by R. L. Wolf
I miss the farm. Hey Ma, could you send me some more socks, the ones I had are worn out, and the school socks are scratchy. Thanks.
Love, Colton.
Toran folded the letter back up. "I can't believe we let you talk us into going through his stuff."
"I have wronged him," said Duke. "He walks truly the path of the Dragon."
Rex, a chisel-faced boy with a perpetual scowl, stepped away from the window where he had been keeping watch. "I too thought he was pretending."
"I feel like throwing up," said Austin.
“I didn’t want to do this to begin with,” said Brock, his eyes darting around the room as if the Marshal would jump out at any moment.
Cora’s eyes bore into Duke. "This was your stupid idea, what now?"
"The harness of blame is mine to bear, I will confess to the Marshal sole guilt," said Duke.
"You are to blame," said Cora, frowning.
"Do not feign the path of innocence, for you could have sought the virtuous ground," replied Duke.
"Do you know any small words for the rest of us?" asked Cora, annoyed.
"If we confess, all of us get expelled," said Toran.
"What do you think we should do?" asked Cora.
"We swear an oath never to speak of this again," offered Toran.
"I cannot live with that," said Garth. "We should confess, together."
"To this I will agree," said Duke. "We walk a dark path away from the light of the Dragon if we do not confess our sin now."
"What's going on?" asked Colt.
Everyone spun around. Colt was standing on the stairs looking at the group gathered around his open clothing chest. Colt walked to the group and stopped in front of them. Toran handed the letter to Colt.
"You went through my stuff and read my letter to Ma and Pa?" asked Colt.
Toran dropped his head, Austin turned pale, Garth turned his head away, and Wes smiled weakly and shrugged.
"Colt, I'm sorry, we messed up," said Toran.
"Toran's right," said Colt. "You messed up, but if you confess, a lot of people will get hurt. Forget it, and don't mention it again. I forgive you."
Cora wasn't sure why, but she felt angry Colt was forgiving them so easily.
Colt tossed the letter back in the chest and pulled the lid shut. "You guys should get out of here before a teacher catches you. We aren't allowed to be in each other’s cabins."
Colt retrieved the book he had come back to the cabin for and headed back downstairs. He was angry everyone had betrayed him, but he knew what would happen if he made an issue of it. He followed the path to a footbridge and crossed over the creek-. His favorite picnic table for study time was on the other side. Normally the teams studied together, but ever since the Oath Rock incident, everyone was treating him like an outcast.
The picnic table was near an over-sized cabin that hadn't been used in a long time. It was so large Colt thought perhaps it had been a Daemi or Cormon cabin. He had discovered the table after the incident at Oath Rock. The table had been covered with weeds and vines, and he had cleaned it up. Now it was his favorite place to go to get away from everyone. He sat at the table and opened his textbook. School work had always had a calming effect on him, but today he was agitated and found the words in the book difficult to follow.
Colt looked over his shoulder at the sound of leaves crunching. The Gunslinger that liked to wear the antique clothes was approaching the table. Colt started to stand, but the Gunslinger motioned for him to sit back down.
The Gunslinger walked around the table and sat on the edge. "So, they went through your things."
"How did you know, Sir?"
"Not much goes on around here I don't know about."
"Sir, if I don't just drop it, a lot of bad things will happen."
"Tell me," said the Gunslinger.
Colt dropped his eyes and slumped over a little. "When I was little I found a love letter my older brother wrote to his girl. I gave it to an older boy, and he made copies and put it up all over town. My brother ran away two days later, and we never heard from him again. Ma and Pa pretend like he never existed now."
"So you're not perfect."
"Of course not, Sir."
"You should let your team know."
"This is too much drama."
The Gunslinger smiled. "You have a point there, but you need to put your team back together,” said the Gunslinger.
"Yes, Sir,"
"Now."
Colt got up and turned to head back to the cabin.
"You're going the wrong way."
Colt stopped and looked back. "Huh?"
