[IC] Loving and Dreading the Black Shroud [shylarah & pugbutter] [Historical/Gothic]

[pugbutter]

[redacted]

[shylarah]

Song-of-Dawn-Rain was a good Christian. That is to say, she believed herself to be. She rather had to, if she wished to keep any sort of relationship with the community where she now lived. Their God was not so very different from the Great Spirit of her childhood, and if perhaps the Pale Faces did not understand the other spirits that resided in all things, Dawn herself did not see it as a conflict. The were new to this land and did not understand its ways as she did, and it was easier to go along with them than to try too hard to teach those who did not wish to understand.

Still, in her blended vision of spiritual matters, there were indeed creatures of evil, and she knew that was what they now faced. The land was restless, the bounty of their harvest tainted with rot. Streaked-with-Lightning hid his face in the fringe of her collar. He did not like the feeling that lingered by the slaughtered cow, and even had Dawn not trusted her spirit guide implicitly in such things, the sight alone was enough to make her agree with the little rodent.

"If He test, He also give way to overcome," she said aloud as she signed a similar protection from evil, kneeling to inspect the carcass though she did not touch it. It was the first in their town, but there was news of other towns with similar events, and of communities torn apart from within even as they were attacked from without. If they were to survive the threat of dark spirits, they would need a defender that likewise inhabited the realm of spirits, for there was only so much a spirit woman could do alone. If she was to enlist the aid of a more powerful spirit, she would need aid from others, something Dawn knew she would not get. The Pale Faces did not like her magic, they did not see how all things came from the Great Spirit and returned to Him, even though they said the did. Magic was evil, they said, and she was forced to pretend she agreed. She had to hide the dances she did to bring them rains and healthy crops, the small spells she wove into herbs to heal the sick, the wards she placed with the turning of the seasons to discourage the lesser evils that roamed the lands. They did not know how she had lured the swarming honeybees to that particular fallen long, nor how she coaxed them to part with a portion of their sweet harvest in return for the blessings of bounty she wove for their gathering. They did not know how she thanked the forest for the trees they used to build their houses, nor how she soothed the restless spirits they disturbed when their footsteps fell too roughly upon the land. They did not really understand the Great Dance, and perhaps in their old world they did not need to.

And perhaps they did not all need to. William was a good leader, she thought. He would understand what was needed to protect his people. Dawn beckoned him away from the farmer. "This is work of dark spirits," she said. "Men can fight, but not as good as other spirits. God say, He help ones who help already, yes? Not everyone like ceremony to ask God send spirits of land to drive bad spirits out, so that not work. But with just me, can ask /one/ spirit, come and fight. Make offering and ask protection. Then spirit follow you, and it see dark spirits and work together for fighting."

What Dawn proposed was not in keeping with the strict code of the settlers, but sincerity gleamed in her dark eyes. She was using the tools she knew to solve their problem, in the way she thought would work best. The spirits were there whether you liked them or not. They did not go away simply because it was unchristian to traffic with them. Indeed, why would the Great Spirit teach them the songs, dances, and rituals to commune with the spirits if He did not wish them to? But how would William see her idea?

@pugbutter

[pugbutter]

[redacted]

[shylarah]

"And until then?" Dawn asked, brows drawing together. The word he used was not one she knew, but his tone said enough: he would not agree. "Prayer good, yes. But do not pray for good harvest until /after/ planting seeds. No seeds, no harvest, no matter how much prayer. What to do now?" He must have something in mind, or at least intend to think of something. Surely he was not stupid enough to think that faith alone was enough. William had never struck her as stupid. Strange, perhaps, and selectively blind. But never stupid. He wanted his people safe, and he would no more abandon them than the Great Spirit would abandon any of its children.

Whatever his plan, he would need weapons, if they were to drive off or even kill the evil spirits. "Muskets, axes, arrows, knives -- these things hurt them, but not so well. Need blessings to be better. Light and life, to drive out dark and evil." She fully expected that she would be doing the blessings. She had seen the leaders of the Christian prayers, and they called upon the Great Spirit, but that was not something they could put in their weapons. Balance was the way of the world, and the one who oversaw the cycle embodied all parts of it. The calls they made to light were poorly focused, and their enchantments would not be strong. Dawn would ask the spirits for what they needed and bind it tightly to musket ball and knife blade, so it would go deep into the evil spirits and do the most damage.

[pugbutter]

[redacted]

[shylarah]

The governor was no longer listening, so Dawn turned her attention from the future to the present. Most dark spirits hunted like wolves. You might find one alone, but you were far more likely to find several. Just as the good spirits came in all kinds, so did dark ones, and now the woman went to the dead cow, kneeling to look at the wounds more closely. One hand slipped into a small pouch at her waist, one of several, and drew out a handful of crushed, dry plants and charcoal. Under the guise of her examination, she scattered enough of it around the wretched animal to purify any lingering traces of evil. Only then did she dare to touch the remains.

