Lianna stared at Serra’s hand, her eyes full of wishes and possibilities. Serra could see the debate that covered the woman as her fears and dreams wrestled for control. As Vonack approached them again, Lianna was ripped from her great debate. Making a quick lunge, Lianna placed her hand in Serra’s waiting hand.
Serra squeezed the hand now in her own, smiling as she stood to help up Lianna. “I think you’ve made the right decision, Lianna. I cannot promise you much. But what I can promise you is this. One day, before all this is over, with every ounce that is me, you will feel safe once again.”
-2-
The shot, while cool to her lips, slowly turned to fire as it burned hungrily down her throat and insides. She grimaced, but only a second. The shiver was never long in lasting, yet the aftertaste of the swill she had consumed was unwelcome indeed. It was a watered-down version of a sad excuse for whiskey, and it had done little at all to take her mind from her troubles.
“Another. And make it the good stuff this time.” Jozlyn Corzon slid her glass toward the scurrying bartender. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the heavily thin man wordlessly did just that. So long as she was paying up front, Jozlyn knew she would have no trouble from him at all. This was a worn out, backwater trade town and if there was payment, there were seldom questions.
The overall saloon atmosphere was crap at best. Foul cigarette smoke created a thunderous fog, making it difficult to see more than a few solid feet. While the occasional traveler and trader could be found, the bar was mostly littered with shoddy regulars. Though Jozlyn was never one to be judgmental, in their case, she had to make a rare exception. They carried about themselves with an air of witless charm, thoughtless humor, and blissful, drunken ignorance.
To make matters worse, the makeshift saloon was a cramped establishment. The patrons and smoke made it feel smaller still. The taste it left in Jozlyn’s mouth could not be washed out even with cheap whiskey. The best thing that she could think to say about the place was that at least her glass had been clean. Almost.
With the new vintage, the second shot went down easier than the first. Her chaser had come in the form of a hacking cough to her right. Apparently, her company was not having as much luck as she. Of course, she had an idea he was drinking something with a bit more potency. Jozlyn watched him as he coughed down the flame in his throat. His crutch slipped from his grip, coming to a rest on the floor with a loud report. He didn’t bother to fetch it, just put his head between his arms and onto the bar as he hacked.
Jozlyn paid him little mind, as she would get the crutch later. He wished to be left alone as he always did when he was in drinking establishments. He couldn’t run, couldn’t hide. Sometimes he just wanted to drown a bit and Jozlyn could understand that, more than he realized, in fact. Jozlyn knew that Shan Fellar was a good man. It was just that in his own eyes, he was no longer a whole one anymore.
Shan looked at the crutch absently, clutching his own glass in his fist and resting it against his chin. The bristle of his cheek scratched at his knuckles. His untamed long hair pounced upon the contours of his face. He was hiding and drowning and doing a poor job at both. Jozlyn knew what was going through Shan’s dark thoughts. He believed himself to be a failure, a disgrace, and a joke. While these things were of course, untrue, Jozlyn knew that Shan’s opinion could not be swayed.
Jozlyn’s attention was taken from him and back to her surroundings by more idiotic laughter. The smoke somehow dangled on every ounce of air, saturating skin and clothes incessantly. Yes, there was warmth here, but that warmth was shallow and empty. The patrons all wanted or needed something in this lowly crevice that barely passed as a bar. Whether it was a desire met or a sorrow drowned, in the end it all amounted to filling a void, or at least diminishing one somehow.
Jozlyn mulled on her current location as she focused on her third drink. The gunslinger had not been this far north in sometime, and it was the closest she had been to Morganne in five years. Jozlyn and Shan had come across another small town under the occupation of Thorne. The atrocities they had seen was all the reason they needed to venture into the saloon.
“Well, well boys, look what he have here. It’s that exile and cripple we’ve been hearing so much about. Hell, what’s it been, five years, since they’ve reared their heads in these parts? They’ve some nerve, wouldn’t you say, Ben?” That voice, while older and slimier, was all too familiar.
