The Butcher and the Butterfly

by Ian Dyer

  ‘Five seconds. Don’t fuck with us.’ Carried on the breeze but still neither Ted nor Mike noticed the stranger walk up alongside them.

  Doyle’s horse reared as a rumble of thunder echoed through the valley to the North, not an uncommon sound this time of year. The two gunshots in quick succession weren’t that common and Doyle struggled to keep his horse from bolting.

  Seeing the two bodies fall to the floor Doyle steadied his horse, mounted hard, then rode into town to fetch a posse.

  10

  The soft voice had been a shock to Mike and as he turned to face it he pulled the trigger sending pellets hurtling toward the farmhouse.

  That wasn’t the last thing the Mike ever did. The actual last thing that he did, after falling to the floor that is with blood gushing from an open wound to his throat, was to piss his pants.

  11

  A Marksman. Oh fuck yeah. See ya later Big Daddy.

  13

  Dotty ran from the kitchen, knocking all kinds of stuff over and opened the front door. She fell over Teds hunkered body and hit the floor hard. Turning quick she met her Dad’s eyes for what she thought was the last time.

  ‘It’s okay, Dotty. Dad is okay.’ Ted exhaled whilst smiling. He reached out to grab her and as he did he caught sight of the hundreds of pellet marks now lovingly decorating the front of his home. Some were still smoking as the two of them hugged it out on the pathway leading to their home. At the end of the path, Mike’s blood was beginning to pool and turn an angry black.

  14

  Ted stood and brushed himself down. By the gods that had been a close one. He watched Dotty watching the blood pool around the greying corpse and looked to the heavens. He mouthed a thank-you to whoever cared to take it and then glanced at Thatcham’s body. By the Old Maker this was going to take some explaining and he feared even more for the safety of not only himself but of his daughter too. A million images stormed through his mind: him hanging whilst Dotty watched, then Dotty hanging whilst he watched were just a couple. He shook them away and moved his attention to the man with the smoking iron glistening in the darkening light.

  He watched the man that had saved his life, well; saved it for now at least, holster his weapon and glare at the body on the floor. He could see concern in those eyes for but the briefest of moments.

  A crow screaming in the distance broke the fragile silence. Ted and the gunslingers eyes met.

  Ted spoke first, ‘For now I guess thank you is in order, stranger. That was getting out of hand.’

  The stranger nodded. ‘For now, why?’

  ‘That there is probably the most influential well liked and most powerful man in this city. You have just killed the fucking Man Jesus as far as most people in the Sands are concerned.’

  The stranger’s eyes widened. ‘Most people?’

  ‘Well yeah, he’s a bit of a penis if you ask me, and a few others come to that. But a powerful penis none-the-less.’

  ‘Not the first penis that I have felled.’

  Ted smirked, the stranger though did not.

  Then something clicked inside Ted’s memory like a familiar smell linking you to a childhood dream.

  ‘Did you say Marksman?’

  ‘Dad, the blood is coming into the garden.’ Dotty shouted and he heard her shuffling and mumbling. Ted turned and waved a quieting hand at her. Dotty poked out her tongue but continued to shift from there to there like a child needing to piss.

  Ted returned his gaze to the stranger.

  ‘You said Marksman, right?’

  The stranger sniffed, blinked and scratched his age old stubble. The man was younger than at first Ted thought, much younger, barely twenty, but those eyes. Those lifeless eyes gave him an air of authority, dignity and something else. Something Ted couldn’t put his mind too. And then it hit him like a shovel to the knee. Those eyes had seen, witnessed as it were, the lives of men fall and most of them by his hand. But there was still something else about those eyes. They were familiar to Ted like a friend not seen in years or a face seen in a misty dream.

  ‘My name is Martin, Martin Doyle. Marksman of the Crescent Moon and Holder of the Sacred Oath.’ The man looked behind him, along the path he had just travelled. ‘Well, at least I was.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘It’s a long story. And one I care not to tell.’

  ‘Well,’ Ted said, ‘That makes things a bit easier.’

