Ghost

1. The Stranger-3

Jordan dropped to one knee, pushed his son to the ground with his left hand, and hurled the spear with all his strength. The sharp pointed head struck the ong’s chest, the beast wailing and sprinting past before crashing into a tree. The animal writhed in agony as it twisted and contorted on the ground.

“Back!” Jordan pushed off from his son and yanked his knife from his belt.

He waited for the ong’s movement to slow before jumping forward and plunging the blade deep into its neck. Hot blood squirted across Jordan’s hands and arms. The ong released one last wave of breath before falling still. Jordan slowed his breathing and looked at his son. Mud dripped from Henri’s shocked face.

“That was great!” Henri recoiled. “It stinks!”

Jordan nodded and stood. The ong was easily the weight of two men, muscular and great. Two circular holes penetrated the ong’s neck, apparently the result of Jon’s mythical gun. He wiped blood on his shirt. Behind the ravaged path of the wounded ong, Jon stood with his gun in hand and smiled.

The meat sizzled as it rotated over a roaring fire. Flames curled around the ong and sparks twirled into the darkness before fading. Stars beamed above the tree canopy. A bitter wind moved through their camp. Branches bumped and rubbed.

Henri yanked meat off the bone and smiled. “This is great, father.”

Jordan nodded and took a bite. “Could use a few more spices, but yes, it’s good.”

Jon leaned back on his hands and studied the fire. “It’s getting cooler.”

“Yes,” Jordan agreed as he finished a mouthful. “It’ll get colder. The forest will die, the leaves will fall, and the game will leave.”

“How long?”

“Another two weeks, maybe three.” He took another bite. “We really should find more food.”

“Yes, we definitely should.”

“That was amazing what you did today,” Henri said, smiling as he looked at the meat in his hand. “How does the gun work?”

“Henri,” Jordan said as his eyes bore into his son.

Jon leaned forward and finally took a bite. “It’s not really anything special, son.”

Jordan exhaled. He worried about his son seeing such a thing and hoped he could prevent Henri from telling the rest of the village about the gun. After seeing what the weapon did to the ong, it bothered Jordan on a level he couldn’t explain.

The killing had seemed so easy. Jon did not even seem out of breath. Imagine what a dozen guns could do to the village or even a hundred. In tough years, when the winter was especially harsh, and food was scarce, they could convince the other villages to give them food. If they didn’t, they could use the guns to convince them. And then the other villages would steal the weapons somehow. It would be war without end.

Jordan stared into the fire and watched as flames engulfed a fresh branch.

Jon leaned against a tree. “Thank you for today, Jordan. After we bring the ong back tomorrow morning, we will hunt again.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish. I hope you know that. It’s been a pleasure having you.”

Jon looked at him as if he were about to speak, but left the words unsaid. “You two get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

The morning began clear and full of sun. The fire’s ashes still smoldered as they left their temporary hunting camp.

Jon led the way back to the village with Henri close behind, skipping along the path. Jordan lagged, carrying the meat in his satchel. With luck, they’d be able to bag another ong before winter truly hits.

The trek took most of the day. As they neared their homestead, the sun dipped low behind the mountains and cast long shadows over the grasslands.

“I think it’s time to eat,” Jordan said with a smile.

Jon nodded and stepped on the porch, watching Henri playing in the yard. Jordan pulled wood to the fireplace and got to work. Soon, a fire crackled. He stood and stretched. Sleeping on the ground outside used to be easy, fun even. Today, his muscles ached, and he missed his bed. Next time they go hunting, he might suggest they return home after the hunt.

Jordan watched the fire and prepared coffee. Having Jon around is certainly going to make the winter easier. Next time, they could leave Henri to watch the homestead while he and Jon ventured into the mountains for an extended hunt.

Jordan took the coffee kettle off the fire and filled two mugs.

Henri and Jon tossed the ball outside. After handing Jon a mug, Jordan sat on the porch and placed his feet on the railing. Sunlight glistened off the snowy mountaintops. Wind whistled through the railing and he closed his eyes, enjoying the cool air on his face and the smell of the fire.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Jordan looked to the mountains.

Strange, the sky was clear.

Jon clenched his jaw.

“What’s wrong?” Jordan asked.

Jon lowered his head, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “You and the boy get inside.”

“It’s just thunder. Storms come through here all the—”

“No.” Jon handed Jordan the mug. “It’s not thunder. Where are my things?”

The thunder intensified into a constant rush, like the river rushing by during a flood but much louder. A light flickered over the mountains like a star—a moving star.

“What’s that?” Jordan asked.

Jon stared toward the mountains. “It’s them.”

