Dawn Revealed

Her physical appearance would frighten the fragile things, if she chose to show them her true form. For their sakes, she did not. She took on a corporeal body. Walked with earthy feet and touched with flesh and bone fingers. After an eternity of the disguise, she found the body a comfort to her. Eternal beings were neither male nor female by birth. They just were. And much as her father had chosen the masculine. She'd chosen the feminine. Slight of height and small in stature, Kokumthena taken on the form of an old woman with pure white hair and wrinkled, bronzed skin. She found that form suited her best and soothed the confused souls that arrived on her peaceful shores.

It was her job to see them across the Great River. And for the most part, she was successful. But, the determination of the human spirit was never to be discounted. Sometimes there were those who refused to cross. She did what she could for them. Kept them as happy and content in her nether realm as possible while she tried to coax them across the River to the true home that awaited them. She felt sorry for those ethereal souls stuck in between worlds. But, the dead had no business in the land of the living. And it was up to her to see that they did not return.

Her duties were endless. Spirits that slipped through the fragile boundaries frightened the living. Ghosts. Spirits. Phantoms. Poltergeists. There were countless terms for the spirits who found their way back. Once on the ethereal plane, she was limited in her abilities to corral them. The dead had to return of their own accord. And the departed did not loose their hold on the living easily. Sometimes, souls simply refused to believe they were dead. And they'd do anything...anything for one more day of life.

The ones that believed in the joys of the afterlife were easy to convince to cross the River. The humans who had a little warning that they were going to die or those who had suffered a particularly cruel life usually were happy to cross. The most difficult of spirits to coax to the other side were the ones who had died violently or suddenly. And as humanity grew in its ability to steal life prematurely, so had her difficulties in getting the souls to the other side.

Sometimes, it took a while for souls to figure it out. They just refused to believe that their bodies were no more. Even when confronted with the rituals surrounding the interment of their bodies to the ground. They simply would not let go of their hold in the mortal plane. It was those confused, fragile beings she sheltered until the day they finally accepted what they were and crossed the River. Love sometimes bound them to the living. Sometimes, it was hate that held them fast. And for a few, it was both of the emotions combined.

Kokumthena glanced up from the daisy chain she'd been fashioning and sighed. The warrior waded in the current. His eyes glancing from one shore to the other as his feet stayed firmly planted in between them both. She thought he'd convinced himself to cross. That he'd found the peace he'd been searching for and would go to his reward. He had not. Oh, he knew he was dead. His issues were resolved and he had his closure with those he'd left behind. But, it was almost as if he were waiting for something or someone. And only he knew what it was.

Pleased that her daisy chain would stay tightly knit, Kokumthena tied it around the wolf's neck to form a collar. The vibrantly colored petals stood out in stark contrast to his perfect white fur. The wolf panted and thumped his bushy white tail against her calf as he slicked her fingers with his long pink tongue.

The Great White Wolf, Psaiwiwuhkernekah Ptweowa , was her companion in this world and her link to the human realm. And he had always been by her side as her only friend. Unlike her, he could take physical form in a corporeal body. It was her gift to him. And she never denied her wolf the simple pleasures of being alive in the truest sense of the word.

It was a perfect, or so she believed. Not even a goddess was completely infallible. Her Sons protected the humans and her wolf guarded the borders of the spirit world. That was, until the day the Prophet, hunting for game hadn't realized he'd stumbled across her wolf and thought him prey. As a very young and inexperienced vampire he set on her companion to drink his blood. To die in the physical world was to cross the River. Kokumthena would not lose her best friend to death. And to preserve his life, through the power of his preternatural blood, she'd merged the Prophet's and the Great White Wolf's life forces as one.

The Prophet fathered a race, much as his brother had. Not born of blood, but of body and soul. Humanity would call them shape-shifters or werewolves. She knew them only as her friends. They were his secret to share with whom he chose. And he'd never breathed a word about them to his brother. Perhaps, he feared his brother's jealousy or wrath at the unfairness of it. His brother fathered his Sons from his blood. He altered life. But, he could never create it. And he'd been powerless against time to watch his human children age and die. It was not so for the Prophet. He gave life. It was born and it grew and flourished.

