Witch Clan: Matriarchs by John Stormm (best pdf ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Emma could only follow at a distance, as the unicorn colt wandered aimlessly across the barren prairie. Gone were the wolves she had seen when he was just a foal, but the new terrain had no lack of hostility of its own to offer. The smoke of a fire on a distant mountain shown itself in the serpentine column of a great, writhing, black wyrm.

Coyotes, Gila monsters, tarantulas, sidewinders and scorpions watched the progress of the colt’s dazed ramblings with undisguised interest. Buzzards circled lazily overhead and ravens flew from perch to perch, checking on the colt‘s progress. The herd was nowhere in sight. He has no friends to look after him or instruct him. Oh, Danu, this should not be the destiny of such a beautiful and noble creature. A large raven detached itself from the circling birds and perched on a rock in front of her.

“Do you know me?” the bird asked her plainly.

“This land is different,” she said. “If I were to go by what I know, you would be Morrigan, the Battle Raven.”

“One of many names,” the bird replied. “Here, I am known simply as Raven, but for our purposes, that is not important. What is important is that you will need allies, or the lone warrior is crow bait.”

“Will you help us?” she asked.

“I always do,” Morrigan answered, “but always in my own way. You see those coyotes following the colt? Their nature is to tear him to ribbons when he becomes too weak to defend himself. The others will do nothing of themselves. They feed on smaller prey and are only curious. You will need the help of the Chief Coyote to save your colt.”

“Who is he, and where can I find him?” she asked.

“The Trickster is as clever as your colt is unique,” Raven replied. “He will likely be watching, even now.”

“And so I am, Sister Raven,” said a voice behind her. Emma turned about. A lone coyote sat calmly, attending the discussion between her and the raven with a detached interest.

“The wise woman seeks an audience with you about the strange colt,” the Raven said. The coyote arose to all fours, circled around her and sniffed at her.

“The smell of the Good Red Road is on your feet,” he said, “and something else from a far place. This is mixed medicine, which always has unexpected results.”

“Will you help my grandson?” she asked pointedly.

“It depends on what you mean by helping,” Coyote replied. “If a warrior’s heart is pure and his mind is single, I will help him find himself and he will become stronger and wiser. If his heart is corrupt and he is foolish, I will help him to feed the buzzards and the people of the prairie. Such mixed medicine in this one, I find. Who knows what such can bring? Mischief? Entertainment? The deep wisdom of the stars and the moon?”

“I have this,” she said, pulling out Elvyra’s lunar medallion.

Coyote gazed upon the silvery crescent on the medallion a moment and sat back on his haunches, raised his head and sang to the skies. The coyotes who were following the unicorn colt withdrew to a high place and sang to the silvery crescent moon that hung in the sky.

“That has only bought him time,” the Trickster confided. “Remember how I help. It is in my nature to be so. If you have raised your young warrior in the ways of this mixed medicine, and if it is strong to stand we will do well by each other. If not, compose for him a death song to sing on the desert wind. He is much too young to know his own.” With a twitch of his left ear, Coyote faded from sight as the colt meandered towards a shady arroyo to rest. Finding him at peace, she rested too.

* * *

“You’re looking like you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep for a change,” Willard remarked at the breakfast table that morning.

“Yes, I’m feeling a little better about some things,” she said. “I still want to make it a point to waste no time getting there to bring Johnny home, though.”

“You’ll have to travel alone this time,” Willard said, “but you’re a big girl now, so I doubt you’ll get into any mischief.” He chuckled as she batted him playfully on the arm.

“I’ll get a round trip ticket for yourself and a one way ticket for our boy,” he said. “I’ll work some extra jobs that are coming up and keep the home fires burning for you both and be here if Leona arrives early this year.”

“We can afford all this?” she asked.

“Oh, the money’s in no great danger,” he said, “besides, I don’t think we can afford not to do all this. What good is money if we’re miserable without our boy. I miss him something awful. He was a part of it all when I married you, and he’s not here. I love you more than I’ve ever loved any woman, Emma. I never had any children of my own, but even if I did, none could replace the part of my heart that this little boy owns. You go get our grandson, Emma, and I’ll put the finest roof over your heads that these old hands can build, and I’ll love you both forever. Carpenter’s honor.” He held two fingers under his eyes, and somehow she didn’t think he was joking.

The next day, the news came in the mail, that Johnny had scalded his feet in the bathtub. Dave had rescued the boy from himself and had taken him to the hospital for treatment. He would be fine when the blisters healed, but there was some concern over his self destructive behavior. Johnny wouldn’t purposely hurt himself. There had to be another influence to bring this about. As the Vough was the evil behind what the children thought was Elvyra, Emma wanted to know the unknown scowling face behind Dave. She wearied of the evil that lashed out at her boy from its hiding place in the shadows.

As she reviewed her dreams, it did seem as if the colt’s mind was a bit addled. Originally, she attributed this to walking too long in the hot sun or just plain weariness. Now, she wondered at what was being used to hold her boy in its cruel grip. Perhaps Coyote could advise her on this type of magick. If something was not done soon, he would not likely last until she could fetch him home. She had no desire to compose anyone’s death song. She would initiate a dreamwalk tonight.

* * *

The unicorn colt lay sleeping the day away in the shade of the arroyo. Coyote sat high on the opposite bank and watched over him.

“Some kind of magick is being used on my grandson,” Emma remarked to the uncanny animal.

“I’ve seen this before,” he said. “The Mescaleros use this medicine to seek the spirit world. They get their visions and find their path. Your little warrior is much too young to be on this kind of path, and I think he won’t need the peyote to find his way on the path of dreams and spirits.”

“What do the Mescaleros do to shake this off when it happens?” she asked.

“It’s simple enough,” Coyote replied, his eyes never leaving the colt. “They dance and they sweat. I’ve been wondering why he hasn’t danced.”

“He hasn’t been happy,” she said. “He misses home.”

“There is his quest,” Coyote said. “He must learn to live well, even when it looks bleakest. He must learn to celebrate life in the face of death. It is the quest of a spirit warrior. He’s very young for such a thing, but he is already on that path and I see no other way but to travel down it. He will have to find it in himself to dance this out and he will survive and grow from it. Otherwise, it will kill him. You have made him a death song, haven’t you?”

“No, it will not be necessary at this time,” she said. “You said that if I had raised him well in the ways of our medicine and it is strong to stand, and if his heart is pure and his mind single that he will live and thrive. I am confident that I have given him all I could in his few years and that there is no magick stronger among our people than the magick of the unicorn, whose heart is the purest of beasts and whose horn is the single focus of his mind. My grandson will know pain and suffering, but he will grow strong where lesser creatures fall. Your words to this effect have given me this confidence. No death song is needed, only sage advice.”

“I’ve never seen such a thing as this creature on the whole of this island,” Coyote said. “I will watch and learn a new thing for my people. I hope you are right, old woman. I will have another tale to tell beside the bonfires.”

Emma gazed down at the sleeping colt and willed herself into his dreams. The prairie scene melted away to be replaced by her grandson sitting forlornly on the side of his bed. An oversized pair of white socks covered his bandaged feet. Dark circles formed under eyes that were much too young to be so tired. His eyes brightened when he saw her specter standing in his room.

“Grandma, you came,” he said.