The Legend of the Burning Man

Power is a heavy thing, everyone has felt this weight to some degree. Not many have felt power the way that young Thomas Coleman did. Thomas was born in 1862, he was a frightfully small baby and it was thought he would not live. In desperation his parents turned from doctor to doctor pleading for aid. In the end, out of sheer desperation, they turned to an old medicine man of the Cherokee tribe. He was able to save the boy but first the boy had to be marked by a firebrand. The brand was placed on his right shoulder. It was the image of the water-spider. He was also to be raised in the tribe until the age of thirteen. Then he was considered a man, and could be returned to his family. Thomas' parents could visit him as often as they wished. This blessing of survival came at a price outside of the brand.

The Shaman did not tell the boy's parents, but in order to save the boy he would be put under the control of the water spider spirit. Growing up in the village his parents came often, about once or twice a month. He grew strong and by the time he was released to his family he was one of the best warriors in the tribe. He however had a dark secret. The water spider was known in the tribe to be the bringer of fire to man, having taken it from a burning sycamore and delivered it to the Cherokee people. Anyone given the mark from birth would be gifted with health and vitality as well as the inner flame. They also were then and forever in service to the great spirit.

He had heard tales of the large cities but was still not prepared for the great commotion in even the small town where his family lived. The town was set up with two main roads and three channels of houses and businesses. There were also outlying cottages and farms. There was a small wall that stood in shambles, created in the Civil War era to defend from Union attacks. The reservation set apart for the natives was a rather large swath of land, but it remained rather rural and the natives there preferred to stick to the old ways, so this was completely new to young Thomas.

Upon arriving home he was greeted by his younger sister, who had been born three years after him, and was ten years of age. He also had an older brother, of whom was eighteen years of age and about to go off to college. His sister bore the name Caroline and his brother Johnathan. Thomas' mother and father were called Martha and William.

He had met both of his siblings when they had accompanied his parents to the village, but in truth he did not know them very well. Thomas' parents put his meager collection of belongings in the spare room they had converted to be his bedroom. Then they all went to the general store, where he was first called upon by the water spider outside of the tribal lands.

The family of five all piled out of their horse drawn open wagon and filed into the store. It was a Saturday, but despite this there were no others in the store. They nodded to MacMyer, the store's owner, who had a thick white beard and a kind smile rimmed by his rosy cheeks. Thomas immediately decided that he liked the man. 

They were browsing the products in the store when suddenly the door burst open. Two men stalked up to the front of the store wearing bandannas, revolvers drawn. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” the store owner cried.

“Tax time old man. Pay up or we will take our share.” the larger one responded in a thick southern accent.

“Okay, okay. No need to get violent. The money is in the back room.” Mr. MacMyer replied, shuffling back to the store room behind the counter.

The smaller one grabbed an apple off the nearby shelf, taking a bite.

“Sorry folks, just some routine business. You know how it is.” the smaller one added, bits of apple flew from his mouth, past his scraggly beard and filthy face. He did all this while loosely flicking his revolver in the families general direction.

The larger added “yup, old fellow just needs to pay up to the man.” 

“What does he owe for?” Thomas questioned but was swiftly hushed by his father.

The smaller one tilted his head, his hand tightening on his revolvers hilt.

“Why he still has to pay to live in this town. It belongs to the Bantenfire gang you know. Bandits of the highest order. We own this town.”

“But what about the sheriff? Who is really in charge? What's the law?” Thomas again questioned and was more fiercely rebutted by his father.

“Well now, the sheriff is dead. We are in charge because we killed him. We are the law.” the taller one responded with a sickly snear. Thomas took a quick breath, stepping back from the bandits.

The old man returned from the back room saying “Here y'all are, five dollars, just about all I made this week. Now please, leave my store be.” 

“Happily sir.” The smaller one said, his sneer coming to pace with the larger one, as he snatched the money from the older, placing it in a cloth sack and holstering his revolver. 

“See ya next week.” the larger replied with a deep chuckle.

Once they had left the old man let out a sigh. 

“Sorry about that folks, anything you are interested in?” MacMyer asked

“We will keep poking around, got any good tomatoes?” said William, Thomas’s father.

“Oh right over there, by the carrots” Said the old man

His family wandered off to different parts of the store, but Thomas stayed were he was before he finally asked.

“Who were those guys?”

“Them? They are part of our new ruling government" he said with feigned vigor.

"Er so they proclaim. I'm surprised the real government hasn't come and kicked em’ out yet. Really they're just an over sized bunch a’ bandits. Their leader took out ol’ sheriff Creeson and claimed the town for himself. Fools the whole lot of em.” He added

“Why hasn’t any help come?” Thomas questioned

“I reckon it's just too many bandits, they need to muster quite a force to get them out of the town, or someone just needs to get to the top man.” the old man stated with saddened eyes.

