TALES OF THE FAR WEST

by Scott Lynch

  “I told you before girl, there are no such things as demons.”

  She snapped at him, exasperated. “I do not understand how you can say that, Eldorah Tolnik, with the things I’ve seen at your side. With what you are!”

  “Nevertheless, it is so.”

  “How?”

  For the first time, his gaze shifted away from the figure on the bed and he looked directly at her for a long moment. His face was a study in varied scars, each stranger than the last, but none so grim as the long grey welt that started above his forehead and worked its way down his face, bisecting his right eye, to end up just south of his chin. Eldorah Tolnik had once been a handsome man, but no more.

  “A question at last. You Castalan can be so damn formal.”

  “My pardons.”

  “Ha! Truth can be a heavier burden then duty, Kana.”

  “My shoulders are strong, Tolnik-si.”

  “So too is your mind, according to Asra. Alright, girl, you’ve certainly earned the right.”

  He paused, gathering his thoughts and when next he spoke, there was a distinctly formal tone in his voice. “What most folks call ‘demons’ are the result of a martial Spirit being ignited without the proper training to control it. On the Dust Road, we train for years to channel the Furies within us. Some poor souls unlock their Spirit’s strength by accident, usually due to injury, either physical or emotional. Their Spirits, released but undirected, are usually furious and lash out at everyone around them. Eventually, they descend into following the whims of dreams and momentary desires. An unfettered Spirit can corrupt the flesh, twisting it over time. Simple folk, not understanding any of this, see an angry madman with seemingly impossible strength, other unexplainable abilities, along with frightening physical changes, and say they’re possessed by a demon.”

  Kana considered his words for a time. “So what is it that you do?”

  “I help their Spirit to go back to sleep for a time, if I can. If not, I end their suffering.”

  “For a time?”

  “Yes. Especially a young one like this, he’ll likely walk the Dust Road one day, if he survives. If we can save him, perhaps his family can find a master for him or maybe send him to the Sleepless Scriveners. Once your Spirit has used the power of kung-fu though, there is no way back,” he raised a single eyebrow, “less the demon return.”

  “What if… what if someone already knows kung-fu, but unfetters their Spirit on purpose?”

  Tolnik turned from the boy and look directly at her, his glance approving. “How do you think I got the worst of these scars?”

  She smiled slowly, but stopped when she saw the look of concern, then anger, pass over his face.

  “What it is?”

  “Idiots. Final Song take the lot of them.”

  “What?”

  “This is at a delicate point. The boy’s Spirit is struggling, a choice will soon be upon him and I both. I cannot leave. There is a mob approaching us. I can feel them.”

  “Where?”

  “The road, not far at all, now.”

  Kana leapt to her feet, grabbing her long spear up from where she had carefully laid it. She kneeled before him, one fist to the floor. “Tolnik-siah, please allow me to deal with this matter.”

  He smiled, slightly. “Go, Kana-so. But remember, they’re just frightened of what they do not understand.”

  She nodded once and sped from the loft, barely pausing as she leapt down to the barn floor below. The fields outside the barn were covered in thick green grass, and the sun was still shining, but there was already an evening chill in the air, carried by the wisps of fog that drifted between the trees of a nearby orchard. While it was not yet twilight, Kana could see that the people coming up the road already had torches lit.

  She took up a position in the center of the road and planted the butt of her spear in the soil beside her. Closing her eyes, she waited. She heard exclamations and a few muttered curses when they noticed her in the road. The one leading them urged them on, heedless. When they came fifteen paces, she opened her eyes to regard them.

  Their leader was squat, flushed, and breathing hard. Kana judged him a farmer, like most of the folks before her.

  “We’ve got no problems with you, girl, but you had best stand aside.”

  “What will you all do, if I should do so?”

  “What must be done.”

  “My present teacher is already attending to that. It a burden neither he, nor I, wish upon any of you.”

  “You have any idea how many that thing up there killed?”

  She nodded slowly. “Many. Did you lose someone?”

  The farmers face twisted from anger to grief. His voice was low. “I set my boy on the pyre this morning.”

  “May the Maiden watch over him.” She raised her voice, so the whole crowd could hear her. “I know you are angry, but this is not justice. I cannot stand aside.”

