Cowboy Necromancer: Infinite Dusk

by Harmon Cooper

  Manchester trotted along at a leisurely pace until Sterling saw an access road jutting off the highway. He squinted once again and confirmed the location. “Come on,” he told his skeletal steed.

  Sterling stopped about fifty feet or so away from what was clearly a roadside trading post. There were other horses out front, a dirt bike as well, rags wrapped around the seat. The trading post was set in an abandoned gas station, the covering that extended over the now useless pumps providing shade for the two horses. There was a phrase spray-painted in black on the sides of the gas station: If you try to rob us, we’ll kill you. It was also written in Spanish: Si intentas robarnos te mataremos. He also saw and noted a few gravesites out back, one freshly dug.

  “Let’s see what they got,” Sterling said as he hopped off his bone horse. He lowered his hand and Manchester crumbled, Sterling sending both the horse and his saddle to his inventory list. After another quick look around, he wiped his hands down his black duster, adjusted his hat, and approached the trading post.

  The windows of the gas station had all been boarded up, and a large man stood out front, either Hispanic or native, Sterling couldn’t tell. All he knew was that the man had about seventy pounds of sheer muscle on him, and that he had jet black hair, a handlebar mustache, and a pair of eyes that could have drilled a hole through a sheet of steel.

  “Just here to trade,” Sterling said.

  The man nodded. “You’re good, amigo.”

  Sterling tipped his hat toward the man and stepped inside the trading post. His nose had picked up the smell outside, Sterling confirming that they served food here. He saw a man and a woman seated at a booth in the corner enjoying a plate of tamales, the two keeping to themselves. There was another booth, and Sterling immediately went to it. He sat, and as he did, a man standing behind a glass display case filled with charms moseyed over to the table.

  “Tamales or green chili stew?” he asked Sterling, the seller looking like he could be related to the brute who stood out front, even down to the handlebar mustache. He wore a plaid pearl-snap shirt, a few extra buttons undone, a white tank top visible beneath it.

  “Tamales or green chili stew, huh? How’s about a little bit of both.”

  “Red, green, or Christmas?”

  “Christmas,” said Sterling. “I’m looking for some charms too, but I will take care of that after. Shit, I’m going to need a flashlight as well. Can’t forget that.”

  “Store is open,” was all the man said as he left the table.

  The inside of the trading post was much cleaner than its exterior. As Sterling took it in, he noticed that there were provisions in the back, road signs and other paraphernalia hanging from the walls, the place clearly dedicated to selling charms. Aside from food, charms were one of the more popular things in what was once the great state of New Mexico.

  From what Sterling had gathered, including through some of his own beliefs, New Mexicans had always been a little superstitious. He didn’t need Don Gasper to tell him that, or to interpret what seeing a coyote meant, or what it could possibly mean to wake up with a rattlesnake not more than fifteen feet away from you. The disgruntled denizens of the Land of Enchantment were a superstitious bunch, and charms were a sought-after item. The bonuses they brought with them only made them even more appealing.

  Sterling’s eyes shifted from the store to some of the decorations on the walls. There was a faded New Mexican flag, yellow with its red emblem, as well as a Mexican flag, calendars with pictures of pretty women displayed, and a couple photos of Albuquerque and its yearly balloon festival, the balloons shades of cayenne and marigold. A line of ristas hung at the back of the restaurant, Sterling assuming the hanging red peppers were simply for decoration.

  While he waited for his meal, he went for his book of sketches and desert haiku and flipped to one of the pages where he had been working on poems dedicated to peppers. Sterling read one that he had penned a month or so ago, checking the syllable count yet again.

  Green and red Christmas

  Keep the red, I’ll take the green

  Spicy chili life

  He shifted to another desert haiku about peppers, one of the earlier ones he had written back in January when he had been stretching out what was left of his crop:

  Robust spice each year

  Come August or September

  Got to make it last

  This desert haiku brought a sense of sadness to him. When the Killbillies and the Godwalker attacked his home, Sterling had already harvested the green chilis, and the ones left to harvest were almost the perfect color red before they were destroyed. He would have had quite a collection in the end had it not been for the sudden assault.

