Elder Gods: The Emissary

Thomas squatted down in front of the one-room cabin’s small fireplace and stared into the low fire licking across the smoldering logs. The fingertips of his left hand were pressed against the floor, steadying his body, while his other hand moved through a series of signs and signals near his chest. He kept his breathing deep and slow, but his mind was racing through the symbols of an ancient incantation. It took a minute, but when he finished, he heard the whispering, hissing, crackling voice of the fire speaking back to him.

“You want warmth,” hissed the small fire.

“Yes,” said Thomas, eyes locked on the flickering flames, “enough heat to keep out the winter wind, and nothing more.”

“And how long do you desire this warmth?” asked the flames.

“Until dawn will be fine,” said Thomas. “I will be leaving then.”

“Can you pay the price?” asked the flames.

“What is your price?” asked Thomas.

“A book,” said the flames, without hesitation.

Thomas’ eyes narrowed at the thought of burning a book, but he sighed with resignation. He knew a book he could burn that should satisfy the flames.

“You will get a book,” said Tomas.

“Then you will get your heat,” said the flames.

Thomas stood and reached for the stone mantle above the fireplace. There were some common books there, such as a thesaurus, a college dictionary, and of course, a bible. He was renting the cabin, after all.

Thomas grabbed the thesaurus and tossed it into the fire. The flames embraced the book, welcoming it into destruction. Soon, a blanket of heat spread out from the small fireplace, warming the entire room, as if it were a summer night.

Turning around to face a long comfortable couch, covered with a hand-made blanket of Lakota design, Thomas opened his leather backpack. There were books in there, but none replaceable. He pulled out a black iron concave plate wrapped in suede. It was almost a very shallow bowl. The rim was perforated with small holes. He unwrapped it and placed it on the wood floor. Thomas then pulled a plastic bottle of water from his gym bag next to the backpack. He poured a small amount of water from the bottle onto the metal plate, enough to create a mirror of water on the black surface of the metal.

Inside the back pocket of the backpack, Thomas found a long wood box of incense sticks. He drew out four sticks and placed them around the edge of the plate, sticking up through holes in the rim. He pulled a book of matches from the pocket of his deep blue vest and lit the incense. He let them smolder for a moment, watching the smoke drift upwards before curling and dispersing.

Once again, Thomas started to breath deep and slow, though this time, there was a slightly different rhythm. His hands reached out, curling around the smoke rising from the incense, as if to wrap it around his wrists. He closed his eyes and his mind plodded through a long incantation of symbols and signs. When he felt the grip of the thin smoke around skin, he opened his eyes and wove the strands of tangible smoke into a circle. Once the circle was complete, he pulled his hands from its ephemeral grasp. Looking down through the circle of smoke, he blew gently onto the water, causing tiny ripples on the surface.

In his mind, he held the image of a complex symbol that seemed to twist and contort without ever moving or changing. As he concentrated on it, he began to see a face that he recognized.

Amanda Blackwing could trace her lineage through a woven tapestry of North American tribes. Her family tree never once left the continent, but it spanned the land from coast to coast.

“Amanda,” said Thomas, as if she were merely resting on the couch. “Amanda, are you there?”

After a few quiet moments, in which the wind whistled and the fire crackled, a thin haze drifted down from the circle of smoke and covered the water. The water shimmered slightly, then the haze became contoured and rose up in the likeness of Amanda’s familiar face. Looking down, Thomas smiled.

“Thomas,” said the image, the words forming in Thomas’ mind, “I was expecting you sooner.” A faint smile was on Amanda’s lips, but her eyes betrayed her concern.

“How is Sara?” asked Thomas.

“She is recovering,” said Amanda. “She won’t tell me where she got the blood for the Blood Rites, but she said Raphael warned her, telling her it was time to leave.”

“Sounds like she was playing a dangerous game to start with,” said Thomas. “Who is Raphael? He doesn’t sound familiar.”

Amanda’s image rolled from side to side, indicating she didn’t know. “I received a dream from a woman in L.A., a woman calling herself Mother Midnight,” continued Amanda. “She wanted to speak with me.”

“That is a name I have heard,” said Thomas, “Though I have never met her.”

“I had the impression she was bathed in blood,” said Amanda, twisting her face to show her dislike for serpents.

“If I remember correctly, she is a Houdoun,” said Thomas. “She may have been using blood instead of water.”

“Can she be trusted?” asked Amanda.

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. “Protect yourself, but let her speak. In the mean time, I will ask around.”

“So, what is going on with you?” Asked Amanda.

“Something was waiting for me at the Gate of the Northern Star,” explained Thomas. “It didn’t reveal itself to me, but I think it was an Emissary of the Predator.”

“You are still in Montana?” asked Amanda.

“Yes, but I didn’t want to draw whatever it was back to you,” said Thomas, “Not with Sara still recovering.”

“Good idea,” agreed Amanda. “The Predator’s taint still marks her spirit, though it is fading.” There was a moment of hesitation in which Amanda seemed trying to say something. Then, she spoke softly. “Thank you for finding her, Thomas. If you hadn’t been there, they would have devoured her, body and spirit.”

