Ch. 1

It happened again.

I jolted awake, flinging the covers from my body, sweat dripping down my face.

Another memory from before. And this time I got to touch him. I saved him from drowning. He looked so scared and innocent, but he was alive in my arms. I wondered if next time I’d get to talk to him.

Realizing that sleep would not come back anytime soon, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and immediately landed in water.

“Shit shit shit! Dammit!” I threw her my hands up in the air. I thought I had finally mastered this before I left home. No, I needed to calm down and think. I had maybe minutes before my roommate came back and I’d have to make an excuse for all the water flooding our room.

It had been a month since I was driven up north with my father, brother, and ex-mother (another story for another time) to this prestigious private school. My father, Nolan Greyeyes, the orator of our tribe, had seen a vision of a powerful being coming for me. Hence why I was sent to this boarding school, where the fog would cloak my powers and keep me safe and hidden from this enemy.

Now here I was, standing in a pool of the aftermath of my dreams from a past life while trying to figure out how to get rid of the water.

“Concentrate.” I could hear my father telling me.

“I am,” I ground out. I had been concentrating for over an hour and the water had gone nowhere.

We were back on the ranch, standing in my bedroom at home, and he was coaching me through this.      

“Feel your spirit flow within you, the way water flows down a stream. Don’t try to force it. Feel the energy move through you and let it go. The rest will work itself out.”

“Easy for you to say. Your bedroom isn’t flooding every morning because of visions of a past life.” ,” I complained.

“No, it isn’t. But that’s because I know who I am and who I was, and I have control of my powers. Now, take a deep breath and imagine the water evaporating before you,” he instructed.

I did as I was told. I inhaled slowly and exhaled even slower. I repeated the motion again, feeling the warm rays of the sun coming through the window, heating up this four walled space. I breathed one more time, summoning the sun to shine brighter, to make the room hotter, envisioning the water forming from liquid to gas until it was all gone. I could feel the steam fizzing over my skin, hear the hiss of the water evaporating. When I opened my eyes, there was no more water.        

I just needed to do that here in my dorm room.

I closed my eyes and raised my hands out in front of me. There was no sun here in this cold, wooded, dreary place but I could imagine what one felt like. Instantly, I could feel the room getting warmer, hear the hiss of the water evaporating. Just a few more minutes and all the water would be gone.

Suddenly, the pounding of feet came hurtling towards my location. It might be my roommate, it might not, but I didn’t want to risk finding out.

Panic began to course through my whole being. I tried to remember the breathing exercises Dad taught me, but I was having a hard time concentrating. What if I were discovered? Would I have to relocate to another school? Would the Shaman be able to come in time to erase her my memory?

I didn’t have time to overthink this. I needed to trust myself and hope my powers wouldn’t make things any worse.

I took a deep breath and centered myself. I held my hands out in front of me again, feeling the spiritual energy all around. It was faint, but I could tell it was there.

The air stilled and the water began to pull towards me. I stood a foot taller than I had before, hair falling down past my lower back, skin richer and darker clay, the world bluer and brighter than it had been before. And I bet if I looked in a mirror, I’d see one iris silver (on the right) and the other iris blue (on the left).

This was Pamuya, the spirit I once was in a past life. Before I could even walk, Dad has had told me the tale of Pamuya. The condensed version was that she fell in love with a human and was banished from the heavens. The long version was much more complicated. No matter which version he told, they both ended the same. She died and her soul longed to see the human again, that she reincarnated. At least, that’s what Dad always told me.

I crouched down low, running my fingers through the surface, feeling the movement of the water. I closed my eyes, channeling Pamuya before flashing them open. The water sprang through the air, splashing against all four corners of the room. Rising up, I held my palm out and collected the water into a swirling sphere in front of me. Shrinking my palm into a fist, the ball grew smaller and smaller, until there was nothing left.

Luckily, the footsteps had dissipated, and I heaved a sigh of relief. I took another deep breath before my body returned to its normal height, my hair shortened, my skin lightened to its original copper hue, and the world around me dimmed into its normal dinginess, my eyes returning to their amber irises. I was me again. 

