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Authors: Marcus Wynne
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“This place looks like Baghdad at Christmas,” I said. “Crossed with a Wiccan supply house.”
He laughed. “It works.”
“I appreciate it, Dillon.”
When his eyes lit up and his teeth pulled back, he looked more like a Lycan than a non-transformed Lycan did. “I figure it’s my part in the fight.”
“You’ve earned your place in the Light. And then some, brother.”
“So have you, Marius. So have you. So. What’s the plan?”
“Plan? I don’t need no stinking plan!”
“You’re more Yul Brynner, dude. If I get to play McQueen.”
“I’m part of a plan, but I don’t have a plan.”
“That’s really comforting,” Dillon said. “I’d like to know which way to shoot.”
“I hope we won’t have to shoot at all.”
“There you go,” Dillon said. “Being all hopeful. What’s the fun of being the best back up to the best shaman, excuse me, practitioner if I don’t get to shoot some Dark Warriors once in awhile? And I kinda doubt we’re gonna miss that opportunity, the way things are going.”
Planning has never been my strong suit. I have a Zen-like approach to living; stay in the moment. Shamanic practice reinforces that. Or so I told myself on occasions like this or when rationalizing my expenses in the face of my bill collectors. So the plan, right? They—a series of undead and possessed, remote controlled or outright possessed, hunting me down to do bad things to me ranging from killing me to torching my spiritual essence in some fiery corner of the Dark Realms—they are looking for me, right? So let’s make it easy. Let them come to me instead of spending my meager resources chasing them. Draw them out into the open and while my back up slows them down or takes them out, I search backwards to find the Controller, the one with the capital C.
It’s like doing a demonic depossession. When there’s a true demonic presence, it’s hitched to a controller, a higher level demon, who in turn is hitched to another demon all the way down the line to the biggest baddest demon of all. If you want the Dark Forces out and to keep them out, you must track back to the main entity, and then step aside while the Archangels do the work of taking that demon-boss to the Place of Confinement and the Womb of Transformation.
So I went with my default plan: kick the bad guy’s cart over, set it on fire, and see who comes running.
I gestured Dillon close. We both closed our eyes. I took out my good rattle—a stretched leather ball filled with maize kernels, the handle an old piece of worn birch—and began to rattle gently, setting my intention and calling my power animals closer. The steady rhythmic rattle activated those places in my energy, my spirit, and cleared out all distraction so that I might shift from the Middle World into the Other Realms—
— and I’m on a grassy hillside, looking over a beautifully forested valley, a sinuous river winding its way through, a hawk circling overhead…to my right my White Tiger, to my left my Black Crow…off in the distance I see darkness gathering on the skyline…light stabs down from the sky, a brilliant beam of light that shines on me, to my left and right, above and below, from within, the Light within me like a portal…because that’s what I am in the Great Game, a Portal for the Light, and the more that I channel, the more I am seen…on both sides…
I felt the attention shifting towards me. Sending up the Light is like issuing a challenge to the Dark—“Here I am…come and get me…”
My power animals laughed. “Never the easy way with you, Marius…can we kill them with kindness this time?”
I began to come back.…
Dillon opened his eyes. “I felt that one.”
I nodded. “Somebody else might have, too.”
Outside, we both heard car doors slamming shut.
Dillon grinned his crazy grin. “Guess it’s show time?”
“Yep.”
Dillon’s been a warrior for many life times. When it’s time for a fight, he runs to
“This place looks like Baghdad at Christmas,” I said. “Crossed with a Wiccan supply house.”
He laughed. “It works.”
“I appreciate it, Dillon.”
When his eyes lit up and his teeth pulled back, he looked more like a Lycan than a non-transformed Lycan did. “I figure it’s my part in the fight.”
“You’ve earned your place in the Light. And then some, brother.”
“So have you, Marius. So have you. So. What’s the plan?”
“Plan? I don’t need no stinking plan!”
“You’re more Yul Brynner, dude. If I get to play McQueen.”
“I’m part of a plan, but I don’t have a plan.”
“That’s really comforting,” Dillon said. “I’d like to know which way to shoot.”
“I hope we won’t have to shoot at all.”
“There you go,” Dillon said. “Being all hopeful. What’s the fun of being the best back up to the best shaman, excuse me, practitioner if I don’t get to shoot some Dark Warriors once in awhile? And I kinda doubt we’re gonna miss that opportunity, the way things are going.”
Planning has never been my strong suit. I have a Zen-like approach to living; stay in the moment. Shamanic practice reinforces that. Or so I told myself on occasions like this or when rationalizing my expenses in the face of my bill collectors. So the plan, right? They—a series of undead and possessed, remote controlled or outright possessed, hunting me down to do bad things to me ranging from killing me to torching my spiritual essence in some fiery corner of the Dark Realms—they are looking for me, right? So let’s make it easy. Let them come to me instead of spending my meager resources chasing them. Draw them out into the open and while my back up slows them down or takes them out, I search backwards to find the Controller, the one with the capital C.
It’s like doing a demonic depossession. When there’s a true demonic presence, it’s hitched to a controller, a higher level demon, who in turn is hitched to another demon all the way down the line to the biggest baddest demon of all. If you want the Dark Forces out and to keep them out, you must track back to the main entity, and then step aside while the Archangels do the work of taking that demon-boss to the Place of Confinement and the Womb of Transformation.
So I went with my default plan: kick the bad guy’s cart over, set it on fire, and see who comes running.
I gestured Dillon close. We both closed our eyes. I took out my good rattle—a stretched leather ball filled with maize kernels, the handle an old piece of worn birch—and began to rattle gently, setting my intention and calling my power animals closer. The steady rhythmic rattle activated those places in my energy, my spirit, and cleared out all distraction so that I might shift from the Middle World into the Other Realms—
— and I’m on a grassy hillside, looking over a beautifully forested valley, a sinuous river winding its way through, a hawk circling overhead…to my right my White Tiger, to my left my Black Crow…off in the distance I see darkness gathering on the skyline…light stabs down from the sky, a brilliant beam of light that shines on me, to my left and right, above and below, from within, the Light within me like a portal…because that’s what I am in the Great Game, a Portal for the Light, and the more that I channel, the more I am seen…on both sides…
I felt the attention shifting towards me. Sending up the Light is like issuing a challenge to the Dark—“Here I am…come and get me…”
My power animals laughed. “Never the easy way with you, Marius…can we kill them with kindness this time?”
I began to come back.…
Dillon opened his eyes. “I felt that one.”
I nodded. “Somebody else might have, too.”
Outside, we both heard car doors slamming shut.
Dillon grinned his crazy grin. “Guess it’s show time?”
“Yep.”
Dillon’s been a warrior for many life times. When it’s time for a fight, he runs to
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