Casey awoke suddenly, a nightmare biting at the edges of his consciousness. Cedric was asleep beside him, back to him, curled up in a ball. Casey blinked, trying to recall the nightmare. Fire, battle, blood, something old, very old, awakened and set free – something else chained.
He got up. Cedric, in the depths of sleep, didn’t even move. Casey walked over to the large window, facing the woods. Their log cabin, deep in the woods of northern Maine, gave them plenty of room to worship the gods as they pleased, and for Cedric to work with his spirits.
The nightmare had faded to the place nightmares go. He stood, hands at his sides, palms outward, and closed his eyes to try and touch the goddess.
He sensed her, but at a distance. She wasn’t hiding, she was busy. He nodded to himself, knowing that meant she would be returning and asking him for aid. He opened his eyes. He would be ready.
Casey walked out to get the mail two days later and saw a post card with an old fashioned church organ on it. He smiled, knowing who it was from. “I should call him,” he said, turning over the post card. “Cathédrale du Sacré-Cœur d’Oran, Algeria.” “If I could be a world traveler such as yourself, Kord…”
“All good, going into battle soon. Beautiful cathedrals here. Be back in a week, maybe less. Call, catch up. Kord.”
He looked at the date. It had been about a week. He’d call him after he did some yard work around the shrine.
After feeding the birds and squirrels, leaving out food for the foxes and bears, and clearing his and Cedric’s shrines, he heard his phone ring in his pocket. Reception here was spotty at best, which meant he had a cable telephone with a router. He stepped out of the shrine, more out of respect than anything, and took the call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Casey.”
“Ka – Kord! How’s it going.”
“Not too good.”
“Oh?” Casey walked closer to the house, concern apparent on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“I need your help. Can you come to Millennium City?”
“I can,” he said, looking at the big oak tree in front of him. He touched its trunk, feeling its strength, its slow growth – and sending to it that he would need its help, and the help of its brothers and sisters far away.
“I need you to perform a little surgery.”
“What kind?”
“My eye.”
Casey swallowed. “It’s been a long time since I did field surgery.” While he was in Tibet, trying to find Soniac and peace there of all places, among the monks, one of them had gangrene and Casey remembered having to remove his leg from the knee down. It was hot, bloody work, but he got it done. And then there was the American Civil War, body parts flying away under the knife in the field… “Whatever you need, Kord.”
“The sooner, the better.”
“I’ll get some gear and be in Millennium City in an hour. Where should I go?”
“Go to Westside Local Training. Meet a guy named Ben. He’ll bring you to me.”
“All right. I’ll be there soon.” They said their goodbyes, and Casey looked up at the cabin. “Cedric!” he called. “I have to go for a while.”
“What’s up?” Cedric was busy carving something, making a fetish based on his people.
“Kord – Kael – needs help.”
Cedric brushed off wood chips from his pants. It looked to Casey like a blob of wood, but to Cedric there was something inside it, ready to be released. Cedric could see it, but Casey could not.
“Say hello to him for me. When will you be back?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call you.”
Cedric hugged Casey and gave him a long, lingering kiss. “Don’t stay away too long.”
He smiled, breaking the hug, “Going to come back as soon as I can.” He went back downstairs, gathered some items for surgery. Unfortunately, he could bring nothing technical, not even a thermometer. He brought bandages and few metal scalpels, hoping to find pain reliever when he would get there. He put it all in a knapsack without a zipper, tying the top with hemp rope.
Casey went back to the large oak tree and put his hand against it. “Cousin,” he said in the language that Soniac had taught him, “Great cousin, embrace me. Let me follow your roots to a cousin far away.”
He pressed his hand into the trunk of the tree, and it gave. Casey took an involuntary deep breath, and pushed, stepping forward, as if going through a tight squeeze with softness cushioning him. He squeezed through, not wishing to hurt the tree more than he should, and found himself in the umbra, the spirit world of his people’s ancestors.
Squirrels scampered at his feet, and a raccoon sat up. “Black Fox, what brings you here?”
Casey smiled at the raccoon, “Araquon (Raccoon), I go to a distant place to see the cousin of Nootimus (Oak Tree).”
“Keematog (Your brothers) more likely. Which Keemat (brother) do you seek?”
“I seek a place, first, as Wematin (my brother) has directed me.”
“You do everything Keematog say?”
“It keeps them alive.”
“Bah.”
“I will show you, I will show you!” cried the squirrel. The Raccoon – a trickster, as Casey knew well enough – turned and ran. The squirrel was always innocent, and helped Casey whenever he needed it.
“Show me Westside in the human town of Millennium City.”
“I will show you, I will show you!” and the group of squirrels scampered away. Casey followed, taking long strides through the umbra, crossing miles of land in just a few steps.
“Nootimus!” said the squirrel, pointing excitedly at a poor, sickly tree. Casey looked saddened.
“The city hurts our cousin,” he said, and laid his hand on the tree. It was not as strong, struggling on a hill as it was, trying to be strong and grow – but it was old, and tired, and had been battered too long. “Good cousin,” he said, “can you embrace me to bring me forth?”
The tree parted, but it was slower, and welcomed Casey. Yet Casey stayed within the tree, feeding it his own energy, reinforcing the roots, making them larger and stronger. He didn’t care that he couldn’t breathe – he didn’t have to at times like this. He meant to save this tree.
When the tree was satisfied, it parted, and Casey stepped out of it, into the dark world of men. Standing before him were two men and three women, one in what could have been broken restraints, the other man in a corset with stuck up hair, and the last was a woman, he thought.
They were grinning at him. “Neat trick, Daddy-O,” said the man in the corset.
“I am so not going to ask,” Casey said, hitching up his backpack.
One of them took out a knife. The other one in broken restraints advanced. The girl started laughing maniacally.
“Oh, come on,” Casey said. “I just got here.”
“We’re the welcoming committee!” And they attacked.
Casey made short work of them, though, punching one in the face, and swinging his duffel bag to clock the other one in the jaw. The girl laughed even more, and came running at him with another knife, grinning and spitting drool. Casey sighed and punched her too – the laughter stopped, and she wailed, holding her nose. “You can’t hit a girl!”
“I’ve learned from Paragon City that all chivalry goes out the window when the girl’s coming at you with a knife.” He gave her a look, “Now scram.”
The three of them scrambled and took off. Probably to get reinforcements, he thought, and started walking away, heading lord knew where, asking people directions to the Westside Local Training.