Shadows of Brimstone: Leah Bright Waters

“Stealing kisses from your Mrs

Does it make you freak out?

Got you fussing, got you worried

Scared to let your guard down

 
Tell the neighbours I'm not sorry

If I'm breaking walls down

Building your girl’s second story

Ripping all your floors out

Saw your face, heard your name

Gotta get with you!

Girls like girls like boys do -

Nothing new…

Always gonna steal your thunder

Watch me like a dark cloud

On the move, collecting numbers

Im’a take your girl out...

We will be everything that we'd ever need!

Don't tell me, tell me what I feel

I'm real and I don't feel like boys..!

I've been crossing all the lines

Kissed your girls and made you cry, boys…”

Hayley Kiyoko; ‘Girls Like Girls’

 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0MT8S…

 

I’ve been waiting to get on ’s client list for years now, and I’m delighted to finally achieve that! I'm honoured to say there will be more each month! Enjoy!

This is Leah Bright Waters, a character from our ‘Shadows of Brimstone’ game.  Brimstone is somewhere between an board-game and a role-playing game, set in the Weird West at the end of the 19^th Century.  Cowboys and Indians,  Lawmen and Outlaws, Preachers and Mutants must work together to defeat the Elder Evils before they doom the world. 

The story below concerns Selena ‘Jessie’ Cartwright (courtesy of the wonderful ) the immortal daughter of a man named Jed Cartwright, who was cursed to walk the earth forever.  

Leah Bright Waters is kin to the wolf-tribe, the Uktena, scions of the Horned Serpent totem.  Like many of her kind, Leah is an unusual mix of varied ethnicities – she is Native American by culture, but her features contain elements of Amerindian, African, Caucasian and Asian blood.  Beautiful and full-figured, Leah loves to show herself off and provoke strong emotions in others. As a Ragabash chaos shaman, what the wolf-tribes call a ‘New Moon’, she is not only allowed but required to breach tribal etiquette and to confound others.  A trickster and maverick to the core, she relishes breaking taboos and insulting cultural norms.  The Amerindians believe they must endure this challenge in a stoic fashion, as Coyote is always testing his people to make them stronger.  Some of the white folks find her lack of manners refreshing, but others are easily affronted.  Leah actually prefers it when they get mad at her; it means she’s doing her job properly.

Physically strong and fit, Leah is a skilled warrior as well as a powerful shaman.  She eschews firearms to fight with her Shaman Staff (that also aids her in spellcasting) and her Darkstone Hatchet, which is more potent when the Darkness is at its strongest. Her Bear Claw totem is a gift from her former tutor, the great shaman Grey Bear Walker (who wryly jests that his name was simply ‘Bear Walker’ before her antics turned it grey before it mostly fell out…) As an experienced Walker of the Worlds, she is most comfortable visiting other realms of existence, be they the icy Plateau of Targa, the hellish Caverns of Cynder, the haunted halls of the space-hulk Vostro or the trenches of Trederra during the Great War. Her Void Rune helps her walk safely in distant worlds.  Her Darkstone Satchel means she always has a ready supply of the dangerous mineral, using it to fuel her spellcasting.  Her Void Catcher is a medicine-totem that strengthens her will as the Darkness dims the light around her.

Leah is comfortable in many skins, preferring her favoured form of a sleek grey wolf about the size of a small dog.  She can also take a raven’s form and fly like the birds, or turn into a tiny fieldmouse and hitch a ride on a companion’s shoulder… (or scurry under an enemy and then turn into a Giant Mouse to deliver a nasty shock to an unsuspecting foe!). In terms of defence, she can heal the mind using Inner Fire, or protect herself or others with an Ancestral Shield. She can also cast a protective Runic Circle to ward an area.  In terms of offence, she can use Warrior’s Speed to make her or a friend swifter, ensorcel her weapon with Charged Hatchet, or Call Down the Storm to electrocute her foes. Leah’s favoured element is lightning, and she loves to shock others, be it figuratively or literally.  As a Darkstone Shaman, she uses the dangerous material to fuel her spells, and keeping it in her warded satchel makes her safe from its corrupting effects.   

As a ‘Contrary Woman’, Leah does many things backwards, such as reversing her greetings and farewells, and also enters or leaves any dwelling backwards. She is only permitted to mate with other women, something that suits her legendary appetites just fine.  Leah believes that love and romance is necessarily evanescent, and prefers wild flings before moving on.  Of late, one girl in particular has gotten under her skin, something which excites and troubles her both.  While a powerful warrior and shaman, Leah is younger than most realise and when it comes to human relationships, she feels inexperienced and out of her depth… something she disguises with cocky confidence and smirking sarcasm.

