Dead Iron aos-1

by Devon Monk

  Mr. Gregor looked down at his hands clenched together in front of him. “In the middle of the night, it was tearing through the house, wild. Crazy. When it struck Hannah and made her bleed, she thought it possessed by devils and began reading Bible verses while I held it tight and still. When daylight poured in through the window and touched him—it—he turned to a stock of wood.”

  He held Cedar’s gaze, as if knowing how mad that sounded.

  Cedar adjusted the hat on his head, catching his breath against the wound in his side and the other injuries that had not healed. They likely wouldn’t heal any faster than a normal man’s pains, since the change into wolf, and the quick healing it offered, was a month away.

  “Well, then how about you pay me by giving me that stock of wood?”

  If the blacksmith seemed surprised, he hid it well. “Follow me—I put it in the shop. I wasn’t sure what else to do.”

  Cedar glanced at Rose Small. She shrugged. “I’m going with you.” She marched off after Mr. Gregor, her horse following behind her.

  Cedar walked after them, keeping a keen ear out for any sounds of trouble. But all he heard was the sounds of townsfolk, and the hammering of the men who worked for Mr. Gregor.

  Mr. Gregor stepped into his shop, where four young men worked hammers and vises. “Take a break,” Mr. Gregor said. “Take your supper early if you want. I’ll tend the fires.”

  The men looked over, and gave Cedar Hunt a wary eye.

  “Go on, now,” Mr. Gregor said. “Before I change my mind and you’ll get no break at all today.”

  The men caught up their lunch buckets and hurried out with little more than a nod to Rose Small, whom, Cedar realized, they must know nearly as well as Mr. Gregor.

  Once the workers were gone, Mr. Gregor strode to the back of the shop and pulled the stock of wood from the corner shelf. It was wrapped in waxed cloth, a Bible pressed tight against it. He handed it to Cedar.

  Cedar unwrapped the cloth, gave Mr. Gregor the Bible, and tipped the wood to the sunlight to study it.

  It didn’t look like a child at all. It looked like a branch that had been debarked and rubbed smooth with oil.

  “What do you plan for it?” Mr. Gregor asked.

  Cedar nodded at the blacksmith’s forge that was hot enough to heat the sun.

  “I think that fire will make sure the Strange can never use it again.” Cedar held Mr. Gregor’s gaze. Most folk didn’t believe in Strange.

  But sometimes, some folk opened their eyes and saw, harsh and clear, that the Strange were real. And saw the damage they could do.

  “I’ll tend the bellows,” Mr. Gregor said.

  He walked to the forge and pumped air over the fire until the coals stoked ruby hot.

  Cedar threw the stock into the fire and watched as it burned as quickly as if it were made of paper. The blacksmith stirred the ashes, making sure there were no lumps of wood left.

  “Do you think we’ll have worries?” Mr. Gregor asked. “From those sorts again? That they might want my boy again?”

  Cedar shook his head. “Don’t reckon you will. Mr. Shard LeFel and his man, Mr. Shunt, are dead. They were the bringers of such things to this town. Make sure word of that gets told. He had dark things locked up in those railcars—any man can go on out and see what’s left of them for himself. Those devices and matics were meant to kill. Now that Shard LeFel is dead, I think Hallelujah will continue on apace with no Strange happenings, though the matter of the rail will be something this town will have to decide.”

  Cedar pulled a tuning fork from around his neck and struck it against the heel of his palm. A sweet pure note sang out. “I’ll be on my way, out of Hallelujah, out of the Oregon Territory. I’d like to give this to your son.” He held out the tuning fork. “If ever this note turns sour, you’ll know you and your family are in the company of the Strange.”

  “Mr. Hunt, I am the one who should pay you.” Mr. Gregor walked across his shop and, on a high shelf, drew down a cast-iron safe. He worked the lock, then withdrew an item. He locked the safe, and turned.

  “This is the Gregors’ seal. Any who are friends of mine will be a friend to you, Mr. Hunt. Any who are family to me will be family to you.” He held out a ring, cleverly carved with words upon the center, and a great bruin bear breathing fire across the outside.

  “I don’t think—,” Cedar began.

  “You’ll take it,” Mr. Gregor said. “It is the least I can give you for my son’s life.”

