The Fifth Mark - Chapter 24 – The Listening Tree

The trail to the Listening Tree felt different now. Maybe it was just the season — the leaves darker, the air carrying a hint of autumn — or maybe it was them. Eli and Kate walked in easy silence, the crunch of gravel underfoot giving way to the soft carpet of moss as they reached the clearing.

The great oak stood as it always had, its roots twisting and coiling into the earth like the fingers of something ancient and sure. Eli placed a hand on the rough bark, feeling the coolness seep into his palm.

“You ever think,” Kate said quietly, “that some stories aren’t meant to end? That they just… wait for the next person to come along?”

Eli looked up into the canopy. “I think some stories are like this tree. You don’t cut them down, you just… add your part to the rings.”

They stayed a while, letting the quiet settle around them. A jay called somewhere in the distance; the breeze shifted the branches overhead.

As they turned to leave, Kate paused. At the base of the tree, half-hidden in the leaves, something small caught the light. She knelt and picked it up.

It was a brass token, worn smooth by years of handling. In its center was an engraving — a tiny, perfect serpent’s eye.

Kate met Eli’s gaze. “Thought you said this was over.”

Eli took the token and slipped it into his pocket. “Maybe it is. Or maybe it’s just our turn to keep watch.”

They left the clearing without looking back, the Listening Tree standing silent behind them, holding its secrets for whoever came next.

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 23 – Resolution

A light mist hung over West Boggs Lake as Eli guided the truck into the nearly empty parking lot. The air smelled of damp wood and the faint tang of fish. A few gulls circled lazily overhead. The picnic shelter sat near the shoreline, its metal roof popping occasionally as it warmed in the morning sun.

Sarge was already there, leaning against one of the posts with his arms crossed. He wore his old field jacket, the kind that still looked like it had a mission to complete. Ray Henson sat at the far end of a picnic table, sipping from a travel mug and watching the lake.

Kate and Eli walked up, the tin box under Eli’s arm.
“You were right to call me,” Sarge said. “Word’s been floating around about that snake-eye bastard since before you two were born. Never figured he’d show up in my backyard.”

Eli set the box on the table and opened it. He lifted out the gold medallion and placed it in Sarge’s hand. The morning light caught the raised carving of a narrow, slit-pupiled eye.

Sarge studied it for a long moment before looking up. “This isn’t just some trinket. That eye? It’s the symbol of the Fifth Mark.”

Kate frowned. “So what is it, exactly?”

Sarge glanced toward the lake before answering. “Back in the late forties, five men pulled off a job down in Kentucky — a bank robbery nobody could ever tie to them. Each one kept a piece of the map to where they buried the take. The first four pieces were just coordinates or sketches. But the Fifth Mark… that was different. It wasn’t paper. It was this.” He tapped the medallion. “Whoever held it could match the other four pieces and find the stash.”

“And the old man?” Eli asked.

“Name’s Corbin Voss,” Sarge said. “Last living member of the Five. That snake-eye ring he wears? Exact same design as the one on this medallion. It’s his way of telling people he’s still in the game — and still dangerous.”

Ray shifted in his seat, his voice low. “I’ve heard stories about him. Folks who get in his way… don’t stay in the way for long.”

Kate’s eyes went from the medallion to the scrap of paper in the box. “So the sketch points to where we start, and the medallion is the key to finishing it?”

“Exactly,” Sarge said. “If Voss lost this to you, he’ll be desperate to get it back. And desperate men don’t play fair.”

Eli hesitated. “One of his people has already made contact. We saw him at the shelter here a few days ago, and again at Biggins. He followed us.”

Sarge’s gaze sharpened. “Baseball cap? Dark jacket?”

Eli nodded.

“Yeah,” Sarge said grimly. “That one’s called Mercer. Doesn’t talk much, but he’s not the type you want at your back. If he knows you’ve got this, he’ll keep circling until he gets a shot — or until someone tells him to stand down.”

Eli folded the paper and returned it to the box. “Then we’d better move before he decides to come looking.”

Sarge shook his head. “Too risky. You’ve got what Voss wants, which means you’ve got leverage. Let me make a few calls to people who owe me favors.”

The wind picked up, carrying the sound of a boat motor somewhere across the lake. Kate pulled her jacket tighter. “And if he shows up before your friends do?”

Sarge’s eyes hardened. “Then we make sure Corbin Voss learns that not everyone here scares easy.”

For a long moment, the four of them sat in the shelter, the lake stretching out before them like a promise and a threat all at once. Eli could feel the weight of the medallion in his hand — not just metal, but history, danger, and the pull of something unfinished.

Whatever the Fifth Mark led to, they were now in it for the long haul. 

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 22 – Truth and Consequences

By the time Eli and Kate reached Biggins Restaurant, the adrenaline had worn off just enough for the cold to set in. They chose a corner table with a clear view of both the front door and the parking lot. The tin box was in Eli’s backpack, resting against his foot under the table.

The scent of fried catfish and strong coffee drifted through the air, but neither of them was in the mood to eat. Kate kept glancing toward the window as she stirred her coffee without drinking it.

“We need to figure out why the old man wanted this so badly,” she said quietly. “If we go to West Boggs Lake without knowing what we’re walking into—”

She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes fixed on the door.

A man had just stepped inside. His gaze swept the room in a slow, deliberate scan before locking on their table. Eli felt a jolt of recognition — the same man in the dark jacket and baseball cap who had been lurking near the shelter house at West Boggs Lake.

The man walked straight over, stopping at the edge of their table. Leaning in slightly, he said, “You’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you.”

Eli kept his tone level. “You working for the guy with the snake-eye ring?”

The man’s mouth curled into a humorless smile. “Let’s just say I work for people who don’t like to be crossed.”

Kate tilted her head, her voice calm but sharp. “Then maybe you should tell your boss he should’ve made a better offer.”

The man leaned a little closer. “I’m not here to negotiate. I’m here to give you a choice. You can leave that box with me, and we’ll pretend we never saw each other. Or… you can keep playing this game and find out why the last person who went after the Fifth Mark didn’t come back.”

Eli’s eyes narrowed. “What happened to him?”

The man’s smile faded. “He met the old man. That’s all you need to know.”

He straightened, glanced toward the parking lot, and walked out without another word.

Kate’s voice was barely above a whisper. “That was subtle.”

Eli’s eyes tracked the man through the window. “Not subtle enough. His name’s Mercer. He was watching us at the park — and now he’s following us.”

The man leaned against a dark sedan, watching them through the glass — the same stance, the same stillness Eli remembered from the shelter house.

They finished their coffee in silence. By the time they stepped outside, the sedan was gone — but the unease lingered like a shadow that wouldn’t leave.

Across the lot, a flickering neon sign marked the entrance to a low, weathered motel.

“We’re not driving anywhere tonight,” Eli said. “If we go to West Boggs Lake now, we’ll just lead them there.”

Kate nodded. Ten minutes later, they had a key to a room that smelled faintly of stale air and disinfectant.

Eli locked the door, checked the window, and set the tin box on the table. He opened it again, studying the medallion and the sketched shoreline. “Tomorrow morning,” he said, “we go to the lake. But we’re not going alone.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Who’s coming with us?”

