Song of the Spirits (In the Land of the Long White Cloud saga)

by Lark, Sarah

  “Over here, help!”

  William was standing in the entrance, trying to get his bearings, when he heard Timothy calling. He looked over to the left of the lighted approach. Timothy was trying desperately to pull himself up on the hitching post. He appeared to be hardly able to move his left leg.

  “Wait, I’ll help you…” William was going to pick up the crutches, but he was suddenly struck by an awful suspicion. If Timothy had merely fallen over, he would have had the crutches nearby.

  “Leave me!” Timothy shooed William away vehemently. “Go after Lainie! That son of a bitch stole her away. A transport wagon, two horses, headed to Westport. You can catch up to them. Take my horse!”

  “But you—”

  “Don’t mind me. I can help myself. Now, get going!”

  Timothy groaned. Fiery knives seemed to be shooting through his hips. It would have been utterly hopeless for him to try to catch up to John Sideblossom on his own, even if he could have somehow gotten on a horse. “Go!”

  William set a hesitant foot in the strange stirrups.

  “But Westport? Wouldn’t he be headed south—”

  “For the love of God, I saw him drive away! And how should I know what he wants in Westport! Maybe he has accomplices there. Or in Pukaiki. Go find out! Go!”

  Timothy lost his grip on the hitching post and fell back to the ground, but William was finally swinging himself into the saddle. When he dug his heels into Fellow’s flanks, the horse grunted fractiously. The heavy box stirrups stuck painfully into his sides. Fellow flung himself around and dashed off at a full gallop. At first, William was out of control. The lightning start had knocked him completely off balance, but falling out of that special saddle was as good as impossible. Timothy thought momentarily of Ernie’s concerns when making the saddle. He prayed Fellow did not stumble now.

  Fellow did not stumble. By the time he passed by Greymouth’s last houses, William had steadied himself on the horse’s back. The saddle did not offer much freedom of movement, but he found the stirrups gave him an astoundingly secure hold. Fellow ran as though the Furies were on his tail, but he was compliant once William finally managed to straighten the reins. At first, the well-paved road offered traction, but that soon changed. As the path turned into the coastal road toward Pukaiki, a beautiful stretch with breathtaking views of the sea, it became curvy and uneven, and it could be slippery after the rain. William braced himself, but Fellow showed no concern at all. He hardly lessened his tempo when they reached the unpaved road and began to make up for lost time. No team hitched to a transport wagon could be as fast as the fiery gray horse.

  William wasn’t worried that John Sideblossom had turned off somewhere, as the moonlight offered decent visibility and also reflected off the road, wet from rain. William would have seen the tracks if John had tried any evasive maneuvers. Besides, he could now hear Callie’s barking growing louder. He was getting close.

  Fellow took a curve at breakneck speed, and the path began to slope downward. William looked ahead and saw an unlit wagon being pulled by two horses and followed by a little black shadow yapping its lungs out. William knew he would catch up to them in a few minutes. Fellow was pushing himself hard, the possibility of racing with his own kind driving him to a life-threatening speed.

  Clinging to the saddle, William only just then began to think about a strategy. It had been madness to simply take off after John Sideblossom. The man was undoubtedly armed and probably had no scruples about putting a bullet in William. Or Fellow. If the horse fell at this speed, the rider could hardly expect to survive.

  On the other hand, it would surely be impossible for him to aim properly moving so quickly on uneven ground. He was likely to have his hands full just driving his team. If he did not avoid the potholes, he risked breaking an axle. William’s only chance consisted of passing the wagon, stopping the horses, and overpowering the man before he could draw his weapon. Unquestionably, he had the element of surprise on his side. Callie was still barking like mad, so John would not be able to hear the hoofbeats of his pursuer. Fellow had closed the distance and was now galloping alongside the wagon. William grew alarmed when he registered that he and his horse cast long shadows in the moonlight that could not remain concealed from the driver.

