A Chapter From the Third Book in the Fading Darkness Series for Subscribers
As the third book in the Fading Darkness series, Winter’s Ghosts is developing into one of the most compelling, and shocking books in the entire series. Set in the winter of 1776, all the characters readers have come to love, and love to hate, are back and fighting to survive one of the worst winters in memory. While blizzards pound the frontier settlements, the people of Dickinson’s Meadow learn there is a new threat of unimaginable horror lurking in the wilderness.
In this chapter, two fan favorites, Henri Thevinin and David Smithfield, are joined by a new character named Statler as they make their way to the site of a brutal massacre. Only one of them knows what they will find.
Chapter 12
David was always awed by winter’s sunrise in the Alleghenies. Gusts of arctic wind washed over the ridges and created waves of crystalized ice that blew across the untrodden snow, submerging everything in a bitter, unforgiving cold. When light passed through the airborne crystals it created flashes of color, like those in a rainbow, that disappeared as quickly as they came.
Statler had taken them west through the Spotswood Gap, into the high mountains that divided the Shenandoah from the New River and Greenbrier Valleys. The trail was steep, and the horses’ heavy breathing formed puffs of condensation around their snouts. In places, snowdrifts reached the animals’ forearms and gaskins, and as they huffed and snorted, ice formed around their nostrils. David worried the freezing air would damage the horses’ lungs, but the animals never faltered and pushed forward without missing a step, climbing until they reached a saddle between two high peaks. Once the trail leveled out, both riders and mounts relaxed and cut through the deep, powdery snow, with relative ease.
No one spoke, and the silence provided David time to think. He thought of Agatha, Dickinson’s Fort, John Dickinson and Robert Connolly. He thought of mustering the militia and preparing for the campaign season. But mostly, he thought about the trapper who was guiding him deeper into the wilderness.
Statler remained an enigma. His bearskin coat, long grey beard, and crudely fashioned trapper hat gave him the appearance of a primeval creature, half man, half animal. David watched him sway in the saddle, in rhythm to his horse’s stride, at one with both the animal and surroundings. Occasionally, Statler would reach out and grab a handful of snow from a low-hanging branch and toss it in his mouth, ignoring the icy residue it left on his beard. He seemed to be impervious to the cold, part of the wilderness. A predator. A perfect manifestation of the old wolf who lives where young wolves often die. Statler was a survivor, and survivors were dangerous to those around them. They made hard choices during life-or-death situations. They did things other men would not do. In all of David’s time in the militia, no one had ever shown up at Dickinson’s Fort, in the middle of winter, with a burlap bag full of human heads. But Fergal Statler did just that. And he did it in such a casual manner that made David wonder if Statler had simply been desensitized to violence or was completely mad.
On cue, as if he was listening to David’s thoughts, the old trapper turned his head stiffly and smiled, his yellowed teeth barely visible through the ice and beard. David nodded and they stared at each other for a long moment before Statler, without looking forward, ducked below a low-hanging branch and laughed as he proceeded down the trail. David pulled up on his reins to create some distance between himself and the guide. Henri rode up and stopped beside him, and David heard the distinctive click of the hammer on Henri’s rifle as it lowered to a safe position. They looked at each other without saying anything and knew they were both thinking the same thing. The old trapper could not be trusted.
An hour later, Statler paused in a narrow dell and sat his horse as David and Henri caught up. He pulled a flask from inside his coat and took a stiff drink before offering it to David.
“No, thank you,” David said. Henri just lifted his hand and politely waved the flask away.
“Suit ya’selves,” Statler said as he gulped down another drink.
“How far are we from the massacre site?” David asked as he pulled out his canteen, shook it to break up the ice, and took a long drink of water.
Statler spit on the ground and looked as if he was thinking deeply about the question, “I reckon fifteen more miles.”
David nodded, “Have you travelled this trail often?”
“Aye, a half dozen times every year.”
“You seem very familiar with it.”
“Aye,” Statler said as his horse took half a step forward and sniffed at David’s gelding, “Arbuckle’s Fort, Remick’s Fort, and Donnolly’s Fort are all within a few hours ride from this trail. I make my rounds to each of them at least once or twice a season.”