Eli’s answer was firm. “Sage.”

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 21 – The Standoff

The clearing felt too quiet, the way a room does just before a fight breaks out. Eli’s pulse thumped in his ears as he and Kate stood by the hood of the truck, the tin box resting between them. Across the clearing, three men blocked the narrow path out. Two were broad-shouldered and tense, their jackets hanging just loose enough to hide weapons. The third stood slightly behind them — older, thinner, but radiating a different kind of danger.

The snake-eye ring on his right hand caught the late-afternoon sun as he folded his arms.
“I believe you’ve got something that belongs to me,” he said, his voice dry and deliberate.

Kate’s eyes flicked to Eli, but he kept his gaze on the old man. “We found it fair and square,” Eli said. “Buried and forgotten. If it was yours, you’d have dug it up yourself.”

One of the thugs stepped forward, impatience in his posture. He wore a dark jacket and a baseball cap pulled low, his eyes hidden in shadow. Eli took in the compact build, the coiled readiness in the man’s stance — the kind of body language that sticks in your mind.

The old man raised a hand, stopping him. “They’re not fools,” he said softly. “If they found this, they might have found other things too.” He took a slow step forward, and that was when Eli noticed — his left boot left an odd mark in the dirt, almost like the heel had been filed down into a wedge.

Kate shifted her weight slightly, her hand sliding into the truck bed. Her fingers closed around the crowbar they’d used to pry open the box earlier. “We don’t want trouble,” she said, “but we’re not handing this over without answers.”

The old man smiled faintly, and for a moment Eli thought he might actually talk. Then, with a movement so fast it made Eli flinch, he snapped his fingers. The two thugs — the one in the baseball cap and another with a shaved head — moved in opposite directions, forcing Eli and Kate to back toward the truck.

“Last chance,” the old man said. His gaze dropped to the box — still unopened — and then back to Eli’s eyes. “You don’t even know what you’ve got.”

Eli’s right hand closed around the tin box. “Then maybe you should have kept a better watch on it,” he said.

The old man’s expression darkened. He glanced over his shoulder, and for the briefest instant, Eli thought he saw worry there. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a shout rang out — not one of theirs. The old man turned sharply. “Change of plans. We’re done here.”

Before Eli could react, the thugs fell back toward the tree line, moving fast. The old man followed, his snake-eye ring catching the light one last time before he disappeared into the shadows. Eli caught one last look at the man in the baseball cap as he paused at the tree line, his face tilted just enough to fix them with a long, deliberate glance before melting into the woods.

Eli opened the box. Inside, wrapped in oilcloth, was a flat gold medallion, about the size of his palm. Its surface was worn smooth except for the raised carving of a single eye — narrow, reptilian, the slit pupil giving it an unnerving sense of life.

Under the medallion lay a folded scrap of paper, brittle at the edges. On it was a sketched shoreline with a distinctive curve, and in the margin, a mark that looked like a capital “V” with a slash through it.

Kate leaned over his shoulder. “I’ve seen that shape before,” she whispered.

“Where?” Eli asked.

“West Boggs Lake,” she said. “Near the old pier.”

Eli closed the box. The old man might have escaped, but they’d gotten something he clearly didn’t want them to have. And that meant the game was far from over.

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 20 – The Breakthrough

Ray’s warning trailed them all the way out of West Boggs Park. The lake flashed silver in the side mirror, then was gone. Eli drove in steady silence while Kate sorted photocopies from the Shoals museum into a manila folder on her lap.

“Loogootee first,” she said. “If the Draycotts owned ‘land nobody talks about,’ there’ll be a paper trail.”

They found parking near the city building, the practical brick kind of place where deeds and disputes went to live out their quiet lives. Inside, an oscillating fan pushed warm air over rows of index books with cracked spines. A clerk pointed them to the deed room and left them to it.

Kate opened the “D” index and started running a finger down the columns. “Drake… Drayer… Draycott.” She slid the big book toward Eli and copied a string of book-and-page numbers. Together they hauled the deed volumes to a long table and began turning pages.

“There,” Kate said. “Eighteen eighty-seven. Grantee: Thomas Draycott. But look at the phrasing—‘held in trust for the beneficiary to be named.’ Unusual for here, right?”

Eli leaned in. The metes and bounds description tied the parcel to a creek bend and “sheer stone face to the east.” He felt a prickle of recognition.

“Stone face,” he said. “There’s a stretch of rock wall out past the county line. I hiked near it as a kid. Not many trails back there—just game paths.”

They asked about surveys, and the clerk brought out a shallow drawer of rolled maps in brittle paper sleeves. Eli lifted one free and eased it open. Pencil lines stitched across the township, faded but legible. Near the creek bend, inside a wedge of property that matched the deed, a faint graphite “X” hovered like an afterthought.

Kate met his eye. “An X is rarely an accident.”

She made quick copies: deed, index entry, the survey detail. As they stepped onto the sidewalk, afternoon light bounced off windshields along the block. Half a street away, a dark sedan idled at the curb. The driver wore a ballcap; his face was turned their way.

Kate didn’t speak. She only touched Eli’s sleeve.

“Side street,” Eli said, soft. They cut between buildings, crossed behind a hardware store, and reached the truck without breaking stride.

They drove out of town and into patchwork fields, then into woods that grew denser with every mile. The road ended in a rutted pull-off where the treeline pressed close. Eli killed the engine. The forest answered with insects and a low thread of water somewhere ahead.

On the hood, they spread the copied survey. The paper wrinkled in the evening humidity. The pencil “X” sat inside a parcel bounded by the creek on one side and rock on the other—exactly as the deed described.

Kate traced a path with her finger. “If we keep the creek to our left and aim for the rock face, we should walk right into it.”

Eli folded the papers and tucked them into his jacket. “Then we don’t waste the light.”

They shouldered into the trees. Underfoot, the ground sloped toward the sound of water. Through a break in the leaves, a wall of sandstone showed itself at last—tall, weathered, and quiet as a held breath.

Kate looked back once, toward the empty pull-off. “If they’re still behind us…”

“They’ll have to catch up,” Eli said.

They turned to the rock and followed it, the creek murmuring at their heels, until the face of the stone began to change—vines thickening, surface roughening, the kind of place where someone might hide a handhold or a hollow.

“Here,” Kate whispered.

Eli set his palm against the cool rock. Somewhere inside this wall, the past had left a mark. And for the first time, it felt close enough to touch.

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 19 – The Call to the Lake

As they left Hindostan, Eli’s phone buzzed. It was Ray Henson, an old friend from years back. Ray didn’t waste time on small talk.

“Eli, I’ve heard something you need to know. Can you meet me at West Boggs Lake Park? Shelter house by the water. I’ll explain when you get here.”

Eli glanced at Kate and nodded. “We’re on our way.”

They turned north, the river woods giving way to open pasture and the quilt of county roads Eli knew by muscle memory. The late-afternoon light lay low and gold across the fields. Kate watched the fence lines flick by, then said, “Ray wouldn’t pull us off course unless it mattered.”

