Intended Ch. 09

"You give the others too much credit. When you understand how people...work, when you understand their weaknesses, they are exceedingly easy to control. Look at any herd or pack animal. The strongest always lead. If it were not for the leadership of superior individuals, the group as a whole would not survive. Sometimes it is necessary to...cull the inferior, for the good of all."

"So you think you are superior?"

"I do not think I am superior, Sala. It is simply a fact. Remember, it was you who made the mistake of thinking you could defeat me. You should have stayed away when you had the chance. Understand it was your pride, your arrogance which killed you, not me," he replied, picking her up with great effort before staggering to the boat.

As they made their way toward the center of the lake, Sala struggled to contain her anxiety. You can swim, she reminded herself again and again. It may take a long time, but even with your arms and legs bound you can make it to the shore. Swim toward the woods. It will be more difficult for him to find you there if he figures out you have escaped.

The Spiritwalker appeared to be paddling straight toward the old underwater grove, she observed. It had been many years since he had been here; had he forgotten its location? There were so many places in the open water where he could...throw her into the lake, why would he go to the one area which required careful navigation? It was difficult enough to traverse during the daytime; to do so at night, and in a reed boat? Her instincts told her the shaman did not realize where he was heading. If she could get him tangled up in the grove, she could use the disruption to her advantage.

The young woman also noticed that when he was talking to her, he seemed to pay less attention to his surroundings. He certainly loves to hear himself talk, she thought; he is prideful, arrogant... Maybe if she could keep him talking, she could distract him long enough to make it to the grove. Besides, there was something she wanted to know, something she suspected he would gloat about, given the chance.

"You said that Jakal was 'trapped in a nightmare he could not escape'; what did you do to him?" Sala demanded.

The Spiritwalker grinned. "Rarely can I share with others some of my most brilliant moments. Do not get me wrong; I get a great deal of satisfaction simply from knowing I have executed my goal successfully. You would not believe the release it provides. In fact, I will be self-pleasuring as I watch you sink to into the black depths; it will enhance the experience for me." He readjusted his organ, twitching in anticipation.

"Still, at times it is truly a shame that so many of those moments can never be appreciated by another. And I must admit, the thought of you dying full in the knowledge that your mate has been rendered harmless does hold a certain appeal. Very well.

"I know that your people watched the food and drink you consumed in order to prevent me from poisoning you like I did your mother's mother." Sala's eyes grew dark with suppressed rage. "Yes, my dear; I had no choice but to dispose of her. Allowing sacred wisdom to pass into the knowledge of the unworthy is an abomination."

Though his statement greatly offended her, the young woman fought the urge to retort. She needed to find out what he did to Jakal and could ill afford angering him at this particular moment.

He went on. "I also knew that Jakal tasted everything before passing it on to you. After all, no one would ever dare to harm a Light-Eyed One. They must live among us so that our Clan remains lucky -- at least according to legend. But you see, the stories say only that a Light-Eye must live at our Camp; it does not say what kind of life he must have.

"On this day your mate drank a beverage containing powerful magic from many different sources. Some of them are like what I used on you, keeping the body still, unable to move. Still others overwhelm the physical senses, such as making the pulse race, stimulating the mind and inducing profuse sweating. And then there is the magic which forces one to enter into a world of nightmares, traveling alone in the Spirits' realm. The amount of the sacred mushrooms I used was four times what one usually ingests to see the Other World.

"Can you imagine the terror he must be experiencing right now?" he asked gleefully. "Trapped within his mind, unable to flee, let alone comprehend what is happening to him. By the time he emerges back into our world, his mind will be so confused, so utterly traumatized that he will be nothing more than a babbling fool the rest of his days.

"On top of all this, he will have to live with the knowledge that you are gone, and that he did nothing to save you. Guilt will only increase his madness. So you see, Intended, in one move I have managed to both 'honor' the legend of the Light-Eyed Ones and eliminate a threat."

Sala struggled to restrain the anger and panic flooding her body. Please, Spirits, she begged, do not let my mate be harmed. No matter what happens to me, please keep Jakal safe.

"What is the matter, Sala? Has the thought of your mate transformed into a useless fool left you speechless?" he gloated, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he laughed heartily.

"You assume much, Spiritwalker," she stated bluntly. "Since you were not at the Camp, who is to say he drank your beverage?" And if he did not, he will not stop until he finds us, she added in her head.

Despite himself, the young woman's statement startled the shaman. He indeed took a risk entrusting his female with this aspect of his plan. Still, he provided her ample incentive to follow his instructions, and he also needed someone to blame should the Light-Eye fail to wake from his nightmare.

Glaring at her, he retorted, "You are not the only one with allies, Intended."

"Why would they do such a thing? Do you really believe someone would willingly harm Jakal?"

"With proper...motivation people will do anything," he replied.

Noticing the amulet she wore around her neck, the Spiritwalker leaned forward and attempted to pull it up over her head; surely possessing two such charms would only increase his power, and she certainly was not worthy of such magic. Much to his chagrin, it became entangled in the thick length of her hair. He could not risk putting down the paddle, lest she gain control of it, in order to retrieve the amulet. No matter, he thought. It can sink to the bottom with her.

"You are so much like the mother of your mother," he snorted, "thinking you are deserving of such powerful magic as the talisman of the Spiritwalkers. The old woman was a fool to give it to you, risking her own spirit for the likes of you. Not even the Great Spirits can save you now."

Hold on, just a little longer, Sala told herself. They were almost right above the grove...

A jolt shook the boat and she immediately felt water seeping in under her feet.

NOW! her mind screamed, and so did she, a terrible, primal sound from her very core as she lunged at the shaman, aiming for the knife. In the split second before their bodies made contact, the young woman accepted that the time had come to face her fear; like it or not, she was going in the water. But at that moment, none of it mattered; she had to get that knife.

"Mmph!" The Spiritwalker staggered back, the wind knocked out of his chest, stunned both by Sala's attack and the boat striking something unseen.

Sala held the knife fast between her bound hands, the blade biting into her flesh. In all the excitement she did not notice as it sliced into her palm; all she knew was that she had gotten hold of it and could not lose it now. While its occupants struggled, the boat jerked, filling with water as the branch impaling the vessel tore an even wider hole. With an awkward blow to the shoulder with his paddle, the shaman managed to flip her headlong into the lake.

Quickly scanning the area around him, the man searched for signs of the female but saw nothing in the darkness. That is it? he thought, thoroughly disappointed. It would be like her to steal from him the satisfaction of watching the life drain from her eyes.

The Spiritwalker snarled. His boat was stuck, lodged onto this cursed tree branch, steadily filling with water. It was past his ankles now; he needed to free himself and hurry back to the shore before the boat sank. This time he would come back in the canoe and make sure she was dead.

Reaching into the cold water, he felt his way to the source of his entrapment. Wrapping his hands around the slimy, half-rotted wood, he pushed forward with his arms as the rest of his body pushed back. The boat was almost free now, but now that the branch was no longer plugging most of the hole, water began rushing in. With a scream of frustration, he pushed off again, this time with enough force to set the boat adrift.

With one last spiteful glance in the direction where the young woman splashed down, the Spiritwalker swiftly paddled toward the shore.