by J. Stone
The soul eater shrieked as the apparently caustic liquid began to eat away at her flesh. Enraged, Petronila wove another spell. Wynonna didn’t think anything of it given her resistance, but the soul eater hadn’t aimed this spell at her. The soul eater instead targeted the very table where Wynonna had found the flask of acidic liquid. The table flipped up and over, landing on top of the vespari and splashing some of the contents on her.
The alchemical and magical mixtures had a similar effect on Wynonna. She heard the sizzling of her skin, as they ate away at her. Others had the opposite effect, apparently some being healing and regenerative tonics. One of her pant legs caught on fire from another, and as Wynonna crawled out from under the table and put out the fire, she found herself glad to have those tattoos and the effects they carried.
As Wynonna stood, ignoring the chemicals, Petronila once again charged her. The two women battered each other repeatedly across the room. Petronila threw Wynonna into the mirror. Wynonna nearly managed to drop Petronila into another chasm. They went back and forth, neither gaining a clear advantage. Both were exhausted, but they came together in one final clash.
In the exchange, Petronila managed to hit Wynonna hard in the face, blood spurting from her nose and mouth. The vespari didn’t allow the blow for nothing though, as it gave Wynonna the opportunity to slash open the soul eater’s gut with the knife. Blood spilled forth, as both women dropped to their knees in exhaustion.
Wynonna, however, smiled at Petronila, telling her, “It’s over.”
She flashed the blood smeared silver round in her hand and then jammed it inside the wound in the soul eater’s gut.
“No!” Petronila screamed, but her wail would stop nothing.
Her body contorted and shook, as Wynonna removed her hand, leaving the bloody round inside. The vespari blood on the round carried with it the same effect that the runes had on the vespari herself. They served to protect Wynonna, but they had the opposite effect on a creature such as Petronila. They became a prison.
Wynonna rolled away, watching the soul eater’s body get sucked into itself. She became smaller and smaller, screaming in agony all the while. The silver round pulled all of Petronila inside it, until there was literally nothing left of her. The bloody round fell to the ground, rattling around for a moment and then came to a stop. The round trapped Petronila within it now, and she would starve to death in there. Given how much she fed before Wynonna bound her, the vespari had no idea how long that would take, but it didn’t matter. The soul eater was gone, and she wouldn’t be coming back.
***
The sun was at its peak when Wynonna left that cave, returning to the piercing winds of the Howling Gorge. Blood covered her nearly head to toe - the discarded animal parts, her own, the beldams’, the soul eater’s, and even Lockhart’s. She wanted to get clean. She wanted to leave it all behind, as much as she realized she couldn’t.
All the same, Wynonna took off her clothes and crawled into the waters of the nearby stream. The waters were cool, but the heat from the sun and her lingering pain suppression made it manageable. She did her best to remove the gore and viscera from her blood soaked skin and then submerged her head in the waters.
Ever since the Gentleman murdered her family, Wynonna had refused to acknowledge the pain the revenant had caused her. Not even after she’d killed the Gentleman could she just stop and think. Not after she betrayed Lockhart and led him to his eventual death. Not after she pierced his heart with his own blade to end his suffering. Now though, her face safely submerged under the water, she allowed the tears to come. She only gave herself a moment though, and then she rose above the water. There were still things she had to do, and she refused to let her emotions sidetrack or distract her.
Wynonna left the waters and put on her jeans, shirt, and boots. Given how covered it was in the filth of the beldam’s lair, she abandoned the poncho entirely, letting the wind catch it and carry it away. Feeling marginally better, she started to gather wood. There weren’t many trees around those parts and much of the fallen branches were wet with the previous night’s snow, but Wynonna made do with what the gorge provided her.
The vespari piled the wood up, and when she’d gathered enough, she returned to the cave. Lockhart’s body was heavy, but she carried him all the same, refusing to drag him an inch. She carried him out and placed him on the sticks she’d collected. Though she was loath to do it, Wynonna decided that she couldn’t let anything he had go to waste. She knew he would agree with her practicality.
Wynonna took Lockhart’s hat, his gun belt, and the silver in his pockets. Without her poncho, she knew she would eventually get cold, and though it was a size or two too large for her, she traded it out for Lockhart’s duster. She left him with everything else. When she was ready, Wynonna lit a match and set fire to Lockhart’s funeral pyre.
The now alone vespari sat there watching the flames consume her master, until the sun dipped below the gorge’s walls. The fire burned for most of the night, until after she succumbed and fell asleep. In the morning, a fresh snow had fallen, and the flames of Lockhart’s pyre had exhausted. The cold of those early hours didn’t affect her, and she still couldn’t get herself to move from that spot. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do next.
The Gentleman was dead, and her family avenged. Her vespari master was gone, and she could only blame herself, but even his quest had been satisfied. The beldams and the imposter soul eater would never hurt anyone again. What else was there for her? That’s when Wynonna remembered what Lockhart had told her. He’d left her a message in his journal.
Pulling the book from her pocket and opening it, she flipped through its pages in search of his final message. Near the tail end, she found it, dated immediately after she’d made her decision to pursue the Gentleman despite the danger it would put Lockhart in. Though he hadn’t known of her deception then, he still knew he might not survive. The final words he imparted on her gave her one clear path, and so Wynonna got to her feet and started to move.
***
The road was hard, but she encountered nothing like she had when Lockhart had been at her side. This was fine by her, as all she had to defend herself with was the knife he’d left her with. His silver and pearl revolver hung from the belt around her waist, but she had no bullets to load it with, runed or otherwise. Luckily, the knife was enough for her to hunt food with, and she made do until she reached her destination.
From the Howling Gorge, Wynonna traveled east. She’d never been that far north, nor that far east, but Lockhart’s instructions had been clear enough for her to follow. The town of Covelo. It was one of the few towns in the desert that connected via railway to any of the coastal cities. That meant that Covelo could take her to Alexandria, Lockhart’s home. Anything headed into or out of the desert on the eastern side traveled through Covelo.
Having never been there, Wynonna didn’t know how the train operated - if she could get a ride, or how much it would cost. None of that mattered though. Lockhart had given her a path, and she’d see it done.
Wynonna found her way to the train station and walked up to a small building labeled ‘Train Tickets.’ The man behind the counter counted silver coins in a tray, not looking at her when she approached.
“I’m looking for a ticket to Alexandria,” she told him.
Without looking up, he replied. “Well, you came to the right place. It’s five silver coins for a ticket.”
Wynonna took all the silver from her pocket, including the slivers she’d taken from Lockhart and laid them on the counter. She picked up the bloody silver round that contained Petronila and shoved it back in her pocket.
“This is all I have,” Wynonna told him.
The ticket master looked it all over and went back to counting his own coins. “Well, you don’t have enough. We only take coins. No rounds and certainly no slivers.”
“Maybe we can work out a deal then?” Wynonna asked, pulling the silver back toward her.
“A deal?” the man asked, finally looking up at her. “And just what might you be able to offer me?”
“I’m a vespari.”
“Vespari?” He looked her up and down. “I thought only men could be vespari.”
Wynonna just repeated herself. “I’m a vespari.”
“Well, vespari. We might be able to work something out. You got a proper name or am I just supposed to call you vespari?”
“Lockhart. My name is Wynonna Lockhart.”