  Whatever the farmer was about to say changed as he looked past her, his eyes narrowed and he pointed a shaking finger. “This is your doing, Jandel! That monster is yours!”

  Kana didn’t turn, but she felt the ‘possessed’ boy’s parents coming to stand beside her.

  “I know it, Tern. I’m so sorry about your boy, but killing mine won’t bring him back.”

  “It may bring his spirit peace, though!” The crowd, content to listen till now, growled at that and surged forward.

  Kana dropped into a martial stance and leveled her spear. She surprised herself at how steady her voice was. “I am sorry, but I cannot permit this. I promise you, I will take many of you with me.” The end of her spear flickered like a living flame. The mob paused, taken aback by her calm certainty…

  And then the top of the barn exploded.

  The crowd collapsed to the ground, as wooden shards rained down throughout the clearing. Kana shook her head to clear it as she used her spear to push herself upright. Her ears were ringing with the blast, and she was disoriented, but she finally managed to focus her eyes on something that was moving amidst the wreckage . The indistinct shapes in her vision slowly resolved into Tolnik and the boy, free of his bonds, fighting in the ruins of the barn.

  The boy was a blur of motion, dancing back and forth across the shattered barn supports. Tolnik smoothly countered his every move, keeping pace with his blade. Occasionally, he would lunge in and strike the boy, before withdrawing. Kana immediately saw, to her amazement, that with each blow, Tolnik deftly twisted his sword so as not to cut the child, instead striking him along the flat of the blade.

  Their fight slowly moved towards Kana and the fallen farmers behind her. Seeing how the tide of battle was flowing, Kana dug her feet into the sod. “All of you, get behind me, quickly!” They didn’t need to be told twice.

  As they drew closer, Kana could see an eerie radiance dancing about the boy’s eyes, his little hands twisted nearly into claws. Sparks spilled down from the holes in Tolnik’s blade. She realized he was grinning, teeth clenched. More and more of his blows landed, as the boy appeared to be, ever so slightly, slowing.

  Kana caught a woman from running past her. “Mir, please!”

  The demon-who-wasn’t turned. “Mama?”

  Tolnik punched him squarely in the center of his back, two knuckles extended, as the boy began to fall, he hurled his sword into the ground, where it spiked upright, and jabbed two fingers into the side of the boy’s neck. The boy fell heavily to the sod.

  “MIR!”

  The woman rushed forward to collect her son, sobbing. Tolnik stood panting heavily.

  “No need for tears, Mam. I think you may have saved your boy’s life.”

  She looked up at him in pure astonishment. Tolnik turned away and looked at Kana. “Well done, apprentice.”

  She smiled and bowed formally, to a short bark of his laughter.

  The mob soon dispersed, embarrassed, and somewhat overawed by the presence of Dust Roaders in their midst. After Mir had fallen into a quiet sleep, the Jandel
s were lavish in their praise. Tolnik waved them off, saying they’d only gotten their money’s worth.

  The next day, Tolnik slept in, telling Kana they would head east towards Semberhane sometime after lunch. His rest was interrupted just before noon, though, when a group of farmers, including Master Tern from the night before, slowly approached their small campsite.

  The assembly of farmers advanced, no weapons evident. When Kana walked out to meet them, Tern and several others removed their hats.

  “Gentlemen… can I help you?”

  “Oh, Miss, I sincerely hope so. We’re in for the Hells now, if not.”

  “What is it?”

  “Bross Crysimper and his gang have returned!”

  “Who?”

  “Crysimper, he and his men have raided our village for years. They’ve come again and say we don’t have enough goods to satisfy them. They’re threatening to take women, children. Please, you must help us!”

  Tolnik’s voice emerged from his blankets.

  “Must we?” He stood, shaking off his bedding and stalked across the clearing toward them. Several of the farmers recoiled a bit as Tolnik walked right up to Tern and leaned down to look him square in the eye.

  “You were perfectly willing to burn a small boy, but you can’t face down a single gang of bandits?”

  Tern’s eyes were downcast. “I already lost one child. I am truly sorry, I didn’t really want to hurt Jandel’s boy. But we were afraid the demon would take others and now these bandits…” he trailed off.

