The River of Souls

Not ten minutes after passing through the last of the thorns, Matthew heard the crack of a gunshot.

It was over on the left, in the storm-darkened woods. “Who fired that?” Stamper hollered in the echo of the shot. Beside him stood Royce and Gunn, both with their torches and secrets.

“Seth Lott!” came the shouted answer, from maybe sixty feet away. The voice was raw and tremulous, had lost its smooth Christian sheen. “Come over here, quick!”

“You get a skin?”

“Just come over here! Now, for the love of God!” A note of panic flared.

“Got his codpiece on too tight,” Stamper muttered, and then he headed in the direction of Lott’s voice. Royce and Gunn followed, and behind them Matthew, Magnus and Quinn. Other men emerged from the woods to see if Lott had earned his ten pounds. But when the group reached Lott, where the smell of gunpowder was thick in the air and wisps of blue smoke still roiled, the black-garbed and sweating preacher was standing with Caleb Bovie, who shone a torch upon something lying in the green underbrush.

“What is that?” Stamper asked.

It was a body, Matthew saw. The boots were muddy and the soles nearly worn through.

“Who is it?” Royce stepped forward for a closer look with his own torch, and then when he got it he immediately stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging half-open.

“It’s Fitzy,” Bovie rasped. Matthew recalled the thin young man who’d obediently sliced a piece of snakemeat for Stamper. Except now the lower part of his face had been ripped away, and most of his throat. The eyes were open in a frozen stare above the mass of bloodied flesh. Quinn saw what Matthew had seen, and pulled back. “Christ Jesus…somethin’ tore him up!” Bovie looked at Lott and then to Stamper. “He was between me and Seth! I didn’t hear nothin’, ’til that shot went off!”

“He was walking ahead of me and to the side. Maybe twenty feet away.” Lott’s voice was shaking. “Had his pistol in his hand, but…it happened so quick.”

“What happened?” Stamper demanded. “What’d you see?”

“I don’t know. Just…something was all of a sudden there, where the dark is. I couldn’t make it out, but it jumped on Fitzy. I heard…” The preacher had to pause a moment, with a trembling hand to his mouth. “I heard the bones break. It shook him…hard…like a ragdoll. I shot at it…all that smoke, and it was gone. Fitzy…he gave a shudder and a…a strangling noise…and that was all.”

“Well what in hell was it?” Royce asked. “A panther?”

Lott’s eyes were watery and dazed, and he struggled to speak. “Maybe. I don’t know. It was big. And…it did not move right, to be a panther.”

“What does that mean?” Stamper’s voice was harsh. “How did it move?”

“I…can’t say. Like…a jerking motion. Unnatural.” Lott stared at Quinn before he returned his attention to Stamper. “It was…brown and black. Streaked…blotched. Its head…also unnatural. And…Stamper, whatever it was…Soul Cryer or—”

“Stop that!” Stamper said. “Hear me? Stop it! There’s no such beast!”

“Whatever it was,” the preacher went on, “it came at Fitzy on two legs…like a man.”

“You don’t know that for sure!” Royce’s face had reddened, and he was nearly shouting it. “You didn’t see enough to know that! Now stop your ghost stories, preacherman! A panther got Fitzgerald, is what I say! That’s all!”

“Ain’t that enough as it is?” asked Morgan, with a quick, flinching glance at the body. “I told you me, Whetters and Carr heard somethin’ stalkin’ us! I say we were lucky to get past that damn Indian village with our heads…but a panther out here…and maybe somethin’ that’s more than a panther?” He shook his head, as distant thunder rumbled from a sky that seemed to Matthew to be as dark as a coal mine. “More than I want to handle, no matter the money.”

“Then don’t handle it!” Royce shot back. “Get on your way! Course, a man alone tryin’ to get back to his boat…that’s a long walk, Morgan! But go on, we don’t need you!”

Morgan looked to another man, standing beside Bovie. “Carr, you with me?” His gaze moved. “Whetters? Halleck, how about you? Not enough liquor in the world’s worth your life.”

The men Morgan had spoken to shifted in their tracks, their faces downcast.

