Silent Prey

by TM Simmons

  "Then what can we do with her?" Keoman demanded, although his voice fell into softness as he looked at Nenegean and the grave.

  "You can do it," Gagewin said. "You have the gift to allow her to join her children."

  Keoman hesitated as he glanced over at Nenegean, then back at Gagewin. "I don't know if I —"

  "You can't if you lack confidence," Gagewin interrupted. "Confidence and faith are part of your gifts."

  "It's been too long. I need to find myself again first. Go off alone to seek guidance."

  Gagewin moved close to Keoman. "There is no time. You overcame the last migraine on your own, through your teachings."

  "That was entirely different. It only affected me and my problems. This will take a much higher power. One I haven't been able to find in myself for a long while."

  Gagewin stared into Keoman's eyes. "You must trust yourself and your inner gift. The gift you have spent your lifetime strengthening. You're right that this is something for a much higher good than one lone man."

  Keoman's shoulders slumped. Channing touched his arm and slid her gloved hand into his. "Keoman, it's time to trust yourself and your gift again."

  The silence stretched as she and Gagewin allowed Keoman time to think. At first, Channing thought he would ignore all their urging and leave. Finally, he squeezed her hand, then dropped it and looked up at the sky. He whispered some words Channing didn't understand, then stood silently.

  Gagewin walked a few feet to the side of Keoman and motioned Channing to join him. She reluctantly obeyed the tribal chairman, which left Keoman close to the entity and her too far away to intervene. Whatever Gagewin and Keoman had in mind was far beyond any knowledge she could add to theirs. She could only trust the men and forget her suspicion that they might only be getting her away from Nenegean so they could destroy her. From where they stood, she could at least see the expressions on the faces of both the man and the entity.

  Keoman motionlessly stared at the sky for a full five minutes, Channing grew more and more certain he was only gathering the strength to tell them of his failure. At last, she gave up her hope in him and took a step.

  Gagewin grabbed her arm firmly, although he didn't say a word.

  Another minute passed before Keoman dropped his gaze from the sky and looked at Nenegean.

  "Waweikum!" he called. "Ondaas!"

  "What did he say?" Channing whispered.

  "He asked her to come to him."

  For a long moment, Nenegean didn't move. Finally, she glanced over at Keoman, but remained at the grave. Rather than insist the entity obey, Keoman raised his hands toward the sky once more and began to sing. His voice rang in the clearing, full of confidence and authority. The atmosphere around them stilled in a silence so deep Channing didn't dare move. It felt as though she might break the air into pieces if she did.

  Keoman continued to sing words she didn't understand. Each time he paused and began again, she could tell it was a different verse.

  Nothing happened at first, and she lost herself in the soothing vibration surrounding them. At last Nenegean stood and hesitantly glided closer to Keoman. He dropped his arms but went on with what had now become a slow, quiet chant.

  Keoman stopped chanting at last and faced Nenegean. Channing could only hear a low murmur in the Old Language and pick out one word. Keoman called her Waweikum now.

  "What's he telling her?" she whispered again.

  "Watch," Gagewin said with a smile. "You will see."

  She looked back at where Keoman and Waweikum stood and gasped. During the instant she hadn't been looking, the Native American woman had changed. She was beautiful, her hair flowing down her back in black ripples, her clothing soft and lovely, the beading on it shining and sparkling in the light …

  …a light that formed on the edge of the woods beyond the grave, a place Keoman pointed at to direct Waweikum's attention. The expression on the woman's face mirrored a delight at something Channing couldn't see. Then she could have sworn she heard a child's voice. Denial swept through her until another childish shout joined the first.

  Then she could see what Waweikum saw.

  The two children skipped out of the light and waved at their mother. The little girl appeared to be around three years old, and she carried a baby in her arms. The little boy was probably two. His legs were chubby and he frolicked around his sister.

  Tears streamed down Waweikum's face, and Channing wiped at her own cheeks. The woman hesitated and looked up at Keoman instead of rushing toward her children. The mental communication between her and Channing was still in place, and she heard Waweikum ask, I can go?

  "Yes," Keoman told her in a firm voice. "It is your place now."

  She flew across the snow and swooped the children into her arms. The boy and girl greeted her with shouts of, "Nimaamaa! Nimaamaa!"

  "Mother," Channing whispered.

  Gagewin choked out "Yes," in response, his voice also conveying a profound happiness.

