by Lila Bowen
“Being a white man is not the greatest thing on this planet,” Winifred added. “So stop thinking it.”
“We can’t help sinning,” Inés said sadly. “They can, but they do it anyway.”
“Again with sin.” Dan dropped his spoon. “Why would any god create creatures that started off already failing him?”
“And why would God be a man?” Winifred said tartly. “Only one of us here is making life out of nothing.”
Rhett stood, his head full to swollen with thoughts he wasn’t ready for, and especially not at breakfast. “I ain’t here to argue philosophy. What is, is, and that’s all I got. I’m here to fight, and I want answers on how to kill that goddamn lich. I may not value this sin business, but I know without a doubt that he’s a bad man, and I’d like to end him sooner rather than later, so finish your breakfast and get ready to go. Now where’s the damn water bucket?” Inés pointed to a basin by the back door, and Rhett went to clean his breakfast plate and scour it with sand. If there was one thing he recalled from his life with Pap and Mam, taking out your anger on dishes was better than taking it out on people.
As his posse finished their breakfast, Rhett took their plates and cleaned them, one by one, taking a peculiar comfort in the work. Inés dried the dishes silently and put them back in their places, banked the stove coals, and blew out all the candles.
“I think we are ready now,” she said quietly, for all of them.
In contrast to yesterday’s cheery blue sky, it was a dull gray day, the wind brisk and cold and threatening as a bad boss. The horses felt it, too – something wicked in the air. They stomped their hooves and pinned back their ears and nipped irritably as their girths were tightened. Right before he mounted up, Rhett felt the pinch of pain and hot rush of blood that he’d been dreading but expecting and hurried off to tie on his rags, cussing every step of the way.
The mission was dark without the nun’s presence. Every candle was blown out, every cupboard closed up tight. Rhett didn’t bother with the outhouse out back for his rags, just went into the bunk room for some privacy. On his way out, he was drawn back to the chapel. The crows and ravens and blackbirds, whatever they were, were still there, acting like they owned the place. As he stepped from the hallway into the larger room, a ripple went through the flock as they seemed to laugh at him. He pulled his pistols, considered, and chose not to waste his bullets, knowing full well what waited for him in San Anton. But he wasn’t going to let those birds just sit around and have a good guffaw at him, neither. Picking up the discarded, cold candles, he threw them as hard as he could into the biggest concentration of black-feathered bodies.
The birds rose up, shrieking indignantly with each candle he threw. The air filled with their cacophony, and they fluttered up and settled back down every time. It wasn’t enough for him. He needed violence. His lips curled into a snarl as he unbuckled his holster, unbuttoned his shirt, and shucked his boots and pants and hated rags. And then he was the bird, big and clumsy on the ground but a flawless machine in the air. The birds screamed for real now, not just fluttering up and down but flapping hard, trying to escape a very physical threat. However they’d gotten in, there weren’t many windows offering escape, and feathered bodies hit the walls hard, knocking down the paintings and sending the remaining tall candles toppling over. As for Rhett’s part, he gave over to the bird completely.
Some birds he ate, some he snapped in half, some he merely batted aside with his great, broad wings or snatched and shook with his talons. It was an orgy of blood and feathers, and he delighted in it and didn’t stop until all the birds were gone or fallen. The mission wasn’t a large place, and he couldn’t really stretch his wings, so when his belly was full and his rage was slaked, he flapped down to the dirt floor and turned back into Rhett Walker.
It was a hard transition from beast to man. Limp, dead bodies crunched under his bare feet as feathers twirled down from the ceiling. He dressed quickly, the sensations of being human unwelcome and small and painful. The bird’s fierce glee became the human’s petty shame. The birds had merely been dumb animals, after all, something more than wax and magic but something far less than the evil he imagined.
The room was destroyed, no longer holy. He had to get the hell out before Inés discovered what he’d done. Adjusting his badge, he forced himself to spin around and see the disaster he’d wrought. The feller nailed up to the wall had fallen, as had all the portraits of ladies and saints. The candles were tossed everywhere and, in the cold light, looked all too much like bones. Only Santa Muerte still stood, her arms outstretched. Rhett seemed to think she was smiling, as if she’d enjoyed the morning’s entertainment.