Jordan looked to the sky as the distant star moved closer. “Henri! Go inside!”

“But I want to—”

“Now!”

Henri’s eyes widened as he dropped the ball and rushed inside.

Jordan took Jon to the barn and uncovered the shoulder bag to reveal the foreign objects he’d carried. “It’s all here.”

Jon grabbed the bag, a look on his face Jordan hadn’t seen since his arrival.

“What do we do?”

“Stay inside,” Jon said as he slipped a black garment over his head covering all but his eyes. “Relax, Jordan. Nothing’s going to happen. Go inside and protect Henri.”

His stomach tightened. “Protect him? From what?”

“Just do it.”

Their eyes locked, Jordan opened his mouth to protest, wanting to say he’d stand and fight together, but he looked at Jon’s face and ran toward the house. He glanced back to the barn to see Jon had disappeared. The thunder surrounded the village and a bright light illuminated the ground. Jordan looked up to see a large object with sharp angles hovering over the village. The object blasted a wind stronger than the fiercest storm, sending grasses and ancient trees swaying. The roof from Farmer Bolin’s home ripped away and hurled through the woods. Branches cracked, splintering and falling as the object came to rest on the ground.

Jordan swallowed. A star chariot.

Jordan stood and watched the floating chariot. Colored lights flashed across its surface. The chariot hissed, and white plumes of gas shot into the air.

Spinning around, Jordan rushed into his home.

“Father! What’s happening?” Henri yelled.

“Go back to your room,” Jordan said as he shuffled through kitchen utensils. He pulled out the two largest carving knives.

“Is it the gods? We’re going to—”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Jordan slipped the knives into his belt. He hurried to his son and knelt before him, placing his hands on Henri’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, son. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, you must stay in your room. Hide under your bed and stay there until I tell you it’s okay to come out.”

Tears streamed down Henri’s face. “Father.”

They embraced. Jordan fought the lump forming in his throat. “Now, go my son. I’ll be back to get you.”

Henri looked at his father and then rushed to his room, slamming the door behind him.

The thunder from the sky stopped. Several crackles echoed in the distance, followed by screams silenced. Jordan gasped, his hands shaking. Were gods walking in Ord? Were they coming here? He moved his furniture in front of the door and pulled the curtains over the windows. He peered out the window toward Farmer Bolin’s home.

Four men dressed in dark clothing surrounded Bolin. The star chariot men held long metal objects like spears pointed at the farmer. Bolin spoke with the men and pointed toward Jordan’s home.

The tallest man stared toward Jordan’s home and then raised the long object at Bolin. Lightning flashed from the end of the spear. Jordan shook—the noise startling him even from this distance. A fire erupted on Bolin’s chest. He fell writhing to the ground, blood gushing through his fingers and onto the grass.

Bolin’s son, Tod, rushed screaming from the forest, a shovel raised over his head. The four men turned, their spears unleashing lighting and fire into Tod. The boy fell into the grass.

Jordan ducked behind the window, tightening his grip on the knife. He thought of Henri in the other room and peered over the windowsill. The men continued toward Jordan’s home. He clenched his teeth. His hands shook as he pulled a second knife, this one’s grip still damp with ong blood. He leaned against the wall as a deathlike silence fell across the village.

Footsteps pounded on the front porch. The wood creaked with movement. Jordan held both knives across his chest and waited. Something slammed against the door, and the entire house shook.

“Open up!” a man yelled.

“Let’s burn it to the ground,” another man said with a chuckle.

“No,” a deeper voice said. “Bring the door down.”

After a pause, a small fire burned at all corners of the door. The hinges fell to the floor with a loud bang. The door pulled away to the porch. Furniture slid away like magic, and a man stepped through holding one of the long spears.

Jordan fought back his fear and rushed the man, swinging the knife. He parried Jordan’s first attack. Recovering his balance, Jordan plunged the hunting knife into his neck. The man’s eyes gaped, a gurgling sound bubbling from his throat as he slammed his gun into Jordan’s gut and knocked the second knife from his grip

A second attacker burst through, pushing his dying comrade to the floor. Two more men stepped into Jordan’s home, pointing long, black rods at his face.

“Leave us alone!” Jordan yelled as he clutched his stomach. “We don’t have anything you want!”

The tallest man surveyed his dying comrade with the knife sticking out of his neck. He turned the man over with his boot, shrugged, and fired the weapon into the man’s head. The shot vibrated through the home with a flash of light, the sound ringing in Jordan’s ears as he stared at the twitching victim.

“Look what you made me do,” the lead attacker said as the other men pulled Jordan to his feet.

“Leave!” Jordan screamed. “Leave my home!”

