Heavens crest, p.6
Heaven's Crest, page 6
part #2 of Dragon's Dream Series
Living Wind rolled his eyes. “Here he goes, trying to bring the 20’s back.”
Cora laughed, pulling her vintage music player from her pocket. “Nothing wrong with retro. I’d die without this.”
“There’s a woman with style, boy,” Pops said, wagging a finger at him. He admired the music player of his youth. “You don’t use that beautiful thing to listen to that machine noise, do you?”
“God, no,” Cora replied, aghast. “I don’t think I have anything on here written after ’42.”
Pops smirked with approval. “Could learn a thing or two from her, instead of listening to those garbage robot songs all the time.”
“It’s AI Pop, not robots,” Living Wind corrected. “They use catalogues from the past hundred years to measure the best possible song to make, with the best possible singing voice for it. It takes a lot of talent to program that kinda stuff.”
Cora shrugged. “I don’t think you’re going to win anyone over at this table. I like my music old-fashioned. People playing their own instruments.”
“Here, here,” Pops joined in, petting his owl.
“Damn, two minutes in and you’re already ganging up on me,” Living Wind smiled, putting up his hands in surrender. “So, what did you get your degree in, Cora?”
Cora puffed out a breath. “Never made it that far. I was recruited my second year of Law School into the NSA.”
Pops’ whole demeanor changed. His eyes stared daggers into her. His face grimaced. He drew a blanket up from his lap, clutching it with both hands.
“What?” Cora asked.
“The NSA? If you weren’t Still River’s daughter, I’d spit in your face,” he replied, grabbing at the wheels of his chair. He reversed and moved away.
Stunned by the sudden insult, Cora turned to Living Wind. “What the hell? What did I say?”
Living Wind leaned into Cora, intimating, “In the way-back, he was a US Marine. After The Awakening, they put him in one of those camps. I don’t know what happened to him there. He doesn’t talk about it.”
“Wait, they put him in a camp?” Cora gasped. Her face soured. “Was he a magic-user? How does he know my father?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Living Wind asked. He sighed. “His gift is kinda twisted. He can’t help it. Your father tried to help him control it, because their abilities are similar.”
Cora stared blankly, waiting for more information. Living Wind looked behind him, making certain Pops was out of earshot.
“When he touches someone, they both share that person’s last moments,” he said. “He sees it, and you see it, too. You see the end of your life.”
Living Wind’s eyes dropped. Cora cocked her head to the side.
“You’ve seen yours, haven’t you?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Of course I have. I wheel his grumpy ass all over town. It’s...not long, now.”
Cora backed her seat away and lifted his chin with a finger until their eyes met. “What do you mean, not long? You’ve seen your own death?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “I already own the damn shirt I was wearing in the vision. I tried to throw it away, once. My neighbor returned it to me. I tried to set it on fire, the book of matches were wet. I got a new book, it started to rain. Eventually, I had to accept that you can’t change the path we’re set on.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Cora stood up. Her brow furrowed, indignant. “That’s bullshit. All I’ve been hearing from everyone lately is destiny this, and fate that. I have some dragon stalking me internationally, and he talks just like that. Listen to me. There is no fate.”
“Of course there is,” Pops yelled from across the diner.
The few patrons in the diner turned and faced her, alarmed by her outburst. Dottie was standing still several feet from the table, arms full with a large tray. Cora didn’t realize she’d been so loud. Pops wheeled back toward the table.
“Did I come at a bad time?” Dottie asked, her expression as if she just walked in on a couple’s argument.
“Sorry,” Cora addressed the people in the diner. She turned to Dottie and waved her over. “No, I’m sorry I was getting loud. I’m just a bit passionate about philosophy.”
“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Dottie smiled, serving the plates. Pops wheeled back to his seat in time to grab his toast and coffee from Dottie’s hand.
Cora turned to Pops, and their eyes met. She expected fire and rage, as though she were some symbol of the horrible misdeeds done to the Native people during the war. Instead, she found his eyes determined and resolute. His jaw was tight, waiting for Dottie to leave before he would speak. Once she was gone, he nodded.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I have never hurt any of our people,” Cora assured.