Leah’s speech patterns are often oblique, full of hidden meanings and strange, unknowable things. She knows much about the dangers of the supernatural world, but prefers to hint and tease her companions rather than tell them straight.  Her powers make her a powerful boon to any posse, but her trickster nature makes others wary of having her on their team.

  

Love Bites and Naming Ways

 

A crooked smirk plays across her full lips as you tease her:

“Me? Oh hell… I just came for one of those cute little tops I hear you native girls like wearin’…”

She shifts, part inviting, part defensive.  You smile playfully and draw closer to Leah.

“You think, maybe...”  Your fingers touch her top, little more than a strip of leather with feathers and bones.  “… that I could try this one on?”

She tilts her chin aggressively and moves back. She moistens her lips, a challenge in her lively gaze.

“You wish this as a trophy? Than come claim it, bold one…!"

Your eyes dance with sinful delight, curling your lip in reply.

“Or… is that all you really have to offer - more questions?  Just like your kiss…”

“You enjoyed it,” she says boldly.  “And I enjoyed your taste…!”

You move in slowly, both crouched, a wolf's mating-dance.  Your voice is softer now as you lean in close.

“See, your kiss, while wonderful… was full of ‘wonderin’…” you ponder.  “The kind that leaves a girl thinkin’ if there will be more… or if that was all.”

“You think I tease?” she laughs throatily.  “You know me not.  I came to conquer. I do not seduce but ravish…!”

Her queer speech excites you; she is like nothing you have ever known.  You circle her now, let her know you are a fellow predator and not prey.  You move your finger from her leather straps to her shoulder, then around to her back. The touch of her skin feels very warm, her body heated like her words.

“That so…?” you smirk.  You complete the circle now, face to face.  Your eyes burn with desire, and you suddenly pull her to you.  She pulls back, sudden and reactive, and you fall to the ground together. 

“You think to catch a predato – “

Your mouth cuts off whatever she was about to say, and your tongue snakes against hers.  Her lips grind upwards against yours, tongue probing, your teeth brushing against the other's. You shiver and let out a small whimper as your lips part, then you artfully catch her lower lip in your own.  Her brown eyes widen - you have done this before. A thin strand of saliva, catching the moonlight like dew on a spider’s web, conjoins your lips for a moment. You draw back your finger, wet with her juices, and lick it seductively.

“See?” you grin.  “That’s the difference between our kiss.  There’s no ‘wonderin’…  My kiss tells you all you need to know…” 

She smirks in reply.  “The prey has teeth? I enjoy a challenge.  Make me sing for my supper…”

You smile back.  “If you chose this danger… well, I’m goin’ put your religion to the test…!”

Your full lips are parted, your tongue pressed to the top of your teeth, to the side.  Your hands move to yours hips, a pose that no red-blooded man – or woman! - could resist.

She crouches, with animal eyes, breathing raggedly.

“Now… now,”  You tease, her tongue playing across your teeth.  “Top first.”  You put up a finger, making a ‘come hither’ gesture with your index finger.

 

She launches herself at you, but you were expecting that, and you roll as she barrels into you, allowing yourself to fall sideways, while your hands unfasten her top, and by the time you hit the ground, her large, unfettered breasts are bared in the moonlight. The impact knocks the wind out of you both momentarily, but each of you is swift to the attack.

Her mouth ravages your neck, leaving little nips in the soft skin, and the intensity of her rough treatment causes you to moan aloud. Her fingers claw at your garments, trying to tear your clothes off.  You shove her away, pushing her back against a tree, and spin her about, leaning in on her.  She steadies herself with one hand, the other reaching around to grasp the back of your head and pull at your hair. Your lips mesh again, her neck straining as she twists around to kiss you.  Her breasts are full and pendant, cupped by your hands, as one slips down her tight belly and across her hips.   Your palm rubs at her breast, and knead the plaint flesh, causing her to snort throatily, and toss back her head.  You twist the brown nipple in your fingers, your mouth alternating between her face and her neck.

Then she shifts her weight, snaking one foot between your legs and you both go down again. She lands on top, pinning you to the ground – but you recover swiftly and roll over until your dark hair falls down over her face.  She grins, white teeth flashing in the gloom, momentarily surrendering to you.  You lower your mouth to suckle at her breast, kneading her nipple in your teeth, lips mauling the firm tan flesh.  Your other hand snakes beneath the line of her chamois thong, feeling the heat between her legs.  Your fingers swiftly find her damp opening, and squirm into her flower, pressing hard against her clitoris.  She seems surprised by your aggression, even tamed by it, as she makes a whimpering noise like a dog, arching her back and baring her neck to you, head lolling back.

