Angel Fire East

CHAPTER 11

Nest Freemark pulled on her parka, not bothering with snaps or zippers, and banged her way out through the storm door onto the back porch, down the steps, and into the yard. She exhaled her frustration in a frothy cloud, her mind racing. First Larry Spence comes by with his bizarre story about drug dealing in the park and now O'olish Amaneh reappears. Today was turning into a replay of yesterday, and she wasn't sure she was up to it.

She was already scanning the park, searching for the Indian's familiar silhouette when Pick dropped onto her shoulder.

"Getting to be old home week around here, isn't it?" he offered brightly, fastening on her collar with both twiggy hands. "Hey, watch what you're doing!"

She was hunching down into the coat, jostling Pick as she did so, working the Gore-Tex into a more protective position. It was colder out than she had believed. The temperature was dropping again, the afternoon chill deepened by the sun's disappearance behind a thick bank of clouds, the morning's brightness faded to memory.

"Try thinking about someone besides yourself!" Pick snapped, regaining his balance.

"Quit griping." She was in no mood for sylvan nonsense. Pick meant well, but sometimes he was an out-and-out annoyance. She had enough to deal with. "You saw him, I gather?"

"Which one do you mean? That deputy sheriff, John Ross, or the Indian? I saw them all. What's going on?"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure."

She pushed through the bushes and onto the service road separating the Freemark property from the park. Ahead, the dead grass of the ball diamonds and central play area stretched away in a gray and windburned carpet. Beyond, along the ridge of the bluffs ahead, right toward Riverside Cemetery, and left past the toboggan slide, the bare trunks and limbs of the broad-leaves were framed like dark webbing against the steely sky.

Two Bears was nowhere in sight.

"I don't see him," she said, casting about as she proceeded.

"He's there," Pick insisted. "He was there early this morning, sitting all by himself at one of the picnic tables."

"Well, I don't see him now."

"And you want me to stop griping? Criminy!" He rode her shoulder in silence for a moment. "What does he want this time? Did the Scott girl say?"

"Nope. I don't think she knows."

Nest's boots crunched and skidded against the frosty dampness that had melted earlier and was now refreezing. She'd left both children with Bennett, who seemed confused and out of sorts from her encounter with Two Bears. There's an Indian waiting outside in the park, she'd reported. Bear Claw, she'd called him. Ross was in the shower. Maybe he didn't need to know about this. Maybe he didn't even have to find out O'olish Amaneh was there. Maybe cows could fly.

She wasn't kidding herself about what the Indian's appearance meant. When Two Bears showed up, it meant trouble of the worst kind. She could have predicted his coming, she realized, if she had let herself. With Findo Cask sniffing around in search of the gypsy morph, John Ross bringing the morph to her in an effort to save it, and a deadly confrontation between the paladins of the Word and the Void virtually assured, it was inevitable that O'olish Amaneh would be somewhere close at hand.

A dog came bounding across the park, a black Lab, but its owner's whistle brought it around and back toward where it had come from. She glanced behind her at the house, shadowed in the graying light and heavy trees, remote and empty-seeming. She found herself wondering anew about the unexpected appearance of Larry Spence. One thing was certain. He had come to her for something more than a warning about drug sales in the park, and it clearly had to do with John Ross. Larry didn't like Ross, but she couldn't figure out why. She didn't think they had even met when Ross had come to Hopewell fifteen years ago. Even if they had, Larry wouldn't be carrying a grudge that long, not without more reason than she could envision. It was something else, something more recent.

"There he is," Pick said.

Two Bears stood next to the toboggan slide, a dark shadow within the heavy timbers. He was O'olish Amaneh in the language of his people, the Sinnissippi. He had told Nest once that he was the last of them, that his people were all gone. She shivered at the memory. But Two Bears was much more than a Native American. Two Bears was another of the Word's messengers, a kind of prophet, a chronicler of things lost in the past and a seer of things yet to come.

He moved out to meet her as she approached, as imperturbable as ever, big and weather-burnt, black hair braided and shining, looking for all the world as if he hadn't aged a day. Indeed, even after fifteen years, he didn't seem to have aged at all.

"Little bird's Nest," he said with that slow, warm rumble, hands lifting to clasp her own.

"O'olish Amaneh," she said, and placed her hands in his, watching them disappear in the great palms.

He did not move to embrace her, but simply stood looking at her, dark eyes taking her measure. She was nearly as tall as he was now, but she felt small and vulnerable in his presence.