  Not wanting to miss a second of what was happening on the edge of the woods, Channing kept her focus on the reunited family even when Keoman walked over and slipped his arm around her waist. Gagewin took her other hand, and the three of them waited silently as Waweikum stood with her children in her arms. Her gaze connected with Channing's across the clearing.

  "Miigwech," she said, and although it was a word Channing hadn't studied, she heard thank you in her mind, then, You are a wonderful woman. I wish you happiness and a good life.

  Waweikum then glanced at both Keoman, then Gagewin, and called, "Miigwech."

  After a last look at Channing, she turned and walked through the light.

  The golden glow shimmered for only a second more before it faded and disappeared. Overhead, gray clouds floated together and softly drifting snowflakes filled the air.

  Gagewin sniffed and dropped Channing's hand to walk away a few feet. She suspected the Elder wanted to hide the tears he couldn't keep back any longer. She glanced up at Keoman, and he didn't bother to wipe the tear track on his cheek. Instead, he smiled down at her.

  "Wow," Channing said before he could speak. "When your abilities return, they come back in a significant way."

  "Yeah," he said. "And it feels damn good."

  She tilted her head at him. "I can think of something else that feels good."

  "What's that?"

  "How would you like to see my etchings in my new office in Neris Lake?"

  "You don't have any etchings yet."

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Then it shouldn't take us that long to look at them. And with no one else there right now, we'd have privacy. I've never made love on an exam table."

  He threw back his head and laughed. When his amusement died, he said, "I'd already decided to tolerate the Texas heat in order to see you as often as possible. But I'll be honest. I'm glad you'll only be a short drive away, rather than a plane ride."

  "Me, too, love. Me, too."

  THE END

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  Winter Prey,

  Northwood Prey, Book 1

  Excerpt

  It stirred. Sniffed. Then waited patiently until the long-dormant senses sharpened.

  Cold. The bitter temperature penetrated through the thick fur.

  Yet…not that cold. Not cold enough. The familiar frigidness of the giticmanidogizis month was missing.

  It stretched one cramped leg, turned over and sought the drowsiness prior to sleep and the deadened waiting time again.

  Something called. Faint. Persistent.

  It ignored the
summons. For centuries It had known when to hunt, when to rest. Nothing controlled the hunting seasons except Its own inner senses. The time was not right.

  The summons came again. Its eyes opened and focused on the rock wall of the cave. Maybe…had the long-awaited time finally arrived?

  That barely recalled emotion — hope — moved It to a sitting position, feet planted on the icy cave floor, arms hanging between splayed knees. Muscles needing food balked when It tried to rise. There was one meal left from the last waking period….

  Eyes capable of vision in the dark scanned the cave, down the tunnel to the storeroom entrance, to where the first wakening meal waited. Always one left. Moldering and stringy by now, the blood dead and pooled, but enough of a body to fuel the first hunt in a new season. The hunts after that would feed the powers until they were full-force, and they would continue that way until Its thirst for revenge was satisfied for another four decades. Until inner instinct once again led It back to the lair.

  It forced itself onto shaky legs and shambled to the cave opening rather than the storeroom. There It gathered enough strength to push aside the boulder across the entrance. Hardwood trees rose stark and leafless against a gray sky, dark-green pines the only color. Nothing marred the snowdrifts other than small animal and bird prints. Larger animals steered clear of Its cave; had for centuries.

  The far off brrrrr of sound reached Its highly-attuned ears. It frowned as Its head jerked toward the noise, but the thing breaking the deep silence was even too far away for Its sharp vision.

  It despised each new thing the prey devised during Its sleeping periods. For eons, only dogs pulling sleds had carried the prey through this wild land. Then It began to notice new wooden shelters built so close together a shout could be heard from one to the other. Later, the buildings lined up closer, mirroring the campsites Its people had settled their nasaogans in. Three seasons ago, when forced to track prey close to a group of those wooden shelters, It had encountered a strange, stinking beast. The thing rolled along a new iron path that scarred the land on four round black wheels, belching out a poisonous odor, a human steering it as it pulled numerous other four-wheeled conveyances.

  The next hunt, metal birds appeared in the sky, small ones with one or two humans inside them. The hunt after that, huge ones were sighted, and keen vision allowed It to see the belly full of men, women, even babies.