  Rose Small, who had been silent all this time, spoke up. “It’s a fine gift, Mr. Gregor. I’d wager you have family and friends scattered far and wide.”

  Mr. Gregor glanced at Rose and looked like he was going to say something else. But instead said, “That is the truth, Rose Small. You’ve always told the truth.” He took the tuning fork and tucked it in his pocket, while Cedar placed the ring on his left thumb.

  “I’m sorry for the way I treated you the other night,” Mr. Gregor said.

  Rose smiled. “We were all riled up. It’s not a matter to me now, though I was sore angry at you then.” She laughed. “But thank you.”

  “Suppose you’ll come around the house for dinner?” he asked as they walked out of the heat of the shop into the cool afternoon light.

  “No, Mr. Gregor,” Rose said. “I’ll be traveling too.”

  “Ah,” he said, his hands behind his back. “Send me a postcard when you’ve piloted your first airship.”

  At those words, Cedar watched Rose Small light up. “I promise you I will. Might even drop it out of the hatch as I float over the top of your house on my way to China.”

  Mr. Gregor chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at his house, restless.

  “Well, then,” Cedar said. “We should be on our way, and I’m sure your son wants to see you. Good day, Mr. Gregor.”

  “You’re a fine and decent man, Mr. Hunt. And always welcome in the Gregors’ home for generations to come.”

  Cedar shook Mr. Gregor’s hand, surprised at how that offer brought a smile to his lips. It had been a long time since he had thought he had a place he belonged in this world. A place he was welcome.

  “Thank you, Mr. Gregor.”

  Cedar swung up onto his horse, holding his breath against the shot of pain in his side. He pressed his elbow against the bandage bound there beneath his coat, hoping to stem the weeping of the wound.

  Rose Small gave Mr. Gregor a huge hug. He patted her fondly on the back and looked up at Cedar. “See that you take care of her for me, Mr. Hunt.”

  Cedar nodded. “I’ll do what I can. Though she’s done a fair job minding her own self.”

  Rose Small hitched up into her saddle and gathered the reins. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be enough trouble to keep us both busy, Mr. Hunt.”

  “No doubt,” he drawled.

  They turned and rode down the main street a bit.

  “Did you want to say good-bye to your parents?” Cedar finally asked.

  He watched as Rose Small’s smile went from a sparking hot flame down to a lantern’s dim glow. “No, thank you. We’ve had our say. A whole lifetime of it.”

  As they passed in front of the mercantile, Rose’s mother came out of the shop with a broom and started sweeping. When she noticed Rose riding past, she stopped and held one hand up, as if to wave. But Rose Small kept her gaze on the horizon, curiosity bright in her eyes, and a small smile curving her lips.

  Cedar Hunt was glad it didn’t take long to gather supplies, including Mae’s mule, Prudence, whom they had found contentedly foraging in the forest. He wanted to start on the road today and get a ways from town before the people there decided they were to blame for the rail disaster.

  His only concern was Wil.

  Cedar finished checking on the mule, his horse, and the horse Rose had taken from the rail. They were on long leads beneath the trees, near enough they could make acquaintance, and far enough they wouldn’t foul each other’s lines.

  That done, he step
ped into his cabin, pulling his hat from his head as if he were entering a church instead of his humble shack.

  There had never been so many people in his house. He paused just inside the door, not wanting to get in the women’s way. Rose was packing the last of the foodstuff from his cupboard and Mae was sitting on the chest she’d dragged over to his cot, checking on one of Wil’s many wounds.

  Wil was still in wolf form and sleeping on the cot.

  “I think this is about all that’ll take to the road,” Rose was saying.

  “Not much for herbs and medicine, though we can probably gather some as we go. Perhaps we can stop in a town or city for supplies. A city,” she said, as if dreaming, “wouldn’t that be grand?” She turned, saw Cedar standing with his hat in his hands looking at Mae, and gave him a curious frown. “Have you seen to the horses, Mr. Hunt?”

  Mae looked away from Wil, and over at Cedar.

  “I have,” Cedar said. “They’re about set to go.”

  Rose hefted up the two satchels of food. “I’ll just take this out, then. Unless you need me for anything?” she asked Mae.

