Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (63 page)

Although it was dark in the lodge, Lily's keen eyes still
saw the smooth dirt floor and the large hole that marked one corner. The
eastern corner, she noticed, remembering there was some significance in that
location. She asked Tony about it.

"East is the spirits' door to our world."

"Oh, the spirits," she said numbly, looking up at
the sky. The colors were fading, and like the nights before, the wind was
rising. Surprisingly, she felt no fear, even though she was facing the greatest
unknown of her life. Although it was foolish, Tony's affirmation that White
Wolf Woman survived her ordeal had given Lily a hope she hadn't possessed
earlier.

After kicking off his moccasins, Tony positioned himself in
the middle of the sheet of metal, then asked Lily to take hold of the opposite
end, adding, "Be careful not to burn your hands."

He pulled and she pushed. When the metal sheet was halfway
inside the lodge, Tony raised his hand. He knelt in front of the corner pit and
transferred the rocks by means of the gourd. Soon Lily felt as if she were
standing in front of a sauna. Only the blowing wind kept her from becoming
faint from the intense heat.

When the last rock was in place, Tony pushed the metal
aside, then stood and said, "Wait here."

He walked barefoot to a nearby chaparral. Taking his knife
from its sheath at his waist, he cut off a branch and brought it back to the
lodge.

"Remove your shoes and enter," he instructed,
waiting beside the door.

Lily kicked them off, stooped to clear the low entrance, then
fell to her knees and crawled on the leather floor as far as possible from the
heated rocks. Tony scooted in behind her and sat in front of the pit. Using the
edge of his knife like a razor blade, he sliced leaves off the chaparral
branch, dropping them in the clay bowl. This he carefully placed on top of the
glowing stones. After that he unwrapped the tobacco pack and put it at the
center of the lodge.

Next he shoved the sage stick against the blazing stones.
When it began to smolder, he pivoted at the waist to reach toward the door.

The heavy leather curtain fell. Total darkness descended on
the small space, and even with the light coming from the pit, Lily could barely
see. A trill of panic ran up her spine. The Tribunal was about to convene.

Lily's eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. Although she
didn't know how he could stand the heat, Tony remained next to the pit, the
glow silhouetting him in the darkness. Now he placed the drum between his legs.
His lips moved wordlessly and he began tattooing out a rhythmic beat.

"South," he cried, tilting back his head.
"Home of Earth Mother, who was present when life began. We honor
you."

The drumming stopped. Lily smelled the scent of sage and saw
red flashes as he waved the burning stick in the air.

He made a quarter turn and the drumming resumed. "West.
Grandfather Sky, the seed of thought and consciousness. We honor you."

Another waft of sage, another turn, another beating of the
drum. He spoke to the east, honoring the Four Leggeds for providing guidance
and nourishment. As he uttered each prayer, the timbre of his voice grew more
impassioned. When he turned to the north his voice rang like a bell.

"North. Home of the Great Spirit, creator of all that
the Two Leggeds know. Send your lords and demilords, your spirit guides, your
animal guides!"

Thunder shook the sky, rumbling in deafening waves from the
north. Although she'd never feared the weather, Lily cringed.

Tony resumed his drumming, raising the crescendo until it
filled the lodge with a mighty song rivaling the thunder outside. As the beat
slowed, growing quieter, gentler, Tony said, "The Storm Gods have heard
our call. It's a good omen."

"Good?" Lily repeated shakily.

"Yes, very good. Now rise on your knees."

She did as he asked, and he fluttered the bird wing above
her skin, starting at the ground and moving gradually up her body. It created a
heavenly breeze and Lily let her head drop back. Her eyes closed.

"Your daughter is here, Great Spirit. Her heart is open
to your guidance. Steer her well as she meets her accusers."

Lily's eyes snapped open. For an inane moment, she thought
of how her mother would respond to Tony's prayer. Ridiculous! Superstitious!
But Lily's experiences of what lay beyond sight and sense did not allow her to
share those sentiments. She knew these things existed. Her firsthand knowledge
was of dark powers, though, and she had no faith the powers of light would
appear—at least for her.

