by Eric Black
The men said their farewells to Juan. Lastly, Juan embraced Diego. “Godspeed, old friend.”
Enoch looked down upon the men from the dais, “It’s time.” Juan offered one final nod at Diego and then the hall disappeared.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Juan opened his eyes and saw that he was back in the village. He stretched his back and expected to wince at his tired body but his legs took root under him and he felt invigorated. In his mind, he could hear a voice that sleep or food or water would no longer be needed.
He walked the village and saw that several of the halls had deteriorated. At least two of the buildings had collapsed completely. He recognized the damage had been caused by weather and wondered how long they had been gone. In his mind, a voice came, One hundred years. Juan recognized it as truth but found the truth hard to comprehend.
After he finished inspecting the buildings, he walked up the path to the fountain. Abuelo’s hut should have been there but sometime during the past century, storms had carried the hut away.
He turned from the overgrown ground and walked to the fountain. There, Cherubim and the other animals still guarded the fountain. Cherubim did not move yet Juan knew he watched.
Juan thought on Cherubim in his true form. What only appeared to be a stone beast was a being that had beheaded the sons of angels and guarded the most surreptitious secrets of creation.
He went back to the village and climbed the earthen wall, looking out over the Snake River; the morning sun reflected off its currents. I must rebuild the village. I’ll start by tearing down the buildings, keeping only the lumber that is strong and will build a great hall. Others will soon come. As he walked, he wondered when he would see his old friends again.
“And so you two have not seen each other since that time?” the priest asked. Juan and Diego shook their heads. He looked at Juan, “What did you do alone those many years?”
“I was not alone for long.” Juan told him of all that occurred afterward:
Juan first saw the man as he was placing the thatched roofing on hall. He had been carrying an armload of long grass when a movement in the field caught his eye. He dropped the grass and rose to his full height, surveying the field. There in the field was a lone man and Juan instantly set out across the field to intercept him.
Juan could tell the man was anxious as he approached, yet he held his ground. Juan was unaware because he had been around no one else but he had become as intimidating as the Men of Nod to other men. There was an aura about him that exuded power and wisdom and demonstrated no fear of the world or the dangers within.
The man knew Juan had seen him but assumed Juan would only think him a scout and give a wary observation. To his surprise, Juan left the village and strode confidently towards him.
The man’s complexion was dark. In stark contrast, he wore large white feathers in his black hair and was clothed in blue-died deer skin. He spoke a language that Juan had never heard and yet Juan understood every word and could speak the language back without flaw.
They questioned each other on their intentions for some time and finally Juan invited him into the village. He offered the man a seat next to the fire and gave him a wooden mug filled with hot cocoa (a gift from Enoch). The man was pleased and drank his mug quickly, ignoring the temperature of the beverage. Juan offered him another which he accepted.
He introduced himself as Kosati and answered that this was his land (he called the land Tanasqui).
“How long have your people lived here?” Juan asked.
“We have been here for three generations. My ancestors lived further south and long ago, my grandfather’s father met a group of fierce warriors called Calusa. The Calusa spoke of a river to the north and of spirits that lived as men.
“My grandfather was told this story and came to this land. This village was already here but he was afraid to enter. Our people settled further downriver.”
His village was Cvtonunga (which he pronounced Chatonunga). He explained the name meant dwelling place under the rock and to emphasize, he pointed at the large mountain that shadowed the valley.
Several springs went by and Juan began thinking of the village of the Nephilim; he was unsure if the village still even stood. He decided he would wait until after the spring thaw and then visit the village.
The journey west along the Snake River took several weeks but he finally came to the site where the village had been located. He found the buildings rotted and collapsed; only decaying posts sunk into the mounds remained.
Among the rubble were very few clues about how the ethereal men spent their time on earth. He walked through the site looking for anything that would shed more light on who they were as a people but the village did little to accomplish that goal.
He spent a few days in the village before deciding to return to his valley. He gave the site one more walk through and discovered something he had missed previously: on one of the rotting posts was etched a single word – Elioud.
The following decades saw many British and French move into the valley to establish colonies – colonies that infringed on tribal lands. Where there had been decades of peace, those tribes fought back and massacres occurred on both sides.
The level of fighting erupted when Dragging Canoe came to the valley. Juan met with him and found him to be angry but reasonable. Dragging Canoe, Juan learned, felt strongly about the intruding settlers and had left his own home lands when his people would not take action against the settlers. He came to the valley to make an impression.
After month in the valley, Dragging Canoe made his first attack on a British settlement. His success persuaded numerous tribes to band with him and under the leadership of Dragging Canoe, they assaulted other British villages.
As new warriors came to the valley, the promise of blood became louder by Dragging Canoe. “We will drive them back to their own lands. If they do not go, we will drink their blood over their dead bodies and burn their villages to ashes.”