“You gonna be a good girl now?” you husk, moving down as you yank the loincloth from her body, and part her firm legs wide.

She arches her back and raises her arms above her head,  lifting her hips and spreading her thighs in a gesture of submission.  You are surprised at how sweet she smells – musky and earthy, but somehow pleasant, like the smell of warm fur. Like many tribals, she is entirely lacking in body hair.  You bury your head between her thighs, inhaling the scent of her juices.

She shrieks to the skies, head thrown back, her long hair spread out like a dark halo.   Your tongue dips inside her petals, parting them, thirstily seeking her moisture.  Her scent is strong; familiar animal smells, and your own body leaks in sympathy, desire coursing through you.  Then you shift as if in mutual agreement; she flips you onto your back and straddles your face.  You clasp her firm, muscular buttocks in her hands as you twist your tongue up inside her, as she yells her cries to the forest.

She bucks like a bronco trying to throw its rider, squirming as you hold her in place. You hold her tightly until she hisses like a steam-spring, a yowl like a mountain cat as her dam breaks and she gushes, flooding your face with her musk.

Twitching, she stumbles backwards, and you fall beside her, your hand cradling her head, and you let her taste her juices on your lips.  In the gloaming, your eyes shine brightly.

“You like your own taste as much as I do?” you chuckles.

“Sweeter on your lips than from the source,” she husks, nipping playfully at your mouth.   “And do not think I am done with you…!”

As if in invitation, you rise and she strips you, her hands roughly popping the buttons on your blouse and she tears it off, freeing your breasts to the wind, and biting at your flesh.

“Easy…!” you laugh, unbuckling your belt and lowering your trews. Her hands swiftly pull them down, followed swiftly by your panties, which she tugs down with her teeth.

Laughing, you push her away and turn around, presenting yourself like a mare to a stallion, dipping your back and showing your charms, letting her see how wet you are.

She snorts again, like an animal, and as you turn around, you feel her insistent fingers and carnivorous mouth probe your pussy open. Your eyelids flutter closed, and you groan softly, moving your fingers down to show you where you wish to be touched.  In reply, she slaps your bare ass-cheek hard, and growls:

“I’ll touch you where I want…!”

But she is attentive to your needs, contrary to her words, and she expertly slides her tongue right at the spot that makes you squirm and tingle.  Your right hand mauls your own breast, squeezing your nipple hard.  Climaxes rip through you – you have never been kissed this deeply, her tongue snaking inside you deeper than you imagined it could go.  It probes and licks every inch of your sugar walls, with a skill that no saloon whore has ever used on you.  It builds up in your gut, flooding through you, and squeal loudly in release as your orgasm soaks down your thighs. 

She holds you there for a moment, your legs trembling. Her hand slips between your buttocks, probing the damp orifice there before you gently slap her hand away.

“I shall spoil you for men,” she smirks as you turn around.

“Not interested in ‘em,” you tell her, voice a little ragged but your smile as insolent as ever.  “Get that beautiful face over here.  I ain’t nowhere finished with you…!”

 

Through the long night, you cling naked and couple together, fingers, lips and tongues exploring.  No cleft or orifice goes unlicked, no boundaries not crossed.  Leah is a revelation; she seems to lack any inhibitions or false modesty, and you mate ferociously with a primal, untamed passion.  Sometimes her kisses are gentle and tender as the whim takes her, other times her fingernails leave red welts as they claw at your skin.  But you give as good as you get, and relish the chance to leave her gasping and floundering like a salmon out of water at the skill and intensity of your love-making.  The forest rings to your cries, each trying to tame and exhaust the other, a mutual ravishing that leaves you both aching and spent.

When dawn finally comes, you lie half-awake in each other’s arms, bodies aching, bare, and proudly battle-scarred.  Your hair is plastered to your faces, mouths smeared with vaginal fluid, soaked in drying sweat.  She toys idly with your hair and chuckles.

“I have caught a wolf by the tail, no? Should I ask where you learned such talent? From which well springs such lascivious passion?” 

You laugh at her words, wondering where she learned such things.  

“That’s fer me to know, and you to find out,” you tell her.   

“You keep me interested. I like that,” she admits.  “I would know more.” 

You wash together in the weir pool, inspecting the damage to your clothes. 

“No pleasure is without cost,” she shrugs.  But in the early dawn, her touch is gentle and sure; she has healing hands, you muse. 

 

You lie beside the pool and dry off, naked in the morning mist.  For a moment, everything feels timeless and happy.  For now, the horrors you have endured seem a world away.

