《Other West: Diablero [Completed]》 What is Diablero? Otherwest is a fantasy epic that follows Van, a former naval sailor turned rancher, as he learns of the ancient Otherwest¡ªthe spirit world of fallen gods, demons, immortals, and monsters harness etheric energies to wield magic and supernal abilities which spill onto the Mundane Plane¡ªour reality. Fans of eastern fantasy and the cultivation of qi will be familiar with such themes in Otherwest, as Van¡¯s journey plunges him into the supernatural cultures at war and broadens his knowledge of ley energy, mana, and personal chi.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Magic and mayhem await, along with the literal western flavor of adventurous heroes testing the limits of the frontier¡ªthe unknown and hidden worlds that surround us. Chapter One Proverbs 10:11 - "The mouth of a righteous man is a well of life, inspiring the weary". Van tossed and turned before he jolted awake, free of another nightmare of the Crimea. Rubbing his eyes, he cast his gaze about the star-lit camp. The Black Seminole, Day Long, snored, mouth open, his limbs at all angles. Nathan Drake, their scout, was silent beneath his furs. Van¡¯s childhood friend Teven Har lay with a lock of his wife Jessica¡¯s hair held in his hand from the rawhide tied around his wrist. Day Long coughed and broke wind in a prolonged release. Van smiled and shook his head. The terrors in his nightmares of Azov were nothing compared to the horrific odor that rose from the Seminole warrior¡¯s back end. Its smell, like the memories, lingered. The horses hobbled nearby snorted and whinnied. The stench was unpleasant even to their noses. Van looked around. Something caused him to wake. He touched his forehead and thought of the battles on the Sea of Azov, his instincts and headaches that warned him and kept him and Teven alive. In the dim light of the stars, shadows loomed beneath boulders and rock formations resembling mushrooms and goblins. Perhaps the danger was closer at hand; they might die from Day Long¡¯s foul flatulence. No, young Christian Har still stood watch, sitting ten feet away, atop one of the goblin-like formations. Van snorted, breathing through his mouth beneath his hand. His stomach gurgled. Rather than being sickened by the smell, he found he was hungry. What did that say, and had hunger awoken him? Patting the ground beside him, he found and drank from his canteen. His tongue tingled. He pulled a small packet from within a saddle bag and opened it. Delicate flakes fell from his new favorite food¡ªpiki bread. The flattened, thin, blue corn rolls almost resembled parchment and lay black in the night on his lap. Next, Van removed a second canteen, this one filled with honey. He sat back against his thick-horned, A-fork framed saddle, stared up at the stars, and thought of Aleya. The morning of their journey south, Aleya gave Van a jar of honey. Van recalled how she looked that morning, fresh from a bath in the ranch¡¯s nearby brook, ¡°For luck, Honey Sly,¡± she said. She grinned and laughed to see Van¡¯s eyes widen at the thought of honey, almost not hearing her affectionate nickname for him; borne of his love for the sweet nectar. The Mormons had only recently introduced honeybees to the region, but Van believed he¡¯d go without honey after the move to the Colorado territory. On the porch of their ranch house, speaking their goodbyes, Van whispered between them as he embraced Aleya. ¡°When you look up at night, those will be the same stars I see.¡± Aleya pulled back and laughed at the clich¨¦, raised a finger to his lips, caressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers, and said, ¡°Bring me the night that brings me to you.¡± The sound of a cleared throat drew Van¡¯s attention to the present. Day Long, propped up on an elbow, reached out his open palm with his other arm. He raised his chin and bobbed his head. Van looked down at the remaining portion of piki in his hand. Day Long wiggled his fingers. Born on Andros Island, John Day Long traveled west as an Army scout and his heritage of Black Seminole and Carib Indian gave him a unique perspective on the tribes along their current journey. Known as Johnny Day Long, he was just about the craziest, fiercest man Van had ever known. No one had a quicker temper than Day Long. He wasn¡¯t long on patience. Van called on him to help them scout a suitable trail and locate the herds of wild Spanish cattle to drive east and then north into the Colorado Territory, around and back to his ranch in St. Maria. Nathan traveled with them, dressed in his usual buckskin and wearing his hawk-motif buckle. Drake served as a scout and guide and thrived in the extreme conditions he encountered walking the Rocky Mountains from the Colorado territory to deep within Canada. He spoke French, employed conversational knowledge of Spanish, and several native languages; often mediating between native tribes and encroaching Easterners. Teven stirred in his sleep, nose wrinkled. Behind him, Day Long made doe-eyes and pouty lips; his hand remained outstretched. Van dipped the blue corn roll in honey and turned away. Day Long laughed. ¡°Best I take over for young Mister Har,¡± he said. ¡°After I drop a load.¡± Van coughed. ¡°Downwind and far away.¡± ¡°Absolutely, brethren.¡± * Galtero Gervaso Gasento looked down at his dust-caked boots for the third time. His pacing outside the old Gasento hacienda brought no peace to him. He stared out on his ancestral lands awarded by the Spanish crown centuries ago. He turned to a young mestizo servant. ¡°Bring me a new pair of boots. Brown leather.¡± He spoke in Spanish, harsh and quick. The servant girl hurried up the stairs onto the broad front porch and into the aged house. Galtero kicked one foot against the other as dust fell away. Above, the sun continued its descent in the western sky, and with it, the spring chill returned. The Zuni Mountains retained their winter snows painted in shifting sunset hues, dotted by dark pinyon pine, while cedars carpeted the closer escarpment. A silken, deep, and thick voice sounded from behind him. ¡°Galtero.¡± He turned, irked to be caught off-guard after awaiting her arrival. Victoria Vargos strutted across the yard, flanked by two enormous wolves. Odd, he thought, coyotes being more common, and he suspected why. Victoria was considered a bruja¡ªa witch. It gave Galtero some concern, but confidence, too, in what the Vargos heiress wanted. An impossible goal, a dangerous one that drove their people to war. She spoke in Spanish. ¡°Have you considered my offer?¡± Galtero frowned. ¡°How do I do this thing? How have you escaped the eye of your Watcher?¡± Victoria laughed. ¡°You worry too much about our Tezcate overlords. They are distracted by the presence of the Sepul to the north.¡± ¡°DaFaca has watched my family for decades¡­¡± ¡°And?¡± Victoria interrupted. ¡°His kind have watched for hundreds of years but seldom act.¡± Galtero scoffed and gestured at the sky. ¡°They enforce the will of the gods.¡± ¡°We are free of the gods, they are dead or in hiding. The Sepul saw to that. We, the Escuridado, will no longer suffer under the rule of others.¡± Galtero raised a hand to her. ¡°DaFaca replaced our previous Watcher. He is a soldier and wanderer and was sent for a reason. My brother is loyal and cautious. He will not align the family with yours.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°Don Gasento has made that clear, and yet I speak to you. Your family supports the Caddite goal of a sovereign Caddoan Republic. To reclaim Texas and all lands north and west of here. Galtero shook his head. ¡°That is different, and entirely a political matter, concerning mortal man and our right to these lands.¡± ¡°I disagree. If we do not hold the spirit of the land, we have no foundation. You or your brother must turn over the spirit of your lands. Allow us to act. We are at war, and your lands hold some of the remaining gateways which must be destroyed.¡± Galtero rubbed his forehead. ¡°This is no war, but an endless, foolish uprising.¡± Victoria scowled. ¡°Since before our births, and I will see it end with our victory. I believe I was born to do so.¡± ¡°And if I say no?¡± Victoria glanced at the wolves on either side of her and sighed. ¡°I can''t accept that.¡± Galtero watched the sky turn crimson over the pinyon-studded slopes to the west. * The sun crested the eastern mountains, as Van and the boys rode south through the desert sands and sun-blasted rocks of the newly minted New Mexico Territory. The land was harsh, and not a spoonful of water for miles before their destination¡ªFort Red Clay trading post and desert haven. Van considered the likes of the men and women within the trading post. A mixed lot. Stock herders, horse breakers, prospectors, confidence men, thieves, and slavers. Souls who lived apart from society, whether seeking new lives or any life. He couldn''t help but think how similar he was, seeking a different life, running from the horrors of his past. Van squinted, lowering his black planters hat over his brow. The trading post seemed to float above the plain, held aloft by shimmering waves of heat. He turned to Christian Har. ¡°First, we see to the remuda. Get them fed and tended.¡± Christian saluted. Teven slowed his mount to ride beside his younger brother. Van gestured toward the brothers. ¡°Settle in and learn whether the Semos brothers gathered up local drovers. Vaqueros with some knowledge of the land and hostiles.¡± Leading the group, Nathan nodded. ¡°Navajo and Apache come through regularly, but they ain''t hostile of late.¡± Teven and Van shared a glance. Day Long laughed. ¡°That¡¯ll be short-lived. What with Fort Defiance abandoned? This is the heart of Navajo country.¡± The five mounted men passed through the gate in a low adobe wall encircling the post. Dust billowed around them, causing each to blink and cough as they approached the small cluster of buildings and corrals. To their right, they crossed a long, low building constructed of brick. A painted sign mounted above a set of crude windows stated RED CLAY. The party rode on, Christian and Teven separated and led the fifty spare horses towards the livery. While the main trading station stood as a stone and brick building, four rude wooden longhouses formed a perimeter with a low fence, corrals, and a livery stable. The sound of a hammer on metal drew their attention to a blacksmith''s shop beyond the stable. Van grinned and prompted his Appaloosa down the side street of packed, dry earth. Day Long brought his mount up. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Van rode on, thumb over his shoulder. ¡°Entrusting. Take your mounts to the livery. Find the Semos brothers. I''ll be along.¡± * Day Long and Nathan led their horses over the short span to the livery stables. Across the corral, Teven haggled with the livery owner as Christian guided the spare horses into the first pen. A commotion drew Nathan''s attention. Two young mestizos, a man and a woman, argued with three rough and trail-worn men. A fourth man held the reins of a bay mustang the young woman grasped at. ¡°We done chose this hoss, an¡¯ we mean to have it.¡± The woman sneered back. ¡°The mare is paid for. It is ours.¡± The first man, his stubble thick with yellowed tobacco stains, laughed. ¡°Paid? How''d you earn enough to scrape that sorta money together? On your back?¡± Nathan looked to Day Long, who sucked on a chicken leg. Before he could ask the Seminole where he''d found it on their way from the gates to the corrals, a cry arose, coupled with the dull thud of fist to flesh. The young woman stood over the first man, his yellowed stubble now stained with blood. She whirled on the man, who held the reins, catching him unawares. He fell to the amused roar of his fellows. Her brother leapt forward. ¡°Sende!¡± ¡°Listen to your brother, girl.¡± Said the second of the men. Sende spun on the man and was slapped back off her feet. Her brother followed. The first man, his beard still bloody, stood. ¡°Girl, you''ll be payin¡¯ for that tonight. On your back.¡± The third and fourth man settled the startled mustang as Sende fought off tobacco beard. Nathan placed himself between tobacco man and Sende. Tobacco withdrew with his chin pulled into his neck. ¡°Hell?¡± ¡°Leave her be. Discuss this with the liveryman.¡± Nathan said. Tobacco grinned and went for his pistol. Nathan was on him, twisting the man¡¯s wrist and removing the weapon from the holster in a quick motion. The remaining three men drew their guns and Tobacco cursed, shocked. Nathan and the other two men followed Tobacco¡¯s line of sight. Day Long held the chicken bone in the ear canal of the largest man. ¡°All I need do is give this bone a push. Short an¡¯ sweet. You and your friends best leave. Sale is done. The lady owns the mustang.¡± Wide-eyed, the largest man stared at Tobacco. The two remaining men turned to and fro between Nathan and Day Long, weapons trailing the thrust of their bodies. Sende sat up, wiping her mouth. Her brother doted on her, she pushed him away. Day Long made the slightest angling to the chicken bone and the large man winced and cried out. The Seminole added a push of his thumb behind the ear, urging the man to his knees. Tobacco spat on Nathan¡¯s feet and pointed at Sende. Whatever he was about to say cut off as Nathan cracked the man in the skull with his own pistol. ¡°I would go.¡± Nathan said. Tobacco stumbled forward, hand to his head. By this time, the livery master braved to appear. ¡°Ah, Mr. Katz, Abraham, the mare is sold. Paid for, has been for two days. The Semos brothers purchased all their¡­¡± Abraham Katz, ¡°Tobacco¡±, waved off the livery master and pushed his brother Isaak as Day Long released the largest of the Katz, Nils. The third Katz, cousin Jonas, stood, mouth agape, pistol in hand, unsure. ¡°Jonas,¡± Abraham slapped the third man¡¯s forearm, ¡°Put that away.¡± The Katz glared at Day Long as they passed him, Nils with his pinky finger in his offended ear. Day Long blew a kiss, much to Nathan¡¯s chagrin. ¡°What have you two gotten yourselves into?¡± Day Long dropped the waxy chicken bone. ¡°Oh oh, momma¡¯s here.¡± Teven ignored him, looking at Sende. ¡°Who were those men?¡± ¡°The Katz are important people around here.¡± Sende said. Nathan looked back and down to Sende, standing, but short, beside her brother Hernan. ¡°The Katz family run this place? The post?¡± Hernan shook his head. ¡°No, the Terry family do.¡± Sende tossed her hair over her shoulder. ¡°Oh, the Katz do. The Terry¡¯s allow them.¡± Day Long grinned. Nathan huffed. ¡°We best be on our way soon, then.¡± Teven nodded. ¡°Agreed. Nathan, go find Van, while Christian and I finish with the spare horses.¡± Day Long leaned against the corral post and unwrapped a bar of salt taffy as Nathan passed him. ¡°That''s right, Silver Hair, go find poppa.