The warriors were on their knees looking at Three-Rivers like a bunch of born again Christians that had just been told by their preacher that they were going to receive free cable TV for life! The boy had both of his hands extended as if he were holding hands with two different people, like a kid being led to detention by the school cop and the teacher’s aide—Those were the days, and you thought you had problems then!
The sky above the towering tangle of leafless trees darkened and then a thunderbolt spilt the sky and struck as a fork of light with only two prongs just beneath Three-River’s hands.
Eddie could still not make up his mind if he was actually witnessing an explosion when he saw an event; this being the tenth event he had actually witnessed, which he supposed was some kind of record. No dirt or smoke kicked up. The lightning actually appeared to produce a funnel of nothingness, like a whirlpool of night, for a bare instant, not even a second. Then, there were more naked White dudes standing in front of them.
Eddie stopped observing, no longer taking in what others were doing. He was suddenly overcome by seeing his best friend, who had saved his young life on numerous occasions, but more importantly had accepted him unconditionally as a brother. “Jay-Bone! Whuz up son?”
The man had been looking at Three-Rivers along with Doc, and now turned and nodded to Eddie, that nod he gave when his hearing was ultrasensitive after an event, and he didn’t want to talk.
“I gotchyou brutha; its Quiet Eddie now, at yo service.”
Doc was staring at Three-Rivers in disbelief as Jay bumped fists with Eddie and then stepped over to shake hands with Bruco. Three-Rivers was beaming up at them all with a radiant smile and irradiated eyes, like some bratty superhero from a comic book. “Welcome Healer, welcome Fury. Thank The Beginner that I got your numbers right. I am now Thunder-Boy—still in service to Burnt Man, but in the free-style way without a bossy mother to keep me penned in like a beaver kit in its lodge.”
The boy then poked Jay in the ribs. “Hey you, I’m a biker now too, but my highway is Space-Time you. How do you like that stuff?”
Doc was now observing; apparently concerned about Jay. Jay saluted. “‘Ey Doc.”
Doc nodded in return. “Nice to see you again Stud.”
Jay then looked at Three-Rivers quizzically and put his hand on the boy’s head, tilting it back to look into his eyes. The squirrel, war paint, tuxedo and feathered hat and all, leaped up onto Three-River’s shoulder protectively and clucked menacingly at Jay. Three-Rivers and the squirrel chattered back-and-forth. By the time this conversation was done the boy’s eyes had cooled down to a clear blue, which Doc found as astonishing as the sun-fire eyes he was sporting a moment before. Three-Rivers was unperturbed by how much his transformation was bothering Jay and Doc.
“Fury, Healer, I have eyes like yours now, as should the Magic Boy of Winter. Now, my friends, our Mother Earth People are in the shit called deep and need getting out…”
Three-Rivers gave a situation report and introduced T.T. and Chief RavenSong and all of the warriors to Doc and Jay. The boy then stepped back away from Jay and motioned for everyone to form a circle around the intensely irritated man. Eddie joined the circle next to T.T., seeking his presence for comfort. Three-Rivers then spoke to Jay—who looked very irritated—in three languages: Spanish, Potomac and Cherokee. He then spoke to him loudly in English with a cross-armed squirrel atop his head, “My beloved friend, you are irritated in the way pissed at being called. I apologize, and hope you return to her you so miss with joy. When I found you in the wild in the Time of Grandfathers, WhiteSkyCanoe declared you to be the Fury of The Beginner, and named you DeathSong. He declared us bound; me-to-you, you-to-me. I ask you friend, to honor that bond, and sing us your song.”
The boy now proceeded in a deep story-telling tone as he swayed like a hula dancer with a sleepy looking squirrel atop his head.
“The filthy Spanish assail the Grandsons of Fierce Woman—your very bloodline—over those wooded hills. Their reeking dens pollute the very spot you gifted to them in peace in the cove below, even as they hunt your grandsons. Among these gathered warriors is Three-Arrow grandson of CornMan, the kind Southern Mountain Cousin who aided Three-Rivers and Woe-Tree against their captors and his; the nasty Big Waters. You cruelly slew this man and the sisters of his beloved wife in your unfathomable rage. He has forgiven you your sins, and asks only that you not forgive the Spanish for theirs.”
He now had Jay’s full attention. The man was standing before the boy with an icy look in his eyes, obviously not pleased that he had had been pulled away from whatever life he was living, but also deeply attached to the manipulative young genius that beseeched him like a priest praying for vengeance to the God of War. The boy’s voice had softened and he now danced hypnotically around the now haunted looking man with a swaying squirrel on his head. “DeathSong, Hunter of Warriors, awaken you to your purpose…cleanse the wounded land…lead our brothers to bloody their vengeful hands…”
Jay seemed to be hypnotized at this point, drunk almost. The squirrel then jumped onto the briefcase and began to dance violently, doing flips and pounding the case top with its hind legs even as he snare-drummed with his little clawed hands. Three-Rivers then began doing what could only be a James Brown imitation as he snatched his pimp-cane and hat and danced evocatively around the apparently dazed man, who for once in his life had appeared not to be wired for violence. Eddie had noticed a kindness and a hopeless pang of loss in Jay’s eyes beneath the irritation caused by the event. Three-Rivers, like some devilish little witch-doctor, had apparently now managed to banish whatever uncharacteristic thoughts of peace and love that had somehow infiltrated Jay Bracken’s battle-scarred mind.