“I shall go with you, Morgan,” Lott suddenly said, his face glistening with sweat beneath the black tricorn. He managed another look at the body. “Yes. I’ll go.”

“Me, too,” said a second citizen of Jubilee, who Matthew thought was the man named Whetters.

“I’m for it,” said a third man—Carr, most likely—and the muddied Coleman, who carried a torch, announced, “Ain’t worth dyin’ for thirty pounds of gold. I’ll go, too.”

“Then get!” Royce snarled. “All you fools…and you’re the biggest fool, preacherman! Yes, you go lead this flock of cowards home, and good riddance to you!” He swung his fevered gaze upon Matthew, Magnus and the girl. “Aren’t you goin’ with ’em? Now’s your chance!”

“I’ll stay,” said Magnus. He regarded Matthew with his iron-gray eyes. “You ought to head on back. Both of you. I’ll do what I can.”

“Come on, Matthew.” Quinn gripped his hand. “Come on, let’s leave this place.”

Matthew was torn. He was ready to head back, yes…but to leave was to let Royce and Gunn win this particular duel. He knew why Royce wanted him gone. Could Magnus with a rusted pistol stop the execution? Could he, himself, armed with only a short-bladed sword? One of the men—the bull-necked one with the blind left eye—was gathering up Fitzy’s pistol and ammunition pouch, though he already carried a musket.

Matthew couldn’t leave. Not even with the wound in his shoulder, his head still dazed and his spirit weary. It was against his nature to give up, to retreat to safety while danger threatened a friend…and he did consider Magnus Muldoon a friend. He couldn’t leave without seeing this task through, however it might end. “I can’t,” he told Quinn. “You go, but I can’t.”

“I won’t,” she told him resolutely, and her hand tightened on his. “Not leavin’ you. Not lettin’ you leave me. Not this time, no.”

“To Hell with fools and cowards!” Royce shouted at the other men as they started off, now eight in number. “You’d best watch your backs, that Soul Cryer’ll be on you before you know it! Preacherman, I thought you trusted so much in God!”

Seth Lott turned from his path. “I do, Mr. Royce,” he replied, trying to maintain his dignity in retreat, “but I trust Him also to tell me when it’s time to go home. Let the slaves go, they’ll likely die out here if they’re not already dead. Let God deliver the justice, in His own way.”

“Fuck that,” Royce answered, and spat on the ground between them.

“Blessings on you,” said the preacherman, and then he and the other seven men moved away into the thicket, with the torch-bearer in the lead.

“Let ’em go,” said Stamper quietly, his face grim under the raven’s feather hat. “Maybe whatever that thing is, it’ll follow them instead of us. A panther, it’s got to be. But…still…I don’t like it.”

“You thinkin’ about goin’ back, too?” Royce asked, his face flaming up again. “You, of all people? Runnin’ from a ghost?”

“Mr. Royce,” Matthew spoke up, “a ghost may have the power to frighten, but it doesn’t have the power to tear a man’s lower jaw and throat out, plus most likely have broken his neck before he fell. Would you want to look at that corpse again?”

Before Royce could respond, the one-eyed man who’d retrieved the pistol and ammunition bag asked, “We puttin’ Fitzy under?”

“With what, Barrows? Our hands?” Stamper asked. “No. Sooner we move on, the better. Likely that thing’ll come back to eat the body…and a full-bellied panther won’t bother us. But we’d best stay together, much as we can. We string out too far…well, let’s just don’t do that.”

Nine remained, including the girl from Rotbottom. There was Matthew, Magnus, Stamper, the aged and trigger-happy Foxworth, the one-eyed Barrows, Bovie, Royce and Gunn. They started off again with Stamper and Bovie in the lead under Stamper’s torch, followed a few feet to the left side by Barrows, behind him Foxworth, then on the right side Royce and Gunn, Matthew and Quinn and Magnus. Lightning shot across the sky and the dark clouds roiled, but the wind was hot and dry.

Matthew found himself pushing through the woods beside Gunn, separated a short distance from Royce. He said in a guarded voice, “Granny Pegg tells a fascinating story.”

