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.
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