It was strange. She thought she recognized the sort of spirit that would kill in such a way, torn, messy, strewing entrails about and traces around the scene confirmed that there were indeed a few of them. Yet their meal had not been finished. Something had disturbed them before they were done. The spirits of the land did not like to stay so close to the houses of the villagers, and while another group of dark spirits might have contested the kill, the victors would have eaten more than was missing.

The spirit woman moved further afield in search of answers to the puzzle. It seemed the interloper had driven the attackers off, judging by the tracks and the signs of fighting. But she did not find enough evidence to know what it was. No matter. She returned to William, and waited for him to finish speaking with the farmer. Perhaps he would tell her what he intended, when the two were done talking.

[pugbutter]

[redacted]

[shylarah]

The farmer had not been out past sundown, nor had he heard anything untoward. But his youngest child and only son, the boy had complained in the morning of bad dreams. He'd mentioned two evil shadows, one of which slew the other. The boy, a lad of seven, hadn't seemed unusually upset, beyond the expected, and he'd known that a dream couldn't hurt him. But with the cow...well, now the farmer wasn't so sure. Perhaps William would like a word with the boy?

Dawn looked interested at that comment, but immediately wary. The sort of creature that killed animals in such a manner was far removed from the sort that would be clever enough to slip inside a house. Given that the two inside had been in conflict, that made three sets, possibly four, though the two inside might be from the same group and merely had a falling out. Still, it was truly concerning. If this was what the other towns had faced, no wonder they had been devastated. She wondered what was drawing the dark spirits here. The ones that had slain the cow might be lesser ones that had slipped past her wards, but the ones in the house -- those would be stronger, not the sort her wards could protect against with any degree of certainty. It would be like expecting cloth to stop a shot from a musket.

The look the spirit woman gave William tacitly expressed her concern. This was far more than a stray beast. This was unusual behavior, even for the dark spirits. Add the restlessness she'd felt from the land, and the recent tales, and they were in grave peril. She sent a brief prayer heavenward. It looked like she was going to need all the help she could get.

[pugbutter]

[redacted]

[shylarah]

"Some," Dawn answered, moving to the govenor's side. Streak had emerged from her collar, and she tried to soothe the chipmunk's anxiety. "Ones that kill cow, yes. Small, groups three to three fives. But another drive them off. Not sure for that. Something stronger. Bigger. And ones in house...no." She shook her head with a frown. "Maybe that bigger one and another. Maybe two others? But both smarter ones. Very bad." She looked over at William for a moment before returning her attention to Streak. As the town's chief, he did his best to look after all of the people there. But since they looked to him for guidance, he had to appear strong, even if he was uncertain. She could not always tell what the man was thinking. Dawn wanted to believe he had a plan in mind, or at least the start of one. But at the same time, she was starting to wonder. If he had an idea, he would act far more /certain/, instead of this calm composure. She'd seen him be a man of action, but what good would it do for him to gather more information? She'd asked about their demons. The Pale Faces had many kinds, but they did not separate them by kind but rather by purpose. Demons of greed, demons of sloth, demons of pride. Sometimes she wondered how they had survived in their old land, when the ones who handled the metaphysical aspects of their lives knew so little, and passed so little of it on.

Her people knew how to tell demons apart just as one might tell apart the different kinds of fish. And just as different fish liked different bait, and preferred different waters, so too did spirits. You did not try to catch a bottom feeder as you did a fish of the shallows, and you did not ward off a demon like those that had slaughtered the cow as you would the ones that entered the house. But all the villagers here knew only how to resist temptations from such spirits, and weak gestures with little substance.

Nor did William wish to listen to her expertise in such matters. She had sworn to their God, she had given up many of the familiar touchstones of her old life. In return, she was met with wary acceptance and constant criticism. Everything from the clothes she wore and the beads in her hair to whether she should be ranging far in the forests and what days she might go out and which days she must do nothing but listen to their stories, ones that had huge questions they could not answer. She had promised to guide them, to protect them in their new home from the things they did not understand, but she could not do this if they didn't /listen/.

No, she needed to be patient with them. What was it they were always saying? Turn their face aside -- no, that wasn't the right one. Well, there was something, she knew, saying to be patient with those who do not know. She must give William a chance to obtain his information, a chance to consider, and then if he still did not act she would protect them using her best judgement. Even if she did not get the respect she was due as their spirit walker, she would respect his authority as chief. For now, she would follow his decisions. "You have heard news from south towns? Is like this. ...At least for start."

---

The farmer's son caught up with them not long after they reached the town square, having all but run to catch up as his breathing showed. Jacob was a plain lad, with a mop of blonde ringlets and brown eyes that far too often focused on a world only he saw. The boy tended to be a bit absentminded and given to daydreaming, both of which earned him criticism. But for all that he might have his head in the clouds, he was an honest and hardworking boy, if he didn't get distracted, and he was eager to share a story he'd been sure no one would want to hear. Even if it /was/ one that had frightened him at the time. He didn't ask why his father had told him to find Governor William, nor why his dream was suddenly important. He'd been told to, and that was the relevant part.