Silver on the Road

by Laura Anne Gilman

  Gabriel Kasun came around from behind the taller of the two horses, a deep-chested bay with black points and a head like a rock, nothing graceful and all power behind it. The cardsharp was gone, his fine-cut coat replaced by a heavy canvas duster, a striped shirt with the placket done up underneath, his eyes half hidden by the wide brim of his hat. Her gaze dropped, and then she remembered Marie’s words and raised her head again, meeting his stare squarely.

  “There you are,” he said. She thought there was approval in that smooth rumble, and her forehead creased, not understanding, before he turned away and put a hand on the second horse’s neck, pulling loose her reins with a simple tug. “Your boss said you had some skill at riding. This is Uvnee.”

  The mare turned its head toward her, as though aware they were being introduced. “Hello, Uvnee.” Izzy let her pack slide to the ground again, the saddlebag slung over her shoulder, and stepped forward, moving to the left side and holding her hand out palm up and flat, to let the mare sniff at her. “I’m sorry; I don’t have an apple for you this morning.” She should have thought of it, should have planned better. A horse that associated her with treats was a horse less likely to fuss when asked to do something.

  The mare lipped her palm, the blunt teeth brushing against the skin without nipping. Izzy took that as a good sign and reached up to rub between the ears, bits of dust and dander clinging to her fingers. The mare’s coat was reddish brown, the color of river clay, and when she snorted, her breath was warm against Izzy’s face.

  “That what you’re bringing?” Gabriel asked, indicating her pack with a rough jerk of his chin.

  “I . . . Yes.” Her pack, and a saddlebag.

  “Hunh,” he said, and she braced herself, one hand still on Uvnee’s head, the other pressed uncertainly against her stomach, forcing it to settle. “That’ll do.” And then he looked at her and smiled, teeth showing and the corners of his eyes squinting, a real smile, not something forced or mean. “I’ll load this, then, and we’ll be on our way.”

  She had passed the first test. Izzy felt the tightness in her stomach ease just a bit.

  The pack went onto the mule, who accepted the additional burden without complaint, chewing the grass with seeming content. Izzy tried to determine what the other packs were, but they were tucked in so neatly, it was difficult to tell one from another, tied down with leather straps that, she hoped, the mule wouldn’t be able to chew through.

  “All right, then,” Mister Kasun—Gabriel—said, giving the mule a firm slap against one hindquarter and tying its lead to his horse’s saddle. “Let’s go.”

  He didn’t offer to help her fix her saddlebag’s straps, nor offer her a boost into the stirrup, just swung into his own saddle and gathered the reins, waiting until she was ready. Izzy frowned at the saddle, then unbuttoned the lower half of her skirt, letting the fabric flare slightly as she fitted her foot to the stirrup, grabbed the pommel horn, and swung onto the horse’s back with less grace than she might’ve wished for but enough for the job. And it wasn’t as though anyone were watching. She was familiar with riding astride; the boss didn’t hold with sidesaddle, said it was a good way to get a broken neck for some excuse at modesty, but Uvnee was broader than the old gelding she was accustomed to. Fortunately, the saddle was well made, and it took her only a minute to find her balance and adjust the skirt decently around her.

  “We’ll stop in a bit and adjust your gear once you’re used to her,” Gabriel said. “Got any farewells you need to say?”

  Isobel looked over her shoulder at the saloon, the shuttered windows, and then turned to look up at the sky, the faint streak of dawn starting to cross the horizon, the fresh hint of brimstone and hot iron coming from the blacksmith’s. She shook her head, letting the leather of the reins slide between her fingers until she was comfortable, feeling Uvnee shift underneath her, anxious to be moving.

  “No,” she said softly. “No, I’m done.”

  Every deal has two sides, the devil had said. I’ve told you what I want. Name your price.

  Gabriel tightened his fingers on the reins, remembering. He hadn’t gone into the saloon to make a deal, neither contract nor Bargain. He’d had his chance the night before and passed on it, declined to face the devil across the felt.