"They are at the Marshal's office turning themselves in," said the Gunslinger.
Colt took off running for the Marshal's office. The thin mountain air was hard to get used to after living his whole life in the low farmlands. He was panting heavily when he arrived to find Duke leading the others out of the Marshal's office.
"What did you guys do?" asked Colt.
"We did what you would do in our place," said Duke.
"I wouldn't have gone through your stuff," said Colt, his temper nearing the breaking point.
"You just can't help yourself," said Cora, her hands on her hips. "You just have to rub it in that you’re better than us."
"I'm not better than you!" said Colt, his voice rising to a shout.
Duke slapped the porch with his tail hard enough to rattle the windows. "Sit not upon the higher rock if you seek not to be challenged," said Duke.
"What does that even mean?" shouted Colt.
"Look not into the darkness perchance you find the Dragon," replied Duke.
Colt's eyes narrowed. "Enough Daemi riddles, I'm calling you out."
"Colt, I am the fastest draw in the school. It is unwise to challenge me such," replied Duke.
The Marshal pushed past the others and stepped out onto the porch.
"Enough! Colt, the offense is far too minor to be called out for, and has been dealt with," said the Marshal.
“I apologize for invading your privacy, Colt,” said Duke, “but perhaps you should look within and ask yourself why your Merits would even allow such a betrayal of trust.”
Colt’s hands balled into fists, and his eyes blazed with anger. "Duke isn't your real name, that's just a Gunslinger name you took. What's your real name?" asked Colt, his voice a low, deadly whisper.
"Duke is my real name. I was given two names, a Corvian name, and a Daemi name. My mother lives on Corvus and wanted me to embrace both cultures," said Duke. "My full name is Duke Dire, and I will not give you another chance to turn away from your anger."
"Seriously?" asked Wes, standing out of the way with the other Merits. "That's the most awesome name I've ever heard."
Colt glared at Wes, and then back to Duke.
"I'm not calling you out for invading my privacy,” said Colt. “I'm calling you out for turning my Merits against me. Face me you cowardly Sacu."
Duke's tail lifted and slammed against the porch hard enough that several boards cracked. The others scrambled away from Duke, and even the Marshal took a step away from the angry Daemi reptilian. The Marshal couldn't stop the fight now. Colt had used the worst possible insult to a Daemi. The Sacu were the lowest social class on Daemia, tailless half-breeds in a world that valued their lineages above all things.
Colt turned away without waiting for an answer and walked out to the center of the field where the teams lined up for morning roll-call. Duke followed, and the two boys faced each other at twenty paces. The Marshal went to Duke first, took his gun and checked the ammunition load, then went to check Colt’s gun.
In that strange manner that word spreads in school environments, other teams were running onto the field to watch the shootout. The Marshal took a place off to the side, out of the way of the shooting, but still able to ensure there would be no cheating.
“Whenever you are ready, boys," said the Marshal.
Duke didn't hesitate. He w
anted this done quickly. His hand moved to his side, but before his gun was halfway out of its holster, he felt the round impact his chest. The force of the round pushed against him, and he staggered back. Duke looked down at the purple paint dripping down his shirt. His jaw fell open in shock, and his tail dropped to the ground. Colt had already holstered his gun.
"Cora," shouted Colt. "I call you out!"
Cora walked over and took Duke's place facing Colt. The Marshal checked her ammunition and stepped away. Cora tried to cheat and drew before the Marshal said ready. Colt drew and fired before Cora could finish her draw. A purple stain appeared on her shirt, and she fell back from the impact.
"Rex and Brock," yelled Colt. "I call you both out at the same time.
Rex and Brock took Cora's place and stood several feet apart from each other. The Marshal shrugged and let the match continue.
Colt had watched both Rex and Brock on the range and knew what to expect. The three boys drew at the same time, but Colt only fired once. A purple spot appeared on Rex's shirt, and he dropped his gun back into his holster. He was out. Brock's round went wild and hit Colt in the left arm, but Colt didn't even flinch.
