Date: Wed, 14 Jan 2009 22:09:52 -0800 From: Tom Creekmur Subject: The Way Of The Heron - Part 6 * * * The Way Of The Heron By C. T. Creekmur Prequel 6 Never Too Late * * * Author's warning: This story depicts men performing sexual acts upon one another that immature people might find shocking. If graphic depictions of sex between men upsets you, or if you are under 21 years of age, then DO NOT READ THIS! - go read something else! Please understand that this is a work of fantasy and fiction, set in a time when safe sex was unheard of. It is not intended to provoke or promote promiscuity or abandonment of common sense where sex is concerned. Especially in this day and age. Though historical personages are mentioned, none of the principal characters are based on real individuals and any similarity to such is coincidental. This story is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. Historical Note: This story happens in the far southern reaches of the heron men's lands, in the wilderness just north of Crater Lake, in June of 1865 And now, on with the story! * * * A buckskin clad rider came to the crest of a sparsely wooded ridge and paused to take in the view. As his keen black eyes swept the area, they lighted on an old, ramshackle cabin. The man wondered, recalling certain extraordinary dreams he had recently had. He turned and beckoned to his companion, who spurred his horse up to the spot. "What is it, Wiscoup'a? Oh!" the shaggy brown haired and bearded white man exclaimed at the sight of the cabin. "That's what I saw in my medicine dream!" "And mine as well, Trev." "Did a heron men build that cabin?" "I do not think so. Most of our brothers live further north, in the valley drained by Heron Creek. I know of none who live this far south. Some might seek medicine visions here in solitude. Or they might hunt here, as have I on ocassion, but I have never seen that cabin with my waking eyes before." "I wonder if that's Crooked Creek." Trev pointed at the stream that snaked past the cabin. "Why?" "Have you ever heard of the hermit of Crooked Creek?" "Ah, yes... I recall the Wasnai speaking of a white man who lives all alone somewhere in these hills, north of the great caldera. What have you heard?" "Only that an old prospector was holed up there. He'd come into Fort Klamath once a year, pay for his supplies with gold dust, and disappear back into the hills to the north." "Hmm." Wiscoup'a rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I guess we ought to go and have a closer look at that cabin. From everything you've told me so far about the Way of the Heron, I suspect the spirits of the Elxa wouldn't have shown us this place if it weren't important." "Yes." Wiscoup'a glanced at Trev. "I am glad you agreed to this detour." "I can wait a few more days before I meet Falling Star, and," he grinned, reaching out to caress Wiscoup'a's bare shoulder, "I don't mind the extra time spent in your company!" "I too find your love sweet, Tulun," Wiscoup'a murmured, speaking the name Trev Barker had been given by the guardian spirits of the heron men. "And I would welcome more of it." The brave reached out to stroke Trev's beard, enjoying the look of longing in the man's eyes. Falling Star had dreamt of Trev and sent Wiscoup'a south to Fort Klamath, where he had met his new brother. As the Elxa brave guided Trev to the valley of the heron, the white man had drunk in everything Wiscoup'a had to teach him, the stories of the heron men and their history, like a man who had found an oasis in the desert. The difference in himself that Trev had felt so keenly all his life and kept hidden from the world was now validated, vindicated, celebrated... The love the pair had shared as they journeyed to the home of the heron shaman Falling Star had indeed been strong and satisfying. Then Wiscoup'a urged his horse down into the little hollow the cabin was situated in. Trev followed. They approached the cabin slowly, uncertain as to what they might encounter there. Two mules were grazing unconfined and peacefully near a big cottonwood tree; they gave the two riders the most cursory of glances before returning unconcernedly to their meal. The men noticed something in the tree's shade. Dismounting, Trev investigated and found a grave. The wooden marker was worn by many years of weather, but the name carved into the board was still legible. "Ezra York, 1819 - 1859, Good Pard," he read slowly. Trev raised his eyes to Wiscoup'a. "Are we too late?" "I do not think so." Wiscoup'a looked around again. "I see signs that someone has been here recently. I shall check the cabin. Will you see to the horses?" "Sure." Trev staked their horses under the big cottonwood, where the grass made good grazing. As he did so, Wiscoup'a went to the cabin. His eyes saw more signs of human activity. An old stump that served as a chopping block stood not far from the front door. A hatchet lay abandoned beside the stump along with some kindling. The ground was oddly scuffed as if something large and heavy had been dragged over it. The marks led to the cabin door. Wiscoup'a went to it and pushed it open. He scanned the