Read Online Dead Americans by Ben Peek - Free Book Online Page B

war, but the will to wage it?
You would do well to watch your words
, Pemulwy said quietly.
Show respect, for you are the one who came here, not I.
    “King [6] has driven us out,” James spat venomously in reply. “Because of you! You and only you are to blame for this!”
    King?
Pemulwy repeated, annoyed, a spark of anger finally igniting in him.
King doesn’t run those towns, boy! The soldiers with rum do! He cannot do anything without their approval.
    “Not true!” James turned to the Eora behind him. “Tell him.”
    “It,” said one, a young woman, “it is true. King has driven us out.”
    “He has done it because of you!” James shouted angrily. “Because of your attacks, your raids, because of everything you have done. King has driven us out!”
    And what would you have me do about it?
Pemulwy returned hotly.
I’ll not bow to the English wilfully!
    “We cannot go back until one of you are dead!”
    Then so be it.
    Angrily, Pemulwy spun away from the young Eora and stalked over to the fire, grabbing his spear. The sudden movement caused a snap of pain to run along his chest, but it only angered him further. This was his land! Eora land! It was their past and their future and no one, much less King, would dictate how an Eora would walk across it.
    Gripping the spear tightly, Pemulwy stalked up to James, who, shrinking back, knew that he had pushed the warrior too far. The warrior who, for all his age, for all his failures, had still been struck down in Burramatta by seven bullets, and when he refused to die, chained to a bed in a hospital, had escaped with the Spirits aid. The warrior who had fought the English from the day they landed, the warrior whose very name caused fear in the settlements.
    That warrior, Pemulwy, said to James harshly,
Do you wish to fight me?
    The young Eora shook his head.
    We cannot fight among ourselves
, Pemulwy spat angrily.
That is how the English will defeat us. If we separate, if we betray our heritage, then they have already won.
    Thrusting the young Eora to the side, his companions parting before him, Pemulwy stalked into the darkness of the bush. It welcomed him and his intent with the comfort and support of a mother.
The Spirit World.
    In the middle of the spiral staircase a door appeared. It was a faded red, and had a long, brass handle.
    Wooden stairs were behind it, but Twain could not make out a way to reach it, without climbing onto the edge of the stairwell, and risking the grasp of the inky darkness. He considered it, arguing with his fear as he gazed downwards, but the disorientation and nausea was a powerful response, and Twain was left gripping the railing tightly, unable to climb it and step out.
    “Mark Twain,” Cadi said after a moment, “we wish to go through the door.”
    Biting his lip, he said, “Why wait to tell me that?”
    “Sometimes, when a man is different, he will go around it.”
    “But not me?” Twain muttered with annoyance, releasing the railing. “I’m just an ordinary man, huh?”
    Cadi shrugged. “Does that bother you?”
    “I guess not, since I’ve got no desire to go ‘round.” Twain grabbed the door handle, and paused. “Still, there must be something about me. Being a celebrity and all, right?”
    “No,” Cadi replied, shaking his head. “A celebrity is just an ordinary man, or woman, given an extraordinary place. I do not understand why, or how, or what even makes other ordinary men and women so fascinated by them. It is beyond me.”
    “I think you just lost me,” Twain replied, leaning his back against the door. “I was almost starting to come around, too.”
    “The knowledge is here,” the Aborigine said, touching his chest, at the place where his heart beat. “It’s locked away from me.”
    Twain shivered, and pushed aside the finger. He was aware, more than ever before, of the stretching emptiness on either side of him, of the frail stairwell he stood upon, and of the fact that there was only one other man