Pops rolled his eyes. “No, you dumb girl. I didn’t think you did. You’re the one that brings them here, though.”
“She does?” Living Wind gasped.
“It’s what you’ve seen, isn’t it? In the visions of the people in this town,” Cora said.
Pops nodded and bit into his toast. “Many of our people will be lost.”
“I’m sorry. This is my fault. I have to go,” Cora replied, shaking her head. Her breaths turned shallow as panic set in. “If I turn myself over to them before they cross the Demilitarized Zone, I’ll keep them from setting foot here.”
“No, Cora,” Pops said. He pointed behind her.
Cora’s eyes followed his finger to a photograph on the wall nearest to them. It was a photo of several Native men, standing side by side outside the diner. At the center of them all, her father smiled on, surrounded by his tribe.
Pops continued, “They’re not coming for you. They’re coming for him. They believe he’s a weapon, and it will drive them to plunder our lands. They’ll kill us all, break the cease-fire, anything they have to do to make sure he’s under their control. They want him as bad as they always did, and for the same reason - to grant them a glimpse of a future where they win. They don’t understand the path can only be viewed because it is already set in stone.”
Cora stared down at her food. The frybread smelled divine, and the wojapi was a deep red-purple, wafting sweet berries to her nose. She dipped a slice of bread in and tasted it, trying to enjoy a flavor so nostalgic she wanted to become lost in memory. Her mind wouldn’t shift to those happier times, though. The notion that life was controlled by any kind of destiny disgusted her. She wanted no part in a snake-oil sales pitch like that. Free will was just that - free. She didn’t want to live in a world where the choices she made were never made for herself.
“There has to be something I can do,” she said. She looked at Pops and threw her hands up. “Give me something. Anything.”
The old man’s mouth moved in circles, chewing down his toast as he stared at her. She wanted to believe he was holding something back, some secret that undid his powers of prophecy.
“You want to fight for these lands? For him? You want these people to fight for you?” Pops asked.
Cora choked back tears. The answer came to the tip of her tongue so fast, the truth overwhelmed her. “I just found him. I don’t want to lose him again.”
“Join the tribe,” Pops said, his tone curt. Cora’s emotions evoked nothing from his stoic face. “You don’t have a name. Take your rightful place as daughter of our elder and lead this tribe to battle.”
“I’ll fight beside you, but I’m no leader,” Cora replied.
“You will be,” Pops replied with a nod. “You have to be, or we’re already dead.”
“You make this sound like a lost cause,” Cora said. She shook her head and sighed. “Living Wind said he knows he’ll die in this battle? I can’t accept that.”
Pops looked Living Wind up and down. He nodded. “He falls, well before his time. So many lives will be taken. You need to accept that, because that is the cost of leadership. Your father understood that, but he isn’t here to do it.”
“Being his daughter doesn’t make me a leader. Sitting Bear is our elder now, why not him?” Cora asked.
The old man’s face soured. “Sitting Bear is true to his name. He is a protector, a guardian at the gates, a caretaker for his tribe. He isn’t a leader for times of war.”
Cora took a deep breath. She lifted her hand, but hesitated. After a second thought, she rested her wrist on the table, palm up. Pops stared at her.
“Show me?” she asked. “Show me that I am?”
Pops folded his hands in front of his face. His eyes drifted to Living Wind.
“You’ll need to take me home,” he warned. “I’ll be weak.”
Living Wind leaned forward and nodded. “Sure, Pops. Anything you need.”
Cora used her free hand to pull a long sip from her coffee, sucking out every drop of alcohol Dottie put in it. She doubted it’d be enough.
Pops hovered his hand over hers. Tingles like electricity passed across the distance between them. He sighed, preparing himself as he rested his hand on Cora.
