I looked around for a stairway, a tunnel, a tree root I could climb down—all ways I’d entered the lower world previously. Nothing. I looked instead to the pool, and, on a whim, jumped.
The water was cold, thrilling, full of noise and air and light as we plummeted together down a long chute. Zip, rush, splash, and I was launched into … a circle.
I never knew what the middle world might look like once I reached it. I’d been in forests and deserts on these journeys. I’d been underwater or climbing rocks to the tops of mountains.
Now I stood in a simple, grassy place, surrounded by a stone circle. I knew this circle. I’d scried it that first night meeting the Sables. More recently, I’d dreamed of it. This time, I stood at its center, ocean breezes rushing through my hear, the cry of gulls in my ears, and I shivered because this wasn’t right.
I’d thought, from that scry, I was looking to a real place. That connection had led to meeting the druids. But real places in this middle world which most of us inhabit during the normal course of our human lives, do not exist in the lower world. You don’t go, say, to your own driveway when you visit the lower world.
Then again … we’d never found this exact circle. Was it unreal after all? Was it a spiritual fragment of the lower world all along? Then what was it doing in my journey?
No. I stopped myself.
Nana had told me—now Daniel had also told me—what one did and where one was in a journey was right. We could ask for help, ask for guidance, but one did not stand and ponder and question—or else one did not go on a journey at all.
I’m sorry, I said with a sigh, flexing my arms, rolling my neck, relaxing.
Here I was. Now. For a reason. That was what mattered.
All right. Clearheaded, calm, relaxed. I’d come with the intention of discovery, with a question I had to ask. Proceed.
I looked up, ready to ask for help, for my guide, for an answer to a question of life and death.
Instead, I caught my breath.
Before me, leaning on a standing stone, gazing out to sea, stood my sister.
I’d never seen a human being in a lower world journey either. This wasn’t our realm. But I didn’t ask. I only walked forward.
Melanie’s blue eyes were pensive, serious as she looked through what turned out to be a window fashioned there before her. I realized she was inside somewhere. I just happened to be seeing her here in the circle as a projection or superimposed mental image.
Mel? It’s good to see you. I miss you.
She didn’t look around.
Was this a longing for family in my own heart? A desire for openness and communication with those I loved, while we could never see eye to eye? So many things she might be representing for me. Again, I had to stop myself speculating and analyzing—simply go to her.
I stood at her back, looking through the same window, out into a field of blood, a row of graves, and a burning city skyline beyond.
No! I stumbled back, shocked, horrified, never having seen anything like it in such a place, sure now something had gone wrong: I wasn’t on a shamanic journey. I certainly hadn’t found myself in the lower world. Somehow, I’d jumped through that water into my own scrying.
I almost shouted allowed, momentarily aware of the rough blanket, the noise of the fire below the drums, my jacket over my eyes. I caught myself, remaining in the light trance state, only running from there, away from that circle, away from the stones, the sea, and my sister who had suddenly become part of the terror of seeing through that window.
I reached the cliff—the deadly edge that the coyote had laughed at me for fearing—and jumped.
Down, down, free fall into white, into open nothing, saltwater, darkness.
I climbed out onto a beach: red, hot sand, blue water reflecting the sky, a fresh wave of peace drifting over me. I hadn’t been in the lower world at all. I’d thought I reached it when I went down the water chute from the pool, but I’d stopped too soon, still in the middle world. This, without humans or blood, or any place I’d ever seen, was the lower world.
A crab scuttled across the sand at my naked toes. I sank to my knees on wet sand, hot and vividly red like bricks, not like any beach sand I’d ever seen.
Hello. I’m looking for a guide. Can you help me?
The crab scuttled on, creeping sideways as the tide threatened to wash it gently back into the ocean.
I looked around for someone else.
A sand-colored dingo with four white paws stood beside me.
I’ve never met a dingo before. Thank you for coming to me.
The dingo waited.
