Jon Little Bird

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon Little Bird was born on the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation in the southwest desert of the United States. He never knew his parents as they perished in a vehicle accident in his first year of life, and he was raised in his early years by his grandfather, affectionately known as Sooyee, an elder of the Mescalero Tribe, who was responsible for teaching Jon the old stories of the gods and the ancients, passed down orally from father to son and grandfather to grandson since the beginning of Time. Sooyee taught Jon about the spirit of nature and of how the world came to be through the actions of the heroes and the katchinas and the medicine they had.

Once, when Jon was five, he asked what his Sooyee meant by medicine: “Do you mean like medicine the doctors have when they give you shots, or what you buy me when I have a cough?”

His grandfather shook his head. “No, nino, not like that.” He scowled. “Curse the death of our mother tongue to these times. What I mean when I say medicine I mean a thing, as a charm, that you cannot see but possess within you, that allows you to change what is into something else as you want it to be. You understand?”

Jon shook his head that he did not. His grandfather sighed and took a breath. “See the hunters that buy into our trophy hunts and slay a mighty twelve-point elk their first day. They have hunting medicine. See those gamblers that sometimes come to our casinos and, no matter what, no matter how careless they bet or what fools they make of themselves, they walk away winners. As if they cannot lose. This is medicine.”

Jon went to sleep that night, not really understanding what Sooyee meant by medicine. But further stories began to make him think more on the subject, especially as he began to learn of the stories of Coyote: the sly god bearing resemblance to the animal, who was also not a god but tricked god and man alike with his strong medicine. Coyote tricked the gods into giving man Fire, so it was said, and brought a mountain up to split a river in two and end a division between men and women so the First People could be born, and also tended to get drunk on White Man's whiskey and steal all his possessions from him.

It all confused Jon. At times Coyote was at odds with the great gods, at other times he was a god...still other times he seemed more a scoundrel and troublemaker than anything else.

When he was a little older, he asked his grandfather further about Coyote: “What was Coyote, Sooyee? Was he good? Was he evil? It seems maybe he was a little of both sometimes.”

“Now, now, nino,” his grandfather said. “First of all, Coyote wasn't. Coyote is and always will be, as will all the other spirits. They are eternal, and cannot die even though they do. The Great Spirit that flows through all things and makes the trees grow and the rains come will always exist, as will all the things that make up it, including the kachinas and, yes, Coyote, and me and you.

“There are forces that make up the Great Spirit, some that are benevolent and some that are less so. The Bear is a part of the great spirit but he is a danger to you, for it is to his benefit if he can kill you and eat you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sooyee.”

“Some forces did not want man to be, and some do still want man to be no more. There are even some spirits that are benevolent sometimes but malevolent other times. The wind. The rains. Fire. Understand?”
Jon nodded.

“Coyote...as I have learned through all the stories...Coyote was on our side. Everything he did was to the benefit of man even if he were to incur the wrath of the other gods. How he tied a birch tree to his tail and stole away with fire? That gave us the means to take ourselves out of the caves. How he pulled out the blanket beneath the nice rows of stars the gods had made and threw them into the constellations we know now? This gave us the gift of navigation which allowed us to connect with one another and build a civilization. No one can say what his motives were, but his actions were such that it allowed us to thrive as a people.”

Jon nodded, though he didn't really understand yet.

His grandfather could not help but mention to the other Elders the interest Jon had taken to learning about the old ways. So at times medicine men, as they called themselves, came to him and took him places. None of them were arrogant enough to claim they had any actual medicine. Able to work miracles just as Coyote and the other gods, eternally young, they had once been a part of the people and lived with them, protecting them with their medicine, but they had been long gone even before the White Man arrived. Still, his tribe's elders did what they could to teach Jon the rituals. They described to Jon how he must venture out into the wilderness and find his spirit guide.

So was at the age of thirteen Jon ventured outdoors in the lush pine-tree forest of the reservation. It was already starting to show signs of drought from overuse of the water table by his time, but was still tranquil. Not quite sure what to do, he lay down against a tall fir tree, listening to a subtle river flow, and feel like he was one with all around him. He thought upon the stories of his elders of the Great Spirit and when he was silent enough for long enough, could almost feel himself melting into his surroundings. He closed his eyes and imagined he was really awake and wandering among the trees, swimming in the river with the fish, and running alongside the deer. As if he could simply seep into the earth and become one with it.

And he found he could see from his forehead. Around him was the forest, behind him was himself sleeping. He found he could wander as he pleased away from his sleeping body. A thrum passed through his spirit and he felt eyes upon him.

“Who is there?” he called out.

He saw a blur of motion coming from the tree line. It appeared to be coming right at him. Jon winced and braced for an impact with whatever the thing was.

The thing stopped before him. It was a coyote, sleek with streaks of white, silver and gray fur, the largest coyote he had ever seen. It yipped at him, and arched its neck as if begging Jon to follow. Then it disappeared in a blur through the tree line.

“Wait!” Jon said. He ran as fast as he could toward where the coyote went. It seemed his spirit could move in this place faster than he'd ever before been able to, yet he was quickly lost among the trees. There was no sign of the coyote anywhere.

__________________________________________________________________________________

After his grandfather passed away Jon was awarded to a polite but distant couple as a foster-ling. he was sent to school on the reservation just like the other kids. Education on the reservation had become pitiful, with few teachers willing to take the pay when there were better jobs to be had down in the valley. With the destruction that had come in the massive tsunami, refugees had flooded the desert and the once-humble cities of the New Mexico desert were burgeoning with people from the West Coast. The federal government through the Bureau of Indian Affairs could no longer subsidize many things for the reservation, including pay for teachers, and while the reservation had casino money to fund its education department, with dwindling members, it still could not compete with the tax dollars appropriated to students in more populous regions. Additionally, the new America was much like the old America in which more attention and money was paid to those of athletic talent, and Jon had little of this. So Jon soaked up what he could intellectually, and looked for what advantage he could gain elsewhere. When he grew out his 5'6 frame of 120 pounds he (surprisingly) made his high school football team as a kicker. He became well-known for his ability to make the on-side kick, and was able to use this to devastating effect at the state championships when he convinced his coach to perform this maneuver on the starting kick-off.

He also nearly got expelled for triggering a fire alarm as a diversion so he could break into the school records in broad daylight and destroy student records for one of his friends who had been expelled. Jon had witnessed the altercation between Wendell Geronimo and his friend Asencion Guerrera in which Wendell's hand had been broken, and knew Wendell had been the aggressor in the confrontation, though family connections had made the official story something else. With the records destroyed at least Asencion was free to pursue other academic options, which he ultimately did. Jon was questioned quite fiercely in the incident, yet no one could prove he had done the deed. So he had gone on to graduate.

He never forgot his grandfather's stories or about his experience with his spirit guide.

The push of people was unrelenting from the West. More came as resources dried up from other lands. They began to push onto the reservation, and the BIA pretty much went AWOL. No resources to spare in the new world for honoring old treaties. While land was plentiful, water was not. New Mexico was still a desert. Private interests began draining water from the reservation's aquifer and courts did not seem obliged to stop it. Jon saw all this, and understood. The White Man had come from the west as he once had from the East...These people were a threat to his people should they go on unchecked...but they were only doing what they needed to to survive themselves. And yet another was coming form the east, the CCD, which had as of yet very little influence where he was but Jon was sure would be coming more strongly.

And Jon began to understand Coyote. He did what must be done. And he began to understand that it was out of love that he did it, his love for humanity.

Jon applied, and was accepted into the University of New Mexico agricultural engineering program. He managed to secure a scholarship based on his tribal affiliations, the last of his tribe to do so as it was discontinued due to financial hardship. His intention was to learn about the role water played in desert agriculture so to benefit his people, and he did in fact learn much, both about mechanics and crop production; however, during his college years he excelled as a master of the school's debate team and led them to several regional and one national championship title. He decided to switch his major to pre-law before graduation. During his time in school he also became convinced that land ownership was sacrosanct; his people owned their land in the eyes of the law and by way of treaty, but in this new world would this be honored or once again trampled?


Headed east, this time. After a lengthy but successful clerkship Jon had been accepted into what passed for a prestigious law school these days at Yale. The details of payment had yet to be worked out; Jon figured he'd find some way to persuade the masters to let him stay once he'd been there awhile.

