"Boys, you ain't been told the whole truth." The old man didn't talk much, and when he spoke, the usual campfire laughter and cajoling from Jeremiah, Ezra, Trent, Oliver, Miles, and Louis died away.
He continued with his slow drawl, "I know you think you're the strongest and bravest...."
Jeremiah, chest puffed, fervently protested, "We are the strongest and bravest."
Frozen silence. Save for the crackling campfire reflecting in the eyes of six robust teens and one hermit dragged out of the mountains to aid the civilized folks he eschewed since...well, two decades ago.
The dark forest trees leaned from the stars toward the flickering embers and the tied horses stilled. Oliver shifted uneasily, while Miles surveyed the others, sensing a deeper shift. Louis frowned and gripped his hatchet.
The old man began again. "Indeed. Ain't no one stronger and braver back home than you all."
Another day's long ride was coming to a close. So too, was any over-confidence.
"You boys may be good hunters, fishermen, trappers, riders, and axemen, but you ain't never seen no river like you gonna tomorrow."
Ezra, known for his extra-large knife, scoffed. "We know it's going to be a hard crossing."
Trent, however, remembered his father's urgent words before they set out: Listen to the old man. He can keep you alive. His dad was one of the few in their region who'd survived the last crossing some twenty years earlier, alongside this same hermit.
"Hard crossing?" The old man chuckled, although the sound was more a low growl echoing eerily from the bones of a figure more a force of rocky determinism than human concern. "That's where you've been spared the truth." He slowly stirred the embers with a stick, then tossed it in, watching it flare up and recede. "Tomorrow, those of us who cross, ain't all gonna make it to the other side."
The old man’s words hung heavy, revealing why they’d draw lots. One would stay back to watch, to tell the folks back home what happened -- a task none had foreseen as so grim.
"No man can make it across the churning white waters on his own. And any horse will naturally resist the roaring torment that deafens your own thoughts." The old man's voice dropped to a whisper. "To the observer, it will appear as a battle of men and beasts attempting not to be swept away and swallowed by oblivion."
A chilled breeze stirred the flames. For the first time all week, the old man slowly traced his gaze across each of the boys' faces, as if seeing them for the first time.
"One of you will stay back as the observer. And no matter how closely you watch, you ain't gonna see the real battle. 'Cause it will be between each man and himself...and perhaps God almighty. Although it's more likely any God won't be anywhere near that forsaken place."
Jeremiah, Ezra, Oliver, Miles and Louis exchanged tense glances. None had ever expressed fear to each other. Only Trent met the old man's gaze, the unspoken plea from his father echoing in his ears.
The flickering firelight danced across their faces, revealing not the bravest and strongest, but boys who, only now, had a true appreciation of what awaited.
The old man, a loner in the wild, simply nodded. The battle, he knew, had already begun.
by George Alger
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