by Matt Gross
“If there was a bounty on her then there must be a reason. In this case a criminal killed a lawman.” The voice sounded confident.
“Juan was far from a lawman. He was barely a bounty hunter.” He took another drag.
“Doesn't give her the right to kill him,” the voice said in disgust.
“But you're no lawman neither, and I see no judge and jury. Who are you to be passing off judgment? Besides, she is my bounty, and therefore my responsibility, not yours.” The tip of the cigarette glowed orange as he inhaled.
“Sorry, senor. This is happening. Don't,” there was a slight pause, “get in our way.”
Khayin closed his eyes to see through the falcon's. The man behind him held a crossbow aimed at the back of his neck. Khayin shook his head.
“Here's how this is going to go down,” Khayin began. “Mr. Voice is going to come down with a lethal case of lead poisoning. Mr. Hat is going to find it hard to see though steel. And, if Mr. Coveralls is smart, he'd run as soon as I drop my cigarette butt.” There was a long moment of silence. Even the witch was speechless and let her body go slack.
The air was still. The morning light painted beautiful colors in the eastern sky. A small bead of sweat formed on Khayin's brow. Man I need a shower. He dropped the butt and he followed the cigarette down until he was in a squatting position drawing a pistol and a knife along the way. He aimed up at Mr. Voice's head. He pulled the trigger. The bullet shot from the barrel and only slowed when passing through his target’s skull. A brilliant spray of blood and gray matter painted the sky behind Mr. Voice, leaving nothing in its wake. Khayin spun around to face the other two men. He threw the knife in his other hand and it flew true. The throwing knife embedded itself in Mr. Hat’s left eye, killing him instantly.
Mr. Coveralls wasted no time. He dropped the girl’s leg and ran as soon as he heard the pistol fire, but he didn't foresee how fast the bounty hunter was. Before he could get more than a few feet his partner fell, which freed the witch. She hit the ground, but immediately pounced on the man, taking him down. She punched him repeatedly in the head, then clasped her hands around his throat and squeezed the life out of him. His eyes bulged as he gasped for air.
Khayin reloaded his pistol as he walked toward the woman strangling Mr. Coveralls. The body stopped twitching by the time he reached them. She sat there a moment with her hands still around his neck as if she wasn't entirely sure if he was dead. Khayin looked at her more closely now that there was better light. Her red dreads fell down to mid-back and he noticed a collar around her neck with the same anti-magic sigils as the cell wagon.
She snapped her gaze to Khayin, her hair whipping her face. He could see that same rage as before. He lit another cigarette, and held out his tin to her.
“Want one?” he asked. She just stared. “Suit yourself.” He put the tin in an inner pocket. “Let's say we get out of here before any locals come to see what happened.” She remained still and never took her gaze off of Khayin. “Look, I've got no clue why you're here or how on god's green earth that hack Juan even captured you, but we need to get out of here. I know you've no reason to trust me, but how about I don't put you back in that cage and I'll let you ride with me.” She said nothing.
“I know you understand me, the magic in my earring translates it. You look like you've a good head on your shoulders and probably can spot a liar, so,” he squatted down next to her, “look into my eyes and see if I'm lying.” He made a focused effort to look directly into her eyes. “You're safe with me. Besides, where are you going to go? Let's get out of here before more people than I can handle show up. I know a place we can hang low.”
The witch nodded. Khayin knew better than to try to help her up. The two of them walked to his horses. The horse he had won from Juan was a young white and brown mare. The witch jumped up into the saddle like a pro. Khayin couldn't help but grin. He secured his duffle bag to his saddle and climbed up.
“My name is Khayin, but most people call me 'Caine'. This here,” he patted his horse, “is Chewie. And this...” He whistled and his falcon flew over and landed on a leather bracer Khayin was wearing on his right forearm. “This is Millennium.” His smile couldn't get any bigger. He was obviously amused with himself. “Get it?” He waited a moment. She just stared at him. “His name is Millennium, and he's a falcon. Millennium falcon, the Millennium Falcon.” As if repeating himself was going to help her understand. She only stared at him. “Never mind,” he said in defeat. “Let's go.” They spurred their mounts and headed north.
