Unicorn Western

by Sean Platt

  “Hey, it was hard on me, too,” the black unicorn interjected. “All that concentration…”

  “Clint, you used to believe in this!” Kold said, standing and marching over to Cerberus. “Think! Push past the fog and the blank spots. We plotted together! We only separated because you weren’t willing to do what we both felt was necessary to get what we needed from Mai — a girl you didn’t even know — for the good of all the worlds!”

  “Torture that made no difference anyway,” Edward said, his eyes fierce as he stared at Cerberus, his voice dripping blood. His lips were pulled back, showing his teeth like a predator. As he watched, Clint found himself remembering how the dark unicorn’s perversion had bored into Edward’s chest like a spike, and how Edward had been unable to so much as approach the abomination. Cerberus was everything Edward was not, and Edward hated him for it.

  “Well, I didn’t know that I wouldn’t be able to take it by force,” said Kold, now addressing Edward. “Magic rules are so complicated and ritualistic. But you wanted this once upon a time too, Edward the Brave. Don’t pretend you didn’t, no matter how addled and proud you may have grown since. The four of us had a plan, and together, we could have done it. We could have reunited the Triangulum. We could have opened The Realm!”

  “And then done what?” said Clint.

  “What we could!” Kold shouted.

  “And fracture the worlds in the doing,” said Edward.

  “And what if it did?” said Kold, his veneer beginning to crumble. “What if the worlds had ended? Would that be so bad? It’s happening anyway, with us doing nothing and The Realm taking more and more for itself. Would you rather die a slow, certain death or take a risk to save what you can? Maybe if we get past the wall, we can reverse the damage that’s been done. We could open a valve and allow the magic to leak into the Sands, down the vein. Let the worlds start healing themselves. Release the pressure before it builds to an exploding point! You knew this, Clint! Magic has become so pinched off from itself that the Darkness has grown restless. You’ve seen it! You’ve faced it! The world wants entropy. When there’s imbalance, great pressure builds to equalize it. One way or another, that pressure must be released if the imbalance isn’t fixed. The event will be catastrophic, and turn the Great Cataclysm into a forgotten hiccup. If we get past the wall, at least we can help to diffuse the bomb!”

  Something inside Clint ran cold. He’d heard the so-what sentiment before. Specifically, he’d heard it from Sly Stone. It even had a certain sense to it. Who would perish if The Realm were catapulted into the abyss? Nobody other than The Realm, and only after digging their own grave.

  “You are evil,” said Clint.

  Kold waved a dismissive hand.

  “Perverse,” Edward added. But he wasn’t looking at Kold when he said it. The unicorn was staring at his opposite, at the dark steed that had surrendered his power and become like a hole in the world. Something born of light, yet betraying that light with every breath.

  “That was always your problem, Edward,” said Cerberus. “You were too timid, too unwilling to get your nose dirty.”

  Kold held up a hand to Cerberus, easing him down. The subservient way Cerberus obeyed the man’s gesture and backed off made Edward snort and strike at the ground. Clint knew better than to ask his own partner to stand down. If Edward struck at Cerberus, then so be it.

  “Help us,” said Kold. “I know she rides with you. I know she’s been restored to normal.”

  “Beyond normal,” said Clint.

  “We thought that might happen when we left her,” said Cerberus, still staring at Edward.

  The back of Clint’s neck prickled. They’d left her for them to find.

  Suddenly, Clint understood everything in one gestalt leap. Kold hadn’t been able to get what he wanted from Mai. He’d drawn something weak from inside her — an inferior version of the Orb that was just enough to start the machine and power the city, but not enough to assault the Realm wall — and then had left her behind. But Kold hadn’t left Mai because he was done with her. He’d left her because he wanted Clint to find her, to nurse her back to health, and to convince her to give up what Kold had been unable to seize by force.

  “You needed us,” said Clint, quieter than he would have liked.

  Kold rolled his eyes, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Oh, yar, we needed you, you needed us, our unicorns need us, we need them. It’s all one big, happy family. I’ve gotten that over and over from this one, impudent though he may sometimes be.” He jerked his thumb at Cerberus.

