Chapter Twenty Eight

 

We remained on our knees in the dirt, staring into the eyes of a peculiar man. He was huge and strangely dressed. Buckskin lacing intertwined through holes in his garment replacing buttons in his brown wool tunic. Although lighter in color pants of the same material extended to his ankles and bright feather anklets highlighted his big dirty feet. A thick layer of hide suggested shoes had never graced them. The big fellow's straight black hair extended to his shoulders and framed his hooked nose and olive complexion. His eyes were robin egg blue.

He said something that sounded like, “What are you doing in our field?”

Despite the strangeness of his dialect, I understood what he meant. The big fellow was not alone. Ten similarly dressed but smaller men encircled us reviving memories of my confrontation with the loggers, and creating doubt about what to do next.

These men didn't look happy but at least they weren't armed. I started to stand, telling Amber and Mary Ann to stay put but the big fellow raised his own right hand, signaling me to remain in place.

In a dialect that sounded like a cross between American Indian and Old English, he asked again, “What are you doing in our field?”

Mary Ann jumped to her feet, attempting to sprint past the men surrounding us. Two of them grabbed her elbows and pushed her back into the circle.

Big fellow slowly shook his head, touched his chest, and pointed to Mary Ann. Seeing our confusion, he stroked his brow and said something that sounded like, “It's forbidden to dig in the field. You'll destroy the seed.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

He didn't answer or change expression and I wondered if he understood me. When I repeated the question, he simply cocked his head and looked at the younger man standing beside him.

“Bring them,” he said in his guttural dialect.

Immediately, his partners closed around us. One of them prodded me with a thump between the shoulder blades and I stumbled after the big fellow.

“Tho-mas,” I said, slowly and distinctly as possible.

One of our captors nodded as if he understood but gave me another push to keep me moving in the right direction.

“Tom,” Amber said. “What should we do?”

I could only shake my head and hurry along after the big man who was already moving away through the forest at a rapid clip.

“Go with them. They're not armed.”

The mules had heard the commotion and were braying nervously. Seeing the beasts for the first time, two of our captors dropped behind to fetch them. We continued through the forest along a discernible trail. Now the trees were larger than any I had ever seen their lowest branches fifty feet from the ground.

“Where are you taking us?” I said.

The men continued to ignore us, except for the gentle prodding to keep us moving in the right direction. A hazy cloud-like layer appeared between the ground and tree limbs and for the first time since early that morning I smelled the faint but prevalent odor of rotten eggs. Tough-hewn ledges of rock began cropping out between the trees and bubbling artesian water formed crystal pools beside the path. Unlike pools in the glade, no wisps of vapor marked these as hydrothermal nor did we notice any giant moths or night-blooming orchids.

For nearly an hour we continued through the forest before abruptly reaching a small clearing. There, the large man stopped, allowing us a moment of rest. Mary Ann and Amber scooted closer to me. Amber's face was red, probably from anger, while Mary Ann's olive complexion was white with concern. Our captors circled around us with frowns and folded arms. When our eyes adjusted to the brightness, I noticed a village in the distance. The village consisted of many houses, some large and some smaller, but all constructed of cut stone laid with mortar and pentagonal in shape.

After a brief rest, the big fellow motioned toward the village. A bevy of children spotted us and tagged along with our procession. Unlike the stoic band of men, they laughed and pulled at our clothes, acting as if we were part of a parade contrived for their entertainment. Some of the children wore pants and tunics like our captors, others only breech cloths. The smallest wore nothing at all.

Truck gardens and abundant greenery surrounded the odd-shaped houses and multi-colored flowers hung from baskets in trees. Conceding the strange shape of the houses, the village could have passed for an early American town in New England. Soon we reached a single large building, separated from the others by an unpainted fence. It faced the clearing from where we had come, the mountain-front visible through distant haze. The big fellow opened the front door and led us inside, down a dark hallway to a windowless room in back. They summarily pushed us into the room, slamming the door behind us. I tried the door but found it locked.

“What now, Troop?” Amber asked.

The room sounded hollow, her voice echoing off the bare walls.

“See if there's another way out of here,” I said, fumbling in the darkness along the walls in search of an opening.

Mary Ann said, “Who are these people?”

“Throwbacks from another century if you ask me,” Amber said.

“Some of them look like Indians,” I said. “Is there a tribe around here?”

“Grandpa's part Indian but he's not part of a tribe, far as I know.”

“Hope they don't have tomahawks.”

Amber's offhanded quip failed to diffuse our concern. When the door opened, Mary Ann grabbed my arm. It was the big fellow, stepping through the door. The oil-burning lantern he carried illuminated shadows and revealed the three of us huddled together against the back wall. Two men accompanied him.

