As the sun set in the old world, once again on Manches, and the clutches of night engulfing all in the east, the warm ball of fire began to rise over the skies of the Americas.
A crow sleepily raised its head, taking in the first morning light. A cold breath escaped its beak, like a ghost in cold air. The first snow had fallen over night in the Alberta badlands and the crow had noticed. It picked its black-feathered torso up on dark scaly naked legs. With an ugly call, the crow took flight into the dawn sky.
The crow began to soar high in the sky in order to reach the warmth of the glorious sun. Doing so, it passed over the great red mountains and scarred rocky valleys of the badlands. The fresh powder blanketed all but a few rocks and yellow and black tall grasses. A few gnarled bristle cone pines, aged with a thousand winters, reached towards the sun in attempts to rid themselves of the snow laden in their branches. Great herds of bison, colored white due to the snow, thronged the red boulders and valley sides. Pronghorn Antelope pranced through the morning meadows in a search for the morning's meal. The crow cared not for the bison, the antelope, nor the wild Asses that grazed upon the frozen crop of wild grass. If one were to not wake up due to over exposure to the cold element in the night, then it would be a different story. But from the bird's eye view, things didn't report that well. A bison would be a fest, enough food for perhaps a month. The old black bird cawed at the thought of such a splendor, but realized that odds of that were much too small. With the sun now beating upon the wings of the bird, it decided it was best to fly back down to earth and seek smaller prey.
The rugged landscape was in the background as the crow soared a few feet above the snow-laden field. There were tracks in this field. Tracks always lead to prey. If only crows could smile. Following the tracks, the old bird discovered the maker, a fresh march hare. The beast had grown white with winter, even if it was November, and was in an attempt to hide in the white white snow. Fortunately, the crow was smarter than the average bird of prey. The crow reared its head up high in a dive position. But then it noticed a rival predator. In the grass was a stalking female coyote. No doubt gaining today's breakfast for her litter. Crows considered coyotes dumb rivals who did nothing but steal a dinner. But coyotes were strong and barbaric animals, a threat in the making. The crow decided that this rabbit was an impossible gain. To wrestle the coyote for it was ultimate doom. But it could make things hard for the coyote. The crow cawed as loud as it possible could, alerting the hare. The hare instantly made haste and rocketed across the vast meadow towards its burrow. The coyote sprang forth like a loaded sling. The crow merely watched the spectacle from the air as the coyote fought to keep up with the hare.
A tall, red skinned man wearing several animal skins over his body was frustrated. His attempts at stalking the hare were foiled by the bothersome caws of a bothersome crow. The hare, and the coyote, shot away from the warrior chieftain known as Galuda and into the Canadian wilderness. Galuda looked to the early morning pink sky. The crow cawed triumphantly as it flew in circles around the Native American. Galuda narrowed his eyes. He picked up a small stone and placed it in a makeshift sling using his headband. The eagle's feather made the contraption seem ridiculous, but the long dark haired man was not one for looks. His powerful form made the sling even deadlier than normal, and with a quick thrust of his enormous arms, the stone shot forth like a bullet and struck the black bird in the sky. With a cry of death, the crow fell to the white earth.
Galuda walked back to the village in which he resided in. Placed neatly in the red rocked valley of the Alberta badlands, giant natural walls help make for defense. In all, there were fifty so Indians working or just waking up. The children were still snug in bed inside the animal skinned teepees whilst the mothers began to cook the most important meal of the day. As Galuda walked into the village grounds, the dead crow slung in is hand, the dogs immediately bounced to the man's heels. A crow, he decided, was no trophy. But he was going to skin it anyways, simply because the bird annoyed him. By now you probably have assumed that Chieftain Galuda is a man of short temper, few words, and strict action I presume. Well if you did, you would be correct. However, he had a heart of gold and was respected by every man for miles. The fires in front of the teepees were still small, and the women starting them were still rubbing their hands and breathing a mist of vapor to warm their hands. The waking men were preparing the horses that the Red Hand tribe had acquired over the years. They were horses of all kinds, wild white mustangs to stolen brown cavalry. Being in the British state of Alberta had several advantages over being in any state in the United States of America. The Great Plains Indian wars were just ending and the true Americans had lost. Of coarse, the victory over Custer had left a smile on every Indians face on the continent. Galuda recalled the events of a white man from Custer's regiment, leading a battalion of men to exterminate the tribes of the Montana territory. A one armed man who used a wicked disease on his people and left. Over a year ago this happened, and Galuda trekked across the globe in order to find the man and the power stone, a legendary rock that was able to cure the disease. The one armed man had gone rogue shortly after the incident and became a pirate. One would presume that captain Kraken had gone mad, quitting the U.S Cavalry and indulging in pirating affairs that had been dead for a century. Well, Galuda had retrieved the stone and brought his people back to health. Now, deep within Canada and safe from any U.S army officer, Galuda served his time as new chief and loving husband.
