It's Not the End

by Matt Moore

  “We have maintained those ideals. Until Stefen. He left here still a boy and returned a young man with a mind full of heresy. His machines take the sweat from a man’s brow. They can clear the forest in a season where it would take a man years. He insists on finding new ways to do things and destroying our traditions. He has built the stables and boarding house to attract traders from the west. Built that monstrosity of a factory. He even allows women to work there and wear breeches like they were men.”

  “We share some of the blame,” Hongtu admitted, looking to Livingstone, but the other Elder scowled. Apparently, Livingstone did not enjoy this subject. Hongtu continued, fingering his beard. “When Elder Livingstone was elected, Pendore approached him at his orchard. Offered him a device made of glass like a pitcher with a long, narrow spout. Except it was half-full of liquid and had no mouth to add more.”

  “Stefen said it could predict the weather,” Livingstone continued. “The higher the liquid in the spout, the worse the weather. As a new Elder, I was eager to curry favour with other farmers. I accepted it much too quickly.”

  “Elder Livingstone shared it with me,” Hongtu added. “I was most excited. With that, we welcomed more of his contraptions, not seeing until it was too late the damage they did. These things that reduced our efforts made some men crave larger farms, which meant time and money to keep the devices running.”

  Livingstone’s hand returned to his abdomen. “Seduced, we were, away from Pastor Dean. Yet Stefen’s influence grew until finally he was elected an Elder. Emboldened, his followers built their farms on the western slopes, ignoring Pastor Dean’s edict that it would be seen as a provocation.

  “So you understand it is because of him that this demon was sent from over the mountain. I was content when only Pendore’s people were affected, but now devout men are punished and the whole town seethes with fear. Our devotion is not enough. This demon must be stopped and the people must see it was Elder Hongtu and I who set things right. Even if it means embracing a servant of Philadelphia. So now that we three—”

  The door to the small room opened and a man older than Noah, but far younger than the two Elders, stepped in. A jagged scar cut a deep groove in his left cheek. A simple cotton shirt covered his muscular frame, contrasting Livingstone’s and Hongtu’s white blouses and vests. He said, “Seems I’m missing something.”

  “Elder Pendore,” Hongtu said, “we’ve just concluded our negotiations with Noah to find this monster.”

  “Yes, I heard he’d arrived,” Pendore said, taking a seat at the table. “Didn’t know you were talking to him.”

  Livingstone explained Noah’s conditions and compensation. “Elder Hongtu and I are in agreement, so it is binding on you as well.”

  Pendore looked at the chest before Noah, opening his eyes wide in mock surprise. “With this kind of money, why not buy a cart?”

  “Like I said,” Noah said, trying to keep the upper hand, “don’t question how I do things or I’ll be on my way.”

  Pendore faced the other Elders. “How about this? The man’s here and the deal is done. He can have the best room in my place, best meals I can offer. But if he hasn’t stopped this thing in a week, you let me go after it. For free. It’s a better deal than we’re getting here.”

  “There are others—reverent gentlemen—who could billet Noah,” Livingstone said. “We don’t require your cooperation.”

  Pendore turned toward Hongtu. “How about it, Zian? All those farmers you represent get to keep their gold.”

  Looking to Noah, Hongtu asked, “Is a week enough time?”

  “Don’t know what I’m dealin’ with,” Noah replied. From what he’d first learned from Baako and then from the Elders, the creature was covered in black or brown fur. Some claimed it lumbered on four legs, others said it walked on two. It stood as tall as a man’s belly or twice his height. Regardless of the contradictions, nothing like it existed in Pix’s records. “Ain’t no way to say.”

  Hongtu glanced between Livingstone and Pendore before saying, “I believe a week is reasonable.”

  “Motion carried,” Pendore announced, slapping the table.

  Across from Noah, Livingstone scowled and resumed rubbing his stomach. Clearly, he was a man unaccustomed to not getting his way.

  Noah knew the feeling. His instructors had told him that Pix’s reputation would earn him near reverential treatment. For well over a century, others like him had wandered the frontier, using equipment with abilities that defied explanation to deal with the monsters encountered by the western expansion of civilization. No one had reacted the way Pendore had with his counter-negotiation.

