Lostlander

by Dean F. Wilson

   “No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. He tried desperately now to push onwards through the portal, but the wire went taut. On the other end across the room, the Coilhunter started to reel him in.

   “Finally you say somethin' right,” he croaked. “No. No, you ain't goin'. No, you ain't leavin'. No, you ain't gettin' away with this.”

   “Please!” the Magus begged. “Please just let me go!”

   “But you said it,” the Coilhunter replied. “Your magic word: No.”

   “All I wanted was to go back!”

   “And you know what? I might've helped you, if you'd have gone about it another way. But you committed great crimes here. You committed atrocities. I can't let you go away unpunished. I can't inflict you on some other world, even if it is your own. Maybe they sent you here wrongly, or maybe they sent you here as a punishment. Sent you to Hell. Well, you can climb and crawl, but you ain't gettin' outta here. You ain't goin' to Heaven.”

   Nox unloaded every bullet he had left in his guns, until the Man with the Silver Mane coughed up blood. It didn't matter what he did now. It didn't matter if he got home. With those wounds, he'd quickly find another place to be.

   “Why fire?” Nox asked him, aware that he might not learn the answer. It was a question he sometimes asked himself. Why did they have to die to fire? He hated the flames, like he hated the criminals of the Wild North. But that didn't mean he wouldn't use them.

   “That's … how … they killed me,” the Magus said. “Burned … at the stake. Arlin had no … place for magic. We were … sent oversea … or burned.”

   “But you're alive,” Nox said, aware that it was only for so long.

   The Magus tapped the amulet around his neck, the so-called Beldarian the Magi used in their homeworld. “My soul … in here. My companion … he brought it here … when he was exiled. He does not … fear the fire.”

   “Your companion,” Nox said. “Who is he?”

   “Break it,” the Magus said, tapping the amulet again. “Don't let him … bring me back again. Not here. Not ...”

   His words trailed out, and his breath went with them. His eyes stared, unblinking, and they looked a little bit more crystalline than before. His skin too was different, harsher, with a darker hue, like he was carved out of rock. For the first time, it seemed like he was not a man at all. But mirages showed you a lot of things.

   Nox smashed the beldar jewel in the Magus' amulet, and a purple dust sprayed into the air. When it faded, the presence of the Magus was finally and completely gone.

   With the Man with the Silver Mane now dead, the slave collars clicked open, including his own. It wasn't clear what powered them. It wasn't clear what bound them together. All that was clear was that the Magus' grasp was over, that they were free.

   “This ends here,” Nox said. “This technology too.” He pulled the power units from his grapnel launchers and stomped on them. “Let it die with him.”

   After they departed and were long out of view, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was the Gravedigger. He slumped over the ruined form of the Man with the Silver Mane.

   “So much wasted energy,” he said. “What to do with it?” He smiled. “Don't you know, Coilhunter, that nothing ever truly dies?”

  45 – THE LONG ROAD SOUTH

  With the slaves free, they made a bonfire of collars in the largest chamber. They burned, and the fact that it was fire was more fitting than they realised. All they knew was that the Man with the Silver Mane had perished, and that the Coilhunter was the man who'd killed him. They left the details to Death, who guarded them jealously.

   There was one collar that was larger than the rest. Oakley placed it on the pyre. Experiment X had fought on both sides of the battle, and so, in many ways, had they all. When the portal finally faded, that beast faded with it. It wasn't clear if those many souls inside it went back to their homeworld, or if that one soul'd just hung on long enough to see its master toppled.

   They scoured the fortress, all levels of it, to make sure there weren't any more trapped slaves. When they found the room with the hamster wheel, they didn't find the wolves. What's more, no one'd even heard of them. Were it not for the wounds inflicted on Old Reliable, Nox might've thought them an illusion. Unsurprisingly, the Back Door Guard were also gone, though the Coilhunter had no doubts about them.

   There were some who talked about the potential of the Magus' technology, but Nox'd have none of it. He'd already seen how dangerous it was. He could see more danger in the greedy eyes of others. He destabilised the power generators and destroyed what he could. He knew, in time, the whole castle would come tumbling down. That's why you didn't make a castle of sand.

   He met Rassa again, who didn't fight him now, which was good, because then the Coilhunter didn't have to fight back. Rassa returned the monowheel, which was in mostly good condition, though Nox knew he'd have to remove those glass windows on the sides.

   “You're free now,” Nox said.

   “We were always free,” Rassa said. “Freer than you. That's what it means to be lost. Let no worries find you.”