“You ask for my help,” said Thomas, as if that was all that needed to be said. “Now, you tend to your sister. I am going to find out what the Emissary wants, then I will try to find out more about Mother Midnight.”

“Okay,” said Amanda. “Bye.”

Her face faded and the smoke dispersed, and Thomas released the image of Amanda from his mind. He found himself smiling, as he always did after speaking with Amanda, but he put his smile away. He doused the ends of the incense in the thin layer of water, then pinched the wet tips of the incense sticks off, before putting them back into their box. He placed the iron plate next to the fire so that the water would evaporate quickly.

Thomas put his gym bag and his backpack on the floor, and finally laid down for a rest. He stared at the thick wood beams holding up the ceiling and thought about his encounter at the Gate of the Northern Star.

It hadn’t been anything truly dangerous, merely an Emissary. If it had been an Avatar, Thomas knew he would have been dead, hunted and killed, as was the way of the Predator. The Emissary was currently still outside, respecting the Boundary of Residence. It was a colder than winter presence, something that could kill the will to live, did not hunt, did not feed upon whatever lay waiting for death.

Thomas had called forth a fire elemental to keep the Emissary at bay, but it was a risky choice. Even the elements had wills of their own, and bargains didn’t always turn out well. This time, however, within the set boundaries of a constructed residence, each spirit, the fire elemental and the Emissary, could clearly define the limits of influence.

That was the problem, thought Thomas, with spirits. If they don’t have clear definitions, they start making up their own, and spirits are not known for rational thought.

With a short sigh that was almost a huff, Thomas sat up and swung his feet to the floor. He looked down at the wet shoes and thin socks. I’ll be lucky if the worst I catch from this is a cold, Thomas told himself. His vest and matching slacks, and white button-down shirt were just as appropriate for the winter weather he found himself in. Fortunately, he had also grabbed his gym back from the car in Los Angeles when he first grabbed his backpack.

He took off his shoes and socks and placed them by the fire, close enough to dry. From his gym bag, he grabbed thick athletic socks and sneakers. They weren’t much better in the long run, but he hoped to be back in warmer weather soon. Once his feet were warm and dry in comfortable sneakers, he stood up and went to the door. On a hanger was a suede cloak Amanda had lent him. Thomas wrapped this around his shoulders as he looked out at the cold night.

As if the wind knew he was getting ready to talk, it raced through the trees, howling low and long. Hunching his shoulders in preparation for the cold, Thomas turned the doorknob and opened the door. The fire elemental kept its promise and did not let even a hint of cold air into the cabin.

Thomas stepped out into the wilderness, three steps away from the open door, and shivered. He could feel the Emissary out there, without form, without malice, but still, by its very nature, attempting to drain away his desire for life. It would not feed on him this night, though. Thomas was experienced enough in the workings of spirits to understand what was happening, and that was more than half the battle.

“What do you want?” Thomas asked, sending his voice off into the trees.

The wind picked up and moaned through the trees, causing branches and boughs to creak and mutter. Words formed, slow and tired, as if the air itself no longer had a reason to exist.

“The Predator wishes cooperation,” said the voice of the Emissary.

“To what end?” asked Thomas, his teeth starting to chatter already. He could fend off the spiritual presence of the Emissary, but the physical cold was harder to deal with.

“Your friend was hunted by those who strayed from the Path,” said the slow, eerie voice.

The Predator, the spiritual manifestation of The Hunt, one of the oldest traditions of life, has strict rules, and does not take kindly to deviants. Kill what you need and use what you kill are the core rules. Very simple, but as with most natural laws, they are often bent, even broken, by sentient creatures.

“Who are they?” asked Thomas. “How did they stray?”

“Your friend knows,” said the voice, echoing off trees bending in the wind.

“Was she cooperating with the Predator?” asked Thomas.

“Yes,” the voice hissed across the snow-covered ground.

“How will this cooperation manifest?” asked Thomas.

“Let the Predator guide your hunt,” said the wind, stuttering between branches rubbing together.

“How do I know the Predator will release me when the hunt is over?” asked Thomas.

“Yes,” said the Emissary, again hissing over the snow.

“Is the Hunt ever over?” asked Thomas. He had survived many dealings with spirits by knowing which questions to ask.

“No,” said the Emissary, moaning woefully.

In other words, thought Thomas, if I allow the Predator to manifest through me, it will grant me with the power to defeat this aberrant pack of humans, but there isn’t any guarantee that I will retain my freedom from the Predator’s Path.

“We shall see,” said Thomas. Then, shaking with cold, feeling his cheeks sting, Thomas turned around and went inside, into the warmth. Once he was back on the couch, behind a secured door, he turned his brain to the task of defining a better bargain. Once he knew how many people he would be tracking, then he would be ready to negotiate. Unfortunately, The Predator had already sent an Emissary. The next time Thomas made contact, he would be the one initiating contact, and he would lose the advantage in the negotiations.

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