Lostlander

by Dean F. Wilson

   “You!” Buckhorn Bobby roared. Nox was too close for him to use his sight, but a round of gunfire sent the Coilhunter back into the haze. Bobby turned swiftly back to Porridge, but couldn't find him at the door.

   “Take that off, you fool!” Bobby told Rustbucket Riley, who hadn't quite turned his helmet back into place. It was lucky, though, that he didn't, because Hammerback Harry had just unstrapped the grapnel launcher, and he fell, hammer in hand, right on top of Riley. The hammer clobbered him in the head, knocking him out cold.

   “Play fair,” Harry said, swiping at the shadows. “Or don't play at all!”

   The duo turned this way and that, stumbling over the body of dozing Riley, who might've been glad to be out of the game. Some said it was better to lose quick than think you ever had a chance of winning. That was a motto of sorts for the Wild North. Many, willingly or not, lived by it. But then, they died by it too.

   “You're in for a surprise, Coilhunter!” Buckhorn Bobby brayed. “Wait 'til you meet the man upstairs!”

   The last of the smoke cleared, and they turned to find Nox seated at the table, cards in one hand, pistol in the other, and a look on his face like he had a winning hand. “I've already met 'im,” he rasped. “How's about I send you to meet the real man upstairs?”

   Hammerback Harry came lunging, smashing down on the table, breaking it in two. Nox was already in the air, aided by his other grappling hook. Buckhorn Bobby aimed, but Nox's pinpoint gunfire took out Bobby's sight. Nox didn't need an augment on his weapon for that.

   Bobby roared, and the room shook. “I'll shoot you blind then!”

   Bullets pinged off the ceiling and the walls, but Nox was back down on the floor again. He tripped up Bobby, yanked the rifle from his hands, then turned and fired. Hammerback Harry's hoisted hammer slipped out of his own blasted hands. He yelped as he looked at his skint fingers.

   “Now,” Nox said, casting a rope from his belt towards Harry. “Why don't you go and tie yourselves up while there's still parts to tie.”

   Bobby sauntered over to Harry reluctantly. “We coulda taken ya.”

   Nox smiled. “Sure,” he said. He nodded towards Rustbucket Riley on the floor. “Why, he's takin' me right now.”

   Harry tied up Bobby and Riley, then let Nox do the same for him. Without their weapons, they weren't much of a guard. They at least had enough grazes and bruises to show the Man with the Silver Mane that they'd tried. They had a deep, unsettling feeling that they'd need to find new work soon enough.

   With the trio tied up, and their weapons on the other side of the room, Porridge strolled through and gave a finger wave. “Toodles,” he said. “And no hard feelings. Oh!”

   Nox opened the door to the hallway leading to the prison cells of the castle of sand.

   “Don't think I don't know your names,” Nox rasped. “I'm just waitin' for the posters now.”

   “Go ahead an' wait then!” Buckhorn Bobby boomed.

   Nox looked back with fire in his eyes. “Somethin' tells me I won't be waitin' long.”

  34 – THE CELLAR

  With Buckhorn Bobby's earthquake echoes fading behind them, Nox and Porridge found themselves approaching a seemingly endless row of jail cells. The first several dozen of these were empty, though there were signs of struggle at some. The farther they went, however, the more prisoners they found, wearing those same collars that united them all.

   “Are you here to free us?” an old man said, reaching a bony arm out for them.

   “Yes,” Nox said, “and jail your captor.”

   “Don't!” a woman cried from several cells down. “Don't let us out!”

   Porridge frolicked up to her. “Why not? Oh! You poor thing!”

   “That's what he wants.”

   “Surely he wants you prisoner,” Nox said.

   The woman reefed her fingers through her hair. “We'll do things to you.”

   Porridge backed away.

   “We won't want to,” she continued. “But we will.”

   “Don't listen to her,” the old man shouted, his voice hoarse. “Help us!”

   “We'll fight you,” the woman said. “He'll make us fight. He wants us to fight.”

   “Maybe, you know, we'll come back,” Porridge suggested. “Right, plum?”

