Morning Star

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30 The Journey Of The Three

Morning Star

Randy Mixter

Copyright © 2012 by Randy Mixter
All rights reserved.

Morning Star is a work of fiction. Any similarities between this work and persons living or deceased, places or incidents, is purely coincidental.

Electronic book design: Sarah E. Holroyd (
http://sleepingcatbooks.com
)

The flower known as The Morning Star has been extinct for many centuries. Most researchers are torn as to the validity of the plant's existence. Some believe the stories, others dismiss them as folklore. 

The flower was said to grow in clusters and  bear a similarity to the common rose except for two distinct features. It was almost twice the size of a mature rose and its petals were dark blue in color.    

The Morning Star was thought to be discovered and worshiped by the Maya empire on or about 900 AD, if their hieroglyphics were any indication.  The Maya culture believed the flower had mystical powers while in full bloom. 

In later writings, legend has it that the flower could only be found by those with the purest of hearts.

Perhaps the most interesting story is that of Richard the Lionhearted at the end of the third crusade. It is said that upon his return to England, he told of finding a field of flowers the darkest of blue in color. He claimed to come across this place while wandering outside the city of Jerusalem in the year of 1191. 

Seeking solitude after the battle of Arsuf, he came upon a split in the earth, a seemingly bottomless gorge. On the far side of the gorge was a magnificent land carpeted with blue roses. From his mount the garden seemed endless. 

Richard told of being so mesmerized by the sight he decided to rest there at the schism's edge. He slept through the night, waking at the break of dawn to the sound of his steed neighing. A mist rose from the gorge, beyond which the sky was a charcoal gray. He saw a bright star in the distance. A star so bright it lit the field of flowers in a brilliant glow. 

Richard knelt in prayer and when he again opened his eyes the star had vanished. In its place, directly opposite him, a horse had appeared. It raised itself on its hind legs to announce its presence, and as it did so all the flowers around the beast blossomed instantaneously. Richard prostrated himself upon the earth, his arms around his head, muttering in prayer. When next he looked up, the horse had vanished and the flower buds had once again closed. 

Certain he had witnessed a miracle, he mounted his steed and returned to his encampment. It is unknown if he told his fellow knights about his discovery. Most believe he kept this secret to himself until his return to England, and when he related his story at that time he named the flower The Morning Star.

Thus the legend grew, from the Maya culture to the 1500s. There were several reports of sightings over the centuries, and it was said that miracles sometimes occurred afterwards. 

The last recorded observation of the flower took place in the year of 1581 by Galileo in a field outside of the university of Pisa where he studied medicine. In his writings he spoke of seeing many roses of a striking blue color. Much like Richard the Lionhearted before him, he remembered seeing the flowers bloom in unison on an early morning; a spectacle never to be forgotten, he wrote. He also wrote of witnessing a horse wandering through the field, a horse of an extraordinary deep blue complexion.  

There are no recorded sightings in the years that followed, and The Morning Star has now been relegated to the status of mythology.

1

The afternoon sun settled like dust on the empty Arizona plain. A Gila Monster emerged from the dry sagebrush and looked to the south. The lizard had not eaten for many days as the heat had driven his once abundant food supply of insects, and the larva they provided, north past the great barrier of water where the earth softened and life flourished. 

The lizard was old, its scales rough and faded from the sun. It would not make the journey to the barrier. This home would be his last.

The hard ground vibrated beneath the worn pads of its feet. Normally this would have been a good thing, a sign of food nearby, but the old lizard knew different. 

It turned its head to the south. Something was coming from that direction, small but getting large fast. The Gila Monster cowered down until it's thin belly touched the hot clay. The ground began to shake. Small pebbles bounced and jiggled in front of him. It dared to look south again.

The animal was on him in a second, then past him in a blur. The old, tired reptile had never seen such a creature before. It ran on four legs, black with a long mane of the same color blown about by the pace of its flight. Its nostrils flared and its muscles rippled and glistened in the mid-day sun.

The reptile saw the creature nearing the crack in the earth, the barrier that separated the two worlds. Did the beast know of the crack? It would never make it across, for the hole in the earth was too large. Only the creatures of flight knew what lay on the opposite side. The lizard felt sad. Such a food source would have fed him for weeks. Now it would rest on the rocks deep in the abyss.

The creature grew smaller, small enough for the cloud of dust in its wake to obscure it. But it never broke stride and when it reached the very edge of the crack in the earth it leaped and rose high in the air. 

The lizard watched in amazement as, for the briefest of seconds, the body of the beast blotted out the sun before it gained traction on the opposite side. Soon all that remained were small dust devils spinning in the hot dry air. 

The Gila Monster had seen enough for the day. It slithered under the meager shade of the sagebrush and waited for the coolness of the night. 

