Magpie Spirits: The Magpie Odyssey Vi

By Lorretta Lynde

Aisling Lorrah does not know her summer will be one of self-discovery when she heads to her familys Clear Spring Camp for her college break. When a cryptic note sends her on a course Into the unknown, the passage will catapult her into grave danger. The peril is so immense that it threatens her life and the lives of those she holds dear.

Her journey brings her to the arid and treacherous place known as Medicine Gulch, where monstrous evil awaits. The terrain itself is tricky and unforgiving, and provides safe harbor to black forces intent on doing harm. Teachings of several Crow Indian tribal elders and her own Irish family magic combine to expand Aislings powers when events provoke the dangers lurking in the eerie canyons. Only an epic confrontation will define the future of her family and friends.

The explosive conclusion redefines the power and magic of the Lorrahs and the wilderness they call home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491759677

Lorretta Lynde

Lorretta Lynde was born in Montana and raised on a ranch on the Crow Indian Reservation. Her Irish great-grandparents arrived and stayed in this place as they followed the railroads west. She is retired from 30-year career in the newspaper business, and she and her husband travel frequently to Ireland. These journeys brought her attention to the remarkable similarities between ancient Irish practices and the traditional beliefs of the Crow Indians and provided the basis for her Magpie Odyssey series.

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MAGPIE SPIRITS

THE MAGPIE ODYSSEY VI

Copyright © 2015 Lorretta Lynde.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-5968-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-5967-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015901568

iUniverse rev. date: 02/16/2015

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

For My Sister

Chris Chauvin

MAGPIES

One for Sorrow

Two for Mirth

Three for a Wedding

Four for a Birth

Five for Rich

Six for Poor

Seven for a Secret

 … I can tell you no more.

Old Irish Folk Saying

Dá fhad í an oíche tiochfaid an lá.

However long the night, day will come.

With Thanks

To great friends and readers

Paulette Etchart, Cindy Lewis,

Dorothy McCarter and Sandy Stanton

—for your good eyes and willingness

to review these pages in advance.

A very special Thank You to my husband,

Robert Fusie

for your love and support,

and all those hours of listening.

Go raibh maith agat!

(Thank you – Irish Gaelic)

PROLOGUE

TWO COARSE AND DISHEVELED FIGURES skulked through a darkened alley without glancing behind them. The first, obviously the leader of the two, was focused on his target – escape. The second followed him slavishly.

When they reached the street, they ran, bent down with faces hidden, toward a non-descript Ford pickup truck parked midway between them and the street light at the corner. The first man reached for the door on the driver’s side of the vehicle, and it opened easily. He slid in quickly and waited for his companion to do the same on the passenger side. Then he guided the key into the ignition, and grinned in the dim lights of the dashboard when the engine turned and hummed to life.

The other man, the one people called Dawg, cast an admiring glance at him, surprised.

Where’d you get the key, Clint? he asked.

Stupid white guy. Left it in the truck on the floor.

How’d you know that?

I seen him do it yesterday when I was on my way back from that crappy parolee dishwashing job at the café, Clint said.

Now what? Dawg asked. I mean, we’re away from the halfway house, but what do we do now?

We’re goin’ to the Rez, Clint said. There’s people that’ll help us there.

Clint Black Weasel was known on the Crow Indian Reservation as a nasty and vindictive man, feared by Indians and whites alike. Even though his wiry good looks were classic, with rich brown skin, black eyes and glossy black hair, there was a hard set to his mouth and a swagger to his walk. At six feet tall, he presented an imposing and intimidating image, magnified by the athleticism in all his movements. His criminal career started with minor offenses, shoplifting, an occasional fight, even vandalism. As the years went by, Clint went from bad to worse, first with smaller offenses like burglary and petty theft. But it wasn’t long before he moved on to assault and finally stealing a car. That landed him in the state prison at Deer Lodge at the tender age of 18. It was inevitable. He was incarcerated at the same time as his father, Buck Black Weasel, who was serving much longer hard time for far worse crimes. Clint got out in five years, and knowing no other home than the reservation, he went back, a dark psyche behind his dead black eyes. He knew no other ways than those learned from Buck and the prison system, magnified by a seething resentment boiling deep inside him.

In no time at all, Clint violated parole to commit several more truly despicable crimes. The last one involved use of a handgun and an assault on the owner of a convenience store in Billings. The injuries he gave his victim were so brutal that the courts imposed the maximum penalty, and he was incarcerated until he was 55.