   “Sure,” Nox said, but he didn't make it a promise. While he had that collar on, he felt he'd only be back if the Man with the Silver Mane wanted him to go back.

   “Fools!” the old man shouted after them as they continued on. “Cowards and fools!”

   “You're no better than him!” another cried out.

   “You're no better than us!” a third added.

   They continued on, passing cell after cell. Some spoke. Some reached out. Many others curled up and did nothing but wait. They'd already made their fight. There was nothing left. No energy. No fuel. No will. It was a sorry sight to see so many people like this. It took a lot not to try to free them immediately.

   “Oh, my ripened raspberries!” Porridge said. “This is a depressing place! Oh! What if they could help us?”

   “I think most of them can't help themselves,” Nox replied. “Many of them were helpless before they came out here. They were already broken. They were already lost.”

   “Lord, now there's a sight for sore eyes,” a familiar voice said.

   They halted and turned towards the nearest cell. It wasn't just a familiar voice. It was a familiar body. Broad shoulders, a little stocky, with a craggy face and a head of white hair. A little overgrown, maybe, and a bushy white moustache to match. Then there were the eyes, brown and deep. He wasn't just a man of years. He was a man who'd seen a lot happen over those years.

   It was Chance Oakley.

  35 – FOUND

  Nox didn't think twice about letting Oakley out. He wasn't like the others. The Coilhunter knew him, and knew that no matter what the Man with the Silver Mane did to him, he was a good man, who'd only ever do good things—even if it was against his own interests. They'd met when Nox was on the run from the other bounty hunters of the Wild North, after he'd been framed for the massacre of a tribal village. Unlike many, Oakley had given him a chance to prove himself. That was how he got his name. Chance Oakley always gave folk second chances.

   “Oh! We found you! Oh!” Porridge shouted with glee. He did a little dance on the spot, which must've looked odd to the other prisoners—if they weren't so used to seeing unusual things.

   “An' about damn time,” Oakley said.

   Nox took a lockpick kit from his belt and made short work of the prison door. It slid open with a creak.

   “Are you injured?” Nox asked, helping the drifter to his feet.

   Oakley dusted off his hat and put it on. “Just my soul. Ain't nothin' you can do 'bout that.”

   “I wasn't sure we'd find you,” the Coilhunter admitted.

   “Oh, I was, Nathaniel. I was. That's about all I was sure of. Lord, I made a right ol' mess of things venturin' out here. Didn't make it three days 'fore I was attacked by wolves. Barely got my rescue signal off or maybe you wouldn't have known at all. Too bad it attracted the Lost Tribe too.”

   “Why did you come out here, Chance?” Nox asked. “What were you hopin' to find?”

   “You know, I've asked myself that several times now,” Oakley said, ruffling his moustache. “I've been a drifter for a long time now, lookin' for answers here and there. Sometimes I thought I found 'em, and then the answers seemed to sieve through my hands like sand. So I kept on lookin'. I went to the tribes. I went to the gangs. Lord, I went to the cults and the priests too. All of 'em had a version to tell me. All of 'em had a spin on the truth. Not the full truth, mind, just a taster. Quite a lot of truths. Quite a lot of journeys. And shucks, I still felt lost.”

   “But here,” Nox said. “There ain't anything to find out here.”

   Oakley chuckled. “I
s that so, huh? Well, bet you ain't never thought you'd find a fortress out here. Well, truth is I was at breakin' point, so I came out here in desperation. You see, when my wife and friends abandoned me after my gold mine collapsed, I lost all hope. Lord, I hate to say it, but I lost the will to live. I was just gettin' by, day by day. When I came out of my slump, I started my journey, and I thought I got enough answers to keep me goin'. I told myself I was over it, Nox, but I'm not. I just learned to hide the part of me that hurts.”

   “We all do,” Nox said. “It's how we survive.”

   “But I want to do more than just survive. I want to live. I want to thrive.”

   “Oh, don't we all, hun,” Porridge said.