  “Damn bastards,” he whispered. “Damn good-for-nothing bastards.” Thinking about what happened to Sterling back in T or C had a way of deflating his inspiration, and once he couldn’t come up with a new desert haiku, he sent the leather-bound book back to his inventory list and went for his tobacco and rolling papers. He quickly rolled a cigarette and lit it, as the man that ran the place returned with a plate of salsa and chips.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Sterling said as he reached for a chip.

  “We don’t have water, but we’ve got some moonshine if you’d like that. Water is coming later today.”

  “No problemo. I got my own jug.”

  Sterling equipped one of his plastic milk jugs of water and set it on the table. He finished his cigarette and took a big swig, his thirst instantly quenched. He ate a few more chips, the salsa with a bit of a kick, just the way he liked it. It wasn’t much longer before his meal came, the tamales piping hot, steam rising off their corn husks. The bowl of green chili stew looked as if it had been boiling for the past twenty-four hours, just a thick mass of peppery sludge, but it was good, hearty, and with a bite that inspired Sterling to drink more water.

  The last time he had eaten a proper meal was back in Truth or Consequences. It seemed so long ago.

  Sterling finished his breakfast and joined the man who had served him over at one of the display cases, charms upon charms carefully catalogued and protected by glass tucked away inside.

  “Yup, going to add a few more things to my tab,” Sterling said as he looked down at the charms. There were stirrups, turquoise belt buckles, horseshoes, small swaths of wool shaped into miniature carpets, shot glasses, key chains, necklaces, rings, bird talons, rattlesnake heads, gold earrings, and Land of Enchantment souvenirs. There were dolls made by natives and wrapped in wool robes, feather earrings, pipes made of bone, engraved shell casings, red and yellow prayer beads on strings with black tassels, a comical pepper magnet, Zuni silver jewelry with turquoise embellishments, polished sandstone bracelets—just about everything under the hazy New Mexican sun.

  “I’ll make it simple,” Sterling told the mustached seller. “I could use some more Mana, but what I could really use, what I’m really looking for, is something that gives me more Technique Points.”

  “Heh, you and everyone else, amigo,” said the man. Once again, Sterling wondered if he was related to the larger guy who stood outside. They had similar skin tones, their eyes set close together, matching mustaches to boot. The only difference between the two seemed to be their size, the seller short and pudgy, the man out front solid muscle and tall, practically a saguaro cactus.

  Sterling grunted. “Did I come to the right place or not?”

  “You came to the right place, amigo, but I’m going to be honest with you upfront: things I sell here don’t come cheap. I mean, we do have some cheap things,” he said as he waved his hand over the charms in the display case. “A lot of this stuff is for simple stat boosts, you know, for us regular folk. But I got this feeling you ain’t regular folk, is you?”

  “What’s it to you?” Sterling asked.

  “It ain’t mean nothing to me, amigo, who you are or what you’ve done as long as you’re a paying customer. Just an observation. Saw you ride up on a bone horse.” He nodded t
oward a window Sterling had seen, one partially covered by calendars, the light shining through. “Mi hermano saw you ride up too,” he said, gesturing to the door. “Neither of us have ever seen something like that, a bone horse, no sir. But, it’s after the Reset, and shit ain’t right.”

  “I was wondering if he was your brother,” Sterling mumbled. “In that case, I guess the cat is out of the bag. You got me, I’m one of the Adapted. Now let’s get on with this here transaction. I need to get to Las Cruces.”

  “Las Cruces?” The seller tsk-tsked. “You don’t want to go there, amigo. If nobody’s told you that yet, let me be the first: they got a war going on right now between the Killbillies and the White Sands Militia.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Then what the hell do you want to go there for anyway?”

  Sterling smirked. “How do you know I ain’t trying to join the war?”

