A part of me was stunned at even more blood spilled into the dirt, but it was a quiet, hushed part of me, silenced by the horror of the last few days. I wanted to dress these new wounds, treat them for pain, ensure against infection, and yet…there was a strange beauty to their shared mourning. These dead warriors had shed their blood to protect their loved ones. Those that remained behind shed blood in their honor. I took comfort in knowing that their healers would see to their hurts when the time was right.
On the fourth sunset, the moon rose, and the sky was clear. The ribbon of stars was bright, disappearing behind the dark mountain range. The souls of the dead would have finished their journey and would be in the camp of the Great Chief.
He’heeno oversaw the placement of the bodies, dressed in their finery, placed in a communal grave in the shadow of a great tree. They were all carried on litters of hides stretched between long branches. Then, by the light of the moon and stars, the grave was filled in and the mound of earth covered by stones to keep animals away from bodies of the honored dead.
He’heeno addressed her people. “Our loved ones are gone, but we must remember Hestanováhe, the life taker, is not gone from this world. It becomes strong when we are weak. We must love one another and keep goodness in our hearts. It is misdeeds against our brothers and sisters the monster craves and fear is what it feeds upon. That is why it was called by that devil.”
The Cheyenne nodded in agreement. Their battles, their victories, their shared sorrows renewed their bonds to each other. They each reached out to their families in comfort.
Chelan stood by her mother, watching over their people. “We offer our hair and our blood to the creator for the safe passage of their spirits. Our beloved lost were great warriors for our people. They gave all for us. We give a part of us for their safekeeping.”
It made as much sense as anything else. It was a sacrifice. It was giving all for someone they loved. I would give no less for Nate should the situation arise. I had burned my Tarot symbols away for my husband. I asked for the knife and without another thought I hacked my own long brown hair, grown rich auburn from our adventures in the sun, off at the shoulder, adding it to the pile of cut hair on the graves of the dead. They deserved my offering and my gratitude. We had brought this evil to their door. We had done our best to set it right. I stood in an ocean of misery.
He’heeno turned to us, her eyes wet. “We are strong. Remain with us until you are strong as well.”
“You did not do this.” He’heeno said. “The monster, Geiger, sought old evils that feed on the bad medicine in men’s hearts. There is good in men’s hearts but, in some, there is bad, too.” She motioned to the smoke rising from a dozen small fires set around the bodies. “When you call an evil thing by its name, you draw its attention. That is never a safe place to be. You can be master of the darkness for a time, but never master of evil for long. The only way to master evil is to banish it from your heart and never let it infect you.”
“How do we banish the w—the creature?” I asked. “Geiger promised it a body, one that is not dependent on the greed and sin of man. That will only grow.”
“We realize our sins and forgive.” He’heeno said, “We do our best to practice peace when we can, and when we cannot, we are swift and sure in heart.”
Nate put his arm around my shoulder. He gave a small appraising glance at my newly cropped hair. He had bled for them, fought for and with them. We had burned their enemy, for it was also our enemy. We burned it with fire and, when fire was not enough, we tore the flesh from its bones and crushed them to nothing. I gave of myself. We are human, same as them and, yet, our loss was nothing in comparison to theirs.
Chapter Thirty-One
HE’HEENO SAT WITH her people, sheltering and leading them through their long grief. It was another week before we were strong enough to leave. Our long battles and journeys had taken their toll, but I found that without the ruby, my mind was clear again. With a clear mind, the color returned to the earth and, with it, I found I could eat again.
I helped He’heeno and Chelan replace their stores of herbs and medicines and Nate helped hunt and fish. With many of their hunters dead, they needed every hand possible. At night, we slept like the dead, our bodies intertwined.
Finally, one morning, Chelan came and sat with me. “I will have my brother return you to the train station. You may return home.”
