The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff by Lane Heymont Page B

Crispus was jawing about? Then those who’d died...Rayford, La’Rita, Lafayette, Wardell, Elle Mae, and only God knew how many more were murdered back in Allenville. They couldn’t die in vain . The mantra in the 79 th Colored Infantry. During the war, not a single man went AWOL—they were freed slaves or free Northerners fighting a war for an entire people. Those who died... they couldn’t die in vain .  
    The Pharaoh’s Staff brought the Klan to his small town, and caused too many deaths. Jeb needed to see whatever Verdiss planned wouldn’t happen. Whether it was to get wallpapered drunk, or wage some world war. He’d stick the Grand Dragon like a pig and watch him bleed out. Jeb slouched down and closed his eyes, trying to ignore Crispus and Fallon chattering about what was to come.
    ***
    Jeb paced inside his tent, nervous and sweaty in the Louisiana summer heat. Rufus rummaged through the equipment on his bed, muttering about his bayonet. Major Lydell Jones had called an eleventh hour assembly as he always did before a battle. He despised bummers, they’d end up in working the skirmish line—defending the company as it moved into battle. A death sentence.
    â€œLet’s go. Let’s go.” Jeb kept his eyes to the ground, unable to face Rufus. “It’s gonna be my fault.” The soldier’s mutterings flowed around Jeb like a whirlwind. A conversation he’d had years ago—familiar yet in the background of his thoughts. “It’s my fault you died, Rufus.” Tears dripped from his eyes. Rufus asked him a question, but the words were too far away to understand “I’m sorry. I should’ve taken better care of you.” Jeb stopped pacing. He tried to fight what was coming, but guilt forced him to his knees. “Forgive me!” Jeb meant to face Rufus, but even in his dreams he couldn’t. The young soldier stood at his side. Jeb avoided his gaze like the Tennessee.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Rufus change in a moment. Moses Noitavlas. “Not your fault. Not theirs.” Jeb felt that soft, uncallous hand on his shoulder. It was a child’s hand, one who’d never worked a field. “Forgive yourself. Forgive them.”
    â€œI don’t know how.” Jeb buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t do right. Look what them crackers did to us,” he sobbed.
    â€œYou’re already dead . . .”
    Warm sunlight caressed his skin. Then pulled his eyes open. Bird songs floated through the air to the music of whooshing water. Just a dream. Guilt’s playing tricks on me. Those boys are dead. Jeb sat up and rubbed his eyes.  
    â€œWhat’s going on here?” He scratched his bristles, looked out the window. “Good lawd!” They were at the crest of some cliff, who knows how high. And there, looking over the edge like curious children, stood Crispus and Fallon. Waiting to fall any moment. Jeb leapt from the buggy and stormed over. He yanked both away from the ledge. “Y’all are gonna fall to your deaths.” He pushed past them. Then gazed down at the Mississippi River surging south on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. “Shit.” There must’ve been several dozen men bustling about like grazing cattle.
    â€œGoblins.” Crispus pointed down. “They’re digging for the Pharaoh’s Staff. They will find it eventually.”.  
    â€œNarce and his men,” said Fallon, his voice bitter. “Since they couldn’t find you, they went right for the staff.”
    â€œBut I have a plan.” Crispus turned to Jeb.  
    â€œNow what?” Jeb counted the Goblins. Too damn many. Forty eight, or eighty four? Twenty-nine?  
    â€œThis.” Crispus held out the tattered, green cape. “We will sneak down and camp just far enough so they don’t see us. When the Klan finds the staff, one of us will creep in unseen and steal