by R. L. Wolf
"Six months ago a team lost their Gunslinger on the Long Walk. Two of the Merits were executed for cowardice, and the other two were sentenced to the Prison Outcast Camp. The one that is coming finished his six-month sentence, and started his Death Walk."
"He's almost here," added Wes.
"We don't know if he's to be your new Merit," said Garth. "We might not permit him to live."
"Are you serious?” asked Colt. "What did he do that was so bad?"
"Haven’t you been listening?” asked Wes. “He lived, that’s his crime.”
"Wait, do you have any idea how little sense you’re making?" replied Colt. "You're mad at me for Austin dying to save my life, but if he hadn't, and I died, he would be sent to prison or executed for not dying."
"You need to take this very seriously. I can't cover you this time, they won't let me," said Toran. "You ordered a Merit to his death to save yourself. That puts a shadow on our team. If you don't take this serious, the Merits and Deputies in this camp will..."
Toran looked away.
"Will what?” asked Colt.
"There's a place they take you," said Garth, still holding Colt's shoulder.
"And what?” asked Colt.
"They'll rip you apart with their bare hands," said Wes.
"Wait, even Austin said it was the right decision," argued Colt.
"He was wrong, and I was wrong," said Toran, "and I've already been punished for it."
"Who?" Colt's eyes started turning dark. “You said those bruises on your face was from a fight with Gabe.”
"Stop it," yelled Toran. "You've never taken any of this seriously. Do you have any idea how close I came to being…?”
Toran trailed off and wouldn’t finish the sentence. Colt stared at Toran for a moment before replying.
“Deputy Hargrath beat you?” asked Colt.
“Toran was charged with allowing you to waste a Merit’s life,” said Wes. “The Merits and Deputies voted. A beating was his punishment, he got off easy. He could have been walked into the woods.”
“Why wasn’t I punished?” asked Colt.
“They haven’t voted on you yet,” said Wes. “They decide tonight at the same time with the criminal,” said Wes.
"Colt, you are to wait in front of the Marshal's office,” explained Garth. “The Death Walker will come up to you and ask for forgiveness, but he isn't asking you for forgiveness, he is asking his fallen Gunslinger for forgiveness."
"His Gunslinger will speak to you from the Land of the Ancestors and tell you what to say," explained Wes.
"And you believe this?” asked Colt.
"We didn't use to believe the stories Deputy Hargrath told us," said Toran. "But, after what we saw Austin do on the Raider ship, we believe, all the Merits believe now."
Colt's eyes shifted from face to face. The Merits were always a bit on the fanatical side, but now, they were converted true believers in the Gunslinger Order and all its mystic legends.
"If I'm found guilty, or unworthy of being a Gunslinger, or whatever because everyone thinks it's my fault Austin got killed, will you guys be part of the mob that tears me apart?” asked Colt.
"You already know that answer," said Wes.
Colt didn't know the answer to that question, but he didn’t have time to ask any more questions. Zeke ran up to the cabin, panting and out of breath.
"He's at the bottom of the hill," said Zeke. "Let's go."
Colt followed his Merits to the main camp. Every Gunslinger in camp was on the porch of the Marshal's Cabin. It looked a little as if they were preparing to defend. The Marshal was talking with Deputy Hargrath when Colt walked up and stopped at the steps.
"Do you know what to do?” asked the Senior Deputy.
"Yes, sir," said Colt.
Colt turned around and waited. He could hear shouting in the distance, but couldn't make out what they were saying. The wait was longer than he thought it would be, and then he saw the Merit and turned around to the Marshal.
"Sir, what's this?” asked Colt. "Is he seven years old?"
"He's a Daraian," said the Senior Deputy.
"A Raven?” asked Colt.
"No, I believe he comes from Sparrow Provence," said Deputy Hargrath. “One of the physically smallest races of Daraians.”
Colt turned back around. He could hear what everyone was screaming now. All the Merits and teacher deputies had lined up in two rows, and the boy was slowly walking between the two ranks. His hands were over his head to protect himself from the rocks being thrown.
