CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Grandma Redbird

Sylvia greeted the sun with joy and thanksgiving and a heart that felt lighter than it had for years–lighter even than it had the morning before when she’d faced Aurox and chosen love and forgiveness over anger and hatred.

Her daughter was dead, and though she would feel Linda’s loss for the rest of this lifetime, Sylvia knew that she was finally free of the wasteland her daughter’s life had become. Linda rested in the Otherworld with Nyx, content and pain‑free. The knowledge made the old woman smile.

Sitting at her crafting desk in the workroom of her cottage, she hummed an ancient Cherokee lullaby as she chose from the various herbs and stones, crystals and threads, picking a long, thin blade of sweet grass to wrap around a bundle of dried lavender. This dawn she would sing to the sun while the cleansing smoke of sweet grass and the soothing scent of lavender mixed and bathed her along with the sunlight. As she created the smudge stick Sylvia’s thoughts turned from her biological daughter to Zoey, the daughter of her spirit.

“Ah, u‑we‑tsi‑a‑ge‑ya, I do miss you so,” she said softly. “I will call you today when the sun sets. Your voice will be good to hear.” Her granddaughter was young, but she had been specially gifted by her Goddess, and even though that meant Zoey had unusual responsibilities to bear, it also meant she had the talent to rise to meet the challenges that came with those added responsibilities.

And that had Sylvia’s mind turning to Aurox–the boy who was a beast. “Or is he a beast who is a boy?” While her hands worked, the old woman shook her head. “No, I will believe the best of him. I name him tsu‑ka‑nv‑s‑di‑na . Bull instead of beast. I have met him, looked into his eyes, watched him weep with regret and loneliness. He has a spirit–a soul–and therefore a choice. I will believe that Aurox will choose Light, even if Darkness resides within him. None of us is entirely good. Or evil.” Sylvia closed her eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of grass and herbs. “Great Earth Mother, strengthen the good within the boy and allow tsu‑ka‑nv‑s‑di‑na to be tamed.”

Sylvia began humming again as she finished fashioning the smudge stick. It was only when she’d completed the weaving of grass and lavender that she realized the song she hummed had changed from lullaby to a much different tune: “Song for a Woman Who Was Brave in War.” Even though she still sat, Sylvia’s feet had begun to move, beating out the strong rhythm to accompany the rise and fall of her voice.

When she realized what she was doing, Sylvia went utterly still. She looked down at her hands. Woven within the sweet grass and lavender was a blue thread that was strung and knotted with raw turquoise. With a jolt of clarity, Sylvia understood.

“A Goddess Bundle.” Sylvia spoke the words reverently. “Thank you, Earth Mother, for this warning. My spirit heard you, and my body obeys.” Slowly, solemnly, the old woman stood. She walked to her bedroom and took off her sleep shirt. Opening the armoire that rested against the raw pine walls, Sylvia took out her most sacred regalia–the cape and the wrap skirt she had made when she first learned she was pregnant with Linda. The deerskin was old and a little loose on her slight body, but still smooth and soft. The green that Sylvia had spent so much time mixing and then dyeing had remained the color of moss, even after three decades. Not one of the shells or beads was loose.

As Sylvia began to braid her silver hair in one long, thick rope, she began to sing the “Song for a Woman Who Was Brave in War” aloud.

She looped silver and turquoise earings through each earlobe.

Her voice lifted and fell in time with the beating of her bare feet as she strung necklaces of turquoise around her neck, adding one on another, so that their weight felt familiar and warm.

Sylvia circled her thin wrists with cuffs of turquoise and smaller, thinner ribbons of silver and turquoise–always turquoise–until both forearms were almost entirely filled, wrist to elbow.

Only then did Sylvia Redbird pick up her smudge stick and a long box of wooden matches, and walk from her bedroom.

She let her spirit guide her bare feet. Her spirit did not take her to the bubbling stream that ran behind her house where she usually greeted the dawn. Instead Sylvia found herself in the middle of her wide front porch. Continuing to follow her instincts, she lit the smudge stick. With graceful, practiced movements, Sylvia began circling herself with the scents of sweet grass and lavender. It was when she was engulfed in smoke, foot to head, and singing a Wise Woman’s war song, that Neferet stepped from a pool of Darkness, materializing before her.

Neferet

Sylvia Redbird’s voice sounded like chalk screeching on a blackboard. “By your own belief system it is impolite not to welcome a guest.” Neferet raised her voice so she could be heard over the old woman’s horrible song.

“Guests are invited. You have no invitation to my home. That makes you an intruder. According to my beliefs I am greeting you appropriately.”

Neferet curled her lip. The old woman’s singing had ended, but her bare feet still beat out a repeating rhythm. “That song is almost as annoying as that smoke. Do you really think the stink of it will protect you?”