interior. He took in almost all of the small cabin at once. And he just as quickly realized there was someone lying on the bed that stood against the far wall. He cleared his throat, but there was no response from the prone form. Wiscoup's went to stand by the bed and look down at the old man who lay there. His clothes were disheveled and it was clear he had dragged himself onto the bed. Placing a hand on the man's chest, the native felt the dull thud of his heart. The man's eyes snapped open. "Who're you... " he wheezed. "My name is Wiscoup'a." "Well, injun, you got the drop on me... can't move to fight you or get away... I'm glad I've got no scalp worth the takin'... I'll deny you that satisfaction at least!" "I have no wish for your scalp, or to harm you. What is your name?" "Jasper... Blalock... " "My brother and I shall help you, Jasper." Wiscoup'a began by starting a fire in the stove. When Trev discovered what was going on, he brought in the rabbits he had shot earlier that day and cut them up for soup, after helping Wiscoup'a make Jasper more comfortable in his bed. The old prospector was a bit surprised to see Wiscoup'a's 'brother'; he had expected to see another native. In a little while Wiscoup'a was coaxing Jasper to sip some warm soup. The old man soon found it easier to talk, but that was about all. He had no feeling in his legs and could barely move his left arm. It was obvious the heron men could do little more than they were doing. "I was chopping stovewood outside when I got this sudden weakness all over my right side," he explained. "I managed to drag myself in here and into my bed, but... " With difficulty, Jasper took his left hand and shook his limp right arm to show them he was helpless. "That was the other day... Didn't expect anyone would find me... " "Are you the one the folks around Fort Klamath call the hermit of Crooked Creek?" asked Trev. "Yeah, that's me... Listen, I know I'm dyin'... Will you two do something for me?" "Of course. We will do whatever we can for you, Jasper, if it is in our power." Wiscoup'a soothed. "Be sure to plant me next to Ezra. I already made my marker, see?" he managed to point with difficulty. The pair saw another wooden board. Carved on it was 'Jasper Blalock, 1818 - 18__' "I made that awhile back. You'll have to fill in that last part for me." "Was Ezra your pardner?" "The best I ever had, Trev. After he died, I thought about tryin' to find another pard like him, but I just knowed that was impossible... It's been six years and I still miss him... " Trev and Wiscoup'a looked at each other. "Ezra... " Jasper breathed, closing his eyes. In his weakness he fell into a waking dream, reliving the past and speaking of his friend without really knowing. "I loved that red headed guy from the first day I laid eyes on him, back during the big gold rush days in Californee... he felt the same about me, too, though I didn't know it then... We was each afraid of scarin' the other off... " Jasper tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough that shook his wasted frame. "We tried workin' a claim together and did all right as far as findin' gold went... But the tension of always bein' together, wantin' to touch but afraid to in case it ruined our pardnership, wore on our nerves until one day we got into an argument... "I can't remember what started it, but I remember Ezra called me dumb, the dumbest guy he ever met. I told him to take it back. He refused and I went for him... We fought for two, mebbe three hours. God, he was tough. I was too, when I was young... We ended up on the ground, holdin' on to one another, bloody and exhausted. I think we both passed out.... When I woke up, it was dark. Ezra was still out, so I carried him inside our cabin, stripped him and put him in our bed, then I got outta my clothes and joined him... I went back to sleep at once. "Sometime in the night Ezra woke up and figured out what I'd done for him. Then he woke me up to apologize, all powerful sorryful for callin' me names and sayin' what a good pard I was, the best, for not leavin' him outside in the dark for the varmints to eat... I told him he was the dumb one if he thought I didn't know how to look out for the best pard I'd ever had. When he heard that, he started to cry and said he loved me, and I cried and said I loved him back and he kissed me and, well, we sorta was a couple after that... "I loved Ezra as best I could for ten years. We wandered into Oregon durin' that time and found a little gold in Crooked Creek yonder, enough to make us decide to put up a cabin and stay awhile... it was a good life... we got just enough gold to pay for each year's worth of supplies... it was just him and me here until Ezra caught a fever and died in my arms. When I put him in that grave yonder I felt like gettin' in there with him and pullin' the dirt in over both of us... "Shoulda done it... Would've been better to end it there than live all the lonely years that followed... " The old prospector opened his eyes as his mind came back fully into the here and now. "What was I sayin'?" "You were talkin' about Ezra," Trev managed, moved by