“He’s not the dramatic type,” Eli said. “If he says it’s urgent, it’s urgent.”

The park was quiet when they rolled in—weekday quiet. A few fishermen’s trucks sat angled near the ramp, and gulls worked the wind over the cove. The shelter house by the shoreline wore its familiar scuffs and initials carved into tabletops.

Ray was at the far end of one picnic table, a thermos by his elbow, cap pulled low. He stood as they approached, smiling just enough to take the edge off his serious expression. They shook hands and sat, the lake stretching out blue and restless behind him.

Before Ray could speak, Eli’s attention snagged on a figure near the other side of the shelter. A man in a dark jacket and baseball cap stood half in shadow, leaning against a post and looking out toward the water. He didn’t glance their way, but something in the set of his shoulders told Eli he wasn’t there to admire the scenery.

Ray poured coffee into three mugs. “Didn’t want to say too much on the phone,” he said. “Something’s stirring, and you two might be walking straight into it.”

He pulled a folded sheet from his jacket. The paper was worn, the creases soft from years of folding. He spread it on the table — a sketched shoreline with a curved edge, a faint pier drawn like an afterthought, and in the margin, a mark shaped like a V with a diagonal slash through it.

Kate leaned in. “You’ve seen this before?”

Ray nodded. “Heard of it. They call it the Fifth Mark. Part of an old story about a robbery down in Kentucky. Four pieces of a map have turned up over the years — the Fifth Mark was always the missing one.”

Eli’s gaze drifted past Ray’s shoulder. The man in the baseball cap was still there, still looking at the lake — but now his head was tilted slightly, as if he was listening without wanting to be noticed.

Ray kept talking, his voice low. “If the rumors are true, the Fifth Mark isn’t just a drawing. It’s the key to tying the other pieces together. And if I’m hearing the right names… one of them is Corbin Voss.”

The name made Kate’s jaw tighten. “You’re saying he’s here?”

“I’m saying he’s close enough to cast a shadow,” Ray replied.

Eli risked one last glance toward the man in the cap. This time, the stranger was gone — vanished between the shelter posts and the trees beyond.

Ray slid a copy of the sketch across the table. “You keep this. But watch your back. If someone else is looking for it, you don’t want them to know you’ve got it.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the wind off the lake ruffling the paper. Somewhere far out on the water, a boat engine growled to life.

“Thanks, Ray,” Eli said finally. “We’ll tread careful.”

But as they walked back to the truck, Eli knew careful might not be enough.

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 18 – The Close Call

The narrow bridge over the White River slipped behind them as Eli steered the truck east out of Shoals. They kept to the back roads, winding between fields just starting to green with summer growth. Neither spoke much. The folded note from the museum parking lot still sat between them on the bench seat, its blunt message like a third passenger they couldn’t ignore.

Kate broke the silence first. “If we stay on this road, it’ll take us past Hindostan Falls. We could… stop there for a few minutes.”

“Maybe,” Eli said, though his eyes were more on the rearview mirror than the road ahead. A dark sedan had been trailing them since the edge of town. Not close, not threatening — but always there.

They passed a line of sycamores, their mottled trunks catching the sunlight in quick flashes. When the trees opened again, the sedan was still there.

Kate noticed his glances. “Same car?”

“Yeah,” Eli said quietly.

The pavement narrowed, bordered on both sides by dense woods. Shadows stuttered across the windshield. The truck’s engine hummed steady, but something in the brake pedal felt… soft.

They crested a hill, and the sedan closed the gap, its grill filling more of the mirror. Eli tapped the brakes to check his speed. The pedal gave under his foot — too easily — and the truck barely slowed.

“Damn,” he muttered.

“What is it?”

“Brakes aren’t right.”

Ahead, the road curved sharply around a bluff. The sedan surged forward, as if sensing his trouble. Eli made a choice. He jerked the wheel right, bumping them onto a gravel farm lane in a cloud of dust.

Kate grabbed the dash. “What are you—”

“Buying us some time.”

They rolled down the lane toward a barbed-wire fence. Eli pumped the brake pedal, but it sank all the way to the floor. He let the truck coast to a stop on the slope, then killed the engine.

The sedan had slowed at the intersection, its driver a dark shape behind the glass. For a long moment, it idled there. Then it pulled away, disappearing around the bend.

Eli climbed out, crouched by the front wheel well, and swore under his breath. The brake line hung limply, put still attached.

Kate’s voice was tight. “They could have killed us.”

“They still might,” Eli said, straightening. He scanned the ridge above the road.

Something caught the light — a sharp, momentary glint, like sunlight on glass. Then it was gone.

Eli closed the hood. “Let’s get moving. Whoever’s up there isn’t finished.”

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 17 – The Warning

The next morning dawned cool and bright, the kind of early summer day that almost felt like an invitation. Eli eased his truck onto Main Street in Shoals, Indiana, the hum of the tires mixing with the faint chime of the courthouse clock tower. Only it wasn’t a courthouse anymore. The old limestone building that had once handled trials and verdicts now housed the Martin County Historical Society Museum, a keeper of the county’s memory.

Kate studied the building as they parked. “Hard to believe this used to be the place people came to decide their fate,” she said.

Eli grinned. “Still is, in a way. Depends on what you find inside.”

The museum smelled faintly of oiled wood and dust, the kind of scent that carried the weight of decades. Glass cases lined the walls, filled with arrowheads, sepia-toned photographs, and Civil War medals. In one corner sat the old judge’s gavel, worn smooth from years of decisions.

Behind the reception desk, a wiry man with sharp blue eyes greeted them. His name tag read Harold.
“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked.

“Marriage records,” Kate said, “and maybe land deeds from the late 1800s.”

Harold’s eyes lit up. “Got just the place for you. Follow me.”

They were led into a smaller room off the main hall, where shelves bowed under the weight of bound ledgers. Kate slid one toward her, the spine creaking as she opened it. Eli found himself drawn to the land transaction records, his fingers tracing names and dates inked in precise, looping script.

“Here,” Kate said after several minutes, her finger resting on a yellowed page. “Arvin… married into someone named Draycott. Does that mean anything to you?”

Eli frowned. “Not yet. But it might.”

They thanked Harold, promised to visit again, and stepped back into the sunlight. That’s when Eli saw it — his truck door hanging open a few inches.

He crossed the street in quick strides, Kate close behind. The glovebox was open, papers scattered across the seat. On top lay a single folded slip of paper. He opened it.

Leave the past buried.

The words were printed in blocky, uneven letters, as if torn from a typewriter or stamped by an unsteady hand.

Kate’s voice was low. “Eli… look at the ground.”

By the curb, dusty boot prints led away from the truck. They didn’t match either of their shoes.

Eli scanned the street. Only two people were in sight — an older woman watering flowers in front of a shop and a man leaning casually against a dark sedan across the way. The man wasn’t looking directly at them, but his hand rested in his pocket while the other idly turned something on his left hand.

The afternoon sun caught a flash of green.

The serpent’s eye.

Eli’s jaw tightened. “Let’s go.”

