Page 2 of Red Hawk's Woman

Rutledge shook his head. “I am surprised is all. We are professional archaeologists, not treasure hunters. After all, it was you who lectured me time and time again that the artifacts we discover do not belong to us, that the history we uncover is for all men who would but reach to know it.”

“Aye, that I have. But you must allow me to explain, my friend.” Clark’s voice was weak with frailty, yet stern with determination. “I have little time left on this Earth to tell you what I must. Now please. Sit.”

Rutledge paused, looking highly uncomfortable. Then as though suddenly making a decision, his features became blank. He sat back down. “I am sorry,” he said. “I should not be judging you before hearing you out. I am certain that you must have your reasons for keeping this to yourself. And I will hear them, for you have always been one of the most ethical men I have known.”

Clark breathed out with relief, then sank back against his pillow. “Thank you. Now, I have a request to make of you, my friend.”

Rutledge gave a quick acknowledgment with his head, as though to say he had expected as much.

“It is believed that there are three additional pieces that match this one,” continued Clark. “All of them are legended to be of the same material, quartz with solid gold figures etched within. They are a set, so to speak. Or perhaps I should say they are brothers and sisters. I have only the one piece and I hold it in trust. Not for myself, no mistake, but rather I have held it for a friend who bestowed the thing upon me.”

“But surely you could have told him that it was impossible, if not unethical to keep it and⁠—”

“The man was an American Indian.”

“An Indian?”

“Aye.” Clark nodded. “When he delegated this into my care, he charged me to find the others, for the set belongs not to history, not to me or to you or even to a museum. Rather the artifacts – when you find them – belong to a clan of American Indians…the Lost Clan.”

“The Lost Clan? I have never heard of them.”

“There is no reason why you should know of them,” Clark said. “Now, bend down toward me, my friend, for I do not have the strength to speak up to be heard, and it is important that I tell you a story, the myth that is attached to this piece. Hear it well. For I am about to discharge a duty that I have carried with me these long and many years.”

“A duty?”

Suddenly, Clark clutched Rutledge’s hand. “Promise me that if you accept my challenge, and if you find the matching artifacts, you will not keep them or give them to a museum.”

Rutledge hesitated, clearly troubled.

“Promise me.” Trembling, Clark glared into Rutledge’s eyes.

“Trent, I”—

Clark gasped, heaved, then began to shake. “Promise me, for I cannot tell you the legend until you do.”

Still Rutledge hesitated, while a myriad of emotions flickered over his countenance. At length, however, he capitulated. “Aye,” he said. “I promise.”

At once, Clark’s teeth stopped chattering, the shaking subsisted, and with a long, scraping breath, the elderly gentleman fell back against his bed. And since there was little time left to debate, he began at once. “No mistake, the artifacts must be returned as a set to the Clan, for only in doing so will a powerful enchantment be lifted.”

“An enchantment? You mean…a curse?”

“Aye, a curse. The story I am about to tell you is a fantastic story, an unbelievable tale. And yet I believe it to be true, and no lie.” He stopped, drew in air, then went on to say, “For you see, the old Indian who gave me this piece – and it be many years since he did so – was a man who had seen much in his younger days.”

Arms straight out in front of him, the old man lay his hands, palms down, against the sheets. “This artifact, and the three others that are yet to be found, are very valuable – and not because they are made of gold.”

Rutledge nodded.

Clark glanced at Rutledge, again gestured toward the object, then continued, “You, my friend, call that piece an artifact, because you believe it to be made by a human hand.”

“That I do, right enough. It is carved, meaning that it must have been created by⁠—”

“But do not be so hasty. Examine the piece in your leisure if you must. I have done so, and I do not believe the piece to be made by a human being.”

Rutledge’s mouth dropped open. “But…but that is impossible, no wind or rain or natural occurrence could have⁠—”

“It was not carved,” whispered Clark. “That is, no one man sat and fashioned this statue. The piece that you hold there is one of the Thunderer’s children.”

“The Thunderer? His children?”