Lone Ranger Chapter 17

Part II: The Dawn of the Legend

Jimmy Loong

Feb 27^th, 2016

Feb 18^th, 2020

0.

The crate was lowered from the wagon by the six men with the stove hat. The journey had taken over three days and nights by wagon and then on the train to be transferred onto the wagons again. Each time the casket was covered to protect from the sunlight. The six men hand-carried the crate towards the entrance of the shaft. The man who initiated the whole transportation of the casket stepped up to the shaft. He touched the pulley and examined the rope that will lower the crate.

“Mr. Bernard, we can’t lower the crate horizontally. It had to be done vertically.” The foreman in charge of the pulley voiced out. He was uncomfortable to be working late at night but the money was good.

“Mr. Thames, I want the crate lowered down tonight. If you are to do it …vertically, do it but I will not have the crate damaged.”

The foreman nodded and then instructed his workers on how to secure the crate for the lowering. He had the ropes checked for any frays before he gave the nod. Then the crate was hauled over the shaft and lowered vertically. When it was going in, Mr. Bernard stopped the works.

“I think there is a snag here.” Mr. Bernard pointed to the side of the crate. “Pull it up and re-do the ropes.”

Mr. Thames was to argue but he relented to the request. He soon had the ropes adjusted and began the process of lowering the crate once more. It was tedious with Mr. Bernard calling on every move to be slow and careful. Finally, the crate was lowered and then pushed onto the platform on the rail tracks below. That was the end of the task.

“It’s done, Mr. Bernard.” The Foreman reported to the customer.

“Daniel, please have Mr. Thames and his men escorted off my land,” Bernard told his trusted staff then. “And drop by the house to see that the boys are asleep.”

Mr. Bernard then lowered himself down the shaft followed by the six stove men. They took over the crate on the platform. They pushed it to the cavern and then the sights that behold them were wild to the imagination. The object in the circular chamber was alike to a throne. It was not any throne seat with ordinary furnishings and covers. The slab was made of white marble and shaved to the smoothness where no sharp edge was seen. The sides of the slabs were engraved with scriptures to hold the occupant inside. It sat on the flooring that was sighted with the three hexagon designs. The place was lighted up the place with the lighted torches that were partially covered with the webbing to reduce the lighting level. The six men then stepped back and bowed their heads while the one named Mr. Bernard approached the crate. He bent over and then placed his hands on the crate cover. He spoke in his mind to whoever was in the crate. It was a silent but strong request from the binding spells around the crate.

The so appeared tar binding on the crate then moved on its own accord as if it was alive, from its spot towards the random area around the crate surface. The ones at one side will move upwards and over the crate cover to streak downwards or upwards until it had completed its movement. It displayed nothing to the untrained eyes but the ones adept of the arts knew its design. It was the call of the Great Demons to do take its capture to the next confinement.

Mr. Bernard then stepped back before bowing to the crate.

If one had a high view over the crate, they would see the tar streaks have formed a design over the cover and to its sides. It was the design of the hexagon over the crate. The design lifted and hovered above the crate. With the design there, the cover of the crate slowly opened upwards as it was lifted by invisible hands. The cover rose high and then it hovered there. From the inside of the crate, a figure cloaked in the dark overcoat was seen when it rose from it. It was a human figure but the face was covered with a mask and the body lean. It moved then across the flooring with the dark design over it on every step.

It was unheard of and then nothing was ever heard of such an event. It was the prone figure that was no longer prone. It twitched on the hands and then on the chest. It tried to move but the dark streaks had it subdued. The design concaved in like a net and formed around the figure. It pulled the figure to the center of the cavern. It was pulled into the white slab and inserted in. The slab cover then closed.

The event was over. The dark streaks then moved into the flooring and seeped into the hexagon designs.

The Prince was finally at a new home.

His new prison.

17.

“Kemo-Sabe?” Tonto called out. He was hurt and lost. He knelt there on the ground and looked at the leveled town. It was all destroyed and a few hundreds of lives were lost. He saw the uniformed and the brothers of these people. Not all were complete on their body for some had lost their limbs or other parts. Most were burnt on their bodies but none was breathing. Tonto felt the chill even though he had seen worse in the cemeteries. He pushed himself up despite the wound on the chest. He was caught by the shrapnel of the blast. The blood had ceased flowing for the flesh singed by fire. He felt the bullet inside and the pain that seared his body but he will find his partner. He brushed off the ashes off his clothes and examined his weapons. His gun was still there and the tomahawk but his rifle was broken at the buttstock. He took his steps among the rubbles and smoldering fire. It was a tedious task than with the numerous dead bodies to check on but he was relieved that he need only to identify was the white shirt. He searched and found none of his partners. It was as if he had died and gone to Heaven.

“Dear Lord, show me a sign of my partner. He was my loyal partner and if he had joined you, showed me his body so I may bury him.” Tonto fell to his knees to pray. He was the Shaman by training the skills but he was raised with the belief of the Lord mercy.

Tonto then fell to his face.

He was once again the child he was.

“Father, why must I go?” The young boy of eight asked the man who was standing beside the wall. They were at the train station platform. The boy was dressed like many of his age but his bronzed skin singled him out.

