Silver & Bone (American Alchemy - Wild West Book 1)

by Oliver Altair

  Tiberius heard a harrowing scream then realized it came from his own throat. His brain had forced him to channel the pain the miners could not express or even feel. He pushed Jonathan aside.

  “I need to help them,” Tiberius said.

  Tiberius drew the gun he carried tucked on the waist of his pants, hidden beneath his shirt. Garret Drake’s black Colt Dragoon, the same gun that had sentenced so many innocent men, women, and even children to death, now burned in the sheriff’s hands. Drake growled. Tiberius aimed for his throat and shot. Bullseye.

  Drake placed both hands around his neck and gurgled. Tiberius shot again, and sent a bullet straight down his half-open mouth. Drake’s sparkling blood drenched his jaw when he spat out his teeth and half his tongue.

  “Try whistling now, you dog!” the sheriff shouted.

  The Tanager shook the miners off and sent them flying against the walls, then marched towards Tiberius, his face clenched in a grimace that belonged to a demonic creature, not a man.

  Tiberius took a step back. Something clinked around his waist. The small bottle of Iris’ Hephaestion still hung from the belt and there was a bit of the red potion left at the bottom of the glass vial.

  A couple of drops will melt any metal they touch.

  Tiberius pulled the potion from his belt. “Everybody out of the way!”

  He threw the bottle into the air, aimed, and shot when the glass twinkled over The Tanager’s head. The potion exploded. The gunslinger tried to move away before the Hephaestion rained on him, but Grandall, Jenkins and the rest of the miners on the ground held him in place. The potion entered Drake’s eyes and open wounds. He twitched and bellowed like a deer stabbed by a thousand flaming arrows, shaking the miners off his legs. His skin melted like hot wax and his flesh fell around his twisting body in big, gruesome chunks.

  “Jonathan, we need to move,” Tiberius told the doctor’s son.

  The young miner nodded and signaled the rest. Only Henry Dale, Sawyer, and the St. Claire brothers could leave by their own feet. Henry grabbed one of the torches on the wall and they backed off, swinging their picks at the deformed, monstrous mass of molten muscle that advanced towards them, leaving a shining trail behind.

  The miners regrouped around Tiberius and Jonathan. “Maybe we can carry the rest of the men—"

  Jonathan squeezed his shoulder and shook his head. Tiberius followed his gaze to the miners on the floor. They’d gathered in a small group, and leaned on each other in the middle of a twinkling puddle, their eyes closed, waiting like stoic soldiers as the Hephaestion dissolved their bodies. There was nothing Tiberius could do but tap his hat to them.

  Jonathan and the remaining four miners guided Tiberius through hidden openings and tunnels, running like a swarm of ants, Drake’s bone-chilling bellows echoing behind them, fainter and fainter, until they vanished into the darkness.

  “We need to reach the exit and fast,” Tiberius urged.

  The miners navigated the tunnels with the skill of a seasoned captain at sea, and soon Tiberius glimpsed a ray of light at the end of a long passage, illuminating the long slope leading to the end of the nightmare.

  As they advanced, the air changed. A foul stench of rotten, charred meat hit the sheriff’s nose, so intense it almost made him gag.

  They all heard the deafening screech. They all felt the ground tremble, so hard Tiberius thought it’d crumble under their feet and send them all to their grave beneath the rocks.

  They all turned at once and faced the deformed, monstrous shape of bones and hanging limbs that dashed across the tunnel, in the midst of a gray, sparkling halo.

  XXXII

  Tiberius recognized Garret Drake’s venomous eyes, but the creature’s face held no other resemblance to a man. Half of its head was an amalgam of silver and torn-up flesh and the other just a barren, gray skull. It swayed on a wobbly, swan-like neck like a mesmerized snake.

  Two thick, silver tentacles grew from the monster’s shoulders and tens more from its open, hollow ribs, its chest an upside-down centipede. It had no waist, and a string of vertebrae joined the chest to the abomination’s lower half. From its hip, its legs started in bare bones then split in a knot of twirling limbs that pushed the creature forward like a million serpents.

