No King In Israel: Tales Tell Tales Vol. 1 ACT I

By Marcus Rayshawn

1879, Somewhere out West.

In a land with no king, the wild in Wild West lives up to its name.

For soldier Frank Adkins (infantry) and his comrades life at Fort Laramie was death by boredom. After being stuck inside for extra weeks due to a endless blizzard, they were anxious to leave when they got their assignment. Adkins and the other soldiers stopped at Old Hal's saloon, where they drank themselves mad and in doing so came across a series of murders that have been taking place around them while they were snowed in. This scares them all with the reality they are headed to war and death is nearest.

Meanwhile the story follows another, a young black cowboy, as he was first seen fighting desperately in the pit for money but was quickly discovered to be full of mystery and secrets in this land of bewilderment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781312713925

Book preview

No King In Israel

TALES TELL TALES

Volume I

Act I

Copyright © 2023

Marcus Rayshawn Jenkins

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Marcus Rayshawn LLC, Texas, 2023

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 9 781312 713925

Cover art illustration:

Marcus Rayshawn

www.nokinginisrael.com

In Loving Memory of Farida Jenkins…

11/19/58 - 05/05/2021

CONTENTS

Verse

A Cold Cold Open

The Prophecy

TALES OF EL ROYALÉ

THEY SAY

The Union and Journal Vol. 24 – No. 08;

The Elko Independent

The Union and Journal

SMALL MEN TELL TALL TALES

Verse

¹ Whispers murmur throughout the night settling on the lips of the morning words.

² Past becomes present and throughout images burn into thoughts never to be repeated, but they tell, they always tell; spouting secrets from the secret box, freed and in motion secrets become words, and over time, words become truths inspired by boundless ideas.

³ It is the fear of fear, the anticipation of fear which makes fear unfathomable. Fear is the nameless wretched misuse of imagination skewered through vines of fiction.

⁴ It is said, Those who plow evil and those who sow trouble will reap it.

⁵ For the man that conquers fear, fears no evil including his own. A man who does nothing shares the blame, but he who takes action becomes the likes of those he’d blamed.

⁶ Spectral tales of Good versus Evil disguised as Black versus White. How the hideous accursed can be justified by any tongue which manifests knowledge of it. Tales of men, tales of Gods influence the depth of souls willing to risk their singular mortality for faint odds, for if to be seen in the eyes as deity.

⁷ Beyond the dream, they say; the one who stands last suffers most, then again they say a lot.

A Cold Cold Open

Fort Moab, Utah Territory, 1879

The sun sizzled yoke yellow—the sky was stained with red like faint blood on fresh picked cotton. Trails of heat flickered as they rose from the scorched lands, morphing between the rays of light and pockets of air that steamed like bread hot from the oven as it rose from the ground. Wagons burned tilted on their sides. Businesses, housing and barns fell apart, torched and weakened by the crispy charr. The remaining flames waved the morning hello, unbothered by the moans and wailing from an episode of terror. Smoldering wood and ash filled the air. So much so, the people walked around with their shirts pulled over their faces. Coughs echoed in tune with the earliest birds. Gardens were ruined and fruit fields ripped apart by trampling horseshoes.

The aftermath was fresh but worse than the smoke polluted air was the smell of the dead roasted with all else. Several men gazed upon the ruins of what used to be Fort Moab. For this group of relief soldiers from Fort Laramie, this was the last scene any of them would have imagined.

The group of soldiers arrived this morning to see that the city of Fort Moab was set upon by rebel native warriors the night before. The soldiers walked closely bunched together as they traveled past the arrow slash bullet filled bodies stretched a field across.

This was a massacre, said one of the soldiers.

My God, said another soldier as the group kept walking past all the eyes fixated on them—as if to ask, where were you?

The question wasn’t simply answered and so explaining would do no justice. The soldiers continued to navigate through.

Hey, this way! Yelled a man from yards away. The soldiers turned their heads instantly. Each of them clutched their weapons. The man continued waving both arms with a signal of familiarity until the soldiers started slowly walking toward him.

Wait. Captain who’s gonna watch the supplies Sir? Adkins asked, he was the scrawniest of the group.

Charles—the Captain of the men looked around then commanded, Roswell, Wick, go help the others with supplies, he turned to his left, You three go find freshwater for the horses—you two get a group of able-handed folks to reinforce the gate and ask any questions to find out what happened—then scout the terrain and set a perimeter. Johnson, Marshal, Lincoln and Adkins at my six. Let’s move.

The rest of the group kept walking until they caught up with the man from before. His clothes were covered in smoke scum and black marks striped his face. The man kept walking further and further, then would stop waiting for the soldiers to get in range then walked again. For these soldiers who’d just come nearly a few weeks' ride, this extra walking was usual as they were used to resting being scarce but with the scene on site trust was less scarce. They grew further on edge with every step.