“You know pain, sweet one,” she muses as she traces her hand along your skin. 

“Show me a girl who doesn’t,” you counter, trying to mimic the way she gives so little away. 

“Speak. I would hear,” she husks.  

You roll over on your back, your head in her lap.  And… somehow… it all comes out… the battle with the dead in Brimstone, and how you put a corpse back in his grave.  You tell of the Posse, and how they headed west without you, as you preferred to seek your own destiny rather than follow others. 

She nods approvingly.  “I understand,” she nods.  “You dance to your own drum.  I have walked no other path.”

“I’m no lone wolf,” you assure her.  “I just… need to find my own way.  The way my Pa would have.  My own Posse, my own friends…” 

“You travelled with others,” she says simply. 

“For now.  Maybe not forever.  Figured I’d find my own kind eventually… Find my own girl-pack, running wild...”  

She smiles sadly, nodding slowly.   

“I was lookin’ for two in particular…” you tell her.  “A tribal scout, one o’yours… Cheyenne Sweetwood? And a gambler, a white woman named Silver?” 

She nods.  “I know them, if not well.  Cheyenne I respect; she cleaves to tradition, where I must challenge it.  But she knows her own blood, and knows from where she came.  The People lose themselves too soon in your world,” she sighs.  

“As to the other…? I saw her once, from afar.  She has tasted the other worlds, or rather, they have tasted her…!”  She smiles darkly.  “Be careful of what it is you seek.  Sometimes the sacred places leave a little piece of themselves in your flesh…!”

She look up wistfully to the tree-line.

“East of here is a place they call Wilshin’s Lodge.  There, my People meet with yours.  They hold an uneasy peace; but for now it holds.  Speak to the wise ones; they may guide you.  If nothing else, find your totem.  It will always guide you.” 

“My Pa said as much,” you muse.  “Though he never said what his was.  It was a secret thing, he said.” 

You look sadly at the ground. 

“I need to find him,” you tell her.  She shakes her head sadly. 

“The Man of Many Years… he has lived many lives, walked many paths.  He will not easily be found if he does not will it.  And he knows that while Death cannot claim him, it will strip from him all he cares about.  Guilt hangs about him like a shroud; those who died while he could not. The spirits haunt him.”

She looks at you thoughtfully.

“… until now.  Never before has this occurred; his progeny rise from their graves.  Why is this…? I would know.  He turned away from his duty long ago, preferring to live as normal men do.  A conceit, and a dangerous one, but I respect his need to find his own path.”

“You’re saying – “ 

“You are like him,” she says simply.  “Come now. You must know this.  Why you clambered from your grave, because Death has no hold over you…” 

She looks sadly.  “It is your curse, and your blessing.  Never to rest, never to know peace.  Sickness and hurt slough off you like the skin of a snake. But sliver by piece, your mind is worn, and you suffer.  Perhaps by choice, as the years pass, you…. forget yourself.” 

“Leah, I – “

She places a finger on your lips.

“I would tell you more, but sometimes too much advice is as bad as too little.  I do not account myself among the wise, to offer such cryptic comments, such nudges to a heady destiny.  If I could give you one piece of wisdom, it is this – life is for living.  Walk your paths and live it.  What we shared this night will teach more than heavy words and lines in a white man’s books.” 

“I… I know…!” you admit, She moves closer and holds you her arms, wiping away a tear as you tell her of your mother’s fate, and the mutated grey-backs who took her from you.

She nods sombrely, and reaches for her hatchet.  You can see it is set with the strange purple stones, glittering in the morning light.

“The black stones… house much power,” she murmurs.  “As such, we shamen are drawn to it… For me… it is a dance of danger.  Much to risk… and much power to give.  But we have… means of purifying ourselves.  And for you, the Changing Sickness bleeds from you like your mortality.  You slough off the corruption, it has no lasting hold on you.”

She narrows her eyes.  “But some seek it out, to make its power their own.  It marks them as its own; you have seen their corrupted flesh yes? You have heard them speak, and know how it has corrupted their minds…?”

You nod grimly.  “They can be killed, right?”

She laughs softly.  “Oh yes.  Revenge is a powerful motivation, little one. Cleave tightly to your love, and to your hatred. They will lead you through the dark times.”

“Can you help me find him? My Pa?” you ask.

She shakes her head sadly.  “He is one of the few men I would not wish to cross.  And in any case, I respect his wish to not be found.  He mourns you, thinking you lost. But if he knew the truth of what you are… he would mourn you more.  He would not wish his fate on any, least of all those he loves.  Do you think there have not been times he has put a gun to his head? And that pulling the trigger gave him no release?”