"Galuda! What have you in your hands?" Doe, Galuda's clearly pregnant wife, asked surprised.
She was a fair maiden. Her large brown eyes reflected the essence of a female white tailed deer. Her fine long dark hair was in a long braid that ran down her back. Her skin was dark, like most Native American women, but beautiful. She was clad in heavy animal skins to protect herself and her child from the new cold.
"A crow." Galuda answered, almost smiling. Galuda was enormous compared to his young wife.
"Why do you have a crow, hmmm?" Doe smiled.
"It frightened away the hare I was stalking. Therefore I killed it with a pebble." Galuda replied.
"And what will you do with a dead crow?! Make more headdresses?!" does was angry.
"I suppose. And from it's meat we shall have crow pie. Maybe I'll make a necklace from its bones…" Galuda started rambling on about how he was going to fashion the bird into, well, fashion.
Doe sighed. "At least we can sell some to the Mounties…"
"What?! No! We can make it into useable items like I said. We have lived for thousands of years without "selling to the white man". We don't need to start now." Galuda fumed.
"Galuda, dear, the world is changing. Like it or not, we have to change with it too…" Doe placed her hand on Galuda's shoulder.
"I do not see why. I have met very few good white men. The rest are evil demons of the east! We are best when left in isolation. Let them have their trains and phono… singing machines…" Galuda turned away from Doe.
Doe felt bad about bringing it up. Galuda was never one for change and every time Doe brought the subject up Galuda would go on about the evils of the white man. "Look, Galuda. We'll use the crow feathers for the baby's bed. I'm sure they will provide warmth."
"I need my pipe." Galuda stated. He then walked past Doe without even glancing at her into the warmth of the teepee.
The inside of his teepee gave off a soft warm hue of primal essences and new world herbs. The bison skin, tanned to a white color, was decorated by many a diagram of the bear, wolf, horse, and bison. Also telling tales of the hunt, of the gods, and social gatherings of many years past. It also told the tale of Galuda and his journey around the world. A drawing was painted for every stop he made and every battle fought. A simple red man with goggles, a blue man with a long sword, a young lad with long braided hair, a large man with a yellow poncho, a man wrapped in white with one red eye, a female figure in green, and a dark skinned woman. They're also a figure of a ship to the north, where a one handed man seemed to cackle. There was in his little abode a cattle skull, painted with orange mud and adorned in crow feathers. One simple fur bed was laid on the cold dirt, along with a small stone ring in which a fire would be held in. Galuda instantly spotted his long wooden pipe in a sack near his furs. His massive hand reached for it, diving into the bag and through the literally thousands of crow feathers he had collected. His hand grasped something, but not the slender pipe. It was hard and small, smooth and round. Galuda cracked a smile and brought out the object. It was indeed the purple shard of the almighty power stone. Galuda brought the stone to his face and reflected upon his past.
** *
It was raining, rather hard. The sky was cold and dark. Heavy, black clouds were blocking the night and the moon. The small Russian town was lifeless. Great claps of thunder bellowed across the heavens, but not a single bolt of lightning crackled across the sky. The murky, dark waves crashed ominously across the olden docks. Mud and water ran across Galuda's moccasins as they raced to the bottom of the steep hill towards the sea. Only a single old elm tree, long dead and burned, stood watch between the heightened village huts. The native American strolled down the hill, keeping pace as not to slip in the dangerous runoff. Galuda watched his breath fly out before him in the frozen weather. Moored in the northern bay in the White Sea was a grand old galleon. I should put emphases on old. Holes were torn in her poor sails. Loose boards dotted the vessel, as did thousands of living and dead barnacles. Pitch-dark cannons faced the hamlet, watching the night viciously. Only one lantern was lit on the vessel. And only one man crewed her. The King Octopus, her name, and Captain Ebenezer Kraken her captain. Galuda felt this was the final length of his journey. The one armed man was here, and today was his unlucky day.
Little did Galuda know that day that he was not alone in the quest to reach Skullhaven. Other warriors were coming across the same sleepy village in the mists of a dark ungodly night. One of those warriors was a fellow named Jack. The cannons were in clear sight as Galuda reached the docks. Torrents of rain fell off the docks in a waterfall of eternity. If one were not careful, one would slip right off into the stormy brine. Jack, from behind an overflowing barrel, saw the spectacle of a man reaching out to the war ship of yester years. However, Galudas senses were not as keen as the bandaged lepers, and he failed to notice the lighting of a fuse.
Not a man alive knows why Jack did what he did. Galuda had never seen the little French killer, nor did Jack ever see Galuda before. It was custom for warriors to fight against each other, but Jack acted differently. Shouting as loud as his high-pitched voice could shout, Jack leapt from his position nearly seventy feet away and bounded towards the red skin. In a look of surprise, Galuda turned only to be knocked into the dark depths along with Jack. The docks they just stood upon exploded in the fiery deaths of a million splinters. Galuda and Jack bobbed up and down, along with the flaming debris, as they took in the fact they nearly were hit by a seventeenth century cannonball. Galuda looked to his right, noticing the bandaged man.