Finally the man stopped walking and appeared to be looking down into a hole. He stood looking into that hole until the soldiers approached closer. He stepped to the side watching closely as the men’s eyes peered down into the rectangle grave-like entrance.

Captain Charles looked into the hole where he saw a flight of stairs. He unstrapped his heavy bag and placed it to the side. He walked down the stairs, everyone was quite nervous—then after a few moments he returned with an inquisitive look on his face. None of the soldiers could figure out what it meant.

Charles shot into action. Marshal, Johnson, my six. You two. Watch the perimeter. Keep an eye on him and one of you two check that girl over there, he pointed, Adkins you do it. We’ll be back.

The three walked away disappearing into the hole. Adkins and Lincoln stood posted with their rifles pointed and sights ready, looking to the horizon for signs of native hostiles, or any odd pairing.

She ain’t gone bite ya, she just a girl, said Lincoln to Adkins, who lowered his sights to look at Lincoln in annoyance, then turned back facing the young woman sitting on the side of a small wood cabin.

Adkins took a deep breath. Here it goes. He had no idea what to say to a young woman who’d recently been involved in such a traumatic experience as this. She was the fortunate of an unfortunate happenstance and from the looks of her demeanor, she was neither raped nor beaten during the raid. Which meant God had her in favor.

Stoically, the young lady sat with her fingers interlaced, swirling her thumbs back and forth—around and again. She wore a previously very nice dinner dress. It was white, with a dark blue crinkle rolled cuff at the bottom, it was tight on the front and the back of the dress was tucked under her—between the pile of logs she floated on top of. The dense textiles and fabrics were covered in trimming—beadwork—puffs and bows were also sewn throughout. This beautiful dress was now covered in blood, her hands were completely stained and her sleeves up to her mid arm were too stained red. But from her calmness it didn’t appear to be from her own wounds.

Adkins sighed, lowering his rifle and tossing it over his shoulder. He didn't want to seem intimidating as he walked toward the young girl with the goldish red hair.

She was unbothered by his presence and continued to look off into whatever world she dreamed of. Her eyes were dry. There were no tears coming from her lashes but her face was moist as the day's sun kept her on the cusps of sweating. The emotionless young woman—no older than nineteen—was as quiescent as Adkins had ever seen. No emotions emitted from her body. She was as cold as ice.

Hey, Adkins waited for a response, Excuse me miss. Miss can you hear me? Adkins asked with grave concern.

He looked back over his shoulder to Lincoln, who was looking back wondering what in the heck was happening. Adkins shrugged his shoulders in response. He knew some weirdness was going on and they needed to find out what. She may have had the answers and Adkins had been tasked especially with this duty.

Charles, Johnson and Marshal had been in the hole for a nice length of time. Lincoln continued to glance in the hole anxiously awaiting a return.

Hey miss, we are just trying to help, but we can’t do that if you don’t tell us what happened. Adkins pleaded.

Noise started to come from the exit grabbing both Lincoln and Adkins attention. They waited eagerly until finally the first head popped out. A sigh of relief went through both of them. With all this crazy the team was back together. The little man was first out of the hole followed by Charles, Marshal, then Johnson.

Stay here, stay sharp, said Captain Charles to Lincoln.

The look on their faces was serious. But neither man's body language gave any clue as to what they’d seen. They said nothing but followed the little man past Lincoln and Adkins to the front of the log cabin. Adkins walked forward a few steps just enough to see past the side of the cabin. The little man pushed the door open with his left hand—the loud door creek was uninviting—while he gave ground to pass as he didn’t seem he wanted to enter.

Captain Charles walked in first, the others followed slowly but tight behind him. Adkins eagerly tried to figure out what must be inside the cabin by the shamed face of the little man, who’s eyes were lowered with his hand resting together.

Suddenly, Marshal came out in a hurry. Adkins' head turned quickly to catch the vomit projecting from Marshals mouth. It was most unexpected. Next, Johnson walked out with his hand over his mouth and lastly Charles followed—-crossing his chest and head with prayers he kissed to the sky. Adkins looked back at Lincoln. Who was less informed and more confused than he was. He could hear the reactions anxiousness grew uncontrollably

Hey what the hell going on? Lincoln asked.

Adkins turned back with no answers. He shrugged again, Lincoln rolled his eyes in disappointment.

Adkins. Lincoln, Charles commanded. Adkins and Lincoln hurried over. I’m gonna need you two to keep an eye on this. No one in until we get back. Got it?

Lincoln and Adkins looked confused as to why he wanted them to guard an empty cabin.

Mr. Baggins here, says he gots some other things to show us around here—and I think we ought to see em.

Adkins turned to look at the entrance to the door. He looked back over at Marshal who was