   “So, in a moment of bleakness,” Oakley continued, “in a time of uncertainty, I decided to come out here. It was one of the few places drifters like me go for answers, mind, and I hadn't gone yet. So, I thought I'd either find my answers out here or—Lord, forgive me for sayin' it—I'd find my grave.”

   “Well, you almost did,” Nox said.

   “My grave, yes. Still lookin' for those answers.”

   “I ain't no philosopher,” the Coilhunter rasped, “but did ya not ever think that maybe you were lookin' in the wrong place? Folk go from town to town, from teachin' to teachin', always lookin' outside themselves. Did ya not ever think to look within?”

   That was how Nox found his own answers, how he found his mission, his purpose. Oh, he looked outwards at first, at the lawlessness of the Wild North. But then he looked inside and found that he could do something about it, that he could be his own kind of sheriff. There was no one to give him the badge. Not even God. He had to make it and pin it on himself.

   “You know, Nathaniel, I did,” Oakley said with a sigh, “but I guess I was afraid o' what I'd find. I always thought of myself as a strong man. But what if I'm not so strong? What if, without the ol' missus and my ol' chums, I'm not all I was cracked up to be?”

   “Then you start a new you. If your old life was built on them, you build a new one.”

   “I guess I'm just afraid to let 'em go.”

   “What is there to let go? They're gone. They didn't really love you or they'd still be here. They wouldn't have jumped ship after the Regime came, just 'cause gold was no longer valuable. They would've stuck it out, rich or poor.”

   “See, I get that,” Oakley said. “Logically, that all adds up. Lord, I ain't anyone to argue against logic. But you see, none of that changes how I feel. It's these Gosh-darn emotions that're eatin' me up. They contradict the logic, and I have good days where I'm thinkin' straight, and bad days where it's all heart and no head. That's how I ended up out here. Lord, no head at all!”

   “Oh, dearie, I wouldn't be so hard on the heart,” Porridge said. “It sometimes leads to good places the head will never go. Oh!”

   “True enough there,” Oakley said, tipping his hat to Porridge. “True enough.”

   “I'm Porridge, by the way.” Porridge extended his hand, more to kiss it than shake it.

   “G'day, Porridge, an' fair greetings to ya.” Oakley didn't give Porridge the usual look most did on first meeting him. He didn't bat an eye at this attire. He didn't judge his posture. He made no internal comments about his voice. By Oakley's ethos, you didn't ever judge a man. It didn't matter what they wore, how they got there, or even what they'd done. Everyone deserved a chance. The Wild North wasn't going to give it to you. Most folk wouldn't either. By Oakley's reckoning, it was no wonder so many were bad. They'd never been given a chance to be good.

   “Now,” Nox said. “We've gotta think about how to get you out. And all of these other slaves. We'll have to find a way to remove these collars.”

   “Some rescue party we were! Oh!” Porridge said.

   “From what I've gathered,” Oakley said, “that Magus up there's working on some machine. He keeps talkin' about other worlds. Shucks, I've smoked some leaf in my time, and I got a glimpse of 'em, mind, but never did quite believe it after. If I were a different man, I'd wager he was still smokin'! But then who am I to judge? You say you ain't no philosopher. Well, I ain't no magician, and I ain't no scientist. Who's to tell what's really out there?”

   “Like the Iron Empire,” Porridge pointed out.

   “We need to stop him,” Nox said. “Whatever he's doin', he's doin' it wrong. He's using folk like fuel. God only knows what he's up to.”

   And God might've known alright, but he wasn't doing anything about it. You see, in the Wild North, God wore a slave collar too.

  36 – THE LONG LADDER

  Oakley might've been a victim like the rest of them, but he didn't act like it. He hadn't quite found what he was looking for, and wasn't entirely sure he knew what he was looking for in the first place. But he'd found something else. He'd found the Man with the Silver Mane. Sometimes you don't quite drift from place to place, but from mission to mission. That was how the Coilhunter did it. And Oakley'd led him to his latest hunt.

   “Up here,” Oakley said, leading them to a vent. “These all lead into a larger ventin' chamber, which runs up the centre of the tower. It needs it with all that power generated. It'll be warm, mind. Lord, there'll be steam shootin' outta some of 'em.”