Another grimy voice filled Jozlyn’s ears. “Yup, a lot of nerve. That or stupidity, and I’ll be bettin' on the second one. What about you, Doyle? What do you think?”
The silence that followed told her all she needed to know about these three. One was Doyle Corzon, her cousin. The others were Ben and Richard Stockand, brothers and childhood friends of Doyle. Instantly she knew two things; the first was Doyle had been hauled in here for this and the second was she was about to remember how much she hated the Stockand brothers. The two of them had never gotten along with her. What had happened in Morganne five years earlier only made them hate her more. Jozlyn knew they would use any excuse to confront her because, deep down, she understood that most people never changed.
Jozlyn remained in her seat, shot glass in hand and looking at her drink. She looked much as she had five years ago, though war had added an edge to her quiet beauty. Jozlyn’s clothes had accumulated some dust and wear, but she wore the same tan coat and boots. Her pistols still crisscrossed her waists, only now they looked like they belonged there. She hoped her indifference would get them to leave though the gunslinger ultimately knew better.
The three men surrounded her looking every bit the part of Morganne gunslingers. The Stockand brothers flanked Jozlyn while Doyle chose to remain a few steps back, saying nothing. It seemed to Jozlyn that the bar had grown deathly quiet as they watched the spectacle. Ben, the slightly younger brother to her left leaned his elbow on the bar. Richard at her right draped his arm over her shoulder, squeezing tightly
Putting his whiskey-laden lips to her ear, Richard spoke softly. “Didn’t think we’d see you again, Jo-Jo. Did you think we wouldn’t hear about you coming? Well you just had to come say hello.” He leaned his chin closer and the stubble on his face met her skin. She shrugged him off fiercely, still choosing to not look at any of them. Ben laughed as Richard egged her on. “Aww, Jo-Jo, you mean you didn’t miss us? Believe me, we missed you. Didn’t we Ben?”
“Sure did.” Ben took a handy bottle of whiskey on the counter and took a heavy swig. Wiping his lips with the back of his other hand, he continued. “Just hasn’t been the same without you. We just had to come and welcome you back proper.”
“That’s right, Joz.” Richard inched a bit closer again as he spoke. She could see it out the corners of her eyes, his sick smile and the fact that he was drunk.
Behind Richard, she could see Shan trying to stand in her defense. Jozlyn held up a hand to halt his advance “It’s okay, Shan. Stay seated. I’ll handle this.”
Richard turned his attention to Shan Fellar. “You heard the woman, you crippled freak, stay your ass where it is. This ain’t your affair.” He turned back to Jozlyn. “Now, where were we? Richard pulled his long coat to the sides revealing his pistols to Jozlyn. Upon them were the markings of his family. It appeared that Richard had been busy in her absence, making quite an impression in five years. “Things have changed since you’ve been gone, Jo-Jo. Times have changed. I don’t care what Doyle thought he saw back then. It was a fluke. You were never that good and leaving Morganne was the best thing that you could have ever done. Hell, your father hasn’t spoken about you since. So, as you can see, you did everyone, including him, a favor.”
Jozlyn motioned for the nervous bar keep. He filled her glass again, and still she said nothing to Richard. Finally, Doyle spoke up. “Richard, cut it out.”
Richard’s eyes bore true disgust as he snapped at his friend. “Shut your ass, Doyle. I don’t care if she is kin to you, what you ever saw in this girl I won’t ever kn
ow.” Richard’s voice thundered as he spat his venom.
Jozlyn watched the brute carefully from her peripheral vision. The only thing that shined about him and his attire were the weapons on his waist. As he glared at Doyle, he puffed out his chest. The man had always used his size and swagger to his advantage.
Satisfied with Doyle’s silence, Richard put his energy back to Jozlyn. “You should have stayed gone. There is no place for you in Morganne or anywhere near it. As far as I am concerned 15 miles is too damn close. The fact that there are people like Doyle here that sympathize with you makes me puke. You have been nothing but a wasted talk in our town, and I don’t want you coming back to it ever.”
