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dochermes"Above the Clouds, the Eagle Star Is Rising"
3/29-3/30/1921
I.
Wrapped in a heavy blanket woven with the emblems of forgotten gods, the old man sat cross-legged on the ground in front of his shack. Dusk gathered. As he watched, a tiny blue point of light cleared the mountains to the West and shone clear in a hazy sky. There it was as it had shone since the first days, the Eagle Star.
In the gloom, his long straight hair hung down over his shoulders like silver poured from a jar. Eli Marcus smiled at the star that had long been his namesake. Wrinkled and leathery and brown from a life spent under the Sun and out in storms, Marcus had lately spent more time wandering back in memory than looking ahead. Everyone was gone that he had known. His father and mother, both of his sisters, all who had claimed the Miskapowa as their clan, all were gone. So was the white family who had given him work, taught him his letters and given him the name he signed. His thoughts lingered most on his best friend and worst rival, the gunman who had climbed up from the caverns of Death itself to stride the wild frontier. The Spirit Walker, dead permanently these nine long years.
The tiny one-room shack behind him was the only man-made structure on this side of the mountain but he knew that solitude could not last much longer. Every day, the town of Restitution added a new family, another house was constructed and more of the wilderness was pushed away. Marcus sat up straighter at the muffled clomp coming up the path to his left. Even now, he was having visitors.
"Hallo thar!" called a man's voice. "Eli Marcus, it's only us, the Barclay brothers. Don't want to alarm you."
"Forgive me if I do not rise," Marcus replied. "Seat yourselves, Matthew and Duncan, and be welcome."
Bringing their horses to a halt twenty feet away, two men dismounted with the careless ease of youth. "I declare that trail up here is growing steeper all the time. How is that possible?"
"Soon it will be a paved road," Marcus said. "And men will ride in automobiles up here but they will not see the stars because of the clouds of smoke they bring with them."
"Wouldn't surprise me none," Matthew Barclay laughed, "But for now at least hosses are the best way to negotiate that climb."
As the two men from town settled themselves in front of him, Marcus gestured at the cold circle of stones in front of him. "I have not built a fire, you can see. So I regret I can offer you neither coffee nor tea as a host should. I do not ask for company."
"Your hospitality has always been above criticism," Duncan responded. Clean-shaven, wearing a round-topped derby and long coat, he had swung his head around to study the sky. "Thar it is, right above the tallest peak. The Eagle Star."
"We called it Pelahavi," the old man said. "I have been told that the moment I was born, Pelahavi blazed up bright as the full moon for a heartbeat. That was so long ago it seems like a fading dream."
The older and heavier of the two brothers, Matthew had taken off his broad-brimmed floppy hat and held it in front of him. "Marcus, I do admit we have not come here to enjoy your stories about the old days or for you to laugh at our rough jokes. The town has sent us. Everyone turns to you now."
Marcus bent his white-haired head and stared down at the ground in front of him. "Another death."
"You knew? How?"
"It is in the air, like the sting in the nostrils from a wood fire or the echo of a branch breaking off from the weight of ice in the winter. I can tell. Three men have gone from this world in three months. Tell me what is known."
"Marcus, I mean no disrepect, you know that," Matthew said. "But if you feel you have done enough in your life and don't wanna be burdened with our troubles, that's awright..."
A gnarled hand raised to wave in dismissal. "This is my land no longer. That struggle has been lost and soon the red man will be only a memory you sometimes recall. The day will come when even that will fade and it will be as if my race had never drawn breath at all. The world will be a colder and sadder place."
"I ain't disputing what you say, sir. It's a great wrong you been handed but it can't be undone. Are you still the Eagle Star, Marcus?"
"I am! And I should temper my words with you boys. You did not ask to be born in these hills. Before you could walk and speak, your people had already take this land for their own and I should not hold that against you. Tell me what brings you here. I am ready to listen."
"We appreciate it, sir, that's truly spoken," the elder Barclay brother said. "There was a meeting in the Town Hall this afternoon. Everyone was buzzing like a hornet's nest tha was smacked with a stick. Three times now at the dark of the moon, some poor soul's been found a'lying just outside of town. First it was Gus Steinhold, the fry cook, he'd been strangled with a piece of rawhide that had been tightened around his neck with a stick. Then it was the schoolma'am's husband, big John Libbman, he had a dozen stab wounds in the belly. And only this morning, someone had stumbled on Raul Munoz, that Mexican who did odd jobs for the farmers. He was the most gruesome sight, his head was sitting on his chest. I'm sorta glad I didn't see it myself, that's something that would visit your dreams."
The old man nodded. "I must first ask the obvious. Did anyone hate all three men?"
"Naw, not as far as we can tell," Duncan answered. "We been jawing about it all day. Steinhold had been fighting with the restaurant owner over not getting paid but it were nothing serious. Libbman was a decent feller, everybody liked him. and Raul'd only been in these parts a month or so, he was fixing fences and cleaning barns and such chores. No one had any quarrel with him."
"I remember long ago, before you were born, a sheepman murdered his wife and then he killed one of the dance hall girls. His idea was that people would be confused and seek some common tie between the two women. But no one was fooled. His nerve broke and he confessed. So we must consider that one or more of these deaths is mere camouflage."
