Seeing her, Keir lost his spiritual contact with the new moon, and his jaw went slack. The awkward teen he remembered had transformed into a graceful and beautiful woman. How had five years changed her so much? How had he not noticed the budding powers and charms of his teacher’s daughter until now?
Although the feather passed to other speakers, Keir’s gaze remained fixed on Unole. He marveled at how the firelight and starlight took turns kissing the curves of her nose and cheeks.
After Chuquilatague closed the night’s observance, participants expressed thanks to both him and Keir. Unole also received a line of well-wishers, and the tinkle of her distant laughter commanded Keir’s attention—sometimes to the distraction of those speaking near him.
When the bonfire was dampened, Keir started from his daze, surprised that most of the participants had departed.
The last couple of tribe members engaged Unole, while Chuquilatague, with a swelled chest and a chuckle, approached Keir. “She’s more in demand than I am now, grown into her powers and a fine young woman.”
“I can see that—and your pride is obvious even by this dim starlight.”
They shared a hearty laugh, and after thanking the helpers, Chuquilatague led Keir to the porch. His teacher paused at the base of the steps and scanned the sky, whether to muster strength to ascend or read something in the spirit world was unclear.
Unole waved goodbye to the visitors as she joined her father and Keir.
With Chuquilatague focused on the heavens, Keir took a half step forward to greet her, then froze. Words formed but stuck in a muddled mess within his mouth. What should he say to someone possessing such power, grace, and beauty? With the awkwardness growing by the second, he thrust out his hand. “Thank you is not enough.”
She briefly slipped soft fingers against his. “You are wrong—the reward of being able to help others again is thanks enough.”
“Are you doing—” Keir wanted to ask about her health. A blush rising across her cheeks tied his tongue.
Thankfully, Chuquilatague looked down and broke the growing silence with a chuckle. “The starlight is not so dim as you might think: it speaks loudly. Though maybe your ears, Keir, are filled with sounds more pleasant than the voices of stars.”
Too late, Keir faced deeper shadows in the direction of the woods, in an attempt to hide whatever might be visible with the rush of heat rising up his neck.
Unole touched her hand over an escaped, soft giggle.
“I can’t understand why the Coyote Stars are out tonight.” The wise man gestured for them to view the display. “Even with the dark of a new moon, this is not the correct time of year: it is indeed a sign.”
“What do they say to you, father?” Unole asked.
“They remind me of the importance of animals: how in the beginning of all things, wisdom and knowledge belonged only to them. The Great Spirit did not speak directly to men; he sent specific animals as messengers to tell men they must learn from the beasts, the stars, the sun, and moon. The Coyote seems overeager to teach us.” His gaze shifted between daughter and student. “Does this lesson apply to either of you?”
Both nodded and Unole said, “The Coyote Stars have been speaking to me, sending messages from Keir’s coyote who is in danger.”
“Waapake? The pup I gave you? What’s wrong?”
“He’s been stolen,” Keir replied. “I’ve come to figure out how to get him back.”
Chuquilatague stroked his chin. “I’m confident we will be successful because I now better understand what I just read: Great Coyote intends to use Waapake as his messenger. Both of you must open to the lessons he will teach you or Waapake will perish from this earth.”
Chapter Ten: Wild Chicory
Desperate to know what the Great Coyote wished to teach him, Keir glanced at the Milky Way of Coyote Stars from the rail of Chuquilatague’s porch.
The teacher lumbered up the steps and toward his door. Keir opened his mouth to question him but reconsidered. The wise man’s evening habits included retiring early. To show deference, Keir waited in silence; his presence would serve as enough encouragement.
Standing on the steps, Unole seemed torn between following her father and remaining with Keir.
Chuquilatague gripped the knob of the cabin’s front door and peered over his shoulder. A smile teased one corner of his mouth. He enjoyed teaching them patience. With forced directness, he said, “Tomorrow. We’ll talk in the morning. All will keep until then.” He glanced toward his daughter.
