The Brothers Stone and the Red Buffalo Relic

By Chad Pulver

Brothers unintentionally unearth the Shawnee tribe’s Red Buffalo Relic. Created over two centuries ago, the Relic opens their minds to a power buried in generations of deception, bad luck, and murder. The brothers' dreams connect them to the past and open them to the visions of events yet to come. The Relic binds them to the beast righting the score for a long forgotten grudge. As body count rises, only the brothers know that the deaths are related and premeditated. The Brothers Stone know the truth and must act to before it kills again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chad Pulver
• Release date: Jul 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301417735

Chad Pulver

Working psychologist testing the waters as a novelist.

Book preview

The Brothers Stone and the Red Buffalo Relic

By

Chad A. Pulver

Published by Chad A. Pulver

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013, 2014

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For my sons – Adventure is the product of character and willful acts. Enjoy.

Chapter One

To truly live one must embrace the inevitability of death. The Brothers Stone followed the rules, the wishes of their parents, and believed in the overall good nature of people. Unfortunately, the morning they found the Red Buffalo Relic they were too hot, tired, and sore to listen to the small voice in their heads whispering, Drop it and run.

Caulden stabbed his spade into the dirt and heard an unusual clank. Hours of digging conditions one’s ear to the typical grinding sounds of metal on rocks and soil, but this stood out. It was metal on metal. He pulled out the shovel and dropped it next to the trench. He peered into the three foot deep crevice only to find dark soil. Their home, a house the Stone’s purchased 15 years ago, cradled a south facing deck that baked in the summer’s afternoon sun. The green, pressure-treated boards rested three feet above the ground and created a crawlspace that forced him to stay on his knees. The encased area, a manual laborer’s nightmare, offered only intermittent bright razors of sunlight to split the dark, musty shadows.

He couldn’t see anything in the muggy area, let alone deep into the trench. His right hand braced his weight as he swiped his left hand to the bottom of the ditch. His fingers danced along the dark soil searching for the object. He scooped and pushed the loose dirt behind him and continued to dig blindly. At last, he located the article. He pinched it and traced it with his fingers. He dug his index finger into the soil to outline the object’s hard edge and with each pass pressed harder in an attempt to dislodge it from the earth.

Caulden called out to his brother from inside the trench. Cass, you found anything in here yet?

Did you hit a rock or something? Cassius asked as he leaned back from the trench and rested his shovel on his thighs. He lifted his hat, uncovering his sweat-darkened light brown hair, and wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm.

No. It’s not a rock. It’s thin. Doesn’t feel like a root or anything, but it’s in the shape of one, Caulden said as he continued to deepen the outline around the object.

Let me grab a light. Cass turned and scrambled on his hands and knees toward the bucket full of hand tools. He grabbed the wind up flashlight and scuttled back to his brother. The gears whined in protest, but the faster he spun the crank, the brighter the light radiated.

A silver flash bounced from the bottom of the trench.

It’s metal, Caulden gasped. And not rusty stuff either. Caulden squeezed the thin metal between his thumb and index finger, but released, I don’t want to break it, he said.

The six inch metal piece was as wide as his thumb, but flat, not cylindrical like a tree root. It followed the shape of a sideways U with the rounded end disappearing into the soil. Despite his rapid breathing, he did his best to stay to the task of removing the soil and not grabbing and pulling.

After a few more seconds of digging and wiggling he worked his fingers around the flattened metal. He gently rocked the object back and forth and felt the soil release its hold on the metal. When he pulled the U shape out of the trench the compacted, damp, dark dirt obscured the details.

Is it a horseshoe? Cass asked.

No. It’s not heavy enough. Caulden moved the item closer to the light. He held the object in his left hand, shook off his right glove, and rubbed his fingers on the metal.

I think it’s a spur, he said as he forced the dirt loose from the spinning star at the end prong attached to the middle of the U. He unclogged the prong’s loop and then wiped away the dirt from the tattered remains of the leather strap barely attached to the opposite prong. How old do you think this is?

