The River of Souls

The searchers, twenty in all including the girl from Rotbottom, moved through the wilderness in a long row so as to cover the most ground. Quinn carried her water gourd and stayed close to Matthew, who still staggered and felt lightheaded after barely an hour’s sleep. Beside Matthew walked Magnus, the bearded bear keeping an eye on him if he started to fall. Matthew carried the short-bladed sword, which felt as heavy as an anvil to his weary arm.

The early morning sky was plated with thick gray clouds, cutting the light to a grim haze. Every so often thunder would rumble and lightning flared, yet no rain fell. The woods were a tangle of vines, thorns and underbrush, the ground sometimes swampy and sometimes hard, and the going was slow. The torches had guttered and started to burn down to blue flames, but Stamper was carrying a leather bag strapped to his shoulder that held a supply of rags soaked with his own mixture of flammables, and from these the torches were revived. The more light to pierce this gloom, the better. From where he was positioned in the row, Matthew could see only Joel Gunn under the torch the man was carrying, Seth Lott and Magnus to his left, Quinn right beside him, and then through the thicket on his right the red-haired Morgan and an older man with gray hair and a full gray beard streaked with white. This man was armed to the teeth, with musket, sword and dagger. The other men on either side were obscured by the woods and the low light, though occasionally the glint of another torch could be seen through the trees.

Matthew spoke to Quinn as they walked. “You think Daniel’s spirit is in me? That he’s become some part of me?” He waited for her to nod. “Why?” he asked. “Do I look like him? Is there something about me that reminds you of him?”

She took a moment in answering. Then, “You do look like him…some. But there’s more to it than that. There…was a knowin’. A feelin’ that I should leave my house and get to the river, because…you were comin’ back. Because after all my waitin’…finally…this was the night. I brushed my hair out and tried to make myself pretty for you. I didn’t know what you would look like…or what your name would be, or if you’d remember me at all, but I knew when I saw your boat pull over…I thought…this must be him. And then I heard your voice, and I saw your face. Yes, you do look like him. In the eyes. The way you carry yourself. With dignity, like he did. With a purpose, like he did. I knew he was going to come back to me, if he had to break out of Heaven and use the body of another man to do it. I knew this, deep in my heart.” She looked at him and gave a lopsided little grin. “You think I’m as crazy as a two-headed dog, don’t you?”

“I think you’ve wished for something so strongly that you believe it’s true,” Matthew replied. “What do your mother and father think about this?”

“They don’t. I never knew my pa. My ma liked her drink strong and her men wild. A few years ago she got full of one and ran off with the other. Goin’ to Charles Town, she said. Be back directly, she said. And him in his wagon full of ’gator skins, ’cause he was mighty good with a spear and a knife. Said she’d be back directly, but she never came back.”

“You were married to Daniel by then?”

“No, not then. I was left on my own. But soon after that, Daniel came to Rotbottom like any outsider does…to hunt the ’gators. Get their skins, get paid for ’em in the big town. We met at a dance, on a night in May. But Daniel was an educated man, and soon after we met he decided his callin’ was to start a school for the young ones—teach ’em readin’ and such—and give up the huntin’. You’ll remember, in time. I know he’ll bring the memories back.”

Matthew sighed. Her conviction that he had been ‘possessed,’ if that was the correct term, by the spirit of her dead Daniel was—for the moment, at least—unshakeable. She was desperate and out of her mind. He couldn’t go any further along that route, but as they pushed onward through the woods he decided he needed to ask about one more thing that had piqued his interest.

“The beast,” Matthew said. “You said Daniel was taken by a beast that came out of the smoke. What did you mean by that?”

“I meant what I said,” was the firm reply. Lightning speared through the clouds to earth and distant thunder rumbled like a bass drumbeat. “It’s called the Soul Cryer. Sobs like a little child.”

Matthew said nothing for a moment, as he had run into thornbrush and was picking his way carefully forward even as the thorns pricked at his shirt and trousers. He was recalling Granny Pegg’s warning and the sound he’d heard at the village of the Dead in Life. “All right,” he said. “But what is it?”