It was Sooyee's rusty 1995 GMC Sierra that propelled him down the road east through Oklahoma. The vehicle was so old there were no parts made for it anymore, yet Jon managed to keep it running, mostly with socket wrenches and hope. Fitting an old Indian's truck rattling held together with duct tape and chicken wire should take him through Indian territory. What Indian territory was left, that is. Were there still Comanche out there, those who had once fought his ancestors but in the end took them in? Little was there to be sure of these days.

The recession and natural disasters had taken great toll upon many of the still-surviving Indian tribes, and there was great cause for worry of the future among them. There was great discussion among the various independent tribes whether they should approach the CCD and ask for admission, and Jon followed the chatter with utmost attention. Best he could discern, there were three emerging camps on the issue. One said the CCD would protect their heritage and bring benefits to the Indian peoples, and be better able to honor the treaties protecting their reservations than the American government currently could in its state. Another claimed it was just swapping one dominating power for another, and the CCD was thousands of miles away, so it was better to stick with the devil they knew. Still a third whispered that the global recession was an opportunity to take back the days of old and not have to live under the shadow of a treaty that survived on the whim of a greater power. Jon wasn't sure what to think about the last argument...he'd sworn that the days of old had died long before his Sooyee, apart from what Jon himself had learned.

Dim headlights lighting up the black pavement before him, Jon couldn't help but let his thoughts wander to thinking about Sooyee and his stories. Would Coyote have let the businessmen chase the Sioux and the Cherokee off their land out here? Probably not; he'd have stolen their suits right off their backs and sent them back running to the Mississippi. Would have served them right, too, to keep messing with such old blood.

The road wound on, as Jon sped past bleak mile marker after mile marker. The thump-thump of the slightly uneven pavement against his partially-bald tires crooned to him in a bitter, poor-pitched melody, and Jon felt himself starting to … drift...as he had in the days of his youth while out in the forest, all alone, feeling the thrum of nature's own heartbeat. His spirit guide called to him to walk in the spirit. He didn't fight it, even though in one small part of his mind he knew that crashing his truck could be a real possibility.

As the hypnotic rhythm took effect, Jon found himself looking at his own body. He could still move the truck's wheel with his hands if he concentrated on it, but it felt like he was moving puppets. It was as if he was still driving but at the same time just passively watching. Careful to keep himself anchored to the body that was driving the vehicle, he let himself drift upward to watch the stars. They were dazzling tonight, an array of constellations under a frigid dark canopy. He quickly found the Big Bear, and the Little Bear with Polaris that guided all souls true North. Then the Hunter, chasing his prey across the sky with bow fully drawn.

A coyote suddenly appeared among the stars, and made a silent howl.

This is foolishness. Reason guided Jon to the notion it was incredibly stupid to be taking a spirit-walk while his body was driving a two-ton vehicle at highway speeds. He had no idea how to return so decided he would imagine himself back in his truck. This seemed to work, for he opened his eyes and found himself driving down the dark highway in full control of his vehicle.

He was not sure what that spirit-walk was intended to achieve. Why had his guide pulled him in again? He had already determined through years of research and his own experiences that there must be some truth to the old stories. There had once existed true medicine among his people, of that he had no doubt. There was also possibly some real truth to the katchinas and the Great Spirit. Coyote perhaps did actually at one time walk among the living and steal fire from the gods and bring man into being. There sure weren't any to say otherwise out on this old highway.

He crossed into Missouri without incident. That was a blessing, he had been unsure what to expect from what he had heard of a group that called themselves the Minutemen. Rumor had it they were setting up roadblocks in order to intercept “outsiders,” whomever they might be. CCD perhaps? Seemed a bit foolishness to Jon; everyone knew CCD didn't have any real influence in American heartland. Not yet, at least. Obviously if they did there probably wouldn't be any minutemen. One thing was sure, the CCD was so quick at its consolidation of power there was no way it would tolerate any sort of dissent. That in itself was troubling as considering tribes were thinking about joining with this force?

No. Best form no opinions. This government bloc could be very well something better. Jon just did not yet know all the facts.

Four hours across Missouri, and two more across Illinois. Nothing to see but flat plains. Hardly a light amongst them, not surprising as villages died and people emigrated to what little opportunity still remained in the great cities. Jon was just crossing into Indiana when the dream began to take him once again.

This time, his spirit guide manifested itself in his truck's cab. The coyote jumped at him without warning and threw his spirit self from the vehicle.

Is this madness? Jon's spirit self rose along the side of the road. He panicked, thinking of his actual self still driving his vehicle along the highway in the distance. This is dangerous! I have to wake up!

South. That was all that was sent to him. And his spirit guide leaped at him, causing him to waken.

Jon was back on his truck, driving toward a fork in the road. South resonated in his memory from his dream, and he jerked his steering wheel right.

He drove on, wondering what the hell he was doing driving on this road which was just putting him further from his destination. Stunned as he was, he didn't make any attempt to deviate from his new direction. South.

The fuel light sprang alight on his dashboard. Cursing, Jon began to look for a gas station along who knows what highway he was now driving down. Illuminated lights greeted him shortly, advertising gas prices he would rather forget, but knew he must pay.

The station was completely abandoned, but the pumps were still lit. One of those 24/7 pumps with no attendant, Jon supposed. Jon drove up next to the gas meter and slid his debit card from his wallet. He hoped his last pay from his clerkship had been debited on time as promised. Not only were US dollars worth less than they used to be, but it seemed payers in USD were more often to turn up fraudulent these days. The pump activated and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Jon was just finishing pumping his gas and putting the pump nozzle back in his place when he felt a chill. Instinctively, his third eye felt another presence around him. He looked to his left, and to his right. Shadows swished around the dim lights of the gas meter.

Jon walked slowly back to the cab of his truck. There was something else out there...yet his spirit guide had sent him here, hadn't he? Must be just the long hours on the road.

As Jon reached for the handle on the door, something struck his body, sending him sprawling to the ground. His keys went flying from his hand, finally resting by the rear tire of his truck. Jon gasped and felt something warm trickling down the inside of his shirt. Check that, his shirt was ripped and he was bleeding. And also on his back, with his truck keys just out of arm's reach. Still, with his right hand he stretched for his keys.

He felt a pressure on his right hand, as something was stepping on it. Jon looked up. He couldn't make out anything. Just shadows.

You will yield your secrets to me, the message came. Jon understood it immediately.

“I don't know what-” His feeble voice cut off as a clawed hand wrapped around his neck and started to squeeze.

Tell me how your people still have medicine. Crushing pain! Breath, a simple thing, a moment ago, denied! How the lungs burnt so quickly, the throbbing in the head manifested so soon! Black spots? How in vision already darkened by surroundings could things get blacker? Blood throbs trying to fight its way to the brain and fails! Escape! Escape! Dimmer........

flash.

Jon blinked, and took a belated gasp for air. He gingerly felt his windpipe, nothing felt broken. Stinging from scores on his flesh. So it was real. Spots danced on his vision, and he took another breath.

Memory is where it all begins. Jon stood up and remembered something was wrong with his side. He glanced and found blood trickling from a gash. He tore his shirt and wadded it against his side to stem the flow of blood. Then he looked around.

The windows from his truck had shattered into a myriad of spiderweb cracks. Of the gas station pumps, there were no sign. Only spurts of gas piping up from the tank below. Blackened bubbling patterns emanated on the concrete radiating from where he lay. Jon could smell it cooking, black tar and pitch heated like desert pavement in July. He found his keys, knocked a hundred feet away in a section of burning brush.

Jon stumbled into his truck, and turned the ignition with his key. Thankfully, the truck started up. Mind numbed to where he was not even remotely ready to process what had happened, he started to drive.
South.

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon Little Bird was born on the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation in the southwest desert of the United States. He never knew his parents as they perished in a vehicle accident in his first year of life, and he was raised in his early years by his grandfather, affectionately known as Sooyee, an elder of the Mescalero Tribe, who was responsible for teaching Jon the old stories of the gods and the ancients, passed down orally from father to son and grandfather to grandson since the beginning of Time. Sooyee taught Jon about the spirit of nature and of how the world came to be through the actions of the heroes and the katchinas and the medicine they had.

Once, when Jon was five, he asked what his Sooyee meant by medicine: “Do you mean like medicine the doctors have when they give you shots, or what you buy me when I have a cough?”