Cass paused for a second and eyed the spur in his brother’s hand. Our house is old. I think Mom said it was built in the 1890s. It used to be a farm or ranch or something. That looks like the real thing, not one of those 1950s Lone Ranger tin toys. Maybe the farmer or rancher used it. It was buried pretty deep too. Not like it was dropped and then covered a couple of years ago.

Caulden grinned and turned his eyes back into the trench. Do you think there are more things down here? We could excavate the area and find more stuff.

What, are you suddenly a paleontologist? You want to go get your toothbrush and finish this trench with your bristles rather than the shovel?

Come on. You know what I mean. There could be cool stuff in here. This house is over 100 years old, there has to be some more in this dirt, Caulden said. Besides, paleontologists look for prehistoric life. I would be an archaeologist.

Okay, funny man. Need I remind you that we are here because of you? Cass said.

*****

The previous day Kaya Hammon, their neighbor, called Caulden.

What’s up Kaya? Caulden said into his phone.

Caulden, I’m going to be late for work.

His shoulders tightened under the weight of responsibility. Through the window, Caulden saw the green, 2004, Toyota Camry in the drive, I see Cass’s car, but I’m not sure where he is right now. Maybe he can give you a ride.

Can you find him? Her voice pushed and the words barreled out of her mouth. I don’t have time to ride my bike.

I’ll find him. Let me give you a call back.

Hurry, I have to be there at 1.

It was 12:50. Kaya worked at the town’s lumber yard 5 miles north of where they lived. If they left the driveway right now, she might punch the clock on the hour. Caulden stretched his lengthy inseam and descended the steps three at a time. He yelled for his older brother, but heard no answer. He stepped onto the front porch and pulled his phone out.

What? Cass answered.

Kaya needs a ride to work. Where are you?

I’m having lunch with Jeana and Tyson.

Well, she needs a ride to work. Caulden snapped.

Look, I’m not a chauffeur. I’m busy right now.

Where are the keys? Caulden, back in the foyer, opened the wooden jewelry box refurbished to house the family members’ pocket goods as they entered the door.

Relax. They’re in my pocket. I have to work for Dad after lunch…

Caulden ended the call and leapt from the porch steps and sprinted towards Kaya’s house three doors down on the other side of the street. Kaya opened the door at the sound of his knock.

Where’s Cass? Kaya asked turning her head side to side looking for the car.

He’s gone.

What am I going to do? I can’t be late. My parents will kill me. She bit her lower lip and her lower eyelids cupped tears.

Caulden breathed heavily, only in part due to the sprint to her doorstep. The Hammon’s white, Ford Explorer rested in front of the garage. Six months separated Caulden from his 16th birthday, but he decided he was a man of action and not about to let Kaya feel the sting of any repercussions. Where are your parents’ keys?

*****

We’re digging because you did something stupid. I want to get this done and move on with my life. Cassius swept his hand across the dark soil under the deck, I am not going to excavate the whole area to look for some crap in the dirt.

Cass leaned back on his haunches and rubbed his left shoulder. Caulden eyed the house’s field stone foundation and the end of the downspout and drew a visual line to where the drain needed to end. He calculated a scheme to finish digging but still look for treasures.

Let’s dig the whole trench about a foot deep, Cass offered. We’ll do that fast and then we can be more careful as we go down from there.

Caulden smiled and clicked his tongue. He liked the compromise. On it.

The digging resumed with a renewed sense of energy. Each brother carefully angled their shovels’ spades a bit flatter. Too sharp an angle might result in a damaged treasure. The plan to cut the trench kept the chore progressing, but allowed them to search the soil for more articles. They met in the middle and then moved back to their respective ends and took another couple of inches out of the indentation. Over the course of the next hour, they worked their way to the proper depth and uncovered an assortment of items to add to the spur: a conch shell, several pieces of broken glass, an assortment of nails, and a slightly battered clay pot.

I think this is deep enough, Cass said.

Caulden smiled at his brother. They sloped the trench away from the house to force water into the back yard. The drainage pipe dropped easily in place. The sun’s position showed they had worked through lunch and well into the belly of the afternoon, but the brothers pushed to work faster. Their energy repelled the dank shadows and elevated their moods. Each scoop of soil returned to the earth moved them closer to the end of the prescribed punishment.

