Read Online The Kuthun by S.A. Carter - Free Book Online

place could be, and who of my family would have been here at some point in time.
    Then it becomes clear.
    This must be where my eighth Great Grandmother Isabella Cole came to when she fled from Salem so very long ago. I stifle a shocked laugh. Could I really be here in the place where it all started? I stay where I am for now, trying to regain some composure before I head into the village.
    There are many people milling about. Women clothed in heavy buckskin dresses with fringed arms and midriff beading are talking as they beat out rugs with sticks on makeshift lines of rope. Children are running around chasing one another in what looks like a game of tiggy. A few young boys are playing in and out of the teepees shooting at each other with wooden bows and arrows, and a group of young women are gathered around woven baskets where they appear to be shucking corn.
    Off in the distance horses are making their way towards the village. They are being ridden bare back by men whose auras are emitting red and orange hues—telling me they have great strength and courage. They have paint on their faces and different coloured feathers in their long, dark hair.
They are beautiful
.
    I watch them ride into the outskirts of the village, taking in the faces of those around them. One infant runs up to the man in front and holds out her arms to him in a display of affection. He smiles and bends down to lift her up onto his horse. She positions herself in front of him and grabs onto the horse’s mane, like she has obviously done many times before. They continue to ride until they reach the paddock on the far side of the encampment. I see them dismount their horses, take off the simple cord bridles, and let the horses roam free.
    I look back towards the camp area and the smoke that I saw earlier catches my attention. It is coming from inside the far tent, on the outer edges of the village. I notice that this tent is different to the others.
    As well as the animal hides that cover it, there is also bold colours of paint splattered across the outside. I feel myself being drawn towards it, comfortable in the knowledge that no-one can see me. I walk through the centre of the camp taking in all the smells, sounds and sights. There is an air of peacefulness within this place. I feel the harmony between man and nature here.
    I reach the outside of the tent and can hear someone chanting melodically from within. I hesitate only a moment before I pull back the smoke flaps and step gingerly inside.
    Before me I see a woman lying on a bed of reeds. Her head is turned away from me and she isn’t moving. The fire is before her and a strange smelling smoke fills the tent. On the other side of the fire an old man is seated, his face weathered and worn with age, his long grey hair falling below his chest. A simple feathered headpiece adorns his crown and around his neck hangs a large chain of small animal bones. His hand is wrapped around a small antler stick decorated in a variety of beads, feathers and leather braids. He is shaking the stick rhythmically, the rattling sound that emanates from it moves throughout the tent in a haunting fashion.
    An overwhelming sense of having met him before courses through me. The stick is suddenly silenced and the old man stops chanting. He slowly turns his face towards me and in the light of the fire I notice that his eyes have no pupils. In their place are circles of misty, grey opaqueness. I figure that he either has cataracts or he is blind, and there is no way he could be seeing me right now.
    My magic intensifies.
    His moon-like eyes find mine. I search behind me, thinking that he must be looking at someone else, but there is no one else here with us. The smoke from the fire emits a ghostly veil within the room, giving off the illusion of spirits floating around. He watches me calmly.
    ‘Welcome, you who are chosen.’ He holds up his hand in a sign of peace and acknowledges my presence with a nod of his head.
    I am