His grandfather shook his head. “No, nino, not like that.” He scowled. “Curse the death of our mother tongue to these times. What I mean when I say medicine I mean a thing, as a charm, that you cannot see but possess within you, that allows you to change what is into something else as you want it to be. You understand?”

Jon shook his head that he did not. His grandfather sighed and took a breath. “See the hunters that buy into our trophy hunts and slay a mighty twelve-point elk their first day. They have hunting medicine. See those gamblers that sometimes come to our casinos and, no matter what, no matter how careless they bet or what fools they make of themselves, they walk away winners. As if they cannot lose. This is medicine.”

Jon went to sleep that night, not really understanding what Sooyee meant by medicine. But further stories began to make him think more on the subject, especially as he began to learn of the stories of Coyote: the sly god bearing resemblance to the animal, who was also not a god but tricked god and man alike with his strong medicine. Coyote tricked the gods into giving man Fire, so it was said, and brought a mountain up to split a river in two and end a division between men and women so the First People could be born, and also tended to get drunk on White Man's whiskey and steal all his possessions from him.

It all confused Jon. At times Coyote was at odds with the great gods, at other times he was a god...still other times he seemed more a scoundrel and troublemaker than anything else.

When he was a little older, he asked his grandfather further about Coyote: “What was Coyote, Sooyee? Was he good? Was he evil? It seems maybe he was a little of both sometimes.”

“Now, now, nino,” his grandfather said. “First of all, Coyote wasn't. Coyote is and always will be, as will all the other spirits. They are eternal, and cannot die even though they do. The Great Spirit that flows through all things and makes the trees grow and the rains come will always exist, as will all the things that make up it, including the kachinas and, yes, Coyote, and me and you.

“There are forces that make up the Great Spirit, some that are benevolent and some that are less so. The Bear is a part of the great spirit but he is a danger to you, for it is to his benefit if he can kill you and eat you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sooyee.”

“Some forces did not want man to be, and some do still want man to be no more. There are even some spirits that are benevolent sometimes but malevolent other times. The wind. The rains. Fire. Understand?”
Jon nodded.

“Coyote...as I have learned through all the stories...Coyote was on our side. Everything he did was to the benefit of man even if he were to incur the wrath of the other gods. How he tied a birch tree to his tail and stole away with fire? That gave us the means to take ourselves out of the caves. How he pulled out the blanket beneath the nice rows of stars the gods had made and threw them into the constellations we know now? This gave us the gift of navigation which allowed us to connect with one another and build a civilization. No one can say what his motives were, but his actions were such that it allowed us to thrive as a people.”

Jon nodded, though he didn't really understand yet.

His grandfather could not help but mention to the other Elders the interest Jon had taken to learning about the old ways. So at times medicine men, as they called themselves, came to him and took him places. None of them were arrogant enough to claim they had any actual medicine. Able to work miracles just as Coyote and the other gods, eternally young, they had once been a part of the people and lived with them, protecting them with their medicine, but they had been long gone even before the White Man arrived. Still, his tribe's elders did what they could to teach Jon the rituals. They described to Jon how he must venture out into the wilderness and find his spirit guide.

So was at the age of thirteen Jon ventured outdoors in the lush pine-tree forest of the reservation. It was already starting to show signs of drought from overuse of the water table by his time, but was still tranquil. Not quite sure what to do, he lay down against a tall fir tree, listening to a subtle river flow, and feel like he was one with all around him. He thought upon the stories of his elders of the Great Spirit and when he was silent enough for long enough, could almost feel himself melting into his surroundings. He closed his eyes and imagined he was really awake and wandering among the trees, swimming in the river with the fish, and running alongside the deer. As if he could simply seep into the earth and become one with it.

And he found he could see from his forehead. Around him was the forest, behind him was himself sleeping. He found he could wander as he pleased away from his sleeping body. A thrum passed through his spirit and he felt eyes upon him.

“Who is there?” he called out.

He saw a blur of motion coming from the tree line. It appeared to be coming right at him. Jon winced and braced for an impact with whatever the thing was.

The thing stopped before him. It was a coyote, sleek with streaks of white, silver and gray fur, the largest coyote he had ever seen. It yipped at him, and arched its neck as if begging Jon to follow. Then it disappeared in a blur through the tree line.

“Wait!” Jon said. He ran as fast as he could toward where the coyote went. It seemed his spirit could move in this place faster than he'd ever before been able to, yet he was quickly lost among the trees. There was no sign of the coyote anywhere.

__________________________________________________________________________________

After his grandfather passed away Jon was awarded to a polite but distant couple as a foster-ling. he was sent to school on the reservation just like the other kids. Education on the reservation had become pitiful, with few teachers willing to take the pay when there were better jobs to be had down in the valley. With the destruction that had come in the massive tsunami, refugees had flooded the desert and the once-humble cities of the New Mexico desert were burgeoning with people from the West Coast. The federal government through the Bureau of Indian Affairs could no longer subsidize many things for the reservation, including pay for teachers, and while the reservation had casino money to fund its education department, with dwindling members, it still could not compete with the tax dollars appropriated to students in more populous regions. Additionally, the new America was much like the old America in which more attention and money was paid to those of athletic talent, and Jon had little of this. So Jon soaked up what he could intellectually, and looked for what advantage he could gain elsewhere. When he grew out his 5'6 frame of 120 pounds he (surprisingly) made his high school football team as a kicker. He became well-known for his ability to make the on-side kick, and was able to use this to devastating effect at the state championships when he convinced his coach to perform this maneuver on the starting kick-off.

He also nearly got expelled for triggering a fire alarm as a diversion so he could break into the school records in broad daylight and destroy student records for one of his friends who had been expelled. Jon had witnessed the altercation between Wendell Geronimo and his friend Asencion Guerrera in which Wendell's hand had been broken, and knew Wendell had been the aggressor in the confrontation, though family connections had made the official story something else. With the records destroyed at least Asencion was free to pursue other academic options, which he ultimately did. Jon was questioned quite fiercely in the incident, yet no one could prove he had done the deed. So he had gone on to graduate.

He never forgot his grandfather's stories or about his experience with his spirit guide.

The push of people was unrelenting from the West. More came as resources dried up from other lands. They began to push onto the reservation, and the BIA pretty much went AWOL. No resources to spare in the new world for honoring old treaties. While land was plentiful, water was not. New Mexico was still a desert. Private interests began draining water from the reservation's aquifer and courts did not seem obliged to stop it. Jon saw all this, and understood. The White Man had come from the west as he once had from the East...These people were a threat to his people should they go on unchecked...but they were only doing what they needed to to survive themselves. And yet another was coming form the east, the CCD, which had as of yet very little influence where he was but Jon was sure would be coming more strongly.

And Jon began to understand Coyote. He did what must be done. And he began to understand that it was out of love that he did it, his love for humanity.

Jon applied, and was accepted into the University of New Mexico agricultural engineering program. He managed to secure a scholarship based on his tribal affiliations, the last of his tribe to do so as it was discontinued due to financial hardship. His intention was to learn about the role water played in desert agriculture so to benefit his people, and he did in fact learn much, both about mechanics and crop production; however, during his college years he excelled as a master of the school's debate team and led them to several regional and one national championship title. He decided to switch his major to pre-law before graduation. During his time in school he also became convinced that land ownership was sacrosanct; his people owned their land in the eyes of the law and by way of treaty, but in this new world would this be honored or once again trampled?


Headed east, this time. After a lengthy but successful clerkship Jon had been accepted into what passed for a prestigious law school these days at Yale. The details of payment had yet to be worked out; Jon figured he'd find some way to persuade the masters to let him stay once he'd been there awhile.

It was Sooyee's rusty 1995 GMC Sierra that propelled him down the road east through Oklahoma. The vehicle was so old there were no parts made for it anymore, yet Jon managed to keep it running, mostly with socket wrenches and hope. Fitting an old Indian's truck rattling held together with duct tape and chicken wire should take him through Indian territory. What Indian territory was left, that is. Were there still Comanche out there, those who had once fought his ancestors but in the end took them in? Little was there to be sure of these days.

The recession and natural disasters had taken great toll upon many of the still-surviving Indian tribes, and there was great cause for worry of the future among them. There was great discussion among the various independent tribes whether they should approach the CCD and ask for admission, and Jon followed the chatter with utmost attention. Best he could discern, there were three emerging camps on the issue. One said the CCD would protect their heritage and bring benefits to the Indian peoples, and be better able to honor the treaties protecting their reservations than the American government currently could in its state. Another claimed it was just swapping one dominating power for another, and the CCD was thousands of miles away, so it was better to stick with the devil they knew. Still a third whispered that the global recession was an opportunity to take back the days of old and not have to live under the shadow of a treaty that survived on the whim of a greater power. Jon wasn't sure what to think about the last argument...he'd sworn that the days of old had died long before his Sooyee, apart from what Jon himself had learned.