  This statement caused the seller to laugh. “You don’t look like no Killbilly, and you damn sure don’t look like someone who would be part of a militia.”

  “If you must know—and it ain’t really your business, but I’ll tell you anyway because I enjoyed my breakfast, thank-you-very-much—I got someone that needs finding, a shaman who goes by the name Don Gasper.”

  “Don Gasper?” the man asked, raising his eyebrows. He shook his head, disgust pinching up the corners of his mustache. “Yeah, I know who Don Gasper is. I saw that son of a bitch last year at the Piro Pueblo. Talk about muy loco, man.”

  “I’m aware that some people think he’s crazy, and I can’t say that I’m not one of them. But he’s the best in the business, and there ain’t no reward without no risk.”

  “I mean, I suppose it makes sense that he’s there. They got some kind of shamanic meeting going on right now in Las Cruces. A few of them stopped by yesterday.” He nodded to the front door again. “Julian wanted to go to the festival, but I told him no. We don’t need to get involved with none of that shaman business.”

  Sterling nodded. He knew exactly what the man was referring to. What was left of New Mexico was crazy enough without lumping a bunch of esoteric shamans together and seeing what they could conjure up after an afternoon of hallucinogens, spells, and homebrewed tequilas.

  “Either way, that’s where I’m off to next,” he finally said.

  “Good luck, I guess.” The man looked down at his display case. “So Mana and Technique Points, eh?”

  “And a flashlight, small and large, battery-powered if you got it. Needed one of them last night.”

  “Got them. Batteries too, believe it or not. Don’t know what we’re going to do when we finally run out of batteries.”

  “I’m sure we will figure it out. We always seem to.”

  “You ain’t wrong there.” The man turned around and rummaged through a box. He returned with a large flashlight, plus a smaller one, which Sterling would be able to keep in his mouth if he needed to look at something quickly at night.

  “Speaking of which, you don’t happen to have a headlamp or anything like that, do you?”

  “I did two weeks back.”

  “That don’t help me now,” Sterling said.

  The man snorted. “No, it don’t. Now, as for Mana and Technique Points, I got a few things that might tickle your fancy. Depends on how much dinero you have, though.”

  Sterling went ahead and equipped everything he had in the form of his satchel of silver and turquoise. He emptied it onto the counter.

  “Hate to say it, but this is the extent of my wealth.”

  “I can see that,” the seller told him with a frown. “You got anything else to trade?”

  Sterling nodded. “I’ve got a decent-sized rattlesnake, killed fresh this morning, a shotgun without any shells, and a loaded pistol with a silver grip I’m looking to get rid of. The pistol belonged to Commodore Bones, believe it or not. I’ve got peppers, too. Green Big Jims and Jalmundos, but I am partial to them. You can make some mighty good chile relleno with the Big Jims I got, though. I have seeds too, if you need something like that. NuMex Heritage Big Jim, NuMex Española Improved, Chimayó, and NuMex Barker’s Hot Peppers. I only planted the Big Jims this year. Seems to be the easiest to trade.”

  “We got plenty of chilis,” the seller said. “But the rattlesnake will do; we got some Indians who can turn them into charms. I’ll take that shotgun off your hands as well. We got a guy who can make shells. You can keep the handgun, sounds like Commodore Bones may come looking for that one. I ain’t trying to get on his radar.”

  “You know the guy?”

  “Everyone around here knows Commodore Bones. Between you and me,” he said, bending forward a little, “the Killbillies can burn in hell for all I care.”

  “You and I share that opinion. You mind if I smoke?”

  “By all means, amigo.”

  Sterling retrieved the dead rattlesnake and shotgun, which he placed on the countertop. He then equipped his bag of tobacco and rolling papers. “You want one too?”

  “I stick to cigars and mota, but thanks.”

  “Got me some mota too,” Sterling said, as he started rolling a cigarette. “Haven’t tried it yet.”

  “I’m good for now.”

