Ashes and Ecstasy

by Catherine Hart

  Hours passed. Outside the cave, day gave way to night. The moon rose, full and bright over the surrounding land, and still Silver Thorn knelt and chanted, endowing the charm with all the potent magic he could draw forth. Finally, when the moon had reached its zenith, he took the amulet out into the night. Standing at the edge of a small waterfall, he held the talisman upward. Suspended from his lean fingers, it spun like a miniature moon, reflecting the light of its larger twin in the sky above.

  “Created of earth and fire, formed by wind and water, blessed by the moon and the spirits, marked by time and power, I commend this charm to the world of the future— so that the person to find and claim it will enter into this time and place to impart the knowledge and learning of the days yet to come.”

  With these words, Silver Thorn swung the emblem in an arc and flung it into the stream below the falls. He watched as it hit the water, spun several times in its own eddy, and began to drift with the strong current. The thong caught on the lip of a protruding boulder, and the amulet sank out of sight.

  Silver Thorn seated himself on the rocky ledge overlooking the stream, prepared to wait patiently for as long as he must.

  1996—Seven Caves, southern Ohio

  Nichole Swan exited the cave into the bright sunlight, and the heat and humidity hit her like a swat with a wet rag. For a moment she was tempted to scout out the next cave immediately. Her jeans and sweater, just right for the cool temperatures underground, were too much for this early June heat wave that even the weather forecasters hadn’t anticipated this early in the season.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that her meager breakfast was but a pleasant memory. Since then, she’d hiked happily for hours, both inside the caves and along the woodland trails surrounding them, burning up any energy her morning coffee and bagel had had to offer. It was time for lunch, and Nikki knew the perfect spot for her solitary picnic. After removing her cardigan and tying the sleeves around her waist, she hitched the backpack she’d borrowed from her nephew into place across her shoulders and trudged in the direction of the little waterfall she’d passed earlier that morning.

  With each step, she told herself that all this exercise was precisely what she needed in order to shed those twenty extra pounds she’d carried all winter like some hibernating she-bear. Of course, she was looking her thirtieth birthday in the face. And teaching Ohio history to a pack of reluctant junior high students was more an exercise in patience than aerobics. Still, she’d made herself several promises recently, and she meant to keep them. This summer, during her well-deserved and much-needed break from the classroom, she was going to turn her life around. She was going to start taking better care of herself, both physically and emotionally.

  To keep herself on track, she’d even mapped out a three-month course of action aimed toward self-improvement and liberally laced with pleasurable rewards for goals met. This present excursion met all the criteria at once. It gave her the opportunity to research various historical sites, with an eye out for the best place to take her students on a class trip in the fall. At the same time, she got to indulge herself in a bit of Indian history, one of Nikki’s favorite subjects—most likely because one of her ancestral grandmothers had belonged to a local Shawnee tribe. From this long-ago relative, Nikki had inherited her black hair and tawny complexion, while her violet eyes and stubborn nature had been bequeathed by a Scot ancestor on her mother’s side of the family. Where her flash-fire temper and her quirky sense of humor derived from was anyone’s guess.

  At the moment, Nikki was content to immerse herself in her own bit of history. Last week, without even bothering with her usual bout of spring cleaning, she’d closed up her small house in northwestern Ohio and headed for the southern section of the state. So far, she’d visited several ancient mounds, including the famous Serpent Mound. Just last evening, she’d viewed the open-air performance of Tecumseh and had found herself thoroughly enthralled by it. By the flickering firelight, surrounded by the dark night and Nature’s own stage, the drama and the actors had seemed so real—as if she’d been magically transported into the great Shawnee chief’s era and set down in the middle of everything that had happened to him and his people in the same locale over a hundred and eighty years ago! It had been fantastic! Today, she was touring caves that still seemed to echo eerily with Shawnee footsteps and whisper ancient secrets, where a waft of chill air felt like ghostly fingers, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

  Rounding a bend in the trail, Nikki found the spot she sought. Here, in the shade beneath the wide-spread limbs of a huge old oak, right at the edge of the small pool, was a splendid view of the waterfall, which made this a delightful place to rest and eat her lunch. However, she first needed to wash the dust and cobwebs of the cave from her face and hands.