¡± * Traders, travelers, and a mix of Navajo and Ute made their way along the length of longhouses and wagons filled with all manner of goods. The ever-present sting of creosote and burnt limestone dust mixed with the smell of horses and manure from the corrals and pens across Red Clay. A tanned, and honey-haired, middle-aged mestizo man leaned against the wall of the second wooden longhouse from the livery and what little, fleeting, early morning shade it provided. Day Long stood beside him as Nathan led Van toward them. Nathan gestured at the man. ¡°Van, this is Se?or Juan Semos. Se?or Semos, this is Mr. Bran.¡± ¡°Ah, ¡®Bran¡¯, Se?or Van? El Cuervo, si?¡± Van shrugged, ¡°Raven? Yes, in my native Welsh, and as Duke du Corvo, I suppose. A Portuguese title in my family, so I understand most Spanish. My family has a long and varied history.¡± ¡°Ah, yes. And Se?or Har? Where is he?¡± Day Long chuckled. ¡°The Lords of the Gray are seeing to the spare horses, brethren. Have you seen to our spare men?¡± Nathan¡¯s eyes bore into Day Long, who swatted the blonde scout on the shoulder. Van raised his hand to them. ¡°As you can see, Se?or Semos, I''ve a need for some adults on our venture.¡± Juan Semos smiled. ¡°No, no, son bueno chicos. Those two stood up for our young cousin Sende.¡± Van nodded as Juan Semos turned. ¡°Marcos!¡± A younger, toned, and fit man jogged up to join Juan and Van. ¡°This is my brother, Marcos.¡± Marcos nodded. ¡°Have our cousins and their friends made ready for the drive?¡± ¡°Doce.¡± Marco said. Van glanced at Day Long and Nathan in their squabble. ¡°Twelve should be more than enough.¡± He stepped forward, stretched out both hands, separating the scouts. ¡°We meet beyond the southern gate at noon, gentlemen. Gracias.¡± Chapter Two The stench of the livery assaulted Teven as he walked into the main stable¡ªhorse shit, urine, sweat, and hay. Within the large wooden building, the burly livery master welcomed him. Teven thumbed over his shoulder. ¡°Apologies for the interruption.¡± ¡°Oh, no bother, those Katz boys are always on the shoot. The Terrys favor them I think. Big figures they are, the Terry Family.¡± Teven nodded, handing several bills to the man. The livery master eyed the greenbacks and shrugged. ¡°Terry family means to see betterments ¡®round here. Don¡¯t see how, nothin¡¯ but desert all ¡®round. Still, the Katz, they¡¯re just a bunch of b¡¯hoys.¡± He counted the greenbacks. ¡°Your brother will stay here with the horses?¡± Teven nodded. As a self-board livery, Christian remained at the corral tending to the spare horses. ¡°Yes. We¡¯re only here till noon.¡± The livery master waved with his handful of bills as Teven exited back into the beating sun, crossing the distance to the corral. Christian turned from the last of the remuda within the corral. ¡°Have you decided, or do you aim to make Jessica into a California widow?¡± Teven cut his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll not leave her in Boston each drive season. Not sure she wants to live out here. Chicago, though, that¡¯s a tad closer.¡± ¡°She''s married you and followed you over here. I¡¯m thinking she¡¯d be happy anywhere you are, an¡¯ don¡¯t care a sweet continental about the East Coast.¡± Teven closed the corral gate. ¡°It''s the large cities I''m thinking of. She writes for the papers. How¡¯s she to do that in old St. Maria?¡± He meant the missionary town of Grand Valley in the mountains west of Pikes Peak, across the continental divide, near Van''s ranch. ¡°She can pen tales of the wild frontier and the big figures lookin¡¯ to beat the Dutch and strike it rich. And besides, what are we to do for work if you give up partnership with Van? Seems Jessica is the only one earning chink.¡± Teven leaned against the corral fence with a heavy demeanor. Christian slapped his brother¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Ah, she¡¯d stand the gaff for you.¡± Teven knew that to be true, still, he wouldn¡¯t have his wife suffer for him or for Van¡¯s dreams of being a granger. * Day Long and Nathan walked side-by-side toward Red Clay¡¯s sole saloon, a long narrow wooden building with two stories. A porch and upper balcony at the front, the shit-houses in the back. As they approached, Nils Katz emerged from the dark entrance to the saloon. Nathan shook his head. ¡°Balls.¡± Jonas followed behind Nils as the largest of the Katz brothers recognized Nathan and Day Long. Nils¡¯ lips curled up. ¡°We don''t serve yer kind in here.¡± ¡°What kind? Black man or Indian?¡± Day Long quipped. ¡°Neither, mongrel.¡± Nathan grabbed Day Long¡¯s shoulder. ¡°They don''t own the joint, and this place is a trading post for the Navajo. Let it go.¡± ¡°Can''t come it.¡± Nathan pulled him around. ¡°You can. He''s embarrassed.¡± ¡°As he should be.¡± ¡°By God''s great patience, you''re always looking for a fight.¡± ¡°Hobble your lip, Nate.¡± Day Long said. ¡°You''re an old croaker. There''s nothin¡¯ wrong with a good brush.¡± Nathan scowled. ¡°Isn''t one a day enough?¡± ¡°Don¡¯ be down on me.¡± Nathan sighed, rubbing his belly. ¡°I was just looking to grab a root, get a scrub. But you always gotta play the hard case. You can''t pull in your horns without being asleep?¡± ¡°You make it like I''m always on the shoot.¡± ¡°You are. John Day Long don''t suit you so much as ¡®Trouble¡¯ would. Johnny Trouble.¡± Day Long grinned. ¡°I like it. But don''t try an¡¯ soft soldier me.¡± Nils raised his hand and yelled to the squabbling scouts. ¡°You two ladies done sqwakin¡¯ or are the two of ya married?¡± Day Long gestured at Nathan. ¡°Yeh, you like long, silver locks? Come have a kiss.¡± Jonas uttered an odd, girlish laugh. Nils slapped him. Nathan scowled at Day Long. A strong and accented voice sounded to their right. Abraham and Isaak Katz approached. Both Nathan and Day Long tensed. ¡°Jonas, go find Gunther.¡± Day Long followed Abraham''s movements as he and Isaak joined Nils. Nathan watched Jonas run off along the hard-packed dirt of the main street. ¡°Pardon Nils here, I''ve business for him to attend.¡± Abraham said. Nils motioned to speak before Abraham''s cutting stare shut him up. ¡°Leave it be.¡± Nathan said to Day Long in a whisper of fierce intent. Day Long batted him away. ¡°I ain''t lookin¡¯ to cause a shindy.¡± ¡°Brothers.¡± Abraham said and nodded down the street. Nils bristled but followed his brothers past Abraham and off the stoop along Jonas¡¯ trail up main street. Abraham tipped the front of his hat to Nathan and Day Long before he too walked up the main street. Nathan punched Day Long in his ribs. ¡°Always ready to let fly. We¡¯re going in there and having a meal. Your mouth don''t open ¡®less it''s for chuck or hooch.¡± ¡°Maybe we is married. I sure don''t remember the day. Was your dress white and purty?¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Nathan pushed him toward the saloon. ¡°You''re an odd stick.¡± ¡°And you''ve got one up yer ass.¡± * Van returned to the blacksmith¡¯s shop, the heat radiating from it, along with the heavy scent of iron and coal, sweat and oil. The constant ring of hammer and anvil drummed in his ears such that he swallowed and popped them. His planters hat removed, Van paused at the entrance to the oven-like hell of the smithy. ¡°Hello again. How¡¯s it shaping up?¡± The blacksmith looked up from his work, nodding to his assistant, a raven-haired young woman. She smiled and carried the first branding iron over to Van, hung on her fore and middle fingers. ¡°Is this what you wanted?¡± He took the brand and hefted it. Turning it over, he examined the hooked-V brand itself, forge welded to a T-bar on the front end of the rod. The brand itself was a hooked-V, because it appeared to be an inverted ¡®W¡¯, with its outer stem strokes truncated. The sharp front edges of the iron, which would brand the hide, grinded off. The V itself fit in his palm, a four by four inch triangle. ¡°Can you complete all four by noon, as agreed?¡± The woman turned to her father who grunted. She turned back and smiled. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t take us long, we¡¯ve not much else today save some horseshoes.¡± The smith looked up from his anvil. ¡°A farrier¡¯s task is all which seems left to me, but it''s honest work. Where do you hail from?¡± ¡°The territory north of here and to the west of Pikes Peak, across the divide. The Grand Valley.¡± ¡°Ah, so you boys haven''t fought back east?¡± Van shrugged, thinking just how far east the Crimea lay. ¡°No, too busy setting up my ranch in the Grand Valley.¡± The old man¡¯s daughter, a female smith, returned to her side of the forge and an anvil she worked. The brand stamp bent and grinded into shape by her deft and skilled hands. The elder smith glanced up in a pause of his hammer. ¡°A grand valley?¡± ¡°Yes, a grand valley, its name suits it. Flat and sparse, but there is beauty too in the canyonlands to the south. I¡¯ve land there, just at the southern edge, my ranch. A haven away from the madness, if not some conflict with the native Utes from time to time.¡± He thought of the Danen Family and their constant expansion into the lands of the Ute. The smith nodded, his ceaseless movement with the orange metal undeterred. ¡°We¡¯ve some encounters with the indians. Navajo and Abajo, some Utes come for my work. Apache too.¡± Van''s stomach rumbled. ¡°Abajo?¡± He and the boys made the recent and welcome acquaintance of the Abajo and their elder, Pooling Waters. Nathan and Day Long knew of the tribe, and on their journey south, just days ago passed through Abajo country. Van''s stomach gurgled, felt but not heard in the cacophony of the smithy. Piki bread. Honey. Time for breakfast or an early lunch. ¡°Abajo are a sensible people, more so than the Apache. Various types of Apache anyhow, but the Spanish done dealt them a blow enough times. Families like the Gasentos, for what, some two hundred years? But the Comanche are your true concern. They attack white and red men alike.¡± Van shifted his weight. ¡°You feel it''s dangerous to drive east to Santa Fe? I heard the Comancheria began just beyond.¡± ¡°It begins where the Comanche say it do. Wherever you find them. Still and all, they always did head south into Mexico proper. I fought in the great Intervention with a special group we called Taylor''s Raiders.¡± His daughter laughed. ¡°I saw an awful lot of desolation down south on account of Comanche raids. Ruined and empty ranches, whole ghost towns. I figure that was a good start as any that them Gasentos saw an end to their glory days as big augurs. But what I''ve heard since, that family¡¯s been done many years back.¡± Van frowned. ¡°How so?¡± ¡°Well, that''s about when the Terry Family came to these parts, claimin¡¯ ownership of lands what clearly once belonged to the Gasentos and other Spaniards.¡± ¡°Anyhow, that was in my younger days.¡± The old smith gestured at his daughter. ¡°We settled here in Red Clay after the failure of the western campaign. I manned a traveling forge for the artillery. I¡¯ve not much taste of war, an¡¯ chose to earn my keep once Fort Defiance closed. I¡¯ve never had a problem with heat. Need the blood of Vulcan when you¡¯re a smith.¡± Van nodded. ¡°You came over from the Union forces at Fort Defiance?¡± ¡°Work mostly as a farrier, but we¡¯ve the skills to cover most any needs that come through the post. There¡¯s iron all round, in these red sands.¡± He took another hooked-V from his daughter. ¡°You served? You one of the British volunteers? Had enough of it too?¡± Van raised his hand, shook his head. ¡°Not British. Cymry.¡± The smith¡¯s daughter furrowed her brow, confused. ¡°Welsh.¡± Van said. ¡°You mentioned Vulcan, smith to the Roman gods. Do you know of Gofannon?¡± ¡°Govanon?¡± The daughter said. Van spread his arms, his hat dangled by its brim in his hand. ¡°Smith to the Faer.¡± The smith¡¯s daughter quenched the latest hooked-V in oil. ¡°I thought fairies and elves and the like can¡¯t stand the touch of iron.¡± Van raised an eyebrow. ¡°So true. But more a smith god than a blacksmith.¡± The elder smith smiled. ¡°Do you believe in the gods?¡± The horrors witnessed off the shores of the Azov Sea, tumbled through Van''s mind. His countenance grew dark. ¡°Lo so. You saw things in your war, eh? Done seen the elephant you have.¡± The old smith stoked the fires of the forge. ¡°In the Old World, at the end of war, armies didn¡¯t disperse and go home, for every war creates three armies. An army of the wounded, an army of the bereaved, and an army of thieves.¡± Van made an expression of agreement as the smith¡¯s daughter approached with a leather tool roll for the finished brands. ¡°My mother preferred to see the forge of war like our smithy. We can craft a weapon or a tool. Given care and attention, both can be things of beauty.¡± The blacksmith¡¯s shop grew quiet but for the roar of flames. She continued. ¡°Men can be tempered by war, they can be hammered to bend or break, and the fires of the forge can destroy or create. The bellows stoke the fires of the forge just as man fans the flames of war. Without this, the fires fail and there is a different sort of darkness.¡± His hat set aside, Van unfolded the leather tool roll. ¡°This is excellent work.¡± ¡°Thank you. My father taught me the secrets of the forge and my mother leatherworking.¡± Van glanced up, a gleam in his eye. ¡°Both a blacksmith and leathersmith.¡± ¡°And a beauty.¡± Her father added. She turned to chide her father. Van laughed. A voice called from the entrance and all three turned to see Teven wave his arm. The roar of the forge and the return of the hammer blows drowned his words at that distance of several feet from the entrance. Van returned the tool roll. ¡°Thank you, I''ll return before noon.¡± With a nod to the old Smith, Van walked out into the chill morning air; an escape from the oppressive heat within the shop. His shirt clung to sweat on his back. He placed his planters hat on his head and pulled on its brim to draw it lower on his forehead. Teven tipped his own bowler hat to the smith''s daughter and turned to Van. "The remuda is tended. The livery master seems decent enough." Van nodded. ¡°Christian is staying with them of course. We''ve a few hours til noon. I plan to get some chuck for myself and Christian before then.¡± Van touched his belly. A bath and a meal, both sounded good. Rationing his honey was the harshest of tasks ahead. * Abraham turned on his brothers. Nils, Isaak, and Jonas Katz stood with Gunther Wiles, a dark-haired gunman in a dust-caked, once-black shirt and torn leather bat wings. ¡°Ol¡¯ Terry had words with me jus¡¯ now, over our shindy at the livery. Have a look at this.¡± Abraham held up a letter. ¡°Turns out those two mestizo young''uns are runaways from the Gasento lands. An¡¯ Galtero Gasento is lookin¡¯ for the girl.¡± Jonas stared at the letter and scratched his head as Nils protested. ¡°We ain''t helpin¡¯ no Mexicans now are we?¡± ¡°Come now, brother Nils. You''re the strong one, not the dumb one.¡± Abraham glared over the top of the letter, his demeanor sour. ¡°Gasento is on his way here, an¡¯ we''re gonna collect the reward. This here letter is from Terry.¡± He tapped the bottom of the paper for emphasis. ¡°Poppa always said Jonas was the dumb one.