Tom Pawlik - Beckon

George had worried that all the travel would be too much for her. He tried to smile reassuringly. “But we’re on vacation, remember? Up in the mountains. I made a special bed for you. Just for you.”

That seemed to work as Miriam peeked over his shoulder at the beautiful, king-size, log-post bed on a low dais. Her expression softened, and just then Henderson arrived with a small cup of hot tea. Miriam normally had a cup at bedtime back in Texas. It was the only way George could get her to take her medications.

George took the cup and cast a wary glance at the doctor.

Henderson offered what George assumed was intended to be his own reassuring smile. “Just a mild sedative. Like I said, there’s nothing dangerous at all about the ritual. My only concern is that the woman wears ceremonial native garb. And we want to avoid causing Miriam any undue alarm.”

Henderson had explained earlier that since the ceremony had never been performed on anyone who was “cognitively compromised,” he wanted to make sure Miriam wouldn’t react violently or do anything that might disrupt the ritual. It seemed that this medicine woman was hypersensitive to protocol during the rite.

But despite all of Henderson’s assurances, George was still filled with misgivings and doubt. He insisted that he remain at Miriam’s bedside during the entire ceremony, and Vale had agreed to allow him to stay in the room only as long as he kept out of the way.

George helped Miriam as she drank the tea and then got her ready for bed. He had brought along her favorite nightgown. Then he kissed her on the forehead and wished her a good night, just as he did every night.

Vale arrived as Miriam was settling in. He pulled George aside and spoke in urgent but hushed tones. “Nun’dahbi is on her way up. It’s extremely important that you remember not to approach her or speak to her at all. And avoid any eye contact.”

“Nun’dahbi?” George said, noting how strange Vale was acting. He seemed downright nervous.

“It’s her title,” Vale explained as he lit several candles situated around the room. “She’s the spiritual head of her tribe. And this ritual is actually a process whereby they welcome a new member into their community. It’s an extreme honor and should not be taken lightly.”

“What tribe is this?”

“They call themselves the N’watu. They’re one of the oldest tribes in North America, tracing their roots back more than two thousand years.”

Henderson interrupted them and pointed to the bed. “It looks like she’s asleep.”

George could see the sedative had indeed taken effect and Miriam appeared to be resting comfortably. Henderson turned off the lights and stood out of the way in the sitting room. Meanwhile Vale pulled George off to the side and took up a position right beside him—George assumed it was so that Vale could prevent him from doing anything foolish during the ceremony. He stole a glance and saw a single bead of perspiration trickle down Vale’s jaw.

After a moment George leaned over. “What now?”

Vale hushed him with a curt whisper. “She’s here.”

Just then, George heard a soft rattling sound outside the suite. The door opened slowly to reveal a shadow in the entrance. It was a figure of slight build. George assumed it to be a woman. Her face was hidden behind a black veil of some sort. In fact, she was dressed completely in layers of black garments and adorned with bracelets, beads, and necklaces of various sorts. She stood for a moment in the doorway and then seemed to glide into the room. George noticed that Vale immediately bowed his head and nudged George to follow suit.

So George lowered his head as well but kept his eyes on the shadowy figure as she approached the bed. She seemed to hiss as she walked. Though not really a hiss—more like a soft rattling sound, not unlike the sound a rattlesnake might make. In fact, George’s first thought was that perhaps she’d brought a snake with her. But then he saw the source of the sound: a small gourd-like object atop the long wooden staff that the woman rattled gently. A pair of feathers and a string of claws were tied around the gourd.

She stood over the bed where Miriam lay sleeping and passed the staff over her from head to toe, rattling it softly. Back and forth across the bed, hovering just inches above Miriam’s body.

Then the woman reached out a pale, thin hand and passed it over Miriam as well, making a soft humming sound that quickly grew into a low, monotone incantation, though George could not make out any words.

The woman’s voice began to rise and fall, muttering and mumbling. Her tone held a gentle menace like the soft growl of a cat. It seemed at once placid and vicious. This went on for several minutes with the incantation rising and falling in both pitch and volume.

Then she stopped suddenly and turned in George’s direction. George lowered his gaze slightly but still tried to glimpse what would happen next. The medicine woman approached him, and George could feel Thomas Vale tense up.

She muttered a similar incantation to George. He raised his head instinctively and caught the briefest glimpse of vague white features behind her veil. And eyes that seemed to glow like two sparks.

Nun’dahbi hissed and snapped her staff up between them. George quickly lowered his gaze, and a moment later she continued her incantation. Her hand swept across George’s face, inches away, as if trying to feel the heat radiating from his body. He could see her hand more clearly now. Her skin appeared completely void of all pigment, and long black nails had been filed into points so that they looked like claws. Or talons.

Her chanting lasted nearly a full minute, and after she finished, she took his hand in hers. George almost recoiled at her cold, bony touch as she pressed something into his palm and closed his fingers over it. Then she turned in a single fluid movement and glided out the door.

After she had gone, Vale seemed to breathe a relieved sigh, and George opened his hand to see a small glass vial with a black cap. Inside was a milky, yellowish liquid.

George stared into his wife’s eyes. And Miriam was looking back at him. She had finally awakened after nearly thirty-six solid hours of sleep, looking a bit groggy. But… she was there . All there, it seemed. George could see the recognition in her eyes. Her complexion had regained a rosy hue, and her eyes had brightened. In fact, she looked better than she had in years.

“How are you feeling?” George said.

Miriam stroked his cheek. “I feel fine. You look tired, though.”

“I didn’t get much sleep the last couple nights. Too busy pacing.”

After the ceremony, Henderson had administered the mysterious remedy through a hypodermic. He told George that while perilium was typically ingested, due to Miriam’s compromised mental state, it was wiser not to risk upsetting her by forcing her to drink the bitter substance. Besides, Henderson said, injecting it directly into her bloodstream would provide a purer dosage than allowing the body to absorb the substance through its digestive system.

Miriam frowned. “What time is it?”

“Nine thirty. Tuesday morning.”

“Tuesday… Where are we?”

“In Wyoming. Do you remember coming to Wyoming?”

“Wyoming?” Miriam sat up, and her gaze traced a path around the bedroom. George could see her piecing the memories together, working things out in her mind. “Did… did we drive here?”

George laughed. “Yes, we did. I found someone who was able to help you with your condition. Well… actually, he found us . They’ve got some kind of drug here. The local Indians originally discovered it.” George struggled for the words to explain it to her. “I think it’s making you better.”