"Not a killing shot," shouted the Marshal.
Colt had no expression on his face and his eyes were dead and cold. He walked toward Brock and deliberately moved his arm so everyone could see where he was aiming and shot Brock in the arm.
"Ouch!" cried Brock, and threw his gun on the ground.
Colt fired again and hit Brock in the other arm.
"Stop!” shouted Brock. “I give, I give!"
Colt continued to advance on the boy.
"Enough!" shouted the Marshal. "It's over."
Brock looked into Colt's eyes and saw what the outlaw had seen at the Four Corners Ambush. Brock fell to the ground and curled up into the fetal position, his hands over his head.
Colt turned on the Marshal and walked towards the Gunslinger. His gun pointed at the man's chest. The Marshal saw what he had been waiting to see again since the Four Corners ambush—the cold, unfeeling precision of a true Cettise. Colt would feel no emotion, no fear, and whether the boy understood or not, he was a born killer. The Cettise had been the most dangerous kind of killers, and like those who went before him, Colt felt no remorse. The Marshal knew he was staring into the eyes of one of the Cettise, the race that had conquered the one-hundred twenty-seven worlds of the galaxy.
The Marshal nodded, pleased. Colton Cyness would always be difficult to control, but he was what the Gunslinger Order needed, a Gunslinger Cettise that would show the others how to fight the coming darkness.
Colt stopped six feet from the Marshal, a war raging behind his eyes.
The Marshal stood silent and waited, allowing the moment to grow. Colt’s hands began to tremble as he struggled to control himself. This was the moment that would decide his fate. Colt would either become a lawman or a criminal.
"We need you," said the Marshal.
Colt closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened his eyes again. He had made his decision. Life flowed back into his eyes, and he nodded at the Marshal and holstered his gun.
"I'll take the Oath," said Colt.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Game
Two hours before sunrise
The sound of Colt getting out of bed woke Toran. It was still dark, and a few hours yet before they had to get up. The Gunslinger students had a special training event today without their Merits, and Colt was getting ready to leave. Toran rolled over and fell back to sleep.
Two hours later the sun crawled through the windows of the cabin. Toran rolled out of bed, stretched, and decided he needed a shower.
"Let's go you two," said Toran, kicking Wes and Austin's bunks on the way downstairs.
"Is it morning already?" mumbled Wes, pulling his blanket over his head.
Austin swung his feet out of bed and pulled his blanket with him as he staggered downstairs to take a shower.
"Has Colt left already?" asked the mountain of blankets on Garth’s bed.
"Yep, we’re on our own today. Hurry up!" said Toran. "Roll-call is in a half-hour."
The boys finished their showers, dressed, and were ready to leave when Austin, standing in front of the Vid-screen, stopped them.
"Hey guys, hold up. The schedule changed," said Austin, checking his notebook against the Vid.
"What now?" asked Toran.
"We have to take our rifles to roll-call, and there's a special note. No live rounds, and classes are canceled," said Austin, reading the schedule.
"We aren't supposed to have live rounds outside the practice range anyway," said Garth.
"Tell that to Wes. He has a whole closet full of live ammunition,” said Toran.
“Yeah, well I’ve seen what’s in your field pack,” replied Wes.
“Why are you going through my pack?” asked Toran.
“How do you think I get all that stuff back from the range? The Range Master always checks my pack now, but he doesn’t check yours,” said Wes.
Toran rolled his eyes. “Okay, grab your rifles. Maybe we’re going to the range."
“Oh good, I need some more tracer rounds,” replied Wes.
The boys grabbed their rifles and headed out into the chill morning air. The trees were turning orange. Summer was over, and winter would grip the mountains soon. The boys had already started spending much of their free time collecting firewood for the winter. Once the snows came, wood would be hard to find.
"Where do you think the Gunslingers went?" asked Austin.
"Don't know, teachers wouldn't say," replied Toran."