¡± Isaak said. Nils nodded as he and Isaak laughed. Jonas frowned. ¡°Momma always said I was her favorite.¡± He took the letter from Abraham. ¡°It says here, anyone what sees the girl should report her whereabouts to the Terrys.¡± Nils laughed. ¡°Appears you can read.¡± Isaak shook his head. ¡°Abraham jus¡¯ done tol¡¯ Terry. You listening?¡± Abraham snatched the letter back. ¡°Gunther, you still got a few heeled up fellas?¡± The gunman nodded. ¡°Few boys carryin¡¯ black-eyed Susan''s, a rifle or two.¡± ¡°Good, good. Gasento will be here today.¡± Abraham grinned, his hand waved toward the saloon. ¡°We''ll take the girl right from them drovers. Impress upon ¡®em the error in crossin¡¯ us. Then deliver the slave girl straight to the Comanchero.¡± Jonas frowned. ¡°So we is helpin¡¯ the Mexicans?¡± Abraham wiggled a finger. ¡°Nah, these are rich Mexicans, Comancheros. An old Spanish family. Rich like the Terry family. Big figures. They owned the land east of here back in the days of the Spanish.¡± The other Katz brothers laughed as Gunther Wiles set off to find his gun-carrying friends. Chapter Three Van and Teven rode side by side as they left Fort Red Clay. Ahead of them, near a pile of eroded pink rock, the Semos vaqueros waited, slouched in their saddles. Juan Semos, Marcos and the twelve riders, Sende and her brother, among them. Teven nodded toward Sende. ¡°That¡¯s interesting. Aleya hears of this, she¡¯ll have something to say.¡± Van smiled. ¡°Aleya''s intent on putting the ranch in order. She¡¯s welcome to join us.¡± Teven grimaced. ¡°No, I¡¯m thinking Aleya would rather be trail boss than you or I, and we attend the ranch.¡± Van made a face of agreement, with one eyebrow raised. Aleya oversaw the remaining construction of the farm buildings and corrals necessary at the end of the cattle run and their introduction of a small herd to the Grand Valley, her family''s history in the valley, and father''s business contacts, essential to the establishment of the ranch. Juan Semos sat upon a sorrel mare with a worn Spanish saddle. ¡°Se?or Van, these are the herders you asked for. Good men, a few are my cousins, others are former stockmen.¡± ¡°Former?¡± ¡°Much of these lands once belonged to vast rancherias. There¡¯s little work now, and much conflict with the settlers, the Navajo, Comanche, and Apache. The Comanche rule the lands south and east. Many towns and farms lay empty, their owners staked to the dirt, left to die in the sun, or sold to the Comancheros.¡± Van nodded. ¡°These other drovers can be trusted?¡± ¡°Yes, they are family, by blood or by time and torment.¡± Van and Teven understood the bonds of torment; the Horror of Azov. Juan Semos removed his broad-brimmed hat. ¡°May young Sende ride as our remudero?¡± Van looked at Teven. Teven gestured toward the livery. ¡°My brother is tending the spare horses. Why is Sende with you?¡± ¡°She is safer with us and earns her keep.¡± Juan Semos sighed. ¡°As I¡¯ve said, it is a harsh life, as much as this desert.¡± Teven spoke first. ¡°Having Sende tend the spare horses frees up Christian to ride as a swing rider.¡± Van raised his hand. ¡°Sende can ride as a second wrangler. She and Christian will take separate watches.¡± Teven nodded at Van¡¯s suggestion and Juan gestured for them to join him in meeting each of the riders. * The sun sat high in the noon sky and a slight bit to the south, it''s heat oppressive, yet not as harsh as the summer to come. Still, Van''s head ached, or rather, his temples, and that caused great unease and occasional glances from Teven. The trail boss and naval friend knew the meaning of the pain. More than Van was willing to believe. They watched Juan Semos share the news with a much relieved Sende, and noted her relief. As an escape from the uncertainty of her next meal, or the release from the dangers of a frontier outpost such as Red Clay? The heavy tread of horseshoes drew Van''s speculative attention away, replaced by razor focus. He knew then, the source of the pain in his temples. Abraham Katz, his brothers, and five gunmen, trotted a mixture of fine Andalusians toward the scattered drovers. Abraham Katz sneered. ¡°Se?or Gasento wants that one.¡± He pointed a black leather-gloved finger at Sende. ¡°Your cattle Kate. Wants her back. Yeah, her. Ran away from her people.¡± Van and Teven frowned. Marcos and the remainder of the Semos family gathered between Katz and Sende. The vaqueros outnumbered the gunmen, the difference being, only Teven carried weapons. Van sighed, his eyes directed to Abraham. ¡°Don''t make us fight you.¡± Katz jerked his head sideways. ¡°What you talkin¡¯ ¡®bout, boy? You some sorta curly wolf?¡± The southern drawl of Abraham¡¯s accent, laced with disdain, rankled Van. Worse still he and the boys did not stand for slavery. Abraham appraised his handful of gunmen, smiled at his brothers, and shrugged. He leaned against his saddle horn, arms crossed, his right hand expressive, he gestured at the collected mestizo drovers. ¡°All these people, they have their place, and your friend there''s the only one carryin¡¯, see?¡± Abraham waved his hand at Teven. ¡°Gowan, drop yer cannister, we don''t want no brush with you. That there girl¡¯s rightful property of the Gasento family.¡± Silence. Abraham sagged in his saddle. ¡°Look, we hear tell you''re a big augur, Mister Bran.¡± He swung his leg over his mount¡¯s head and slid down the horse''s shoulder. He gestured to Teven while he stared at Van. His right palm on the walnut grip of his revolver. ¡°Tell your trailboss to drop his black-eyed Susan or leave it be in its holster, while we take the girl back inta Red Clay. Less you is lookin¡¯ to take the big jump. None of the rest of ya is carryin¡¯ iron.¡± The idea of slavery angered Van, and yet his mind drifted, as it often did, to the Horror of Azov, the fierce naval battle that ended in Cossack sorcery, Fever Wraiths, and death.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Van shifted on his right foot. ¡°I meant the two of us. You and me.¡± The signal between Van and Teven was imperceptible to all but the two childhood friends. Learned in battle, Van and Teven knew. Act first. Be decisive. Action, not reaction. The element of surprise. Van stepped up off his right foot and brought his fist down across the bridge of Abraham''s nose. The crackle of cartilage against bone sounded. Katz stumbled back as Van pressed forward. The gunmen¡¯s shock already ebbed as Abraham¡¯s hat hit the dirt. Teven fired two shots to the gun arms of those closest to him. Van planted his feet, thrust out his palm, striking Abraham''s throat. The Semos cousins huddled close around Sende. Their horses spooked, the animals whinnied a shrill squeal in anger and bucked their remaining mestizo riders. The Katz gunmen regained their focus, turned toward the unarmed Semos cousins and mestizo drovers. A dark-haired gunman in a dust-caked, once-black shirt and torn leather bat wings, leveled his rifle toward Hernan and Sende Semos. His shoulders leveled as he leaned his head to aim. Hernan shielded Sende with his body as he and his young sister crouched between their clustered cousins. The gunman¡¯s head erupted in a spurt of blood and brain matter. The man beside him, painted in crimson, hunched his shoulders, blinked, and cursed. His right arm exploded. Nathan stood at the edge of Fort Red Clay, his volcanic repeater cast spent shells as he pumped the rifle¡¯s lever action. Day Long sprinted past the blonde scout. Terrorizing the horses of the Katz gunmen, he screamed with waggled tongue, bared teeth, and wild eyes. One by one the gunmen toppled from their mounts. The men landed heavy with the snap and crack of bones. Day Long fell upon each wounded man in turn as Nathan marched forward, repeater at the ready. Abraham fared better than his fellow gunmen and bludgeoned brothers. Van stood over the unconscious roughneck with a dour look of disappointment. Violence, ever present, seemed to trouble all his days and haunt his nights. He dragged the back of his hand across his nostrils against the sweet-sick odor of tulips and sage. It did no good, the scent was entwined with his memories of the Crimea. ¡°Van.¡± Creosote and lime. The desert. The smell of black powder hung thick in the air, as did the odors of sweat and horseshit. Teven stood beside him, his navy revolver holstered. Van looked over the scene. The panicked horses of the Katz galloped past Nathan, back into the the trading post. The Semos family parted as Juan Semos and Sende approached, followed by Hernan. ¡°Lo siento, Se?or Van, Sende was a slave of Don Gasento.¡± ¡°Yeah, we fancy.¡± Day Long said. Van raised his hand. ¡°Tell me.¡± ¡°Se?or Van?¡± ¡°Do you mean to lead us into former Gasento lands and steal their cattle? Is this a vendetta? Revenge for your cousin Sende?¡± Sende moved forward to speak and Hernan held her firmly. Juan Semos turned to her. ¡°Callate.¡± ¡°No, Se?or Van. The beeves roam free. For many generations now. Many years. The Gasento rancheria is empty but for the family. Don Gasento and his youngest brother, they are all that remain. Don Gasento, his wife and many daughters.¡± Day Long huffed. ¡°Seems like an almighty lot of people to me.¡± Van crossed his arms and sighed. ¡°The drovers are from the Gasento ranch too?¡± Juan Semos raised his hands. ¡°Marcos and I, we worked for our government against gangs of cattle rustlers and Comanche, who cross the border to steal. We relied on the trust in our family, si?¡± Teven gestured toward the vaqueros. ¡°You never worked on the Gasento ranch?¡± Juan Semos stepped forward. ¡°No. A rancheria is not the same. It is a land grant.¡± ¡°Explain.¡± Van said. ¡°The Gasento Family are old blood Spanish ranchos who fight to defend their claim of Family Concession granted by the Spanish.¡± Van knew this much, the Spanish and later Mexican government encouraged settlement of the Territorio de Nuevo Mexico territories of California, New Mexico, and Texas by the establishment of large land grants. Many became ranchos, devoted to the raising of cattle and sheep. It was from many of these ranchos that the cattle Van sought first came to the region. The owners of these ranchos and rancherias patterned themselves after the landed gentry in Spain. Their workers included Native Americans, and those of mixed descent, mestizos, some of whom spoke Spanish. Of the hundreds of grants, Spain made only a few and the Gasento grant must have been among the oldest. Van shook his head. Teven stood at his side, arms crossed. Day Long gnawed on dried beef. Nathan reloaded his repeater. ¡°Best we tie up these men, Van? Before they regain their wits.¡± Day Long laughed. Another strip of jerky between his teeth, he waved the remainder towards Abraham. ¡°Long as we control Mr. Patriarch, the rest won''t bother us none.¡± Nathan sucked his teeth. ¡°He''s their brother, not their poppa.¡± Day Long sneered at the blonde scout. Juan Semos watched Van with an anxious stare. The vaqueros and Semos cousins watched over the unconscious or groaning gunmen. Van turned to Teven. ¡°Gather your brother and the horses. Take young Sende with you. We¡¯ll tend to the Katz brothers and their pistoleros.¡± Turning to Juan Semos, Van shared a silencing glance with the elder Semos, as Sende passed between them to trail Teven back to the corrals. * Abraham Katz rubbed his wounded throat, his voice hoarse, he chose not to talk more than needed. His brothers and their wounded friends tended by the post saw boss, Abraham met with Galtero Gervaso Gasento. The tall, well-dressed, landed Mexican sat calm and reposed beneath the porch of the saloon, a gray wolf with a black streak on its right shoulder lay two feet away, its head raised with watchful, hungry eyes. ¡°You disappoint, Abraham.¡± Galtero stared out into the desert at the southern end of the main street. ¡°Mr. Terry told me you are a man to depend upon to see dark deeds done. There''s the problem, I suspect.¡± Abraham stared at Galtero in silence. ¡°I only wanted to know of the girl''s location. I believe I made that clear in my letter to Mr. Terry. Yet you sought petty revenge for your embarrassment at the hands of the Americans.¡± ¡°British.¡± ¡°Que?¡± Katz swallowed and the action caused him to wince. ¡°I think they''re from England.¡± Galtero stood, the wolf likewise. ¡°No matter. You may have redeemed yourself. Enough that you shall still be paid. There is great power within those four men.¡± Confused, Abraham watched a silent discourse between Galtero and the wolf. The Mexican glanced at Abraham. ¡°I''ve someone to follow them. This is the land of the Escuridado, and any who trespass will suffer.¡± Galtero dismissed Katz with a flick of the wrist. * Christian thanked the livery master as the last of the remuda followed Sende. He''d watched as she gathered and prepared the horses, making the excuse of speaking with and paying the livery master. Teven paid the man hours earlier, when the horses entered the corral. Instead, Christian studied Sende¡¯s techniques. The livery master closed the corral gate and dipped his head towards Christian. Atop their geldings, Christian and Sende drove the horses out of Red Clay and circled around to the southeast. Christian watched Sende, unsure what her duties to the Gasento Family included, but content that she would perform well as fellow wrangler. * From the second story balcony of the lone saloon, Galtero Gasento watched the cattle drivers ride southeast. In the street below, the wolf trotted between the buildings into the desert toward the dust cloud kicked up by the drovers. Chapter Four Van sat atop his mount, watching the bustle of activity with squinted eyes. With old Fort Lyon behind them, they entered the Zuni Mountains. The land sprawled out before him, the broad scrubland covered in sage and rabbitbrush. Broken mesas rose from the valley floor veiled in shades of blue and violet with distance, dotted by pygmy cedars. The stink of cattle and the fine canyon dust filled his throat and nostrils, even through his red bandana. He squeezed his nose and adjusted the cloth higher on his bridge. His black gloves caked a gray orange. ¡°Still thinking about the Gasento family?¡± Teven trotted his lathered horse around Van. Van smiled. Not that Teven could see it. ¡°These are former Gasento lands.¡± His horse reined, Teven freed his canteen and drank deeply. Van did likewise, the water absorbed into the back of his parched throat. A pleasant, sensation of relief shivered through his torso. ¡°Juan Semos hired brush poppers to ferret out the beeves. We''ve seen no brands for the past week now.¡± Teven nodded. ¡°That they''d be dumb enough to steal Gasento, or other branded Mexican or Texan cattle?¡± He shrugged. ¡°I''m thinking of the slavery.¡± Van took another draught from his canteen. The British abolished slavery before Van''s birth. The Spanish too, yet here in the United States, and the unknown fastness of the frontier, human decency remained illusive. Van and Teven watched the vaqueros guide the longhorns, as Juan Semos directed the drovers. Nathan sat nearby, within the Chuck wagon, splitting his time over the past several days between scouting and cooking. ¡°I commissioned these from the blacksmith.