Grandmother Coyote lived out in the woods about five miles from our place. There was a turnoff where I could park, and—bruised and battered though I was—I headed through the brush and ferns toward the grove where she lived.
Grandmother Coyote was one of the Hags of Fate—the women who wove destiny into being and who cut the cords when necessary. They never played favorites, and were entrusted to right the balance when the pendulum swung too far either way. They were the female equivalent of the Harvestmen, and together, along with the Elemental Lords and Ladies, were the only true Immortals. Even the gods could fall—and did, at times. Even the gods could die. Now and then, Grandmother Coyote would look into the future, if the time was right and the questioner had a good reason, but she never took action unless there was a necessary reason. And those reasons were known only to her and the other Hags of Fate.
The path to Grandmother Coyote’s lair was through the woods, deep into a grove of cedar and fir. The field before the copse was littered with fallen branches from storms, and with scrub brush that had grown tall over the past four years since I first ventured into meet her. There was nothing pointing the way, no sign or landmark signifying this was her land, but the energy wove a net through the meadow and trees that was unmistakable. It shivered along my skin, tracing patterns up my arms and across the back of my neck like needles of light zapping me gently. Butterfly kisses of magic alerted me that yes, one of the Ancients lived in this woodland, so be very, very respectful.
I passed between two giant cedars and through a stand of huckleberry bushes, finally coming to a narrow dirt path littered with needles from the tall timber. At times, Grandmother Coyote met me in the meadow, but today I could sense she was waiting in her lair.
The early evening light was still bright—dusk came late during the summer months—and it played through the lacework of branches as I wound my way through the woodland. The sound of birdsong filled the air, their echoes ricocheting through the trees with a haunting trill. Bees were still gathering pollen, the fuzzy bumbles darting from flower to flower, their legs heavy with the yellow grains. All along the path, brambles and berry bushes overflowed their patches, blossoms white and open. Waist-high ferns sprawled across the trail, and the scent of moss growing on trees hung heavy in the forest. I stopped for a moment, inhaling deeply, the scent washing over me as it calmed my agitation from the day.
And then, I was there—at the base of Grandmother Coyote’s tree. The trunk was huge, large enough to drive a semi through. I walked up to the massive cedar and placed my hand against the wood, leaning close as I whispered, “It’s Camille. I need to talk to you.”
A moment passed, and then another moment. Then, slowly, a doorway formed in front of me, and the next moment, Grandmother Coyote was standing beside me.
Chapter 7
GRANDMOTHER COYOTE WAS old as the hills. Old as time. The millennia of her life was etched deeply into the roadmap lining her face. She wore a long gray robe that swept around her ankles, and she carried a walking stick. Her eyes glimmered in the early evening light, and tendrils of long white hair peeked from beneath the hood that she always kept over her head. She was ancient, she was, immortal and out of the reach of any weapon. No mortal could harm her, no creature could kill her. Time itself could not touch her, for Grandmother Coyote lived outside of time. Soil-bound to the earth, she still served every realm. No power stood above her, and with her sister Hags of Fate, she was destiny incarnate.
“Camille, you seek my advice, perhaps?” With a crafty smile, she stood back and invited me into her world.
As I entered the tree trunk, the space grew, forming a tunnel with a dirt floor. She led me along the passage while eye catchers lit the way, the faerie lights sparkling and twinkling like orange-sized stars of pink and green and blue and yellow.
I knew this path. I had been along it several times and it felt oddly comforting to me. When I was here, nothing from the outside could penetrate. Nothing could interrupt. The trail led to a cavern at the end, and in the cave was an oaken table and two chairs. The chairs were covered with gnarls and burls, the knots of the wood oddly alive. A crystal ball sat on the table and a bag.
Grandmother Coyote offered me a seat and I cautiously sat down. The chairs had a habit of coming to life, and the arms could easily wrap around one’s waist.
“What do you seek today?”
“Knowledge. I want to know about the Primordial Fae. About one in particular—K’thbar.” I paused, then explained to her what had happened. “We woke him up, and now I’m worried he’ll hurt the people on the island.” I was cautious about asking favors from Grandmother Coyote. There was always a price to pay for her answers and help, but we hadn’t much to go on and my instinct had insisted that I visit her to find out what I could.