  And he was right to be alarmed. John suddenly turned around and saw the rider coming up alongside him. William could see him clearly. His opponent had no gun in his hand—only a whip. He began to lash out at William.

  Callie’s barking restored Elaine to consciousness, that and her body being tossed mercilessly back and forth on the wagon’s hard cargo bed. Although there were a few blankets, John had clearly intended for them to hide her rather than to provide comfort. Her head hurt. She realized she must have hit it somewhere and been briefly knocked out. But she had to ignore that for the time being. She had to think, had to do something. Maybe she could somehow loosen her constraints. If she had her hands free, she might take the risk of jumping out. Though it was true that she might fall to her death at this speed, anything would be better than being delivered to Thomas Sideblossom again.

  Elaine rubbed her hands back and forth in her bindings. Although the rope dug painfully into her flesh, it did in fact loosen quickly. In his hurry, John had not pulled it tight enough. Elaine rubbed her little hands together, trying to stretch and wiggle them out of her fetters. Then she saw the silhouette of a horse and rider appear next to the wagon.

  She recognized Fellow’s noble head. Timothy? No, that was impossible. John had knocked Timothy to the ground. She desperately hoped that he had not broken anything again. Elaine struggled to recognize the rider… William! And suddenly he was overtaking the wagon, coming up alongside the driver’s box.

  William had no way to defend himself. He didn’t have a crop with which to strike back, and in the rigid saddle, he couldn’t duck John’s blows. And Fellow was beginning to slow down rather than accelerate. As the blows of the crop struck the horse on the head and neck, he dodged and tried to fall back. When William spurred him on, Fellow only became confused at the contradictory signals.

  He had to try something else. In a last-ditch effort, William steered Fellow as close to the box as possible, determined to grab the riding crop the next time John tried to strike him. William saw the face of his opponent for the first time: the man’s features were contorted with rage. He loosened his grip on the reins, stood up, and put all his energy into striking at William, evidently hoping to knock him out of the saddle. William looked back at him cold-bloodedly, fixed his eyes intently on the blow that was descending on him and bravely caught the crop. As soon as he felt the leather strap in his hand, he slung it around his wrist instinctively so as not to lose it. If he could just summon the strength to pull the other end of the crop out of his opponent’s grasp.

  Just then Fellow spooked. Taking fright at the sight of the dancing shadow of the crop above him, the horse jerked to the side. William felt an enormous pull on the leather strip in his hand. Under other circumstances, it would have ripped him off his horse, but Timothy’s special saddle held him. John would have to let go, as the crop was being wrenched from his hand. Suddenly, though, the pull subsided. And then everything happened at once.

  A scream sounded, followed by a loud rumble. William wanted to look around, but the startled Fellow had sped up again. Once again, William remained securely in the saddle. He freed his wrist from the leather strap, and the crop fell to the ground. Fellow calmed down at once. His heart beating powerfully, William finally looked back.

  John’s horses were following him at breakneck speed, but the box was empty. The man must have lost his balance and fallen. God alone knew what had happened to him.

  William enjoyed a fleeting moment of relief before he realized that Elaine was in no way out of danger. The team pulling the wagon was racing along out of control, and the curvy road had begun to slope steeply upward. William tried to direct Fellow to stop, but even that was risky. The path was too
narrow for the wagon and the horse side by side. If Fellow stopped now, and the horses pulling the wagon did not or could not stop because the force of the heavy wagon was too much for them… William could already see himself ripped from the saddle, crushed by the wagon, or thrown off the cliff.

  Elaine struggled with her restraints. She had seen John fall and knew the danger she was in. Though she could not see the precipitous, curving road before her, a runaway team was perilous on even an ordinary path. Besides, something was wrong with the wagon. Something seemed to be blocking the front left wheel. If the axle broke…

  But then, all of a sudden, the ropes gave way, loosening just enough for Elaine to be able to stretch out her right hand. The girl just managed to pull herself up, holding onto the bolt. She dragged herself along the wagon’s bed and attempted to climb onto the box. She managed to catch hold of one of the reins and began to soothe the horses. Then she finally caught the second. Still half kneeling on the wagon bed, she straightened the reins and gave the horses the first signals to slow them to a halt. If only the road were not so steep! With a last surge of effort, Elaine struggled up onto the box and pulled the brake. The wagon lurched a bit, but the horses were well trained. Now that the wagon was no longer bearing down on them, the horses reacted to Elaine’s signals. She reined them in to a trot and then to a walk. Still in front of them, William brought Fellow in step with them until Elaine finally stopped them altogether.

