But when Keoman spat a shout of demand at whichever ancestor or spirit he implored, it startled Kymbria out of her near stupor. Despite the heat, she shivered. Too many times over the past few years unexpected noise eruptions had forewarned of an immediate catastrophe.
Rigid, she reminded herself where she was — in an isolated sweat lodge with the Midé, whom she trusted with her life. In the far reaches of northern Minnesota, not Afghanistan. Safe. She didn't need to escape the field hospital and head for a protective trench. Or shove her feet into boots and grab her medical supplies, race to try to save bleeding and broken soldiers…or women and children caught unaware.
Sweat trickled down her neck and dripped off nipples pebbled to hardness with her involuntary chill. She reached for her towel, then remembered Keoman had insisted she leave it outside the door. His voice dropped to a murmur, and she willed herself to again relax, although she had no hope of returning to the meditative state.
Once we enter, once I call down the spirits, we cannot leave until I am finished with the ceremony. Until we gain permission to leave.
Keoman had warned her of this not once, but twice. She'd given her word, just as she had with Adam, Keoman's father, all those years ago. This lesson in the Old Ways meant too much to her to break that promise. This lesson, and any future ones, were her last hope to be the woman she yearned to be once more, the type of extraordinary mother to Risa that Niona had always been to her.
Kymbria's hair lay soggy and damp against her skin. Under cover of the thick steam, she pushed a spiral from her forehead and drew some around to partially cover her nakedness. The locks barely fell to her breasts, but that small disguise comforted her.
She was supposed to be listening to Keoman; opening herself to communication with the spirits. Yet she needed to regain her belief in them first, and so far, most of her awareness concentrated on the Midé across the stone pit, nearly as naked as her. He, at least, wore the ceremonial loincloth.
The Old language rolled off Keoman's tongue smoothly. Here and there Kymbria caught a word she recognized: odjitcag, spirit; odjib, ghost; Midé Manido, which translated in the white world to Great Spirit. Her early training from her mother resurfaced, along with the days with Adam in her sixteenth year. Memories returned. As they had snowshoed toward the sweat lodge an hour ago, Keoman had also repeated many of his father's words in that more formal voice and chanted a preliminary prayer.
You must believe it will work, daughter of our tribe. The condition for entering the Land of Souls when the time comes is peace of heart.
Mino-dae/aeshowishinaung
Tchi mino-inaudiziwinaungaen
Fill our spirits with good
Upright then may be our lives
Nanaukinumowidauh matchi-dae/aewin
Zhaugootchitumowidauh matchi-dodumowin
Defend our hearts against evil
Against evil prevail.
She did believe…to a point. She'd heard tale after tale, legend after legend, that verified the accomplishments and abilities of the Midewiwin members. But…did she believe because this was her last chance, at least in her mind? Because she believed in her mother? Keoman's father, Adam? Wanted this for Risa? Or…because it had always been inside her?
No matter. She would not push. It would all come together soon, as it had when she went through the emotional healing process with Adam.
It had to come together. Her daughter's face flashed in front of her, the tiny mouth quirked in a three-tooth grin, eyes dancing with delight. Kymbria smiled back at Risa.
The image of her daughter soothed her, and Kymbria sank once again into the ceremony. Lulled, she dropped her head until her chin rested on her chest. This time the significance of what they were doing seeped into her. Keoman called upon generations of beliefs assuring seekers help and strength during deeply troubling times were there for the asking from the spirits. She had no doubt her dear friend, now a Midé, maintained a sincere faith in the teachings that flowed down through the years. And she felt the beginnings of a renewed faith in these indisputable beliefs stir in herself.
Keoman now accompanied his prayer on a mitigwakik, the sacred drum the members of the Grand Medicine Society used. Languidly, Kymbria congratulated herself; she'd recalled another word of the language. And the drumstick was a bagaak okwan.
