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“Don’t you take any liberties with him,” Larkspur snapped, “he belongs to my son and he’s marked.”
“As you wish, madam,” Milos smiled, a bit wickedly, “but if Zaroc doesn’t make it, I will have a bit of him, he’s just too damn pretty to pass up.”
“I feel bad for your consort, Milos,” Larkspur glowered. “You’re just like Garret dipping into everything that catches your eye.”
“Don’t be so judgmental,” Milos said. “My consort and I have an open marriage, I play around while she has me, the love of her life,” he boasted. “It’s a win-win situation.”
Larkspur rolled her eyes.
“Enough!” Antonio snapped, his stern face indicative of his thoughts.
~~~
The seven Midewiwins, with beaded medicine bags signifying their blood clan assembled upon a vast precipice of solid rock jutting out over the river. Affiliates gathered stone and small boulders and within minutes formed an ancestral fire circle. From the surrounding forest that blanketed the feet of the majestic mountains, Affiliates by the hundreds descended upon the circle, arms burdened with logs.
The Midewiwin’s paced the inner circle, smudge sticks in hand, smoke rising as they cleansed the site. Guttural chants rumbled from their chests. They began to dance, smudge sticks high, cleansing every inch of stone right up to the middle where Larkspur and Miguel sat back to back, shackled in leather bindings.
Torches in hand, Affiliates ignited thirteen stacks on the outer circle, flames soaring. Then the Midewiwin’s tossed dust from their bags into the four inner stacks of dark logs, north, south, east and west. With torches in hand, they ignited the four stacks which blazed with red and orange splendor.
The Midewiwin’s chanting intensified as they approached the largest stack, dead center of the fire circle. They danced around it with a song of spine-tingling verse, tossing six whittled figurines and handfuls of dust from their bags onto the sacred stack. Suddenly, the dormant mass burst forth with flames, illuming their faces. They fell to their knees, heads bowed with arms extended, chanting incessantly. A great silver plume manifested from within the blazing inferno and hovered over the fire circle. The Midewiwin’s raised their heads as an ebony circle forming within the center of the silver plume drew them to their feet.
Torin, amazed by the ritual, stepped forward to the outer circle and tilted his head to the sight. He caught at his breath, his heart pounding and the nape of his neck bristled.
A portal to the dark veil.
He felt his gut tighten.
Anstosa was right, we can breach the afterlife, it is possible, my God I never believed.
He combed his hair with his fingers as intermittent gusts blasted his face. He licked his lips, the sweet taste of Larkspur’s blood lingering. He turned to the mountains and through a silver sheen saw ghostly gray peaks rising into the sky. His nerves tingled as the sun, which had threatened to penetrate the rolling abyss, dimmed to a scarcely visible glow. Mesmerized, he watched as the first of snowflakes came falling to melt upon his face.
“Damn, I knew it would snow,” Antonio grumbled, joining his side.
Torin ignored him as the heavens opened with billowy sheets of flirtatious white descending upon them. He closed his eyes briefly, snared by emotions. Finally, with the repetitive feel of icy flakes chilling his skin, he turned to Antonio. “Let us hope it is an omen sent by the gods. You know, I was never a believer of Midewiwins, but now,” he paused, “witnessing their powers, I am forever humbled.”
Antonio’s demeanor shifted. “Though I have never spoken of my feelings, I have always believed that we owe our very existence to them.”
Torin searched his face. “In what way? We don’t share their lineage, we are the direct descendants of the Seventh Miigis.”
“Agreed, but thousands of years ago, someone had to open the veil and allow the seven spirits entry to this plane. It had to be the Midewiwins, no other race had the knowledge or power to do so.”
Torin brushed snow from his lashes with the back of his hand. “But why would they risk the very blood of their clans, surely they knew of the dangers?”
“I believe that they were seeking Mide knowledge, but even more, it was a desperate attempt at survival.”
Torin leveled his gaze, searching Antonio’s face. “Survival?”
“Think about it,” Antonio said. “They knew of the dangers posed by the pale-skinned explorers. They must have envisioned what was to come and fearing the weapons of this new foe, which were unlike anything they had ever witnessed, suffered the risk.”
Seeing the forces gathered around him Torin turned away from Antonio, muscles taut, sword in hand. He narrowed his eyes to thin slits and from within the falling snow, watched as the faint images of Garret’s minions emerged, swords drawn with numbers too large to count.
“Damn, he brought in reinforcements,” Torin grumbled.
“Africans,” Gage said, joining his side. “You know,” Gage said after a moment of silence, “I haven’t had the chance to tell you, but I’m really sorry about Val.”
The somber tone of Gage’s voice forced a shudder. “He was a good man,” Torin said. He turned to Gage. “You be careful…my friend.”
“Yeah, you too.”