  Suddenly everything was still; even Callie was no longer barking, though her panting could be heard as she leaped up on the box to lick Elaine’s face.

  “My God, Lainie…” William felt his heart racing. William was only just realizing how close they had come to death—or at the very least, a serious accident.

  Freeing herself from the last restraints at her wrists and the gag in her mouth, Elaine was laughing and crying simultaneously. She hardly managed to shoo Callie away.

  “Sweet Callie, good dog. Now down, that’s enough. You got me back.”

  William eyed her with concern. Elaine appeared unnaturally relaxed, almost as though what had just happened were a little mishap.

  “Can you take a look to see what’s wrong with my front left wheel?” she said. “Something is making it stick.”

  “My God, Lainie…” William repeated his words from a moment before, but his voice sounded hoarser this time as he looked down at the wagon’s front left wheel.

  Elaine started to move as if to climb down and see for herself.

  “No, don’t look! Don’t do that to yourself,” William gasped. The least he could do was spare her that.

  In the spokes of the wheel hung the remains of John Sideblossom, held by the tatters of his long waxed jacket. William dropped from his horse and lurched to the side of the road to vomit.

  Elaine remained obediently on the box. She had read in William’s face what he had seen. Abruptly, she became aware of the entire situation, and she began to shake uncontrollably.

  William lifted her down and carried her to the side of the road. Elaine tried to stay focused on the horses. If she thought about anything other than how to take care of the horses, she feared she would go mad. William was already looking at her as though she had lost her mind. He grabbed the blankets. After wrapping Elaine in one, he threw one over the corpse, which would have to be dislodged from the wheel before the wagon could move again. William, confronted with this task, could not bring himself to do it.

  “Would you please cover the horses?” Elaine said, staring straight ahead.

  It was true; he ought to tie up the horses first. It was not worth thinking about what would happen if the team ran away again, dragging the body with them. William noticed some trees a few yards away. However, since he couldn’t lead them there with the wagon, he would have to unhitch them. He started fumbling with the harnesses.

  Fortunately, the horses stood quietly, panting, with trembling flanks. Only Fellow made any move, taking a few steps toward Elaine. She took hold of his reins. William saw to the other horses. He worked mechanically… Just don’t brood on it, he thought. Just don’t think about what happened.

  “Tim,” Elaine said. “Have you—”

  “I spoke with him, Lainie. He’s fine.”

  Or maybe not. William thought about Timothy’s face, contorted with pain. Just don’t think. He put his arm around Elaine. Callie began to bark.

  Lainie pulled the blanket closer.

  Suddenly Fellow’s ears pricked up and the wagon team began to stir.

  “Hoofbeats,” Elaine whispered. She began trembling more again. “Do you think he—”

  “Elaine, John Sideblossom is dead. There’s nothing more he can do to you. I imagine that Tim sent people after us… Could you get that dog to be quiet? Why does she bark so much whenever a man touches you?”

  William stood up.

  “She doesn’t bark at every man,” Elaine whispered.

  5

  On his long-legged mare, Jay Hankins, the smith, was the first to reach Elaine and William. The constable, the justice of the peace, Ernie, and Matt were not far behind.

  “Good heavens, Mr. Martyn! How did you stop the wagon here?” Jay asked, looking at the sharply sloping path. “And where’s the fellow who—”

  William pointed at the blanket, which had soaked through with blood.

  “It was an accident. After he fell, Lainie stopped the wagon.”

