by J. M. LeDuc
“The story of the Flying Head, Kanontsistonties,” Machk said, “originated with our Iroquois brothers. The legend says that Kanontsistonties attacked, bit, and sometimes ate humans. Anyone bitten would be transformed into a flying head and do Kanontsistonties’ bidding.” He continued reciting the story of the chestnuts.
She knew the story but didn’t interrupt. When he finished, she spoke. “But that’s not what’s happening here. Why are we witnessing something different?”
“Because the legend is only half of the story,” Machk answered. “Powaw says that Kanontsistonties is more spirit than flesh. His rendering of the legend is the one that seems to be occurring.”
Pamoon half-listened. She came to hear what the elders had to say, but more than that, she came to see the book. Although her attention was on the Book of Spirits, her eyes kept veering to Hassun who seemed to be fidgeting in his seat. “Are you okay?” she asked.
The old man didn’t look at her, but grunted his response.
Machk’s eyes narrowed at his friend’s actions. “Please excuse Hassun. He’s having a hard time coming to grips with what has been happening.”
Reflexively, Pamoon nodded, but with the tingling welling up in the palm of her hand, she wasn’t sure she agreed.
“May I see the Book of Spirits?” she asked.
Machk reached toward the coffee table and picked up the large book, wrapped in faded cowhide, tied with strips of the same. Pamoon giggled internally at the sight of his massive, callused fingers gently untying the delicate pieces of worn leather.
Once the book was free of its confines, Machk placed it in Pamoon’s lap. As soon as it touched her skin, the tingle began to burn; she felt it on her neck as well as her hand. Opening the cover, the feeling intensified. As she turned the pages, Hassun leaned forward for a better look, his proximity making her uncomfortable.
Turning the pages, the book’s prose appeared to be jumping from the pages. Confused, she swore she had seen the writing before. On each page, she found a ritual, either a prayer or a warning. “All of the rituals appear to be grouped together by category,” she thought aloud.
“You can read what is written?” Hassun asked, doubt bleeding through his words.
Looking up from the pages, Pamoon nodded. “Yes.”
“Hmm,” he grunted.
“My brother,” Machk said, “is leery of such ability because the page you have opened to is written in an old form of Cree, hundreds of years old; some of those symbols are no longer used by our people. I am the only one on the reservation who knows this version of our language. Perhaps if you read what you see, it would help to quell his suspicion.”
Pamoon did what was asked and read the Cree fertility prayer. Finished, she looked up and saw Hassun’s cheeks flushed; his eyes wide, pupils dilated.
“My apologies for not believing Powaw when he spoke of your powers. It’s just—”
Pamoon placed her hand on top of his, but jerked it away, pain shooting though her body. She pasted a fake smile on her face while squeezing her hand in a tight fist to quell the burn. “It’s okay,” she breathed. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “I’m living this and sometimes I have a hard time believing.”
Before looking back down at the book, she glanced at Machk, his posture rigid. With each paged turned, she used the sensation in her hand as a guide. When she opened a page that had nothing to do with demons or the netherworld, the feeling dulled. When she flipped to pages that dealt with darkness and light, the heat in her palm strengthened.
Turning to the next page, her hands flew from the book as if she’d been shocked. She sucked in a breath with a loud gasp, causing the elders to jump.
“What happened?” Machk exclaimed as he reached to steady the book, teetering on her lap.
“I’m not sure,” she answered. “When I turned the page, my body turned ice-cold.”
Look,” Hassun exclaimed, pointing at the book.
Pamoon looked and stared at the jagged edge tucked close to the binding. “There is a page missing.”
“Machk,” Hassun said, “you know the Book of Spirits better than anyone. What is missing?”
Machk flipped back a few pages and forward a few more before closing the book with a trembling hand. “The ceremony in which Kanontsistonties is called forth,” he whispered. “But who would purposely do such a thing?”
