Bulletproof Witch

by F J Blair

  “Hey, come over here,” she called. Duchess turned and trotted to Temperance’s side, giving her a friendly nuzzle. She patted his face, then gave Martin a pointed look, one eyebrow raised in challenge. The old man ignored them both and set about harnessing his immense beasts. They bellowed when he tugged on their horns, but eventually set to following.

  Temperance watched him work. “Don’t they get hot with all that fur?”

  “I imagine they do,” Martin said with a chuckle. “They’re cold-weather beasts for sure, but I have yet to see them complain too much, even in the summer.”

  “Why didn’t you bring them all the way to Cold Valley? Seems like they could have handled the chill up there, and we wouldn’t have needed to walk all the way back to get them.”

  “I would have, except I was worried what I would find further up. Stervalkian Browns are meant for walking on glaciers, not wading through snowbanks that reach over their heads.”

  “Glaciers?” Temperance frowned at the unfamiliar word.

  “Great sheets of ice that never melt, stretching for miles. They say the center of Galinor is nothing but one giant year-round ice field, and Stervalkia covers most of it.” Martin shook his head. “Couldn’t imagine living somewhere with that much ice and cold all the time. Give me warm sand beaches any day of the week.”

  “How do they grow food in Stervalkia if it’s always froze up?” Temperance asked. Cold Valley had barely managed a few small gardens during the short summer season. Anything less was almost unimaginable.

  “Have no idea, that’s a question better directed to a primary school teacher.” Martin climbed up onto the wagon’s buckboard. “Alright, get that horse of yours tied to the back and we’ll be off. Going to be a week at least before we reach the next town, no sense making the journey longer than it needs to be.”

  Temperance cast a last look at the southern pass. Somewhere beyond that lay Cold Valley, the only home she had ever known. Now that she was away from it, she couldn’t help but wonder if she might ever return. Part of her was glad to be putting so many painful memories behind her, but a smaller, deeper part ached in a way she had never known. It blended with the other pains inside of her, making them all sharper, somehow. She pushed them all to a corner of her mind and climbed up into the wagon.

  * * *

  They camped that night in the open for the first time, only a few distant mottes to break the wide plains. Temperance had spent much of the day marveling at that openness, that vast expanse of nothing all about them. For so long she had thought the prairies around Smithton vast, with the Silverskies curled in the distance like some sleeping beast. It was only once she and Martin left the mountains completely behind them that she realized just how naïve she had been.

  All day, while the Stervalkian cattle made their slow progress through the lowlands, she kept expecting the landscape to change. For the gently rolling grasslands to turn to hills, or to bank eventually towards the sea. It never did, and the land stretched on, with little to see beyond more green grass and the occasional rock pile.

  As nightfall arrived, it finally occurred to her that this emptiness might very well go on forever. All those tales her grandfather had told about the wide expanses of Korvana hadn’t prepared her for seeing the truth of it with her own eyes. It wasn’t some grand adventure crossing through miles of green. It was just . . . .

  Boring.

  Martin laughed when she said as much to him. “Best get used to it. Going to be several weeks of traveling before we get to anything different, then another up the coastline before reaching home.”

  “What about towns?”

  “There’ll be a few once we get to the Sugarfield Territory. After that you’ll see enough people to last you several lifetimes, I promise. Coast is damn near bursting these days.”

  Dinner was beans—again—and some sort of hardtack that Temperance wasn’t familiar with. Her new teacher had shown himself to be a man of simple tastes, preferring not to venture beyond the few recipes he had mastered. While those that he knew were, admittedly, quite tasty, Temperance worried she might go mad before the journey’s end if it was to be the same three or four meals for the entire journey.

  Course, I shouldn’t be complaining, she thought as the two of them sat around the campfire, digesting their meal and enjoying the shared silence. Just a week ago I would have traded all my hexbullets for a few weeks of square meals alone. Now they’ve bought me all that and a few years of training besides.

  She still couldn’t say what had possessed her to make that bargain with Martin. It wasn’t as if she had a plan for when her training was complete. Besides, if what some of her grandfather’s apprentices had to say was true, hexbullets were expensive to buy. Enough so that some of them worked for years before they could even carry the ammunition to call themselves Pistol Warlocks.

  One problem at a time. I can always try my hand at something else for a year or two. I’m sure there are plenty of folks that need a gunslinger with a steady hand and quick eye.

  “You’re rather quiet over there.” Martin gave a nod to her across the fire, then took a swig from a nearby bottle. Temperance noted with a start that it was whiskey. More importantly, it was one of her whiskey bottles that she had packed along for the trip. She could tell by the discoloration of the label. Where had the old gunslinger found it?

  “Well, if you don’t feel like jawing, that’s fine,” Martin continued, taking another swig. “Now me, I prefer a little conversation while traveling. It helps pass the time, you know?”

  Temperance pulled her gaze away from the whiskey bottle and shrugged. “Can’t say I do. Grandpa rarely took me more than a day away from the valley. We did visit Smithton once.”

  She cracked her mouth shut at this last part, cursing inwardly. Why had she mentioned that awful town?

