The following day dawned just like any other that she had spent in the house, and yet there was something very special about it. Sybil had strange, undefinable feeling that a phase of her life had come to an end; naturally she ascribed this feeling to the forthcoming session with Johnny and the spirits, but at the same time, she realized that an inner change was also taking place. To be sure, she had not forgotten Paul’s tragic demise: the wound was still there. But somehow it didn’t hurt any longer. Somehow she was turning back to life and leaving what occurred in the past where it belonged, behind her.
Promptly at eight the doorbell rang and Johnny arrived. He carried with him a satchel. When he opened it, she noticed a rattle, a bell and what to her appeared to be a fly whisk.
“What are these?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Just implements for the ritual. Symbolic of course, but very necessary. “ He proceeded to place the objects on the cocktail table in front of the fireplace.
“We are going to do it right here,” he said, “and hopefully all will be well after that.”
“What exactly are we going to do, Johnny?” she enquired. Until now he had been quite secretive about the required ritual. All she knew was that it was something that he felt would satisfy the angry spirit of the Indian Chief Rolling Thunder, and thus free the house, its inhabitants, and the land from any further manifestations.
Johnny looked straight at her and his face was very serious. “I think you should understand that what we are trying to do is one of the most difficult magickal operations imaginable. We have, on the one hand, a justifiably angry spirit--justifiably because after I all this is his gravesite, his tribe’s sacred burial ground--and it’s been desecrated. On the other hand, there are ourselves and others who might live on this land, in this house, who have a stake in remaining here peacefully. So there is merit on both sides. I do not intend to drive the spirit from this house or this land as if he were some intruder, which he isn’t. I intend to give him something in return for making peace with us. That is the basic idea behind this particular ritual.
“How do you propose to do this? I am a novice at this sort of thing.”
“I realize that. I will tell you exactly what you must do. But I will explain first.” With that he took Sybil by the hand and gently sat her down on the couch next to him. She liked that somehow; his taking her by hand added reassurance.
“Well now,” he began, “I have done my homework well. I have refreshed my memory concerning ancient Indian tribal traditions and I am happy to report that what I have found will work, at least it will if we do it well.”
“Won’t we?” she said, a tiny bit worried.
He nodded. “Of course we will. That is to say, it depends on you, but I have no doubt that you will cooperate fully once you understand the purpose of what we are doing.”
Sybil’s curiosity was once more aroused. “Please tell me, I’m all ears.”
“Very well,” Johnny continued. “This particular ritual will open the gates to the other side, as it were. We request the presence of the spirit and hopefully he will oblige us.”
“But if he doesn’t what do we do then?”
“We will cross that bridge if we come to it, but given the previous events, I think he will oblige us and will want to make appearance and to communicate. Once we have made contact, we will assure him that this is indeed his and his tribe’s sacred burial ground, his land and not ours. But at the same time we will ask that he allow us to stay here and propose a kind of peace treaty between him and the white man. If he should agree, and I am hopeful that he will, then we must give him something in return. There has to be some sort of sacrifice to please him and to help him maintain face, for to an Indian, whether in flesh or in spirit, honor is very important. You see, he was assigned the task of watching over Don Pedro’s treasure, and now that the treasure is gone he feels ashamed and believes that he has not done his duty by his blood brother. So in order to help him over this situation he has to replace what has been lost.”
“What do you propose to give him instead?” Sybil couldn't think of anything that would be acceptable to the Indian, especially one in the spirit world.
“I am coming to that,” Johnny continued. “There has to be a sacrifice, as I said, and you and I will be able to provide him with what he needs to maintain his honor. In one of the oldest tribal traditions, there is a ritual whereby a peaceful co-existence between the tribe and what is called the outsider, meaning of course the whites or the strangers, is possible, provided the whites, the strangers, will sacrifice one of their own. Since Indian society is essentially a male society, the sacrifice has to be female.”
“What?” Sybil exclaimed. “We have to sacrifice a woman to get peace in this house?”
“Yes and no,” Johnny replied and smiled at her concern. “As it is written in the ancient text, a willing white maiden has to be sacrificed. The word ‘willing’ is very important. This is not a sacrifice where some poor victim is killed against her wishes, of course, but where she is sacrificed with her consent.”