They drove east out of town. Kate suggested the back route toward Loogootee, the one that passed near Hindostan Falls.
“Scenery might help clear our heads,” she said.

Eli nodded, but his thoughts stayed locked on that glint of green. If the man was willing to leave a warning in broad daylight, then the game had just changed.

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 16 - The Watchers Ring

 

The air under the Listening Tree still felt charged, as if the great oak had whispered more than either Eli or Kate could yet comprehend.

“A person,” Kate said quietly, as though speaking the thought aloud might cause the leaves to shiver again. “The Fifth Mark isn’t a thing. It’s someone.”

Eli stared at the twisted roots at his feet. “If it’s someone, they might still be alive. Or…” He paused, scanning the horizon beyond the tree. “They might have left behind people who won’t take kindly to us asking questions.”

“That’s what makes it worth finding out,” Kate replied, though her voice carried a note of unease. “We just have to figure out who—or what kind of person—would be important enough to be the Fifth Mark.”

They left the clearing with a plan forming between them: courthouse archives, old church ledgers, maybe even dusty family Bibles stored in attics. Somewhere, a record would point them toward a name.

---

Miles away, in a dim upstairs office, another conversation was taking place.

“They were at the tree today,” a man’s voice said, low but steady.

The man in the chair did not turn from the window. His reflection in the glass showed a face lined with age but sharpened by purpose. On the ring finger of his left hand gleamed a gold band, set with a small piece of green stone carved in the shape of a serpent’s eye.

“Both of them?”

“Yes. The old man and the woman.”

The man at the window finally turned. His eyes were pale, almost colorless, and when they settled on the messenger, the younger man swallowed hard.

“They’re closer than I expected,” the older man said. “Closer than they should be. You know what to do.”

The messenger nodded once and slipped out the door.

---

Back on the winding trail that led from the Listening Tree, Eli and Kate walked in easy silence, the kind born of minds running on parallel tracks. Neither noticed the figure who stepped from behind a stand of pines once they passed, watching until they were nearly out of sight.

A small click broke the quiet — the shutter of a camera.

The figure lowered the lens, studied the image, and smiled. As the camera strap slipped from their gloved hand, a flash of green caught the light — a serpent’s eye, staring from the ring they wore.

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 15 – The Listening Tree

The wind carried the scent of pine and damp earth as Eli stepped out onto the porch before dawn, clutching a mug of black coffee. The trees were still, but his thoughts weren’t. Something about those boot prints wouldn’t leave him alone. They were too clean. Too intentional. Like someone had wanted them to be found.

Inside, Kate had fallen asleep at the table, her head resting on a pile of papers. The ledger lay open, and next to it was an overlay she had sketched during the night—lines, arrows, and what looked like a compass rose emerging from the coded entries. She had circled a spot near a scribbled label: The Listening Tree.

Eli gently touched her shoulder. “Kate. Wake up. I think you found something.”

She blinked and sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I had a dream about it. I think it’s a place Elias used to go. He mentioned it in the journal once—said it was where he went to think without being overheard.”

Eli nodded slowly. “Do you think it’s real?”

“I think it was,” she said. “And if it still exists, it might be where he hid the next part of the trail.”

---

Later That Morning

They drove an old gravel road that paralleled a ridge line, following the rough map sketched over the topographic survey. After an hour of searching, they found it—a lone, massive oak on a rise above a shallow creek bed. It had a hollow base and limbs that spread wide like open arms. Kate stepped forward and placed her hand against the bark.

“This is it,” she whispered. “The Listening Tree.”

Beneath the tree, hidden under a flat rock, they found a small, rusted tin. Inside: a scrap of parchment with Elias’s handwriting. It read:

“When five marks are found, and truth walks free,
Stand where the hawk dives, near the old dead tree.
The fifth lies not in gold or stone,
But in the one who walks alone.”

Kate read it aloud, and they stood in silence.

Eli looked up. “The fifth mark isn’t a thing. It’s a person.”

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 14: The Message Between the Lines

 

Back at Kate’s cabin, Eli stood at the old wooden table, the torn photocopy in one hand and the original ledger in the other. A soft rain tapped against the windows, and the late evening light gave everything a golden-brown hue.

Kate brought over two mugs of tea and set them down beside a spread of documents—photographs of the stone marker, handwritten notes, and a digital scan of the ledger pages. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, pulling up a chair. “What if the treasure isn’t the point?”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

She smiled faintly. “Hear me out. The map, the chest, the stone—all of it feels like breadcrumbs, but maybe Elias was trying to protect something bigger than gold.”

Eli opened the ledger to a page they had skipped before, one filled not with neat journal entries, but messy scribbles and marginal notes. “He knew someone would come looking,” Eli murmured, running his fingers along the faded ink. “This writing—these aren’t just ramblings. This looks encoded.”

Kate leaned in. “What if it’s a cipher? Maybe a substitution or symbol-based code.”

They studied the page together, tracing patterns. Certain symbols repeated every few lines—small hand-drawn marks that resembled the shape of a key, a leaf, and something that looked like a flame. And beneath one of them, barely visible in pencil, was a faint signature: E. Arvin.

“I think this is the key,” Eli said. “Literally.”

They turned back to the original stone rubbing they had made at the cave—the one bearing the carved 'E. Arvin' mark. There had been faint symbols etched around the base that they had initially dismissed as weathering. Now, they realized, those marks matched the ones in the ledger.

Kate grabbed her tablet and began aligning the images. “If we overlay the two—ledger and rubbing—then rotate the ledger entry…”

Eli watched as the shapes aligned perfectly.

“It’s a map,” he said. “A second one.”

But instead of leading to a single point, this one seemed to mark a boundary, an area outlined by old property lines… and at the center, a name: Joseph Bennett.

“Does that name mean anything to you?” Kate asked.

Eli looked out the window toward the darkening forest. “It does now.”

---

Flashback: 1820 – The Last Visit

Rain fell steadily as Elias Arvin rode alone through the thick forest, his cloak heavy and soaked through. He reached the small farmhouse nestled in the hills—his friend Joseph Bennett’s land. The two men had served together during the war. Loyal, honorable, and bound by more than just survival.

Inside the farmhouse, Elias handed Joseph a small wrapped bundle.

“If anything happens to me,” Elias said, “this is to be buried beneath your stone wall. Not for you, not for me—but for the one who comes after.”

Joseph nodded solemnly. “You think they’ll come?”

“Not now. Not soon. But eventually.”

Elias pulled a scrap of paper from his coat and scrawled something hastily.

“The fifth mark,” he whispered, sliding it into the bundle.

---

Back in the present, Kate looked up. “So this Joseph Bennett—his land is part of what’s now the wildlife management area?”

Eli nodded. “And it’s public land. That means whatever Elias left… it might still be there.”

Kate reached for her coat. “Then what are we waiting for?”

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 13: Footprints and Strangers

The sun was low when Eli and Kate reached the edge of the woods again. The golden light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor. They parked a little farther away this time, taking extra care not to draw attention.

Kate zipped up her lightweight jacket and glanced at Eli. “You really think someone else is out here?”

Eli nodded grimly. “I’ve got that feeling. And I trust it.”

