The Rail Specter

by Vennessa Robertson

  Nate had an answer for nearly everything as he explained their great, tireless value as hunters and trackers, and their beautiful handicrafts and diligence at housework.

  We purchased a small cart and a mule to pull it. We had eaten through all the supplies I had gathered for the train journey, so I made my way to the Forbythe general store. I had no idea how long it might take us to travel to the actual reservation, but it would not do to arrive as beggars. I loaded the wagon with potatoes and oats, dried fruit and cheese, bread and bacon, dried meat and fish. They also had a small selection of canned goods. They were expensive, but I bought them out. I also included sugar and coffee, knowing how popular they were back home. There was no tea to be found.

  The journey was a pleasant one, for the most part. The cart only got caught in the deepest ruts and the men had to help lift it from the holes while the donkey brayed and twitched his ears at us. It would haul the cart gladly but would refuse to help when it got stuck. The silly beast just knew when it was stuck and gave up. Thankfully, the men were more stubborn in their task than the mule.

  We followed a worn track of dirt and stones. It must have been the only path in and out of the reservation. The pine trees were nothing like I had seen in England, standing like sentinels, looking over the land of tall, green grasses. The mountains stood purple and blue, and heavily powdered with snow at the top. Below us, a lake, clear as glass, reflected the mountains back at the sky, making a great spine where they met. In the foreground, cattle and sheep grazed in pens, while well-tended fields and gardens spread their bounty next to houses made of slabs of stacked sod.

  I was enchanted. The cool breeze caressed us, welcomed us. Surely, as hard as it was for Chelan and her children to leave their home in Missouri, they would be happier here among their people.

  Haimovi scowled at the sea of squat houses dotting the landscape. “Horrible, isn’t it?”

  I blinked. Clearly, we were not seeing the same thing. “Pardon me?”

  “Once, we followed the animals as they roamed this great land. They followed the seasons. We lived in xamaevee’e, great skin tent lodges. Our grandfather’s grandfathers lived in these pit houses dug into the earth, and only when the earth was sleeping and cold. Then, our people took to following the great herds. That is how it was meant to be. Until the white devils forced us off our land and into reservations. Now, we turn the grass under in the summer as well as in the winter. We force the animals into pens so they cannot run and be free. Their souls forget what they are. They are as caged as we are. We build pit houses to live in because if we move off our lands, the whites will steal our children or drive us like chattel, further and further from the bones of our people.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Though I was overcome with loss for what his people suffered, I could not imagine a life where there was no tile roof and fine brick walls to come home to at the end of the day. As much as I loved adventure and travel, I could not deny a certain amount of pleasure that came from being able to hand my worn boots off to our boot boy to polish so I could sink into a hot bath and enjoy a glass of sherry and a nice roast duck. I suppose it was all what one was accustomed to.

  I was stunned that he was so upset with the beautiful valley we were riding into. I had never seen anything so magnificent in all my life. Even the rising mists in China were no match for the gentle rolling sea of grasses in the shadow of the purple-blue mountains and the fragrant pines. I am sure it was far from the life they wished for, following the large game, but if this was the life left to them, it was hardly the prison I was led to believe their reservation was. There was a beauty to this life that I could not deny, and if he thought this life was awful, he would be horrified if he ever saw my home in the English countryside.

  But America was a vast place. If Haimovi and his people once roamed across all of it, following the large game, riding their horses and dragging their skin tents, then maybe what he longed for was more than even this beautiful land could provide. He longed for more than the land, he wanted what I had so desperately needed before I met Nate: a sense of self in all the vastness. Freedom. “I don’t know that it’s disgusting, exactly. Sad, maybe.”

  Haimovi gave me a peculiar sideways look. Then he nodded. “Sad, yes. I think you understand. You and Nate are our brother and sister, after all.”

  They had been gone a long time from their home. We were a long way from our home.

