Emily's Saga

by Travis Bughi

  She wished she knew more about the world.

  Molly rose from the table and swept away the bread crumbs. She collected the wooden plates and wiped them down with a damp cloth, because water was too sparse to rinse every dish daily. Emily and Nicholas needed no direction on what was expected of them next. Survival for them depended on hard work and competency—two things the Stout family prided itself on.

  Emily and Nicholas let the backdoor squeak shut behind them as they went to the barn to grab their digging hoes. With a deep sigh, they went out to the field and began to till. They tore up the dirt with violent strokes, patch by patch, to prepare the soil for planting. It was hard work, to say the least, and it wasn’t long before Nicholas and Emily were giving the wooden plow near the barn longing glances. That tool would make the work easier, but it could only be used with the unicorns or by a minotaur. Of course, the behemoth migration kept their family unicorns out all day. So, for the first few days of scouting, everything had to be done by hand, and Nicholas wasted no opportunity to gleefully comment on how backbreaking the work was.

  Emily’s mother joined them shortly, and the sounds of blowing wind, creaking wood, and rustling grass clashed with the grunts of harsh labor.

  “Why can’t we just wait until after the behemoth season is past?” Nicholas whined. “I mean, they only pass by our farm for a week. Can’t we wait just one week?”

  Emily’s mother paused in her stokes and caught her breath before answering.

  “We go through this every year, Nicholas. You know full well we can’t afford to fall behind a week. Don’t bring it up again, or I’ll take the rolling pin to you.”

  And that was that. Nicholas’ mouth snapped shut, and his hoe hit the ground a moment later. Mother’s word was law, especially when it was backed by a threat. It was enough to make Emily smirk, until Mother looked her way.

  They labored through the day and sweated buckets in the burning sun. It was no different than any other year, though, and Emily actually found herself having an easier time. The one day off she’d had riding with her father had been a vast relief. Her legs might be stiff, but her back and arms felt rejuvenated, rather than burdened with another day of fatigue. Not that it made the work tolerable. Sweat still dripped down her back to mat her clothes to her body and down her forehead to burn her eyes.

  Was this going to be her life? Every year since she could remember, she’d been biting into the dirt with tools and only now, after tasting one day of freedom, did she realize the life that could be had. She longed to be back atop a unicorn, riding into the wind. She wanted to scout every day, visit the city of Lucifan, and meet strangers from strange lands.

  But that life was not hers. She was a farmer, and a poor, plains farmer at that. Her next strike to the dirt was powered with frustration.

  “Emily, look!” Nicholas said.

  Emily’s head popped up and followed her brother’s pointed finger to the north through the fields. Her eyes caught the distinct figure of a gunslinger ambling towards their farm atop a unicorn. The leather overcoat and wide-brimmed hat were all too easy to recognize, flapping in the wind, while the sun reflected on the metal handles of the six-shooters at his waist. He had to hold one hand to his hat to keep it from blowing off in the wind. With the other, he held the unicorn’s reins and steered the creature toward the Stout farm at a walk. The gunslinger bobbed and swayed, slumping forward in his saddle as if sitting tall and proud were too difficult a task.

  “Back to work, children,” Molly said, dropping her hoe to meet the approaching gunslinger.

  Emily and Nicholas went back to digging, but their strikes were horrible, because they were tilting their heads to watch the scene. Molly stopped in the shade created by the barn’s overhang and waited for the gunslinger to finish his stroll. When he came close, Emily and Nicholas slowed their work even further to better hear the conversation.

  “Good day, madam,” the gunslinger said politely in a deep voice.

  The gunslinger tilted his hat up, and Emily saw the aged lines of an old man’s face. His skin was wrinkled, and his cheeks drooped, but even at this distance Emily could see his eyes were soft and friendly. The gunslinger rocked in his saddle, and the effort it took to tilt his hat seemed to be as hard for him as it would be for Emily to till the entire field.

  “Good day,” Molly nodded. “Looking for a place to stay?”