She hesitated and faced Keir. Her tense expression revealed conflict between the honor she was required to pay her father and the pursuit of her own wishes.
Keir held her gaze and briefly laid a hand over hers resting on the railing. A gesture he hoped at least showed he understood her dilemma—though maybe more, about how amazing and pretty and talented he found her. He struggled to remove his hand from the intoxicating warmth of hers. He flashed her a smile, gave a nod to his teacher, then moved away from the porch to his car.
After the short drive to his own guest cabin, he paused at his driver’s door and studied the Coyote Stars, several twinkling with unusual brilliance. Were they trying to communicate? Exhausted from the long drive earlier that day, he ruled out a mental journey to the Upper World to speak directly to the Great Coyote. Despite Keir’s tiredness, his chances of success would have been improbable; like Chuquilatague said, those spirits preferred to speak to humans through animals. Under Keir’s recent stress, his power animal had been as inaccessible as Waapake. How could Keir access that vital lesson? Unable to find a logical way, his mind dissolved into a blur with visions of Unole glowing in her white doeskin as she did at the new moon ceremony.
Cold nipping his face and hands, prompting him back to reality, he went inside and prepared for bed. He needed sleep since his work with Chuquilatague to retrieve Waapake would begin at sunrise.
Keir flicked off the bedside lamp and settled into the warm, wool blankets Awenasa had provided. Despite weariness dragging on his eyelids, the energy of new beginnings from tonight’s moon observance enlivened his thoughts. The clock on the nightstand read only eight. Too early for his normal bedtime. His body, no matter how tired, refused to relax. He picked up a light-hearted novel he’d unpacked beside the lamp. Under the dim bulb’s haze, he read the opening of the next chapter. The content leaked from his brain as if it were a sieve; he reread and, still, the plot didn’t latch onto him. Instead, his mind strayed to what the Great Coyote might say. After another failed attempt with the book, Keir tossed it and the covers aside.
He rose and padded across creaky wooden planks to the fireplace. Recalling how the bonfire’s flames soothed him during the New Moon ceremony, how the talking circle bolstered his faith that good would prevail, he opened the flue and lit the kindling.
Once the twigs popped with orange bursts and yellow fiery tongues licked the logs, he dropped into the rocking chair and set his mind adrift.
Sometime later, he jerked awake—head slumped sideways with a stiff crunch in his neck. A few embers smoldered in the grate, not enough to ward off the cold air rushing down the chimney. A shiver jolted through him. As he moved to the bedroom, a twinge stabbed from neck to shoulder. The bed’s cold sheets offered no relief from the cramped muscle. He pulled the blanket close and rechecked the clock. At least he’d managed a couple hours of rest in the rocker.
The remainder of the night passed fitfully, his sleep tormented by unanswered questions about Waapake, Adara, and Unole. Keir gave up and rose an hour before dawn.
Desperate for caffeine, he made a cup of extra-strong black tea, which helped, but not enough. He needed what Awenasa called her black-as-a-snarling-bear coffee. From his front window, he peeked through tree limbs at her dark home and waited. Fifteen minutes later, inviting yellow light shone from her kitchen. When a ribbon of smoke curled from her chimney, he headed over.
***
Bolstered with a hot breakfast of eg
gs, sausage, homemade muffins with apple butter, and several cups of Awenasa’s home-ground brew, Keir drove into the pink of sunrise to Chuquilatague’s.
When Keir parked, his teacher beckoned him from the cabin’s back door. “Come in. Be welcomed.”
Keir stomped snow from his boots on the stoop and shrugged them and his parka off at a bench just inside.
“Did Awenasa feed you?” Chuquilatague asked as he picked up a steaming mug. “Can I offer you anything? Tea or coffee?”
“No, I’m stuffed. Awenasa does breakfast in a big way.” Keir laughed and followed to the sitting room. The place looked much the same as he remembered, except a new blanket covered the couch’s upholstery, worn through years ago, and an overstuffed chair had newly acquired the same treatment. Despite limitations of his teacher’s age and the fact his wife had passed, the house appeared clean and tidy—possibly owing to Unole’s care since she still lived there.
