A Wicked Beginning Read online

  Oh, he wanted to smoke, alright, but knew this was different. He gingerly held the pipe stem with both hands. It felt kind of like it was alive. It seemed weighted, heavy. He brought the pipe to his lips and took a few tentative puffs. This tobacco tasted sweet and rich. It didn’t taste like, didn’t feel like sucking on a cig. It seemed, well…it seemed reverent. As he puffed, a thought formed in his heart. Help me understand what the dreamling wants with me. Help me understand. Help me become a better man from this. Help me grow in knowledge. And please help me be a good man to Chérie. He blew the smoke out in a skyward stream before handing the pipe to Lightning Rod.

  This whole scene was weird, Cam noted, as Lightning Rod took his turn with the pipe. His mind was busy, notating, cataloging, observing… What the fuck was he doing in here? What the fuck had happened out there? He could still feel the places in his body where the dreamling had probed. He still remembered the ache in his pelvis from the cat’s breath. His leg started to make the sewing machine maneuver, pumping up and down. He felt Mano nudge his leg, and he stopped.

  In the darkness, all the men looked like specters, their faces lit in an orange glow. It was kind of eerie. That prayer thing was kind of cool, though. He didn’t think he was a praying kind of guy but still… Blowing his prayer out on a stream of tobacco felt righteous.

  He observed Lightning Rod hand the pipe back to the elder. The wizened man placed it gently into a large pouch, picked up a cup, and dipped into a bucket of water. Singing in a language Cam did not understand, the water was poured onto the stones. Instantly, moist, searing heat filled the lodge. His body, which was already sweating, now was seeping water out of every pore. He imagined himself to be a scorching hot waterfall in his own tiny universe of Hell.

  Some of the men joined in the singing. Some made a shout or two. Cam kept repeating in his mind, Help me understand. Help me grow. The heat was fucking intense. The small dome seemed to contract with the chaos here, the chaos of men’s prayers and dreams being sung, shouted, muttered, and thought out into the heavens. The noise seemed to grow in a crescendo until abruptly the flap was opened and a loud “Mitakuye Oyasin” was uttered.

  Cool air rushed into the space. Cam was relieved. He was sitting close to the door and got a good gust or two. No one moved. No one spoke. The rocks glowed softly. A few more were brought in. After several moments, the flap was lowered and the process began again.

  The second and third round proceeded like the first. Different songs were sung, but the process was the same. Sing, sweat, chant, pray, let it all out in a sacred purge. On the fourth round, the elder spoke before spilling water onto the stones. “Let these prayers be your finest…and your shortest...it’s hot in here.” Someone sniggered.

  This was an endurance run if ever there were one. By this point, Cam felt stranger than he had ever felt in his life. His body was exhausted and weak. His mind felt empty. He had prayed, not prayed, heard prayers, and heard songs, all the while wishing he could reach behind him and punch a hole through the blankets and welcome the cool air onto his body. Looking over into the pit, he noticed the rock…that same rock that he had picked up on the first day…staring at him with what appeared to be menace. He cocked his head to the side and stared back at it. Strange...Fucking strange… Must be the fatigue causing him to see things.

  As the water was poured out onto the hot rocks, Cam noted small sparks of light in the center of the pit, like lightning bugs. He recalled Mano saying that the spirits sometime appeared in the lodge like tiny flickering stars. He was so worn-out, he didn’t even question this. Bring it on, he thought wearily. Lights, stars, fireworks, whatever…

  The twinkling lights zipped around the space. Cam watched them, mesmerized. It reminded him of being ten-years-old, watching fireflies in Kentucky when he was on a family camping vacation. He remembered being captivated by them then, just as he was now. As his eyes followed them around the space, a memory surfaced. On that same vacation, he went to the campsite to look for a snack in the cooler. He opened the flap to the old canvas tent his family owned and saw his father on top of his mother, humping her from behind like he’d seen dogs do at Grandma Guinevere’s farm. Holding the tent flap, he stood there with his mouth open. His mother, propped on hands and knees, was sobbing. His dad was ramming into her over and over and over, making loud grunts. Finally, he’d made a long weird moan, and then pushed his mother down onto her stomach with force. His mother lay whimpering, not moving. He looked over at Cam and said, “Did you like that show, son? Did you? I’ll let you watch any time. That’s how a man does it, boy.”

