by Sean Platt
Lee yelled something inside the saloon and the birds started to come again, but by now Edward had nudged closer and was able to blast the second wave into smaller birds, which the men thrashed and knocked to the dirt, stomping them below their feet. Small spells shot from the unicorn’s horn — a mere fraction of what he’d have been able to do if he weren’t holding an umbrella over Mai a hundred yards away — and turned a few into cinders. Pompi swung his hammer. Stone fired with both guns, never reloading. Again, Clint, marshal and senior knight of The Realm, felt himself the least useful of all. His guns were accurate and fast and deadly, but there were too many birds for them to make a difference.
Talons struck the gunslinger’s shoulder, tearing the fabric. They scratched his cheek. As they’d done before, they found his hands and clawed at them, turning them slow. The same was happening to Stone, and even to Pompi. The giant also seemed to be bleeding from his side — probably the result of Lee’s earlier gunshots.
“Hang on,” said Edward. “I want to try something.”
Clint had the distinct sensation of a double beat, of Edward doing something with his horn that went one-TWO, and a flash of orange fire spread out from the center of their circle. It went fast, like lightning, and then was gone. When it passed, every bird the wave had struck fell to the dirt, sizzling. The air filled with the scent of a working kitchen.
The remaining birds began to circle, keeping their distance. Several hundred made a cyclone around them, like a whirlpool.
“Do that again,” said Clint, aiming his weapon around, unsure where to sight his guns.
“I had to drop my protection for a beat,” said Edward, seeming to look inward. “They won’t let me do it again. There are now two crows sitting atop the umbrella directly over Mai’s eyes, ready to peck them out if I give them a second.”
“Don’t do it, then,” said Clint.
“Oh, come on,” said Stone, waving his shotgun at the circling birds. “There are only a few hundred left. The problem with you two is that you’ve had it easy for too long. You have no appreciation for a true challenge!”
Inside the saloon, Lee laughed. Clint tried to aim him down, but he was still behind the three servers.
“Come out, you coward!” Clint shouted.
“Coward, maybe,” Lee shouted back. “But stupid? Never!”
“Do it,” Stone told Clint. “The girls would understand. It’s for the greater good.”
Clint aimed. He could do it. He could end Lee easily, if he was willing to take an innocent in the doing.
“I can’t,” said Clint.
“Do it and the birds will leave,” said Stone.
“You can’t be sure about that.”
“Don’t do it,” said Edward. “Lee doesn’t control the Darkness in the birds.”
Clint was still sighting, still waiting for Lee to give him an opening. But his cover was impeccable, his cowardice total and complete. Clint waited for one of the girls to elbow him and step aside. That’s all he’d need. Just one clear shot. But none of them did.
“Yar he controls them just fine,” said Stone, sounding annoyed.
“Nar, he doesn’t,” Edward insisted.
“Edward is wrong,” Stone said. “Shoot.”
“I’m not wrong,” the unicorn said.
The birds stopped circling and started to gather into a single large and flapping mass. From where the men stood, it looked like a dense, undulating cloud — the sort of cloud that might strike with lightning at any moment. Something orange began to drip from their collective body. Clint couldn’t tell where it was coming from — whether the birds were generating it from their mouths or somewhere else. But when the stuff struck the ground, it smoked like science ice. Everything the strange liquid struck went fizzle and snap.
“Acid,” said Clint, recalling Buckaroo’s fears. The birds were preparing to spew the strange orange acid at them. To douse them, and make them fizzle and snap.
Clint fired at the mass, and so did Stone. But there were too many left, and Pompi’s hammer couldn’t reach them. There was nowhere to hide. Inside the saloon, Lee remained buried in cowardice, still laughing. Clint sighted on the girls in front of him. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t harm an innocent to save himself.
“Do it,” Stone hissed. “Not for us, but for the worlds! If we don’t stop your man Kold, who will?”
Clint waited for an opening. Lee gave him none.
“Do it and the birds will stop,” Stone repeated, his voice becoming panicked. “Don’t you see? He controls the Darkness!”
Before Clint could decide, there was a huge booming sound. The black cloud of birds exploded in fire. Acid flew with it; it struck Clint on the arm and started to smoke, causing him to lose his pistol to the dirt. He gripped his arm above the wound, gritting his teeth. A moment later the wound glowed and the gunslinger looked up to see Edward healing him, healing them all.
“I see you took a risk,” Clint said to the unicorn.
“Not me,” said Edward, jerking his head backward. Clint turned. Buckaroo was behind them, shivering nervously. His chest was open, his canon out. He had several fizzling holes eaten through his golden alloy skin. The holes were slowly growing, quenching, preparing to stop and become permanent. But as Clint turned to thank the machine, Buckaroo made an about-face and ran.
“I couldn’t do it,” Clint said, looking at Stone.
“Good,” said Edward. “Because there were specks of Darkness in those birds, but as I said, it wasn’t being controlled by Lee, and if you’d killt him, they wouldn’t have stopped attacking.”
“What controls the Darkness then?” said Clint.
Edward shook himself off, making himself pristine and spotless.
“If I had to guess,” he said, “I’d say Dharma Kold.”
