08-14-2016, 05:24 PM
Continued from Upriver
Katchina sat in the back of the room and listened to Mr. Little Bird. If she shut her eyes, she could imagine Noah's voice channeling those words, because it sounded just like what Noah had always described. She felt a little ache to see the man again. After her father had died the place had become more like home to her than anywhere else, Noah a bit like second father. She still hadn't been back to Michigan.
Wakan Tanka. Yes.
The same concept as Gitche Manidoo. The Great Spirit. This power was a thing of the Natives, was a thing of old come again. Noah was right! And here she was, spying on her own people because she hadn't been able to figure a way out from under Major Harris' thumb. This was not a thing that should be handed over to the Army. Least of all through her. There has to be a better way.
And it looked like Mr. Little Bird had the same thought. Yes, yes.
A treatment center. Perhaps a school. A place where people could overcome the Sickness in safety and learn how to control their powers, and not end up like Jerome. It would have to be in a remote area, to minimize anyone getting hurt, and probably away from prying eyes of people who would fear them. And it would have to be run by those who had already managed to survive, control and channel these powers. Like me...I think I could do something like that.
“...because I am one of these people. I can wield the power of the Great Spirit.”
Kat didn't even have time to register that. Suddenly, sitting not three feet from her, a nondescript man in a suit with his hair arranged in a neat braid moved in a flash, pulling something from his jacket. Father!
“Appolyon!”
Father help me!
In less than an eyeblink, faster than thought, Kat gave herself over, pouring her will out into the sea of the Great Spirit of all things, of her Ancestors, of her Father. The doorway opened and it flooded into her. Kat pivoted. The man had leveled the thing in his hand right at Mr. Little Bird. A long-barrel handgun with a wide, curved banana magazine and wires that fed into an open recticle sight. His finger tightened on the trigger.
"No!"
She shoved her hands toward him and struck out with all of her strength, air and fire and water. A tremendous flash of light arced from her hands and connected with the would-be-assassin, accompanied by a deafening BANG. Her very hair stood on end and the pulse forced the very air out of her lungs as she was pushed backward. The man went flying and struck the far wall, his weapon skittering across the polished wood floor.
Kat got back on her feet, still clinging onto the Great Power. She tasted metal in her mouth and smelled burned hair and plastic. She ran over to the assailant. His clothes were smoking and his head was twisted at an odd angle. She put a hand over her mouth and gasped. What did I do to him?
She ran across the room and knelt to lay her hands on him, and sent the flows of power through his body. No heartbeat. His neck was broken. Something was wrong with his internal organs, like he'd been cooked from the inside out.
“Come on, live!”
She forced air into the man's lungs, or what was left of him. Pulled the power into him, to force his heart to move the blood. Nothing. The man was like a puppet. There was no brain activity.
Kat stood up and dropped the flows as she let her arms hang back to her side. And then she realized everyone was staring at her.
Katchina sat in the back of the room and listened to Mr. Little Bird. If she shut her eyes, she could imagine Noah's voice channeling those words, because it sounded just like what Noah had always described. She felt a little ache to see the man again. After her father had died the place had become more like home to her than anywhere else, Noah a bit like second father. She still hadn't been back to Michigan.
Wakan Tanka. Yes.
The same concept as Gitche Manidoo. The Great Spirit. This power was a thing of the Natives, was a thing of old come again. Noah was right! And here she was, spying on her own people because she hadn't been able to figure a way out from under Major Harris' thumb. This was not a thing that should be handed over to the Army. Least of all through her. There has to be a better way.
And it looked like Mr. Little Bird had the same thought. Yes, yes.
A treatment center. Perhaps a school. A place where people could overcome the Sickness in safety and learn how to control their powers, and not end up like Jerome. It would have to be in a remote area, to minimize anyone getting hurt, and probably away from prying eyes of people who would fear them. And it would have to be run by those who had already managed to survive, control and channel these powers. Like me...I think I could do something like that.
“...because I am one of these people. I can wield the power of the Great Spirit.”
Kat didn't even have time to register that. Suddenly, sitting not three feet from her, a nondescript man in a suit with his hair arranged in a neat braid moved in a flash, pulling something from his jacket. Father!
“Appolyon!”
Father help me!
In less than an eyeblink, faster than thought, Kat gave herself over, pouring her will out into the sea of the Great Spirit of all things, of her Ancestors, of her Father. The doorway opened and it flooded into her. Kat pivoted. The man had leveled the thing in his hand right at Mr. Little Bird. A long-barrel handgun with a wide, curved banana magazine and wires that fed into an open recticle sight. His finger tightened on the trigger.
"No!"
She shoved her hands toward him and struck out with all of her strength, air and fire and water. A tremendous flash of light arced from her hands and connected with the would-be-assassin, accompanied by a deafening BANG. Her very hair stood on end and the pulse forced the very air out of her lungs as she was pushed backward. The man went flying and struck the far wall, his weapon skittering across the polished wood floor.
Kat got back on her feet, still clinging onto the Great Power. She tasted metal in her mouth and smelled burned hair and plastic. She ran over to the assailant. His clothes were smoking and his head was twisted at an odd angle. She put a hand over her mouth and gasped. What did I do to him?
She ran across the room and knelt to lay her hands on him, and sent the flows of power through his body. No heartbeat. His neck was broken. Something was wrong with his internal organs, like he'd been cooked from the inside out.
“Come on, live!”
She forced air into the man's lungs, or what was left of him. Pulled the power into him, to force his heart to move the blood. Nothing. The man was like a puppet. There was no brain activity.
Kat stood up and dropped the flows as she let her arms hang back to her side. And then she realized everyone was staring at her.