  Kneeling at the edge of the pool, Nikki cupped water in her palms and splashed it over her flushed cheeks. It was heavenly! Blessedly cool. How refreshing it would be to remove her hot Nikes, roll up her jeans, and dangle her feet in the water. Would anyone really mind if she did? And even if there were park rules to the contrary, two sweltering feet surely wouldn’t contaminate the pool that much!

  As she was contemplating this idea, she caught the glint of something metallic beneath the surface of the water, mere inches from her hand. “Someone’s lost fishing lure?” she wondered aloud. Then she gave a rueful laugh and muttered, “More likely just a discarded pop can. Why can’t people be more considerate about where they dump their trash? Isn’t this planet polluted enough? Isn’t ecology supposed to be the national byword these days?”

  Frowning, she leaned over to retrieve the litter. As she did so, the weight of her backpack almost sent her tumbling headlong into the pool. As it was, the clarity of the water had thrown off her depth perception. Her arms were immersed nearly to her armpits before her fingers closed around the shiny object, the dangling sleeves of her sweater thoroughly soaked.

  “Oh, great!” she grumbled. “I’ve probably ruined a thirty-dollar cardigan for a ten-cent piece of tin! Good going! Why didn’t anyone warn me that clumsiness comes with turning thirty? What’s next? Bifocals and orthopedic shoes?”

  By now she’d regained her balance, though barely, without further damage to herself or her apparel. When she opened her hand, her irritation evaporated considerably. There, nestled in her palm, was a round, fairly flat disc of some sort strung on a soggy cord. Though she was certainly no expert, the medallion looked to her like it was made of silver. The upper side was grooved with a series of circles, one within the other. She turned it over and found herself gazing into a surface so smooth and gleaming that her own image reflected back at her. Holding it aloft, she inspected it curiously as it began to rotate slowly at the end of its tether.

  Around and around it twirled, catching stray sunbeams and flashing them at her. Faster, brighter, like a hypnotist’s amulet, it spun. Fascinating. Mesmerizing. Although aware of the effect the strange emblem was having upon her, Nikki was helpless to stop it. There, on her knees, half-blinded by the sparkling charm, she felt herself swaying dizzily as she watched the engraved circles seem to coil upward, inward, much like the designs blurring together on a child’s toy top. First the spiral pattern, then her own reflection. Repeated again and again, with increasing speed, until they seemed to meld into one— her face within the rings, snared in a bright whirlpool, getting smaller, more distant, with every turn. Smaller . . . farther . . . faster . . . trapped . . . falling. . . .

  1813

  Silver Thorn came instantly alert. Something was different. Had he heard some small sound? Or had it merely been an odd vibration in the air that had intruded on his meditation? His keen eyes scanned the area below the falls, searching for the origin of the disturbance.

  It took but a moment to identify the source, and Silver Thorn’s heart leapt with excitement. There, on the river-bank, lay a body! Could it be the messenger he sought? The One from the future?

  With more haste than caution, h
e scrambled down the rocky slope, sending a shower of pebbles ahead of him. A few paces from the body, he halted, investigating it from a distance. Whoever this person was, he lay on his side, unmoving—either unconscious or dead. His hair was long and dark, tied back with a metal fastener of some sort. He was dressed in a coarse pair of blue trousers, a yellow shirt, and had a blanket-like garment hanging from his waist like a breechcloth and a bundle attached to his back. On his feet were shoes, or short boots, of a type Silver Thorn had never seen. They were blue and white, of some peculiar material, with ridges on the bottoms and printing on the sides that said NIKE. Silver Thorn, who had learned to speak and read the English language years ago—though his pronunciation of the words was not always accurate—supposed this to be the stranger’s name.

