Free Salem's Fury (Vengeance Trilogy Book 2) by Aaron Galvin

legs.
    I pluck it free and hold its tip aloft as Father vanishes into the thicket.
    The dizziness cripples me.
    “Father, don’t!” I cry. “Don’t leave me.”
    The wind howls, burying my plea, yet even it cannot silence the flutes and drums. Only after the wind dissipates does something stir from inside the wood.
    My hand quivering, I reach for a nearby elm to steady myself.
    “Father…” I say. When he does not reappear, I call out with the name my sister gives him. “ Priest… come back…”
    My wounds throb in warning the noisemaker is not he, even as I call for him.
    Small in stature, ferocious in nature, the noisemaker reveals itself to me.
    The raccoon pauses in a ray of moonlight. Its head cocks to the side, studying me. Then it growls.
    Your father is gone. I gather the animal’s meaning. As is the man Priest. Only the Black Pilgrim remains…and you are no daughter to him. He has no family.
    I point the shaking dagger tip in the raccoon’s direction.
    The animal opens its mouth, hisses.
    “C-come for me, s-spirit,” I say, my body suddenly weak as the dizziness returns to claim me. “I-I would learn what gift you would lend me.”
    My knees buckle. I fall to earth, my face plastered in mud.
    Ravens caw overhead.
    I glance up.
    A pair of the dark messengers descends from their perches. They settle near the raccoon, flanking the ringed-tail on either side.
    I wonder what strange lesson the grandfathers mean for me to learn as the ravens jabber at one another.
    The raccoon hisses them silent, its beady gaze upon me. It leaves the birds and scuttles toward me.
    My limbs refuse to move, bound to the cold mud by an unseen force. I force myself to stare at the raccoon, and await its claws to finish the job it began on my face.
    The animal halts a few inches from me. Sitting on its haunches, it strokes its whiskers with tiny paws and looks on me curiously, then opens its mouth.
    “Waken…” The raccoon’s voice sounds gravelly and raw, as if the earth itself opened to speak with me.
    My eyes widen.
    The raccoon ambles before me, holds me with its gaze. “ Waken , child .”
    ***
    Strong hands grip my shoulders and break the enchantment cast over my limbs. They pull me to a seated position.
    My eyes flutter open.
    The raccoon has vanished. So too have the ravens and the woods.
    I look to my forearms and observe no scratches. No blood or black stains of the residue that coated Father’s body. Even the feeling of insects and inflammation has vanished. Now my skin feels damp and clammy, sweat-ridden.
    A guiding hand forces me to take hold of the leather water skin thrust into my open palms.
    “Drink,” Creek Jumper commands, though not unkindly.
    I guzzle the tepid water, draining the skin. Slowly, my strength returns.
    Creek Jumper shuffles behind me. Wood slaps against leather and coolness saps the heat and haze from the sweat lodge.
    The firelight wanes. Its tips flicker, threatening to flee if the breeze continues.
    The flap door closes, and the fire blooms anew.
    Creek Jumper moves slow and sure round the fire. The clinking of beads and bone from the leather pouch around his neck comforts that no evil spirit may take me in his presence.
    The firelight dances between us. It casts our long shadows against the far wall as Creek Jumper again takes his seat upon the bison hide.
    “What vision did the ancestors grant you, child?” he asks.
    His face remains a stone as I recount my vision. Indeed, he shows me little sign he is to have heard my tale at all. Only when I finish does he give me the smallest of nods.
    “Even the wisest cannot know all that the manitous reveals in the dream fast,” said Creek Jumper. “For some, the visions come to bear soon. Others…” He shakes his head.
    “Aye,” I say. “But what do you believe of mine? What message would they have me understand? Learn what lesson?”
    Creek Jumper palms a handful of softened corn from his bowl. Eats the kernels slowly, all while