"Thank you, whoever you are. You saved my life, and I am in debt to you." Galuda said.
Jack merely nodded, blinking his lone red eye. A single rope, the only one that had held the King Octopus in the village, floated on the surface of the briny deep. Jack started swimming towards the rope, clutching it in his hands and pulling himself towards the ship. Galuda did the same. He kept a tough look upon his face, but questioned why Jack had saved him and what he wanted with Captain Kraken.
** *
Doe walked into the teepee, noticing her husband sitting down near his sack, one hand on the power stone, another holding his pipe. Both of his eyes were shut, in deep thought. Doe smiled. She questioned herself weather to disturb the giant, he looked so calm and serene. A dogs bark brought her back to the reason why she came in. She moved towards her dark haired husband and tapped his massive shoulder lightly. This was all that was needed to bring a seasoned warrior to. He glanced behind him, brining in his surroundings. His wife closed her eyes and smiled. He smiled back, forgetting about his earlier argument.
"Do you need me, Doe?" Galuda asked.
"There is a man outside, an outsider." Doe answered.
Galuda raised an eyebrow. "Really? What does he want?"
"He wishes to speak with you. He says he has a message for you."
"Tell him I will meet him. Bring him in here."
"Alright dear."
Doe left out the way she came. Galuda got off the ground, dusted himself off, and immediately set to cleaning the premises to an impressive shape. The crow feathers, every last dark one, were stuffed underneath the wolf furs. Galuda neatly placed himself down near the back of the room, quickly placing the pipe in a formal position, and waited.
After a few minutes, in walked a white man. He was dressed in blue with shiny yellow buttons, a nice belt, black boots, and a small blue hat with two bugles on it. He was American, even Galuda could tell that. Dullstown was under the pony express's route, and Galuda's tribal grounds were within Dullstown residency. Galuda frowned even more. The white messenger's blue eyes sparkled as he saluted with his leather gloves. Galuda nodded, putting the messenger at ease.
"What do you want with Galuda the Earth walker?" Galuda asked in a stern voice.
"Message for you sir." The messenger fished around in a bag he had at his waist until he pulled out a small white envelope. He passed the envelope towards the chieftain, who reluctantly took it.
The envelope was small, a little bent from being shipped by pony express, and extravagantly beautiful. Gold trimming and embroidered designed rung the envelope like an art. And in dark, smooth black ink was written "Galuda" in cursive. French cursive.
Galuda made an odd expression while trying to decipher the letter's secret words. He placed his hand on his square jaw and looked at the letter at several different angles. The messenger took on a surprise also. After a few awkward moments, the messenger volunteered.
"Do you want me to read it to you, chief?" the messenger asked.
Galuda was relieved. However, he didn't want it to look like he was incapable of reading. After a moment or two, he set upon a firm look and tossed the envelope to the U.S mail man.
"Read if you want." Galuda replied.
"The envelope says "Galuda" in French. I didn't think you had French friends. Especially ones this wealthy." The messenger spoke. "Shall I read the letter to you?"
"Not to me. For me. I am in a slumbering mood." Galuda fibbed.
"Right sir. It says Ahem.
Dear Galuda. (In French, of course.)
This is your friend Falcon. I am writing to you from France. Thus explains the odd language this sort is in, wot. Julia forced me to write in French, hope you can read it. Anyways, there is a problem over here and we could use your help. Not a man is stronger, more at peace, resourceful, and experienced in with the power stone than you. Several killings of innocent women are occurring in Manches, this town, and a killer with a power stone may be to blame. This information comes from a bandaged man named Jack who is currently being held in prison for crimes he may have not committed. It would be a great blinkin help if you could come over her and help us. Enclosed is a ship ticket to Paris from Vancouver. If you refuse to come, than write us back, but remember, there are lives on the line. See you mate.
Sincerely,
Edward Falcon.
And that's the what the letter says." The messenger reported.
Galuda could not believe his own ears. A message from halfway across the world from his old acquaintance Falcon. However, it was the state of emergency that appealed to the chieftain. The bandaged Jack could not be any other than the Jack that saved his life a year ago. He owed a favor for Jack, and now was his time to prove his honor.
"If you don't want to go, you could just write it out now and give it to me, seeing how I am the postman and all." The postman stated.
"No! I am man of honor and valor. Even though I dislike the outside world and all of its inventions and curses, I must help those who have helped me. Give me the ticket." Galuda roared.
"O.K, O.K sir. It's a long ways to Vancouver. You could ride with the pony express for a while. We have a train and everything, gets us going fast!" the messenger offered.
"Alright. I shall. Thank you." Galuda replied.
The chieftain then walked out in to the cold November air and alerted his tribe. He told them and his wife that he would be leaving.
** *