  “All I need is Edward’s mom,” Cerberus said.

  Edward took an automatic step forward, but Kold continued.

  “Who are you without me, Clint? You’re the good guy only because you have a bad guy to chase. But yar, I suppose I needed you. But she needed me, too, in order to become what she was supposed to be.”

  Edward gasped. Finally, the white unicorn had been surprised.

  “What did you say?” said Clint.

  Edward answered for Kold. “The Orb,” he said. “Mai wasn’t actually the Orb of Benevolence until…”

  “It’s all a rich tapestry,” Kold said with heavy sarcasm. “Magic. Magic and its rules. I could make a dozen flowery metaphors: some forest seeds can only crack and germinate once there’s been a destructive fire, and so on. Mai wasn’t the Orb until we killt her soul, yar, yar, yar. So why did we need her at first, if she wasn’t the Orb yet? It’ll make your head spin and leave you wondering if you have any free will at all. The irony is that even if she’d wanted to give me what I needed when I’d taken her, she couldn’t until after we’d left her for you. Can’t you see, Clint? This was meant to be. The four of us are a team whether you like it or not. Cerberus and I will do what you and Edward won’t, but only together, as a foursome, could we reunite the Triangulum. She’s become something powerful, but look what it took! Death is part of life, Marshal. The white in Mai couldn’t flourish until Cerberus killt all that she was. A phoenix only rises from ashes, and that means that before it can flourish, it has to burn. It makes me feel like we’re all just living out a performance. Like this. Watch.”

  Kold drew his pistol and fired it directly through Clint’s heart.

  Clint felt everything blacken. His legs collapsed beneath him and he spilled to the floor. His head swam. He forgot where the ceiling was, where the walls were, who was with him. He felt as if he were floating. But then there was a great white something above him, like a beacon, like firelight, and he saw that it was Edward. He looked at his chest and found it whole, his shirt ripped and wet. He touched his skin and his fingers came away red.

  “You see?” said Kold as Clint stood. He still held his gun. He gestured around the room with it, looking amused.

  “We’re going to die,” Clint whispered to Edward.

  “Nar,” Edward replied. “We can’t die. I finally understand.”

  “Right through the heart!” said Kold, giddy, looking at Cerberus for approval. “Do you know how hard that is to heal, even with a unicorn standing right beside you? You should be dead already, gunslinger. Beyond saving! But if I need you, you might ask, why would I try to kill you? And how could I know you wouldn’t die? Would you have lived if I hadn’t tried to kill you, or died in some other way? Was the shot necessary? It’s shown Edward something, I can see. Oh, it’s all so much! What’s necessary and what isn’t, who needs who, what’s a man’s choice and what isn’t. Which came first, the turkey or the egg? You think on it too long and your head will hurt something fierce.”

  Edward’s lips a breath from Clint’s ear, the unicorn whispered, “We were supposed to end up here.”

  “So you see, Clint, you can’t be bothered by what we did to Mai. We’re your other half. You couldn’t do it, so we had to. At first, there wasn’t an Orb of Benevolence. But now, thanks to all four of us, there is.”

  Edward whispered, “We are here to play a role, and we must play it.”

  “Fo
r the record,” Cerberus said, tossing his black mane and pawing the stone floor with his horn toward Edward, “I look down on your lack of spine just as much as you look down on my lack of mercy.”

  His equine breath like the fog of fire in Clint’s ear, Edward said, “You must do as he says.”

  That was enough. Clint pushed away from the unicorn, stared at Kold enough to make him stop strutting theatrically, drew his finger like a pistol, and pointed it at all three of the others.

  “I can do what I choose,” the gunslinger spat.

  “In a matter of speaking,” said Kold.

  “Gunslinger, listen…” Edward began.

  “I CAN DO WHAT I CHOOSE!”

  Edward stopped. Kold lowered his hand, holstering his gun. Even Cerberus stopped pawing at the stone and waited. Clint was powerless. He had no magic, no decent guns, no ability to heal. But he’d been shot through the heart and was still breathing, and he suddenly he felt as if he held all the dice.

  “I’m here for a reason,” he said.

  Edward nodded slowly.