  Tolnik turned to Kana. “This is not our problem.”

  She met his gaze levelly. “How is it not? What do we stand for, if not for this?”

  “There will always be bandits. Always. If we answer every cry for help, we run ourselves ragged.” He pointed at the farmers. “They can deal with this, they just lack the courage to act.”

  “Then maybe we should inspire them. You’re right Tolnik-siah, we can’t be everywhere, or help everyone, but we are here, now.”

  He sighed. “You want to go play hero, feel free. I’ll be certain to tell Asra you died valiantly.” He laid back down and made a show of rolling over.

  “So be it.” Kana quickly gathered her spear. “Lead the way, Mr. Tern.”

  “Oh thank you, Miss. With your help, I’m certain we have a chance against the Demon.”

  Tolnik sat bolt upright. “What? What did you say?”

  Mr. Tern repeated, hesitantly, “With your help, I…”

  “No, no,” Tolnik interrupted. “The last bit.”

  “…the Demon?”

  Tolnik stood. “What about ‘the Demon’?”

  “It’s what folks call Crysimper. Bross ‘the Demon’ Crysimper.”

  Tolnik looked at Kana for a long moment, than guffawed.

  “Somewhere, Immortal Tolis is laughing at me.”

  She grinned.

  “What a pathetic excuse for a village!” Roared Bross ‘the Demon’ Crysimper. “I’ve seen outhouses with more class!”

  “Hey, Boss…” one of his men motioned to the end of the road. A man stood on the road coming from the West, into the village. At his side, a revolver was holstered. An enormous sheathed sword was balanced across his shoulders.

  “Looks like some sport, eh, lads?” Laughter ensued. Crysimper brought his horse about, along with several of his men. As they drew closer to the approaching man, who Crysimper took to be a freeblade, he noticed the sword was mostly made of wood.

  “Maybe they are too poor, they can’t even afford to hire a warrior with a proper blade.” Laughter again. The man lifted his head and Crysimper clearly saw his scarred features. “That tears it, ugly to boot.”

  Crysimper grinned down at the poor freeblade. “Tell you what, I’m feeling merciful today, just go, really.”

  The man smiled grimly back. “I’m not.”

  His first blow split Crysimper’s right hand man in half, the backstroke decapitated a horse and sheared through the rider. His punch hurled Crysimper from his horse, slamming him to the ground five paces back.

  Crysimper came up gasping. “Who, what?”

  An iron grasp seized his throat, choking the wind out of him. “Introductions? Oh very well. Bross Crysimper, Demon, I’m Eldorah Tolnik, Exorcist.”

  The last the Demon saw was sparks falling, as the wooden blade descended.

  _________________________________________________

  T.S. Luikart is an award winning writer and game designer. As the co-developer of Far West, he’s spent a great deal of time over the last year or more constructing a very large sandbox for y’all to play in. He is thrilled to see the other writers in this anthology bringing the lands beyond the Last Horizon to life and looks forward to seeing what everyone else will do with them in the years to come.

  LOCAL LEGEND

  by Jason L Blair

  Dunephy swaggered into the bar, a cocky grin plastered on his face and a long satchel strapped across his back. The patrons of Loyal Oak had become used to his bravado, his smarmy way of speaking to folks, and the ladies of the establishment had become accustomed to his roaming eyes and grabby hands. Since he blew into town a week ago, they’d come to know Hano Dunephy well. Of all the colorful names you could apply to the man—rogue, scoundrel, bastard—liar was surprisingly not one of them.

  “Red Phoenix is dead,” the man said, slinging the satchel off his shoulder. He set it down on the table closest to him. “And this here’s proof.”

  The bar went silent. All eyes turned on him. He untied the golden string holding the satchel fast and unfurled its dark blue cloth. He brought up a wooden sheath, the image of a wiry bird burned into it, and held it above his head.

  “Laughing Wind,” Dunephy smiled. “The man’s signature sword.”

  He clasped the pommel and drew the length of the sword slowly. He held it up, tip facing downward, for all to see. The distinctive mark of Red Phoenix—three flames—was etched into the steel.

  “I came to this town to claim this bounty. I have done so. Now,” he looked over the crowd, his smirk widening, “I will be paid.”