Toward the end of his prison term, Clint encountered another tribal miscreant. John Gray Dog recognized Clint on his first day among the population. Dawg was a follower who had committed lesser felonies as a member of a group of bored men, but he wore his conviction like a badge of honor. It did not matter to him that he had only been involved in a few incidents of theft and breaking and entering. Open-faced and stocky, his bearing and mannerisms gave him the air of a big and bewildered kid, looking to have others make decisions for him. He had the wary brown eyes of a mule deer, and his black hair was shorn in a military style crew cut. Nothing about his bearing was athletic, rather he moved in a ponderous way, setting each foot carefully as if he were fearful of tripping.

Dawg had hero-worship memories of Clint from their brief and incomplete high school careers, when he admired how Clint attacked the game of basketball with all the anger and energy of youth. Even though he had been subjected to some of Clint’s bullying and cruelty in school, Dawg always wanted to be part of Clint’s inner circle. These thoughts were in the back of his mind when he found himself in the same small meeting space with Clint at the prison. Dawg walked across the room to strike up a conversation at the end of one of the AA meetings they both attended to fill some of their time. After relaying the latest news from the reservation to Clint, he told him bits and pieces about their mutual acquaintances. Eventually he mentioned that his aunt had been cured of terrible arthritis by the powerful medicine of a crippled woman named Ursula. From the description, Clint knew the healer had to be the woman his father had told him was his half-sister. He questioned Dawg, and learned that Ursula was now held in high regard, admired by everyone who knew her. Even Dawg spoke of her with respect. He also told Clint that his aunt believed that Ursula had used gold dust in her cures.

As Clint thought about this, he came to the conclusion that she must be paid well for her assistance to the sick and needy. When he got to the reservation, he would go to see her. In fact, he would tell her that he was her brother, and she would surely want to involve him in her medicine.

But there was much to come before that.

CHAPTER 1

AISLING LORRAH OPENED HER EYES and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. Each uneven spot, each variation of paint, the shadows cast by the ceiling fan light fixture visible in the dim light of predawn, was as familiar to her as her own skin. The warmth and comfort of this room was diffused with a sense of security and sanctuary. Stretching, she searched her mind to identify what had wakened her. The rest of the house was quiet, and upon listening closely, she detected only the gentle breathing of her parents and twin teen-aged brothers still deep in their own realms of sleep.

Then she heard it.

A feathery, fluttering whisper against her room’s east windowpane.

Without looking, her spirit knew what it was.

Easing back the blankets and stepping barefoot onto the chilly hardwood floor, she walked soundlessly toward the window and the source of the sound.

Tossing her long honey colored hair back from her face, she parted the lace curtains carefully to gaze at the branches of the mountain ash tree next to her window. Perched motionless at eye level was what she anticipated. Staring back into her eyes without blinking was a splendid male kestrel, brilliant markings defining its small and elegant falcon’s body. It perched easily, and if Aisling had not been looking for it, nothing in its bold bearing would have revealed that it was missing one of its toes. She knew, because her Crow Indian medicine pouch contained that missing appendage, although she had never learned why. The Crow elders, including her mentor, clan uncle and teacher, Thomas Sky Horse, only told her that it was this fact which tied this spirit animal so closely to her.

The bird was a marvel to behold. As the rays of the sunrise highlighted the details of its body, Aisling noted how elegant the creature was. Despite the fact that it was smaller than other raptors, its power was tightly wound into every fiber. The typical falcon-type wings were slate-blue, gracefully narrow and pointed. The dawning light illuminated gray feathers crowning the head and the reddish hackles tapering at the neck. Aisling knew that the tail feathers, now gathered together for balance, were banded with black and cinnamon, and the chest was nearly white. The golden eyes bored deep into hers just before the bird shifted, ready for flight.

That subtle movement was a message, telling Aisling that her summer visit with her parents and brothers was coming to an end.

As had become customary, the first few weeks of her summer break between her college years were spent with her family in Billings. This gave her time with her parents and siblings, which she would have missed altogether if she went directly to the mountains. It also was her chance to catch up with hometown friends, visit high school haunts, and generally begin to relax from the rigid study schedule demanded by her advanced class loads at the University of Montana. Visiting her high school friends had filled time, but at this point, many of them were working at summer jobs or internships, and their interests had long since drifted away from hers.

Mostly, it served as her interval to wait for the summer thaw to release the two track road to the camp at Clear Spring in the Big Horn Mountains. This year the delay was longer than in previous years, and she was growing restless.

