by Chris Raven
After the massacre of Royalton, in which all the people were killed, Brodhead planned an exemplary punishment. Taking advantage of the Mohawk warriors being out, he approached with his men to one of the villages, situated at the shores of Lake Champlain. It was easy to kill the few warriors who had remained to watch. Then, they captured all the inhabitants, the elderly, women, and children for the most part. They gathered them on the lake’s shore, and Brodhead asked who was in charge. A man moved forward a few steps, followed by a boy just ten years old.
“I am Tekarihoga, shaman of this tribe, and protector of its people.”
Brodhead didn’t like the attitude of that man. He was haughty and proud. He did not seem frightened or worried, nor did he show respect for the one who had just defeated him. He decided that he should teach him a lesson to be humbler, and, at the same time, it would be useful for the other tribes to fear to attack the towns of the area he defended.
“Who is the child who is behind you?”
“He is Tyorhansera, my son and apprentice. He will be the next shaman of the tribe when I die.”
“I don’t think so. That child is mine now, in payment for the deaths you have caused.” Brodhead made a sign to his men to seize him. “Execute him.”
The boy started screaming and crying, desperately calling his father. Brodhead felt satisfied. The child’s proud gesture had vanished in a second, showing what he truly was: a little savage coward. However, looking at the shaman he did not find the look of fear he expected. There was only hatred in those eyes.
“We’ll drown him in the lake in front of you.”
Although the shaman tried to stand firm, his eyes were clouded by hearing the cries and pleas of his son while two soldiers forced him into the water. Unable to continue bearing that, Tekarihoga turned to Brodhead with imploring gesture.
“Please forgive my son. He’s just a kid.”
“I only see a savage who will grow up and become a new enemy.”
“I offer you my life for his.”
“No, but we can make a deal.” Brodhead’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “Sacrifice three children of your people and I will spare your son’s life.”
The shaman didn’t even answer. He merely erected his head and fixed his gaze on the horizon. Brodhead approached the soldiers who held the child, whispered a few words and they pushed him under the waters. Tyorhansera fought and kicked but had no chance against the two men who were holding him. After a few seconds, he was allowed to take his head out of the lake and let him regain his breath.
“Father, please help me,” the child begged when he could speak again.
They put him under the water again. They repeated the process over and over again. The child was struggling less and his prayers on the way out were more desperate. Finally, Tekarihoga turned to Brodhead with tears in his eyes.
“Okay. I will.”
Those words provoked shouts and cries among the people of his town. They could not believe that he, their shaman, would betray them in that way. Tekarihoga didn’t listen to them. He couldn’t allow it to himself. He randomly pointed out three children of the tribe for the soldiers to approach. Without hesitating for a second, he was taking each of those children to the lake to drown them with his own hands. When he finished, he walked to Brodhead and stood in front of him.
“I’ve done what you’ve asked. Now go away and leave my town.”
Brodhead didn’t like his haughty words. He had made that man to kill for him, but he had not broken his pride. He resketched a crooked smile, while nodded.
“You’ve done what I’ve ordered, so now your son’s life belongs to you again. However, I have made a deal with you because you have asked me to and now I want you to accept the deal I’m going to ask you.”
“What deal is that?”
“If you drown your son, I will spare the life of all your people. If you don’t, everyone will die.”
“You can’t ask me that,” replied the shaman.
Brodhead burst into laughter and, with a single gesture of his hand, ordered his men to start shooting. He had it planned since before the attack began. None of the villagers were going to see another sunrise. His dealings with the shaman had only been a way to amuse himself and to subdue the pride of that savage.
The men shot their rifles over and over again against the people running terrified, trying to escape the bullets. The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood, with the shouts of women, with the cries of children... Meanwhile, a few soldiers were holding the shaman and his son, forcing them to watch how they massacred their people.
When they finished shooting and the smoke of the gunpowder dispersed in the air, several soldiers walked among the dead, looking for any survivor to finish it in cold blood. When he was sure there was no one left alive, Brodhead confronted the shaman again.
“Look what you’ve got. It’s all your fault. You could have avoided all these deaths by sacrificing your son, but you’ve been too selfish to save your people.”
The shaman stirred full of wrath, managed to get loose from the soldiers that were holding his arms and threw himself against Brodhead like a furious bull. It was such his impetus that he managed to bring down the captain and put himself on him to strike him again and again. The soldiers approached running and they immobilized him again. Brodhead rose from the ground, with a split nose and a broken lip, but without uttering a single moan. After making a gesture to his men that indicated that he was well, he approached Tekarihoga with a cruel smile in his mouth:
“Is this how you thank my generosity with you and your son? It is seen that nothing can be expected of a savage.”
“I curse you.” whispered the shaman among his teeth, making Brodhead have to bow down to him to hear him. “I ask the spirits of my ancestors to curse you and all your progeny. May all your descendants and the descendants of your family, friends, and neighbors suffer the same punishment that you have imposed on me.”
“I laugh at your ancestors. If they are so powerful, make them save you and your son.”
