On February 22nd, 1836, Jackson Rusk walked out of the Alamo and rode into Rhy"Din.
MORNING
8:00. Colonel William Travis gives his men the news. The Mexican Army is set to march " the freedom fighters face certain death, but only one defects. The rest will stay for freedom. They will stay for honor.
8:15. Joe, a free black lookout spots a bright light in the distance. He runs to the Colonel's office.
8:37. Col. Travis pulls Pvt. Jackson Rusk out of his morning routine. Rusk has impressed Travis with his straight shooting and spotless soul. Rusk is to check out the questionable light, as Travis, Crockett and Bowie believe that it might be an early attack from the Mexicans. Rusk is more than happy to volunteer.
9:40. A hour into the journey, Rusk sees the light's source. Deep in a turned out valley, a unearthly glow emanates from a low white cloud. His horse kicks up dust, neighing that he wants to leave.
"Take it easy, boy," Rusk tells his horse. Tears begin to swell around the equine's eye. "Maybe you know something that I don't."
"He does," a voice speaks from behind him. Rusk turns around, drawing his six-shooter straight at the face of a man. Usually never one to flinch or show his emotions on his sleeve, Rusk is surprised to see his own arm shake.
The Indian medicine man, a face grown ancient with wisdom, leans against a cane of cedar wood and wild flowers. Fresh paint lines cross his face, and his eyes glow white.
"Greetings Texan," he says.
Rusk's horse takes a step back before he halts him.
"Greetings Jackson Rusk," he says, his voice as flat and dead pan, as if uninterested.
"Do you know me, sir?"
"I know that you seek the light below. For this, I have come to warn you, that this was not meant for men to see, nor further to tamper. The gods painted with their brush too rough " the sleeping bird is now awake. Mark it, Rusk, that you shall go no further. Here lies Death. Here lies the Nexus."
The hairs on Jackson's neck spike up, and he feels cotton mouthed. "Sorry, friend, but I have to go down. I have orders."
The medicine man shakes his head. "Beware your honor of man. It means your death."
Jackson Rusk raises the hammer and presses cold steel into the medicine man's forehead. The man is not afraid of such weapons. "Explain what you mean, old man, or hot lead will rip the back of your skull ere you even smell the sulfur burn."
They stand in standoff, both waiting for Jackson's nerves to give.
They don't.
He lowers the gun.
The medicine man raises his cane. "Jackson Rusk, turn around and face the natural death that is your destiny. The honor of man will kill you and your friends, but this is right. This is true." He waves the cane toward the valley and the light. "Death will find you in the Nexus. But this is not the death of man. And in the land you awaken, Earth Mother and Sun Father will not watch your soul. In the land beyond, honor is twisted, and even in the following, your soul may be tainted."
He raises his arms. "Choose, Jackson Rusk. Die at the Alamo and live, or live in the Nexus and die."
The light in the man's eyes glow with the radiance of the sun. Jackson shields his eyes, gritting his teeth from the pain. A strong wind blows, and Jackson opens his eyes. He is alone.
Jackson takes a look at the swirling, otherworldly cloud. In the cloud, he hears sounds, voices, words. He turns back, and in the distance, he can see the wisps of smoke from cooking fires. A somber song rises up from the camp.
A rolling thunder echoes long across the bleak Texas sky. The horse kicks up and holds in a pose. Rain's a comin", he thinks.
A kick of his spurs, and the horse moves towards the valley. He walks slow, the weight of small rocks breaking under its weight. "It's all right, boy," says his owner.
They enter the valley, and tendrils of the cloud float toward Jackson. They tickle at him as the voices grow in intensity. The cloud swallows him up, and his ears are flooded with the sounds.
He breaths, feeling tightness in his chest. His eyes flood with intense light. He opens his mouth to scream, but there are no sounds but the sounds of the cloud.
He whites out. EVENING
He opens his eyes, the orbs like sandpaper. He opens his mouth to speak, but there are no words. His lips crack, and a trickle of blood forms at the crack and slowly winds its way down to a stubble filled chin.