She sighs.  “Find your own path.  Make your own pack.  This is what he would wish.  He turned from his path long ago.  You must find yours, or reject it as he did.  But that must be your own choice.”

 

You explain how the others meant well – the Sherriff and the Marshall -  and they knew your powers could help them.  But they had their own history, and wanted you to do as they said.  And you had no interest in following the will of another.

“I’ll help…but in my own way.  I’ll kill those that deserve killin’. But I do it my way.  I won’t be judged or schooled.” 

You kiss the native girl, looking at her with soft eyes.  “Does that make me a bad person?” 

She returns you kiss, the warmth of her lips a promise.  

“No. We are the same,” she explains.  “We are not to be tamed.  We are sisters underneath the skin.”  

“Come with me,” you breathe.  “No promise and no ties.  Stay together as long as we wish it.”

She rises, eyes full of sudden hurt.

“I….!” She shakes her head.  “Understand; my heart wishes nothing more.  But you are not alone in making promises.  I am a walker between words.   And I see much in dreams and portents.  I must travel to a land very far from this one.  It is… nothing like I have seen – the people and their world are very different to ours.  Their words are alien, their honour is not our own.  But there is a strange beauty to this land of ghosts and mist.  And they are in terrible danger. And do not know it.” 

She closes her eyes.  “I have… witnessed the beginning of their end.  He rises in darkness, Sho-Riu, the Heaven Dragon, fallen from his Celestial Paradise. And in his steps, comes ruin.” 

She looks away.  “I must warn them.  This vision came to me for a reason.  I can walk the worlds swiftly, run on all fours… Pass across the Forest of the Dead, and to the Temple of Shadows…” 

She looks back at you. 

“It is a path you cannot follow.  A day to the south and west, is a great portal, a well of Worlds.  Your… ‘Doctor’… he called it ‘Arzhakov’s Gate’.  And that is my path, whether I wish it or no.” 

She looks at the ground.  

“Perhaps… I shall return, and we might… meet again. If that is your will.”  A stormy look of unhappiness creases her lovely face.  

“Or perhaps… such things are sweeter that pass in the night…?” she says dully.

 

Above you, the stars sparkle in an indigo panoply, winking at the gibbous passion-moon, pregnant with possibilities.  Fear and horror seem far away, as you lay your head on Leah’s belly, feeling the slow rhythm of her breathing, and listening to the music of her body.

You begin to feel a kind of happiness you never imaged, a sense of peace and fulfilment you never thought you could have.  It wells up inside you, and escapes your lips as a laugh, causing the native woman to stroke your hair and look down at you with a furrowed brow.

“I amuse you, Nayeli?” she pouts.

“Is that a problem?” you smirk up at her.

“No,” she smiles softly, her lovely face relaxing.  “We were meant to find humour in the strangest of places.  Laugh for Coyote! Slay the enemies he will choose for you!”

You lean up, and your lips meet hers, lingering a moment with sticky intent.

“It’s funny.  Never thought that this could happen this way.  I mean… hell…! I’ve only read it in books...”

“Life is not to be found in dusty writings, Nayeli,” she purrs, cosseting your hair like you were a princess. “You discover joys only when you set out on your own path. A path that led you here, and now.”

You close your eyes, and relish the odd rhythm of her lyrical speech, the cadence of her words.

Then you lick your lips and give a smile the Devil might envy.

“Never tasted a squaw before yesterday. They’re quite good…!”

Her lips nip at yours.

“Do not be complacent, Nayeli. I am not so easily branded! I change my skins like a serpent. Am I a wolf that walks on her hind legs? Or a woman who runs on all fours…?”

You shake your wild hair and grin back.

“Listen.  This is gonna sound crazy.  Hell… I’m the one sayin’ it and it sounds crazy to me.  But… but I’m not going to let you walk out of my life.”

You stare at her with large cornflower-blue eyes.

“You got somewhere to be.  You got somethin’ to do.  Great.  Do what you gotta do.  But when you’re done… when you finished deliverin’ your message… Well, you got a girl here that wants you in her life.”

Her dark eyes seem to cloud slightly, a look of worry creeping across her fine features.

You sit up, looking back across to the Sierra Magallanes, the mountains where you grew into womanhood.   After all that has happened… it can no longer be ‘home’… And yet, it still had the ghosts of some happy memories.  She follows your pointing finger into the distance.

“That’s where I’m from.  A place out in the middle of nowhere.  But Pa made sure I had a good life as a child.  He taught me how to use a gun.  How to move through the woods.  How to survive out there.  And Ma…” 

A quiver of regret and sorrow flickers across your face.

