I was picking up a few things in town when I found the business card, just lying on the shelf. It appeared professionally done, and read “Nathaniel McGuire, Aquaman,” with his phone number. Next to it was a piece of paper, apparently handwritten with a quill, with a line of what might be poetry.
Bring that which the Pillager prizes most
From Lake Turcot to Lake Sakakawea.
As I was puzzling over it, my phone rang. It was McGuire. Apparently he had been contacted and given a task and my information. A Game, apparently. Interesting. It had been quite a while – something I didn't entirely regret. Well, I would at least investigate.
Lake Turcot was on the Turtle Mountain Indian Reservation, in North Dakota. There was a town of the same name at the south end of the lake. The nearest airport was in Minot. McGuire was flying commercial, oddly enough, so we agreed to meet there.
By the time he arrived, I had arranged for a helicopter piloted by a flamboyant fellow named Chris Haines to take us to Argus, just outside the reservation. I had also purchased an SUV and arranged for it to be airlifted there, and still had to cool my heels for several hours. McGuire really needed to come up with faster means of transport.
From Argus we drove to Lake Turcot and spoke with the locals. The only thing we learned which seemed at all unusual was that a woman named Fleur who lived at the north end of the lake was reputed to be a witch, and was blamed for all sorts of ill luck. Some said she was the wife of Michenichepoo, the Water Man, the spirit of the lake, and that she had borne his child. It was all rather vague, which could mean that she was clever enough to avoid directly implicating herself, or could mean that it was a bunch of superstitious claptrap. We did hear of one person who visited her, a girl named Pauline Puyat who had worked with her for a time in Argus. And then we learned that Fleur's last name was Pillager.
It would be necessary to hire Pauline as a guide. Assessing her would give us an idea of Fleur's character. For evil may conceal its nature, and may even conceal the nature of its hangers-on; but it cannot surround itself with truly good people, unless they are fools, or in bondage. Thus is it revealed.
With a little trouble, we persuaded Pauline to take us to Fleur's cottage. My impression of her was positive; she seemed benign, and not particularly foolish. I doubted Fleur was evil. But we would see.
It began to snow as we arrived. Fleur was surprised to see us, but invited us to share her supper and spend the night. We accepted. We spoke quietly for a time, and she gave me a dreamcatcher.
It was not truly necessary to know what she prized most. I wasn't going to steal from her, or allow McGuire to do so, but if she came to Lake Sakakawea, she would certainly bring with her what she prized most. Thus, our task was to persuade her to come to Lake Sakakawea. But it was easy to learn that she prized most her three-month-old daughter; a child of rape.
Fleur seemed determined to remain in her cabin. She had never gone further than Argus, and had no desire to do so. We retired for the night with her unconvinced. No matter; there was still morning to persuade her. The best tack would probably be to point out the advantages to her daughter, Lulu, whose opportunities would inevitably be limited if she lived out her life here.
As we were making our beds on the floor, McGuire stopped abruptly. He had heard a branch snap. Quickly we prepared to fight or flee, then went outside to investigate.
A mob, thirty strong, was approaching from the direction of town. Fleur asked if we had led them here. That was an interesting question. We had driven through Lake Turcot on the way. Had they followed? If so, why? They knew where she lived; her cabin was visible from town. Perhaps our questions crystallized a decision, moving them to action against the purported witch – or inspiring them to wipe out the evidence of their crime. Regardless, if we had triggered this, then we owed her a debt.
The underbrush was too heavy for rapid flight; in all likelihood the mob would catch us quickly if we went that direction. The only other choice was the lake. McGuire and I led Pauline, the infant, and Fleur to her rowboat and hurriedly pushed off. Then McGuire began rowing out into the lake as quietly as possible. A mist had risen, and we hoped it would soon conceal us.
Not soon enough. The mob had evidently anticipated this, and had three bark canoes with them. Six men pushed off in them, three paddling while three opened fire. I recognized the town's lone policeman as one of the shooters. I pushed the women to the bottom of the boat.
McGuire continued rowing while I fired at the canoes. I was hesitant to harm the pursuers; though I guessed their intentions, I didn't know for certain. Moreover, the canoes seemed fragile, and with explosive rounds might be easy to disable.
They seemed to be firing at our boat, which suggested that they might intend only to arrest us – though they had not called for us to surrender, or indeed spoken at all. A splinter struck my face, which began bleeding lightly. I continued firing at the lead canoe, and it began to lose headway.
Abruptly they changed targets. McGuire grunted in pain as he was hit. I began firing on the second canoe.
Suddenly pain exploded from my left arm, and I staggered back, stunned.
I looked down in shock at the ruins of my arm. It was shattered, indeed almost severed; I would not be able to use it without medical treatment, and perhaps not even then. But I could fire with one arm. I struggled to bring my rifle to bear.
Without warning, Fleur leaped to her feet. She handed Lulu to Pauline and said, “Take care of her.” Was she speaking to Pauline, or to all of us? Not that it mattered. Then she jumped overboard.
I fought to speak, to act; but my body was still in shock. I seemed to be moving through molasses. McGuire did not slow down. Our boat rapidly pulled away from Fleur, and the gunmen rapidly drew closer. The policeman was in the lead canoe, but he made no effort to apprehend Fleur, gave her no chance to surrender. Instead, he leveled his shotgun at her.
I finally brought up my rifle and fired.
I missed.
His shotgun went off.
My head was spinning as my lifeblood pooled in the bottom of the boat. I fought with the darkness and lost.
For a long time, I was aware of my surroundings only for brief periods. I struggled to wake up, knowing there was something urgent I had to do, but I couldn't retain consciousness for long. I knew I was in a hospital, and little more.
Finally, after an interminable period, I regained coherence, and was able to call McGuire to learn what had happened.
He had handed over the child to Michenichepoo, who had sworn to care for her. What was a lake spirit's word worth? Did it serve God or spurn Him? I would have to hope for the best. There was nothing I could do for the girl now.
We had accomplished our task, but at such a price … too high a price. Is the price always too high, with these Games?
I would keep the arm, but would never regain full function. I could no longer articulate the joints in my fingers or wrist; my hand was useless. I could still fire a rifle, but it would behoove me to learn other methods of fighting, just in case. And I would be in trouble if I needed to climb a rope. Would I survive these Games with such a handicap? No matter; it would be as God willed. I would pay whatever price He called on me to pay, in His service. I only hoped no one else would pay for me, ever again.
But now the guilty must pay for their crimes. McGuire had reported the murder to his contacts in law enforcement, and an investigation had been launched; but now he was refusing to testify. I was disappointed but not surprised. Well, I would testify, as would Pauline; justice would be served. And Pauline agreed to come to Montana to join the church: One more of the faithful to hold the flame against the darkness. Good could come out of evil, and joy from sorrow. Fleur would not be forgotten.