"Why bother with roll-call if the Gunslingers ain't here?" asked Wes.
"We don't need them to hold our hands," said Toran. "We keep doing what we are supposed to do whether they are here or not."
"I am getting a little tired of having to follow Colt around everywhere," grumbled Wes. "Don't they think we can do anything on our own?"
The boys walked along the river path with Wes complaining happily about anything he could think of. They heard the shouting and laughter before they reached the roll-call field. They stopped at the edge of the field trying to figure out what was going on. Students were running around, playing, and not lining up for roll-call.
"This is different," said Wes.
Tables were set up in a row across the field, and two teachers stood at each table with students running to get in line at the tables.
Toran saw one of Rex's Merits step up to a table and hand his rifle to a teacher. The teacher checked the rifle and handed it back with a box of the purple paint round ammunition. The Merit moved off to a group on the left side of the field, while others moved to a group on the right.
"There's Ella," said Toran. "Let's ask her what's happening."
Toran walked over to Ella, and the others followed. Ella was with her team talking excitedly. Ella was Cora's First Merit.
"Hey Ella," said Toran, his voice soft and mushy.
Wes grinned and stood behind Toran, batting his eyes at Ella.
"Hey Toran," greeted Ella, sticking her tongue out at Wes.
"Hi, you're not sore at us are you?" asked Toran.
Ella shook her head. "What? Because our psycho Gunslingers got into a fight? Of course not."
"Ella!" said Toran, shocked.
"Tell me they ain't nuttier than a festival cake," insisted Ella.
Toran grinned. “I guess.”
Ella smiled, and Toran's knees threatened to buckle. "Toran, darling, they are weapons, and we are supposed to make sure they stay pointed in the right direction. We lost control, and they started fighting with each other. It’s normal."
"We almost got in big trouble," said Toran.
Ella waved her hand dismissively. "Nobody will get in trouble for anything short of outright murder, and even then I'm not so sure.”
Toran decided to change the subject. "What are we doing?”
"Whenever the Gunslingers fight, the
Marshal takes them on a hike up to the top of the mountain to counsel them, or change their diapers, or something. I don't know what they do up there, but when it happens, we get to play the game."
"What game?" asked Wes, interested in the prospect of a game.
Ella pointed at a table. "Go up to any table. The teachers check your rifle for live rounds, give you a box of paint rounds, then tell you whether you are on Red Team or Blue Team."
"What then?" asked Toran.
"Then your team goes to your fort. When the horn sounds you try to get to the enemy fort, steal their flag, and get back to your team’s fort with it."
"What's the paint rounds for?" asked Wes.
Ella laughed. "For shooting the enemy, and don't try to cheat! If you get shot, sit down on the ground until the game is over."
"This sounds awesome," said Wes. "I'm getting in line."
"What about breakfast?" asked Garth, worried.
Ella pointed to some tables with boxes on them in front of the Dining Cabin. "Grab a breakfast bag and a juice from one of those boxes."
Garth headed for the breakfast tables. The game sounded interesting, but first things first. He hurried over to the tables and took two of the breakfast bags and as many juice boxes as he could fit in his pockets.
Toran got in line with Ella, and they talked until it was Toran's turn to be inspected by the teacher.
"Red team," said the teacher.
Ella was next and got her box of paint rounds after having her rifle inspected.
"Blue team," declared the teacher.
Ella opened her box of paint rounds and selected one of the bullets.
"This one, I think." said Ella, inspecting the soft-gelled round carefully.
"What about it?" asked Toran.
"This is the one I'm shooting you with," replied Ella, her eyes sparkling as she walked off to join the Blue Team.
Toran found Wes sitting with other Merits in the Red Team group. He sat on the ground with the others and loaded his rifle. The boys chatted excitedly about tactics, and who they planned to shoot first.
"Where's Austin and Garth?" asked Toran.
"They're on Blue Team," grinned Wes. "I'm going to shoot Austin for always leaving his smelly socks on the floor next to my bed."
