Hell's Highwaymen

by Phillip Granath

  Jerry opened his briefcase, removed two Lucky Strikes and then lit both. He offered one to Cort without a second thought.

  “Doesn’t change a damn thing,” Cort pointed out.

  “What does?” Jerry asked.

  “You know, this paradox nonsense,” the cavalryman replied.

  Jerry just nodded dumbly, suddenly confused and feeling as if he had missed part of the conversation.

  “So now we know what makes the boy special, maybe. No real way to know for sure in this damn place, but that doesn’t help us in any way,” Cort continued.

  Jerry nodded again and then looking down at the empty glass in his hand tried to remember how many shots he had taken since the last time the world had reset.

  “Never had any love for bullies not when I was alive, even less now that I’m dead. This Paradox fella is a bully. One willing to bring this whole shitty world to its knees if he can. Now I’m no fan of this place, that’s for sure, but it seems this is the last one I got to look forward too,” Cort paused in his ramble long enough to take another shot.

  “I’m going to look in on the Para…I mean the boy. Danny,” Jerry said awkwardly.

  Cort replied with a dismissive wave as Jerry staggered across the room to stand over the unconscious boy. Danny was curled into a protective ball, the same way a small child or perhaps a wounded animal would be. As Jerry watched him, he noticed the way the teen’s eyes twitched just beneath his closed lids. But that couldn’t be, could it? No one slept in this place, the souls were denied even that small comfort.

  “He’s asleep,” Jerry aloud still unsure.

  When no reply was forthcoming Jerry glanced back to the table and found Cort face down and snoring into a pool of spilled liquor.

  “What in the hell?” Jerry blurted.

  Glancing around the bar room found more of the same. Big Al was slumped over the bar using one of his dirty rags as a pillow. The bartender’s snoring was rattling the glasses that just moments before he had been polishing. The rest of the riders were gathered around the poker table where Jerry had last seen them. Except now each was fast asleep. Oliver leaned back in his chair against the wall, mouth wide open and drooling. Jamie was face down in a pile of poker chips. His rest punctuated with moments of quick breath and the occasional whimper. Shinji, it seemed slept soundly, and even from here, Jerry could see the small smile that had formed on the warrior’s lips.

  “I’ll be damned,” Jerry said looking around the room again in confusion.

  Not really sure what else to do Jerry pushed his way through the saloon doors and out onto the porch to find Father Callahan. He didn’t have to go far, the young priest sat on the rough wooden porch with his feet on the dusty ground.

  “They’re all asleep,” Jerry said simply.

  “What?” the priest asked looking up in surprise.

  “They all just fell asleep, take a look,” Jerry said gesturing towards the doorway.

  Father Callahan stepped up to the double doors and peered inside. After a brief pause, he returned to his place on the step.

  “Looks like Danny is having even more of an effect on us than we thought,” the priest said with a grin.

  Jerry sat down cautiously in the lone rocking chair that sat on the porch, unsure if the rickety thing would support his weight. Once fully seated he stretched his legs out and asked.

  “Just what in the hell is going on here Father?” Jerry asked.

  “I don’t know,” the priest replied.

  “Maybe not for sure but you’ve got some kind of idea I bet.”

  “What makes you say that?” the priest asked glancing up from his bible.

  “Because you’ve had that book memorized from cover to cover longer than I’ve been alive. But you’ve had your nose in it ever since we questioned Danny. What did he say to spook you, Father?” Jerry asked not really sure if he wanted to know the answer.

  Father Callahan paused for a long moment and then looked up to meet Jerry’s eyes before he finally spoke.

  “It’s not what Danny said,” he replied.

  Jerry paused unsure how to reply.

  “Do you remember what that thing, Paradox said?” the priest asked.

  Jerry nodded slowly already regretting the conversation.

  “What did he say exactly? Do you remember when we asked him about the demons?” Callahan pushed.