“Oh, we will. Tell me what we want to know and we’ll end your miserable existence. You must be Jordan.”

Jordan sighed and stared at the dead man on the floor, knowing he would soon be joining him.

“Your neighbor was very talkative before he died. He told us you helped a stranger.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Not good at all, my friend.”

Something moved in the back room. The leader c****d his head and the man on the left walked towards Henri’s room.

“Someone else here? Your son?”

“No!” Jordan yelled.

Henri screamed as the man brought him into the living room.

“It’s just a boy, Aton,” the intruder grumbled as Henri tried to break the grip.

The leader, Aton, looked back to Jordan. “If you don’t tell us where the man is, we’ll have to kill both of you starting with your son. I’ll even have Dal kill him in his own bedroom.”

Tears filled Jordan’s eyes as he looked to Aton. “I don’t know where he is. He left here two days ago.”

Aton laughed and nodded to Dal who pushed Henri to the floor, pressing the gun to the boy’s head.

“Now,” Aton said, “tell me the truth. Lying’s obviously not your strong suit.”

Jordan looked at Henri weaping. He clenched his fists and stared at Aton.

“Hello, Aton,” a familiar voice called from the porch.

Aton spun around just as a flash crackled. Blood splattered onto Jordan’s face as Aton fell with a blackened hole in his forehead.

Jordan rolled away, hoping to find his missing knife on the floor. As he bumped against the wall, he watched Jon, clad in his dark clothing, stroll into the room. Dal and the other intruder fired their weapons, shattering the walls. Logs in the fireplace exploded and rolled onto the floor. Jordan flinched and tried to move. He wanted to help, but sat transfixed on Jon.

The man moved in a blur. He weaved through the attacks, spinning and dodging as if he were a god himself. Jordan did not understand how the mythical weapons did not strike him, but they all missed. His home splintered as the blasts tore apart the furniture.

Jon tossed something and rolled. The man in Henri’s bedroom toppled with a knife through his eye. Spinning toward the final intruder, Jon plunged a second short dagger into his stomach. He yanked the knife out and split the man’s throat in one fluid motion. Blood poured onto the floor as the man collapsed.

It was over.

Four bodies littered his home. Henri rushed to his father’s arms. Jordan held him as they stood.

Jon breathed from the center of the c*****e as he stared at the slain attackers, a cold look in his eyes. Henri sobbed on his father’s shoulder as wind howled through the home. Jon and Jordan stared at one another for a long moment. Jon removed his knives from the bodies and stepped onto the porch without saying a word as Jordan used a quilt to stamp out the fire on the floor.

Jon glanced back at Jordan, nodded, and strolled out of sight.

Jordan took his son back to his bedroom. He tucked Henri underneath the sheets and rubbed his damp, sweaty hair from his eyes.

“It’s okay, son. It’ll be okay. It’s all over. Rest now.”

Thunder rumbled, and Henri stiffened. “What’s that?”

“It’s Jon, son. He’s going home.” Jordan stood and peered out the window. The chariot near Bolin’s home lifted off the ground and ascended into the sky. He turned back to Henri. “Get some sleep.”

It took the rest of the day to bury Farmer Bolin and Tod in hidden graves deep in the forest. Jordan dug a mass grave near the Katron for the four intruders. Inside the grave, he placed the four guns and silently prayed they’d never be found. He remembered his horrific thoughts of the villages at war.

On the way home from the river, he ran into Lovick’s son.

“My father and I heard the sound of thunder this way earlier today,” Edward said, “yet the sky was clear. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Thanks for checking on us.”

Edward glanced back to Jordan’s home. “Seems you need a new door. What happened?”

“We had an accident. Our fire had gone out of control.”

“Not good.”

“No.” Jordan shook his head, hoping to end the inquisition. “We could’ve lost the entire house.”

He swallowed, his throat dry. He had never lied in such a way in his adult life.

“Where’s Bolin?” Edward asked. “I stopped by his place first to see what he was up to. He didn’t answer. Looks like something’s wrong with his roof.”

“They were replacing it.” Jordan hesitated. “Last I spoke with him, they were traveling to Iree to do some trading.”

“Trading? Both of them?” Edward frowned. “That’s strange. What for?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Edward studied him before staring at Jordan’s home. “Can I help you with the door?”

“Sure.”

They made their way along the dirt trail toward his house.

“I’d like to meet this stranger,” Edward said. “Is he still here?”

Jordan shook his head. “No.”

“Already gone, eh?” Edward sighed. “Oh, well. Did he go back to another village?”

“Yeah,” Jordan said and peered at the gray sky. “Come on, son, let’s get that door built.”