then she spoke more to herself. “We’ll speak no more of her.”
Fala gulped hard as she stared at the woman whose blood ran in her veins, who had raised her, whom she loved and respected, and whose strength had supported everyone around her. She was the most formidable woman Fala had ever known, but Meikoda’s strength hadn’t been able to manage her only daughter. After Fala’s father had died twenty-three years ago, her mother had dumped Fala and her two younger sisters on Meikoda’s doorstep and left the tribe to never return. Fala knew Meikoda was not only experiencing the pain Fala had just given her by not finishing the ceremony, but also the failure of having lost a daughter.
“I’m sorry,” Fala said, her voice cracking as she untied the wedding robe and handed it to Meikoda. She wanted to say, Can’t you see I’m not like my mother? I’ve lived my whole life proving I’m nothing like her. I’d never turn my back on responsibility, or hurt those I loved, or leave three daughters in your care. Instead she remained silent.
Meikoda’s eyes narrowed on Fala as if she were trying to search inside her, heal that part of Fala that belonged to her mother and wasn’t perfect. “If only humbling yourself could take care of this.” Meikoda sighed loudly. “But it will not keep you safe. You’ll be tested.”
Fala stiffened beneath the gaze. “How?”
“Darkness is drawn to the light of the Tsimshian powers.”
“I know that.”
“But, you do not know what Tumseneha—” Meikoda pronounced the name slowly, Tum-se-ne-ha, adding a certain element of well-deserved contempt to each syllable “—is capable of.”
Fala flinched at the name and felt a chill come over her. Everything in nature and magic had an opposite. White magic versus black magic. Male spirit versus female spirit. Yin versus yang. The Tsimshian’s dark counterpart was Tumseneha, the enemy of every Guardian who had come before her, and now he would be her enemy. “What do you mean?”
Meikoda said, “He will go to any lengths to take your powers and turn them to his own evil plans. Your life is in danger when you are away from the tribe and the elders.”
Fala’s face contorted as she thought of Tumseneha. How many times had she listened to her grandmother’s narratives about the legends of his evil, how he lured Tsimshians to their deaths, how the darkness loved him, how he bent it to his will? He was the object of her nightmares through her childhood and beyond. They had occurred with more frequency now that she was about to inherit her powers. She knew that each nightmare was a mental battle between them in some paranormal dimension, and she had been able to wake up before he hurt her. But the possibility that he could be roaming the earth again caused a wave of terror to shudder through her.
“I thought you banished him long ago,” she said.
“Yes, but he is strong. White magic can last but so long against the powers of darkness, and my powers have diminished over the years. I’m certain he knows that I weaken every day. He could already have escaped his bonds and be plotting to kill you and steal your powers.”
“Wouldn’t we know if he came back?”
Meikoda shook her head. “Not until he strikes. I’ve been praying about it, but have had no visions.”
“That means we’re safe, right?” Fala asked, her voice hopeful.
“It means I am an old vessel and cannot remain the Tsimshian for much longer. The Maiden Bear’s magic needs a new vessel.” She looked hard at Fala.
Fala knew the Tsimshian was a yoke the eldest female in her family had carried since the Dawning. The weight of it covered Meikoda’s face now like a snowdrift. She had shouldered her own responsibilities as well as her daughter’s for two generations, but not without cost. Age had weakened her and she looked tired, more than ready to relinquish the powers to Fala.
“I promise you, I’ll marry Akando and take my place.”
Meikoda lifted her head in a dismissive gesture as if the outcome was still in the balance. “I pray so, Granddaughter.” She reached up and cupped Fala’s chin.
Fala felt the leathered fingertips against her soft cheeks, the current of power flowing from them. She placed a hand over the warm, gnarled flesh and looked into her grandmother’s sad face. She felt a deep pang as she said, “I’ll be careful.”
Meikoda nodded to Fala and withdrew her hand. She reached inside her robe and pulled a leather thong holding a silver amulet from around her neck. “Take this. If Tumseneha is near, it will warn you.”
“What is it?”
“A guarded secret among Tsimshians, a gift from our ancestors and spirit guides. It will help keep you safe, but you must never speak of it or its power.”
Fala tried to place the ancient amulet back in Meikoda’s hand. “But you should keep it.”
Meikoda pulled back. “I am not his target. You need it more than I.”
Fala ran her thumb over the smooth edges of the Warrior Bear Maiden’s image. The mighty bear’s mouth gaped open, teeth bared, showing her spirit and power, an unstoppable force in nature like no other.
“Put it on and don’t take it off.” Meikoda pointed at Fala’s neck.
Fala slipped the amulet down inside her shirt. She could still feel the warmth from her grandmother’s body radiating from the metal. It suddenly felt like a hundred-pound rock weighing down her shoulders.
“Go, now. I pray you return to me.” Her words held a wealth of past disappointments and sorrows. She gave Fala her back.
Fala ran toward the path that would take her down the sacred mound, chest aching, feeling as if her heart might burst. The sad thing was that with each stride toward freedom, she felt lighter, freer. She couldn’t wait to get back to the normal life she’d established, even if it was for only a few days. She was a homicide detective and a good one. She’d much rather analyze a murder scene than take her grandmother’s place as the Guardian. Truth was she wasn’t ready to give up everything she’d worked so hard to accomplish. Life rarely allowed for wants and wishes, and she knew that soon she’d be bound to Akando and take up the yoke of the Tsimshian. The thing that hurt the most was that her grandmother had sensed the same weakness in Fala’s mother as she had sensed in Fala. I’ll prove her wrong once and for all, and she’ll finally believe I’m nothing like my mother.
Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the theme song from Phantom of the Opera startled her. She pulled her cell phone from her jean pocket and narrowed her eyes at the caller ID: Unknown Caller.
She decided not to answer as she hurried down the path. It rang again and kept ringing. Then a strange text message appeared in the cell phone window: Answer phone. Highly classified.
Was this the station trying to reach her? She said, “Hello.”
“Miss Rainwater?” A deep timbre floated her name, the kind of strong, velvety-edged cadence a radio announcer would kill to have.
Somewhere in that honeyed voice, she picked up on a Maine accent, his r’s at the end of her name turning into a ha sound: Rainwatah. “Who the devil is this?” she asked.
“Special
