The War Summer’s Soul Warrior
What The Hell Is That Voice?
“So?”
“You said it yourself. It was the haunt of every Native American’s childhood—I’m not much of an exception: I just remembered. We’re Warriors.”
Heads snapped towards Koda. It was strange for a child to have remembered something all the way into their teen years. Ahem, young teen years. Koda was thirteen.
She was often mistaken for Adekagagwaa’s daughter—he was thirty, she was thirteen—but she was not his daughter: just a close-looking sibling. Yes, it was normal—and allowed—for the tribes to have children at young ages. Why not, when you have fertile people around?
Blondie chuckled, a combination of masculine and eerie. “Yes, we are.”
Blondie mumbled something incoherent, and Koda’s eyes flashed. “What was that?” she asked sharply.
“Nothing.” Blondie said quickly, trying to cover up his messy tracks. He had barely put a step out of line and a girl had caught him. A young girl for Pimâtisiw’s sakes!
“Oh, and mumbling to yourself darkly is nothing?”
“No, it isn’t.”
Adekagagwaa’s tribe Shaman stepped forward and spoke in an ancient, croaky voice. She was wrinkled, but every wrinkle seemed to be a line of wisdom. “This man hides dark things . . .”
“No shit! It doesn’t take a genius to see he’s hiding things!” A young, naïve man shouted. The Shaman’s eyes flashed. The stupid man had interrupted her, a woman of wisdom!
“. . . Things even he’s afraid to say. He’s afraid his ‘master plan’ will backfire . . .” she continued in a suddenly mocking, melodic voice. She looked Blondie straight in the face.
“You have to tell them now . . .” her voice was back to its’ usual croakiness. Adekagagwaa didn’t even know his Shaman’s name. It was an honour to know their name, and when that honour is given, you better not forget that name.
Blondie hesitated. Even he had a fear—the dictator was not fearless. “Are you going to survive the trip into the sunlight, without becoming a ghost?”
A thin, wiry silence ensued. Adekagagwaa thought you could practically hear it shatter when that same naïve man broke it.
“It’s automatic.” He said with his nose in the air.
Blondie snorted—then more incoherent words.
“Hmm?” Koda started, eyebrow arched.
Something visibly snapped inside Blondie. “FINE! I SAID WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT!”
Adekagagwaa laughed at the people who had almost been “blown away”. Ha.
“Okay, so what about the sunlight?” Adekagagwaa mocked. It was not the smartest or most honouring thing he’d ever done, but this guy needed a wake-up call. It was exactly: don’t fucking mess with us.
Let’s see if he got the message.
~~~~~
Someone was being pushed up the last few feet of the gradually lightening tunnel. “No! I’m not going first!”
It had been twenty-five minutes of this. Adekagagwaa’s usually moderate level of patience was wearing slowly down to a hairs-breadth.
“Fuck this,” he said audibly, as he stomped up the tunnel.
Although his eyes weren’t to them, Adekagagwaa felt his tribe move behind him, watching him.
He didn’t take the time to fully notice or to hesitate.
A bright white enveloped Adekagagwaa. He knew by survival instinct that his tribe could not see him, and that this was not what the other Warriors went through.
Ah, good to see someone who trusts their gut. Congratulations, Adekagagwaa.
Get out of my mind! Get out! OUT! Adekagagwaa mentally screamed. OUT!
And that’s what made him fall from his minutes in white. He landed—mentally—with a thud. His looked around. Okay, nature . . . everything . . . mostly normal. He looked at himself.
Adekagagwaa heard thumping, and knew his tribe had flowed out of the tunnel, worried to see what was taking so long. Little did they know they would have to go through their “high” first.
In seamless unison, Adekagagwaa and his tribe turned around and faced Blondie. Blondie’s eyes widened and many of the tribe knew how they looked: infamous; intimidating.
Welcome to the Real World, everyone.
“You said it yourself. It was the haunt of every Native American’s childhood—I’m not much of an exception: I just remembered. We’re Warriors.”
Heads snapped towards Koda. It was strange for a child to have remembered something all the way into their teen years. Ahem, young teen years. Koda was thirteen.
She was often mistaken for Adekagagwaa’s daughter—he was thirty, she was thirteen—but she was not his daughter: just a close-looking sibling. Yes, it was normal—and allowed—for the tribes to have children at young ages. Why not, when you have fertile people around?
Blondie chuckled, a combination of masculine and eerie. “Yes, we are.”
Blondie mumbled something incoherent, and Koda’s eyes flashed. “What was that?” she asked sharply.
“Nothing.” Blondie said quickly, trying to cover up his messy tracks. He had barely put a step out of line and a girl had caught him. A young girl for Pimâtisiw’s sakes!
“Oh, and mumbling to yourself darkly is nothing?”
“No, it isn’t.”
Adekagagwaa’s tribe Shaman stepped forward and spoke in an ancient, croaky voice. She was wrinkled, but every wrinkle seemed to be a line of wisdom. “This man hides dark things . . .”
“No shit! It doesn’t take a genius to see he’s hiding things!” A young, naïve man shouted. The Shaman’s eyes flashed. The stupid man had interrupted her, a woman of wisdom!
“. . . Things even he’s afraid to say. He’s afraid his ‘master plan’ will backfire . . .” she continued in a suddenly mocking, melodic voice. She looked Blondie straight in the face.
“You have to tell them now . . .” her voice was back to its’ usual croakiness. Adekagagwaa didn’t even know his Shaman’s name. It was an honour to know their name, and when that honour is given, you better not forget that name.
Blondie hesitated. Even he had a fear—the dictator was not fearless. “Are you going to survive the trip into the sunlight, without becoming a ghost?”
A thin, wiry silence ensued. Adekagagwaa thought you could practically hear it shatter when that same naïve man broke it.
“It’s automatic.” He said with his nose in the air.
Blondie snorted—then more incoherent words.
“Hmm?” Koda started, eyebrow arched.
Something visibly snapped inside Blondie. “FINE! I SAID WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT!”
Adekagagwaa laughed at the people who had almost been “blown away”. Ha.
“Okay, so what about the sunlight?” Adekagagwaa mocked. It was not the smartest or most honouring thing he’d ever done, but this guy needed a wake-up call. It was exactly: don’t fucking mess with us.
Let’s see if he got the message.
~~~~~
Someone was being pushed up the last few feet of the gradually lightening tunnel. “No! I’m not going first!”
It had been twenty-five minutes of this. Adekagagwaa’s usually moderate level of patience was wearing slowly down to a hairs-breadth.
“Fuck this,” he said audibly, as he stomped up the tunnel.
Although his eyes weren’t to them, Adekagagwaa felt his tribe move behind him, watching him.
He didn’t take the time to fully notice or to hesitate.
A bright white enveloped Adekagagwaa. He knew by survival instinct that his tribe could not see him, and that this was not what the other Warriors went through.
Ah, good to see someone who trusts their gut. Congratulations, Adekagagwaa.
Get out of my mind! Get out! OUT! Adekagagwaa mentally screamed. OUT!
And that’s what made him fall from his minutes in white. He landed—mentally—with a thud. His looked around. Okay, nature . . . everything . . . mostly normal. He looked at himself.
Adekagagwaa heard thumping, and knew his tribe had flowed out of the tunnel, worried to see what was taking so long. Little did they know they would have to go through their “high” first.
In seamless unison, Adekagagwaa and his tribe turned around and faced Blondie. Blondie’s eyes widened and many of the tribe knew how they looked: infamous; intimidating.
Welcome to the Real World, everyone.