People of the Morning Star(26)
“A darkness like nothing I can…” Another shiver left her trembling. “His teeth punched through my head … the bone cracking and breaking. Pus and blood, I still feel it!” In desperation she pressed her hands against the sides of her head. “Why am I still alive, Elder?”
“I cannot tell you why, Lady Night Shadow Star. But let my assistant place the cloak upon your shoulders.”
She gave the young man a wary glance as he approached. Her throat suddenly dry, she took a deep breath. As he finished unfolding the garment, she gasped as the thing’s hood—made from a cougar’s head—came into view.
Terror, cold as ice, settled in her bones. In her souls something whispered, Yes! She almost cried out as the man laid the cape over her shoulders, but at its touch a warm wave of energy tingled through bones, muscles, and nerves. Images of dark caverns, fish, turtles, and great serpents spun through her. She heard pitiful cries, as if they were born of the very air around her.
A presence stirred within her as the assistant fitted the hood over her head. It began to swell, flexing muscles, spreading great wings, as a tail that was hers—and at the same time wasn’t—lashed behind her. The impulse to clench her hands caused her to glance down. Impossibly she saw yellow eagle’s feet with polished talons curling in her vision, only to have the image fade back into her straining fingers as they curled.
Release the Power, a hollow voice echoed within her. Now you are mine!
“I am Night Shadow Star,” she insisted doggedly.
The swelling presence laughed hollowly.
“Lady?” Rides-the-Lightning leaned close; His face intruded among the spinning bits of fantastic images. “Can you hear me?”
She gasped for air, blinking away fragments of incredible visions of wavering green moss, glinting fish, and rainbow-colored snakes as they swam past. Concentrating, she focused on Rides-the-Lightning, forcing his age-ravaged face to solidify.
A low whimper was torn from her throat as the cape was removed; she slumped, feeling exhausted. The booming laughter that battered her souls receded to a faint echo. Her hands were now her own, her body oddly empty and looted after the sensation of wings. The Power had drained away, a hollow sensation in its wake, as though all that remained of her was a gutted husk.
“What happened to me?” she whispered softly.
Rides-the-Lightning’s blind eyes studied her thoughtfully. “You now belong to Piasa, Lady. His Power fills you, runs in your veins.” He cocked his head. “When you Danced with Sister Datura, you didn’t want to come back to this world, did you?”
She shook her head. “I went looking for my husband.”
“You have my sympathy, Lady.”
“Yes, everyone’s sorry that he’s dead.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She shot him an irritated glance.
As if he could read her expression through those opaque orbs, he added, “Those who go in search of the dead without making the proper preparations and taking the appropriate precautions must accept the consequences.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You need to eat something, Night Shadow Star. Rest here for a while. I will send a runner to the Morning Star and tell him that your souls have returned to your body.”
“I’ll tell him myself,” she retorted, unnerved by his wary manner. “He possesses my brother’s body, after all.”
“He’s indeed your kind.” The old man hesitated. “After a fashion.”
She forced herself to stand, swayed, and almost lost her balance. Her stomach knotted, twisted in protest, but stilled when she pressed her hand to it.
“Thank you for your service, Venerated Elder.”
He humbly replied, “It was my honor … great lord.”
The way he said it left her unbalanced. Her vision wavered and turned runny, as if seeing the temple’s interior from underwater. A peculiar elation filled her, and she blinked, trying to get her old self back. But her souls seemed to squirm around inside her, and faint echoes of visions—they had to be Sister Datura’s fading embrace—flickered behind her eyes.
Remember … you don’t have much time. The voice sounded so clear. Her gaze sought the source, finding only mute priests who watched her with wary eyes.
“Remember what?” She turned, searching the room. “Who spoke?”
Rides-the-Lightning’s sightless eyes peered intently at her as he said, “No one spoke, Lady. You are hearing the Piasa’s Spirit voice. You need to stay here and rest. It will take time to come to terms with this new—”
“I have to go.”