  Martin didn’t appear to notice. “Yeah, that was James for you. All business, never any time for fun. He ever tell you about the saloon fight we got in outside of Granite Falls?”

  Martin let out a laugh as Temperance shook her head. “Figures. He was quick enough to get a song written about his more glorious moments, and just as quick to bury ones that were less-so.”

  “So what happened?” Temperance was always eager to hear more Brimstone stories. When she was younger they had helped her feel closer to her grandfather, to understand better why he trained her as hard as he did. Now . . . they were a chance to keep her family close, if only for a few minutes.

  “Lemme see. Never had the skill for story-telling that your grandfather did.” Martin rubbed his chin. “Me, Stephen, and James had just finished clearing out a daemon that had settled up on the northern spur, a real nasty piece of work called Mestiphor. He had this venom he could spit that would melt . . . well, that part isn’t important.

  “Anyway, we were on our way into town for some much needed rest. Stephen went off on his own again after the daemon fell, doing gods-know-what, so James and I rode on ahead, with the plan we would all meet at the saloon the next morning and continue on.”

  Martin paused and took another swig from the bottle. It was over half empty by now. Temperance scooted around the campfire.

  “So there we are, the two of us just sitting around, having ourselves a few drinks, as young lads are wont to do when they get into town. I admit, we were riding a little too high after that battle. Still had the blood up, you know?” He looked at Temperance, and when met by her blank stare just shrugged and continued on. “This big fellow comes sauntering up to our table and asks if we might be interested in a little pillow action. Said he managed the refreshment girls upstairs, several of whom had been making eyes at your grandfather since we first entered the place.”

  What’s a refreshment girl? Temperance wondered. She tried to ask, but Martin just took another drink and continued his story.

  “Now, I’m not opposed to a little freshening up myself, especially in my younger days. Your grandfather, though, well, he’s never been
keen to pay for what he could get for free, if you take my meaning.”

  Temperance didn’t, but she could tell that the old gunslinger was too into his story for interruptions. Instead she reached for the whiskey bottle. Martin pulled it away before she could get it.

  “James being James, he tells the fellow what he thinks of the man’s profession, and where he can stick it, generally speaking. The big guy doesn’t take kindly to your grandfather’s bluntness, so James climbs out of his seat and looks him in the eye. Least, he tries to, anyway. As you know, your grandfather wasn’t a small man, by anyone’s standard, but he looks like a right child standing there, straining his neck to look this fellow in the eye.

  “I see where the wind is blowing even with three beers already in me, so I get up too, hoping maybe to defuse the situation. Might have succeeded too, if the damn proprietor hadn’t chosen that moment to come round and check our glasses. He takes one look and at us, and this bumpkin fool goes white in the face. ‘Careful boys,’ he says, ‘That’s Tommy Three-Legs you’re messing with.’”

  Temperance opened her mouth to ask a question, realized she didn’t even know where to begin, and shut it again. She only understood about a third of Martin’s story—clearly he and her grandfather had gotten into a bit of trouble, she just didn’t know why.

  “Well, I imagine you know where this next part is going. Between the name and the pallor of the proprietor’s complexion, your grandfather figures the big fellow must be wanted for something. Before I can blink he’s punched him twice to the face and planted a boot to the manhood that earned the poor fool his name. Tommy staggers a moment but comes back swinging.

  “That’s about when the other two dozen or so men in the saloon join the fight. At the time we just figured they were some of Tommy’s men, though in hindsight they were probably just ranchers and merchants that saw someone attacking a fellow citizen. Not that it mattered. All we knew is folks were laying into us on all sides with bar stools and broom handles, whatever they could find lying around. Soon they have your grandfather and me trussed up like a pair of Highwinter geese.”

  “What?” Temperance’s gaze snapped away from the bottle and back to Martin. Her grandfather never got captured. Such an indignity was beneath a Whiteoak, wasn’t it? “How did you two escape?”

  Already she was imagining a daring breakout from the bandit’s lair, Martin and her grandfather making for the nearest river to float to safety. Or perhaps Stephen had rode into town shortly after and fought his way to their side. She relaxed again. Yes, that would fit more with the other Brimstone tales she had heard.

  Martin’s laugh caught her by surprise, and her fanciful imagining puffed away into the night like smoke. “We didn’t escape. Few minutes later the town sheriff ambled on in to see what the uproar was about.”

  “So he arrested Three-Legs and his men? Did you two get the reward?”

  “Are you even listening to the same story? There was no reward, or criminals, either. Tommy was exactly what he seemed—a pillow fluffer trying to keep his girls upstairs occupied. Even worse, he was also the sheriff’s nephew. Man was about ready to string your grandfather and I up for starting a fight unprovoked. Fortunately Tommy spoke on our behalf and refused to press charges, or likely neither of us would be here today—er, would have been here.” Martin coughed at this last part.

  “But . . . that can’t be right.” Temperance frowned. Wouldn’t that make her grandfather and Martin as bad as the criminals they fought against? That wasn’t how a real Pistol Warlock acted. Was it?