Dim headlights lighting up the black pavement before him, Jon couldn't help but let his thoughts wander to thinking about Sooyee and his stories. Would Coyote have let the businessmen chase the Sioux and the Cherokee off their land out here? Probably not; he'd have stolen their suits right off their backs and sent them back running to the Mississippi. Would have served them right, too, to keep messing with such old blood.

The road wound on, as Jon sped past bleak mile marker after mile marker. The thump-thump of the slightly uneven pavement against his partially-bald tires crooned to him in a bitter, poor-pitched melody, and Jon felt himself starting to … drift...as he had in the days of his youth while out in the forest, all alone, feeling the thrum of nature's own heartbeat. His spirit guide called to him to walk in the spirit. He didn't fight it, even though in one small part of his mind he knew that crashing his truck could be a real possibility.

As the hypnotic rhythm took effect, Jon found himself looking at his own body. He could still move the truck's wheel with his hands if he concentrated on it, but it felt like he was moving puppets. It was as if he was still driving but at the same time just passively watching. Careful to keep himself anchored to the body that was driving the vehicle, he let himself drift upward to watch the stars. They were dazzling tonight, an array of constellations under a frigid dark canopy. He quickly found the Big Bear, and the Little Bear with Polaris that guided all souls true North. Then the Hunter, chasing his prey across the sky with bow fully drawn.

A coyote suddenly appeared among the stars, and made a silent howl.

This is foolishness. Reason guided Jon to the notion it was incredibly stupid to be taking a spirit-walk while his body was driving a two-ton vehicle at highway speeds. He had no idea how to return so decided he would imagine himself back in his truck. This seemed to work, for he opened his eyes and found himself driving down the dark highway in full control of his vehicle.

He was not sure what that spirit-walk was intended to achieve. Why had his guide pulled him in again? He had already determined through years of research and his own experiences that there must be some truth to the old stories. There had once existed true medicine among his people, of that he had no doubt. There was also possibly some real truth to the katchinas and the Great Spirit. Coyote perhaps did actually at one time walk among the living and steal fire from the gods and bring man into being. There sure weren't any to say otherwise out on this old highway.

He crossed into Missouri without incident. That was a blessing, he had been unsure what to expect from what he had heard of a group that called themselves the Minutemen. Rumor had it they were setting up roadblocks in order to intercept “outsiders,” whomever they might be. CCD perhaps? Seemed a bit foolishness to Jon; everyone knew CCD didn't have any real influence in American heartland. Not yet, at least. Obviously if they did there probably wouldn't be any minutemen. One thing was sure, the CCD was so quick at its consolidation of power there was no way it would tolerate any sort of dissent. That in itself was troubling as considering tribes were thinking about joining with this force?

No. Best form no opinions. This government bloc could be very well something better. Jon just did not yet know all the facts.

Four hours across Missouri, and two more across Illinois. Nothing to see but flat plains. Hardly a light amongst them, not surprising as villages died and people emigrated to what little opportunity still remained in the great cities. Jon was just crossing into Indiana when the dream began to take him once again.

This time, his spirit guide manifested itself in his truck's cab. The coyote jumped at him without warning and threw his spirit self from the vehicle.

Is this madness? Jon's spirit self rose along the side of the road. He panicked, thinking of his actual self still driving his vehicle along the highway in the distance. This is dangerous! I have to wake up!

South. That was all that was sent to him. And his spirit guide leaped at him, causing him to waken.

Jon was back on his truck, driving toward a fork in the road. South resonated in his memory from his dream, and he jerked his steering wheel right.

He drove on, wondering what the hell he was doing driving on this road which was just putting him further from his destination. Stunned as he was, he didn't make any attempt to deviate from his new direction. South.

The fuel light sprang alight on his dashboard. Cursing, Jon began to look for a gas station along who knows what highway he was now driving down. Illuminated lights greeted him shortly, advertising gas prices he would rather forget, but knew he must pay.

The station was completely abandoned, but the pumps were still lit. One of those 24/7 pumps with no attendant, Jon supposed. Jon drove up next to the gas meter and slid his debit card from his wallet. He hoped his last pay from his clerkship had been debited on time as promised. Not only were US dollars worth less than they used to be, but it seemed payers in USD were more often to turn up fraudulent these days. The pump activated and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Jon was just finishing pumping his gas and putting the pump nozzle back in his place when he felt a chill. Instinctively, his third eye felt another presence around him. He looked to his left, and to his right. Shadows swished around the dim lights of the gas meter.

Jon walked slowly back to the cab of his truck. There was something else out there...yet his spirit guide had sent him here, hadn't he? Must be just the long hours on the road.

As Jon reached for the handle on the door, something struck his body, sending him sprawling to the ground. His keys went flying from his hand, finally resting by the rear tire of his truck. Jon gasped and felt something warm trickling down the inside of his shirt. Check that, his shirt was ripped and he was bleeding. And also on his back, with his truck keys just out of arm's reach. Still, with his right hand he stretched for his keys.

He felt a pressure on his right hand, as something was stepping on it. Jon looked up. He couldn't make out anything. Just shadows.

You will yield your secrets to me, the message came. Jon understood it immediately.

“I don't know what-” His feeble voice cut off as a clawed hand wrapped around his neck and started to squeeze.

Tell me how your people still have medicine. Crushing pain! Breath, a simple thing, a moment ago, denied! How the lungs burnt so quickly, the throbbing in the head manifested so soon! Black spots? How in vision already darkened by surroundings could things get blacker? Blood throbs trying to fight its way to the brain and fails! Escape! Escape! Dimmer........

flash.

Jon blinked, and took a belated gasp for air. He gingerly felt his windpipe, nothing felt broken. Stinging from scores on his flesh. So it was real. Spots danced on his vision, and he took another breath.

Memory is where it all begins. Jon stood up and remembered something was wrong with his side. He glanced and found blood trickling from a gash. He tore his shirt and wadded it against his side to stem the flow of blood. Then he looked around.

The windows from his truck had shattered into a myriad of spiderweb cracks. Of the gas station pumps, there were no sign. Only spurts of gas piping up from the tank below. Blackened bubbling patterns emanated on the concrete radiating from where he lay. Jon could smell it cooking, black tar and pitch heated like desert pavement in July. He found his keys, knocked a hundred feet away in a section of burning brush.

Jon stumbled into his truck, and turned the ignition with his key. Thankfully, the truck started up. Mind numbed to where he was not even remotely ready to process what had happened, he started to drive.
South.

[Jon Little Bird]

2. The reaction

---

Jon still wasn't sure why or where he was driving, six hours after the attack he inexplicably escaped. What had that thing been? And why was he still alive? Memory of the feeling of his throat a heartbeat away from being crushed wiped away all other thought. His heart, racing again, sent blood to his head and brought on dizziness, causing the lanes ahead of him to diminish to mere pinpricks.

Reason. Fight fancy with reason, he told himself. This is anxiety. You can't very well drive when you can't see and are panicked. He rushed himself through the meditation exercises taught him by his grandfather as preparation for entering the spirit-walk but stopped himself from stepping over that threshold to leaving his body. All emotion, fear, anxiety was fed into a distant pinprick that could be tucked away.

It was almost morning. Having receded into an unemotional state, Jon dispassionately regarded the pre-dawn glimmers coming from the east, subtly breaking the darkness one moment at a time. A sign passed him saying “Welcome to North Carolina.” Quite a deviation from where he was supposed to be six days from now in New Haven.

His truck was running low again on fuel. This was becoming an expensive venture into nowhere, even for someone who retained summer pay and savings from his reservation's dividend checks, far and few between though they were becoming. Jon pulled himself out of his meditation and looked for a place to pull over.

Ah. A gas station up ahead. Jon had little of training in the way of martial arts or fighting reflexes, and made the potentially fatal error of cringing as he pulled into the station, his small muscles so taut they were more likely to split on their own than react in proper time to a threat. So it should not have been any surprise to him that when a shape approached Jon as he exited his vehicle, he spasmed, slipped and hit his head on the door of his truck.

