by B A Simmons
Murmurs and whispers spread the identity of the man they carried. A few of those assembled ran off to tell others, some of them began to cry. Anna’s mother rushed forward to her daughter who accepted the embrace but refused the leave her husband’s side.
John Cooper walked forward, his limp still obvious, followed by Roger and Charlie. They assisted the bearers as the crowd made a path for them through the town, headed inland. The elder Mark and his wife met the procession on the road in front of the Engleman house. Someone had gone ahead to tell them of their son’s death. They paused long enough for Sarah to weep over her eldest child and then the rest of the Engleman family joined the procession. Sarah clung to Rob as Brandt took his place at the stretcher.
At the cemetery, they paused again as a group of men organized along the way by Edwin, dug a grave next to George Beckworth’s. As they worked, it seemed the rest of the island’s population arrived. The stretcher was placed on the short stone wall that surrounded the cemetery to allow people to pass by and pay their respects. There had never been such an outpouring of emotion for a member of the island’s community before. Even Raymond Jones walked by and gave a respectful bow to the young man who had caused him so much stress.
It was well into the afternoon before Lewis Johnson stood upon the wall and addressed the crowd.
“People of Engle Isle, thank you for the respect you have shown Mark and his family. However, I must ask that you return now to your homes and work while the family and close friends conduct the burial service. Again, thank you.”
Even with that petition, a group of young people, many of them among the hotheads that had supported Mark from the beginning, remained on the road outside the cemetery wall. The Engleman families, including Timothy and Jane and their children (only Pete was missing), the Beckworth and Johnson families, and the remaining mercenaries Mark had hired and then befriended, stayed at the graveside. Many tears were shed. Lisette and Greta attempted to sing one of Mark’s favorite tunes—a song called Danny Boy. Their emotions were too raw and they were unable to finish.
Edwin retold the story of his and Anna’s rescue from Sheriff Tyler. He emphasized Mark’s role as the leader of their intended rebellion against him and how he didn’t back down even when Tyler’s tyranny was replaced by that of the Falcon Empire.
Rob felt he should say something, but every time he opened his mouth to speak, only sobs and sighs came out. He watched Anna as Tom stepped forward to speak. She stared down at Mark’s pale face. She had hardly looked anywhere else since coming aboard the Entdecker after the battle. Tom said something about Mark and George being his best friends growing up. There was something else about their time together on the Entdecker, but Rob wasn’t really listening.
Finally, Rob’s father stepped forward.
“Mark,” he said, looking at the body before him. “I know you are no longer here, but I wish you a speedy journey to whatever life exists beyond this one. Whether Ayday or some other god welcomes you there or not, I know you will make your place there as you did here. Thank you, son, and my thanks to all of you who supported Mark in his life, especially during the past few months. He was doing what he believed was right. It is what his mother and I taught him to do. We knew Mark was a fighter and that he had a difficult time backing away from conflict. Yet, how could we not support him when his fight was for so noble a cause as freedom.”
He bowed his head as his eyes closed, tears began to descend. Lewis Johnson moved forward and covered Mark’s face with the burial cloth.
“No!” Anna cried but then stopped herself.
Her father paused a moment then signaled to Charlie and John. They, along with Roger and Brandt, lowered Mark’s body into the grave. Louisa Johnson tried to pull Anna away, but it wasn’t until Sarah and Edwin joined her was she successful in persuading the young widow to leave the cemetery.
Slowly, the remaining friends and family members left as Charlie and John piled the dark Engle Island soil onto Mark’s body. Only Rob, his father, and Doctor Morris were left. They stared down at the unmarked grave until the sun began to set behind them.
“I’m sorry da’. I’m sorry,” Rob said, his voice quivered.
“You did nothing wrong, son,” his father replied.
“If I . . . if I hadn’t insisted on leaving, Mark wouldn’t have gone with me and then . . . none of this—”
“It’s not your fault, Rob. Mark knew what was at stake. He’d rather it be him than you in that grave.”
“I’d rather it wasn’t. He deserved to live more than I do.”
“That’s nonsense. Don’t you dare let that type of thinking enter your brain.”
The elder Mark’s voice was not gruff, but his earnestness was made clear. He pulled his son into an embrace. Rob fought back against the self-pity that threatened to engulf him, but he couldn’t help the tears that began to flow again.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
“Someone has to take over leadership of the consortium,” Doctor Morris said. “Perhaps Tom or one of the mercenaries—”
“That won’t work,” Mark said. “The people here will not support it if a foreigner takes control.”
Rob said, “I’ll do it. I’ll be their leader. The mercenaries know me and will respect my leadership. They did for Mark.”
Morris shook his head, “I’m sorry, Rob, but I must say that I think that’s a bad idea. You know I have great respect for you, but not as a military leader. Your brother had the skills in fighting as well as in tactics. You’re smart, but you’re not a fighter. You’re an explorer. Remember what we were planning.”
“Morris, you’re overstepping your bounds,” Mark said. “You are not Rob’s father, nor are you kin. From what I understand, you never supported them in this war. If Rob wants to take his brother’s place at the helm of this enterprise, you have no say against it.”
“I don’t?” Morris said, and he looked meaningfully at Rob.
“Doctor Morris, I’m sorry. There are more important matters to attend to now. We have to keep the consortium together. I may not be a fighter now, but I can become one.”
“At what cost?”
Rob’s eyes narrowed, “I’m sorry. Our plans will have to wait. The war is now my first and only priority.”
Doctor Morris walked out to the road and turned left to return to his home in Harrisville. Rob left the cemetery with his father beside him. As they walked home together, Rob wondered if he was doing the right thing. That is what their father had said of Mark; he always did what he believed was right. He regretted what he said to Doctor Morris; perhaps that was a sign.
At that moment, however, Rob wasn’t sure he believed in the war or in his ability to lead.
The End
About the Author
B.A. Simmons grew up roaming the mountains of the western United States. He still finds time to explore and run the trails. He started writing when only 11 years old and hasn't stopped since. His love of science fiction is only rivaled by his love of history, or his love of food.
He attended Utah State University from which he graduated with a degree in English Education in 2011. He teaches junior high school English and social studies. He is a self-professed sesquipedalian ludditish renaissance man.
He currently resides in Ogden, Utah, with his amazing wife and kids, two dogs, a cat, and myriad imaginary worlds.
The Hellhound Consortium is the sequel to his first book, The Voyage of the Entdecker.
About the Publisher
Glass Spider Publishing is a hybrid publisher located in Ogden, Utah. The company was founded in 2016 by writer Vince Font to help authors get their works into shape, into print, and into distribution. Visit www.glassspiderpublishing.com for further information.