“Nobody’s ever really seen it up close and lived. Just glimpses from a distance. Seems to be about the size of a man. Mottled colors, brown and black. Can run on four legs and walk upright on two.” She glanced at him to make sure he was listening seriously, which he was. “First heard about it killin’ a man when I was ten. Took him from a huntin’ party. They found his bones couple of months later. Brought ’em back to town in a sack. They were all broken and had teeth marks all over ’em, I remember that. But sometimes they never find the bodies or bones. They never found my Daniel. And they have found bodies with just the throat ripped out, or the face chewed away or the heart gone. The Soul Cryer’s a meat-eater, but it kills for pleasure too.”

Magnus had been close enough to hear most of this conversation, and now he came a little closer. “You talkin’ about the demon thing supposed to live up in here? Somethin’ the witch made and let loose? That would be a good story, except what I hear is that the thing wasn’t around until six or seven years ago. It’s just an animal, is all. Likely a panther.”

“Could be,” said Quinn. “But the colors aren’t right. Not brown and black. They say its skin looks scaly…like a snake’s. And walkin’ on two legs, which somebody from Rotbottom swore he saw at a distance? There are plenty of deer and wild boar in these woods. Why does it want to hunt men?”

“Because men can be more careless than deer and wild boar. They get out here huntin’ and they forget to look at what’s comin’ up behind ’em.”

“The Soul Cryer’s as much part of this swamp as the river itself,” Quinn said. “It’s a cursed thing too, born of pain and bound to give pain. Whether a witch made it or not, or where it came from, I don’t know, but I know what sufferin’ it can cause. When you hear that thing cryin’, you’d best guard your life.”

As much as a short-bladed sword could do against a man-killing predator of supposedly supernatural nature, Matthew thought, but then again…he didn’t believe in such things. Did he?

The searchers moved on. Overhead in the turbulent sky the lightning flared from clouds to earth and the sound of thunder seemed to shake the ground. No rain fell, and there was no relief from the stifling heat. Within the next hour a man on the left side of the row from Matthew and three beyond Magnus stepped into a bog that looked simply like a large puddle of grainy mud. He let out a series of shouts for help when it quickly took him down to his knees and like a viscous paste held him trapped there. Then it began to draw him downward still, and though the man panicked and fought against the thick embrace he could not pull free nor stop his slow submergence. The others ringed around to watch, keeping their distance from what Matthew realized was a quicksand pit. Stamper somewhat redeemed himself for the killing of Jackson by taking command of the situation, ordering Bovie, Magnus and a couple of others to find the largest fallen treelimb they could handle, drag it over and throw it into the pit for the unfortunate citizen of Jubilee—whose name was Tom Coleman, Matthew learned—to grab hold of and therefore pull himself up to solid ground. This endeavor, which took the weakening Coleman another half hour to complete before Magnus reached out and pulled him fully free, was a hard-earned lesson to all not to walk so confidently—or foolishly—into any body of standing water in these woods, no matter how shallow it seemed to be. Many small branches suddenly were in use to probe the treacherous earth. Matthew found his own and both Quinn and Magnus also acquired them, and then as the storm above continued to throw fireworks from the clouds and sharp rebukes from what seemed the angry voice of God someone asked a question:

“Where’s Doyle?”

“What’d you say, Ellis?” Stamper asked the man who’d spoken.

“Doyle,” the man repeated. He was thin and brown-bearded, his eyes sunken in nests of wrinkles, and he held an axe at his side. He scanned the assembly, which included Royce and Gunn, Lott and Morgan and all the rest…except the one he sought. “John Doyle. He was walkin’ to the right of me. Know he must’ve heard Tom’s shoutin’. Where is he?”

“Maybe takin’ a shit in the woods,” said Bovie. “Who gives a care where he is, anyway?”

“I care,” said the other. “John’s my friend. He was maybe thirty feet away from me.” He turned to the right and faced the wilderness. He cupped his free hand to his mouth. “John!” he shouted. “Where are you, man?”

There was no reply.

“John! Holler back!”

Still nothing.

“We’ve got to move on.” Royce swiped his hand through the air to ward off the biting and humming insects, of which there were legion around every man and the one female. “Doyle’s got himself lost, maybe.”

“He was right beside me,” Ellis said, as if explaining this fact to either an infant or an idiot. “Saw him through the trees. Then I heard Tom and I came over here. Figured John would follow.” He shouted once more into the thicket: “John Doyle! Answer me!”

John Doyle did not answer.

“Maybe we should look for him?” Magnus asked.

“You do that,” was Royce’s response. “Take your boy and his girl and whoever else wants to waste time, and go lookin’ for that damn fool. Gunn and me are headin’ on. Anybody else?”