Henri rested his forearm on the pommel of his saddle, “Do you live nearby, Mr. Statler?”
Statler looked at Henri a long while before he responded, “I had a wife and two sons once… a little homestead near Fort Minear. But the Shawnee killed ‘em all and burned my cabin and barn to the ground.” He leaned his head back and did the math in his head, “That was in, ah, let’s see, ah, ’56.”
“Twenty years ago?” David asked.
Statler looked at David out of the corner of his eye, his head still held up like he was thinking, “Aye.” He reached into his coat, pulled the flask, and took another drink, “Time be a merciless bitch, eh?” He saluted with the flask, took another drink and put it away.
“Is there no place you call home?” Henri asked.
Statler turned and looked at Herni, “Nah, I ain’t been wantin that life for some time. Brings back too many bad mem’ries. Too much loss can break ya.”
Henri nodded but did not reply. David tucked his canteen back in his saddlebag and pulled his scarf up around his chin, “I am sorry for your losses, Mr. Statler.”
Statler looked at David out of the corner of his eye once again, “Aye, Cap’in. Kern’t be helped.” He cleared his throat and looked up at the sky, “It might be gettin’ to snow later on. We best be travlin’.”
Statler rode on without waiting for approval from David. They made their way through the gap and began a long decent into the New River Valley. David knew this place well. He had helped his father guide settlers and militia units there, but it had been almost two years since his last trek through, and the deep snowpack made everything unfamiliar and unwelcoming.
As Statler predicted, it began to snow later that night and a strong wind from the west picked up. Still several miles from the massacre site, they decided to take shelter in a large cave that both David and Statler knew well. The cave opening was more than fifteen feet across but just barely tall enough for a rider to dismount and guide a horse through on foot. Inside, everything opened-up, and the ceiling formed a dome that was nearly twenty feet tall at its highest point. Jagged stalactites hung overhead. A Karst Spring flowed from an underground river behind the cave’s rear wall, and in warmer weather, the constant flow created a dull roar that echoed around the stone chamber. The noise earned the cave its Shawnee name, the Place of the Angry Bear.
Light from the low opening showed that the entire interior was covered in ice. Statler gathered firewood and built a fire on a sandbar that rose up out of the ice like an island in the middle of the chamber. He helped David unsaddle and feed the horses and arranged the saddles in a circle around the fire. After stoking the flames, and gathering more wood, they watched as Henri chipped ice from the spring at the back of the cave and mixed it with stale potatoes, dried venison, and salt in a small pot. By sunset, the three travelers were sitting comfortably, warmed through, enjoying something that approached venison stew. Later, Henri produced a small kettle and made coffee. He passed each man a tin mug full of the strong, dark brew.
“Thank ya, Mr. Henri, there,” Statler said as wrapped his hands around the mug and gently blew on the contents. “I have ta say, this might just be the best camp I’ve had in a while.”
David nodded and admitted only to himself that, despite the purpose of the expedition, he too was enjoying himself. Even though he was still suspicious of Statler, and could not fully relax because of that, it was good to be away from the fort and Dickinson’s Meadow. Based on Henri’s look, he suspected Henri felt the same way.
The three sat quietly and drank their coffee. They watched intently as the flames and hot coals forced moisture out of each piece of frozen wood when it was tossed on the fire. Steam mixed with smoke and wafted into the stalactites above, passing through cracks and unseen openings in the cave ceiling.
Each man cleaned his own plate and made sure his gear was stowed properly. Statler went to relieve himself at the cave opening and quickly returned to the warmth of the fire. He covered himself with his bedroll and leaned his back against his saddle. Similarly situated, Henri and David watched the old man get settled and comfortable.
“How long do you think it will take us to get to the massacre site in the morning?” David asked.
Statler titled his head from side-to-side as he thought, “Providin’ it don’t snow as deep as a horse’s arse, we should be there by midday.”
“What will we find?” David asked.
“Nothin’ be good,” Statler replied, his eyes locked on the fire once again.
“I would like details, Mr. Statler,” David said politely.
Statler looked up, “Ahh, but are you checkin’ my them bona fides, there Cap’in?”
David demurred slightly, “No, I just want to know what we might be riding into.”