The Barclay brothers thought about this for a moment, then Matthew said, "I can't see how a body could use that to any advantage, 'less you could find who did any one of these three bloodlettings."
"I find it strange that different ways of killing were used each time," Marcus told them. "In my experience, murderers tend to repeat their methods. So much is unusual. The new moon may be the key."
The older brother shifted uneasily. "Ain't it more normal for crazy folks to act up under a full moon instead? That's always been my understanding."
"So it is said." Using a handcarved coup stick four feet long and topped with a clear round crystal with a blue spark in its center, the old man levered himself up to his feet. "The wind cries out for justice and the rivers call the name of Eagle Star. In the morning, I will ride my sad broken-backed pony down into Restitution. I will ask many questions and I will stand where Death stood."
Rising himself, Matthew said, "Me and my brother will help any way we can, Marcus, you know that. I have to ask, what do you think is going on with all this?"
"My fear is that some living man has opened his heart to Otahaku.. an evil spirit. That which drinks life like water. I do not think I will have to try hard to find him. He will find me!"
II.
"Marcus, that can't still be the same pony!" called Sheriff Albertson from the doorway.
Dismounting gingerly, placing his feet on the topmost of the three steps to the porch in front of the office, Marcus looped his horse's reins loosely around a post. "He is my own Goes-Wrong-Way, sheriff. I am walking along side him more than riding him these days because he groans most pathetically and makes me feel bad." Long ago, Marcushad accepted wearing white men's clothes, the boots and faded Levis and flannel work shirt. His Navajo hat was flat-brimmed and short-crowned, with a red and black beaded band. At the moment, he had tied back his silver hair into a tail which reached his shoulder blades.
Albertson moved forward and smiled. "Old hosses are like old dogs, you mostly let 'em sleep and try not to trip over them."
Marcus was already standing on the top step, so he moved up onto the porch, holding a support post with one hand. He tried not to use his coup stick for support unless absolutely necessary. "I expect I will have to carry Goes-Wrong-Way soon."
"Har! Thass a good one. Come on in, amigo, I got coffee boilin' that'd take the hide off a buffalo." He swiveled to one side and gestured for the old Indian to go through the door.
"Set yourself down wherever," the sheriff said, going over to a potbellied iron stove in one corner and pouring coffee into a tin mug. "We might as hop over the pleasantries about the weather and our health, don't you think?"
"Yes. I am in town to learn about the murders," Marcus replied, accepting the mug gratefully. "My thanks to you, even bad coffee is good when your bones ache. You are a righteous man, Art Albertson. Your words are always well-spoken."
The sheriff lowered his massive bulk into a chair beside his desk, rather than the sitting in the one behind it. "Townsfolk say I'm honest as sunshine but I ain't as bright as sunshine. Fair enough. I been listening to every blessed detail of what every soul in Restitution thinks about the killings. It's all just wind blowin' through empty heads, I feared. I can tell you this, though, no one stood to gain from the deaths."
"Tell me why."
"Cause none of the three men had enough money to buy a new pair of boots. They was all busted. Only one of 'em owned a horse and that tired cayuse is ready to feed some dogs. Big John Libbman was married but have ya seen his wife? She's a good school teacher and a kindly heart but she's twenty years past the point where men would fight over her."
Holding the empty coffee mug, Marcus took a second to reflect before continuing. "Had any of them been gambling?"
"Not to speak of. Ain't really much of that going on in this town, old fellow. A couple of poker games Saturday night, penny a point and no one bothers to keep score. For some godawful reason, the men in Restitution have lost their minds over checkers and they play it ever chance they get but they don't bet on it."
The Eagle Star did not respond right away. He looked around at the cork board with its wanted posters, at the green file cabinet with a half dozen law books piled atop it, and at the doorway through which the steel bars of the holding cell could be seen. The sheriff was used to having Bannion take time thinking things over and he waited.
Finally, the old man lifted his head and said, "On my way down the main street, I saw a boy I do not know. Perhaps better to call him a youth, he is of good height but has not yet put twenty years behind him. Hair black as the hair of my people but his eyes were sky colored."
"Him? Oh, that would be Ned and Harriet Hain's nephew, he came here from back East at the end of February. Baltimore, I do believe. He's staying with them on their little spread."
"Tell me, then, why has he come to this part of the land?"
"As I heard tell, for his health. Sam was a sickly sprout, weak in the limbs and short of breath. Doctors advised his folks that the clean air and water out here might do him good."
"He seemed fit enough to me. I saw him throw a saddle up on his horse as one might toss a towel."
Albertson got up for more coffee, and seeing his guest decline another cup, drank his own while standing up. "I noticed that myself. The boy has filled out remarkably well since arriving here. His arms and legs were like matchsticks and he wheezed like a church organ crossing the street. But as you saw for yourself, he's become a strapping young lad. I calculate life out here suits him."
"Hmmm. I need to see with my own eyes where the bodies were found. Will you show me?"
