Crown of Serpents

by Michael Karpovage

  “Wow, that’s one hell of an endorsement,” said Jake with a sly grin.

  Joe cleared his throat. “He has so perverted the Haudenosaunee with his casino in the Catskills that a cultural civil war has resulted and traditionalists, like our Tonawanda Band, are stuck on the losing end.”

  “High Point, right?” asked Jake.

  “Correct,” answered Joe. “Sits on top of a mountain. It’s his personal fortress and playground. His thugs run the place. He rules like a dictator, according to our inside people who are employed there. He is a racist manipulator who loves gambling and stealing people’s hard-earned money. When he was Chief of the Onondaga and was persuading the tribe to turn their government into his company-run conglomerate, he promised to give back to those members who were less fortunate, but he merely gives out crumbs. Just drive through the Onondaga Nation today south of Syracuse and you’ll see what I mean.”

  Jake was getting fidgety. “Alright, listen I know you two don’t like Nero or his business of gambling. I just want to know why he really wants this crown?” he asked, trying to get them back on track. “Is he after it just to add to his collection?”

  Shifting in her chair, Lizzie spoke up. “He is a direct bloodline descendant of the Onondaga wizard Atotarho. He claims to be the rightful owner of the crown. He’s been searching for it for years, as did his late mother, and generations of their Turtle Clan before that.”

  “How do you guys know all this?”

  Joe frowned. “We’ve been watching him and following him during his rise to power. When he was born his mother announced that he was the direct male descendant of Atotarho. At that time our clan elders took notice of him as a precautionary measure.”

  “Listen, maybe his mother made the whole Atotarho bloodline thing up as a political ploy,” suggested Jake.

  Lizzie answered, her voice wavering. “We thought so too but his mother offered clear evidence of direct matrilineal descent that was backed by the other nations. It was undisputed. She and I were once very close and she revealed to me her intentions of finding the crown, but we had a falling out because I predicted her young son would only use the crown to harm people not help them. My predictions came true. Nero is for real. This is why he is such a threat if he gets a hold of it.”

  “Come on you two,” chastised Jake. “Anyone can claim descent. Unless you had a clear DNA match then you have no real evidence.”

  “Not in the Confederacy!” Lizzie growled, clearly fed up with Jake’s attitude. The little dog jumped off her lap and scampered off into the kitchen. “We hold matrilineal evidence to an even higher standard. Family trees recorded over the ages act as our DNA. We saw the Onondaga evidence with our own eyes, so did other nations. Nero is the one.”

  Jake pursed his lips.

  “His evil path started early on,” Lizzie continued. “As a young man he led the Onondaga Warrior Society. They smuggled cigarettes, drugs, all kinds of weapons, and even illegal immigrants in from Canada. They worked with the Mohawk Warrior Society in the St. Lawrence River region. The state police finally broke up the gangs and he served many years in prison.”

  Jake was unimpressed. “I remember all the crap going on in the 80s and 90s between the nations and the state, but I never heard of Nero.”

  “Well, his real clan name is Alex Tortoaha,” instructed Joe. “But in prison his power grew and he started a ruthless Neo-Iroquois gang who beat, stabbed, and raped many other prisoners. It was also rumored that he even ordered the death of a State Trooper although no one could prove it. That’s when he took on the name of Nero. He adopted it from the greatest warrior of the Onondaga Nation, a war-captain during the 1600’s named Aharihon who was called Nero by his French enemies because of his cruelty in comparison to the brutal Roman emperor Nero.”

  Jake blurted out. “This bonehead thinks a lot of himself to adopt a name like that.”

  “He also landed a freakin’ business degree behind bars too!” said Joe, disgust marking his face. “A Yale bachelor’s degree online. Hah! The American correctional system, it never ceases to amaze me how good the criminals have it.”

  Lizzie told more. “When he got out he used his mother’s influence, appeared to reform himself, and set out to become chief, all the while keeping his thugs ready to use as he saw fit.”

