Hawk's Spell: The Swamp Witch Series, #4

By Sonia Taylor Brock

Robert Brown-Wing Eschte, The Great Thunder-Hawk of Anasazi Legend has lost his beloved wife. Memories of his life and adventures as a fledgling Were-Shifter plague him night and day. He hears his deceased wife talk to him, he smells her right beside him. Is he losing his mind? Is he the only one who notices these things?

In the realm of the Swamp Witch, things are never as they appear. Your friendly college professor is a Shape Shifting Giant Hawk and his son the Sheriff is a Werewolf and the guy down the road that runs the local restaurant is a Were-Panther. The Swamp Witch is a retired Titan Goddess and her lover is an infamous Pirate who is on occasion, a thirty-foot alligator!

In this story, Hawk takes us on a new adventure and sheds light on some mysteries of his past. A beautiful romance and plenty of action and mystery for everyone!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sonia Taylor Brock
• Release date: Aug 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546836827

Sonia Taylor Brock

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Sonia Taylor Brock is a former United State Marine.  Born and raised in Southern Louisiana, Sonia uses the legends and stories she was told in her childhood as a basis for the Swamp Witch Series. If you like her work, please be kind and leave a review on any of the retail sites that you may find her books.

Book preview

Life is Different Now

Lynne was gone.  My sweet, funny, bossy little wife was gone.  She died in battle...with her boots on, as the saying goes for warriors. In an epic battle to keep the evil Fae Queen Maab from rising from her underground prison.  Against my direct instructions to keep her safe and out of harm’s way, Lynne joined the battle.  Lynne, a dual spirited shifter and Grand Daughter of a powerful Chindi Shaman and Daughter of a Choctaw Earth Healer was never one to run from anything.  She charged, no matter the consequences—the fierce little Fox/Falcon could not be deterred.  She defended her family and friends to her death.  

We are not human.  We are supernatural beings.  Some of us are Were creatures, born half human and half animal.  We all shift from human form to our animal spirit form.  Most Shifters will change to an animal that is the same size as any normal animal of that species.  Were creatures will shift into a much larger animal of the animal spirit they possess.  There are a rare few that have dual animal spirits and are gifted with both the spirits of their parents.  Only parents with strong magical abilities are able to mate with a species that differs from their own and mating can only occur in the human form as nature abhors perversion.  A mated pair of shifters can produce any type of Were or Shifter being.   Shifters or Weres of the same species can mate in either human or animal form.

My Lynne was able to transform to a Red Fox or a Peregrine Falcon.  Sadly, she was not a Were, and although she was cunning and fierce, she was too small to defend herself against the huge monster that killed her on the battlefield that fateful day.

Partnered with a vicious Master Vampire, Hal Sorenson and her evil Fae armies, Maab decided to bring her perversions topside to pollute and feed off the inhabitants of the earth above.

I am a Giant Thunder-Hawk.  I would assume I am a Were creature because of the size of the animal in which I am transformed.  Of this I cannot be certain because I am the last of my kind.  I am not dual spirited, although I have children that have the ability. 

My oldest son, Joe, is a Werewolf, with only one animal spirit.  My second son, Justin, is also a Were-Bear or more appropriately a Cave Bear with an animal spirit that was strong enough to punch through the evolutionary wall to reach a now extinct species.  There are others like Justin but their numbers do not reach triple digits. 

My youngest son, Jace, is dual spirited, and can transform to a Werewolf or a very large Hawk. While Jace’s hawk form is quite large, he is still very small in comparison to my Thunder-Hawk form.  My wife and I always wondered if he would eventually grow to be my size.  There are other Were-Hawks like Jace and we have had him scanned by the infamous Swamp Witch, who told us his animal spirit was not strong enough to reach into the evolutionary trail to allow him to become the ancient Thunder-Hawk.  Jace was brokenhearted when MaMere Eschte told him what she found.  She soothed him with a glimmer of hope that given time and his parentage that anything could happen as he grew older.

My only daughter, Jada, is a Were-Owl, and also has a singular animal spirit.  She is still young for a Were creature and other forms or abilities may present themselves as she grows older.

