Chapter Text
Prologue
It was a half a day’s walk from the Dawn shore, but that was enough. The depths of the storm were still a little way’s off, but a female rain had just begun to fall, coming faster than the children of the village could run inside. Ningaabii'an was pacing outside of the women’s lodge. It wasn’t their place to help with the birth, not unless things went wrong. Ningaabii'an had helped a few babies pass on their journey into the next world. It was their least favorite job as an ajikwa, but still an important one.
A midwife exited the lodge with a very still bundle in their arms. There was only one puff of steam from the midwife, none from the bundle. Ningaabii'an took a deep breath to try and fight the dread creeping into their chest. Ningaabii'an couldn’t let their duties lapse, as a husband or as an ajikwa. They reached out their arms for the baby. The midwife handed the bundle over. “This one is in your domain now.” The midwife turned quickly back to the lodge.
Ningaabii'an’s arms tightened around their perfect little daughter as they turned to face West, the direction of the next world.
Ningaabii'an took hold of one of the bigger gourds on rope that were wrapped around their waist. Zaagidwin would give them the strength to save their little daughter. They swung Zaagidwin in a circle in the air and were rewarded with a deep, steady, comforting note.
Ningaabii'an needed to bring their baby back to the world of the living, to see them breathing, to feel their heartbeat, to name them and wash them in the ocean. They closed their eyes to the deep thrumming of the gourd and opened their eyes to a cold gray version of the world, and the sound of their daughter crying with strong lungs.
“There you are.” The baby was still so close to the land of the living, they were a bright fire so full of energy and life. Ningaabii'an followed the sound of their cries toward the river. The edges were decorated in ice, while the middle was a deep black, too dark to hold color.
There was a peal of thunder and a moment later a flash of lightning. In the sudden light, Ningaabii'an saw their daughter at the base of a black willow. Its roots were tangled in the river bank, keeping the river somewhat steady. As steady as a river bank could be. In the tree was billowing white smoke - it couldn’t touch the baby, not while they were holding onto life so long. They burned with their desire to live, and touching them would be impossible for any denizen of the next world.
It could, however, cling to the cloth that had been wrapped around the baby.
Ningaabii'an advanced at a cautious pace that felt too slow. The smoke shivered and started to solidify, it took Ningaabii'an’s vision of it, it took his memories and his thoughts and wrapped them around itself to give itself shape. Soon the apparition was a pale woman, their silver white hair blew and snow started to fall instead of rain.
Slowly, Ningaabii'an reached for the smallest gourd from their bandolier. Before they could untie the leather that held the gourd in place, the apparition spoke.
“Spirit of your spirit, Lahontan. You cannot spell me as I hold the babe. Surely, I taught you better. Shall I not do my duty and name this new member of your family?”
Ningaabii'an had to lean forward to hear the soft snowfall voice of the creature, the sound of it sent a shiver up their spine and brought the ice closer to their veins. “Ninga,” they greeted it. “You are closer to the world of the living. Who was fool enough to help you?
The pale woman smiled and Ningaabii'an could see the burning frost star that burned behind its eyes and tucked in the corners of its mouth.
“It does not matter. You are here to help me now, Ningozis.”
“I, who washed your body in salt and saw your soul to the other side of the sunset?”
“Of course, dear one, who else?” Its smile did not fade. “Especially if you want your daughter to see their first sunrise.” The knuckles of the hand clutching the swaddling cloth turned white and pulled back as if getting ready to throw the baby in the river.
The babe reached up, still crying loudly, and seemed to gather up the smoke and billow that made up the creature. It cried out, and more smoke started to pour out of it, as if the touch of the babe burned it. It had to throw the babe away from it, it couldn’t hold them more than a man could hold an ember.
The baby landed in the water, wailing still. Ningaabii'an wasted no time splashing into the river and breaking through the ice on the bank. They snatched up the babe and were surprised by how very warm they still were.
Ningaabii'an fled toward the East, of sunrise and life and the direction of the river’s flow. With their index finger and thumb they untied the bow that kept Dbaadendiziwin in place, and with the other three fingers they held onto the chord that would allow them to swing the gourd.
They swung it over their head - the pitching cry of the gourd was like a muffled wolf cry. But it did its job. The pale woman turned more smoke than body and started to dissipate. “I. Will. Not. Sleep. Forever.” The words rang out louder than when it had a mouth to speak with.
Ningaabii'an blinked and it felt like their eyes were icing over. The pins and needles in their feet kept them awake. The crying of their daughter kept them awake. The warm bulk of them made them feel too comfortable. They stopped ringing the gourd of sleep and focused on wakefulness, life, East.
The color returned to the world and the sharpness of sound returned to Ningaabii'an’s ears. The peals of their daughter’s cries were beautiful, and slowing. Their big baby eyes blinked and closed. The slow steam of their breath let Ningaabii'an know they were falling asleep. So soon after their first successful ghost hunt.
They looked into the peaceful face of their daughter and smiled at them. How wonderful, how dangerous, to have such a strong child? “Oh my little tired one…” At least this would give them a good name. And Ningaabii'an could always change it if it didn’t suit their daughter.
The brief crying had brought one of the midwives back out of the lodge. They looked on with confusion, surprise, and awe - as Ningaabii'an brushed the frost from their face and held the swaddled baby back out. “Please take them back to their mother,” said Ningaabii'an.
The midwife nodded and took the warm bundle. “The other one has bright eyes and loud lungs. Congratulations on two healthy babies.”
“... twins?”
The midwife nodded again. “Twice blessed,” they said with a smile before starting back to the lodge.
“Twice haunted.” Ningaabii'an murmured to themself and rubbed their face before starting back to the wigwam they shared with their wife. Their lives had suddenly become far more complex. Lahontan could handle raising one ghost talker, but two had the possibility of overwhelming them. Their blood would call to ghosts and spirits and monsters. It would be a hard thing to know peace again.
There were few options: Ningaabii'an could fight three times as hard as they had for their own life, they could be constantly on the move so that the ghosts never caught up to them, or they could separate the twins.
Depending on how strong their children were, maybe all three.