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and midnight black detonated behind his eyes before a rush of blood surged through his brain. The hammering began, slowly at first with a gradual ascent to volatile. Fascination gripped him when his arms went numb and shifted into massive, black wings. Soon his spine launched into spasms, every beleaguered ligament and muscle stretching as if ripped from their vertebrae. The familiar burning in his chest spiraled up his throat, spreading outward like a white-hot flame. The power of the raven to surged through his veins. He tumbled through a dark tunnel faster than a meteor falling from the sky, struggling to emerge on the other side. Brother to the open sky, ally to the distant sun, he’d soar above the clouds to where the rain is made. * * * Ethan stood before The Sacred Council of Arrows, acclimatizing his vision to the shattered fragments before him. Physically spent, his heart trying to dispel the ventricular contractions, he fought to school his breathing. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d traveled through time, yet the incredible impact it had on his body to revert from man to raven or vice versa still astounded him. To undergo the process twice in one day would tax his body beyond measure. Drawing on endless hours of training, he collected his wits, mindful of the usual scents in the sacred burial ground--moldering, ancient smells of the dead. With the exception of Stands-In-Light, the Council was an assembly of corpses resurrected from the grave to serve the People. He stood along the Tongue River, like he had so many times in past lives. Present life too. For centuries the Tongue had wandered for miles through Montana and Wyoming, yet today, not one remnant of the Cheyenne’s sacred burial ground remained. Therein lay the beauty of meeting the Council here. Seo’ộtse, dead spirits, sat on the ground before him. He studied each one individually: Vo’kaa’e, known in the white man’s tongue as White Lances; Kâhamaxe, his Cheyenne name meaning The Stick; Wolf That Speaks, a dignified, mystical guide; Stands-In-Light, the High Priestess; and three others, The Pacer, Man-Who-Paints-His- Shirt-Black, and Whirlwind, the father of all ghostly souls. Not a time traveler among them, but prior tribal members empowered to send wanderers through time to help the People. White Lances rose. “Ethan, Stands-In-Light summoned you, gave you the basics of the mission?” “Yes, Vo’kaa’e.” Ethan shoved his trembling hands, a result of the transformation, into the pockets of his trousers. “If I accept, I’ll be sent back to a turbulent time, one of death and great sorrow.” White Lances nodded. “What messages do I carry this time?” The Stick lifted his head, his obsidian eyes glinting beneath the crescent moon. “For one, Black Kettle should move his village.” Ethan had studied the history, knew impending tragedy hovered over Black Kettle’s camp. “It will be my honor to persuade him.” “Battles will be waged, villages destroyed and the Dog Soldiers will retaliate.” The Pacer’s sorrowful voice drifted across the stagnant air. “Many will die.” Ethan met the man’s eyes and saw the flicker of pain before he looked away. “You will lead them, of course.” Man-Who-Paints-His-Shirt-Black offered a subtle smile. “Perhaps it will relieve the pent up rage in your heart.” “That brawl in the bar. I didn’t seek.” Black Shirt waved him off. Her tone unrepentant, her chin resting in her hand, Stands-In-Light spoke. “The Council reminds you, a leader guides with a calm spirit, a commanding presence. If you are to guide the People through the chaos, it’s imperative you harness your fury until it calls out from the battlefield.” “Yes, High Priestess.” “You are a valued wanderer,” Whirlwind interjected. “It’s always our hope you return safe and sound.” Ethan choked back a laugh, the reason behind the compliment clear. “So I’m alive to accept the next mission?” Heads nodded in unison. White Lances slumped to the ground. “Do you accept, I Am The Wind?”
