Bayou Shadow Protector. Debbie Herbert

      Swoop.

      April released her breath. The green light in front of her transformed to a pure white that gleamed like a miniature star in the Alabama bayou. This time, the emanating images were of joy. Nitushi’s slender, boyish face alight with a grin. What a handsome lad he had once been.

      Find your people, she urged softly. Your parents have been waiting for you in the After Life for a long, long time.

      He nodded solemnly, and his eyes drifted upward, somewhere private and sacred to him. A place she could not see or enter.

      Svshki. My mother. Ak. My father, he breathed.

      The wisp shook, darkened. Aware its strength had escaped.

      April flew backward, out of reach for its last moment of power. The wisp screeched, a rage-filled rushing of air that sounded like a punctured balloon collapsing. The bayou grew silent again. The other wisps continued on, uncaring that a fellow creature had died. That was the way of their world. A waiting and a battle. A taking or a releasing. Victory or defeat. And always, some form of death in the brew.

      Hoklonote’s scent grew stronger, but not near enough to cause a panic. The old spirit was far too cunning to confront one fairy. And why should he when his goal was to suppress their entire realm? Besides, Hoklonote was a coward. Anyway, she was far too insignificant to matter.

      But Chulah mattered.

      April flew to the treetops, determined to help eliminate more of the wisps intent on Chulah’s destruction. Nitushi’s spirit flashed before her, climbing upward.

      Yakoke. Thank you, he whispered. The white ball of light became a pinprick in the heavens.

      At least she had helped one soul this evening.

      But there was no time for quiet thanksgiving. Not with Chulah’s life in danger. Had the birds arrived yet?

      April streaked forward. They had probably already dealt with the Ishkitini. Which left six wisps versus two humans. Those odds left her burning with fear. If she was quick enough, maybe she could take out one more before they attacked, even up the humans’ chances.

      The wisps were almost upon Chulah and Tombi. April flew to the nearest, one with two trapped spirits. Inhale, exhale.

      Whoosh.

      Two white lights funneled out of the wisp. A brief glimpse of two adolescent girls, shining with hope as they ascended to their Land of the Spirits. Quickly, April rushed back, avoiding the gust of evil energy as the wisp burst and collapsed in on itself.

      Five remained.

      “Look out,” Chulah warned his friend. “Five incoming.”

      Tombi moved until the men stood back to back. “I’ve got you covered.”

      With speed and precision, they dug out rocks and loaded their weapons.

      “How did they find us?” Chulah grumbled. “Haven’t seen this many at one time in months.”

      “Me either. The Ishkitini had mostly disappeared, too, after Nalusa’s defeat. Until tonight.”

      Chulah frowned. “If that fairy thing guided them to us...”

      The accusation cut deep, but she ignored the pain, concentrating on what must be done. April darted closer and killed one more wisp before quickly flying off. To stay longer meant being unwittingly felled by the shadow hunters as they aimed at the wisps.

      Chulah stared directly at her. But was blind. “I smell violets.”

      She darted away. He needed to concentrate on the wisp attack, not her.

      * * *

      “This is no good. I’ve got a better plan,” Tombi said. He motioned with his hand. “We have time to flush them out. This way.”

      Chulah ran, following him down the game trail, noiseless and unerring in the feeble sliver of moonlight. Only their supernatural shadow-hunting eyesight made it possible to see in such darkness. They had managed to lose the wisps, but they were still clearly in danger.

      Tombi looked back over his shoulder.

      “Yeah, I’ve been hearing the same rustling,” Chulah whispered.

      Tombi picked up the pace and Chulah guessed at his strategy. The trail ended at a large clearing. Dangerous to cross at night while being hunted.

      “The noise has stopped,” Chulah said in a low, quiet voice.

      Tombi held a finger to his lips and Chulah stood silent, straining to pick up any unusual sound.

      It came.

      A familiar whooshing of air broke the normal night sounds. The sound of a large flock of Ishkitini flying low. Yet another round of attack. They could outrun and hide from the wisps when outnumbered, but the damn birds could always spot them. And where the birds of the night flew, the wisps were sure to follow. Hoklonote sent them to wear down a hunter mentally and physically so that the wisps could easily finish the job when they arrived.

      Chulah called on past experience to determine if they had time to cross the field before the birds, huge horned owls, spotted them. If they miscalculated, they were dead meat to the birds of prey. But if they hurried...

      Tombi pointed to a stand of cypresses across the field. “Quick to the trees,” he called.

      Chulah sprinted side by side with his friend, ever conscious of the approaching birds with their talons of death. Sharp claws that ripped human flesh and feasted on it when possible.

      Fifty yards to safety.

      Another sound emerged from the generalized whooshing, the flapping of wings and an occasional hoot as the Ishkitini homed in.

      Halfway there. The bird noises were so raucous and loud that Chulah’s skin stretched taut, expecting the sting of talon at any moment. If they could just reach the tree grove it would help shield them against the attack.

      They made it, quickly scrambling behind the gnarled tree trunks. Position reversed and upper hand gained. Now it was the wisps that had to cross open field. Through the tree branches, Chulah counted at least four or five wisp hearts flashing bright blue green. A signal they were preparing to attack.

      Expertly, Chulah retrieved his slingshot, a knife and several rocks from his backpack. He gripped the slingshot in his left hand and the knife in his right. In a move born from years of fighting experience, Chulah positioned the knife so that its blade flared out from the underside of his hand, perfect for slashing. This way he could shoot and keep his knife at the ready to kill any predator that came within striking distance.

      The droning of owls filled the air and vibrated in his gut. They were upon them.

      Two owls flew within a yard of Chulah, their bloody red eyes glowing with fierce intensity. Chulah raised his hand and slashed down. Once, twice. The smell of blood and nasty meat rent the air. Another owl sank its claws into Chulah’s left biceps. Chulah slammed the owl against a tree trunk and knocked it unconscious. He circled to the front of the tree, loaded his slingshot and fired at a wisp that had closed within thirty yards.

      A high-pitched squeal assaulted his ears as the wisp disintegrated into a puff of smoke that emitted an acrid smell. The teal heart trapped within the wisp transformed to a white spark that spiraled upward to the stars.

      But there was no time to admire the lovely sight.

      A quick glance to his left and his breath caught. Tombi fired at a wisp, killing it, but he paid a price. He was surrounded by the Ishkitini. The largest owl sank its beak into Tombi’s neck.

      Damnation.

      Chulah rushed over. Tombi slashed the owl that had bit him, but it was too late. Blood streamed from his neck wound and he fell to the ground. At least four owls immediately attacked his prone figure, sinking their talons into his legs and shoulders.

      “Help!” Tombi screamed.