Page 26 of Masked Intentions in Pelican Point
"Maybe," Nolan agrees, opening the pouch. "But thin blood can still remember what needs to be done."
He begins to chant in a language I've never heard him speak, his voice taking on harmonics that seem to resonate with the stone walls themselves. The tobacco and ash form patterns in the air as he scatters them, creating barriers that glow faintly in the candlelight.
The possessed Dreschner snarls and lunges forward, but stops abruptly when he hits the spiritual boundary Nolan has created. Where his skin touches the glowing ash, steam rises and he jerks back with a sound like metal striking stone.
"Impostor," the spirits rage. "You have no right to the ancient protections."
"I have the right of blood and training," Nolan replies calmly, continuing his chant. "And I have something you've forgotten in your centuries of hunger—I remember why the guardians were bound in the first place."
He pulls out a second pouch, this one containing what looks like crushed shells and dried seaweed."To protect the people. To serve the community. To stand between the living and the things that refuse to rest."
The shells form a second circle, overlapping the first, and the temperature in the chamber begins to rise. The frost on the walls starts melting, sending rivulets of water across the Calusa symbols Dreschner carved into the stone.
"You were never meant to rule," Nolan continues, his voice gaining power with each word. "You were meant to guard. But you've been alone so long, you've forgotten the difference between protection and predation."
The thing wearing Dreschner's face writhes, and for a moment, I see multiple figures superimposed over his body—painted warriors, elderly shamans, faces that belonged to a civilization that died before my ancestors ever saw the New World.
"We hunger," they say in unison. "We thirst. The living world calls to us."
"Then answer properly," Nolan says. He gestures to me. "Through chosen guardians. Through willing vessels who understand the responsibility."
I feel the weight of his words, the invitation implicit in his ritual. I can sense the spirits' attention turning to me, measuring my resolve, testing my willingness to stand between the worlds of the living and the dead.
"What do you need me to do?" I ask.
"Accept the trust," Nolan replies. "Become what your bloodline was meant to be."
The possessed Dreschner laughs, a sound like breaking waves."She has no training. No understanding. She will be consumed as this one was."
"No," I say firmly. "Because I'm not alone."
I step forward, crossing Nolan's protective circles, and place my hand on the mask that has become part of Dreschner's face. The gold is burning cold, but I don't pull back.
"I accept the guardianship," I say clearly. "I accept the responsibility. But I also accept the partnership."
The connection hits me like lightning, but this time I'm ready for it. Instead of being overwhelmed by the spirits' hunger, I feel Nolan's strength flowing through the ritual bonds he's created, anchoring me, keeping me grounded in my own identity whilst I negotiate with the ancient dead.
"You offer willing service?"The lead spirit's voice is different now, older, carrying the weight of genuine authority rather than desperate hunger.
"I offer partnership," I correct. "Service to a purpose we both understand. Protection of the innocent. Guardianship of sacred trusts. But on equal terms."
"And when you die? When your mortal flesh fails? Who will carry on?"
I look at Nolan, seeing in his eyes the same understanding that's growing in my own heart. "The children we train. The traditions we preserve. The communities we serve."
The spirits are quiet for a long moment, and I can feel them consulting with each other, weighing my offer against centuries of isolation and hunger. Finally, the eldest voice speaks again.
"We accept. But the vessel that called us—he sought power for selfish ends. His fate is sealed."
"Dreschner broke laws in both your world and mine," I agree. "Justice will be done."
The mask begins to separate from Dreschner's face, the gold flowing like liquid back into its original form. As it pulls away, Dreschner collapses, unconscious but breathing, the spiritual presence that rode him departing like smoke in the wind.
Nolan completes his chant, and the glowing circles fade. The chamber returns to normal temperature, the supernatural tension draining away like water finding its level.
I hold the mask, feeling its weight—not just physical, but spiritual. I can sense the warriors still bound within it, but their hunger is replaced by purpose, their rage transformed into protective vigilance.
"So what happens now?" I ask.
