Bloodstone Found

The tiny golden brown fly settled delicately exactly in the current above the edge of the slate gray stone where he intended, a perfect presentation. Caught in the swift flow, the fly is carried along past the stone where hopefully a good trout waits.

 

From her perch on the maple limb that over hangs the edge of the stream, the Raven watches. Unbeknownst to him, she has watched and has waited. Having connected this wolf-spirit on the Otherside long ago, she had spent long years searching this Side for the spirit that resided within this man. Her task had become more difficult once she had found him. Finally having guided him here to this very spot, her task was about to be completed. There could never be a more perfect opportunity!

 

Patiently, giving the tip of the old six and a half foot split-bamboo rod a little twitch, he watches the fly curl into the eddy. Slowly stripping the line thru his finger, he draws the fly away from the shadow. Another few feet and nothing, suddenly whipping the rod back with the controlled motion of his forearm, he begins to send the line in a long, graceful arc backwards, then forward. With each backward/forward motion he releases another foot or two of line.

 

His target this time is an area of calm water under an overhanging branch just above a large flat stone on the opposite side of the current. Angling his arm slightly to the right, he sends the line forward. The fly lands perfectly three or four feet past the stone. Again, patiently he waits a couple of seconds before giving the tip of the rod a gentle twitch that gives the fly the life-like motion of an insect struggling to free itself from the water.

 

Another few seconds and he gave the rod another gentle twitch. Stripping the line slowly, he pulls the fly a foot or so closer to the stone. Another twitch and still nothing, drawing it closer yet again, the current tugs at the line and begins to draw the fly around the stone. The fly is quickly pulled from sight to be carried underwater and past the lower side. Not interfering, he lets the natural flow carry it for short distance. Still no strike.

 

Deciding the two “brookies” in the creel are more than enough for his meal tonight, he begins cranking the old manual reel and winding the line up. A few careful steps over and around slippery stones carry him into the shallow grave-bottomed shoal. Absent-mindedly he continues to wind as he enjoys the beauty of the view up stream.

 

Golden light from the setting sun reflects from the water as it rushes toward him. A cool breeze funneling down the course of the stream reminding him of the need to gather more firewood before it became too dark.

 

Glancing up as he hooked the barb of the fly over the thin bar-guard on the old reel, he spotted the Raven sitting on the limb not ten yards upstream. Odd, he thought, it sits so still looking in his direction as to watch his every move. Suddenly it dropped of the branch to stand at the very edge of the water. Looking directly at him, she then lowers her beak and begins to peck at something just under the surface of the clear water.

 

Curious behavior for a bird, he thought. The Raven paused, lifting its head and looks directly at him as if to ask “are you paying attention?” Satisfied that he continues to watch she returns to her efforts. Now his curiosity consumes him and he moves toward this strange bird expecting that it will fly away.

 

Stopping two steps away the Raven finally hops back as he approaches but does not fly off. He searches the area with his eyes where it had been pecking so furiously. Probably a water bug or even a salamander, he thought. No insects, nor anything else the bird might eat there, he begins to turn away.

 

The Raven squawks loudly ruffling her feathers and flapping her wings as if she is more than a little frustrated with him. “What is it bird?” he asks, feeling rather foolish.

 

“What are you trying to tell me?” Glancing once again at the area at his feet, he sees nothing unusual. “Now I know I’ve been out here too damned long! Talking to a damned bird and thinking it’s trying to show me something!”

 

Perhaps it was the glimmer of red amidst all the grays and brown or who knows, but something caught his eye as he began to turn. Reaching down he plucked a dark-green stone flecked with vivid red spots from the stream bed. Unlike the water-tumbled, smooth stones this one was rough with sharp edges.

 

Holding it up between finger and thumb he inspected the slightly rectangular piece. Chipped and somewhat rounded on one end while the other was straight, he decided it was an ugly shape. Even more unusual were the veins of deep red. Suddenly the Raven hopped into the air and flew toward the deepening shadows of the forest.

 

He watched the strange bird until it disappeared from sight. Putting the stone into his pocket and glancing toward the sun he saw that there was maybe an hour of daylight left. His simple camp was not more than fifteen or twenty minutes down stream but he would have to hurry so there would be enough daylight to gather firewood for the evening.

 

Though he was at home in the mountains he kept constant attention on his surroundings particularly the ground in front of him. There were an abundance of copperhead and cottonmouths, especially this close to the stream. Too there were bear and mountain lions, and even a few wolves but for the most part they avoided Man. Mountain lions were rarely seen but given the opportunity would attack the unwary.