"You have done much with your life since we spoke last," he said finally, releasing her hands. "Olympics, world championships, honors of all sorts. You have grown wings and flown far. You should be proud."

She smiled and shook her head. "I have a failed marriage, no family, no future, a ghost wolf living inside me, and a house full of trouble." She held his steady gaze with her own. "I don't have time for pride."

He nodded. "Maybe you never did." His eyes shifted to Pick. "Still have your shy little friend, I see. Mr. Pick, the park looks tended and sound, the magic in balance. You are a skilled caretaker."

Pick frowned and gave a small humph, then nodded grudgingly. "I could use a little help."

Two Bears smiled faintly. "Some things never change." His eyes shifted back to Nest. "Walk with me. We can talk better down by the river."

He started away without waiting for her response, and she found herself following. They moved beyond the slide and down into the trees, edging slowly toward the icy skin of the bayou. The temperature was dropping quickly as the afternoon lengthened and the skies darkened further, and their breath formed white clouds in the air before them. Nest was tempted to speak first, to ask the obvious, but Two Bears had asked to speak with her, so she thought it best to wait on him.

"It feels good to hear you speak my name, to know that you have not forgotten it," he said, looking off into the distance.

As if she could, she thought without saying so. As if it were possible. She had encountered Two Bears only twice, but both times her life had been changed forever. O'olish Amaneh and John Ross, harbingers of change: she wondered if they ever thought of themselves that way. Both served the Word, but in different ways, and their relationship was something of a mystery. Two Bears had given Ross the rune-carved staff that was both the talisman of his power and the chain that bound him to his fate. Ross had tried at least once to give the staff back and failed. Each had come to Nest both as savior and executioner, but the roles had shifted back and forth between them, and in some ways they remained unclear. They were fond of her, but not of each other. Perhaps their roles placed restrictions on their feelings. Perhaps fondness for her was allowed, while fondness for each other was not.

She was not certain how she felt about them. She guessed she liked Ross better for having witnessed his vulnerability ten years ago in Seattle, when a demon had almost claimed him through misguided love. He had lost almost everything then, stripped of illusion and hope. In a few seconds of blinding recognition, he discovered how deeply pervasive evil was and how impossible it would be to walk away from his battle against it. He had taken up the black staff of his office once more, reclaimed his life as a Knight of the Word, and gone on because there was nothing else for him to do. She found him brave and wonderful because of that.

By the same token, she guessed, she had distanced herself from Two Bears. It wasn't for what he had done, but for what she had discovered he might do. In Seattle, he had come to observe, to see if she could change the direction in which John Ross had drifted and by doing so enable him to escape the trap that was closing about him. Two Bears had come to watch, but if she had failed in her efforts, he had come to act as well, to make certain that whatever else happened, John Ross would not become a servant of the Void. He had made that clear to her in urging her to go to Ross, even after John had rejected her help, and it had given her an understanding of Two Bears that she would just as soon not have.

But that was long ago, she thought, walking through the park with him, and these are different times.

"I'm surprised you showed yourself to Bennett," she said finally, abandoning her resolve to wait longer on him.

"She needed someone to protect her from evil spirits." He kept his gaze directed straight ahead, and she could not determine if he was serious.

"I had a visit from a demon named Findo Gask," she said.

"An evil spirit of the sort I was talking about. One of the worst. But you already know that."

She scuffed at the frozen ground impatiently. "John Ross is here as well. He brought a gypsy morph to me."

"A houseful of trouble, as you claim, when you add in the young woman and her child." He might have been talking about the weather. "What will you do?"

She made a face. "I was hoping you might tell me." On her shoulder, Pick was muttering in irritation, but she couldn't tell who or what he was upset with.

Two Bears stopped a dozen yards from the river bank in a stand of winter grasses and gray hickory. He looked at her quizzically. "It is not my place to tell you what to do, little bird's Nest. You are a grown woman, one possessing uncommon strength of mind and heart and body. You have weathered difficult times and harsh truths. The answers you seek are yours to provide, not mine."

She frowned, impatient with his evasiveness. "But you asked to speak to me, O'olish Amaneh."

He shrugged. "Not about this. About something else." He began walking again, and Nest followed. "A houseful of trouble," he repeated, skirting a stand of hackberry and stalks of dried itch weed, moving toward the ravine below the deep woods, following a tiny stream of snowmelt upstream from the bayou. "A houseful of trouble can make a prisoner of you. To get free, you must empty your house of what is bad and fill it with what is good."