"How can the Great Spirit steer me, Tony? I don't see
or hear him. I don't even sense him."

"You will, when the need arises. In the meantime, I'm
your advocate in these proceedings. I'll share your visions and know what you
experience. But you have to ask for my help. No matter what happens, don't
forget I'm by your side. When all seems lost, turn to me." He leaned
forward then and rested his hand lightly on her hip. "I fear for you,
Lily. We shouldn't have made love."

She took his hand in hers. Although her own skin was already
growing clammy, his was dry. "It was worth it."

Then she smiled, sank to the ground, and gave herself over
to what was coming.

     
* * *

Arlan Ravenheart shivered as he led Sebastian and his pack
through the darkening maze. The King had been impatient to find his lost Queen,
and had rushed them from the cave before the sun had fully set.

He tried to concentrate on finding small signs that the maze
had been disturbed. He'd assisted in reworking the route many times and knew
what to look for —a broken branch, a freshly cut twig, grass trampled by many
feet, then raked back to conceal the damage. But the wind had picked up,
bringing the scent of impending rain, and the stiff breeze made him shiver even
in the sultry night. His limbs still ached from the rigors of alchemizing.

 
His companions
appeared untroubled by the changing weather and moved stealthily over the pine
carpet of the forest even as he struggled to keep from clumsily snapping twigs,
a difficulty he'd never had in human form.

"This way," he said to Beryl, who'd remained close
to his side, but was now veering off into a dead end. Beryl growled, moving
uncomfortably close to Ravenheart's shoulder.

Nor was he as tall as they, he realized. Beryl topped him by
half a foot or more. This new state hadn't delivered the power he'd expected.
And when the others had dragged in the elk and expected him to dine on the
ripped, raw meat, he'd almost gagged. Was this common for an omega? None of
them would explain and had soon grown cross with his ceaseless questions,
laughing and nipping at him like the runt of the litter.

"This is the correct path," he assured Beryl, who
was looking at him suspiciously. The wolf prince didn't like him, although he
didn't know why. Perhaps Sebastian's protection had raised his ire.

Ravenheart stopped and looked back at the King, who was
strolling in a lordly manner behind Ravenheart and Beryl, followed by the
remaining seven. "Swear again, you will spare my people, and only take
Lily and the shaman's kin from the village."

"A werewolf always keeps a promise," Sebastian
barked. "And I promised to hurt no one unless they attack first."

"Yes, Lord," Ravenheart replied quickly. "Of
course."

Sebastian's sly smile made him uneasy. Something wasn't
right. But at least he could shapeshift, something White Hawk couldn't do.
Surely, he would harness these new powers in due time. This wasn't a mistake,
he assured himself.

No, he'd made no mistake. None.

Ravenheart stopped, raising his hand. Through the trees he
saw people milling around the fires. Sentries were posted beside the entrance,
standing with their hands on their knives. Old Frieda leaned on her cane,
taking her slow nightly stroll around the perimeter of the village.

Beryl grunted something in the werewolves' language that
Ravenheart vaguely knew meant that those behind them should also stop. He was
already learning their tongue, although how he could do this in one day was
beyond his comprehension.

Sebastian cocked his enormous head and pricked his ears. He
frowned unpleasantly, then sniffed the air.

"Lily and the shaman are not here!" he roared.

Ravenheart cringed. The people by the fires pivoted their
heads toward the maze. The two warriors at the entrance drew their knives, then
reached into the pockets of their sheath belts. Whoops rose from the edges of
the forest.

Dozens of warriors rushed toward the maze, arms raised and
holding spears. Frieda, who was only feet away, shrank against her walking
stick.

The werewolves bristled and howled in unison.
"Change," Sebastian ordered, melting into full wolf form. His eight
minions fell in line, their forms melting until they stood on all fours.
Ravenheart tried to obey, but the agony was so intense that by the time he'd
alchemized, the others were barreling toward the approaching warriors.

Suddenly the air was filled with noxious fumes. The wolves
at the forefront gasped. One let out a pitiful cry and fell to the ground.