Caulden crawled out from under the deck, dragging the shovels and remaining drainage tile. Cass followed with the bucket of hand tools and cradled the treasures with his right arm.

Be careful with that clay pot. That mud might be the only thing holding it together. Caulden said.

Easy, Tiger. I got it. Cassius lined the unearthed items on a step. They sat in relative safety as the brothers double-checked their to-do list.

*****

The night before, just after work, Rex Stone, their father, made a routine stop to buy milk and fill his gas tank.

Rex pushed the gas pump’s nozzle into the hole in the Toyota Tundra’s rear fender. The trigger clicked and the gasoline hummed into the tank. James Tanner, the owner of the hardware store and the Stone’s neighbor, pulled into the pump opposite of Rex.

Rex smiled and offered a single nod at his next door neighbor, Tanner.

Tanner’s stocky body dropped from his pickup’s seat and his heavy glasses slid down his nose. Hello, Rex. Just saw your boy a bit ago. In the typical small town fashion, each casual exchange offered the potential to cook the goose of the story’s subject. Juicy information spreads through a town like a virus and some are more susceptible to the illness than others.

The digital numbers flickered as the scent of fuel surrounded him, Which one?

Tanner pulled the paper towels and window washer from the white pillar next to the pump. Caulden dropped Kaya off to work today. I like that Explorer. When’d you get that?

Rex’s face twitched like he took a strong whiff of ammonia. Tanner was busy washing his windshield and kept talking, Mrs. Winter called me and asked to have Kaya to deliver some items. So, trying to be a good neighbor, I went to find Kaya and tell her to pull the things. You know how Winter gets with her favors. He chuckled and continued his story about dowel rods and duct tape.

Rex, a forensic psychologist, organized facts daily. He knew how to methodically close the noose on a wrongdoer. He said goodbye to Tanner and then spoke with Sandra, his wife and their mother. The Stones, sans the brothers, made an impromptu visit to the Hammons’ residence and verified with Kaya’s parents that the SUV was, in fact, available for Caulden to drive.

Rex and Sandra operated with little fanfare when they handled discipline. Sandra coolly informed the brothers that all privileges were revoked until the assigned tasks were completed. She posted the list under the monstrous ladybug magnet on the refrigerator: mow, trim the pine trees, weed the flower beds, remove dead brush, bury drainage tile under the deck. Meanwhile, Rex banged the proverbial gavel by tossing the shovels, rakes, and hoes onto the driveway.

The brothers understood the implicit expectation that, rain or shine, the tasks were to be underway well before sunrise.

*****

The brothers’ sour demeanor when they started their manual labor in the morning’s wee hours dissolved in the mixture of sweet elation, pride, and planning the discovered items’ perfect shelf presentation. They returned the tools to the garage and traded their worn, leather gloves and filthy clothes for shorts and towels. They dropped their muddy boots for breezy sandals.

I‘m tired. I mean, more than I feel like I should be. Cass said as he rubbed his neck.

Me too. That was a long morning. I wish I had more energy.

Ready to plunge? Cass eyed the public green space and river access across the road.

Roger that, Captain. Jager, let’s go! Caulden shouted.

Jager heard the call and sprang to his feet. After hours of lounging in the shade of a century old oak tree, he needed to ready his body. He sent an invigorating shake from his tawny head down to his thin, lengthy tail. He stretched his long legs, yawned, and short, light steps carried him over to the brothers.

Cass plucked the conch, spur, and clay pot from the planks of the multilevel deck. He nestled them into his backpack and squinted the bright afternoon sun. He jumped from the deck’s lowest landing and headed toward the front yard. After a brief jog he stood next to Caulden and Jager. The trio sauntered to the end of the driveway and crossed the road toward the Iroquois River.

Rensselaer, Indiana, a farming community founded in the late 1830’s, while the nation dealt with an economic recession, was the biggest little town in the region. The residents, over the generations, fostered an unusual amalgamation of self-assurance, humility, and hubris. The area’s traditional trade, farming, continued to drive the economy, but their green collar perspective was laced with notoriety. The old timers still paraded the fact that for a few summers during the 1960’s, the Chicago Bears called their town home for preseason training camp.

