by Nelson, J P
René had been to Banshee Canyon four years before on the western side, and he heard the moaning sounds in the wind. It was the squealing pitch sounding like a woman crying mournfully that made his blood feel like it had turned to ice; and it had been daytime.
The stories of Banshee Canyon carried into the lore of the Cody Buck Hills. Added to the mysterious presence of the cliff dweller’s ruins, the whole region was considered haunted and the savage denizens who now lived there made it all the more dangerous.
___________________________
The first leg of the journey was an easy go. Here and there a tree had blown into the trail, but Sir Kowan made ease of such simple jumps. Twice they were able to ride around obstacles, but nothing as yet posed a real challenge. Finding a huge stand of mountain laurel with a stream close by, a place where René had camped before, they came to rest for their first pit stop.
Chancing a small fire to heat some water, René removed the saddle briefly and mixed a small snack for his mount. Carefully, all feet were checked and Sir Kowan got a thorough rub down.
Finished, René ate some jerked meat and gazed out to Tercel Lake. Those fish were big and he started a craving for a 28” trout, cooked over a fire with roasted tubers, onions and … okay, enough of that. With attentive eyes he scanned all about for any sign of what could bring trouble.
Tacking back up, the fire was carefully killed and wood placed where it would be easy to find next time someone needed it. Mounting up, René lingered his view on a winter flower and thought a moment of Madigan. Then they began the second leg of their journey.
The laurel was growing incredibly thick, much more than René remembered. Eventually he had to dismount and lead Sir Kowan for a quarter mile, both with their heads low as they forced their way through the hearty vines. Once in the clear, René was back in the saddle and both were in the mood to run.
Winding through a series of hills, the trail took the pair out of sight of Tercel Lake for several miles. Riding low into a depression and skirting a huge uprooted tree, René caught sight of unusual activity before his mount did.
Downwind, only a few rods away, he saw what appeared to be the carcass of a large boar entangled in a thicket. Gathering the reins and preparing for a surge of speed he saw one, two, and then three faces of large rabbits raise their heads from the opposite side of the boar. Each face was covered in blood.
Inhaling through clenched teeth, René drew his mount in to a cautious halt. Wayma Hares weighed an average of 30-35 lbs, are incredibly fast over short distances, and carnivorous. Vicious pack hunters, these predators had-hook shaped fangs and teeth which ground into their meat, holding it in place as they made fast work of their prey. René was hoping desperately this pack was satisfied and not angry. Gluttons, they had been known to eat, regurgitate, and eat again.
A larger, fourth hare raised its head, opened its mouth, placed a foot on top of the boars head, bared its fangs and hissed. Keeping a now nervous mount under control, René eased on around the tree’s upended roots. While watching the hares closely, they continued onward.
Reassuring Sir Kowan and keeping a nervous watch, René put forty rods between them when one of the hares made a break from the boar in their direction. Clapping the heels to Sir Kowan, they lunged up the trail with a burst of speed. The trail made a sharp right hand turn and they took it fast. René saw out of the corner of his eye, two of the hares moving through the forest at blistering speeds with a third trailing a little way behind.
The hares forked their trajectory and René pulled up into a sudden, haunch-sliding stop as one hare hurtled across the trail in front of them, the second took the full swing of René’s blade. Whirling Sir Kowan quickly around, René caught the first hare as it recovered its missed attack and leaped at the horse’s belly with a low, under-swinging arc of the same blade.
René whirled his mount again and faced the forest with anticipation. The third hare came to an abrupt stop, cautiously observed its two dead chums, and then hissed at René. Turning, the hare ran back into the woods toward the remains of the boar. René took the next two miles at a steady run.
Slowing to a walk and then stopping for a respite, René breathed a sigh of relief. Scratching the horse behind the ears, he remarked, “Cherron’s Beard, you’ve a heart of iron. My grand-pap will want to meet you.”
Three miles further on, they came to an ancient bridge crossing a 60’ wide stretch of water. It was the outlet for Tercel Lake, now within view once more. Drawing his bow and loosening his arrows, René studied the bridge carefully. His second time traveling across this bridge had drawn an attack from a troglodyte living underneath. He hadn’t seen one since, but it didn’t pay to take things for granted.
Once across the bridge, they continued another mile to where the trail seemed to fork off to the left, in the direction of the lake. Pausing in the trail, René commented to his partner, “Well, Sir Kowan, sir, from here on is further than I’ve set foot thus far. Yonder that way,” motioning to the more faint trail off to the left, “is some of the best fishin’ I’ve done in my lifetime. On that-a-way,” motioning toward their destination, “well now, it’s all new to me. What do you say partner? Ready?”
Slapping Sir Kowan on the neck with affection he added, “You know? Sir Kowan is a nice name. But when it’s just you and me, how ‘bout I just call you Kowi?”
The flea bitten gray flickered his ears as if in agreement, and tossed his head.
“Oky-doke,” René said with a laugh, “let’s be on with it.” And forward up the trail they rode.
___________________________
Perhaps ten miles after their second pit stop, they came up to the first narrow ledge portion of the trail. For quite some time they had been steadily climbing into the hills. Often René would stop and look back in the direction they had come.
