Fallen Stars Will Guide Us Home

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/googlyeyes93 on 2024-11-16 18:33:28+00:00.

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“Alright, off the wagon. I ain’t taking any animal o’ mine through here.” The rough voice came through my dreams but didn’t quite register. There was a light approaching in my dream, something beautiful, a star maybe? “I said off!”

Pain started in my shoulder and my stomach dropped as I hit empty space. I barely had time to register my dizziness before my fall, I briefly saw the hanging lantern spinning in a rush before I crashed to the damp ground below, taking a face full of grass and soil. I pulled myself up, spitting out dirt and trying to ascertain my whereabouts. Water was splashing in the distance. Were we finally there?

“You’re on your own.” The driver didn’t even look at me as he climbed back up on the wagon, barely giving a thought as he started off and left last words trailing back to me, “If your brother was there he’s probably dead. You do have my condolences.”

Stop. Stop thinking about it. I couldn’t let myself believe him dead. He had signed up without hesitation, leaving me back home with the choice to stay or follow. I felt the twinge of pain in my ankle where it had been broken, keeping me home and apart from him. We had been a team since I could remember, storytellers from the beginning…

I was brought back to the present by a howl coming from the nearby forest. The small port lay ahead, lanterns burning low, barely illuminating the encroaching darkness as their reflection played off the dark river ahead, making eyes in murky water that followed me as I walked. I could see a glow coming off Tybee, dim against the dense forest of the island.

Whether he was here or not, that would be my last stop on this journey. I started walking after grabbing my belongings off the ground, though it wasn’t much other than some dried beef and a canteen in my bag alongside the small bowie knife he had given me three Christmases ago, still shining bright as the day it met my hands. I gripped the cold leather on the hilt as the small tavern overlooking the port neared, hesitating as the hand under my long coat gripped the knife hilt while I pushed the door open.

Sound hit me in waves, as the smell of beer and tobacco hit me harder, overpowering my senses and almost knocking me over like the breakers crashing below. My grip loosened as I moved, stepping into the tavern’s warm embrace. The smell of roasting meat and baking bread overpowered the alcohol finally, and I relaxed my hand on the dagger. There was a friendly-looking girl standing at a nearby counter, filling a glass from a massive bottle of dark liquor.

“Be right with you sweetheart!” She shouted to me, taking the glass over to a table where one man sat alone. He gave her a nod and smile as she walked back to me. First thing I noticed was the blue army coat he wore, buttons fraying off. The second thing I noticed was the massive scar running down his face, only separated by the eyepatch covering what I assume was his now vacated socket. The barmaid was in front of me suddenly, flashing a bright smile and giving me a warmer welcome.

“Alrighty darlin’, you lookin’ for food, booze, a room, or the whole deal?” I snapped back, trying to pretend I wasn’t staring intently at the man. The squalor around us made a decent enough cover as I took a seat at the bar. She couldn’t be older than fifteen and looked to be running this place herself. Don’t know how she managed but she was standing at attention with a hand ready on a spatula behind her, waiting for something on the stove to finish.

“Uh, drink, please. Cider if you have it.” I said though she didn’t catch me at first. I tried yelling it louder when she finally understood me, moving back with a fresh glass from the nearby shelf to a cask at the far end. A soft, pink-orange liquid poured into the glass and foamed up. Peach cider… hadn’t had that in a long time. Not since meeting him here in the city, all those years ago…

Lost myself again for a moment before she handed me the cider, looking expectantly at me for any other questions.

“I need to get over to the island. Do you know if a boat is running in the morning?” I shouted across at her again. I saw her face pale, turning the shade of a new moon. Looked like one of those ghosts in the stories he would tell me…

“Hell, sir. Ain’t nobody wanted to go to the island in years. Not since Sherman at least.” A general hush fell over the nearby patrons when she said that, bringing them to glare at whoever had said the name before realizing it was the girl supplying them booze, overriding their cares about the Union with love of alcohol. “Chamber’s takes people on occasion, but he usually ends up comin’ back alone. There’s still bodies out there that just couldn’t be brought back. My papa’s probably one of ‘em. S’what mama says at least.”

