Cherokee Country
October 1784
Watch and learn, brother.
Tom woke in a small building, the walls decorated with symbols representing the spirit people. He sat, cross-legged, in front of a fire that gave off a thick, sweet aroma that made it hard to think. He closed his eyes before even mustering the strength to wonder where he was. Absently his hand reached into a clay pot at his side, crushing seeds and grass in his fist before throwing these too on the blaze.
"Come to me," he whispered. "There is danger." If he concentrated he could imagine his friends closing in on the town. Soon he'd have to fight his brothe.... "Yes?" He opened his eyes. A Cherokee paused by the door, pale and upset.
"One of our patrols came back badly mauled. May we bring him in?"
"The Americans?"
"No, Wasp Sting. He says they were dark spirits." He looked about nervously.
Tom knew what to do with wounds. He stood. "Bring him in, then leave us." As the brave fled, he walked to another pot where he kept water and moved it closer to the fire, his ceremonial shaman's garb rustling gently.
The brave returned with another bearing a broken, bleeding body between them. They gently lay him down near the fire. Tom knelt, washing the wounds gently with a damp cloth. A single touch and moment's concentration told him what he needed to know: One shattered leg, several broken ribs. How had he managed to get back? He stared up blindly, lashing at the air with one hand.
"You may go."
The brave looked down. "Do you really think it was dark spirits?"
"Go!"
"....came from nowhere," the patient whispered. "We tried..."
"You did this on purpose," Tom swore. "You know if I try to heal this man, it'll weaken me for our meeting." His brother had many names. He seemed to like 'Black' lately. Europeans associated it with evil, death and sorrow. Yes, that sounded like him.
The Indian cried out weakly. Tom placed his hand on his forehead, intent on using just enough power to knit bone and muscle, then paused. No. His brother threatened the entire tribe. He had to be dealt with first. He closed his eyes and concentrated. "Sleep," he whispered. "Sleep for now."
Tom stood slowly. "You will pay for this, brother."
He could feel 'Black' now, no more than a mile or two away, like a distant dark thumping heartbeat on the edge of his awareness and.. two puppets, humans given just enough power to warp limbs and minds both. They would also have to be dealt with.
He walked through the Indian town towards the wooden front gate and its cannon, a bronze thing obtained in trade with the French forty years before. Tom knew their traders would sometimes arrive with ammunition and other trade goods, eager to maintain Cherokee goodwill and perhaps check American expansion in the bargain. The politics of humans didn't interest him. So long as her people remained safe and happy, that would do.
Tom heard them on a nearby hillside. The two puppets fought, growling and biting like savage beasts. She didn't recognize the first - a white man, impossibly huge. He gasped upon seeing the wolf-like Indian though. Chesmu! The chief's son!
"God rot you both!" cried Black, and an explosion rocked the hillside throwing the two apart. Chesmu rolled on the ground, howling, crying and weeping blood. Enough!
"Am I interrupting?" Tom asked mildly. He folded his arms as Black whirled. "I can come back if you're busy."
The white puppet growled and surged to his feet. Black held up his hand, stopping him. "Not at all, sister. You're right on time."
He lifted his chin. "If you can't control your own people, what makes you think you can handle me?"
Before Black could reply, the forest around them echoed with howling wolves and Heyward smiled. They'd arrived.
"I brought a few friends. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all, my dear. My men were getting hungry."
Chesmu leapt to his feet at the second wolf howl. Blood still poured from his eyes and he flailed about blindly. He uttered a low moan and screamed something between a prayer and a challenge to Great Spirit. Black smirked.
Tom inhaled and pointed. "What did you do to him!?"
"He wanted power," Black shrugged. "I gave him power. When you are gone, he will be chief."
"When you are gone, I shall cure him and then remove every trace of your existence from this world!"
"Enough talk!" Black's eyes turned obsidian.
Heyward shouted a command, and eleven wolves swarmed from the sides emitting a single, unified, hateful growl. They could smell the trio and didn't like it. A melee erupted across the hillside. A number of wolves went after the big white man, but Black gestured and another explosion tore into their bodies. The others engulfed Black and his two minions, clawing, biting, snarling and ultimately breaking under inhuman strength.
Tom grieved for his friends, but they bought him time. He began chanting, focusing his energy with a language never used by humanity, twisting and warping reality. He couldn't chain his brother in a pit for a thousand years, but he could come tolerably close. Black fell under the wolf onslaught, now to make sure he never got up again.
"Stop her, Jasen!" Black cried, fear tinging his voice. "Hurry!"
Power whined through his Heyward, almost deafening and blinding him. He barely had time to abort before the puppet attacked. He shoved hard, thunder pealed, and the man flew through the air to land in a motionless heap.
Chesmu fled during the fight. Tom would deal with him later. Instead he walked to Black who, wheezing and bleeding, staggered to his feet.
"What is the matter, brother?" he asked. "Not quite as prepared as you thought?"
Black fell and Heyward caught him. He then cried out in surprise as his brother stabbed him with a knife and fell to the ground.
"Fool!"
"I came prepared," he hissed.
"You know I will just heal... He choked, swallowed and drew in a shuddering breath. His body...his
friend...failing!
Black laughed weakly. "Works fast, doesn't it? Paralytic. And nowhere for you to go - not even any wolves left."
"I...I'll go to the village," he said. He only needed to be within ten yards of... His body betrayed him. He fell to his knees, breath coming in painful whoops. Nothing! Tom couldn't move to his puppet, certainly not him, and not even an animal! "God... Will damn you!"
Through fading and crimson laced eyesight he saw Black stand. "God will thank me. Your power is mine."
So that was why. He wanted Heyward's power. Well, that much he could deny. He'd leave it here, in the very earth, where Black couldn't get to it, then simply surrender to the closing darkness.
"No," he murmured. "What I am...belongs to...God." With that, and a last act of channeling, he simply ceased.
*******
Tom awoke on the hillside and rolled into a sitting position. Ice tendrils continued to rake his body, but faded quickly along with his fatigue as he looked into glowing cat eyes.
"You've inherited Wasp Sting's power." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"And you know how to deal with my brother?" Bast flicked her tail.
"Our brother," Tom agreed. Slowly he stood. He could feel a faint presence coming from the town. Chesmu. He began walking.
"Hey!" Bast leapt to her feet and ran after him. "Where are we going!?"
"To free the Cherokee."