"Like to but can't. I'm expecting the circuit judge to be riding through by noon. That there stack of papers on my desk is forms he has to read and sign off on, I'll be lucky to get outta here by dinner. But I know one of the Barclay boys in down at Jergen's General Store. He thinks the world of you, Marcus, I believe he would be happy to accompany you."
With only a slight grunt of discomfort, Marcus pushed down with his hands on the arms of the chair and rose to his feet. He closed one hand around the elaborate coup stick. In the light of day, it could be seen that the round crystal top had a bright blue spark in its core. "I would appreciate that, Art. It is not given to me to see what will come, but my hope is that these killings will stop and the one responsible will be brought down."
Seeing his visitor to the door, the sheriff lowered his voice as if worrying someone might be listening outside. "These are awful doings, old son. I seen shootings after drunken arguments and I seen people beat to death during a robbery but those was for reasons a fella might understand. This business don't make no sense no matter how I look at it."
"We are facing something worse than the greed or hatred or jealousy that burns in men's hearts," Marcus said. "It is something that should not exist under the sky, something deeply wrong. And you remember that to set wrongs right again is the task of the Eagle Star."
III.
Afternoon shadows were stretching out long across the dirt by the time Marcus and the Barclay boy had finished studying the place where poor Munoz had been found. Fresh soil had been brought in and strewn over the site to cover the blood and to help the memories fade. The old man sat cross-legged with his back up against the wall of the livery stable. He had not spoken in several minutes.
As Marcus shifted his weight, the crystal atop his coup stick lined up with the rays of the lowering sun and the blue streak within blazed up like a cat's eye reflecting fire. Barclay whistled and said, "That's a right purty stone you got there, medicine man. I ain't never seen its like."
"I doubt if any living man has," Marcus answered. "This staff is older than the trees and the rivers, some say older than the mountains themselves. It is a survivor of the world before this world, before the Higher Ones reshaped all that is."
"Mr Marcus, in all honesty I do not understand half of what you say."
The Eagle Star smiled and nodded. "Ah, just as well, my young friend. You have your life and the world you know. That is more than enough to deal with. But your brother's wife seems ready to drop. The baby's time is near?"
"It is," Duncan said. "Amy's mother and that midwife Widow Langley are staying with her now. My brother is walking holes in the rugs and bitin' his fingernail til they bled."
Using his coup stick for support, old Eli Marcus got to his feet, declining the offered helping hand that Marcus extended. "Young man, something very wrong walks on two legs through this town. It is a thirsty spirit that does not belong in your clean fresh world. We call it Otahku. And it is growing stronger with each life it takes."
"What, you mean like a curse of some kind?"
"Yes. This land is older than you know. Before even the red man, there were the Earlier Ones, hairy as bears and bigger than bears, and before them even stranger manlike forms walked these hills. All forgotten now. This is your time, the white man will have his day and then he will pass as well."
"Ease up there, amigo, you make my hair stand up and my skin go cold when you talk like that," Duncan replied, trying to sound flippant but failing.
Marcus made a non-commital grunt and went over to grasp the reins on his decripit pony Goes-Wrong-Way. "I think there are two men it would be helpful to meet. The Hain's young visitor and the man who drinks, Virgil Cottonwood. Where can they be found?"
"I reckon Virgil could be found where he always in, loitering out in front of the Plugged Nickel, hoping for someone to stand him a shot or fer the owner to let him wash dishes fer a buck."
"Let us speak to him, then."
Even in his decrepitude, Virgil Cottonwood had obviously once been an imposing man. The round beer belly belied the thick hard muscles in arms and legs. When he straightened up on the bench near the batwing doors of the saloon, Virgil sat nearly as tall as the men standing in front of him. Grimy brown hair and beard had been untended for so long that it was to distinguish where one began and the other left off.
"I know you, Injun. Eli Marcus, right? You supposed to be some kind of shaman or spirit guide," Sam began without any attempt at courtesy.
"I do not claim these things," the old man replied simply.
"Better you don't, let others make that call. Lemme guess what you're bothering me about. It's the strange killings, right?"
"Can you help us give those souls some rest?" asked Marcus, holding the reins of his pony steady.
"Like I haven't been asked a thousand times already where I was and what I was doing. You go pester Mr Josiah about it! The night that greaser died, I was sleeping in the hallway on a blanket. Mr Josiah and his wife weren't more than an arm reach away from me and they woulda hear the floorboards creak and the door hinges squeak if'n I had gotten up."
Seeing the dubious expression on Eagle Star's face, Duncan Barclay said, "They back up his alibi."
"Ain't no alibi! Alibi is when a body has done something wrong and is defending himself. I did nothing that I'd need an alibi to cover." Virgil Cottonwood's doughy face was turning purple cheeked. The hands he blocked into fists looked like boiled hams.
"Is it fair to say you have a temper?" asked Marcus.
"What of it? A man gets hounded and harassed the way I have, it's only natural he takes offense..." Virgil took a menacing step forward but halted suddenly. Old Marcus had raised his coup stick and somehow the blue streak in the crystal blazed up as if reflecting a bright flame.
"Calm yourself, son," Marcus told him gently. "I fear you are in as much danger as any of us are."
IV.
