Mercy Thompson 06 - River Marked

time she returns bigger and more dangerous than before. The last time our brother confronted her, he trapped her rather than killing her in the hope that it would be more effective than killing her had proved.” I decided she was Hopi, and as I did so, her features changed just a little until there was no possibility of her being anything else.
    “Who would summon that thing?” I asked.
    The Inuit woman shrugged. “There will always be fools, and the river devil can be persuasive to the minds of men.”
    The sharp-featured woman.
    “Cherokee,” I said, suddenly certain I had it right.
    She smiled a small secret smile, the kind that always makes me want to smack Bran. “If you like.” She tilted her head, and said, “River Devil is Hunger because living between worlds for those without a hold in either is costly. She must consume food for both her aspects: meat for the flesh and for the spirit.”
    The Hopi woman continued, “All life is rife with possibilities. Seeds have possibilities, but all their tomorrows are caught by the patterning of their life cycle. Animals have possibilities that are greater than that of a fir tree or a blade of grass. Still, though, for most animals, the pattern of instinct, the patterns of their lives, are very strong. Humanity has a far greater range of possibilities, especially the very young. Who will children grow up to be? Who will they marry, what will they believe, what will they create? Creation is a very powerful seed of possibility.”
    The Plains woman who was not Lakota, Crow, or Blackfeet said, “River Devil feeds on possibilities.”
    Inuit Woman reached up to place her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “She feeds on the death of those possibilities. For this reason, she must feed upon people rather than animals, animals rather than plants. But best of all, she loves to feed upon children.”
    “She feeds on the end of possibilities,” corrected the Plains woman—Shoshone, I decided. She looked Shoshone to me. She smiled as if she’d heard me think it aloud. It was a big smile, like her brother’s. “The greater the possibilities, the better her hunger is sated. When she is full, she must digest her prey both here in the world of spirits and also there in the world of flesh. While she is doing that, she is vulnerable.”
    “Coyote and his kind—Hawk, Bear, Salmon, Wolf, Thunderbird, and others—they have more possibilities than even a newborn child.” The Cherokee woman turned in a graceful circle as if to encompass all that Coyote and those like him were. “If Coyote can persuade enough of them to allow River Devil to consume them, they may be enough to force the river devil to overeat. And she will be helpless until she digests them all.”
    “While she is helpless, someone needs to kill her.” The Inuit sister looked at me with her big dark eyes, and I knew, with a sinking feeling, who they were talking about.
    “What about Fred or Hank?” I asked. Adam couldn’t do it. His strength might make him a better candidate, but werewolves don’t swim. I wouldn’t risk Adam to the river.
    “They are vulnerable to the river devil’s mark,” she said. Then she paused and addressed my unvoiced thought. “I do not know about the werewolf. Alone, he would be like the others, but his pack might keep him safe . . .”
    “Or she might gain the whole pack.” The Hopi woman shook her head. “No. That would not be wise. Nor is water the werewolf’s element for all that it is an element of change.”
    Shoshone Woman said, “She must die, then. As she eats, she grows in power. If she does not die before she digests such a meal as our brother will provide, she will be much, much more destructive than she is now.”
    “What about an airstrike,” I said. “Or nuclear weapons. I know people who might be able to get the military in on this.” Bran could. He might not be out—but he knew how to get things done when he wanted to.
    Hopi Woman shook her head. “No. Modern weapons will not harm her. Only the most simple thing, a symbol of the earth that opposes her water: a stone knife.”
    “Our time is short now,” Cherokee Woman said. “You must go back.”
    Shoshone Woman touched my cheek. “Tell our brother he is wise, that we have no further words of wisdom to add to his.”
    “He says that you are not speaking to him,” I said.
    She laughed, but it was a sad laugh. “Coyote doesn’t usually lie, but sometimes he forgets. It is he who is angry