“Careful, traveler,” said a crackled, aged voice. Jon's vision returned, and he was on the ground looking up at an aged man, skin parched and wrinkled as much as the voiced had been. His facial features, high cheekbones and the set of his eyes against his head bespoke of obvious native blood in his lineage, and his whitened, braided hair lay neatly across his shoulders and across his chest nearly to his waist. Clearly an elder of some tribe.

“Forgive my rudeness, elder,” Jon managed to mutter. “I must have slipped and fallen. I will be on my way shortly.”

The man threw his aged head back in laughter. “Traveler, that is funny, for I am here to meet you.”

Despite all the events of the past twelve hours, that was still the greatest oddity of the night. “What?” Jon stammered. “How did you know I was going to meet you?”

The laughter came again. “I dreamed you were going to be here, that's how. Come with me.”

---

It had still taken some more convincing for the old man, now revealed to Jon as Noah Crow's Eye, to bring Jon to his people's reservation. The Oconaluftee Village at Cherokee, North Carolina was the home of the last remaining Cherokees east of the Mississippi River. They were the only ones who had managed to escape forced removal at the hands of the U.S. Military over 200 years ago. He was driven past cloth-framed teepees and men and girls clothed in feathered garb – obvious tourist claptrap designed to give a show to people either dumb-witted enough to really think native Americans hadn't moved on past the seventeenth century, or simply those willing to part with their dollars to enjoy a stereotyped show. Any high-school level history student knew full well teepees were a shelter device employed by the semi-nomadic tribes on the Plains – like Jon's own Apache ancestors – and not a more agrarian and -some would say - civilized tribe such as the Cherokee.

Noah pulled up to a simple house with brown clapboard covering – definitely a more accurate representation of an authentic Cherokee dwelling, Jon thought – and parked Jon's truck outside. The old man moved with surprisingly spry step and helped Jon out of the cab.

“I'm okay, no need to --”

“Hush, traveler. You are wounded. Come inside my house and you will be tended to.”

Hard to argue with that. Spots still danced on his vision from hitting his door. He accepted Noah's assistance and was laid upon a simple leather couch. The old man opened Jon's shirt and muttered to himself as he inspected the gouges in his flesh.

“Probably no stitching needed, highly superficial...chance of infection...” he muttered. “What do you remember of the attack?”

“Little.” Jon shook his head to clear the haze. “Large eyes...claws. It moved swiftly and spoke almost as if into my mind. He wanted me to give him secrets of our people's medicine. I don't know what he meant.”

The old man nodded. “Hm. As I might have expected. Just to be sure though...” He shuffled to an oak cabinet and retrieved a vial of a liquid that sent a metallic glimmer in the light. He uncorked it and unceremoniously dumped it upon Jon's wound.

“GAAH!” Fiery pain invaded Jon's very bowels and forced him upright, and he saw himself facing down a silvery .44 magnum revolver aimed right at his head. Jon froze.

Noah let out a sigh of relief and relaxed his grip on the firearm, bringing it down to his side. “So that is taken care of. There are many types of demons known to us. Some can do terrible things to you. Had you been infected by certain ones of them, that poultice would either kill the toxins or bring the demon possessing you to the surface, which would have forced me to kill it and you. Had to know.”

Jon just blinked at the admission. I am facing a lunatic, he thought. “Can you tell me anything helpful?”

Noah laughed again. That crackling was truly haunting. “Other than what I just did?” He wiped a bit of spittle from the side of his lip and set to bandaging up Jon's side. “Be at ease. The poultice I gave you will also ward against more mundane infections as well. What I can tell you is that your attacker appears to have been Kilgatilik. Or one of the Clawed People he was of.”

“The what people?”

“This is a legend come from the Inuits far to the north. One day, First Brother and Sister were out finding a place to build a home. Brother was away hunting and Sister tending the fire, and the Clawed People came. She was attacked and scarred. Brother found out and set out to kill the people who had harmed his sister. He finally got to one old man of the Clawed People who said he had told his people to leave Sister alone else Brother would kill them all. Brother killed that man too. But there were others of the Clawed People Brother and Sister new not about. One named Kigatilik swore revenge on the First People and vowed to take their medicine from them so they would no longer be able to fight.”

The old man was silent for a moment.

“Kigatilik is known for hunting those of our people who had medicine. The priests, the shaman, throughout the Americas, since the dawn of time.”

Jon stammered. He felt woozy. “I was hunted...by a mythical demon I never heard of in my people's stories...not to mention maybe not real...and I am supposed to believe that? What am I, a medicine man?”

Noah laughed. “Our peoples were cast asunder long before the White Man came. Stories...the ones we both remember are so old they are probably older than the First People, if true. I know of no man with true medicine to come after the ones we know together, Crow, Coyote, Mother, and so on. Our peoples no longer have the power to change the living world as we wish.” Aside, so low Jon barely heard it, the man muttered to himself “but what was and what will be may also be what is, today.”

“I'm sorry?” Jon spoke, louder than he would have considered respectful.

Noah shook his head. “Nothing, traveler. No god reborn may you be -” he stopped and swallowed. “But there are other things of the old ways that live on, that are seen as threats. Even are stories are looked upon as threats to some – but I speak of an ability I saw you use before. You can walk in the spirit world as I do and you know it.”

Jon frowned. “I sometimes see my spirit guide in meditation. It is a thing of calming and guidance. Not as you mean --”

He was cut off by Noah's abrupt hand before him, pointing. “Several months ago, the night before your debate against Dartmouth, you walked the spirit world and found your opponent's argument, or what reflected of them in the spirit world. You used what you learned to attack his argument before he could make it. Try to deny it!”

“I --” That was just a dream he'd had. So much had faded by the morning after...yet when facing Dartmouth championship team he remembered now what confidence he had that he would be able to crush any position his opponent took. “How do you know this?”

Noah chuckled. “I saw you there, of course. The spirit world is a reflection of our own, and some such as I, and you as well, can go there. This is a thing of our peoples that remains to this day even as we diminish. As a reflection, nothing you do there will physically alter our world, but there are many dangers. What happens to you there may harm you, or even kill you.” He paused for a moment. “And sometimes there one can catch glimpses of what is yet to come.”

Jon lay back. So much to take in and process. “Such as?”

Noah looked away. “Why, I knew you would come here. I know that if you do not remain here for at least eight more days, you will die.

“And I have seen more.”

“What --” Jon struggled to move, feeling threatened, but the man lay a hand on his chest and pushed him back with strength that overwhelmed his.

“I also know that the poultice I administered to you is laced with a powerful drug to induce sleep, and it is about to knock you out.”

Blackness.

---

Jon blinked, and woke. His mouth was very dry. He was in a bed, wrapped with clean white linens. He was unbound, and while the door to his simple room was shut, it didn't appeared to be barred. What –

He had been tricked. That stung. Overwhelmed, overpowered, any of those he could have taken. He did, after all, have limits, particularly in the physical department. Being tricked – that hurt his pride.

The door opened, admitting Noah, carrying a pitcher and a glass. “Good morning,” he crooned. That sly smile. He poured water into the glass. “I hope you slept well.”

Parched though Jon was, anger won out. He smacked the glass out of the man's hand, and barely heard it shatter against the wall. Feeling surprisingly hale, he jerked out of bed and seized Noah by the shirt collar. “What did you do to me, old man?”

The man managed to carefully set the pitcher aside while held by Jon. “I will explain. But be careful how you step. You have been asleep eight days and may not have much in the way of balance.”

“I--” eight days? He was supposed to start his graduate work at Yale last week! His head felt full of cotton. He wanted to laugh, or cry, or something. What he did do, mercifully, was let go of the old man's shirt, which went against the fury he felt at the man's trickery. “You old fool. The wickedness you have done is beyond forgiveness.”

Noah only nodded. “Be at ease. Curse me if you will, for I will not defend the means I used. Allow me to explain.”

Jon nodded. He wished he had drunk the water first.

“When I saw your future reflected in the dream, I saw several possible outcomes of our first visit. Only the one I took would have kept you here. Along the others, you would have died. While you slept, I had several doctors, ones I trust not to go to the WHO or...others...check you out and certify you as healthy and free of any disease, mundane or otherwise that they can detect. I did this because...

Noah reached out a hand and touched Jon's forehead. He tried to slap the hand away, but he seemed to have lost all coordination. Chills suddenly swept his body.

