by Tempe O'Kun
Ahead, Deputy Harding turns his sad bloodhound eyes to me. “’Yotes aren’t so used to flyin’ folk. Might not be keen on you dropping into the middle of their affairs.”
As we crest the slope, a sandstone cliff rises into view. At its base, a lush plot of squash, corn, and beans grows along a series of irrigation ditches, fed by a small but steady stream. A few small buildings poke up from the fields.
I look up.
An entire town scales the cliffside, carved from the rock and sculpted from adobe. Multiple stories loom over us, windows open to the wind, interiors dark. We stop in a packed dirt courtyard.
The deputy casts a howl to the dry wind.
First one howl, then a few more in unison comes as the reply, an erie chorus in the dry wind. I see no one, though tending those crops would take at least a few dozen pairs of paws. At the center of the plaza, a figure rises from the earth. Dust dances around her form, sun gleaming from a worked silver necklace. Her stride flows like a rolling river across the dry landscape. Glass and turquoise beads clatter in her hair. “Welcome, Harding.” Her voice carries a hint of the howl from moments before. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Harding’s tail thumps the saddle. “Come into possession of your property. Came by to return it.”
A tinge of amusement colors her yellow eyes. “Join me in the kiva.” Light cotton dress rippling in the breeze as she turns back to the opening in the dirt. A woven and dyed satchel bounces at her hip.
Dismounting, we follow her down a wooden ladder to enter some kind of tiny pit-house. Shade and cool air greet us. The space forms a rectangle half the size of my office. The floor, composed of the same adobe as the cliff dwellings, has a round hole for no purpose I can discern. I look back the way we came, at that minuscule square of sky.
Six snickers at me. “They’re as keen on down as you are on up.”
I let that comment breeze by. Best not to encourage the bunny in front of our esteemed host.
The ‘yote leader sits on a mat, directing us to do the same. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
After seating himself cross-legged, Harding opens the sack, pulls out the gold box, and places it before her with no small reverence.
Her slim, tawny paws trace along the lip of the box, opening it just a little. The ‘yote sways. Harding stills. Six’s eyes glaze over. I slip a wing behind her, ready to catch her again.
The tan canine closes it once again. “The bandits raided a village nine days ago. My people worried these killers, these thieves, would destroy the Ancestor Stone.” She sits up, cool as the shady enclosure we’re sitting in. “It is good you have returned it. That worry could have lead to rash action.”
“We visited a little rash action on them ourselves.” The hare tries to find a comfortable way to sit on the folded blanket. “Why didn’t you see to them yourselves?”
“We are farmers, not warriors.” The coyote sweeps a gesture up toward the crops. “The desert does not permit such excess. We do have certain other assets, however.” Her paw reaches into the bag.
I lift a wing and fan the notion off. “I returned this as an officer of the law, not for a reward.”
The ‘yote gives a coy chuckle and presses a paw to her chest. “We wouldn’t insult your honor with earthly wealth.”
The bunny raises a point with her index finger. “Y’all can insult me with earthly wealth.”
From her satchel, she draws a beaded cloth, then unrolls it to reveal heavy parchment. “Our treaty with the settlers forbids violence against them.”
Six’s ears rise, as does the corner of her mouth. “So ya just let folk run off with your plunder?”
“We did.” A slim smile appears on her canine lips. “The ancestors did not.”
“You mean to say spirits in that metal ball drove the thieves toward my town?” The question comes out more incredulously than I hoped.
The coyote nods. “Yes.”
I cross my wings, but don’t dismiss the notion outright. “Well, I wish I could say that’s the strangest suggestion I’ve heard recently.” Clearing my throat to get our host’s attention, I lift a wing toward the box. “I wonder if you might tell me more about the mirror ore.”
The ‘yote ponders a moment, distilling her thoughts. “To the uneducated, it appears to be simple silver. It is more. The spirits of the dead pass back into the Earth, which is why something from the Earth is tied to them. That is why we value it.”
The bunny nods. “Couldn’t help but notice the fine box ya got for it.”
“Echoes cannot reach us through gold.” Her paw pads trace over the gilded case. “That is why we value it as well.”
Six reins in a laugh. “Thought ya liked hearin’ from the clearly departed?”
Her paws fold atop her lap. “Yes, but the living must also live.”
The bunny elbows me. “Good thing ah’ve been collecting a little gold here and there.”
I roll my eyes. “Good thing...”
“All that wisdom ought to give ya an upper paw more often.” Six shines a little grin in the shady room. “Not hidin’ in holes.”
Harding and I both groan.
The leader’s yellow eyes gaze down a long muzzle. “The ground is to us what the sky is to you, hare: a portal to the eternal.” Those pointy ‘yote ears dip back. “And our ancestors’ wisdom worked very well until you people showed up with all your new problems.” Her tone levels out. “But the ways of my people do not change with the fashion like yours do. Forgetting our ancestors, and their stories, would deprive us of their aid. We must be keepers of their memories. Listeners for their wise whispers.”
