Kamiskwa came in and accepted a cup from the Steward. “Fire’s died down. No tracks. No one survived. I cut Rufus’ trail again. You’ll want to see this.”
The expedition followed Kamiskwa back outside. In daylight they picked up Rufus’ trail easily enough. He’d gone down and crawled away. The chain had slipped off him a dozen yards to the workshop’s north side. A bit further along they found one of the golden tablets glinting in the sun. Makepeace gathered it up. Their course took them to another of the small houses and Kamiskwa pushed the door open with his musket.
The floorboards had been torn up with enough force that the wood around the nails had splintered. Beneath lay bare earth, but it had been freshly turned. One of the iron nails had snagged a piece of the robe they’d last seen Rufus wearing.
Nathaniel crouched at the hole’s edge, but didn’t reach down into it. “Ain’t no shovels hereabouts. He tunneled using magick?”
Both Kamiskwa and the Steward nodded.
He stood up, then sighted back toward the workshop. “The Colonel done hurt him. He weren’t thinking straight. Probably didn’t notice he’d dropped a tablet. Like a wild animal, he gets in here, burrows away.”
“Yes, but a wild animal capable of using magick.” Owen frowned. “I made notes while on watch, trying to get every detail down. Rufus, there toward the end, was saying things that didn’t really sound like him saying them.”
“It was the demons in him.”
Nathaniel looked the Steward up and down. “How is you meaning that remark?”
“Mr. Woods, I know you did not like Rufus Branch, and had good reasons not to. When he came here, he was a man consumed by fear. Having spent time with you, I understand why. But you must understand that here, he accepted our Lord as his savior. He worked hard within the community. I spent many hours with him, teaching him to read. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is for a grown man to have children who read better than he can?”
“I just might have an inkling in that regard, yes, sir.”
“Rufus did learn to read. He studied Scripture. He became an upstanding and valuable member of our community here. As you saw, he was a deacon. And in tracking us from the ruins, you know that he and I spent a great deal of time together out in the wilderness. This was by my choice.” The Steward opened his hands. “You may think me foolish, but I liked the man, and trusted him. What I forgot, however, is that he was but an infant in things spiritual, and that made him vulnerable.”
Owen shook his head. “I’m not certain I follow you.”
“It should be obvious. The devil laid those tablets on that altar in the Temple. He did so to tempt men. Most would have taken the tablets for their material wealth. But for men who are favored of God, their spiritual value cannot be calculated. Though I could not translate them, I knew they held the secret of magicks older than man. I can see now that these were temptations to lead men to ruin. So it did here.”
Nathaniel frowned. “That don’t explain what happened in Piety. We know it was these demons what acted there, but there weren’t no Rufus. No one from Piety was here, saw the tablets, and got back home, was there?”
“No.” The Steward shook his head. “I cannot explain that, nor do I know the moment Rufus surrendered himself to the demons. It is my vain hope it was after we started for Piety, elsewise I shall have to live with knowing that I missed the signs and consequently consigned Happy Valley to death.”
The man’s shoulder’s slumped. “I accept this is God’s plan but I…” The Steward covered his face with his hands and his shoulder shook with silent sobs.
Nathaniel looked over at Makepeace. “You’ll tell me there’s Scriptures what agree that demons could make magick like that?”
The large man nodded. “Revelations 16:14, clear as day. ‘For they are the spirits of devils, working miracles, who go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world.’”
“I could have started the day with better news.” Nathaniel sighed. “And I ain’t much pleased with Rufus’ being able to pluck a bullet out the air.”
“Yes, but he didn’t stop the chain. It’s being iron might have been the cause of that.” Owen’s eyes narrowed. “Or it could be that Rathfield surprised him. He knew you would shoot, so he was ready for you.”
“So, iffen he was possessed, leastways part of him is still in there.” Nathaniel shifted his shoulders uneasily. “I reckon we want to be quitting this place as fast as we can. Sooner we get back to Temperance, sooner someone might be able to make sense of all this.”
They returned to their cabin and discovered that some of the vessels had rotted during the night, specifically a wooden bowl and an iron pot. A copper-bottomed pot appeared in the best shape, and a crock gave it strong competition. Because the pot would not travel well when full, they found a number of small pottery urns and divided the soup among them. They sealed them and packed them in a layer of wet clay. They bound that up in leather and each man added one to his baggage.
They took as much food as they could from Happy Valley and left notes in several houses for anyone traveling there from the Green River settlement. While Ezekiel Fire wanted to visit Green River, he agreed that they couldn’t afford the time and that even a warning might not save the settlement. They all hoped the people of Green River would escape destruction, but there wasn’t a one of them that didn’t believe that it had already suffered the fate of Piety.
It took them a week to reach Dire Wolf Draw. They didn’t see any recent signs of wolf activity in the area, but that surprised no one. The wolves would follow herds during their migration. The few tracks they did find indicated the beasts had headed southwest along the spine of the mountains, which would bring them to the point where the great northern migration started. Nathaniel had never seen it, and had only heard of it in tales told by Msitazi of the Altashee.
“That is something I want to see before I die.” Nathaniel tossed a stick of wood on their campsite’s fire. “To hear your father tell it, Kamiskwa, just an ocean of brown beasts heading north. Mastodons, wooly rhinoceri, bison. Ain’t nothing like it in this here whole world.”
Kamiskwa unrolled one of the bundles of wolf furs and spread them out for airing. “I think then, my friend, it will need to be next spring. It will be our last chance.”
Makepeace laughed. “Ain’t nothing gonna be making the migration go away, Kamiskwa.”
Nathaniel grunted. “I reckon he’s saying we ain’t going to be around come summer a year hence.”
Makepeace thought for a moment, then nodded. “I reckon that’s something worth considering.”
Owen sighed heavily. “You know, three years ago I wasn’t thinking we’d see the end of summer, and then we were just fighting a Ryngian Laureate and a legion of the undead.”
“Hearing you put it that way, Owen, does make it sound kind of ordinary.” Nathaniel scratched at the back of his neck. “This is a little bit different, I reckon.”
Ezekiel Fire poked a stick deep into the coals. “It’s the End of Days. It’s the Judgment time.”
Owen looked up from his journal. “It’s a bit premature to believe that, isn’t it?”
Kamiskwa shook his head. “The Shedashee would agree. We have stories, stories that have been forgotten, stories of which I have only heard a phrase or two. They talk of these things coming. I don’t know more, but what I do know frightens me. Just as the herds migrate north, imagine a grey mold working east, spreading over the mountains, down to the sea. Imagine Temperance being reduced like Piety.”
“Do these things have names among your people?”
“They do, but I do not know them. I do not know if anyone does.” Kamiskwa’s amber eyes narrowed, reflecting a tiny sliver of firelight. “In magick, to know a name is to have power. As you address a letter to Prince Vlad, so a sorcerer can make a target of your name. Not the name that everyone knows, but your true name.”