Return home. Return to the land of the white people that were forcing her people into this little corner of the mountains. Haimovi was right. It was a prison. It was a tragedy. A cage with beautiful walls was still a cage. The Cheyenne were safe here, but only if they remained here.
As much as I longed for my home outside of London, I would be miserable if I was never allowed to leave. Nate would be beside himself and would rail violently against the very idea of incarceration, no matter how large his prison. Freedom was the idea that drove him to airships.
But this was not our place. We did not belong here.
We said our goodbyes. I embraced and kissed He’heeno, Chelan, Chameli, and the baby. Meturato came to see us off, glaring from beneath his shaggy hair and several pimples. I thought I saw him give Nate and me a small smile. It was as friendly as I had ever seen him. Haimovi and Nate exchanged back-pounding hugs. I was sure the goal was to break ribs.
I closed my eyes and said a prayer for the Cheyenne. I hoped they would find peace but, more than that, I hoped the Americans would grow to understand their brothers and live in peace with them.
Nacto hitched the cart we had given them to a strong horse, and we rode with him to the train station in Forbythe. I watched the houses and farms and animal pens disappear behind us as we left the valley. The mountains looked over the land, purple and proud. The dark pines were sentinels, watching over the people that had once been free to come and go, following the herds of animals that fed the Cheyenne, and giving them their wonderful houses of tanned skins. The lake was a cruel mirror. It showed beauty in a prison. It was a beautiful place they were never allowed to leave safely, unless they had specific business, and even that carried risk. The ocean of grass waved goodbye to me. I knew I would never see this place again.
At Forbythe, we bid Nacto goodbye. I could not help it, so I gave him a hug. He froze in shock before returning my embrace. He and Nate shook hands before Nacto headed off with a pile of hides to trade at the general store for goods they did not have on the reservation.
Nate and I went into the train station. It was strange to see so many people like us. They stared at my trousers and my short hair. We paid for tickets back to St. Louis, found our seats on the train, and collapsed in the car.
I felt the call of The High Priestess again. She was insistent but gentle. The symbol on my side was warm and inviting. I closed my eyes and drew the image to my mind. Positioned between pillars of darkness and light, sitting before the tree of knowledge with the moon at her feet and the crown of the triple goddess upon her brow. She is the gate keeper of great mysteries and the protector of faith and secrets. She keeps sacred text within the blue robes of truth that cover her body, she conceals and reveals much.
I always loved the card. As the keeper of sacred mysteries, The High Priestess used her great knowledge to teach rather than control others. I couldn’t help but think her sudden appearance in my life as I battled Geiger and the wendigo meant she had wisdom to share. I just wished I knew what she was trying to teach me. Had she just come to me with all four of the great queens of the Tarot to help me rally, or was there something more?
I had more than enough time to ponder this mystery. The return trip would take us just over a week to return to Pennsylvania, by way of St. Louis to collect our belongings, barring any significant delays. It would also have us switching trains three different times to different lines.
Watching the country race by filled me with a profound sadness. This land was immense. We had traveled for days on end and we had not even seen the other end of America
. Days would pass before we would see the lights of another town, before we would see signs of another human. And still, there was not enough land to share. The Cheyenne, and the other Native peoples, the Cherokee, Sioux, Cree, Pawnee, Navajo, Arapahoe, Crow, Ute, so many more people cast off and pushed aside because they were in the way. The people from the south, the Mexicans, were murdered and forced away from their homes in the name of progress. There was also a great number of people, descendants of slaves stolen from their homes in Africa and other nations, whose freed descendants were now sharecroppers, a legal form of slavery. The people were free in name but were treated little better.
America was supposed to be the land of opportunity. America was supposed to be the land where a man willing to work could make a life for himself and for his family. Instead, it was the same as in England. The poor were cast aside for the convenience of the rich. Their lives were worthless. We were not the wealthy who were careless with the lives of others, but we were gaining wealth by a system built on their backs. I hated it. I also hated that I could not see a way to change it.