  Nate was their brother. Nacto and Haimovi were Hotamétaneo’o, dog soldiers, great warriors of their people, protectors and defenders of those who needed their protection. They watched over the bones of their people where they lay in the earth and over the living that still walked the land. Nate was a warrior of the land, who looked over the people who needed him, namely me, my family, and our tenants. They were symbolic dogs, embodying the noble side of man, the protective, loyal side. Nate was more the literal side and, yet, they were the same. Man was both God and dog, powerful and gentle, loyal and protective.

  I wasn’t so sure I was a warrior any more. Nate may be their brother, but my only means of defending us was vanishing. The Tarot marks that had been burned away sent a phantom ache through me. I did not belong here.

  Chapter Twenty

  NATE MADE A gift of the cart and mule to the men, along with the unused supplies to the Cheyenne people. While they were engaged with their new treasures and the mule was enjoying all the attention, Chelan handed her baby off to Chameli and she had me follow her.

  Chelan led me to a cabin partially set into the side of the hill, with a roof covered in sod. It was warm, living earth, connecting it to the land. Windows had been cut into the front and covered with wooden shutters. It had a good feel. I immediately felt at peace. I hoped the Cheyenne people would eventually find happiness, despite being forced to remain here.

  A woman sat outside, carefully separating the thorns and leaves from a purple flower. She rose, and mother and daughter embraced, both weeping and speaking in their beautiful language. I stood apart respectfully, trying not to intrude.

  I had expected He’heeno to be older. Her black hair was streaked with a touch of silver, but she wore a dress made of leather with tiny little shells sewn in and woven bands of blue and red. Her hair was caught in two braids. She wore a small round pouch around her neck, decorated with hawk feathers, and flat disks of abalone hung from her ears. A red, gingham apron hung from her hips. She shifted and wrapped a heavy dark fur she had been sitting on around her shoulders. “What brings you to me, daughter?”

  It took a moment for me to realize she was addressing me. She blinked at me, her fine, delicate features waiting with an inviting smile.

  “I, um—” I suddenly didn’t know what to say. He’heeno was not a magician able to grant a wish. What had I expected? I wanted my Tarot symbols whole and usable. I wanted justice for the people Geiger and the wendigo had murdered. I wanted justice for her and her family. I wanted a baby in my arms. I wanted to hold the ruby in my pocket.

  Chelan touched my arm. She spoke to her mother. He’heeno watched my eyes, gentle, merciful, patient, kind. She was a mother and everything that implied.

  Finally, He’heeno rose and looked me over. “The Great Chief is the mightiest of all hunters. His command of good medicine protects all his people and all the hunts. It is his great wisdom that grants the ceremonies of renewal for all the people of this land. It is his great medicine that will help you, and heal you.”

  “What sort of medicine? A tincture or an infusion? Or something else entirely?”

  Chelan smiled. “Medicine is the cure of the spirit. It is all that sustains us. It is the prayers of the spirit and the blessings of life. It is all that makes us what we are. It is…” she paused, searching for another word.

  “Divine magic?” I offered.

  Chelan looked pleased. “Joseph called it devilry. He forbade me to teach it to the children, but it is their birthright. For my children, it is as natural as the breath they draw or the wa
ter they drink. It is as natural as the sun rising in the east and the wind in their hair. We are one with the land. The medicine is part of the land.”

  The medicine may be a part of this land, but I was not. I bit the inside of my cheek. “Why would the Great Chief help me? I’m not like you. Not Cheyenne, I mean.”

  “The Great Chief hears all prayers, he hears all things, he is in all things. He watches over all prayers, all hunts, all songs. All one must do is ask.”

  I swallowed hard. I needed a miracle. “I wronged a great being on the other side of the world. I thought it was the right thing to do.” I stopped. “No, it was the right thing to do. If she was freed, she would spread her wrath across the world. She was an evil beyond redemption. Even an ancient Chinese archer god thought so. It was a terrible choice. Would he fix me, your Great Chief, I mean?”

