pierced the spirit’s ear, burning like poison. “Kokaetalan! My brother,” it hissed with great distaste and spat at the floor.
“I see they do.” The True Lord sounded amused. “Good. I have a task for you, servant; and, perhaps, if you are faithful, a way to quench those fires.”
The silver-robed figure stood, throwing his mantle over his shoulder and slowly descended from the throne. He walked to where the spirit recoiled in apprehension on the floor and stopped, towering over it.
“Rise.”
The spirit climbed quickly to its feet and waited breathlessly, shoulders hunched in respect, staring at the floor.
“ Come,” said the Great One, stretching out his hand. I have something to show you.”
The spirit stared incredulously, hardly believing the True Lord actually wanted to touch him; but the robed figure gestured again, making it clear he meant to take the spirit’s hand. Gingerly, the spirit complied and weakly grasped the heavily-ringed fingers of its monarch. There was no sensation of touch at their contact, only an electrified charge of submission to power.
Instantly, colors in the room began to fade and swirl. The spirit felt itself rising like a column of heat twisting above a furnace, being lifted higher and higher into the air with a dizzying, sickening sensation. It could not hold back a scream.
“Hush, fool. I have you,” the molten voice said. “Instead of wailing like a dying goat, you should be singing praises. You have been plucked from the fires and released from captivity! We go to open air and freedom! We go to see my miracle!”
Overcome, the spirit could not reply. It stared down, mutely watching the floor drop away.
Linked as one they rose together, Lord and servant, light-winged as bats, soaring up, up, through the dark womb of the tower. At its top, a gate of iron teeth guarded the opening; but the Great Lord only laughed and, with a wave of his hand, they passed through jaws and ceiling as easily as moonlight through glass and were gone.
5
A DREAM AND A HEADACHE
Michael Johns gave one last hard twist on the barbed wire fence with the pinchers, making sure the splice was good and tight. The young rancher gave it a sound tap to test the knot's mettle. The wire squeaked in protest, but accepted the adjustment without slippage. He stood back, pushed up the brim of his western-style straw hat and wiped his brow with a dusty denim sleeve. Wrinkling up his well-tanned face, he appraised the two rejoined wires with a practiced eye. “Looks good,” he grunted over his shoulder to his horse. “Tight as newlyweds on their honeymoon. Not that I'd know. Not that I'll ever know at the rate I'm going.”
A cloud of dust down the road caught his attention. A black pickup truck was coming toward him. Pete Grover, he thought. Wants to settle up.
He stood, removing stained leather gloves and wiping sweaty hands on his jeans, ready to offer one to the man who got out of the truck and walked toward him.
“Michael.”
“Pete.”
The man met the young rancher’s outstretched hand with a firm shake. “Doin’ okay?” he asked.
“Getting by,” Michael replied. “Thanks for the nice job on the funeral, Pete. It was just what Dad would have wanted.”
“Nothing's too good for my old pal, Robert Johns,” the man said with a nod of the head that passed as a compliment between them.
“I'm ready to make good today, Pete. Just sold Becky and her calf.”
“I think we should hold off on that for a bit, Michael. I've come to make you an offer on this ranch, if you're willin' to take one.”
Michael pulled off his bandana and wiped his brow. The surprised look on his face remained. “If you're going to get all serious on me, Pete, maybe we'd better go sit under the trees and talk.” Pete nodded. They moved to a grove of cottonwoods next to a meandering pasture stream and planted themselves down on a hillock of clover.
“I know you want to get back to college,” Grover began. “You put in, what? Three years at Laramie?”
“That's right. I only came home because Dad needed me. To be truthful, I’m aching to get back.”
“I know you're smart, Michael. You won that award an' all and your dad was always so proud of you, gettin' straight A's. It just seems to make sense that a young man like you with a dream in his pocket to be goin’ somewhere else wouldn't want to stay and work a ranch all on his own.”
“Guess you got me pegged,” Michael grinned hesitantly. “What are you offering? The ranch is in good shape and on prime land. It ought to be worth something.”
“I'm thinkin', with the mortgage, operatin’ loan and your dad's medical expenses, you're in a deep pile o' debt.”
“You'd be right on that one.”
“And dairy ranchin' is a risky business. Most are holdin' their own only 'cause of the worth of the land, not the milk and butter.”
Michael pulled up a weed stalk and put it between his teeth. “Right again. Although, this ranch is better off than most. Still, you're right. It's not the easiest way to bring down a buck.”
“And you got a second mortgage on the place….”
Michael slapped his gloves across his open palm, a look of puzzlement on his face. “How'd you know about that? You been snooping? Are you up to something, Pete?”
The man wrapped his arms around his knees and looked at the ground. “Okay. So let's just say I'm doin' this because I owe Robert Johns a lot more than money can ever repay, not because I'm dyin' to get in the cow business. Sorry. Morticians shouldn't use that phrase lightly. It's a jinx.”
Michael grunted. “You're beating around the bush, Pete. What are you trying to say?”
Grover turned and looked Michael in the eye. “Michael, you don't know this, but after I lost Laurie, when I was down and out, bankrupt and on the verge of jumpin' off Palisade dam, your father came to see me. Without bein' asked, he went and took out a second mortgage on this place and gave the money to me.”
Michael didn't flinch. “Well, Pete, I suppose that'd have something to do with the fact you carried him on your back for five miles when he was wounded in Iraq.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it was just because we were friends. Anyway, now's my chance to get even. That second mortgage is really my debt to pay, not yours. I'm doin' okay now as the Valley’s only mortician, and I'm in a position to put things square. I made this same offer to Robert, but he wouldn't have any of it. Now he's gone and I figure, if Robert Johns' boy is half the man his father was, if he's got something he sets his mind to do, he'll do it and he'll see the wisdom in this deal. I'm givin' you a chance to get back to your schoolin' and not have to look back. I'll give you $900,000 for the ranch. I know that's no fortune by the time you pay off your debts, but it should be enough to pay tuition and livin’ expenses for a while; maybe, even, get you through a doctorate if that’s what you want. My boys don’t want to go into the mortuary business and they’ve been workin’ here for so long that they love the ranch almost as much as you. They think they can make a go of it. The three of us have been talkin’ about how we want to move out of town for quite a while now. We’ll all bunk in here together.”
“You sure?” Michael asked. “Milk ranching is a hell of a lot of work.”
Pete shrugged. “Oh, I’ll let the boys handle most of it. I don’t want to give up the mortuary, yet; but it’s not a full-time job, you know. I’ll be available to help out most of the time. We’ll manage just fine.”
The mortician stood up, dusted his britches and folded his arms.