Emily's Saga

by Travis Bughi

  “Haven’t found nothin’ yet, eh? Still aftar dem behemoths, eh?”

  His voice was hinting at something, but as obvious as he made it sound, Emily could not figure it out. Paul seemed to understand though. He matched Fred’s smile and reached up to adjust his straw hat. Emily had to grip her reins tightly not to shout out her curiosity. Some sort game was being played here, and she didn’t want to hinder her father’s chances of winning.

  “I’m always after behemoths, Fred. You know that.”

  Fred nodded, blowing tobacco smoke through the side of his mouth.

  “And you also know that if I find a herd out here,” Paul continued, “I have to come right back this way to get back home.”

  Fred took another inhale from his pipe and said, “Do ya’ now?”

  “Yes I do, assuming you’re the one who points me toward that herd. I’m not about to stray from my path and get lost now, am I? The plains don’t exactly have landmarks abounding. We friends have to stick together.”

  Fred nodded. Paul watched him. A moment of silence crept by, and Fred thoughtfully patted the tip of his pipe against his lip before bursting into laughter. He slapped his knee and pointed his pipe at Emily’s father.

  “Ya’ know I always did like ya’, Paul!” he exclaimed. “You dun way better than them Dylans, I tell ya’ what!”

  “What do you have for me, Fred?”

  Fred leaned forward off the grass until his hairy knuckles wrapped around his knees. He looked back toward the next hill, which Emily assumed to be his neighbor’s, and then back to Paul.

  “I been listen’, ya hear?” Fred licked his lips. “At night, I hear dis here beat if I put my ear ta’ the dirt. They comin’ this way. I’d bet my PIPE on it!”

  That sounded promising, Emily thought. She inhaled sharply and smiled at Fred’s reassuring face. The excitement was building up in her again, and Emily effortlessly shrugged off all the fatigue that she’d gathered from the morning’s ride.

  “Any idea which way?” she asked.

  “It gets louder each night, but ain’t gettin’ that strong,” he said, putting his pipe back in his mouth to take another long draw. “Way I figure is they either comin’ from da’ north or south of here.”

  “Well, I’ll start with the south then,” Paul nodded. “And you have my word, Fred. If I find a dead one from that herd, I’ll bring you back a fair piece.”

  Paul turned his unicorn to trot south, and Emily eagerly followed.

  “Better bring me a whole leg, ya’ hairless stick!” Fred yelled to their backs.

  Emily’s father chuckled and shook his head. Emily heard Fred chuckle, too, as they trotted on over a few hills and eventually out of sight and sound. Only when Emily was sure the wind wouldn’t carry their voices back to the gnome did she speak up.

  “If we don’t find any behemoths, are you going to take Abe with you to check the north side?”

  “No,” Paul said. “Your brother and I already checked the north, remember? We went out this far, too. I just didn’t tell Fred that, so if the Dylans come and offer Fred the same deal, they’ll go north first. If I told Fred that we’d already checked the north yesterday, then he’d tell anyone who came by today and cut them a deal. This way, we get at least a day’s head start on anyone else. Remember, Emily, anyone you offer a deal will gladly accept that same offer from anyone else.”

  It was Emily’s turn to swell with pride. She was proud of her father and made the mental note he’d offered. However, she still couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt at Fred’s fickleness. In the few short minutes they’d been with Mr. Hoggins, Emily had taken a liking to him, and now she felt betrayed. She also wondered why the dishonesty had been necessary at all.

  “I thought we liked the Dylans?” Emily asked.

  “We do,” Paul said, “and we’ll trade favors for meat if either of us finds a carcass, but I’d rather find it first. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Emily gave a curt not before saying, “So, if we do find a behemoth, are we still going to bring Fred some of the meat?”

  “Of course! You can’t blame him for trying to do everything he can to get a behemoth. Besides, if we don’t bring any back, how can we expect him to give us information like this again?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “And besides, you’re weighing your wheat before it grows. I happen to know that Fred has a whole case of pipes in that hovel of his. For all we know, this will just turn up more weeds. Patience is more than virtue on the Great Plains; it’s necessary.”