  Like a face seen in a misty dream.

  ‘Wait a minute. Wait a sodding minute.’ Ted leaned in as if to get a better look at this Marksman. ‘I don’t believe it. It’s you. It is you.’

  The Marksman took a step back. ‘Have we met before?’

  ‘No. Yes. Well sort of.’

  Far off in the distance another rumble of thunder rippled through the air.

  ‘You were in a dream. You and another man. A man in a black cloak.’

  The Marksman looked to the ground and shook his head. When he lifted it back up he began to laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  The man continued to laugh and walked over to Ted, small dust motes flickering the in the dying light. He carried on laughing, stepped over the body of Mike and placed his right arm on Ted’s shoulder.

  ‘That fat penis over there is the least of our worries. Let’s get inside, have a coffee and a smoke and let’s treat a while on your dream and what we are going to do next.’

  Ted nodded, dumbfounded.

  Dotty continued to shuffle from there to there and seemed not to give two hoots to the man walking into her home. She kept watching the blood pool until the sun was almost set. Her friend was talking to her again. Her friend wanted to play.

  16

  Ted recalled his dream, his meeting with Palaluka, to the Marksman as they drank coffee and smoked roughly made cigarettes. They sat in Ted’s kitchen oblivious to the fact that the sun had set and that their time was running thin.

  The Marksman had listened, had asked no questions and repeated parts as if to confirm acceptance. He seemed little fazed that Ted had been watching them, that he had talked with Palaluka.

  The Marksman stubbed out his cigarette and threw the burnt end into the filling ashtray. He sipped on his coffee while he eyes scanned the room. Placing the mug on the wooden table he looked Ted straight in the face. It was a look Ted has seen before and one he would not become used to.

  ‘It seems as though we are intertwined, me and you, Ted. Our fates have been connected by a man that I am now hunting.’

  ‘The man in black?’

  ‘Correct, Ted. He is a powerful man and one that must be stopped. I fear that if I fail that the world we live in will cease to be.’

  ‘But how? Such things are stories to scare children to remind them of deeds long past.’

  ‘Something evil stirs in the darkest parts of our world, Ted. The stuff of nightmares. The man in black, Samson, is part of it. He works for it and will help bring it to power. The old machines of the ancient world shall be put to work and we shall burn in their wake. He has told me that the people of this world shall be like the walking dead, mindless zombies acting out the New Kings wants.’

  Ted shook his head in disbelief. The world has moved on since those tales were even close to a recent memory. The only evil left in the lands was that of the likes of Thatcham and a few others like him. Greed controlled the world now. Money was the true law of the land.

  ‘Surely we are safe here?’

  The Marksman rose and paced to and fro. ‘The world isn’t rainbows and princess stories told by the fire Ted, you know that. The world is a crappy place, always was and always will be. It will chew you up and spit you out. I am here to try and bring order and make your life,’ Ted pointed to the front door, ‘and the life of your daughters a bit more pleasant. Sadly though, there is still some ancient relics that haunt our lands, some are magic some are not and it’s one of these relics that I need your help finding, Ted. I need you to help me find something that has been hid
den for centuries but I have it on good word that it is here.’

  Ted scratched his balding head and exhaled hard. He was struggling to take this all in, to digest this flood of information. Magic, ancient machines, darkness in the darkest parts of the world. What in hells name was this Marksman going on about? Maybe he was mad. His mind lost in the Wastelands somewhere never to be found again.

  ‘I am trying to believe you, Marksman, I am. But it all seems too much. A vision is one thing, but ancient relics, old machinery, zombies and the like? We all know the liquid that fuels them is long gone, that the knowledge has been lost for generations and will not return for generations more. It is as dead as the witchcraft you speak of.’

  Martin drew his gun making Ted leap from his chair. The chair teetered, and then clattered onto the floor; the noise echoing around the kitchen. Ted raised his hands instinctively.