  Jerry leaned back in the chair for a moment as he racked his brain desperately trying to recall what Paradox had said.

  “He said we were right?” Jerry offered and then after a brief pause continued. “That they were like hounds?”

  The priest nodded slowly and then asked, “And what did he say the hounds were doing?”

  Jerry paused, feeling very much like he was back in school again. Trying to answer a question to which the teacher already knew the answer.

  “That they were playing fetch,” Jerry said trying to will more confidence into his voice than he felt.

  “Yes, that’s right. And where did he say the hounds take those poor souls they caught?” he pressed.

  “Back to their Master,” Jerry replied with a nod.

  “Wrong,” the priest said quickly.

  Jerry paused for a moment closing his eyes and trying hard to replay Paradox’s visit over in his head. He could picture the towering man-shaped thing easily enough. He even made himself focus in on the rubbery lifeless face. But no matter how hard Jerry tried he couldn’t make the audio in his head match the picture. Then just when Jerry was about to surrender and admit defeat out of nowhere a single word popped into the forefront of his mind. In a fleeting moment during Paradox’s rant, it had struck him as odd. He had held onto the word briefly turned it over a few times in curiosity and then casually tossed it aside into memory.

  “A lake?” Jerry blurted with his eyes still closed.

  “The hounds take the souls to their Master’s…lake? That’s what he said,” Jerry repeated, now with more confidence.

  A small smile began to spread across Father Callahan’s lips, “That’s what he said.”

  “So? What?” Jerry asked confused.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been here nearly 30 years and have never seen any type of standing water or even a drop for rain for that matter. I doubt any of the others have either, or you can bet they would have mentioned something by now,” the priest replied.

  “Is that important for some reason?” Jerry asked stretching out his legs.

  “I have no idea, but perhaps it could be. That’s why I’ve gone back to the closest thing we have to a guide book,” Father Callahan said holding up his Bible with a grin.

  “That’s a pretty terrible guidebook…never said…nothing about…any of…this,” Jerry trailed off and ended the statement in a quiet nasally snore.

  The priest turned to look at the little man now fully stretched out and sleeping soundly in the rickety chair.

  “Small victories I guess,” he said aloud and reopened his Bible.

  Inside the saloon, Shinji stretched out on the floor as his eyes danced beneath his lids and tears began to slide down the warrior’s cheeks.

  It was a dream, and Shinji recognized that simple truth almost immediately. He sat astride one of his ponies on a ridge overlooking a place he knew well. Below him his brother’s hut sat alone surrounded by a sea of grass, the currents of the grass shifting and dancing in the breeze. Shinji forced his eyes from the solitary structure and scanned the horizon. Though as in any dream he already knew what he would find there. The plains stretched to the horizon unabated, a vast expanse of emptiness. Only the low hills to the East disturbed that steady line of blue sky. A faint trail of smoke there marked the village that he now ruled.

  All that he could now see was his. Entrusted to his care and his authority by order of the Great Khan himself. He would see the land worked properly, its people protected, its sons trained for war. In exchange for his governorship, he would help supply the Khan’s massive armies with f
ood, horses, and livestock. Then in a few years when these lands, though many, could no longer support the Horde’s needs the empire would flex and convulse violently again. Shinji and his men, perhaps some of the shepherds he trained even now would ride West again, always West. They would conquer new lands, take new villages, and if the Khan was pleased with him, he would be a governor again one day somewhere else. Such was the way of the Horde.

  His first act upon being granted his governorship was to send for his family. Though the wind-swept steppes of his youth were far and the years many, they came to join him. His mother came and though ancient, her spirit remained unyielding, much like her temperament. Two of his father’s brothers had made the long journey as well, bringing with them many cousins and generations not yet born when Shinji had taken up his bow and followed his Khan Westward. And with them also to Shinji’s deepest joy came his elder brother, Batbayar and with him his young wife.

