The Old Ones Appear
The two Medicine Women – the Metaywinway – hold up a decorated ceremonial cloth – a spiritual barrier called a “Tewhahnee” – and Leeds changes into her special garb behind it. She emerges with face paint, wearing buckskin leggings, high leather moccasins, a leather halter-type top and an elaborate headwrap. She looks like an Indian princess on her wedding day.
As she walks, Heinlein can see how low her leggings are cut – and how high her halter sits. The “Kichkican” – her witch’s “Mark” – is apparent. It looks painful – like a multi-colored fourth degree burn that has scarred over, positioned at the base of her spine. Her tail bone. A brisk wind is blowing in over Surprise Lake. Heinlein surmises that – on top of everything else – she’s probably cold. The sun has completely set. The Medicine Women mercifully position her near the circular fire that’s now blazing before them. One holds Leed’s left hand and the other holds her right.
The Braves Circle – the “Lenuwachumak Wichewk” forms and their steady drumbeat begins. The Warriors slowly take small steps to the left, tracing a circular pattern while beating their drum skins with pieces of deer antler. Sachem Crow-Feather is in the center of them, leading them in a sing-song chant. Soon they drown out the sounds of traffic on US Route 78 a mile away.
“Kemwaxkwehenaa! Kemwaxkwehenaa!”
“Kam-Wahx-Kwe-Hel-A-Naal-We-Lee-We-Tahn-Te-Moh-We-Khan!”
“Kam-Wahx-Kwe-Hel-A-Naal-We-Lee-We-Tahn-Te-Moh-We-Khan!”
“Kam-Wahx-Kwe-Hel-A-Naal-We-Lee-We-Tahn-Te-Moh-We-Khan!
It goes on like this for about a half-hour. The Sing-song chanting, the dancing in a circle. All the while Leeds is standing – expectantly – her hands being gently held by Medicine Women who are reciting their own more silent renditions of the Summoning chant.
Heinlein feels like he’s witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime event. Few White Men – if any – have witnessed this ritual and lived to talk about it.
The minutes pass. The chant gets repetitive. Its rhythm gets monotonous. Heinlein is getting impatient. His hopes for any positive outcome of these theatrical proceedings are fading.
Suddenly, he realizes something.
There’re no insect sounds. There’s absolutely no car or truck noises coming from US Route 78. No planes overhead from Newark Airport can be seen or heard. The stillness and silence are unnatural. Unnerving. It’s as if time is standing still. As if – but for this brief moment – life itself has stopped. The air is heavy, misty – like a fog, but not drifting or moving. Everyone seems to be inside a vacuum bottle. The fire isn’t burning anymore – it’s just glowing.
Then he sees it. About sixty feet in front of them is a pulsating green dot. It flashes on and off. Then it becomes constant – and starts expanding outward. The edges of the green light take form and slowly stretches itself into a growing disc of brilliance. Its interior is a scintillating evanescence of light ripples and waves, almost like the watery surface of a lake – an undulating, wafting perturbation of visual spectrum photons, variating and intensifying as it increases its diameter.
Finally, the circle of light reaches a size of about thirty feet across. Vague outlines of three anthropomorphic silhouettes appear inside the circle – moving towards its front perimeter. Not believing his eyes, Heinlein watches dumbfounded as three enormous dark figures step out of the light barrier.
The one in the center is about ten feet tall. The ones to his sides are perhaps a half-foot shorter. They are dressed in long black cloaks, fastened at their necks. Their hoods completely cover their heads – but the head coverings open enough to reveal an extended facial snout and jaw. Definitely Reptilian – or Silurian. Their eyes blaze red. From what Heinlein can glimpse beneath their cloaks, they are wearing black leggings and large, perfectly tooled tactical footwear. Their broad upper torsos are outfitted in exquisite leather body-armor tunics, firmly belted at the waist – precisely fitted to their obviously well-endowed physiognomy. Their musculature is powerful, and their attire is archaic, oddly reminiscent of the Twelfth-Century Persian Assassinid style. They’re suited up for physical combat. Their hands – or claws – are covered by black leather gloves.
As they move forward, Heinlein sees that each of them has what appears to be a Seax or short sword blade suspended from their belt. He doesn’t think the blades are just for show. These guys know how to use them.
They look like what they are – Guardians.
The three figures stop about twenty feet away. Heinlein suddenly feels a pain rip through his skull – a hot, blinding flash grips his eyes and he gets weak in his knees. He can see Leeds grab for her head – but the Medicine Women hold her hands fast. Then he feels voices. Deep inside his head, echoing against the bones that cradle his brainpan.
The figure in the center – the one in authority – is communicating. But he’s not talking. Scientists call it thought transference.
“Nuchihewe. Come forward, my child.”
Leeds slowly walks towards him. She gently spins her body around – showing him her “Kichkican” – then faces him. Tears are streaming down her face.
His words resonate inside our minds. Not loud – but overpowering, bulldozing our own thoughts out of the way. We have no will to resist.
“You have much concern about the underground ones. Your answer lies not in butchering mindless husks that are soon to be extinct by degeneration. There are above-ground races and below-ground ones. It has always been so. Leave them be. This is our judgment.
It is you who have lured them upward by invading their space. Digging down into their world. The Watchung Grey Rock contains Warrens – passageways that you must identify and close. The place you call the Quarry is where the Warrens emanate from. Concentrate your efforts there.
In the meantime, any illness to your kind the Yakwahe causes can be cured by the Moroccan Fungus – Mafuseh – the “Vampire Medicine” of Byzantium. Seek the Priest, Simon Magus. He will obtain this nostrum for you. He wears the ring of our Master – the Eye of Horus. Go to the Hudson Water. At the Hook.
AND YOU! With the weapon hanging off your belt! You killed a mindless, innocent beast who had no ability to reason. Whose brain was eaten by underground poisons and bereft of cognitive discernment. Yakwahe are to be pitied, not destroyed. Your actions bring dishonor to your kind. Your soul is black with this sin. Your Christian God will hold you accountable!
And now – come with us, daughter. Your body cries out for healing. We will care for you.
Let us go home.”
Leeds takes hold of the large, gloved hand that the Chief Nutiket extends to her and walks through the circle of rippling lights. To the realm of the Nutiket. The three cloaked Guardians and Leeds soon disappear inside the rift that just tore open our time-space continuum. The undulating circle of light becomes a dot once again – and then dies out altogether.
Heinlein stands silently, hoping against all reason that Leeds will somehow hop back into his reality. Witch or no witch, he will miss her. He again hears the insects all around him and the trucks screaming down US Route 78.
Whatever just happened – is over.
Copyright Jon Croft, 2025
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