“… she wanted me to be better than her.  A little lady.  Sent me to Sunday school.  And the Reverend’s wife school for learnin’.  But…I was more like my Pa.  A little wild, I guess. Funny thing is…I remember that one should always be careful for what they wish for.”

Her arms enfold you, as gentle now as her passion burned earlier. She tastes the wetness upon your cheek.

“I once asked a lizard where I could start my life.  And that crazy little horned toad… pointed me right here.”

She smiles faintly.

“Are reptiles always so auspicious…?” she teases.

“Right here, Leah, “ you insist. “Right… to you.”

Doubt now grips your guts; you wonder if this display of emotion will turn her off, might even drive her away.  But regardless of how she might feel, you push onwards.

“And yeah… I was just a kid.  And yeah… it sounds crazy… but I think that scaly little bastard knew.  He knew I would find the missing part of me…. right here.” 

You take her hands into your own.

“I guess I’ll be honest -  I’ve been afraid.  Afraid… of what happened to me.  Afraid of them monsters who killed me an’ Ma.  Afraid of the dead gambler I killed again in town.  I… I don’t know if I could have done it.  I can fight the evil that’s risen from the graves and from the land.  Not sure I understand the change inside me.  I was afraid, Leah.”

She nods, slowly, face grave.

“But then… when I laid in your arms… I wasn’t afraid anymore.  It felt… right.  Like it was all meant to be.  Like God took pity on me and made you.”

 “Am I shaped by the hands of your God?” she murmurs. “Or by the spirits? By Coyote, and the ‘gods’ the People pray to?” she ponders.

 You feel a sudden stab of anguish.  She must know you did not mean to mock her.

 “It sounds stupid. I know.” 

 You clamber up, and begin to pick up your things, barely knowing what you are doing.

 “I’m goin’ get going now… before you think even more poorly of me.  Best to leave while the goin’s good, I guess…!”

 She carries little baggage with her, physical or emotional, it would seem.  Her possessions are all she can carry, or fit in her medicine bag.  It takes little time to ready yourselves, and you leave the glade in silence.

 

You set off south by west; sometimes riding, sometimes leading your horse as you tread beside her in an awkward quiet.  You sense you spoke too soon, perhaps scared her off.  At times, you regret saying anything at all… but then you know that you could never have bottled it all up… that it would have grown inside you until you were fit to burst open.

The air is still; the calm before a storm.  And yet, no storm comes - the air is hot and dry and heavy, and sweat trickles down your bodies.  At least the river gives you fresh water, if not shade. 

At length, she breaks the uncomfortable silence, staring out at the horizon without meeting your gaze.

“The river bends here to the east, coiling like the serpent.  It takes longer to follow it around; we go west and south, as the crow flies.  It is open ground, and we can cover it swiftly into the foothills.”

For some time, you say nothing, but eventually the silence gnaws at you, and you speak, if only to fill that void of quiet.

“Figure I got questions…” you say, a little tersely.  “Seein’ as how you’re so wise… maybe you got answers.”

“Perhaps. Ask, Nayeli,” she says softly.  When she looks at you, her expression is sad and sweet.

“When I fought that gambler in town…. my bullets didn’t do anything.  But later… something snapped.  I just got… angry.  Just plumb mad dog angry.  And that’s when my bullet sent him back to Hell.  I just don’t understand why.”

She considers a moment.

“Steel from a gun steals life, perhaps… But what you feel inside – anger, hatred, battle-rage – might put even the dead in their graves.”  She shrugs.  “I do not know,” she admits.  “Anger is a passion like many others.  Hold onto it.  Use it.”

You nod, and glance over at her again.

“You said I couldn’t die.  So I’ll never get any older?  I mean… I’ll stay like this forever?”

“I… I do not know, Nayeli.  Your father, he… he looked older than you.  Perhaps it has less to do with the passing of years, and more about how young you feel inside.”

She pauses.  “I hear tell the Man of Many Years looks neither young, nor old… except when you look into his eyes. And that he carries the scars of his many lives, both within and without.”

“Pa never mentioned a curse to me.  But he did to others while I was listening.  So are people now goin’ start dyin’ because of me?”

She nods slowly.

“That much… I can confirm, Nayeli.”  She looks genuinely saddened.  “You are… a bright light in the Darkness.  A torch, illuminating shadow.  You offer hope to others… but also, you will always draw the Darkness.  That which you illuminate is also in great danger.“

She looks at the ground.  “The Darkness cannot take you, Nayeli. But it will try to destroy everything else you care for.  In your despair, in your failing will, can it know victory.”

“What about you?” you murmur softly.

