Untamed

I could see her now and let her hug me and tell me that everything would be okay, just like she used to do when I was little and I stayed with her after my mom married the step-loser and turned into an ultra-religious version of a Stepford Wife.
    But I wasn't little anymore, and Grandma couldn't hug my problems away. I was becoming a High Priestess, and people depended on me. Nyx had chosen me, and I had to learn to be strong.
    "Honey? What is it? What has happened?"
    "It's okay, Grandma; I'm okay," I assured her quickly, hating to hear the worry in her voice. "It's just that Aphrodite has had another vision, and it has something to do with you."
    "Am I in danger again?"
    I couldn't help smiling. She'd sounded worried and upset when she thought something might be wrong with me, but when it was just herself that might be in danger, then she sounded all tough and ready to take on the world. I really heart my grandma!
    "No, I don't think so," I said.
    "I don't either," Aphrodite added.
    "Aphrodite says you're not in danger. At least not at this instant."
    "Well, that's good," Grandma said, sounding very matter-of-fact.
    "That's definitely good. But, Grandma, the thing is we really don't understand what Aphrodite's vision was about this time. There's usually a big warning that's clear. This time all she saw was you holding a piece of paper with a poem on it, and she felt like she had to copy the poem." I didn't mention the part about her copying it in Grandma's own handwriting. That felt like adding super weird to already majorly weird. "So she did, but it doesn't make sense or mean anything to either one of us."
    "Well, perhaps you should read the poem to me. Maybe I'll recognize it."
    "Yeah, that's what we thought, too. Okay, here goes." Sightlessly Aphrodite held up the sheet of paper with the poem on it. I took it from her and started to read:
    Ancient one sleeping, waiting to arise
When earth's power bleeds sacred red
The mark strikes true; Queen Tsi Sgili will devise
    Here Grandma stopped me. "It is pronounced t-si s-gi-li, " she said, with special emphasis on the last word. Her voice sounded strained and she spoke almost in a whisper.
    "Are you okay, Grandma?"
    "Go on reading, u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya, " she commanded, sounding more like herself. I kept reading, repeating the last line with the right pronunciation:
    The mark strikes true; Queen Tsi Sgili will devise
He shall be washed from his entombing bed

    Through the hand of the dead he is free
Terrible beauty, monstrous sight
Ruled again they shall be
Women shall kneel to his dark might

    Kalona's song sounds sweet
As we slaughter with cold heat
    Grandma gasped and cried, "O Great Spirit protect us!"
    "Grandma! What is it?"
    "First the Tsi Sgili and then Kalona. This is bad, Zoey. This is very, very bad."
    The fear in her voice was totally freaking me out. "What's a Tsi Sgili and a Kalona? Why is it so bad?"
    "Does she know the poem?" Aphrodite asked, sitting up and taking the washcloth off her face. I noticed her eyes were starting to look more normal and her face had gotten some of its color back.
    "Grandma, do you care if I put you on speaker phone?"
    "No, of course not, Zoeybird."
    I pressed the speaker button and went over to sit on the bed beside Aphrodite. "Okay, you're on speaker now, Grandma. It's just me and Aphrodite here."
    "Aphrodite and me," she automatically corrected me.
    I rolled my eyes at Aphrodite. "Sorry, Grandma, Aphrodite and me."
    "Mrs. Redbird, do you recognize the poem?" Aphrodite asked.
    "Sweetheart, call me Grandma. And, no, I don't recognize it, as in having read it before. But I've heard of it, or at least I've heard of the myth, passed down from generation to generation in my people."
    "Why did you freak out about the Tsi Sgili and the Kalona part?" I asked.
    "They are Cherokee demons. Dark spirits of the worst type." Grandma hesitated, and I could hear her rustling around with something in the background. "Zoey, I'm going to light the smudge pot before we speak any more of these creatures. I'm using sage and lavender. I'll be fanning the smoke with a dove's feather while we talk. Zoeybird, I suggest you do the same."
    I felt an awful jolt of surprise. Smudging had been used for hundreds of years in Cherokee rituals—especially when cleansing, purifying, or protection was needed. Grandma smudged and cleansed herself regularly—I'd grown up believing it was just a way of honoring the Great Spirit and of keeping my own spirit