  A lone clapping sound erupted from the back of the bar. Dunephy scanned the crowd, trying to place it. Sheriff Lojin sauntered forth, wearing his own smirk.

  “Well, well,” the lawman said, adjusting his belt. “Killed the Scourge of the Bulk Line, eh? And this, this weapon, is your proof?”

  Dunephy stood proudly by his prize. He pointed at the markings on the blade. “Here. Proof this is the villain’s sword. Used to kill twelve widows over a single winter, and their orphan children as well.”

  “Oh, I know the tale,” Lojin said, eying the sword. “And this may well be the famed Laughing Wind. But this is no proof Red Phoenix is dead, or that you killed him.”

  Dunephy’s face turned sour. He brought the sword up in an offensive posture. “You calling me a cheat, sheriff?”

  “For the prize on Red Phoenix’s head, we’re gonna need more than this sword.”

  “I heard Red Phoenix loved that sword,” a voice in the back said. Dunephy’s eyes shot through the crowd. Cheen Yergen, one of the local merchants, stood up. “Said he’d never part with it alive.”

  Dunephy’s smile returned. “That’s right. Yeah, that’s right. Never part with it, not alive. Killed the man myself. But his body is gone. Burned up. But I have this.” He sheathed the blade, placing it back onto the wrap.

  Cheen stepped forward. “I’ll gladly appraise that, sheriff. I’m quite familiar with the legend of Red Phoenix. Seen some of his earlier swords too.”

  “Even if you prove the authenticity,” Lojin countered, “it doesn’t prove Dunephy killed Red Phoenix to get it.”

  “I have no reason to believe Mr. Dunephy would lie about how he came to acquire the sword,” Cheen said. “I, for one, am willing to take him at his word should the sword be proven to be of proper origin.”

  The sheriff considered the merchant’s idea. He had known Cheen for a long time and h
e had no reason not to trust the man’s judgement.

  “Fine,” Lojin said. “You check that sword. If it is what Dunephy says, and you full believe it,” he pointed to Cheen, “then we’ll pay up.”

  “Very fair,” Cheen nodded to the sheriff. Then, to Dunephy, “Come to my shop. I have my equipment there.”

  The gunslinger finished wrapping the sword and carried it, one hand clasped around the sheath, out of the bar. He followed Cheen onto the street, eyes open for trouble, and continued on, down the road, to Cheen’s Mercantile.

  The old man rubbed the head of the cat statue by the shop’s door and encouraged Dunephy to do the same.

  “One can always use fortunes, yeah?”

  Dunephy obliged, rolling his eyes as he did so. He stepped into the shop after Cheen, the soft ting of the door bell rang out over them.

  The store smelled heavily of jasmine, thanks to Cheen’s wife and her obsession with scented oils, and the place was twice as warm as it was out in the street. Dunephy immediately felt uncomfortable. But if this was how he was going to get his reward, he was willing to suffer through it.

  The gunslinger unwrapped the satchel and set the sheathed sword on the front counter.

  “Red Phoenix,” Cheen said, putting on his merchant’s cloak. “Very impressive. How did you do it, huh? Bullet? Sword stroke?”

  “One shot,” Dunephy said, stabbing a finger toward his left cheek. “Right through the eye.”

  “Ooh,” the merchant winced. “Gruesome. Very gruesome.”

  “Nothing compared to what that man’s done in his lifetime. He deserved worse.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Cheen laughed. “Mercy is for the merciful, eh, Mr. Dunephy?”

  The gunslinger nodded. “Sure thing.” He unbuttoned his collar and fanned the fabric a bit. Sweat was trickling down his neck. “So how long’s this gonna take?”

  “Not long,” Cheen answered. “Oh, one moment.”

  The shopkeeper went through a beaded curtain into the back room. Dunephy looked around at the knick-knacks and oddities throughout the shop. Cheen’s sold all sorts of household staples, as well as exotics such as sugar and patterned textiles, but it was known for its accents, like the small ivory statues that lined the shelf above the counter. Dunephy counted a dozen intricately carved effigies. Most of them were mythological creatures, stained a variety of bright hues. At the end, a jade-colored dragon scowled at him, a single burst of ruby fire dribbling from its rolled lip.