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7
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Across the gulf of darkness and salt tears,
Into life's calm the wind of sorrow came,
And fanned the fire of love to clearest flame.
.
The box sat on the hitching rail.
Mike eased open the front door, grateful that Jess had recently oiled the latch and it made no sound. The house behind him was still and secure, as if floating on the soft breathing of the sleepers within. Most of his nights now Mike would sleep just as soundly, only occasionally plagued by the nightmares of grief. But tonight he was restless. He simply could not settle down and drop off into the deep, refreshing slumber which his energetic and happy young life usually brought him.
Slim'd blame Jess for that! Because, as so often happened, Mike had cajoled Jess into telling more than one of the thrilling yarns stored in his guardian's memory. Andy enjoyed the stories too and, despite asserting his right to a later bedtime than his new little brother, nonetheless sneaked in to hear them.
But it was not the fun of the chase round the yard nor the exciting action of the stories which kept Mike awake. And he was not scared nor hungry nor afraid. He was not even kept awake by his own vivid imagination.
Something was calling to him!
So he slipped from bed, dragging on his pants and, in the living room, reaching down his jacket from the pegs by the door. Now he was standing on the porch under the cool light of the stars, looking at the box on the rail.
It was beautiful. Mike could hardly imagine the skill and care with which it had been carved. The little faces were real. You could hear their voices, share their thoughts …
Who had made it?
Why would they make something so powerfully attractive and then bury it in the bank of a stream half way up a mountain in Wyoming? Why had they left it there for him to find?
He reached out and took the box.
It was surprisingly heavy in his hands. Mike hadn't notice this while it was in his pocket or even when he first opened it and found it empty. It seemed to have increased in weight, as if it was responsive to being in the presence of humans, to being on the ranch. But even a child knew it was totally unreasonable so small a container could weigh so much.
Not if it was empty.
So it must contain something. It must, even if his eyes had already seen that it did not!
He raised the lid.
There were two objects inside.
Mike stared for a long moment. He had never seen anything so perfect. Lying glinting in the box were two golden leaves. At first he thought it was the starlight which made them twinkle and glitter, but then he realized that they shone with a light of their own. Although they were leaves, they were leaves shaped like the stars themselves – pure, fragile, heart-stopping beauty.
Hardly daring, but irresistibly compelled, Mike reached into the box and took the two leaf-stars, one in each hand …
…...
…
He was running through the woods in the Fall. Golden leaves rose up in clouds about his feet. More showered down upon him as gusts of wind ruffled the branches. It was like being in a world of flying gold, warm and exuberant and infinitely precious.
Mike was laughing as he ran. Kicking up fountains of leaves or fixing on a single leaf spiraling down towards him, chasing it and trying to catch it before it touched the ground.
The light of the sun streamed through the trees, gilding the trunks and making sparks of light flash from the shiny surfaces of the falling leaves. Above him was the golden ceiling of the branches. Below him the golden floor of the forest. Nothing could be richer or freer or more beautiful.
Mike was intoxicated with the sheer ecstasy of the season and of this moment when he was free just to revel in it. Free from the endless swaying and jolting of the wagon. Free from the slow place of the patient oxen. Free from obedience to the demands of the trail and the strictures of the adults.
His ma and pa were not being strict today. Today, for the first time since they had turned north, away from the track of the rest of the wagon train, his parents were taking a rest day. Travelling on their own was a dangerous thing and the two families who had come north with them had soon decided to put down roots along the way. Mike's pa was still determined to press on to Wyoming. Since parting company with the other settlers, he had had to work even harder and be much more vigilant as he protected the safety of his little family and guided them to their future.
But today they had made camp in the golden woods. Today Mike was playing. And today his ma ran through the leaves too, her skirts and hair flying wildly as she chased with her son. And today his pa gathered armfuls of the crisp golden bounty and showered them both with cascading glory as they ran. At last they had all collapsed, breathless and laughing, in a deep drift of leaves, where they lay reveling in the warm sunshine, very glad that the wind had dropped for the moment.
Presently his ma got up and brushed the leaves from her hair, which were almost invisible against the deep golden strands. She ran lightly back to the wagon, lit the little camp fire and began to prepare their midday meal. Presently his pa jumped to his feet, shook his shoulders free from the foliage, whistled to their hound and picked up the bucket to fetch more fresh water from the stream.