“I think many things, Tsi Sgili,” Sylvia said, still wafting the thick wand of herbs around her as she danced in place. “At this moment I am thinking that you broke an oath you made to me when my u‑we‑tsi‑a‑ge‑ya first joined your world. I call you to task for that.”

Neferet was almost amused by the old woman’s insolence. “I made no oath to you.”

“You did. You promised to mentor and protect Zoey. Then you broke that oath. You owe me the price of that broken oath.”

“Old woman, I am an immortal. I am not bound by the same rules as you are,” Neferet scoffed.

“Immortal you may have become. That does not change the Earth Mother’s laws.”

“Perhaps not, but it does change how they are enforced,” Neferet said.

“An oath‑breaking is only one of the debts you owe me, witch,” Sylvia said.

“I am a goddess, not a witch!” Neferet felt her anger rise and she began moving slowly closer to the porch. The tendrils of Darkness slithered with her, though Neferet sensed their hesitation as wisps of white smoke drifted down, seeming to melt around them.

Sylvia continued dancing and waving the wand around her. “The second debt you owe me is greater than an oath‑breaking. You owe me a life debt. You killed my daughter.”

“I sacrificed your daughter for a greater good. I owe you nothing!”

The old woman paid no attention to her. Instead she paused in her dance long enough to bend and place the smoking herbs at her feet. Then she lifted her face and opened her arms, as if embracing the sky. “Great Earth Mother, hear me. I am Sylvia Redbird, Wise Woman of the Cherokee, and Ghigua of my tribe, that of the House of Night. I beg mercy from you. The Tsi Sgili, Neferet, who was once a High Priestess of Nyx, is forsworn. She owes me an oath‑breaking debt. She is also the murderess of my daughter. She owes me a life debt. I invoke your aid, Earth Mother, and call both debts due. The payment I demand is protection.”

Ignoring the tendrils of Darkness that were cowering around her, Neferet approached Sylvia, climbing the steps up to her porch as she spoke. “You are vastly mistaken, old woman. I am the only goddess listening. I am the immortal to whom you should be begging protection.”

Neferet stepped onto the smoke‑filled porch when Sylvia spoke again. The old woman’s voice had changed. Before it had been powerful as she evoked the one she called Earth Mother. Now her voice had gentled, become softer. Her arms were no longer spread. Her face no longer raised in supplication. Instead her dark eyes met Neferet’s gaze steadily. “You are no goddess. You are a mean‑spirited, broken little girl. I pity you. What happened to you? Who broke you, child?”

Neferet’s anger was so intense that she felt as if she would explode. Threads of Darkness forgotten, she struck out at Sylvia, wanting to connect flesh with flesh–to gouge and cut and bite this insolent hag.

With a movement so quick it belied her age, Sylvia lifted her arms defensively before her face, meeting Neferet’s blows.

Pain burned through the Tsi Sgili’s body, radiating from her hands. Neferet shrieked and jerked back, staring at the bloody marks left on her fists, burned in the exact shape of the blue stones in the bracelets that circled her withered arms.

“You dare to strike out at me! A goddess!”

“I strike at no one. I only defend myself through the stones of protection the Great Mother has gifted me with.” Never breaking her gaze, and keeping her turquoise and silver swathed arms raised, the old woman began singing again.

Neferet wanted to tear her to shreds with her hands. But as she circled closer to the Cherokee she could feel the wave of heat that radiated from the blue stones in which she was covered. It was as if they pulsed with a fire equal to her own fury.

She needed the white bull! His frigid Darkness would extinguish the old woman’s flames. Perhaps the odd energy she wielded would surprise him, and he would, again, lend Neferet his alluring might.

Controlling her anger, Neferet stepped back, outside the ring of smoke and heat that engulfed Sylvia. She studied the old woman, watched her dance, listened to her song. Old. Ancient. Everything about Sylvia Redbird said she, and the earth power she was wielding, had been here for a very long time.

The white bull was ancient as well.

This Indian would not surprise him.

“I will deal with you myself.” Still meeting Sylvia Redbird’s gaze, Neferet lifted her hands and, without so much as flinching, used her sharpened fingernails to gouge the wounds already formed by the old woman’s protective turquoise. Her blood flowed freely, spattering the porch. Neferet shook her hands, raining scarlet through the smoke cloud, dispersing it, and painting the old woman with bright dots of red, which were a garish, stark contrast to the earthy greens and blues she wore. Then Neferet turned her hands, cupping her palms and letting her blood pool there. “Come, my Dark children, drink!” The tendrils were hesitant at first, but after the first taste of Neferet’s blood, they were emboldened.

