Malice of Crows

by Lila Bowen

  “Something about you is so familiar,” Sam murmured. “Like I’ve known you forever.”

  Don’t remember me as I was, Rhett thought. Not the ranch, not the grove. Don’t remember the past at all.

  But what he said was, “We been traveling together awhile. Reckon you can’t be too scared of me now.”

  Sam’s grin made Rhett’s middle buzz. “Oh, it ain’t fear. Just… like a memory.”

  Decision made, Rhett took a deep breath and ran his fingers up Sam’s face to cup his bearded cheek. “I’d rather make memories than think about the past,” he said.

  And there by the fire, wine forgotten, all alone, they made some goddamn memories.

  Rhett woke up in a tizzy.

  Something was touching him.

  And it was Sam Hennessy.

  Hellfire.

  Sam’s arm was under Rhett’s head, Sam’s front pressed to Rhett’s back. They were fully dressed at least, and this time Rhett remembered everything that had happened in stunning detail. Glancing around the camp, he saw nothing unusual. The fire had burned itself out, Dan was still missing, and the wagon was closed up tight and silent. Sam was snoring, just a little, and Rhett gave him a small, secret smile.

  Quietly, gently, he extricated himself from the sleeping cowpoke and went out a far piece to take care of his personal business before poking around the fire for breakfast. Buck’s silver platters were still there, as was the food – not even wilted or dusty or browned. Rhett realized he was starving. His mouth was fuzzy from wine and other things, and he fell on the food with more gusto than he’d ever let Buck see. Grapes, cheese, and bread went down mighty fine with cold, clear water from his canteen. It was a damn shame Earl was gone; he would’ve loved to enjoy Buck’s hospitality again.

  The wagon door opened, and Winifred hopped down lightly, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She was always one of the first ones up, and whatever changes her body was going through usually meant she had to hit the bushes more frequently than anybody else. When she had done so and came to the fire, Rhett held out a chunk of bread, which Winifred took and set to chewing.

  “Peculiar night,” she observed.

  “Most peculiar,” Rhett agreed, glad that they could start off on the same side, for once.

  He watched her subtly while she ate. She had a glow about her, like there was a fire just under her skin, and her hair was somehow more lustrous than he’d ever seen it. She’d traded her worn trail clothes for clean duds at the outpost, but the man’s shirt hung off her a bit and the leggings were soft doeskin. If Rhett wasn’t wrong, her bosoms had grown in a bit, too.

  “What’s it like?” he asked without really thinking.

  “What’s what like?” She bristled, and he hurried to smooth things over.

  “None of my business. Sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. My temper’s a thin thing these days. You sounded curious, not teasing.”

  Rhett’s eye slashed at her and away toward the grapes. He plucked one and rolled it around between two fingers. “Being… in… your current state.” Goddamn, there was no good way to say it. “In a family way?”

  Winifred gave an indulgent chuckle. “It’s just different, I suppose. The ladies in town wear corsets as long as they can and hide themselves away as soon as they swell, but the way I grew up, it’s just part of life. I’m glad to not feel sick anymore, and I’m sick of making water every five minutes, but it’s a hell of a lot better than missing a foot.”

  “You still got a limp, though.”

  “And I’d still vastly prefer my current state over what I suffered before. Having a child isn’t a defect, Rhett. It’s a natural enough thing for a woman to do.”

  “Even if you don’t know the father?”

  Winifred picked up a grape and tossed it at Rhett, striking him right on the nose.

  “I know well enough. It’s a blessing. And I got a mighty fine horse out of it, too.”

  “You reckon he’ll be born with antlers?”

  He watched her carefully to see if she’d take offense, but she just laughed in that light, infuriating, teasing way she had.

  “Of course not. The antlers will grow in later.”

  The girl had a calmness about her, a patience she’d sincerely lacked before. It was right peculiar for Rhett to see the subtle changes in a body he knew well and to recall that his own body was supposedly capable of doing the same thing. Thanks to Earl’s instruction and his own iron will, he thought of himself as one hundred percent man, most of the time. Carrying a child was a prospect so impossible and strange as to boggle the mind.

  Still, it seemed to suit Winifred, body and soul, and he was glad.