  Emily’s confidence dived a bit, but she remained positive. This tidbit of news from Fred was the best lead they had—far better than just walking in one direction and hoping to stumble upon a herd. Now, at least, they had a plan.

  Their trot slowed to a walk once they were out of sight of Fred’s hovel. The unicorns snorted their relief at the slower pace, and Emily patted hers. They weren’t the best unicorns around, especially the one Emily rode, but that’s why they were cheap and affordable, and, thankfully, Emily was a lighter load. Actually, now that she thought about it, this unicorn ought to be grateful it had her atop it instead of Abe. He was a stick, too, but he was tall. Emily knew he weighed more because of how easy it was for Abe to push her around when they wrestled. It always took both Nicholas and her combined strength to bring their older brother down.

  Emily started to get hungry midway through but held her tongue. She suppressed the urge to reach into her pack and grab the bread that was waiting for her, not wanting her father to think she wasn’t ready for this trip. She wouldn’t eat until he did and, instead, brought her waterskin to her lips and drowned the hunger with a sip.

  They only traveled for about a half an hour when Paul came to a stop. He looked back at his daughter and then scanned the horizon slowly.

  “What is it?” Emily asked, her throat dry despite the drink.

  “Fred may have good hearing for a gnome, but it’s not that good. He wouldn’t be able to hear anything through the dirt beyond here. We should have seen something by now.”

  Emily’s father whirled his head around at their surroundings, his eyes coming to life.

  “There,” he pointed to the tallest nearby hill. “We’ll eat lunch there.”

  He took off at a trot, and Emily followed. They hiked the hill, which was rather steep on their side but none too difficult as it was still just a plains hill. At the top, they got off their unicorns and reached into their packs. With bread in one hand and water in the other, Emily and her father stood and stretched their weary legs.

  Emily was happy to finally eat. She’d grown progressively hungry and guessed that the morning’s excitement had used up more energy than washing clothes would have. She took large bites out of her loaf, looking into the wind so the ceaseless breeze would not whip her hair into her mouth. The shortness of her hair helped, and it was times like these when she wondered why more women didn’t cut their hair short, too. Besides her mother, nearly every woman Emily had met grew their hair out as long as possible, which Emily thought especially odd as they often ended up braiding or bundling it up anyway. It made Emily want to ask her mother about it, but Mother frowned upon questions like that, and then the moment would pass, and Emily would decide it wasn’t important.

  Emily finished half her loaf and tucked it away in her pack. Next, she lay down in the tall weeds to stretch. The windblown grass danced around her, blocking out the world except for the blue sky, and Emily closed her eyes to take in the comfortable feeling of being nearly invisible.

  “Hey Emily, get up,” Paul said.

  Emily opened her eyes and stood up. She looked at her father, waiting for him to say something, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were locked and gazing west. Emily followed that gaze out to where the sun was beginning to fall. With a squint, she saw something different in the distance. Up over the rolling hills, she saw a small patch of brown in the vast yellow. Then she looked again, and the patch became a be
hemoth herd crawling over a hill, heading east, directly toward them.

  “Behemoths!” Emily yelled.

  Paul laughed, and Emily squealed with excitement before turning to hug her father.

  “We did it!” Emily yelled. “We did it, we did it, we did it!”

  “Hey, we just found a herd,” he explained, hugging her back with one arm. “We still have to follow it, track it, and even then there’s no guarantee one will perish within cart range of us.”

  Paul’s words couldn’t touch his daughter’s enthusiasm this time. Emily gave her father another squeeze before detaching herself and leaping in the air. Her heart was pounding when she landed, and she turned to look at the behemoths once more.

