The search for a cure to the white death.
Redhawk continued to explain that the Ao’chitaw had consisted of several large clans, each of which was considered a separate tribe. These people had lived throughout the expanse of the Washita mountains, making their living by hunting and fishing the many mountain streams. Conflict was unheard of among the related groups, and since they seldom had contact with outsiders war generally did not exist. Indeed, said Redhawk, the Ao’chitaw shunned formal contact with other tribes, though the healers were occasionally visited by outsiders who would come to rid themselves of various illnesses. In fact, he continued, the life-giving “old Kanis caves” to which we were traveling were actually and originally the old A’shita caves.
The Ao’chitaw people had lived peacefully in the mountains for untold numbers of years, but their way of life was disrupted when they were invaded by two warlike peoples from the south. The raiders eventually conquered the Ao’chitaw clans and for unknown reasons made great efforts to eliminate any trace of the A’shita priesthood. A’shita priests were exterminated and their holy places, along with other numerous monuments – including boundary stones such as the one we had just observed – were defiled or destroyed. The Kanis, who were evidently one of the two “warlike peoples,” then settled in the area. More than this, claimed Redhawk, he could not say because he did not know. Defaced stones represented the only trace of the Ao’chitaw people, and little survived of the invaders who displaced them. Most of the usurpers had vanished even before the arrival of Spanish and French explorers, leaving behind only a few Kanis and some undesecrated monuments. Perhaps those silent stones were left upright in order to commemorate the victory over their vanquished enemies.
After Redhawk’s brief but fascinating historical account I withdrew to the makeshift tent where I rested for perhaps an hour or two, though it was not possible to sleep due to the sound of thunder and Mr. Taylor’s experience of a violent fit of coughing. Taylor was extremely ill and I feared that he was growing worse by the moment; my concern, which was already considerable, grew. In truth my concern grew for Mr. Taylor, Ms. Ellsworth, and myself, as I could tell that I was sicker than I ever had been. It did not escape me that Dr. Heywood said that we might not survive, and at the moment I felt as though my gunshot wound in France and even the Spanish flu were nothing compared to the ravages of the white death.
Dr. Sillsman presently entered into the enclosure in order to examine us all, but Taylor in particular. Ms. Ellsworth and I received injections of a painkiller. I know not what was done for Mr. Taylor, but his examination seemed to take a long time and though it took awhile, he did finally stop coughing.
It was at this time that I had a sudden realization concerning Redhawk. When describing the boundary stone he spoke with a certain amount of pride and dignity that revealed a deep intelligence. Yes, there was just a hint of a strange accent in his voice, but there was no evidence that he struggled to express his words. This was a man who, despite his claim at our initial meeting, had a great command of the English language.
As we traveled farther along the river the rain increased, again, considerably. When Vincent informed us that a second marker could now be seen up ahead, it was from the door or flap of our shelter that Ms. Ellsworth and I observed it. The marker, as the previous one had been, was arranged vertically and was positioned on the rocky shore of the riverbank. It seemed to be sculpted of the same native stone as the first monument and, like it, was carved on the side facing the river. Unlike the previous stele, the one before us was more elaborately carved, but it was damaged. It seemed to be divided, roughly, into three “panels” on which were depicted various scenes of religious activity and perhaps healing. On the “bottom” panel there appeared a humanoid figure in what I now knew to be the dress of the A’shita priesthood. Before the priest another human figure lay prostrate, perhaps representing an afflicted patient. Above the priest there was a rude semi-circle (a mountain?) with the emblem of a sun-wheel appearing above, and above the wheel appeared one of the “messengers of the old ones” in the form of the stylized bird.
The second panel was defaced so that it was not possible to determine what may have been originally be depicted. The top panel also showed signs of damage, though some of it could be seen. Again, it was a stylized bird.
The rain began to fall harder again and it was clear that we would soon be caught up in another storm. Ms. Ellsworth and I retreated farther back into our shelter and waited. I was not comfortable—probably none us were—but I was mostly dry. We had not been “indoors” for very long when Vincent, still wrapped in his tarp, opened the door of our enclosure. In about thirty minutes, said he, we would disembark and travel overland to the caves.
We did not arrive in thirty minutes. The next thing I remember is our boat spinning wildly out of control. Our expedition ended immediately and in an instant we seemed to change positions with the vessel on which we rode. That is, one moment we were seated, and then the boat was above us. I do not know at what point we were ejected though it must have happened quickly.
For my part, I remember seeing dark rocks, a tree trunk, and tree limbs as they smashed through the bottom of our boat. I remember being thrown into the water with my feet entangled in rope from the shelter. I remember vertigo. I remember the feeling of almost drowning, and then being plucked from the water by something that had to be immensely powerful. I remember that I did not walk to an inland cave: I was transported to an inland cave.
Ms. Ellsworth and I both clearly remember the experiences of the cave. No one believes our tale, so we pretend to agree with the authorities. We were delirious. The episode did not take place. We had imagined being in the cave because it was a place that we intensely desired to go. No, we had not floated near the top of the cave, warm and comfortable, looking down at the forms of myself, Taylor, and Ms. Ellsworth. It must not be and indeed cannot be as we think we experienced it.
It cannot be that Redhawk our guide seemed no longer to be a simple man of some nameless tribe. The commanding words he spoke, the curious movements of his hands, the pounding of the drum: all these were imagined or dreamed up as the result of the white death or the sudden trauma of the accident. Surely our sickness and the violence of the impact that capsized our craft had combined to produce a delusional episode.