Noah nodded. “Yes, this is what I saw.”

Jon was hot and cold all at once. Spots danced on his vision. His teeth clenched and his back and legs cramped, forcing him to his knees. “W---wh---you did something,” he finally stuttered in accusation.

“I have done nothing to cause this,” Noah said. Jon could hardly hear him. “Truth is I know not what is happening to you right now. But I can tell you that you will survive this. Here.” From somewhere he produced another cup and poured from the pitcher. A very small amount. He held Jon closely and put the cups to his lips. It wasn't water, but something bitter that sucked what little moisture was left out of his mouth.

“Only a little, to help your mind accept and embrace that what is about to happen to you will pass, and perhaps distance your mind from the worst of it.” Echoes of a voice from far distant. Jon was now somehow on his feet and led into Noah's living room. He saw other men, and smelled thick smoke and incense and maybe something else. These men had paint on their faces and the fire swirled and crackled around them, it seemed. Drums and chanting. He was laid on a deerskin rug with a cushion beneath his head, and ropes were tied around his hands and his feet. Something thick was placed between his teeth – leather? As convulsions and heat and chills swept over him, the lights in the room danced and melted into the beating of his heart and the thumping of the drums and the voices in chorus.

As coherence slipped away the last thing he saw was Noah's face and him saying: “Hush...these next few hours will not be pleasant for you at all.”

He couldn't stop himself from trying to scream the entire time.

---

Some time later, the living room was empty. Jon looked around, not having really fallen asleep but not having been truly awake. He looked around and realized he was unbound. The leather was gone from his mouth, and he surprisingly had the strength to stand up. In fact, he felt he could run if he wanted to.

Noah came into the room and smiled at Jon. “I see you are feeling better.”

Jon nodded. “Yes...I am. I thought I was going to die and I feel fine now.” He remembered the old man denying he'd caused the affliction, and decided he believed him. “You knew this was going to happen to me, didn't you?”

Noah nodded. “You wouldn't have believed me had I told you. I saw you screaming in my dreams. Sometimes, you were here, in my living room. Other times you were not. In every possibility I saw other than what came to pass, it ended poorly for you. I see you know what it was now.”

Jon blinked. The symptoms he had...the Pandemic. Young men and women with symptoms like his...sometimes dying screaming, horrible deaths no one could treat. “I'm afflicted...this isn't possible.” Was it the beast, Kilgatili that had attacked him that had infected him? Or something else? He started for the door. “I have to go to the hospital. What if I get others sick?”

“Stop!” The simple command ground Jon to a halt. “Modern medicine can do nothing for you. It would have done so already for the others afflicted if it could. You are not the first of our people to have come down with the Pandemic. Not even the first on this reservation. It seems there is a significantly higher number of those of our native blood so afflicted. Perhaps because of the isolation of our blood running thicker together. But regardless I have seen it before in person and judge it not to be contagious as infectious diseases are known to be. The other walkers of the spirit world I have spoken with agree with me that it is likely an affliction of the spirit of sorts and not a disease.”

Not a disease? Jon recalled the sheer terror and pain associated with the event. “And the ritual? What was that, an exorcism?”

Noah laughed. “No, just a meditation ritual, some parts from the old ways, others from new, a little peyote to help ease the passage of time and wash away the most traumatic parts of your experience by helping you embrace it rhythmically, nothing more. Yours was particularly...powerful. The worst I've ever seen. The symptoms usually aren't nearly as strong.”

Jon held his head in his hands. So much to process. “You say you've seen others. What happened to them?”

Noah sighed. “This is the last thing I need to warn you of before I send you on your way. I have known of four cases. One from this reservation, two from other tribes out of state brought to me, and a fourth from a non-native family of deeply religious upbringing who still found a 'medicine man's' guidance better than a hospital.

“The first two we sent to hospitals within the first month, after the symptoms returned. They both got better, but shortly after both of them met with 'accidents.'”

“Accidents?”

“Yes,” the old man nodded. “No foul play proven, and the law didn't care to try and investigate too deeply. But it was known that a couple of individuals had been seen near the hospital with the sign of the Ouroboros.” Noah made a circle in the air. “The image of the snake eating its own tail. It is an old, old symbol. Those called the Atharim are known to wear it.”

“The Atharim,” Jon repeated, sounding out the word.

Noah nodded. “There are more than demons that are a danger to people who follow the old ways. The Atharim are known to few, but it is known they hunt the things of the old world, the demons and gods of old myths. Including our own myths. We know of them because they have hunted us. Even in recent times.”

“What?” Jon said. “I've never heard of such a thing.”

“Have you ever thought about what really happened to my ancestors the Cherokee in the events that preceded and became known as the Trail of Tears?” Noah asked. “Think if you will the insanity, the resources, the manipulation that went into uprooting a peaceful, civilized people – the Cherokee were civilized! – and made to move a thousand miles, killing many along the way.”

Jon pondered this as Noah continued: “Think further how the insanity was compounded by the fact that those acts were committed by the same government that had told itself it was not allowed to commit the acts in the first place. What hand guided those acts? Only some entity wrought with true madness...or one with an ulterior motive. We few Cherokee elders remaining who know the experiences as passed down from generations past believe that several members of the Atharim had infiltrated the federal government and either instigated or allowed this atrocity and others happen.”

Jon nodded. The old man made sense with his logic. Kick them off the land, scatter them...someone, or an organization, that found the old ways a threat would have a much easier time eliminating the stories, the spirit walkers, the lore, even perhaps the gods if they were to have still walked among man at that time.

“Your symptoms will return,” Noah warned. “You must not ever seek a hospital and you must get out of public eye if the symptoms come upon you suddenly. It is unlikely they will be as strong as you experienced here. It may feel as simple as a cold at first.”

This was too much. Jon had had enough. Hiding when he sneezed? “Thank you for what you've done...I think. But if you don't mind, I want some way to get on with my life. See if I can continue on at Yale. Study law and do something more useful than being drugged in a sleep for days. The world is a mess out there, demons and spirit walking and afflictions aside and it is passing me by.”

“Very well. You should know there is an experienced doctor of Native American folklore, Dr. Kevin Anderson, at New Haven. He will have access to many collections of oral tales, and he may be of more help to you. Maybe there is something in our myths that can be put together to make sense of it all.” Noah smiled. “I've already taken the liberty of contacting him. He will be handling your...late arrival and ensure you are excused from it. I will have your truck gassed up and loaded with supplies.” The old man seemed quite sad.

“What else can you tell me about what you have seen?” Jon asked, but Noah shook his head.

“Too much knowledge of the future is dangerous. What I could tell you wouldn't make any difference anyway. Go get your law degree and I may or may not see you in the spirit world.”

“Fair enough,” Jon replied. “But you never told me what happened to the other two youth you treated. The ones that didn't go to the hospital?”

The man nodded. “The third was a girl of about 16. Her symptoms disappeared after several months and within a year left the reservation. I know nothing else about what happened to her.”

“And the fourth?”

Noah paused and turned his back to Jon. Finally he said simply, “He is buried behind my house.”

[Jon Little Bird]

3. Awakening.

The Yale dean of students eagerly shook Jon's hand. “Congratulations on your achievement. I never heard in my days of a graduate student earning his law degree and being admitted to the Bar in just one year.”

Jon smiled politely behind his bespectacled eyes. Emotion could be a weapon, or a potential vulnerability. Best not to let his face show that he knew the dean of students to be a classic case of nepotism, inept at much more beyond signing his trademark name upon which he made his living.

Unwilling to play the victim any longer, Jon now knew many secrets, and they became currency to him to save, or barter against, or sell.

---

Nine months ago

Jon's arrival at Yale was unremarkable. As his abductor had promised, he had been admitted to the school's graduate program as a law student without questions. It was a bit odd that there was never any question about payment for tuition, or lodging or even meals at the cafeteria. He did not care to push the subject too much, if Yale was going to give the milk for free, why should he argue? Better keep his savings his.

Noah Crow's Eye had also been honest about the existence of Dr. Kevin Anderson and his expertise in Native American folklore. Shortly after enrolling, he met with Dr. Anderson, but the meeting didn't play out as Jon had expected.

Jon walked into Dr. Anderson's office and found a gaunt middle-aged man with long silver hair lying on the ground unclothed amongst an array of symbols chalked into the linoleum floor. The man had placed large crystals upon his head, chest and abdomen. Jon felt slightly embarassed for the man, and coughed politely.

