Spirits Collide Read online

  Spirits Collide

  An Evil Awakened Novel

  J.M. LeDuc

  Copyright © 2018 J.M. LeDuc

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical or ethnic events/traditions, locales, real people, living or dead, are used fictitiously and are a product of the author’s imagination.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the author.

  Cover Design: Story Wrappers/KD Ritchie

  To my wife, Sherri, whose compassion and sacrifice for others is far greater than any I could imagine. Thank you for the example you set, and for your love.

  To my daughter, Chelsea, whose spirit lives within Pamoon. You are a warrior and a Kiche.

  To the First Peoples of this country, you inspire me with your spirit of peace, respect, and inclusiveness.

  To God. Everything I strive to be is because of you!

  Contents

  Quote

  1. Ayas

  2. Pamoon

  3. Rebirth

  4. Choctaw Little People

  5. Sweat Lodge

  6. Watchers

  7. The Valley’s First Visitors

  8. Understanding

  9. Hunger

  10. Gathering

  11. Lessons

  12. Peyote

  13. Visions

  14. Sword of Truth

  15. Family

  16. Secrets

  17. Fear and Remembrance

  18. Woods

  19. The Watcher

  20. Spirit World

  21. Spirit Cave

  22. Spirit Mount

  23. Kowi Anukasha

  24. Kwanokasha

  25. Celia

  26. Stories and Truths

  27. Blade of Fire

  28. Confrontation

  29. Ayas

  30. Misty Woods

  31. Revelations

  32. A New Reality

  33. Further Revelations

  34. The Great White North

  35. Ice

  36. Home

  37. Seminole Doubt

  38. Owl Women

  39. Valley of Blood

  40. Life and Death

  41. Wendigo

  42. Fire

  43. Ayam

  44. Ice

  45. Consequences

  46. Mist

  47. Broken Hearts

  48. Blood Oath

  49. Rage

  50. Promise Fulfilled

  51. New Beginning

  Cherokee Proverb

  The Kiche Chronicles

  Acknowledgments

  Also By The Author

  About the Author

  Humankind has not woven the web of life.

  We are but one thread within it.

  Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves.

  All things are bound together.

  All things connect.

  —Chief Seattle

  1

  Ayas

  Sunrise on Christmas morning, life along the valley floor of the Blue Ridge Mountains deep in Cherokee territory, stilled to the point of stagnation. The constant chirping of birds, rustling of rodents, and movement of game seemed non-existent. Maybe it was it was the sun breaking over the horizon, or maybe nature understood the reverence of the day, but most likely it was the cool, musky wind that began to blow moments earlier.

  All who called this valley and its surrounding mountains home, stood in awe of the wind that now blew in the middle of the glen. The wind swept in a circular motion, picked up the earth’s moisture, and blended its ingredients until all eyes looked upon a small funnel cloud. The faster it spiraled, the richer the birch scent. As nature watched, the swirling juggernaut solidified until it took the shape of a man. When the winds mellowed, the twister unwound, and the figure, now more flesh than air, pointed his feet and lightly touched down.

  The morning dew, frosted over from the remnants of the cold night air, would have chilled an ordinary man, but this being was impervious to temperature or weather. Even in late December, he wore nothing but a pair of buckskin pants; his torso bare—his chest and arms etched in muscularity, scarred from battles won and lost—his face painted in streaks of white and ash. As the wind ceased, his hair, soft as silk, thick as wool, fell past his shoulders. Its black gloss mirrored by the rising sun caused curious onlookers to blink away from the intrusive reflection.

  The newcomer breathed a peaceful sigh that fell upon those who hid in the surrounding trees and brush. Stepping out from beyond their hiding places, the animals bowed in reverence to the one in front of them.

  Ayas, the young brave known as the Wandering Spirit, stood in the center of the valley and eyed his surroundings and those who prostrated themselves in his presence. With a pursing of his lips, he blew a thank you which reached all as a gentle kiss of a breeze. Ayas lifted his arms, his palms open to the sky, and let nature know to rise. The animals—big and small—rose but continued to line the rim of the mountainous bowl.

  Ayas took his time walking the perimeter of the valley, inspecting the forest and getting used to his legs. As he walked the periphery, he thought back to when he first laid eyes on Pamoon, or as he referred to her—Omiyosiw—the beautiful one.

  His thoughts back in the present, he finished walking the circumference of the valley, satisfied that after days of searching, this was the right place. He had searched for a place in which a battle would ensue. A battle between the demons released from the Netherworld and those sworn to send them back. A battle for sovereignty over the Spirit Mount. To the winner would go the spoils—the right to rule over the Spirit Realm.

  Ayas had spent days looking for a valley surrounded by mountains on three sides. He knew that’s where the enemy would mount their attack. The fourth side would be the most important. Looking in that direction, the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward when he spotted the rolling fog.