   The repairs to the Dandyman took some time, but many of the slaves—including those who'd worked as scientists and engineers for the Man with the Silver Mane—lent their aid where they could. Throughout the repairs, Porridge was seen in five different outfits, though no one had ever seen him change.

   “Well, plum,” the scavenger said to Nox as they toiled together. Duck watched the repairs blankly. “That was quite a journey. Oh! Remind me never to play with magicians. Oh, my spinning cogs!”

   “We did it,” Nox said, “but we've still got some journeying left to do.”

  They voyaged south, out of the crumbling shadow of the castle of sand. There was one final strike of lightning, which this time almost seemed to travel up instead of down. Then the fortress faded into the sandy haze, and all folk, lost and found, went their separate ways.

   It took several days to pass the unmarked barrier between the Lostlands and the other, vast stretches of the Wild North. They could feel the passage with the signposts of their hearts. The air grew crisper. The sand seemed to soften. Of course, it wouldn't be long before they'd adjust and grow tired of that as well. The sand is always softer on the other side.

   “Well,” Nox said, riding in his monowheel beside Oakley. “Did you find what you were lookin' for?”

   “Not quite,” the drifter said, and he patted Old Reliable's mane. “But I found somethin' alright. I found folk who had it far worse than me. Doesn't entirely absolve my troubles, mind, but I guess I found some appreciation for the things I've got. Sometimes we focus so much on what we've lost, we forget what we have. Well, shucks, I've got my freedom, and that's a hell of a lot more than some.”

   “Thank the heavens we were able to free the others!” Porridge shouted down from the Dandyman, which hovered close to the sand. “Oh! And thank us, peaches! Thank us!”

   “What gets me,” Oakley said, “is that I think this is just a grain of sand in a bigger desert. These aren't the only slaves out there. There are so many gangs and groups stealin' the liberty of good folk.”

   “We'll get to them,” Nox promised.

   “Perhaps, Nathaniel, but it seems like we're just a grain of sand too.”

   Nox's eyes lit up. “Well, look what a grain did.”

  46 – FAMILIAR SANDS

  Porridge parted away with the others, telling them he needed a long holiday and a long, hot soak in a bath. They said their goodbyes, but they didn't make much of them, because they had that gunslinger gut feeling that they'd see each other again pretty soon.

   Oakley joined the Coilhunter for a time, telling him he was happy for the company. Nox could understand that. It was pretty lonely being lost.

   Well, it wasn't long before they were back in scum-filled territory. They spotted a ramshackle settlement ahead, and they didn't quite know th
e place until they saw the weathered sign: Oldtown.

   Nox raised an eyebrow and cast a knowing glance at Oakley.

   They'd barely stepped foot inside the settlement when they were accosted by a posse led by Ben Budson, the mayor of Oldtown. Old Reliable was his horse once, and Chance Oakley'd made away with him without paying. Budson was a cruel man, but he was crueller to animals more than men. You see, animals didn't have guns.

   “I told ya we'd be back for ya,” Budson hollered.

   “Funny, that,” Nox said. “Seems we're back for you.”

   “Ain't nothin' funny 'bout a sheriff who breaks the law.” Budson looked over his shoulder to his comrades. “That's the kind of thing that deserves some broken legs, don't you think, fellas?”

   “It's been more than a week,” Nox said, referencing Budson's prior promise. Many “brave” men made promises like that in the moment, more to ease their hurt prides and make a show in front of their posse than anything else. Few lived up to them. You see, you had to be a man of your word to honour a promise.

   “Let's consider that a generosity,” Budson said.

   “Yeah,” Nox replied, clicking back the hammer on his revolver. “Let's.”

   “Now, there's no cause for fightin',” Oakley said. He didn't pull out his rifle. He wasn't fast on the draw like the rest of them. He thought drawing at all would just be salting wounds, and maybe opening new ones.

   “Oh, you're one to talk 'bout no cause,” Budson said. “You think you can cross me and get away with it? This is the Wild North, God damn it!”

   Nox felt a kind of ease he hadn't felt in a while. Yeah, they were back in familiar sands alright. The uncertainty of the Lostlands was gone. It was back to the draw, back to the shootouts, back to the common gangs and criminals. You know, the little things in life.

   “Here,” Nox said, reaching into his pocket and casting a bag of coils into the air. He did it with such speed that they thought he was drawing another weapon. They fired at the bag, letting the coils scatter. “What?” Nox said as they landed. “You don't want it now?”

   “You're weeks too late,” Budson said.

   “So are you, but hey, don't you know I've been busy?”

   “You got your money now,” Oakley said. “Let's all just walk away.”