  Cam remembered that like it was happening all over again. He felt small and frightened, sitting there in the dark, in the heat, his body dripping, and the sounds of the men pressing into his head. Wanting desperately to keep the sound out, he squeezed his eyes shut, and pushed his palms over his ears. His teeth were clenched now, his mouth was stretched back in a grimace, and he was making this weird keening sound, spraying spit into what now felt like the dome of Satan.

  Next, in his child’s mind, his father had grabbed him by the arm and was yanking off Cam’s pants, yelling, “Do you want to have a go next, do you…do you?” In the memory, or was it in the moment, Cam was bawling, yelling, screaming. His father reached beside him and grabbed the metal tackle box by the handle. He swung it into the side of Cam’s head. “Do it, boy, show me that you’re my son, take your mama.” The tackle box had made a loud clanging sound against the side of Cam’s head, causing his ears to ring. Again, Cam heard the ringing and could not tell whether it was happening now or then.

  The cacophony of sound was growing louder. Cam pressed his palms harder against his ears, kept his eyes squeezed, kept making that keening sound, and started rocking. Only thing was, he was crammed in here like a Vienna sausage and had no room to move. He didn’t care. He rocked into Mano, rocked into Lightning Rod, back and forth, over and over. An explosive rage built in his gut like an out of control forest fire. It bubbled out of him, like hot lava streaming out of a volcano, destroying everything in its path. It was going to consume him, Cam knew it. It was going to consume him, and he’d be burnt to a crisp by all this rage he had inside. He started to growl and howl with the force of it. As if in response, a loud ferocious snarl rang out from out in the woods. Cam was instantly yanked back to the present. The sound came closer and closer and closer, growing in volume and intensity until the loud and terrible snarl filled the lodge. Everyone became quiet, listening. The vicious sounds moved in a circle like the beast was stalking them. It stopped behind Cam and made that same sniffing noise as when it was pressed up next to his face. The beast then apparently reared back on its hind legs and shoved his forelegs into Cam’s back. Cam started to topple into the searing hot rocks. His left hand steadied him on the dirt floor, but the right hand fell against a hot stone, causing instant blisters to form. The cat-beast lunged again and again at Cam’s back. With nowhere to go, nowhere to move, Cam braced himself from being flung into the pit and blistering his body further. Mano and Lightning Rod put their sturdy arms in front of Cam’s chest to keep him from falling forward and blocked him with the weight of their bodies.

  This is insane, Cam thought. It’s fucking insane. I can’t do this. I fucking can’t do this. The rage was building and building and building, he was about to explode. And then a huge roar burst out of his lungs. It sounded inhuman, like something not of this world. Now the beast was digging into Cam’s back in the same tunnel digging maneuver it tried to get in through the glass of Cam’s vehicle. For some strange reason, it was not able to rip the blankets or just morph into the space…yet. Cam felt his flesh rip and burn from the force of the claws, however. Well, he was not going to stand for this…not going to sit here like some fucking ten-year-old and have this ceremony desecrated. Again, he roared, an ear shattering sound that caused the blankets to shake on their willow supports.

  He became aware of the elder and the other men chanting. Mano and Light
ning Rod kept their hold on Cam. Cam felt himself jack backwards as the anger coursed through his body. He felt the beasts rage match his own until the roaring and snarling quashed the sounds of the men’s chants. The beast grabbed a hunk of the blanket covering the lodge and started shaking it back and forth behind Cam. It seemed like this was it…this was the end…the beast was going to find a way through the fabric barrier…or the energetic barrier…whatever it was...and tear Cam to shreds. Not without a fight…not without a fucking fight. But then, faint as a whisper, he heard a small, sweet sound.

  “Cam…” it called in a woman’s voice.

  The voice sounded like a voice that he knew.

  “Cam…” it said again. “Remember your heart.”

