Lead Them To Water (493 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryLabels: Fiction
Rating: 2 on 4 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack11058 (View user info) at 2004-09-18 20:24:17 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
The sunset was finally over, and the deepening purple of twilight captured the remains of orange sky with a quick and sinuous darkening. The irony was not lost on him.
William Abiaka Powell briefly considered stubbing out the cigarette, then dismissed the idea with a snort. The doctors were saying the cancer was lymphatic now, so why stop one of the few things left he still enjoyed? Out of sheer stubbornness he used the still-glowing butt to light a fresh one, pausing only to tear the filter off the new cigarette. Now THAT was it...but the stinging pleasure of the harsh tobacco smoke was fleeting. A shooting pain in his gut doubled him over, and he coughed hard into a crumpled handkerchief. He was no longer surprised to find blood spotting the white linen.
Will was named after the two greatest heroes of his Seminole people, the mightiest of all chiefs and the holiest of all shamans. The two had fought the expansion of the white man for 20 bloody years in the swamps of South Florida, killing over 1,500 soldiers and costing the US government over 20 million dollars.
His name had always seemed ironic to him, for he had never been particularly heroic. Sure, there was the time he had been guiding a group of researchers through the 'Glades and they had been attacked by a rabid cougar. He had taken it down with his 12-gauge only after catching a raking blow from its claws. But that had been all instinct and he had shaken badly after. A discreet pull from his hipflask had quieted his trembling hands while the aghast researchers tended to his wounds so he could take them back to Chokoloskee. No, he was no hero. But he was a guide, and a damn good one. Truth be told, with a bit of hubris, he considered himself "The Guide".
From the time he was old enough to drive an airboat, he had been in the 'Glades. When he wasn't acting as a guide for tourists, government researchers, climatologists, local police or search parties, he was wandering out there on his own. The spray from the giant fan of the airboat would spread, misting behind him as he sat with one weathered hand grasping the tiller and another clutching a cigarette. It was his life, and he loved it. It was his own way of staying true to the roots of his people and honoring his ancestors.
He hadn't been out since he'd been diagnosed a year before, following a spate of stomach pains that wouldn't go away. He just didn't have the same heart for it anymore.
That was about to change.
He snuffed the last cigarette of the day and headed inside for bed.
It was not an easy sleep, for the pain that wracked him was the worst at night. The pain medication had long ago stopped working, so he long ago stopped taking it. But finally he drifted away. And dreamed.
He was 12 again and sitting on the dock behind his old family home near West Lake. Of course, Grandpa Powell sat beside him in companionable silence.
But as he looked up at his grandfather, he realized it wasn't him at all. The man beside him was ancient, wizened in years far beyond the 60 allotted to his own grandfather. This man was as old as the earth, dressed in the traditional robe of a tribal shaman and he looked down at young Will with bright eyes. In spite of his aged appearance he projected strength and authority and Will realized this man was as to his own dear grandfather like a shooting star is to a firefly. In spite of those smiling eyes Will was afraid.
But then the ancient spoke, and he no longer feared.
************************************************
Will awoke with every detail, every word as fresh on waking as it had been in dreaming. It had been no ordinary dream. His Grandpa Powell had told him stories of Dream Visits, but he had never really believed the tales. He believed them now.
Will sped all the way to Chokoloskee, his old Ford topping 90 as he chainsmoked.
His airboat was still tied to the dock. Tyler, his nephew, had been maintaining the boat on odd weekends. Will had planned to leave the boat to the boy. Not anymore.
It all came together just like old times. The engine kicked over on the first try, and the fan sped until it became a blinding, blurry circle. He eased into the chair (like he never left it), and gripped the throttle with a strength he hadn't thought he still possessed. He opened the choke, and the airboat moved from the dock. He took care to stub out his cigarette in the old coffee can by his feet and shook his pack. Only one more left—it would be his last.
Will knew every swamp, every lake, every stream and every bog in the Everglades. He suspected he knew every tree by sight as well. But guided by the remembrance from his dream, he quickly found himself traveling unfamiliar ways. The swamp grew thicker around him. The air seemed closer, the trees denser, the entire world more teeming with life. Alligators sunned themselves lazily on muddy banks, and wood storks fished on graceful legs. A great blue heron took to wing as he passed. Will traveled in this way for uncounted hours. The water and green of his beloved world surrounded him and for the first time in a year, the pain in his guts subsided to nearly nothing.
Eventually he came to an open and still body of water, too small to be called a proper lake. In the middle of the tarn rose a small hump of land, covered in thick grasses and hanging cypress trees. He cut the engine and the airboat seemed to glide naturally to a stop at the waterline. Directly ahead of him an overgrown trail led away from the water. He disembarked as a sense of anticipation built in him. He didn't bother mooring the boat.
As he climbed the trail, he caught glimpses of things in the underbrush. Skeletons. Many of them, some clad in the rusted armor of the conquistadors, some in ragged Union blues. Here and there among the weeds he spied a sword, a pike, an ancient musket, a newer Springfield rifle. Ancient battles had been fought here. Will took it all in, but didn't slow.
He reached the summit and came to a clearing. A small stone temple stood at its center, and before the temple stood Will's Dream Visitor. He was the ancient shaman of the Seminoles, and Will's own ancestor. Abiaka raised his hand in greeting.
Will walked before him silently, but smiling in pure joy. After years of wandering the 'Glades, he had found what he never knew he was looking for. He had come Home.
Abiaka spoke, his voice deep and sonorous. "Come inside and drink."
Will followed the old man into the cool of the temple. A wafting sense of life came from a circular hole in the stone floor. Reflected dancing light flickered around the inside of the temple and Will saw the rippling water filling the hole. Will wondered at it: good clean water, where only brackish swamp should have been.
He knew what this place was.
Abiaka removed a small tin cup, battered with age, from a shelf on the wall. Engraved on the cup were the crossed swords of the US cavalry.
Will took it reverently, and knelt before the well. He dipped the cup into the water and brought it to his lips. He swallowed and it hit him like a warm electric current, racing quickly through his body. He couldn't move for a moment, but when he finally stood, he realized he was truly without pain. He knew the cancer was gone. He felt energized. He felt strong. He had never been so alive.
He turned to Abiaka, full of questions. Before he could open his mouth, the old man spoke for the second time.
"You belong here now, William. It is my time to depart this place. You are now the Guardian of the Well of Living Waters. The spirits here are strong, but sometimes the unworthy stumble upon this place. It is your duty now to keep this most sacred of places hidden from an unready world."
"This must be for our people!" Will protested, thinking of all the wondrous things the Well could provide for the Seminole nation. Finally, a true payment for their years of suffering!
Abiaka cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.
"No, William. The Well is for all people of this world. But the world is not ready for the Well. You will guard this place until the time comes when you must pass the guardianship to one of your ancestors. And they will likewise serve the spirits of the Well. But someday William, the world will be ready. One of our people will come to the world and the world will receive him, and he will lead them to the Water."
Will had more questions, but Abiaka again cut him off.
"Drink again, William, and again, until all your questions have been answered," he said, tapping his temple with a long and browned finger.
"The Well, dear boy, is not of this world," he said with a smile.
Then he turned and walked down the path, disappearing into the green. Will watched him go then went back into the stone temple. He knelt before the hole, watching the light dance on the water. He watched for a long time.
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Submitted by Thored (user info) at 2005-02-24 01:16:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Bam.
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Hell yes.
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God yes.
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