Cora’s head snapped back, eyes clamped shut. Raw magical power cut through her system like fire and shot straight to her head. A vision appeared in her mind’s eye, as if she were sitting a holotheater. There was an office with expensive carpeting. The image was fixed, unmoving, like a camera. She examined the surroundings - familiar, yet the sight filled her with discomfort. She was looking at the exit from an office, a pair of glass doors to lobby down a short flight of steps outside. A figure approached the doors. It was a woman, her body covered in blue energy, like flames, radiating off every inch of her. She wasn’t alone. Birds appeared as silhouettes on both of her shoulders, and another danced in the air behind her. As she stepped closer to the glass doors, the woman’s face became clear. It was Cora, sure as if she was looking into a mirror.
Where there should have been sienna irises, her eyes glowed with the same blue energy coursing from her body. She walked up the three steps of the door - the door to Lucius’ office, and kicked it open. She stepped through, the three black birds taking flight in different directions. The look on Cora’s face was anger and rage, emotions and power like she’d never experienced before.
Like the startle of waking from a dream, the vision ended. Cora gasped for breath as her eyes flared open to Dottie’s Diner once more.
Living Wind’s hands went to either side of her shoulders. “Hey,” he said, his voice soothing. “Are you okay? It’s hard to take in, I know.”
Disoriented and angry, Cora looked to Pops. He held his chest and tried to mitigate his breathing.
“Why did you stop?” she demanded.
Pops heaved as he spoke. “That was it. There was no more. It’s never worked that way before.”
“What way?” Living Wind asked, getting as whipped up as the other two. “Cora, what did you see?”
“Myself,” she said, taking a breath. She shook her head. “I was covered in...an aura of blue energy of some kind. Birds on my shoulders. I kicked in the door to Lucius’ office at Tetriarch in Berlin, and then nothing.”
“Nothing?” he asked.
“Nothing,” the old man confirmed. “The vision ended without seeing her die. I don’t know what this means.”
Cora withdrew her hand from Pops. His touch was frail, his arm heavy, lacking the strength to pull his hand back. She stood up from the table, shaking off Living Wind’s touch. Every part of her body crackled with magical energy, as if she could run a marathon at any second. Rolling her shoulders, she turned back to Pops.
“It means what I said it means,” she replied. “There is no fate for me. I may end up in that office with those birds and that power, but what happens after is my choice.”
She grabbed a last piece of frybread and dipped it in wojapi before turning for the door.
“Cora, wait,” Living Wind said, walking behind her. “Where are you going?”
“To join the tribe,” she replied, tossing the bread in her mouth. “Get the word out to everyone you can - UNS soldiers are coming. I’m going to the mountain to do whatever ritual I need to.”
Rites of Initiation
The door to Sitting Bear’s home slammed shut, grabbing his attention as he stood in his kitchen. Cora stared at him as if he was hiding a disease from her.
“You’ve touched Pops?” she asked.
Sitting Bear set down a knife beside his cutting board. A variety of vegetables rested in separate bowls on the island counter beside him. He crossed his arms.
“Most of us in Heaven’s Crest have, at one time or another,” he replied. “Except for the few that are too afraid of his gift to receive it.”
Cora walked hurriedly to join him in the kitchen. “An NSA hit squad is coming here. Pops knows it costs many lives. Native lives. You already knew that, didn’t you?”
“I told you last night, they’ll come,” he said. “You needed to understand it for yourself.”
She looked Sitting Bear square in the eye. His gaze wavered. “What else do I need to find out on my own, Uncle?”
“There is so much I want to tell you, but I don’t know how,” Sitting Bear lamented. He shook his head. “The time isn’t right, yet, but you will know when it is.”
Cora smashed her fist on the counter, startling Sitting Bear. “Don’t give me that cryptic prophecy bullshit! Are you one of them?”
“One of what?” Sitting Bear stepped back, alarmed.
“Are you one of the ones...that die in this attack?” she asked, her voice cracking and breaking as she held back her emotions.
Sitting Bear took a deep breath and came around the counter. His muscles relaxed, he joined Cora and made certain he held her gaze.
“No, Cora,” he said. “I’m afraid my end comes many years from now, as an old and infirm man.”
“My God, how long has the town known about this attack?” Cora gasped.
“Years. Many years. Some have shared their stories, and in doing so, put together a framework for the events,” Sitting Bear replied. His voice grim, he looked at the floor.
