The Last Handful of Clover - Book 2: Gifts Both Light and Dark

2.53 Ants on the March

June 14, 5:00 pm

It felt like a memory.

Richard didn't know if the old woman had only told him the story, and allowed the vivid details to be created by his own imagination, or if she had somehow downloaded the entire experience to him, the way you'd download a song to your phone. In the end, though, it didn't matter. By the time the last act of the Goshute's demise had played out in Richard's mind, the experience had left him drained and nearing despair. Even as the sound of the horse's hooves receded into the desert and the blood was soaking into the sands, Richard was struggling to bring his mind back to the here and now of the City and County building clock tower.

When he opened his eyes Tuilla was sitting before him, exactly as she had been when he had last seen her. It felt like many hours had passed, and the angle of the sun had definitely changed since he had closed his eyes.

The sunlight on his face triggered his tears, and he wept openly and silently for a few minutes. He wept for the dead Goshute, as well as for the inhumanity of his ancestors. His mother had told him that among his forefathers was not only the Apostle Parley Pratt, but also Brigham's "enforcer" Porter Rockwell. He had read much about his infamous ancestor, and although much of it was likely apocryphal, the man had certainly been ruthless.

Finally, he wiped his tears on his shirtsleeve and looked up at Tuilla. All of the yellow glow was now gone, and she no longer appeared to him as a turquoise star. Now, she was just a withered old woman, sitting in the fading late afternoon sun. Leaning his head back against the cool stone of the clock tower, he let out a long sigh.

"But that wasn't the end of the story, was it?" he asked.

"No. Of course not," she said with a sad smile. "The story still hasn't ended."

"So what happened next? After you and George... died?"

"Just what you would expect. Even though we were the first, like all of us, George and I returned three days later. Almost simultaneously, from what I could tell. Our return was not unlike all the others that have followed. Not unlike yours, or Billy's, I imagine. And when we arrived, we could neither see nor hear each other.

"But you could sense him?"

"Yes. Billy has told you about his connection with the little girl, Mattie. My connection to George was very much like that. It is possible that we accepted our return more easily than many of those that followed, perhaps because the Hereafter was so new. Or perhaps because the Goshute understand that the veil between life and death is much thinner than your people believe."

"So you remembered what had happened right away?"

"Yes. I remembered how we had died, and I knew that something profound had happened to the nature of reality. I sensed that George had formed a breach between life and death. I think of the Hereafter as a blister, like a bubble between layers of skin. George's death caused this breach to appear, and somehow, we had become trapped in it."

"Did any of the other Goshute return that day?" Richard asked.

"No. We were alone."

"And the bodies?"

"It had been three days, but the bodies were still there, including my own. They had been ravaged terribly by the animals of the desert, but strangely, the only body that was completely missing was George. For some reason, the scavengers had been driven into a frenzy for his flesh. They had even carried off the bones. All that was left was a gnawed piece of forearm that extended from under the rock he had dropped. Everything else was gone."

"You say you could sense George? Was he still filled with the rage he had when he died?"

"Even more so. It frightened me, because it felt like a burning sun that wanted to expand and consume everything around him. I'm ashamed to admit that when I returned and felt that madness, I fled from him. I ran away, into the desert."