“Oh, yes, how are you?” Dr. Anderson said with all the pomp of a routine physician's visit, all the while lying there with crystals suspended upon his naked body.

I am not doing this, he thought. “Sorry, wrong office, have a good day,” he said, and turned to leave.

“No, wait ---” Jon had already shut the door when he heard the man scream “I KNOW YOU ARE AFLLICTED!”

Bloody hell. Seriously? Jon cursed Noah for what he must have revealed. There was no trust in this world today.

Jon took a breath. He was really tired of others having the initiative on him...it made him feel powerless. As if his small frame hadn't been enough to do so throughout his teenage and early adult years. He walked back into the office, shut the door behind himself, locked it, and regarded the naked man: “I will speak with you...but I demand you stop lying on the ground like a fool and put on some clothes first.”

***
Dr. Kevin Anderson had a rational explanation for lying on the ground unclothed with crystals draped around himself. He was attempting to recreate an Ojibwa healing ritual so he could better describe it in a paper he was writing: “Crystals are described as having healing, stabling power, but when you get down to it, no one knows why they came to be known as so in mythology,” he told Jon. Jon allowed as it was an explanation, certainly. It did little to quell his concerns over the man's sanity.

Dr. Anderson had other interesting “breakthroughs” to share. He had through years of research gathered a number of Native American myths authenticated to be predating written literature in the Western world.

“What my specialty is,” Dr. Anderson described to Jon, “Is to find roots of the oldest spoken tales in Native American lore, and to match them with similar tales of different tribes – such as Cherokee and Inuit, for example – and search for still older. Vis-a-vis cross-referencing, I've believed I have managed to record tales more than twelve thousand years old.”

Jon took notice at that claim. “That would be twice as old as recorded history .What do those tales say?”

Dr. Anderson threw up his hands. “Not much useful, to be sure. Reconstructed by meta-analysis and supercomputing it is mostly 'There was gods. They did stuff. Then God shat and made world.' I am paraphrasing. But what I did find in my journey back might be useful to you.”

“How?”

“I have an inkling that our mutual friend Noah Crow's Eye is right in that the...Pandemic...is of a spiritual origin. I am sure you would want to know about that?”

Jon kept his face blank. Inside his heart fluttered. Could he trust this hippie lunatic character not to blab to the wrong person? WHO would have him quarantined in hours, and his name would go on a list, and if Noah hadn't been lying he would become a target. He hoped he wasn't just being played for a fool again. “Go on.”

“There are many similarities among various tribal ancient rituals. Rain dances, hunting dances, what have you. I am convinced they all originated from a single source, an ancient attempt to commune with the Great Spirit.”

Really. His own tribe had its stories about the Great Spirit, and how one could become one with it. He leaned forward in the office chair and folded his arms together. “Tell me something I do not know about my own people.”

Dr. Anderson blushed a bit. “Yes, certainly. Um. Not intending to show disrespect to your heritage or what you know of it. Now, it seems that even in recent history, the arrival of the Europeans in the Americas, some form of these rituals were still practiced that link back to ancient, common stories. The battle of Tippecanoe for example about 230 years ago. Tecumseh told his braves they would be bullet proof when they met the Americans on the field of battle. Now of course it didn't work. What interests me in the story is the connection between the rituals used by him and why almost the exact same ritual is described in Inuit lore, when the two tribes could not have possibly had any communication...I know I am rambling. My point is, one, all tribal legends contain a belief in a common Great Spirit that flows through everything, and two, certain components of these myths are the same in all these stories. They all had origins from some singular reference older than even myth.”

Jon sighed in his chair. He could connect the dots along the man's meandering path well enough; the roots of medicine in myth were long distant and common and what survives of the old stories were, like the Native man himself, remnants that connected with that singular distant past. But something was missing. “What are you not telling me? What does this have to do with being afflicted?”

Dr. Anderson looked down at his desk and shuffled through some notes. “Oh. Symptoms much like the Pandemic are referenced, vaguely, in old lore. This is also part of the common mythologic pathway. They were people believed to have been touched by the gods.”

Exasperated, his patience run out, Jon stood and threw his hands up. “Why didn't you just say that to begin with instead of prattling on as such?”

Dr. Anderson stiffened. Apparently the doctor had a little backbone. “Fine. You want me to get right to the point? The native peoples had true medicine but the use was lost back in prehistory. The ability was lost as those touched by the gods died in various ways, including being hunted down. The memories survived in the myth, but the ability was lost and the various tribes forgot that and for probably thousands of years had shaman and other medicine men who followed a true pathway to the Great Spirit as described in myth but lacked the ability. Understand?”

Jon nodded. “You believe I am touched by the gods...I have the ability these false medicine men lacked, and that my people's stories and myths will teach me how.”

Dr. Anderson nodded. “Well, yes, if any of these things do really exist, of course.” He bit his lip and opened up his desk, rummaging through a drawer. “I wonder...” He pulled something out and put it on his desk – a black teardrop-shaped stone apparently crafted out of smooth obsidian. It curled in a half-circle with the leading edge tapered to a curling point. “It is always ice-cold. This was found in an ancient Iroquois settlement not far from here. There is no explanation for how it got there and those tribes lacked both volcanic rock and the ability to craft it. But watch --” he stood the teardrop stone upon its delicate curl and it balanced there, upside down on the desk, almost impossibly. “The only rationale to it doing so is the way it was crafted was so that the center of balance is all in the long tail. Doesn't feel that way, though. Here.”

He handed the object to Jon. It was smooth, all in one piece and felt neither like rock, metal or glass. And Dr. Anderson was right in that the weight seemed more upon the fatter end of the teardrop.

But he was wrong about one thing. “Ice cold, you say?” He felt heat, and almost a subtle vibration, coming from the stone. Something resonated within him and the object. “It's warm. Almost hot.”

The doctor blinked. “Let me see.” He took the stone back and his eyes widened. “Interesting. And now it's cold again. Fascinating. I must study this further –“

And tell the academics what – that it got hot when I touched it? Jon reached across the desk and took the teardrop out of the doctor's hand. It grew warm to his touch. “Why don't you let me take it and see what I can learn?”

“That's university property and probably priceless.”

“It was sitting in your desk drawer, doctor.” Jon locked his eyes with the doctor's. “No one needs to know about this. Anything of my visit. It could be dangerous if the wrong people heard of it.”

“But-”

Jon stared with greater intensity. He had to make the man believe he had to keep his mouth shut! He had to! “Understand? Don't tell a soul. You will forget this conversation. You will forget your conversation about me with Noah Crow's Eye. I only met with you because of my interest in learning more of my ancestors.”

The doctor blinked and drew back. For a moment he was silent. “So, how else can I be of help to you? I can see you are quite interested in learning about your ancestral roots.”

Was this man going to actually pretend he had literally forgotten the conversation? That was fine as far as Jon was concerned, he could play along. “Just tell the librarians to give me access to the old manuscripts.” He stood up and shook the doctor's hand. “You've been a great help.” With that, he left the doctor's office, teardrop stone in his pocket.

(Jon now has in his possession a surviving object of the Power crafted in a previous Age. It has no other known use apart from growing warm when he holds it and can hold itself erect when balanced upside down. It was ice cold in the hands of Dr. Anderson, a non-channeler. )

---

Fall quickly turned to winter in New Haven. Snow came early this year in Connecticut. Jon threw himself into his studies, both academic and...extracurricular. He found himself able to move quickly through the mundane coursework that came with obtaining a law degree, and was often able to convince his professors to award credit early, thus freeing him up to move ahead to still other courses.

He knew he didn't have much time. Events in the world were developing rapidly. America was becoming increasingly polarized in its politics and attitudes toward the CCD, which seemed to have no limit to its powers to expand. Conditions for citizens in the United States continued to become more severe as the economic recession crunched the middle class and rolled over the less fortunate. Among the natives, talk continued about what to do about protecting their lands from interlopers and swindlers. The tribes were lacking advocates able to compel the court systems to make the executive branch do something about repeated intrusions, squatters, cheats in energy and mineral agreements, home invasions... A Seminole tribe in Florida had actually been forced off their land by the state through exercise of eminent domain law. It was relocation all over again. Fed up, the Gathering of Nations convened and formed the Council of Native Americans, tasked with approaching the federal government and demanding the treaties be honored and to pursue other alternatives if that failed.

