Blackfly Season

31

RED BEAR OPENED THE BRASS PADLOCK and stepped into his temple. The smell that would have sickened the most hardened cop had a very different effect on him. He inhaled deeply, like a camper savouring the brisk morning air, and felt the familiar quickening in his belly and a tingling all along his nerves. It was a thrill that never disappointed. He was too excited even to notice the flies.

The moon had begun to wane, so he would not be making any sacrifices for a while, but still it was exciting to step into this temple. Kevin and Leon had gone into town; he had the entire camp to himself. He would join his disciples later in the afternoon, but for now it was necessary to consult the nganga.

He lit some charcoal in a censer and sprinkled pinches of wormwood and angelica root over it. Even the best Wicca shops in Toronto were always running out of his ingredients; he often had to order from an occult shop in New York. There were no windows in this cabin; he lit three rows of candles above the nganga and the room dimly took shape. He closed the door and locked it.

The nganga bristled with sticks. Twenty-eight of these sacred palos were used to control the spirit, to shape the nature of your prayer. You had to poke and prod the spirit like an ox; it was the only way to get results.

“Bahalo!” His shout rang against the concrete walls of the cabin. “Bahalo! Semtekne bakuneray pentol!”

Never kneel, never beg, just as his uncle had instructed.

“Bahalo! Seeno temtem bakuneray pentol!”

He spread his hands over the nganga in the manner of a Catholic priest and meditated for a few moments on exactly what he desired. Focus was essential for success. He wanted the spirit to travel for him.

“Seeno temtem naka nova valdor.”

He stirred the foul liquid with the sticks. A pale, toeless foot swam into view; he braced it against one side of the cauldron with a couple of palos. He probed the depths again until another foot appeared.

“Sendekere mam koko, pantibi.” Walk for me, spirit. I who have given you feet to travel, tell you to walk for me, travel for me, discover for me.

He pushed the feet under and now probed for hands. There were no hands, as such, just fingerless palms, severed at the wrist, and the fingers themselves that he had removed one by one for the nganga. The memory of his victim’s terror and agony made his heart pound. Terror and agony were the portals through which mortal flesh entered the immortal world of the spirit. Terror and agony formed the gateway through which he, Red Bear, could command the spirits of the dead. Terror and agony were his friends.

Several of the sticks were flattened at the ends into spoonlike shapes. He used a couple of these to dredge fingers to the surface. They were white and wrinkled; one still bore a ring with a skull and crossbones on it.

“Kandopay varonaway d’kran. Bentak po bentak mam tinpay. Naktak po naktak mam kennetay.” Reach for me, my spirit. Pull close my allies. Push hard against my foes.

Red Bear swirled the dark fluid again; the smells engulfed him. The largest object in the nganga now swam into view. Emerging like a diver fresh from hell, the head bobbed to the surface and twirled in slow motion. Blood and water streamed from the eyes and nostrils. The eyes were half open and stared beyond Red Bear’s shoulder.

Red Bear chanted in the magic language. Spirit, travel for me, learn for me, give me knowledge. Spirit, use the brain with which I have blessed you to tell me what I need to know. Go, spirit, go, and do this work for me.