He got the hell out of there, and fast.
The road to San Anton was gloomy and quiet. Inés sat on the wagon bench with Cora, her veil pinned down on the sides so an errant wind couldn’t get anybody accidentally turned to stone. A book lay open in her lap. Rhett, as usual, rode out ahead with Sam, and he was damn glad to have his best friend back where he belonged instead of always feeling like his heart was back in the wagon. Dan came last with the rest of the herd, plus one noisy donkey that trailed behind them on his own, honking at intervals as if complaining about his undignified treatment. Blue bellowed irritably back at him in mule as if agreeing that they were all sorely aggrieved, and for good reason, but he might as well shut his donkey trap.
Rhett was a creature of pure misery, in between the dull ache of his middle, radiating down his thighs and back, and the headache pressing down behind his skull like a goddamn vise. His stomach roiled, as it often did if he didn’t give his bird stomach time to absorb whatever he’d eaten before turning back into a puny human. The world seemed hell-bent on crushing him between the heavy gray clouds and the hard, dusty ground like an ant under a boot.
Sam nudged his horse a little closer, their boots brushing in a right friendly way every few steps. “You okay, Rhett?” he asked, eyebrows tilted up like a worried puppy. “You scared?”
Rhett looked up ahead and nodded, trying to sort out his feelings and then figure out which bits of that to share with Sam without scaring the feller. No matter how sprightly he seemed, Sam had stood on death’s door yesterday, and Rhett didn’t want to give him a fright. He settled for complete honesty, which made him feel downright fidgety, as he wasn’t accustomed at all to talking about twisty things like feelings and fear and how he wasn’t nearly as calm and collected as he made it a point to act in front of the others.
“I reckon I’m not so much scared of Trevisan as I’m worried about being in a big city. Lamartine’s as close as I’ve ever been to a town bigger than G – Gosh, I don’t know.” Thank goodness he’d caught himself before he said Gloomy Bluebird. Far as Sam knew, Rhett Walker was no relation to Nettie Lonesome of Gloomy Bluebird, and that was how Rhett wanted to keep it. “Hell, the railroad camp had more folks than most towns I’ve seen. Made me feel downright itchy.”
Sam broke out in a smile that gleamed as bright as the sun that refused to shine. “Is that all? Well, hellfire, Rhett. The city’s not such a problem. When there’s that many folks, they don’t pay much mind at all to cowpokes who ride on through. It’s like a herd of cows. You notice one when it’s off alone in the middle of the prairie, but when you got a whole herd, they all just blend together. Hiding in plain sight, like.”
Rhett’s head sunk down without his consent. “Maybe for you, but I figure I stick out like a buffalo among cows, Sam. You don’t know what it’s like. You always fit in.”
Sam snorted, a rare and weary enough sound that it caught Rhett’s attention. “I always fit in? Damn, son, that just ain’t true. Folks look at me. Call me handsome. They always got… expectations. Go into a town with the cowpokes or the Rangers, and the prettiest whore always picks me first.” He leaned in close. “What am I gonna do with a whore, Rhett? I got no choice but to play along, go upstairs with her, and then fake like I’m sick. That’s why I drink so hard, when I’m in a saloon. I
t’s the only excuse I got for why my… Why I can’t… Why I don’t wanna…” He closed his eyes and shook his head in frustration. “Honestly, it’s easier when they’re vamps and I can just pretend I don’t know what they’re up to.”
Rhett let this sink in. He’d always wondered about such things but couldn’t have figured out a way to ask in a million years. For all his own personal problems, he’d never considered that a bad thing had happened to Sam in his life – well, before the spiders. There was this whole other layer to Samuel Hennessy, a layer of clouds under the perpetual sunshine. Out in public, in cities and even among his brother Rangers, he had to hide what he was as much as Rhett did. Probably hurt him as much as it hurt Rhett, too.
“I had no idea,” Rhett said softly.
“I know you didn’t. Wouldn’t expect you to. Ain’t so bad.”
But Rhett could tell it was, and he wished to hell there was someplace they could go, just the two of them, where nobody would ever narrow their eyes or ask pointed questions or take offense at something neither one of them could control.