  “And my reason is to defeat you. To take back the Triangulum. To stop what you are doing.”

  “Predictable,” said Cerberus, rolling his eyes.

  “I don’t know how, but this means that Edward and I will defeat you. We will fight you until we can fight no more. Right, Edward?”

  Clint looked over at the unicorn. At first the gunslinger thought Edward would contradict him like always — inferior, ignorant human that he was — but instead the unicorn did something that made Clint feel as if Kold had shot him again. Edward extended his right foreleg in front of the other, bowed over it, and said in a sighing voice, “As you wish.”

  Kold looked at Edward. Clint looked at Kold. Cerberus gaped, insofar as a unicorn could do so. Clint turned from Kold, forgetting that he’d pursued him for five long years and considered him a mortal enemy, and exposed his back to his foe. Edward was still bowing. Clint stood in front of him and shook his head.

  “We came here to fight,” the gunslinger said, his voice filled with disbelief.

  “We did,” Edward said, rising back to standing.

  “And we will not surrender Mai,” he said.

  “As you choose,” said Edward.

  “You did not come to fight,” Kold said from behind him.

  “You came to surrender,” said Cerberus.

  “Or to join us,” Kold finished.

  Clint drew the very small, very light, very insignificant six-shot pistol from his hip and aimed it at Kold’s forehead. He’d fired it at Kold earlier and the bullet had simply sparked away, but the gunslinger was suddenly certain that it wouldn’t happen that way again.

  “This is the wrong choice,” said Kold, staring at the barrel. “I don’t want to fight you.”

  “I do,” said Clint.

  “You can’t defeat us,” said Kold.

  “We will,” said Clint.

  “With a pistol? With a unicorn who carries a tenth of the magic we carry?”

  Clint’s long thumb came back and cocked the tiny gun’s hammer.

  “I will fight with the gun of my enemy,” said the gunslinger. “And when it is empty, I will fight with the guns of my friend. And when those are empty, I will fight you with my hands. I have traveled for five years to fight you, Dharma Kold, and when I die, it will be with my fingers around your throat.”

  “Fine,” said Kold, shaking his head. “We will dance.”

  CHAPTER NINE:

  THE DANCE

  Before Clint could pull the trigger, a great wave of energy struck his body, propelling him sideways. The gunslinger struck a wall and felt his left arm break. His head glanced the rock and concussed, then he fell to the floor as something enormous flew above him — Cerberus, dueling with Edward. Feet stomped by him as if he weren’t there or as if he didn’t matter, which he didn’t. One hoof struck the hand on his broken arm, making it crack. Clint curled up in pain, knowing Edward was too distracted for healing. But after being shot through the heart, what did he have to lose?

  He stood and marched toward Kold with his pistol drawn. He fired six rapid shots. Kold no longer had a shield; Cerberus was just as indisposed as Edward. Clint had wanted to shoot Kold between the eyes, but as he fired, the dark rider’s pupils rolled up and something — some great force — seemed to shimmer out from him to stop the gunslinger’s bullets, one after the other. As the slugs neared Kold, they slowed like they were swimming through syrup. The sixth bullet struck the second and kicked it forward like a billiard ball. The slow bullet tapped Kold on the forehead like a reprimand, and then the shells fell to the floor.

  “You can’t hurt me, Clint!” Kold bellowed. “Stop fighting!”

  Instead of stopping, Clint tossed the spent revolver aside and used his good arm to draw one of Stone’s shotguns from behind his back. He started to aim, but a great ball of black and white rolled toward him, knocking him back to the floor. Spells shot from the fighting unicorns, smashing into the hollowed-out cavern walls and sending rubble like rain to the floor. Clint’s shotgun was knocked from his grip and skittered across the floor as if gliding on ice. Clint rose to his hand and knees (the other arm hung limp at his side, his pain present but held at bay) and began to chase it, part of his mind yammering at him for his irrationality.

  Somewhere deep in his head, Clint heard Edward’s voice: Intention matters to magic.