  Cora wandered up next, looking beautifully rumpled, her top tied slightly askew. For just a second, Rhett remembered what it was to want her, but then her hand brushed Winifred’s shoulder, and the girls shared a secret smile, and Rhett was glad for them. Anything he could’ve ever had with Cora had fallen down dead the day he’d headed west instead of after Cora’s sister. And even if she’d admitted he was right to do so, he still knew the truth of it. Hell, if it was him wanting to go after Sam Hennessy and somebody else had told him no, he’d have burned down the world on his way to Sam’s side, giant scorpions or no.

  Cora picked up some grapes and nibbled before sighing softly and saying, “I miss tea.”

  “And coffee,” Rhett added.

  She nodded and smiled in an easier way than they’d had in a while. “But at least there is plenty to eat. Rhett, what was that man?”

  Rhett shrugged. “A god, close as I reckon. You’ll have to ask Dan if you want to know more. All I know is that peculiar things happen when he’s around, and I don’t want to make him mad.”

  “It’s early in the morning to be telling tales about me.” Dan sat down on Cora’s other side, fully dressed, and began plucking feathers off a fat prairie bird speared on one of his arrows.

  “We were talking about Buck, you peacock,” Rhett muttered.

  Dan, too, smiled. They were a regular bunch of Happy Howards today. When Sam finally woke, sat up, rubbed a hand through his golden hair, and smiled right at him, Rhett joined them in being stupidly, unreasonably, irresponsibly jolly.

  The day went pretty smooth, considering. Rhett was a bit sore after last night by the fire, but it was less a pain and more of a fond reminder. And this time, he was able to keep all of his memories without the hangover or the blurry aftereffects of Buck’s influence. Wherever the feller had gone, he’d left no sign besides the food. The posse took his silver platters along in the wagon, figuring they’d trade pretty well somewhere along the way, should they get in a bind.

  Nobody mentioned anything about the evening’s entertainment. Dan didn’t say where he’d been. But Sam kept giving Rhett a sweet smile whenever they looked up at the same time, and they rode side by side at the head of the bunch. Everyone stayed in a good mood, and Rhett was glad to be settled on Ragdoll’s back. The Captain’s unicorn was a fine, handsome mount, but the scraggly appy just felt like home. She even pranced a little, like she wanted to show him she was just as good as BB.

  The days passed as they did on the trail, and the air stayed nice and cool without veering into cold. When it rained too hard, they all huddled in the wagon, crowded as it was, and those who could read took up the Ranger books by lantern light, hunting for any sign of alchemists and liches and how to defeat them. With nothing to contribute and feeling like he was missing out on a big ol’ secret, Rhett just curled up on the bed and went to sleep, noting the peculiar scent of Winifred and Cora mixed on the pillow. He woke every morning facing southeast, tasting the air, anxious to be back on the road.

  They lost a horse to lameness and killed a fine deer and came across what looked like more buffalo tracks, thousands upon thousands of U shapes carved into mud. The sun wore a short, easy path across the sky each day, and the moon reigned long and cold. Rhett’s buffalo coat became his favorite possession, and Sam inched his bed
roll closer and closer until he was under it, too. Nobody said a goddamn thing about it. Rhett’s heart just about exploded from happiness. Dan didn’t seem to mind and didn’t chide Rhett or try to teach him the bow anymore. The entire group was content to follow the Shadow’s path to the alchemist they all wanted to see dead and in the ground. The farther they went, the more anxious and wrung-out Cora looked. The tension dogged them all.

  And then one day Rhett woke up at dawn as taut as a bowstring. He bolted upright, and Dan joined him.

  “What is it?” Dan asked.

  Rhett’s belly wobbled so hard he had to close his eye. “Monsters. Coming in fast from the north.”

  “How many? Who?”

  Rhett glared. “How the hell should I know, Dan? I’m a goddamn dowsing rod, not a banker.”

  “What do we do?”

  Rhett stood up, stuck his feet in his boots, buckled on his gun belt, ran a finger over his Ranger Scout badge, and considered his camp, his heart yammering all the while. Whatever was coming wasn’t far off, and it felt pretty goddamn malevolent. And fast. There wasn’t much time for a meeting or a discussion. “We got to head ’em off. Get the women in the wagon and post Sam to guard ’em. I wish like hell we had more people, but you and me have got to handle it ourselves.”