Groaning, Chuquilatague lowered into the draped chair. “Take a seat. We have much to discuss. Though I know you come with great and grave needs, I am filled with joy to see you. To be able to help you makes my heart full like the brooks breaking their banks with water from winter’s melting snow.” He positioned an uncooperative knee upon the chair’s footrest. “I was not surprised by your visit to us. I heard of your coming many sleeps earlier, in my dream journeys.”
Keir almost stumbled into his seat on the sofa. Had his mentor also witnessed the trap of Adara’s nightmare, her dark playground? A lump lodged in Keir’s throat. He’d planned to tell Chuquilatague all about his involvement with that woman, talk through the dilemma he didn’t feel comfortable revealing to his friends.
Now, after meeting Unole, everything had changed. Even if he wouldn’t encounter her much in the future, he respected her and wanted her to think well of him. Didn’t want her to judge him by acts he regretted. However, he was desperate for guidance to outwit Adara. “I’m honored to have a connection to you through our dreams, and also through your daughter. Unole used her magic—her windsong—to show me how to get Waapake back. I have no doubts about her method, but the person who stole him—”
“The witch woman Adara can be very cruel, I know.” Chuquilatague gave a solemn nod. “And you must stand strong against her.”
Keir gripped the sofa’s arm. How had his mentor known the identity of Waapake’s captor? The question reached his tongue—he swallowed it back when a white floral scent wafted into the room, announcing Unole’s presence. Had she heard her father’s mention of Adara just now? Heat rushed up Keir’s neck, burned along his clenched jaw as Unole passed by.
“May I join you?” She looked from him to her father as she made her way—floated with the grace of a young doe—to a wooden chair across a small table from where he sat.
Keir almost blurted out yes but stopped, waiting for their elder to respond first—though her presence did make Keir more uneasy about the direction of the conversation.
“Of course.” Her father met her gaze. “We will benefit from your capable mind.”
With the front of her hair swept into a braid, her open face revealed happiness in both her eyes and smile that caused Keir’s heart to hammer. She selected a book from the side table, crossed her long legs, accentuated by tight jeans, and tucked them underneath her seat.
“Keir.” A knowing look crossed Chuquilatague’s face as he waited for his student’s acknowledgement. “In order to outwit your coyote’s captor, you must keep only one thing in mind: all things in the world are two. In our minds, we are two: good and evil. We see things in two clear ways: things that are good and those that are evil. We have a right hand that strikes out in acts of evil, and we have a left hand full of kindness and compassion. One foot may lead us on a path toward evil. The other foot may take us to do good. Both limbs, both routes, are always available: all things are two.”
“Thank you for your guidance.” Keir faced Unole. “That’s like your message about finding the right path.”
She beamed. “There’s always an option for peace and happiness with every step we take; you must be able to see both paths to know where to place your feet.”
“Well said, my daughter.” Chuquilatague rewarded her with a slight smile, then continued addressing Keir. “I sense your struggle in trusting your ability to follow the right path. Why? What clouds your judgement?”
Keir picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his pant leg, not wanting to respond in front of Unole. “After the summer I studied with you, my father died. I stepped away when …” His voice broke, the words lost. Finally, he managed a raspy whisper. “I could have prevented it.”
His mentor leaned forward, eyes set on Keir. “In that same year, I lost my wife, Unole’s mother. I know the language of grief, but that language should not be practiced; grief must be released. Misfortunes happen to the wisest and best of men. Death will come; it is natural and cannot be planned. It is the command of the Great Spirit. We must obey. Misfortunes are not particular to our lives, yours or mine; they grow everywhere. Do not hold that grief close to your chest, for it will become guilt and eat at you like a cancer.”
“Yes. I admit I have allowed that to happen.” Keir looked away. “I … I made mistakes, and am now paying the price. Or Waapake is.”
Chuquilatague stared at him for several long moments with an inscrutable smile that made Keir squirm.