Aisling found it disquieting to recognize that the summer before her senior year of college had come so quickly. The past two years had flown past, and she had learned much about herself as well as the academic subjects she had explored. Her awkward freshman year had led to many self-discoveries, and to valued campus friendships. And she had learned much about a female ancestor whose example had given her confidence and courage. Armed with those experiences, her sophomore and junior years had been more tranquil and she had been much more at ease with herself.

Yet …

There always were parts of her life that could not be shared with people her own age. Or with anyone outside her family, for that matter. The Lorrah family history harbored many secrets and unusual practices her friends would never understand. Some were deeply rooted in the ancient Irish history of the Lorrahs, and some were learned from close association to the Crow Indians whose ancestral lands were in these mountains.

The allure of the Big Horn Mountains grew stronger summer by summer. This year, Aisling’s nagging impatience manifested itself after only a week and a half with her parents and her brothers. But the elements were not on her side.

Spring had been fitful. The hope of warming days was repeatedly trounced by winter-like conditions which arrived swift and furious on the winds. Then sunshine would appear again. Just when people began to be assured that the cold days were over, more icy rain and wind would sweep in to dash those dreams. All this made the snow-melt maddeningly slow in the high country, prolonging her stay in the city. If the unusually deep winter had not made the road impassible, she would have been gone long before this.

In an attempt to make the most of her interval in Billings, she dropped by on several occasions to see her great-aunt Kathleen and great-uncle James on the west side. Each time, their house was hushed and unoccupied. The yard already was a riot of flowers and birds, far ahead of most other places in the area, reflecting Kathleen’s touch. Butterflies flitted from shrub to shrub, but the door was locked and no one was home. Since her great aunt and uncle never locked their doors if they were anywhere nearby, this told Aisling that they were away. Her parents did not know where they were or of any plans they might have had to leave. After a while, she could only conclude that they must be on vacation. It was the first time seeing them had not been part of her summer visit home.

Most days started with her simply going for an early morning run along the steep trails that led to the top of the rimrocks overlooking the Yellowstone Valley. She loved seeing the sunrise from the cliffs, and the sheer extent of the view. From there, she could at least see the Bighorn Mountains, shining against the cerulean blue of the spring sky. It was obvious even from this distance that a deep layer of snow remained in the higher reaches. That sight reinforced her understanding that it still was too soon to go.

But the warming of spring was inevitable, and the snows could not resist forever. Finally, the day to depart had arrived. The journey would begin for her by spending some time at the Lorrah home ranch on her way to the cabin at Clear Spring. Visiting with her grandparents, Sean and Lydia, always eased her transition between two worlds. The ranch and its multifaceted history served as her halfway point, the portal from her mainstream modern life into the ancient otherworldliness of the Big Horn Mountains. Besides, she was sure her grandparents would know where Kathleen and James were.

With these thoughts, she quickly finished her shower. Pulling her hair back into a sleek ponytail, she stood for a few moments before the full-length bathroom mirror. Her image still surprised her. Inside, she felt like the child she had been the first time she spent the summer at the Lorrah line camp. But her body was certainly not that of a child. Long legs and a well-proportioned physique reflected the hours she had spent in the gym and on the running tracks. And the large, clear blue eyes that looked back at her were set in a twenty-year-old face. High cheekbones glowed from perfect skin, touched golden with color from the springtime Montana sun. Her brows had an elegant arch that reflected interested curiosity in the world around her. It had taken her a long time to accept the fact that she was pretty, and her likeness still did not seem like it belonged to her. She shrugged and turned to put on her clothes.

Dressing in the rugged jeans and shirt that served as her summer wear in the mountains, she pulled on thick socks and pushed her feet into the sturdy hiking boots she favored. A last glance around her bedroom, and it was time to go. It was ironic to see the things she left behind. Stacked on her desk were her laptop computer, her cell phone, and an assortment of other electronic and technical items she used at college. None of those would be needed for the next three months. Nor would they be missed.

With hugs all around for her parents and brothers, she walked out to the Lorrah ranch’s 4 X 4 Chevy Tahoe her grandfather left for her every summer since her first year of college. It had been packed with her things for several days, a sign of her impatience to be on her way. Naima’s face showed her disappointment at her daughter’s departure. She was close to Aisling and it seemed too soon to have her gone for the entire summer. There was no way for her to become entirely free from worry about the legacy Aisling was destined to fulfill. For her, the trip to the camp at Clear Spring always came too soon. This concern became stronger as Aisling approached adulthood. It seemed the years were passing too quickly, and Naima longed for more time with this young woman who held such a big place in her heart. Comfort came from the thought that she, Hugh and the twins would spend time camping on the mountain later in the summer. It made the separation seem less onerous, but Naima would have preferred no separation at all.