At first she could barely hear the hushed beats, then they sharpened. She opened her eyes to see the steam had dissipated a bit. Across the stone pit, Keoman discarded the drum stick and slapped his hand on the skin cover stretched across the circular base painted with his personal ceremonial symbols. Once again his voice rose to a sharp shout of demand.
Abruptly, Keoman broke off. A waver of puzzlement crossed his face, and he stiffened. His head jerked up and Kymbria clenched her hands in reaction to the Midé's confusion when he stared at her, then the wall of the sweat lodge beside her.
Something crashed against the wall. For a flicker of an instant, Kymbria thought Keoman had thrown the drum at her, and she instinctively lifted her hands protectively as she twisted. Then one hand dropped to reach for the pistol she carried in danger zones, forgetting for an instant it was nonexistent.
Not even a pine needle trembled from the force of such a tremendous blow, and nothing had fallen to the ground beside her. Keoman still held his drum.
Before she could rationalize what was happening, the Midé surged to his feet and leaped over the stone pit. He carried her with him until they both lay on the floor on the far side of the lodge, his body covering hers. Kymbria's heart pounded in panic even as she maintained her hold on this reality.
"Wh — ?"
Keoman slapped a hand on her mouth. "Don't move, don't speak. An evil spirit is trying to get to us."
The wild scream echoed from the same area as the crash on the wall, but definitely outside. Then the same cry sounded behind them, beside where they lay. How had it moved so quickly? Kymbria fought frantically to move away from the noise, but Keoman refused to turn her lose.
More mournful yet angry cries sounded beside them…there, across the sweat lodge…there, by the portal. Full of anguish and…and evil, they burst through the flimsy barrier around her. The pain in the cries went straight through Kymbria, a confirmation of something deep inside herself. Pain of loss — evil that perpetuated the loss.
Then those words again: Come now!
This time, more words followed, but her growing panic negated further recognition.
Seeming to understand her struggle, Keoman muttered, "Do not let it into your mind!"
She tried to push Keoman's hand away from her mouth, but he stared down at her, his face so close she could read the alarm in his eyes, see the strain that paled his bronze skin. The same expression as on the faces of so many soldiers she'd tried to save, especially the ones who knew that Death approached without any hope of restraint.
His fright further fueled her own terror. She'd seen that same look on Rick's face, when she held him as the life drained away, his body ravaged with untreatable fever caused by the invading organisms. His last word in his hallucinogenic state not her name, but another's.
The sudden silence horrified her more. Heavy, threatening, even the last tendrils of dying steam from the stone pit disappeared. Again, she tried to writhe free, but Keoman pressed closer to her. Unable to countermand his superior strength and weight without using self-defense techniques and possibly injuring him, she froze as she waited for the next attack.
The whispered words penetrated her mind again: Come now! Red rage flashed through Kymbria without warning. No longer did she worry about hurting her old friend. She opened her mouth beneath Keoman's hand and clamped her teeth onto the heel of his palm.
Salty blood immediately filled her mouth, and Keoman jerked free, stifling a howl of pain. She tossed him off as easily as divesting herself of a blanket, and his head narrowly missed one of the fire ring stones when he landed on the frozen ground.
Kymbria scrambled into a cro
uch, a prelude to launching herself at the Midé. Keoman proved a worthy adversary. He rolled aside and she landed on the stone, catching herself before she broke a rib. Growling and hissing, she gathered herself and lunged for Keoman again.
He caught her and twisted her beneath him, frantically whispering, "Kymbria! What the hell is wrong with you? Stop!"
She elbowed his arms and broke his hold. Rather than fight to hold her down, he unexpectedly leaped free and lunged across the fire pit. Kymbria went after him, her fingers curled into claws, reaching for his unprotected back.
Keoman swiftly turned and shoved his hand at her. Something dangled from his fingers. She screamed in pain as, arms outstretched in a protective manner, she scuttled backwards, away from him, around the fire pit and against the far wall.
"Don't!" she pleaded. "Get it away from me!"
Instead, Keoman came after her, shaking the small leather medicine pouch.