  Once again, Ayas stood in the middle of the open space. He closed his eyes, held his arms out from his torso, and breathed deep, causing the scars on his chest to redden as his muscles stretched. He then puckered his lips and blew as he spun in a slow, deliberate circle, his eyes on the horizon. The wind he created rustled the skeletonized trees, ridding them of the few leaves they still bore, and extended far beyond the valley and its accompanied mountainous peaks until it reached its appointed destination.

  He stood, eyes closed, never moving, barely breathing as the sun rose and fell, as the moon took its place in the night sky, and as daybreak began anew. That’s when he heard the fluttering of wings and the distinct whistle of the Golden Eagle. Opening his eyes, he witnessed hundreds of them perched in the nearby trees. He whistled a message to all, who in turn bowed their beaks and took flight to their destinations.

  2

  Pamoon

  Pamoon woke to her alarm, not an obnoxious noise or the sound of a morning DJ. No, her alarm was a wet, warm lick from her wolf, Scout. Rolling on her side, she pulled the sleeping bag over her head. “It’s not even light out,” she whined.

  Scout answered with a bark and pawed at the down-filled bag until he uncovered her head.

  Pamoon felt Scout sniffing at her neck and tried not to let on she was awake. Knowing what was coming, she bit her lip trying not to laugh. Scout’s nose was cold and wet as he sniffed under her hair until he found her ear. She felt his teeth gently bite down on her earlobe and pull. Scout growled playfully, making it harder for Pamoon to keep up the ruse. They had played this game every morning since they had moved into their new home, a teepee on the western edge of the reservation. Their camp was as close to the F
lorida Everglades as possible while still dry.

  Pamoon twisted as fast as she could and grabbed the wolf around the neck, nuzzling her face in his fur. “How would you like it if I did that to you?” she said, gently biting his ear while making whimpering noises.

  Scout’s tail was moving so fast, his entire butt moved side-to-side as they wrestled in the teepee. Like every other morning, Pamoon feined exhaustion and let Scout pin her to the ground. “You win, boy,” she said. “I’ll get up.” Scout jumped back and yipped like a puppy as she kicked out of the bag and stretched her arms over head.

  On autopilot, Pamoon changed from her sweats to her jeans, long-sleeve t-shirt, and black tactical boots—a gift from Tihk’s uncle, Tag. The boots were soft and flexible, but tough enough to withstand the sharp edge of a blade. When she received the boots, she had asked him where they came from.

  His answer was brief, “When you receive a gift, say thank you and don’t ask why.”

  Remembering Tihk’s stories about his uncle being an Army Sniper, she quickly dropped the subject.

  Before leaving the confines of the teepee, Pamoon dressed for battle; a habit that had begun after her war with Kanontsistonties. First, she braided her hair, which she had been growing for the past ten months ever since Tsomah cut it on her sixteenth birthday, but she still kept it black with purple streaks. She then slid her knife into the sheath attached to her belt, strapped the double-edged sword, she had found buried in the back of Kamenna’s closet, over her shoulder and across her back, and fisted the cylindrical-shaped tube, which could be sprung into a full-length fighting staff with the touch of a button.

  Her morning run was the same as it had been for the past three months. From her new home, she and Scout ran along a barren strip of land. The absence of foliage delineated the line between the ecosystems of woods and marsh. She ran between the two distinct worlds for about a mile before turning east into the trees and running the paths she had created. They ran with a speed Pamoon never thought possible. Her athleticism had grown ten-fold since she had decided to walk the path the ancients had decreed as her destiny: the destiny of the Kiche. She stopped at various spots in the woods where she had set up exercise stations. One for pullups on the branch of an oak tree, another for pushups, and a third for squats with her arms wrapped around a twenty-pound boulder.

  The entire time she ran, Pamoon’s mind wandered. She thought of Ayas, a brave whose existence was just a legend to most; the legend of the Wandering Spirit. Ayas was a Cree warrior once destined for greatness by the gods, but was expelled from the Spirit Realm because of his inflated ego. He was now more spirit than flesh with the supernatural ability to transform into wind forced to wander the earth endlessly until he learned to change his heart.

  But Pamoon knew he was no legend. He was a brave she’d met, fought alongside, and fell in love with. While fitness was important to Pamoon, he was the biggest reason she ran each morning, always on alert with the fleeting hope of feeling Ayas’ cool breeze caress her skin, or the sweet smell of his birch musk tickle her nose. She hadn’t seen Ayas in the ten months that had passed since they defeated Kanontsistonties, and rescued her friends—most of her friends—from the clutches of the demon. But the fleeting moments and the kiss they’d shared were enough for her to continue to wait for his return.

  It was impossible to think of that time without thinking of the friend she lost, Mike, who, when given the choice, chose darkness rather than light. Pamoon had witnessed the moment when the last speck of humanity disappeared and his spirit forever darkened. Pure evil morphed within his soul as he took the form of Mishipeshu, the Water Panther. A creature, so vile, it thrived both on land and in water. If it hadn’t been for Ayas’ bravery, Mishipeshu would have dragged Pamoon down into the depths of the Netherworld during their final battle, from which there may have been no return. Just the thought sent shivers down her spine.