  “The Onondaga clan mothers then elected him chief,” mentioned Joe. “It’s an automatic seat on the Grand Council. That’s when we really started getting nervous. We knew his mother convinced him to seek the crown but some of the things he spoke about made us look harder at him. He wanted to declare war on New York State. He was a real rogue. He introduced gambling into the Onondaga tribe against their wishes. He set about suppressing the traditionalists within his own nation, and then consolidated his forces through bribes, evictions, character assassination, and violence. Anyone who disagreed with him or the notion of gambling was punished one way or another.”

  Lizzie cut in. “His pro-casino forces then voted in a new Onondaga Provisional Council and changed their form of government. The U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs approved the government change and the mothers turned him into a corporate CEO. That allowed him to pursue the casino deal. At the time, there was a previous lawsuit against the state covering 4,000 acres of ancestral Onondaga lands. It did not claim the lands back but instead wanted the state to clean up major pollutants throughout the area — like the third worst polluted lake in the U.S. — Onondaga Lake near Syracuse.”

  Joe added. “Then Nero negotiated with the last state governor, another corrupt bastard, and he offered to drop the lawsuit for land in the Catskills suitable for a casino. Nero used a well-intentioned tribal lawsuit of environmental cleanup and twisted it into a gambling racket for himself. He now sucks most of his money from New York City folk. His personal wealth has skyrocketed.”

  “And the pockets of his backers bulged in return, including some of the most powerful state and federal lawmakers who granted him the deal,” said Lizzie.

  “Then he started that sham museum, the Haudenosaunee Collection, with his tainted wealth,” said Joe, folding his thick arms across his chest and resting them on his belly. “He claims to be collecting artifacts for the good of our confederacy but his real goal is to find any clue that will lead him to that crown. His collection is somewhere deep within his mountain. He only lets high-rollers in to show it off. We’ve made several requests for a viewing but have been turned down every time.”

  Jake rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know—”

  Joe grew louder. “Jake, if he finds the crown then the combination of his ruthlessness, his political power, and his wealth will sow chaos and destruction for all of us. He’s already a raving megalomaniac who has divided our confederacy and seeks to reunite it under him. Especially now that he is Head Chief of the Grand Council. Giving him a legendary vessel of untold powers will turn him into a genocidal madman. This is why the crown must remain hidden. This is why I got so nervous and had to tell Lizzie.”

  “There is a prophecy that we fear the most,” Lizzie quietly announced. “That an evil will resurface once again and destroy our lands, and all that reside on them. This is an evil that corrupts, that does not show mercy on any physical human being, be it a child or an elder. The discoveries that have revealed themselves to you today and the fact that Atotarho’s spirit lives in Alex Nero is evidence that this evil no longer lies dormant.” She looked into Jake’s brown eyes. “The crown has awakened and seeks its master. It calls Nero. He now has the keys to unlock its whereabouts. And you were chosen to stop him!”

  Jake stood up, shaking his head. “Me? What are you talking about? I’m not involved in any of this!” He glared down at his uncle and the old witch. Were they drinking something funny in their tea? The notion that all of a sudden, as of today, Jake Tununda was supposed to stop the elected head of the Iroquois Confederacy from finding some ancient evil crown he never even knew existed, was absurd. And besides, the events of today h
appened by sheer luck.

  Or did they?

  As if Lizzie was reading his mind, she also rose from her chair and grabbed his wrists with her frail hands. “Don’t you realize that you are at the center of all this. You must start now where the lost White Deer Society left off. You must now be our guardian, for those of us who are too weak to fight back. It’s up to you.”

  Jake removed her hands. She plunked back down on the rocking chair with a sigh.

  Joe pressed the issue, holding his palms out for acceptance. “Listen to me Jake and let me finish, please. I’ve never steered you wrong in life and you know that. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “We know Luke Swetland discovered one of the cave entrances when he was adopted into the tribe after being taken prisoner. Even Boyd wrote down that he saw the cave himself. A map was even made of it. It exists. But where the exact location is, we don’t know. We do know it’s within a ten-minute walk from Kendaia near a sacred burial area. We do know Boyd’s cipher in his journal contains directions to it? And it’s stashed in his buried keg along with the cave map. And the other cipher code leads to where that keg is. Which is hidden in his partner’s trusted tool, whatever that is.”

