Chapter 25

Awareness seemed slow in coming. Shae shivered with the cold, and her body ached from head to foot. She lifted a hand and rested it against her throbbing forehead while trying to make sense of her surroundings. Her eyelids fluttered open. Yet, she could see nothing but dense blackness all around her. She dropped her hand to her side, and instantly made contact with the moist, rocky dirt beneath it. Shae remembered then. Her recurring nightmare became a reality the moment she stepped onto the path leading to the church. And just as it happened in her nightmares, Fenrir bound her body and soul.

A violent shiver coursed through her body as she recalled the memory of all that happened earlier. How much earlier, she didn’t know. She didn’t have a clue as to the length of her stay inside this pit. A few seconds, a few minutes, or maybe even hours for all she knew.

After rolling to her side, she pushed against the ground, sat up, and brushed the dirt away from her arms. She could smell and feel the dampness of the earth beneath her legs. The mustiness of the air made breathing difficult, and the cold chilled her to the bone.

She could see nothing in front of her and, surely, she’d waited long enough for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. After standing to her feet, she patted her pockets in search of her cell phone. Perhaps she could use the light from her screen to see her present location, and then she could call Tristan. Somehow, he would find her.

Her heart sank as she dipped her hands inside empty pockets. She no longer had her phone. Somewhere along the way, she had lost it and with it, all hope to contact Tristan or anybody else. She needed to find a way out of here herself. After a deep breath, she stepped forward with arms extended. In no time at all, she connected with and explored a solid wall of rock, dirt, and roots. She encountered the same thing after turning in the opposite direction. No more than six feet separated the two walls. Five feet to her right, the same type of wall blocked her path. Panic beset her. Where did Nils toss her body? She remembered the fall. She did not know if she could climb such a distance without rope.

She stooped down, rummaged through the dirt, and grasped several rocks from off the ground. One at a time, she hurled them upward. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t gauge the distance to the top. She couldn’t climb up the walls, either. As near as she could tell, they stood very nearly vertical, with nothing to assist the climb. A sigh escaped as she turned to her left and began a forward journey. She needed to know the boundaries of her prison. Keeping her left hand against the rocky wall for guidance and support, she advanced along the path. Relief flooded her as her pathway extended far beyond her previous limits. She didn’t have any idea where the corridor might lead. Nevertheless, she held on to the hope that she could find an exit and some fresh air.

Approximately five minutes into her journey, the wall abruptly ended. Shae traced its edges with her fingers and discovered it veered to the left. However, the path also continued straight ahead. That meant Nils tossed her down some kind of tunnel and now she needed to make a decision. She could get lost down here in the darkness, where nothing marked her path.

If the tunnel continued to twist and turn in different directions, could she remember how to find her way back to this junction, if such became necessary? She didn’t know what to do. As she stood in indecision, the sounds of something scurrying past her feet made her vault from her spot. A small yelp escaped her, before she clamped down hard on her lips. She had no more desire to run into Nils down here than she did the rats, and she did not want to give away her location.

Just then, a dim ball of light off the left passageway curbed her troubled thoughts. She stood still, and focused on the light. To her utter amazement, the ball grew in both dimension and luminosity. The orb moved toward her, and then paused, about ten paces away. Her heart thudded against her chest as the ball took shape. In a matter of seconds, the orb evolved into a man that glowed.

She blinked several times as a young Confederate soldier emerged solidly in front of her. His light brown hair, blue eyes, mustache with short, scraggly-looking beard, and round silver eyeglasses shot into focus. He gazed at her for a few minutes as if allowing her to come to terms with his presence. Her earlier panic evaporated. This man did not intend to harm her. She took a deep breath and gave it slow release.

He nodded once and then with just a wave of his hand, requested that she follow him into the darkness. The spirit did not attempt to move his legs. He glided down the pathway. She followed him without hesitation. Every now and then the entity would turn, as if to make certain she still trailed him. Each time, he gestured for her to follow. Then, without warning, he disappeared from view and again, total darkness consumed her. Anxiety set in, and just as she opened her mouth to call out, another type of light appeared to guide her path. This light didn’t come from the spirit. The flickering light derived from a conventional source. Finally, the walls of the tunnel opened to her gaze, and she could see another turn just up ahead.