¡± Van opened the leather tool roll and showed Teven the four cattle brands. He gestured over the clouds of dust obscuring the cattle and herders. ¡°Once we''ve gathered the rouge cattle, we''ll brand each before starting the drive north out of Santa Fe.¡± Numerous herds of free-roaming Spanish cattle, the old colonial Criollo breed, wandered the fastness of the New Mexico territory. The wild cattle, mainly brown with a light stripe down their backs and long, slim blue horns, proved anything but docile. The Longhorn did not have many enemies. The tribes preferred the meat of the tamer and easier to kill buffalo, finding more uses for buffalo hides and bones than for Longhorn leather. Wolves that followed the migrating buffalo herds remained shy and wary of the mean, and often deadly, Longhorn cattle. Teven hefted one of the branding irons. ¡°Lot of work.¡± Van replaced his bandana over his nose as he let his canteen hang on its saddle strap. ¡°Nathan says the Semos cousins and their fellows will manage just fine.¡± ¡°Care to test your roping skills against them?¡± Teven said. ¡°I¡¯m better with a whip than a lariat.¡± Teven shrugged. ¡°Days of it then, but if the herd scatters on account of the matter, it''ll be a whole lot longer. One longhorn causes a panic? And who''s to say any rustlers or tribes what thieve will care what brand we put on them?¡± Van shifted in his saddle and touched his temple. ¡°I''m more concerned about the Comanche. They''re more likely to take us than care for the herd.¡± * Christian sat atop his gelding as Sende tended to the spare horses within their temporary corral of stakes and rope. Far from the gathered herd, the dust clung low to the ground, yet not so low as to escape it atop a mount. The mixed remuda of pinto and sorrel, with typical bay among them, stood easy enough, removed as they were from the confusion of the herd and drovers. Christian dismounted. ¡°What are you running from?¡± Sende turned, her surprise contained, yet with a frown creasing her brow and her head cast about with caution. ¡°Running?¡± ¡°We know you were a servant to the Gasento family, but why¡¯d you run now?¡± Sende cut her eyes at Christian. Christian raised a gloved hand. ¡°I don''t mean to offend.¡± A young vaquero arrived from the herd atop a lathered mount. Christian turned on the man. ¡°Damn it son, that there ride is dragged out. Don''t work the next one so damned long, twig?¡± The drover, older than Christian, glanced at Sende, nodded, and dismounted. Sende eyed a bay gelding and approached it from behind and to its side. With a quick but gentle overhand throw she brought the loop of her lariat over the animal''s head, settling it down around the neck. The bay protested until Sende lay her free hand along its muzzle. The horse turned to face her and she led it to the young vaquero as his new mount. She glanced at Christian. ¡°We are riding through Gasento land.¡± She gestured around them with her free arm. ¡°My family worked with the Gasentos. They herded sheep and cattle, but I was very much a slave. Not a servant to Galtero Gasento.¡± Christian removed the saddle and gear from the tired workhorse as the vaquero took the fresh mount from Sende. ¡°Your brother and Se?or Van are rancheros?¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Christian looked up from the piled gear. ¡°Those two? We all grew up together. Van¡¯s as much my brother as Teven, but they''ve seen things, horrid things. That''s why we all came over here. From England. To get away from the shadows of the old world. Ancient horrors from the other side of the Veil.¡± Sende turned away from Christian, her lariat dangled from her right hand. ¡°That is what I am running from also.¡± * Three miles ahead of the herd, Nathan stooped over the night''s future fire pit when a noise from inside the chuck wagon drew his attention. He jogged around to the back of the wagon and found Day Long¡¯s rear-end. The Black Seminole was bent over the covered wagon¡¯s rear sideboard as he rummaged through the foodstuffs. ¡°What are you doing?¡± A muffled snicker rose from within the wagon among the cluttered noise of shifted sacks and crates. ¡°Somethings never change.¡± Nathan said, pulling Day Long by the boots. ¡°Get down from there.¡± Day Long spun and landed in a casual hop, his arms full of packs of sour dough and biscuits. He also had several packets of Abajo corn paste mixed with honey and dried berries. The two men stared at each other. ¡°Maybe that Katz fella was right.¡± Nathan frowned. ¡°Pardon?¡± ¡°You could be my wife, you look purty in that apron, but it''s the hair¡ªdem silver gold locks.¡± Nathan snatched at the supplies. ¡°Always fillin¡¯ your belly!¡± Day Long danced around him. ¡°I ain''t banded, hunger don''t rule me.¡± ¡°Since when?¡± Nathan said. ¡°You''re always gnawing on something.¡± ¡°Naw, this is for me an¡¯ the tail riders.¡± He laughed at his own pun. ¡°We ain''t gonna be eatin¡¯ but dung and dust every day followin¡¯ the herd. Gonna be candlelight soon, what''s your say?¡± Nathan sighed, stepping aside with an arm raised toward Day Long¡¯s nearby mount. The Black Seminole grinned and walked to his steel blue grulla. He packed the supplies into his saddle bags and mounted the horse. ¡°Kinda scout are you, couldn''t hear me ride up on you?¡± Day Long laughed and spurred the grulla into a canter. ¡°Done snuck up on me like the scout you are!¡± Nathan called after him, throwing his hand in a dismissive gesture behind him as he returned to preparing the evening meal. * Teven stretched his back and shifted in the saddle after another long day on the trail. Ahead, the sky grew dulled with the approach of twilight. Behind, the herd stretched back two miles. It would all begin again tomorrow. The steers left to graze each morning and led down the trail to familiarize the cattle to the drive. They''d found the dominant steer early. Every drive gained its dominant steer, which by instinct claimed its place at the front of the herd to lead the way. Its name already chosen, ¡°Red¡±, would not be sold; he would be brought home to St. Maria to lead the other herds north in future seasons. This morning, the cattle began to follow Red, led by the point riders. In addition to the two point riders beside Red, the swing and flank riders rode on each side of the herd. The swing riders about one-third of the way back. The flank riders two-thirds. Finally, Day Long and the tail riders rode behind the herd in the cloud of dust and stench that followed. Van trotted up beside Teven on a black gelding. ¡°There''s a watering hole and a goodly stretch of grasses ahead. Nathan''s already set camp.¡± Teven bobbed his bowler hat and ran a hand through his coarse brown hair. ¡°Seems all we do. Not much different to seaboard life. Routine, endless horizon, wide open skies.¡± Van took up his canteen. ¡°I''d do with a salty sea breeze about now, but you''re right, we spent more time below decks then upon the rigs.¡± Teven shrugged. ¡°That business at Red Clay has you thinking about Azov?¡± Van took a swig from his canteen. Swallowed. Licked his lips. Teven raised an eyebrow. ¡°Not what you thought it would be?¡± Van balanced the canteen on the saddle, his hands crossed over it and shrugged. ¡°Of all of us, not counting the Semos family, Aleya is best suited for this.¡± ¡°She was raised out here?¡± Van nodded. ¡°Just about. Came out here with her parents. Schooling back east, but she loves it.¡± Teven frowned. ¡°Don''t you? This was all your idea.¡± ¡°Of course. Still, we seem to have finished one war only to find another here.¡± Teven shook his head. ¡°That''s back East.¡± ¡°I want a fresh start for all of us. I don''t expect it to be easy. Out here, away from the empires and cities, there''s hope, at least during our lives, to live as we see fit.¡± ¡°Farming wasn''t enough? I understand you wanting to settle as far into the frontier as possible, but this is a big change from home.¡± ¡°A big change from Wales, but overseeing a copper business is only another form of empire. My father does that well enough.¡± Van straightened. ¡°You''ve yet to say. Are you all in? The plan is sound, we establish the ranch, build the herd to two, maybe three, thousand strong each year. If we drive these longhorns north, to Denver, and the rest clear round and back to St. Maria¡­¡± The boys followed a circle route from the Grand Valley of Colorado, west into Utah and south through the lands of the Abajo, into the New Mexico territory and northern Texas to gather cattle. Skirting the lands of the Comancheria, they''d drive most of the herd to Denver, then further north through the plains and fatten the remaining cattle for the mountain journey west through Wyoming, south, back to Utah, and east into the Grand Valley. Teven raised his hand. ¡°I''ve no doubt we can, but my concern is Jessica. Does she truly want to leave Boston? Agree to uproot her life?¡± Van shook his head, pointed his finger. ¡°She chose you. Jessica will go anywhere with you. She''s a newswoman. Living here beyond the frontier? The potential for unique stories? It''s her bread and butter.¡± Teven smiled. ¡°Christian said much the same.¡± ¡°He''s right.¡± Van shrugged. ¡°That''s how you and Jess¡¯ met, writing her stories about the Crimea.¡± He paused, waving his hand around. ¡°Reporting the stories of the good fight. Cossacks against our fine Royal Navy boys. The Golden Fox taken, our gunship overrun. We brash lads taking command, driving the battle to the Krasnodar Cossacks. Storming the Russian batteries, fighting life and limb¡­¡± He grew silent, the supernatural horrors the Krasnodar unleashed during the Sea of Azov campaign of the Crimean War forever etched into their minds. Van breathed in and exhaled. ¡°The old smith in Red Clay talked about war, and how the end of every war creates three armies. An army of the wounded, an army of the bereaved, and an army of thieves.¡± Teven nodded and smiled as he raised his finger. ¡°He forgot one, the fourth army. An army of newborns, and hope for the future.¡± Van shook his head. Teven, ever an optimist. * The thick dust from the rear of the herd all but obscured the twilight skies to the east. The bedding down for the night coming soon enough, where Day Long left Nathan and the chuck. The heat of the massed herd radiated upon Day Long¡¯s drag riders at the rear, western edge, of the cattle. Day Long and the rear vaqueros ensured no cattle strayed and no one followed the herd. While point, swing, and flank riders fulfilled similar duties around the longhorns, all wary of the beasts they led and protected. Slowing his grulla, he turned to rustle through his saddlebags, and saw it, a flicker of movement on the expense of sparse grasslands behind. Through the thinning dust cloud and setting sun beyond. The grulla trotted on and Day Long lowered his wide, flat-brimmed, sombrero. There it was again, quick and low to the ground. Nothing but sagebrush provided any sort of cover. He turned the grulla to the right. A coyote maybe? Likely. The grulla stopped at a pull on the reins. Day Long lifted his canteen, pulled his bandana away from his face and drank deep. The sun grew fat against the mountains to the west. The land remained still, but something lurked out there. Chapter Five The early morning sun crested the notch formed to the east between the high walls of the valley as Nathan pressed his hands into the small of his back and breathed deeply. A light, chill breeze stirred the timber, bringing with it the sharp scent of pine and cedar. The sensitive still life of a rushing, meltwater creek stretched around him and there was nothing still about it. He knelt at its edge, listening to the gurgle and thrum. Behind him two pack horses stood, loaded with canteens. The chuckle of the creek and towering stoicism of red canyon walls beyond the cottonwoods reminded him of his decision to live as a scout, or mountain man as Day Long might joke. This was the life he chose, born in the wilds of Virginia, where his family made a name for themselves along the east coast with the infamous Boltons. Aleya''s father left the Bolton home of Somerfield Island when Aleya was a young girl. When Nathan traveled west working as a scout and tradesman, he found a piece of home on Aleya''s family farm in St. Maria. Many harsh winters spent in the Colorado Territory led to the meeting of Nathan and Van. Once Van and Aleya married, with their ranch established, Van trusted Nathan as a friend and potential business partner. Nathan laughed, his first cry echoed. He''d thought of Day Long. The Seminole scout was an entirely different story. Was he a Seminole? Nathan wasn''t clear on all that. Andros Island, Florida, runaway slaves, Seminole Wars, and reservations. His head full of contradictory stories, he stood and walked back to the horses with the final canteens filled. Having taken an inventory of the chuck wagon after Day Long¡¯s visit the previous evening, he¡¯d decided on the addition of fresh foods for variety and health. Best found on a nearby farm, which the Semos cousins assured him sat in the parallel valleys and canyons along their route, it was time to discuss the matter with Van. He led the pack horses back to the morning camp. The water barrels in the wagon needed filling too. * The camp sat beside a large needle of rock between the men and the cattle. If a stampede erupted in the night, at least they wouldn''t be awoken from and trampled in their sleep. The covered wagon abutted the rock, its horses picketed beside it. Thick grass growing in the runoff field of the needle kept the draught horses sated. Teven served breakfast to everyone from the wagon, while black kettles kept coffee hot over the central campfire. Van, Day Long, and Christian sat together, apart from the Semos cousins and their fellow vaqueros¡ªfour of which remained at watch over the herd. Nathan approached from the north, his packhorses in tow. ¡°Van, how do you feel about fresh eggs and milk?¡± ¡°Absolutely brethren.¡± Day Long sat with his mouth full of bacon and beans. Nathan ignored him. Day Long hefted a battered metal cup. ¡°Anything to fix up this brown gargle you call coffee.¡± Van stared at his own cup, glanced at Teven, and raised the cup toward Nathan. ¡°Agreed.¡± It was Teven who prepared the morning coffee. Nathan shook his head. ¡°I can be back before noon break.¡± ¡°Aw hell, who¡¯s gonna cook midday chow while yer gone?¡±Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! ¡°Driven by your belly, you are.¡± Nathan said before turning to Van. Juan Semos stood and walked over from the cluster of vaqueros.¡°There are scattered farms here in the mountains, Se?or Drake has already spoken of this with me.¡± Van waved his hand. ¡°Yes, as did we, buying when we can along the drive, if there are farmers willing to sell or barter.