Ben finally piped in. He was shorter and stockier than his brother and a little slower in every aspect. “You heard him right bitch. Head south, take him with you and this time stay gone.” He glanced slowly at her body. “Women like you are only good for one thing anyway,” he said smiling.
Shan had tried to stay quiet, but the last comment pushed him too far. He reached for his crutch. Richard spun on his heel and by the time he faced Shan one of his pistols was drawn. Shan froze in his tracks as Richard took a step and placed the barrel of his weapon on Shan’s head. “What the hell did I just say to you? This ain’t your affair, you stupid ass. You want something else to go with that pathetic limp of yours?”
Finally, Jozlyn turned her head to Richard, taking one hand from her drink. “Leave him alone.”
Richard’s other weapon shot from its holster as he aimed it at Jozlyn. His eyes turned and met hers as a nonchalant afterthought. He smiled as he took several steps from the bar still pointing his weapons at Shan and Jozlyn. He went to where Doyle had backed up to and nudged him out of the way.
Doyle gritted his teeth. Every patron in the bar had now become an onlooker. “Rich, what the hell are you doing?” he hissed.
Richard never took his eyes from Jozlyn. “Shut it, Doyle. I’ve been waiting for this.” He raised his voice for the crowd. “You see those guns on her? They’re as plain as the day. There’s no markings of her history, no honor from her family. It means she never earned them. She’s nothing more than an exile. She’s a castaway, not good enough to wear the weapons of Morganne. She couldn’t earn those guns, so she took them and ran like a scalded dog.”
The crowd’s murmurings increased. Jozlyn let out a sigh as her head sank lower. Doyle stood silent and torn. Shan’s face had become red with frustration. Ben was laughing now, bottle still in hand as Richard smiled triumphantly, and the edges of his unattractive face cracked in the effort. Jozlyn pegged him as having the kind of look that did not improve with drinking.
Richard lifted his arms at the elbows until his guns pointed to the ceiling. He felt his point had been made, and his battle was almost won. “I can easily prove this, as there is much that she has never learned. Those that are not fit for the commitment or training rarely see these things.” With that, his pistols began to spin in his hands. It was slow at first but soon quickened in pace. Richard’s pistols went forward, backward and then on their sides as he tilted his hands.
Ben let out a whoop of encouragement as the crowd caught on and slowly joined in the enthusiasm. “Show her how it’s done, Rich!” he crowed.
Ben’s brother pressed on. “I would bet the farm that she wasn’t taught this neither,” said Richard continued his little show. As his guns twirled, he started to move his arms, crossing them here and there. He threw one gun into the air, then the second catching them both with ease as he continued. Every now and then, he stopped the spin of a gun in his hand, always to point the barrel at Jozlyn. The crowd increased their cheers. Ben began to drum the bottom of the bottle on the bar.
“Bring it home now,” urged Ben.
“Or how about this?” Spinning both guns on his fingers, Richard threw one up and behind his back. A second later he threw the next in the same fashion. He caught them again behind his back with the opposite hand that threw them. This sent the crowd into an uproar. He then raised the guns out to his sides at chest level, still twirling them by their trigger guards. He was about to give the crowd one hell of a finale.
Richard was skilled, but his showboating had made him blind to his surroundings. Not that it would have mattered anyway. Just before his finale, Jozlyn finally turned to face him. Not an eye in the house could have seen how fast her guns had been drawn. She had turned with a speed and grace that even Richard would have admired had he not been so proud and boastful. Jozlyn’s long brown hair danced in the moment as her eyes went afire. From her hips, she placed seven shots in a heartbeat.