  Pendore faced Noah. “You kill this thing before the week is out, you get your gold. You can have my best cart with an adapting axle system that’ll keep the bed smooth and level. Even throw in a couple of my own horses. But I think all you got is a bunch of hox-pox tricks.”

  Noah kept his face impassive, contemplating. The creature was clearly a predator and hopefully territorial. If he could learn its patterns, he could trap it within a few days and show the Elders its lifeless body, claim his reward and be on his way back east. He said, “Just remember: no questions. And no one touches my stuff.”

  Pendore grunted. “You sound like a stage trickster I saw once in Winchester.”

  “It’s agreed,” Livingstone said, standing. He extended a hand to Noah.

  Noah stood and shook.

  Livingstone asked, “What do you require to begin?”

  “A meal and a rest,” Noah replied. “Long ride. Come mornin’, I wanna talk to farmers who’re hit.”

  “I can see to that,” Hongtu said.

  “And Elder Pendore here,” Livingstone added, gesturing, “can show you to your accommodations.”

  “Sure.” Pendore led Noah into a narrow hallway and out a side door into the gathering dusk. Outside the town’s meeting hall, the sulfuric odor stung his nose.

  “I’ll see to your horse,” Pendore said, untying its lead from the hitching post.

  “Thanks,” Noah replied.

  They moved down a wide street. Storefront windows blazed orange—a general store, a jail, a barber. But no doctor, druggist, or even an apothecary. No school that Noah could see.

  A few men hurried past, each carrying a weapon of some form. Across the river, the factory’s massive roof obscured all but the mountains’ peaks and the crimson sky above. Tendrils of smoke twisted up from chimneys while the water wheels cranked and splashed.

  “I gotta know something,” Pendore said. “You really think you can stop this thing? Not some performance, not telling us what Philadelphia says we should do. But put it down.”

  Noah dropped a hand to the butt of his six-shooter. “Yup.”

  “Nice iron. Any chance I could get a look at it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Look,” Pendore said. “All respect to the reputation of you Pix monster hunters, you’re one man”—he canted his head toward the horse—“with limited equipment. You have that gun. Fine. Shows me you’re serious. So come to the factory. See what we’ve been making. It’s got to be better than what you brought with you.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “We’re making rifled barrels. Shorter, lighter weight with better accuracy. And almost have a mechanism for breech-loading worked out. Man could get off six shots in a minute.” Pendore motioned to the rifle clipped to the saddle. “How’s that match up against what you’ve got?”

  Though Livingstone and Hongtu had told him their version, Noah needed to know Pendore’s side of the issue. “All respect to your factory, why ain’t ya huntin’ it?”

  “Let’s get inside.”

  They walked in silence to a large tavern. Noah expected music and voices to spill from a social gathering place, yet only the low murmur of conversation drifted out the set of doors. Noah grabbed the saddlebags off his horse before Pendore passed the reins to a young man with instructions for it to get the best care. Moving throug
h the tavern’s front door, the tang of tobacco and sour stink of spilled beer almost covered the town’s rotten egg odour. A scattering of men and a few women clustered around large tables, sizing up Noah from under the brims of tricorns.

  Pendore grabbed a lantern from behind the bar and led Noah into a back room.

  “Why aren’t I hunting it?” Pendore began, shutting the door. “Because Livingstone and Hongtu forbid it.” He motioned to a table and chairs. Noah set the saddlebags on the floor, glad to be free of their weight, and sat while Pendore lit more lamps. “They say this creature is from Hell and I’m to blame. You hear that story?”

  “Yup,” Noah replied.

  “So they say I wouldn’t stand a chance. Livingstone doesn’t like doing business with Philadelphia, but would like me killing the thing even less.” Pendore sat opposite Noah. “See, if I bring this thing down with my equipment, it’ll bring more people over to me. I’ve already got most of the Riders’ loyalty. They’re supposed to serve the Elders as a whole, but with my equipment they’re more effective. If we stop this thing, Zian—Elder Hongtu—might keep going against Livingstone like he did just now. Livingstone’s family has always had it comfortable, so he can afford to be devout. But Zian’s a farmer. Practical. Didn’t like it much when Livingstone had the few Riders still loyal to him round up all that gold from farmers trying to scratch out a living.