  When the person remained still, Silver Thorn crept close and knelt beside him. Alert to a possible trap, Silver Thorn clasped one thin shoulder and quickly rolled the stranger onto his back. Silver Thorn’s eyes widened in surprise as he immediately realized his mistake. Despite the manner of dress, this was no man, small or otherwise. The twin bulges beneath the shirt proclaimed the body as irrefutably that of a female. Ebony tresses framed a pale, delicately boned face with full red lips and long, lush lashes.

  Had Silver Thorn harbored any further doubts about her gender, the writing on her shirt and the accompanying picture would have eliminated them. In bold letters, it said, “It’s fine for a woman to put a man first, if the view from behind is worthwhile.” The painting depicted a man, facing away from the viewer, bare to the waist and wearing a tight pair of trousers similar to those Nike wore.

  He puzzled over this. Though he was further bemused that the spirits should send a white woman to impart the future to him, the mystical pendant lying in her limp fingers gave proof that she was the Conjured One. Retrieving the charm, he looped it about his own neck. As his fingers pressed against her throat, seeking and finding a pulse, he called to her to awaken. The woman moaned. Her eyelids fluttered open, and Silver Thorn caught a glimpse of eyes the color of the inner rim of a rainbow—the same purple hue of dawn’s shadows, when the sky first welcomes the rays of the rising sun.

  Nikki awoke to the sound of a deep male voice calling her name. With her eyes still closed, she was sure she’d never met this person and wondered how he could know her, for he spoke her name in accented English, pronouncing it “nay-ah-kay.” Cautiously, lest she become dizzy again, she forced her eyes slowly open and found herself lying on her back, looking directly at the gleaming medallion, which now dangled from about the man’s neck—a deeply tanned neck that matched a broad bare chest hovering closely above her.

  “What . . . what happened? What’s going on here?” she blurted out, her weak attempt at bravado emerging as more of a frightened squawk. Not sure if he intended to help or harm her, she scooted hastily away from him, far enough to lever herself into a sitting position. The abrupt movement sent her head spinning, and it was a moment more before she dared raise her wary gaze to his face.

  What she saw there did nothing to quell her unease. His face was as bronze as the rest of him appeared to be, the features even and bold, framed by sleek black hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders. This she noted almost in passing, for his eyes immediately snagged her attention and held it. They were a shimmering silver, like twin flashes of lightning, and so compelling in their intensity that she had the eerie feeling that he could see into her very soul.

  She shivered slightly and swayed backward. Immediately, his hand closed about her arm—whether to steady her or to keep her from fleeing, she did not know. Despite herself, she could not contain the frightened gasp that escaped her lips.

  “Do not fear me, little one,” he crooned in a foreign, formal way. “I intend you no harm, for it is I who have brought you here.”

  “Who . . . who are you? How do you know my name?” she gasped, her eyes wide with apprehension.

  “It is written on your moccasins,” he replied. On a curious note, he added, “Do the women of the Shemanese have a need to proclaim their identity to all or do your men require it of you?”

  “I’m American, not Sheman-whatever,” she corrected, puzzled by his strange manner of speaking. “Who are you? And what do you mean, you brought me here? I came to the park myself.” A quick, careful glance revealed, much to her relief, that she was still sitting near the stream, right where she’d fallen.

  “In Shawnee, I am called Mona Kahwee. In your tongue, you would say Silver Thorn. Can you rise now, without becoming faint again?”

  Only now, as he helped her to her feet, did Nikki notice that his mode of dress was as odd as his speech. That wasn’t a pair of tan shorts he was wearing—it was a buckskin breechcloth that matched the moccasins on his feet! Disoriented, she struggled to sort it all out in her mind. At last her brain caught on a logical explanation, and she released a shaky laugh.

  “Oh, I see now!” she exclaimed softly. “You’re a member of the Tecumseh cast, aren’t you? Still in costume and practicing your role, I suppose. I saw the performance last night, and it really was very good. I could almost believe I was back in Tecumseh’s time.”