But Mike lay gazing up at the golden ceiling and the twinkling sunlight leaking through the canopy above him. The wood was so still. So completely peaceful. Only the faintest sounds of human movement came to him. The click of the spoon against the saucepan. The clink of the handle of the bucket going into the stream. No footfalls or voices broke the serenity. He could have lain there for ever. It was heaven.
He lay there so long and the silence was so deep, so profound, that he was almost relieved when the wind got up again. He heard it come from the distance, a faint moan in the canopy, which deepened to a lament as it approached. He felt it gather power, like invisible knives raking fiercely through the tops of the trees.
Suddenly Mike was filled with an inexplicable sadness. It was as if the joy and beauty of the day had been erased. As if the golden wonder had been covered by veil of darkness and the sun no longer shone.
He too jumped to his feet. He could see his ma and pa in the distance. They stood in the light of the golden world, holding out their hands to him. And in their hands were two radiant stars.
Mike ran. He ran like one possessed. Like one who knows what hunts at this heels. The wind was drawing its curtain of darkness over him. He had only a very little time to reach his parents before the light would go out forever and between him and them would be a deep gulf of darkness.
Hot salt tears burned down his face. He ran and ran and ran. But the darkness was too strong. Its power was like a barrier into which he ran full tilt …
…...
… Mike thudded into a warm, hard body. Steadfast arms went round him and his desperate flight found refuge in an unfailing source of strength. His face burrowed into the soft warm material covering a chest which was lean and hard-packed with muscle. He inhaled a familiar scent – he could never decide whether it was bread or hay or just something altogether wholesome, tinged with faint traces of tobacco, leather and sweat. The darkness threatening to devour him was suddenly driven back by a clear flame of unconditional love.
Jess caught and held the youngster as Mike fled blindly across the yard. The primordial power of darkness, fear and despair seemed literally to loom over them both. But Jess would not surrender to it or let it tear Mike away from the security of his new family. He held on tight, using every strength he had ever been taught or learned from experience to surround them both with trust and love and utter loyalty.
The black threat loomed over the yard. Over the house. Over all that they both held precious.
In the next instant, it was gone.
Mike burrowed even closer into Jess's arms and his muffled voice sobbed out: "I lost them, Jess! I couldn't save their stars. The darkness got them!"
"Darkness never puts out the stars, Mike," Jess's familiar growly voice assured him. "Look. See there?"
He turned them both towards the distant horizon. A crescent moon was just rising with the Evening Star in the curve of its arms. Intuitively, Jess assured the little boy, "I guess your pa was big enough and his arms wide enough to be like the moon. And that's the Mother Star inside them. You know she's always there."
Mike heaved a great sigh.
Jess picked him up and carried him over to the barn. Mike clung to him like a limpet, obviously still not entirely sure that he was safe. With some difficulty, Jess struck a match one handed and lit the lantern. The soft warm light did much to reassure Mike, but he was shivering with cold from the night air and the shock of his vision. Jess carried him over to Traveller's stall.
"Down, Trav!"
The bay obligingly folded himself into the straw of his stall. Jess propped Mike up against the horse's warm, solid back, after which he fetched the bedrolls attached to his and Slim's saddles. He wrapped Mike up gently but firmly in a couple of blankets and ran a hand over his disheveled hair.
"Sleep now, Bear Cub. Ain't nothing gonna get past Trav and me."
"But the box?"
"Will be fine where it is. We'll take care of it come morning. Sleep now."
Mike fell almost instantly into a deep and surprisingly dreamless sleep. When he awoke in the faint light of dawn it was because Jess had begun to stir, unwinding himself determinedly from the blankets covering them both. He rose to his feet and stood looking down at Mike. The expression on his face was deeply serious, as if he was faced with a vital but dangerous task. Mike knew that Jess considered him an equal partner in whatever this task was. They had to do it together.
"Come on, pard'ner. Let's put this thing to rest once and for all."
Jess held out his hand and pulled Mike to his feet. He bridled Traveller, but didn't bother with the saddle. He lifted Mike, still swathed in a blanket, onto the bay's back. Then he led his mount out of the barn.
The box was still sitting in the middle of the yard. The lid was still up. It was still empty.
Jess reached into the pocket of his pants to locate his gloves. He pulled them on. He shut the lid of the box and picked it up. After a moment's thought, he ripped a strip off the bottom of Mike's nightshirt and wrapped the box in it.
"I guess you should carry this." Jess held out the wrapped box. Mike took it gingerly.
Nothing happened.