  “But with more people behind me, and Zian on my side, we’ll have bigger farms and can stockpile food against droughts and hard winters. I’ll bring in doctors and medicine and banks. Open a school so boys can learn more than their fathers’ trade and girls can learn more than having babies.” Pendore leaned across the table. “Progress. Knowledge. That’s why I’m offering anything I have at the factory.”

  “’Preciate it,” Noah replied, “but got what I need.”

  Pendore stood, chagrined. “Good enough. Because either way works. I want to move into the next valley. Some crops grow better on an eastern slope, so if you stop it people won’t be afraid to move west. If not, I’ll kill it.” He moved to the door and turned. “I’ll have a meal brought in and arrange for you to have the best room in the place. You need anything, ask for me personally. In the meantime, good night.” He doffed his tricorn and left.

  The Riders, Pendore leading, led Noah across one of the stone bridges and up a road twisting west through the wooded foothills. Beneath Noah, his horse’s pace began to slow. He sympathized with it, but spurred it to keep up with the group. For five days it had carried him up these slopes, burdened by the saddlebags, as he’d interviewed farmers who’d seen the beast. This time, speed was essential.

  The forest road opened onto hectares of rolling farmland, dusk muting the colours. Wheeled machines dotted the fields, only shapes in the failing light. Towering above the vegetation, windmills spun slowly atop wooden frames. The Riders headed straight for the main house, where a figure in the doorway stood surrounded by men bearing lanterns and torches. Nearby, sheep bleated in a simple wooden pen.

  “I shot it!” the man shouted, hoisting his musket above his head. “I killed the beast!”

  The crowd murmured, not quite convinced. Still, Noah reflected as he dismounted, they must believe the creature didn’t pose a threat for them to be out while the sun set.

  Ahead of him, the Riders tried to cut through the crowd. “Easy, Yoji,” Pendore shouted above the din. “Let’s put that musket down.”

  Noah ignored the commotion as he slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and, after a moment’s consideration, grabbed his rifle before moving as fast as his encumbrance would allow. He doubted a single musket shot could kill it, but it would make the beast dangerous. Noah silently cursed these primitives, their superstitions and willful ignorance. This farmer was fortunate that the creature hadn’t turned on him.

  Rounding the pen, the sheep packed tighter together, their bleating growing panicked.

  A trail of blood smeared into the dirt and grass led away from the pen. Several paces on, a rust-coloured liquid joined the blood. The trail ran into a crop field, twisted and broken stalks showing the creature’s path. Noah found a three-clawed paw print wider than both his hands put together, pressed several centimetres into the soft, brown earth filled with the dark liquid. Moving deeper, a slaughterhouse stink filled his nose and the drone of insects reached his ears. Pushing into the next row, a cloud of flies surrounded the scattered entrails of a blood-soaked sheep carcass. The remains he’d examined so far had been several days old, rotting in barns or dragged into the forest by the creature before being worked over by scavengers. Here he had his first chance to examine fresh remains. Farther on, the creature had trampled a path through the orderly stalks. The field continued to rise, giving way to open land and then the forest, just shapes of shadow and darkness, rising up the mountainside.

  A snatch from an ancient poem came to him: The woods are lovely, dark and deep. He couldn’t recall the rest but had the impression the next few lines dealt with promises and covering long distances.

  He considered pushing ahead, but with the sun setting, he had only ten or fifteen minutes before dark. With all attacks coming near dusk or dawn, the creature was clearly crepuscular and adept at hunting in the low light. Wounded and in pain, it would no doubt be dangerous and unpredictable. It might even be circling back to finish its meal.

  Noah hunkered down next to the remains, waving away the flies. He’d return tomorrow at first light and try to pick up the trail. For now, at least, he had a place to leave a trap.