Gunn gave no response. He stared straight ahead as he labored forward, his torch moving back and forth to penetrate the shadows, though he only succeeded in moving them around.

“About what goes on at the Green Sea,” Matthew continued quietly. “About you and Royce, in particular.”

Gunn gave a brief, harsh laugh but offered nothing else.

“I understand there was another captain at the Green Sea before you got there. His name was Jameson, I believe. Burned up in his house one night, it seems. How long have you and Royce known each other?”

Gunn’s face was impassive. His lip might have curled, but that was all.

“Granny Pegg thinks you and Royce have worked together before,” said Matthew. “At another plantation? More than one? Where did you two happen to meet?”

“Shut your hole, boy,” came the muttered response. “Move away from me.”

“I’m just asking,” Matthew went on, as they worked through the green foliage. Vines trailed down from the branches and here and there fallen trees lay rotting like the bones of giants. “Seems you and Royce understand each other. What I mean to say is, he tells you what to do and you do it. A man could get in some serious trouble that way.”

“I’m gonna give you three seconds to move,” Gunn hissed through gritted teeth. “Then I’m gonna knock your goddamned head off.”

“I’m not sure my friend Magnus would like that. But…very well, I’ll move away. Give you room to breathe, sir. Room to think, too.”

“Think about what, Corbett? Granny Pegg’s made-up tales? Sure, she’d make up any kind of damn story to save her blood!”

“Possibly,” Matthew agreed. “But think on this. I examined Sarah’s body, with Mrs. Kincannon’s permission. I found something interesting, Joel. It has to do with your good friend over there.”

“Empty talk. That wound of yours is gettin’ to your brain.”

“I know about Molly Ann, too.” Matthew ventured, still quietly. “He’s probably told you? Bragged, I’m guessing.”

Gunn gave Matthew a look that would’ve turned Medusa to stone, and then he veered away and crossed the distance between himself and Royce. Matthew watched as Gunn said something to his compatriot. Royce tilted his head toward the speaker, but gave no expression of concern. Gunn kept speaking for a few more seconds, and then Royce nodded but spared not even a glance at Matthew.

Was it possible to turn those two against each other? Matthew wondered. Gunn might be the weaker of them, and obviously the questions had rattled him. So…maybe Gunn’s trigger could be pulled?

They continued on, as the sky above remained as dark as a witch’s dream. As another hour passed and Stamper led them along a trail only he and Bovie could make out, Matthew felt his strength leaving him. He began to stagger, and as much as he fought it that quicker was his strength depleted. At last he took a step and the earth denied him balance, and as he fell he heard Quinn cry out behind him. He twisted his body so that he did not hit on his wounded shoulder, but even so the breath was knocked from him and he lay gasping amid the weeds and brush. Quinn knelt beside him to put a comforting hand to his forehead, and Magnus knelt down on the other side.

“I’m all right,” Matthew said when he could get his breath back. His vision was blurred, but he saw that the others had stopped too. “I can stand up, I’ll be all right.” But he couldn’t stand, he couldn’t get his legs under him, and he realized that without rest he could not go on.

“Leave him,” Royce said to Stamper. “Let’s keep movin’, the skins can’t be much further ahead.”

“Let’s go!” Gunn urged. “Wastin’ time standin’ here!”

With Magnus’ help Matthew managed to sit upright, though his shoulders sagged and even the stubble on his face felt heavy. “Joel,” he said. “Granny Pegg told me…Magnus and myself…everything.”

“What’re you goin’ on about?” It was Royce who’d asked the question.

“She told Mrs. Kincannon, too,” Matthew continued, with an effort. “There in the chapel. Joel…Mrs. Kincannon is waiting for some answers. It has to do…with what I found on Sarah’s body.”

“You found a half-dozen knife strikes, is what you found!” Royce said. “What else was there?”

“I’ll let Mrs. Kincannon ask that question, when we get back.” Matthew directed his blurred gaze to Stamper. “You may be hunting an innocent man. I don’t think Abram did the killing. That’s why they have to be brought back alive. Anything else would not be justice, but murder.”