Jon knew he didn't have much time in other ways. Four days after meeting with Dr. Anderson Jon was attending a lecture on English Common Law and its variant as applied in CCD territory when his vision blurred. He tried to rub his eyes and realized he couldn't lift his arm. The strength had completely left all his muscles. He realized with terror he was sitting in the middle of a lecture hall packed with 200 other people and he was completely paralyzed. Eyes wide open, he stared forward at the professor and pretended to act normal, hoping no one noticed anything odd. Thankfully, the lecture was almost two hours long and by the time it was done Jon could move again, with none the wiser. The professor even complimented Jon afterward on his attentiveness.

Night and day, day and night, he studied. No time for friends right now. No time for parties and no time for girls. He relentlessly pursued his studies, attending dozens of lectures a week. At night he lay down to sleep and walked the Spirit World. With practice and careful meditation entering and departing was becoming much easier. He found out quickly that when walking the Spirit World his thoughts could change his surroundings, his clothing and even his appearance. He could even think about a place he wanted to be and be there. It took concentration to maintain any change but became very useful. With a thought he could create a board and diagram a legal argument faster than he could write, or find the exact book he was looking for simply by thinking himself there.

The Spirit World appeared to be a mirror image of the waking world with the exception that things moved around a lot bore little reflection. He couldn't find food, and he rarely saw any other people for longer than a glimpse. Books in libraries were hardly touched anymore, and were usually where he found them. Professors' notes for the lectures they were preparing to give the next morning were often apt to change as he held them in his hands. He searched for anything he could find of use to move faster. If he could learn the entirety of the course material for a class in the first week and convince the professor he may as well move on, that was all for the best. If he could stump the professor on the first day by throwing back his legal arguments with carefully crafted answers, even better. It wasn't cheating, not when he really was learning. Well, he wasn't cheating himself out of a real education, anyway.

Always, his spirit guide was present, in the form of a coyote. Sometimes Jon wondered if the spirit guide was just a reflection of himself.

It took Jon about a week to realize his body wasn't getting any rest while he walked the Spirit World. He pressed on anyways. The human body can function for a surprisingly long time on minimal sleep, if the will is there to drive it. By the end of the fall semseter Jon had completed enough coursework to apply to write his Master's thesis. He'd completed three years of education in three months.

Amidst his frantic pace of learning, Jon explored further the myths of his people. There were ancient manuscripts in libraries all over the world for his picking. He quickly dismissed much of the ritualistic dancing and chanting as hokum and looked instead to what they were trying to summon, and what they were trying to accomplish. There were base elements at play that came up every time: fire, wind, earth and water. Four directions, four elements, four spirits, intertwining with the Great Spirit at its center. An old, old legend that described “threads that form the Great Spirit woven through all things, that flows through all things.”

Jon studied the obsidian teardrop-shaped object he'd obtained from Dr. Anderson. It did nothing that he could see but grow warm in his hands. When he held it, he could feel a resonance. What was this thing?

Toward the end of November, Jon took a solitary trip to the wilderness. After what had happened when he had been attacked by Kigatilik, he wanted to be careful when delving into medicine. He hiked for three miles and found a secluded spot near some oak trees and a small stream. He prepared a small fire and sat down to meditate. The presence of Earth, Fire, Wind and Air should help him focus and call upon the elements.

Jon opened himself up, as if to the Spirit World, but kept himself anchored in the waking world by thought. He fed his emotions into the fire before him and welcomed its heat. Drifting in his own consciousness, he welcomed the awareness of the wind around him, and cloaked himself within. The rushing water nearby soothed his ears, and he welcomed that, as well. He felt the ground pulsating beneath him, the strength of the Earth filling him. His own heartbeat fed into the mix of the elemental symphony.

He could feel the clouds above him as they whirled and passed by. He could feel each flicker of flame dance as it consumed the dried sticks. The stream, racing by. The earth, below him. So solid, yet it seemed he could sink into it and become a part of it. There was wet earth and air pockets right beneath him. All he needed to do was reach out and –

Crack.

The fall brought Jon back to consciousness. Fortunately, it wasn't far, only about eight feet. He opened his eyes and saw that a sinkhole had formed right where he had been sitting. The rent in the earth had altered the flow of the stream, and it was rapidly filling the hole, drenching him with cold water.

Jon clawed his way to the precipice of the hole, hiked back to his truck and drove back to his dorm. He decided that night that he needed to make sure he got more actual sleep before attempting such a thing again. Which he would. And he did.

---

Winter gave way to spring. Jon had completed his Master's thesis. Entitled “Federal Malfeasance: an examination of federal treatment of its treaties with the Native Americans, and its citizens,” it described Native American tribal agreements with the United States and the failures of the United States to enforce its own terms in the agreements. Additionally, as legal citizens, the rights of due process were being summarily denied, largely through ignorance of Federal justices of the legal obligations that rested with the United States as agreed to by treaty. His thesis concluded that the inaction of the federal government constituted breach of treaty and violation of its own laws. It was published in late April, and received much attention from various civil rights groups, including the Council of Native Americans (CNA).

Jon continued his trips to the wilderness. He began to find through his exercises that he could...do things at will. On one venture he managed to start a fire without flame. It had taken many attempts but eventually flames roared to light upon his bundle of sticks gathered before him. Yet another time he swore he actually made it rain. No dancing needed, he just felt his way into the clouds and gathered them properly, gently nudging this way and that.

Other things, he found, he was able to do as well. The dean of the Yale School of Law met with Jon in early May and told Jon he was in no way going to be allowed to graduate law school in one year. Never mind that he had completed the necessary graduate studies and published a thesis lauded as frontier work in a new era, never mind that he was expected to graduate Egregia Cum Laude from a school that didn't ever bestow an honor that high.

Jon didn't have time to waste in acadamia. Political strife continued in the United States. The CNA were actually debating whether it would be wise, or even possible, to send a diplomatic mission to the CCD. Minutemen rallies were happening everywhere, including on the campus. On the newsweb, rising political star Nick Trano championed what was essentially a return to a Cold War state of relations with regard to the CCD. It was obvious a conflict was coming

“Just let me graduate,” Jon told the dean, and he opened his third eye and felt the Great Spirit wrap around himself and the dean. The dean approved it right there.

The symptoms hadn't come upon Jon for quite some time.

---

Present Day

Jon took his Juris Doctorate diploma in hand and walked out of the university hall. The time for being acted upon was past. Now was the time to act.

Three days later, he filed a federal law suit against the State of Florida on behalf of the Council of Native Americans protesting the removal of Seminoles from their reservation.

The coyote had been let loose upon the world.


(Jon has now learned a degree of control over the Power. He can now consciously channel. His skill level has increased.)


Edited by Jon Little Bird, Jul 29 2013, 06:37 AM.

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon helps organize disaster relief on the Potawatomi Native American reservation in Michigan for survivors of the Dayton Disaster. There he is approached by members of the Minutemen and is asked for his legal representation.

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon is interviewed by Nicholas Trano about his upcoming legal battle in Moscow over the Minutemen's legal status.

Interview with Little Bird


Edited by Jon Little Bird, Dec 9 2013, 06:01 PM.

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon enters the Spirit World while on his flight to Moscow. There he meets Thalia Milton, who has no memory of who she is. He gives her the name Nimeda and introduces her to his friend, a wolfkin named Bear-who-runs-on-ice.

He is unknowingly spied upon by Noah Crow's Eye, who reveals (to the reader only) that he was once an Atharim.

Glimmers of a Dream


Edited by Jon Little Bird, Dec 9 2013, 06:23 PM.

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon debates Professor Armando Napoli at Moscow University.

A Debate

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon's lawsuit to overturn the CCD's designation of the Minutemen as a terrorist organization is heard before the Custody Court. He uses compulsion on Prosecutor General Anatoly Kant to make the man sabotage his own defense.

Anatoly Kant is later found dead, the victim of an apparent suicide. When Jon reads this in the news he believes it was his doing and is ridden with guilt.

A Lawsuit

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon goes to Kallisti's House of Burlesque and attracts the attention of Jaxen and Oriena. He is invited to their table. He challenges them to a game called Numbers' Gambit.

During the course of the game the three of them inadvertently reveal their mutual abilities to channel to one another.

Jon gets an accidental call from Nicholas Trano at the time, and calls him back. The conversation is tracked, and Jon finds out that agents are tracking calls to Nick Trano's phone.

Kings of the Castle