Yes, though I refuse to admit it openly, in reality it seemed to me as though I were somehow detached from the entire scene, looking down at the others and myself from some point above. We were all lying, arms outstretched, and we were in the mysterious A’shita caves. There were curious red feathers that littered the cave. Some seemed to cover us and others filled the air, as though blown about by an unearthly wind. Above all was Redhawk’s constant beating of the drum and his chanting of a foreign song that I could imagine to be an appeal to something that is not agreeable to our space and time.
It was definitely Redhawk. He performed the ritual. He was the drummer who intoned the words of the formula that has sealed my, our, fate. He was the one who spoke and listened to the winged thing that guarded him as he worked his eldritch magic. I believed, believe, and now have come to be certain that Redhawk is a healer of the A’shita tribe.
We were found the next day by a hastily assembled party from Millstone Hills. The group was not looking for us; they were seeking our boat—which was stolen. We were discovered some distance up the river, past the rocky terrain, on a low beach of the river bank. Of Redhawk there was no trace, and according to the mayor and other town officials, no one has ever heard of a man named Redhawk. The mayor stated outright that he had hired for us a local guide named John Smith. When questioned, Smith confirmed the mayor’s information and stated that Redhawk, whoever or whatever he may be—if he existed at all—was definitely a liar and a thief, for the boat on which we had traveled belonged to Smith himself.
Henry Taylor is not thought to have survived the wreck of our watercraft. He has not been found alive or deceased. I believe I have a good idea as to why, but I shall keep my silence.
The good doctor Sillsman also passed away. The same is true for Mrs. Abigail Whitehead. It is believed that they drowned. Both were buried in the Millstone Hills cemetery. As I understand it, a crew from Mackenson Institute will eventually retrieve the doctor’s coffin and return it to Clarkston. Captain Ellsworth, I am told, will do the same thing for Mrs. Whitehead and move her remains to Tenby. Reverend Peake advised me that Mackenson’s new Department of Paranormal Studies will conduct, as soon as feasible, an investigation of the A’shita caves. I would be of great assistance in that endeavor, as I had leased that property. The Reverend also advised me that Dr. Heywood would soon send to me another doctor. I have not yet found the time to reply to his letters.
Poor Vincent King also perished. His shattered body was found nearby, though it could not be determined whether drowning or trauma caused my friend’s death. According to our rescuers he was carried a little farther inland and laid to rest beneath a rock cairn. Mrs. King is, of course, inconsolable.
Ms. Ellsworth and I survived the calamity. We were battered and only semi-conscious, but it seemed as though we would recover. Because we suffered from the white death, our condition when found was well documented. We were covered with the bites of insects and we showed signs of having been in contact with one or more poisonous plants or vines. Ms. Ellsworth was still suffering intensely from consumption. I seemed relatively unscathed but was obviously delirious, rambling on about darkened caves and issuing warnings about dangers which did not exist. Despite my understandable distresses of the mind, we lacked any obvious sign of major bodily injury. The fact that we were alive seemed to indicate that we suffered no internal injury.
Ms. Ellsworth and I were transported to Millstone Hills. Upon our arrival we stayed in the townhouse that Vincent had earlier secured for us. In the days ahead we determined to return to Chapel Hill in Texas, and dwell there on the estate until the plague ended with its natural result. I hired a man to ferry us to Farmington Landing, and then we traveled to Farmington proper. In Farmington I hired three men to get us to Hewville, and then we retraced our original path, resting as much as we could, taking the train to Clarkston. Edgar and Martha met us with the wagon, and then took us home.
In time, perhaps a month or two, we were both feeling rather well. This, even though the Texas heat was intense. We spent the time much as we had before, together in the library or together in the garden, but now something was different. I could breath: No fevers and no chills. My skin color changed from white death colors to normal, and then even a bit of sunburn red. Ms. Ellsworth’s condition soon mirrored my own and she began to heal rapidly. Although no doctor was present, we did not need one to know what was happening. The white plague was no longer afflicting us.
We were overjoyed. We had been in one of the healing caves! But we were too hasty in our joy. The white death was replaced with what I might call the red death. It was advanced in Ms. Ellsworth, perhaps because of her smaller size. Red spots dotted our skin. Our senses became magnified. Our vision at night was perfect. The next day we wanted nothing more than to be outside in the breeze, or to lounge in the office window.
It did not take long to understand what was happening and what had been done to us in the cave. Those red spots became red bumps. Out of those red bumps came red feathers. When the feathers appeared, a rapid transformation began.
No one can or should attempt to describe what happens to a human body when it transitions from one state to another. I shall simply state that I could see in Ms. Ellsworth’s eyes that she knew what was happening to her and I knew what she intended to do. She threw herself from the tower window.
I have paid my hired men early and dismissed them for the day. As of yet, no doctor has arrived from Mackenson Institute, so the guesthouse is empty. I have sent Edgar and Martha on an imagined errand to retrieve medical supplies from Clarkston. Mrs. King is still away, visiting family. I know not when or if she will return, since Vincent has passed.
I am now alone. I intend now to leap from the same window, though I already suspect that I will have the same amount of success that Ms. Ellsworth had. As I prepare to leap screaming to my death I remember how she fell toward the ground and then rose up as an immense red beast with flapping wings.
I heard her voice then, calling me to come to her in those far away hills, calling me in a language that I am just now coming to understand. Finally I understand the secrets of the caves! I know why the French used the name Washita. It is the cry, the call, of my kind. As I go to her may anyone and everyone hear our calls. The transition is upon me! Waaashitaaaaaaa!
The End.
© 2023-2026 Ren Adama