Chapter 4 The Church
As the odd pair traveled north, Mexico City shrank behind them. She didn't know how she felt…relieved, nervous, scared. Kira had no idea where she was, let alone where this man was taking her. To his credit though, he didn't try talking to her. She was unsure of her situation. Unsure of him. Khayin. She looked at him. Kira was riding slightly behind and on his left. She could see his profile, though some of his face was obscured by his hat. This man, Khayin, wasn't as cruel as the Mexican. Maybe he might help. Help get her home. For now she would wait.
As they rode, a large shadow covered them. Kira looked up and saw a large winged dragon flying overhead. It had dark blue scales that glistened in the sun above it. The large beast was a breathtaking sight and it paid them no mind. I've never seen a winged dragon. She was nearly awestruck; her eyes widened and her mouth fell slightly open.
A few hours went by and the only sound was the wind and their horses’ shoes. They hadn't run into any other travelers; they were completely alone. She reached up and touched the collar around her neck. It was cold, and she traced the sigils with her fingers. She tugged and played with it, more out of anxiety than any hopes of taking it off.
Khayin grabbed a knife from his belt and handed it to her. She just looked at it then him. “For your collar.” He gestured with the knife. “I doubt it'll work, but you could give it a try.” She took the knife and attempted to cut the collar off to no avail. She handed him the knife back and shook her head. “Well, now we know.” He took the knife and sheathed it.
“There's a word. A...magic word, or key word, whatever you want to call it. Unfortunately I don't have the word. Juan, the Mexican with the big-ass hat?” Khayin paused. She looked up at him and gave a very small nod. “He knew the word.” She frowned. As if he caught her expression he said, “Don't worry though, we'll figure it out. I got some pretty cool friends, or at least people who owe me favors.” He winked at her.
“Why?” she asked in an almost whisper. She betrayed no emotion. She wasn't sure she could, or even wanted to trust him.
“Why what?” Khayin caught her eyes. “You're smart enough to know why he slapped that necklace around your pretty little neck.”
Pretty? “No.” She kept the eye contact. “Why did you help me?” Her accent was exotic, a cross between Brazilian, Spanish, and something more ancient. She still showed no emotion, despite her anxiety. “You killed those men and put yourself at risk for me. Why?”
“Tell you what. I'll be more than happy to answer your questions. In fact I'd be giddy as a school girl, because I've got questions for you too. But not here. Let's not talk on the road. The village is just ahead and I can get us some food, water and a much needed bath. I can probably persuade the Padre for some clean clothes too, and then we can talk all night if you want.” Khayin smiled. She liked his smile, but she stifled any betrayal of that before it surfaced. Kira just stared at him.
He was right, they were at the small village within minutes. The largest building was a church, she found out later--a place where people go to worship their god. The other buildings were mostly huts or shacks that were used as homes. There were people out and working and some even playing. She could feel their eyes on her. The midday sun was high in the sky. Khayin led them to the large building before jumping off his horse and tying the tethers to a pole outside the church. Kira did the same.
“Padre!?” Khayin called as he walked through the door
s.
The building consisted of only a few rooms, the largest of which they currently were standing in. The room was furnished with long benches all facing a small platform on the other end of the room. A large man entered from a door near the platform. He wore long pants and a short sleeved button down shirt. He had a pistol holstered on his hip and a very large knife strapped to his other hip. The man smiled as soon as he saw them.
“Khayin,” he said enthusiastically. The two men embraced. Kira grunted. She was not used to seeing men so...happy. It kind of disgusted her. Men were slaves. They lived only to serve and mate. This was all wrong and it made her even more homesick.
“Padre, this is my...er...friend? Uh...traveling companion? Balls! I never got your name, sweetheart.” Khayin gestured toward her.
“What did you call me?” she snapped. Her hands balled up into fists and her face flashed red.
