The Last Pilgrims

by Michael Bunker

  As soon as Phillip gave the word, the Ghost militia had, almost automatically, launched into well-coordinated action, with very few spoken commands being necessary. Within minutes, he was out of the front gate and galloping down the road westward. At the gate, he noticed that Morell’s mare, still saddled, had made her way back through the gates of the ranch, and was grazing peacefully under some oak trees.

  He headed west, hoping to quickly spot the location where the abduction had taken place. From there, he would try to discern the direction the fake Vallenses had taken Jonathan.

  The party reigned up about a mile from the Wall’s front gate when they came across the body of the dead Ghost militiaman known as Morell.

  Morell, or, what was left of the man, was in an odd position, lying partially up an embankment that led to the thick woods on the north side of the road. The body was stretched cruelly up the hill, and there was blood on the head and throat area. Oh well, he figured, I don’t suppose it matters how they killed him, because he’s dead in any case.

  He dismounted and began to examine the road, as Piggy and Hood each went in opposite directions, looking for more clues.

  He could see where Raymond had been struck in the leg and that the pool of blood had become sticky, already swarming with flies. As he continued to examine the area, Piggy rode back up and dismounted.

  “It’s pretty obvious that they rode off westward,” Piggy commented as he walked over to the bloody stain on the dirt road. “We can track them, especially if Phillip sends The Hood, but we’ll need to move quickly if that is what we’re going to do.”

  Timothy looked up at Marbus and indicated that he wanted the young man to dismount and help him with Morell’s body. They dragged the body down the embankment and over to Marbus’ horse. “Take him back to the ranch, and then catch up with us. We’ll leave some sign to let you know if we change our direction or leave the road.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Marbus, as he helped Timothy hoist the dead man up on to the back of his horse.

  “Take his horse back too. I saw her back by the main gate. Ask Ruth to unsaddle her and get her some water.”

  He thought about Ruth and wondered what she would be doing… and thinking about. She’d lost her mother years ago, but she was very close to her father. Being an orphan, he couldn’t really imagine how she might be feeling. If he was going to be tracking Jonathan’s kidnappers, he hoped that Phillip would understand the need to assign someone to keep an eye on Ruth.

  Marbus struggled for a few moments as he secured Morell’s dead body onto the horse, and Timothy watched him with what bordered on amusement, until a flash of movement caught his left eye.

  Too late to yell, he saw the mountain lion fly down the embankment and leap towards Marbus, who still struggled with the rope, trying to get it under the body and back to the saddle.

  In the split-second when the lion seemed to be in mid-air, he saw Piggy shift his weight, draw a throwing knife, releasing it with a single, smooth motion. The knife hit broadside, but did little to slow down the momentum of the big cat as it flew towards Marbus and the horse. The horse panicked and bolted just as the lion made contact with Marbus, who fell backwards onto the road. As the cat roared in pain, an arrow buried itself into its neck. The lion kept rolling over in its death throes, screaming as Timothy had never heard an animal scream.

  Phillip had told them once that in the old ‘movies’ (a concept he really couldn’t understand fully), animals died instantly and peacefully. When you kill something in real life, it takes a painfully long time to die. That was the case with this mountain lion, which writhed on the ground screaming for what seemed like minutes as Timothy and the prone Marbus stared at it, transfixed. The only militia member who noticed and reacted to the arrow and its source, was Piggy.

  Piggy stood with a knife raised in his right hand, poised to launch it. As Timothy’s eyes followed Piggy’s stare, he saw Ruth sitting statue-like on her horse off to the south of the road, next to some heavy brush. The bow was still in her hand, ‘re-loaded’ with another arrow, in case the first one hadn’t accomplished the task.

  Timothy watched as Piggy lowered his arm and then turned to look at him with a huge smile on his face. “It’s your girlfriend, Timmy,” Piggy whispered, laughing as he knelt down to help the stunned Marbus up off the ground.