Sunset was near when the two men stopped back at the Plugged Nickel for hot roast beef sandwiches on sourdough rye, fried onion slices and local beer. Barclay paid and Marcus left a tip. When they went back into the fading light, the younger man said, "It's only right I see how my brother Matthew and his wife are doing, sir. I'd feel wretched if I wasn't there when my nephew was born."
"I understand," Marcus said. "I will speak with the Hain boy and then see how it has gone with you. It is a good night to be born, the stars are lined up to spell Hope."
"If'n you say so. This is where my brother lives, right here above the dry goods store our family runs. You can see the windows are lit on the second floor. Take care, old son."
Turning away, Eli Marcus led his sad pony up Main Street toward the southern edge of town. He only rode Goes-Wrong-Way when the path was too steep for his own legs but the beast was good company who listened patiently. It was barely two miles from the last structure to the small stead where Ned and Harriet Hain raised their handful of chickens and pigs and grew rows of vegetables, but it seemed like it took forever for Marcus to make the trip. He stopped once to rest on a tree stump when his legs hurt. Soon, he thought sourly he would have to give in and spend his few dollars on a wagon of some sort in which he could ride while Goes-Wrong-Way pulled. Stubborness had always been his worst trait.
Eventually, Marcus was standing at the split-log fence surrounding the ten acres stead. Even though the late afternoon was warm, a chill made him shiver. He knew that feeling. The coup stick's crystal globe shone blue from within. Danger. Marcus drew himself up straight and clenchd his jaws. All the decades serving the Eagle Star meant doing what was right even when afraid. Ahead was the one room shack the Hains had built themselves, its stovepipe chimney and its two windows covered with oiled cloth in the summer. Marcus left his pony standing by a dead apple tree and walked slowly toward the silent shack.
Emerging from the front door was a tall, sturdy youth not yet twenty. The nephew from back East. Young Sam was a good-looking lad with thick black wavy hair, clean-cut features and sharp blue eyes. As he saw Eli Marcus near, those eyes lit with mockery.
"Ah, the wise old shaman," he called with his Boston accent. "If you had been really wise, you would not have come out here." And he raised the axe with its head still wet with bright crimson blood.
V.
Marcus in turned raised the ancient totem rod and its blue flame was bright enough to cast shadows. "Not one step closer, evil spirit."
"That's strong medicine you're waving at me, old-timer. Antedeluvian magic the world has long forgotten. But it can't hurt me now."
"Once I would have burned you to charcoal where you stand, Sam. I would scatter your ashes into the wind."
The young killer laughed out loud and wiped his stained hands on the grass. "You're weak, Methuselah. Your time has come and gone. Like your tribe, you're yesterday's news. I will be going on my way, begging your pardon."
"This can I still cast," Marcus said. "Jordyn! Cirkoth! Eryasha! I still remember your names and call on your holy power. Set this fiend to wander the Earth and never know rest. Curse him to have no home and to call no one friend. Let him be a cursed outcast until the end of days."
The killer flung the reeking axe far to one side. "You make me laugh, you really do. Too bad old Ned and Harriet can't enjoy the joke but you might say they're not at their best right now. I'll be taking their chestnut mare and the folding green they were hiding, and I believe the shadow of that mountain will not fall upon me again."
Atop the coup stick, the blue light flickered for a second and even Marcus could not keep dismay from crossing his stolid face.
"It's the end of Eagle Star!" roared the Hain boy. "Dark times are coming. Lights are going out all over the world. If you think the Great War was bad, you have seen nothing yet."
"No. There will be a new Eagle Star. There will be young strong men of courage who will oppose you. I swear it!"
Turning away, the killer called back over one shoulder. "You're deceiving yourself, grandpa. Watch the papers. Look for my name. Women will frighten children with stories about me. Brave men will draw the blinds and check that the doors are locked when I pass by. Watch for the name of Sam Hain!"
A few seconds later, hoofbeats sounded from behind the shack, and the silhouette of a rider on a steed thundered away toward the East. Eli Marcus sagged. Only the coup stick kept him from falling. His resolve faltered and he could not bring himself to go into that dismal shack to pat respects to the bodies lying within. Heavy sorrow pressed down upon him like a sodden blanket he could not shake off.
It was dark by the time he made it back into Redemption. Despite himself, he had been forced to ride Goes-wrong-Way for most of the journey. Marcus bent over his pony's neck and wept when no one could see him, hot bitter tears he had seldom shed before.
He must roust the sheriff, alert the town. Perhaps a posse could get on the trail of the Hain boy. His own days of hard riding and hard fighting were behind him.
He paused in front of the Barclays' house and slid down from the blanket on his pony's back to stand leaning on his friend. Excited voices rang out from the upper floor of that house. Hearing that, Marcus felt his spirit lift slightly despite his burden. Was he at the right time? Yes. There was the unmistakable crying of a newborn soul entering the world. Applause. Shouts of congratulations. Life went on.
Something called to him from the sky. Eli Marcus turned to gaze back at his beloved mountain. A single blue point of light flared up for a second to shine bright as a full moon. Yes. Yes, hope was not lost entirely. Above the clouds, the Eagle Star was rising.
