“Again,” said the spirit, and hit Black Fox over the head with a club.
Black Fox’s blond and red mane got even redder as the ball from the club bashed his head in.
“Again–”
“No more!” cried Black Fox, flinching. His hands were behind his back, tied by vines that would not listen to his commands. The tree trunk was red with his blood.
The spirit chuckled. He raised the club again, and Black Fox waited for the painful killing blow.
The vines let him go, and he fell to his knees, barely ducking out of the way of the club.
“What did you do?” asked the spirit. He wore only a loincloth, feathers in his hair, and was a member of the Roanoake tribe. Black Fox knew him, but no longer remembered his name.
The spirit regarded Black Fox with a look of beneficent contempt. Black Fox raised his head, that was just beginning to heal itself. “I gave up.”
Said a woman’s voice, “You give up yourself, and the world will listen.”
The spirit did not move from his spot. “And what have you learned?”
“I must give, to let the world work.”
The woman, a raven-haired, beautiful red-skinned woman with blue eyes like Black Fox’s own, reached down and touched his shoulder. “I think it is time.”
Black Fox jerked his head up, no more in pain. He himself was dressed as on a vision quest; a loin cloth, a knife, moccassins. He didn’t know how long he had been on this quest, how long the spirits had fooled him, and thereby taught him.
“You must return to the world of men,” said the woman, helping him to his feet. He stared into her beautiful face, wanting to kneel again before her and take her in his arms. His heart swelled with her presence there.
She touched his forehead with her own, and he knew what he had to do. He had to make the wolves believe that their Goddess was not pleased. He had to make the vampires believe that they could be humans, too. He had to forgive others, protect humankind, destroy as a last resort.
Destruction was not to be taken lightly.