  The monster, a maddening mix between a human skeleton, a praying mantis, and a giant squid from the deepest chasms of the darkest oceans, glowed with a spectral, gray light. It produced four high-pitched cries, like a giant eagle, but with a certain melody to them, as if four musical notes hid in its horrid yowl.

  That living reflection of insanity represented Maxwell’s Donahue ultimate experiment and last laugh. Tiberius could almost picture him grinning proudly at his nauseating creation from beyond, as a father did to his son.

  “Run!” Tiberius screamed.

  Sparkling tentacles zipped towards them like flying spears. The first crossed Henry Dale’s chest, almost slicing him in half, pumping Maxwell’s tonic out of the miner’s veins. Henry’s face dried and cracked like mud under the sun, his eyes lost their last spark of life, and his body fell limp. The creature shook the corpse off like a cow does a fly. The late Henry Dale fell straight on top of Tiberius as the sheriff leaped and rolled on the floor, evading the creature’s attempts to grab his ankles. Tiberius’ right leg twisted in an impossible angle and cracked. He screamed in agony.

  A second tentacle smashed Sawyer like a mallet on a ripe apple and left in his place a shivering pulp that the monster promptly absorbed with its swirling extremities.

  The creature wrapped one long limb around Jeremiah St. Claire’s waist and pulled him away from his desperate brother. Zachary held on Jeremiah’s arms, deaf to Tiberius’ pleas to let go. The monster dragged them both close to its sparkling body, its chest opening like a giant, beastly jaw.

  Jonathan put Tiberius’ arm around his shoulder, lifted him, and helped him forward, while the monster chewed on the remains of the fallen miners. They ran, Tiberius’ leg throbbing with excruciating pain, his forehead covered in cold sweat. Defeat weighed on his shoulders: he’d doomed ten of the eleven miners he’d sworn to protect, undead or not.

  Jonathan and Tiberius turned a corner and found themselves at the bottom of the slope that lead to the secret mine’s exit, and welcomed the hint of sunlight that gleamed at its top. The creature’s shrieks became clearer and louder.

  Tiberius squeezed Jonathan’s shoulder. “Leave me and go. I’ll only slow you down.”

  The miner shook his head.

  “Your father is waiting outside. You could see him one last time.”

  Jonathan stood very still for a second. He glanced at the light ahead, then back at the tunnels behind. Finally, he advanced up the slope without losing his grip on Tiberius, the sound of the monster’s sliding tentacles closing in on them.

  Only when they had reached the top of the slope did Jonathan let Tiberius go. The sheriff leaned on the wall and caught his breath.

  “Let’s go. We can blow the tunnel from the other side.”

  Jonathan stared at his hands. Tiberius followed his eyes as they explored the green, purple and black patches of dead skin that hardly covered the rotten flesh, the yellowed bone showing underneath, the silver drops crusted around his wounds.

  A screech. The creature stood at the bottom of the slope, waving its glimmering tentacles. Jonathan waved his hand: goodbye. Then he pushed Tiberius with all of his strength.

  Tiberius fell backwards through the opening as he saw Jonathan Tucker raising his pickaxe over his head, running back into the tunnels, into that silvery halo of terror.

  Tiberius landed on the snow and crawled away from the mine’s entrance.

  “Blow the tunnel!” he screamed.

  Doc Tucker’s face appeared behind a distant pile of rocks. “Move away, Tiberius!”

  “Goddamnit, Doc! Blow it!”

  “You’re too close to the rock. You’ll get smashed.”

  “I can’t move any further. My le
g’s broken.”

  “I’m coming for you.”

  “No, Doc! Stay there! Stop! Don’t worry about me! Just blow the damned thing!”

  Doc Tucker ran through the snow and dragged Tiberius away from the outcropping. Tiberius arched in pain.

  “I’ll have to take a look at that later,” the doctor said.

  The creature’s horrid screeching sounded so clear that even Doc Tucker turned his head towards the entrance of the mine and shuddered.

  “Move, Doc! Move! Move!” Tiberius yelled.

  Tiberius jumped forward with his healthy leg and forced Doc Tucker to follow.

  “We’re far enough. Throw the potion! Now!”

  Doc Tucker raised his arm, Iris’ destructive potion in his hand. He aimed to the opening on the rocky wall. And then… he paused.