¡± Juan Semos pointed to the north east. ¡°An hour or two at a gentle ride, we will find a small farm. Se?or Drake and I will go?¡± Van stood and stretched. ¡°First we get the herd moving. We can ride for the farm and join back up by noon or thereafter.¡± * Christian prepped a sorrel gelding from among the remuda as the spare horses grazed in the varied mountain grasses while Sende up-staked the makeshift corral. ¡°Teven¡¯s riding to visit a farm for eggs and the like.¡± Sende stared at the young wrangler. ¡°I heard them at desayuno, your brother, Se?or Van, and Juan. Why do you tell me this?¡± ¡°Because they want me working with your cousin Marcos as a point rider. I''m in charge while they''re gone.¡± ¡°The cookie is usually left to¡­¡± Christian grimaced. ¡°Well yes, but Nathan''s already left with the wagon to ride ahead of the herd.¡± ¡°Se?or Long?¡± Christian misstepped as he tried to mount his sorrel. ¡°Day Long? Se?or Loco? No.¡± ¡°Then the cook, Se?or Drake is in charge?¡± ¡°What? No. Take the compliment.¡± ¡°What compliment?¡± ¡°We''re entrusting the remuda to you.¡± Sende pulled at her hair. ¡°Oh. I apologize.¡± Christian spurred his mount into a gallop. ¡°Yeah, damn it. Way to take the wind out of a fella¡¯s sails.¡± * Van watched as the herd pressed east. Christian fell in ahead of Marcos at the head of the drive and lead steer. Van raised his hand. ¡°Se?or Semos, if you would.¡± Juan Semos kicked his horse forward. Teven fell in beside Van and the trio set off toward the creek. ¡°Se?or Van, I must thank you once again for engaging my family in your employ.¡± ¡°Nathan recommended you, or I should say, Day Long. But Nathan went about seeking you out.¡± ¡°Se?or Long?¡± Van smiled. ¡°It''s Day Long actually. Not sure his first name is John, but his name is Day Long.¡± Juan Semos raised his chin. ¡°Ah, is he a Mascogo?¡± Van and Teven shared confused glances. Juan Semos raised his free hand. ¡°Black men that settled in Mexico, to the south of here, beyond the Pecos. It makes sense to me.¡± Van and Teven shrugged. Teven tilted his head. ¡°I only know of Andros Island.¡± Juan Semos raised a forefinger. ¡°He is a Black Seminole, yes?¡± The friends nodded. ¡°Ah, si.¡± Juan Semos raised both hands, a broad smile creased his wrinkled and weathered skin. ¡°Many traveled here years ago. Perhaps he visits his people?¡± Van rubbed his jaw. ¡°Maybe.¡± Teven grinned. ¡°Learn something new every day.¡± ¡°Day Long is a mystery.¡± Van said. ¡°But he''s one to ride the river with, no matter how he acts.¡± Teven laughed. ¡°Nathan sure suffers the gaff with him.¡± The party neared the cottonwoods growing around the creek bed. The murmured rush of water filtered through the thicket. Van shifted in his saddle. ¡°Is it a Gasento farm you''re guiding us to, Juan?¡± Juan Semos shook his head. ¡°No, I don''t believe so, but there was a time when the people who worked these lands paid the Gasento family.¡± ¡°Sounds like Ireland. Tenant farmers.¡± Teven said. Juan Semos nodded. ¡°It is the same everywhere. The many poor and the few who are rich.¡± He pointed ahead. ¡°We follow the creek up into the hills, where we can cross into the next valley. Van remained quiet on the climb through the switchbacks between the two valleys. The trio paused atop the slope, impressed by the view before them, a panorama of nature''s majestic simplicity. A plateau studded by mesas and cut by labyrinthine canyons. The turquoise-blue sky arched over the craggy outcroppings and thick foliage. A land of grandeur and ferocity. ¡°This is why we are here.¡± Van stared out over the fastness. ¡°Easy to lose oneself and start over.¡± Teven¡¯s eyebrows rose and fell. ¡°It seems as endless as the ocean.¡± Chapter Six Light clouds back-lit the dramatic spires, buttes, and promontories rising above the valley floor. Gothic shapes etched by eons of wind and water. Spring was upon the land. While snow crested the mountain peaks and highest of the mesas, the end of winter began in the lower gorges and brush-covered valleys. The timber of the high-country, cone-bearing ponderosas and firs, gave way to the chaparral of the foothills. Halfway down into the canyons and minor valleys, pygmy forests of pinyon and juniper dominated the hillsides as evergreen oaks sprinkled the gentler slopes, while cottonwoods indicated the presence of a vital source of water, whether stream or brook, spring or underground source. Van, Teven, and Juan entered a wide, arid, yet colorful valley between mesas, north of the parallel valley followed by the herd. Even with the early Spring, colors surrounded the trio. Reds, whites, and pinks in horizontal stripes of sandstone, blazoned across the walls of the flat mesas, exposed by millennia of erosion. Mother Nature fed upon the land as if it were a layered cake. The gray-green of rabbitbrush and sage surrounded them in patches across the broad valley. The blues and whites of the sky and clouds cut sharply through the clarity of six thousand feet above sea level. The thick scent of pine and sage enlivened the already bracing highland air. As Juan Semos led the way, Van spied the broken walls of ruins to their left, nearer a low escarpment or promontory jutting from the tabletop lands. Juan Semos appeared intent on avoiding them and Van spoke up. ¡°Juan Semos do you mind if we travel through, rather than skirt, those ruins?¡± He pointed at the fallen adobe masonry. Juan Semos glanced at the Pueblo structures and looked over his shoulder at Van. ¡°Only ghosts to be found there, Se?or Van.¡± Teven appraised Van with a raised eyebrow. Ghosts or wraiths, the shadow of Azov casted a long reach. Van nudged his horse left and with a shrug, Teven did likewise. Juan Semos took on a weary cast, yet followed the two old friends. The collapsed remains of clustered stone houses and adobe beehive-shaped ovens struggled amidst the cedars and rabbitbrush. The land did its best to reclaim the ancient buildings. Mother Nature possessed a rabid appetite. Van looked about, but did not see what he searched for. Teven gave Juan Semos a shrug and the old mestizo cantered along, aloof. * Day Long brought his grulla to a halt as the herd continued east. As the dust settled, he reached into a saddle bag and withdrew his pack of mixed corn paste, berries, and honey. He sagged in his saddle and lowered his orange bandana. With dust waved from his face, he took in a deep breath and exhaled. The strong scent of crushed sage and lime filled his sinuses and he sneezed a half-dozen times. Wiping his nose with the bandana, he unwrapped the packet of paste. The mix of blue corn and juniper ash was familiar to Day Long from the Navajo, and the Abajo prepared the same concoction, but added salt. Nathan chose berries and honey to produce a dry paste he could then convert into a custard of sorts over a flame. Day Long didn''t much care about all of that at the moment. He removed his dust-caked gloves and scooped up a wad of the blue paste with two bare fingers. He noticed the movement as he sucked on his index finger. Something followed the herd. It lurked at a safe distance. A coyote maybe, or a wolf. He didn''t hold much thought to a mountain lion, but it was early spring, it could be. Their natural aversion to the longhorns, any one of them was no true threat. Easy to shoot and be done with. Another of the tail riders waited ahead. Day Long waved the vaquero on, he''d follow the herd soon enough. He pulled his feet clear of the stirrups and grabbed hold of the pommel and the saddle roll behind him and swung his leg over to sit side-saddle. He then swung his leg over the horse''s rear and sat in reverse, backwards in his saddle. His grulla cantered along as the Seminole scout chewed on his honeyed corn paste and dried berries. He rode for the next twenty minutes as a shadow flickered, on occasion, among the rabbitbrush and sage. It followed the herd and avoided Day Long¡¯s gaze. ¡°Well, hell.¡± He sighed and considered the matter. An idea formed. He looked at a low ridge aligned west to east and parallel to their path. A ridge along the valley floor. Day Long rubbed his back where the pommel pressed against his crack, loosened the catgut holding his canteen to the saddle and drank deep. Time for a refill from Nathan''s wagon, and a change of plans. Repeating the about-face on his saddle, Day Long spurred his mount into a gallop entering the cloud of dust around the left flank of the herd, out of sight of whatever beast pursued them. * Van rode ahead of Teven and Juan, studying the walls of the mesas. They passed a ruin perched on a jagged ridge, massive masonry built atop rimrock, windswept and abandoned long ago.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The trio rode on around the ridge and the panorama opened before then. A sun-drenched city of stone, set into a weather-sculpted cavern in the tall cliff face thirty feet ahead of them. Van¡¯s head turned here and there taking in the quiet repose of eternity. The flat roofs and straight walls of an abandoned apartment complex nestled side by side and atop each other, broken by round and square towers jutting toward the recessed cavern ceiling. Van raised his hand to Teven and Juan, a signal for them to halt. Juan Semos nudged his horse closer to Teven. ¡°I don''t understand.¡± Van swiveled in his saddle. ¡°I met an elder among the Abajo named Pooling Waters. He explained some of the history of his people, of all the Pueblo peoples.¡± Juan Semos made an expression of understanding, his mouth slightly opened. He pointed at Van. ¡°The Pueblo too are some of my people, those you call the Zuni, whom these mountains are named for. They and my Spanish ancestors.¡± He grew quiet and contemplative. ¡°There is a hidden history to this land just as there is in the old world.¡± Van said. Teven frowned. ¡°I thought you came out here to escape all of that?¡± Van shook his head, raised and waved his hands. ¡°Yes, and I came out here to escape war. To forge something new. But you remember the manor library? All those tales of King Arthur, Robin Hood, and the Greek myths?¡± Teven scoffed. There was plenty of violence, death, and horror in each one of those tales. And magic, a great deal of magic. Even for Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Had the horrors of Azov shaken Van, baptized him to the reality of the Otherworld unimagined in those books and old tales? The Greek Myths certainly told of more blood and violence than any stories printed in the books Jessica kept. Thinking of his wife made Teven pause. Van dismounted to climb the face of the rock. A partial collapse of the sandstone overhang provided a natural staircase of immense and odd-shaped boulders covered by scree up to the level of the ruins. Upon the walls above the ruined apartment complex, a forgotten mural loomed large, bold and grey. Images in faded white, red, black, and yellow covered the pink rock. Hand prints and spirals amidst an array of animals, birds, men, women, and weapons. Beautiful all and not what drew Van''s eye. The spirals, yes, and the strange figures, not men or women, but something more. Horned figures, taller than the male and female human figures depicted. Deities or demons? Both? Creatures certainly, not mere warriors in ceremonial regalia. Van ran his hand inches above the rock, cautious not to touch the ancient symbols. A code unbroken after thousands of years. Centuries of weather had abraded the aged sigils, now faded vestiges of their original forms, save for the power inherent in them. A unique figure stood out among the others, taller, without horns, but some ornate headdress, carrying what looked like a spear or javelin. Or a staff? A line broken by an ¡®x¡¯ at the end of the figure¡¯s arm with a spiral at both ends of the line, or rather, both ends of the spear. Beside the figure was another symbol. It looked like an ¡®x¡¯ between two brackets. Van cast his eyes around the mural, stopped to look behind him, and stepped away as far as he could. The odd figure stood apart from the horned and human figures. Was it meant to represent the leader of the gods, or a warrior of the people? A protector? So many questions, a mystery Van was happy to lose himself in. He recalled his childhood reading those stories and acting them out in the wilds of his Welsh home. ¡°Van!¡± Teven called out. ¡°The herd will be past our rendezvous if we linger here. I''m sorry, but we''ve got to move on.¡± ¡°Yes, I know, I know.¡± Van held his fingers over the X-man. What did he represent? * With a full canteen and Nathan''s borrowed repeater, Day Long rode around the edge of the ridge which, like the herd, stretched west two or more miles. He sucked his teeth. He and the tail riders would tighten up the drive. The cloud of dust obscured the rest of the rise, and anything further. Whatever creature hunted the cattle wouldn''t see him. He thought it odd, most predators kept well clear of the ill-tempered longhorns. The cattle near as crazy as he was, with little more patience. Rounding the edge of the rise, Day Long cantered west behind the ridge. The herd continued at its casual pace, eastward on the other side. The cloud of dust soon came, but stayed for the most part, on the southern side of the ridge. Day Long dismounted, hobbled his horse, unsheathed Nathan''s repeater, and climbed the steep slope of the ridge but stopped below its crest and waited. He sat with his head back and stared up through the dust. As the cloud diminished, the sky turned a solid blue and the rumble and percussion of the hooves lessened. Day Long popped his head over the crest of the ridge. A grey wolf stood, some two hundred feet away, it''s head turned to and staring at Day Long. It¡¯s body faced east and he only saw its left side. He felt a great unease and wondered if the beast¡¯s pack surrounded him in the brush. He tightened his grip on the rifle. The wolf continued to watch him. Day Long snapped the repeater to his shoulder and sighted the rifle. The wolf lunged into a zigzag course through the brush and was lost before Day Long curled his finger around the trigger. ¡°Tricky bastard.¡± * The trio remained silent as they rode across the valley toward the tenant farm. Van rode a pace behind Teven and Juan Semos, contemplating the meanings of the ancient rock art. Juan Semos turned to Teven and broke the silence. ¡°Se?or Gray? What war did you fight in?¡± Teven smiled. ¡°It''s Har, my family name simply means gray.¡± ¡°Apologies Se?or Har. Is it too much of me to ask? I heard you and Se?or Van talk of it, the war.¡± ¡°It was a war with Russia, in a place known as the Crimea. We fought in His Majesty¡¯s Royal Navy. The Andrew, we call it. The Navy service, that is. Fought a battle in the Azov Campaign that saw¡­some horrific, unnatural things.¡± ¡°Brujeria?¡± Teven looked at Juan Semos with a confused expression. ¡°I don''t¡­?¡± ¡°Magic? Like the drawings of the Old Ones? In the ruins?