Winter Prey
Page 39
She halted just out of reach of the beast.
“The only way you can hold me is for you to join me in my world,” she said quietly. “You must stand by my body.”
“No. I — ”
Kymbria raised her voice. “You must do it now!”
The windigo growled a soft, miserable sound but walked over beside the shelf.
“You must tell me this,” Kymbria said, “as I do not remember. How did I die?”
The beast reached across the body and then held out a long, rusty knife. Or…perhaps it was more than rust on the blade, perhaps blood. Her great-grandmother's blood.
“Did you kill me?”
“No!” The roar reverberated through the cave, and Kymbria heard a fissure crack in the wall behind her. “I told your mother! You could not live with the life you were forced into.” He bowed his head. “The life my selfishness forced on you. You killed yourself. I found you that first waking season. You had left me a message.”
He pointed at the wall above the shelf, and Kymbria moved the flashlight beam over Nimiwin's corpse. The symbols appeared to be drawn by the same hand as the ones in the mouth of the lair, the same red, yellow and black dyes used. But she couldn't read all of the message. It didn't matter. The windigo continued speaking.
“You told me our child had been a boy, and that you had not borne any of Cingusi's children. You said you would hope we would find each other again in the land of our ancestors.”
Kymbria shone the light on the last line of the message, recognizing the same symbol as at the mouth of the lair. At last she understood.
“Part of the reason you have been tied to what you are is another one of our customs,” she told the beast. “You were delegated to the land of banishment even while you were still human. No one would say your name. No one except me. You have yearned for years to hear my voice, to hear your name. The same name as your son. Cocoman. Cocoman, my snow snake, come live with me in odjitcag land.”
The windigo stared at her in puzzlement for a long second before comprehension dawned. He still held the knife. Elation on his face, he lifted it high.
“Nimiwin!” he shouted, then plunged the knife into his breast.
His face dissolved into a grimace of agonizing pain, and the beast roared in anguish as blood gushed out of his chest, along with the most putrid smell Kymbria had ever experienced. He sank to his knees, whimpers sounding. She also heard another sound behind her.
She turned, her flashlight beam catching the fissure as it widened. The wall was weakening fast. With a gasp, she took one step toward where she had left her snowsuit. But the fissure splintered wider and more cracks raced away from it. The cave was collapsing.
Kymbria threw the flashlight beam back on the windigo, but all she saw was a mound of matted fur. Above her head, another horrendous crack pushed her into motion. She raced past the corpses of her ancestors and down the cave corridor, the flashlight beam bouncing in front of her, and the noise of collapsing walls and ceilings behind her. Dust nearly blinded her and concealed the flashlight beam.
However, her feet flew across the rocky surface as though someone were helping her along. She ran for what seemed like an hour, but must have only been a few minutes. Finally, gasping for breath, the pain in her side nearly brought her to her knees. Only the realization that she didn't need the flashlight now — the knowledge there was light ahead of her — kept her on her feet until she burst out into beautiful daylight.
Snowflakes still feathered down, but even as she collapsed and cradled her arms across her ribs, they disappeared into only one or two here and there. The sky lightened further and beautiful sunshine sparkled diamonds on pristine snow.
Against evil prevail.
Adam’s voice. She heard it clearly, although her searching gaze was disappointed when she hoped to at least catch a glimpse of him.
“Thank you, Adam!” she called. “I’ll take care of Keoman for you in return.”
He will live, daughter of our tribe, Adam telegraphed to her. But his destiny will take him on a different path than yours. Your destiny might even approach now. It is your free-will decision.
She turned her head toward the new sound — a snowmobile engine.
“Caleb?” she murmured in a hopeful tone. “But he left for San Diego.”
The machine came into view below her, and there was no mistaking the rider. Caleb had come back to help her. She smiled through her various pains. She would welcome the ride back, and also the rider.
T. M. Simmons
Bio and Contact Info:
T. M. Simmons enjoys researching books as much as writing them. When not writing, Simmons travels and explores both off-the-beaten-paths and tourist sites. If ghosts happen to be roaming around, it pleases Simmons immensely. Part of the research for Winter Prey included activities as a paranormal investigator.
Read on after the contact information for an excerpt from Simmons' next dark paranormal suspense, Silent Prey, coming in a few months.
Contact Information:
Email: tmsimmons@iseeghosts.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/tranam.simmons
Blog: http://http://www.iseedeadfolks.blogspot.com/
On Twitter: @TMSimmonsauthor
SILENT PREY
Chapter One
She had no idea what instigated the stir toward reality, the birth of her return to actuality. At first, She was nothing but a wisp of memory, her own memory of the being who once walked the earth so long ago. The being who mourned even long before her final dying day.
Now, She began to physically congeal, a body forming from the elements. Bones calcified first, then muscle, a thin layer of fat beneath protective skin.
Soon, in addition to thought, other senses joined in:
Smell: the dank, musty odor of earth pressing around her.
Hearing: the faint noise of worms digging through soil.
Touch: the resistance as arms moved hands upward. The body followed, easily dislodging dirt from its path. With one final thrust, She emerged from the ancient grave, clods falling from the fully-formed body.
Sight: eyes opened to stare at tall trees, pines, birch, and hardwoods towering beneath a brilliant blue sky. Snow piled high in banks and drifts.
Taste: tongue flicked out to enjoy the pine-scented air flowing in on a deep breath and activated the sluggishness into awareness.
She frowned. Every part appeared to be functioning except one. She could not feel her heart beat, nor did her chest rise and fall or air flow in and out through her nose and mouth.
She felt down her body, then stared at as much of it as She could see. A slender figure, high breasts beneath a soft, doeskin dress. Knee-high makizins on her legs and feet, lined with what felt like rabbit skin and beaded in a remembered design her fingers had sewn eons ago. Hair long, below her waist, held back by a band which, when her fingers traced it, felt like the same design as on the moccasins.
It appeared to be a zigwun month, one of those when the world was on the verge of opening up again after so long dormant. Maybe bobakwudagimegizi, the month after onibinigezis, the snow-crusted month. The month where the snow crust broke, slicing the asubikagun on the agim, the netting on the snowshoes. Though deep evening, nearing dibiguk, the sun was still a few minutes away from totally surrendering to darkness. The snow was indeed crusted over, as though it had thawed some during the day, then refrozen as night approached. Icicles hung from tree limbs, formed when the sun hit snow-laden limbs and the melt dripped downward.
What had brought her back? Her thoughts remained listless, her movements lethargic as She took a few steps, then more. She had no idea where the instinctive trodden path led, yet kept moving as her senses awakened. As memories returned. At first, it was only wonder at being again. Then long buried pain surfaced…and the reasons for it.
She shrieked in misery and raced through the wilderness.
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T. M. Simmons, Winter Prey