  Dan, bless him, nodded once and sprinted for the horses, where Rhett knew he would saddle Ragdoll and be on his own chestnut in a blink. Rhett squatted by Sam and gently nudged his shoulder under the buffalo skin.

  “Sam?”

  Sam’s sleepy smile made Rhett want to crawl right back under the warm furs. “Hey there, handsome.”

  “Sam, you got to get up. Trouble’s coming, and I need you to protect the womenfolk.”

  Sam’s smile disappeared, replaced by the sturdy look of a Ranger ready for a fight. He hopped up, put on his boots, adjusted himself, and put a hand on Rhett’s shoulder. “You can count on me.”

  Rhett grabbed his shoulder back and gave it a squeeze. “I know it.”

  Sam pulled him in for a quick pound on the back, almost a hug, and then he was buckling on his holsters and checking his guns and bullet pouch. With the women taken care of, and knowing Sam would be the one to tell them so, anyway, Rhett took up his Henry and ran off for the small herd milling nervously around the wagon while the larger herd had stopped their grazing and looked to the north. Dan was a quick hand, and Ragdoll was already licking at the bit of her bridle. The little mare knew well enough that something serious was up, and she was alert and dancing, ready for it. Rhett slid the Henry into the Captain’s saddle and hopped up. Dan was ready, too, reining his chestnut over and looking to Rhett for orders.

  “Over that hill. Let’s just run like hell and get ready to shoot.”

  Dan nodded, bow in hand, and Rhett wheeled his mare and kicked her harder than she liked. They galloped through camp, in a plume of dust, and Rhett didn’t even bother looking back at the wagon. That was Sam’s problem now, and Rhett’s problem was stopping whatever was coming from harming his people. As they passed a little tree, a murder of crows exploded, cawing into the dawn sky. He’d never noticed crows before, but now they seemed to him like the dour fellers in town who went to every funeral, standing there, frowning, all holier-than-thou, like the same future didn’t one day await them.

  The wobble grew stronger, and Rhett stood up in the saddle and gathered the reins in his left hand so he could pull his pistol with his right. They topped the rise side by side, and Rhett saw a danged peculiar sight: seven Injun fellers on horseback, riding right for them.

  Rhett started shooting on the assumption that fellers who wanted to have a nice talk rode up to your campfire a fair bit more slowly. One of the men fell off the back of his paint horse, and several others started shooting their own guns. One pulled out a bow and arrow, and Rhett felt a hot punch and saw the arrow sprouting out of his shoulder.

  “Goddammit, Dan!” he shouted as the Injuns rode right past them.

  Ignoring the arrow, he yanked on his reins, and Ragdoll stopped so fast she almost sat. He wheeled her, and she reared and squealed to let him know she wasn’t a goddamn bit pleased before leaping right into a gallop headed back the other way. Dan followed, and side by side, they rode like hell for the six fellers who were now headed for their camp. Dan started shouting something in his language, but one of the Injuns shouted back something that sounded right rude, and the rest just kicked their ponies harder and shot their pistols backward over their shoulders, not hitting a damn thing but making one hell of a ruckus.

  They topped the ridge he and Dan had already crossed once, and Rhett realized what was happening.

  These Injuns wanted their horses.

  Funny thing was, Rhett didn’t even mind. He’d gladly give over most of the herd if the fellers were in need. Hell, they’d mostly just kept the Ranger herd so the critters wouldn’t get hurt around the burning buildings.

  “Dan, tell ’em they can have most of the horses! No fight! They can have ’em!”

  Dan hollered a few different things, and the men slowed just a little and shouted back. Now they were almost neck and neck, and if there hadn’t been so many guns and arrows in the mix, it would’ve been pleasant enough, just galloping along with some fine riders on fast horses. As they rode into camp, Sam stood in front of the wagon, legs spread, and put Virgil Scarsdale’s Henry to his shoulder to pop two more Injuns off their ponies. One man hollered, and the fellers stopped then, stuck between Rhett and Dan’s pistols and Sam’s Henry. It was four to three now, so far as the Injuns knew. Those weren’t good odds, especially considering who had superior firepower and that Rhett was the sort of man to yank an arrow out of his shoulder, snap it in half, and toss it to the ground like it was a pesky fly. Which he did now as they watched him, wary.