CHAPTER TEN:
FOLLOWING ORDERS
“Stand back!” yelled a voice from behind the three serving girls, now holding a note of fear. “I’m calling more birds right now!”
Clint leveled his firearm, aimed, and shot a glass figure hanging from the saloon ceiling. It exploded like a bomb and rained glass onto Lee’s head.
“Hey!”
Clint fired again, this time making it rain ceramic as a plate shattered.
“Stop it!” he yelled. “I’ll kill these women!”
One of the girls heard the panic in Lee’s voice and must have read the writing on the wall. She turned around and punched Lee hard in the gut. The bandit, dressed fully in black, was suddenly visible, bent over with the top of his glass-and-porcelain-covered hat showing as the girls ran off.
Roaring, Lee unholstered his weapon and aimed it not at Clint, Pompi, and Stone, but at the retreating girls. But Clint was too fast for him. A single shot had Lee wincing and staring at his arm, at his empty hand.
Pompi stowed his hammer and marched forward, his face changing and contorting with rage. From what Clint could tell of Pompi, the giant had the righteousness of Alan Whitney, but not his false perception about his ability to do damage. Pompi could and would flatten Lee if given the chance. And here it was.
Lee held up his hands. “Okay, okay!” he shouted. He tossed the heavy mace aside as a sign of concession, as if he’d thought they expected him to use it against four gun barrels and two enormous fists. “Don’t hurt me!”
Pompi stopped, looking at Clint.
“Oh, I think we’d rather hurt you,” the gunslinger said. Pompi took a step before Clint stopped him with a gentle hand.
“I was just doing as I was told!” Lee blurted.
The gunslinger’s pistol erupted. A bullet whizzed by Lee’s ear, making him wince.
“That’s the problem with the world today,” Clint said, using his free hand to park a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. “Everyone does what they’re told.” A long thumb rose to cock the pistol he still held at his hip.
“Don’t kill me. Please!”
“Why not?”
“Because
I can give you information!”
“Edward!” Clint called without breaking eye contact with Lee. “Do I need any information?”
“Nar,” said the unicorn, looking toward the Otel. “You’re good.”
Clint straightened his arm.
“Look, look! I know what was in those crows. It was some sort of old magic. But I didn’t control those birds, okay? I could send them messages with my head is all. I don’t even know how it worked. It was like they did my bidding without my asking. Like they were serving me… like you and your unicorn and how he serves you! You…”
Clint’s gun erupted again. This time the bullet severed Lee’s gunbelt, sending his holsters to the floor.
“You’re making it awful hard not to leave you killt,” said Clint.
“Look… a man came to me. A baron, working up in Meadowlands. He had a partner. A man without a name, or at least nar given. I got the impression he was more than a man. Like a dark wizard, controlling the birds. And the entire town, just ask them! They’ll tell you about the… the ominous dark in Elf Meadows. Sometimes the sun goes down wrong if you look out that way, like it’s shrouded by a black cloud that has no business in nature. Sometimes there are strange sounds, strange colors. They say the baron is building something. They say he’s making a railroad into The Realm. They say that soon there’ll be a way for us to trade with The Realm. Can you imagine that?”
“Yar. It’s a world of possibility for a bandit with no conscience,” said Clint. “Just imagine robbing that train. It’d be the last thing you’d ever have to rob.”
“I didn’t have a choice!” Lee blubbered, sinking to his knees. “I was already in the area, already robbing coaches with my gang. I had to eat! But this man who came to me, he killt my gang. He said, ‘The birds will be your new gang if you do as I say. And they’ll be my gang if you don’t.’ Then he gave me a look, and I knew what that meant. What would you do?”
In answer, Pompi smashed one of his fists into the opposite palm.
There was a rattling noise from up the street. Clint turned to see the gold-skinned Buckaroo running toward him, his chest cannon re-stowed but bearing several new wounds from corrosive bird acid. He shambled up to Edward and the two exchanged words.
While they were talking, the townspeople slowly started to stream from the buildings and into the square. One of these was the constable, now making his way over. Clint couldn’t stop the bile from rising in his gut. How many times had he watched this same scene unfold? How many times had he seen timid faces resurface into a scene of chaos after he and Edward had done all the dirty work?
He shook the thought from his mind. This was the life he’d chosen. An ordinary man couldn’t help his nature any more than Clint could help his.
Edward’s horn was softly glowing. The gleaming stopped and the unicorn went over to Clint, Stone, and Pompi as the constable arrived. Several yards distant, Lee still cowered on his knees in the middle of the frontless Liberty Valance saloon, his hands held high. He seemed almost inconsequential.
“Mai is safe,” Edward reported. “Buckaroo took out the birds over her. With a broomstick, no less. But Alan Whitney?” He shook his head.
Clint shook his own head, sighing. Why one man’s death should matter to the grizzled marshal more than another, he couldn’t say, but this one did. Whitney had been irritating and righteous and pompous, but he’d stood up for a sort of good Clint couldn’t fathom. Whitney had wanted an end to killing. And look where it had gotten him.
“I guess Whitney’s death makes you a killer one more time over,” said Clint, talking to Lee.
