by F J Blair
“Now, where are my manners? Name’s Richard Whittaker. My friends and I patrol these roads, keeping citizens such as yourself safe.”
Friends? She noticed a shadow behind the stranger. Another man wearing brown overalls stepped out from behind several rocks. Temperance’s hand inched towards her holster as she pressed into Astor. Should be enough to protect his more important regions, but she didn’t like her odds, trapped on the bridge as they were.
Behind her she saw a third figure emerge from where he had been lying in the prairie grass. So much for fleeing the way they had come.
“Hey now, be careful there. Don’t need you spooking your horse.” As Richard spoke, he drew a small pistol. “If you behave, there’s no reason this has to end in trouble.”
“You’re no marshals,” Temperance said. It wasn’t a question.
“No, nothing so official, but we do our part for this forgotten corner of the Federation. Locals call us the Gunpowder Gang. You’ve probably heard ‘bout us.”
“Can’t say I have. What kind of name is ‘Gunpowder Gang’, anyway? Sounds like something out of a bad campfire tale.”
Richard frowned, and the man next to him let out a loud guffaw. “I told you we should’a gone with a different name, Boss. Bet folks are laughing real good over it back in Sweetwater ‘bout now.”
“Shut your trap, Dale.” Richard turned and motioned towards Temperance with his gun. “Git over here already.”
“And if I don’t?”
The outlaw leader gave her a cool look. Next to him, Dale drew a gun as well. “I think you know what happens next, Girlie. C’mon, now. No reason to be uncivil about all this.”
Temperance considered her options. It would be near impossible to draw and load her revolver before the men opened fire. Even then she might have risked it, if not for the third outlaw behind them. Too much risk for Astor in the crossfire.
Nothing to do for the moment then. Once she got closer, she could try something. Perhaps one of her hex spheres. She still had at least one that would buy her enough time to load her weapons.
“Alright, don’t shoot, I’m coming over.” She started to lift her hand away from the holster.
A gust of wind rippled through the canyon, ruffling her hair and catching on the folds of her jacket. The fabric brushed against her hand with the touch of a hesitant lover. Temperance felt a jolt of energy snap at her.
Dammit!
Her jacket lanced towards the ground, the fabric cutting the boards at her feet as if they were little more than wet paper. Her sleeves shot out, one striking near the bandit’s foot, the other cutting through the bridge’s supports. The whole thing lurched to the side.
“What in ‘tarnation?” Richard jumped back. The other outlaw yelped and fired off a shot. His bullet struck Temperance’s shoulder, ricocheting away but pushing her to the side.
Her hand struck her jacket again. More shocks.
Another line of leather sliced the bridge’s remaining support. The ropes gave with an audible snap.
Then there was nothing but open air.
Temperance’s view began cartwheeling as she tumbled. In a brief flash she saw Astor flailing for purchase beside her, whinnying in panic.
Temperance, I—!
Whatever he had been about to say was stolen away as water harder than glass slammed against Temperance’s head, sending her mind tumbling down a rabbit hole filled with a wash of fiery colors and the hollow laughter of daemons long since cast back to Hell.
Chapter Two
The brackish river water filled her mouth as Temperance came awake. She struggled for a moment, then burst from beneath it and swam awkwardly to shore. Smooth river stones slipped beneath her boots as she found footing at the water’s edge.
No sooner did she make the shore than her guts demanded payment for their rough treatment. Water flowed around her as she heaved beer and breakfast into the river. Some of her regurgitated mess splashed back on her face before the river swept it away. The smell of it almost set her off again.
Instead, she dunked her head into the water, washing herself clean and cooling herself in one stroke. Clambering to shaky feet, she took a moment to glance upward and marvel at her own survival. Rough cliffs greeted her to either side, the remains of the bridge nowhere to be seen.
So she had floated some distance before waking. A pure-born miracle she hadn’t drowned. Or perhaps this was the Divines’ idea of a bad joke. Either was equally likely.
She waded from the river and threw herself down on the first dry place that presented itself, a wide rock jutting into the river. Her breath came in rapid gulps, as if she had swum upriver to get here.
Wherever here was. She was likely halfway back to the ocean by now. No way to tell until she climbed back up and got her bearings. Astor might know, he always had a better sense of direction. Like there was a compass in his head pointing towards—
Wait. Where was Astor?
Despite the protests from her aching muscles, Temperance forced herself to sit up, survey her surroundings. No sight of her horse down here, what little she could see before a bend in the river hid the rest of the canyon. He could be a stone’s throw away, or a mile downriver.
Now that she was paying more attention, Temperance noticed something at the top of the far cliff, a mess of stone and metal hanging near the edge like the bones of some enormous beast. Might have been the remnants of an old waystop or squatter town, but they looked too old for that. Native, perhaps? They were similar to other ruins she had visited. Gave her that strange feeling she always got, as well.
By now her clothes had just about dried out. Her coat was in better shape than it had a right to be, considering all the trouble it had caused. She almost tossed it into the river but stopped herself at the last moment. Couldn’t blame it for what had been her fault, after all. Besides, it might still prove useful.