  It was someone whom he knew. His mind was still flooded with rage and intensity and fear and insanity, but he believed…no, he knew that he knew this voice. It was…Chérie…yes, that’s it. It was Chérie.

  A trickle of warmth appeared like a small pool the size of a pearl in his chest. He had to protect it. He had to keep it safe. He imagined himself tucking his whole body over it to keep it safe from harm. You can’t take this from me. This is mine. This is the only thing that matters to me, this still, small pool. The thoughts repeated, over and over in his brain. You can’t take this from me. This is mine. This is the only thing that’s precious.

  The space became very, very quiet. The chants had stopped. The shouts and praying ceased. The growling beast had disappeared. Mano and Lightning Rod had removed their arms. There were only the rocks, the men, and the sweet, sweet silence that comes after a storm has passed. Someone threw open the door flap, and Cam heard “Mitakuye Oyasin” being shouted by the elder. One by one, all the men crawled out of the sacred space.

  Cam lay back on the cold dirt, his back throbbing, and his blistered palm fiery in pain and looked up at the stars. Silent tears started coursing down his temples, soaking through his hair into the earth. Thought was absent. There was only this purified feeling of painful sensation and water and cold, lit by the twinkling stars. He was completely spent. His body felt like jelly, boneless and spineless, like some amorphous creature moving through the sea.

  As he lay prone, another memory washed through him like a wave on the shore. In his small child mind, he pictured himself wrenching free from his dad and running from the tent. His father, drunk, had tripped and fallen the minute he’d lunged from the tent. Cam’s small legs pumped until he was at the river which flowed through that part of Kentucky. He threw himself into the river and swam downstream. The water was cold and soothing, cooling his rage and terror, just as he felt soothed by the soil and grass beneath his back right now. The incredible comfort he took in the wilderness was there even as a child. The wilderness had always been a safe haven for him, just as it was now. The things of the Earth – the trees, the water, the granite walls, and the windswept sky – had all been his haven of safety throughout the years. He played and embraced Earth’s pleasures and felt loved and embraced in return. And then he thought of Chérie. Was she Heaven or was she Earth? She was both, he decided. And he would cherish her for as long as she allowed…as long as it served them both. He hoped it would be a really, really, long time.

  Chapter 20 – Cam

  Just keep the fun a ‘coming, Cam thought as he waited for Mano. He was being taken to see the Grandmothers now. After he and the others had recovered from their journey in the lodge, he’d shared a good meal with the men. It had been great to share a meal with these men who now felt like his brothers. He didn’t know many of them, yet he’d observed a lightness in them all that hadn’t been present a few hours ago. They’d been scrubbed inside and out from the sweat lodge experience. They’d joked around, laughed, talked, and eaten a hodge-podge of dishes everyone had brought: potato salad, salmon, buffalo jerky, bread, some zucchini dish…it had been king’s fare as far as Cam was concerned. There was nothing like sharing a meal after going through something like that. But the meal had ended, the group had dispersed and now there was only Cam, Mano, and the elder Cam now knew as Tom.

  He was left standing in the dark to await Mano and Tom. He leaned against a tree, his arms folded. He honestly didn’t know how long he waited…didn’t know, didn’t care. Finally, the light of a lantern came swinging back and forth through the trees. Pushing away a branch, Tom and Mano walked up to him.

  “You ready?” Mano asked.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Cam answered.

  He followed the two men through the woods until they reached another clearing. A circle of seven women could be seen up ahead, lit by torches. Upon closer inspection, it looked like the women sat in a horseshoe shape; a prominent woman with long braids that looked like they were ablaze sat with three women on her right, three women on her left. An opening into the horseshoe circle faced the east, much like the sweat lodge. Cam gulped. He didn’t think he could endure another experience like he’d just had. Not just yet anyway.

  The elder gestured that Mano and he wait here, a few yards away. Tom walked up to the women. Cam heard him greet the women and stand at the opening to the circle without entering. Instead, they spoke quietly. Finally, the woman with the fiery braids shooed the elder away with her hand. Tom walked back to Mano and Cam.

  “They’re ready to see you, Cam. Walk up to their circle and stand quietly at the opening. Say nothing. Wait to be spoken to. When they’re ready, they’ll tell you what to do.”