  I didn’t make the offer to you. Your accepting it on her behalf don’t change that.

  The devil had seemed amused by Gabriel’s sass: his smile was thin, but it reached his eyes, a comfortable amusement that had nothing cruel about it. Gabriel’d heard the stories when he was back East, over the River, the warnings of brimstone and betrayal, but he’d never been able to believe them. What he’d been raised on was more truth: the devil ran an honest house. But for him to be asking the price rather than telling it . . . that ran contrary to everything anyone knew, and it made a man suspicious.

  To be offered his price for a thing he’d been willing to do for free . . . It made a man more than suspicious.

  Steady snorted, as though the gelding knew what he was thinking. He kneed the horse forward as though to tell it to shut up and focus on the trail, but it was a wide-open road, cleared of rocks and smooth of holes, exactly the way you’d expect the road to perdition to look.

  The girl rode behind and to his left, Uvnee falling into place like she’d been riding with Steady her entire life instead of coming fresh out of the stable. Still, he’d picked the mare out of the ones offered, and he had a decent sense of horseflesh.

  I’m sure we can come to an equitable agreement. . . .

  Gabriel tugged his hat down farther over his eyes, the morning sun up high enough now to be annoying but not high enough to start warming the air. His gaze flickered to the girl, noting the way she held her reins, the way she shifted, trying to find the most comfort­able position, adjusting to the mare’s movements. She’d need a hat, he decided. Probably used to spending all day indoors, out of the sun, and had no idea how bad it could get come midday. When they stopped, he’d rig something, but the first town they hit, she needed a decent hat.

  Studying her now, he looked past the strong bones and smooth skin that had first drawn his attention, trying to see what about the girl was worth so much to the devil. Her gaze was on the road, but he got the feeling from the tension in her jaw that she wasn’t seeing it. Girl was terrified and trying hard not to let it show.

  Good. Being scared right then meant she was smart. Being scared could keep her alive until she learned better. And not showing fear would keep her alive after.

  And him ignoring the fact that she was terrified right then was all the comfort he could give her.

  Marie stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around her as though she were cold, her ears straining for sound of hoofbeats moving away. The signet ring on her thumb had rarely felt so heavy, not since she first slid it on. “Winds go with you, Isobel,” she said, “and bring you back home again.”

  There was a crash from the kitchen and the sound of someone’s door opening overhead, soft voices beginning to float down the hallway, and she exhaled finally, a long, shuddering breath. The day had begun. What was done was done and out of her hands. She turned and picked up the tray she had placed there before Isobel came down, lifting it with both hands and carrying it to the narrow door behind the bar. The stoneware of the cups rattled slightly, but the carafe, tendrils of steam still rising from it, did not spill.

  She paused outside the closed door behind the bar. “Boss?”

  “Here.” She knew he was there, but it was manners to ask first. His office was open to the staff, and anyone with a need could enter, but this room was his own space. Private.

  The walls here were light brown wood paneling, not textured the way the walls in his public office were but smooth-hewn and polished by time and use. There were no windows, no desk, and one wall entire was covered by a map, careful black lines and lettering on a fine-grain calfskin
larger than any calf ever grew.

  The boss stood in front of the map, barely a handspan away, intent on something. His jacket lay across the back of the chair, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, hands resting on his hips. She could not see his face, but she knew that pose.

  “Figured you might want some coffee.” Marie placed the tray down on the narrow sideboard opposite the map. “With a dash or two of Iktan’s finest.” She poured the coffee into the cup and handed it to him, then fixed one for herself, sipping gratefully. Only then did she turn and study the map, looking at it from a safe distance.

  The lines moved as she watched. Small shifts, quivers, trembles. Changes. A patch of red shaded to pink; a shadow of blue melted to yellow. She did not understand the map, did not understand how things shifted and shoved each other, but she imagined it was similar to managing the house, one personality driving the next, storms blowing themselves out or building to something larger.