Son, Three-Rivers’ eyes are lighting up again, and he sounds like the Grandfather of Soul, and is dancing like a fiend out of Hell! This is some spooky stuff. Look, the Indians are entranced—even Doc is swaying with the song. What is he singing? It is an Indian language—one he must know well.
Three-Rivers stopped and spun violently on his heels before Jay, and then spread his arms wide, cane and hat in hand. His voice was a deep baritone that creaked like wood, a strange soothing voice that Eddie had never heard, as if a tree spoke, “Brother Badwater, Bluebird sleeps soundly among the memories that do not bleed. Leave him and come to us…”
The boy slowly backed up with long stretching strides and then raised his pimp-cane—You know that does look like a real diamond now—and spoke with slow measured tones that seemed to rumble out of a deep base drum, “Death…. Song… Sing… for… Me!”
The boy then slammed the butt of his cane into the frozen ground. Eddie could have sworn that he heard lightning crack right beneath him, but he never would believe it.
“Naw, that shit didn’t just happen.”
T.T. intoned next to him, “No it didn’t. I did not hear a thunderclap just now.”
“Thank you brutha. I thought I was losing my mind son.”
As disturbing as the entire ceremony had been, and as troubling as it was to see the cute little autistic singing midget he had helped run away morph into a pimped-out-teen-age-witch-doctor, the aftermath was even more disturbing. Jay had that look in his eyes he had had back in 33,000 B.C. when he was torturing, and killing, and skinning alive and scalping those Ice Age Dominicans that had been hunting Eddie’s Neanderthal friends. The man’s naked body had become flushed, except for the bullet holes, arrow holes and numerous scars. And, most disturbing of all, the man was packing a porno tool as he spread his arms in ecstasy and glared at the setting sun, and howled-growled-screamed or whatever hybrid monster call he did whenever he had just killed something dangerous.
Eddie could not contain himself. “Yo, could someone strap a rag around Tarzan’s junk. Dis shit be embarrassin’ yo.”
As if understanding, a warrior came forward and placed his own breach-cloth and moccasins on Jay, and another painted Jay’s face with red and black stripes. Three-Rivers seemed unwell and Angh and Doc were pulling him aside, the boy now all but forgotten as the warriors stood expectantly, hanging on Jay’s every action. Jay’s nostrils had been flaring like some rodeo bull. When his face was done being painted he followed some unseen sent through the air over to T.T., then began to sniff T.T.’s jacket and vest.
The big man was uncomfortable. “Eddie, what is he?”
“Brotha that’s an ass-kickin’ machine that’s sniffin’ out the slim-jims in yo vest pocket.”
“It’s not food he smells brother.”
With that T.T. spoke to Jay like he was trying to talk a junkyard dog into not eating him for trespassing—yeah, been there too son—as he opened his jacket and reached within, “Here you go man. I think this is what you want. There you go, nice and easy. Good boy… Good Lord Eddie! Do you have any normal friends?”
The entire crowd looked on expectantly as Jay took the chromed nine-millimeter handgun from the giant’s hand, and then field-stripped, checked and reassembled the piece at blinding speed, while using T.T.’s still extended hand as a work table. As frightening as Jay was at such times, Eddie could never forget the kind-hearted dumb-White-trash dude that he had come to love in a few short months.
“Yo Jay-Bone, dis shit wouldn’t seem so scary if you was a dude dat could actually figure out how ta text on his cell phone—dat shit is amazing yo.”
Hefting the piece, Jay asked T.T., “Jus’ da one clip?”
T.T. nodded affirmative and then Jay tucked the nine in his waistband and walked up to Bruco. The two hairy man-animals then began slapping each other on the chest and face. They then pressed their foreheads together and ground them together like they were trying to push each other over as they growled over-and-over again, “Unleash Hell! Unleash Hell!!Unleash Hell!!!”
T.T. looked questioningly at Eddie and Eddie answered the unspoken question, “Yeah brutha we both gonna be busy tonight. I suppose I’ll be the stretcha beara, en dey sure enough gonna have somethin’ terribal fo yo big ass ta do.”
After the super-macho-psycho-man-love ritual was over Jay sniffed the air and signed to Bruco, who faded off into the woods behind them. He then signed to the Chief and his men spread out after Bruco, leaving the Piscataway guides with them. Jay then nodded to Eddie and T.T. and walked off. Eddie looked at Doc, “Yo Doc, is it okay if I go with Jay. Is Mediaeval Baby Jesus dare gonna be okay?”
Doc sounded like he was already in the operational zone, with not a thing to fluster him. “Eddie, you just let us know where the casualties are. Keep us in the loop so we can stay close to the front without getting overrun. If you have any walking wounded you can bring them back. Be careful.”
“Got it Doc, later.”