  While she continued through the woods, Pamoon’s mind also wandered to her aunt, Nuna. After Pamoon had rescued her friends from Kanontsistonties’ clutches and things around the reservation and the town of Swamp Ridge normalized, Nuna decided to return home to Canada. Her aunt wanted her to go and live with her, but Pamoon refused. Although Nuna was persistent, her uncle, and Nuna’s brother, White Eagle, the Cree Chief, understood. As a compromise, Pamoon accompanied her aunt back to her home for an extended vacation. The pull of the reservation and the hope of seeing Ayas again became overwhelming, and Pamoon returned to Florida three months ago.

  Returning home, Pamoon went back to living with White Eagle. As time passed, she found it harder to visit Kamenna’s house—the home she grew up in. Ever since Kamenna—her adopted mother—passed away a little over a year ago, Pamoon’s heart ached more each time she stepped through the front door. White Eagle told her it would get easier with time, but for Pamoon, it seemed to be the opposite. Even White Eagle’s home started feel claustrophobic. Maybe it was the quiet, maybe it was the memories, but whatever it was, it was enough to convince her to ask her uncle if she could setup camp where she now called home. After much discussion, he agreed if he could choose the location. He picked one that could be seen from his house, yet was far enough away to ensure Pamoon’s privacy. In return for allowing her to live on her own, Pamoon promised to come over each night for dinner.

  In the densest part of the woods, Pamoon slowed as she heard a whistle. Eyeing the trees, she spotted an eagle perched on a high branch. That’s odd, she thought, I’ve never seen an eagle in these woods. Picking up her pace, she came to a sudden stop, stymied by a brisk wind. It smelled of death. She fisted her staff a bit tighter and peered down at Scout who had maneuvered closer to her and stepped forward in a protective stance.

  As the foul air burned her nostrils, Pamoon rubbed her nose with her free hand, and although it stunk like roadkill, she was thankful it wasn’t the same rank odor that accompanied Kanontsistonties presence. She had to remind herself that he was once again banished to the Netherworld, never to be released. She and Scout looked briefly for a dead animal, but found nothing and resumed their run.

  Her entire run encompassed eight miles and ended in front of the sweat lodge where Powaw, the tribe’s spirit leader, would be waiting. Nearing the edge of the woods, Pamoon slowed to a jog to cool down and drop her heart rate. Spotting four figures just inside the reservation border, her cool down was short lived as her pulse switched gears and revved into the red zone.

  Exiting the woods and stepping back on Indian land, Pamoon was leery as Bobby and the others waited for her.

  Scout snarled and pawed at the ground when he laid eyes on the foursome, the white fur along his spine arching skyward. Before stepping closer to the group, Pamoon squatted in front of the wolf and gave him a reassuring pat before standing. She pointed toward the sweat lodge and commanded, “Niya.”

  Scout whimpered before obeying the command for go and trotted off.

  Pamoon watched her companion leave before she faced the issue in front of her. All her friends looked different than they did before they had been bitten by Kanontsistonties, especially Bobby. Once the runt of the group, he had grown six inches in the months since and had put on a good fifteen pounds of muscle.

  As soon as she defeated the demon and Kanontsistonties was sent back to the Netherworld, her friends retook their human form with no memory of what had occurred. Yet, since that time, they seemed apprehensive of her and shied away from her company. The distance between them grew until it became tangible to Pamoon. She felt her heart grow heavy whenever she was around them.

  “What’s up,” she said, breathing hard from her run and trying to sound as casual as possible.

  “We,” Bobby said, glancing at the others, “were wondering the same thing.”

  His cold stare, mirrored by Ralph and Scott, seemed harsh. So much so, Pamoon wanted to turn away, but not wanting to show any sign of weakness, she glared back with equal intensity. The only one of the four that appeared the least bit fr
iendly was Celia, her ex-best friend. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Pamoon said, as she tried to walk around them.

  Bobby stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “What’s the rush? You think you’re too good for us?”

  Pamoon rolled her eyes, her hands on her hips. “I’ve tried more than once to be your friend, but you, all of you, have shut me out.”

  “That’s true, Bobby,” Celia said, meekly. “Pamoon has tried to hang out with us.”

  “Shut up,” Bobby snarled.

  Celia recoiled. “Sorry,” she uttered.

  Pamoon jabbed a finger at Bobby, then at Ralph and Scott. “Don’t let him, or anyone else, tell you what to do, Celia.”

  “You shut up, too! You’re just like the rest of the White men,” Bobby snarled. “First you cage us and then you want to be us.”

  “I don’t know what cheap weed you’ve been smoking,” Pamoon said, sardonically, stepping into Bobby’s personal space. “But I’ve been a part of this reservation since I was born. My family lives here too.”