  Elaine looked at him in amazement. Where was the boastful William who had nearly single-handedly freed Ireland from its English oppressors?

  “Nevertheless, you were really very brave, Mr. Martyn. The man must have had a weapon. Are you all right, Lainie?” Matt helped the trembling girl to her feet. Callie did not bark this time.

  “I think there are still a few things that need to be cleared up,” said the constable, lifting one corner of the blanket and making a face. “But first we need to clear away this… everything here. Do we have two men with strong stomachs? And how are we getting the girl home?”

  Elaine leaned on Matt Gawain. “How’s Tim?” she asked.

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t know, Lainie. The doctor is tending to him. But he was awake and responsive and he told us what happened. We’ll send Hankins back with that racehorse of his. He’ll fetch a coach, and then you’ll be back with Tim again soon. Maybe Jay will be able to learn some new details.”

  Elaine shook her head firmly. She was cold and miserably scared, but waiting by the side of the road for an hour would hardly improve her condition.

  “I have a racehorse myself,” she said, pointing to Fellow. “He’ll manage the road one more time.”

  “You mean to ride, Miss Keefer?” the constable asked. “In your condition?”

  Elaine looked down at herself. Her dress was dirty and torn, her wrists raw from the restraints, and given the way her head felt, she knew she that her face must be scraped and bruised. But she wanted to get to Timothy.

  Then she thought of her grandmother. Though Elaine tried to smile, her words came out sounding serious: “The day I can’t ride anymore is the day I die.”

  Elaine would have liked to gallop, but showing consideration for Fellow, she limited herself to a light trot. Matt and Jay, who were accompanying her, nonetheless shook their heads at her pace as she set forth.

  “You can’t do anything for him, Lainie,” Jay said.

  Elaine gave him a murderous look but did not say anything. She was too tired and frozen to talk. Really, she just wanted to cry. However, she kept an iron grip on herself. She was even prepared to put Fellow in the stables when she finally reached the Lamberts’ house, but Matt took the horse from her.

  “Get going now.”

  Elaine stumbled through the salon. Though there were still guests there chattering away in a state of agitated confusion, she hardly noticed them. She finally made it into the corridor and then Timothy’s rooms.

  Elaine burst into tears when she saw Timothy lying in his bed as still and pale as the fi
rst day after the accident. It couldn’t be, not when he’d come so far! She began sobbing hysterically, unable to hold herself upright any longer.

  Berta Leroy caught her.

  “There, there, Lainie, now, don’t want to exhaust yourself. Roly, is there any whiskey here?”

  “Lainie.” Timothy’s voice.

  Elaine pushed Berta away and dragged herself over to Timothy’s bed. He sat up as she sank onto her knees beside him. “That hopeless case William actually pulled it off? My God, I thought I was going to have to beat him with my crutches to get him on the horse. And then he wanted to argue about which way to go!”

  “Tim, you…” Elaine rubbed her face against his hands, then looked over his body. There were no bandages, though he started a bit when she touched his left side.

  “Pretty bad contusions,” Berta said, handing Elaine a glass. “But nothing’s broken, don’t worry.”

  Elaine began to cry again, but this time with relief. She sipped at her drink and shook herself.

  “That’s not whiskey.”

  “No, that’s laudanum.” Berta said, forcing her to finish the glass. “I changed my mind about the booze. You two would just get chatty—not to mention touchy. But you need some sleep. You too, Tim. Otherwise, I’ll take my husband at his word and prohibit you from going to the hearing.”

  Still, the group that met in the constable’s office the next morning had gotten little sleep.

  Despite the laudanum, Elaine had awoken early, well before dawn, and stumbled directly out of her nightmares into Timothy’s bed. Timothy, who, in spite of the morphine, had lain awake brooding, scooted willingly aside and held her in his arms while she told him, through stammers and sobs, a rather confused version of the events surrounding John Sideblossom’s death. When she finally fell asleep on his shoulder, he dared not stir. But he could not get comfortable for the rest of the night and looked correspondingly drawn in the morning.