Jess vaulted up behind him and urged the bay out onto the trail they had followed yesterday. They moved at a brisk canter, breaking through the low-lying ground mist and stirring up the deep scent of the Fall from the leaf-bed beneath Traveller's hooves. It took no time to reach the ford and the gully above it.
"Show me."
Jess slid to the ground and lifted Mike down. Mike didn't resent it because his hands were fully occupied with the concealed box. He shrugged off the blanket cloaking him. There was no point in getting it wet. For the same reason, Jess was pulling his boots off.
"This way."
Mike paddled across the wide pool above the ford and climbed easily up the waterfall feeding it. The hole still showed dark in the little cliff face.
"Where's the stone?"
Mike pointed to the shallow pool above the waterfall. Jess waded in and began to feel about under the water until he located the square stone. Lifting it out, he looked closely at it for a moment, then turned it over in his hands until he was satisfied with its orientation. Mike could see there were marks carved into the stone: symbols and words which he did not understand.
"Now, Mike. Unwrap the box so it rests on the cloth. Don't touch it with your fingers if you can avoid it. Make sure that the lid will open away from you. Slide it back into the hole and pull the wrapping away."
"Ok, Jess." Mike's tongue stuck out in deep concentration as he carefully followed these instructions.
The box sat once more in its hiding place.
Jess equally carefully replaced the stone. He put the palm of his hand over it and recited some words under his breath: "Quid est occultatum, occultum debet manere!"
Then he turned briskly to Mike. "That's it! Come on. Breakfast!"
They jumped down over the waterfall causing a fountain of spray, both of them too wet now to care otherwise. The blanket came in hand for drying themselves. It was a bit damp when Jess tucked it round Mike before lifting him on to Traveller's back again, but it didn't matter compared with the relief of what they had accomplished.
As they jogged back towards the relay station, Mike asked curiously: "What did you say to the stone, Jess?"
"What was written on it," Jess replied in practical tones. "I reckon the words must be important if someone took the trouble to carve them specially on it."
Mike nodded, accepting the logic of this, even though neither of them had understood what the words meant.
They continued in companionable silence for a while. It was some time before Mike wriggled round in Jess's arms and looked up at him appealingly. He needed to ask the question which had been in his heart and mind in the night past, just before he picked up the box.
"The box had a power, Jess, didn't it?" When his guardian nodded in agreement, Mike went to the heart of the matter: "Why would someone make something so powerful and then bury it in the bank of a stream?"
Jess looked at him gravely for a moment. "Maybe they buried it just because it is so powerful, Mike."
"Was the power very bad?"
"No. Not necessarily. I think it was different for each person who opened the box."
"For each of us?"
"Yeah."
There was a pause, then Mike said thoughtfully, "I wonder what the others dreamed?"
"We won't know, Mike. We never really know the deepest hopes and fears of anyone else. All we can do is be ready to lend them strength and love as they face up to them."
Mike brooded on this for another minute or two before he demanded, with his usual tenacity: "But why make the box in the first place, Jess? Why make something which –" he hesitated, before plunging on: "which makes our fears real?"
"And our hopes and dreams, Mike," Jess amended gently. "I guess it gives us the chance to choose to build a new life, a better future, from whatever happened in the past."
Mike thought some more. Finally he sighed and smiled: "Like me finding two new fathers I didn't know I had?"
"Yeah, Mike, like that. Like that for all of us. We all found family," Jess smiled as he urged Traveller towards their home. "Now let's concentrate on the things which really matter, like getting home for breakfast. I'm starving!"
Leaves swirled around Traveller's hooves as he sped onwards through the light of the new day.
Behind them, the box sat quietly waiting in its dark burial place.
.
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NOTES:
Acknowledgements:
Thanks to Westfalen for help with matters of horse management.
For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors.
Quotations:
To build a new life on a ruined life - The Masque of Pandora, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
If I had known before I courted – from an English Folk song: Come all you fair and tender ladies, Sharpe, Appalachian collection
Silent, as in bleak dismay – from Ballad of Broken Flutes, Edwin Arlington Robinson
He girt the saddle to the steed - from an English ballad: The Lord of Lorn and the False Steward, Bodliean Library collection
When we were young and wake from sleep – from The Snowflake, W. H. Davies
And will you never return – from Farwell, Farewell, lyrics by Richard Thompson, Fairport Convention
Across the gulf of darkness – from The Wind of Sorrow, Henry Van Dyke
Quid est occultatum, occultum debet manere – that which is hidden should remain hidden.