  “Actually, for work,” he sighed.

  “Work?” she tilted her head. “Pardon me, but aren’t you a bit old to still be looking for work, gunslinger?”

  “I’ll admit I’ve seen better days. But I’m in need of work, and so I’ve come to offer my services,” he tipped his hat.

  “Well as you can see,” Molly sighed, gesturing to the farm behind her, “or perhaps your eyes have aged too much, as well, we aren’t a family capable of paying for such services. You can’t stay here either. We don’t have the room.”

  “Oh,” the old man replied, sounding both surprised and disappointed.

  He looked down, his head disappearing beneath his hat and casting shadows down his body. From the way his shoulders slouched, it looked to Emily as if he’d just been told he’d not live to see another day.

  Emily and Nicholas had stopped working. Their hoes sat motionless on the ground while they leaned on the staffs, watching the scene unfold. Emily had never seen such a polite and emotional gunslinger. Most of them carried themselves with an air of distinction, an aura of privilege, like they had earned the right to look down on others. As Emily looked at this aged man, she wondered if it was his age that had breached the stone heart most gunslingers built for themselves.

  If so, that same power now breached Emily’s mother. She looked down and gave a great sigh.

  “Look, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Molly Stout,” she said.

  “Jonathon Bagster,” the gunslinger replied, lifting his head and offering his hand.

  “I’ll tell you what, John,” Molly reached up and accepted the handshake. “Why don’t you stay with us for the evening? Just one, and then you can get a good start tomorrow morning. You can pay for a night?”

  “I can, and thank you,” he said. “That would be most kind of you.”

  Emily and Nicholas stood up straight and looked at each other, their mouths dropping completely open. A gunslinger staying at their house? Oh, the stories, the adventures! She wanted to ask him what he’d done and if he had been to the city. He must have so many stories, and she couldn’t wait to hear all of them!

  “Hey!” Molly scolded. “Back to work!”

  Nicholas and Emily frantically swept up their hoes and went back to striking the dirt. They dug fast at first, as if a little added effort could make up for the time they’d spent staring slack-jawed, but they still risked glances over their shoulders to watch the gunslinger walk his weary unicorn to the barn. Their digging was back to a normal pace by the time he was walking to the porch to take cover in the shade. Emily’s mother brought him a cup of water from the well and a wooden chair from the kitchen before walking back out to the field to resume her work.

  As John eased back into the chair, his long overcoat rolled back to reveal his two six-shooters. They dangled from their holsters as if they were made from solid gold. Nicholas’ jaw fell open, and he stopped moving to stare unabashed.

  “Nicholas!” Molly said. “He’s a guest. Show some respect.”

  Nicholas looked down and started working again. Emily did her best to keep her eyes forward, too. To say that their work was less efficient with a gunslinger on their porch would be an understatement, but their mother did not scold them for being slower. If anything, she was only mildly annoyed and perhaps even happy that the two of them could continue their chores without exchanging words.

  Fortunately, they didn’t have to work for long. In no time at all, the sun finished its rise to power, and the trio broke for lunch. With panting breaths, they retreated to the sanctuary of the house to eat br
ead and drink water. To Emily and her brother’s excitement, the gunslinger joined them at the table.

  A full five seconds passed before Nicholas burst into questions.

  “Where did you get your guns? How long have you been a gunslinger? Who taught you how to shoot?”

  “Nicholas!” Molly yelled.

  John laughed—the sound of phlegm building in his lungs—and then coughed.

  “It’s okay, Ms. Stout,” he said. “I was young, too, once.”

  He turned towards Nicholas’ eager eyes and leaned forward. Emily leaned forward, too, with ears perked to hear every detail.

  “I got my pistols from my mother, who’s long since passed. She was also the one who taught me to shoot, and I’ve been riding since I was about twenty years old.”

  “My brother’s almost that old,” Nicholas said.

  “Well, that’s good for him. Many good things happen to us at twenty seasons.”