The local families with roots going back multiple generations saw themselves as practical and self reliant. They didn’t waste their money on things and certainly didn’t want outsiders from Demotte or Remington changing the status quo. Besides, Rensselaer housed the county’s court house, fairgrounds, and the only Wal-Mart. Furthermore, the downtown’s four stop lights illuminated its inarguable advancement in comparison to the dark and drab stop signs from the boondocked hillbillies in those small, surrounding villages.

The Iroquois River’s rapids served as the hub of the town’s early development and Ember Street, specifically, provided instant access to the river water. The street’s Victorian homes, with their gingerbread porches and steep roof lines, opposed the flat-faced, Colonial houses erected on the river’s bank.

The public access point, or Milroy Landing, donned the name of a Union Army general who retired just east of the rapids. His former homestead, destroyed in a fire, was never again developed and the area served as a gathering place for the residents for over a century. The Ol’ Time Festival, family reunions, and hundreds of graduation parties took place at Milroy Landing.

For the Ember Street residents, the Milory estate’s evolution from homestead to swimming hole stood as the children’s number one summer amenity. Cass and Caulden, literally across the street from the lush grass and lazy currents, spent their free hours in the oak trees’ shade and river’s cool water.

The brothers walked across the street shoulder to shoulder with Jager keeping pace in between. Caulden dropped his hand to his thigh and Jager moved his head into the outstretched palm. He patted Jager’s head and tousled his ears. Jager was the brothers’ constant companion. If they were home, he was within eyesight of them. If the brothers traveled anywhere, they did their best to make room for Jager. More than a few family vacations incorporated a vehicle’s cab cramped with baggage so Jager’s ride in the rear was comfortable.

Cass lengthened his generous strides and arrived at the river first. His wide shoulders, recently girdled with adultlike musculature, appeared pale. The dark soil and dust remained stuck to his neck and arms and created the illusion that he still wore sleeves. He unceremoniously threw his towel and backpack on the riverbank and moved to the water’s edge. The water splashed as he waded knee deep in the river.

Caulden unzipped the backpack and Cass turned back toward the shore. Caulden draped his towel on a tree limb and slipped out of his sandals. Cass moved deeper into the current, but kept his eyes fixed on his younger brother. Caulden cupped each item from the throat of the pack and lined them on a large, flat stone. Like a high wire walker, Caulden moved along the jagged rocks to the water’s edge.

Cass, up to his neck in the water, mocked, Aww, are your tootsies too delicate to touch the hard rocks?

Watch it! Caulden snapped. Just because your unevolved, caveman, feet have extra layers of skin doesn’t mean us normal people are delicate. He tossed the conch shell out toward Cass. Here. Make yourself useful and wash this.

Cass let the shell splash in the water and then snagged it before it went under water. He hooked two fingers into the shell’s mouth, held it below the current and scrubbed the stubborn soil from the peach and white, calcified surface.

Caulden held the spur in his right hand as he waded into the river waist deep. He dunked the spur and quickly moved it back and forth. The rush of water forced the clinging dirt off the metal. Satisfied with the silver sheen, he flicked the spur’s spinning star and set it on a flat rock. He snapped up the small clay pot.

Cass lifted the shell from the water and turned it over a few times to allow the water to drain from the internal caverns. The smooth, light pink surface seamlessly blended into the tan and white as the wide mouth curled in on itself.

Cass continued to examine the shell as he called out to his brother, You know, the Mayans used to play these like horns to send signals over long distances. You think I can make a call outside our area code?

Caulden, squatted ankle deep in the water, didn’t hear his brother. His head was lowered and both hands were busy under the water’s surface.

Hey! What are you doing? Cass asked. He swam toward the riverbank and craned his neck for a glimpse of the object in Caulden’s hands.

Caulden’s fingers turned the green, apple sized, pot over in his hands. He palmed the base in one hand and sank two fingers from his other into its opening. He felt rough edges inside of the pot. He ran his fingers across the bumps again and then brought it close to his nose to look inside.

Cass didn’t talk as he walked from the water and positioned himself over Caulden’s left shoulder. Is it staying together? he asked.