“Hellfire,” he muttered. “Other people are shit.”
As if Sam’s mind had followed down the same path, he asked, “Rhett, what do you think you’ll do after you take care of Trevisan? We ain’t got the Rangers anymore, and… I mean, would you want to maybe find a ranch up north, get on as cowhands? We can change our names, pretend we were never Rangers. It’d be just like this, like the good days on the trail. Broncs, chores, falling asleep by the fire. Right cozy.”
Rhett’s heart just about sunk into his feet. He wouldn’t lie to Sam about this, but he hated to be the rain on Sam’s parade. “I’d like that, Sam. I would. But I reckon the Shadow will have other plans.”
Sam’s sullen silence after that was like a slap to the face. He edged his horse away from Rhett’s, his shoulders slumped.
“Yeah, I reckon so,” he said, all hangdog.
“If I had my way, Sam, you know I’d do that. I’d do whatever you wanted. If it were up to me, I’d give you your own goddamn cattle company. I’d shoot anybody who looked at you wrong. But you can’t run away from destiny. I can only hope that wherever I go, you’ll stick with me. Not because I’m your Captain, because I sure as hell don’t think of myself that way. But because you want to.” He nudged his own horse closer to Sam’s so he could look the boy in the eyes. “Because I want you to.”
Sam’s mouth twitched. That he was even considering such a thing meant the world to Rhett. “I don’t know how long a feller can run around like this, Rhett. The Rangers, they got a week or two off in between assignments, usually. Or the fellers take turns sitting at the ranch house, if they get overworked. Do a day or two of chores. But… well, damn, Rhett. You never stop. Like a frog hopping from one pot of boiling water to another. My bones would like a rest now and then.”
Rhett’s head dropped. “Yeah, I’d like a rest, too.”
Sam exhaled forcefully, like he was trying to blow his nose, almost. Rhett’s eye flicked to him from under his hat, watching and waiting.
“Let’s make a promise, Rhett. I promise I’ll stay with you as long as I can, and you promise that you’ll try to relax every now and again. Take a day off. Let somebody else chase the bad guy. I understand that with the Cannibal Owl and Trevisan, you got to stop ’em so they’ll stop killing. But you can’t save everybody.”
“I… I got to try.”
Sam punched Rhett’s shoulder gently. “I know you do, fool. Big damn heart of yours.”
“It’s not my heart, it’s —”
“Your destiny.” A real chuckle now. “Yeah, sure it is. Keep telling yourself that, Rhett Walker. But don’t expect me to believe it.” And then he turned the full force of his smile on Rhett, and Rhett realized Sam was just about his only weakness. For Sam, he’d try.
Anything.
The ride was a lot easier, after that.
With the wagon so heavily laden, the ride to San Anton took longer than anticipated. Considering it didn’t seem like Trevisan was on the run, Rhett decided they could stand to enjoy one more night of quiet outside the city before subjecting themselves to the eternal bullshit of society. If Rhett squinted up ahead, he could see a glow of too many damn people squashed up together, or maybe his aching head was just overwhelmed with showing him waking nightmares about what would happen once he entered that teeming mass of squalor.
Considering how miserable he felt, it wasn’t a lick of trouble to fetch the kindling and start the fire, because at least it didn’t take him any closer to San Anton. It was honest work, making a fire, and Rhett loved honest work done by his own choice. Walking around the scrubby brush eased some of the ache in his thighs and lower back while also giving him plenty of privacy to switch out his rags and wash the old ones in a convenient but freezing-cold stream. He’d drape them over a rock tonight to dry and collect them in the morning before Sam was awake, if possible. It was one of the many reasons he was grateful that Sam always slept in, just a little, given the chance.
His fire soon roared up in a satisfying sort of way, beating back the cold, heavy air. The posse crowded close to the flames, nursing second bowls of Inés’s stew, reheated in the kettle and licked off fingers and carved wood spoons. Inés finished hers quickly and dove right back into her book, holding her veil up just a sliver to read by the fire’s light. Dan took off as a coyote for a bit and returned, unsettled and twitchy, to take up a book of his own. Cora was quiet but on edge, startling at every strange noise and turning her head toward San Anton like she could hear music no one else could, calling her forward. Sam seemed happy enough to sit next to Rhett and have a third helping of stew. Apparently, Rhett’s decision to stop tonight seemed close enough to relaxing to make him feel settled and like maybe Rhett was capable of listening.