¡± Juan Semos gestured behind them and pulled his horse to an abrupt halt. Behind them, Van sat atop his mount and looked up in the sky. Juan Semos and Teven followed his line of sight. Ahead, in the distance, carrion birds circled. Chapter Seven Van, Teven, and Juan Semos crested the low ridge above the modest farm, likely rented by the tenant farmers from the Gasento Family. Juan Semos led the childhood friends into the outer, empty fields of the farm. Two outbuildings sat to their right beside a small corral of sagged fencing. The main house stood forty feet ahead and all was gripped in an unsettling silence in the clear morning air. Nothing moved within the eerie quiet save for carrion wing high above. Van touched his temple. Teven glanced over. Nothing good ever came of that pain. Van reined his mount. ¡°Where are the animals?¡± Juan Semos sat, tense, in his saddle. His pinto whinnied and Van''s mount answered. Death. The horses knew. A heavy pall hung over the farm. Van sensed it too. Neither he nor Juan Semos carried weapons. Van touched the whip hanging on his saddle and Teven the walnut grip of his pistol, the unspoken communication forged between Van and Teven already in play. Juan Semos pointed to the corral fence. Something hung off one of the posts. Carrion birds circled beyond the farmhouse over the dry fields to the east. The trio dismounted. A broken form hung from the post. Juan Semos eased the broken body down beside the corral post. An infant, not a year old, his head shattered. Teven surveyed the farm. Van paced, following the arc of the buzzards, black vultures most likely. Pointing. ¡°Something¡¯s out there.¡± Juan Semos sighed. ¡°I believe I know what we''ll find Se?or Van. We''ve entered the Comancheria.¡± Teven frowned. ¡°This far west? In Apache lands and Zuni?¡± Juan Semos shook his head, walking toward the fallow fields. Van and Teven followed. Less than a mile east of the farm, the trio found two more members of the family. Two heads exposed in the desert sands, their bodies buried up to the chin; eyelids removed, eyes seared by the burning sun. Both starved to death and picked at by coyotes. Nearby, they located the women, what remained of them, pegged out naked, skinned, sliced, and mutilated. ¡°Comanche.¡± Juan Semos said, but Van already knew. Women led the torture process in Comanche society. The Comanche terrorised Mexico, and brought the expansion of Spanish territory to a halt. They stole horses to ride and cattle to sell, often in return for firearms. Other livestock they slaughtered along with babies and the elderly. They would want the herd and sell the men into slavery, to the Comancheros¡ªfamilies like the Gasentos. Teven frowned. ¡°Thought the Rangers drove most of the Comanche into reservations?¡± ¡°Some. But since the Americans began fighting each other, the forts lay empty and the Rangers are on their own once again.¡± Van rubbed his face. ¡°Let''s give them all a proper burial.¡± Death, it haunted Van, and he seemed unable to escape it. * Sende watched the latest vaqueros ride back to the herd on fresh mounts. Her brother approached as Sende returned to the remuda. Hernan cast his head about and dismounted. He spoke in Spanish. ¡°This is good, we can travel with the ranchers and perhaps work on their ranch. We''ll never have to return here.¡± Sende scowled. ¡°What of our cousins?¡± ¡°Se?or Van will likely hire them each year.¡± Sende swiped her hand. ¡°That doesn''t keep them from the Escuridon.¡± Hernan spat, waved his hands. ¡°Don''t say that name. They won''t seek out vaqueros. We''ve more to fear from the Comanche and Apache.¡± Sende turned away, rested her hand along the shoulder of a young, chestnut gelding. ¡°All fear the Escuridon.¡± * Christian glanced at Marcos. The vaquero returned the brief glance in silence. The younger Har slumped in his saddle. Marcos was not a talker and Christian spoke English and French, but little to no Spanish. The vaqueros spoke only Spanish and regional, mestizo languages. Christian was bored, the gentle sway of his horse was monotonous. He considered riding ahead to speak with Nathan and thought better of it, his responsibility to oversee the herd remained his primary duty.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Christian¡¯s journey was unlike Van and Teven. Living in Normandy, in the older Du Har family estate, Christian pursued a life as a painter, yet, upon Teven and Van''s return from the Crimea, the thrill of travel to America drew Christian. He stood in his stirrups. His ass hurt. This wasn''t exciting. The life of a drover smelled. Unending days of heat and thirst, dust and dirt. He looked over at Marcos. The vaquero didn''t bother to return his gaze. With a sigh, Christian reached for his canteen. The water bottle almost empty, he took a swig and rode on with it held between saddle seat and pommel. The valley stretched ahead so far the hills and mesas converged in the distance, a natural corridor hundreds of thousands of years old. The creek bed lay a mile ahead, the crossing of it, a challenge to meet. But for its proximity to last night''s camp, Nathan proposed it as the next stop. The creek twisted its way out of the slopes to the north and crossed the valley on a wide, shallow course. Tall timber and cottonwoods followed the water course. That caused concern for a trouble-free crossing. Christian watched from the north side of the drive as Marcos and the point riding vaqueros entered the treeline with Red, the lead steer. As Christian feared, the clusters and thickets of timber along the creek separated the cattle into smaller groups out of view of Red. As the swing and flank riders funneled the longhorns through the thickets, Christian rode around and ahead of the herd, through the timber, and emerged at the edge of trees to the gentle thrum of the melt waters. The creek stretched twenty feet across, bordered by slick, rounded rocks and smaller stones smoothed by the unceasing cascade of water. White in the center with the rush of the spring runoff, the depth of the creek was nonetheless shallow. Nathan''s marker hung from a tall cottonwood above the best point to ford the waterway. The brief tranquility of the moment passed as the first cattle and riders broke through the trees. ¡°Make ready for the crossing.¡± Christian shouted above the din. Marcos nodded, his eyes fixed on the lead steer as Red approached the water''s edge. Christian watched the steer with tense anxiety as the sound of fallen branches and brush under hoof grew louder, along with the frustrated calls of the vaqueros among each other. Red paused at the edge of the creek and stopped. Impatient, Christian crossed the ford, his mount taking care on the uneven creek bed. Rounding his horse on the other side, he glanced at Marcos. The point rider returned his stare from the far shore with his usual stoic silence. Stoic was being polite, Marcos was downright aloof, the vaquero unsettled the younger Har brother. Christian turned his attention to the steer. Red stood as before, at the edge of the creek, breathing in the smell of the mountain water. More cows emerged from the treeline and the swing riders with them for tens of feet up and down the creek, and Christian felt the press of the herd. ¡°They may scatter at any moment.¡± Christian wiped his hand up his forehead, pushing back his hair and hat. Red looked up at him. Christian met eyes with the beast and the two considered each other. As if decided, Red seemed to choose the best place to take the herd across and stepped into the water. Christian suppressed the urge to cheer, to cheer and swear, as one by one the herd followed. * ¡°It''s getting late and there''s little to no supplies we can take, or should. Best we ride ahead of and meet the herd.¡± Van said as they walked back from a makeshift family plot for the murdered farmers. Teven gestured toward Van. ¡°Don''t like it.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± Teven scoffed, his hand waved, dismissive and tapped his head. ¡°You know full well. The pain since we arrived.¡± Van''s temples pulsed with a dull pain. The ache began after cresting the low ridge beyond the farm. The discomfort grew, his head throbbed. Teven untied the reins of his horse. ¡°Never a good sign. Not in the Crimea or since.¡± Juan Semos stood in confusion. ¡°Que?¡± Teven hefted himself up onto the saddle. ¡°Intuition.¡± He patted his mount. ¡°A horse sense, if you will. Though we didn''t call it that in the Andrew.¡± Juan Semos¡¯ head moved from horse to horse. The animals appeared calm. ¡°You somehow sensed something is wrong?¡± Teven nodded. ¡°He did, and it was. We found the family, dead. I ask then, what haven''t we found? Comanche? This far west? Do you see anything unusual?¡± Juan Semos placed a foot in his stirrup. ¡°Those poor souls died days ago.¡± Van touched his cheek and worked his jaw. The pressure remained. ¡°As I said, best we make our way back to the herd.¡± Van and Juan mounted their horses and saw the lone Comanche atop the ridge. Van¡¯s hand went to his whip and Teven fingered his pistol grip. Juan Semos turned to Van. ¡°We can''t outrun them.¡± Van nodded. ¡°How many?¡± ¡°If this is a raiding party, there will be seven or more. As many as ten, no greater.¡± ¡°Bad odds. They must have been watching us, or else saw some hint of the herd.¡± Teven said. Van shrugged. ¡°We ride around the ridge, let him watch, there¡¯s only the one we see.¡± Teven tapped the side of his forehead with his finger. ¡°Ah, but you know.¡± Juan Semos clicked his tongue. ¡°They''re fierce horsemen, they are unlikely to be hidden on the valley floor. Not among the the sage and rabbitbrush. They will challenge us in the open.¡± Teven adjusted his pistol and spurred his mount forward. ¡°We''ll see.¡± The trio entered into a canter, as a gallop might trigger some reaction from the sentinel. They rode around the far edge of the ridge toward their approaching herd. There was little sense in avoiding the cattle drive. Anyone in as many miles saw signs of the herd. Their numbers might not be greater than whatever Comanche tribe stalked them, and the young warriors who sought to make their place in Comanche society, but there was no avoiding the herd. Van''s only concern was triggering a stampede¡ªall could be lost. Van raised a hand and reined to a stop. Teven turned to Juan Semos. ¡°Here we go.¡± Van rounded his mount. ¡°Back to the farm. We make a stand among the buildings.¡± Chapter Eight The Comanche sentinel watched from the ridge as Juan Semos, Teven and Van galloped back to the farm. Between the two outbuildings and fencing, Juan Semos spoke. ¡°I did not see them when first we rode in.¡± ¡°Neither did we.¡± Teven answered. He touched his head. ¡°But Van knows.¡± Whether hidden among the low junipers or scattered rabbitbrush, Van sensed the Comanche, and cursed his desire to avoid conflict. He was resigned to it. His instincts pressed against his skull, just as when they first arrived at the farm. With no time for second guesses, Van dismounted. ¡°They''re coming.¡± Teven checked the rounds in his pistol and placed several loose paper cartridge spares and percussion caps in his belt pouch. With a muzzle-loaded cylinder, he didn''t hold much hope in reloading. He looked up at an unspoken signal from Van. The Comanche sentinel sat atop the low ridge, flanked by twelve warriors. The Comanche riders charged, whooping and screeching. Van remained calm, the warriors as nothing compared to the wraiths unleashed by the Krasnodar Cossacks not so long ago¡ªfierce horsemen on the far side of the world who turned to magic and an alliance with the dead to defend their Russian coasts. As the lead riders approached, threatening with their lances and war hawks, but withholding any arrow fire, Van unleashed his whip, striking the muzzles and chests of the nearest horses. The beasts bucked and attempted to throw their riders. The warriors seemed pleased, pleasantly shocked, but surprised nonetheless that Van was upon and among them, cracking his whip against mount and rider without mercy. Teven fired a reaping barrage, emptying his pistol before riding his steed over and trampling the fallen Comanche. Juan Semos followed, but by then, the remaining warriors let loose their arrows. Juan Semos toppled from his horse. He stared at the bloodied shaft of the arrow jutting from his shoulder. White ash. * Nathan expected Van to return well before noon, yet as the sun crested and the herd continued its drive eastward, there was no sign of the trio. The blonde scout sat on the covered wagon and awaited the herd. After years in the mountains, the impact of the New Mexico landscape struck him with its startling contrast. A vast and brooding land of magnificent splendor, flat and arid with sparse vegetation divided by barren upland plateaus. Their route, studded with mesas cut by a labyrinthine web of canyons, led them east toward the flat grasslands of the American plains. The herd¡¯s approach was heard before the wagon shook, and after the draft horses took note. Nathan sensed it too, in his inner ear and in his gut. The dust hung above the horizon, the low rumble of noise grew to understandable sounds and shouted words. Marcos and Christian rode ahead. ¡°Nathan?¡± Christian swung his arms.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The blonde scout took up the reins of the draft horses, it wasn''t time to slow the herd, for it wasn''t an easy thing. He waved Christian forward to ride as close as possible beside the wagon. They yelled at each other, even ahead of the cacophony of the herd. ¡°Have you seen your brother?¡± Nathan addressed both Christian and Marcos. ¡°Van? Any of them?¡± Christian glanced at Marcos. To Nathan, it was clear, had they returned, the trio would be with the herd, at the lead. Marcos and Christian shook their heads. Nathan breathed in. ¡°Alright, send word back, I want Day Long up here.¡± * The Comanche circled the party of drovers in a wide arc, as Van intended, forced to include the outbuildings and blocked by the corral fencing. The circling warriors drew back their arrows as Van and Teven dispatched the fallen riders. Juan Semos lay nearby, the shaft of a second white ash embedded deep in his thigh, he looked up from the wound as Van spun and cracked his whip at a passing Comanche, edging closer to a fallen lance and two war hawks from warriors shot and trampled by Teven. Fighting in tandem, the old friends dodged arrow fire while shielded among the fallen Comanche. Seizing the fallen lance, Van rolled and jabbed the weapon deep into the belly of the next Comanche mount. The horse screeched in pain, its master riding the animal to the ground with great skill, lunging for Van the moment the body of the thrashing beast struck the dirt. Van countered the warrior''s blow with the first fallen war hawk, while Teven swept down from his own horse and swept up the second. Now back to back, the two men faced the incensed Comanche warriors, aware of the danger of presenting a central target for the clan¡¯s arrows, they separated to engage. A Comanche menaced Juan Semos from atop a lathered bay gelding, an arrow aimed at the old drover. The two men¡¯s eyes met, Juan Semos tracked the warrior''s gaze, studying the white ash shafts jutting from his shoulder and thigh. The warrior cawed and cued his mount toward Van and Teven. Juan Semos reached for the arrow in his shoulder, struck by a realization more sickening than his wounds. * Day Long chewed on the mix of corn paste, honey and dried berries given by the Abajo and appropriated from the chuck wagon. Christian rounded the mass of cattle through the thick, acrid dust, his free arm waved as he yelled, even though Day Long couldn''t hear over the clamor of the cattle. Closer, Christian¡¯s words became clearer. ¡°...is missing. They haven''t returned from the farm.