  The herd was traveling east, like every herd did this time of the season. Emily and her father waited atop their hill as the behemoths trudged away from the encroaching sunset, their massive legs crushing the ground with every huge step. Out of curiosity, Emily leaned down to put her ear to the dirt. At first she heard nothing, but then she put her hand over her other ear, and there was a faint noise—a beat, which was a sound dirt shouldn’t make. So this is what Mr. Hoggins heard, she thought.

  To an untrained eye, it would seem that the behemoths were traveling slowly. Each step they took was a long drag upwards and forwards that looked like they were taking their sweet time. But each step was a giant leap to a human, and the herd ate up the land. Within the hour, the behemoths were passing by less than a field’s distance away from the two Stouts, and Emily and her father mounted up. Now Emily didn’t have to put her ear to the ground to hear the dirt beat. The vibrations from the ground trembled up the unicorn’s legs and coursed through her body. Her unicorn tensed with the presence of danger, but the behemoths were not close enough to cause panic. She calmed it with a careful stroke down its neck and watched the herd pass.

  It was a smaller herd; she counted only about twenty behemoths. She knew from hearsay that behemoth herds could count up to one hundred, but her father said that only happened when two herds were traveling together. This herd was being led by the oldest male who undoubtedly had made this journey one too many times. Emily attempted to memorize its features, guessing it to be most likely to perish before the others.

  “So, what do we do next?” Emily asked.

  “Well, we just follow them and wait until one peels off from the group. Behemoths know when they’re about to die and leave the pack a few days before—”

  A low, deep rumble shook the air itself. It wasn’t a vibration from the earth, and it didn’t come from the behemoths. It was louder, deeper, and came from above. Emily didn’t have to look to know what that sound was, but she did anyway. She and her father whirled around and looked far to the north. They saw a gathering of dark clouds that hadn’t been there before. Another rumble shook the air, and the clouds flashed with lightning.

  “Thunderbird,” Emily whispered.

  From the mass of dark clouds, a huge bird launched itself on enormous wings. Even at this distance, Emily knew what it looked like. The thunderbird would be as big as a behemoth but would fly with a grace born of power. Its eyes would be pure white and without pupils. Its colors, which were a mix of white and brown feathers, were visible, but its yellow beak was a speck at this distance. The thunderbird’s talons would be outstretched, able to rip a behemoth in two.

  However, the most dangerous part of a thunderbird was its ability to create thunderstorms. When their wings swung down and clapped together, a bolt of lightning would leap from their feathered tips to strike the ground below, and thunder would echo across the plains in all directions. That was why they were called thunderbirds.

  Dark clouds began to form around the creature again, mystically appearing out of the air to shroud the bird from sight. Emily lost sight of it for a moment, but then the thunderbird was moving again, soaring from its cover to screech a noise so shrill and loud that it made Emily wince.

  “Come on, let’s get moving,” Paul said.

  The thunderbird was still a long way away, and it was traveling in a direction that would not overtake them, but a thunderbird could change its direction at any moment. Only a fool waited to be killed by one. With a heavy heart, Emily followed her father. It wasn’t that she wanted to stay, for she knew all too well that thunderbirds were no small threat. She was sad because they had just found the behemoth herd and would now have to leave. Worse yet, tomorrow morning it would be her brother who would get to travel out with her father and follow the herd.

  Emily would go back to tilling the fields.

  Chapter 3

  Emily’s father and Abe were gone before she was awake the next morning. When she did get up, her legs felt stiff and heavy from the long day’s ride, but it was her heart that felt heaviest. She moped over to her younger brother’s cot and shook him awake before heading into the kitchen and breaking off a loaf of bread for herself. Outside, her mother could be heard in the barn, preparing the tools needed for that day’s work. They’d be plowing today, and Emily tried not to think about it.

  Nicholas took a long while to get out of his bed. By the time he was in the kitchen, their mother had returned and split some more bread with her children. It was a rather quiet morning for the most part, until Nicholas shattered the silence with a loud, whiny question like he always did.

  “When do I get to go scouting?” he demanded.

  “In another two seasons, Nicholas,” Molly replied. “You know that. You have to wait your turn just like everyone else did.”