2

Nate Walker rode the southern perimeter of his ranch checking the post line for damaged strings of barbed wire. He did this every Wednesday, no matter the weather. At one time he and his father rode the perimeter together. He looked forward to that day each week. It was
their
time, just the two of them. It was a time to bond and maybe tell an off-color joke or two, safely out of range of his mother's ears. 

Now, since his father had died,  the weekly check had become a chore. Nate, on his mount Betsy, circled the outer bands of his horse ranch in silence, looking for signs of damage. He carried a coil of the wire in a canvas bag looped across Betsy's saddle just in case. 

The fence line consisted of wooden posts spaced fifteen feet apart. Four rows of barbed wire strung tight at eighteen inch intervals lay between them. It was enough to keep out the larger predators, and that's all Nate really cared about.

So far he'd been lucky, just two casualties in five years, both cows, both by wolves. He no longer bred cows, gave them up a year ago along with most of his chickens. He was a horse trader these days, and had nearly one hundred roaming the one hundred thirty five acres of his Freemont, Arizona ranch, The Rising Sun. 

Betsy, who could gallop the perimeter in her sleep, stopped and snorted; never a good sign. It was odd to see a wolf during the day, but they were always out there, watching and waiting. Hunger knew no time of day or night, and wolves were always hungry.

Nate pulled the Winchester from the scabbard and faced the flat plains to the south. He saw a cloud of dust in the distance. Kids joy riding, he thought, and raised his rifle. A shot or two would scare them off.

The dust cloud came closer, moving fast, on a direct path to his property line. Nate pointed the gun high in the air just as Betsy rose on her hind feet. He fumbled for a grip on the saddle with his free hand, but found only air until his back met the wild prairie grass that grew along his property line. 

The rifle flew out of his hands around the same time his breath left him. He gulped deeply as his eyes focused on Betsy. She was back on all fours but pacing frantically in circles, snorting and whinnying. 

Nate lifted himself into a sitting position. He found his rifle near the fence and pulled it towards him. He had been a damn fine shot once, in his army days, and still practiced weekly. No time to stand. Something was moving fast, almost on him. The hairs on his arms stood on edge. He sensed and smelled a wildness in the air.

He sighted the Winchester while sitting, and he saw it though the scope; a black horse galloping in a steady fast run, all muscle and determination. Nate lowered the gun as the horse neared. It didn't slow, didn't break stride, and the barbed wire barrier was mere yards away. 

Nate tried to yell but lacked the breath for it. The horse would contact the fence soon and he did not want to see that happen. 

He gripped the rifle and his hand found the trigger. A shot in the air might still scare the animal off. But it was already too late. Betsy rose up on her hind legs once more and faced the fence just as the horse came upon it.

His thoughts of firing his rifle faded as the horse raced toward the fence. He hunkered down and braced for impact.

The horse jumped while still at least twelve feet outside of the fence line. The animal rose high in the air and hot breath billowed from its nostrils. Its front legs tucked into its chest, the hind legs parallel to its body. The mane, long and dark, rose above the horse's crest, buffeted by the currents of the wind. 

It looked to Nate like the horse cleared the fence by a good six feet, an impossibility, and was several yards into the perimeter before it touched ground. When it did, the horse continued its mad gait across the south pasture.

Nate stood and watched the creature grow smaller as it made tracks toward his house and barns. He secured the rifle and hopped back on Betsy. She seemed less restless but still paced in an agitated manner.

"Alright girl," he said while patting her neck, "if you've calmed down enough, let's see if we can find out what the hell just happened."

He reined his horse toward home. The rest of the fence inspection would wait. For now his mind was a jumble of images, including one of a horse who just might have been able to fly.

3

The horse had found the water trough. Normally a favored hangout for the Rising Sun's stallions on a warm afternoon, Nate saw that the stranger had the facility all to himself. The others gathered there kept their distance, cautiously eyeing up the new arrival.

Betsy slowed her gait as they approached, eventually stopping a good distance from the trough. Nate dismounted while thinking how he might handle the situation. He noticed several of the horses looking his way as if he might have a plan in mind. He didn't. 

He approached the horse slowly from the side. If the animal was concerned about the human presence he failed to show it. The horse continued to drink seemingly oblivious to all around him.

Nate reached the trough and leaned against it facing the horse. He saw he had been mistaken about the horse's color. It was not black but dark blue. 

"What's up big guy?" 

The horse ignored him for a while, then dipped most of his head into the water. When he rose he shook off in a fierce manner, soaking Nate in the process. A few of the horses found this amusing. They snorted and neighed at the sight.

Nate removed a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and wiped his face.

"Very funny."

The horse stared at him. Its dark eyes seemed to evaluate the man. Then it backed away from the trough and walked in front of Nate. The horse lowered its head until its forehead pressed against his chest. Nate saw the other horses back away and knew what was coming.