¡± Day Long pointed at his ears and raised his other hand to Christian. The young wrangler quit yelling and focused on his mount¡¯s gallop. The two men met as the Black Seminole eased his grulla toward Christian and away from the clouds of dust. Riding alongside each other, the younger Har brother repeated himself. ¡°Van, Teven, and Se?or Semos haven''t returned from that farm Semos took them to. Nathan''s worried something happened.¡± Day Long pushed his snack into his vest pocket. ¡°You two ladies are gettin¡¯ worried a might early. You know how farmers are?¡± Christian frowned. ¡°Either they pull a gun on you an¡¯ want you off their land, or they''re so damned stir crazy for company, they talk yo ears off.¡± Christian shook his head. ¡°No, Nathan thinks maybe they ran into trouble.¡± ¡°Indians.¡± ¡°Right. Maybe. Anyway, he wants you to join us.¡± ¡°Us?¡± Day Long pointed at Christian with his fingers together, jutting his hand forward. ¡°Tell you right now, brethren. You''ll be stayin¡¯ wit¡¯ the herd.¡± ¡°Hell no.¡± Christian reined his horse to a stop. ¡°Hell yes, an¡¯ stay there, ¡®cause we can''t have you gettin¡¯ all excitable.¡± ¡°Me? Excited? You''re the crazy one. I''m going after my brother.¡± Day Long raised his hand. ¡°We need you lookin¡¯ after the herd. Drake and I are the scouts, you ain¡¯t got the skills. Van put you in charge of the herd.¡± Christian sat with his mouth agape. His cheek twitched and he tilted his head to one side. He shook his head. Coughing on the dust, he cleared his throat. ¡°Right, to watch over the vaqueros with Marcos and Hernan.¡± He spurred his horse forward. ¡°Hold up.¡± But Day Long was already at a full gallop around the herd. Chapter Nine Van, Teven and Juan Semos sat together, each man wounded, bound and laid out before the surviving, bloodied, and exhausted Comanche. The four warriors raised their weapons as three riders galloped onto the farm. Gasento men. Gunmen. Van watched through blood-filled vision. The gunmen wore black and rode jet stallions, not a hint of brown or blue-gray in their coats. Juan Semos coughed, the old mestizo stockman still held the arrows he''d pulled from his own body. Teven lay on the other side of the elder Semos, a broken arrow shaft still deep within his left knee and lower thigh. Van strained at his bindings, tight rawhide straps, that cut into his wrists. The lead gunman, a thin and hawkish countenanced man spoke in Spanish. ¡°How much for your prisoners?¡± A disfigured and scarred Comanche, his right arm hanging loose and twisted at his side, answered. ¡°We have no business with you.¡± His comrades placed themselves between the prisoners and gunmen. The warriors stood tense, their weapons raised, white ash arrows ready to fly. The Gasento thugs sat calm upon their dark mounts. Silent. The Comanche shook his war hawk with his left hand. ¡°Your kind are not welcome here.¡± The dark Gasento thug laughed. He adjusted himself in his saddle. He flicked his hand around. ¡°These are Gasento lands.¡± He waved his hand eastward. ¡°Comancheria is far away. You sell slaves to Comancheros. That is us.¡± The Comanche shook his head. ¡°I do not see Gasentos.¡± Teven looked at Van, ¡°What are they saying?¡± ¡°No.¡± Juan Semos whispered. Van shook two fingers at Juan Semos. ¡°Not Gasentos? Why? Because they''re ranch staff? Hired gunmen?¡± Teven frowned. ¡°I''m lost.¡± ¡°Look at these.¡± Juan Semos rolled onto his stomach and waved the broken arrows held in his bound hands. Teven grimaced. ¡°It''s clear those shootists want us. You want to use the arrows to fight?¡± The gunmen and Comanche shouted in Spanish as Juan Semos explained himself. ¡°These arrows are white ash. The farmers died days ago yet the Comanche waited. Why? To see if the farmers died.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Teven glanced at Van. ¡°Isn''t that how they kill? Through torture? Captives left out in the sun and to the coyotes? Or to starve or die of thirst and the cruel whims of mother nature?¡± Van clenched his jaw as his stomach dropped. He rubbed the flesh between his thumb and pointer finger with his other thumb and stared at Teven. ¡°White ash is a sacred wood. Imbued with magic.¡± Magic. Teven slumped onto his back and groaned. Van dropped his forehead to the blood-soaked soil. The strong scent of sage mixed with sweat and iron. * Day Long rode forward with foul curses on his tongue. ¡°The hell, brethren, how''d you lot go about losin¡¯ the big augers?¡± Nathan put a hand up to the Seminole scout. ¡°They''re late returning from a nearby farm. We''ve driven the herd past where the farm lies beyond the hills and there''s no sign of Teven, Van, or old Juan Semos.¡± Christian arrived behind Day Long, as Nathan gestured to Marcos. ¡°Christian and Marcos will continue to ride point, while you and I search the farm and more if needed.¡± Marcos sat atop a gray gelding, beside Nathan, who was likewise riding; the chuck wagon now mastered by Hernan Semos. Day Long steadied his mount. Everyone eased along at a canter. ¡°If we''re just searching the farm, I don''t see why¡­¡± Christian said. Day Long interrupted the Har brother with a quick motion of his pointer finger from his eye to Christian Har. ¡°Hush up now. We done spoke on this. Me an¡¯ Silver Hair is decided. You''re leadin¡¯ the beeves til he an¡¯ I return with or without yo brother, Van, and ol¡¯ Juan.¡± Nathan gestured with both hands pumped in a calming motion. ¡°Christian, if they''re missing from the farm, Day Long and I will find signs of where they might be. There''s Apache in these mountains. Maybe hostile, but you''re as likely to come across Zuni¡­¡± Day Long rode between Christian and Nathan. ¡°You ain''t helpin¡¯, Drake. Lil Har, you do as we say. You can''t come it. So hobble yo lip. Van will be back here feedin¡¯ on his bee-sweetening before you know it.¡± Day Long swung around and pointed at Nathan. ¡°Now let''s get a wiggle on, Drake.¡± * Van rolled onto his shoulder. The Comanche warrior no longer yelled. All was silent, but for wind through the timber atop the nearby mesa. He strained to see and understood. A wolf, with a black stripe on one shoulder, approached. Both the Gasento gunmen and Comanche warriors watched the large predator in silence. The beast stopped between the two groups, glanced at the three prisoners behind the Comanche, and looked up at the lead warrior. Van eyed the white ash arrows nocked and aimed at the wolf by the braves before a piercing pain in his temples forced his eyes closed. With gritted teeth, he squinted at the animal he now knew to be the true threat. The wolf raised its head to the warriors. Of a sudden, its jaws opened abnormally wide and peeled back with a sound like cracked knuckles. From within the creature''s throat, a human face emerged. The beast contorted and stood on its rear legs as the body rippled and split to reveal a Spanish man wearing a wolf skin with a jagged scar down one shoulder and across the collarbone, his skin slick with blood. Juan Semos spoke in a harsh whisper. ¡°Diablero!¡± Chapter Ten Day Long surveyed the lay of the land. He and Nathan squatted in a cluster of pygmy junipers, concealed from view, on a low escarpment above the farm. Stunted pinyon pines rose behind them. Carrion birds circled above. Below, the scene of slaughter around the farm buildings was clear even at their distant vantage. Nathan slapped the ground. ¡°This is a bad box, a damned bag of nails.¡± His fists clenched, Day Long spat. ¡°They been dry gulched. Best we take care.¡± Having returned to their horses, the scouts led the animals with due caution, on the approach to the farm. They passed a dead Comanche stallion and closer to the farm, four dead warriors. Day Long crouched and studied the ground. Between two of the slain warriors lay a pistol¡ªTeven¡¯s. He passed the weapon to Nathan as the blonde scout spied the newly dug graves within the farm. ¡°Look.¡± Nathan pointed. Day Long nodded. ¡°Bone orchard.¡± Standing beside the graves, Day Long rubbed his chin. ¡°That be Van an¡¯ Teven, old Catholic Semos for sure, what likely put the owners of this here place to their final rest.¡± Nathan scanned the farm. ¡°Comanche must have killed the grangers and returned when Van and the others rode in.¡± ¡°Or hid out there an¡¯ waited.¡± ¡°No, that''s more like the Apache.¡± He pointed at the dead warriors around them. ¡°Those ain''t Apache.¡± Day Long took the reins of his grulla. ¡°You see anything else?¡± Nathan grimaced. ¡°No. All seems to have happened beyond them outbuildings.¡± ¡°So they took their horses. We''ve only seen the one. Where''d they go? Who took ¡®em?¡± ¡°Comanche.¡± Nathan gestured at the bodies as if it was obvious. He shrugged. It was fairly obvious. ¡°Van¡¯s as likely to catch a Tartar.¡± Day Long shook his head. ¡°Sure Van and Lord Gray coulda cleaned their plows. Killed ¡®em all.¡± He extended his arm, knelt by a fallen Comanche, and pointed at a long welt that opened into a split in the skin of the warrior''s body. ¡°Look here, see? Slash of Van''s black snake on this one.¡± He stood and pointed at another body. ¡°And that one. Teven put down a few. Wounds are clear as day.¡± Nathan sighed. Day Long continued. ¡°Now, those four by the dead horse we passed, they don''t look like they died the same way.¡± Nathan raised an eyebrow. ¡°There''s plenty of blood soaked into the ground and dried on the sage.¡± Day Long added. ¡°Saw that.¡± Day Long thrust his thumb over his shoulder. ¡°Only shod tracks I seen are riding in. Maybe some older unshod ones riding out. Comanche as like. When they killed the grangers.¡± His arm swung around toward the makeshift cemetery. Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°Except for the spore around the dead horse and four Comanche out there. Unshod, but riding in then back out. Lack of horseshoes suggests Indians.¡± Day Long mounted his grulla. ¡°We follow the trail left by whoever else done showed up.¡± Nathan heaved himself up onto his saddle. ¡°Do we wait for the sun?¡± ¡°Can''t. We follow the spore best we can. Herd will be well past us, the longer we take. Young Har will be fit to boil over.¡± He paused and grinned. ¡°What''s a matter Silver Hair, can''t come it? You ain''t no shave tail, so don''t be a croaker.¡± ¡°Of course we can do it.¡± Nathan pouted. He gave a dismissive wave of his hand at the Black Seminole and kicked his mount into a canter. * Christian sat hunched in his saddle, rocked by the gentle sway of his gelding. Marcos rode twenty feet to his right. The drive continued at a steady pace in an eastward journey. The natural course of the valleys and canyons between broken mesas and escarpments channeled the herd. The younger Har brother was blind to the natural beauty surrounding him. He thought only of Teven. Had Apache attacked? Where else could he and Van be? Was Juan Semos loyal or did the old Mexican betray them to the Gasentos? Sende. The remuda followed parallel to the herd at a safe distance from the ill-tempered longhorns. Christian stared back through the dust raised by the passage of the cattle, lessened by the thicker growth of grasses and brush along the wide plain. He glanced at Marcos and motioned his intent, turning away, toward the north and the spare horses. Sende rode near the head of the remuda, between it and the herd. Two vaqueros assisted to the far side and rear. She looked over as Christian galloped in a circle to ride parallel with her, three feet to her side. He spoke almost at a yell. ¡°The hell¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡± ¡°Going on?¡± She cast her head about, confused. ¡°The remuda are in order, Mr. Har.¡± ¡°Not talking about the horses.¡± Christian waved his hand. ¡°You and your lot tryin¡¯ to pull a scoop on us?¡± ¡°A scoop?¡± ¡°Lyin¡¯ about runnin¡¯ from the Gasento family. Or maybe you¡¯re tellin¡¯ half-truths and hope sellin¡¯ the herd is a way out. Maybe move clear to California. Someplace far from the slaver bastards.¡± ¡°We aren''t working with the Gasentos. We are working for Se?or Van.¡± Sende smiled. ¡°I have heard Se?or Long call your brother Lord of the Gray. Have your family not owned slaves?¡± ¡°Our name means ¡®gray¡¯. We''ve not owned slaves that I know of. Servants certainly in older times. Our family is well off, true.¡± ¡°So why are you here?¡± ¡°Something new. I couldn''t make my own name in the Old World.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°And Se?or Long?¡± Christian laughed. ¡°Se?or Loco? What of him?¡± ¡°Was he not an African slave?¡± That gave Christian pause. ¡°I don''t know. I''m not sure if he''s part Seminole or among those what found sanctuary among them in the ever barrens of South Florida.¡± They rode in silence. Sende spoke first. ¡°My side of the family are the people your kind call Apache. Apache and Zuni. Slaves bought or captured by the Gasento Family long ago.¡± ¡°And the Semos name?¡± Spanish settlers? Peasants. Tenant farmers indebted to the Gasentos? I don''t know. They stole that from us too. Our history, our identity.¡± During Spanish rule, land grants, as concessions from the Spanish crown, granted settlement and grazing rights on vast tracts of land, while retaining title with the crown. The Gasento family established their rancho in Nuevo Mexico, focused on cattle, with mining north, investigating mineral deposits in the Zuni Mountains. Their small tract was granted after their role in the clearing of Apache from the region, earning further land grants after the Spanish Reconquest of New Mexico from the Pueblo tribes fifty years later, in 1693. The Spanish surrounded Santa Fe and called on the tribes to surrender, promising clemency if they would swear allegiance to the King of Spain and return to the Christian faith. Don Gregorio de Gasento contributed additional men to the Spanish forces and retained a place of power in the region until recent decades and the sale of lands to the United States. Christian studied the young woman. Sende was on the run, just like Van. What did that say about those that followed him? * Day Long threw his fist up, his elbow bent. Both scouts came to an immediate stop. The ears of their horses twitched. Nathan''s gelding blew through its nostrils. The blonde scout looked at Day Long. The horses bucked as Van and Teven emerged from a thick cluster of junipers, their clothes bloodied and torn. ¡°Van!