Just as she made that turn, she stopped and stared. The soldier had escorted her to a small cavity within the tunnel. Several wooden crates placed haphazardly inside, sat against the end wall. An old rusty oil lantern sat atop a crate. This lantern provided the light that directed her final steps. Her otherworldly companion stood next to the box, awaiting her arrival.

“Thank you for your help, but can you tell me where I am?” she asked as her gaze swept over the chamber.

Without saying a word, the soldier turned his head to the right and dipped his head toward the crudely built table. Black saddlebags, an assortment of papers, ink well, and quill pen, rested atop the rough-sawn surface. She moved closer to get a better look. The dusty, leather pouches, intricately tooled with the initials N.A., told her the ghostly confederate, led her to Nils Adlundsen’s missing saddlebags. A flush rose to her cheeks and her heart pounded in excitement.

Shae glanced up at the soldier, who had yet to take his eyes off her. Thus far, he made no effort to speak. Perhaps he wouldn’t or couldn’t.

“Do you know Major Nils Adlundsen?” she asked as she traced the worn initials with the tip of her fingers.

The soldier gave her a slight nod. Shae had the distinct impression that she faced the unknown rider. But she needed confirmation.

“The day Nils Adlundsen died, the day he lured Captain Tristan Jordahl to the church with the intention of murdering him, you were also here with him, weren’t you,” she said the words as if stating fact.

He answered with one solemn nod.

“But you didn’t see Tristan, because Nils killed you before he arrived. The blood on the floor of the church belonged to you. I could see your blood on the blade of his knife. After he murdered you, he needed to hide the evidence. So, he threw your body down here in this tunnel, and that simple act explains the abrupt stop of the flow of blood.” The ghost never changed his facial expression as she spoke. Nevertheless, she could feel his encouragement in the one single nod of his head.

“That would also mean the Union uniform inside the saddlebags, carried by the gray horse, belonged to you.” Another nod of confirmation.

Impressions flooded into her mind at a rapid pace. Each piece of the puzzle twisted and turned into their proper order, place, and sequence. She could see the entire picture now, with no missing pieces.

“You are Anders Janssen, aren’t you?” she asked, though she didn’t really need him to answer. Nevertheless, he gave her a nod.

“You served as Major Nils Adlundsen’s runner. You are the one he assigned to carry all his messages to the Confederates, which is why you needed both uniforms. You would need safe passage crossing enemy lines, because Nils actively sold information to the Confederate army. Major Adlundsen sent the false information to Rosecrans himself, thereby betraying his country at the battle of Chickamauga.” She gazed at Janssen who now stood with his arms folded across his chest. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and with a slight shake of her head, she whispered the word, “Tyr.”

This ghostly soldier assisted Nils until the major cast him aside. Whatever his earthly deeds, he paid for them, many times over. He too, became a victim of Nils Adlundsen’s desire to tie up all of his loose ends. Still, she had a few questions that needed answering.

“Can you tell me why he chose Tristan to take the fall? What thing, real or imagined, did Tristan ever do to deserve being branded a traitor to his own country?” she asked him.

Janssen pointed to the saddlebags, indicating the answer lay within them. At least, she hoped that’s what he meant.

Shae tested the rickety-looking stool in front of the table before she eased herself down. She gazed at the pile of dusty papers laying on top of the crude table. The top page looked as if someone or something interrupted the writer in the middle of his letter. She would take time to read it later. Nevertheless, she pointed to the sheets of paper, looked up at Anders and said, “Nils?”

The spirit lifted a brow and nodded.

Shae blew off the dust and took great care in moving the fragile stack of pages to the top corner of the desk. The quill pen and ink well followed. She slid the saddlebags toward her, untied the leather strap, and opened the flap of the left pouch. The bag contained the major’s personal belongings. He kept his wallet, a grooming kit, and an assortment of miscellaneous items inside it. Pushing the left bag aside, she turned the right bag toward her and used small careful movements to open it. This pouch contained various sized documents and his Bible.