His eyes fighting to focus to his new surroundings, he finds himself on the ground. He turns his head to his right, neck muscles spasm to the task.
His horse is dead. The lifeless eyes are the kindest memorial to the beast, for the rest throws Jackson into horror and disgust. The skin of the animal is completely gone " exposed muscle and skeleton drip with congealed blood that looks as if it has sat for hours. Flies are starting to find their new found meal ticket.
Jackson presses down with his hands and heels and somehow manages to stand. He says back and forth and looks as he will collapse, but by sure determination, he stays standing.
With his skin pale, dry and peeling, peering through eyes red and puffy, and standing on legs that are begging to betray him, he staggers onward onto a cobblestone path. A sign baffles him. It points in two directions. Rhy"Din one way, and Stars End the other. He twists his neck around, and with one focused eye, he realizes that the bluebonnets and cacti have been replaced by different foliage. There is no San Antonio. No Alamo. No friends with whom to fight.
Am I dead" He wonders, and after a moment of contemplation, he is still unsure. Maybe heaven greats you on a deserted road, without a whiskey or beer to dry your throat. Welcome to Paradise " joke's on you.
His boots pound the cobblestone, and he sees the buildings and some citizens passing by. He thinks to himself that the world now looks like something out of a King Arthur fairy tale that his mother, God rest her soul, told him by firelight under the million twinkling stars.
He looks up at the stars and does not recognize the constellations.
Yep. I'm dead all right. Must be.
The patrons on the street take a cursory look at him ? for all that they see, his clothes and mannerisms are a rare form indeed.
He focuses forward and sees a sign, with a welcoming word that he knows all too well. Inn. Things are looking up.
Through his pure will, he raises his arm and presses his hand firmly against the door. He pushes it wide open, engulfing him in brilliant light. The voices! It's them. The voices from the light. The light! Oh that light.
Jackson Rusk, formerly of the Texan Army stationed at Mission San Antonio De Valero, barely misses one date with destiny and finds another; he enters the Red Dragon Inn.
MORNING
8:00. Colonel William Travis gives his men the news. The Mexican Army is set to march " the freedom fighters face certain death, but only one defects. The rest will stay for freedom. They will stay for honor.
8:15. Joe, a free black lookout spots a bright light in the distance. He runs to the Colonel's office.
8:37. Col. Travis pulls Pvt. Jackson Rusk out of his morning routine. Rusk has impressed Travis with his straight shooting and spotless soul. Rusk is to check out the questionable light, as Travis, Crockett and Bowie believe that it might be an early attack from the Mexicans. Rusk is more than happy to volunteer.
9:40. A hour into the journey, Rusk sees the light's source. Deep in a turned out valley, a unearthly glow emanates from a low white cloud. His horse kicks up dust, neighing that he wants to leave.
"Take it easy, boy," Rusk tells his horse. Tears begin to swell around the equine's eye. "Maybe you know something that I don't."
"He does," a voice speaks from behind him. Rusk turns around, drawing his six-shooter straight at the face of a man. Usually never one to flinch or show his emotions on his sleeve, Rusk is surprised to see his own arm shake.
The Indian medicine man, a face grown ancient with wisdom, leans against a cane of cedar wood and wild flowers. Fresh paint lines cross his face, and his eyes glow white.
"Greetings Texan," he says.
Rusk's horse takes a step back before he halts him.
"Greetings Jackson Rusk," he says, his voice as flat and dead pan, as if uninterested.
"Do you know me, sir?"
"I know that you seek the light below. For this, I have come to warn you, that this was not meant for men to see, nor further to tamper. The gods painted with their brush too rough " the sleeping bird is now awake. Mark it, Rusk, that you shall go no further. Here lies Death. Here lies the Nexus."
The hairs on Jackson's neck spike up, and he feels cotton mouthed. "Sorry, friend, but I have to go down. I have orders."
The medicine man shakes his head. "Beware your honor of man. It means your death."