  Jake found himself nodding, following along with his uncle’s thinking.

  Joe went on. “So, it’s clear that finding this trade tool and the missing piece of the code, and then breaking the code is a must if we are then able to find the buried keg, the other half of the cave location code, the map, and then hopefully go down underground and secure the crown!”

  “Right,” said Jake. It was the same adventurous spark he had proposed to Ashland earlier in the day, albeit without a crown involved. And Lizzie had even given him a good lead that the cipher had its origins with the Freemasons. But to go further and find the cave and be some sort of guardian isn’t what he expected. He just wanted the buried keg and its contents for MHI. Nothing more.

  Joe stood up out of his chair, face-to-face with Jake. “Putting all that aside, the immediate thing we can do is go back to the Cranberry Marsh well. There was a guardian buried there. There must be some kind of link to the cave system underneath, so the marsh hole needs to be explored further if anything, even if we cannot find all the other pieces of the puzzle that lead to the Kendaia cave entrance. I would guess there’s a tunnel behind those rocks you mentioned. If there is, then it must be secured, concealed, collapsed. Whatever it takes to keep someone out of there.”

  Jake shook his head. “The proper Haudenosaunee Burial Rules and Regulations committee should excavate that site. Not me. I’m not going into any more caves and I’m not the long lost savior of the White Deer Society. The committee can take care of everything. I’m just interested in the buried keg contents for historical purposes.”

  “Guess who just got elected chairman of that committee?” whispered Lizzie. “Alex Nero. If he gets hold of the crown he will have the power to talk to the spirits, and if that happens then untold evil will encompass all of us.”

  “I’ll go back in there with you Jake,” pleaded his uncle. “Let’s do this together.”

  There was a long silence. The drum beats and flute music had long since played itself out. Lizzie stared at the ceiling. Uncle Joe stood facing him. Jake knew his uncle was physically unfit to go into the well but he also didn’t want to let him down. Jake remembered how the clan had treated him when he announced he was joining the Army, how they even called him a traitor to his face and Joe was the lone person who stood by his side and defended him. Although the mission did sound incredibly exciting, he made a decision to stick to his guns and serve MHI first.

  “I’m sorry. I think you two are wrong about me. This crown business is not my fight. I’ve done enough fighting in my life. I’m really only interested in the keg and its historical contents for MHI. That I may pursue. I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’ve got a meeting in Rochester tomorrow, then I’m going back home to Carlisle to think this whole thing over.”

  “No, you are wrong!” shouted Lizzie, giving him a sinister stare.

  “Jake, you’ve never been one to give up an important mission to help others, to stop evil,” pleaded Joe. “This is a different form of evil. Take this on. It’s in your own blood, son.”

  Jake avoided his gaze. He started gathering his items. “It was good to see you both, but I’ve got to run. It’s late. I’ll think about it is all I can say.”

  Joe stared at him. “Just think about it.”

  Jake bid them a traditional farewell. “Ascungehhi, may you be guided by Kanikariio,” — Until we meet again, may you be guided by the good mind.

  “Ascungehhi,” replied Lizzie in a low voice. “Sleep well.”

  Jake paused to raise an eyebrow then bolted out the front door, jumped in his truck, and sped off.

  14

  Tuesday morning. Holiday Inn Express, Rochester, N.Y.