Brodhead separated from the shaman and gave orders to his men. They cut a couple of young trees, removed the branches and nailed them strongly in the mud at the bottom of the lake. Then Tekarihoga and his son were tied to the trunks so that only their head came out from the waters. When they had finished, Brodhead came to the shore to say goodbye:
“It’s been weeks without rain, but, as the sky is, it looks like a good storm is going to fall. If your spirits are so powerful, ask them not to rain and that the lake’s level does not rise. Come on! Sing your stupid songs.”
Brodhead burst in laughter that was accompanied by the laughter of his men. Tekarihoga didn’t answer. He merely thrust his gaze of hatred upon the soldiers at the shore, as he repeated, again and again, the curse.
“I hope that the waters will meet your dreams. Until never, Tekarihoga.” Brodhead threw another mocking smile at him, before turning to his men. “Go to the village and burn everything. That it never grows a weed in that place again.”
Tekarihoga was left alone with his son. From there he listened to the soldiers screaming and laughing at the place where the village was erected. After a few minutes, they could see high columns of smoke rising from the place that had been their home. Then they heard the sound of the horses’ hoofs as they left. Then everything was plunged into the absolute silence.
Tekarihoga fought with his ties but immediately gave up. The soldiers had made sure that they were well fastened. He raised his eyes to the top, pleading for a miracle, but it was answered with the first drops of rain. A hard rain began as if the same sky cried for what had happened in that place.
It rained for a long time, so much so that the level of the lake would begin to ascend. Tekarihoga had to see the level of the waters rising and gradually covering the head of his son, who cried and asked him for help without him been able to do anything. When the boy was still struggling to get some air, the water final
ly came to his lips. He had only a few minutes left to live. With an effort, he stretched out his neck and repeated his curse:
“I curse you. I ask the gods and the spirits of my ancestors to curse you and all your progeny. May all your descendants and the descendants of your family, friends, and neighbors suffer the same punishment that you have imposed on me.”
XI
Just to finish reading these pages, I get up from the bed to go tell Eloise what I have discovered. Luckily, I look at the clock before I leave the room. It’s three in the morning. The poor woman had to stay up late last night to comfort me, so I think it would be best if I let her sleep today. After all, the spirit of Tekarihoga has been in the lake for over two hundred years. I don’t think anything is going to happen because we left him there one more night.
I sit back on the bed with my legs crossed and put the book on them. I’m sure that the barren esplanade in which we were, Dunning and I, waiting for the murderer is the place where the Mohawk village was; the one that Brodhead ordered to be burned so that not even weed would grow. It seems that that night, for some strange reason, the words of men were more than words, they had the power to become facts, powerful curses capable of passing through time and reach us. I would have to check, but I’m pretty sure that Brodhead ended up settling in the village of Swanton and that we are his descendants or the descendants of his relatives, friends, and neighbors, people cursed by a past that, to this day, we don’t know.
I get up, I approach the window and, while I smoke a cigarette, I contemplate the town. Everything is calm. People sleep without knowing what woke up in this place centuries ago, without being aware of the curse that weighs on them and that threatens the lives of their children and grandchildren. The worst of all is that, if I told them, no one would believe me. I hope Eloise and Dunning do. In two centuries we are the only ones who have been able to put together all the pieces and discover the meaning of the puzzle. If we can’t end the curse, who knows how much time would pass, how many more deaths would there be before someone would find out again?
Although I’m sure I’m not going to be able to sleep, I lie in bed and cover myself with the sheet. It will be impossible to get to sleep with all that I have in my head: My father’s funeral, the guilt for having provoked his death, the anguish of having to tell my mother what I know, finding out about the curse... The heat and humidity in the room also do not help to sleep. I feel like I’m breathing water vapor and, in a few seconds, the sheet has already stuck to my body.
In spite of all this, I must have fallen asleep at some point because, all of a sudden, I’m sitting at the lake’s shore. The night is beautiful. A huge full moon dominates the sky, surrounded by a cohort of brilliant constellations. Its reflection trembles over the tranquil waters of the lake. A gentle breeze moves between the treetops, tearing them a song.
Sitting next to me is a woman who contemplates the landscape with a smile on her lips. At first, I wonder if I know her. I find her familiar, but I know that, if I had seen somewhere the long legs that her shorts expose, I wouldn’t have forgotten her. She turns to me and, seeing her bangs opened by a swirl and her huge bright eyes, I recognize her instantly. My breathing is interrupted and my heart stops in my chest for a few seconds to revive afterward at the rhythm of a crazed drum. It’s Anne, the Anne that would be now if she hadn’t been snatched from me.
She doesn’t tell me anything. She just smiles and lowers her head while, with a gesture that I fall in love with, she puts a lock of hair behind the ear. I don’t say anything either. I don’t want this moment to be spoiled. Even though I am dying to touch her and kiss her, I don’t dare to move a muscle. Even now I know that this is just a dream and that she can fade away at any moment. That consciousness makes me want to cry. I don’t want her to disappear, I want us to be together in this dream forever.
Against my desires, Anne gets up and gets away, turning her back to the lake to get into the forest. I wake up and follow her, without caring where she goes. Right now, I would follow her to hell. I notice that she is barefoot, but the branches and stones of the road do not hurt her delicate feet. She walks lightly, without stumbling, as would a wild animal or a spirit of the forest.