Aisling’s father Hugh put on his most encouraging expression, saying they would be together on the mountain before long and they would look forward to seeing her then. Her brothers, Siosamh and Rauraí (known at school by the English translation of their Gaelic names as Joseph and Rory), gave her their usual teasing farewell, warning her not to get lost or eaten by a bear. Little brother teasing, multiplied by two … Aisling ignored it, knowing that would be more frustrating to them than any response she might muster. Last minute extra hugs, and then Aisling climbed into the big vehicle and started its powerful engine.

After winding her way through city streets to the Interstate, she settled into the cocoon of silence the SUV provided. Another person might have played music or listened to talk radio, but she preferred the quiet of her own thoughts. Topping the ridge that opened up a vista of rolling hills, she breathed a sigh of joy at the sight of the Big Horn Mountains in the distance, now more blue than white. The highest crests were still sparkling with the previous winter’s immaculate snowpack, reluctant to give way entirely to spring. It did not matter, as long as the road was open. The sweeping landscape had a way of letting her shed the burdens and pressures of academia and setting her spirit into free flight.

Rising from deep in her memory was something her great-uncle Andrew once said about how this sight felt like a door opening to his own freedom and lightness of spirit. It certainly held true for her, too.

Driving provided the chance to embrace the memories of her previous summers on the mountain.

The first time Aisling joined her great aunt and uncle at the Clear Spring line camp, she was eight years old. Later she learned that the Lorrah elders, her grandfather Sean, and great aunts Colleen and Kathleen had discussed the Lorrah legacy with her father and mother. The stay on the mountain was the result. Hugh and Naima both knew the family history, and they had their own experiences with the inexplicable enigma and wonder of it all. They could not have spent time at the ranch or on the mountain without seeing and hearing things of that other, hidden world.

From the time she and her brothers were born, Hugh and Naima had known that Aisling might be tapped to learn the ways of the Lorrahs. She was one of three, daughter of a Lorrah son of a son. It was the birthright of Lorrah women to be taught all the previous generations had to offer. The magic and mystery was powerful and complicated, and had to be committed to memory. It was never written down. This meant hours and days and years of assimilation, and the first visit was meant to test young Aisling’s aptitude.

Naima was hesitant only because, as a mother, she loved every minute spent with her children, her daughter even more than her sons. Eight years old seemed young for her eldest child to be away from home for more than two months. It was agreed that Hugh, Naima and the twins could come to the camp as often as they wished to ease the anxiety of having Aisling stay in this mysterious place for the summer.

Aisling thought back to all her experiences that first time on the mountain.

Even at that early age, she was more grown up than many of her friends. She always recognized as lucky the fact that her grandparents lived on a ranch, and that her family went there often. The freedom to explore all corners of that property with her brothers was exhilarating. There were no restrictions, no timelines, just pure, breezy liberation to be children. No deadlines, no responsibilities. They splashed in the shallows of Lodge Grass Creek, raced through the ripening wheat, and climbed into the loft of the big horse barn to peer at the newly hatched chicks in the nests an errant robin had built in the leftover hay. On spring and summer nights, without concern for the chill of the air, both children and adults treated themselves to a swim in the warm clear waters of the big hot spring behind the ranch house. Just thinking of these adventures warmed her heart in anticipation for what might come next.

CHAPTER 2

AISLING’S TIMES IN THE BIG Horn Mountains might have seemed uneventful to most people, and after some of her hair-raising experiences of prior years, her last summer there had been exceptionally calm. She was introduced to more family and Crow Indian legacies of natural medicines and preternatural healing methods. Those months had been ones of quiet contemplation and study, guided by her great-aunt Colleen and her tribal uncle, Crow medicine man and sundance chief Thomas Sky Horse. Perhaps the most intriguing part of that time was when Thomas arrived with a fascinating Crow woman to teach her some of the lesser-known intricacies of tribal medicines and methods. Such visitors were not unheard of, and she had met a number of such skilled tribal people during her stays on the mountain.

Aisling remembered her surprise when Thomas helped his friend out of his pickup. He easily picked her up in his arms like a small child and carried her to a spot beneath one of the big pine trees near the cabin. Gently settling her on a blanket-covered wool fleece that Colleen had laid out, he helped her place one of the blankets across her bent and shrunken legs. Then he turned to introduce her to the young woman.