Suddenly, Pamoon realized why the pages and writing looked familiar. It was the same as on the paper she found when she and Tsomah had cleaned the campsite the morning after Bobby and her friends disappeared. Realizing that she was wearing the same jeans she had worn that morning, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out the torn page. It was faint since her jeans had been washed, but the words were still visible.
“Where did you get that?” Machk asked.
“I found this at the campsite when Tsomah and I picked up the trash the morning after the guys went missing. If I had to guess, I would say Ralph or one of his friends tore it from the book, not knowing what they were doing. Bobby told me that they liked to go to the campsite at night and recite old Cree rituals, hoping to contact the spirit world. He said that none of them actually thought it possible; it was just something to do.”
Pamoon stared at the words on the page.
Kihci Macimanito, Pimihawin Mistikawan, koskonowewin. Tatawaw ota. Kiyanaw natohtamawin kiya oma wîcihiwewin. Kiya katikaweyin peyakotipiyimisiwin ohtâyihk ana asahpicekewin kiya.
“Read them out loud,” Hassun animated. Ferocity building with each word.
She began to read the ritual in English for the elders to hear.
“No, in Cree!” His words more of a command than a suggestion.
Machk cut his eyes at his friend, then nodded. “Go ahead,” he said.
Pamoon felt Machk’s hand graze her leg as he discreetly wrapped his fingers around her staff.
She began anew, this time reading the page in Cree. “Great demon, Flying Head, awaken. There is room here . . .” Hearing the rustling of beads, she stopped. When she looked up from the ritual, she noticed Hassun shaking totem beads; his complexion crimson, sweat beading on his forehead. Drool pooled at the corners of his mouth.
Before she could say anything or act, he tore the paper from her, attempting to finish the ritual. She jumped as Machk tore her staff from her free hand and swung it at his friend, striking the side of his head and knocking him cold.
Pointing at the prone body, she screamed, “How did you know?”
Machk lowered the staff, handing it back to her. “Hassun has been acting strange the past couple of days. I’ve been watching him go back and forth between the reservation and the woods. It struck me as odd because Hassun never goes in the woods.”
“He must have been attacked by Kanontsistonties.”
“Must have.” Machk’s words were ones of sadness, as he checked his friend’s pulse. “He’s breathing, just unconscious.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Tie him up and lock him in my bedroom. He’ll be okay there . . . for now.”
Not knowing what to say, Pamoon picked up the torn page and carefully laid it in the book where it belonged.
Her body slumped in sadness, she closed the book. Handing it back to Machk, she said, “I need to talk to Tihk. He’ll know what to do with Hassun.”
“He’s not here, Machk said.
“Where is he?”
“I’m not sure, he was seen heading into the woods soon after he returned home with White Eagle and Powaw. No one has seen him come back.”
“Tsomah—”
“Is fine. I asked her about Tihk and she said he had gone camping and not in any danger.”
Pamoon felt a knot in her stomach. Camping trip? That makes no sense. “How long ago did he go into the woods?”
The elder eyed his friend before speaking. “He was seen entering the woods the night before last. About the same time I saw Hassun enter.”
“That was two days a
go!” Pamoon exclaimed. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would he go alone? How does Tsomah know he’s okay? I don’t understand.”
“You would have to ask her.”
Stillness engulfed the room. “I need to go see her,” Pamoon mumbled. The trepidation was broken when Atahk began to caw. The raven flew from her perch to the windowsill and began to peck on the glass. Pamoon ran to the window and saw Powaw walking back from the lodge.
* * *
Powaw, seeing Pamoon and Machk emerge from the open door, ran to them. The presence of his friend lying on the floor didn’t seem to faze him. He didn’t address Machk, but studied Pamoon’s eyes.
“Come,” he said.
48
Fear
March 17, 8:00 a.m.
* * *
Pamoon followed Powaw to his house, never taking her eyes off him. He said nothing on the short walk. Once inside, she couldn’t hold back any longer and blurted out, “What do you know that I don’t?”