  “Jonathan,” Doc Tucker exhaled.

  The cadaverous young miner appeared under the archway of black rock, swinging his pickaxe with fury. The creature’s tentacles attacked him like hundreds of vipers, but Jonathan held his pick before him, charged, and drove the creature back into the tunnel.

  Doc Tucker dropped the explosive and ran. Tiberius stretched his arm and caught the bottle mid-air.

  “Come back! We have to seal the tunnel!” Tiberius shouted.

  “That’s my son!” Doc Tucker replied without stopping.

  Tiberius staggered up. He almost fainted when his broken leg hit the ground. He limped behind the running doctor, jumped, and tackled his friend, who fought him tooth and nail.

  “Get off me, Tiberius!”

  “It’s too late. This is the only way.”

  Doc Tucker kicked Tiberius’ injured leg. A wrenching throb crawled up and down the sheriff’s body, but he stood on top of the battling doctor.

  “Sorry about this,” Tiberius breathed, then knocked the doctor out.

  Tiberius stared at Iris’ potion. Its content twirled like a thunderstorm in a bottle. He threw it against the base of the cliff right when the creature’s tentacles slithered out of the entrance of the mine. The bottle shattered against the rocks and exploded into a fearsome blaze of a million colors. The earth shook. A deafening rumble followed. The creature shrieked one last time before the falling rocks sealed the cursed tunnels forever.

  The explosion caused a tremor that spread all the way up the cliff. The mountains cried with rage and bled a wave of deathly snow. Tiberius saw the avalanche growing stronger as it rolled down the mountainside, but he would never outrun it with a broken leg, and Doc Tucker lay unconscious on the snow. Tiberius shielded his friend with his own body although he knew it wouldn’t make much of a difference. The avalanche would entomb them both as it had the miners.

  Tiberius’ muscles relaxed. He closed his eyes. He was content. Fresh snow would bury the macabre secrets of the silver mine, once and for all.

  Shattered glass… a dizzying smell of sulfur…

  Sudden warmth caressed Tiberius’ face. He opened his eyes and faced a tall, scorching ring of red flames. Iris stood in the middle of the burning circle.

  “I thought you were leaving,” Tiberius said.

  Iris winked. “Change of heart.”

  The sliding snow hit the alchemical fire and melted in a torrent of cold water that pushed Tiberius, Doc Tucker, and Iris to the edge of the forest. Tiberius shivered, soaked to the bone, and clapped Doc Tucker’s back as he gasped and coughed.

  The tremors ended. The flames receded and vanished.

  The scenery settled into a half flooded snow valley, spotted with patches of green, brown and blue.

  It was the strangest and most beautiful landscape Tiberius had ever seen.

  XXXIII

  Iris handed Tiberius a glass vial. “I was saving this for Clinton. I felt so guilty after he visited me that I stayed up all night working on the formula. But I was too late to help him. At least now it won’t go to waste.”

  Tiberius accepted the small potion and took a sip. The bitter taste burned his throat like a strong liquor, and left a tingling, herbal aftertaste on his tongue. His broken leg warmed up as if in front of a blazing hearth and trembled uncontrollably. Tiberius felt a quick pang below his knee. His leg stiffened like a twig, then slowly relaxed.

  “Try standing up,” Iris told him.

  He did. The pain had disappeared. He still limped a little, but there was no sign of broken bones.

  “Thank you,” Tiberius said.

  The sheriff joined Doc Tucker, who sat on a black rock, shivering under his wet clothes, eyes fixed on the crumbled base of the cliff.

  “I saw Jonathan,” the doctor mumbled.

  “I know.”

  “Jonathan died months ago.”

  “I’m sorry, Doc. I wanted to tell you but—"

  Doc Tucker stood up and left, looking past Tiberius as if he wasn’t there. Tiberius opened his mouth to call after him, but decided not to. He let him drop out of sight between the white firs.

  Iris placed a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll understand.”

  “This town is cursed,” Tiberius muttered.

  “I don’t believe in curses.”

  “Well, I didn’t believe dead men could jump out of their graves.”