When not summoned by their hosts, the spirit wolves guarded the borders of her realm. Strangely enough, there were those, humans powerful enough to breech the barrier. That fervently sought to gain entry before their time. Psychics. Mediums. Soothsayers. The living were not allowed here any more than the dead were permitted in the human plane. And there were dead, souls, who would not loose their hold on the living and tried desperately to escape into the mortal world. The wolves kept in those in need of keeping in and out those who didn't know any better than to try to get in.

Kokumthena waved her hand and fashioned a mat out of the fragrant grasses and wildflowers. Stretching out on her back she stared up into her perfect sky and sighed in contentment. The wolf yawned and rested his head on her stomach. She reached down and scratched him behind the ears. Chuckling as he grunted in happiness. He stared up at her with arctic blue eyes, filled with the wisdom of the ages. They both knew that this fragile peace was not destined to last. The time was close. And there were precious few days left.

As the creator of all things, her father had fashioned the brown-eyed children as a gift to her. But, it was she who breathed life into their fragile human bodies. He formed the lands they called home. But, it was she who protected the lives they sustained. Kokumthena had never known physical pain or pleasures of the flesh. She was pure of both body and of soul. Human suffering broke her heart. And as for pleasure, it was her gift to her Sons.

She lived in happiness. Content with the gifts her father had given her. While her brother and sister, despised their father and were never satisfied with his endless attempts to win their love. They spited her father with a vengeance that knew no limits. They were spoiled rotten, indulged by the very man who loved them too much to kill them for the good of his finest creation. Humanity.

Her brother and sister tainted humanity with their evil. They whispered in human's ears and caused mankind's fall from grace. War, greed, selfishness, and hatred were her siblings' creations. And not even for all the destruction they wreaked on the unwitting humans, were they satisfied for one minute. They wanted more, ultimate revenge on the man who had birthed them, loved them, and indulged their every whim. They created the first vampires with the power of their immortal blood. And still for all their hatefulness and spite, her father would not end them or the abominations they loosed on humanity.

Out of sheer despair and his unending faith in his children, he'd contained her siblings. But, their unholy offspring were left roam free to fulfill the purpose for which they'd been created. It was the hunger, the rampant disregard for human life, and the threat it represented to humanity that led her to search out a great leader to create a race of warriors brave enough and strong enough to battle against them.

Although, the rogues possessed a threat to humanity, they were nothing compared to the threat of her siblings should they find a release from their prison. Her twin brother and sister had been silent, dormant for millennia. She stroked the lush silver-white fur of her wolf in contemplation. Her siblings had been quiet for too long. And she feared they had found the means of escape they'd been searching for. She'd cautioned her children about the Windigo, the ultimate evil. But, Roark was not her child and he'd ignored the warnings of her prophet. His heart was too black and too hardened for even the threat of his death to soften it the slightest bit. He was bent on revenge. And nothing could stop what he was about to set into motion.

Kokumthena rose to her knees and hugged her precious wolf to her body as if she could protect him from what was to come. Thick, black, storm clouds boiled their way across her perfect blue sky as inky darkness tainted with evil blotted out the sun. A harsh bitter wind tore at the trees. And the spirits of all worlds cried out in a collective voice of terror. The wolf howled and his children accompanied him creating an eerie mournful sound that echoed through the core of her immortal being. Fear and sorrow haunted his arctic blue eyes. "It is time," she whispered through her tears. As omniscient as she was, there was nothing she could do to change the future. His future. Death came for everyone. Even those she loved.

Chapter 8

The Prophet rolled over on his mat of leaves and pine needles and blinked against the brilliance of the rising sun. He rarely required sleep these days, an hour or two here or there, whenever the mood struck him. Last night his slumber had been troubled and restless. And when the dawn finally came. He snapped awake, grateful for the reprieve from his dreams.

