The Pythagoras Curse Part VII

Death In The Territories

For the rest of the day and half of the next, Long Feather and I toiled in the scorching heat repairing the woman’s corral and the split rail fence at the front of the house.

Inside a long wooden box covered in hides we found a two handled saw, a couple of axes, some rope and a steel wedge and hammer.

We set about felling trees from a nearby copse near the river then dragged the logs from the tree line to the house using our horses and the rope.

We had no fasteners but after splitting the logs we notched them in such a fashion which would hold them in place. Then we set about patching the corral.

In the past, this kind of labor was liberating to me. A way of losing my thoughts to the task.

But not today. I could feel it within me. The urgency, the panic as the anniversary grew near.

I had always placed myself in situations where death was happening all around me. Where I had my pick of someone who’d either died in my arms or nearby.

This time was different.

This time I’d allowed situations outside my sphere of influence to control my actions.

“Shaman are you well?”

When Long Feather spoke I realized I was leaning against a buttress post, my hands against the final rail at the top of the corral fence, frozen in place, staring at everything, but seeing nothing. I shook my head.

“No I am not well. I have never come this close before. I cannot think, I can barely move. If I do not honor my obligation before the midnight hour I will die this night.”

“You must speak with woman again.”

“If her husband still lives I cannot help her.”

“You must tell her.”

“What good will it do boy? If he lives past midnight I will not be alive to help him.”

“We must try. Come. I will help you walk.”

Each step I took expelled a bit of energy as if my life was draining from the bottom of my boots into the soil.

This had never happened to me before.

Was it as the old man had said that night? Is what I’m feeling now how I would feel when the last soul left my body? In my head swirled thoughts of abstaining from the ritual, abstaining from sharing another soul.

If this was my last, then what did it matter?

I was to die this night anyway.

Long Feather helped me to the porch and I slid from his arms and sat, propping my knees up, my boots resting against the dust of the front yard. I closed my eyes and rested my head against my arms, listening to the sound of Long Feather as he knocked on the clapboard door.

“I told you both I didn’t give a damn about the fence. My…”

“Please. Please talk to Shaman. He can heal your warrior. He did the same for me. He came to me in the spirit world and brought me back. He can help. Please talk to him.”

I listened to several seconds of silence then I heard the door shut.

At least Long Feather had tried. Now all I could do was wait for death.

I sensed the woman sitting on the porch next to me. I raised my head and gazed at her. She was silent, pensive; studying me as if I was a curiosity, something she’d never seen before. Her green eyes narrowed and I watched her place the shotgun at her side.

“How is he?”

“My John’s a fighter, but I don’t believe he’ll win this one. Can you help him?”

“I can only help the dead.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that. What do you mean?”

I told her the story, each breath I took more laborious than the next. By the time I finished I was exhausted. For several seconds she stared at me. I could tell she was having trouble digesting such a bombastic story told to her by a complete stranger.

If I hadn’t experienced it for over six hundred years I wouldn’t have believed it either.

“So you’re tellin’ me you can bring him back from the dead? Like God or Jesus did?”

“No. I have lived the life of a sinner all these years. I come nowhere close to the holiness of our Lord. I believe God saw fit to teach me a lesson, a lesson of which I will never forget. A lesson which has in fact changed me into a better person.”

“And you say if you are not able to do this tran…transmi…”

“Transmigration.”

“Yes, this transmigration before midnight tonight you will die?”

“Yes.”

“And my John has to die before you can help him?”

“Yes.”

“Mister I don’t think I can do what you’re asking.”

I struggled to stand and almost fell. Had it not been for Long Feather’s quick reflexes I would have. He guided one of my arms around his shoulders and propped me up.

“I know ma’am. That is why I must leave. I do not wish you to witness the horrors of my own death. Take me to my horse boy. Ma’am, thank you for your hospitality.”

Without a word the woman stood and crooked her arm around the shotgun. Then she turned away, walked into her home and shut the door.

Long Feather and I had just reached the fence when we heard a single booming sound which ripped through the late afternoon shadows and pounded our ears.

We turned around.

Slowly the door opened and the woman stepped out. The front of her dress and blouse was spattered with blood. We watched her slowly wipe the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing a long, thin trail of blood from side to side.

When we reached the porch she propped the shotgun against the side of the house and helped me inside.

In the tiny one room house a hand built bed was nestled in one corner. Atop a lumpy mattress, her husband John, a hole punched neatly into the center of his chest, lay motionless.

“He’s dead. Now, help him.”

“Leave me and wait with Long Feather outside. If this is to be my last what you will witness will be horrible.”

“If it is would you like me to end your pain and suffering?”

I nodded. I knew what she meant.

I laid my hand over the neat hole the buckshot had punched into the man’s chest.

“Go now please.”

Much later I opened the door and stepped out on the porch. Behind me the woman’s husband followed. He wobbled on his feet a bit, but was showing no signs of the fever which almost took his life, nor the shotgun blast in his chest which had taken his life.

The man and woman fell into each other’s arms and they were still embracing as Long Feather and I mounted and left.

“It was not the last one Shaman.”

I shook my head as I gently heeled my mare forward.

“No, but much too close to my liking.”

“When we find your brothers you will not have worry anymore.”

“Perhaps. We still have some riding to do boy. Shall we?”

READ ON — THE PYTHAGORAS CURSE PART VIII

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 VIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII Part XXIII, Conclusion

Let’s keep in touch: [email protected]