Checking your back-trail was important in the wilderness, especially in unfamiliar country. Greenhorns assumed everything looked the same, coming or going. But when traveling the opposite direction of your original route, things tend to take a different perspective. Shadows are different, landmarks take on a different character, and contours seem to change.
If something went really wrong, René had no intention of getting lost trying to come back. Twice, he saw indications of little used game trails he had not noticed until looking back. More than once, he thought how beautiful this country was, and how he wanted to return to explore it. Why, he wondered, did the cliff dwellers leave? Did the haunts drive ‘em out, or had they become the haunts, themselves.
He looked all around and couldn’t shake the eerie feeling he was being watched, studied, by someone … but who. It made the hairs on René’s neck stand up at attention.
At the edge of a brook, and within easy bowshot, they saw a cluster of deer grazing. One, a magnificent buck with a huge rack, raised his head and looked right at them. Then the group went bounding through the woods.
The trail began to narrow considerably as the two began a steady climb on the right side of a steep hillside. Looking up, René wondered if this was a big hill or a small mountain. To the right, a sheer drop into a dark ravine grew more intimidating with each step. It wasn’t long before his right foot was literally hanging over the deep expanse. Some gravel broke loose from Kowi’s hoof and fell, but René never heard the rock hit bottom. Whew! “More to make the hair stand up,” he told Kowi.
For four miles the narrow ledge continued, all the while René holding his breath that they wouldn’t meet someone, or something, undesirable. This was not a place where a horse could turn around, and surely was a bad place to try a fight.
A whistle in the rocks, then a barrage of wind hit them, forcing Kowi to adjust his feet and even lean into the one wall to the side of the trail. But the wind settled and they continued their way.
At one point, René could have almost sworn they were riding around and around the same cone in repetition. Then they stepped up onto a small rise with an open c
learing in front of them, a deep and dark forest beyond. Taking a moment to think, he was trying to remember the mention of such a forest by his trapper friend. There had been no mention of a wood at this point in the trail, and the trapper had been very thorough.
There was no way such a forest could have grown in the time since the trapper’s one journey through here. Not naturally, in any case.
So, had they gone the wrong way? René had been meticulous in his observation to detail.
There was something just not quite right about the way the needles of the pines were moving. An illusion? But why? He didn’t like it, but the only other choice was to turn and go back.
‘Not happening,’ René thought with resolution.
Skirting the clearing and loosening his weapons, René focused his mind and prepared for the worst. With satisfaction, he noticed Kowi also seemed to understand and was anticipating a burst of action. The question was: ready his bow, or leave it slung? Just in case he might be able to slick talk his way out of possible trouble, he decided it would be rather provoking if he entered an unsuspecting camp with his weapon drawn.
A camp? Absurd. Not here. And if so, who?
René shook his head, he was letting his imagination run away with him.
Stepping into the tree line was like moving through a veil. Some scrub trees and scattered deadfalls were there, yes, but no forest. Instead there were several boulders and rock formations all about. This was more akin to the old trapper’s description. A human, which must have been a lookout, was leaning against one of the formations and sound asleep.
René had stumbled upon an ensemble of bandits, and someone had the money to afford a wizard powerful enough to set up a large illusion.
There was nothing in René’s mind but to go forward and keep himself in play.
Easy stepping around another formation, he saw a few tents and a lean-to. René’s first thought was, ‘How did they get here and from which direction? He had seen virtually no sign of any travel, and he was good. Someone needed to know.’ But that was no matter for now.
Several bandits were huddled up around a fire discussing some issue or the other. One bandit saw the lone rider and shouted while running for a crossbow; so much for René talking his way out of trouble.
The others scurried for weapons as René clapped down on Kowi and leaned low, scooping a long dead branch from the ground with his left hand, straightening and switching the branch to his right hand, he charged directly at the first bandit like a knight with a jousting lance and ran him through.
Drawing his hatchet with his left hand, he laid another bandit’s head open as he made a desperate grab for Kowi’s bridle. Whirling around, René saw the camp erupt in chaos and what must have been a wizard ran out of a tent and began to wave his hands.
Whipping out his right boot knife, René threw the blade true into the wizard’s throat and looked quickly for signs of the trail. Seeing a boulder which fit a description given by the trapper, they made a quick run for it, hoping it was here the trail continued its winding course through the mountains.
A mounted bandit rode from across the camp in an attempt to cut René off. But René charged the bandit’s horse and jumped Kowi up and over, knocking the bandit off his mount in the process.
Continuing the trail on the other side, René let his horse have his head in full flight. Looking behind he saw at least four mounted bandits trying to catch up. Knowing there was no deviation from the trail for quite some time, René tied his reins and swinging his right leg forward and around, he dropped his feet to touch the fast moving ground below and swung his body up and around behind the saddle to the other side, throwing his right leg over the horse’s neck and straddled the saddle backwards.
Locking his legs securely, René grabbed his bow and waited the right moment. At the next turn he sighted the first bandit and put an arrow through his throat, then speared the chest of a second. As their horses ran off the side of the trail, the next bandit saw René taking aim and ducked, allowing the next one back to take the fatal missile. The trail widened, and two bandits were spreading out side by side, each with a crossbow in hand.