  “She’s not my girlfriend, Piggy,” he scowled as he walked by the two militiamen and approached Ruth.

  “What are you doing here, Ruth?”

  “Saving that guy’s life,” she said, pointing at Marbus.

  “I mean, why are you out here by yourself? Why aren’t you at the ranch?”

  “They took my father, and I’m going to find them.”

  “Ruth, you have to go back to the ranch. We’re going to track them. If they can be found or caught, we’ll do it. We’ll stay on them until we get your father back.”

  Ruth rode by him and up onto the road. “Somehow, I doubt it,” she said, a bit brusquely.

  “Ruth, your father’s gone, but you still have to follow the rules! I need you to go back to the ranch.”

  “My father’s gone, there is a battle going on, and my sister’s gone north. Under the circumstances, the old rules no longer apply,” she said, softly.

  “We’ll track them, Ruth, I promise.”

  “You’ll track them with me,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Piggy was laughing uncontrollably by this time as he helped Marbus locate his horse and finish securing the body. “I thought you were a pacifist, girly!” he said, “Look what you did to that housecat!”

  Ruth dismounted and located her arrow that, after passing through the lion, had embedded itself in the embankment. Then she bent down and pulled Piggy’s knife out of the side of the beast, which, by this time, had finally stopped thrashing about. She wiped the blood off the knife on the cat’s fur, handing the knife back to Piggy.

  “Cats are not people, Piggy; and, by the way, the cat was going for the body, not for Marbus. Before you arrived, she was dragging the body up that embankment. She wasn’t going to let you steal it.”

  Timothy rubbed his black beard in his hands. “That makes sense. I couldn’t figure out why a mountain lion, which usually avoids people, would attack Marbus.”

  “I’m just saying that what I just saw was pretty violent!” Piggy said, his grin wide and jovial, “Aren’t you supposed to just forgive the kitty and make nice with it?”

  “You ridicule that about which you know nothing,” she replied calmly. “Pacifism is not the easy and wide road that violence is. My father ought not to be made fun of.”

  “Oh,” Piggy retorted as he walked back towards his own horse, “I have nothing but the highest respect for your father. I’m just pointing out the… dynamics… of his daughter wanting to join this posse after violently killing a lion in front of our faces.” He looked at Ruth seriously, “If you ride with us, dearie, we will kill many Aztlanis, and they will writhe and wriggle as much as that cat when they are killed.”

  “I’m not the saint that my father is, and perhaps the road of pacifism is too narrow for me. I don’t know yet. But I am going with you.”

  Piggy bowed his head, “The more the merrier, darlin’.”

  As Marbus, clearly still shaken and ashen-faced, rode off towards the Wall’s ranch, he tipped his hat as he passed The Hood and Rob Fosse, who were riding to join the posse.

  Timothy saw Rob Fosse smile as he noticed the dead lion on the road.

  “I suppose you all made it a quarter of a mile before you got hungry, and I further suppose the lass here is going to cook this beast up for our supper? That is what I must discern from this ridiculous scene.”

  Timothy just shook his head as Piggy made a ‘zip-your-lip’ signal with his hand before rolling his eyes towards Ruth. Tim figured that if Ruth was going to be riding with them, she’d have to learn to handle herself with militia humor. However, it seemed that she was up for the challenge, given t
hat she’d handled herself pretty well with Piggy.

  He couldn’t help but be impressed with Ruth’s killing of the lion, but he also knew that—although he could not stop her from going with them—he would be made to answer to Phillip, and probably Jonathan, for why he had let her join the posse.

  In the end, he supposed that she was safer riding with some of the best fighters in the Ghost militia, away from the ranch and the battle.

  Hood had been sent because he was the best tracker in the bunch. He guessed that Rob Fosse was there because Phillip trusted him more than just about any other man in the militia.

  Together the new posse rode west and stayed on that westerly trek when the road turned south and became the Bethany road. The kidnappers had wanted to avoid Bethany and any substantial road traffic. As they moved westward, the road—once a paved county road, but now more of a footpath—meandered slowly as it ascended towards Jefford’s Creek.

