The Pythagoras Curse Part XX
In Search Of Gerung Brandt

Winding a path through a forest scented of honey and mint I did my best to stay on a northerly course. But heading in the right direction paled in comparison to the small progress we were making.

As we no longer had provisions it became necessary to again delay our travel by way of a hunting expedition.

The forest was overpopulated with queer looking rodents adorned with white spots on brown fur and I was able to shoot four of them before they grew wise and disappeared.

When we halted our travel I fabricated a crude spit over our fire and cooked them. We shared the meat of one and I placed the other three in a saddlebag.

For now, it would be all we would have to sustain us.

Days ago, Long Feather had begun to shiver as if chilled to the bone. A certain sign fever was wracking the young man’s body. If that was not enough to cause concern, the progression of gangrene around the boy’s wound had begun to radiate in all directions. The reddened, swollen blisters reeking of odorous pus spoke volumes.

When dawn broke I changed Long Feather’s bandages then helped him atop my horse. As I had done for many days now, I led the horse, reins in hand, fixing my gaze on the best possible trail through the woods I walked. As I did I let my thoughts travel in whatever direction they wished.

The boy will be dead soon if I am not able to find aid, but it is not his dying troubling me.

It is mine.

Yes, I can bring him back as I have done once before, but then what will become of me? What if by saving him this time I bring about my own gruesome death?

I have cheated death so many times before. It is almost a surety my reckoning will come sooner than I expect.

When Long Feather lost consciousness and fell from the horse I realized we could not tarry further. Once again God had made a decision for me.

Long Feather groaned as I picked him up and carried him to a small clearing. Beads of sweat lined his forehead and sides of his face and yet his body quaked as he continued to shiver.

He opened his eyes and though he stared straight at me I could tell he was having difficulty focusing.

“Shaman, forgive Long Feather.”

“Shush boy. Save your strength.”

“No. I have failed you.”

“You have done nothing of the kind. A valiant warrior need never apologize for the outcome of a battle. You fought bravely son.”

“I am dying.”

I stared at the boy in silence. I could not bring myself to speak words intended to bring him false hope. We both knew he spoke the truth.

“Yes son. You are.”

“And you Shaman, you are afraid.”

I nodded and said, “yes I am. We both understand the gravity of this situation. In order to save you I myself could perish.”

“Then you must go. Find brother warrior. End curse.”

“I cannot.”

“Many moons ago you travel alone then find me. The Great Spirit wills you to be alone now.”

I shook my head but said nothing. Although a young boy, Long Feather had an understanding of someone many years his senior. He had already accepted his death and now his only thoughts were of my survival.

I stood and gazed down at the boy.

“Rest now son. We will make camp here for the rest of the day and tonight. Perhaps your fever will break and you will feel well enough to travel on the morrow.”

Long Feather nodded and closed his eyes. I only stayed with the boy long enough to ensure his breathing was steady then set about tending to my horse and preparing for the night.
['P.G. Barnett']
['Stories', 'Pythagoras Curse', 'Storytelling', 'Fiction', 'Short Story']