Gazing up at her companion, she lifted the Bible out of the bag first. “Did he ever bother reading anything out of this book?” she asked.

Anders merely shrugged.

“Perhaps he should have,” she said. Shae used caution as she retrieved the fragile documents. She placed the large stack on the table, and began reading.

The first few records did not note anything of great importance. They dealt with Nils and his various duties as major. The next document in line was an official certificate issued by the military. Tristan’s name, boldly scrawled in the appropriate line, caught her immediate attention. With the greatest care, she scooped it up into her hands, and turned toward the light. Time had faded the handwriting on the certificate, but she could still read it easily enough.

The Commanding Officer of

the Fifteenth Wisconsin Regiment

of the Wisconsin Volunteers

To all who shall these presents greeting:

Know ye: That we reposing especial Truth and Confidence in your Patriotism, Valor, Conduct, and Fidelity; in the name and by our authority; Do hereby constitute and appoint Tristan Jordahl as Lieutenant Colonel under the Third Brigade of the First Division, Twentieth Army Corps, Army of the Cumberland, Wisconsin Fifteenth Regiment Volunteers; to rank as such from the Tenth day of October 1863. He is therefore carefully and diligently to discharge the duties of such office by doing and performing all things thereunto belonging.

And do Strictly charge and Require all Officers and Soldiers under his command to be obedient to his orders. He is to observe and follow such orders and directions from time to time as he shall receive from the President of the United States or General or Superior Officers set over him, according to the rules and description of War. This commission to continue in force until further action by higher Command.

In Testimony Whereof; I have caused these letters to be made patent and the great seal of the Military for the United States of America, to be hereunto affixed.

Given under my hand this tenth day of October, in the Year of Our Lord, One Thousand, Eight Hundred and Sixty-Three.

A.L.Martinsen

HDQRS. FIFTEENTH REGT.

WISCONSIN VOLS.

Chattanooga, Tennessee,

October 10, 1863

Shae lowered her trembling hand to the table. She gave her head a little shake and smiled wistfully. Not only did Colonel Heg recommend Tristan for promotion to Lieutenant Colonel, he actually attained the rank before his death. She sighed as she considered the terrible cost of that single sheet of paper.

“Nils deliberately kept this certificate away from Tristan, didn’t he?”

Janssen, his eyes full of sorrow, simply nodded.

“Why?” As she asked the question, their gazes locked and held. At that moment, she could see Nils Adlundsen as she did in her dreams. She could see him walking toward Tristan. His flushed face and the madness in his eyes spoke louder than his words.

“I have decided I am not going to let you get away with it. Not now, not ever again. I know what you have been up to, and I will not allow you to have what is rightfully mine. What I have worked so hard to attain—”

She finally understood what he meant. “Nils wanted this promotion for himself,” she said. “And wanted it badly enough to kill for it. He probably convinced himself that Tristan sought for and campaigned for this position behind his back. He thought with Tristan out of the way, the promotion would surely come to him. Am I right so far?”

Again, the spectral figure nodded.

“I’m sure it galled him to see Tristan given a promotion in which he skipped a rank. A rank which ‘rightfully’ belonged to him and which he worked so hard to attain,” she mocked. She placed the certificate off to the side. “The promotion, of course, would set Tristan above Nils in both authority and command. I’m sure he didn’t possess the ability to deal with that situation either.”

Janssen smirked over her astute observation.

“So, what else do we have here?” she wondered aloud, as piece by tedious piece, she read each scrap of paper, each letter, and each official document. Although her companion remained silent while she read, she was grateful for his presence. Somehow, just having him here provided comfort and a little dose of needed courage. The spirit of Nils Adlundsen lurked somewhere nearby and she didn’t know how much time she had until he sought her out.