“Well I do believe that something has to be done.” Said Thomas with conviction.

“Well have at it, I do reckon you would be going to your death. Their leader is held up in the old sheriff's office, at least ten highered guns with him.” MacMyers said with a grin.

“Well, it would not be an interesting fight without an unfair advantage against me.”

“I guess so, you ain't really thinking a’ raiding that place are yea.” the old man said with a nervous laugh.

“Course not, that would be suicide.” Said Thomas with a chuckle, but in his mind he could feel the inner flame turn, the water spider demanded revenge. Thomas and the water spider had grown into one throughout the years, and they both would not stand for this injustice.

Later that night, when all his family had gone to bed, Thomas donned the clothes he wore while at the village. Over his worn leather leggings he donned a breech cloth. A thin cotton shirt and a buckskin vest went over his chest. He put on his belt and to finish it off he pulled from a leather pack, wrapped in cloth, an iron tomahawk. He was given this tomahawk as a farewell gift from the medicine man. It was beautifully engraved with the water spiders sign. Finally he was ready, walking up to the mirror he placed a single black streak of paint going across his eyes, the vengeful warriors stripe. Then leaving the house he set out for the sheriff's office.

The night was cold and a soft breeze flowed. He made it to the sheriff's office after around a twenty minute walk. Knocking on the door a large man opened it. The same large man that had been at the store.

“The hell are you injun?” the big man said. He had not recognized Thomas in his traditional clothes and through the warriors mark.

“I wish to speak with the one who runs this town.” Thomas demanded.

“Haha, in the middle of the night? Run back to your chief boy.” The man responded.

“Let me in, or I will make a way.” Thomas warned.

Sneering the large man said “Make a way? I would like to see you try.” While drawing his revolver.

In the blink of an eye Thomas had moved, batting the pistol from the man's hand and striking at the neck. The large man clutched his throat as his windpipe collapsed. Before the man was even aware that he was under attack Thomas had toppled him and stood over the man, tomahawk at the ready. 

“Might I ask you again, where is your boss, I would like to speak to him.” This time the man did not hesitate to answer. Pointing to the next room.

By that time the large mans boisterous fall had not gone unnoticed. Three more men appeared in the doorway. One with a large Bowie knife and the other two bearing double barrel shotguns. Before the first could bring his gun up to fire Thomas’s tomahawk had sunk deep into his chest and he was upon the second before the third could even react. The knife was removed from the seconds hand and placed firmly in the thirds shoulder, forcing him to drop his shotgun. Thus all the enemies had been disarmed and Thomas was able to move on after giving the second combatant a firm whap on the head, knocking him out. He then retrieved his axe from the chest of the first man, returning it to a leather strap in his belt, and opened the door. There he found the one he was looking for. He wore a blood splattered sheriffs badge and was smoking a large cigar.

“So, it was just some little Indian that made it through my men. Must be something special in that tribal water.” Said the man chuckling through his cigar. The men lining the room laughed at his jest.

“Something like that. although it's not our water. I believe it's in the fire.” At his utterance he could feel the fire within him. His fingertips sizzled with anticipation and his eyes burned. Without warning his hands burst into flame. The man with the cigar jumped up, dropping his smoke and running behind the desk, retrieving a pistol gripped lever action carbine from its hiding spot under the desk, pointing it with shaking hands at the boy consumed in flames.

“What are you boy!” The man shouted with a shaky voice.

“I am the spirit of the water spider, I am the bringer of fire, and now I give it to you.” At that the boy thrust his hands forward, bathing the man in flames. He was quickly consumed and died. The floor and all around him remained untouched as the flames spilled from Thomas’s hands, the fire had one purpose, to consume its target. All that was left of the false sheriff was a pile of ash, with the gleaming badge on top. All his men had dropped their guns and were staring in absolute terror. 

“Leave!” The boy roared from within the inferno.

The men ran out of the room, crowding in the doorway and shoving their way out. Thomas relaxed his shoulders and the flames around him died down. He reached down and plucked the badge from the pile of ashes, staring at it, he said to himself.

“So this is their symbol of power, a pitiful thing indeed.” At that a flame erupted in his hand, soon the badge was glowing red and after thirty seconds of continuous flame it melted away.

Thomas then returned to his house, removed his tribal clothes, re-dawned his pajamas and then washed off the war paint in a water basin. So the legend was born, the legend of the burning man. A dispenser of justice and follower of the ancient ways. So was born the legend of Thomas Coleman.