  They called it the Devil’s West, but they didn’t know the truth of it.

  “They’re gone,” she said.

  “I know.” There was a note of rebuke in his voice: why was she wasting his time telling him the obvious?

  She took her coffee and left him there watching the Territory shift and turn.

  PART TWO

  THE ROAD

  THEY TOOK THE WESTERN ROAD out of town, away from the river and the half-circle of farms. Izzy, focused on learning the mare’s movements, adjusting to the unfamiliar saddle, was achingly aware that every pace the horses took led away from everything she knew, every step that was familiar.

  She would come back. Marie had said so. But when?

  The thought made her heart stutter, her chest contracting in fear. She turned in the saddle, looking back the way they’d come, as though to assure herself the familiar buildings still stood, would be standing when she returned.

  “Best if you don’t look back,” Gabriel said. “If anything’s riding to catch you, you’ll hear it soon enough.”

  She took him at his word—he was her mentor, his responsibility to teach her, so it would be foolish not to listen—and looked down the road in front of them instead. Not that the road was much to see, she thought, half disappointed. It was the same firm brown dirt that ran through town, wide enough for two wagons to pass without one of them going in the ditch, pocked with hoofmarks and wheel ruts. There wasn’t anyone else about, just a long ribbon unrolling in front of them, occasionally disappearing up over and down a hillock as they rode. The land around Flood was flat, rolling away from the riverbanks; the soil there was good for farming, soft and rich, but past that, it was grassland. Sere and low in the winter, dull enough to drive you to tears if you looked at it too long, but now with spring well along, the grassheads were speckled with tiny bursts of color where flowers reached toward the sun, yellow and blue against the endless shades of green. Not all pretty, she reminded herself; some of those grasses were sharp enough to pierce your skin if you weren’t careful. But the road was cleared—the marshals made sure of that each spring, clearing brush and filling the worst of the ruts in. So long as they stayed on the road, they would be fine.

  Her mentor did not speak, and she could not think of a way to break his silence. After the constant hum and mumble of the saloon, the quiet was like a weight, pressing her down into the saddle. Accustomed to keeping busy, her hands were restless on the reins, her thinking jumbled until she finally lost herself, the steady, even plod of the mare’s walk, the quiet snuffles of the mule behind her, even the swish of tails and occasional rattle of leather and metal, rubbing away the unease and uncertainty.

  But as the morning passed and they didn’t pause, she’d been on horseback longer than she’d ever ridden before, and even the mare’s steady pace made her ache. Izzy pressed her heels down into the stirrups, lifting her backside up slightly, trying to stretch her legs without jostling the reins or unsettling the horse beneath her.

  “Coming up on a crossroads.” Gabriel’s voice floated back to her, and she straightened in the saddle, rolling her neck to loosen her spine the way the dealers did at the end of a long night, and tried to seem more alert than she felt. She must have passed through a crossroads at least once, when she was a baby, before she came to Flood, but she’d no memory of it. Gabriel had slowed his horse enough that the mare caught up, coming alongside the gelding. “Tell me about them,” he said.

  The sudden conversation threw her as much as the question. “What?”

  He spoke louder, as though she hadn’t heard him. “Tell me about crossroads.”

  “Oh.” Every child learned that. “A crossroads is where two roads pass over each other, a straight line meeting a straight line. The more traveled the road, the more powerful the crossing.” She didn’t know why, only that it was so.

  “And?”

  “And . . . crossroads are dangerous,” she continued. “You wish in one, and it might come true, but more’n likely it will get turned around and come back on you all wrong. And magicians . . .” Her voice trailed off. They’d all been told about magicians, warned about them, but not more than that. “If you ever see a magician, run. Do not pause, do not speak, by all that you value, do not catch their attention, just run.”