“I’ll stand for what Matthew says,” Magnus added. “More questions to be answered.”

“Sarah’s killer is yet unproven,” Matthew said. “But…that will be remedied, when we get back to the Green Sea.”

“Abram killed Sarah!” Royce almost spat it. “It’s proven! Damn buck must’ve gone crazy! You think somethin’ like that’s never happened on any other plantation?”

Matthew smiled faintly. “Ah! Did it happen on another plantation where you and Joel worked?”

“Hold on, now!” Stamper frowned. “Boy, you’re sayin’ it was somebody else killed the girl? But Joel saw that buck with the bloody knife, standin’ over the body!” He looked to Gunn. “Ain’t that right?”

“A good question,” Matthew said when Gunn’s reply didn’t come. “Did you see him with the knife, or not?”

“He did!” Royce spoke up. “If he says he did, he did…and he’s already said it!”

“I’d like to hear it from Gunn again,” said Magnus. “Go ahead, everybody’s listenin’.”

Gunn’s mouth opened and then closed. He stared at the ground as if the stones and weeds might guide him in his speech. Matthew knew what he must be thinking: he could swing for helping conceal a murder, if he was found out…and he had no way of knowing what Matthew had discovered on Sarah’s body, or what Mrs. Kincannon’s questions were. Gunn was a man in a very precarious position, and he knew Griffin Royce had put him there.

Still, Gunn did not—could not—speak.

“Hey!” Bovie suddenly said, and he sniffed the air. “I’m smellin’ smoke!”

Indeed, a breath of dry wind brought the odor to all. Stamper narrowed his eyes and looked ahead. Matthew followed his gaze; there was no sight of a fire through the trees, yet the smell was certainly wood burning.

“Campfire?” Royce asked.

“Strong smell,” said Stamper. “Could be lightnin’s hit a tree, set it afire. Whatever it is, it’s not far away.”

“We should be movin’,” Royce prodded. “Leave Corbett here, if he can’t go on. Muldoon, you and the girl want to stay with him, that’s fine by me. I think we’re gettin’ close to the skins, and I won’t be slowed down.”

“Mr. Stamper,” said Matthew, “I would remind you…that the reward is for the runaways…dead or alive. Mrs. Kincannon wants them returned alive, as I do…for Abram to answer some questions. Is that too much to ask?”

Stamper thought about it. He ran a hand across his grizzled chin. “No,” he said at last. “Not too much. All right then, we’ll take ’em alive. No ears cut off, no harm done ’em.”

“Ha!” was Royce’s response. “Those animals won’t go back so easy! You’ll see!”

“Go with them, Magnus,” Matthew urged. “I’m used up for awhile. You have to go.”

“Leave you and her with that thing out here? No, I’m stayin’.”

“You have to go,” Matthew repeated, with some force behind it. “To make sure, Magnus. You have to.” He lifted his sword. “I’ve got this.”

“Little of nothin’.”

“Better than nothing.”

“Losin’ time,” said Barrows. “Let’s move.”

Bovie turned away and started off. Royce followed. Gunn hesitated only briefly before he went, and then Barrows and Foxworth. Stamper gave a long weary sigh, and he said, “Sorry to leave you, but we’ve got to go on. We’ll come back this way, soon as we get ’em. Muldoon, you comin’ or not?”

Magnus nodded. “I’m comin’. Matthew,” he said, “you two stay right here. Don’t move, and keep a sharp eye out. All right?”

“We will,” Quinn answered. “You be careful.”

“Always,” said the bearded mountain, and he followed Stamper into the dark woods.

“I’ll just rest a little while,” Matthew said. His voice was becoming slurred. “I’ll be all right…soon as I rest.”

“Put your head in my lap,” Quinn offered, and Matthew accepted. He stretched out upon the ground and his eyes closed. He felt Quinn’s hand running back and forth through his hair. I am not Daniel, he thought as he sank into the silence. Then he felt her lean forward and very tenderly kiss his forehead, and he let go of this world and fell away.