6/9/2022
3/29-3/30/1921
I.
Wrapped in a heavy blanket woven with the emblems of forgotten gods, the old man sat cross-legged on the ground in front of his shack. Dusk gathered. As he watched, a tiny blue point of light cleared the mountains to the West and shone clear in a hazy sky. There it was as it had shone since the first days, the Eagle Star.
In the gloom, his long straight hair hung down over his shoulders like silver poured from a jar. Eli Marcus smiled at the star that had long been his namesake. Wrinkled and leathery and brown from a life spent under the Sun and out in storms, Marcus had lately spent more time wandering back in memory than looking ahead. Everyone was gone that he had known. His father and mother, both of his sisters, all who had claimed the Miskapowa as their clan, all were gone. So was the white family who had given him work, taught him his letters and given him the name he signed. His thoughts lingered most on his best friend and worst rival, the gunman who had climbed up from the caverns of Death itself to stride the wild frontier. The Spirit Walker, dead permanently these nine long years.
The tiny one-room shack behind him was the only man-made structure on this side of the mountain but he knew that solitude could not last much longer. Every day, the town of Restitution added a new family, another house was constructed and more of the wilderness was pushed away. Marcus sat up straighter at the muffled clomp coming up the path to his left. Even now, he was having visitors.
"Hallo thar!" called a man's voice. "Eli Marcus, it's only us, the Barclay brothers. Don't want to alarm you."
"Forgive me if I do not rise," Marcus replied. "Seat yourselves, Matthew and Duncan, and be welcome."
Bringing their horses to a halt twenty feet away, two men dismounted with the careless ease of youth. "I declare that trail up here is growing steeper all the time. How is that possible?"
"Soon it will be a paved road," Marcus said. "And men will ride in automobiles up here but they will not see the stars because of the clouds of smoke they bring with them."
"Wouldn't surprise me none," Matthew Barclay laughed, "But for now at least hosses are the best way to negotiate that climb."
As the two men from town settled themselves in front of him, Marcus gestured at the cold circle of stones in front of him. "I have not built a fire, you can see. So I regret I can offer you neither coffee nor tea as a host should. I do not ask for company."
"Your hospitality has always been above criticism," Duncan responded. Clean-shaven, wearing a round-topped derby and long coat, he had swung his head around to study the sky. "Thar it is, right above the tallest peak. The Eagle Star."
"We called it Pelahavi," the old man said. "I have been told that the moment I was born, Pelahavi blazed up bright as the full moon for a heartbeat. That was so long ago it seems like a fading dream."
The older and heavier of the two brothers, Matthew had taken off his broad-brimmed floppy hat and held it in front of him. "Marcus, I do admit we have not come here to enjoy your stories about the old days or for you to laugh at our rough jokes. The town has sent us. Everyone turns to you now."
Marcus bent his white-haired head and stared down at the ground in front of him. "Another death."
"You knew? How?"
"It is in the air, like the sting in the nostrils from a wood fire or the echo of a branch breaking off from the weight of ice in the winter. I can tell. Three men have gone from this world in three months. Tell me what is known."
"Marcus, I mean no disrepect, you know that," Matthew said. "But if you feel you have done enough in your life and don't wanna be burdened with our troubles, that's awright..."
A gnarled hand raised to wave in dismissal. "This is my land no longer. That struggle has been lost and soon the red man will be only a memory you sometimes recall. The day will come when even that will fade and it will be as if my race had never drawn breath at all. The world will be a colder and sadder place."
"I ain't disputing what you say, sir. It's a great wrong you been handed but it can't be undone. Are you still the Eagle Star, Marcus?"
"I am! And I should temper my words with you boys. You did not ask to be born in these hills. Before you could walk and speak, your people had already take this land for their own and I should not hold that against you. Tell me what brings you here. I am ready to listen."
"We appreciate it, sir, that's truly spoken," the elder Barclay brother said. "There was a meeting in the Town Hall this afternoon. Everyone was buzzing like a hornet's nest tha was smacked with a stick. Three times now at the dark of the moon, some poor soul's been found a'lying just outside of town. First it was Gus Steinhold, the fry cook, he'd been strangled with a piece of rawhide that had been tightened around his neck with a stick. Then it was the schoolma'am's husband, big John Libbman, he had a dozen stab wounds in the belly. And only this morning, someone had stumbled on Raul Munoz, that Mexican who did odd jobs for the farmers. He was the most gruesome sight, his head was sitting on his chest. I'm sorta glad I didn't see it myself, that's something that would visit your dreams."
The old man nodded. "I must first ask the obvious. Did anyone hate all three men?"
"Naw, not as far as we can tell," Duncan answered. "We been jawing about it all day. Steinhold had been fighting with the restaurant owner over not getting paid but it were nothing serious. Libbman was a decent feller, everybody liked him. and Raul'd only been in these parts a month or so, he was fixing fences and cleaning barns and such chores. No one had any quarrel with him."
"I remember long ago, before you were born, a sheepman murdered his wife and then he killed one of the dance hall girls. His idea was that people would be confused and seek some common tie between the two women. But no one was fooled. His nerve broke and he confessed. So we must consider that one or more of these deaths is mere camouflage."