He and his brother came out here often to camp and escape the mortal world. Being in the woods like this, isolated with nothing but one another for company was reminiscent of the old days when they'd been young men bent on a quest with nothing but their lofty ideals to sustain them on their journey. Over two hundred years later, they were still on a quest and still fueled by a young man's dreams.

Not really that much had changed, except for the players and the field in which the battle would be waged. The Prophet tucked his knees under his chin and studied his older brother. Even in his slumber, the Great Father was as stoic as ever. His jaw slack and eyes closed, he dreamed of the future, always the future. He wondered what his brother saw in it. What hopes the man held dearest to his heart for the golden promise of tomorrow when today hadn't even begun yet.

Being a prophet wasn't nearly what it was cracked up to be. And the Prophet felt the weight of tomorrow down in the hollows of his weary soul. He poked at the smoldering remains of a campfire with the end of a charred stick watching the embers flicker. He wished he could share his brother's enthusiasm for tomorrow. But, he didn't, not when he had such of limited amount of todays left to live.

In her wisdom and mercy, the goddess hadn't spared him from the visions of his future. Perhaps, it was better to know and to prepare for the dark days yet to come. And perhaps, it wasn't. His followers once called him by a name he rarely heard anymore, Tenskwatawa, the Open Door. And when it came to his future, he wished the door were firmly shut.

He would miss this life. He would mourn the people he was destined to leave behind, especially his big brother. He'd always idolized the man who seemed so much larger than one lifetime could contain. His brother was built for immortality. Born to lead men. And somehow, even in the days before the goddess blessed him with foresight, Tenskwatawa knew he was going to cross the Great River long before his brother found refuge on its peaceful shores.

He had not told his brother of the things to come. His death was his burden alone to bear. And he would not have his stoic big brother mourning him when he was not yet dead. Life was for the living. And the two of them needed to enjoy every second they had together while they still could. There would be time for mourning and for sorrow and the hot bitter tears of grief soon enough. But, the Prophet took no comfort in the fact that his brother would shed a single one for him.

Not even in death would he abandon his brother. From the spirit world Tenskwatawa would look down on his brother. Guide him. Comfort him. Whisper to him on the winds and reach out to him with the fingers of a gentle breeze. In all his years of living, he had but one regret. His brother had shared his gift and given him many more years than a mortal man should have. And in return, he'd kept his a secret from the man he was closest to.

He'd had his reasons for guarding his secret so zealously. Why he'd hidden his children away. They had to be protected. They were the only thing standing guard between this world and the next. If the spirit wolves or their hosts were exterminated, there would literally be hell on earth. Every soul with a grudge or a score to settle would return to seek its vengeance. Death didn't change a heart filled with cruelty. Such souls didn't willingly cross over for a reason. They knew what awaited them on the other side. And there were living every bit as depraved as the dead. And who better to deceive than a desperate soul?

A spirit wolf could not live without its host nor could a host survive without its wolf. They were symbiotic life forces dependent on one another. It took powerful magic to hold them bound together. The pack was interdependent on one another much in the way of a natural wolf pack. There was an order in which they lived. And it was through the unity of many living as one that the magic flowed. As powerful as it was, the magic could be broken. And without it to bind them together, either the man or the wolf dominated. But, the two of them were never rejoined. One or the other died.

Their lives were not easy. And the beast influenced the man in all things. But, the man also influenced the beast in much the same way. And as such, laws were harsh and punishments steep. There was no compensation granted for the weak. The lesser wolves were kept in line by a strict code. The fight for supremacy, to be Alpha of the pack, was never ending.

The spirit wolves were ruthless in ways a human could never comprehend. The Prophet would never try to tame them. They were as the goddess intended them. A natural Alpha, his brother expected his men to follow him without question. He chose those who would succeed him if the unthinkable were to happen. With the sprit wolves, his brother would have to earn his place in the pack as the Alpha. They'd never blindly obey him.

