This is the first chapter of the Shadows of Ebonwood series. New chapters will be posted bi-weekly, every Sunday.
For locations, consult the map of the Ebonwood Region on homepage.
The handsome edifice of Café Balasco was cracked in places and its sign hung at a slightly crooked angle, evidence of the damage that the entire area had recently sustained. All along the tree-lined avenue, one of the main ones within the town of Farsdale, were other damaged buildings; some more than others. The mid-morning sun shone through patchy clouds above and birds chirped noisily overhead as they glided through the air overhead.
Two people sat at a small table with a rail that separated a roped-off outside patio which faced the street. A female server was just delivering a pair of breakfast plates to the café’s two guests. She then turned to attend to a few other patio guests.
“So, Prof. Abrams, your records indicate that the Whilowhen tribe might have originally migrated from Alaska, that long ago?”
Prof. Mila Abrams stared across the table at her breakfast partner, Dr. Claudio Bianchi. “More or less.” She didn’t want to let on that she knew as much as she did. She wanted to see how much she could learn from him first and didn’t want to arouse too many suspicions as to how she gained her knowledge. The less she said, the more she hoped that he’d reveal, after all, his organization had contracted her, not the other way around.
“We know that American settlers coming out from the East Coast encountered the Whilowhen and other Native tribes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in the mid-nineteenth century. As you probably already know, the town of Hobb’s Reach was established and it seems that the two parties got along decently. The Whilowhen were a reclusive people and only traded with a few other tribes, mainly the Mekoshe,” he said in his Argentinian accent.
Her patience had paid off, he was revealing more. But was he giving her accurate information?-she thought to herself.
“But by then, the Whilowhen had already moved much of their tribe into the caves from their home in Spindle Valley, right?” she queried.
“The Caves of Mourn; where we’re going later,” Dr. Bianchi clarified.
“No, that was later. In 1892, Hobb’s Reach, with government assistance, built the Rathmore Indian Industrial School and began rounding up the Whilowhen in order to ‘civilize’ them, as they claimed.”
“So, the Whilowhen tried to escape by moving into the caves?”
‘That’s where it gets…” Dr. Bianchi leaned forward slightly in his chair with a look of seriousness. “The following year, in 1893, the Rathmore school burned down and Whilowhen people vanished. Many of the citizens of Hobb’s Reach began to disappear soon after. It’s as if a black hole came through and sucked everyone away.”
“So that’s what happened. The remainder of Hobb’s Reach residents left the town because they believed the area was cursed.” Prof. Abrams took a sip from her steaming dark coffee.
“Yes, we believe so. And, a couple of years after these events, this town, Farsdale, was founded.”
Now it was Prof. Abrams’ turn to lean forward with an incredulous expression. “Wait…after that…the founders of Farsdale didn’t care about the supposed curse?” She glanced outside and down the avenue. A few people shuffled around here and there but the mood was muted. As she figured it would be after such a severe crisis. She looked back at Dr. Bianchi. “I mean, Hobb’s Reach isn’t all that far from here.”
“No, there was so much opportunity for mining precious metals in these hills that the greed overcame any sort of…eh…that’s the word? Tre-trepidation.”
Prof. Abrams sighed and shook her head.
“I know, it is a lot to take in,” Dr. Bianchi remarked.
Prof. Abrams looked back out at the streets. A raggedy-looking raven, perched atop a building across the street, cawed loudly.
“Wait a minute, the earthquake that struck three days ago…how many people are missing now?” Prof. Abrams querried.
“Thirty-six.”
“And, I’ve heard reports that some of them weren’t even out on trips or anything, right?” Prof. Abrams took another sip of coffee.
Dr. Bianchi leaned back and checked his watch. “I’m pretty sure that’s just the news trying to dramatize things.”
“Was there a mention of an earthquake back before the Hobb’s Reach was deserted?”
“I don’t know.” Dr. Bianchi scratched his scruffy chin, smiled, and glanced at his watch again. “Anyway, we’ll talk more about this later, we have to meet my assistants at the caves soon, so let’s get some food into our stomachs.”
CAW!—the scrappy raven startled Prof. Abrams and she looked outside to see that it had flown over and was now perched upon the café’s entrance gate. It was larger than it had initially seemed and was facing them. Prof. Abrams felt for a moment as though the raven’s black eyes were boring into her.
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