  ‘I’m not going to shoot you, Ted,’ Martin said softly and gestured Ted to lower his hands, ‘But understand that what I tell you is the truth no matter how odd it sounds. This gun is ancient, created by men hundreds of years ago but still it works and will go on working as long as it is cared for and there are bullets to fill it. Do you not have the steam industries here, the ability to turn woods and metals?’

  ‘But that gun…’

  ‘The same principles go for the ancient machines that lay dormant throughout our lands. Trust me when I tell you that there are men with the knowledge, the skills and the materials necessary to run those machines. I have learnt that there is nothing too old, nothing too rotten that cannot be fixed either with force or with engineering.’

  ‘But…’

  Martin slammed the gun down on the table. Plates rattled in their shelves and Ted thought for a moment that his bowels may relieve themselves if not careful.

  ‘Ted. I am not here to discuss the matter. Only to ask for some help. Give me that tonight and I shall be on my way and you and your daughter can go about your daily business believing whatever the fuck it is you want to believe in.’

  Martin holstered his ancient weapon. ‘Will you do me the pleasure?’

  Ted swallowed hard and nodded. He thought about the body that lay outside his door.

  ‘Aye, Marksman. But you will have to answer for the dead penis that graces the front of my house.’

  The two men laughed.

  17

  Outside in the starry night, under the soft glow of the full moon, Dotty drew butterflies on the pathway with the dark red gore that oozed from the body of the late, great Mr Mike Thatcham. Varula was playing again and she wanted Dotty as her playmate. She wanted the Marksman too.

  18

  I wants that Marksman my little butterfly and from the ear wigging I know he is looking for me. He means to harm me little Dotty like he harmed Big Daddy. I know I can takes him, easy prey, but I need you to help me. I need you to bring him to me.

  ‘But where are you?’ A concerned Dotty asked.

  I am at Big Daddy’s place. In the shed under a blanket where Big Daddy thought I would be safe.

  ‘I shall bring him to you. I shall go get him now.’

  Be quick my butterfly. There are men coming, big men with big guns that will try and kills you all. I can’t stop all of them.

  Dotty got up from the floor and wiped her bloody fingers on her jeans. She looked in the direction of Thatcham’s house. ‘Can we play after? Can we play again?’

  Of course my sweet. Of course. Now tell him you know where Varula is. Tell him of the big men that are coming and after I have had my fill we shall play long into the night.

  Dotty charged through the front door and into the kitchen where the stranger and her Dad were both laughing. They stopped, both looking at her deep concern and sweaty brow.

  She had to get her Dad out of here. She did not care for the big stranger man and what Varula was going to do to him, but she did care for her old Dad. The big men coming would hurt him and she doesn’t want that. No sir!

  ‘They are coming, Da! Big men are coming with guns!’

  Her Dad stepped forward, his caring arms out stretched but Dotty didn’t want any of it and she pushed him aside. The look of shock on his face was almost comical as he almost fell to the ground Dotty’s strength being so great.

  ‘No, Da. They are coming and they will kills us all.’

  ‘Who is coming, child and how do you know?’ The stranger with the lifeless eyes asked.

  ‘Big men with the big guns.’ She spat and then pointed at the stranger. ‘The girl you are looking for told me to tell ya, she did. She told me to come get ya and to bring you to her. I know where she hides.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about Dotty?’ Ted asked as he scrambled to his feet.

  The stranger moved in between Dotty and her father. ‘You speak of Varula?’ The softness of his voice reminded Dotty of her father when he spoke to her when she was ill or hurt.

  Dotty responded similarly, her eyes as wide as the moon that hung in this evening’s sky, ‘Yep. She is my friend and I knows where old man Thatcham hid her. She wants to help you, us. She is scared.’

  ‘Dotty, what are you going about?’ Her Dad seemed angry and Dotty knew why. He never believed in fairies, or witches or unicorns. He would always roll his eyes and move the talk onto something else. Dotty didn’t like that. Especially now when she needed him to believe her.

  ‘Da, I know what you is thinking, but trust me. We have to get out of here and get to Thatcham’s house. Even if you don’t believe me the men are going to hurt us, we killed him Da, we killed him.’