Although not for long. This school required you to wear a uniform, which had never been my style. Dressing in matching outfits with another human being, where was the individuality? However, if I was honest with myself, that’s exactly what I needed. A way to be just like everyone else. If only this thing were magic.

I went to my closet and pulled out my school uniform, a burgundy blazer with the school emblem on the right breast pocket, a grey pleated skirt, and a crisp white button-down shirt. I hated it. But when in Rome, right?

School hadn’t started just yet. That was next week. This week, and all the previous ones before it were all orientation. Most schools gave it a week for orientation, but here at Parkwood Preparatory Academy or PPA for short, it was a month long. There were tons of seminars you had to take to acclimate you to the school. And lucky me, today I’ll I’d have the opportunity to learn all about the libraries here on campus.

After a quick shower and a botched braiding of my hair, I pulled on my skirt and shirt, placing my phone in the skirt pocket. I opted for just socks and tennis shoes instead of the stockings and loafers, completely forgoing the jacket. I could leave the full-on preppy-ness for when classes start.

The seminar was boring, but I had to admit, it was quite informative. For starters, I had to have a Star Card, which was basically my regular library card with a star on it, if I wanted to access the archives. I needed access to the archives because it was the only place that had a Native American section. I thought there would be such a section in the main library, however, I was informed that the main library only housed essential materials. I guessed it was all in how one defined essential. Yet if I ever hoped to get a handle on my powers, I would need to learn all I could about Pamuya, spirits and reincarnation.

The archives were in the basement of the main library. The main library was a combination of an old, brick building and what appeared from the outside to be an office space. Apparently, there had been renovations and add-ons to the library in recent years because when I stepped inside, the floor was carpeted in what appeared to be velvet, the desks gleamed with wood polish, and there was A/C. Most importantly, there was no dusty, mold smell. While the structure still held the remnants of that historic brick, with colonial beams and windows, the inside was sleek and modern with just a hint of studiousness.

I went to the circulation desk and asked for the Native American section. The pencil thin woman, with the wiry framed glasses and slicked back grey hair, typed her crypt crypt-like fingers on the shiny, silvery keyboard and pointed me in the direction of section F, shelf 4.     

“It should be somewhere around there,” she said in a gravelly voice.

“Thank you.” I smiled and scurried away. Yeesh, she gave me the creeps.

I walked down the main hall and headed towards the elevators. Once inside, I pressed G for ground and waited as I descended. The main floor was actually on the 2nd floor, because the screen at the top went from a 2 to a 1 before it reached the ground.

The elevator stopped, the doors swooshing open to reveal a dimly lit, literary dungeon. The shelves were old, made of metal and the color of swamp green, the kind you see in offices, or like giant library carts. There were isosceles triangles on either ends, with a few scattered throughout each row and the shelves went on for miles and miles. And the books looked ancient too, one touch away from turning into dust in my hands. I’d have to handle these with care.

I glanced at the paper taped onto the end of the shelf and figured section F would be on the left, since I came in the middle of the alphabet at section M, and section N was to my right. Once I found my section and my shelf, I scanned some of the titles.

“Spirits and Spirituality and Other Native Beliefs,” I read aloud. No, that wasn’t it. I already knew my own people’s beliefs.

“Understanding the Spirits: A Guide To Native American Spirituality.” Nope, not that either.

“The Encyclopedia to Native American Spirituality.” Not that either. Where were the books on the legends or myths? I knew what we believed but I didn’t understand the stories. I didn’t know enough about them to understand.

Maybe the archives weren’t the right place to be looking. Maybe I should have tried the History sections upstairs.

Just as I was about to leave, a loud bang resounded throughout the basement. I nearly leaped out of my skin. I turned to see who or what could have made that noise, but I didn’t see anyone or a fallen book. I made my way to the end of an aisle and poked my head out. Nothing there either.   

I went back to my spot to look some more when I saw something laying in the middle of the aisle. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a leather-bound journal. I picked it up and opened the cover. Whatever was written there had been crossed out, so I couldn’t see who it belonged to. I flipped to the next page and there was a date written at the top of the page.

May 10, 1507.

Immediately I found myself standing in the clearing of a forest, with that boy from my dream staring back at me. The boy looked older than he had before, taller and dare a I say much more handsome than I remembered. He was dressed in all black, his top resembling a tunic, the sleeves puffy and the collar and cuffs slightly ruffled. He reached out to me and I reached out to him and just like that I was back in the library.