“Ah, young sir, there ain’t nothin’ left alive on that hilltop. No need fearin’ anythin’, specially in this weather.”
“I would still like to know what you saw.”
Statler exhaled, “Well, truthfully, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. Blood, pieces of bodies everywhere. Everythin’ cut up. Guts thrown every place.” He paused for a moment and slowly shook his head as he repeated himself, “I ain’t seen nothin’ like it.”
“How were they dressed?” David asked.
“They be naked. No stitch a cloth anywhere.”
“Did they have any equipment or personal items?” Henri asked.
“Nope, they were’s absent of anythin’ like that.”
David nodded slowly as he tried to visualize the scene, deciding to not ask Statler if he was looking for evidence, or stripping the dead when he searched the bodies, “Were there any tracks or signs?”
“None. Course, I didn’t go trapsin’ through the woods lookin’ for trouble. After pullin’ them noggins from the trees, I skedaddled.”
David looked into the fire and tried to make sense of the scene Statler described. Whoever ambushed the supply detail left the scene that way to instill fear. There was no other explanation. He had fought and lived beside the Shawnee his entire life, and though they were often cruel and barbaric, they usually reserved ritualistic torture and mutilation for other Indian tribes. Granted, there was a war on, and that could explain a change in tactics, but this went way beyond decisions on how to wage war. It takes a special kind of person to behead a man. A cruel man. Someone who took pleasure in killing and maiming. As he thought about who would do such a thing, something so blatantly barbaric, David’s mind kept returning to one name. He exhaled deeply, tossed a small splinter of wood in the fire and looked at Statler, “So, who do you think attacked those men?”
Statler raised an eyebrow and looked at David as if he was being tricked into saying something he shouldn’t, “Well, Cap’in, if I am be’in honest wit’cha, I’ve thought long about it, and I hadda tell you, I just don’t know.”
“Really?” Henri asked. “No ideas at all?”
“No, sir. Not really.”
David leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, “Not really? You have been out here on the frontier for a long time. Do you not have a guess?”
“Well, that be just the thing,” Statler replied, “I have been out here on these trails a long time. I seen men, women, and children burned alive. I seen all kinds with their heads bashed, specially babes barely outta their mother’s wombs. I seen stabbin’s, tomahawkin, gunshots, throats sliced, and drownin’s. I seen people buried alive, left to freeze, and even boiled.” He paused for a long moment and took another drink and looked deep into the fire, “I even seen what’s left of a woman after she was given the worst a man can do to her. But with even all that, I never seen man or animal, torn and skinned, hangin’ like apples waitin’ to be plucked from a tree.”
“Of all the evil cruelties you just listed, it seems to fit in perfectly,” David said.
Statler considered David’s words and again tilted his head side-to-side as he thought, “Not like this, Cap’in. You be havin’ to see it for ya’self.”
“I have seen many of the same things as you, my friend,” Henri said, “and all of them by the hand of the Shawnee, Huron, or Iroquois. Their ways are barbaric.”
Statler spit into the fire, “I’s no friend of them savages, but this thing here we talkin’ about. I just ain’t witnessed it in my life.”
David stared into the flames and thought. After a long moment, he looked up and spoke with quiet certainty, “We are looking for Robert Connolly.”
Henri met David’s eyes and nodded at the truth, “Yes, he is the one.”
Statler looked back and forth between them, confused, lost in the significance of David’s proclamation, “Who the bloody hell is this Robert Connolly, bein?”
“He’s an assassin who tried to murder many of our people last year,” David replied. “I searched for him for months but found no trace. He is a ghost.”
Statler started to laugh when he heard the word ghost but thought better of it when he saw the seriousness on Smithfield’s face, “Well, he sounds like a right type of evil bastard. How bought us hunt ‘em down and rid the world of ‘em?”
David nodded for a few moments before he stood and stretched his arms wide. He held his hands up and let the fire warm them, “You two get some sleep. I’ll keep the first watch.”
“Aye,” Statler replied.
Henri went outside and brought back enough firewood to last the rest of the night. He tossed two thick logs on the hot coals and laid back down on his bedroll, his back to the fire. Statler pulled out his flask and took two stiff gulps. Before the new logs had fully caught, both men were asleep, and David was alone with his thoughts.