“I do, Sacred Council.” “Refresh an old man’s memory. What name do the People call you?” His question came as no surprise. Kâhamaxe often forgot minor details. “Meko, noble one.” “Ah, yes, the word for leader.” The man pinched his forehead as if to blame a headache for his forgetfulness. “You’re excused now, Meko.” Ethan offered a deferential bow and turned to leave when Stands-In-Light’s austere voice stopped him. “We spoke earlier of dreams?” “Dreams . . . yes.” “Mind you don’t sacrifice the interests of the People to chase them.” A warm, alien emotion crawled through his gut. “Yes, High Priestess.” Ethan removed his hands from his pockets, clasped them behind his back and fixed his eyes on the invisible burial platforms. A unified chant rose in the room, the same lament Stands-In-Light invoked while visiting him in jail. In short time, he’d be among the People in the sacred land of his ancestors―a Dog Soldier, the most revered warrior of the Cheyenne. His last thought before leaving his present life concerned his prized garden. Who would water the flowers and herbs in his absence? Fin Chapter Eleven - Raven Corinn Carluk – stories with bite o,.,o Raven Corinn Carluk dwells just outside of Obscurity, on the road to Fame. A storyteller from her birth, her head is constantly filled with strange images and new worlds. Author of ‘All Hallows Blood’ and ‘stories with bite o,.,o’, she tries to share her visions with the people. Author website: http://raven.youareannoying.us Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003AYE19O Copyright © 2010 Raven Corinn Carluk Short story, from the book stories with bite o,.,o ‘Necro’ “Let them go. I’ll stay.” My voice caught, and I couldn’t continue. Marla hung in the vampire’s arms, holding still so as to not provoke an attack. The rest of us hunters knelt, bound to the floor, hands behind our backs. The vampire showed us the same concern he would leashed dogs. “Vanya, no,” our leader hissed. Larry strained against his bonds, desperate to free his wife. He would do anything for Marla. His voice echoed in the empty factor, and grimy light surrounded the middle aged hunter. The vampire Alexander turned blue eyes on me, his attention a weight against my mind. His grip relaxed, and Marla’s body eased. “You would trade your life for her?” Blond brows drew together as he contemplated my offer. “Yes. Just let everyone else go.” I shifted, tossing my hair back, trying to show off my neck. Entice him away from Marla before she got hurt for my foolishness. Vampires were harder to hunt than the neospawn, but I’d convinced everyone to hunt this guy so I could get close. I had just needed a chance to convince him to take me under his wing. I hadn’t expected him to capture us all. None of this was going as planned.
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Page 12 and 13: “Just to give you a heads up,”
Page 14 and 15: Abe and Bert Ladies and Gentlemen -
Page 16 and 17: Bert paused to assess Abe’s react
Page 18 and 19: He had a particularly low tolerance
Page 20 and 21: with vine designs carved around the
Page 22 and 23: “Okay,” I said running out of h
Page 24 and 25: It was ridiculous, of course. Not j
Page 26 and 27: The women hissed again. The first o
Page 28 and 29: She opened her mouth, then closed i
Page 30 and 31: My journals from that time period s
Page 32 and 33: “Henry Blackheart Hanover.” Ecl
Page 34 and 35: “I didn’t mean you shouldn’t
Page 36 and 37: “I’m coming,” said a middle-a
Page 38 and 39: another night. The thin, hard mattr
Page 42 and 43: “Shut your mouth, Van.” Brody,
Page 44 and 45: Marla nodded her head. “Only a co
Page 46 and 47: The last of them were approaching,
Page 48 and 49: “Just tell her someone needs some
Page 50 and 51: “Thanks,” I jumped up and rushe
Page 52 and 53: As his eyes adjusted, he took in hi
Page 54 and 55: their squad had been assigned to de
Page 56 and 57: “Well how the hell was I supposed
Page 58 and 59: “You are the crème de la crème,
Page 60 and 61: actual happiness. Eleven years ago,
Page 62 and 63: He didn’t even look at her as he
Page 64 and 65: opening up the gate to Greg’s lif
Page 66 and 67: She lifted her glass for another si
Page 68 and 69: “Mr. Crowe, you were the last per
Page 70 and 71: The sound of a 15 passenger van pul
Page 72 and 73: “What is it?” McAffey directed
Page 74 and 75: And for no reason he could fathom,
Page 76 and 77: on Earth—or rather below the seas
Page 78 and 79: His wide shoulders, height, and goo
Page 80 and 81: Melissa breathed a barely perceptib
Page 82 and 83: Maybe this would be the last sessio
Page 84 and 85: Melissa looked at her watch. Time t
Page 86 and 87: He stalked to a small desk under th
Page 88 and 89: No one waited on either side. She s
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