They moved quietly through the underbrush, following the trail that had become familiar after their recent trips. But less than a hundred yards from the cave entrance, Eli stopped short.

He crouched down and pointed. "These weren't here yesterday."

Kate knelt beside him. Clear impressions of boot treads marred the soft earth, still fresh from the morning rain. The prints were larger than Eli’s, heavy, deliberate—someone who didn’t care if they were noticed.

Kate whispered, “Looks like they came from the north, but… where did they go?”

Eli scanned the brush. “Let’s keep going. But carefully.”

They moved slower now, hearts thudding louder than their footsteps. As they reached the cave entrance, Eli saw something that made his gut tighten. A broken branch just outside the rock outcrop… and a cigarette butt, still faintly scented with burnt tobacco.

“Whoever it is, they’re not far,” Eli muttered. “And they’re not here for a nature hike.”

Inside the cave, the air was cooler. They crept forward, past the stone wall, past where they'd found the chest. Nothing seemed disturbed—but then, Eli noticed something wedged between two rocks near the far edge. He reached for it.

A torn piece of paper—no, a photocopy. The same map he’d found in the ledger. Someone else had it, too.

Suddenly, the sound of a boot scuff echoed behind them.

They turned sharply.

A man stood in the cave’s mouth, silhouetted against the fading light. Broad shoulders. Ball cap. No smile.

“Well, well,” the man said. His voice was rough, like gravel dragged across steel. “Didn’t think anyone else knew about this place.”

Eli instinctively stepped in front of Kate. “We were just leaving.”

The man stepped forward. “That so? Funny thing, I been following this for a while now. Heard a couple people had been snooping around. Thought I’d see who.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “You from around here?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter? All I know is, there’s something valuable in these hills. And I figure I’ve earned first claim.”

Eli stood his ground. “If you’d earned anything, you wouldn’t be skulking around with copies of someone else’s map.”

The stranger's smile faded. “Careful, old man.”

The three of them stood in silence for a long moment, the cave holding its breath.

Finally, the man turned and backed out into the trees. “Watch yourselves,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s easy to get lost out here.”

When his footsteps finally faded, Kate exhaled. “What now?”

Eli looked down at the copy in his hand, then at the faint glint of the original map peeking out of his satchel.

“Now we move faster than he does.”

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 12: Coffee, Pie, and the Past

 

They didn’t speak much on the drive into town.

The sun had slipped low behind the ridgeline, casting long shadows over the winding backroads. Dust swirled in their headlights as Eli kept the truck steady, his hands still jittery from the cave encounter.

Kate finally broke the silence. “He knew where to go. That’s what bothers me most.”

Eli nodded. “Somebody told him. Or showed him. Which means someone else knows about the Arvin story.”

They pulled into the gravel lot of the Maple Hollow Diner, a squat building with chipped white siding and a red metal roof that had seen better decades. It was a local fixture, the kind of place where the waitresses called everyone ‘hon’ and coffee came in mismatched mugs.

Inside, it smelled of bacon grease and buttermilk pancakes, even though it was nearly 8 p.m. A neon “Open” sign buzzed softly in the window, and just a few tables were occupied. A pair of older farmers sat near the front, arguing about which seed company had ruined this year’s corn, and a waitress in a faded apron wiped down a counter that didn’t really need it.

They slid into a booth near the back. Kate dropped her backpack beside her and pulled out her notebook, eyes still darting toward the door.

“I’ll grab us something,” Eli said.

When he returned with two mugs of coffee and a piece of cherry pie big enough for four, Kate had already jotted a dozen quick notes. He sat across from her and leaned in.

“We need to assume this isn’t just our story anymore,” she said. “If there are other people with bits and pieces... it changes how we approach this.”

Before Eli could answer, a voice interrupted from the next booth.

“Y’all talking about that old Arvin land?”

They both turned. Sitting behind them was a gray-haired man with a kindly face and eyes like flint. He wore a canvas vest over a buttoned shirt and had a folded copy of the County Sentinel tucked beside him.

“Sorry,” he said, tipping his head. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But not every day I hear someone mention the Arvins. You’re not from around here, are you?”

Eli hesitated. “No, just… hiking.”

The man smiled knowingly. “Sure you are.”

He took a sip of coffee, then leaned a little closer. “Name’s Lester. Lester Cline. I used to hunt all over that land back when I was young and dumb. Before it got sold off in parcels.”

Kate perked up. “Do you know much about the family?”

Lester nodded slowly. “Bits and pieces. Stories passed down. The Arvins were one of the first settler families to push back into that part of the county. Lived quiet. Kept to themselves mostly. But there was some kind of falling out... brothers, I think. Or cousins. One sided with the government, and the other didn’t trust a soul with a badge.”

Eli leaned forward. “Do you remember their names?”

Lester scratched his chin. “Old Elias was the one they talk about most. Said he was a soldier once, War of 1812 maybe, but came back and never really took to civilized life. Carved out his place and didn’t much care who liked it.”

Kate flipped through her notebook. “What about a betrayal?”

Lester’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Now where’d you hear that word?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “It’s just... something we came across made it seem like someone turned on him.”

He sat back and let out a low whistle. “Well, that’d be right then. Story goes, someone close to Elias sold him out to a land agent—or maybe it was a mining outfit. This was long before the land was valuable. But they knew something was there. Water rights, maybe. Or minerals.”

He looked toward the window, as if remembering something buried far deeper than any gold.

“They say Elias buried something. Not gold, not money. Something heavier. Some say it was documents—deeds, treaties, maybe even a ledger with names. Proof that land grants were forged or stolen. Stuff that could burn down a courthouse if anyone found it.”

Eli and Kate exchanged a glance.

“Most folks wrote it off as legend,” Lester added. “Until that developer came around last year sniffing for old mineral rights. He poked around, asked questions. Didn’t get far. Locals don’t talk much to strangers who come digging.”

Kate took a breath. “Do you know who the developer was?”

Lester shook his head. “Just that he wasn’t local. Had maps. Old ones.”

The bell above the door jingled as someone walked in, and the spell was broken. Lester stood and gathered his things. “Well, I’ve said too much already.”

He paused, looking at them both with something between curiosity and warning. “Just be careful. Sometimes the dead don’t like to be disturbed—and neither do the living who hope they stay quiet.”

He tipped his head again and left without another word.

Kate stared after him. “That was either a gift,” she said, “or a warning wrapped in homespun charm.”

“Maybe both,” Eli said, finishing his coffee. “But I think we just got our next clue.”

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 11: Echoes in the Brush

The air in the cave had gone still, heavy with the dust of time. Eli held the leather-bound ledger carefully in both hands, its cracked spine a reminder of the years it had waited to be found. Kate knelt beside the stone box they had uncovered, gently brushing away debris that had fallen from the broken wall. Inside, wrapped in layers of waxed cloth, was another bundle of papers—and something else.

A metal disc.

“It’s a surveyor’s token,” Kate whispered, wiping it with her shirt sleeve. “This could mark a land boundary—or a claim.”

Eli nodded, his mind racing. "Maybe Elias used it to stake part of the land. Or hide something within it."