I dropped the journal like a hot potato and scampered backwards, throwing my arms around me trying to protect myself.

I shook my head. What had made me think of that? Sure I had been having dreams of that boy for as long as I could remember. But this time, everything seemed sharper to me now than it ever had before. It was like I was actually there instead of imagining it. Was this his journal? And if so, who left it here?

Slowly, I inched my way back over to it and touched it with the tip of my finger. Nothing. I added another finger, then another, until finally I had my whole hand wrapped around its spine. I waited but nothing happened. Gently, I picked it up and resumed where I left off.

It had been a month since my . . . what should I call it . . . resurrection. For surely, I had died that day. I felt the cold depths of the sea cling to my bones, stilling my breath forever. Then suddenly, life filled my lungs again and I had breathed as though I had never breathed before.

And there she was, my angel. She was radiant. Her warm, loving face, her gentle touch, her smooth, silky voice, they were heaven. Maybe that’s why I thought I had died. For she was too . . . unreal to be from this world.

When the Captain of the ship asked me what happened, I told him a miracle. Everyone believed it to be my near-death experience, but I know the truth. Even if she seemed unreal, what I felt wasn’t. I had touched her face, kissed those lips, breathed her breath. She was real. My Pamuya.

Oh, what a beautiful name. But I’d expect nothing less from such a beautiful creature. How I longed to see her again.

Soon I got my wish. On a night where the moon shone brightest in the sky, I ventured out into the night and found myself lost. I didn’t know what made me leave the safety of the camp. It felt as though something, or someone were calling to me and I had to find out what. As I began to retrace my steps, a wave of light washed over me, blinding me with an empty whiteness.

When it disappeared, there she stood, my angel. Her heavenly voice called to me, and I answered, feet moving on their own accord closing the gap between us. I reached out towards her, and she reached for me. Our fingers inches apart, tips brushing ever so slightly, before the whiteness overtook us and she was gone.

That was it. I flipped the page over and saw another date and another entry. Pamuya had come back, but their visit was cut short. Surely, she wouldn’t have come all the way not to even get the chance to touch him. Something wasn’t right.

I glimpsed back at the shelves then at the journal again. Maybe there was something here that could help me. From what Dad told me, spirits came to the human world either to protect or destroy. Judging from this passage, Pamuya didn’t come for either. Were there other reasons a spirit could come to earth? If so, what? Although, seeing as they may have been interrupted, maybe she wasn’t supposed to see him again and she was found out? So many questions.

I walked along the rows of books again. I stopped when I saw Understanding The Spirits. There was so much about Pamuya I didn’t understand. I needed answers.

I placed the journal in my backpack before removing the book from the shelf. I made my way back to the elevator and pressed 2. I ascended back up and came out on the main floor. I walked to the circulation desk and checked out the book.

Outside, I pulled my phone from my skirt pocket and dialed home. It rang twice before a soft, smokey voice answered, “Well if it isn’t my favorite girl.”

I could feel the tears begin to wail up in my eyes. I knew I’d miss him while I was gone, but I never imagined this much. Nolan Greyeyes was the kind of father that was always around, and you wanted to be around him. He could be silly at times yet firm when he needed to be, but most importantly, he was always there.

And now, being at this prep school so far away from home, he felt light years away from me. I wondered if he felt the same.

“Hi Daddy. I miss you,” I blurted out.

“I miss you too, my little princess.”

Dad had been calling me his little princess since forever. He told me that because Pamuya was the spirit king’s daughter, that made her a princess. And since I was her reincarnation, that made me one too.

But I needed him to tell me the story one more time. And this time, not leave anything out. I needed him to give me every finite and raw detail. I didn’t want the romanticized, watered-down version. I needed to know everything.

“I imagine you didn’t call just to tell me you missed me?” He broke through my reverie.

My father wasn’t usually this direct so quickly. I must have been quiet for too long and he mistook my silence as seriousness. Which he wasn’t wrong but still, I figured we’d shoot the breeze for a minute. No time like the present I guessed.

“Dad, I need you to tell me the story of Pamuya, one more time.”