The Barclay brothers thought about this for a moment, then Matthew said, "I can't see how a body could use that to any advantage, 'less you could find who did any one of these three bloodlettings."
"I find it strange that different ways of killing were used each time," Marcus told them. "In my experience, murderers tend to repeat their methods. So much is unusual. The new moon may be the key."
The older brother shifted uneasily. "Ain't it more normal for crazy folks to act up under a full moon instead? That's always been my understanding."
"So it is said." Using a handcarved coup stick four feet long and topped with a clear round crystal with a blue spark in its center, the old man levered himself up to his feet. "The wind cries out for justice and the rivers call the name of Eagle Star. In the morning, I will ride my sad broken-backed pony down into Restitution. I will ask many questions and I will stand where Death stood."
Rising himself, Matthew said, "Me and my brother will help any way we can, Marcus, you know that. I have to ask, what do you think is going on with all this?"
"My fear is that some living man has opened his heart to Otahaku.. an evil spirit. That which drinks life like water. I do not think I will have to try hard to find him. He will find me!"
II.
"Marcus, that can't still be the same pony!" called Sheriff Albertson from the doorway.
Dismounting gingerly, placing his feet on the topmost of the three steps to the porch in front of the office, Marcus looped his horse's reins loosely around a post. "He is my own Goes-Wrong-Way, sheriff. I am walking along side him more than riding him these days because he groans most pathetically and makes me feel bad." Long ago, Marcushad accepted wearing white men's clothes, the boots and faded Levis and flannel work shirt. His Navajo hat was flat-brimmed and short-crowned, with a red and black beaded band. At the moment, he had tied back his silver hair into a tail which reached his shoulder blades.
Albertson moved forward and smiled. "Old hosses are like old dogs, you mostly let 'em sleep and try not to trip over them."
Marcus was already standing on the top step, so he moved up onto the porch, holding a support post with one hand. He tried not to use his coup stick for support unless absolutely necessary. "I expect I will have to carry Goes-Wrong-Way soon."
"Har! Thass a good one. Come on in, amigo, I got coffee boilin' that'd take the hide off a buffalo." He swiveled to one side and gestured for the old Indian to go through the door.
"Set yourself down wherever," the sheriff said, going over to a potbellied iron stove in one corner and pouring coffee into a tin mug. "We might as hop over the pleasantries about the weather and our health, don't you think?"
"Yes. I am in town to learn about the murders," Marcus replied, accepting the mug gratefully. "My thanks to you, even bad coffee is good when your bones ache. You are a righteous man, Art Albertson. Your words are always well-spoken."
The sheriff lowered his massive bulk into a chair beside his desk, rather than the sitting in the one behind it. "Townsfolk say I'm honest as sunshine but I ain't as bright as sunshine. Fair enough. I been listening to every blessed detail of what every soul in Restitution thinks about the killings. It's all just wind blowin' through empty heads, I feared. I can tell you this, though, no one stood to gain from the deaths."
"Tell me why."
"Cause none of the three men had enough money to buy a new pair of boots. They was all busted. Only one of 'em owned a horse and that tired cayuse is ready to feed some dogs. Big John Libbman was married but have ya seen his wife? She's a good school teacher and a kindly heart but she's twenty years past the point where men would fight over her."
Holding the empty coffee mug, Marcus took a second to reflect before continuing. "Had any of them been gambling?"
"Not to speak of. Ain't really much of that going on in this town, old fellow. A couple of poker games Saturday night, penny a point and no one bothers to keep score. For some godawful reason, the men in Restitution have lost their minds over checkers and they play it ever chance they get but they don't bet on it."
The Eagle Star did not respond right away. He looked around at the cork board with its wanted posters, at the green file cabinet with a half dozen law books piled atop it, and at the doorway through which the steel bars of the holding cell could be seen. The sheriff was used to having Bannion take time thinking things over and he waited.
Finally, the old man lifted his head and said, "On my way down the main street, I saw a boy I do not know. Perhaps better to call him a youth, he is of good height but has not yet put twenty years behind him. Hair black as the hair of my people but his eyes were sky colored."
"Him? Oh, that would be Ned and Harriet Hain's nephew, he came here from back East at the end of February. Baltimore, I do believe. He's staying with them on their little spread."
"Tell me, then, why has he come to this part of the land?"
"As I heard tell, for his health. Sam was a sickly sprout, weak in the limbs and short of breath. Doctors advised his folks that the clean air and water out here might do him good."
"He seemed fit enough to me. I saw him throw a saddle up on his horse as one might toss a towel."
Albertson got up for more coffee, and seeing his guest decline another cup, drank his own while standing up. "I noticed that myself. The boy has filled out remarkably well since arriving here. His arms and legs were like matchsticks and he wheezed like a church organ crossing the street. But as you saw for yourself, he's become a strapping young lad. I calculate life out here suits him."
"Hmmm. I need to see with my own eyes where the bodies were found. Will you show me?"