  “Uh, okay. Should I do anything in particular while I stand there?”

  “Nope… Just stand and wait.”

  Cam took another swallow and walked over to the opening where the women sat. Talk about surreal. This scene took the prize. He stood there and felt the scrutiny of seven older women. Some of the faces looked kind. One looked vicious. One looked blasé. But the one he was really worried about was the old woman directly across from him. This woman looked ancient. She looked fucking ancient, and her face seemed to be carved out of stone. She, along with the other women, sat on a padded blanket, legs folded demurely to the side. Only there was nothing that was demure about her. She was sturdy looking, without being fat. Her hair was auburn and white. What was not contained in the braids sprang out from her head in twists and curls. And, sure as shit, her hair really was ablaze, Cam observed with a gulp. Sure as fuck it was on fire, only it wasn’t burning – there was no stench of burnt hair, the braids did not wither into puffs of smoke, they just hung there, flames racing up and down the long strands of hair. And her eyes… Cam knew he was being scrutinized inside and out by the unblinking eyes of yellow and gold.

  He noticed he was gripping his hands in front of his hips like a frightened bridegroom. He released them and let them hang by his sides. He watched the old woman’s eyebrows twitch in amusement, the corners of her mouth quirk. She finally looked away from him and nodded to the woman to the far left of her, the kind faced one. This woman looked up at Cam and said, “Enter.”

  And then what...do what? Go where? He was freaked he was going to do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, fuck this whole thing up. He stepped inside the circle and stopped.

  The same kind woman pointed in front of Mrs. Hair-on-Fire and said, “Go sit in front of Natalie.”

  Cam took a few more steps and kneeled in front of the old woman. She reached out one of her bony hands and gripped Cam’s jaw. My God, those hands were strong. They could pulverize the bones of his face with little exertion.

  “That’s right,” the woman said.

  Cam frowned slightly. Had the woman read his mind?

  “What do you think?” she asked him.

  The rest of the women laughed as if they were in on the joke. Cam felt his face redden.

  The longer she held his jaw, the stiffer he became. He couldn’t look away, but he wanted desperately to avert her penetrating eyes.

  “This won’t take long,” she uttered.

  Okay, so they were having a conversation only he wasn’t saying anything. Fucking bizarre…<
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  “Thoughts are as loud as words,” she responded. “Sometimes louder…”

  This was unnerving him. Finally, she released his jaw. He let out a long breath. Still, he could not look away.

  “So…” she began. “This little tobacco experiment you are engaged in. How is that working out for you?”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  She just looked at him and waited for an answer.

  “Do you mean the pack of smokes I bought?” He saw her eyebrows twitch again, but she said nothing. “Uh…it’s…uh…it’s going okay.”

  “Who’s winning?”

  “Who’s winning? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, who’s winning, you or your addiction?”

  He felt confused. What did it matter what he did? Who cared?

  “I care.”

  “Uh, then, I’m winning. Or I was, but then I blew it. But I’ll win again…”

  “Like the lottery?” She guffawed. “Try treating it as a sacred dance.”

  “Uh, okay.” Was she giving him tips in quitting smoking? His forehead furrowed in confusion.

  “Hardly, sport. I’m giving you tips in how you should regard your life.”

  Oh, well that made sense…not. He didn’t know what to say or do.

  “How does the star dreamling make you feel?”

  Was she kidding? Wait…he needn’t ask that…she could hear his thoughts.

  The old woman chuckled in a strange manner that sounded like rustling leaves. “You’re catching on, sport.”

  “It, uh, it flips me out. I don’t know what to do, how to deal with it. It fucking flips me out.”

  Mrs. Hair-on-Fire turned to the woman to her right, the one who looked like a vicious Doberman Pinscher with its balls in a vice grip and said, “It fucking flips him out.” The vicious looking woman nodded. Then she turned to the blasé woman to the left of her and said, “It fucking flips him out.” The blasé woman nodded. Everyone laughed at that. Everyone but Cam that is…he just sat there shame faced. He wanted to wring these old bats necks.