The Founding of Josiah Turn

By Amanda Salisbury

Josiah Turn knows little about his family’s past and even less about the world outside his mountain home. After a supernatural event kills everyone he’s ever known, Josiah’s lack of knowledge becomes his greatest liability. His second greatest liability resides in the power he now has.

Unprepared for the realities of post-Reconstruction America and unaware of the military’s interest in him, Josiah faces hate, villainy, joy, and purpose in his life off the mountain. But when betrayal unravels the truth behind his past and power, Josiah is pulled into a global plot he can hardly imagine. Compelled home to Appalachia, Josiah must find the strength and purpose to defend the ancient source of his power without destroying everything and everyone else.

Cover design by Melissa Stevens of The Illustrated Author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Salisbury
• Release date: Nov 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9780990928805

Amanda Salisbury

Amanda Salisbury is author of The Founding of Josiah Turn. She is also the author-illustrator of Moon Mail and Star Kisses, to be published by Anaiah Press in April 2015.Amanda lives with her husband and three boys in a lair, a classroom, or a castle, depending on the moment. Her roots extend from Oklahoma to Appalachia and beyond. She enjoys creating characters with voice and heart.

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The Founding of Josiah Turn

By Amanda Salisbury

Book One in The Xyon Chronicles

Copyright 2014 Amanda Salisbury. All rights reserved.

Ebook ISBN-13: 978-0-9909288-0-5

First Edition, November 2014

The text type was set in Garamond.

Cover design by Melissa Stevens of The Illustrated Author, theillustratedauthor.net

Series icon design by Melissa Stevens of The Illustrated Author, theillustratedauthor.net

License Notes

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For my mother,

Pamela Young,

who taught me that words have meaning

Contents

Narrator's Preface

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Part Two

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Part Three

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Narrator's Preface

I am not a writer but by need. When I first began to tell my story, I thought the story could somehow be separated from me. Now I know better.

I have determined to track down all the survivors of xyon experiments and record our experiences. So far as I know, I am the only living descendent of the men, women, and children tortured at Confederate camps. Still, others are known to have survived Incident 1 and Incident 2, remaining on the earth to this day. These Xyon Chronicles may someday provide clues to help a world full of people overtaken by greed for power.

I only hope my story does service to all those who kept me safe, taught me survival, and wished a different life for me. And even for the ones who wished this life for me.

—Josiah Turn, October 1897

Part One

Citizen

Mount Xyon, Kentucky, Appalachia

United States of America

3 September 1888 — 20 September 1890

Chapter One

03 September 1888

I wake with a chill and the dim memory of Mama’s voice chirping, Somebody just stepped on your grave.

The door scrapes. Lights of moon and candle seep inside.

This is my abode. My children sleep throughout the room. Dad’s tight words draw my attention. I squint without moving to see the party at the door.

Willem Turn, General Bryan says. Don’t suppose you remember me.

Should I, General? Dad says.

How’ve you spent these last few days, Willem? I come here and your lovely daughter tells me you’re at the mill. I go to the mill and no one’s seen you. Makes a person wonder.

You have no call to speak to my girl, Dad says.

Why didn’t Sharon tell me the General’s been to visit? I hear her breath in the bed above and know she’s awake. I hope the littles slumber on. Neither Sharon nor I dare interrupt.

Strange, the General says, your Sharon strikes a remarkable resemblance to a woman I once knew.

I imagine you’ve seen more than your share of women, Dad says.

The butt of a soldier’s gun upon Dad’s temple blunts his sass. General Bryan takes Dad by the collar, drags him out the door. Sounds like he shoves Dad into the planked wall.

Was The War so long ago, Willem?

Dad spits. He sucks in air through a gut punch. I make to rise but my head spins. The world gets away from me. I collapse back onto my bed.

