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The End of the Beginning

Chapter 21

The field sighed in relief, the wild animals crept out into the sunlight again, and all became calm. A blue mist fell from the sky, smelling like lavender and honey, and draped across the Field of Atagahi. The children backed away from the mysterious cloud before recognizing its strange formations gathering into the glow of the Ghost of David Crockett. 

“You’re back!” Marian shouted in excitement. 

Noya perked up from Herbert’s shoulder and flew to David Crockett, dancing and spinning around him like a jubilant firefly. 

“Shiyo asiwu, yunwi-tsunsdi,” said he to the faerie. 

Then the Ghost turned to the children. “I ne’er departed, Marian,” he replied. “You only failed t’ see me. ’Twas there alongside when the storm nearly pushed you from the cliff, Herbert. ’Twas I whom called Noya t’ your side in the cave of the Uktena. ’Twas I whom led Balaam t’ you in Merry-Hollow. And I stood among you here, when you thought you ‘ad first failed. But you ‘ad merely forgotten the thing you needed back at the start. I’m very proud, Herbert.” (Here he looked Herbert in the eyes.) “You spoke the truth, and that takes a bit of integrity, I know. For I as a young lad your age would not ‘ave done such a thing. I beg to believe great things are ‘head you, young man.” 

Herbert smiled, sheepishly. “Thank you.”

“Can you please tell us what is going on now?” Marian asked. “We are here. We did what we think you wanted us to do.”

“Why is your grave here?” Esther asked.

“What-all theys Arm’ of Bones and Maushop?” Aaron butt-in.

“Where did they go?” Herbert added.

David Crockett smiled. “Maushop and the Nunnehi are a tale for another moment,” he replied. “Alas, I will tell ‘bout this spring and how I come t’ be h’re in this manner. 

“Jim Bowie was sick; poisoned. And I in a desp’ration to heal him. He and I ‘greed Atagahi must be discov’red; in it lie the only way t’ cure him. I left him w’th the Cherokee, and ventured forth ‘lone. On the second day heading northeast, I came ‘pon the River Pactolus. On the following midday, I discov’red Atagahi; she glimm’red as beautiful as she rests ‘oday. But I was not ‘lone. A vile battle broke afore me; the Army of Bones and the Nunnehi fought, for wh’t, I dins’t know ’t the time. I was mortally wound’d, and a’ my last breath when the Yunwi-Tsunsdi—like my friend Noya, ‘ere—bade the Nunnehi lower me ’n-to the still waters. I was saved, but not ’s a man ‘ny long’r. The wound w’s not one any healing can ret’rn t’its nat’ral state. Eternity ran through my spir’t, and my blood and bones fell away. And from thence, I und’rstood the end from the beginning, and w’th it the need t’ protect such a mon’ment as this.”

“Why keep it a secret?” Marian asked. 

“There is a belief in someth’ng we call the Convergence. ’Tis the belief that when the power and promise of the past converge, we shall see great pain. And with that pain, salvation. There are those whom b’lieve the Convergence is ‘pon us. And this place—Atagahi—’s not meant for th’se who pierce with pois’ned spears, or th’se that serve the ones who do.” David Crockett looked across the shimmering lake. “’Tis meant for something grander.”

“Why were the skeletons and Nunnehi fighting?” asked Herbert.

David Crockett smiled at the young boy. “Those words are yet t’ be told.” 

“Why did we have to come here?” Esther asked. “Couldn’t you have closed the gate at any time?”

“Unfortunately, no, Miss Esther,” replied the Ghost. “Once ’twas broken, Maushop knew ‘is place t’ guard th’s Lake. He was und’r the strictest of ord’rs t’ move for naught, even unto me. For only those who bring ‘is little people back were worthy for him t’ move. Sadly, with Maushop a’ the Lake, the Yunwi-Tsunsdi would no longer ‘ave a home, and their abs’nce would cause the spring t’ lose its power. And that would be very bad for us all.”

“The faeries bring the power to the Lake?” Esther asked.

“Some would th’nk they do,” David Crockett chuckled. “But no—they ‘nly sustain it.” 

“Seem like a backard system,” Aaron muttered.

“It may seem strange ‘oday, but one day you may see that each puzzle piece matters.”

“So are all the monsters going to return to the Enchanted Forest?” Herbert wondered. “The Tsul ‘Kalu? The unicorn? Will the gate shut so the giant snake-monster stays inside? Is our dad going to be alright?”

David Crockett smiled knowingly at the boy again. “What’s set in motion for your fath’r’s safety is set in motion,” replied he. “You needn’t worry, but only believe. As I said before, many monst’rs ‘er’ out there already—” 

“—Hold on!” Aaron injected. “Ye’n means shettin’ the gap wadn’t evers gonna get ridda all them boogers round town?” 

“I nev’r said it shall, young Aaron,” replied the Ghost. “Only that this forest must be protected from th’se outside.”

“Well, don’t that amount to a poot in a windstorm?”