  Mae was still staring at Cedar, though he pretended not to notice.

  “Mrs. Lindson?” Rose said.

  Mae seemed to come to. “No. I’ll be fine. I’m fine. Go on ahead.” Rose nodded and walked up to Cedar, who stepped aside so she could use the door. She gave him a look as she walked past, maybe a warning, maybe an encouragement. Since she also rolled her eyes toward Mae, all he figured was she was telling him to not bother the widow too much.

  Mae had gone back to lifting and replacing the compresses on Wil’s side. The cloths were not as bloody as last he’d seen them.

  “How is he?” Cedar walked a short bit across the room and stopped halfway. The memory of her hands soothing his own wounds washed through his mind.

  “Recovering more quickly than I’d thought,” Mae said. “The curse at least gives him that.”

  She stood and Cedar could see the red line of scratches along the back of her neck, and the stiffness in her shoulders that hinted at more injuries beneath her long-sleeved dress. She’d spent the day working herbs to see to all their wounds, her own included, but it was clear she was near exhausted.

  “Do you think he’ll be up for travel today?” Cedar didn’t know why he asked that. They’d already talked it over and decided they’d head out, even if it meant wrapping Wil up and putting him on a sled behind one of the horses.

  “I think he’ll be up in the next hour or so. To eat. Then we’ll see how much more he can endure.” Mae finally turned.

  Her eyes were red, glossy with unshed tears, even though her voice was flat and steady. “I don’t . . . I don’t know how much more . . .” She shook her head.

  “He’ll be fine,” Cedar said gently. He walked the distance between them and, after a moment’s hesitation, rested his hand on her arm. “We’re all going to be fine.”

  Mae stared at his shoulder, stiff, unbreathing. Then she stepped that much closer to him and placed her head on his chest, and her right hand on his arm, just as his was on hers.

  Cedar inhaled the sweet scent of her, and swallowed hard. He held very still, not daring to comfort her, to pull her in against his body, to wrap his arms around her tightly and hold her as he desired, safe against the pain. There was no safety against this kind of pain, and the only comfort was time.

  Mae cried, very, very quietly, while Cedar stared at the wall, holding his emotions under lock and key. Time was the only, and the kindest, thing he could give to her.

  Finally, she took a deeper breath, held it, and let it out. Her hand clenched his shirtsleeve for the briefest moment, as she steeled herself to face the world again.

  When she pulled back, her eyes were dry.

  “Mr. Hunt,” she began awkwardly, glancing from his tearstained shoulder to his mouth to the wall behind him, seeming uncertain of how to explain herself, “I didn’t—”

  “Do you need a hand waking Wil?” Cedar smoothly interrupted. He stepped around her, careful not to let his fingers linger against her arm, careful not to touch her again, for fear of what he might do. He walked over to the cot, placing his hand on his brother’s side.

  Mae didn’t answer for a moment, then, “Yes,” she said on a grateful exhalation. “He responds to you much better than to me.”

  Cedar called Wil’s name and smiled when he opened his eyes. It was a marvel to him that his brother was alive, even though he was still under the curse’s hold.

  Mae brought out a slab of venison and put it on the floor. With the meat as encouragement, Wil stepped down off the cot and ate and drank. Then he walked a slow circle around Cedar, and a wider circle around the room, his limp easing some the more he moved. Finally, he glanced up at Cedar, copper brown eyes filled with a man’s intelligence and curiosity.

  “We’ll need to be going,” Cedar said. “Traveling away from here, traveling east. We’ll go at your pace. Are you ready?”

  In answer, Wil walked to the door and waited there.

  Cedar took one last look at the cabin, his gaze resting on the heavy chain and leather collar pounded into the hearth. Mae and Rose hadn’t asked him about it, though he supposed they knew very well what he’d used it for. His fingers strayed to the Madders’ chain around his neck. He’d be more than glad to leave the heavy chain and collar behind.

  Mae finished cleaning up and poured the last of the herb water over the coals in the fire. She dried her hands on her skirt, and came to stand next to Cedar.

  “Well, then,” she said. “Shall we, Mr. Hunt?”

  Cedar took one last look at the cabin, then opened the door. Wil slipped out quickly. “Yes, Mrs. Lindson,” Cedar said, “I believe we shall.” He held his hand out, ushering her through the door, and then followed her into sunlight.