Neferet watched Sylvia’s eyes widen and saw fear shadow them. The old woman’s gaze did not waver, but her song faltered. Her voice began sounding old … weak … tremulous …

“Now, children! You have tasted my blood and Sylvia Redbird has been anointed by it. Entrap her–bring me the old woman!” Neferet’s voice changed, and became rhythmic. Darkly she mirrored Sylvia’s earthy war song.

“You need not kill.

You need only sate my rage.

You drank your fill.

Now create for me a cage.

I’ll make old new.

You’ll feast on youth, vibrant, strong.

To me be true.

And kill this old woman’s song!”

The tendrils obeyed Neferet. They avoided the old woman’s turquoise stones. They wrapped around her naked, unadorned feet, halting her rhythmic dance. Like the floor of a jail cell, Darkness formed from her feet, spreading, and then growing up and up and up, caging Sylvia, and finally, finally her song was silenced, replaced by an agonized scream as they lifted her and, moving through shadow and mist, carrying the terrible cage and its prisoner, Darkness followed their mistress.

Aurox

Aurox waited until the sun was high in the winter sky before he climbed from the pit again. The morning had dawned cloudy and gray, but as the endless hours passed the winter sun had broken through the mist and shadows. At noon, when the sun was highest in the sky, Aurox emerged.

He did not allow the sense of urgency that skittered under his skin to make him careless. Aurox used the sinuous muscles of his arms to hold firm to the roots and hang, partially belowground, partially aboveground. He used all of his paranormal senses to seek. I must get away without being seen, was foremost in his mind.

The school was not as silent as it had been the day before. Human workmen were busily repairing the damaged section of the stables. Aurox saw no vampyres, but the human cowboy, Travis, seemed to be everywhere. Yes, his hands and forearms were still swathed in white gauze bandages, but his voice was so strong that it drifted across the school grounds to Aurox. Lenobia did not show herself in the noonday sun, but she did not need to. Travis was there for her, and not simply with the workmen. The cowboy interacted freely with the horses. Aurox watched him move the huge Percheron and Lenobia’s black mare from one makeshift round pen to another.

He does not merely work for Lenobia. She trusts him. The realization surprised Aurox. If a High Priestess can trust a human so much in times of stress and tumult, perhaps there is a chance that Zoey can–

No. Aurox would not allow himself to indulge in such a fantasy. He’d heard what he was. Zoey had heard what he was. They all had! He had been formed by Darkness through the lifeblood of Zoey’s mother. He was beyond her trust or her forgiveness.

There is only one person on this earth who trusts me–only one person who forgives me. It is to her that I must go.

Aurox hung there, peering through the roots and the shards of bark, waiting … watching … Finally the humans began to meander from the stables, talking about how glad they were to be within walking distance of Queenies so they could have the Ultimate Egg sandwich for lunch, and laughing. Friends always laughed.

Aurox longed to share the laughter of friends.

When their backs were to him and their voices faded, the boy pulled himself fully from the pit and, monkey‑like, scaled the felled tree to where it rested against the wall of the school, and then vaulted over it.

Aurox wanted to sprint–to call the beast and tear the soil and run with all of his otherworldly might. Instead he forced himself to walk. He brushed the dirt, leaves, and grass from his clothing. He ran his fingers through the matted mess that was his hair, breaking apart the clumps of mud and blood, and combing it into some semblance of normalcy.

Normal was good. Normal was not noticed. Normal was not apprehended.

The vehicle was exactly where he’d left it the day before. The keys were still in the ignition. Aurox’s hands trembled only a little as the engine turned over and he made his way from the rear parking lot of Utica Square and headed southeast–to sanctuary.

The drive seemed to take only a moment. Aurox was thankful for that. As he turned the car down Grandma Redbird’s lane, he rolled down his windows. Even though the day was cool, he wanted to drink in the scent of lavender, and with it accept the calm it offered. Just as he accepted the sanctuary Grandma Redbird had offered.

When Aurox parked before her wide front porch, everything changed. At first he didn’t understand it–couldn’t process it. The scent hit him, but he fought the knowledge he breathed in with it.

“Grandma? Grandma Redbird?” Aurox called as he got out of the car and jogged around the side of the little cottage. He expected to find her beside the crystal stream–she belonged there. She should have been humming a joyful song. Peaceful. Secure. Safe.

She was not there.

A terrible premonition washed over him. Aurox remembered the fetid scent that had drifted to him amidst the lavender air when he’d parked before Grandma’s home.

Aurox ran.

“Grandma! Where are you?” he was shouting as he rounded the side of the cottage, his feet sliding in the loose gravel that paved the small parking space in front of the home.

Aurox grabbed the railing of the porch, and took the six stairs in two wide strides, stopping in the center of the wide, wooden deck, just before Grandma’s closed front door. Aurox yanked the door open and ran inside.

“Grandma! It’s me, Aurox, your tsu‑ka‑nv‑s‑di‑na . I have returned!”