“But that is impossible!” Sybil replied, perturbed. “We are not going to commit murder here!”
“Nobody is speaking of murder,” Johnny reprimanded her and looked straight into her eyes. “Remember, this is a ritual where everything is meant symbolically. A willing white maiden will be sacrificed but there will be no bloodshed. No one will get hurt. If we do this according to ancient traditions, the chief is bound to accept it and peace will result.”
“Frankly, I don’t understand what you are talking about,” Sybil replied, more confused than ever, “but if you say that it can be done symbolically, I’m all for it.”
“Then you are in full agreement with me on this?” he said unnecessarily, it appeared to her.
She nodded. “Of course I am.”
“Very well. Then may I begin?” Without waiting for her reply, he rose and went to the cocktail table in front of the fireplace where he had earlier placed the implements he had brought from the city.
He pushed back a few chairs which stood nearby, creating an open area between the cocktail table and the fireplace. He then took a candle, placed it on the table and lit it. Then he turned back toward Sybil, and said, “I’ll have to change now. Where is your bathroom?”
Puzzled, she directed him down the corridor to one of the bathrooms. What was he about to do, she wondered?
He emerged several moments later wearing a pair of long leather pants, a heavy belt, and Indian jewelry around his neck, and a headband with his hair flowing back from his head. Truly, she thought, he looks like Indian now! Still trying to get used to this transformation, she stayed where she was while Johnny moved to stand in front of the cocktail table, which she realized now was serving as an altar. He raised his arms above his head, took a deep breath, and began.
“Manitou, Manitou, in the name of the Supreme Being Manitou, I open this gate so that those on the other side may come and speak to me. I am Tall Oak, son of the tribe of Cherokee, ancient Shaman and hereditary priest. I, Tall Oak, request the presence in this circle of the great chief Rolling Thunder so that we may have a palaver.”
Johnny then put his arms down and took the fly whisk, faced in the four directions of the compass, then ritually dusted the cocktail table-altar and placed the whisk back on it. Now Johnny took up a little drum which he began to beat.
The rhythm of the drum was hardly audible but in some way affected Sybil. She felt herself swaying with it, becoming one with the proceedings. At this very moment Johnny turned back toward her and waved her to come and join him. Feeling strange, Sybil stepped forward and stood beside him in front of the altar.
Once again Johnny spoke. Raising his right arm in a salute to the unseen spirit he said, “It is I, Tall Oak, who requests the honor of palaver with the great spirit Rolling Thunder so that ancient wrongs may be righted. Come forward, great spirit. Do me the honor of palavering with me. I am Tall Oak of the Cherokee, Shaman, and hereditary priest. I beg thee, great chief, to do me the honor.”
Once again there was a moment of silence. Sybil felt herself totally engulfed by the atmosphere of the ritual. Johnny had put the drum down again and stood staring toward the fireplace, his body taut and intent. She could see every muscle on his chest and noticed that his face was curiously tight, as it gradually took on more and more the expression of an Indian. What was going on, she wondered? But she decided not to try to analyze what was happening now, but to go with it, no matter where it might lead.
Just as she was wondering whether anything would happen other than the strange feeling that was pervading her, she noticed a flickering light coming from the direction of the ceiling and dancing about the fireplace, as if in search of something or someone. A moment later the light moved directly toward where they were standing. Frightened, she raised her arm and covered her eyes in an instinctive motion to protect herself. But the light was not headed for her, it came directly to Johnny and then vanished into Johnny’s head!
“My God,” she thought, “I hope he is not hurt!” Suddenly a great concern for his welfare arose in her. She looked at Johnny now and realized that a transformation had taken place, so rapidly that she had not even noticed it. What stood before her was another person in Johnny’s body! For a moment Johnny’s lips moved silently as if the entity now dominating him was trying to get his bearings. And then a voice came from Johnny’s lips, totally unlike his own.
“It is I, Rolling Thunder,” the voice said, as Johnny’s eyes flickered, giving him the appearance of someone being used by an exterior force. “What do you want of me?”
Suddenly Sybil realized that with Johnny in a trance, having become the spokesman for the Indian chief, there was no one else to conduct the ritual but herself. Panic pervaded her, but instantly she caught herself and forced it down.