"Nanaukinumowidauh matchi-dae/aewin!" he yelled. "Zhaugootchitumowidauh matchi-dodumowin!"
For another moment, the rage filled her, then slowly seeped away. Confusion replaced the anger, and Kymbria gasped in horror. She remembered each and every second of the past few minutes, yet she had no idea why she had attacked Keoman.
Come now!
Those words…the same as the ones in the cabin last night….
Keoman sank onto his heels, though he still held out the medicine pouch. "Has it lost its control of you?" he asked in a quiet voice as he glanced around.
"What?" she begged. "My God, Keoman. What happened to me?"
"In a minute," he replied. "Even though you are yourself again, we can't be sure it's gone." A drop of blood spattered on the ground between his feet, and Kymbria's nursing instincts stirred. But when she started to rise and move toward him, he waved her back. The Midé remained tense, on edge, his sweat-slick body poised as though expecting another attack.
But an attack from what? What the hell was out there?
Seconds dragged past and the expected attack didn't materialize. The tenseness frenzied Kymbria again, although she was aware the rage was gone this time…a rage she didn't know she was capable of. She groaned beneath her breath, but Keoman caught the sound and glanced briefly at her, the medicine pouch still outthrust.
The anger this time was all hers, accompanied by a deep desire to retaliate against whatever was waiting out there. She stood and took a step toward the doorway.
"Do not confront it!" Keoman hissed. "Do you want us both dead?"
She hesitated. "I just want out of here."
"And go charging off into what?" he whispered furiously.
His glare warned her not to disobey him.
"Your hand…." she pointed out.
He reached his injured hand into the stone pit and rubbed the palm against one of the cooling stones, then pulled it back to show Kymbria the bleeding had stopped. While doing this, he never lost his vigilance.
Kymbria sank back down and wrapped her arms around her knees. Maybe this idea to work with the Old Ways was another wrong path. For the first time in a long while, she yearned for the wellbeing the meds fostered.
Yet this was not a PTSD episode. Her training confirmed it was something else. Something instigated by whatever was outside the lodge, some entity. Why did it effect only her and not Keoman?
Keoman stared around the lodge and whispered another chant. Startled, Kymbria bit her lip and tried to control her terror as the candle flame flared to illuminate the sweat lodge. The flame actually seemed to soothe her, calm her fear. Or…was it the chant Keoman whispered? He repeated words she now recognized from the prayer he had used on their walk here: …against evil prevail.
Panic subsiding somewhat, she peered around as Keoman had done, not seeing anything out of place. The skins they had sat upon — wolf for her, bear for Keoman — still lay on each side of the stone pit. Keoman's midéwayan, his medicine satchel, was still open on his bear skin, the turtle shell, various bags of herbs, some of which he'd sprinkled on the stones, and another medicine pouch spread in front of it.
Keoman crawled away from her toward his bear skin, and Kymbria's wary gaze turned toward the deer hide across the entry portal. For a moment, she thought it moved and prepared herself to lunge into escape mode despite Keoman's warning. Then she breathed a short sigh of relief when only Keoman's shadow flickered across the hide as he returned to her.
"Here," he said quietly. "You are not supposed to get this until after the ceremony, but you need to wear it now. There is no way we can resume. It will protect you. Keep whatever just happened from happening again."
And protect me from you went without verbal declaration.
At first she hesitated, recalling the pain and fear she'd felt moments earlier when Keoman had thrust his own medicine pouch at her. Glancing at Keoman, she noticed a wary attitude in his eyes, although he held the pouch out steadily. Then she realized, this time, she felt a deep need to reach for the protection. She forced her arms free and took it. The small, animal-skin bag, similar to the one he had used to protect himself from her attack, hung on a leather thong. His, larger than the one he gave her, now dangled on his bare chest, a close match in color to his skin.
"Around your neck," he whispered, turning away from her, no doubt due to her nakedness. That hadn't seemed to matter during the ceremony, but now an awkwardness strained between them.
When Keoman glanced back to see her bag hung around her neck, he continued, "That is your spirit bundle. You will not take it off again while we work together."