  “Dan! Tell him he can have half the herd and keep all his men if he’ll just stop being stupid,” Rhett hollered.

  Dan said it, or something like it, and the leader wheeled to stare at Rhett. He was a lean man in a threadbare shirt and dirty breeches, but his horse was well-kept and well-mannered, which made Rhett like him.

  “Why would you give us half your horses?” the man said in perfectly good English.

  Rhett shrugged. “We don’t need ’em, and we don’t like killing.”

  The man pointed at Rhett’s badge. “But you’re Rangers.”

  “We ain’t that kind of Rangers.”

  The man threw his head back and laughed. “There is only one kind of Ranger, which is why we’re so hungry.”

  “There’s clearly at least two kinds, because we’re happy to share a meal with you and let you-all have the horses we don’t need,” Rhett shot back. “And if your fellers are alive and need doctoring, we got someone who can help.”

  The man said something to his men, and they talked among themselves in their own language.

  “He says you’re crazy, but he likes you,” Dan muttered.

  “Well, that’s better than the opposite, I reckon.”

  A short while later, Rhett was walking through the herd with Little Eagle, talking about the merits of certain horses as mounts or breeders and other unfortunate critters as food. Little Eagle’s band had suffered bad luck recently and needed meat as much as they needed transportation. The bad luck came in the form of Rangers and Lobos, unrelated but close set, which Rhett considered pretty goddamn unfair for quiet people just trying to get along. As far as Rhett was concerned, it was a fine way to lessen his own worries, especially regarding horses that had a mean look about them or hooves that tended to twist. They cut a little more than half the herd, with Rhett’s posse keeping mostly the already-trained-up mounts and a larger draft cross to pull the wagon should Samson or his second suffer.

  Fortunately, all the fellers they’d shot were shifters, and none of them had taken their bullet in the heart, nor did they hold the scuffle against Rhett’s people. Cora didn’t even have time to prepare her kit before the bullets had popped right out of the fellers,
who were more interested in chunks of Dan’s breakfast bird and the bunches of grapes left behind by Buck, which seemed, strangely, to never be absent of fruit. The fellers had never had grapes before and found them to be hilarious and wonderful. Little Eagle and his second-in-command, Slippery Snake, were the only ones who had any English, but they all got along well enough. Sam made them nervous, so he mostly stayed quiet. When Rhett discovered they were Javelina, he asked after the band he’d met while tracking the Cannibal Owl, but there was no way to know if they were related.

  “We lost three babies then,” Little Eagle said with a shrug. “Not good. But could’ve been worse. The Rangers killed four children.”

  Hearing such atrocities, Rhett wanted to shove his badge into his pocket. When the Captain had been alive, he’d been able to take pride in being a Ranger, but now that he’d seen the true colors of most of his outpost and felt their hatred in the form of a silver bullet dug out of his own buttock with tweezers, his opinion was changing.

  The groups exchanged information: Rhett and Dan told the Injuns about what they’d seen to the west, and Little Eagle told them what to expect as they headed east. The band’s shaman had said it would be a dry winter, which surprised no one. Rhett asked if they knew anything about alchemists or trains, and they just shrugged. Their concerns were much smaller things, mostly Ranger territories, white settlements, and the chupacabra vaqueros that seemed to raid farther and farther east every year. They didn’t know Rhett’s mother and brother. They’d never heard of his father. But they were awful grateful for the horses and laughed a lot, and that made them better than most of the folks Rhett had met in his life.

  As they prepared to return to their band, Rhett helped them separate their new herd from the bunch and offered some rope for them to make into halters. They laughed easily as they hopped onto their own ponies bareback and trotted back up the trail. Rhett watched them go, not missing the horses so much as he missed a life he might’ve had, if the Cannibal Owl hadn’t taken him from his home as a child. A small life, but a good one. No destiny, no troubles, growing up with love and respect instead of hate and derision, being part of an easygoing group of hunters held together by trust and hard work. Part of him would’ve liked to ride off with Little Eagle and Slippery Snake and the other fellers, to return to a band with what looked about like a miracle and see the faces of friends and family as they watched the horses top the rise. Instead, he had to keep on his current path, headed toward an enemy who’d already bested him once and who still owned a chunk of his very bones.