Just then, a faint noise echoed down the narrow passage behind them. A crunch—like a footstep on loose gravel.

They froze.

Eli snapped off his flashlight. Kate reached instinctively for the camera she had slung around her shoulder, switching it off too. Darkness pressed around them, broken only by a thin blade of light creeping in from the entrance to the cave. They waited.

Another sound. Closer this time.

Eli’s hand went to the pouch on his belt where he’d tucked away the marked stone and the old compass. He motioned toward Kate, who nodded silently, understanding. They quickly and carefully packed the documents back into the box and tucked it behind a natural crevice in the wall.

A shadow moved across the cave entrance.

Then a voice—low, muttering—carried inside.

“Figures this’d be the spot. GPS always cuts out around these damn bluffs... but that old timer said it’d be here.”

Eli’s pulse jumped. He recognized the voice, though he couldn’t place it right away. It had the edge of someone used to poking around where they didn’t belong. A man stepped inside the cave entrance, backlit by the fading light of day. He was in his late fifties maybe, with sun-leathered skin, cargo pants, and a worn ballcap. A metal detector hung over one shoulder, and in his hand was a folded topo map.

He scanned the walls with a flashlight, then paused to light a cigarette.

Eli exhaled slowly. “Let’s not move yet,” he whispered to Kate, barely audible. “He doesn’t know we’re here.”

Kate nodded again, her eyes wide.

The man stepped further into the cave, waving his light slowly along the stone. “Supposed to be something hidden out here,” he muttered. “Land grant treasure or some buried marker. Been lookin’ for years.”

Eli’s mind raced. Who was feeding this guy information? Had someone seen them out here and said too much?

Then the stranger stopped walking. He held his light steady on a section of wall, just a few feet from where Eli and Kate were hiding.

“There,” the man said quietly to himself. “That looks off.”

He knelt and started poking at the base of the wall with a small hand tool.

Kate leaned toward Eli, whispering, “If he finds the opening, he might find the documents.”

“We need to distract him,” Eli whispered back. “Get him out of here, or at least off that trail.”

Eli slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small rock. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it down the passage toward the far end of the cave. It clattered against stone, loud and sharp.

The man jumped up, spinning his light toward the noise.

“Who's there?” he barked. He reached into his jacket pocket—pulling out something metal. A flashlight? A tool? Or something worse?

Eli stood, stepping into the beam of the man’s light. “Don’t shoot. Just hikers,” he said, keeping his voice calm but firm.

The man squinted. “Hikers? Out here?”

Kate stood behind Eli. “We’re documenting native ferns,” she said, playing it cool. “Didn’t think we’d run into anyone.”

The man didn’t lower the light. “Funny place to hike.”

“Funny place to dig,” Eli replied.

They locked eyes.

After a long pause, the man gave a dry chuckle. “Fair enough,” he said, and slowly backed toward the cave entrance. “Didn’t mean to scare anyone. Just... out lookin’. You know how old stories get passed around.”

“Sure,” Eli said, his tone neutral. “But sometimes stories are meant to stay in the past.”

The man nodded, then turned and stepped outside. The sound of gravel under his boots faded until all was quiet again.

Kate exhaled. “Who was that?”

Eli shook his head. “I don’t know. But we’re not the only ones chasing Elias Arvin’s legacy anymore.”

He glanced back at the hidden crevice where the papers were stored.

“And now we’re on the clock.”

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 10: The Marked Ledger

The paper was brittle but well-preserved in the folds of oilcloth. Eli unfolded it slowly, the dim glow of the strange compass casting a golden hue over the faded ink. Kate leaned in beside him as they both stared at what appeared to be a ledger entry dated October 17, 1820, signed by E. Arvin.

As Eli traced the signature with his finger, something in the air shifted — not a sound, but a presence. The light around them seemed to flicker, not from the lantern, but from the compass itself, which pulsed gently like a heartbeat.

Then—darkness.

But not the cave’s darkness.

1820 – Southern Indiana Territory

The smell of wood smoke and damp leaves. A younger Elias Arvin crouched beneath a cedar tree, clutching a worn leather-bound journal. His eyes flicked between the shadows and the winding trail below the ridge. The Buffalo Trace was quiet now, but that wouldn’t last.

He opened the journal and wrote hastily:

The fifth mark is set. Buried beneath the stone with the Arvin crest near the hollow cave. Compass secured. Only blood will reveal the path forward.

He paused, his brow furrowing. From the south came distant hoofbeats. Not friendly. He snapped the journal shut, slid it beneath a flat stone beside a crooked pine, and adjusted his coat to cover the pistol at his side.

Elias had known for months that someone was hunting the secret — not for the preservation of legacy, but for greed. He had already hidden the other four pieces: one with a trusted friend across the Ohio, one beneath a chapel floor, one in the ledger book at the courthouse, and one in the old family well. Each marked. Each protected.

But this fifth one—this was the final piece. The key.

And someone was close.

He turned toward the deeper woods, where only the old ones dared tread. The map he’d drawn would only make sense to someone who shared his blood. The symbols were more than just markings. They were memories, passed down. The compass would know the bearer. That was the whole idea.

He looked back once toward the stone, then vanished into the underbrush.

He would not live to see the cipher completed.

---

Present Day – The Cave

The glow faded, and Eli blinked hard, realizing he’d stopped breathing. He looked at Kate.

“Did you see that?” he whispered.

She nodded slowly. “All of it.”

The silence around them was dense. The compass, now resting between them, had cooled. But something had changed. The ledger page in Eli’s hand bore not only Elias’s handwriting — but a faint outline of a map they hadn’t noticed before. Now visible. As if revealed by the heat of memory itself.

Kate pointed. “That symbol there… it’s the same one on the stone where we found the feather.”

Eli smiled, but it was tinged with awe. “The fifth mark.”

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 9: The Sealed Passage

The narrow beam of Eli’s flashlight danced across the rough stone wall as he traced the edges with his fingers. The stones were too uniform, too deliberate to be natural. The center of the wall was stacked tighter than the edges, where thin cracks allowed slivers of air to whisper through. Kate stood beside him, silent, her breath visible in the sudden chill.

"This wasn’t made to last forever," Eli murmured. "This was made to hide something."

Kate ran her hand along the rock face. "Do you hear that? Behind it… a sort of hollow echo."

Eli pressed his ear to the stone and nodded. "There’s a chamber back there."

He stepped back and scanned the chamber they were in—just tall enough to stand, about ten feet wide, the ceiling damp with mineral deposits. His beam stopped on a half-rotted wooden crate in the corner, half-buried in silt. Kneeling, he pried open the lid. Inside, bundled in oilcloth, was an old hammer and chisel. Next to it, a rusted iron pry bar.

"Think this was left here for someone?" Kate asked.

"Maybe us," Eli said, only half-joking.

It took them nearly an hour, working in turns. The stone was brittle in places but stubborn in others, cemented with a mortar that reeked faintly of ash. Chips flew, dust clung to their sweat, and the air grew thicker with every strike. When the final stone was loosened, it toppled inward with a soft thud.