The fire coals whip about me, but the corners of my sight blur and wink. Vertigo visions. Since I was twelve years old, I’ve had this thing Doc calls vertigo. It spins me and makes me see things true and false. I shut my eyes to lock out the crazed visions; the key’s no longer mine. I languish under the horrible scenes that rise from vertigo. I see her - Mama - drenched and ashen, just as she looked coming up out of the water that killed her. She often finds me in my sickness. I fight down screams and vomit rising within my chest. I fear her in vertigo, where her form is only death.

You don’t know what you love until you love what you know, Mama says. Her bones gnaw through skin. She is not here, I tell myself though she descends upon me.

When you’ve left a place, never turn back for a treasure, lest you lose yourself, she says. Mama’s hair mats and knots as we spin. I wish to cry and scream and beg and talk with her. I must return to Dad, stand with him.

Safe as pie, Mama whispers. This one used to make me laugh, ‘cause pies live safe from nothing. I don’t laugh now. I only struggle against her. Mama’s eyes sink and grow. She’s upon me. I smell her death.

Life cannot be owned or kept, only used and utterly spent. With this late bit of mountain wisdom, she ferries me out of the vertigo and into unconscious relief.

^^^

My sister’s voice is better than any old rooster for waking me in the morn. I squeeze my eyes against the day as her words jumble in my sleepy head, but Dad’s tone cuts in like a skinning knife.

Now, girl, if I want your brother to know, I’ll tell him.

He’ll not hear from me.

My mind’s churning ways I can corner Sharon later. I still my body so they’ll not learn I’m awake. Memories of candlelight and the General come up like cream.

But he ought to hear it from you. Today, Daddy. Oh my stars and stripes forever! She’s about to catch it. First rule of a happy life: don’t sass Dad.

I’m not putting that on him. He sounds weary. Wish you didn’t know either. Your mama and I wanted you kids to have peace in your young days. We never wanted you lot to suffer our worries.

We’re both old enough to do some good, Sharon says.

You’ll help by keeping to yourself and your work. Watch the smaller ones and don’t let Josiah cross General Bryan. I’ll warn him about the cave, but he won’t hear me.

The house goes still for a piece of time before Dad steps out. I rise and see the house empty but for Sharon.

You missed the others, but they understand, she says. I’m confused why Dad would stay so late at home.

The odor of my shirtfront, wet with sweat and bile, unsteadies me. The full force of my earlier vertigo spell threatens to drive me back to the floor.

Whoa, steady, Josi’. Sharon aids me.

I was supposed to walk the littles to school, I say.

They know the way. I cleaned you up the best I could, but Daddy said to let you sleep a while longer. She offers me fresh clothes and turns her back to let me change.

How much do you remember? she asks.

Was I that loud? I say.

And good thing, too, Sharon says. I called Daddy in and the soldiers let him go.

What was that all about?

She moves to gather some bread and milk for me. How about you tell what you think you know and I’ll say yes or no. This has long been the way my sister and I keep secrets.

Awright, I say and chew a hunk of bread, let me see. General Bryan’s been to see you.

No, she says.

I heard him say so, I push.

I was not who he came for, she says.

That’s cheating your own rules, you know.

She purses her lips.

General Bryan’s been by to see Dad. Dad’s been avoiding him.

Yes and yes.

Dad and the General know each other.

She nods.

They went to war betwixt North and South.

Sharon’s eyes narrow and I think we’re both judging how far to take this. Is that all? she asks.

I shake my head. Dad told you to keep me from the General.

Yes. She seems to be hardly breathing.

You learned something Dad don’t want us to know.

Yes.

I wait for her to maybe give me something, but she doesn’t.

Well, she says, rising to tend the fire, I do believe we’ve no more to say. She must know from my pause that I’m out of ways to keep the game going. I lace my boots. She hums and busies herself. Before I leave, I squeeze her shoulders but she keeps quiet ’til I’m at the door.

Josi’, she says, her voice every bit the warmth of Mama, your answers ain’t with the General but they might be close at hand. Right on the surface, I’d say, if you’ll humble yourself enough to ask.

Maybe I will, sister, I say.