Cora put her hand on her hip. “We lose, don’t we?”
Sitting Bear shook his head emphatically. “No, I can’t say that. We don’t know that. Cora, you don’t understand what it is we’re fighting for, yet.”
“I understand well enough,” she snapped. “Now, what do we need to do to perform the ceremony, or ritual, or whatever it is? If I need to be part of the tribe, then let’s do it. We have to get ready.”
Sitting Bear turned to the kitchen cabinets behind him with haste, scrambling to find something. He muttered to himself and pulled out a tiny plastic bag, setting it beside him on the counter, then went back to the hunt.
“What are you doing?” Cora asked.
“There is some ceremony to this,” Sitting Bear replied, rifling through cabinets. “Normally when I perform this, it is a sacred event between friends and family in our tribe. We plan it in advance. It’s just going to be us, and we’re going to throw it together. So, I need a few things.”
“Okay,” Cora replied, walking over to the table. She reached down for her backpack, grabbing for her bottle.
“No, Cora,” Sitting Bear warned without turning around. “I don’t pretend to understand your demons, but you must be clear-headed and open to accepting the spirits that will visit you. No drinking.”
Cora froze, the tips of her fingers on the bottle. His statement was so casual, as if he’d just accepted his judgment in the past day that she had some sort of problem. Maybe she did, but that wasn’t the point. She’d been too obvious and brazen in her need to relax. It was supposed to be much more private, like her music - a quiet meditation far from the stresses of magic, murders, and dragons. Her face flushed with embarrassment.
Sitting Bear came back to the table with four pouches, wrapped in cheesecloth. Bits of crumpled green and brown leaves packed tightly together within.
“Potpourri?” she asked.
“A blessed offering,” he replied, examining each of the pouches. “We give back a portion of what we have harvested from Gaea, herbs and such.”
Satisfied, he slid the pouches across the table. “I need you to return to the clearing on the mountain. Take these with you, and place them around the fire at north, south, east, then west, in that order. Then you need to make the tea.”
“Oh, no, the tea again?” Cora moaned, the memory of violently spewing it back up still lingered in the back of her throat.
“Yes,” Sitting Bear replied. “Drink the tea, and commune with whatever spirits reveal themselves to you. After some time, I will visit you, and when I do, the spirits shall tell me your name.”
Cora stared down at the four pouches. She respected the old ways of her people, quaint and charming though it may have been, but all of the ceremony and ritual seemed like posturing and fortune-telling. Even with her supernatural gifts, she had a hard time buying into everything the Native people believed. So much of it, like this naming ceremony, sounded primitive and founded on superstitions. Then again, she did speak with dead people. That was hard to reconcile with science.
She picked up the pouches and put them in the pockets of her bomber jacket. With a sigh, she headed for the door. “I’ll see you soon, then. I’ll be the one tripping balls by an open flame.”
The sun was at its highest as she trekked back up the steep slope behind her uncle’s cabin. With daylight, the going went faster, as she found trees she could yank herself up the climb. Within a few minutes, she arrived at the clearing and went straight to starting the fire. As it began to crackle and flare to life, she ventured from the camp and searched for the blue-capped mushrooms. She remembered needing four, so that would be two each to a cup of tea. Procuring them during the day took only a few minutes. The area was filthy with them.
Once she returned to the camp, the fire smoked away, burning bright. She looked around for the metal rack Sitting Bear used to cook the tea, but came up empty. The same went for the coffee mugs. She couldn’t imagine where he put them. She checked by the log he sat on and around the trees behind it.
With a sigh, she looked toward the house. She dreaded the idea of climbing back up here a second time. Her eyes drifted to the mushrooms in her palm. If the mushrooms had to be diluted in hot water to make the tea, then eating one by itself could have the same effect. That had to be a stupid idea, though. She shook her head. She knew better, but the house was a quarter mile down and then back again. Rather than waste the time, Cora rested the blue-cap on her tongue. Monitoring herself for any change or feeling, all she noticed was a numbing tingle where it rested in her mouth. She slid it over to her molars and chewed, sucking down the bitter-tasting juices that mixed with her saliva.