  The posse traveled with the usual Ghost militia efficiency and speed. Every once in awhile, Hood would dismount and examine the ground or the surrounding flora, and when he did, the militia members would—without any orders given—spread out and inspect the area. Tim and the other riders never rode too close together, and, every mile or so, each one in turn would fall back—without a word or a signal—and virtually disappear to the rear to discern if they were being followed. If there was high ground ahead, one of the men would usually break off and take a circuitous route behind it, in order to make sure they didn’t ride into an ambush.

  Some short while after they crossed Jefford’s Creek, they pulled up near an abandoned Vallensian farm and went into the large hay barn. Hood immediately went up the ladder into the hayloft and stood watch while the posse rested and talked.

  Tim looked at the faces of everyone in the posse, and he could tell that, under the surface of their experienced, professional faces, they were worried. The kidnappers were making remarkably good time. If they were to get past San Angelo, it would be difficult to catch them as they crossed the badlands of the frontier. The good news, Piggy informed them, was that, judging by the clues, Jonathan seemed unharmed. He doubted that the kidnappers could move as fast as they were moving if the Vallensian pastor was seriously injured.

  Hood gave a whistle indicating that Marbus Claim had caught up with them, and before long, the young militia scout entered the barn.

  As the young boy dismounted and joined the group, Tim greeted him. As he shook his hand, he thanked him for dealing with Morell so the rest of the team could begin the search.

  “Ah, here is our young friend Carne de Gato!” Rob Fosse yelled from across the barn. He over-emphasized the guttural ‘g’ in gato for comedic effect. “That means ‘Cat Meat’, in case you don’t speak any español.” Rob smiled as he cut off a piece of sausage and handed it to Marbus. “How does it feel to be rejected by a feline in favor of a corpse, and then get saved by a lady?”

  Piggy howled with laughter, and even Tim found himself laughing at Rob, but he looked on in satisfaction as Marbus—who didn’t talk much—just smiled and ate the sausage. As a 16-year-old militiaman, Marbus had learned that remaining silent and smiling a lot was the best attitude to adopt. The older men discovered that it was exponentially less fun ribbing him if they never got any rise out of him. Timothy noted that Marbus Claim was wise for his young years.

  Ruth looked at him, ignoring the good-natured ribbing that was going on around her. “How far ahead of us are they?” she asked.

  He walked over and sat next to her. “At least four or five hours. We can’t stay here for very long… but the rest is for the horses, not for the men. Usually, when we ride scout, we can change horses regularly, but on this trip, these are all we have. In this heat, not getting any rest could kill them and then we would never find out where they took your father.”

  “I understand,” she said, “but I need you to be honest with me. What is the likelihood that we will catch them?”

  “Honestly? I’m sorry to say, but our chances are not very good. We can follow them, and track them to wherever they go. That is as good as we can do; but, if it helps… I do not believe they will harm your father. At least, not for a long time. He is too valuable to them.”

  “Gareth said that he was safe, that they wouldn’t harm him at all.”

  “Things have changed, Ruth. Your father has capitulated a bit in allowing the Vallenses to work with the militia. His own son is now fighting.”

  “My father will never fight, Tim… you know that.”

  “I know that, but Aztlan doesn’t. This means that they are getting scared that your father will permit the Vallenses to field an army.”

  “But he won’t!” She clasped her hands in frustration. “This can’t possibly help them,” she raised her voice. “If anything, this will give David more control, and he’ll be the one to lead the Vallenses into the war.”

  “You can’t expect tyrants to be rational,” Piggy said. All the joking had ceased, as everyone listened to what was being said between Timothy and Ruth.

  “There is something you need to know, Ruth,” Rob Fosse said, becoming serious for the first time on the trip. “I know Aztlan, and I’ve spent time spying in New Rome. I have some insight that others may not have.”