Be sure you bring home the late berries for Tabitha’s cake. Hard to believe it’s been five years, she says. Five years since Tabitha was born, yes. Same five years since Mama died and Naomi lost her legs. Five years since Sharon became mother to all of us - me, our two brothers, and two younger sisters.

Sharon’s more than a year older than me and has ever been the more grown up between us. After Mama passed, Sharon’s the one who’s taken care of everybody. Dad works every moment he ain’t on supply runs. Though she was only thirteen, Sharon kept us all going, especially Tabitha. They took Tabby out of Mama’s belly just before she died.

Reminding myself to take flowers to Mama’s grave after my work, I walk through town without paying mind to anybody. As I face the woods, Dad all but knocks me to my dusters. He catches my elbow and I stand. He’s full of vinegar.

You best not be in the woods today, son, he says, a sharp edge on his words.

Teacher’s expecting firewood. So is the Mercantile. Not cold enough yet for too awful many payers. I’m getting a late start as is.

Dad holds onto my shoulders and looks at me like I’m in a spot of trouble. Stay out of that cave today. I start to pitch a fit about the same old fight, but he cuts right across me. This ain’t about you, Josi’! Your family might need you today. I might need you.

I have to get the wood, I say, trying to suss out his meaning.

I reckon you do. But you get yourself to town and stay put after that. If I need you, I’ll need you in a hurry.

Yessir.

Just give up that dad-blasted cave today. I mean it. You don’t know what could happen.

Tell me then! I say. I ain’t fixing to die like Mama or lose my legs like Naomi! Saying too much, I steady myself against the blow I half expect. He just lets go my shoulders.

Look, you’ll be grown someday and you’ll understand. I’ll be right there to make sure you do. I’ll explain it, every mite, myself. But today is a day for obeying not asking. You got me? Dad’s never looked so old before. I know he hates those woods, my cave. But I don’t. I love them.

I got you. I understand his orders if not his reasons. Some small weight leaves his eyes. Dad walks toward the mill. I’m already so late I decide to walk the school gardens in hopes of seeing Esther Adams at market.

I reckon this day’s gonna be hard no matter nothing. Still, I ain’t seen Dad this worked up about the cave since that fall Mama died. I started hauling wood. I was twelve. Dad was working and traveling. Sharon had our two brothers and two sisters to tend. My hauls were slight in the beginning and I think most people expected me to cut myself in two. One day I fell asleep in a cave I found. Dad, madder than a hornet, tore through the woods to find me. His hollering woke me with a fear for my family.

When we met in the woods, his face changed from anger to something I couldn’t read. By the time he took me in arms, tears fell from his eyes and a thing kin to relief washed over us both. It was the first time we touched after Mama passed nearly six weeks prior. He kept saying, I thought I lost you, too, and I hoped maybe Dad had returned. He hadn’t. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve touched since that night in the woods, and today was one.

He forbade me going to the cave. He condemns every place a person might have a bit of fun. All because of Mama. And Naomi. Dad keeps his superstitions to himself, but I reckon he cain’t stand me tempting fate today.

Like today, five years ago today was the first day of school. During break, Naomi went with some kids her age to pick late berries by the creek. She later said the others dared her to go into the water. From the time we were tots, we all learned that the dangerous creek water could burn skin and poison flesh. But Naomi loves showing off. Kids ran to town for help, said she went to screaming before she was knee-deep. Mama, her belly good and swollen with baby Tabitha, took off toward the creek. I kept to her heels. The screaming was nigh on to deathly.

Mama splashed right into the water and lifted Naomi to shore. How my sister stood so long, I’ll never know. Her legs felt like fire. As we carried her to Doc’s house, Mama stumbled. Sweat poured from her. Then came blood, soaking her skirts, dripping to the ground. She collapsed on Doc’s porch step. Naomi screamed all the while. I thought they all three would surely die. I worked hard not to run flat-out away from the misery.