The older of the two men was much smaller than the big fellow and the younger man probably about the same age as Mary Ann. Both had black hats in their hands and each had shoes that looked like a cross between boots and moccasins. They both had pale blue eyes.

The older man had Eurasian facial features and a dark beard with a hint of gray covering much of his face. The young man's hair was auburn, his complexion fair. When he spotted Mary Ann, he smiled warmly. Her neck flushed bright red, visible even in the dim lantern light.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the older man asked in the same guttural language as the big fellow.

I responded with slow words and expressive gestures. “I'm Tom. My friends are Amber and Mary Ann.”

The little man nodded his head, apparently having little trouble understanding. He didn't bother introducing himself. Instead, he grabbed the big fellow's elbow and hustled him back into a corner where they launched into a spirited, although whispered, conversation. His younger companion, still smiling, stepped forward and shook my hand.

“I am Wat,” he said. “Where did you come from?”

“The mountains,” I said.

“How did you find your way here?”

“There's a trail,” I said. “On the north end of the Valley.”

“Ah yes,” he said. “Then you came through the Land of Steam.”

“I'll say we did,” Mary Ann said, stepping closer to the young man.

From the looks in both their eyes, I could see they were instantly smitten with each other.

“Why are you holding us here?” I asked. “I assure you, our intentions are peaceable.”

“You were digging in the fields. Leon thinks you are the ones that raided our crops.”

“We lost our food on the mountain and I'm half starved to death,” Mary Ann said. “But we were digging in the fields cause we found these.”

She opened her palm, revealing a handful of shiny gems. They locked eyes again and both smiled. “I believe you,” Wat said. “There were no reports of any females participating in the raids.” At this point, Leon and the smaller man concluded their heated conversation and returned to Wat's side. “Father, these are not the one's that raided our crops. I'm sure of it.”

“That's not your conclusion to make. We caught them in the act.”

“They were gathering these,” Wat said, grabbing Mary Ann's wrist and holding it out for his father to see.

“There were no crops in the field,” I interjected. “And nothing for us to steal.”

Wat's father glanced at Leon and the big fellow said, “This is not the first time they have vandalized our crops. Now, they have found their way into the Valley and were trying to destroy the seed. Next they will set fire to the forest.”

Amber was frowning and shaking her head vigorously. “We're not here to harm your crops. We are looking for Tom's brother, Bill. He disappeared and we think he may be here, in the Valley.”

Amber's statement instantly got their attention. The smaller man grabbed the arms of Wat and Leon and hustled them back into the corner for another whispered debate.

When they returned, the older man asked, “Do you have proof of this?”

I reached for my wallet and showed them an old but a recognizable snapshot of Bill. “Bill is my brother. We came from far away to find him but before yesterday had never visited your Valley.”

With grave expressions, the three men studied the picture of Bill.

“May I borrow this?” Wat's father asked.

I removed it from my wallet and handed it to him. To the very vocal protest of Wat, they ordered us to remain in the room. Shutting the door behind them, they left us in darkness.

Within the hour, they returned and Wat's father said, “My name is Caleb. Leon and I are village elders. We have discussed the situation with Pastor Gray and tonight you can prove your innocence before the people of the village.”

“And how will we do that?” Amber said.

Caleb shifted his weight from one foot to the other and stared at the floor. “Tonight at the services you must submit your story to the serpent. He and the Lord will decide if you are telling the truth.”

We had no time to discuss or worry about Caleb's cryptic message. He simply shook his head when I asked him to explain. He led us back outside to another house. Leon left us and we went inside with Wat and Caleb down a long hallway to a dining room.

“Wat says you are hungry,” Caleb said. “Please seat yourselves and we will bring you something to eat.”

Caleb gestured to the large wooden table, pushed Wat out the door, and left us alone. Amber and Mary Ann looked at each other, barely able to suppress nervous laughter.

Mary Ann said, “I can hardly understand a word he's saying.”

“It's English,” Amber confirmed. “Just different from the way we usually hear it spoken. Without outside influences, there would be nothing to cause it to evolve.”

“What do you mean?” Mary Ann asked.

“Imagine how it would be if you hadn't seen another group of people for many years,” Amber said.

Mary Ann's eyes widened and so did mine. “You think these people have no contact with the outside world?” I said.

“They don't have any regional accent I can identify,” Amber said.

“What do you make of the strange shape of these houses and the talk of snakes? Do these people have something to do with Bill's disappearance?”

Amber drummed the table with her knuckle. “Wat seems friendly enough but something bothers me about this whole thing.”

“What?” Mary Ann said.

“Pentagrams and snakes imply devil worship. We have seen it for years around Brannerville—secret ceremonies, sacrifices, and midnight cattle mutilations. It is possible these people are part of some blood-crazed satanic cult. If so, it's also very possible we may have found Bill's murderers.”