“Fuck, sorry. I just never asked you your name and I...you know what? Nevermind.” He turned his attention back to the holy man. “We need shelter, food, rest and a bath. Uh, yes please, a bath.”
“Sure, friend. Follow me.” He led them to one of the rooms in the back. The holy man muttered something to Khayin as they walked that Kira couldn't make out. “I'm sorry, all I have is the one room. I use the other one.” He looked at Kira when he said that. Her anger melted some. “I can run you a hot bath and get some food and water for you as you wash. I'll also procure some fresher clothes. Nobody wants to put dirty clothes on after getting clean.” He smiled and walked off.
While Khayin unloaded a handful of things from his horse, the holy man made the first bath. After he left the room Kira didn't wait, she disrobed immediately and stepped in to the warm water. She noticed a small pile of clothing set to the side as she lowered herself into the liquid heaven. She had neglected to close the door and when she heard a noise, she managed to catch a quick glimpse of Khayin closing the door and taking care not to look at her. Hmm, he didn't bother to stare.
Kira just laid back and relaxed. She closed her eyes and succumbed to the tranquility of the quiet and pleasure of the pseudo freedom. After a few minutes she washed and rinsed. She took great care to wash her dreads thoroughly and dried them carefully. Kira stood in the room stark naked. The room was warm and a light breeze came from an open window. She glided over to the stack of clothes and found a pair of camouflage pants, a white tank top, a t-shirt with a drawing of a hairy muscular man with metal blades coming out of his hands, a pair of socks and a pair of boots. They all fit remarkably well.
She entered the big room to see the holy man and Khayin talking. They both stopped and looked at her.
“Damn, girl. You clean up well,” Khayin remarked. She frowned.
The holy man broke the budding tension. “I have a collection of bras in the room where you'll be sleeping. I wasn't about to guess your...uh...size.” She looked at him quizzically. “Bras?” He gestured by cupping his hands where breasts would be on himself. “We used to get missionaries come through here and leave clothes and other amenities, so keep whatever you use,” he said joyfully. “While you,” he looked at Khayin, “take a bath I'll get some food together.” He stood up.
“Thanks, Padre.” Khayin nodded. The padre shrugged and exited the church.
Khayin stood and walked over to the bathroom, but stopped and looked at Kira. They stood only a few feet apart. Khayin was around six foot she guessed, which made him about five inches taller than her. She had to look up slightly to catch his gaze. They just stared a moment. She saw no malice, no ill feelings toward her at all. He must be hiding it. He wants something. He smiled.
“Kira,” she said as she walked away.
Kira examined the bras and after many trial and error attempts she found a few that fit. She both disliked and liked them. They weren't the most comfortable articles of clothing, but she thought she understood their purpose. Some of them were still in their original packaging, but she couldn't read the language, so she only had the pictures to go by. She decided to try one for a while before she discarded the idea altogether. Khayin had finished his bath and knocked on the door to the room she was in.
“Kira,” he called from beyond the closed door. “Are you decent?”
“Come in,” she responded, a little too nice than what she would have liked. Cursed. I won't start liking him. He is male.
He opened the door and stood just outside it. He wore blue jeans and a white long sleeved shirt. He had the same black leather vest from before, but only carried a few of his weapons. He had also put on his old pair of boots and his hat.
“The padre has some food. He set up a table outside. Come on out when you're ready,” he said.
Kira just nodded and she watched him turn and leave. She looked around the room, finally taking notice of it. It was a small room compared to the central room and there were two beds and a dresser. She walked over to the single window in the room and looked outside.
“Why can't I remember what happened to me? Why am I here? Who was that Mexican? And who is Khayin?” She balled her hands into fists. “I have to convince him to get me home. I don't like it here. I need my sisters. I must get home,” she said in frustration, “but I have no idea where home is.” She took a deep breath to calm herself then went outside to join the men.