Trying a stunt he had only thought about, René leveled his own bow crossways and fitted two arrows. ‘Won’t know until you try,’ he thought. Waiting for just the right moment, he let fly and both bandits left their horses. Up the center, one last bandit thought to try his own crossbow and fired, but missed.
René’s put one into the man’s chest, but the fellow stayed in the saddle and was trying to reload his crossbow. René put another arrow into the man’s chest a half inch from the first. The outlaw warrior was definitely game and tough enough, but he was on the wrong side. He was leveling his weapon to fire when René’s next shot caught him through the left eye.
Still running at top speed, Kowi had not missed a stride and his gate had been smooth all the way. Reversing his saddle switch-up, René let out a whoop and said, “You go, Kowi horse. You and me, we make a team!”
___________________________
René wanted to put distance between them and the bandits, but also needed to conserve Kowi’s strength for the journey through Banshee Canyon. The plan was to make the final pit stop about two miles beyond where they would reach safe ground. There was a place called Sweetwater Springs where they would leave the trail and cross country for Wadsworth Keep. Just a little more luck was all they needed.
From off in the distance they heard the wails of what sounded like a woman crying in anguish in the night, and chills went up René’s spine. Kowi’s ears perked up, too, and he faltered in his stride.
They drew up and René talked reassuringly to the gray, patting him on the withers and rubbing his neck. Kowi didn’t fight, but it was clear he didn’t like the upcoming stretch of trail any more than his rider.
Just a few minutes, René thought. They would rest for just a few minutes and gather themselves for what was to come. Of course, Kowi had no idea what was ahead. But René knew the trail would wind around on the side of a sheer cliff, their left side would be exposed to the expanse.
On the off-chance combat was necessary; their position against the cliff would be even more against them, as René’s right arm would be limited in range of motion. And the old trapper said rockslides looked to be common.
Aside from the trapper’s information and tales of superstition, René had no other knowledge about this area. He was in many ways headed into the unknown.
Erie rock formations, shadows that seemed to enter your soul, boulders balanced on slender stone columns, and hard packed ground was all about them; no one place looked much better than another. Looking carefully about, René dismounted, and using the small cooking dish gave Kowi some water.
As much for his own benefit as for his mount, René held Kowi’s head close and said, “You’ve done me proud, old dad. We make a pair, you and me. You seen Madigan? What do you think of her? She’s a looker, ain’t she?”
Walking slowly around and leading his horse by the bridle, René kept a steady vigil as he tried to acclimate his team to the sounds of the canyon. He wanted Kowi, okay, himself too, to be as used to the squalls and moans as possible before getting on that ledge. As a precaution, he had tied the reins together and draped them on Kowi’s neck, just in case he would need to vault into the seat and take off.
“You think I should court her proper? My grand-pap says when a woman sets her cap for a feller its all over. You think she has her cap set for …”
‘What was that?!’
A shimmering blur seemed to grow out of the air in the direction they needed to go. René tried to focus his vision, but the blur enveloped them like a misty cloud of heat. His head began to spin and he thought he saw human sized shapes forming in the blurry haze.
Stumbling once, he tried to get to Kowi’s side and into the saddle, but Kowi was afraid and sidestepping frantically. René missed his first try to get his foot into the stirrup. Then he felt icy fingers grab the in
side of his left arm as the threads of terror worked their way into his mind.
Chapter 26
________________________
WHIRLING ABOUT WHILE simultaneously drawing his short blade, for a frozen moment René saw into the eyes of the fiend which had seized him. Seemingly without skin, the body was that of a grotesquely misshapen humanoid. The muscles were gnarled, fingers long and spidery, with quill-like fingernails the color of green slime. A huge, cruel mouth was filled with jagged brown teeth, and the breath in René’s face sent waves of weakness through his body.
But it was the eyes which held him captivated, if only for an instant. As big as René’s fists, the eyes were yellowish, bloodshot and filled with a hideous lust. Gruesome fear clutched at his vitals as the sweat of horror drenched René from head to toe.
Courage has been described as an absence of fear and often attributed to the big and strong. This, however, is not the truth. Courage is being afraid, yet moving forward in spite of that fear. Many a well muscled man has turned and run in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.
With certain death looking him quite literally in the eye, it was instinct alone which made René exhale forcefully and swing his blade in a wide, upward arc and then down hard against the arm holding him. The creature, apparently relishing the anticipation of a kill, widened its own eyes in surprise as the blade severed its arm.
Keeping his lungs closed, René followed the circling motion to strike the neck and spinning around struck again to the torso. Drawing his hatchet he fended off a second creature, ducking fast as it blew a purplish cloud at him.
‘Kowi!’ He had to save his horse.
But Kowi was fighting a battle of his own. The moment René had been grabbed, one of these creatures had tried to jump upon the stallion as another tried to grab him by the head.
Kowi was a well trained mount, but he was first and foremost a stallion. Within his veins ran the hot blood of his desert born sire. Where he had once been frightened, Kowi was now enraged and white hot with fury.