This is Ursula Broken Bird, he said. No one knows as much about tribal medicines and magic.

Then he returned to his truck and brought back a child-sized pair of crutches, which he carefully laid on the ground next to the woman.

Aisling put on her warmest expression, despite her impulse to look away from the ravaged body of the visitor. Colleen had told her a little about Ursula, in an effort to prepare her. It was a good thing she had.

Ursula Broken Bird was aptly named. A birth defect had left her with a body that was twisted and small, like that of a newly hatched, featherless baby bird. Despite her sixty plus years, her physical presence was no bigger than that of a ten-year-old child. Colleen told Aisling that this extraordinary woman moved through life on her diminutive crutches. The description she gave noted that the motion caused those small shoulders to hunch under her shiny black hair, which hung smoothly down her back to her waist. As Aisling looked at her now, it was apparent that her avian image was enhanced by her aquiline-nosed profile and bright dark eyes that took in every detail of her surroundings. Sparkling in their depths was a hint of powerful vision and unsurpassed medicine. Her rich brown skin was velvety and fine, except for two deep parallel lines across her forehead, evidence of the sheer effort demanded by her everyday life.

Aisling and Colleen sat down across from Thomas and Ursula, and Colleen took the conversational lead.

How is your mother, Ursula?

Ursula gazed at her old classmate and sighed deeply. Aisling saw the sadness in her eyes.

Josephine is failing, she said. She misses my father too much.

Colleen nodded, her face a reflection of Ursula’s.

I was afraid that would be the case. We were all so sorry to hear of Henry’s passing to the Otherworld. He has been a good friend of my family forever. You know he was a particularly good friend of my Aunt Willow, she recalled.

Ursula allowed herself a small smile.

Oh, yes. I think he was one of the few people in this world who understood her, she said. They grew up together, and he told me many stories of how wild she was. But he said Willow touched the souls of horses, and that fact told him she was a good person.

The visit lasted several hours, and as Colleen, Ursula and Thomas talked, Aisling sat quietly, storing every word in her base of knowledge. These people were a storehouse of information when it came to herbal medicines and natural cures and treatments. Aisling felt her mind stretching to try to learn from everything they discussed. Her awareness of Ursula’s infirmities faded away, and in its place was consciousness of how strong her upper body was. In addition, the younger woman gradually was won over by the wisdom and patience that emanated from Ursula. As the conversation went on, Aisling saw a kind of glow come over Ursula, dancing colors of light yellow and light blue. It was the first time in several months that Aisling had been able to see someone’s aura. This one certainly represented the mystical skills Ursula was known for. The colors indicated calm, intelligence, and most of all, broad psychic powers. It was remarkable.

Everyone in the circle seemed to become more and more serene and the conversation gained a crystalline clarity. The subjects were far ranging, from news about mutual friends of Colleen, Thomas and Ursula, to discussions of some of the healing methods and materials used by both women. Aisling came to understand that Ursula’s knowledge of the old ways of treating illness and injuries were equal to or beyond those of her great aunt.

When the time came for Thomas and Ursula to leave, Aisling realized that the older woman’s physical limitations meant nothing. Searching her heart for the right thing to say, Aisling spoke quietly.

Thank you so much for coming here, Ursula. If you could come back to see us, I’d be honored to have the chance to visit with you again.

Ursula regarded the younger woman with delight.

I would like that, too. Thomas and Colleen have told me much about you, and I like what I hear.

Thomas stepped into the conversation.

Ursula is needed by many people, he cautioned, his voice kind. If there ever is time again, I will bring her here.

Leaning down, he lifted Ursula up in his arms again, holding her lightly. Colleen, Andrew and Aisling stood to say their goodbyes, and Aisling found herself face to face with their guest. Warmth and humor danced in Ursula’s eyes, and she reached out a small hand to take Aisling’s.

A light vibration in the contact reminded Aisling of the buzz some electrical items have. There was no way to keep her own eyes from widening as she looked deeper into those of their guest.

Ursula spoke.

If I do not get back to Clear Spring this summer, she said, please come and see me at my house before you go back to school. I want to know about your time on the mountain. Otherwise, I will hope to see you when you return next summer.

Once Thomas and Ursula’s vehicle had disappeared over a nearby hill, Aisling turned to Colleen.

What caused her condition?

Colleen’s expression was solemn.