“The spirits spoke while I was in the lodge.” His eyes narrowed to the point where the lines carved around them were deep enough to hold water. They told me that Kanontsistonties has lost all patience and planned to release his demons on the tribe.”
“Planned?”
Powaw’s eyes rolled high and right. “That was two days ago. If I had to guess, I would say that was the day Hassun went into the woods.”
“How’d you know?”
“Visions.”
Pamoon nodded. “The same day Tihk went into the woods.”
The elder’s eyes opened wide. “My nephew went into the woods?”
Pamoon’s pulse quickened. “Machk said he was spotted walking into the woods two nights ago. Machk didn’t seem too worried, which worries me even more. I mean, why wouldn’t Machk be worried? I know he said Tsomah told him Tihk was okay. That he went camping, but I mean that doesn’t make sense, right?” The words spewed from her mouth mixed with apprehension.
With her mind running in overdrive, she watched Powaw pull his phone from his pocket and dial Tsomah’s number.
After a few frantic sentences, he began to calm down. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“What is Tsomah saying? Is she scared? Is she home?”
Powaw held up his hand to stop the incessant questioning. “Tsomah, I’m putting you on speaker so you can explain everything to Pamoon.” He fiddled with his cell phone until Pamoon jerked it from his hand. “It’s this button right here.” She tapped the screen repeatedly as she turned on the speakerphone feature.
“Tsomah, can you hear me?”
“I can, sweetie. You can relax about Tihk, he’s okay.”
“How do you know?”
“Believe it or not, he sent me a smoke signal.”
“What?”
“I don’t know why he went into the woods and why he hasn’t returned, but I know he’s okay. Whenever he goes into the Glades, he loses phone connection. Some time ago we devised a plan. If he’s at the camp, he lights a fire at night. I can see the smoke from the house.”
“What camp? How do you know it’s him?”
“A Cree camp deep in the swamp where Tihk goes to from time to time,” Tsomah answered. “I know it’s him because he burns wood that’s not native to this area. A wood that burns white.”
“How—”
“It’s a long story, but trust me, he’s okay.”
“Are you home?”
“No. I’m at work.”
“Thank you,” she mouthed, disconnecting before Tsomah could reply.
She eyed Powaw who looked back at her with a pinched expression. “I’m sorry for yanking the phone from your hand,” she said, her eyes downcast.
“Kiyam, Kihci piyak,” Powaw said, taking her hand. “We all have moments of frustration.”
Pamoon hugged him for letting her know it was okay, and because he called her his special one. “You haven’t called me that since I was a little girl,” she whispered in his ear.
“You will always be special to me,” he said, “and you will always be my little girl. Even when you become the Kiche.”
Breaking the embrace, the two of them talked about what had transpired since they saw each other last. She asked Powaw about Tihk and if what Tsomah said was true.
“Eha, and he’ll be safe as long as he stays out of the woods.”
“What do you mean?”
“During my time in the lodge, I learned that Kanontsistonties and his demons only have power while in the woods. Since that’s where he was called forth by the ritual,” Powaw continued, “that is the only place he can dwell. If the demon leaves the woods, he and his followers will die.”
Pamoon thought back to what happened at Machk’s home. Hassun must have been trying to call forth Kanontsistonties, so he could enter the reservation.
“That makes sense,” she said, her statement a mere whisper as she nervously twisted her ring around her finger.
Pamoon half-heartedly listened as Powaw continued to speak of spirits, but her mind was on other things. “Do you know where this camp is that Tsomah mentioned? The one Tihk is at?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I do. Why?”
“I need to find him.”
“Why? He’s safe where he is.”
“I just do,” Pamoon said. “I’ve known Tihk since I was born, and I’ve never known him to sit still or wait for help. He’ll try and make it back home—to reenter the woods, I just know it.”
Powaw raised his eyebrows in agreement as he removed a piece of paper from a notebook and drew a map. Handing it to her, he said, “The only way to access the camp is through the woods. It will be risky.”