David Crockett smiled at the young fiery man. “The gate will cl’se if you can succeed once more at your departure. And that shall keep Uktena ‘nd oth’rs at bay. The unicorn, my dear friend Diamond (for that ’s his Christian name), I sent ’n a quest for reasons that are yet t’ be told. As for Tsul ‘Kalu—‘y don’t you ask him yourself?” He pointed his glowing finger over the children. 

There on the edge of the glade was the massive ape-figure Tsul ‘Kalu; his vibrant gray and yellow hair blew in the wind and brilliant white eyes flamed at them. 

Before the children could respond fearfully, (although they found it was near impossible to be afraid in that place), Tsul ‘Kalu crossed the glade and addressed the Ghost. 

“You were right, David,” said the ten-foot-tall Hairy Figure. “I have nothing but failure in our mission. The leaders in Virgin-ia care only for argument and their own dreary voices; there is no action in them. None would listen; I bade my offering, but the people merely formed fairy-tales of my search for a bride and murder of livestock. As if Tsul ‘Kalu did not have Ahyoka in Newton.”

“I am sorry, friend,” replied Crockett. “I ‘ad hope f’r them.”

Tsul ‘Kalu smirked. “You needn’t lie to make me feel better.” The ape-man studied the children. “I still don’t see it in them; but the stars never lie.” He turned back to David Crockett. “Has Diamond returned?” 

David Crockett shook his head slowly and despondent. “I am uncertain of his return.” 

Tsul ‘Kalu nodded knowingly. 

“If I may,” said David Crockett. “Will you reconsid’r crossing the lake with me?” 

“Tla, David,” replied Tsul ‘Kalu. “After I retrieve my wife, we shall disappear over the Southern Marsh. Good-bye, good Ghost.” Without another word, the ape-man stomped across the glade and turned northwest at its trees.

“You see, children,” Crockett said. “E’erything has a purpose.” 

“But who are you trying so hard to keep out of the forest?”

A splash of hot wax hit the ground behind the children; they turned to see an oily stain burning into the grass. A pair of crocodile and snake-skinned shoes kicked the dirt and covered up the stain. And standing in those shoes was the thin, pale, and altogether unpleasant, Mr. Dauer. He held out his top-hat and bowed before the children. 

“Speakin’ of that ol’ canker,” Aaron muttered under his breath and then shouted. “Get outta heres, booger-man!” 

“Hello, old friend,” Mr. Dauer addressed the Ghost, ignoring Aaron. “What’s it been—one-hundred-sixty years?” 

“Something like that,” replied David Crockett. “Why ‘re you in ‘y forest?” 

The Top-Hat Man scowled and his neck twitched. “These wonderful children let me in, friend.” Here he opened his shaking arms and a cloud of dust puffed from his cufflinks. 

“That’s a lie!” Herbert hollered at him. 

“Be still.” David Crockett held his hand out to Herbert. “You needn’t adv’cate for me, while I adv’cate for you.” 

“Herbert doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut—do you, Herbert?” Mr. Dauer asked slyly. “Always opening it to lie and steal.” 

“That’s enough!” Marian shouted. 

The Top-Hat Man ignored her. “Did you always grow up blaming others and lying your way to your parents’ and sisters’ affections, Herbert? Are you doing that with David Crockett now, too? Will you ever actually deserve the love you get, Herbert—or will you just keep lying to get it?” 

“Herbert,” whispered David Crockett. “Look ’t me.” 

Herbert turned away from Mr. Dauer and looked at the Ghost. He was kneeling down next to him. “The Good Lord needn’t you t’ be perfect,” the Ghost looked him in the eyes and smiled. “And I needn’t that either. I just needeth you to trust me. Do you trust me, Herbert?” 

Herbert nodded. With everything in him, he wanted so badly to hug the ghost, but knew he would go right through him. 

The Ghost of David Crockett rose and faced Mr. Dauer. “Something beyond the Old Magic declares that you ‘ave already lost.”

“And something tells me I’ll have another chance.” Mr. Dauer grinned. He reached his hand up and unplugged the cork from the side of his head. He tilted it, and wax and oil dripped on the ground. “See you soon, Dolors,” he said. And at the tap of his cane, he vanished before them.

The children looked about the torn up glade and back to one another, searching for where the Top-Hat Man had disappeared to; but they saw only the rubble and debris of where the Army of Bones had emerged.

“Don’t fret ‘bout him, children,” Crockett encouraged. “Now,” said he, moving a step back and gesturing to the Lake. “Drink. Taste and see that the water is refr’shing.” 

The children hesitated. “But,” Marian rebutted, “Maushop said we weren’t allowed.” 

“And ’t ‘nother time he was right. But t’day, you can drink. For t’day you need the waters, and another day, you shall need the bathe.” 

The children came to the lake’s edge and bent down. Their cupped hands brought a mouthful to their lips. It tasted like honey on their tongues, but in their stomach it felt sour and bitter. 

“Do this means we-all a-live forever?” Aaron asked, wiping the residue from his lips. 