  “I know nothing of this performance you speak of, but you are, in fact, in Tecumseh’s time and mine,” he informed her seriously. He cast a dubious eye over her small frame and shook his head. “I summoned you here, from the future, though it was my hope to recall a man, perhaps one of some prominence and intelligence—not a mere woman, and a white one at that. Better that I had been more exact in my request to the spirits.”

  “Yeah, well, hindsight is always better than foresight, so they say,” she quipped, her trepidation restored and multiplied tenfold. This guy was really acting weird! Hitching her backpack over her shoulder, Nikki stepped back from him. She wondered if she stood a chance of outrunning him or if she could find her pepper spray in time to use it before he attacked her. Did she still have it packed away in her purse? Good Lord! She hadn’t even checked it out to make sure it actually worked! Why hadn’t she tried it on the neighbor’s dog, at least? But as she’d told her would-be Indian, hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

  “Look, I’ve got to be going now,” she said. “You can keep the medallion. It goes great with your outfit.” She inched slowly away, not yet brave enough to turn her back to him.

  He stood calmly watching her, his well-muscled arms now folded across his chest in a posture of male arrogance. “Where do you think to run, little goose? At best, you would lose yourself in the forest and starve. More probably, you would become a tasty morsel for a hungry bear or wolf.”

  “There are no bears or wolves roaming wild in Ohio anymore,” she replied, still edging away. “A stray dog or coyote, maybe, but the worst I’d be apt to encounter around here would be a skunk. Besides, it’s only a short jog along the path to the park entrance and there are plenty of other visitors if I run into any problems.”

  “Look about you, Neeake,” he said, again giving her name that peculiar pronunciation. “Do you see or hear any person other than the two of us? And where is this path you speak of? I see none.”

  His words drew her up short; her gaze darted anxiously to and fro; her ears strained. He was right! The path should have been just behind her, between the old oak and the trash can. But now, even the trash can was missing! And the only sounds she could hear over the mad pounding of her heart were birds singing in the trees and the rush of water spilling over the fall.

  “I . . . I must have miscalculated,” she stuttered. “It’s here someplace. I’ll find it.” Starting to panic, she dashed around the clearing, which itself seemed smaller than before. Still failing to discover the bin or path, she opted to forge her own escape route, anything rather than stay here with this madman, and promptly bolted into the tangle of trees and bushes.

  The thick brush was a hindrance, but she plowed through it determinedly, ignoring the branches and briars that tore at her skin and hair. She had to get away, to locate one
of the paths that led to more traversed areas of the park. There she would find other tourists, preferably normal ones, and be safe from that fruitcake actor, or druggie, or whatever he was. From there, she could get her bearings and make her way back to her car.

  With all her thrashing, it was impossible to tell if the man were following her. She paused a moment and chanced a look behind her, but could hear nothing more than her own raspy breathing and accelerated heartbeats. Nothing moved, and Nikki heaved a thankful sigh and continued on, more slowly now.

  Fully half an hour later, tired, out of breath, sweaty, and thoroughly exasperated, she had yet to stumble across one of the many paths intersecting the park. Branches, rocks, thorns, vines—these she’d invariably stumbled into, but not a single trail. For the past fifteen minutes, after surmising that she wasn’t being followed, she’d repeatedly called for help. Now her voice was hoarse and her throat strained.

  “Damn, damn, double damn!” she exclaimed. Tears of frustration and anger welled up and spilled onto her cheeks. Sinking wearily to the ground beneath a tree, she let the tears fall freely, feeling thoroughly sorry for herself. Her friends and fellow teachers would have a heyday if they found out about this. She imagined them asking her what she did over summer vacation and herself answering, Oh. nothing much. I toured some caves in southern Ohio, managed to keel over with sunstroke or something, met this looney-tunes Tonto decked out in a breechcloth, panicked, and got myself lost in the woods.