There was also a new tear in her skirt, but nothing a quick patch job couldn’t fix. Assuming Astor hadn’t lost the saddlebags when he fell. Assuming he was still breathing. Assuming—
She stopped herself from going any further. No good came from thoughts like that. Right now she needed to focus on survival.
Speaking of which. She reached down and drew one of her revolvers. It was wet, but no worse than it had been after a few bad storms. She opened it up and set it aside to dry. The second one followed, the metal gleaming in the sunlight. Not the best solution, but it should work fine for the short term.
She tried to draw out a few knockout shells, and frowned when her hands came back empty. Tried again. Her mind started hollering at her, but she couldn’t seem to make sense of what it was saying. At last she looked down.
Her bandoliers were gone.
Guts turning to ice, she scanned the riverbank. No sign of them.
Don’t panic, she chided herself, even as her heart pounded at a breakneck pace. They’re just further downriver, with Astor. Hell, he might have found them himself already. Wouldn’t that just make his day. He’ll never let me hear the end.
Yes, her hexbullets had to be further downriver. The alternative was that a single stroke of bad luck had lost several thousand kos worth of precious ammo, not to mention all the cartridges that Lilac had given her. Between that and the damage to the coat, it would mean an end to her quest for months, even years.
Such a possibility was simply unacceptable.
A quick search of her pockets managed to turn up the last four hex spheres that she had purchased in Arkton—a fire striker, a flare, one that turned stone to mud, and a final sphere merely labeled “bees.”
She also still had her hunting knife. Not completely defenseless, then.
Guns dried, cleaned, and returned to its holster, Temperance set off along the riverbank, legs unsteady amongst the shifting rocks. A half-mile down she came across one of her saddlebags, wedged between several logs near the shore. Inside was a week’s worth of rations, only mildly damp, and her spare riding skirt. Her
money bag was also tucked into a hidden pouch at the bottom.
It’s not everything, but at least I won’t be in danger of starving before we reach civilization. She prodded the coin bag, trying to recall how much was inside. Not enough to replace her hexbullets, but might be enough for a train ride back to the east coast.
With a start, Temperance realized what she was doing. Already she had begun thinking again as if everything were lost. That she would have to crawl back to Martin like a whipped dog for the second time in a single season. Some gunslinger she had turned out to be.
With each passing thought, a black mood leeched its way in at the edges of her mind. She managed to push it back out, but doing so took more effort than usual.
There was a clatter around the next bend in the rocks, followed by a loud snort. All of Temperance’s worries fled as she leapt back up and sprinted across the uneven ground. Her heart was in her chest again, but this time each beat filled her with joy.
Even with the river near drowning out everything else, she would recognize the sound of her horse anywhere.
She reached the top of a large boulder and came to a halt. This close, her familiar bond snapped back into place. Usually it was a warm sensation that flowed down the back of her spine whenever Astor was near.
Something was off this time. The cascade of heat was stronger than she had ever felt before, like sitting too close to a campfire on a hot summer evening. Sweat beaded across her forehead. Her breathing grew short and labored.
On the other side of the rock was a sandy bank. Astor lay half upon it, his hind legs draped listlessly in the water. The horse’s eyes were closed, and a large gash ran between them, dried blood already starting to scab over.
Is he—no. If he were dead, I wouldn’t be sensing the bond anymore. Not like this.
Still, it might be a sign that he was hurt. She took a step in his direction.
Astor’s whole body shuddered, and heat flared across Temperance’s back like someone had pressed a hot poker to it. She doubled over, gritting her teeth while the heat grew, until it was as if her skin might blacken and blister at any moment. Just before it grew unbearable, the pain subsided.
The horse gave another shudder, quivering from tip to tail. He snorted again, the sound deeper than before.
“Astor?” Temperance asked. Her voice came out scratchy and rough. “What’s wrong?”
The skin over Astor’s flanks bulged outward. Temperance watched in frozen horror as his flesh rent apart. The wet tearing sound was almost enough to empty her stomach on the spot.
From the wounds emerged enormous bones, jagged and glistening with dark ichor, each terminating in a set of claws longer than Temperance’s hunting knife. Her horse let out a scream as another pair burst from beneath his withers.
Before the bones reached the ground, new flesh began to knit itself across their surface. Astor’s head jerked and writhed while muscles in his face rearranged themselves, stretching it out wider, his mouth growing several rows of needle-like teeth.
Across his remaining flesh a series of runes blazed to life, radiating an unnatural black light. The largest of these runes sat on Astor’s forehead, a bloody gash running right through its middle. Temperance took a step back.
This . . . this can’t be real, can it?
Her foot scraped across stones, sending several of them clattering away. Astor’s head jerked in her direction, and his eyes opened at last. Inside, they glowed with the same black light as the runes etched across his flesh. He let out a snort, and smoke poured from his nostrils.
Without another thought, Temperance ran.
Chapter Three
Sand and river rocks scattered as Temperance landed hard. Her legs begged for mercy, while inside her head a voice screamed and jabbered incoherently. She ignored them both and scrambled up another boulder.
What in the coldest level of Hell is that thing? A daemon? No, impossible. Then what . . . . Oh, Astor . . . .