Anne has led me to the dead and parched esplanade. As soon as I set one foot in it, I notice an icy wind that goes through me, freezing me through the inside and the outside. I look up to the sky. The moon and the stars have been devoured by thick black clouds. The wind keeps blowing, getting stronger, making it difficult for me to move forward.
Anne continues to walk as if the wind did not affect her. I strive to follow her. I don’t want her to fade away and leave me alone there. I don’t want to lose her. I call her screaming, but the wind swallows my words and she doesn’t turn around. Anne reaches one of the esplanade’s boundaries. There is a huge tree there. It is a horrible tree, with twisted roots looming out of the earth as if they wanted to escape. Its branches are dry and devoid of leaves and they bow to the sky trying to scratch it. When I approach, the wind gets even stronger, catching me unprepared and making me go back a couple of steps. I fight its thrust to get closer to Anne. Her brown hair is stirred mad when she turns to me, with tears in her eyes.
“What’s the matter, Anne? How can I help you?”
The wind hits us hard. Its sound among the treetops sounds like an animal roar. Then I feel it. There is another presence with us on the esplanade, something dark and terrible that comes for Anne. It is Tekarihoga and he is present in the wind, in the barren land, in the trees that are shaken furious, in the aroma of humidity and death that impregnates the air... He will take her again to keep feeding on her soul. He will snatch her again from me and I can’t do anything to prevent it.
“Tell me what to do. How can I free you?”
Anne doesn’t answer. She falls to the ground on her knees and starts digging desperately with her own hands. I kneel beside her and try to help her. When our hands are touched, I am amazed at the icy touch of her skin, colder even than the parched earth we try to pluck. The wind swirls high, gaining more and more strength, hooting like an angry animal. I notice that Anne’s hands are losing consistency, they are becoming translucent and, at times, when they meet mine to dig into the ground, I go through them. Suddenly, she’s gone. I’m alone on the esplanade, with my hands stained with dirt and my eyes full of tears and not knowing what I’m looking for.
I wake up and sit up on the bed. I don’t think it was just a dream. It was a message, although right now, still stunned and confused, I do not know what it wants to tell me. I know I shouldn’t be scared. After all, it’s Anne who sent me that dream and I know she wouldn’t hurt me, but I don’t feel like remaining alone in this room and going back to sleep. The presence of that other being seems to have got impregnated on my skin as if I were carrying something impure attached to me. I’d like to take a shower and get this feeling off, but it’s not even seven in the morning. I can’t make noise at this time.
I get dressed and go down the stairs, trying to make the steps not squeak as I go through them. I pick up the salt bag from the dresser, leave the house and cover the door behind me. Then I sit on the entrance steps, smoking one cigarette after another, letting the fresh morning air take the last mists of the dream.
Little by little, Swanton is coming back to life. I hear the engines of the early dawn-breakers, who are heading to their workplaces, the moan of the shops’ roller shutters, the barking of the dogs... The sky is taking on an increasingly blue and shiny hue. More encouraged, I go back in the house. I have a lot of things to do today.
When Eloise gets up, a couple of hours later, she finds me in the kitchen. She stands at the door, resting on the doorway with her arms folded, looking at me as if I had gone mad. On the table, there is natural orange juice and a freshly made coffee jug. Besides, I’m finishing up a pancake tower so high that it starts to lean dangerously to one side.
“What is all this? Did you invite the whole group of Sco
uts in town for breakfast?”
“No, just Dunning, but, with how big he is, I’m not sure it’s enough.” I smile to see how her gesture overshadows by merely mentioning him. “I know you’re not getting along, but I have important things to tell you both.”
The doorbell rings at that moment. I take the last pancake out of the frying pan and I go open the door. Dunning is at the door, still with a sleeping face. I invite him to pass with a gesture and, after closing after him, I cover the ground with salt.
“Every time you do those things, I remember how crazy you both are and what I wonder what I am doing here.”
“Don’t start with your prejudices. And try to be nice to Eloise. Remember, we’re at her house.”
He shrugs, implying that he doesn’t care whose is the house when it comes to making hurtful remarks. I walk in front of him to the kitchen and, as they sit down, I serve coffee for everyone. I give them a couple of minutes to drink it and relax before I start talking.
“I think I’ve found the origin of the curse.” I open the book I was reading last night, and I pass it on to Eloise. “It tells the story of the massacre to an Indian village near the lake and as how their shaman cursed the man who gave the order and all his descendants and neighbors. If you read it, you’ll find the similarities. He was also forced to choose between the death of his son and the death of three other children and when he did so, they demanded him to choose again between his son and the other inhabitants of the village.”
“You’re right. It’s all here.” says Eloise, after spending a couple of minutes reading and handing over the book to Dunning. “You found it. Congratulations!”
“Well, now we know why all this started, but I don’t know if it would be of any use when trying to stop it.”
“Of course, it does. Now we know his real name. Names have great power in magic. We can invoke him and stop him. I just need to go over some of my old books.”