Caulden’s lips pinched together at the sides and the tip of his tongue flashed out of his mouth. There are two textures. The outside is smooth and the inside feels rough.

You mean there’s a glaze on the outside and the inside is unfinished? Cass asked.

Well, I’m no potter, but the inside feels like it has something in it.

Cass scrunched his face, pulled his head back and shook it once. Wait. There’s something in the pot?

No. It’s empty, but there are designs on the sides. Caulden pulled the pot from the water and held it out for his brother to see. The pot had four distinct sides connected with rounded edges. The sides flared and then contracted just before the opening curled toward the outside. Caulden slowly rotated the small pot to showcase the broken lip on one side. The crack exposed a V of red terracotta sandwiched between the glazed, green exterior and the tan interior.

Cass pointed at the imperfection. Did that chip happen while you were washing it?

No. The piece was missing when I pulled it from the backpack.

Cass bolted upright and darted up the bank to the pack. Maybe it cracked against the other two when we were walking over here. He grabbed the pack and pulled it open and stuck his head inside like an alligator wrestler proving his bravery. There’s nothing in here.

Caulden, rolled the artifact in his hands, It was really caked with soil. Maybe we didn’t see the crack when we pulled it from the trench. He blew in the pot and the water drops flew back onto his cheeks. He peered into the small opening the size of a watch face. I really can’t make anything out on the inside, but I know there’s something.

Cass walked back to his brother and said, Here. Let me take a look.

Cass extended his left palm out to Caulden, who held the pot with his thumb and first two fingers. Caulden stood and placed the pot on his brother’s palm. On contact with Cass’s hand, an instant surge of electricity radiated up Cass’s left arm, Caulden’s right arm and through their chests. The water droplets on the clay pot sizzled and immediately evaporated. The green glaze pulsed a green light and then flashed bright green.

The brothers’ vision tightened like an optical lens and caused the world to blacken from the outside until it zeroed in around the pot. The brothers’ tunnel vision accompanied a dizzying sensation of falling backwards, but abruptly reversed as a force pushed from behind. The push built momentum while their vision widened. The world swirled and spiraled and thrust them head first into the pupils of his opposite. The brother’s sight became his own. As quickly as the shock began, it ended. The intensity was unmistakable, but the instantaneous changes left each brother disoriented and confused.

Caulden shook his head, trying to make sense of the experience. Did he really just see the pot glow and then feel like he warped into Cass’s head? He decided to ignore the apparent hallucination and stated a more likely culprit. Head rush. I must have stood up too fast.

Cass blinked his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. I feel dizzy too. You know what, I’m hungry and we skipped lunch. Plus, we lost a ton of fluids today.

They both smiled and thought of their mother’s advice before she left for work that morning. She walked to the edge of the yard and took in the scene of her teenage sons’ manual labor. Her hands on her hips, she looked to the sky and surveyed the morning sun. She pointed at each brother, Stay hydrated. The brothers chimed their mother’s words in unison.

The brothers shared a chuckle and turned to gather their articles to head back to the house.

The strange tickle of an emotional impasse bounced in the back of Caulden’s mind. He felt that something was unfinished or left unattended. It reminded him of the game they played while watching movies - trying to remember what other roles the actor had. Cass didn’t appear to be acting different, so Caulden tried to let the discomfort slip away.

Cass blinked his eyes a few more times and transferred the pot to his right hand. He brought it closer to his eyes to gather the details. Well, I can’t see inside very well. The opening is just big enough for a couple of my fingers to fit. He inserted his index finger and ran it against the inside of the pot. Yeah, I get what you are saying. I think there’s something there too, but I really can’t see anything. Maybe it’s just imperfections from the potter or the firing.

Caulden placed the spur and the shell in the backpack and zipped it closed. I kept feeling the bumps in the center on each side and then smooth on the corners. It’s almost like it was designed that way on purpose.

Cass absentmindedly dried his arms and slipped on his sandals. He continued to stare at the pot like X-Ray vision would allow him to view the ridges on the inside. I feel like I’m missing something, Cass said. "Like one of those mind teasers Dad does with us.