Chapter 8 - The Ledger in the Floorboards
The old Duskwind homestead sat in a secluded river bend twenty miles west of Dead Man’s Creek.
It had been abandoned for three years, ever since the winter blockade that drove Elira’s father from the land. The main cabin was weathered gray by the elements, its porch sagging and its windows shattered, but the heavy stone foundation remained intact.
Rowan and Elira arrived just after midnight, under the cover of a thick, rolling mountain fog that muffled the sound of the mare’s hooves against the damp earth.
They tied the horse behind the dilapidated barn and crept toward the cabin door. Rowan tried the latch; it was rusted shut, but a firm shove with his shoulder popped the rotted wooden frame loose with a dull splintering sound.
Inside, the air smelled of dust, old ash, and dried cedar.
Elira struck a match, shielding the tiny flame with her cupped hands until she managed to light a stub of a candle she found on the mantelpiece. The flickering yellow light pushed back the shadows, revealing overturned chairs, a dust-covered table, and family possessions scattered across the floorboards during the initial raid.
“They searched it,” Elira whispered, her voice tightening as she looked at the wreckage of her childhood home. “They tore the place apart looking for something.”
“What were they looking for?” Rowan asked, kneeling beside a section of the stone hearth where the mortar had been crudely chipped away.
“The original land patent,” Elira said, walking over to join him. “The one issued by the territorial governor before the syndicate bribed the new land office to redraw the district lines. Without that document, our family has no legal claim to the water rights.”
Rowan ran his calloused fingers along the edge of the hearthstone. It felt slightly loose—not from age, but from being moved recently. He gripped the edge with both hands and strained against it. With a low scrape of stone against mortar, the heavy slab shifted half an inch to the side, revealing a dark, hidden cavity beneath the floorboards.
Elira held the candle closer.
Inside the recess sat a small, oilskin-wrapped package tied with thick hemp cord.
Elira dropped to her knees, her hands trembling slightly as she reached in and pulled the package out. She unwrapped the oiled cloth layer by layer until the candle revealed a thick, leather-bound ledger and a collection of official documents bearing the heavy wax seal of the territorial governor.
“It’s here,” she breathed, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Everything they tried to erase... it’s all here.”
Before Rowan could answer, a sharp sound cut through the silence of the night—the distinct, unmistakable thud of a horse’s hoof striking a loose stone outside the front porch.
Both froze.
From outside, a harsh, familiar voice carried clearly through the thin wooden walls of the cabin.
May you like
“I know someone’s in there,” Halloway shouted, his voice laced with ugly amusement. “Surround the cabin, boys. Nobody leaves this valley alive tonight.”
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