The wise man’s eyes widened—wild, black pools rimmed in white—as if affecting some penetrating magic. Could he read the secrets Keir had buried? Witches from the Hollow required great skill with complex spells, potions, or allied spirits to read minds. The native shaman did possess unique powers, far beyond the scope of Keir’s training.
He fidgeted, tracing edges of the crystal talismans hanging from his neck. If he blurted out something about his past involvement with Adara, a more or less meaningless morsel, would that end this scrutiny?
While considering what and how much to reveal, he registered a mysterious aroma—rich, dark, and aromatic. He sniffed to gain a better sampling, but the air held only traces of lingering burnt sage and musky animal furs and hides. When he returned to normal, shallow breathing, the unknown scent returned. He flicked his gaze to the wise man, who still perused him.
Though Chuquilatague’s expression had relaxed, again unreadable, his right hand now clamped the armrest of his chair, fingers curled, knuckles blanched.
Making eye contact, Keir noticed something soft brushing against both sides of his mind, from inside the temples to behind his ears. He started to flinch and sucked in a breath to arrest his movement.
Chuquilatague remained placid, yet his nails gouged the upholstery.
Keir froze stock-still, analyzing the odd poking inside his skull, as if by an eagle’s flight feather, alternately tickled and poked with both vane and shaft. Every fiber of his being worked to trust his teacher’s unusual methods.
With his breath barely fluctuating, the strange aroma returned, this time filling Keir’s head—roasted wild chicory, a common wildflower often used to unbar physical locks. Coon Hollow witches, those skilled in herbology, would gather together in total silence at midnight of Midsummer’s eve and use gold knives to harvest baskets of the weedy plant. No witch he could recall used the plant for tasks beyond opening boxes or doors. Chuquilatague was employing its power to unbolt and read minds—how?
The brushing sensation intensified to a gentle scraping. From the fibrous ends of the stems? Motionless, Keir was afraid to even breathe or make the slightest movement that could terminate his brain, shred every memory of his past and hope for his future—or even kill him. He suspected Chuquilatague’s powers were vast, but this ability went beyond Keir’s estimations. His trust wavered—was he overreacting? Wondering about Unole’s reaction, he slid his eyes to one side, in her direction.
She was either unaware or unaffected, pouring over an open book in her lap. If Keir could manage to move and draw her attention, would she be startled, eve
n frightened, or accept her father’s technique as commonplace and compassionate?
Undecided and unable to test for an answer, he pressed the point of a talisman’s crystal into a fingertip. Its sharpness jolted his perspective, and he clung to threads of trust. Head fixed, he dropped his eyes down to the carnelian stone in his palm and understood the reason for his sudden clarity. Until now, he’d been unsure whether the gem did any good to counteract doubt and negative ideas, silence anger, and bolster courage, as was intended.
To perhaps aid Chuquilatague’s mental probing, Keir relaxed his bunched shoulders and tight face, best he could—though he kept his mouth clamped against any secrets that might escape. Chuquilatague knew him well, both his shortcomings and strengths. The cost for exposing a few more indiscretions to his teacher was far less than doing so with Unole. The thought of her learning the worst about him before anything else ran down Keir’s throat like bitter poison.
At last, after what felt like several long minutes, the wise man stirred in his seat.
Both the chicory fragrance and the scraping against Keir’s mind ceased. He slumped back into the couch, hand still clamped on the carnelian.
Chuquilatague rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, then casually deferred to his daughter. “Your opinions from a female’s viewpoint?”
With hands neatly folded over her book, she reported to him, as if answering her own test question. “To lessen those consequences to himself and to Waapake, avoiding darkness and evil, he must walk in peace, accept peace.”
“A well-thought response—peace is indeed the correct trail. Does that make sense to you, Keir?”
Mentally spent, words for a response escaped him. He nodded, relieved that his head moved freely without any internal obstruction.
Witch's Windsong (Coon Hollow Coven Tales Book 5) Page 9