what he'd heard. "Here, try to finish the broth." Wiscoup'a urged. "It's good," Jasper agreed as he took another spoonful. He noticed the stone pendant the native wore and was puzzled. "What's that you're wearin' Wiscoup'a? I swear I've seen that mark somewhere before." "This is the sign of my tribe, the Elxa." Wiscoup'a paused to look at Trev, who nodded. "We are also known as the heron men." "You are real... I'll be damned... " "No you won't, Jasper. Men like us go to a place so beautiful you can't believe it. Ezra's there now, waitin' for you, I'm sure of it!" Trev blurted out. Wiscoup'a laid a hand on his companion's arm. "My brother is new to the Way of the Heron, and the newness of it makes him eager to share it with you. You are a man like us, Jasper, of our special nature. The spirits that guide and protect our tribe knew of your need and brought us to you; I am sure they will remain with you and guide you as well." "Mebbe... but I can't help thinkin' that it's too late for me... " "No, Jasper, it is never too late for love." Wiscoup'a murmured. "Let me tell you a story while you eat... " Wiscoup'a told tales of the heron men while he fed Jasper. The stories outlined the beliefs of the Elxa, the potential power in the love of men for one another. Wiscoup'a told of the spirits who were attracted to and nourished by the shared love of men, good spirits that guided and protected all man-loving men. "Huh! So you say those spirits guided you to me?" "They did, yes," nodded Wiscoup'a. "I was guiding Trev to see our shaman, Falling Star, and we both had medicine dreams, showing us your cabin, so we went to look for it." "I'm glad you did... Now I can die in peace, knowin' I'll be planted next to Ezra... And if your story is true, I'll see Ezra again... I'd like that, I surely would... " Jasper stiffened as a spasm shook his weakened body. "Oh... that hurt... " Jasper saw Trev wipe tears from his eyes. "Don't cry for me, young fella... Accordin' to you, I'm goin' to a better place... And Ezra is waitin' there for me... " "I am glad I knew you in this world, Jasper," said Wiscoup'a, squeezing the old prospector's hand. "Mebbe I'll see you again... in one of those... medicine dreams of yours... " Something happened then that Jasper could not figure out. He just suddenly seemed to be standing beside the bed, next to Wiscoup'a and Trev. He looked at his body lying in the bed and wondered. Was he really that old? He tried to hug the two heron men, but the sensations did not feel right; in any case, Trev and Wiscoup'a did not seem to notice Jasper's hug. 'Of course, I'm a spirit now.' Jasper thought, looking around. He expected to see one of the heron men's spirits, but except for a subtile glow surrounding everything he could see, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Jasper went to the door and automatically reached for the handle. He laughed as his hand passed through it. He went through the door. He felt another barely perceptible shift in things and looked around. His cabin had changed. It no longer looked as if the next strong wind would blow it over, but like it had soon after he and Ezra had built it. Had the inside changed too? Jasper tried to go through the door again and bounced off. Rubbing his nose in surprise, he opened the now solid door and wondered at how nice and orderly everything was. Wiscoup'a and Trev were gone. Thoroughly puzzled, Jasper scanned the area and finally caught sight of another person. A lean young man with a long reddish beard and hair the same color was kneeling at the edge of the creek that snaked past Jasper's home. His back was to Jasper and as the old prospector approached, he saw the guy was panning for gold. And he was doing quite well. Bits of gold from the size of a grain of rice to that of a marble seemed to be plentiful in the gravel of the streambed. But how could that be, frowned Jasper. He knew this creek; it had been years since gold in any great quanity like that had been found in it. Not since the days he and Ezra had come there... Ezra... Jasper looked at the man manipulating the pan again. Recognition belatedly came to him. It was Ezra! Not like Jasper last remembered him, old and wasted by his fever, but young and strong, looking as he had when the pair first hooked up years before. "Ezra!" Jasper cried happily. Ezra looked up at Jasper with a disgusted look on his face. "It's about damn time you got here!" he cussed. "I thought I'd be workin' this creek by myself forever! Lookit these riches! Get down here and help me!" "Ezra, I can't work any more. I'm too old." "What?" Ezra scoffed as he got up and went to Jasper. "C'mer. I been waitin' a long time to do this... " Ezra grabbed Jasper and kissed him the way Jasper remembered. Jasper responded at once, his lips and tongue working, tasting Ezra's taste again, sparking a familiar fire deep in his loins. "Yeah," Ezra breathed, feeling Jasper's tool hardening in his pants, "That's something I've been waitin' a long time for too. Let's go over there," he nodded towards a colorful native blanket that had appeared, spread out on the grass under the sun. "I