She smiles breezily.  “I am a Dancer in the Dark; I court danger, tempt it like a lover.  I am not afraid.  I fear more for the People… for what they might become, than for my own safety.  If Ohanzee wants me, it can try to catch me…!”

You have to smile at her confidence; you find it very attractive.

“What d’you call it?”

“Ohanzee. The Darkness. The Shadow. The Mockery. The Seeker. It is… our Enemy personified.  It… creates fragments of itself to hunt us.  Betsalel, in the language of the Carpenter’s people.  Bezaleel, as called by the children of the Tabernacle, the Israelites.  They fought it long ago. But I fear they did not destroy the Last of the Shadow Kings forever.”

“Can -can we destroy it? For good?” you ask.

She smiles back at you.   “I do not know, Nayeli. Shall we find out?”

You breathe in, absorbing all the wild woman has told you.

“You said my Pa turned from his Path.  What Path?  Why am I like this?  What does God want me to do?”

She is silent for a time. 

“I can barely speak for my gods,” she admits.  “I cannot speak at all for yours.  You should ask your holy men.  Some are yet touched by their spirits.”

She inhales deeply of the still air.

“But if Ohanzee exists… then there is always an equal and an opposite, no? If there is Evil, there must be Good.  What form it might take, I cannot know.  But I imagine it exists, if that gives you comfort.”

She sighs.

“But what Path it sets you upon…? I can only guess. Your father… let us imagine he was granted eternal life to fight the Great Darkness. Or he fell from his gods to the earth.  At some point, he tired of his duty, or more likely, was worn down and disillusioned by it.  And so he chose to live as other men do – he sought love, and family and simple purpose.  No doubt he tried this many times, as Ohanzee is a hunter that never rests.  Eventually, his desire for this life led him to your mother, and to you.”

 

She looks up at you.,

“And that is where our tale grows very intriguing indeed.  Because you alone inherit his power…”

“Why?” you ask plaintively.

She shakes her head.

“I do not know, Nayeli,” she admits simply. “And if I knew, I would advise against asking me.”

Her voice is quiet and low.

“You seek certainty.  You are driven by a need to know.  I understand… but that is not my way.  I am attuned to Coyote, to chaos - to laughter, both happy and sad. You wish my wisdom?  Live your own life.  Turn from what your Gods arrogantly demand of you.  Live free and live long; be the hare before the fox, always one step ahead.  Let that be your victory over the Darkness.” 

You are quiet for long moments, brooding on what she says.  Then she stops and points out across the dry plains, to where the ground rises into rolling sandy hills.  Something twinkles in the distance, like the sunlight striking the river – an azure blue. 

“There is no river in that valley,” Leah murmurs. “That is the Gate.  We are close, Nayeli.”

She turns away.

“Soon…. we must part…!”

 

It takes another two hours to reach your destination, hours which pass mostly in brooding, injured silence.  When you finally reach it, you are staggered by the sheer size of the Gate – dwarfing any barn or building you have ever seen.  The rocky outcroppings have grown, seemingly organically, to surround it, like the metal frame of a vast mirror.  The Gate itself is opaque, a shimmering pane of cobalt-blue, all colours and none shining in its depths.  From within, you think you can see other places, distant lands and strange folk.  You murmur in wonderment, dismounting, and reaching out to touch the surface.  Leah carefully draws you back.

“Have a care, Nayeli. That is the Great Crossing… Your Man-of-Books called it ‘Arzhakov’s Gate’. To the People, it is Ki N'madamalsi , the Well of Worlds…”

“It’s…big…!” you admit, somewhat redundantly.  She nods.

“It is mother to many smaller portals,” she muses.  “They birth where the dark-stone is found.  But they come and go with the tides of magick.  This one endures.  It was here long before the People.”

She looks at the ground.

“We should… make camp,” she says softly.  “We might… be together a time longer…?”

“If you say so,” you say, a little crossly, folding your arms across your breasts.  “I figured you’d want to get on with your journey.  Thought you couldn’t wait – “

“Do not make this difficult for us, Nayeli,” she murmurs, looking at the ground.  “You knew that we would part…”

“Tell me one thing, then,” you say softly.  “Why d’you call me that? What does it mean?”

“It means nothing,” she says, turning away.  “Something wholly random, like ‘green turtle laying eggs’. I simply like the sound of it on my tongue. Not all things must have some  deep meaning,” she scoffs.

You stalk across to her and spin her around, seizing her by the shoulders and shaking her. 

“I don’t believe you!” you yell at her.  “I think you just pretend…! I think you’re chicken, deep down. You’re afraid of feelin’ anything, so you just pretend this is all a game! You pretend you don’t care…!”