"Coward!" screamed the Merits.
"Filth!"
"Scum!"
"You should have died!"
"Go back to the desert, you coward!"
One of the Merits ran out and shoved the boy. He fell, and the Merit screamed in his face.
"We don’t want you here!"
Colt turned back to the Marshal. "Sir, you have to stop this."
"Don't interfere," warned the Marshal.
Colt looked at the other Gunslinger students. Cora had her hands over her face; she was crying. Rex had turned around, and several others with him went inside the Marshal's Office so not to see this. Even Duke had turned his head away, his tail swinging wildly in anger.
Colt was trying to decide what to do. The Merits weren't letting the boy get back up. He was about to say something and stopped. A light coming from the forest caught his attention.
A small Gunslinger was walking towards the Marshal's Cabin. He stopped and looked right at Colt. Colt glanced at the Marshal, but he seemed unaware of the glowing figure standing only a dozen feet away. Colt walked over to the Gunslinger. He wasn’t even half the size of a human and had the same features as the Merit being tormented.
The Senior Deputy watched Colt talking to something only Colt could see.
"He's here, Marshal," said the Senior Deputy.
The Marshal said nothing. He knew the origins of the Gunslingers. He had been there and was as much the founder of the Gunslingers as Jon Black. But something had changed in the last three-hundred years. And much of it was likely due to Jon Black. Mysticism and legend had seeped into the very soul of the Order. There was much that could not be explained.
"You should have more faith," said Deputy Hargrath.
The Marshal nodded his head, but he wasn't sure if Colt was speaking to someone, or if this was part of the mass hysteria the Camp had slipped under. The Gunslinger Order hadn’t been founded as a Religious Martial Order, but it had evolved into one. The Marshal knew better than to question the Senior Deputies faith. He thought back through the long history of the Gunslingers. When had this fanaticism started? He already knew the answer. It had started when he began recruiting Cettise descendants two-hundred years ago.
Colt nodded his head to the Gunslinger, or ghost, or apparition, or whatever it was.
"Will you help him?” asked the small Gunslinger. "He blames himself."
"What happened?” asked Colt.
"I wanted to stop and make a fire, but he wanted to keep moving, and then the dogs attacked," explained the ghost of the Gunslinger. "I was already dead, but he blamed himself and covered me with his body, then Tyler grabbed my gun and pulled Jack away."
"I made the same mistake on our Long Walk," said Colt. “We just got lucky, that’s all.”
Colt spoke with the Gunslinger for a few more minutes before turning and walking directly for the mob attacking the helpless Merit on the ground.
"Colt, stop," ordered the Marshal. "You can't interfere with this."
Colt ignored the Marshal and walked down the two rows of screaming Merits and Deputies. He drew both his guns and fired twice into the air. Everyone froze and became silent, staring at Colt.
"The next person that touches him, or calls him a coward, I'll kill," shouted Colt, making a slow circle, his guns leveled at the mob. “I ordered Austin to his death, and I have to live with that, but I won’t justify it to you or anyone else. I am Lord Gunslinger Colton Cyn
ess, and I will not be judged by anyone.”
Toran stepped away from the mob, followed by Garth and Wes, and walked over next to Colt.
"I knew you wouldn't listen," said Toran, drawing his revolver, and pointing it out at the mob. Garth and Wes drew their revolvers as well and formed a defensive perimeter.
"We're with you," said Wes.
"I guess I know the answer now if they try to lynch me," said Colt.
"You should already have known," said Wes.
Colt looked down at the Daraian boy on the ground. He was thinner than any person Colt had ever seen, and his feet had worn through his boots.
"Show them," ordered Colt. "Remove your shirt."
Colt held his hand out and helped the boy stand. The small Daraian pushed his coat away and lifted his shirt over his head.
"He is no coward," shouted Colt. “See the proof.”
The boy's entire upper body was covered in ragged bite scars from the wild dogs that had attacked his team on The Long Walk and killed his Gunslinger.
