“Come out, come out, wherever you are. We have questions and concerns for you, Grandmother. You are needed,” Iris whispered, but her words swept into the air, growing loud in the whirl of wind that followed them. Her call felt like an incantation.
A moment passed, then another. Then, three blinks before the silence began to unnerve me, the undergrowth parted. A woman, older than time, broke through the snow-covered bushes. Her olive-colored cloak covered a long gray-green robe. The hood covered her head, but strands of stark white hair peeked out from the edges. As she stepped into the moonlight, we could see her face.
Grandmother Coyote was as old as time, as old as the world. Her face was terraformed in wrinkles, a map of the world existing in those furrows. Her power was that of invulnerability. No touch could graze her, no attack harm her, no war or dispute disrupt her. She simply existed, a still figure as the hustle of the world moved around her.
She turned to Iris. “Each time we meet, the time resets. Halt and let me examine your hearts.”
Iris nodded, dipping her knee in genuflection. She said nothing, and we followed her lead.
Grandmother Coyote examined each of us in turn as we spread out for her inspection. As her gaze turned to Camille, she blinked, then quietly smiled. She turned to Menolly, and her eyes took on sorrow. And then she was looking at me, and I felt a fear so deep that I felt pierced through—cleaved in half by her gaze. But before I could shift, I felt the barest of embraces shroud me, and whatever she was doing, it calmed my Tabby and I settled down.
A moment later, Grandmother Coyote said, “What do you seek?”
Iris motioned to Camille. “We seek your advice. We found this, and need to know who—or what—it came from. We also sense coyote shifter energy nearby.”
Grandmother Coyote reached out and plucked the bag from Camille’s hand as if it were empty. She glanced at it, then opened it up and pulled out the charm. A moment later, she wrapped her hand around it, and there was a sizzle and a wisp of smoke, and when she opened her fingers, the wind caught up a handful of ashes and whirled them into the sky.
“A dangerous energy,” she said, closing her eyes, keeping her hand in the air. Her fingernails were long and sharp, like talons or claws. “Near your home, but not in it. Will you pay the price for my advice?” she asked, opening her eyes again. She lowered her arm.
I glanced at Camille and Menolly, then asked, “And what is the price?” I knew too much about too many creatures to blindly promise anything.
Without missing a beat, Grandmother Coyote said, “You were sent here for a reason. Destiny intervenes. Fate will have her way. Your approach is an agreement in itself. I will give you my advice.”
“Wait,” Menolly said. “We haven’t agreed to anything.”
“The fact that you made your way to my doorstep is proof that Fate is guiding the way. You can no more escape the path that lies in front of you than you could escape the fate that led to your births. In between lie many crossroads, but time can only tell what waits at the end of the journey you’ve stepped into.” She spoke in riddles, her voice spinning her prediction into existence.
I looked at Camille, who was staring at Grandmother Coyote. “Then you might as well tell us your advice,” she said.
“Seek out your neighbor,” Grandmother Coyote said. “She appealed to me for help, and I read the bones. You will find your answer in her own question.”
“You foresee us helping her?” I asked.
“I foresee many things,” Grandmother Coyote said. “Lukia is waiting. A red mailbox, the house is green, and the need is great.” With that, she turned and—without another word—vanished back into the forest.
I knew enough to go after her, and by the looks on their faces, so did Camille and Menolly.
Iris shook her head. “Well, that’s the Fags of Hate for you—they speak in riddles and rhymes. What do you want to do?”
“I suppose we go find Lukia and see what’s up,” I said. “I don’t want to leave someone in danger if we can help, and it sounds like this has dropped in our laps, no matter what we decide.”
Camille nodded. “Grandmother Coyote doesn’t give advice lightly, nor will she talk to just anybody. If she chooses to give us advice, I think we should take it.”
“All right,” Menolly said. “But it’s late. You and Delilah should pay her a visit tomorrow morning and find out what’s going on.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, staring up at the sky. The clouds were moving in again, and snow was in the offing. And we were smack in the middle of the convergence zone.
Morning came and I opened my eyes to the aroma of pancakes and bacon wafting up the stairs. Bless Iris’s heart. Since she had moved in with us, she had nurtured us like our own mother. Feeling a little teary, I turned to my nightstand, where a picture of my mother rested. She had been young, and the picture was in an old silver frame.
Camille had kept all the pictures of our mother safe through the many years, and when we came over Earthside, she had duplicates made so each one of us had a file of the family history. At least Mother’s family history. We had a couple of pictures of Father too, but he didn’t like photography and avoided it every time he had come over Earthside.
Our mother, Maria, was beautiful. She had won our father’s heart, and even though we were Windwalkers, everything had been fine when we were little. She had been our champion in a world where we were second caste. But then she died, and our father had grown bitter, and turned away. He made sure we were fed and clothed, and that we had schooling and whatever else we needed, but emotionally, he had left us behind in favor of mourning our mother.
I kissed my finger and brushed it on the frame. “I wish I had known you better,” I said. “I wish you had lived longer.”
Then, before I could get maudlin, I dressed and headed down to breakfast. Camille was there with Iris, and they were already eating. I grabbed a plate and loaded it up with pancakes and bacon. I slid into a chair and reached for the syrup.
“You like a little pancake with your syrup?” Iris said as I swamped my plate.