Nothing. She was not here. It felt wrong, so very wrong.

Aurox retraced his steps, moving to the middle of the porch. The scent was thickest there.

Darkness. Fear. Hatred. Pain. Aurox could read all those emotions and more from the blood that spattered the porch. As he stood there, breathing heavily, taking in the terrible knowledge of violence and destruction, the smoke came to him. It lifted from around his moccasin‑clad feet in swirls, carrying wisps of information. Imprinted in the gray mist was an ancient song that lifted around him, feather‑like. Within it Aurox could hear the echo of a courageous woman’s voice.

Aurox closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Please, he pleaded silently, let me know what has happened here.

Feelings assailed him–hatred and anger. Those feelings were easy to understand, familiar. “Neferet,” he whispered. “You have been here. I scent you. I feel you.” But after the familiar emotions came those which knocked him to his knees.

Aurox felt Sylvia Redbird’s courage. He knew her wisdom and determination, and finally her fear.

He fell to his knees. “Oh, Goddess, no!” Aurox cried to the heavens. “This is Neferet’s blood, drawn by Grandma Redbird. Did Neferet kill her as she did her daughter? Where is Grandma’s body?”

There was no answer except the sighing of the listening wind and the annoying clicks and croaks of a huge raven that perched at the edge of the porch.

“Rephaim! Is that you?” Aurox ran his hands through his dirty hair while the raven stared at him, turning his head from side to side. “I wish the Goddess would take the bull within me and make me a bird. If she did I would take to the skies and fly forever and ever.”

The raven croaked at him, then spread his wings and flew away, leaving Aurox completely alone.

In equal parts Aurox wanted to weep in despair and frustration, as well as to call the beast to him and attack someone, anyone, in anger and fear.

The boy who was also a beast chose to do neither. Instead Aurox did nothing–nothing at all, except think. He sat on Grandma’s porch for a very long time, and amidst the residue of blood and smoke, fear and courage, Aurox reasoned his way to truth.

Had Neferet killed Grandma Redbird, her body would be here. She has no reason to hide her deeds. Her crimes have already been discovered. Thanatos made sure of that. So, what is it Neferet wants more than death and destruction?

The answer was as simple as it was horrible.

Neferet wants to create chaos and one very easy way to do that is to cause Zoey Redbird pain. Aurox knew the truth of it as the thought came to him. Grandma was unique among mortals–she was a gifted leader–beloved of many. And powerful. Grandma was powerful.

Sylvia Redbird would make a more perfect sacrifice than her daughter had made.

“No!” Aurox’s mind skittered away from that terrible thought. It was also true that by capturing Zoey’s beloved grandmother, Neferet would ensure the fledgling would come after her with all of her very impressive might. In doing so she would also fragment the vampyre community and wreak havoc locally.

“Whether she is used as a sacrifice or as a hostage, as long as Neferet holds Grandma Redbird, and Zoey tries to save her, Neferet gets what she most desires–chaos and vengeance. Well, then, someone else must save Grandma.”

Aurox made his decision quickly, though he understood it could very well be the end of him. The drive back to Tulsa seemed to take an unusually long time. Aurox had time enough to think. He thought about Neferet and her callous disregard for life. He thought about Dragon Lankford and how he’d fought and vanquished the loneliness and despair that had tried to swallow his life. Aurox thought about the courage of those who stood against a foe so great that just the memory of the white bull made his insides shiver. And Aurox thought about Zoey Redbird.

It was well past sunset by the time Aurox returned to Tulsa. He did not drive to the obscure back lot of Utica Square. Instead, Aurox drove past the closed shopping center, heading east on Twenty‑first Street. He turned left at the Utica Street light, and then left again a block later, entering through the front gate of the House of Night, parking not far from the empty small yellow bus.

Aurox drew a deep breath. Be calm. Control the beast. I can do this. I must do this. Then he got out of the car.

Aurox had thought a lot on the way from Grandma Redbird’s empty home, but he hadn’t actually considered the specifics of what he should do when he reached the House of Night. So, letting his instincts guide him, he simply began walking through campus.

It was obviously lunchtime. The scents that drifted from the cafeteria part of the main building made his mouth water, and he realized he hadn’t eaten in an entire day. Automatically, his feet moved toward the center of campus, following the food.

Just as he stepped on the sidewalk outside the entrance to the dining hall, the big wooden doors opened and a group of fledglings poured out, talking and laughing in familiar, easy voices.

Zoey saw him before anyone else did. He knew it because her eyes widened with surprise. She’d begun shaking her head and was opening her mouth as if to shout at him when Stark’s voice shot across the space between them like an arrow.

“Zoey, get back inside! Darius, Rephaim, to me. Let’s get him!”

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 665