The Prophet knew how things would turn out. The promise made him brave enough to face death. Tecumseh was a strong man. And he would learn how to best lead the spirit wolves much as he'd learned to lead his Sons. The path he'd walk would not be an easy one. There were no mistakes in the outcome decreed by a man's destiny. And this was his brother's, to unite the spirit wolves and the brotherhood together for the common good. Dying for the future was a noble thing to do. And for the love of his children and his bother he was willing to sacrifice his life.

His brother would fight his destiny every step of the way, as he always had. He would bear the yoke of leadership stoically and without complaint, with a grace and dignity few would manage in his place. In darkness there was light. And his brother would not walk this path alone. The Prophet rested his back against a tree stump and watched his brother sleep the deep sleep of the untroubled. No, the man would never be alone. Through his death, his brother would find his most precious life in the gift entrusted into his safekeeping.

The Prophet snickered as his brother rolled onto his side, snorted in his sleep, and reached down to give his balls a healthy scratch. Sometimes, Tecumseh didn't realize how truly human he still was. Only when he was unguarded as he was around him, did he let it show. Last night, they'd stretched out on the soft ground, talked about the old days long past, and fallen asleep as they tried to count the stars. Yes, he would miss this life. And out of all the wonders in it. He'd miss his brother most of all.

A gentle wind rustled the leaves of the trees. And in that soft breeze, he heard the voice of his goddess whispering to him. It was time. His heart heavy and his body weighted with the burden yet to come, the Prophet called to his wolf and drew its familiar presence to him. He had one final journey to make. And this one was his to travel alone. He did not wake his brother. Let the man sleep while he could.

Giving his body over to his wolf, he took on the form as well known to him as his human skin. The wolf paused at his brother's side and sniffed, drawing in the comfort of the familiar scent. Marking his fur with the essence so that the pack would know his brother's scent. He bent and gave his brother a lick on the cheek, tasting the lingering salty taste of his skin on the tip of his tongue. Without a backward glance, the wolf trotted into the woods, carrying himself and the man always within to their shared destiny.

Chapter 9

The Great Father hated flies. Hated. Them. He swatted at the nasty bugger that landed on the tip of his nose. And cursed as it buzzed around his head to land on his shoulder. He grunted in annoyance and refused to think about how many piles of cow shit the fly had visited before it lighted on his nose. The foul creatures had plagued his existence since the day he was born. He sat up and fished in his pocket for his sunglasses, parking them on the bridge of his nose. Daylight was every bit as annoying as the fly. And he was particularly sensitive to the sting of its golden yellow brilliance.

Squinting beneath the protective lenses, he scanned the campsite for his brother. Daylight had never seemed to bother the man one least bit. Maybe, in the beginning his brother had found the blinding rays of the sun as much of a burden as he did, but not for long afterwards. The Great Father had never envied his brother's ability to walk in the sunlight. Some things just were. It was how the goddess worked. Much as he was blind to the future and his brother was not. But, that had been a gift from the goddess that the Great Father had never wanted any part of. No man should know his destiny. And more often than not, knowing had been a heavy burden for his brother to bear.

Where was that no good brother of his off to now? The campfire was cold and the mat of leaves and grass his brother had used for a bed were scattered in the breeze. He must have risen with the dawn and promptly ditched him. Having left him to sleep, his brother was probably miles away from here by now and off doing only goddess knew what. He was always doing that. Leaving him behind.

Oh well, at least it wasn't a club teeming with horny, drunk humans or the middle of the Nevada Test Site this time. He was only a dozen miles or so from home, an easy jog, for a vampire. What was his brother up to this time? He was always so cryptic and vague whenever the Great Father asked him about his mysterious disappearances. Sometimes he'd be gone for better than a month before he showed up as if he'd merely stepped out of the room for a bit of fresh air. Where did he go? And what did he do when he got there?

The Great Father was an expert tracker, especially when it came to tracing his brother's footsteps across the country. He'd been doing it for over almost two centuries in an attempt to answer the riddle of his eclectic brother's whereabouts. But, his brother was always one step ahead of him. And the Great Father had never been able to pin point the man's exact location whenever he went on one of his mysterious quests. Most of the time, these days, he didn't even bother with the effort. His brother would disappear and then show up when he got good and ready to.