Her face creases; for a moment, her eyes flash with anger. 

And then her shoulders slump.  Tears trickle down her face, carving furrows in her painted face.

You lower her to the blanket, kneeling beside her.

She turns away, looking up at the gate.

“It is… it is so,” she breathes softly, looking weak and ashamed.  “It… shames me to say it…!”

“There’s no shame in feelin’ this,” you murmur.  “I was honest with you.  I feel it, an’ I know you feel it too. I never figured I’d feel anythin’ like this.  An’ now I’ve found you… I’m not lettin’ you just ride on out of my life…!”

She looks dully at the ground.

“I… I loved once… or… or I thought I did…! It… it frightened me.  I feared… being caught in the snare of that love.  I thought I was like the wind, never tethered or bound as mortals are.”

She looks up, eyes glassy.

“I…. I ran away.  Rather than face it.  I feared we would make a cage of what we felt.  I know I hurt her. And I ran anyway.  I thought it was the only way to be free.”

“That was real stupid,” you tell her.  “It didn’t help, did it? You can run all you like, but you can’t run from yourself.”

She nods simply.

“You - you are right.  It bought me no peace.”

 

You hold her closely.

“Listen,” you whisper fiercely.  “You’re the best thing I ever found.  With you… I don’t feel so alone, so afraid any more.  It’s like… I feel complete. An’ I’m damned if I’m lettin’ that go without a fight.”

She looks up and tries to smile.

“We… might be damned anyway,” she admits.

“I mean it, Leah,” you say softly.  “If you want rid of me, then… then I guess I can’t stop you, and you just ride away.  But tell me – what does it mean?”

She looks at the ground and then looks up at you.

“Nayeli…? It is… a word of the Zapotec, the People of the South. It means… ‘the one who bears my heart’. Or something similar…”

You kiss her long and hard, and she does not resist.

She looks at you plaintively.

“I… I know other words you might like,” she husks. “Will you know them?”

 

There, on the patchwork quilt your mother made you, in the light of the Well of Worlds, you strip off and mate ferociously, which turns to playful petting as you lie in the afterglow.  She takes care to kiss all of your secret places, dampening them with her lips as she names them.

“Listen, Nayeli…! Remember these in your dreams…!“ she chuckles.

“W’don,” she begins, firmly pressing her mouth to your lips. 

“W’dap’skok’wa,” she continues, kissing down your neck.

“Do’dos,” she smiles, cupping your left breast in her hands, and kissing it.  “Bo’bos,” she continues, suckling at your right nipple, leaving a sticky trail of saliva across your flesh.

She kisses down your flat belly.  “W’lagzi…”

Her deft tongue tickles the dip of your navel. “Wi’li,” she giggles.

Now, you stand, feet apart, as she kneels between your legs.

“Bl’oti,” she laughs, licking her tongue along the cleft of your lower lips. You shiver, and pout a  little as she clasps your buttocks in her hands.

“W’keji,” she insists. 

“That’s… better’n Sunday school ever was…!” you admit.  Her hand works steadily at your clitoris as the other one gently pulls apart your cheeks.

“W’kejilo’ak’w,” she mumbles, and you are not sure you heard it right, as she licks the cleft between your buttocks and tongues the puckered orifice there.  The wet mouth on your most secret places, and the insistent turning of her fingers on your pussy, coaxes wild cries from your lips, and you scream your climaxes to the uncaring Gateway.

 

It is growing dark when she finally rises to leave.  You stand before her, sweat-slick, naked and thighs soaked with your own musky juices.

“Come back to me,” you ask simply.

She nods quietly.

“I… I will do so, if I yet live,” she murmurs.  She looks almost shy, uncertain.

“I am Coyote’s Child, and as such, we make few promises for fear we cannot keep them…” she admits.  She clasps your hands in hers. 

“… but this, I shall promise. I will return to you, and then we shall walk the Wheel together. If you still wish it.”

Your lips meet gently, and part only reluctantly.

“I do,” you whisper.

She looks at you and smiles.

“And so, like the firebird, reborn of its ashes… it ends with beginnings, and it begins with an ending…!”

She bows neatly, raising her hand in greeting.

“K’way… Doni ge’do’wio’zin…!”

 

And then, as if she fears that if she does not leave now, she never will – she changes her skin into the wolf once more, and leaps through the shimmering gateway. 

It ripples at her passing… and then she is gone from your life as swiftly as she came.

You sit and and watch the portal until you dry off, and the stars come out.

Only at length, do you rise, dwelling on all you have found, and lost.

And alone once more, you must turn your thoughts to your journey…