People in my world, the middle world, are being hurt; dying. I’m trying to help. Can you offer me any guidance?
The dingo sat and looked to his right. There were two joined fish in a tide pool. He looked to his left. There was a scorpion on a stone, black stinger arched over its back to strike.
I glanced to the crab, now waving its claws menacingly at the tide, as if challenging the ocean itself.
I understand who you represent for me. I looked again to the dingo. I don’t understand the message.
It was like this for me sometimes in the lower world—more visual and intuition than communicating with words. I didn’t feel frustrated. On the contrary, I was flattered by the number of creatures who had come forward to see me, as well as soothed by who they represented—the love they called up. I could wait patiently until either I understood or they communicated more.
I looked around, though, a bit distracted thinking of who was missing. Why these four? Why did Jason and Isaac have no voice in this little gathering?
I tried not to push or dwell on this, only relaxing again, long, slow breaths, feeling the waves around my feet with sound waves from the drumbeats.
The dingo touched his nose to the fish, the scorpion, the crab, then to me as I held out my hand to meet him.
We’re joined together? We’re connected?
No … that wasn’t it…
You know… I heard as if from the lapping waves, or messages in the sand, rather than the voices of any of these guides.
I know? What do I know? I opened my hands, tipped up my face, shut my eyes, allowed myself to be fully open to the message—vulnerable, free to understand.
You already know.
Nothing more.
I opened my eyes. The creatures were gone. I sat in the red sand and warm sea foam with only my red-eyed tree frog guide on my knee.
I know you. I know them. But I don’t…
She lifted one sticky orange hand from my knee and pressed a journal into my chest. A gift of light and symbolism. A diary, a record. History of self and others that is known.
I opened my mouth in a gasp just as the rhythm of the drumbeats changed. Daniel was calling us back.
I already know. Thank you.
I kept my gratitude open, the journal clutched to my chest, as I raced back into the ocean and caught a wave that lifted me once more to my pool. I climbed out at the waterfall in moonlight, wet but warm, still holding on, and walked into my own full presence with my body lying on the blanket by the fires and the rock wall and several dozen shifters.
The drumming stopped.
I opened my eyes, then pulled down the jacket, listening to the fires as all else was still for a minute or so.
Then people began to move, to sit up, whisper to one another.
Zar took my hand and I squeezed it. Jed sat up on my other side and shook his head, looking around as if he couldn’t remember where we were.
On Zar’s far side, Kage sat. Jason remained lying beside him, Andrew by him. Isaac lay at my head, chin on forepaws.
“Now, usually we invite the journeyers to share if, and only if, they wish to exchange some of their vision, gain insights into their experience from others, or simply tell their story,” Daniel said softly in the hush. He was sitting on a bench with his drum. “There are so many of us here tonight, let us speak up only if we’ve had some
connecting experience with the crisis our guests are facing. If any or all of your pack would like to share what you saw, you are welcome. I hope it was beneficial for you.”
There was a long hush, as tended to be in such circles.
Zar and I, then Andrew and Jason, along with most of those around us, slowly sat up.
After a time, a bear said, “I saw the raven, saying that to see danger is to create danger. Are your packs in-fighting?”
“They are beginning to,” I said quietly.
After another pause, a coyote said, “I went to a river and salmon came to me. There was an army of them, swimming upstream, moving an inch an hour, it seemed, but they got where they were going. You said this search is taking you longer than you would like. So it is for the salmon, for the migrating caribou or bird. They go anyway, and they get where they are going in the end.”
“Thank you, Sooma,” Daniel said.
“I saw tracks in the snow,” an old coyote said. “Paw prints beside boot marks, leading off into the horizon. If the time has come that shifter and human work together again, it is not only for ill. It is for good as well.”
“Thank you, Jacob.” Daniel nodded to him.
“I spoke with jaguar,” a swift fox said, the same male who’d spoken up earlier. “She says the pack hunts the herd, the solitary shadow hunts the solitary prey.”
