Pythagoras Curse Part XXI

Gerung Brandt

I have not spoken to the boy in almost five days of travel. I am certain he has perceived I am angered at being forced into a situation where by transferring a soul I once again put my own life in jeopardy.

Perhaps I was angry at myself for not understanding his true reason. It could have been a selfless sacrifice the boy made.

Possibly.

Either way it mattered not. We were both alive. Long Feather’s wounds, those inflicted by the dingo and his self inflicted ones were healed by my transference of a soul to him.

But many days had been wasted, days hampered by torrential onslaughts of rain from the heavens, maddeningly slow travel due to the loss of Long Feather’s horse and the result of attacks from the dogs.

Last night, using the flickering light of the campfire I entered my journal of the day’s events. There remained only forty days until the day of my commemoration.

Perhaps only forty more days to live.

We tarried another twenty days until we finally reached a small berg named Pelican Water-holes. It appeared a godforsaken place, with rogues staggering about the streets in midday, partaking swills of liquor straight from bottles.

Wasting little time we located a place to restock our supplies and purchase another horse for Long Feather. During our short time there we discovered sometimes the smallest of communities has the largest amount of information to share.

We learned of a traveler who passed this way.

A white man who had chosen to live among the heathens. A man who aided these blackfellas in their resistance against squads of Native Police. Paid assassins who sought to exterminate people of their own kind.

He was out there somewhere near a place called Bladensburg.

We left Pelican Water-Holes traveling south west and as I did prior to meeting the Dutchman I donned the tunic of my order. Perhaps it would provide us more fortune than the last time I wore it.

Stopping on a mesa butte overlooking a deep gorge filled with scraggly bush and sandstone boulders we rested the horses. The gorge appeared dry and filled with silt, alien and uninhabitable. It was Long Feather’s keen sight which brought the multitude of stains on some of those boulders to my attention.

“We must take a closer look boy. Dismount.”

As we found our way to the basin of the gorge we saw lances impaled in the side of the gorge walls yards beneath the edge of the butte.

It was as if they had been hurled from where we stood at the bottom of the ravine, falling short of their intended target.

Around us, staining the sand beneath our feet and among the stones and boulders, mahogany red splotches were everywhere.

I gazed at the top of the gorge from where we had come, then turned and gazed along the length of the gorge. In my mind I envisioned what had taken place here.

“This is a killing field boy.”

I pointed down the length of the gorge.

“They were driven here like cattle where more waited above with rifles. It looks as though hundreds were slaughtered here.”

From above us out of sight at the top of the butte a voice calmly replied.

“Two hundred to be precise Templar.”

I shuddered. I knew that voice.

“Gerung? Gerung Brandt?”

“Aye Petra, to hear your voice is comforting, and yet you inspect this land of death as if it were a curiosity. What specific purpose is it you seek Petra Allers?”

“I seek a way to end this curse my brother. Show yourself.”

“I recommend you and your traveling companion return to the mesa where I stand. It is best we be away from this place quickly.”

Long Feather and I returned to the mesa butte and there we found Gerung. As I did he wore his tunic. Beside him stood a pair of tribal warriors. I do not know why but tears welled up in my eyes and as I stepped to greet him he opened his arms and we embraced.

“It is good to have finally found you my brother.”

“Yes, Petra. I have dreamt of this meeting for so long and yet believed it would never be.”

I stepped back and surveyed my compatriot. Aside from a full beard and the loss of several pounds he still retained his stocky girth and squarish build. Visions of he, Johannes and I in battle sprung up and then just as quickly shifted to the many times I’d seen this man, his armor and tunic still stained with the blood of our foes as he set about catering to the ill and wounded.

“Gerung we have much to speak of. Our time for commemoration is close and I seek a way to break this curse.”

“I as well Petra, but we cannot tarry here. There are Native Police about who would like nothing better than to take the lives of their own countrymen. If you and I are with these people we are enemies of the Native Police. They will kill you with little thought. You and your companion must ride with us in haste.”

“To where brother?”

“The survivors of this massacre have joined together at Creen Creek. It is a place long revered by the local people. We seek refuge there.”

I watched Gerung and the warriors mount and as Long Feather and I mounted Gerung and the pair spun their horses around and kicked them into full gallops.

“Where are we going Shaman?”

“I do not know boy, but if we are not quick about this we will lose sight of them. I suggest we ride hard boy.”

Both Long Feather and I kicked our horses into action and galloped after them.

READ ON — THE PYTHAGORAS CURSE XXII

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII Part XXIII, Conclusion

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