"Forgive me," pleaded the boy to Colt.
"He says you are forgiven," said Colt.
"Can you see him? Tell him I'm sorry," said the boy in a small, weak voice.
"He's here,” replied Colt. “He forgives you, and he says to keep following the eagle."
The boy sobbed. "You can hear him, you can, thank you."
"What's your name?"
"Dustin Lance Blackjack, but everyone calls me Jack."
"Will you join my team, Jack?” asked Colt.
"Yes," said the Merit, and then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell forward.
Colt holstered his guns and leaped forward to catch the unconscious boy.
"He is so light, maybe fifty or sixty pounds," thought Colt, lifting the boy in his arms, and taking off at a sprint for the camp hospital with his new Merit.
"You did it," said the Marshal to Deputy Hargrath. "The bonding is complete. You saved Colt, his team, and that Merit."
"It has been a long time since we had to use this script," said the Senior Deputy. "But I knew it couldn't go wrong. All our scripts were written by Jon Black."
"How do you remember them all?” asked the Marshal. "We lost the Book long ago."
"I don't, some things I guess at," said the Senior Deputy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hospital Visits
Jack opened his eyes. The soft light in the room made it easy for him to focus. He was comfortable and warm, and lying on something soft. He flexed his fingers and grabbed a handful of… sheets? He had sheets. He had forgotten what sheets felt like. He was lying in a bed, a big, wonderfully soft and warm bed.
He wiggled down into the blankets surrounding him and pretended he was back home in the loft nest his hatching father had built for him. There had been five of the loft nest-beds built in the rafters of their home on Darai. He remembered scrambling along the rafters, playing with his brothers and sisters, while his hatching parents sat below in the main room watching something on the Vid.
Jack pushed the memories aside, those days were gone. He wasn’t back home, and he would never be permitted to go home again. He looked up. A bag was hanging from a metal rod above him, and a tube ran down the pole to... Jack lifted his arm... the tube was connected to his arm.
“I’m in a hospital.”
He was lying in a hospital bed, but it wasn't like any hospital he knew about. The walls were made from logs, long logs connected to each other.
"Oh, this is a cabin, they built the hospital in one of the camp cabins."
There wasn't a hospital at the Prison Outcast Camp. If you got sick, you either got better or died. Inmates had no rights, other than to try the Death Walk in search of a new Gunslinger once your sentence was up. The only decency shown in the Outcast Camp was whatever sense of compassion might be left from the years of companionship the inmates may have had with their teams. Inmates like Jack that didn't have the warm memories shared from months or years together with a team rarely survived. Jack and Tyler had been the exception and stayed together, protecting each other. Jack worried for Tyler now that he was alone.
Someone came into Jack's view and looked down at him and smiled. It was the kind of brotherly smile Tyler used to give him when he was in a good mood.
"Hey there, Bird Boy," said the stranger. "How ya feeling?"
Jack tried to answer, but his voice wouldn't work.
"Hold on, I'll get you some water," said the stranger.
The stranger poured some water from a pitcher into a glass and held it to Jack's lips.
"Doc says you can drink all the water you want, but no solid food, you get to start out on soup."
Jack lifted his head and sipped the water, then he saw him sleeping in a chair in the corner. His new Gunslinger. Jack tried to get up and go to him.
"Whoa partner, slow down," said the stranger, gently pushing Jack back into the bed.
"My Gunslinger," whispered Jack.
"Oh, yeah, he hasn't left your side since he brought you here three days ago."
"I love him," said Jack.
"Oh great, you're still back at the fanatical hero worship stage," said the stranger. "When you smell the bathroom a few times after he uses it, you'll start to realize he's as human as you are."
"I'm not human," said Jack, confused.
"I'm Wes, pleased to meet you, Bird Boy, and try to keep your fawning down to a dull roar, it will pass."
"Why do you call me, Bird Boy?” asked Jack. “I’m not a bird. I’m a Darai.”
"Do you have wings back there?” asked Wes, reaching out and touching Jack's shoulder. The small avian boy flinched and pulled back.