Six shifts, long legs crossed. “Ah’ve been known to do a little listenin’.”
“But only a little.” I mutter, unable to stop myself.
The ‘yote regards her in silence.
The gunslinger’s paw rubs down her long ears. “Can’t say it helped overly, beyond gettin’ a word from my pa here or there.”
My own ears rise. It’s rare the bunny sounds serious about anything. Even rarer to hear her talk about her father.
The canine straightened her silver necklace. I notice for the first time that a tiny copper tortoise gleams among its charms. “But he lends you his skill.” Her yellow eyes examine the bunny’s expression deeply. “Doesn’t he, Listener?”
My thief freezes, tense with surprise. Her fingers trace that silver gun, but along the hammer, showing no inclination to draw.
A woof of amusement echoes in the cool dark. “I thought as much. Try not to join your father too soon, and you might gain more than just quick paws.”
Thoughtful silence settles over the hare. Her brow furrows over a steely gaze, as if she can’t decide whether to be angry.
I fidget. My wing fingers slip into my pocket, feeling something smooth. I draw out a coil of glass seed beads, the most lurid hues we could find at the general store. “Oh, I almost forgot.” I offer the beads to her. “I thought bringing a gift would be neighborly.”
Breaking from her contemplation, Six scoffs at my attempt at diplomacy.
I keep my tone cordial, my continence serene. “Some guests bring things instead of taking them.”
The coyote accepts the offering and appraises it with a merchant’s eyes. “Thank you. I feel we should be neighborly too.”
An hour later, our ponies plod along, crunching along the desert soil. Hot breeze whips dust in our faces and makes the ponies skittish.
The bunny pouts. “All that work for nothin’.”
“It wasn’t a total wash.” I glance back at the bunches of colorful peppers peeking from our saddlebags.
“Don’t know if ah trust these ‘yote peppers.” She peers at the fruit. “They’re all scrawny and wrinkled.”
“They’ve grown them for t
housands of years.” Reaching back, I pop one into my mouth, puncture it with my teeth, and let the slow burn seep out. A fruity undercurrent adds body to the fiery sear that spreads over my tongue. “Oooooh. And it shows.” I munch down a couple more, savoring the tingling heat.
Six plucks an angry red one and glowers at it. The tiny, wrinkled red fruit gleams like fresh blood in the sun.
I wave a wing to caution her. “Weren’t you paying attention at the opera? Bat cuisine can be spicy. You should probably start with a little piece of the green ones.”
“Ah shoot whiskey, smoke tobacco, and reckon ah can handle any little pepper you’re chomping like raisins.” Her smile gleams like stolen pearls.
The deputy slows up, turning to watch. His tail thumps the saddle again.
I lift a wing finger. “Six, I wouldn’t...”
Her paw waggles the pepper in front of her muzzle. Defiant, she chomps into it. Her ears drop in an instant. She spits out the bite, followed by a string of profanity black enough to darken a crow.
Harding and I can’t fight back our laughter. For all the heat and all the danger, life out here has its moments.
A month later, she finishes a spot of target practice out by the creek. I’ve never known her to practice before, and even now she only bothers to practice with the replacement gun. A half-dozen cans perch on various rocks, only to get plinked down one by one as she empties the Colt. Each shot cracks like thunder, rolling in an echo between the boulders.
She’s been here over a month. She’s starting to look at the road like she used to look at me after a month gone. Her ears go up at my approach, but she just looks down to reload from the rounds in the loops of her gunbelt. The casings vary in color, no doubt some raided from my supply.
I lean against a nearby boulder. “Sure been nice having you around for more than a day here or there.”
The bunny freezes for an instant. “Sure has.” She snaps another few bullets into the cylinder.
Moments pass, bittersweet. I clear my throat, muzzle aimed out at the horizon, even as my eyes remain upon my thief. “You in the wind again?”
She frowns and holsters. “You fixin’ to talk me into stayin’?”
I sigh under the weight of truth. “Couldn’t if I tried.”
Those blue eyes shimmer to mine. “And if ya could?”
I shake my head and slip tender wings around her. “I want to hold you, not hold you back.”
She nods between my ears. “Offer still stands to tag along.”
“When you need me to watch your back, I can vanish for a day or so without the town falling to pieces.” I brush a wing along her arm. “Any idea when you’re coming back?”
She leans down, her forehead pressed to mine. “When ah’m tired of looking over my shoulder.”
“And what maps will you be unrolling?”
“Find some ancient ruins that don’t get mah dander up.” She shrugs. “Maybe have coffee with Clementine.”