  Nicholas took in a breath to ask more questions, but John cut him off by turning to Emily.

  “And what do you want to know? I’m sure you have questions of your own.”

  Emily’s voice evaporated like a shallow water hole in midsummer heat. Under the full attention of the gunslinger, she could not remember a single question she wanted to ask him.

  “Well,” he raised his eyebrows, “there must be something?”

  His question broke the dam.

  “Where have you been? Have you been to the city? What’s beyond the plains? What have you seen?” she flooded.

  “Ah, you wish to know about Lucifan, the grandest city in world, or so they say? I take it you’ve never been?”

  Emily looked at her mother, and for once, Molly seemed a tad embarrassed.

  “No,” Emily said, “but my older brother told me what it’s like.”

  “Well, I’m sure he didn’t exaggerate. I’ve never been to another city, but I’m told by travelers there is none other like it. Lucifan is huge and covered in buildings that dwarf your barn—no offense. There are ogre mercenaries, gargoyle guards, and towering colossi. Have you ever seen a colossus up close? What am I saying? Of course you haven’t. They are like giant human statues that can move—and I do mean giant. They are perhaps ten times taller than you and guard the city. Still, they pale in comparison to the majestic angels. I’ve only seen one in passing, at a distance, but that was enough. You can feel their presence in the air, I swear it, though I know several leprechauns who disagree with me. I think it’s all that gold they hoard that gets to their head, or the vampires they do business with.”

  Emily’s heart beat with vigor, and her mind swarmed with images. She felt lightheaded and yet craved more. She swallowed to prevent herself from drooling.

  “And the forest?” she pressed. “Have you been to Angor?”

  “Yes, but only once. There, I saw—”

  “Okay!” Molly cut in, throwing her arms up. “I think that’s enough storytelling for today!”

  The trio balked and looked to Molly, puzzlement in their eyes.

  “I mean, this farm won’t run itself,” she shrugged and stood. “Come, come, we’ve got more work to do.”

  John took a sharp breath and gave a low nod.

  “Yes, of course,” he said, taking a stand as well. “My apologies, Ms. Stout.”

  Emily’s head dropped and her heart sank.

  “But, but, but—” Nicholas started.

  “Now, don’t delay,” Emily’s mother was already pulling them up from their chairs. “There’ll be more time for stories later. Go on.”

  Emily and Nicholas were practically shoved out the door, the squeak of it closing behind them sounding sharper than she remembered. The two stood on the back porch and exchanged a bewildered glance.

  What did the gunslinger say that so upset Mother? Emily thought. Nicholas’ face seemed to have the same question written on it, and when neither said anything, she gave him a shrug. Then the door opened again, and Molly strode through it. She looked at her children who turned their questioning faces back towards her.

  “Please, you two,” she sighed. “We have a lot of work to do.”

  Emily and Nicholas slouched but made no other gesture of defiance. Resentfully, they walked back out into the sun’s burning embrace and grabbed up their digging hoes. This time, John did not take a seat on the back porch, and Emily had a feeling it was her mother who had requested such inaction.

  In complete silence and unison, tools bit the dirt once again.

  “This is such a load of unicorn crap,” Nicholas whispered.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Emily muttered back.

  The sun was on the descent now, and the lingering afternoon heat boiled their tempers. Neither Emily nor Nicholas would vent their frustrations so easily, though, and they kept their anger to themselves. Hopefully, she would get to finish her questions in the evening. Maybe Mother would be less jumpy with Father around.

  “Huh, what is it now?” Molly asked.

  Emily jolted her head up, expecting to see the gunslinger walking out from the house. She saw nothing and looked to her mother to see what had caught her attention. Molly was looking west, and Emily saw a rider bolting towards their property. As the figure came closer, Emily could see that it was either Abe or her dad. They looked a lot alike. Both of them were skinny, even for a plainsman (because only the rich could afford to be fat on the plains), both were the same height, and both had short hair.