I sat on that porch for hours. Seemed the whole town passed by, but I only heard the sounds of my baby sister and Mama from behind the door. Sharon and I rocked our brothers, James and Thaddeus. If any of us spoke, I don’t recall. Food came but we didn’t eat. Sometime after nightfall a babe cried out. Sharon was called inside to take Tabitha. Mama was gone before Sharon entered the room.

Except the second he flashed into Doc’s place, we didn’t see Dad until the funeral the next day. Naomi must stay in bed, he told Sharon. We’ll need to say goodbye to Mama for her. When she asks, you remember that Naomi’s legs are going in the ground today, too.

We didn’t see Mama, and I’ve never been sure whether I wanted to. I miss her face. I miss everything good about her. Precious little of her goodness comes in the visions. That we managed to keep both Naomi and Tabitha is no small wonder. Still, I miss Dad. Part of him went in the ground that day, too. His laugh. His quiet joy and love of play, those never returned. He never looked past his own pain to see how much hurt the rest of us feel. That’s what makes me most angry - Mama had to go but Dad chose to leave us alone.

I tend not to think about that day often because anger boils under my skin. On top of that, today I’m plain annoyed with Dad and his secrets. Dagnabbit! Why cain’t I just get through today. After kicking a stump at the back of the garden, which only hurt my foot besides, I sit and watch the boardwalk. Folks mill about the market. I lose myself in the daily rituals. It’s a wonder I don’t jump a foot high when I hear Dad’s voice. He ain’t talking at me.

Jim, I come this close to telling my boy everything this morning, he says.

Why’d you stop? The words belong to Pastor Shoemake.

He’s seventeen, and that’s too young to face this.

Don’t you remember when we were seventeen? Worst year of my life. Now imagine if I hadn’t even known what I was risking by taking another breath upon this mountain. What if you hadn’t known what they expected or what might’ve happened to you or young Virginia?

Dad paces amongst the corn. I sit still as a bird’s nest.

What’s the last twenty-five years been for if he’s got to worry like we did? Dad says.

Shoot, Willem. You and I both know the General ain’t going away. Next to his men, what have we got to protect ourselves? I wish we’d gone down the mountain, all of us, when we still could.

Too late for wishing. Might be too late for… Dad stops short. I want to ask what it’s too late for, but I’m supposed to be cutting firewood not listening through a patch of corn.

You going to the ridge? Pastor Shoemake asks after a while. Dad clears his throat.

Yep. Don’t know what good I’ll be. I just want to see it. Virginia would call me a fool.

Virginia was a wise woman, the Pastor says, making them both laugh.

You stay here in town, Jim. If the worst happens, you’ll be up to your belt buckle in needs. Watch my family, won’t you?

‘Course.

They clasp hands and pause like something more’ll be said but nothing comes. I don’t know what comes over me when I throw myself into the corn row. My heart beats my rib bones. I feel hotter than the sun. Their faces show shock. Pastor Shoemake breaks the moment.

Ain’t you a ring-tailed tooter! His voice booms. Looks like you’ve got a chance to prove Virginia wrong, he says to Dad. He smiles, claps both our shoulders, and says, Don’t be a fool, before entering the market with a loud greeting to nobody in particular.

My heart jumps like a spring frog in my throat. All the more when I look Dad in the eye. I wish Pastor Shoemake had stayed. Dad might be less apt to—

Dad? I ask. He’s laughing. I’m sorry, but I just, well, I just wanted to— I’m thankful he ain’t mad, but this laughing is mighty peculiar.

Josi’, my son, he says, gaining himself, you and I, we’re cut from the same cloth. I should’ve seen you’d sneak about for answers.

I didn’t mean to sneak! I say. Dad wraps his arms around me. I don’t rightly know what to do. We don’t hug. Not in a long time. After a minute, he lets go and laughs once more.

Let’s have a talk, he says. Follow me.

We walk toward the mill then beyond. Dad doesn’t say a word. I’m still so shaken by his hugging, laughing silliness, I don’t know what to say. I hear the falls ahead. The creek froths and roils. There ain’t much further to go along the bank unless we dive into the water. Dad turns to a set of tree stumps that look like a meeting place. We sit and I figure he’ll start lecturing, but he just sits. I look to his face to tell his mood. He don’t look like any feeling I can recall.