Winifred appeared to be having more trouble with her foot than usual, and when Rhett tried to take her bowl from her hands and scour it clean for her, she snatched it back and said, “I don’t need your help.”
“It’s okay if you do. Your foot —”
“Is fine. The cold makes it stiff. It’s none of your concern.”
“I have a liniment,” Cora said quietly, and Winifred nodded at her. They retired to the inside of the wagon, and Rhett was glad to have Cora stowed away somewhere that he didn’t have to watch her worry and feel like he was failing her.
It was a right peculiar feeling – anxious but calm. Rhett enjoyed his part of the chores more than usual, combing the prickers out of Ragdoll’s tail and brushing down BB’s face like the unicorn preferred. Old Blue followed Rhett every step of the way, butting him and snuffling at the ticklish place in his neck. Time became a peculiar, strung-out thing, almost like a blanket unraveling. Rhett could feel, for the first time, that there was an end to that string. That somewhere, sometime, there’d be nothing left. The good parts and the rough parts were all just little knots on the same rope, and pretty soon that rope might become a noose. There was something about facing a feller after you’d already killed him once that didn’t sit well.
Such thoughts made him jumpy as hell, and he hurried back to the warmth of the fire, where Sam had laid out his saddle and blanket, which he inspected closely to make sure it wasn’t planning to unravel anytime soon.
“Something wrong with your blanket?” Sam asked, his face open and smiling.
“Just smoothing it out.”
Rhett flapped it a bit, refolded it, and put it just so. Before he lay down, he checked for each of his people. Inés and Dan sat across the fire, the books piled between them. Inés had brought coffee, strangely enough, and the scent of it warmed Rhett to his toes as it bubbled and perked in the fire. The girls were in the wagon, safe and still. Satisfied that all was as well as it could be, considering, he curled up on his side and pulled his buffalo coat over him, hoping Sam would edge under the corner, which he did.
“Good night, Rhett.”
“Good night, Sam.”
Rhett
settled in, watching as Sam frowned and twitched for a bit before relaxing into his usual smiling sleep.
Everything should’ve felt right fine.
Considering.
But it didn’t.
Rhett turned one way, then he turned the other, then he flopped over on his back and longed for the stars he couldn’t see. The clouds hung low, thick and hateful. The air tasted cold, sharp and metallic. The ground was like ice, the rocks seeming to settle in all his most tender spots. Just when he thought he might figure out how to drift off, he felt a grueling ache followed by a hot gush of blood. He pretty much couldn’t have been any more uncomfortable if he’d tried, which he wasn’t about to do. And he didn’t want to get up alone and wander away into the darkness, because it felt like the sort of moment when something terrible would happen.
So he just curled in tighter, gritted his teeth against the pain, and waited for morning to come.
A hand clutched his shoulder, shaking him out of a sleep as deep and sucking as a swamp. Rhett jerked awake and whipped out the Bowie knife under his saddle in one swift and violent motion.
“Don’t,” a sharp voice said.
His brain caught up with his instincts right before he jabbed Inés with the blade. Or worse, cut her veil.
The nun kneeled beside him, her black habit merging with the edges of darkest night and the white of her veil bright as a dove. He slid the knife back under his saddle, although his suspicion didn’t lessen.
“Why?” he simply said.
“I found something.” Inés stood gracefully and inclined her head to the other side of the fire, where she had several of her stubby candles lit on a rock surrounded by open books. Even Dan was asleep now, on his back like a corpse, his chest bare.
Rhett checked Sam and found the cowpoke half-covered with the buffalo robe, his face soft in sleep. Rising, he walked in his sock feet to where Inés sat beside her rock. When she patted the ground nearby, he sunk down, rubbing sleep from his eye and wishing he was cruel enough to drag his buffalo coat off Sam, because it was cold as hell outside the warm cocoon they’d made together.