She smothered a yawn as she placed yet another letter from Adlundsen’s father, into its appropriate pile. She wanted to separate the major’s personal correspondence from the official documents he carried. Also, just as Tristan suggested, she discovered proof that Nils’s father fueled his son’s ostentatious ambitions. The stack of letters introducing his son to various people, considered influential or important at the time, grew ever larger on the table. She wondered if Nils used any of them to further his cause.

She paused in her quest long enough to wipe the moisture from her eyes. After taking a deep breath of stagnant air, she picked up a torn fragment of paper. Weariness fled as shock took its place. She read the damning note three different times to ensure accuracy before she gazed at her companion. Her lips curved into a triumphant smile. Shae held all the proof she needed to clear Tristan’s name, in her trembling hands.

“Finally,” she whispered as for a brief moment, she closed her eyes and held the shred of paper close to her heart.

Captain Jordahl,

We regret to tell you inform you that your contact, Jesse Kendig, Charles Kent has unfortunately, been killed in action, one week past. This necessitates an immediate change in plans and transfer assignment of new operative. If you want to receive payment Scheduled payment, for services provided rendered to be delayed exactly one week from agreed date and time. Location will remain the same at which time new agent contact will be assigned.

General George E. Pickett CSA

Lt. Harmon Massey

Confederate States of America

The practice letter made her laugh. Anders Janssen gained her attention by pointing toward the documents on the table. He made her understand that more such letters or documents awaited discovery. With renewed energy, she sorted through each of the remaining records. She found several practice letters, as well as forged copies of official documents, including Tristan’s note of gratitude written by the confederates. Nils practiced writing the signature on that note many times over. In these practice letters, she could see he mainly targeted Tristan, but other names appeared as well in his pursuit to tie up all of his loose ends.

“You somehow managed to keep these documents safe all these years?” she asked.

Anders nodded, bounced his brows, and grinned.

“And are they protected? I mean they are safe from Nils, he can’t get them, or destroy them, can he?” she asked.

Anders shook his head, his expression confident.

The young soldier gave her the impression that Nils attempted to collect his property many times over without success. Anders kept them safe enough and he could continue to do so. She smiled as she placed everything needed to clear Tristan’s name on top. Everything else went to the bottom of the stack. Then using the skills of her craft, she eased the delicate pages back inside the pouch of the saddlebag. Once she completed the task, she gazed at Anders who patiently waited. “Is there a way out of here?”

He lifted his hand with palm facing outward.

“There is something else?” she asked.

He moved to the other side of the chamber and dropped his gaze.

One of the wooden crates rested apart from the others. She could see the major’s rifle and the tattered remains of his bedroll propped beside it. A coffee pot along with a small assortment of cooking and eating utensils lay on top. The very things she expected to see on the major’s horse, but didn’t. The evidence inside this chamber proclaimed that Nils never went anywhere but here during his so-called investigations. He simply whiled away the time, practicing his forged documents and rambling letters, in the hope of sealing Tristan’s fate.

“His home away from home, I presume?”

Anders shook his head.

“No? What are you trying to tell me then?”

He pointed at the crate itself.

“Is there something inside the crate you want me to see?”

Relief etched his features as she asked the question, and he nodded.

Shae stepped over to the box and removed the items on top. She hefted the splintered lid away from its resting place and set it on the ground. A neatly folded wool blanket sat on top. She removed it. The blanket concealed a small but sturdy trunk about half the size of Tristan’s. She grabbed hold of the handles. A small grunt escaped her lips as she heaved it out of the crate, and placed it on the ground along side the lid. She struggled under the weight of the trunk, so the lock went unnoticed until she stepped back.

She glanced up at Anders and released a sigh of despair. “The chest needs a key. I suppose I could use a rock to bash it open, but I really don’t want to do that if I don’t have to,” the historian inside her said.

Anders gave her a wink and pointed at the saddlebags.

“Oh, of course. Tristan said that Nils kept everything of importance inside his saddlebags, which is why he kept them very close to his person.” After searching through his personal things, she found the key hidden inside his wallet. She took it out and then placed it inside the lock. Turning the key within the rusted mechanism became a battle of sorts, but after several attempts, she finally heard a click, and the shackle popped out of the case. The lid creaked and groaned as she opened it.