Nate sat across from me in our private train car, sipping tea. I was so fortunate to have married such a man. Perhaps his humble beginnings made him care more about our tenants. Perhaps it was the sudden responsibility for the welfare of others. Either way, I was grateful. Nate would not cast others aside.
To truly love was to honor the truths of another and to try to understand. It was not love to force others to see the world as you do. The Cheyenne sons gave their lives to protect the people from this demon so, in turn, the people honored their dead with gifts of their bodies, their blood and their hair. God gave us angels. Maheo gave the people the thunderbird, Nonoma, to protect them from harm.
The Chinese Dragon was a creature of immense power that loved man and gave great gifts, but was corrupted through failing to maintain balance. She gave too much of herself for her love of man.
Devils and demons fed on the sins of mankind, causing their fall from grace or drawn to their failings. It was that way in the oldest place I had been, China, in the place I was born, England, and the new world I was now in, America.
No, there was only one logical conclusion. There is one united truth. All people are one, we merely call our gods by different names.
Gods, Angels, Demons, Devils.
We are all united. We are all one.
I felt faint, and set my forehead against the cool glass window of the train. The rocking was soothing. When I opened my eyes, I stared out across the darkening landscape.
Four women stood at the doorway of our car, looking at my reflection. I turned in my seat. They must have the wrong car.
The door was closed; Nate and I were alone. He was asleep, his arms folded, head bowed, the rocking had lulled him senseless.
I turned back to the window. The four women were still in the window, watching me.
Blonde, brunette, scarlet, and raven-haired, I knew these women, they were queens, the great queens of the Tarot, powerful and wise.
I had called upon the Tarot many times before, I had used the cards and the power they represented, but I only twice demanded the cards serve my will. The first time was to separate Prince Qixiang from his twin sister, for he used her for his own selfish ends and my sense of justice was offended. That was not love, but abuse. My throat still ached from the lash I received for exerting my will against the fate of another. I had paid for my arrogance.
The only other time I forced my will upon them was my demand for justice. I demanded judgment be brought upon myself for my crimes and to absolve Nate for the sins he had committed on my behalf. He did it out of love for me. Anyone with eyes could see that. If God could not absolve Nate for all he did for love, then I would not owe God my faith. A God loved. A dragon loved. A man loved. A dog loved. We all loved, fiercely. That love raised us and forced us to act rashly.
If these great queens were here to punish me for my arrogance, I would already be suffering their wrath.
The Queen of Cups was beautiful and shapely. Her blonde hair fell elegantly over her shoulders, her blue eyes twinkled. Her gown was covered in silver scallop shells and at her throat was a silver trout. She held a golden cup in her hands offering her support.
The Queen of Pentacles stood next to her. They were night and day. She was a vision of night, the beautiful dark color of the African women. Her hair was short and curly, her features strong and proud. She wore robes decorated in patterns of vines and fruit, and in her hand, she held a bowl with a pentacle engraved in the bottom, full of bread.
The Queen of Swords had the beautiful skin of the women from China and Asia. Her eyes were a beautiful almond shape, her hair was thin and fine but dark brown, nearly black, and straight. She was lean and well-muscled, and in her hand, she carried a sword, the promise of justice for all in her path. There was a kindness in her eyes, a sort of mercy but also a fierce intellect.
The Queen of Wands was dressed in robes the color of sunsets decorated with lions. Her fierce green eyes watched me, her fiery auburn hair was caught up in beautiful coil of braids setting off her olive skin. A leather-wrapped book sat in one hand, a wooden staff in her other.
These queens, goddesses, spirits of all that women are and all that women could become, stared at me. And then, very slowly, as one, they reached out a welcoming hand.
I turned to Nate. He slept on.
The queens beckoned. Wands, Pentacles, Swords, Wands, the Tarot itself may indeed be a new construct, but it represented the elements that bound our understanding of the world. These were more than the suits, more than Queens, these were mothers. They were strength, passion, intellect, energy, possessions, and both the spiritual and physical worlds. They were all things. They were the things that bound everyone everywhere.