“That is true,” Rema said. “My guide spun your images into her web.” She looked at us and I repressed a shiver at the idea of a spider guide. “Opposing your pack stands an equal pack. Perhaps you already know that you are not seeking a serial killer. You are seeking a band. I saw that much clearly. Were they a wolf pack or a human society? I cannot tell you.” She looked to Daniel.
“I visited green slopes and lonely, open mountain peaks,” Daniel answered her. “A red deer gave me a breath of sea air. A red squirrel gave me a piece of rough stone. A red fox gave me the number eight. Yet you … are seven.” He frowned thoughtfully at us. “Has one of your personal pack investigating this been killed already? Or remained behind?”
I shook my head, more than a little disconcerted by his casual “already” as I looked back. “Seven is the most we’ve been.”
“It could mean something else then. Eight is infinite, the most powerful number. I am sure it is a strong and positive sign, whatever it may mean. If you have a chance to surround yourself with the number eight you must do so.”
“I was sent with a message for you as well,” Si said, shifting her gaze from drawings on the rock wall to find my eyes. “The blue dragon of the north wind said all is within the circle.”
“Circle?” I felt a chill, wanting to ask more, but she wasn’t done.
“Then he painted the sky with a circle of peers in the true-seeing community.” She lifted her hand to the stone wall, the sleeve of her buckskin robe sliding back with a faint tap of stone beads. “The shifters, casters, vampires, kindred, and fringes of druids and shamans.”
“The magical community,” I said. “He was saying our enemy is within that sphere? No mundane vampire hunters, but a group of peers?”
“I believe so.” She again gazed into my eyes and I nodded.
It took me a moment in the fresh silence to glance at my companions. “Anyone want to share anything? It’s up to you.”
“I was in the mountains,” Kage said. “In a forest like this, but all quiet. No voices or fires or anything beyond a total wilderness. A pack of total wolves came past and I joined them. We went right on running through the forest like it was nothing, like it was every day. They didn’t speak or do anything like … give numbers or advise.” He trailed off as if uncomfortable all of a sudden that his own journey lacked the extra sparkle of someone who said a jaguar spoke to them or a squirrel gave them gifts.
“That’s all right,” I said. “They’re all different. You never know with a journey. Zar? Anything that felt relevant?”
“I was … on a beach. Or … above a beach on a cliff. Like when we went to Cornwall. There were many birds and … music.” Zar shook his head, ducking his chin so his long hair fell into his face. “I don’t know. It wasn’t like a … story. It was more a series of different images. I’ll have to think about it.”
“Want to make notes? Or sketch? You can use my notebook. I need to make some notes about my own.”
“That’s a good idea. What about you?”
They were all looking at me.
“I … have to think about that some more myself. But there was one thing, the most important, most clear message. I was told … that I already know.” I looked up, from Zar and Kage to Daniel, Rema, and Si’s intense eyes.
“Know what?” Zar asked.
“Know the answers already,” Rema said, cocking her head as she looked back.
“The killers are someone you already know?” Kage asked. “Or at least know of?”
Just like it had after Si’s words, the space around the wall and sinking fires and many thoughtful people fell silent.
I sat still a long time, looking beyond the coyotes into the fires, before it dawned on me that Kage’s question was not rhetorical.
At last, still to the fire, I answered. “Yes.”
Chapter 37
We stayed a long time with the coyotes that night. Clearly, no one had the slightest thought of a bedtime with these foreigners to sniff and stories to tell. And food.
Unlike British wolves, who, as far as I could tell, never ate so much as a pretzel communally if they could help it, the coyotes had more broth and dandelion tea to pass around, plus an array of delicacies which they shared to roast over the open fires.
Some of the company bid their goodbyes. The mountain lions in particular seemed an unsocial lot and took their leave. Others, including mothers with pups, many of the foxes, bobcats, and wolves, and a few bears, also began to drift away after midnight.