If your mama had lived, she surely would’ve known what to tell you kids and when. Without her, I’ve been mostly lost. I could’ve used your help, truly, but I couldn’t risk losing you. I promised her - well, I promised Virginia a great many things, I’m afraid. He rubs his hands over his head. I let him think, though I want to scream: We’re lost already! He seems to think if he left us alone we’d be fine. Truly, we lost our mother and father at the same time.

What is it you know, Josi’? I’m not used to his eyes on mine. I feel bare and nervous.

Just that you and General Bryan know each other from the War betwixt the States and that you’re watching each other. Dad nods, breaks eye contact. He chews on the inside of his cheek when he’s rapt in thought. I’ve caught myself doing the same thing on occasion and hated myself for being like him in any manner.

This mount is sacred, he says. He pauses so long I’m sure he’s decided to shut up. We - your mama, me, and all the others who live in Founding - we protect the mountain.

From what? He returns his gaze to mine. I swallow hard, wishing I’d not spoken.

From everybody. The mount is rich, you see. His pauses gall me. I wish he’d get on with it.

Gold? I ask.

Naw. It’s a piece of earth like gold or coal but much more valuable. It’s called xyon. So far as we know, this mount is the only place xyon can be found.

You’re saying that we sit on the richest mountain on earth, I say, sass leaking through the words. Where’s my mansion?

Now, son, you decide: Do you want what I’ve got to say? Dad sets his face. I nod and bite my tongue.

"There’s no market for xyon. We keep it that way. This is not the sort of wealth we can spend. Our work ensures the safety of mankind from the greed and power mongering of a few. Confederates got hands on xyon during the War. General Bryan was among those Southerners who rounded up slaves, freemen, and poor whites to experiment with the xyon. They tried to build us up into something stronger in hopes of making their own soldiers stronger. The result was a bunch of dead folk. Disaster struck before they had the chance to perfect a formula to use on soldiers.

In our hour of need, the Sugalla, a native tribe on this mountain, they helped a lot of us escape. They asked us to be partners in protecting the land and helped us build Founding. We keep to our land and they keep hidden in theirs. Now the General’s come to harvest again.

Dad picks up a handful of dirt, shakes it through his fingers. I know I ought not doubt him, but I can scarcely sort all he said.

Have you got questions, son?

Questions? Only about five hundred, give or take!

Likely shoulda told you and Sharon together. Took her a bit to get her wits about her. Those of us who bore children decided to keep adult things to adults. We believed we could keep you out of danger and let you grow up naturally, a thing we didn’t all get.

Pastor Shoemake, I say, said he wished we’d gone down the mountain. What did he mean? Why couldn’t we still go down? If these people are as dangerous as you make out, we should get the littles somewhere safer.

Dad’s face shows something I’d forgotten: pride. I’ve hungered for his pride. Somehow, I’ve done more in a couple of questions than in years of working for this family. I should feel happy but I’m just aggravated.

You are a fine man, Josi’. I hain’t told you but I notice. I see how you look after the others. Your firewood customers say only decent things about you. I’m glad to be your father.

You’re scaring me, I say. Not even before Mama passed did I ever hear Dad speak this way. You ought to have told me how bad things are.

I reckon so. You and Sharon both have grown without me being there. I’m sorry, son. Forgive me.

My throat burns. A piece of me wishes to cry and then go fishing with my Dad. But there’s no time. Not today.

Let’s get back to town and gather up the littles, I say, rising to go. My belly ties in knots; I need to see the others before something happens. Dad puts a heavy hand on my arm.

Sit.

No! I won’t sit! What keeps you up here? Our town cain’t fight the General!

Sit down. You need to hear a bit more. Determined not to have my mind swayed, I perch on a stump. "General Bryan cannot be allowed to harvest the xyon. It is powerful, dangerous stuff. We vowed to protect