“David, I am called back to my other home. It will be a long journey but you will find the new home a wonderful place.” The tall figure in the dark suit replied while his right fingers rubbed the two-piece of paper that was his ticket to leave the plains. He had stayed there for over two decades with his words of peace when there was none to hear. He had walked among the savages and found it wanting which are the real savages. His term had ended then with a letter from home. His other calling had him packed and to leave the adopted land with an adopted son aged ten by faith.

“Is it far, Father?” The young one asked.

“The distance is in the mind and if your mind says it’s far then it’s far but stick with me, distance is irrelevant when you seek the answer.” Father Edwards Woods had told him then. The journey was long and a new life awaits the young boy. He was given more clothes and food that he has forgotten what was it like to starve on the cold winter nights. He was taught in the room with many others and read with them the many adventures of the books. All that time, the young boy never felt at home and questioned his stay there. He was never more comfortable than at the small house where his father had built for him.

“It’s not that I cannot have you at the bug house but you will find more comfort here.” The young boy did find his own comforts there with the vast field and woods to run in at the new land. He tried to learn the old ways of hunting but he had no mentor then. His mentor was soon to come with the local priest who taught him what his father once did. He became attracted to the teaching but there was more to teaching the belief of God. He was also shown the hidden side of the priest who was in the business of illicit trades. The young boy grew up understanding the teaching of the Lord and the sins from which he was to abstain from.

“David Woods, if I ever catch you on my farm I will have you ….. castrated.” Farmer Bertie voiced out in anger at the growing boy standing on the low hill.

“Bertie Erny Hicks, I would have you said such words in front of the children.” Mrs. Bertie still holding onto her apron had stormed out of the kitchen. “You were no better than with your antics at the old barn.”

“Martha, do you mind not talking of that now? That was eons ago and I was younger.” Bertie protested but the growing boy had returned to his own home. He was not scared but amused at the farmer for the outburst.

It was not his first encounter with the angry fathers’ but he found himself an amusing person to them. Despite his skin shade, they liked him and it came with some nice feelings too. He recalled that was the day he saw his first demon. It was dusk when he went past the woods on the way home when he saw the light among the trees. He was ever curious and stepped over. There was a congregation of figures wearing the frocks with the hoods over their head. He could not make out who they were but counted seven of them standing there. They were standing before the fireplace where assorted items were placed including the candles and pots. The seven frocked figures were singing some hymns with their hands stretched to the fireplace. It was all fascinating to the growing boy and he stayed hidden to watch. He then saw the figure of a man appeared above the fireplace but it was not truly a man for that one had horns on his forehead and the lower limbs bear hoofs instead of feet.

The growing boy was to run then but stopped when he heard the shouts. Men rushed from the cover of the trees armed with lanterns and cudgels. Among them was Father Woods., his adopted guardian. The seven frocked figures tried to escape but they were cornered. The figure form the fireplace had dissipated and all that was left were embers. The frocked figures were removed from their hood and found to be young ladies. The growing boy knew some of those ladies. He turned to run and did not stop until he was behind the door of his home.

“I am …”

“And you shall wake now.” The voice called out to him. Tonto opened his eyes and saw a pretty face looking at him. He looked to his surroundings and saw it, unlike any room he had been to. The lady looming over him was a young lady with a wide smile.

“I will call mother now.” The young lady then rushed off leaving him alone. He felt for his wound and noted that it was bandaged and there was the smell of herbs. He looked more of the place and noted it was a bedroom with all the trimmings and toys. He pushed himself up and then found assistance from the mother who had arrived. The older lady was like any white lady dressed in the simple off-shoulder green dress with the yellow apron on the front and the bandanna tied on the head.

“You are fine now.” The lady spoke out. “We found you breathing among the dead. I am Lady Bonita. We are the Hungaros.”

Tonto never heard of them but from their pale look, they are different from the other settlers. He looked at the room once more and then recognized some motifs. They were of the traveling gypsies. He had heard of them traveling from Mexico to the plains but that was the first time he met them.

“You are special. I saw your life shown by the tea leaves.” The Hungaros were known to be induced in the dark arts and were shunned by the town folks. “The stars told me of your exploits and how you overcame the demons. You have to be a bad boy.”

Then the lady had risen from the bed and moved to the nearby cupboard. It was then Tonto tried to get up once more but he found himself restrained by the ropes on the bedding. The room was no more a bedroom but a dark place with rows of tools that could inflict pain with torture. The tops he saw earlier were corpses or remains of the dead. There were the fingers, the arms, and the thigh bones. All of them were kept on the shelves like ornaments. He was in a torture chamber. And the lady was no nice housekeeper but a witch.

“Ánt’įįhnii!” Tonto called out at the witch. The curse name he had used was also known as the Skinwalker.  

“I am no Skinwalker, Shaman. I am just another like you.” The witch replied and grabbed hold of the thigh bone. “We have roamed the world when your ancestors were still learning to hunt. The smell of the dead drove us to the town. The scent of the Shaman pulled me ever closer.”

Tonto struggled in his ropes but it was tight. He then saw himself naked and the bandages on his wound were not of cloth and herbs but that of the serpent coiled over it. He saw the witch approached him with the thigh bone. He knew not what she intends to do but he had to get out.

“Kemo-Sabe…” Tonto called out.