Still, several bears in both forms, black and brown, a few foxes, and dozens of coyotes, also in both forms, remained at the gathering.
After long discussions of our troubles and journeys, I offered them the chance to say what it was they wanted in trade. Since what they wanted was knowledge, this was a bit difficult.
A few old coyotes started grilling me about scrying—ascertaining how scrying was different from journeys, how my magic was different from coyote fringe magic.
They demanded demonstrations of my manipulating fire, air, and light around us, to which they seemed much impressed, not to mention capitulating that yes, what I was doing was different from what they did. Magic demos alarmed some of the natives and we lost a few more bears and wolves after that. The coyotes, on the other hand, found both myself and my pack intriguing. The females in particular enjoyed the accents of Andrew, Kage, Jason, and Zar, going out of their ways to sit or stand near them as everyone was resettling around the fires with the newly arrived food brought by several young males.
They continued to ask us questions, not only me, for their trade.
I’d skipped dinner, while the pack had now gone twenty-four hours since their comatosing feast, and we were all glad for the snacks they provided.
With pocket knives, the coyotes graciously sharpened sticks for us, peeling back the bark, then showed us around the trays they set out on log platforms.
Bread of all kinds in cubes and thick slices, butter and honey, Vienna sausages, tiny smoked sausages, raw shrimp, cheese cubes, quartered peaches and apples, chunks of pineapple, strawberries, individually wrapped soft caramels, graham crackers, chocolate hazelnut spread, many, many bags of marshmallows, and more met us for the repast with broth and tea.
The coyotes, bears, and others, grabbed and roasted away, feeding themselves and their friends and family who were in fur. It was clearly not the custom to dive into the trays raw, therefor there was no rabid beast type of explosion at sight of the food and the whole thing was tempered with the slow pace needed for roasting.
I’d never roasted a peach over a fire, but they quickl
y became my new favorite food. I was also feeding Isaac and Jed, who remained to each side of me while I stood at the fire with the questioning coyotes.
Those cheese cubes roasted with apple were pretty damn good also. All rather like a fondue dinner, only with a roaring fire instead of a tiny pot.
Si brought a second stick to feed the furred wolves. Zar eventually noticed and also gave Jed some bread, apple, and sausages. But those peaches…
The bears rather monopolized the honey and chocolate nut spread, gobbling a vast quantity of marshmallows as well. These, however, were so plentiful, it seemed everyone present could practically have their own bag.
I shared a precious peach quarter with Isaac but he did not join my enthusiasm. If anything, the look, and tail tap, he gave me after swallowing was of a “patient” nature.
“Fine. If you don’t like them—Jason—”
Jason flinched and withdrew from the nearest tray. He did not, however, glance my way or return any of the two fistfuls of shrimp he’d snatched from it. Did he have some in his pockets?
Kage, who had as much of a sweet tooth as Andrew, was enjoying the fruit. I didn’t get to recommend the peaches because Kage was also busy with a gaggle of interested young coyotes. He had a personal magnetism about him that crossed species lines just as it did gender barriers.
Zar, Jason, and Andrew—especially the latter—were getting their own share of attention. Most rolled along, or encouraged, but Zar was uncomfortable. He hovered around me, even through magic demonstrations, often touching—such as a hand on my waist—and seemed determined to convince all present females that he was spoken for.
Why? Obviously, our relationship was open. I wasn’t offended if he talked up some of this bunch as Kage and Andrew were doing. Anyway, I’d have been a total Hypocrite with a capital H if I had. Surely Zar understood that.
Was he unsure how to proceed? With me he’d launched right in with beautiful metaphors, quotes, and captivating invitations the night we’d met. Yet, had I ever seen Zar around other females? Only a few friends in his own pack, really. Was he a bit shy after all? Or was he trying to prove something to me? His own devotion and loyalty?
Moonlight Journey: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Witch and the Wolf Pack Book 6) Page 24