  The distance closed rapidly, and it turned out to be Paul who was riding at full gallop. The beard, which only grew out from his chin, was a dead giveaway.

  As he got closer, Emily could see a look of terror on his face.

  “Molly!” he shouted.

  Emily’s mother dropped her tool and ran to her husband.

  “What? What?” she asked back, her tone instantly matching his. “Has something happened to Abraham? Is he hurt?”

  “No, he’s fine. It’s the behemoths. The herd Emily and I found yesterday is passing by our farm, and one split off from the pack.”

  Molly shook her head and looked confused.

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” she asked. “I mean, don’t behemoths only split from the pack when they’re going to die?”

  “Yes, but it won’t die for another day or two and . . .”

  Paul stopped and bit back his words.

  “What, Paul? What? Say it.”

  “It’s coming straight for our farm,” he sighed. “It’s going to trample our home.”

  Chapter 4

  Emily, Nicholas, and their mother gasped and looked at each other, not wanting to believe what they had just heard. Emily could hardly fathom the thought. She couldn’t imagine their farm without a house. Where would they store food? Everything they owned was in that house. The barn was close by, so would the behemoth trample that, too? What about the water well? If that was destroyed, they’d die without help. All of this ran through Emily’s mind in the blink of an eye, and all the fatigue she’d gathered that day was flushed from her system.

  “Paul, how do you know that?” Molly asked. “I mean, couldn’t it just pass by us?”

  “We’ve been following it, hoping just that. I really hoped so, but, honestly, if it isn’t stopped, it’s going to walk right into either the house or the barn. This beast is wide enough, and with its tail, it might crush them both.”

  Molly clenched her jaw, and Paul let her take it in. Emily had absorbed all she’d needed to know, though, and ran to her mother’s side.

  “What do we need to do?” Emily asked. “Clear the barn or the house first?”

  Paul glanced at his daughter but then looked to Molly. He gave her a meaningful stare, and the worry on her face quickly changed to apprehension.

  “That might not be necessary,” he said to Emily. “There is one way to stop it.”

  “Paul, no,” Molly replied sternly.

  “Eh-hurm,” came a cough from behind them.

  Four heads turned to se
e the gunslinger, John Bagster, walking down the porch. The spurs on his boots clinked, mixing with the sound of creaking wood until his feet touched the ground.

  “Looks like you’ll need my services after all,” he called out, tipping his hat.

  He walked slowly across the field, and Emily felt certain he was hiding a limp in his right leg. The gunslinger tightened his belt as he came close, and Paul turned to look at Molly, the obvious question lingering in his gaze. Molly just gave a shrug, and that seemed to be answer enough.

  “Uh, sir,” Paul began. “As much as we need you, we won’t be able to afford such a deed.”

  “But dad!” Nicholas called out, running up now, too. “If he doesn’t help us, we’ll lose our house!”

  Paul looked at Molly, then back to Nicholas.

  “Not necess—”

  “Don’t worry folks!” John cut in, finally reaching them. “I’ll gladly save your home for free. Your wife here was good enough to offer me water, food, and shelter for the night. You can consider this my payment for your hospitality.”

  Emily’s mother sighed in relief.

  “Oh, thank you!” she cried out.

  “That’s very generous of you.” Paul also sighed. “I will be forever in your debt. Honestly, I’ll find some way to repay you for this. You have my thanks.”

  Emily and Nicholas jumped in joy and hugged each other. At first it was in celebration of their home being saved, but then it was in anticipation of what they were about to see.

  The gunslinger adjusted his belt again and then pulled out his pistols one at a time. He carefully opened and rotated the six-barreled cylinder in one, checking to make sure it was fully loaded, before moving on to the other. However, when he brought the pistols close to his face and squinted at each passing bullet, Emily’s faith faltered. A similar skepticism also echoed throughout her family, and Paul cleared his throat.

  “Uh, what was your name?” he asked.

  “John,” said the gunslinger. “John Bagster.”

  “Paul Stout,” Emily’s father finished the introduction.