"Why do I need protection?" she asked.
His look told her she had no reason to even ask that question.
"Stay here until I check outside," he said.
"No!" She reached for him, but he shook his head and laid a hand on his spirit bundle.
"My medicine is strong. Nothing can harm me. You just saw that."
"What happened to me?" she insisted.
"Later," he repeated. "I need to go out there."
"I…don't want to be alone," she pleaded. "Let me go with you."
"No," he said. "If I have to look out for you, it might weaken me."
He returned to his midewayan again and replaced all the scattered items inside before he wrapped the bear skin around him. As he passed her wolf skin, he grabbed it up and tossed it to her. "Wrap it around you."
He slipped out the door.
She drew the wolf skin close and gazed pleadingly at the candle that had soothed her earlier. But the flame remained docile now that she was alone. Alone in near darkness. Darkness where anything could hide….
What had happened to her? As hard as she tried, she couldn't keep the panic from returning. She drew in a deep breath, fighting the flashes in her mind. Flashes that lit up scenes of other terror spots. Flashes that carried sound with them: pleas, chokes, death gasps.
So did that prove she'd experienced a flashback, which had triggered her attack on Keoman? Or had whatever presence invaded her mind loosened barriers over her dreaded memories?
She had attacked one of her dearest friends! And last night, she'd uncharacteristically lost her temper with her beloved Scarlet. What the hell was happening? The same problems…or different ones? Something spawned by an evil presence?
Against evil prevail.
Kymbria laid a hand on her spirit bundle, and, surprisingly, a sense of calm stole over her. Her grip on sanity and the here and now returned. Testing the feeling, she removed her hand, and the images revitalized. Hand back on the spirit bundle, the images, while not completely disappearing, faded to near invisibility, sound muted. She contemplated the feeling and realized it also came from inside her, as well as from the bag beneath her touch.
The here and now carried its own danger, as menacing as those past memories. Yet those dangers hovered outside a surrounding protective force.
Her fingers loosened their clench on the spirit bundle, although she continued to stroke it lightly as she waited for what seem
ed like forever for Keoman to return. Senses alert, she strained to identify any small sound outside that didn't fit. Why didn't she hear Keoman moving around? Could the sense of danger override sense of hearing? Or did the protective atmosphere in here extend to other areas? Or….
Kymbria frowned in concentration. Somewhere on the edge of reason, she again heard the faint echo of words, although this time they were too weak to flare the intense rage. Instead, she could distance herself, perhaps due to the spirit bundle. Still, except for the two she recognized, the words were unintelligible, words that might be either English or Old words. Maybe Keoman was chanting outside. There was no one else within miles of the sweat lodge. No one except whoever — or whatever — had screamed that anguish. And that thing definitely was not human.
Examining her memory of the cry, Kymbria tried to take it apart and comprehend the various nuances: pain, anger…did she sense guilt? Did whatever was out there contain some human characteristic, some human gene? As she pursued that path, the tone in the voice on the edge of her hearing changed, seeming to support her. But then it, too, diminished to silence.
Did that mean the entity was the one reaching into her mind, rather than it being Keoman chanting outside?
Before she could draw any firm conclusion, Keoman returned, dressed now for the trail. He handed her the clothing she had left outside, then turned his back so she could dress. Still sweat damp, she struggled into her jeans and sweater, her heavy snowsuit. When she sat back down to strap on her boots, Keoman turned.
Before he could speak, Kymbria demanded, "What made that noise out there? Did it make me attack you? And don't try to tell me it was a spirit."
He squatted in front of her. "There was no sign of anything. No tracks in the snow. None of the snow on the trees around us is disturbed. No broken limbs. So you tell me why you think it wasn't a spirit."
She had no answer. Still fighting her guilt over what she could have done to him, had not his protection bundle worked against her — or against whatever had attempted to control her — she didn't pursue an answer as to whether that entity had triggered her rage. Finally, she asked, "Were you…were you chanting outside?"
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