  Tiberius looked at his rippling reflection on the newly-formed lake.

  “That creature… When I looked into its eyes, I could see Garett Drake trapped inside, begging to break free. I almost felt sorry for him.”

  “Maxwell’s creation was an elemental impossibility, trapped between two worlds and not belonging to either. Death claimed Drake’s body as much as the silver blood kept him alive—until that dichotomy tore him apart.”

  “Do you think the miners would’ve shared his same fate?”

  “Maybe. I don’t really know, Tiberius. Careless alchemy is always unpredictable. I just hope no one will follow Maxwell’s path ever again.”

  Tiberius nodded. “Agreed. Let’s get back to town.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  “You’re not going to leave without saying goodbye, are you?”

  She smiled. “I don’t like traveling at this time of day.”

  Tiberius relief grew as he walked farther from the buried, now flooded silver mine. Souls Well had survived one more cataclysm, but Tiberius felt underserving of the victory. He would always remember the eleven fearless miners who’d given him his chance to protect their town for another day, even if their graves under the cemetery’s hill stayed forever empty.

  Alchemy. Everything around Tiberius, the trees, the earth, the snow, seemed blurred around the edges. Everything could become anything else, and this revelation, though exciting, also carried a darker side. How could he defend his town against people who could bend reality itself? People like him would always be at the mercy of people like Maxwell Donahue. Or Mountain Iris.

  On his way to his headquarters, Tiberius met with alarmed families all around Main Street. Everybody had heard the thundering cry of the mountains for the second time in less than a year.

  After changing into some dry clothes and warming his hands and feet, Tiberius helped every family make sure all of their members were accounted for. Not even then did the townsfolk calm down, no matter how many times Tiberius assured them the avalanche had taken no lives or caused any real damage.

  Grief and fear. Always grief and fear. Souls Well would die that very day.

  The next morning, many of the families had decided to go away. People from the West had no fear of leaving everything behind in search of better prospects. The townsfolk crossed Souls Well from their maps with no regrets and spent the day packing their belongings in wagons and carts. By sundown, they were ready to move on.

  Tiberius waved his neighbors goodbye and wished them well. Some thanked him for his service, some did not. He watched the caravan as it trudged into the horizon and realized that Obadiah Whitlock had been right all along. Tiberius wanted to save a place that had ceased to exist.

  “I’ve spent all morning convincing m
y flock that their sins haven’t earned this town the wrath of God,” Father Darley told him as they strolled up and down Main Street.

  “You still have a flock?”

  “Highly diminished, but yes.”

  “I’m happy you’re staying, Father.”

  “I’m getting old, Tiberius. This place might be a death trap, but the idea of starting over is even more unpleasant.”

  Tiberius spent the rest of the evening roaming through town, figuring out who’d decided to give Souls Well another chance. The Silver Moon was open for business, so Madame Valentine and Jesse made two, and most of the saloon girls had nowhere else to go.

  Tiberius visited the saloon expecting to find Doc Tucker drowning his grief in a bottle, but the doctor wasn’t there.

  Jesse poured Tiberius a glass of whiskey and Tiberius joined the Chief at his usual table. His silent company was exactly what Tiberius needed.

  “May I?” Tiberius asked politely.

  “You may.”

  They sipped their drinks in silence. Outside, the wind howled.

  “The earth is moving. The wind is crying. The spirits are not happy,” the Chief stated in a husky voice.

  “I bet.”

  Tiberius heard the squeaky cringes of the saloon’s double doors and there she was.

  “Could I ask you to fill this with fresh coffee, Mister Valentine?” Iris said. “Maybe add some extra sweetness, if you know what I mean.”

  Iris bowed her head. “Sheriff.”

  “Howdy.” Tiberius tapped his hat.

  Jesse came back with her coffee. Iris thanked him with a kind smile, paid, and went back out.

  “Asdzaa Nadleehe,” the Chief said, pointing at the swinging doors.

  “I’ll drink to that.” Tiberius finished his drink and ran after Iris.

  Iris had parked her red wagon in front of the Silver Moon. She’d painted over the former lettering on its side.

  “Silver Rose,” Tiberius read aloud. “Tonics, fragrances, and cosmetics.”