“It is Tall Oak of the Cherokee, hereditary shaman of the tribe, and I, Sybil, who request the honor of palavering with thee,” remembering what Johnny had said. Apparently she had hit it right.
“I will palaver,” the voice of the Chief said through Johnny.
“We are willing to recognize your rights to this land, the sacred burial ground, your gravesite, in return for giving us peace,” Sybil said.
But the voice became angry. “No peace with white man! No one shall live on this ground. No blade of grass shall ever grow again. This is our land, our sacred burial ground.”
“We are willing to give sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice?”
“Sacrifice,” Sybil continued. She heard herself saying, very much to her surprise, “We will sacrifice a willing white maiden, in the ancient ways, if you will conclude a peace treaty with us.”
“You will bring back the honor of my grave?” the voice said. “You will give my bones eternal rest in the Happy Hunting Grounds?”
“I will, I will,” Sybil replied, not knowing what to say next.
“It shall be so. In the name of Manitou there shall be peace between my people and your people. But if you do not give sacrifice, there shall be eternal war between us until no one survives on this sacred land; no white man shall live here, and all those who try shall perish by my anger, for I am Rolling Thunder and this is my land. So must it be.”
Suddenly Johnny’s face returned to normal. His head went down to his chest, as if awakening from a deep sleep. Close to him stood Sybil very much excited, and not knowing what to do next.
“He has come through you. He had entranced you!” she cried.
But Johnny already knew. He nodded. “That was a possibility, since I am a deep trance medium as well. But now there is work to be done.”
As if nothing had happened, he turned around and faced the fireplace once again, raised his arms and spoke.
“I call upon thee, Chief Rolling Thunder, to conclude forever a peace between you and your people and me and my people and my white friends, that this land may no longer bear your curse. To conclude this peace treaty between us we offer the sacrifice of a willing white maiden as it has been done in the old days. Give us the sign of your willingness to accept the sacrifice, and we shall proceed to do so.”
Johnny stepped back, lowered his arms, and stood rigidly facing the fireplace. Sybil, transfixed, watched in awe as a flame suddenly rose in the fireplace where no flame had been lit! Johnny, of course, realized what the flame was.
“I thank thee, Chief. I thank thee and may peace be between you and your people and my people and my white friends in this house in this land. In the name of Great Manitou I will offer you the promised sacrifice, the willing white maiden selected for you and your tribe so that there may be peace between us.
While he was speaking Sybil felt strange all over. It was as if she too were entranced. At this moment Johnny turned toward her and extended his hand to her. Obediently she went over to where he was and stood facing him.
“What now?” she said hesitatingly.
“It is time to implement the bond between Rolling Thunder and us,” he said solemnly. “You said you would help cement that bond and the time is now.”
“Yes, I am willing to help you. But what am I to do?”
“You are the willing white maiden who will be sacrificed, you understand that?” he said and immediately held up his hand. “But don't worry, we are not about to kill you. What will happen now is far more pleasant, I hope. You see, my being part Indian--actually, two of my grandparents were full-blooded Indians--makes me eligible to perform this rite. Besides, I am hereditary shaman, an office that has come down to me through my grandparents. What I do is meaningful and more than symbolic; it is likely to be satisfactory to the other side. I therefore asked once again that Rolling Thunder accept your sacrifice as a willing white maiden, and that there be peace among us forever on this land.”
Sybil felt a glow of excitement, and yet she could not move even a finger. It was as if she were enveloped by an unseen force that felt both electric and warming. The force made her tingle but, at the same time, it was frightening. Johnny stepped over to her and with quick, deliberate movements, stripped off her dress and undergarments while she stood motionless. With another quick movement, he removed his pants and stood there naked before her.
Then his strong arms went around her. As he embraced her, she suddenly remembered her psychic experience of before: the arms she felt now in the flesh were the arms she had felt clairvoyantly before, and she realized at that moment that what was happening now was indeed part of her destiny, part of her future.
Gently, Johnny lifted her up in his arms and placed her on the carpet between the makeshift altar and the fireplace. He then proceeded to make love to her. At first she responded hesitantly, but then with mounting passion as she realized that she was not only a willing victim for Rolling Thunder, but a woman falling in love with a man.