Pamoon’s expression brightened. “Not if I travel as Kahkakow.”
Powaw frowned. “Not a wise decision. The powers of the Yee Naaldlooshii are only to be used when embroiled in battle and only when no other options are available. The powers are fickle and the raven even more so.”
The light in her eyes dimmed as she slid the paper from his hand, sighing agreement, while exhaling through pursed lips.
Powaw stood motionless and stoic.
She folded the paper and stuffed it into her back pocket. Moving across the room, she stared out the window at the woods, gently stroking the feathers along Atahk’s back. Thinking aloud, Pamoon said, “If what you said about Kanontsistonties is true, then if I can find a way to lure him out of the woods, I can defeat him.”
She expected to hear Powaw agree, but he didn’t. He shook his head in dissension. “Kanontsistonties is too smart for that. The demon will send his henchmen. If you lure them from the woods,” he dropped his head in sorrow, “they will weaken like Bobby—in flesh as well as spirit.”
Pamoon slouched down next Powaw. “You mean my friends will die?
“Eha,” Powaw answered, affirming her question.
“Then how am I supposed to defeat Kanontsistonties?”
“You must draw him and his demons back to the netherworld and defeat them there. It’s the only way you will able to save the others and kill Kanontsistonties.” She felt him grip her hand. “But you have little time.”
“I know,” she said. “The new moon will peak in the sky in less than five days.”
Powaw nodded, but she knew he was holding something back. “What else did the spirits tell you?”
“Your spirit and intuition are strong,” he said, placing his hand over her heart, then her forehead. Raking his hand through her hair, he continued, “The spirits are fearful that Kanontsistonties’ influence over the weak builds with time. The longer the demon wanders this world, the stronger his attraction becomes. He will continue to draw people to the woods, just like he did Hassun.” Powaw hesitated before finishing. “Kanontsistonties’ hunger grows with its strength. It won’t stop until it has attained immortality.”
“Huh? Isn’t Kanontsistonties already immortal?”
“In some ways, yes. But its powers are not limitless.”
Pam
oon was fearful of the answer to her unasked question, but her curiosity got the best of her. “What would make Kanontsistonties’ powers limitless?”
Powaw broke eye contact and looked down.
“Tell me. I need to know,” she asked fidgeting with her ring.
“Ultimate power can only be obtained by garnering the blood of the Kiche.” He looked up at her, sadness in his eyes. “Your blood.”
She slouched deeper into the couch, bringing her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs, and twirling her ring. She waited for Powaw to speak, but he just stood, staring down at her.
Looking up, she asked, “Did the spirits tell you how I can lure him into the netherworld?”
“Namoya.”
“No? Then how—?”
Powaw pointed at Atahk. “By using what the Creator gave you. By using your powamow, your animal identity.”
Pamoon stood and walked into Powaw’s bedroom; coming back a moment later, she was clutching a necklace in her fist. She opened her hand for Powaw to see. “Before I went into the Spirit Cave for the first time, Nuna gave me this necklace and you gave me this dream catcher. I would be honored if you would place them around my neck, to bring me good luck.”
Powaw did as she asked.
Pamoon tucked them into the collar of her shirt and walked towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To the woods. To find Tihk and bring him home. Then to find Kanontsistonties and lure him back into the netherworld.”
“Be careful, little bird. The woods are no longer your home.”
She glanced at Atahk. “I’m no longer a little bird; I am Kahkakow, and I will use the wiles of the raven.”
Powaw grabbed her by the shoulders and bore into her a look of consternation. “The raven is a two-faced animal. Its’ spirit can be both good and evil. It will control you if you are not careful. Fear and doubt strengthen its dark side.”
A chill ran up her spine, remembering the petroglyph of the two-faced raven. Stars for eyes in one; black, hollow, holes in the next.
“It is what I choose,” she mouthed. “It’s my destiny. One I choose freely.”