The voices to head on were almost unanimous. But Ellis, Doyle’s friend, stood his ground. “You go on, then. All of you. I don’t know what’s happened to John, but I’m goin’ to find him. You won’t at least wait for me?”

Stamper said, “You can catch up. Royce is right. We need to keep movin’.”

“All right,” Ellis answered, resignedly. “But I’d sure think that if any of you was lost…or maybe stepped in another of those suck pits, you’d want a friend to come help you.”

Matthew was close to saying he would help, but his task demanded that he stay with the larger group. Ellis turned away, and as he did Quinn said, “Mister? Don’t go.”

The man hesitated. “What?”

“Don’t go,” she repeated. “It’s not safe.”

“Oh, she’s talkin’ about that thing,” Stamper said. “The Soul Cryer.” He spoke it with the sarcasm of a twisted lip. “Everybody who believes in that, believes in every ghost story told about this damn country. You believe in that, Ellis?”

Ellis paused a little too long, but then he said, “No, course not.”

“Beggin’ your pardon,” said Quinn, “but either of you men even been this far up the river? I know those who have. I know what they say they’ve seen, and I know they’re not liars. So…Mr. Ellis…I wouldn’t go out there alone. It’s not safe.”

“Let’s move!” Royce demanded. “Oh, hell with it! Gunn, come on!” He forged ahead into the brush and Gunn followed. Stamper and Bovie strode forward, and the other men also continued on, only Matthew noted they seemed not so quick to spread out as they’d been before.

Ellis looked from the girl to Matthew and Magnus. “Either of you gimme some help?”

“We’ve got to move on, too,” Magnus answered. “Sorry.”

Ellis nodded. He stood for a moment as if at the crossroads of decision, watching the torches of the men move away through the trees and then staring off into the dark woods that had taken his friend. Finally, he leaned his axe against his shoulder and walked off into the thicket, and he called, “John Doyle! Gimme a holler!”

Magnus, Matthew and Quinn left him. In another few minutes they caught up with the rest of the group, who’d run into another barrier of thorns. It was slow and painful going, and suddenly Matthew found himself side-by-side with Royce as they picked their way through.

Royce glanced at him with what might have been a sneer. “Shouldn’t be out here, Corbett. Should’ve gone back to Charles Town. That wound you’ve got might cost your arm.”

“I’ll have it tended to when I get back,” Matthew replied. And he had to add: “I’m sure Dr. Stevenson can put a compress on it.”

There was no visible reaction from Royce. His voice was silky. “You know him?”

“I do.” Matthew winced as thorns plucked at his shirt and bit his sides. Quinn was right behind him, and he was doing his best to cleave a path for her but it was impossible for her not to be bitten as well. “I saw him in Charles Town yesterday morning. He mentioned…ouch!…having come to the Green Sea to put a compress on a patient’s forearm. I’m guessing that was you?”

“It was. Horse nipped me. Whipped her good, too, taught her a lesson she won’t forget.”

“You must have a way with females,” Matthew said.

Royce stopped in the midst of the sharp-edged thorns, which boiled up black and green all around. He turned toward Matthew, his smile cold. “Gunn tells me you were where you didn’t belong, askin’ questions. Y’know, you’re still where you don’t belong. In pretty damn bad shape, too.” He pushed at Matthew’s wounded shoulder with a thick forefinger, which caused Matthew to flinch and draw back. “Just what’re you doin’ out here, anyway? Why is this your business?”

“I want to see justice done.”

“So do I. And I intend that it be done.”

“I’d like to see the slaves captured and returned alive,” said Matthew. “Is that your aim as well?”

“It is. Abram should hang for his crime. The others too, for helpin’ him run.” Royce began picking his way forward again, and Matthew followed.

“The problem is,” Matthew said, “that very few of these men you’ve enticed with the promise of Kincannon gold share that view. They’d rather kill the slaves out here and take the ears back. Does that not bother you?”

“What bothers me are fool questions.” Royce’s voice had become tight, his entire body like a charge about to explode. He grasped the thorns with bloody fingers and shoved them aside. Above the dangerous earth the dangerous sky flashed and muttered. “I needed men to help me. Sure wasn’t gonna come out here, just me and Gunn. Never find ’em that way.”

Matthew was silent for awhile, as they worked their way through. He heard Magnus give a curse, a distance off to his right, as a sharp edge or two pricked the mountainous man. “You do know,” Matthew continued on, “that Sarah was teaching Abram to read in that barn, over many nights? I’m supposing Gunn told you?”