The contents caused a gasp of amazement. A huge stash of gold coins and paper currency made by both the Confederacy and the United States filled most of the chest. The horde also contained an assortment of gold and silver pocket watches as well as other personal items of value. She assumed Nils pilfered many, if not all of these items from the dead.

Everything she needed to prove his reprehensible schemes sat inside this chamber awaiting discovery. These things would restore Tristan’s good name, and the world would remember him for his courage and nobility. However, she couldn’t accomplish her goal unless she could get out of this tunnel and bring this stuff up with her.

“Please, Anders,” she said once again, “I need to get out of here. Can you help me?”

He lifted his hand, with his index finger extended. That finger begged a moment of her time.

“You need to show me something else, first?”

He nodded and swept a hand toward the lantern.

“I guess this means we are going somewhere else,” she murmured. Once Shae grasped the tarnished handle, Anders beckoned her to follow. As they left the chamber, she counted her measured paces and memorized the direction of each turn. She wanted to remember her way back to the chamber if for some reason Anders vanished and failed to return. Yet, they simply retraced their original steps. If he wanted her to see something along the path they already traversed, why didn’t he show her on the way to the chamber?

Finally, she could see the rounded end of the tunnel. Without doubt, he returned her to the beginning of her journey. Uncertainty set in. Surely, she could not make her escape from here. She gazed at him intently as he turned to face her. A look of deep sorrow and regret filled his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

After his customary nod, Anders dropped his gaze.

Shae followed his path and at once, drew in a sharp breath. The remains of her ghostly companion rested at his feet. She counted it a miracle she didn’t step on them when she stumbled around in the darkness, trying to find her way out.

At that moment, Anders showed her the final moments of his life. The vision appeared very much like the dreams Tristan shared with her. Only this time, she could see everything with her conscious mind. She could see Anders as he walked into the church, dressed in his Confederate uniform. He wore that particular uniform because Nils ordered him to do so.

The major stood waiting for him about halfway down the center aisle. As Anders approached him, Nils placed a friendly hand on his shoulder while the other remained behind his back. He turned him toward the pulpit, and the two of them strolled toward the front of the chapel.

Nils nodded and as he spoke, he used a jovial tone. “We’re almost finished with this nasty business, Janssen. There is but one more duty I must require of you. I have taken care of everything else. Finally, you’ll be free of this whole business.”

Anders sighed with relief. He pinched a piece of fabric from his uniform shirt, tugged on it, and said, “I take it you are sending me back to Georgia?”

Nils chuckled softly, and while keeping a firm hand on his shoulder, whirled around and stepped in front of the private. They now stood mere inches apart. The major leaned toward his ear and whispered, “No, my friend, I’m sending you to hell.”

In that same instant, the knife loomed upward from its hiding place. Without a shred of remorse, Nils rammed the weapon into the chest of his runner, and twisted it. Anders sucked in his breath, his knees buckled, and he fell where he stood. Blood poured from the gaping wound. Nils used the trapdoor to discard his body, just as he used it to rid himself of her. Although, not part of the vision, Anders made her aware of the hidden trapdoor in front of the pulpit.

“I’m so sorry, Anders,” she said as stooped next to his skeletal frame. “I wish none of this had ever happened to you. You must have had family who never knew what became of you and suffered because of it.”

Again, he gave her a sorrowful nod.

“I would very much like to bring you out of here and give your remains a proper burial, if that meets with your approval.”

He met her request with a joyous grin and then suddenly, he looked upward as if something very unusual, something out of the ordinary, caught his attention.

“Is something wrong?” she asked as her eyes followed his startled gaze.

Anders shook his head and winked. He gave her a reassuring smile, and drew an imaginary line connecting their hearts. After a playful salute, he vanished. Despite the lantern, a feeling of abandonment beset her as Anders left her to wander the tunnel maze alone. She turned a slow circle and heaved out a sigh, not knowing quite what to do.