  They had gotten three miles or so out of town when Cedar heard a clattering of wheels following them.

  He looked back. A tinker’s wagon, painted bright as a bordello bedspread, top-heavy with a crazy assortment of metals and gears and whim-wham, followed them. Atop the rattling monstrosity sat the Madders. Alun Madder smoked his pipe and held the reins of the two draft horses who pulled the contraption at a quick clip.

  They pulled up behind Cedar, Mae, Rose, and Wil.

  “Evening, fine folk,” Alun called out. “Where you headed?”

  “Down the road,” Cedar said, leaning forward in the saddle a bit to ease the pain.

  Alun chuckled. “We’ve been thinking we’d travel with you a piece.”

  “Oh? And why’s that?”

  “You still owe us a favor, Mr. Cedar Hunt,” Alun Madder said with a wide smile. “And we’ve come to ask for it.”

  Cedar tipped his hat back and loosened the strap on the gun he kept lashed to his saddle. “That so? Seems to me your favors do nothing but bring trouble.”

  “We’re looking for you to hunt for us.”

  “My time’s previously committed, Mr. Madder. I have people to tend to and promises to keep.”

  Alun puffed on his pipe, considering. “We’re patient men, Mr. Hunt, but you promised you’d find our Holder, and bring it to us.”

  Wil, who had stayed at Cedar’s heel, pricked his ears up and whined.

  “The Holder?” Cedar asked, searching his memories for what they had told him. “Don’t know how I’d likely find it if I don’t know what it is.”

  “The Holder is a device of seven pieces, made of the seven ancient metals. Each piece is a talisman, an artifact, a device to be used for good: healing the sick, blessing crops, bringing peace unto a land. When this New World was discovered, the Holder was brought here as a gift by like-minded men who wanted peace and prosperity for settlers and natives alike.

  “But Shard LeFel caught rumor of it. He sent his Strange to sniff it out.” Alun paused, his gaze lost to a distant time. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. “They killed for it, tortured for it, committed such horrors. Relentless, until th
ey had stolen each and every piece. Then they worked their dark devising. The Holder is now a weapon of pain, plague, war. Each piece broken and remade Strangewise, so that nothing but sickness, ruin, and chaos fall to any who find it. And if someone is clever enough to put those seven pieces back together again, then they’ll be clever enough to understand the Holder can also be a weapon of a magnitude that has never been seen in these lands.

  “We’re of a strong mind to put an end to such things, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “And we’re of a stronger mind you’re the man who can help us do it.”

  Cedar glanced at Mae Lindson and Rose Small. Neither of them said anything, though Rose’s eyes were wide. The decision would be his own.

  “And”—Alun Madder’s tone was light as he pointed the stem of his pipe at Cedar—“while we travel together, it’d only be neighborly of us to offer up the back of the wagon for anyone who grows weary. The wolf, perhaps?”

  Cedar looked down at Wil. The Pawnee god had deemed to make Wil’s curse different from Cedar’s, though Cedar did not know why. For the obvious, Wil remained a wolf even after the full moon, and even in daylight. But perhaps less obvious, he did not seem overwhelmed with the killing rage of the beast. He was possessed of the sharp intelligence of both wolf and man at all times.

  Wil looked up at Cedar and in his eyes was the agreement, the determination, to help find the Holder. Cedar nodded.

  Wil trotted to the back of the Madders’ wagon. Cadoc Madder quickly lowered a step from the back and Wil limped up it, and inside the wagon.

  Alun laughed. “Looks like it’s been agreed for you, Mr. Hunt.”

  Cedar sat back straight in the saddle and turned his horse to the east. “Just so long as our paths remain the same, I’ll hunt your Holder for you.”

  “That’s fine, fine,” Alun shouted as he flicked the reins. “I have a feeling our paths will remain the same for a long time, Mr. Hunt. A very long time.” He and his brothers laughed, and started singing a bawdy parlor song.

  Cedar glanced over at Mae Lindson. She seemed caught in her own song, as if the wind carried words to her, her gaze set firmly east. He imagined it would take her a long time to recover from losing her husband, her home, and all that was dear to her.