“Don’t matter,” was the quick response. “I don’t know why that damn buck killed the girl, but he did and he’s got to hang for it.”

Matthew was formulating his next question—What happened to your compress, Mr. Royce?—when a shout came from the left.

“Hey! Hey! Over here! Quick!”

They made their painful way in that direction and found six other men already there, including Stamper, Bovie and Gunn. The old bearded man who was armed to the teeth was showing something that had gotten caught by the thorns. A small piece of gray cloth, Matthew saw it was. Most likely torn from a shirt.

“They’ve been through here!” the old man said excitedly. “Look how them thorns are broken! They been right through this way…prob’ly not too long past!”

“Steady, Foxworth,” Stamper said. “Mind your heart.” He pulled the bit of cloth free and smelled it. “Fresh skin stink. Maybe an hour old. Gunn, give me your torch.” He took it from the Green Sea captain and angled it toward the ground. The earth was hard here, but it was evident the underbrush had been crushed by bodies passing through. “On their trail,” Stamper said. He knelt to examine the brush more closely. “Hm,” he grunted. “One of ’em’s draggin’. Slowin’ ’em down.” He stood up but did not return the torch to Gunn. “That’s good for us. I’ll take the lead from here on. Bovie, get a torch and move on out to the left maybe forty feet. Royce, you do the same on the right. Everybody else, spread out as you please. Not far behind ’em now. Move quiet. Keep your guns and swords ready, we may come up on ’em anytime.”

Matthew could keep silent no longer. “Mr. Stamper, I want you to know that I’ve been empowered by Mrs. Kincannon to make sure the runaways are returned unharmed. It’s important to her—and to me—that these men aren’t killed out here. Do you understand that?”

Stamper fixed Matthew with a narrow-eyed stare. Bovie gave a short, sharp laugh and even Seth Lott, standing nearby, grinned as if this were the ravings of a pure lunatic.

“Ain’t men,” said Gunn. “Told you. They’re animals.”

“I ain’t takin’ nobody back!” Foxworth said, coming up beside Matthew. “Takin’ ears, is all. The swamp can keep the bodies!”

“Killed that girl,” said Morgan, “they all deserve to die.”

“Hold on, hold on!” Royce had gotten a torch from another man, and now he added its glaring light to the scene. “Matthew, we all want to do the right thing. We know Abram killed Sarah. Gunn caught him with the knife, standin’ over the body just after he’d stabbed her. Now…Mr. Kincannon has been laid low by this, and Mrs. Kincannon is near out of her mind. We want to take the skins back for a proper hangin’…but an awful lot can happen before we get ’em there. That’s just how it is.”

“I want ’em taken back alive too.” Magnus had taken a position at Matthew’s side, with Quinn behind him. “Mrs. Kincannon’s got some questions she needs to ask Abram.”

Matthew wished Magnus had not said this, but the cat had jumped from its bag. “She wants to know why Abram killed Sarah,” Matthew clarified. “She can’t rest until she knows.”

Royce stared forcefully into Matthew’s eyes. “Well…maybe we can find out for her, if it comes to that. But you rest easy, sir. We know these animals and you don’t. We know what they would do to us, if they could. So…we’ll do our best to obey the lady’s biddin’, but the reality of it is…we’re out here in these thorns, and she’s there in that big house. A long way off. And sometimes even the rich folks in the big house can’t always get what they want.” He dismissed Matthew with a shrug of his shoulders. “You leadin’ the way, Stamper? Let’s get movin’, then.”

They pushed on through the thorns, following the crushed track of the runaways. Several of the men gave Matthew and Magnus jeering looks as they passed, as if daring them to step between a musket, a sword, and a slave.

“We ought to go back,” Quinn said, clutching at Matthew’s good arm. “Let them go on, find those slaves and do whatever they’re gonna do. You can’t stop ’em.”

Matthew thought that by now he couldn’t find his way back, even if he wanted to. “I have to try,” he told her quietly, though what he truly desired was a bed of moss and another two hours of sleep. His vision kept blurring in and out and his legs felt near collapse. But he had to keep going, and that was that. The Great One would be proud of him…or else be telling him to get the hell out of this situation because he was an addle-pated fool.

He followed the others, and Quinn followed her Daniel, and Magnus snorted flying insects from his nostrils and also pressed onward.