David Crockett chuckled and shook his head. “No, you would ‘ave t’ die in the waters t’ b’come et’rnal,” replied David Crockett. “However, it shall protect you against some sirens and spells.” 

“‘at don’t make a speck a sense,” Aaron muttered. 

At that moment, something wonderful and miraculous began to occur. A flurry of humming wind crept from all four corners of the glade. The children wondered if it were an incoming rain until they saw the glowing flicker of faeries illuminating on the trees and forest-floor. Millions of twinkling lights—pinks, blues, reds, oranges, purples, greens, and yellows—came from all directions, and surrounded the children like a tornado of color and light. They were blinding and fantastic, terrifying and exhilarating; buzzing torpedoes of light shooting around each of them in a graceful dance of joy and harmony. 

Herbert felt the gentle tug of Noya on his shirt collar and bowed his head to feel the beautiful damsel kiss him on the cheek and watch her wave him a goodbye; she had found her home and Laurel family again, and for that he was overwhelmed with a joy he did not know he had inside. 

She was gone in a second; amidst all the wild anthem of color and blurring wind. He searched through it, with happy tears in his eyes, until he caught a glimpse of her familiar emerald glow emanating in the canvas of color. All the while, the dance pulsated in lights, colors, and grace. One moment, they thought they comprehended that the dance formed a kind of story about the birth of the forest and the people chosen to protect it, but in the next instant it became confusing and nonsense again. A moment later it was a story about a nation of people separated by a great, rushing river; and the next, they saw the story of the water-spider that brought fire to the first peoples. Then, they saw the story of Tsul ‘Kalu finding his bride in the foothills and visiting her every night under the cover of darkness until their wedding night. Then, they saw the story of Uktena and how men would travel all over the forest to find it, to test their worth and mettle; and whomever retrieved the beast’s flaming crest would earn the rank of Wonder-Worker among the tribe. The stories of light and color lasted hours, but the faeries danced and pranced about the spring waters as if time did not matter to them, even long after the children had left. 

David Crockett led them through the western path across the Dead Valley, back to the Pactolus. “I am v’ry pleased you came, child-ren,” the Ghost said. “And so proud you ‘ave banded together.” 

“David Crockett,” Marian said. She held his ancient journal in her trembling hands. “The journal you left behind. I read it several times but never understood it. I’ve heard words said today—like the Nunnehi. Who are they? What does this all mean?” 

“The book ’s already finish’d,” Crockett smiled. “The reader just need t’ learn how t’ read the pages.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“Keep it. One day you will.” 

The Ghost took off his coonskin hat and held it between his hands. “Herbert,” said he. “I need you t’ do something verily important for me.” 

“Okay,” Herbert said, bowing his head reverently.

The Ghost of David Crockett pulled from his hat a glowing cougar artifact, identical to the one still in Herbert’s hands. “I told you that once more you must accomplish something for me. In this, I need you t’ return it t’ the gate whence you leave. The artifact you possess now won’t work henceforth. But you can keep it as a memento. I can’t hand this one to you, you know. I’m a ghost, after all. So you must take ’t from me.” Herbert reached to remove the glowing artifact out of his hand, and just as he extended his fingers, it dropped through David Crockett’s hand and landed in the grass. The glowing artifact no longer looked translucent and blue, but ordinary as the one in his hands.

“Oh,” Herbert said, examining the two artifacts. “It’s not like the other one. Or…I think it got damaged. There’s a chip on the side of the cougar’s face.” 

“I’m sure ’twas always there, Herbert,” David Crockett smiled. “No need to fret. Just make sure to insert the correct one into the gate for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Herbert replied.

“And Esther,” David Crockett looked at the sweet young girl with pig-tails and muddy sneakers. “’tis only fair that you r’ceive something, too, as your sist’r has ‘y journal and Herbert the artifact.” He removed from his hat a yellow marigold, just like the one she had pulled from the riverbank; its smell was rich, ripe, and full like honey. “It shall ne’er wilt,” said the Ghost. “And I’m sure it shall bring you favor.”

Esther took the flower from his hand and a tear dropped onto the top of it. “Thank you,” she whispered, and placed it in her pig-tail.

“What bout me?” Aaron shouted snidely.

David Crockett smiled. “Your gift is nothing at-all, Aaron,” said he. “Because ’n that gift you will gain the most.” 

Aaron’s jaw dropped and he shook his head like he might curse.

“I’m happy we met, children,” said the Ghost. “But I also must warn you. Life has a habit of growing much hard’r after one accomplishes something great. It ne’er becomes easier; only more meaningful. Remember that I shall always be near, as I was ’n the forest.”

He put his coonskin hat on his head, threw his long rifle over his shoulder, and bowed before them. “Dolor children. Aaron. I wish you a merry goodbye. Your parents are wait’ng for you, and I’m sure you best get home afore they get too worried. The gate will ‘emain open ‘ntil you leave.”

The blue mist faded like a foggy morning meeting the warmth of the rising sun, and the Ghost drifted away. His eyes remained in the air for a moment longer than the rest of his translucent body until nothing was left but a flash and sparkle of light.

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