   “Oh! That sounds terrible! Is there no other way, cabbage?” Porridge asked.

   “Well, not without fighting through endless waves of guards.”

   “That hasn't stopped Nox before, plum.”

   And that was true, but this time Nox objected. “Let's take the quiet route for now.”

   Oakley grumbled. “Somethin' tells me he'll still know you're comin'.”

   “I'm countin' on it,” Nox said. “Let's hope he feels the dread.”

   They climbed into the vent, which was just big enough to shimmy through on their elbows. Oakley went first, then Nox, with Porridge following reluctantly.

   “This'll crumple my clothes!” Porridge complained. “Oh, the things I do for the world! Oh!”

   Oakley led them through the maze of vents, left and right, around sharp bends, and seemingly back in a circle, until he pushed through to a colossal venting chamber. They scrambled out and surveyed the area. It was a circular room, which seemed like it went up for miles. They couldn't see the top, but they could see several ladders running up the sides, and many openings spewing out steam along the way.

   “Looks like a long climb,” Nox said.

   Oakley took off his hat and fanned his face. “Well, it's either that or go the long way 'round.”

   “You know what they say about short cuts, peach,” Porridge said.

   Oakley put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, they weren't talkin' 'bout in here.”

   Nox put a gloved hand on the ladder and shook it. It rattled. “That's not a good sign. Test the other ones.”

   They did, until Oakley found about the best of the bunch. “Seems as sturdy as we're gonna get.”

   “We should use different ladders,” Nox said. “Just in case.”

   “In case of what?” Porridge howled. “Oh! I feel like I'm falling already! Oh!”

   “The problem is,” Oakley said, “we won't all come out at the same place on top.”

   “We'll have to regroup up there,” Nox said. “Let's use the three closest ladders.”

   “Not the sturdiest?”

   “The three closest, sturdiest ladders.”

   Porridge struck a dramatic pose. “Oh! It's like lookin' for coils in the desert!”

   “Well,” Oakley said with a wry smile, “he is the Coilhunter.”

   They searched again until they found three reasonably sturdy ladders close together. It wasn't an easy search, because just when they found two, the others on either side seemed weak. In the end, they had to opt for two beside each other, and a third that was one ladder away.

   They started the climb. Nox took the centre, in case anything happened, and Oakley took the
farthest away, because he said he knew this place better than the others—though Nox was sure the drifter didn't know it well enough. If there was one thing you could count on with a Magus, it was that they'd built deception into the walls.

   The first few dozen rungs went by swiftly, though Porridge took them slower, as he was still wearing high-heeled boots. Then they came to the first vents. They weren't just on either side, but behind the ladders as well. The trio had to wait and time the blasts of steam, then quickly scramble up during the brief pauses. At first these happened simultaneously, so that all three could time their ascent together. But then they alternated, so one had to wait while another raced up. That made it all the more dangerous, because there was an instinctive urge to climb when others climbed, or wait when others waited. Humans had the instinctive urge to be part of the herd.

   Well, that trio might've started as a herd, but they were quickly separated. Not only were they at different heights, but they faced different challenges now.

  * * *

  Nox's ladder was stable, but the vents started to come in pairs now. First they fired together, and he had to scramble all the faster, but then they fired at different times, so that he had to linger over the first one before he could pass the second. Then they came in threes and fours, alternating their scalding puffs. Nox couldn't help but blast out a few puffs from his own vent in exasperation.

   All the while, the ladder was getting hotter. Nox could already feel it farther down. He could already feel it through his gloves. He was just glad he had gloves in the first place. Right now, he wished he had spares to give to the others. But even if he did, there was no time for that now. There was barely enough time to climb.

   As the heat increased, so too did the frequency of those blasts of steam, which in turn added to the broil. It mounted, degree by degree, until Nox had to grunt in his mask, until he could start to feel his gloves and boots melt a little and stick to the bars. There was no time now to wait for the vents to blast empty. Sometimes you just had to pull the trigger.