  He’heeno looked at me, head to toe. Finally, she nodded. “He might, but he does not do these things blindly. For a great gift he asks us to make an offering of ourselves and our faith. Our faith in the order of things. Our faith in the people.”

  “What sort of medicine? A tincture or an infusion? Or something else, entirely?”

  Chelan smiled. “Medicine is the cure of the spirit. It is all that sustains us. It is the prayers of the spirit and the blessings of life. It is all that makes us what we are. It is…” she paused, searching for another word.

  “Divine magic?” I offered.

  Chelan looked pleased. “Joseph called it devilry. He forbade me to teach it to the children, but it is their birthright. For my children, it is as natural as the breath they draw or the water they drink. It is as natural as the sun rising in the east and the wind in their hair. We are one with the land. The medicine is part of the land.”

  The medicine may be a part of this land, but I was not. I bit the inside of my cheek. “Why would the Great Chief help me? I’m not like you. Not Cheyenne, I mean.”

  “The Great Chief hears all prayers, he hears all things, he is in all things. He watches over all prayers, all hunts, all songs. All one must do is ask.”

  I swallowed hard. I needed a miracle. “I wronged a great being on the other side of the world. I thought it was the right thing to do.” I stopped. “No, it was the right thing to do. If she was freed, she would spread her wrath across the world. She was an evil beyond redemption. Even an ancient Chinese archer god thought so. It was a terrible choice. Would he fix me, your Great Chief, I mean?”

  He’heeno looked at me, head to toe. Finally, she nodded. “He might, but he does not do these things blindly. For a great gift he asks us to make an offering of ourselves and our faith. Our faith in the order of things. Our faith in the people.”

  Chelan patted my shoulder. “Do not be afraid, you are a friend. Maheo sees the hearts of all people and judges them by their spirits. That is how you will be judged. But you must journey to the great camp and plead your case before him, so he may judge your spirit for himself.”

  He’heeno took both my hands within hers and looked over the marks of my half-healed burns. “Spirits have been wronged by your actions, but your heart is pure, and you have done my family a great kindness. It is not my place to ask Maheo to intervene on your behalf. That is something you must do yourself.”

  I steeled myself with a heavy breath. “So how do we speak to Maheo?”

  “Follow the smoke,” she said, as though it was obvious.

  “The smoke?”

  She pointed to where smoke wafted gently up toward the clouds. “Maheo’s great camp is above us. He oversees all that is, all that was, and all that shall be. And in his great camp is where people meet in the afterlife, and hunt and feast and live in peace and harmony with nature, forever. If you wish to regain your harmony with the spirits of the land and with those you have wronged, there is where you must go. Only Maheo can help you set things right.”

  I looked away. “Won’t you ask him for his help?”

  “I would, but this is a journey you must make yourself. Think of it as a journey both within and without. It is more than mere prayer. Prayer without belief is nothing. You must truly want the answers and the forgiveness you seek.”

  I chewed my lip. “I didn’t mean that I wasn’t sincere.”

  “I understand. But the journey is so much more than the destination. You could have sent my daughter and her children to me. Instead, you accompanied them, you and your husband ensured their safety. This journey is now yours. You must walk the path of Seana to the sacred camp and speak to Maheo. Why would you entrust something as precious as your fate to me?”

  She was right. But, I was so tired of journeys. I just wanted to rest. I wanted whatever chasm had grown between Nate and myself to heal itself and for us to just go home. Then again, being on another grand adventure had done us a world of good. Guardianship of an estate and the people that called it home had all the appeal of a slimy, lukewarm eel pie in a warm, stuffy room for my dear Nate. It was liable to suffocate him where he stood.

  “No, I would not.” The moment I said it, I knew it was right. The safety of our home, though it held appeal only in its steadfastness, was the very thing that had led to our isolation. We had escorted Chelan and her children for their own safety, never mind that Nacto and Haimovi were more than capable warriors in their own right. “I will walk the path of Seana and visit with the Great Chief Maheo. With luck, he will understand why I acted as I did and he will see I was not being selfish. He may even protect us from the wendigo and end my curse.”