The British responded with five thousand soldiers. They came peacefully but were armed for much more. They called for a meeting with Dragging Canoe and the leaders of the tribes. A meeting was held and conditions were offered; despite Dragging Canoe’s refusal to submit, the other leaders overruled him and secured a treaty.
Dragging Canoe was furious and left the valley with three hundred warriors, vowing to continue uniting tribes against the invaders.
Juan was thankful for the treaty as the army marched out of the valley into the eastern horizon. That evening, however, a regiment of fifty men on horseback returned, riding straight to his village.
Juan watched the regiment approach and the commander arrive at the earthen doorway of the village. He dismounted his horse and offered in English, “I am Colonel John Briggs. Might I have a word with you?”
Juan nodded and gestured towards the fire outside of his lodge. The commander entered the village alone while the remainder of the regiment waited just outside of the wall. Briggs looked around the village, taking in its defenses and capabilities. “You are not native to this land?” he asked as more of a formality.
“Are any of us?” Juan answered. “I am Spanish but I have lived in this land for many years.”
“Ah, Spanish. I thought as much. And yet you speak English well.” Briggs’ eyes continued the observation. “This village was here when you arrived?”
“Aye,” Juan answered. He knew how this conversation would end. It was obvious the army looked to establish a fort within the valley to keep an eye on Dragging Canoe.
“Do you mind if my men stay here for the evening, in your village?” Briggs asked the expected question. “We have been ordered to remain in the valley to keep an eye on Dragging Canoe, to see if he will break the new treaty.”
Juan did not answer immediately. He knew that Briggs and his men would stay in the village whether Juan agreed or not. He had met many men like Briggs before.
He rose to his feet and Briggs joined him. �
��You knew the answer before you entered,” Juan challenged, “and that answer is you’re not welcome here.”
Briggs smiled. “I thought that might be your answer. Very well.”
He whistled loudly and his men dismounted their horses and came into the village with swords drawn and muskets aimed. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” he asked amused.
Juan did not answer. Briggs looked at him and expected to see fear in Juan’s eyes. Instead, he saw a man whose eyes were old beyond their years and that had seen much death; he saw a man who was not only unafraid but confident.
The lack of fear confused Briggs. Juan saw the confusion and smiled, “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”
Briggs saw the assurance in Juan’s eyes. He doesn’t believe he can beat me does he?
Juan knew his thoughts and his smile grew.
Part of Briggs would have liked to back down at that smile but he knew that was foolish thinking: the thinking of a coward. Instead, he ordered Juan’s death.
The fighting was over quickly. As the soldiers approached, Juan touched the soldiers and they fell dead. Their bullets and swords passed through him harmlessly and he was unscathed.
He saved Briggs for last and the arrogance died in his eyes as he left the world to the afterlife.
After the battle, Juan was remorseful it had come to death but he had protected the fountain. He looked around at the scattered bodies of soldiers. Taking it all in, he closed his eyes and upon opening them, the bodies of the soldiers and their horses were gone.
The years passed and the valley became part of Tennessee. Tennessee then became part of the new nation that was called America.
Men settled nearer to the village and the community grew until his village became encompassed. The earthen wall around the village was removed and the village became a central part of the town now called Chattanooga. All the while, the fountain was hidden in plain sight.
Juan told them it was a gift from the French.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
During those years of relative solitude, Juan wandered the lands that had become a united nation. The city had grown around the fountain and there was little threat to a fountain that hid in plain sight, used by children to cool themselves in the summer heat.
He exploring the young nation that continued to expand. On one occasion, he made his way west to New Mexico, charmed by the mountains and their barren quality.
Feeling drawn but not able to explain the sensation, he entered the small town of Cimarron, New Mexico at the base of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. He had seen for himself the mountains turning red in the sunset, resembling the flowing blood of Christ.
Cimarron was rumored to harbor outlaws. There were stories of shootouts in the saloon of the local hotel but Juan found the stories were told mostly to draw notoriety; the town itself was actually peaceful.
He checked into the town’s hotel, his first real bed in some time and slept well.
Rising before dawn, he found the hotel restaurant had a decent cup of coffee. As he sipped, he glanced up at the ceiling. It wasn’t quite riddled but there were certainly several bullet holes; perhaps some of the stories were founded.
He questioned a man at a neighboring table and the man explained that occasionally, shots were fired at the ceiling by someone who had exceeded his alcohol limit, hoping to unnerve those sleeping upstairs. “Don’t worry though, the ceiling has a double layer of hardwood that keeps bullets from making their way through.”
He sipped his third cup of coffee and picked up a discarded local newspaper. He read until he drained the last bit of his coffee and then set the paper back down for the next patron. Feeling invigorated, he walked out into the morning sun.
Outside of the hotel was his first encounter with the Taos Pueblo. “You should get yourself a gun,” the Taos Pueblo offered unprovoked.
“How’s that?”