“I never meant to kill him!” said Lee, shuffling a few steps forward in penitence. “I was even told not to kill him. ‘Waylay the attorney. Injure him but don’t kill him.’ Those were my instructions. I WAS ONLY FOLLOWING ORDERS!”
“Pompi smash,” whispered the giant, again striking one hand into his opposite palm.
“Don’t let him kill me!” Lee cried, his eyes on Pompi.
“I’ll do it,” said Stone, re-drawing one of his shotguns.
Clint set a hand on Stone’s arm, pushing it down as Stone had done before the battle, when Clint had sighted on Edward.
“Nar,” he said. “This is Alan Whitney’s battle.”
Stone raised his eyebrows. Pompi watched Clint. Clint gave him a small look. Pompi returned it, understanding despite his seeming dimness.
Clint turned to the fat townie who’d joined their group.
“Constable,” he said pointing to Independence Lee, “arrest that man.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN:
ROLLING FIELDS
They marched into the Sands for weeks. As they walked, the Sands became less and less sandy. The travelers’ feet tromped on packed clay, loose dirt, and the occasional patch of topsoil. Around them were scrubby trees and vegetation that was harsh and dry but still alive, thriving despite the tough land. And as they walked further — as they traveled the path of the vein, laying distance between themselves and San Mateo Flats — they found more and more green, and less and less sand. They walked through fields that were harsh and hard, but that were, in the end, fields. Rolling hills began to sport what looked like farms. They spotted small villages in the distance — villages that would surely have fresher fare than turkey pie and apple brew.
Clint could hardly recall the idea of lands fertile and moist enough to grow a crop other than pumpkins, and support livestock less hearty and stubborn than turkeys. They even saw cattle in the fields, which Clint licked his lips over and said would cook right nicely. The cows — perhaps sensing the gunslinger’s hunger — kept their distance.
Pompi the giant had decided to travel with them, feeling that he yet owed a debt in Meadowlands. He’d deserted his post there because he’d felt an ominous darkness, but he now had companions who were driven to face that darkness. He’d served San Mateo Flats, which no longer needed him, and so now, with the help of the others, he would return home.
The giant was able to walk lighter than any of them would have suspected, but he absolutely towered over the group. This was both good and bad. He could serve as their lookout from high up, but he also made their posse easy to spot. There would come a day when that would become a problem — when they neared the city in Elf Meadows, where a man was building a train to unite the Sands and Realm — but for now the way was still open, comprised mostly of miles and miles of nothing.
They stopped to rest under a tree with small, oval-shaped leaves that were a desperate shade of green. Clint tied the horses to the tree while Stone and Buckaroo made themselves comfortable beneath it. Buckaroo’s fear of the birds, it turned out, had been justified; he was scarred with new acid burns that Edward had been unable to fix. But the burns were only cosmetic, and Buckaroo said that they, like his old scar from Aurora Solstice, gave him “character.”
Clint passed out turkey pie and water while they rested, wondering if it would be the last time for a while that he’d be seeing turkey pie.
“Kold is in Meadowlands,” said the gunslinger, readjusting his battered brown hat.
“And the Darkness,” Edward added.
Clint sat below the tree beside Mai, who seemed to be slowly improving. Her eyes were open more often, and her skin was filling out, not looking quite as deflated. She’d said a few words. There was still no way to tell what was living inside her, but Clint took it all as guarded good signs.
The gunslinger said, “What’s he doing? Kold, I mean.”
“Looking for the Orb,” Edward replied. “For a way into The Realm. He’s run straight, and we’ve detoured and become lost. By now, he’s months ahead of us. My guess is he’s already found the Orb, but not his way into The Realm. You heard the people. He’s settled. He’s a baron, building a city.”
“And the railroad? Is that his way in?”
“Mayhap. But something bothers me about that. About the railroad.”
“Misters,” said Stone, “ain’t nothing ab
out that railroad that doesn’t bother me. Trade with The Realm? What does anyone hope to attain by that?”
“Same as usual,” said Edward. “Power. Wealth.”
“But at the expense of the magic.”
“Also as usual,” said Edward.
The unicorn looked across the hills, seeming to think. Then he laid down in the grass and rolled, scratching his back. After satisfying his itch, he stayed that way, on his side, two hooves occasionally popping up into the air.
“Edward,” said Clint. “You said you understood what was happening.”
“In a way. Yar.”
“So what’s happening?”
“I also said that when it was time, I would explain it all.”
“Yar.” But Clint already knew what was coming next.
“It’s not yet time,” the unicorn added.
Clint swore. He wanted to echo what Edward had said: Also as usual.
“We ride to the city in Elf Meadows,” Edward said. “To Meadowlands. We find those we seek, and we see if they have found what they seek. We know things we did not know before. A city is growing. A new man is in charge, and that man is in league with the Darkness. The growth of the city and the building of the train are so important to both of them that together, they are sabotaging towns further down the vein in order to allow the city to grow without competition for resources. Now that we’ve been through, San Mateo Flats will start to grow again. They will finish their buildings and pave their streets and create their businesses. Soon they will thrive. How this will upset the baron’s plans, I don’t know.”