  “One of the first things you learn in this life, Temperance, is that even heroes can’t always be on the right side of the law. This wouldn’t be the last time I was facing a hangman’s noose, or your grandfather, neither. The Divines always saw fit to find us a way out of those situations, but still . . . .” Martin shook his head. “Let’s just say I’m glad my wild days are behind me.”

  Temperance wasn’t sure how much of the story she believed. It was hard to reconcile the image of her grandfather she had in her head with the one in Martin’s story. Still, she understood well enough the danger of being in the wrong place at the wrong time; her experience in Smithton had taught her that difficult lesson.

  She reached forward and snatched the whiskey bottle from Martin, tilting it back to catch the last few dribbles left in the bottle. That emptied, she handed it back to the old gunslinger. He took it with a grunt.

  “Speaking of the wrong side of the law, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that whiskey you got packed away there.”

  “What about them?” Temperance asked as she fetched an unopened bottle from the wagon. “You planning to apologize for not asking first?”

  “Not so much, no.”

  “Are your apprentices not allowed to drink or something?” Even her grandfather hadn’t been that strict with his students. She relaxed as Martin shook his head.

  “No, I don’t ask that of the men I teach, but they aren’t usually so . . . young, neither.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Martin rubbed at the back of his neck. “Technically, Federation law says you need to be seventeen before you can drink. Even then . . . .”

  “Seventeen?” Temperance stared at the old gunslinger, slack-jawed. “Why?”

  “Beats me. Stephen would better know the reason, but I’d rather swallow my teeth than ask him.”

  “So you mean I’ve been breaking the law this entire time? But that’s—”

  She started to say “not fair”, but stopped just in time. Unfair, perhaps, but that should not have been surprising. If the last few months had taught her anything, it was that fairness and life had very little to do with each other.

  “Well, you won’t hear any complaints from me, so long as it doesn’t impact your training, but you’d be better off not letting other folks see you with a bottle in hand.”

  “Not many other people around here.” Temperance gestured to the open plains. Martin let out a chuckle.

  “We’ll be back to civilization soon enough. Anyway, just something for you to think about. No need to stir up trouble when it can be avoided.”

  “Alright. Thank you, Martin.”

  The old gunslinger nodded as if this settled the matter. He rolled himself up in his blanket, and a few minutes later appeared to be sound asleep.

  Temperance watched him sleep, and thought again about the story he had told of him and her grandfather. It appeared that there was more to learn from her new teacher than just how to sling a few hexbullets. The future was looking brighter already.

  So why did everything inside her still feel so dark?

  Chapter Twelve

  The look on Benjamin’s face when the wagon rolled up to the barn was darn near priceless. Far better than any reward Temperance had ever collected, that was square certain. As she jumped from the buckboard, she found the farmer’s strong arms wrapping around her.

  “Truth told, even after you left I took you for either mad, or a fool, or both. Thought for certain it was the last I would ever see of my boy. I don’t think I can ever tell you how much this means to us.”

  Temperance patted his back. “I’m only doing what my Grandpa would want me to do. Hardly more to it than that.”

  “Well, he sure did right by you, that’s for true. Go head on into the house, my boys and I will get this put away in the barn, then we’ll have supper. We don’t have much to offer, but I’ll see you feasted and fully supplied, on my honor as a Dunpeal.”

  It took another minute or two to extract herself from Benjamin’s embrace. Once she was certain that no further help was required, Temperance set off towards the farm house. William met her halfway there. “Temperance, you returned! I was starting to worry.”

  “Afraid I wasn’t going to keep my promise and see you to Messanai City?” William opened his mouth, and Temperance quickly held up a hand. “I know what you mean. Don’t worry, it takes more than that to stop me.” />
  “Yes, so I have been informed. Benjamin Dunpeal and his son told me several stories about your family on our way back.”

  “Did they now?” Temperance’s cheeks started to heat up. “Don’t believe everything you hear about my grandfather. Stories have a habit of taking on a life of their own.”

  William nodded. “Even so, it appears our adventure in the canyon was far from the strangest of incidents.”

  “There have been a few stranger ones, I reckon. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was before. Didn’t think it would matter, with you being new to Korvana and all, but I never considered what might happen when we met other people.”

  “You do not need to apologize to me.” The boy looked away from her as he spoke. “We all carry secrets with us.”

  “I suppose we do, but to be fair I’m betting you didn’t expect your trouble to come calling in the middle of the night the way it did. At least everything is out in the open now.”

  Inside, an older woman was bustling about the kitchen, along with a girl that was almost her exact double but a few decades younger. They glanced up and paused what they were doing as Temperance entered.

  “Greetings!” The older woman dusted flour from her hands and held one out. “You must be the Whiteoak girl I’ve been hearing so much about. Hope you don’t mind the mess, but we’re not in the habit of entertaining such distinguished company.”

  Temperance felt her face go red again. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account, Missus Dunpeal, I’m just happy to have a roof over my head for the night.”

  “No trouble at all, and please, call me Esther. Over there is my daughter, Clarabelle. So am I to understand you rescued my foolish husband from another disaster?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but I did manage to reacquire your stolen property.”

  Esther clapped her hands. “Praise the Three! I tell you, this is like something out of a storybook. Imagine, one of the Brimstone’s own coming to our little old family’s rescue.”