  Shinji and Batbayar were as close as any brothers could be, spending the golden days of youth running wild across the steppes. Some days they chased down small game with their short bows while on others they explored the windblown crags and crevices. For a time, the youths were inseparable but as the years progressed each grew into different young men. Batbayar grew into a fine horseman and while versed in the use of blade and bow his true love was always the horse. How to properly care for the animals, the breeding and finer points of training. Shinji, however, saw horses as simply a means to an end, a way to carry him swiftly into the heart of battle.

  Shinji stared down at the small hut, and fresh tears rolled down his face as he recalled all of these things. Perhaps his brother’s love for the horses had been the true difference between them. Batbayar spent his days nurturing, caring for and truly loving other living things. Like a boy learning to shoot the bow the more often the bow is bent, the stronger the arm becomes. So Batbayar was able to love and find love in return. Shinji’s heart knew only the discipline of steel, the roar of the battlefield and the thrill of conquest. So, while he was surrounded by his servants, warriors, concubines and even wives, he remained alone and as always, unloved.

  Below him, the door to the hut opened as Shinji knew it would and Altantsetseg stepped out into the light. She didn’t bow before the wind or attempt to capture her flowing hair she simply looked up the ridge and directly into Shinji’s eyes. He was a fierce warrior whose victories could not be easily counted, but her gaze held an edge that cut him. And though he sat upon his steed in his finely worked black leather armor and carried both bow and blade it was suddenly he who felt outmatched. The feeling unnerved him, striking a cord he had not felt in some time, fear.

  Perhaps that feeling was what had driven him out here. He could have any woman he wanted in these lands. Many would eagerly agree to become one of his wives or join his growing ranks of concubines. But this one woman with her fierce gaze and unwavering heart would always be denied him. She was his brother’s by law, by right and by choice, but these things mattered little to Shinji anymore. In the horde, he had learned one simple but universal truth, what he could take, was his. He pushed back the fluttering of fear and doubt in his stomach with a warrior’s resolve and kicked his horse into motion.

  A part of Shinji still recognized this all as a terrible dream and feebly cried out for him to stop, begged him to, threatened him, already knowing how it would end and where it would lead. But his dream paid him no heed, and the proud warrior pulled the beast up just short of the young woman. Altantsetseg took not a single step in retreat, she just kept watching him with those piercing eyes. Shinji’s steed danced back and forth sensing its master’s angst, unsure whether to fight or to flee.

  “Batbayar is away,” she said simply.

  “I know,” Shinji replied stepping down from the nervous beast.

  “I made sure that he would be,” he added watching her eyes.

  Altantseteg began to back away from him then, and to Shinji’s eternal shame he followed after her. Mercifully the dream rolled and boiled into a quick series of violent images, basely urges and bitter regrets. The struggle as she pushed him away, the sting when she slapped him, the rising tide of his anger as shoved her to the ground. Her tears on his skin and cries muffled against his chest. The immediate shame he felt afterward only highlighted the return of his emptiness.

  As he rode away from that place, away from his shame, his mind reeled with what he had wrought. For a moment, he even considered turning back. Knowing he could burn the hut and kill the girl, blaming thieves, rebels or even jealous neighbors for the attack. But the very thought of returning to the hut and finding Altantseteg still crumpled upon the floor where he had left her was too much for him to even consider. Her eyes open and her knowing gaze waiting for him was enough to unnerve him. So, he rode back towards the village that called him governor to wait for what would follow.

  It was two nights later when Shinji’s evening meal was interrupted by the sound of shouting.

  “Shinji! Shinji!” a familiar voice called from outside of his massive tent.

  The dozen or so warriors, advisors, and other assorted hangers-on exchanged nervous glances at one another and then looked to Shinji. The warrior stood slowly and began securing his sword belt around his waist. The other warriors rose with him, and cautiously they began to step out of the governor’s tent unsure of what they would find waiting for them. Shinji stepped out into the fading light and saw that a small crowd had gathered to see who was shouting the new governor’s name with such vehemence.