Eli reached through cautiously, then ducked his head and stepped into the dark.

Kate followed, her breath catching as their flashlights illuminated the space beyond.

The chamber was larger than they expected, oval-shaped, and surprisingly dry. The walls were carved with faint symbols—arcs, dots, and what looked like the repeated shape of a five-pointed mark. In the center sat a large stone slab, waist-high, covered in dust and what appeared to be a faded cloth.

Eli pulled back the covering. Beneath it lay a leather-bound book, sealed with a crude clasp shaped like a feather—white paint still clinging to the edges.

Kate’s eyes widened. "That can’t be coincidence."

Eli opened his mouth to speak, but a low vibration trembled beneath their feet. Dust sifted down from the ceiling. Then silence.

Kate gripped his arm. "We need to be careful."

Eli nodded, then unlatched the clasp. The leather creaked as the cover opened.

Inside, the first page bore an inscription in flowing, old-fashioned script:

“Let the one who finds this understand: the Fifth Mark is not a thing, but a choice.”

He turned the page. A map. Not a modern one, but hand-drawn. Familiar outlines of the hills around Jug Rock. A river. A trail marked with small circles… and five feather symbols.

Kate whispered, "It's another layer. Another code."

Behind them, a faint scuffling sound echoed from the tunnel they’d come through.

They turned—lights off. Listening.

Then stillness.

Eli slowly closed the book. "We’re not alone down here."

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 8: Beneath the Ridge

The morning sun filtered through a thin veil of clouds as Eli spread the old surveyor’s map across the kitchen table. Beside it lay the faded ledger, open to the page with the strange coordinates—or what they now believed were coordinates. Kate leaned over his shoulder, a mug of coffee warming her hands.

“You sure about this ridge?” she asked, tapping the map.

Eli nodded slowly. “I’d bet it’s this one here. See how the stream curves just below it, like the one we passed last week? The handwriting in the ledger mentions ‘a rise west of the split oak.’ That tree’s still there, or what’s left of it.”

“Then we go today?”

Eli gave a thin smile. “We go today.”

---

By midmorning they were deep in the woods, following the narrow footpath Eli had hiked countless times but now with a different purpose. The trail grew steeper as they approached the ridge, its base thick with ferns and moss-covered stones. Here and there, Kate paused to examine old growth trees, some bearing the scars of past lightning strikes or deep, vertical notches that might’ve once held surveyor’s markers.

“There,” Eli said, pointing toward a cluster of rocks partially hidden by underbrush. A faint line of stacked stones, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding landscape, ran along the base of the ridge like the remains of a forgotten wall.

Kate knelt beside it, brushing away leaf litter. “Looks intentional. But old.”

“Old’s what we’re after,” Eli replied, stepping carefully ahead.

They followed the line to a narrow outcropping—jagged limestone worn down by time and rain. At its base, behind a screen of brambles, was a dark recess. Eli crouched low and pulled back the brush. The smell of earth and damp stone wafted out.

“A cave,” he whispered. “Or a crawlspace.”

Kate squinted into the dark. “How far do you think it goes?”

Eli reached into his pack and pulled out a headlamp. “Only one way to find out.”

---

The passage was tight at first, forcing them to stoop and shuffle sideways. The air grew cool and heavy as they moved deeper. After twenty yards, the tunnel opened into a chamber. Natural formations surrounded them—stalactites hanging from above, water dripping in rhythmic intervals. But something else caught their eyes.

“Look,” Kate said, her voice hushed.

Just ahead, partially buried in silt, was a timber beam—weathered but clearly shaped by human hands. Another lay to its side, and beyond that, a shallow alcove in the wall bore deep gouges, almost like chisel marks.

“This wasn’t just shelter,” Eli said. “Someone worked this place.”

Kate moved her light along the far wall and froze. “Eli.”

A smooth section of rock bore a carved mark—a circle divided by a cross, with what appeared to be an arched feather etched beside it.

Another cipher.

Eli stared at it, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. “This is it. This is Mark Two.”

They stood silently, the faint sound of water echoing off the walls. Somewhere deep within the rock, it felt as though time had paused—waiting for them to uncover whatever had been hidden so carefully, so long ago.

Eli stepped closer to the mark and traced the faint outline with his fingertips. As he did, the floor beneath him gave a low groan.

A stone shifted.

Then, with a grinding sound, part of the wall beside the cipher mark cracked along a hidden seam—and slowly began to open inward, revealing a narrow stone staircase descending into darkness.

Kate stepped back instinctively. “That wasn’t caused by you... was it?”

“I don’t think so,” Eli said quietly.

A cold draft rose from the opening, bringing with it a smell that was neither fresh nor decayed—but something else entirely.

Something ancient.

Eli clicked his headlamp to full beam and peered into the darkness. The staircase curved slightly and vanished into blackness.

Kate’s voice was steady, but tense. “Do we go down there?”

Eli glanced at her, then back at the opening. “We came this far.”

Behind them, somewhere in the darkness of the chamber, there was a sound.

A faint click—like something metal tapping gently against stone.

They turned at once, lights sweeping across the space.

There was nothing there.

But the sound had definitely come from inside the cave.

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 7: Ink and Ash

 

The light from the late afternoon sun slanted through the workshop windows, painting golden bars across the wooden floor. Dust motes swirled in the beams like tiny constellations. Eli ran his hand across the worn leather cover of the ledger, now back on the cluttered workbench where they had first opened it.

He exhaled slowly. “We were so focused on the obvious before—dates, names, totals. But Sage was right. We weren’t asking the right questions.”

Kate leaned over his shoulder, her eyes scanning the columns. “It’s not just what’s written—it’s how it’s written. Sage said to look for what doesn’t belong.”

Eli flipped carefully to the pages they had bookmarked days earlier—entries dated between 1892 and 1894. His finger trailed down the neat rows of inked handwriting, the elegant cursive so consistent it might have been printed by machine.

Until it wasn’t.

“There,” Kate said, tapping the page.

Halfway down the ledger, nestled between two entries for livestock feed and tin roofing, was a single line that stood out—not just because the handwriting had changed, but because the ink had faded into a reddish-brown hue, like rust or dried blood.

"Ash falls where memory lingers. 38°39′22″N, 86°53′40″W. Keepers know."

They stared at the words. Eli read them aloud, slowly.

Kate’s brow furrowed. “Coordinates. That’s definitely what that is.”

Eli stood and walked over to the laptop perched awkwardly atop a stack of books. He typed the numbers into a mapping program. The screen refreshed.

“It’s… Martin County,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Near the Hoosier National Forest. That’s maybe twenty miles from here. Pretty remote. Almost nothing around it except woods and a few trails.”

Kate crossed her arms. “And what’s this about ‘Ash falls where memory lingers’? Sounds like a riddle.”

Eli turned the book toward the window, angling it in the light. The red-tinged ink shimmered slightly in the low sun, revealing faint smudges, like someone had written it with a shaky hand—or while emotional.

“Look at this,” he whispered. Below the coordinates, barely legible, were the initials E.A. The same ones they had found carved into the stone at the cemetery.