She pointed toward the scarred man in the back, wearing the blue colors that seemed to be so prominent around these parts. I didn’t see many back home displaying their blues out in the open, even back home in the swamps. Hell, nobody wore their grays when we were back in Boston just a few years ago. This guy was either a hero or an absolute bastard and I wasn’t ready to find out. She spoke, even though I already knew what she was going to say. “He might be willin’ to help you.”

I nodded to her in thanks before taking my cider, walking over to the man as he trained his eye on me. I had seen the waters down past Florida once when I was young, where the water was the bluest thing on earth I’d ever seen. That’s what was in this man’s eye as I waded into its unknown depths. He swore under his breath as I approached.

“Dammit, Millie. What?” He asked in a voice like the shale outside was scraping his throat. I saw the beard growing gray under his sunken blue eye now, teeth missing and nose awkwardly cut short at the tip. Two cavalry sabers sat on the seat next to him, uninviting anyone nearby. I took a gulp of my cider before sitting across from him.

“I need your help.” I started out before he waved a hand and cut me off. He took a sip of his liquor, not showing any sign of tasting the pungent alcohol even I could smell coming off of it across the table.

“You want on Tybee? Go fuck yourself.” He started, still training his eye on me before going in again. “I’ve stopped taking you assholes there to ‘survey the land’. You never pay up frontfffffffffffff then you fuckin’ die before you can pay me. The government can either bring in some actual troops to figure shit out over there or just do what Sherman should have and finish his damn march.” He finally left off, taking a deep breath before chugging more of his drink in a quick gulp.

“I’m not looking for anything like that. I need to know if someone was there.” I started in before seeing his face change, from anger to… pity. “Shit…” He sat back in his chair, raising a hand and rubbing his scruffed hair back. He stroked his beard and looked at me, sizing me up. I looked back at him, never moving my gaze from his eye. “My condolences. Who was it, if I might ask.”

It was my turn to hesitate, wondering what I should tell him based on the coat over his shoulders. He must have noticed my apprehension, because he patted the coat fondly before dropping it down his back, letting the tattered grays show under it.

“I ain’t a traitor to the Union if that’s what you’re wondering.” He gave a half-hearted laugh as I eased back a bit in my seat. “No, I picked this off a particularly nasty bastard I had a grudge with, and one coat ain’t keeping me as warm nowadays. I’d stand up so you could see where I took my grudge but we all bleed red in the end. Someone in the war, I take it?”

“I… I know it’s a lot to ask,” I hadn’t expected such a level of observation, nothing I could have ever imagined in this barnacle-soaked coast outside Savannah. I had to steady myself, preparing to tell him the truth. “I’m looking for a soldier, he was-” I bit my tongue almost rather than say it “-is a negro, sir. He fought for Sherman, the last message I got from him was that he was stationed on the island until things were settled. He never came back after…”

“If’n he was one of Sherman’s he’s a brother of mine. I was part of the march too.” He took another drink throwing his head back and draining the glass, “Fuckin’ ceasefire was barely a week old when the stars fell.” “I know he’s probably not alive. I’ve heard the stories about the island…” I started mouthing off whatever I could to tell him I knew the risks. I had to go. “I made a promise. Even just borrowing a boat…”

His face softened as he looked at me. I tried to concentrate my gaze on the cider but couldn’t stop tears from dropping in, making ripples as the cider fizzled. There was a boulder, sitting right behind my tongue and threatening to let loose a landslide if any pebble of a word slid through. “I was there.” He offered up, looking me in the eyes, He nodded as if to reinforce his point. “I know what you’re going to find, but I owe the dead there some respect. If that means bringing peace to one of their friends, that’s a start.”

He stood now, hoisting the two sabers off the other chair and tightening their belt around his waist. He looked at me expectantly, still sitting with my cider and looking at him. I couldn’t believe he had agreed so easily to take me, much less that he had empathy for my plight. If he was out there… he was smiling at me when I entered that tavern.

“I didn’t get your name, sir?” I choked out, at least hoping I ...

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