  The Great Hunter would see it. He would have to. I wasn’t acting selfishly. Well, not entirely. Xihuan-Lung would not have stopped with murdering only Mr. Barrett and Charlotte and the rest of them, or even with Nate and me. Instead, she would have turned her murderous rage against the entire world. Hou Yi, the archer of ancient Chinese legend who was forced to slay the dragon did so for the good of mankind.

  It occurred to me that Hou Yi had been an archer, a hunter. Maheo was the Great Hunter. I had only seen the silver casting of Hou Yi in the key to Xihuan-Lung’s eternal resting place. Could Hou Yi and Maheo be related?

  It was an intriguing thought, to be sure. They were on opposite sides of the world, and the people were so different, but I had never heard of Great Hunters before now.

  We moved inside the sod house. He’heeno knelt and gathered dried herbs from various, tied bundles. I recognized some of the herbs as she moved between the bundles, dried and hanging from every available rack, frame, and niche in the walls. As I watched her, something even more interesting than herbs drew my attention. There were paintings, beautiful paintings, all over the walls, painted on leather which had been stretched in wooden frames.

  “Is that an angel?”

  Chelan shook her head. “That is the Thunderbird. Nonoma is a sacred force of nature, bringer of summer, the great thunder, and the banisher of the winter winds. Strong enough to banish the water monster, Menhe, and a powerful guardian of the people. Nonoma can carry the great monster of the sea in his talons like an eagle carries a fish. And, most importantly, Nonoma protects the worthy.”

  The paintings were beautiful in their simplistic design, all in stark colors. At first glance they appeared primitive, but that made them even more stirring. There was nothing gentle about their beauty. The power of them pierced the heart, with no backgrounds to confuse the eye, no flowers or mountains, no clouds, or birds. These were sacred figures. The Thunderbird with its beautiful white body had wings of red and yellow. He hung in the sunlight, making the wings of the summer bird shine.

  Another painting hung in shadow. A forgotten spirit maybe? One to be approached with caution or fear? The figure rose and fell like a mountain range, like a snake in blue paint, with large red horns, jutting from a wide forehead, an open maw with curving black teeth and a forked tongue.

  The blood in my ears throbbed so loudly a single thought beat against my brain in time with my pounding blood. Xihuan-Lung. Xihuan-Lung. Xihuan-Lung. I touched the wall for
support. Bits of dried plants crumbled beneath my fumbling hand releasing their earthy scent. I swallowed hard, felt my breakfast at the back of my throat. Breathe. Breathe. I turned. “Who is that one?” Please, no!

  “That is Mehne, the horned serpent,” Chelan said.

  I felt faint.

  He’heeno shook her head. “One must use care when dealing with Mehne. She rests in rivers and lakes. She can bestow great gifts upon those she favors but can also eat men; it depends upon how she feels at the time. It is best to leave gifts to Mehne before asking for a favor.” He’heeno looked up from where she sat grinding a mix of herbs into a fine powder. “Mehne distresses you. Come sit beside me.”

  I sat.

  “My daughter tells me she sees a striped cougar that haunts you. It stalks you. It hunts your children.”

  I chewed my lip. “I have no children.”

  “Your children are trapped, they are prevented from joining you in this world. They cannot cross over to join you in this world.”

  “Where are they trapped?”

  “The living exist in one world. The spirits exist in another. If you seek to free them, you must walk a dangerous path. All the wild spirits bend to the will of the Great Hunter. They do as he pleases. Maheo is the Great Chief of all that walks and crawls and swims and flies. He leads us all in harmony and wisdom. You must journey to his great camp and ask for his guidance. If he judges your actions to be fair, then he may command the cougar spirit to release the spirits of your children to your care.”

  “And if he does not?” I closed my eyes. If I could not be pardoned, then what?