"You mean I should throw everybody out and start over?" She arched one eyebrow at him. "Bring in some new guests?"

Still walking steadily ahead, as if he had a destination in mind and a firm intention of reaching it, he did not look at her. "Sometimes change is necessary. Sometimes we recognize the need for it, but we don't know how to achieve it. We misread its nature. We think it is beyond us, failing to recognize that our inability to act is a problem of our own making. Change is the solution we require, but it is not a goal that is easily reached. Identifying and disposing of what is troubling to us requires caution and understanding."

He was telling her something in that obscure, oblique way he employed when talking of problems and solutions, believing that everyone must resolve things on their own, and the best he could do was to offer a flashlight for use on a dark path. She struggled with the light he had provided, but it was too weak to be of help.

"Everyone in my house needs me," she advised quietly. "I can't ask them to leave, even if allowing them to stay places me in danger."

He nodded. "I would expect nothing less of you."

"So the trouble that fills my house, as you put it, will have to be dealt with right where it is, I guess."

"You have dealt with trouble in your house before, little bird's Nest."

She thought about it a moment. He was speaking of Gran and Old Bob, fifteen years earlier, when John Ross had come to her for the first time, and she had learned the truth about her star-crossed family. But this was different. The secrets this time were not hers, but belonged to the gypsy morph. Or perhaps to John Ross.

Didn't they?

She looked at him sharply, sensing suddenly that he was talking about her after all, that he was giving her an insight into her own life.

"Not all the troubles that plague us are ours to solve," Two Bears advised, walking steadily on. "Life provides its own solutions to some, and we must accept those solutions as we would the changing of the seasons." He glanced at her expectantly.

"Well, I'm not much good at sitting back and waiting for life to solve my problems for me."

"No. And this is not what you should do. You should solve those problems you understand well, but leave the others alone. You should provide solutions where you are able and accept that this is enough." He paused, then sighed. "In a houseful of trouble, not everything can be salvaged."

Well, okay, she was thinking, you save what you can and let go of the rest. Fair enough. But how was she supposed to save anything if she didn't know where to start?

"Can you tell me something about the gypsy morph?" she tried hopefully.

He nodded. "Very powerful magic. Very unpredictable. A gypsy morph becomes what it will, if it becomes anything at all, which is rare. Mostly it fails to find its form and goes back with the air, wild and unreachable. Spirits understand it, for they occupy space with it. They brush against it, pass through it, float upon it, before it becomes a solid thing, while it is still waiting to take form." He shrugged. "It is an enigma waiting for an answer."

She blew out a cloud of breath. "Well, how do I go about rinding out what that answer is? This morph has become a little boy. What does that mean? Is that the form it intends to take? What does it want with me? It spoke my name to John Ross, but now that it's here it doesn't even look at me."

They stopped on the rickety wooden bridge that crossed the nearly frozen trickle of the winter stream. Two Bears leaned on the railing, hands clasped.

"Talk to him, little bird's Nest."

"What?"

"Have you said anything to him? This little boy, have you spoken to him on your own?"

She thought about it a moment. "No."

"The solution is often buried somewhere in the problem. If the gypsy morph requires you, it may choose to tell you so. But perhaps it needs to know you care first."

She thought about it a moment. The gypsy morph was a child, a newborn less than thirty days formed, and as a four-year-old boy, it might be necessary that he be reassured and won over. She hadn't done that. She hadn't even tried, feeling pressed and rushed by Ross. The morph might need her badly, but needing and trusting were two different things entirely.

"All right," she said.

"Good." He lifted away from the bridge, straightening. "Now I will explain my reason for asking to speak with you. It is simple. I am your friend, and I came to say good-bye. I am the last of the Sinnissippi, and I have come home to be with my people. I wanted you to know, because it is possible I will not see you again."

Nest stared, absorbing the impact of his words. "Your people are all dead, O'olish Amaneh. Does this mean you will die, too?"

He laughed, and his laugh was hearty and full. "You should see your face, little bird's Nest! I would be afraid to die with such a fierce countenance confronting me! Mr. Pick! Look at her! Such fierce resolution and rebuke in her eyes! How do you withstand this power when it is turned on you?"