"Fall back," Sebastian choked out. His wolf body
now had a human head. One paw had turned into a hand. Lumbering awkwardly, he
retreated into the maze. Beryl and the other wolves turned and began slithering
for shelter. Ravenheart fell on his haunches, horrified.

Then he gasped like the others. His body began to
spontaneously alchemize, but not as painfully as before. The other werewolves
slunk past, giving him little heed. Ravenheart stared down at his fingers, then
turned to look at the fleeing werewolves, remembering Sebastian's last words
before the chaos began. Lily wasn't in the village.

He moved his gaze to Frieda. The warriors were swarming
around her, rushing toward the entrance of the maze. Ravenheart could smell her
fear, hear the boom of her pulse straining to race through her calcified
arteries. He felt a hunger unlike anything he'd ever known, not even in his
darkest moments of hating White Hawk.

Pretending not to hear Sebastian's orders to follow him,
Ravenheart ducked into the shelter of some bushes and waited until the warriors
passed him. Then he stepped out of the maze.

"Arlan!" Frieda exclaimed. "You are
alive."

He rushed forward, taking her in his arms as an expression
of reunion. "Yes," he breathed hastily. "The werewolves captured
me and were planning to trade me for Lily. But I escaped."

"Praise the spirits," she replied. "If the
man-wolves had learned, Lily is not here they surely would have slain you."

"Not here?" He inhaled deeply. Even in human form
he could smell the salty scent of her skin, could almost smell her blood.

"No." Frieda leaned heavily on her cane and looked
up at him. "She has gone with White Hawk to meet the Tribunal."

Ravenheart let go of Frieda and stepped back. She'd given
him what he needed. Her usefulness had ended. At least while she was alive. He
looked toward the fires. Everyone had scattered. He and Frieda were standing in
the shadows out of view and he was sure no one had seen them.

"Follow me," he said. "I have something to
show you in the forest."

Frieda had no reason to doubt him. She'd always liked him,
regarded him as a powerful warrior who was destined to be a shaman. He moved
into the dark shelter of a tree and waited as she cautiously made her way, eyes
downcast to check for obstacles.

Already the changes were coming, and he bit his lips to keep
from crying out. When Frieda reached the tree, she looked up trustingly, then
gasped. Ravenheart felt a brief regret as his fangs closed around her stringy
neck. He felt her scream, although it never left her lips. She collapsed
against him, limp and lifeless. Sweeping her into his arms, he broke into a
lope, his only aim to get far enough from the warriors and werewolves to feed
alone on his bony kill.

* * *

Tony ladled water on the stones. Steam filled the lodge so
densely Lily couldn't see. She felt weak and nauseous and unable to sit.
Moaning softly, she fell to her side. Compared to the heat above, the leather
felt cool against her cheek, and she pressed closer to it, seeking relief.

The voices came.

"I had three children who grew up without me," a
young woman cried.

"My wife and sons were forced to live on the
streets," a man accused.

"Because I was not there to heal them, half of my
village died from a plague."

Lily looked up. The woman was barely past her teenaged
years. The man was tall and strong. The middle-aged woman wore a peasant's
shift. A medallion signifying she was a white witch hung around her neck.

"No, no," Lily moaned, clutching the crystal at
her breasts and curling into a ball. "Go away. None of you are real."

Suddenly she was in a field, running on the four legs of a
wolf. The man ahead of her glanced back in terror, his feet trampling the crops
in his attempt to elude her. She narrowed the space between them and his face
contorted in fear. She lunged. . . . The scene
 
changed. A woman wearing black hugged two small boys who wept over an
open grave. Two children clung to the legs of a grief-stricken man. He held a
wailing baby in his arms. A mass of quaintly clothed people mourned their
recent dead.

The steam swirled, then Morgan stood before her. "You
ripped my life away," he said, "and cursed me with a living
hell."

"You would have squashed me like a beetle," Dana
Gibbs cried.

Lily's head spun, and another vision arose. Jorje at her
side, racing through the pines toward the enticing scent of live human flesh.
Dusk was falling. They were in wolf shape, and she savored the feel of the
ground beneath her paws, the wind ruffling her silver coat.