Kindred Rites by Kimbriel Katharine Eliska

Author:Kimbriel, Katharine Eliska [Kimbriel, Katharine Eliska]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, kimbriel, night calls, alfreda sorensson, wizards, sorcerers, magic, witches, witchcraft, ghosts, herbs, wicca, texas writer, indiana writer, michigan writer
ISBN: 9781611383546
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2014-01-21T08:00:00+00:00

Nine

There’s always at least a stream near a town; people don’t build where there’s no fresh water. It’s harder to feel the difference between the living and non-living in winter, because everything is sleeping, but I’d had my first lessons in grounding in the month of Snow. With a little work, I could distinguish a river bed from a draw.

Having something to look for kept me from panicking.

The howling wind wasn’t helping how I felt. I rearranged my scarf to cover my face and plowed on. Since the wind was more friend than foe, it seemed wrong to complain about it. In such a swift, bitter wind, I was less likely to run into a predator . . . either four-legged or two-legged.

North of town I found a stream, a lumpy cap of sticks and frozen water covering its surface. Most of the snow had blown away, leaving glittering black ice reflecting candles of starlight. From the swirling shape of the ice, I guessed that downstream was to the west, and headed that way, walking carefully on the hard, ragged surface.

Downstream would take me to bigger water and a better chance of figuring out this place. There could even be someone to hitch up with—but I’d be careful. I might break down and slip into their thoughts. With as little training as I had, I was in a heap of trouble. I needed all the advantages I could find.

Wherever I was, chances were the spell to suppress aggression in Indians did not stretch this far. Go far enough south, and there were no settlements, only isolated trapping camps and a few forts. Go farther south, and you reached the lands of the Miami or, farther east, the Shawnee.

Miami and Shawnee didn’t care for white folks, most times, and with good reason. Farms scared off most of the game, and white trappers were greedy. Truth to tell, most Indians hated whites, and I really couldn’t blame them. We were changing their world beyond recognition.

If I got caught by Miami, I’d be lucky to end up a slave or a squaw. If I got caught by Shawnee, I’d probably end up dead.

Even farther south was a great river they called the Ohio, which the curvy Wabash met. Somewhere down that way was Fort Vincennes and a few settlements on the Ohio proper. But they might as well have been on the moon for all I knew how to find them. I couldn’t imagine being that far south.

I pushed those thoughts away—thoughts in a dark wood can freeze you in your tracks—and concentrated on placing my feet carefully on the frozen stream. This path felt rock solid, but there was no sense in getting cocky. A mistake in weather like this could cost me my life.

Or my soul? I could build a fire to dry out, but if I couldn’t find dry wood, the flames would smoke. Green wood was the quickest way to say “Here I am!” that I could think of, except maybe shouting.

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