"Like to but can't. I'm expecting the circuit judge to be riding through by noon. That there stack of papers on my desk is forms he has to read and sign off on, I'll be lucky to get outta here by dinner. But I know one of the Barclay boys in down at Jergen's General Store. He thinks the world of you, Marcus, I believe he would be happy to accompany you."
With only a slight grunt of discomfort, Marcus pushed down with his hands on the arms of the chair and rose to his feet. He closed one hand around the elaborate coup stick. In the light of day, it could be seen that the round crystal top had a bright blue spark in its core. "I would appreciate that, Art. It is not given to me to see what will come, but my hope is that these killings will stop and the one responsible will be brought down."
Seeing his visitor to the door, the sheriff lowered his voice as if worrying someone might be listening outside. "These are awful doings, old son. I seen shootings after drunken arguments and I seen people beat to death during a robbery but those was for reasons a fella might understand. This business don't make no sense no matter how I look at it."
"We are facing something worse than the greed or hatred or jealousy that burns in men's hearts," Marcus said. "It is something that should not exist under the sky, something deeply wrong. And you remember that to set wrongs right again is the task of the Eagle Star."
III.
Afternoon shadows were stretching out long across the dirt by the time Marcus and the Barclay boy had finished studying the place where poor Munoz had been found. Fresh soil had been brought in and strewn over the site to cover the blood and to help the memories fade. The old man sat cross-legged with his back up against the wall of the livery stable. He had not spoken in several minutes.
As Marcus shifted his weight, the crystal atop his coup stick lined up with the rays of the lowering sun and the blue streak within blazed up like a cat's eye reflecting fire. Barclay whistled and said, "That's a right purty stone you got there, medicine man. I ain't never seen its like."
"I doubt if any living man has," Marcus answered. "This staff is older than the trees and the rivers, some say older than the mountains themselves. It is a survivor of the world before this world, before the Higher Ones reshaped all that is."
"Mr Marcus, in all honesty I do not understand half of what you say."
The Eagle Star smiled and nodded. "Ah, just as well, my young friend. You have your life and the world you know. That is more than enough to deal with. But your brother's wife seems ready to drop. The baby's time is near?"
"It is," Duncan said. "Amy's mother and that midwife Widow Langley are staying with her now. My brother is walking holes in the rugs and bitin' his fingernail til they bled."
Using his coup stick for support, old Eli Marcus got to his feet, declining the offered helping hand that Marcus extended. "Young man, something very wrong walks on two legs through this town. It is a thirsty spirit that does not belong in your clean fresh world. We call it Otahku. And it is growing stronger with each life it takes."
"What, you mean like a curse of some kind?"
"Yes. This land is older than you know. Before even the red man, there were the Earlier Ones, hairy as bears and bigger than bears, and before them even stranger manlike forms walked these hills. All forgotten now. This is your time, the white man will have his day and then he will pass as well."
"Ease up there, amigo, you make my hair stand up and my skin go cold when you talk like that," Duncan replied, trying to sound flippant but failing.
Marcus made a non-commital grunt and went over to grasp the reins on his decripit pony Goes-Wrong-Way. "I think there are two men it would be helpful to meet. The Hain's young visitor and the man who drinks, Virgil Cottonwood. Where can they be found?"
"I reckon Virgil could be found where he always in, loitering out in front of the Plugged Nickel, hoping for someone to stand him a shot or fer the owner to let him wash dishes fer a buck."
"Let us speak to him, then."
Even in his decrepitude, Virgil Cottonwood had obviously once been an imposing man. The round beer belly belied the thick hard muscles in arms and legs. When he straightened up on the bench near the batwing doors of the saloon, Virgil sat nearly as tall as the men standing in front of him. Grimy brown hair and beard had been untended for so long that it was to distinguish where one began and the other left off.
"I know you, Injun. Eli Marcus, right? You supposed to be some kind of shaman or spirit guide," Sam began without any attempt at courtesy.
"I do not claim these things," the old man replied simply.
"Better you don't, let others make that call. Lemme guess what you're bothering me about. It's the strange killings, right?"
"Can you help us give those souls some rest?" asked Marcus, holding the reins of his pony steady.
"Like I haven't been asked a thousand times already where I was and what I was doing. You go pester Mr Josiah about it! The night that greaser died, I was sleeping in the hallway on a blanket. Mr Josiah and his wife weren't more than an arm reach away from me and they woulda hear the floorboards creak and the door hinges squeak if'n I had gotten up."
Seeing the dubious expression on Eagle Star's face, Duncan Barclay said, "They back up his alibi."
"Ain't no alibi! Alibi is when a body has done something wrong and is defending himself. I did nothing that I'd need an alibi to cover." Virgil Cottonwood's doughy face was turning purple cheeked. The hands he blocked into fists looked like boiled hams.
"Is it fair to say you have a temper?" asked Marcus.
"What of it? A man gets hounded and harassed the way I have, it's only natural he takes offense..." Virgil took a menacing step forward but halted suddenly. Old Marcus had raised his coup stick and somehow the blue streak in the crystal blazed up as if reflecting a bright flame.
"Calm yourself, son," Marcus told him gently. "I fear you are in as much danger as any of us are."
IV.