  “Magicians use crossroads for their rituals. They pull all the power out and into themselves. A crossroads that’s been used up is twice as dangerous as one that’s been left alone, because it will try to refill itself.” She bit her lip, thinking that again she knew what but not the why. Had never thought of it, any more than she’d wondered the why of the sun rising or the rain falling.

  “And how do you know if a crossroads’ been drained?”

  This she knew—and she knew why. “A coin. A silver coin tossed ahead. If it tarnishes, the crossroads isn’t safe to pass through unprotected.” Silver for cleansing. Silver for protection.

  “Good. And do you have a silver coin?”

  Izzy was embarrassed that in all the supplies she’d handled the night before, picking over each piece before placing it into her pack, she had never thought to gather the few spare coins in her dish. “No.”

  “Fortunately, I do.”

  He fell quiet again, but her numbness had been broken, her body aching and her thoughts disordered. She wished for something to fold, even something to darn, but her hands were occupied by leather that needed to be held quiet and low, and whatever testing her mentor had seen fit to do, he was clearly done, now.

  And then, after another turn cutting through the tall grass, there was the crossroads visible in front of them: an unmarked intersection in the middle of the plain. It looked peaceful, still, and Izzy had a diffi­cult time seeing it as dangerous. And yet, anything could lurk within, unseen until it was too late.

  “Watch what I do,” Gabriel said then, and kneed his horse into a gentle trot, leaving her behind. She kneed her own mare into a faster walk, careful to stay well behind him, the mule still bringing up the rear, more cautious than its cousins or their riders.

  Just outside the crossroads itself, he halted and looked up to check the position of the sun, not quite yet overhead, then reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out something pressed between his fingers. It glittered, catching the sunlight, before he flicked it into the spot where the two roads crossed. It landed in the dust, the silver still shining.

  They waited a hundred breaths, the horses shifting and snorting at each other, uneasy but trusting.

  “Clear,” Gabriel said finally, and swung down from the saddle to reclaim his coin. Izzy held her breath, helpless to prevent herself, until he’d picked up the coin and slipped it into his pocket, then walked back out again unharmed.

  “Needn’t be a coin, although they’re best, but you should always have a bit of silver,” he said to her as he reached up to reclaim his gelding’s reins.

  “Oh. I do!” she said, holding up her hand,
the ring visible on her little finger, feeling foolish for not having remembered it before.

  He glanced at it, then nodded, swinging back into the saddle. “Good. Not perfect, but at least you can find it easily. And make sure you always, always keep it polished. Tarnished silver does nobody any good.”

  The crossroads safely behind them, the sun passing overhead and down into the sky ahead of them, Izzy decided that her earlier aches had been nothing. Now she hurt. Her face felt too tight, her neck and shoulders ached, her feet were oddly swollen inside her boots, and her hips and legs didn’t bear thinking of, the shift of the mare and the creak of the saddle chafing and stretching her muscles in ways that she blushed to think about.

  “You all right?” Gabriel’s gaze when he turned to look at her was sharp, his eyes bright under the brim of his hat, and Izzy was sure she’d flushed.

  “Yes. I’m fine.” It might be foolish pride, but she couldn’t admit to even the slightest discomfort, not on their first day. She took a small sip of water from the canteen hanging at her knee, letting the liquid sit in her mouth the way Iktan said was smart when he’d told them stories of riding the dust roads. She’d never understood before, but now, with her entire body begging for moisture, the way the water filled her entire mouth instead of simply sliding down her throat, she couldn’t argue. Even warm and stale, the water was the most glorious thing she’d ever tasted.

  Gabriel sighed, reining his horse in until they were walking side by side, the mule holding a few paces behind. Uvnee’s head turned slightly to look at the bay, then swung back to watch the road in front of them. Izzy did the same, stealing a sideways glance at Gabriel before looking away. He looked as comfortable on Steady’s back as he had sitting at the card table back in the saloon, his body alert but relaxed at the same time, like he was part of the saddle, part of the horse.