And then, as if they could read my thoughts, in unison, they each moved a hand protectively over their abdomens, cradling the sacred cauldron of life.
Sister.
We were sisters. They were women from across the world: mothers, healers, huntresses, warriors, lovers. Women had great strength within them, and we needed to support it in one another. We were so much more than a single, simple thing. I would become all these in time, or not. I was passing into a new role. I looked at my sleeping husband. He would be beside himself with joy but for now this was my secret.
I had spent my time following The Hermit, seeking to be led through the darkness to a greater truth and understanding. I had wanted someone to make sense of my grief and loss. I had to stumble through it myself.
The Magician is more than a man that bound the elements. It is a force, and women are a force of nature. We bind all things within us, as the sacred keepers of life, and we are mighty. As defenders, we are mighty, as lovers, we are mighty. We are mighty in all we do, and as a woman, I am mighty myself.
The knowledge was empowering. No matter what came next, I would face it well. I was The Magician, and my power was united in me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
MR. CASSATT DIDN’T bother to offer us coffee or tea. We had barely sat down before he spoke. “I understand you have been touring the railroads.”
To his credit, Nate didn’t appear rattled. He cocked an eyebrow at him, one leg crossed casually across the other. “We have.”
“I see you were kept well apprised of our activities,” I added.
Mr. Cassatt’s clerk knocked and entered, juggling a tray of mugs and a coffee pot.
Mr. Cassatt nodded to Mr. Burris, who carefully poured the coffee into the mugs. The gentlemen took it black. I put sugar and cream into mine and carefully stirred it. I didn’t really want it, my stomach felt off.
Mr. Cassatt took a sip, then set the cup down on his desk. “Mr. Valentine, I would appreciate your honesty in this matter.”
I couldn’t help myself. “And we would appreciate yours.”
Mr. Cassatt pinched his mouth closed as though he tasted something he didn’t care for.
Nate t
oyed with his cup, twisting it in his hands. “You heard her, Mr. Cassatt. You answer her questions, we will answer yours.”
Mr. Cassatt glanced at me then looked at Nate again. “Mr. Valentine, you have to understand, the issue at the end of the line was—”
Nate held up his hand, cutting him off. “You will answer my wife’s concerns, or I assure you our business is concluded.”
It was a bluff. Most of our capital was tied to this railroad. Cutting our losses now would necessitate selling our remaining treasure from the Lamia’s lair, our safety net. Thankfully, Mr. Cassatt didn’t know that.
“You were employing a Mr. Newton Geiger,” I said simply. I didn’t think he would deny it.
Mr. Cassatt sucked his teeth. “I was.”
“Why?”
“I suppose, since no one has seen him in more than a month, I can assume he has abandoned the special project. He assured me he could revolutionize locomotives so they would propel themselves across the track. It was our secret project to be announced later this year. Such a thing would have saved us hundreds on coal annually.” He turned to Nate. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, we could pass substantial profits on to our investors.”
I cleared my throat, drawing his attention back. Whether he believed women were proper for business or not, he would hear me out. “I wonder, please enlighten me, Mr. Cassatt, how does the railroad expand when people with farms own the land the railroad wishes to move through?”
Mr. Cassatt gave me the indulgent smile one saves for precocious children. “You must not be familiar with the concept of eminent domain.”
Nate poured himself another cup of coffee. “I’m afraid that power is reserved for the crown in England.”
Mr. Cassatt turned to face Nate, happy to speak to him for a change. “The Pennsylvania Railroad achieved its charter in 1846, so it is quite old and respectable. Eminent domain is basically the power to take private property for public use following the payment or compensation to the owner of the property. We offer compensation—fair compensation—to encourage people to move.”
The Rail Specter Page 26
