The Flying Dutchman

By Kaitlyn Carter Brown

She swept into town like the swirls of dust that haunted the desert plains, a lonely traveler like a bounding weed, and struck out to seek what was lost.

The town, its decrepit buildings leaning into the incessant south winds, swiftly spread the name of Mellie Rembrandt. Nobody forgot a name like Rembrandt, its previous owner a goldminer who set his sights on the Superstition Mountains. But his claims only secured infamy, and Rembrandt’s legendary gold was never found.

But Mellie believed, even as she stood in the mountain’s shadow. The towering, rocky columns pierced the sky and disturbed the horizon like nothing else. Sheer and sharp, liable to break any who dared step into their wilds.

“You can’t go alone,” the rugged calamity called Calvin remarked, leaning against the hotel’s porch rail.

“Can’t I?” Mellie stepped into the dusty street.

“Not ladylike to venture into the mountains.”

Mellie scoffed. Whether she took a train back east or perished in the mountains, the town wouldn’t be bothered. “I’ll find my father’s mine.”

“If ye got sense, girl, ask the Dutchman to guide ye.”

The Dutchman? Mellie frowned. Hitching her pack on her shoulder, she stomped toward the stables, determination pounding in every step.

The stables had horses and mules aplenty, but none would serve her purposes.

“They spook in Superstition’s shadow.” The stable master grumbled. “No good for the terrain either.”

Already the task grew more daunting. Mellie thanked him and stepped outside.

Should I go on? Alone?

Whoosh! The air fluttered in her hair. A shadow crossed her path, a broad-shouldered man with a black duster that flapped like bat wings.

“Mellie Rembrandt?”

She blinked. The man before her could rival the Superstitions themselves, tall and just as imposing. His black Stetson sat low over his brow and his eyes gleamed obsidian.

“Are you the Dutchman?”

He nodded affirmatively.

“You’re not from the east.”

He shook his head.

“I’m seeking the Rembrandt mine. I was told you could guide me.”

The Dutchman slid his hands into the deep pockets of his duster. “I can guide you.”

Mellie frowned at his wording.

“The mine has a claim on you. Not the other way round.” The Dutchman huffed. “What would its riches give you?”

Mellie’s heart pounded. “A ranch with a view of peaks. A place to watch the sunrise.”

“The sunrise is viewed best from the heights.”

“I’d rather see the mountains before me than feel them beneath me.”

A smile quirked on his lips. “Well, let’s go then, Mellie Rembrandt.”

Mellie watched the mountains as they emerged between the saguaros with wide eyes. Indomitable, the imposing cliffs seemed eternal, forged in the birth of the land.

Here, Father found the gold.

And left it behind.

Once the climb began, there was no turning back. Despite the Dutchman’s height and the swirl of his duster, he was surefooted on the rock. As if he belonged there.

Pausing on a cleft, he knelt and extended a hand.

Mellie took it.

“Almost there.” His voice softened as he faced the expanse, the horizon shining in his eyes.

Mellie took a drink from her canteen. “We are?”

The mountain’s peaks still soared above their heads. Beyond, the town appeared like a child’s toy amid the dust.

“How do you know the mine’s location?”

The Dutchman turned. “I guided your father—and told him why it must be kept secret.” He stepped closer, near enough to force her gaze to his. “I hope you’ll make the same conclusion and seek another sunrise.”

“I—” A dark shape eclipsed her vision.

Mellie stumbled. The rock beneath her feet was replaced by air—and the sense of falling.

Plummeting.

Flailing.

Failing.

There would be no more sunrises.

And then, all was suspended. The ground lay far off and the heights farther still. In between, there was only the flap of great, black wings.

The Dutchman.

His duster was gone, transformed. The feathered wings, dark as coal, arched from his shoulders. His arms encircled her waist, keeping her aloft.

Shadows filled the air. Circling like vultures, their forms didn’t belong to birds, but to men.

“What—” Mellie gasped.

The Dutchman adjusted his grip, holding her tight as they flew between the peaks. He angled his wings in the narrow space before gliding to a small clearing.

Greenery exploded against the dark rock. The bubbling of a small spring murmured in tandem with the Dutchman’s wings.

Mellie toppled into the grass. The Dutchman’s wings rose above his head as he stood sentinel, his vigil hawklike as he guarded the pass. Then he relaxed. His wings folded back into the duster cloaking his shoulders.

“How—”

“Perception. Disguise in plain sight. My people belong to these mountains, our last refuge. You seek that which does not belong to you.”

The fierceness in his eyes pierced to her core.

“Your father understood that, but the legends followed him back to your world.” The Dutchman’s eyes softened. He stepped closer. His Stetson had been lost in their flight, and his dark hair fell across his brow. “In your father’s memory, I hoped…” He swallowed.

Mellie tore her gaze away. Above the spring, a dark chasm yawned into the mountainside. Its entrance was shadowed, the promise of its glitter consumed.

Then she turned to the man, the man who flew. He brought me here. Kept me safe. “I can help protect your people?” Share the sunrises.

He reached for her hand, his fingers enveloping hers. “It’s no small thing to keep a secret. Your father was good to us. Perhaps you will be too?”

To answer took only a breath.

“The mountains—and the mine—are yours.” Mellie searched his face. “Thank you for helping me understand.”

“Thank you, Mellie Rembrandt.” He spoke her name like a promise.

“Are there any more mysteries left in the Superstitions?”

His lips cracked in a grin. “Only which heights reveal the best sunrises.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kaitlyn Carter Brown, audacious adventurer and book lover, began writing at age 11 and never stopped. She writes for the undaunted and unafraid, spinning tales of courage, loyalty, and plenty of intrigue. She lives in southern California with her husband and devoted beta fish and enjoys the outdoors (especially national parks).

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