I turn to her. “You’re going looking for Hayes again.”
She hangs her head as she draws back a bit. “Wouldn’t forgive mahself if he melted the gun down to spite me. Especially if ah were getting comfortable instead of getting a move on.”
I nod. “What happens when you get it back?”
“Couldn’t say. Hop that gap when ah come to it.” She takes out a square of paper and taps loose tobacco onto it. “Imagine you’ll be involved.”
“If not implicated.” My wing fingers linger on her elbow.
“Ah’m comin’ back.” Deft paws roll the paper. “Ah’m not done with you, Jordan.”
An updraft of hope surprises me, lifting my muzzle level with hers. “Nor I with you, Clarabelle.”
With the strike of a match, she lights up and gives me a cigarette smile.
Epilogue
“She’s wearing our friend James’ old pin.”
Rain patters over the lush foliage of my family estate.
I sit in the covered patio, unbothered. The gardens need it, and it paints such lovely pictures with the morning light. I smooth my dress and have a look at the newspaper, one of a selection I subscribe to from the West. It’s out of date, but that can’t be helped: it had quite a distance to travel.
That’s when I see the photograph.
Rising, I sweep into the manor house and across the dining room. My hard-heeled shoes clack along the wooden floors. The old canine butler steps to one side, allowing me past.
Taking a breath to gather myself, I straighten my whiskers and jacket. The heavy double doors swing open under my palms. My ears brush the doorframe as I advance.
After an hour on the porch, the sitting room feels uncomfortably warm. A fire crackles like popped knuckles in the hearth. Paintings of my various, deceased, relations stare down from the walls, unimpressed.
In the chair facing the rain-streaked window sits my mother. She’s motionless, but I don’t think for a moment that she’s daydreaming.
I round the chair and approach, paper in paw. “Mother?”
“Eudora.” She leans forward and grips the pommel of her cane. Sapphire eyes cast me a sharp glance. “To what do I owe the pleasure of you brandishing broadsheets at me?”
“You should see this.” I reveal the page in question to her. The photograph shows a little grey terrier in a tailored suit shaking the wing of a bat over recovered gold bars. Beside them, and taller by far, stands a hare with genuine pride and a counterfeit smile.
The elder hare twitches her nose with consternation. “You’re certain?”
“I recognize my own child.” I point to the shoulder of the old coat the bunny is wearing. “She’s wearing our friend James’ old pin.”
“Dear daughter, you could spangle me in teetotaler trinkets, but that wouldn’t make me a temperancette.” Her head inclines toward the liquor cabinet, which shone with all the colors and polished angles of a jewelry box.
“And Jasper’s pistols.” I skimmed through the article. “Mining explosions, gunfights, and some nonsense about giant scorpions.”
“Oh my.” Her gaze darkened out the window. “That does sound like Jasper’s progeny.”
“Seems she’s fooled the town with her masculine persona.”
“She has been allowed to play tomboy long enough.” Her ears rose, one faster than the other. “People are starting to talk. We can’t say she’s away at finishing school forever, especially since she’s liable to be half-feral from wandering the desert.”
“I intend to pay her a visit.”
“See that you do. Make her as presentable as you can on the train ride home.” She flexed her paws atop the varnished cane. “I would retrieve her myself, were it not for the rheumatism.”
I cleared my throat and called to the dining room. “Jiles?”
At least three pairs of feet shifted outside the door. A polite delay later, the butler poked his head in. “Yes, Ms. Eudora?”
“Pack my things.”
He nodded. “How long will you be gone, madam?”
I take one last look at the paper in my hands. “As long as it takes to get to Arizona Territory.”
Credits:
Cover © Shinigamigirl
Character icons © Yuki-chi
“Rough Ride” © Slate
“Storm Clouds” © Hibbary
“Showing a Pair” © Yuki-chi
“Wing and a Hare” © Yuki-chi
“Ladylike Behavior” © CurioDraco
“Turnabout” © Shinigamigirl
“Laying in Wait” © Slate
“Coyote Orb” © DarkNatasha
“Tea Cup” © Chromamancer
Editors: Carl Minez, Eliot Wro, Kohaku Nightfang, Sillyneko, Slate, Slip-Wolf, Sophie.
Other books by Tempo:
> Sixes Wild: Manifest Destiny
First book in the Sixes Wild series.
Cóyotl Award winner for Best Mature Novel of 2012. Spur Award nominee for Best Short Novel of 2012.
Windfall
A tale of mystery, suspense and otters.
Cóyotl Award and Ursa Major Award nominee for Best Novel of 2015.
Allison & The Cool New Spaceship Body
An interactive sci-fi novel about transhumanism, AI, and growing up.
Coming soon!
More words by Tempo:
furaffinity.net/user/tempo321
twitter.com/tempo321
sofurry.com/tempo