“Elijah Arvin,” Kate said. “He’s leading us.”

Eli didn’t respond right away. He was staring at the page, but his mind was drifting—hearing wind in the trees, fire crackling, and somewhere in that place between memory and imagination, the soft flutter of a white feather.

“What if the ash,” he said slowly, “is literal?”

Kate looked at him, puzzled.

“There was a fire,” he said, turning. “Sage mentioned it in passing. A fire in those woods, long ago. Burned through homesteads that aren’t even on modern maps.”

Kate pulled out her phone, typing rapidly. “It was 1911,” she said, eyes scanning the article. “Forest fire near Hindostan Falls. Several homes destroyed. No official records of who lived there… but some sources mention cabins, smokehouses, maybe even an old trading post. That could be where we’re headed.”

Eli nodded, already reaching for his jacket. “Then let’s get there before sundown.”

As they packed the ledger carefully into a canvas satchel, the workshop grew quiet. Outside, a crow called sharply from the trees, as if sounding an alarm. Kate paused, hand on the door.

“What do you think it means—‘Keepers know’?”

Eli adjusted the strap on his shoulder. “I don’t know. But I have a feeling we’re about to meet one.”

They stepped out into the fading light, unaware that a figure stood just out of view down the road, watching them from behind the trunk of a sycamore tree. Waiting.

The Fifth Mark - Chapter 6: The Stranger Beneath the Sycamore

 

They didn’t speak as they walked back to the truck. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was thick with thought. Eli clutched the journal to his chest like it might disappear, while Kate kept looking back toward the cemetery, as if the feather might float up again and beckon her to return.

The sun had dropped low by the time they reached the field where the truck was parked. A long shadow stretched out from the stand of sycamores by the fence line. Eli stopped cold.

"Someone’s there."

Kate followed his gaze. A figure—tall, lean, and still—stood under the largest sycamore. Dressed in what looked like a brown duster and wide-brimmed hat, the figure leaned on a crooked walking stick. He raised a hand—not a wave, just a slow gesture of acknowledgment.

"You know him?" Kate asked.

"No. But he knows we’re not just here for a hike," Eli muttered.

They approached slowly.

“Evening,” Eli called out.

“Evenin’,” the man answered, voice as coarse as bark but calm.

Up close, his face was lined with age but sharp with alertness. A pair of pale blue eyes studied them beneath the brim of his hat. His walking stick, Eli noticed, wasn’t just a stick—it was carved with markings. Spirals, birds, and… a small five-pointed star near the top.

“You been pokin’ around the Arvin place,” the man said, not accusingly—just stating a fact.

“We didn’t mean any harm,” Kate said. “Just… following a clue.”

The man nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “Ain’t many folks followin’ clues these days. Most are too busy followin’ trouble.”

Eli cleared his throat. “Do you know anything about E. Arvin?”

The man tapped the walking stick lightly on the ground. “Elias Arvin. Born 1785. War of 1812 veteran. Settled these hills when there was more bear than man. Left behind more than land and bones.”

Kate stepped forward. “Do you know what this is?” She opened the ledger.

The man’s eyes lit up. “Been a long time since I seen that.”

“You’ve seen it?” Eli asked.

The man nodded. “Not that one, but one like it. There were five.”

“Five ledgers?” Kate said.

“Five Marks,” the man corrected. “Five stories. Five places. Five truths.”

Eli opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“You’re on the right path,” the man said. “But you best be careful. The past don’t like to stay buried forever. And some folks don’t like it dug up.”

Kate looked him square in the eye. “Who are you?”

He smiled. “Some call me Sage. Been watchin’ over this patch of earth for longer than I can rightly count. I walk it, listen to it. Make sure the wrong folks don’t get the right answers.”

“And are we the right folks?” Eli asked.

“That’s up to you,” Sage said. “But the next mark lies where the river bends around the old millstone. You’ll find a box buried beneath a lightning-blasted oak.”

Before they could ask anything else, he turned and walked into the trees. No sound of snapping twigs. No rustle. Just gone.

Eli looked at Kate.

Kate looked at Eli.

Then both turned and stared at the ledger, the feather, and the fading sun.

Whatever they had started, it was bigger than the two of them. And it was far from over.

The Fifth Mark - Chapter Five: Names in Stone

 

The morning mist still clung to the low places as Eli steered his old truck down a narrow gravel road that snaked along the edge of a wooded rise. Kate rode silently beside him, flipping through the worn pages of the journal they’d found in the attic. Neither had much to say—both were too wrapped up in what they might find ahead.

“Do you think he’s actually buried there?” Kate finally asked, glancing up.

“If Elias Arvin died in Martin County like the ledger suggests, this is the most likely place,” Eli replied, tapping the steering wheel with his thumb. “This cemetery’s old. Some of the stones go back before the Civil War. It’s where most of the early settlers in this part of the county ended up.”

They pulled into the edge of Brush Creek Cemetery, a modest patch of ground surrounded by low stone walls and shaded by ancient hackberry and walnut trees. A crooked wooden sign leaned on rusted metal stakes. Someone had painted it long ago in faded white letters: Brush Creek—Established 1811.

The place was quiet except for the wind in the trees and the low creak of the gate as Eli pushed it open.

Kate followed, clutching her canvas bag like a satchel of secrets. Inside were the journal, the strange map from the ledger, and a printout she’d made of an old land patent. “According to this,” she said, holding the paper up, “Elias received a land grant for his service in the War of 1812. He had to be buried nearby. He wasn’t the type to leave things unfinished.”

They split up and walked among the stones, many leaning at angles, covered in lichen or barely legible. Eli ran his hand along one of them, brushing away moss.

“Anything?” Kate called.

Eli shook his head. “Just a Margaret and a baby named Samuel. Died 1837.”

Kate squinted at a marker shaped like an obelisk. “This one’s got an ‘E. A.’ on it—but it’s not our guy. Emma Annabelle, 1860.”

Minutes passed. The sky began to brighten. Birds stirred overhead.

Then, near the edge of the plot where brush had begun to reclaim ground, Eli stopped cold. He looked down.

“Katherine…” he said, unusually formal.

She walked over, saw the stone he was pointing to, and drew in a breath.

The slab was simple and broken across the top. Someone had etched only a few words:

E. Arvin
Soldier – Surveyor – Storyteller
The land remembers.

Kate knelt beside it, her fingers brushing dirt from the base.

“That last line,” she whispered. “The land remembers. That was in the journal. It’s written more than once.”

Eli nodded. “And the title on the journal’s cover—Notes for Those Who Listen.”

Kate stood and pulled out the map again, now with newly penciled notations. “We’ve been looking for a cipher. But maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s not just about decoding words. Maybe it’s about reading the land itself.”

Eli turned slowly, looking past the cemetery into the surrounding woods and gentle hills beyond. “You think it’s a map you follow with your feet?”

“Or your senses,” Kate replied. “He was a surveyor. He didn’t just make maps—he lived them. Maybe each marker, each story, leads to another.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

Then a breeze rustled the grass, and a single white feather drifted down from above, spinning gently until it landed at the base of the broken stone.

Neither of them spoke.