Sunset was near when the two men stopped back at the Plugged Nickel for hot roast beef sandwiches on sourdough rye, fried onion slices and local beer. Barclay paid and Marcus left a tip. When they went back into the fading light, the younger man said, "It's only right I see how my brother Matthew and his wife are doing, sir. I'd feel wretched if I wasn't there when my nephew was born."
"I understand," Marcus said. "I will speak with the Hain boy and then see how it has gone with you. It is a good night to be born, the stars are lined up to spell Hope."
"If'n you say so. This is where my brother lives, right here above the dry goods store our family runs. You can see the windows are lit on the second floor. Take care, old son."
Turning away, Eli Marcus led his sad pony up Main Street toward the southern edge of town. He only rode Goes-Wrong-Way when the path was too steep for his own legs but the beast was good company who listened patiently. It was barely two miles from the last structure to the small stead where Ned and Harriet Hain raised their handful of chickens and pigs and grew rows of vegetables, but it seemed like it took forever for Marcus to make the trip. He stopped once to rest on a tree stump when his legs hurt. Soon, he thought sourly he would have to give in and spend his few dollars on a wagon of some sort in which he could ride while Goes-Wrong-Way pulled. Stubborness had always been his worst trait.
Eventually, Marcus was standing at the split-log fence surrounding the ten acres stead. Even though the late afternoon was warm, a chill made him shiver. He knew that feeling. The coup stick's crystal globe shone blue from within. Danger. Marcus drew himself up straight and clenchd his jaws. All the decades serving the Eagle Star meant doing what was right even when afraid. Ahead was the one room shack the Hains had built themselves, its stovepipe chimney and its two windows covered with oiled cloth in the summer. Marcus left his pony standing by a dead apple tree and walked slowly toward the silent shack.
Emerging from the front door was a tall, sturdy youth not yet twenty. The nephew from back East. Young Sam was a good-looking lad with thick black wavy hair, clean-cut features and sharp blue eyes. As he saw Eli Marcus near, those eyes lit with mockery.
"Ah, the wise old shaman," he called with his Boston accent. "If you had been really wise, you would not have come out here." And he raised the axe with its head still wet with bright crimson blood.
V.
Marcus in turned raised the ancient totem rod and its blue flame was bright enough to cast shadows. "Not one step closer, evil spirit."
"That's strong medicine you're waving at me, old-timer. Antedeluvian magic the world has long forgotten. But it can't hurt me now."
"Once I would have burned you to charcoal where you stand, Sam. I would scatter your ashes into the wind."
The young killer laughed out loud and wiped his stained hands on the grass. "You're weak, Methuselah. Your time has come and gone. Like your tribe, you're yesterday's news. I will be going on my way, begging your pardon."
"This can I still cast," Marcus said. "Jordyn! Cirkoth! Eryasha! I still remember your names and call on your holy power. Set this fiend to wander the Earth and never know rest. Curse him to have no home and to call no one friend. Let him be a cursed outcast until the end of days."
The killer flung the reeking axe far to one side. "You make me laugh, you really do. Too bad old Ned and Harriet can't enjoy the joke but you might say they're not at their best right now. I'll be taking their chestnut mare and the folding green they were hiding, and I believe the shadow of that mountain will not fall upon me again."
Atop the coup stick, the blue light flickered for a second and even Marcus could not keep dismay from crossing his stolid face.
"It's the end of Eagle Star!" roared the Hain boy. "Dark times are coming. Lights are going out all over the world. If you think the Great War was bad, you have seen nothing yet."
"No. There will be a new Eagle Star. There will be young strong men of courage who will oppose you. I swear it!"
Turning away, the killer called back over one shoulder. "You're deceiving yourself, grandpa. Watch the papers. Look for my name. Women will frighten children with stories about me. Brave men will draw the blinds and check that the doors are locked when I pass by. Watch for the name of Sam Hain!"
A few seconds later, hoofbeats sounded from behind the shack, and the silhouette of a rider on a steed thundered away toward the East. Eli Marcus sagged. Only the coup stick kept him from falling. His resolve faltered and he could not bring himself to go into that dismal shack to pat respects to the bodies lying within. Heavy sorrow pressed down upon him like a sodden blanket he could not shake off.
It was dark by the time he made it back into Redemption. Despite himself, he had been forced to ride Goes-wrong-Way for most of the journey. Marcus bent over his pony's neck and wept when no one could see him, hot bitter tears he had seldom shed before.
He must roust the sheriff, alert the town. Perhaps a posse could get on the trail of the Hain boy. His own days of hard riding and hard fighting were behind him.
He paused in front of the Barclays' house and slid down from the blanket on his pony's back to stand leaning on his friend. Excited voices rang out from the upper floor of that house. Hearing that, Marcus felt his spirit lift slightly despite his burden. Was he at the right time? Yes. There was the unmistakable crying of a newborn soul entering the world. Applause. Shouts of congratulations. Life went on.
Something called to him from the sky. Eli Marcus turned to gaze back at his beloved mountain. A single blue point of light flared up for a second to shine bright as a full moon. Yes. Yes, hope was not lost entirely. Above the clouds, the Eagle Star was rising.
6/9/2022