  There was a brief silence filled only with Dotty’s heavy breath and the crickets thrumming their final song of the day. During the silence Dotty watched the stranger walk toward the front door and poke his head out. She looked to her father, unsure of what he was doing and her father shrugged his heavy shoulders.

  Dotty turned to face the concerned voice coming from the front of the house.

  ‘Ladies and gents, we have ourselves a posse. Best be on our way and quick about it to.’

  19

  The three figures ran out of the farmhouse, hurdling the fallen body that lay in the street. Ted imagined Thatcham’s hands reaching out to grab or trip him, but they didn’t and he ran with his daughter and the Marksman across the road and into the fields gleaming a mysterious silver grey in the moonlight.

  They headed across the fields, over the hill that Doyle Cartwright had used for his own vantage point and back down into the valley that led to Thatcham’s place.

  The Marksman couldn’t believe his luck, but knew that luck had nothing to do with it. The orbs want to be found and when freed from there bonds they will seek out their victims and their master as though their lives depended on it.

  It seems as though the Angel of Death would have the orb quicker than was expected and hopefully easier too. Martin only knew one way to trap the sisters and that was to feed them. To give them souls, fresh meat to feast upon is the only way to sedate that endless thirst for power. Martin hurdled a fence and followed Ted and the girl down into a darkening valley. He was tired, by the Maker, bone tired as his teacher would have said. But there would be no rest tonight, not until what had to be done was done.

  One problem did perplex the Marksman.

  His mind called out for the Angel of Death, but he didn’t know if that would work. He had no clue of how to contact the winged terror and thought himself foolish for not asking when he had the chance.

  All three of them traversed one last fence and arrived outside the seemingly lifeless home of Mr Thatcham breathless and panting hard but weary of what might be coming up behind them.

  Martin pointed to the house. ‘This is it?’

  ‘Aye, Marksman,’ Ted responded still trying to catch his breath, ‘And I guess whatever it is you are looking for is over there.’ Ted pointed to a large out building to the right of the large house. It was deep in shadow, the moonlight unable to bathe it in its glory.

>   A cool breeze swept passed the odd trio and the trees bent and groaned with its power. Martin took in a deep breath. The ‘big men’ as the girl put it would come across the body and seek out the killers. Martin had to presume the men would come here and here is where the stand would be. If the man he had just killed was as powerful as Ted stated then the men following would want to take their revenge and make a spectacle of the killer. Hanging was still allowed in the outer realms and a good hanging is what the people would want. He had seen it all before. They wouldn’t give a fuck that Martin was a Marksman, for in the outer realms the ancient Oath Bearers carried little weight.

  The girl started to mumble and shuffle her feet. Ted went to her but once again the girl pushed him away and Ted almost lost his footing. She was strong and a big. Massive, as large as any of the grand fighter’s back home. She could have made a pretty penny fighting the in the rings but out here in the wilds she was just a simple retard; mocked and forever doomed.

  ‘We haves to go to her.’ The girl whispered.

  ‘No we don’t. Not yet.’ Was Martins simple retort. ‘She is frisky, girl. We don’t have what she wants and I need to…’

  Martin looked to the girl and then to Ted. Chuckling to himself he realised that it all made sense, such simple sense he was surprised he hadn’t seen it before.

  ‘She wants me, doesn’t she?’

  The girl tried to run toward the house and the Marksman reached out to grab her. Dotty swung one of her giant arms and it knocked Martin back into Ted and the two men fell to the ground.

  They watched her run past the old house and into the darkness of the shed. They both scrambled to their feet and Martin had to restrain Ted from hurtling after her.

  ‘Trust me, Ted, you don’t want to go in there.’

  ‘But Dotty. I have to keep her safe.’

  Martin twisted Ted around so that the two men were eye to eye. ‘She is safe, Ted. Safe for now at least. Varula doesn’t want her. Not yet anyway. She wants me and you. She wants men. She will use Dotty to get to us and others and then if times get hard she will turn on your daughter.’