  Stone’s guns were symbolic. His own fighting in spite of literally impossible odds was symbolic. Edward’s bow had been symbolic, odd as it was. His determination and spirit were symbolic. And he’d lived after being shot, which Edward seemed to have taken as a sign that he was here for a reason. His reason wasn’t yet finished. And with that, he heard Edward in his head again: We can’t die.

  Clint reached the gun, held the slide, racked it by shaking it down hard. A shell clicked into the chamber. Clint leveled the weapon, remembering how effortlessly Stone had fired them one-handed. That was fortunate, since one hand was all Clint had. He was mortal. He was vulnerable. He couldn’t be healed, and yet it also seemed that he couldn’t die. The gunslinger had nothing to hide, no reason to duck and cover. He held the shotgun before him and fired at Kold when Kold turned to watch the unicorns, which obliterated an entire wall in their tussle.

  Man versus man. Unicorn versus unicorn.

  The shot tore an enormous hole in Kold’s side. Then there was a diffuse orange glow and the dark rider was once again made whole. But Cerberus was across the room, unaware. The magic was coming from Kold himself. And Kold, Clint realized, hadn’t so much as drawn his pistol.

  “Clint!” he said. “Don’t you understand? We left The Realm together! Don’t you remember why? Don’t you remember how we talked and plotted and planned?”

  Clint, striding forward, racked the gun again with his good hand, shaking it hard.

  “We’re in this together, Clint! As we have been from the start!”

  Clint aimed and fired. Kold’s head vanished, then came right back. The dark rider didn’t so much as stagger.

  Against the wall, the unicorns parted. Edward directed a blast at Cerberus, but Cerberus looked almost bored as he parried. The dark unicorn returned fire, still looking bored as Edward was propelled several feet hard into the chamber wall. While encumbered, Cerberus fired again. Multicolored blood soaked the floor.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Kold said.

  Clint racked the gun. “Hurt me,” he growled, and fired again. This time he racked and fired, racked and fired, until the gun was empty. Kold was almost bare-chested; all Clint could do before Kold healed himself was shred some more of his clothes.

  He tossed Stone’s gun aside, fished for the other. For his last.

  “Why do you keep fighting?” Kold almost screamed.

  “Because I choose to.”

  Clint fired. And fired. And fired. Kold staggered backward — not in fear, but like a man holding back a dog, for the protection of others.
>
  The second gun clicked empty. Clint tossed it aside. The unicorns came forward, but Edward was clearly outmatched. Cerberus had him in some sort of a cloud and was tossing him into walls, faster than Edward could heal. His energy all seemed to be funneled into his survival; he was casting no offensive spells. The dark unicorn cackled and laughed.

  “This isn’t like our fight in Solace,” said Kold.

  Clint stepped forward, toward the rider he’d pursued for a long half decade.

  “We might have been even then. But now, with the Triangulum…”

  Clint’s hand formed a claw. He was fifteen feet from Kold. Ten. Seven.

  “Don’t you understand, Clint? There is only one way!”

  Clint’s hand closed around Kold’s neck. He wasn’t impeded; there were no shields as his fingers found flesh, sinew, and muscle. Kold’s skin felt like jerky. The gunslinger started to squeeze.

  Kold roared, shoving him across the room with unbelievable force. The gunslinger struck the back wall, hearing more bones break. The pain was unbelievable. He felt torment taking over, felt life fleeing his body. Kold was suddenly above him. There was a glow from somewhere and Clint’s sharpness returned, key systems knitting enough to keep him alive, albeit barely.

  Kold stood above him, his boot on Clint’s neck.

  “Yield.”

  Clint’s hand formed a new claw. He hooked it to expose his fingernails and began digging into Kold’s leg. “Prepare to die,” he croaked.

  “Yield!”

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” Clint said, his head swimming.

  Kold pointed to the unicorns. Edward was once again above the ground, and Cerberus was using his magic to swing the big white unicorn around like a weight at the end of a string. Edward struck the wall, the floor, the ceiling. Cerberus laughed a sadistic equine laugh.

  “Yield, and I will stop them,” said Kold.

  Something inside Clint snapped into surrender as he watched Edward break and smash and whinny. And, knowing the proud unicorn would never want pity or beg for mercy, Clint gave him both.