Jackson Rusk raises the hammer and presses cold steel into the medicine man's forehead. The man is not afraid of such weapons. "Explain what you mean, old man, or hot lead will rip the back of your skull ere you even smell the sulfur burn."
They stand in standoff, both waiting for Jackson's nerves to give.
They don't.
He lowers the gun.
The medicine man raises his cane. "Jackson Rusk, turn around and face the natural death that is your destiny. The honor of man will kill you and your friends, but this is right. This is true." He waves the cane toward the valley and the light. "Death will find you in the Nexus. But this is not the death of man. And in the land you awaken, Earth Mother and Sun Father will not watch your soul. In the land beyond, honor is twisted, and even in the following, your soul may be tainted."
He raises his arms. "Choose, Jackson Rusk. Die at the Alamo and live, or live in the Nexus and die."
The light in the man's eyes glow with the radiance of the sun. Jackson shields his eyes, gritting his teeth from the pain. A strong wind blows, and Jackson opens his eyes. He is alone.
Jackson takes a look at the swirling, otherworldly cloud. In the cloud, he hears sounds, voices, words. He turns back, and in the distance, he can see the wisps of smoke from cooking fires. A somber song rises up from the camp.
A rolling thunder echoes long across the bleak Texas sky. The horse kicks up and holds in a pose. Rain's a comin", he thinks.
A kick of his spurs, and the horse moves towards the valley. He walks slow, the weight of small rocks breaking under its weight. "It's all right, boy," says his owner.
They enter the valley, and tendrils of the cloud float toward Jackson. They tickle at him as the voices grow in intensity. The cloud swallows him up, and his ears are flooded with the sounds.
He breaths, feeling tightness in his chest. His eyes flood with intense light. He opens his mouth to scream, but there are no sounds but the sounds of the cloud.
He whites out. EVENING
He opens his eyes, the orbs like sandpaper. He opens his mouth to speak, but there are no words. His lips crack, and a trickle of blood forms at the crack and slowly winds its way down to a stubble filled chin.
His eyes fighting to focus to his new surroundings, he finds himself on the ground. He turns his head to his right, neck muscles spasm to the task.
His horse is dead. The lifeless eyes are the kindest memorial to the beast, for the rest throws Jackson into horror and disgust. The skin of the animal is completely gone " exposed muscle and skeleton drip with congealed blood that looks as if it has sat for hours. Flies are starting to find their new found meal ticket.
Jackson presses down with his hands and heels and somehow manages to stand. He says back and forth and looks as he will collapse, but by sure determination, he stays standing.
With his skin pale, dry and peeling, peering through eyes red and puffy, and standing on legs that are begging to betray him, he staggers onward onto a cobblestone path. A sign baffles him. It points in two directions. Rhy"Din one way, and Stars End the other. He twists his neck around, and with one focused eye, he realizes that the bluebonnets and cacti have been replaced by different foliage. There is no San Antonio. No Alamo. No friends with whom to fight.
Am I dead" He wonders, and after a moment of contemplation, he is still unsure. Maybe heaven greats you on a deserted road, without a whiskey or beer to dry your throat. Welcome to Paradise " joke's on you.
His boots pound the cobblestone, and he sees the buildings and some citizens passing by. He thinks to himself that the world now looks like something out of a King Arthur fairy tale that his mother, God rest her soul, told him by firelight under the million twinkling stars.
He looks up at the stars and does not recognize the constellations.
Yep. I'm dead all right. Must be.
The patrons on the street take a cursory look at him ? for all that they see, his clothes and mannerisms are a rare form indeed.
He focuses forward and sees a sign, with a welcoming word that he knows all too well. Inn. Things are looking up.
Through his pure will, he raises his arm and presses his hand firmly against the door. He pushes it wide open, engulfing him in brilliant light. The voices! It's them. The voices from the light. The light! Oh that light.
Jackson Rusk, formerly of the Texan Army stationed at Mission San Antonio De Valero, barely misses one date with destiny and finds another; he enters the Red Dragon Inn.