****
Sometime later, well after the meal, the holy man retired and left Kira and Khayin alone. The night air was beginning to cool and Khayin had started a fire. Some of the kids in the village came over to the fire and Khayin was roasting some treats for them. It was only when most of the village had retreated to their homes for the evening that Kira initiated the inevitable conversation.
“Why?” she repeated from their earlier talk, as though no time had passed.
“Oh yeah,” he responded like he was just remembering. He pulled a folded sheet of paper from a pocket and handed it to her.
She took the paper and unfolded it to see a crude drawing of a woman. She recognized numbers, but she couldn't read the words. Khayin handed her a pair of glasses. She shrugged and put them on before looking back to the parchment. The words suddenly legible, she saw that it was a wanted poster that offered a reward to the individual who brought in the 'Nighthag'. She had heard that term for her people before.
Her gaze fell on Khayin. “Is this supposed to be me?” she asked.
“Hell should I know. Juan seemed to think so.” Khayin rolled a cigarette and lit it with the fire between them.
She looked back to the poster. “Is this a lot of money?”
“Decent amount. I've collected bounties much higher, but they were pretty high profile. The Schadovitch are a myth, legend, folklore. I've never heard a believable story from anyone who had supposedly met one.” He took a drag from his cigarette.
“They are real.” She paused to let that sink in. “I...” She stopped herself, she didn't want to reveal too much, but she knew it really didn't matter.
“No shit. Fuck. I mean, I'd a feeling, but...shit.” He was genuinely surprised, she saw it on his face. He hadn't tried to hide it.
A long moment passed. “Well, gorjcha. What does this mean? You planning on collecting this bounty?” She gave him a stare that screamed 'Over my dead body'.
“Every sanctioned bounty has the Syndicate seal, or mark. If you wanted to place a bounty on someone you go through the Syndicate. Not all hunters work for the Syndicate, in fact most don't, but it's the best way to guarantee payment. A bounty hunter sees a poster with the appropriate mark and they know it is a legit hunt so there won't be any complications when receiving payment.” He took another drag. “You follow me so far?” She nodded. “Not only does that poster have a kid’s drawing of one of your people, but there is no Syndicate mark.”
“So it isn't a sanctioned hunt,” she deduced, waving the poster in the air.
“Exactly. So my questions are, where'd Juan get it and who posted it? Juan wasn't a very smart man and he was a mediocre hunter at best, so ho
w'd he get the drop on you and where was he taking you?” He inhales through his cigarette and blows out circles of smoke. “I've no interest in collecting that bounty, but I do want to know the answers to those questions.”
“I can't remember how I ended up in that cell or in the custody of the Mexican.” She hated to reveal that to him. Kira was relieved to know that Khayin wasn't going to pick up where the other hunter left off, but she didn't want to expose any kind of weakness to him either. She tried searching for the best way to tell him she wanted to go home and that she could only reach home with some help. She settled on the direct approach.
“I need to get home. You must help me get there. I don't know where I am and I have no idea where to even begin to find my way there.” It wasn't a plea. It was more like a command and it didn't go unnoticed.
“Whoa! I don't 'must' take you anywhere. And if you try to leave without me you won't last but a few days out there with that thing around your neck,” Khayin snapped.
“I must get home, gorjcha. For someone to make such a poster they know more about us than my sisters wish to be known. I have to warn them.” This time it came out a little more like a plea, but it held a commanding tone.
“Look, I have no clue where your people are, so let's take this one step at a time. I know a few people. Let me do some investigating. Also, you are a liability as long as you are wearing that necklace, so we need to get that thing off you. In the meantime...what weapons can you use?”
Chapter 5 The Call
What the fuck am I doing? What've I gotten myself into? This isn't me. This is going to cost me money, not make me any.
Kira slept on a cot across the room with her back to him. He was conflicted. Khayin could just leave her, forget all that had happened and continue to Chi-Town, but no, he couldn't do that. There were too many unanswered questions, and truth be told he had always been a sucker for the damsel in distress, though he knew if he ever called her that she would cut his balls off. He shuddered.