No. Not Astor. Whatever that creature out there was, she knew her friend had no part in it. This was something else entirely.
Behind her came a scream that would have cut Temperance to the bone if she wasn’t in pieces already. She risked a glance back.
The thing wearing Astor’s skin had changed even more. It had shed what horse attributes remained, resembling something closer to an enormous spider, its mouth wide and wolfish, save for the multiple rows of teeth. Plates of chitin covered its back in odd patches, glowing runes interspersed among them.
Worse, the monster was following her. Long, spider-like legs moved over the rocks faster than Temperance could run on clear ground. Its eyes still blazed black with hunger and malice.
She pushed harder and pelted along the uneven shore.
Can’t keep this up for much longer. That thing is going to catch me, assuming I don’t burst my heart before then.
Her breath grew more ragged, mouth so dry that even the act of swallowing now seemed a distant memory. At some point she had lost her saddlebag again. Temperance hardly noticed, not with more pressing concerns—like living past the next few minutes. She glanced around, hoping an opportunity to escape might present itself.
The horse-beast drew closer.
She could hear its ragged breath now, a gurgling, muttering inhalation that rumbled in her ears. Temperance didn’t dare glance back again for fear of what she might find. She wracked her mind for options, but the river had stolen most of them, and the gods the rest. Cursing them both, she ran on.
In a moment of desperation, she almost activated her coat, one hand hovering over the fabric as the other hauled her across a pile of logs. Instead she reached into her pouch and drew out a hex sphere, glanced at it, returned it for another. A pile of scree took advantage of her momentary distraction and almost sent her tumbling.
The horse-beast let out a howl of triumph and surged forward. With no time left to check if she had drawn true, Temperance hurled the sphere at the nearby cliff. “Piliotar Barracones!”
Her hex sphere struck the side of the canyon with an audible clang. The whitish stone darkened as it turned to mud and slid away. Temperance didn’t wait for it to clear before hurling herself inside. The brown mud clung to her face and arms as she clawed her way deeper.
If this stone doesn’t melt more than a few feet, I’ll look an utter fool when that monster rips my filthy corpse apart. Temperance gritted her teeth and flung more of the mud away, seeking to put as much distance between herself and the horse-beast as possible.
She reached the end of the cave. The entrance was now a good dozen or more feet behind her, a circle of light blocked by the angry and thrashing horse-beast.
Mud continued to flow away, giving Temperance space to move. The monster let out a scream of frustration and rammed against the cave opening, its massive bulk too big for it to squeeze any closer. The whole cliff gave a shudder, but the beast gained no ground.
Temperance drew out another hex sphere, not bothering to check this one, and held it aloft.
“Astor, if you’re in there anywhere, you best back off. Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.” The lie sounded hollow in her ears. If there was even the barest chance Astor remained inside, Temperance knew she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. Her horse was the only good thing she had left in this world.
The beast howled and rammed against the cave again. Temperance tightened her grip on the sphere as her hands started to shake. Tears streamed down her face. “Astor, please!”
Letting out a final, deep-throated growl, the monster retreated, coming to a stop near the river’s edge. It squatted there, watching the cave.
When it didn’t move for several minutes, Temperance slipped the sphere back in her pocket, her legs going limp. She didn’t know what had been holding her up until that point. Grit and stubbornness, most likely.
Hugging her knees, she rested her head against them and stared out the cave entrance. The horse-beast wasn’t visible any longer,
but the warmth along her spine remained, fierce and angry in a way she had never experienced. It felt unclean, like oil poured into a clear pond.
Temperance scrubbed at her skin as if she might wipe the disgusting feeling away. Then she turned and stared at the cave wall.
Now what do I do? she wondered.
Outside, a mournful howl was her only reply.
* * *
In the end, her stomach betrayed her. Temperance would have preferred to never leave the muddy cave again, but rather wait until the world came to its inevitable and bloody end. A loud rumbling from her guts cut that plan short.
With some effort she climbed to her feet, legs stiff and shaky, and hobbled to the entrance.
The horse-beast was nowhere in sight, its tracks running every which way through the dried mud that spread from here to the riverbank. Of the monster itself, there wasn’t even an echo of a cry on the wind, nor a hint of flame along her spine.
She glanced at the sun. It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two since she first entered the cave, but time had lost all meaning while she huddled in the dark. Days might have passed. Or even years. She wondered if she might return to find her enemies little more than withered corpses, and the Whiteoak name forgotten on the wind at last.
Her eyes started to water, and Temperance realized she was still staring skyward. She tried to remember what she was doing out here, but it was difficult to focus. Thoughts kept drifting through her mind, refusing to settle for more than a moment.
With a last glance to either end of the canyon, Temperance started retracing her steps. Even if she didn’t find her supplies, she still needed to go this direction anyway. Downstream would lead to the coast, and from there to civilization. After that, she could make her way back to Martin. The idea of returning to him now didn’t seem as terrible as it had earlier. Not if it meant helping Astor, getting him back from . . . whatever had happened.
She pushed the thought away. Don’t think about that right now. Focus on getting out of here.