  Unsatisfied with the ruling, but knowing there was no greater authority on the Stout farm than Mother’s word, Nicholas settled with a humph! Although Emily’s enthusiasm was crushed this morning, yesterday, she’d come back from the ride pumped with excitement, telling Nicholas all about the gnome, the behemoths, and the thunderbird. In a short time, he’d been jumping up and down, too, demanding to go on the next trip. Of course, the demand had been mostly for show, and his actions this morning were along a similar line. Emily had seen it all before.

  “I wish I was a gunslinger,” Nicholas muttered.

  Emily failed to stifle a laugh.

  “You and your brother both, dear,” Molly said. “You two are going to make yourselves miserable dreaming about those fancy pistols they carry. You’d have to be a leprechaun to afford buying even one, let alone finding a blacksmith who could make such a weapon. I don’t think any such craftsmen exist anymore.”

  Nicholas sulked and looked sidelong at his sister, who shrugged apologetically. She hadn’t been laughing at her brother, just the absurdity of his wish. Gunslingers were known and named for their rare weapons. Every gunslinger carried two revolvers that they could fire from both hands with pinpoint accuracy. The pistols were sometimes called six-shooters, because each could fire six bullets before needing to be reloaded. They were different from the rest of the pistols in the world, which could only fire one shot before needing to be reloaded. Abe often joked that one gunslinger versus thirteen men was a fair fight.

  The deadly firearms they carried weren’t the only way to spot a gunslinger, though. They all dressed alike, and Emily figured it was for two reasons: to advertise and to warn, depending on what message needed to be sent. There was no mistaking the wide-brimmed, leather hat, which shrouded their eyes in darkness if they tilted it forward, or the leather overcoat, which hid their guns from view and discouraged theft. Besides their hide pants, they always wore riding boots with spurs that clicked when they walked. Gunslingers didn’t care for stealth. There was nothing for them to hide from.

  They roamed the plains looking for employment, and that was pretty much where they stayed. They were regarded with fear and awe out here, and their special skills made them a favorite among the rich farm owners. Most of their work came from hunting behemoths, rather than men, which kept them from gaining enemies who might slit their throats in the night. Emily only saw gunslingers when they passed by the Stout farm looking for a place to sleep for the
night, and Molly almost always turned them away to the woes of her children. Emily wished to see one shoot their guns just once, but they never offered their services to the likes of such lowly farmers. Only one had made that mistake, and Emily’s father had scoffed at the man.

  “Perhaps you’d like to take my house as payment?” Paul had asked.

  The gunslinger had peered up from under the brim of his hat, gazed at the house, and made a clicking noise with his cheek.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be enough,” he’d replied.

  Paul had tried not to appear insulted and thanked the gunslinger for his time. Without another word, the gunslinger had mounted back up on his unicorn and trotted off. Not all gunslingers were that unfriendly, but that last one had left a bad taste in Emily’s mouth.

  “What if I found a pair of guns?” Nicholas spoke up, snapping Emily awake from her memories.

  “You’d have to fight your brother for them, dear,” Molly laughed. “And he still weighs a bit more than you do. Not that it would matter who got them, because where would you find the bullets, hmm? The blacksmiths that can make ammunition for those strange six-shooters are just as rare as the weapons themselves. Even if you found a blacksmith, how would pay him? With a favor? Lucifan is not a place that deals in favors, Nicholas.”

  Nicholas slumped in his chair, defeated. Emily kept her mouth closed this time.

  To say that she didn’t share his dream of being a gunslinger would be a lie, but then again, she dreamed of being anything that could take her away and give her the skills to live on her own—a gunslinger, a knight, even a thunderbird, anything that would allow her to escape and see the world at large. As a child, she used to play that she was a thunderbird flying high above the plains, squawking to warn others of her approach and clapping her hands to send lightning to the ground. She’d imagined flying to Lucifan to see the angels, across the ocean to some distant land, or to the Forest of Angor to see . . . well . . . whatever it was that lived there.