  “People in Aztlan fear your father more than they fear Phillip. The Vallenses aren’t anywhere near as frightening to Aztlan with David or anyone else leading them. Your father carries a moral authority that scares the hell out of the King and the Duke. Listen, the Crown Prince is a good man, but he’s a dreamer. Even he fails to see that the conflict between Aztlan and the Vallenses is not really about land or strategic considerations. It is about power. All power is religious, it is sacred, and—most of all—it is coercive. Your father has power that he refuses to accept or wield, and that scares the King more than ten-thousand Ghost militia warriors at his gates. Aztlan would fear your father if he were alone in the wilderness with no one to lead. That, you can believe.”

  “My father is a peaceful and loving man! Why can’t they just leave us alone?” Ruth asked.

  “Why can’t the sun rise in the west and set in the east?” Piggy replied. “The King of Aztlan hates the Vallenses because they exist, and he fears Jonathan because he is the conscience of the Vallenses.”

  Tim looked at Ruth and nodded his head. “Ruth,” he stood up and walked towards his horse, “we are soldiers here, and we don’t trouble ourselves with ‘why’ very much. I understand your reasons for wanting to ride with us, but it’s important that you stop trying to impute reason, logic, and right-thinking to the people we are fighting. It’ll slow you down, and it might get you killed.”

  As they mounted their horses, Marbus finally spoke up and informed them all that the battle of the Penateka Dam was under way. He didn’t have any details, but when he left the ranch, the word had come from the east that hostilities had commenced.

  It was about an hour before sundown when they left the Vallensian barn, and about five hours later, sometime around two in the morning, they began to approach the burned out ruins of San Angelo.

  The posse resisted their usual and instinctual practice of skirting the town. Tim knew that they needed information, which meant that they would need to question anyone they came across. Even at this time of the morning, there was still the occasional trophy hunter, hauling away anything that might still be salvageable from the wreckage left in the town.

  Rob Fosse and Piggy questioned a few men with wagons they encountered on the road, but didn’t learn anything useful.

  Tim saw an old highway sign that announced that they were on ‘Highway 67’, but that didn’t mean much to him. He just wondered why the sign hadn’t been taken away sometime during the past 20 years. Being a militia rider, you saw strange things.

  They turned south towards the Concho River, and approached what had been the old downtown area. There, he was surprised to see so many buildings that, although they were crumbling and collapsing, ha
d not been fully pillaged for the very nicely squared stones that made up the edifices. Rob Fosse told him that some of the buildings were almost 200 years old.

  In the moonlight, they could just make out a man rushing away from them into the shadows, and Piggy was off after him before an order could be given. Not ten minutes later, Piggy rode up alone and gave his report.

  “It was an oldling. And I mean an old oldling. That guy was probably here when those buildings were still under construction. I suppose he lives here, but somehow escaped the fires. I gave him some sausage, and once he warmed up to me, he told me that he saw ten ‘bad men’ ride out to the southwest, towards the Twin Buttes reservoir. That’s not a mile from Harmony. We’re going that way anyway.”

  Tim turned to Marbus, “You want to ride scout on this one? Or would you rather Hood go?”

  “I don’t know the area as well as Hood does, and I’ve only been to Harmony once. Maybe he should go.”

  Without a word, Hood galloped off to the southwest, and the rest of the posse rode down to the Concho River to water and rest the horses.

  After about an hour, Marbus signaled, and, a few moments later, Hood galloped back up to the group and dismounted.

  “What does it look like?” Tim asked.

  “The old man was right. They made camp near the reservoir. They look like trouble. Jonathan is not with them, and they don’t look to be officially linked to Aztlan, but these guys are bad news. From the looks of it, they are a pack of looters and killers. They are there on purpose, but I don’t know what they are up to.”

  “How smart are they?”

  “On a scale of one to ten?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe a two.”

  “Nice. Armaments?”

  “Swords, spears, and knives.”

  “Excellent.”