 

The sounds of the rushing water became muted as he followed a less rugged path deeper into the forest away from the stream. Suddenly he stopped and stood listening. Off to his left from the forest gloom he heard the faint sounds of tinkling tiny silver bells. Or at least that is what he thought he heard. “Damn bird has me imagining things” he says aloud. Another second or two and the sounds fade away.

 

The sounds do not return. Continuing his short journey, he reaches his camp and began the chore of gathering firewood. Fortunately there was an abundance of nearby dead and fallen limbs. At last satisfied with his store of firewood, he kindles a small fire and has the trout baking on top of a flat stone placed in the middle of the glowing coals. As he waits for the fish to bake his thoughts return to the strange behavior of the Raven and his finding the odd stone. Digging it out of his pocket and holds it up to the fire light. Light reflects of the small surfaces that had been rubbed clean against the material of his shorts. Upon closer inspection he realizes that this green stone is probably a bloodstone.

 

Gemstones of any sort were extremely rare here in the Smokies. Still who knew, over the years he had found plenty of arrowheads and pottery shards in the streams and along their banks. Could have been found far away and carried here and lost by some ancient one.

 

Checking the trout he finds it is steaming and beginning to flake apart. With a long stick he carefully pushes the flat stone out of the fire and began eating. Water crest and the blackberries he had found early that morning completed the simple meal. Not necessarily full, but satisfied, he decided a cup or two of “doctored” coffee would be good.

 

Pouring a cup of water from the canteen into the small camp pot and setting it at the edge of the fire he waited. Within a few minutes the water was beginning to steam. Quickly sprinkling a couple of healthy tablespoons of coffee grounds on the surface he sat watching as the water began to bubble thru the layer of coffee. Another minute and he pulled the little pot away from the fire and carefully poured another cup of cool water over the floating grounds watching them sink to the bottom.

 

Satisfied with his work he poured half of the strong brew into the heavy mug. A little dollop of honey and a shot, well maybe two, of JD, he swirled the cup trying to mix the concoction. Content with warm cup in hand he settled back and took a small sip. The first one was always the best! The strong, almost bitter coffee and the bite of the sour-mash, both softened by the honey was just right.

 

The surrounding forest was peaceful; the only sounds were those of the creatures that used the covering darkness to come out and search for food. Relaxed and comfortable he reminded himself that he wanted to wake early with the sun and try the big pools further up the stream from where he fished today. If one believed the old Farmers almanac, the bright full moon over heard meant that the fishing would be good the next day. Soon the first cup was finished and the second one barely begun when he heard the faint chiming of little bells.

 

This time he knew it was not his imagination. The chiming was real! As he sat up he began to listen closely attempting to learn from which direction the sound was coming. Long minutes passed. For a few moments the chiming would fade away only to return again. The sounds seemed to move on a course that was somewhat parallel to the stream.

 

Dain stood, searching the darkness for the source of the chiming. So faint the sound it is difficult to decide. What ever the source, it seemed to call out to him as if it is begging him to follow. Then once again the sound fades away.

 

What is making that sound he wonders? There are many old tales of strange things and happenings up here. The hill people often talk of seeing things that can not be explained. Not a superstitious man, by any means, still he can only wonder at the strangeness of these sounds. Patiently he waits for it to return but finally he gives up and starts to sit. Just as he does the faint chiming returns but this time a bit clearer and a bit louder. The chiming changes, now there is a sense of urgency, a sense of need that cries out for help. Now able to pinpoint the direction and he begins to follow it.

Author's Note

All comments are welcomed

Reviews

[Angel's Lady]

A little dollop of honey and a shot, well maybe two, of JD, -- I'll drink coffee with you any day!

I like this storyline very much and am anxious to read more! I assume there is more, correct?

[Wildfleour]

On to the next one, now that I've got the order straight! :)

Where will the noise lead to..........hmmm......

[ShadowWolf]

I knew I should have somehow indicated the sequence.
The order is:

Lost
Found
Hope
The Plea (yet to be posted)
Awakening (yet to be posted, adult content)

Thank you for your encouragement!

[Diamondjules]

Wow - what an adventure you have penned here - I shall continue on so you had better keep writing my new friend! :)

[Wildfleour]

I would like for you to tell me the correct order to read the "Bloodstone" series. Each piece is wonderful, and stands on its own, but I now see there is a continuity.

[[untitled]]

Well, Ravens are curious birds. My friend, I simply love this series! Love it. There are portions of it that are like coming home. This is one of them.