Borne

Chapter 1

The swamp was alive with sounds at midnight - the drone of insects, the croak of bullfrogs, the eerie cries of birds settling in for the night. Amina Broussard paid them no mind as she slipped through the murky waters, guided by a pull she didn't fully understand.

Ever since her strange dreams had started a month ago, Amina found herself drawn nightly to this spot deep in the Bayou. Each time the visions came, she saw flashes of faces shrouded in mist, heard snippets of whispered conversations in languages she didn't know. And she would wake with a burning need to come here.

Tonight, moonlight glinted off still pools between cypress trees as Amina waded through waist-high water, searching. Her thin cotton nightgown clung to her skin, the humid air thick against her cheeks. But she felt no chill, only an urgency driving her onward through the gloom.

Then she saw it - a faint blue glow emanating from a small island up ahead. Amina swam the last few strokes and climbed onto the muddy bank, breathless. Tall grass and Spanish moss obscured whatever was creating the light.

Parting the vegetation, Amina froze. Three figures stood arranged in a triangle, each holding aloft a glass orb pulsing with an unearthly radiance. Their faces were obscured by long black robes and hoods. As Amina watched, transfixed, they began to chant in low resonating tones.

She caught snatches of the unfamiliar words - words that seemed to vibrate in her bones. The orbs shone brighter, swirling with images too fleeting to make out. Mesmerized, Amina took a step closer, snapping a twig.

The figures went silent. Slowly, they turned as one towards the intruder. Amina stumbled back, heart in her throat, as their cowled heads pivoted unnaturally. Two orb lights flickered out, leaving one pulsing blue that illuminated alabaster skin and eyes as red as fresh blood.

Amina lost her footing and landed hard in the water with a splash. By the time she surfaced, coughing and spluttering, the island was empty. Only drifting will-o-wisps remained where the robed ones had stood.

Shaken, Amina swam back to shore. She hurried home, the visions more vivid and disturbing than ever. What were those robed people in the swamp? Why did seeing them stir such nameless fear?

The next morning, Amina awoke exhausted and troubled. She dragged herself out of bed and downstairs, hoping Aunt Marie had breakfast ready to distract her from the strange dreams. But the house was empty and quiet.

Frowning, Amina checked the kitchen and found a note on the table in her aunt's neat script:

Gone to market. Back this afternoon. Stay safe, chère.

Amina crumpled the paper in frustration. With both her aunt and cousin Corinne away until later, she had too much time alone with her thoughts. She needed answers, and there was only one person who might provide them.

After a quick shower to scrub the swamp's clinging scent from her skin, Amina got dressed and headed into town. The fifteen minute walk through green fields and live oaks brought her to the cluster of shops and homes that made up little Bayou Jean. It was a sleepy Cajun town, unchanged for generations.

Most folks were already out working the docks or tending boats and traps. Only a handful of old timers sat on the porches, keeping an eye out for any trouble while swapping gossip. Amina waved to Old Pierre, who tipped his straw hat in reply, and continued down the sun-dappled lane.

At the edge of town stood a weathered blue house, surrounded by a ragged hedge and drooping camellias. This was where Amina's other aunt, Mamie, had lived alone for as long as anyone could remember. The local kids whispered she was a bruja, a witch, but Amina knew better.

Mamie was a healer and spiritual guide to the community, keeping alive the old ways passed down through their Creole bloodline. If something strange was haunting Amina, her aunt was the one who could shine a light.

Smoke coiled from the chimney as Amina rapped the iron door knocker. After a moment, the door creaked open to reveal Mamie, slight and graying despite her youthful face. Sharp dark eyes studied Amina from beneath woolly brows before she stood aside wordlessly.

"Bonjour, Tante," Amina said, entering the dim parlor. Heavy curtains blocked the morning sun, filling the room with a green-tinged twilight. Jars of herbs and curios covered every surface, emanating a heady perfume.

Mamie gestured for Amina to sit at the scarred wooden table. "You have that look about you, chère. What troubles you?"

Her voice was soft but carried an edge like sharpened steel. Amina swallowed and told her aunt about the dreams, the visions of the swamp, and what she witnessed last night under the moon. Mamie listened without interrupting, expression unreadable.

When Amina finished, Mamie stood and moved to her overflowing bookshelves. "This sounds like the work of ones who walk between the veils. Spirit folk, neither living nor dead."

She selected a thick leather-bound volume and returned to the table, opening it with care. Musty pages covered in strange alphabets and illustrations were revealed. Mamie ran a long nail down columns of text until finding what she sought, then beckoned Amina closer.

"Here. The robed ones match descriptions of les évanouis, ghosts who have not yet crossed over. Sometimes they perform rituals to commune with the other side. But why they appear to you, I do not know."

Mamie gazed at Amina intently, as if seeing her truly for the first time. "You have a gift, like others in our line. It draws spirits near, for good or ill. You must learn control, or risk being used."

Amina frowned. "A gift? I've never been able to do things the way you can." She remembered childhood games where Mamie would divine fortunes with tarot or conjure tricks with herbs and fire. Amina showed no such talents.

"All in good time," Mamie soothed. "Yours is a subtler magic, of the mind. Visions, feelings...these come from the depth of your soul, not surface tricks. With training, you can command what you see and sense from others."

She closed the book with a thump. "But there are predators who would use an untrained gift for their own ends. You must let me teach you, ma petite. To find your true power and keep darkness at bay."

Amina shuddered, thinking of the robed figures and their glowing eyes. "I...I don't know, Tante. It all seems too strange." Yet part of her yearned to understand the pull she felt in the swamp, the pictures that haunted her nights.

Mamie smiled gently. "Take time, and come back when you're ready. The path will be here." She walked with Amina to the door. "Now go - and stay safe in the marshes, chère. Not all spirits are friendly."

Her aunt's dark warnings chased Amina as she hurried home, more unsettled than when she arrived. What gift was Mamie hinting at? And why did those robed ones stalk her dreams? Amina wasn't sure she wanted to know the answers, but some instinct said she had no choice but to face them eventually.

The mysteries were only beginning.