We live in Southern Louisiana in a restored plantation home on the banks of Bayou Black.  My wife was raised there as a girl and was bound and determined that this was her home forever.  After we were married we bought the old place and restored it to its original beauty with all the modern conveniences, as well as a heavily fortified Laboratory for my research.  The Laboratory is in what was once a small root cellar under the kitchen area.  When they originally built kitchens on plantations in the South, they were separate buildings from the main house in order to keep the inhabitants cool in the long sweltering summers here.

We are not human but we live in the same communities as humans, coexisting without humans ever suspecting anything—other than we keep late hours and have huge grocery bills. We have the same wants and needs as anyone else.

What humans don’t know is that while our lives are much longer than a human life expectancy, our numbers are fairly low.  There have been a few egomaniacal individuals in our midst, I must admit, but for the most part we are just regular folks.

Regular folks that occasionally risk life and limb to keep the entire human race from being annihilated, or becoming cattle for other breeds of supernatural species.

Why do we do this?  I have asked myself this question many times over the centuries.  At times, I have been at the end of my patience lacking the knowledge that would help me understand humans and have turned my back on them completely.  Every time, however, there is something, a spark of decency, a calling from a pure heart that pulls me like a magnet back into the fray. 

The obligation to protect and defend from absolute destruction.  I tell myself this is my planet, too, and that in order for me to continue to survive, I must protect them.  My family has been a big part of this decision over the years.  The discovery of a Higher Being with a plan for this world was a big shock to me at one time, but I have seen for myself his workings in our lives many times.

Good or bad, I have learned nothing is accidental in the grand scheme of things.  It is especially difficult at this time in my life when I need comfort and guidance more than ever before, and I feel lost and alone.

I wake up in the morning and walk into the kitchen expecting to see her brewing the coffee, but she isn’t there.  I walk through the house and I can still smell her scent everywhere.  The house is quiet, too quiet I try to stick to my normal routine and go into my Lab to bury myself in work to keep from thinking about her, but I can’t concentrate.  She was such an integral part of everything I did, I can’t continue with anything.  I wait for her advice, I wait for her laughter, I wait for her to come snooping around pretending to be interested in my work or be looking for something she thought she saw lying on my Lab table, I wait to be chastised into remembering to eat properly—I wait for her, but she is gone.

Sometimes I imagine I can feel her near me, whispering in my ear, or feel her hand on my back rubbing stiff muscles when I am working.  When I go to our bed, I imagine I can feel her cold feet rubbing my legs for warmth, I imagine I can feel her snuggle so close to me that she is nearly under me.  I reach for her in a half-sleep to hold her close and come up empty.  I am so lost without her.

I find myself immersed in my memories, memories of my happiness with Lynne, memories of what came before Lynne, and what is in store for me in the future without her.  For someone as old as I am, there are a lot of memories.  

I lost my parents when I was a small child.  They were teaching me the ways of the Dine’, our People. They were suddenly killed when a rockslide fell and collapsed our little home in the cliff face.  I have since visited that place only three times, it is in what is now known as Canyon De Chelly in Arizona.

I was drawn to it the first time to dig them out and finally lay their bones to rest in the custom of our people, but all I found was one femur and a partial skull... too much time had passed and there was nothing left to put to rest.  The second time was after Stella found me, and it was just to think, to remember, to try to feel their essence, to pray.  The third time I brought my wife Lynne. 

I remembered the love and patience in my mother’s face that morning as she gently nudged me to the edge of the cliff to begin my flying lesson.  When I spread my fledgling Thunder Hawk wings and began my shaky flight, I remember the pride in my father’s eyes.

My parents were so distracted with my first flight lesson, they didn’t notice the rumbling in the canyon or the vibrations on the mountain that would separate us forever. I was no more than ten feet from them when it happened—one moment they were looking at me with love in their eyes, and the next moment a huge bolt of lightning struck the mountain and it disintegrated in a flash and they were gone behind tons of solid rock.  I saw them die right before my eyes, and I will never forget that moment. 

I don’t remember much of what happened after that.  I was already in my Hawk form when it happened, so I think I must have remained in that form for several years, perhaps decades, or even centuries. Exactly how many years passed are a blur, and a puzzle that plagues me constantly.  I was a youth the next time I was aware of changing form again.