wanna hold you again, Jasper, make love to you... " "But Ezra, I can't... I told you I'm too old, I get tired too easy. I wish I could... " Ezra shook his head. "I said it before and I'll say it again: Jasper Blalock, you are the dumbest guy I ever met!" "If I was a young man again like you, I'd make you take that back, Ezra York, you sidewidin' snake!" Jasper flared. "I'd pound you so hard... " Ezra swung and connected with Jasper's jaw. Taken off guard, the impact sent Jasper into the creek. Ezra laughed as Jasper floundered in the shallows. "You?! Pound me?! That's rich!!" "Ezra York, you yellow-bellied skunk! You oughta be ashamed of yourself, strikin' a man old enough to be your grandfather!" "Jasper! Stop this 'old man' foolishness! You ain't an old man!!" "Are you blind? Look at me!" "Look at yourself!" returned Ezra, pointing at the water. "Holy... " Jasper managed as he caught sight of his reflection. Tentatively, he reached up to feel his head, not bald anymore, but covered with a thick growth of black hair. His beard hung as long as Ezra's, no longer white, but black and glossy. The skin of his face was smooth... in short he was young again, apparently the age when he first met Ezra. "How... " Jasper marveled, looking at his lover. Ezra waded in and offered his hand, pulling Jasper up. Ezra kissed his lover again. He sighed. "Do I really have to spell it out for you, Jasper, after everything Wiscoup'a told you?" Ezra gestured out around them. "This is the spirit realm, where men of our nature go after we die. And we don't go sick or maimed or old, we go in the peak of our mature strength. I can't tell you how glad I am to see you again, Jasper, lookin' just like you did the first time I laid eyes on you and fell in love with you. We can make love again now, Jasper, just like we used to." "Yeah?" "Yeah. C'mon... " "Wait." "Huh?" It was Ezra's turn to be caught flatfooted by Jasper. One fist slammed into Ezra's gut and the other struck his jaw. Ezra hit the water and it was Jasper's turn to laugh as Ezra floundered a bit. "You didn't think I was gonna let you get away with punchin' me like that, did you?" "No, I suppose not, knowin' you." Ezra rubbed his jaw through his ruddy beard as he spoke. "I forgot how hard you can hit." "Even now?" Jasper asked, eyeing his partner cautiously as Ezra got up. "Sure, Jasper. I apologize for knockin' some sense into you." "Hmm. I'll let that pass... for now." snorted Jasper as he threw an arm over his partner's shoulder and gave him an affectionate squeeze. "But Ezra, I still don't understand what you were doin' when I first saw you. I mean, it looked like you was pannin' for gold, but since when do spirits need gold?" "That'll take a little explainin'," Ezra began, lifting his pan to show Jasper. "I'm not pannin' for gold." "Looks like gold to me," returned Jasper. "It's sorta what they call an allegory... " "Huh? Since when do you use words like that Ezra?" "Since I got a little education from the others who live here." "Others? Where are they?" "We can go meet them soon enough. I thought you might want to be alone with me awhile after you got here." "Oh. I do, Ezra. I surely do." Jasper punctuated those words with another kiss. "Go on with your allie-gorry." "Well," smiled Ezra, "think of how there are good folks and bad folks in the world, doin' good deeds and bad deeds. Now even bad folks do good deeds once in awhile, but usually those good deeds don't do anything to make the bad folks better, so they get lost." Ezra stirred the contents of his pan with a finger and nudged a marble-sized bit of gold. "Our job is to find them... " Jasper looked at the gold. "So that's some bad guy's good deed that got lost?" "Touch it." "Oh my," Jasper muttered. As soon as he had done as Ezra asked, he caught an image of orphaned children joyfully receiving new clothing and shoes, the result of a rich miser's momentary lapse into humanitarianism. He looked at Ezra. "What do you do with it?" He grinned. "Is there an assay office in the afterlife too?" "Some of the spirits the heron men honor come by every now and then to take away what I find. I don't know what they do with this, but knowin' the spirits, I know they're doin' something good." "Huh! So... do we have to get to work right away?" "No. Time doesn't really seem to work the same way here as we're used to. We can start whenever you're ready." "That might be awhile... " Jasper kissed Ezra again more insistently and urged his partner towards the blanket in the sun that awaited them. All the half-forgotten, sweet feelings Ezra aroused in Jasper were in play as the men doffed their clothes and lay down together. They went slow, reliving that first time they had shared themselves, the joy of discovering their love, now rediscovering it. Jasper gave a thought of thanks to Wiscoup'a as he sank into Ezra's love for him again. The native had been right. It never was too late for love. * * * THE END * * * of Never Too Late the 6th prequel to the series 'The Way Of The Heron' by C. T. Creekmur Copyright (c) 2009 by Charles T. Creekmur "All Rights Reserved" submitted to www.nifty.org 1/14/2009