  “I might come to regret this later, but I gave most of my funds to my friend, a pepper farmer out of Hatch. But I do got a proposition for you,” Sterling said. “A way to sweeten the pot.” He didn’t often use his blood magic as a bartering tool, but sometimes it worked.

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “Well, you pinned me as a mancer, and you are correct in doing so,” Sterling said as he lit his cigarette, “but in case it wasn’t clear, I’m a necromancer. If you got anything you need doing around here that may require the necrotic arts, let’s just say I could help out… in exchange for a hefty discount, of course.”

  “Go on,” the seller said, growing quiet.

  “You need some things moved? I can summon some bodies to do it for you. You got someone recently deceased? I can summon their soul through their blood, so you can say goodbye, or tell them whatever it is you needed to tell them. Just an offer. I saw a few graves out back. One of them looked freshly dug. I notice things like that.”

  “Sí, mi hermano, Diego.”

  “You have another brother?”

  “We just call ourselves that,” he said, something different about the man’s face now, a bit of anger taking shape. “Diego died about two days ago. I guess we’re supposed to be in mourning, but we kind of knew it was coming…”

  “It’s up to you, but if you want me to summon Mr. Diego, I can. I’m looking for a discount here and good charms, rare ones. I got to up my game.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m not going to say that I plan to leave a trail of bodies across the state, but when I get done with the Godwalkers, and any Killbillies that try to come after me, it ain’t going to be pretty. Let’s keep it at that.”

  “You trying to take on Godwalkers?”

  Sterling nodded, a dead serious expression on his face. “They destroyed my ranch house, revenge for something that happened three years ago. And before you ask, I don’t want to talk about it right now, and I’ve already said too much like an idiot. But I’m still salty about it. I’ll shut up. You let me know if I can trade some of my skills for a discount. Think about it.”

  The seller looked down at the countertop, the glass starting to yellow where he casually kept his hands on it. “Okay, thought about it.”

  “That quick, huh?”

  “That quick. I got a few words I’d like to say to Diego. Look, here’s the best I have…” It took a moment of rummaging in the display case, but the man soon returned with a small dream catcher affixed to a keychain. He also had a necklace with an arrowhead fastened out of rattlesnake skin on it.

  “Now you said you needed Mana, and this here dream catcher will help you in that regard,” the seller explained. “Ten percent Mana boost. Rounds up too.”


  “Yeah?” Sterling asked as he looked at the piece. He already wore a small rattlesnake tail that hung from his belt loop which granted him an additional Stat Point per five levels gained. It really wasn’t that great compared to something like this, but it didn’t take up much space, and it didn’t look like the dream catcher would either. To confirm that what the seller said was true, Sterling placed a finger on the dream catcher keychain.

  Item: Dream Catcher

  Item Type: Uncommon

  Description: Ten percent Mana boost

  “This necklace,” the seller said, turning to the next object, “is one of the best charms we have in the store.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Sterling asked as he took a long drag off the cigarette. He exhaled over his shoulder, a blue cloud of smoke exiting his lungs and rising to the ceiling.

  “Ain’t nothing like it, nothing I’ve ever seen anyway. It grants eight Technique Points per level you gain. Eight. Got it from an Apache Indian who came by here a few months back.”

  “Damn.”

  “Damn is right.”

  Usually, charms only gave small boosts. And now that Sterling thought about it, the dream catcher giving a ten percent Mana boost wasn’t half bad either. Maybe I’m coming out on top here, he thought as he placed a hand on the necklace to verify what the seller told him.

  Item: Rattlesnake Necklace

  Item Type: Ultra Rare

  Description: Additional Eight Technique Points per level gained

  “Try them both out, you’ll see,” the seller said, offering him a toothless grin. “We got a deal?”

  “I believe we do.” Sterling shook the man’s hand. He then attached the dream catcher to one of his belt loops and placed the necklace over his head, right next to the topaz necklace he had looted from the female bandit that granted an additional Resolve point.

  New Bonus: You have received an additional 14 Mana Points!

  New Bonus: Eight additional Technique Points granted per level gained!