That time of my life was all instinct and survival.  I remember hunting, I remember soaring higher and higher, much higher than other species were capable of, until I began to feel weightless. Oxygen deprivation was the only issue that kept me tied to this planet.  I remember looking down on the earth, just floating, lost to the wonder of it all.  I would stay that way until my body made me return for rest. Once, I tucked my wings close and went into a dive to try to end my loneliness by bashing myself into those very same cliffs.  I only succeeded in burning all my feathers and hide to a crisp from the friction of descent into the atmosphere.  I spent a few months hopping from one foot to the other, just roosting until my skin healed and my feathers grew back.  Disgusted, I refused to focus on my parents and what their death meant to me, or what my purpose was in this world.  Could lightning be the only way to kill me? Hurt and alone, I was lost to those canyons and cliffs, the red hues of the earth and the brilliant blues of the sky, I just existed in a blur of color.

After a long time, I began to watch the earth.  I began to watch as the seasons turned and the earth changed.  I watched many creatures come to existence and die away, never to return again.  I also began to watch humans and their struggles to scratch out a place for themselves in the earth.  Their actions began to puzzle me.  I discovered they worked for food and shelter in the beginning.  They raised their young and taught them what they had learned, and that was good and the people seemed happy, at one with the earth. 

Then they began to do the things that confused me.  As their numbers grew, they began to fight each other.  One group of humans would see the results of the hard work of others and come and try to take it away.  They would kill each other.  Some to defend their work, others to take the work of others.  They were jealous, greedy creatures.  Only the strongest survived, or the greediest.  It was the same over and over, I thought that being human was a poor way to live. 

I decided they weren’t any better than other animals roaming the earth, it was better to just be an animal. Disgusted, I went back to the heavens, soaring and surviving, feeling only the joy of flight, a full belly, and the peace of sleeping soundly.  It was my way, as it is the way of any solitary animal or predator.

After a time, I began to hear voices, prayers, chanting, pleas for help and guidance.  They were in a strange tongue, but I understood somehow.  Once again, I turned my gaze downward to watch the humans as they multiplied and prospered.  I watched their rituals, dancing, and the strange noises they made.  The rhythms they made caught my attention, so I flew closer and rested in the cliffs to watch.  There were certain humans that spoke to my mind, and I could hear them.  They drew me closer still at times when the heavens opened and washed away the smell of their fears and labors.  I resisted, not liking the feeling of their calls to my mind.

One day I heard a voice, but this time it was a sweet voice, very young and innocent.  It called to me for guidance and help.  I descended again to see what it was.  A child, a female child, learning the ways of her people.  She spoke in the tongue of my parents and I understood.  She asked for protection from the predators in the area as she gathered food from the fields during a storm.  On a whim, I circled lower and used my great voice to frighten other creatures away from her as she worked.  It made me feel good to help her.  She sang to me and offered prayers of gratitude. How she knew to call to me isn’t much of a puzzle.  I was a giant Hawk that seemed to make its home in the area.  I am sure many humans had noticed me, I was a little hard to miss. 

When she was through with her gathering, she climbed to a rocky outcropping and laid one of her baskets of berries and fruit on top of a rock for me, and then left to go to her home in the cliffs.  When she was gone, I swooped down to investigate.  The berries were sweet and the cactus fruit quenched my thirst, it was good.

She began to call to me every day.  Every day she would gather food.  Every day she would leave her offering to me to share her bounty in return for my protection.  I watched her laugh and sing as she worked, it made me happy for the first time since my parents died.

One day, she called to me as usual, but this time she was followed by others.  I came closer, but I still watched from a great distance, as my eyesight is very keen.  When I didn’t come closer so she could see me, the others grabbed her up and took her back to the red cliffs where she and others of her kind lived.

Then after a few days they sent out an old man to the place where the girl put the berries and he called to me.  He called me Anasázi, ‘those who are not us.’  He prayed to me for all kinds of things, protection, good hunting, bountiful food, anything the old man thought he needed.  I heard him, but I stayed where I was, just watching.  His voice was strong, but it didn’t feel right somehow so I left and soared to the heavens again.

The humans continued to pray, chant, and dance to try to get my attention but I wasn’t interested, their voices were not innocent like the girls’ voice had been.  I later discovered that the old man was considered a Shaman with the knowledge of the ancient language that called to me.  They called to me many times and still I did not come to them as I had with the girl.

One night they called to me and their voices were joined by the voice of the