"I have wing blades, not wings," replied Jack. “They took my wings from me in the prison camp.”
“You mean those glider wings?” asked Wes.
“They are much more than glider wings,” said Jack. “Taking a Daraians wings is the worst most horrible humiliation anyone can do to us.”
Wes cocked his head slightly then deliberately reached out and poked Jack's arm with his finger.
"Stop that," said Jack.
Wes poked Jack again, and Jack's face started to show anger.
"I said stop it."
"Wes poked Jack again.
"Why are you doing that?" demanded Jack.
"Because you're my brother, and it's my right to poke you, tease you, and call you Bird Boy."
Wes poked Jack again, but this time, Jack didn't flinch.
"I'm your brother?” asked Jack.
"Toran said the same thing when I had to explain it to him."
"Who's that?” asked Jack.
"He's our First. Toran is from Carina. I call him Fish Boy," said Wes, jumping up and plopping himself down next to Jack on the hospital bed. "At least you don't take up much room," said Wes pulling at Jack's pillow and making himself comfortable.
"Do we have to sleep in the same bed?” asked Jack, slightly horrified.
"Nope, I'm just trying to annoy my new Bird Boy brother and make him feel better."
"Yeah, well you're a flightless mammal," said Jack.
"You need to work on your comebacks," said Wes.
"How's our patient feeling?” asked the Doctor, walking into the room. The doctor stopped at Jack's I.V., tapped the drip, adjusted a dial, and put his hand on Jack's forehead. "I see you two are getting along."
Wes rolled over and cuddled up next to Jack, holding his arm.
"It was love at first sight, Doc," said Wes.
"Get out of my bed, you creep," said Jack, and laughed.
Wes rolled off the bed, grinning. "I'll get you some soup," said Wes. He stopped at the door and looked back.
“Hey, Jack.”
“Yes?”
“We’ll find you some wings, okay?” asked Wes, and disappeared around the corner.
The Doctor shoved a cold stethoscope under Jack's shirt and laid it on his chest, then pressed here and there, and finished by stick
ing a thermometer in Jack's mouth.
"Excellent, you're doing much better."
"Can I get up?" mumbled Jack.
"No talking," scolded the Doctor. "I want you to stay here for at least another week, you're badly malnourished."
"Can he do school work?” asked Colt, now awake.
Jack saw his Gunslinger was awake and tried to get up again. Colt walked over and put his hand on Jack's arm.
"Stop that, you need to rest," said Colt. "But I also need you to get started on lessons right away."
"I don't see any problems with that," said the Doctor, pulling the thermometer out and checking it. "But don't over-do it, he only weighs forty-five pounds, and that's too low for a Daraian his age and build."
"How much should he weigh?” asked Colt.
"Well, he's fairly large framed for a Daraian Sparrow," said the Doctor. "I would say his target weight is seventy pounds for right now. How big was your hatching father?"
"He was really big, biggest Sparrow I know," said Jack. "I think I heard someone say he was over 100 pounds, maybe 120 pounds."
"That's a good sized Sparrow," said the doctor. "Could be you could end up that big."
Jack grinned from ear-to-ear at the compliment.
"Exercise?” asked Colt.
"He can walk around right now," said the Doctor. "But take it slow, in two weeks he should be able to run with the rest of you."
"Alright then, we have a plan," agreed Colt. The Doctor left the room, leaving Colt with his new Merit. "You need to do a whole year of school in four months," said Colt. "I'm going to go collect up the books and assignments from the teachers."
Colt turned to leave, but Jack grabbed his arm. Jack had a haunted look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” asked Colt.
“I made a promise to someone,” said Jack. “I told them I would beg on my knees to my new Gunslinger to keep the promise.”
Colt smiled. “If you made a promise, you have to keep it, and I’ll help you. You don’t have to beg.”
“Don’t you want to know what the promise is?”
“I failed a very dear friend once,” said Colt. “I’ll never do that again. Whatever you need to do, I’ll help you. Now get some rest.”