  This early morning scene today confirmed the suspicion It had awakened early. A rabbit skittered away, snow flying, fur a light tan shade, not the pure white needed for invisibility in the deep winter months. The drifts were soft, not hard-packed with a firm skin from melt and re-melt. In the far expanse stood a doe, slim belly not yet filling out with fawn.

  The manidogizisons month, not giticmanidogizis, when this existence began. Buried memories from another time told It the accustomed waking month, the one of heavier, silent snows, was still a few weeks away.

  Jagged ice flows, shaped by waves tossing in the windy days of early winter, fanned outward from the shoreline of the massive lake near the lair. But clear vision recognized the lack of ice depth in the middle. Not safe to cross until the coming bitter giticmanidogizis month worked weather magic.

  It could be out there in the middle to test the depth in a second. No need to stay long enough for Its weight to threaten the ice. Not yet, though. No sense wasting Its present strength in that sort of flash movement. Later would be soon enough.

  It should also wait until later to eat, gain strength and surface for this hunt. Only one meal remained. Too early and the season would catch It unprepared for the next length of sleep. It moved the boulder back in place and retraced the path to the dry leaf and pine bough bed.

  No. Now. Eat now.

  It stared around, brows lowered in a frown of suspicion. Nothing could be in here. It detected no unrecognized smell, saw no stir of a shadow. The words came from nothing visible. Did not even sound, except inside Its head. This had to be the summons It had waited season after season for. The hope of finding proof that could decide Its final path.

  It shuffled past the deep body dent in the bed, on down the tunnel. No door, only a crack in the wall barely large enough for the huge being It had become. On the other side, the cave room spread wide, filled with spears pointing down from the ceiling and up from the stone floor, here and there a familiar one an inch or so longer, or higher, than when It first entered this half-death, half-existence. It remembered. Its survival depended on memories.

  Human skeleton bones crunched under Its feet, some broken from previous trips to the inner lair, others eroded to near dust. Fresher ones — those from the last season — still retained a slight smell from bits of gristle left uneaten.

  But Its nose twitched not at the old smells. Instead, It searched for the set-aside carcass, the one left to begin the new season.

  Something else, though. Something fresher. Too fresh. New blood. It hadn't smelled that odor in forty years, not since It hung the last two human carcasses from descendants of the age-old enemy, fed on one, saved the other.

  T. M. Simmons

  Bio and Contact Info

  T. M. Simmons lives in a haunted house located in historical East Texas, with her family, pets and several paranormal residents. When not writing, she loves to travel and explore both off-the-beaten-paths and tourist sites. If ghosts happen to be roaming around where she visits, it delights her immensely.

  Simmons is also lead investigator/founder of Supernatural Researchers of Texas (SRT), a team of paranormal investigators whose motto is: Leave Peace Behind. SRT members are dedicated to researching the paranormal and assisting clients who have problems with troublesome ghosts.

  Web Sites:

  http://www.iseeghosts.com

  http://www.sroftx.com

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/tranam.simmons

  Blog: http://www.iseedeadfolks.blogspot.com

  Twitter: @TMSimmonsauthor

  Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/TMSimmons

  Email: ghostie@swbell.net

  For Romance:

  Web Site: http://www.tranamaesimmons.com

  Email: ghostie@swbell.net

  Acknowledgements

  I'm always amazed at how people share so freely when an author needs assistance for some key point in her story. Silent Prey came together with lots of this help, and I'm very grateful to the people who shared their knowledge with me as I wrote Silent Prey.

  Judy Gardner, RN, was a wonderful help in medical issues. She's a fantastic home health nurse, and her patients are lucky to have her care.

  Mary Kennedy is an author extraordinaire, and she called on her years as a staff psychologist in a forensic unit to help me make my pedophile the totally evil person men like him truly are. Mary's books are on the other end of the spectrum, perhaps as a different focus in her life. I'm enjoying her Dream Club Mysteries a lot. You can find them on Mary's web site at http://www.marykennedy.net/.

  An author also depends on her initial readers to help her catch any problems in the manuscript before she publishes it. Thank you Angela Rogers, Amanda Guzman, and Karla Lang. Amanda's wonderful story "Ghosts" is available at Footprints and other bookstores.

  Angela also gets a double thank you for the excellent cover on Silent Prey and all the other great covers she has done for me. You can see samples of her work at: http://gostudios-angela.blogspot.com.