“You don’t have to worry about me, amigo,” the Taos Pueblo said with his hands raised to show he meant no harm. “I’m only speaking out of concern for your safety. All seems calm but there is violence in this town.”
Juan studied the man. They were similar: same size, same dark hair, dark eyes and dark complexion. But that’s not where the similarities ended: Juan knew there was something inimitable about the man.
“What is it you want?” Juan asked.
“People around here laugh and say: Who was killed at the hotel last night? I don’t see the humor but some do. It’s also said that the hotel is inhabited by spirits.”
“Ghosts?”
“Call them what you will but people claim to have seen them. I don’t suppose a bullet would work against them.”
“What is it you want from me?” Juan repeated.
“You’re new in town and I figured you could use a friend.”
“I don’t need a friend.”
“Everyone needs a friend. Especially when you’re new in town. I would think a friend of the Cherokee would know that.”
Juan turned and faced the man fully, “How do you know I’m a friend of the Cherokee?”
“You were followed west and the one that followed you came to us last night after you arrived. He said you could use a friend; and here I am.”
“Who would have followed…?” Juan closed his mouth. He knew. “Is he still with you?”
“No, he left this morning back to his people. He said his journey was complete.”
Juan nodded. “So, you know who I am. And who are you, amigo?”
“I am Jose. You will come with me. You are a brother to the Cherokee and so you will be a brother to my people.”
Juan accepted.
The miles of desert between Cimarron and Jose’s village reminded him of Kansas. Kansas was barren. It was a desolate place of sod homes and scrub brush.
But while this land was equally forsaken, it also had an enchanted splendor about it.
They reached the Taos Pueblo village just before the sun dipped below the horizon. The people of the village were setting their evening meal and even though food was no longer necessary for him, the aroma made Juan’s stomach growl.
Jose took care of the horses while Juan washed his hands and face for dinner. When he was done, he entered the courtyard of Jose’s home where he was introduced to Jose’s wife and five children.
His wife served a dinner of corn tortillas and beans. It was simple but Juan couldn’t have asked for a better meal.
Afterwards, they sat watching Jose’s children play while his wife took the plates back to the small kitchen area of the house. Jose laughed as his youngest son picked up a stick to hit his older brother for picking. “That little one, he takes nothing from his older brothers and sisters.”
Jose sipped his coffee. “Tomorrow, I need to go back into town for a few supplies. They didn’t have them today but promised they would arrive in the morning from Raton. Would you like to come with me?”
Juan said that he would and they drank the thick, dark coffee, watching the stars appear overhead. Just before darkness invaded the land, Jose lit a fire. Juan noticed that he did not use matches, only his hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
It was late. Juan could hear Jose snoring from another part of the house but other than that, nothing stirred.
He was restless as he thought on what would come the following morning. He could think of nothing that would change the outcome and it saddened him.
Before the sun welcomed a new day, Juan rose from his place beside the fire to find Jose already awake. Juan was offered hot coffee, which he readily accepted and he two men enjoyed their coffee in the early morning silence.
Juan turned his attention to the mountains in the horizon and Jose noticed his gaze. “The mountains are beautiful, are they not?”
“They are indeed.”
“I have lived my entire life under these mountains and yet I do not grow tired of their beauty and strength. You have mountains where you are from?”
“
We do. They’re not as large as the mountains here but they are peaceful.”
“Do you miss your home?”
“I miss my friends,” Juan admitted.
Jose was somber. “You are very unusual, amigo. But at the same time, I think you and I are much alike.”
Juan considered what he had seen with Jose starting the fire only with his hands, “You may be right.”
They made their way to Cimarron and were in the hotel’s restaurant when a man entered. Juan didn’t notice him at first but he should have.
Without speaking, the man raised his pistol and fired twice. The first bullet hit Jose in the chest and propelled him backwards. Juan took a step forward and the man’s gun rang out again. The second bullet passed through Juan’s right shoulder. He was so preoccupied with Jose that he forgot to feign being shot which would have slammed him backwards at such a close range.
The man squeezed his trigger again. This time the bullet passed through Juan’s head. More preoccupied with the shooter, he didn’t notice the crowded room witnessing a man shot twice with no impact.
The shooter retreated out of the restaurant with a static grin. Juan started to give chase but then looked down and saw Jose; there was little doubt of his death.
It had all happened so fast but he got a look at the shooter. At first the face meant nothing. Then, it dawned on him and he knew who had attacked.
Even before they entered the town, Juan knew that Jose would die but the circumstances of his death were unclear. With the recognition of the shooter, the reason behind the death became palpable.
The next week was as Juan had expected. He had lived among native tribes before. In Tennessee, he had spent much time among the Cherokee and although they had different customs, their approach to death was very similar. The rituals and ceremonies of the Taos Pueblo reflected their loss. But they also reflected on Jose’s leadership, courage and strength in life.