  Across the small space, a cook fire burned low and just beyond in its faint glow stood Batbayar. His brother looked haggard, his face and clothes covered in dust. Low at his side, he clutched the sword Shinji had given him as a gift upon his arrival just that spring, a perfect match to his own. The pair of warriors that had been guarding the door to the tent tightened the grip on their spears. Shinji raised a hand to steady them his eyes never leaving his brother.

  “Why Shinji? Why?” Batbayer pleaded, his eyes were wet with tears.

  Shinji thought he had prepared himself for this moment. He had practiced and rehearsed in his head the things he would say. He would explain the age-old truth of the world and the ways of conquest. Perhaps he would deride his older brother for his weakness choosing the simple and safe life of raising horses over the glory of combat. His excuses were many but even now as he repeated them in his head they rang hollow, and he found himself without the words to answer the question.

  “It makes no matter,” Batbayer hissed and strode forward.

  In a quick flurry of motion, Shinji’s men drew their weapons ready to defend him.

  “No,” the governor commanded, “this is a private matter.”

  He drew his sword, the very twin to the one his brother now carried and stepped forward to meet him. Batbayer lashed out first with a vicious strike guided with more rage than skill. Shinji sidestepped easily, and his own blade lashed out deflecting the blow contemptuously.

  “Batbayer,” he began.

  His brother paid no heed to his words striking out twice more in rapid succession. The blows carrying as much skill as a peasant chopping wood. Shinji dodged them easily and then barely held his own blade in check as Batbayer’s strikes had left his guard painfully exposed. It was a foolish mistake, the kind of thing that cost poor conscripts their lives time and time again on the battlefield. Shinji darted to the side creating space between them.

  “You are no man! You chose a farmer’s life of peace in the shade, a shade that men like me provide for you!”

  Batabayer lunged forward again grunting in rage as he struck out desperately. The move left him overextended and he stumbled nearly pitching forward.

  “You’re an embarrassment to your family,” Shinji mocked easily dancing out of reach.

  Murmurs had begun to run through the gathered crowd. All that watched, simple villagers and Shinji’s warriors alike could recognize a trained warrior toying with a desperate man.<
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  “It was my choice!” Batbayer shouted and slashed out again.

  “Your choice? What about your family! Your honor!” Shinji shouted in reply.

  Shinji batted the blade away again, and this time he was the one screaming.

  “We are brothers! I should have had you riding at my side! None would have been able to stand before us!”

  Shinji attacked then for the first time delivering a quick series of blows with speed and precision. Batbayer had no choice and was immediately forced to retreat before the warrior, desperately fending off the attack. The series of blows was one of the first training routines Shinji had learned. It taught the swordsman to constantly aware of their footing. The warrior’s foot snaked out catching Batbayar’s knee, and the retreating man fell backward, he landed awkwardly on the coals of the smoldering fire.

  Batbayar screamed and rolled to the side his torn clothing already smoking. In his desperate haste to escape the heat, he lost his grip on his sword. Shinji stepped forward and kicked the blade away and then rolled his brother on to his back with a second kick. The crowd watched the murmuring intently now silent. Each holding their breath and anticipating the killing blow to come at any moment.

  “I have no family. Not any longer,” Batbayer choked as fresh tears began rolling down his dirty face.

  Shinji dropped down to straddle the now helpless man. With one hand, he pulled Batbayer’s head back by a handful of hair and slid the sword blade up to rest on his exposed neck.

  “We are still brothers Batbayer, and I will not abandon you to this miserable life you have chosen. I’m here to save you. I will train you, I will lead you, you will have the life of honor and pride for which we were both destined. I will do these things for you, and I will set your heart free!” Shinji promised.

  Batbayer looked up into his brother’s eyes, “But you are too late brother,” he said.