  THE WHITE-FURRED, ten-point buck turned its head and stared at Jake. Its dark eyes scanned him, pinkish-gray nose sniffing, searching for clues as to who the invader was. The deer raised its tail, lowered its head, and stomped its front foot, his milky white hoof crunching into the leaves. Jake raised an old rifle and aimed the long barrel at the deer’s heart. The pull of the trigger felt natural, something he had longed for. The rifle fired with a loud report echoing through the woods. A cloud of gray smoke blew from the barrel, followed by the recoil which he absorbed in his shoulder. But the buck remained standing. The shot had missed. Snorting in defiance, the buck stared at him again, and stomped its hoof. It turned its body to face Jake head on. Jake dropped the rifle and reached down to his waistband, realizing for the first time he was dressed in Indian deerskins. Somehow he knew that he was Red Knife, the great scout warrior from whom the Tununda clan had descended. He pulled out an antique pistol and held it in his right hand, noticing for a moment how exquisite the craftsmanship was — almost a replica of George Washington’s pistol. He aimed at the buck’s head this time and fired. Another miss! But now the buck made a motion to charge. It leapt towards Jake. But as it landed, it was swallowed up by the earth. Jake ran over to the hole where the deer went in and saw that it slithered with silver and black snakes. He bent down to push the snakes aside with his pistol, but was suddenly attacked as the snakes reared up and wrapped themselves around the pistol barrel and his wrist. Jumping back, he tripped on a root, banged his head on a tree behind him, and hit the ground. The snakes swarmed over him, biting and squeezing as they covered every inch of his body. He rolled over to get them off but blackness enveloped his vision. He screamed but his voice was silent. Snakes covered his head and face. He couldn’t fight them off. They dug into his head and tore off his scalp with excruciating pain. His body went limp. And all he remembered was Lizzie Spiritwalker’s cackling laughter as he faded away.

  Jake awoke facing the red numbers 6:59 A.M. on the night stand clock. His heart pounded. He blinked several times to make sure that he was still alive. He even reached up to make sure his scalp was still attached. Trying to recover from the shock of the dream, he watched the numbers hit the top of the hour.

  The phone blared.

  His heart skipped a beat. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled. It was his morning wake up call.

  He picked up and set down the phone receiver, then flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His chest heaved as he tried to make sense of the dream. He knew for a fact he had never been that close to a white deer before to clearly remember every detail of it. How did I know? The pink of the buck’s nose, its dark brown eyes, the pure white fur covering lean muscles, its milky colored hooves as it stomped the leaves. And the weapons he had fired, and the way he was dressed — most definitely from the Revolutionary War period. Was a past spirit present inside of his mind? Did Lizzie cast some sort of spell on him?

  After a few minutes of clearing the cobwebs, he logically pieced together the cause of the dream and relaxed. He convinced himself it was just a strange meshing of Boyd’s jou
rnal entries and his uncle and Lizzie’s ravings from yesterday. Now this whole white deer and snake bullshit has infested my head, he thought wearily. He told himself he would have none of it, but he still couldn’t help the nagging feeling that he should do something.

  Shaking the dream off and switching gears to his upcoming appointment later in the morning, he pulled his naked body out of bed and walked into the bathroom.

  He showered, shaved, and pumped out forty push-ups before dressing in his full uniform. Looking in the mirror, he inspected his uniform and was satisfied. He pocketed his vehicle’s keys from the dresser table, slung the laptop tote over one shoulder and the travel bag over the other. Finally, he grabbed his cell phone, powered it on and checked the display. He noticed a new e-mail message in the in-box. It was dated from last night.

  He checked the message and saw that it was from his boss, the collection manager, to the MHI senior staff of which he had been sent a copy. Dr. Ashland had come down with a fever and was taking the following day off to recuperate. Today. Jake deleted the message, thinking nothing of it. He grabbed his beret and headed for the door.

  A hard knock greeted him before he could turn the knob. He flinched then bent down to peer in the security hole to see who it was.

  A silver New York State Police badge reflected back at him. He pulled the door open and was surprised to see Investigator Hart standing there, her slanted green eyes cutting through him with intensity. She was dressed for business in a blue blouse, tight black slacks and an open black overcoat revealing her service pistol holstered at her shapely waist. Her reddish-brown hair, now pinned up, accentuated her strong neck and rounded face. He found himself not only wondering what she was doing at his room, but also very intrigued at how great she looked. He soon found out she was anything but thrilled to see him.

  “Major Tununda, I need to ask you a few questions before you leave.”