  Pendore and a Rider pushed their way through the crops behind him. “Why are you stopping?” the Rider asked.

  “Wanna see how it kills,” Noah replied, noting the three parallel slashes in the throat that had nearly decapitated the animal. If shock hadn’t killed it, blood loss would have in a matter of seconds.

  “Why’s that matter?”

  “Let the man work, Bartholomew,” Pendore said.

  Noah squinted, wishing he had more light. He shifted to the sheep’s belly, which had the same three parallel slices as its throat.

  “Let’s go get it,” Bartholomew said. “We got a trail—”

  Noah removed a flat, quarter-circle of metal from his bag. Flicking the trigger, it unfolded once to a semicircle and again to a full circle, twenty centimetres in diameter.

  “What’s that?” Pendore asked, leaning in.

  “Trap,” Noah replied. “Case it comes back.”

  “That’s a trap?” Bartholomew asked.

  Noah turned the severity selector on its base to the lowest setting before placing the disc on the ground. “Touch it,” he challenged.

  Bartholomew snorted, leaning forward, hand extended. “Buncha hox-pox n—” His fingertips made contact and his body fell limp to the soft soil.

  Pendore shouted, “Resurrection!”

  Noah ignored Pendore and checked Bartholomew’s carotid pulse—strong and steady.

  Pendore kneeled. “Is he dead?”

  “He’s fine,” Noah replied. “Be up and ’round in ’bout ten minutes.” He gripped the disc by the nonconductive thirty-degree wedge and adjusted the severity dial to a setting he hoped would bring down the creature based on what little he knew.

  Pendore tried to shake Bartholomew awake, then pried an eye open. “How can something so small do this to a man?”

  “Call it ‘hox-pox,’” Noah said, standing. “Told ya: my tools, my way. Don’t ask questions.”

  Pendore rubbed his chin, eyeing the disc.

  Noah grabbed Bartholomew under his arms and hefted him up. “Grab his feet? Thing might come back. Don’t feel like waitin’ ten minutes.”

  Pendore nodded and together they carried Bartholomew out of the field and into the glow of the lanterns and torches borne by the men still gathered around Yoji’s dooryard. After setting Bartholomew down, Noah elbowed his way through the crowd toward Yoji. He needed to know what the farmer had seen.

  Above them, the mountains�
� peaks glowed scarlet.

  Pendore entered the empty tavern and sat opposite Noah. “How’s your meal?”

  “Fine,” Noah replied, washing down the last of the rabbit stew with water. Noah wished he had an analyzer to check the level of carcinogens it held. Likely not enough to be worry about with limited exposure, but over a lifetime it could cause problems. Perhaps it explained Livingstone’s stomach ailments.

  “Two more days,” Pendore stated.

  Pendore’s gloating chilled Noah. In his three years, every town had regarded him with awe and respect. None had questioned his rule that only he could kill the beasts that tormented them.

  Yet tonight, he’d endured accusing gazes. Heard the conversations that some farmer had almost killed the creature while the expensive monster hunter hadn’t come close to even seeing it. Livingstone had come by to communicate his displeasure with the lack of progress. Noah shuddered to think how much damage Pendore and his allies might do in trying to find this beast if Noah failed.

  “It’ll turn up. Either the trap or someplace nearby. Wanna ask ya to have Riders ready to go if somethin’ happens.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “That farmer must’ve hurt it. Couldn’t get to the forest. So it stopped and ate what it could. Probably ran when we showed up. Now it’s hurt and hungry. It’ll strike again.”

  “That sounds like an animal feeding. Not a demon punishing.”

  “Ain’t no demon. Came ’cause the forest’s getting cut down.” Noah looked at Pendore. “Your big farms ’cross the river are where it used to hunt. What it ate left, so now it feeds on pigs, sheep, anything it can find.”

  Pendore leaned forward. “Maybe I was wrong about you. I thought you Pix types were pretenders. Come in, wave around some trinket, saying it’ll stop a monster.”

  “Took ya this long to figure I’m really here to stop it?”

  “Took this long to figure out you can stop it. I just don’t mean that trap. You’re learning about it, studying it.”