by the scent of Coyote, sweat and musk. The rhythm of the drums is hypnotic and my hips sway with a language innate. He stands close, the heat that rises off of him ignites my own. His strong arms encircle me and his strength becomes my own. Safety, security, desire can all be found here. I tremble as he lowers his lips to mine . . .
"The devil will seek to deceive you! He will come as a handsome man and wrap you in arms of sin!"
The hateful words of the crazy woman come out of nowhere, a low hiss beside my ear. I jerk in surprise and look wildly around. I am alone, arms empty and a bright bloom of pain burns in calf.
I look down to see Mekka, mouth bright with blood, from the ragged tear on my leg.
"You little . . ."
But I cannot be angry. He has pulled me from a dream so wanton and pleasurable that it must be wrong. The herbs and the smoke have played tricks on me, making me want a man in that way.
I take a step towards him, grateful he stopped me from making a mistake, but the little fox backs away. I take another and another but he is always just out of reach. I stumble out of the mist and moonlight into the . . .
. . .sunlit garden.
Startled, I gazed around me. I was truly alone, with only a pile of blackened weeds at my feet to show it had ever happened at all.
Chapter 25
My brush with not one, but two supernatural experiences had left me lost. One lifted me towards something higher than myself and the other had awakened something primal and earthy. There was no one I could ask who would not think me mad. So I carried on. What else could I do?
My time alone with the house came to an abrupt end one morning. Something tugged at my thoughts, pulling me from the careful row of beans I was seeding. Mekka gave a low, displeased yip and disappeared into the brush, confirming someone was coming. I left the garden reluctantly and made my way back to the house. A bucket of cool water from the well make short work of the dust on my hands before I ran a wet comb over the loose strands that had escaped my braid.
The front porch was still deep in shade, the sun still rising on the far side of the house. Though the air held only a faint coolness, I pulled my shawl tightly around me as I waited. Its familiarity wrapping a sense of security around me. Within a minutes, the unknown car pulled into the drive. Nikki and an older woman that I did not know climbed out.
Nikki looked up and gave a half-hearted wave but the woman's attention was elsewhere. She stood facing me, eyes closed and face relaxed, loose strands of the dark-brown hair framing her strong features blew softly in the wind. Everything about her open manner was in stark contrast to Nikki's hunched posture and reluctant attitude.
"Hey, Abby," Nikki said as she walked up to the porch. Her eyes looked everywhere but into mine.
"Hi," I said, puzzled at her behavior. Hadn't we parted on good terms after the farmer's market? "It's good to see you.”
It occurred to me that she'd had a report from my visitor. “Oh . . . I met your cousin."
I let the words hang there between us. Though he hadn't been pushy exactly, I would definitely call him assertive. I let my tone show my disapproval at his manner, though inside, I blushed as I remembered the heat between us.
Nikki turned her head, finally meeting my eyes. I read the confusion on her face.
"My cousin?" she said, uncertainly. She shook her head. "I don't know who you mean."
"A tall guy, long, black hair?" I said, measuring his height with my hand. "About twenty-five or so?"
Nikki frowned and gave another head shake. "I still don't know who you are talking about," she said.
"Really muscular?" I added helpfully, sternly telling myself not to flush as I remembered the play of muscles under tanned skin. "He showed up barefoot and did some kind of vision quest with smoke?"
Nikki looked completely lost but the woman, to whom I had not yet been introduced, startled and then gave me a long, thoughtful look.
"Sorry, Abby, but I didn't send anyone over here. I can't believe some guy is pretending to be my cousin."
I thought back to my meeting with him. Had he actually said he was Nikki's cousin? I couldn't remember. The whole incident seemed foggy. Smoky? Something tugged
at my memory, but Nikki spoke again and the trailing wisps of thought drifted out of reach.
"I mean," Nikki went on, "I actually decided I didn't want to contact my family. So, I'm just here to introduce you to Lena. She is in the . . . um . . . same line of business. She can help you. And she . . ." Nikki's voice trailed off.
"And I won't force you into a life you don't want. Right, hon?" The woman said in amusement.
Nikki gave a slow shrug. "You tried that, but you won't again," she said, her voice unrepentant. "But yeah, at least I'm not worried about you dragging me by the hair back to Austin."
"Nice to meet you," I told the woman, choosing to ignore the bickering. “I'm Abby.”
“And I am Lena Kochilas.” Her voice was deep and vibrant, but the smile she offered me lightened its impact. There was nothing otherworldly or shaman-like about this woman. She stood there, comfortably curvy, in jeans and sandals, her loose blouse untucked. The only exotic thing about her was the silver jewelry she wore with blue eye-like pendants and the amount of make-up on her eyes.
"Well. . ." Nikki blew out her breath and shifted awkwardly, shoving her hands in her pockets. She cleared her throat loudly and then looked startled at the noise. "Okay, then. I guess I'll walk back over to Tasmyn's and leave you guys to it . . . if that's all right."
Lena rolled her eyes. "If Abby feels comfortable enough to be alone with me," she retorted, “then by all means, and take that black cloud of negativity with you.”
Nikki let her shoulders slump and heaved another breath. This was a side of her I had not seen before. I'd thought her roughly my age, but now I wondered if she was much younger, if not in years, then experience. All the pouting and dragging her feet reminded me of a stubborn six year old. At New Eden, they trained you out of that behavior very quickly.