He sobered then, and shook his head. "This is difficult to explain, but I will try. By joining with my ancestors, with my people, who are gone from this earth, I do not have to give up my own life in the way you imagine. But I must bond with them in a different form. By doing so, I must give up something of myself. It is difficult to know beforehand what this will require. I say good-bye as a precaution, in the event I am not able to return to you."

"Transmutation?" she asked. "You will become something else."

"In a sense. But then, I always was." He brushed the matter off with a wave of his big hand. "If I leave, I will not be gone forever. Like the seasons, I will still be in the seeds of the earth, waiting." He shrugged. "My leaving is a small thing. I will not be missed."

She exhaled sharply. "Don't say that. It isn't true."

There was a long silence as they faced each other in the graying winter light, motionless in the cold, breath clouding the air before their intense faces. "It isn't true for you," he said finally. "I am grateful for that."

She was still fighting to accept the idea that he would not be there anymore, that he would be as lost to her as Gran and Old Bob, as her mother and her father, as so many of her friends. It was a strange reaction to have to someone she had encountered only twice before and had such mixed feelings about. It was an odd response no matter how she looked at it. The closest parallel she could draw was to Wraith, when he had disappeared on her eighteenth birthday, gone forever it seemed, until she discovered him anew inside her.

Would it be like that with O'olish Amaneh?

"When will this happen?" she asked, her voice tight and small.

"When it is time. Perhaps it will not happen at all. Perhaps the spirits of my people will not have me."

"Perhaps they'll throw you back when they find out you talk in riddles all the time!" Pick snapped.

Two Bears' laughter boomed through the empty woods. "Perhaps if they do, I will have to come live with you, Mr. Pick!" He glanced at Nest. "Come, walk with me some more."

They retraced their steps down the ravine toward the bayou, then along the river bank where the woods hugged the shoreline, the dark, skeletal limbs crisscrossing the graying skies. The air was crisp and cold, but there was a fresh dampness as well, the smell of incoming snow, thick and heavy. The Rock was frozen solid below the toboggan run, and there would be sleds on the ice by nightfall.

When they reached the edge of the woods and were in sight of the wooden chute where it opened onto the ice, Two Bears stopped.

"Even when I am with my people, you may see me again, little bird's Nest," he said.

She wrinkled her nose. "Like a ghost?"

"Perhaps. Are you afraid of what that might mean?"

She gave him a look. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Always."

"Then I have no reason to be afraid."

He shook his head in contradiction. "If I come to you, I will do so as my ancestors did for me in the park fifteen years ago—in dreams. They came to you as well that night. Do you remember?"

She did. Fifteen years ago, her dreams of the Sinnissippi had shown Gran as a young girl, running with a demon in the park, feeders chasing after her, a wild, reckless look in her dark eyes. They had revealed truths that had changed everything.

"There is always cause to be afraid of what our dreams will show us," he whispered. One hand lifted to touch her face gently. "Speak my name once more."

"O'olish Amaneh," she said.

"No one will ever say it and give me greater pleasure. The winds bear your words to the heavens and scatter them as stars."

He gestured skyward, and her eyes responded to the gesture, searching obediently.

When she looked back again, he was gone.

"Just tell me this," Pick said after a long moment of silence. "Do you have any idea what he was talking about?"

John Ross came down the hallway to the living room and found Bennett Scott sitting in a chair reading a Sports Illustrated while Harper colored paper on the floor. The gypsy morph knelt on the couch and stared out the window as if turned to stone.

Bennett looked up, and he asked, "Where's Nest?"

She shrugged. "Out in the park, talking with some Indian."

A cold space settled in the pit of his stomach. Two Bears. He leaned heavily on his staff, thinking that it was all going to happen again, a new confrontation between the Word and the Void, another battle in an endless war. What was expected of him this time? To unlock the secret of the morph, he knew. But if he failed...

He brushed his thoughts aside, finding they spiraled down into a darkness he didn't care to approach. He thought back suddenly to the Fairy Glen and the Lady, to his last visit there, and to the secret he had discovered and could never share with anyone. Thinking on it made him suddenly weary of his life.

"Are you all right?" Bennett Scott asked him.

He almost laughed, thinking that he would never be all right, thinking the question strange coming from her. "Yes," he said, and walked into the kitchen.

He had poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and was halfway through it when the doorbell rang. When it rang a second time, he walked to the kitchen entry and looked into the living room. Harper was in her mother's lap, a storybook in her hands. Bennett glanced up and shrugged indifferently, so Ross limped down the hallway instead.

When he opened the front door, Josie Jackson was waiting.