   Budson's eyes were full of rage. “Do you think I'm gonna crawl on the ground for your iron, Coilhunter?”

   “Better than lead,” Nox rasped. He gave a little twist of his revolver to draw their attention to it. They remembered when he'd disarmed the lot of them with one quick fan of the hammer. Some of them were still wearing bandages on their hands. Some of them were pointing pistols with what wasn't their gun hand.

   “Hand 'im over, Coilhunter,” Budson said. “This is the frontiers. He deserves frontier justice.”

   “I deserve a second chance,” Oakley said. “Lord, I've given out enough of 'em. And Old Reliable here deserved a second chance too, a chance with someone who'd look after him, treat him proper.”

   Budson scoffed. “Treat 'im proper? What in God's name did ya do to his legs?”

   “The land did that,” Nox said.

   “Well, the land didn't do what's gonna happen next.”

   “No,” Nox said. “I did.”

   He swapped revolvers, just to show them he was fast enough to do it, and fanned the hammer as he pinged those pistols right out of their hands. They all had two hands, and that was a wound to each on separate occasions. You'd think they didn't want to hold a pistol at all.

   “Let. It. Go,” Nox barked.

   But he knew Budson wouldn't let it go, so he stomped on up to him, whacked him in the face with his mask, just enough to disorient him, and hauled him up over his shoulder. He carried him over to his monowheel and dropped him in the bounty box at the back.

   “There,” Nox said. “Is this what you want? This is where folk like you end up. This is the end of the path you're clamourin' for. Now, I gave you a way out. The only other way for you is a life of crime. I can see it in your eyes. You're gonna go on from town to town with vendettas, with grudges, with a need to right unrightable wrongs. And I get it. I truly do. But you're startin' to cross the line. My line. I can almost see your face on the wall already. You're lost. Well, let me help you find yourself.”

   Budson said nothing. He was caught up in the moment, staring at Nox with a kind of terror in his eyes. Oh, he thought he was a strong man, a man who'd take nothing from no one, not even the Coilhunter. But here he was, taking it all the same. He was lucky he wasn't taking bullets too.

   “Is this what you want?” Nox repeated. “'Cause I can finish this now. You're already almost at the end.”

   “Please!” Budson whimpered. Oh, how they all whimpered. Even did it while drawing the gun. Sometimes it was good to let them whimper, and let them live. When other grim folk saw those whimpers, then maybe they'd think twice. You see, mercy was a weapon too.

   Budson clambered out of the box, picked up what coils he could, and ran. He should've kept looking ahead, or looking down at the pouch in his hands, but he looked back. That told them enough.

   “He's not gonna let this go,” Oakley said.

   Nox sighed. “Well, he's had his warnin'. Let's call this his second chance.”

  They shared a drink at the local rum-hole, and told themselves their throats deserved a second chance as well. After a few more whiskeys, and a few more tales, they decided to call it a night, and call a night on this whole chapter of their lives.

   “Well, thanks for everything, Nathaniel,” Oakley said. “You don't know how much it means to me. Just shows me I've found me a true friend out there after all. Not got many of those, mind. But few and true is better than lots and false, as they say. Guess I ain't too old to learn somethin'. And if there's somethin' I've learned in life, it's this: You can't just be a spectator on someone else's path. You've gotta walk your own.”

   The Coilhunter nodded to him. “Well, ain't that the truth. All the best, Chance, with wherever the wind takes you.”

   Oakley tipped his hat. “Same to you, drifter.”

   As Oakley trotted off, and Old Reliable gave a friendly whinny, Nox couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. He knew he couldn't afford friends. No amount of coils could pay for those. You see, the life he chose, or the life that'd been forced on him, was a lonely one. Others'd just get in the way. In the way of the hunt. In the way of the bullets. He was already carrying a lot. He couldn't carry the weight of their deaths as well.

   The truth of it, he knew, was that he was a Lostlander too. No, the Northfolk didn't call him that. That wasn't one of his thousand names. But it was how he felt, beneath the layers of the gunslinger and the bounty hunter, beneath the hardened shell of his heart. He'd lost so much, and no amount of searching would help him find it. Even when he'd found the killers, he hadn't found peace. No, he had to remain lost. He had to keep roaming, keep drifting. He had to keep hunting. He had to go on. Some said that, like the desert, he'd go on forever.

  THE END

  The Coilhunter Chronicles continue with Sixshooter in 2019.

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  A final message from Dean:

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this adventure. Before you go, I'd like to ask you a small favour: if you liked what you read, please write a review. Short and sweet is perfect. I really appreciate your feedback. Thanks! :)

 

 

  hive.