The first two blasts caught Richard the instant his guns were in his grip again. They ate easily through the handles of his pistols, burning his fingers. The second two splintered the other halves of Richard’s weapons as they flew into the air. The charred debris flew about, singing Richard’s cheeks and neck as he yelped. The third set grazed both of his knees, dropping him to the floor. Changing targets, Jozlyn’s seventh shot was directed at Ben. Before he could even think, Ben’s gun belt had been shot clean off and he was helpless watching his guns fall to his feet. Ben and his brother both whimpered as the crowd collectively gasped in unison.
Richard dropped the charred handles in his hands, clutching at his burned fingers. Jozlyn’s guns went into their holsters as quickly as they had emerged. Ben looked as if he had wet himself. Doyle remained frozen in place. Jozlyn walked over to where Richard sat on his knees. Without the slightest hint of gentleness, she put her right hand under his chin and looked at him square in his eyes. There was fire there now as she stared daggers into the humbled man before her.
Jozlyn looked angrily at Richard before she glanced at Ben and then the crowd. Once again, a voice much like the one Doyle had heard some five years before filled the room. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but it seems to me that the training in Morganne has grown piss poor since I was there last.” With that she pushed Richard onto the floor. His back met the ground with an unforgiving thump.
Jozlyn turned and walked to Shan. She reached down, grabbing his crutch before handing it to him. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I’m with you.” Shan said no more and grimaced as he made his way to his feet again. Jozlyn put his free arm over her shoulder, helping him to the door. It had been a long ride, and she had hoped to give him more time to rest. Unfortunately, that option was now gone. The crowd parted as Jozlyn helped Shan to the exit.
When she got to where Doyle stood, Jozlyn stopped. Doyle found no traces of the innocent little apprentice he had once known. “Give your family my best,” said Jozlyn as she nodded to him and continued to the door.
Ben, holding his pants as best he could, fumbled to where his brother covered the floor. He tried to help Richard up only to be shrugged off. Richard was content to flounder about, grabbing at his wounded hands. “You bitch! You’ll pay for this! Oh god, you’ll pay! Bitch! Oh, that I promise you, promise ta god and all things holy. . .” his voice trailed off from Jozlyn’s ears as she headed out the door. Jozlyn knew she could let her guard back down now. Without Richard to fuel him on, Ben was nothing more than a coward and would not contest her.
It took only moments to be back on their horses. Surewind appeared pleased to be heading out again, and Jozlyn could relate. The day was cool and ending, but at least the clouds were few and far between. It was to be a long ride and an even longer night. She turned her head to see Doyle in the doorway watching as she went. Jozlyn said no words, nor did she wave goodbye.
Jozlyn had one more day, two more tops, then she would be from this place. A few nights of hard riding and she hoped to make it back to Rahn. Anywhere free of Morganne’s scent and influence suited her just fine. This little incident had only confirmed what she had already known. Jozlyn was an outcast and had no home anymore. There would be no warmth found in Morganne anymore. The next time she saw her father, she would be a stranger and an enemy. Somehow, she accepted that too e
asily.
Jozlyn had hoped that in the last five years there would have been a change, that her father and her town would have seen the light. Sadly, only a handful had ventured from home in her wake. She didn’t know what had happened or how, but it seemed that Morganne had avoided the fate of so many other towns. It had been noted that the armies of Thorne and the infamous General Cresul had circled around Morganne’s borders, giving it a wide berth. Such an act only confirmed Jozlyn’s fears.
These days there had been no doubt in her mind. For a year or two she had tried to shrug it off in denial, convincing herself of her town’s might. Slowly, the truth had crept into her veins, and its kiss had been cold. Jozlyn still could not swallow it, even with the help of the swill posing as whiskey she had just consumed.
Her father, Vaalin Corzon, had made a deal with the devil.
Morganne was safe, for the time being. It made a sad sense as the puzzle came together over the years. Vaalin turns a blind eye to the war, and Cresul leaves Morganne to its own little world of obliviousness. Knowing her father, she could even see why he made the choice. Honor meant little, nor did right and wrong factor in. In Vaalin’s eyes, he had saved his town and the lives of his people. In his heart, their souls had only been but a small price.
Echoes of Ashener Page 3