¡± Nathan spurred his mount forward. Day Long shifted in his saddle. Van glanced back at Teven and the two men sat on the ground, appearing winded and relieved. ¡°Got any water?¡± Van said. Nathan loosed his canteen from his saddle gear and tossed it to Van. Day Long watched as Van drank deeply before passing the canteen to Teven. ¡°Comanche attacked.¡± Van said. Nathan slid down from his horse. ¡°This far west?¡± ¡°Panateka.¡± Day Long laughed. ¡°Those are the Honey Eaters clan, well dang, fancy you of all people crossin¡¯ paths with yer own kind.¡± Van frowned back, confused. Nathan raised his palm in a questioning gesture. ¡°Se?or Semos?¡± Van shrugged. ¡°Comanche took him, we''ll get him back.¡± Day Long cocked an eyebrow. Van and Teven exchanged glances. Day Long touched at a foxhead totem worn on rawhide around his neck. ¡°Come on honey man, what''s that nickname Aleya calls you?¡± He gestured at Teven. ¡°Huh, Lord Gray, you know it.¡± Van glanced at Teven. ¡°We''ve no time for this. As we said, the Comanche are about and they have Juan. If we drive north, we can avoid them.¡± Nathan frowned. ¡°After we find Juan Semos.¡± Van nodded. ¡°Yes, of course. If we can. Come now, we''ll have to share the horses.¡± Van and Teven stared at the two scouts with their eyes focused. Day Long spat, drawing his axe. ¡°Aw hell, shapeshifters! I hate me some skinwalkers, brethren!¡± Nathan whirled around. ¡°What now? Shapeshifters?¡± Day Long grimaced. ¡°Simon pure, brethren. Think on it. Van takin¡¯ a swig of water before ol¡¯ Lord Gray? Come now, Silver Hair, no way in hell. Van would go without before ever takin¡¯ a swig first.¡± Nathan stared at Day Long. Van and Teven stood, their eyes locked on the scouts. Day Long scoffed. ¡°The hell they starin¡¯ at us for? Silent as all hell. I''ll tell you, they''re tryin¡¯ to get in our heads.¡± Nathan lay his hand on the butt of his repeater in its saddle sheathe. ¡°So how do we kill them?¡± ¡°What? I don''t know.¡± Nathan frowned. ¡°You''re the one always going on about the owl men. The stinky?¡± Day Long shot a withering glance at the blonde scout. ¡°Stikini witches are real.¡± Nathan flapped his hand toward Van and Teven. ¡°They''re all real.¡± Day Long turned to study Van and Teven. Where they shapeshifters? ¡°They might be possessed.¡± He looked directly at the possible doppelganger of Van. The false Van locked eyes with the Seminole scout and Day Long was transfixed. Nathan watched as the body of Van collapsed and Day Long began to convulse. The Seminole scout fell from his mount and landed with a heavy thud, seized by fierce spasms. The geldings bolted as Nathan switched his gaze to the second shapeshifter¡¯s feet. The false body of Van, now a pile of blood, flesh, and fur lay beside the creature. In his effort to avoid eye contact and keep his distance from the shapeshifter, Nathan noticed the false Teven watched Day Long with a confused expression. There was silence as Day Long grew still. The first shapeshifter erupted from Day Long with a pitched scream of agony. Black, web-like strands stretched between the Seminole and the slick, naked body of the beast. In a final death rattle, its screech ended as the creature collapsed. In a flurry of disgust, Day Long swept his hands over his torso to pull away the remaining black strands. Nathan returned his eyes to the remaining doppelganger¡¯s feet. ¡°Well hell, I know some nasty things come out of you, but that takes the cake. I think your foul innards done killed the thing.¡± Day Long laughed, taunting the remaining, shaken, shapeshifter. ¡°You tryin¡¯ to get inside our heads?¡± He tapped his temple. ¡°There''s nothin¡¯ but dirty thoughts in here!¡± The creature avoided his gaze. ¡°Come on brethren!¡± Day Long turned and slapped his ass. ¡°You want some of this?¡± False Teven stepped back, hesitant. Day Long whirled around and charged the beast. The creature slashed in defense as the Seminole batted its extended claws aside with his axe. Day Long gripped the false Teven and was face to face with the creature. ¡°You gonna possess me? Come on inside, bitch.¡± The shapeshifter pulled back its head and stared skyward. Nathan, shocked, his volcanic repeater raised, watched wide-eyed. ¡°What are you doing? Get out of the way. Let''s shoot it in the head, an¡¯ be done!¡± ¡°No bullet or blade made by man is enough to kill a skinwalker.¡± ¡°Say the Navajo.¡± Day Long cursed. ¡°And I''m inclined to believe ¡®em.¡± The shapeshifter sunk its claws into Day Long and the Seminole winced. With a guttural snarl, the shapeshifter hefted Day Long above its head and threw him thirty feet to land with a sickening crack. Nathan emptied his volcanic repeater into the false Teven¡¯s face and chest, tearing holes in Teven¡¯s former clothes and little else. Retreating toward Day Long, Nathan fumbled with the caseless ammo and reloaded what bullets didn''t fall from his hands as his adrenaline spiked and the shapeshifter sped toward the two scouts. Nathan kicked Day Long. ¡°Wake up, we gotta go!¡± The shifter slammed into Nathan, both rolled past the unconscious Day Long into a bramble of juniper and rabbitbrush. The blonde scout flung his fist and struck the false Teven in the cheek. ¡°You''re not fit to wear that face!¡± The shifter responded with force which sent Nathan twisting up into the air, landing some ten feet away. Winded and dazed, Nathan shook his head and struggled to draw air into his chest¡ªthe shifter already closing the gulf between them. The beast might be afraid of possessing Day Long, but was intent on Nathan, with the goal to weaken and perhaps knock him out. Unconscious, what resistance then? Nathan punched the ground. Something killed the shapeshifter that entered Day Long, and whatever it was that killed the creature, Nathan did not have it. His vision doubled and darkness closed in from the edge. As the creature lunged, Nathan glimpsed movement behind the shifter as a voice called out, cold and wrathful. ¡°Emilio Roca Fuerte Vargos.¡± The creature shuddered and fell, its false form of Teven shifted to the beast¡¯s true face, a mestizo male, olive skinned with black hair, in his twenties. Day Long grinned and sank his axe into the shapeshifter¡¯s skull. Rolling away from the gore and yellow, puss-like blood of the shifter, Nathan sat up and tossed his arms around in utter confusion. His face contorted. Stunned. ¡°What did you just do? What was that black string shit that came out of you earlier?¡± ¡°Outta me? Hells it was!¡± Nathan held his head with both hands, elbows out. ¡°Skinwalkers, damn if you killed them both.¡± Day Long jerked his axe free. ¡°That thing, the other one.¡± Drops of blood flew from the weapon as he gestured to the remains of the first fallen shapeshifter. ¡°When it was in me. I remember. I know what it knew. I know its true name.¡± ¡°You know what it knew? In all of a few moments?¡± ¡°Some. I know both their true names. It turns ¡®em back inta men.¡± Day Long shook the axe with abrupt jerks and wiped the blade. He harrumphed. The blood was now as red as any. He turned his head, almost owl-like, a broad grin bunched his cheeks. ¡°And I know where Van and Teven are.¡± Chapter Eleven Christian stood atop a butte above the center of the plain, its flat top barren but for twisted junipers and Pueblo ruins. He clambered to the precarious lip of a crumbled tower wall and looked out over the land. Thick timber crept up the north escarpment and across the minor plateau on the southern side of the butte. Between both, the plain stretched west and east for miles following the natural corridor of the Zuni Mountains. For the scouts to return with his brother, Van, and Juan Semos, the only path was from behind the herd, to the west. The herd was miles beyond the rendezvous point and the sun past its zenith. Long shadows crept northeast across the valley, blind to the passage of man and beast. Christian held his brother''s leather and brass-fitted naval telescope to his eye, panning the scope of the plain to the northern escarpment and dotted cover of tenacious pinyon and juniper. Nothing. He panned along the north side of the herd, momentarily moving the device from his eye. Doing so, he located Sende riding lead on the remuda. The herd of spare horses trotted well north of the cattle, closer to the edge of the northern escarpment. Training the telescope along his line of sight, Christian watched the young wrangler, her long black hair flowed behind her bouncing on her shoulders from beneath her bowler hat. She wore an off-white shirt with grey vest and baggy brown pants clearly borrowed from her cousins. Loose enough to hide the curvaceous hips and thighs beneath. Shaking his head with heated cheeks, Christian tore his attention from the mestizo girl and trailed the telescope along the length of the escarpment, westward. He clicked his tongue¡ªold Juan Semos knew the land well enough, yet there was no clear passage over the escarpment. The creek and its origin within the slopes above the escarpment remained the surest route back from the farm. That a good few miles behind them now. Frustration and anxiety twisted his gut, his grip on the telescope tightened. He raised the spyglass to peer west. Movement. Well behind the herd, something moved in the trampled rabbitbrush and sage. Whatever it was darted about and was gone faster than Christian¡¯s ability to keep pace. He whipped the device away and held his hand over his eyes. The dust behind the herd obscured much of the route below the horizon. It was too far away, over two miles. The length of the herd and more. Cursing, he stared through the telescope again. Several minutes passed as he panned back and forth in the same area. Nothing. It didn''t matter, whatever it was, Van and Teven didn''t move that fast. Some animal disturbed in its burrow, or maybe a coyote. Angry, he descended from his precarious perch, sat in a huff, turning the telescope over in his hands, assaulted by his own reasons for traveling west. With no wish to follow his father into marine insurance and the world of finance, he traveled to the old Du Har estate in Normandy, painting in the pursuit of Realism¡ªthe portrayal of everyday life. There, he sought out the workers of the land and towns along the coast and struggled to capture their essence in oils, enjoying his nights with wines, food and other pursuits. Christian laughed, the idea of Realism lost on the young ladies, they never understood how the drudgery of their lives doubled as art. He nonetheless understood the enticing mystery of the artist in their minds, painting many a portrait, or at least, the planning of many, all this before Teven returned from the Crimea. With Teven came Van, full of his usual, infectious hope. Van spoke of a fresh start in the New World. The very idea of life on the frontier and living beyond the known world sparked a broad smile, and Christian sighed. He looked up from his glazed detour into memory, breathed in and shivered. The world came back all of a sudden. The ponderous sounds of the cattle, the Spanish cries and curses of the vaqueros struck him, along with the ache of rock against flesh. A hand to the small of his back, he rose slowly. He rubbed the ache and numbness from his ass. How he dreaded the saddle, the sores now forefront in his mind. The family retained the skills of horsemanship from their Norman ancestors with none of the reality of day-to-day, endless riding. Cautious, he stepped forward with knees bent, back straight, mindful of posture.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°Ah, shit.¡± His back stiff, Christian walked in a small circle. Coughing on dust, he strode to the western edge of the butte. The rear of the herd trotted below a cloud of dust. Hands on the small of his back, he realized he''d lost track of time. He stood straight and squeezed his buttocks together with hands stretched high to the gentle pop and relief of his spine. He stared out over the grandeur of it all. He wasn''t so much a landscape artist, and yet to stand with canvas and oil and attempt to capture it all, he wasn''t so sure ranching was his future and understood, in some way, why Teven had yet to commit to a business partnership with Van. * Shocked by the Black Seminole¡¯s revelation, Nathan pulled his head back in surprise. ¡°You know where the shapeshifters are going?¡± Day Long grinned. ¡°Los Orlos.¡± Nathan threw his hands up. ¡°Los Orlos? Where''s that?¡± ¡°That''s where they wanted to lead us, brethren. Divide and conquer. But that''s not where they''ll be, not first, an¡¯ that gives us time.¡± ¡°Time?¡± Day Long sucked his teeth. ¡°To rescue Van, Teven, and ol¡¯ Juan Semos. Los Orlos is a week''s ride south of hereabouts. Nathan''s hand shot forward. ¡°A week? We can''t trust they''ll be alive that long.¡± Day Long grimaced. ¡°I already know they ain''t aimin¡¯ ta kill ¡®em. And anyhow, we try anythin¡¯ now, we¡¯ll be outnumbered and overpowered by the damned skinwalkers.¡± He tapped his forehead. ¡°But I''ve got a plan to cut ¡®em off before they reach Los Orlos.¡± ¡°Los Orlos sounds familiar.¡± ¡°Sure an¡¯ right, it should. Was round them parts, Pecos and West Texas, some years ago. You heard of the slew of killin¡¯ by the Croshan Gang?¡± Nathan shrugged. ¡°Heard of the gang.¡± ¡°Kreel Croshan killed a local sheriff then decided to start a private war with the Rangers. Saw himself as a Caddite, ¡®cause they aimed to see the Caddo Republic snap up the territories and form a new nation. Los Orlos was a hotbed of ol¡¯ Caddites, may still be.¡± ¡°They''re still active?¡± Nathan shook his finger. ¡°The Caddites I mean. What I heard of them, they were similar to the Confederacy or the Republic of the Rio Grande. Hell, similar to the Texans.¡± Day Long nodded. ¡°Stands to reason the Gasentos were caught up in all that. Way to keep their land, and grab back their prestige.¡± ¡°Now, if the Gasentos are part of a Caddoan elite what was part of the Caddite uprising some thirty years back, they have a say in who owns what.¡± ¡°How do you know this?¡± Day Long rubbed the skin of his exposed forearm. ¡°Know thy enemy.¡± ¡°Oh, I thought maybe you had other memories from the shapeshifters.¡± ¡°What? No, I only saw their strongest images. Names, intentions an¡¯ the like. No politics, brethren.¡± Nathan swept his hand in a short arc. ¡°I''d say religion and politics are powerful motivators leavin¡¯ strong memories.¡± Day Long grinned. ¡°Yep. That an¡¯ sex.¡± Nathan shrugged. ¡°True. Wait, you took a gander at¡­¡± ¡°Don''t even say it, Silver Hair. Anyhow, it''s Los Orlos that they''re headed to an¡¯ killin¡¯ the boys ain''t yet part of that.¡± ¡°And us?¡± Nathan frowned. ¡°They planned to walk us down there? To Los Orlos?¡± ¡°No, you fool, they''d have possessed us an¡¯ have us ride these here horses. Talkin¡¯ of horses, we¡¯ll need spares.¡± ¡°You think some of them shapeshifters wear the skins of horses? Oh! You don''t think those two was wearing Van and Teven¡¯s skins?¡± Day Long stared at Nathan. ¡°I think they''re a mixed lot. Not plain skinwalkers, maybe the local diableros. They''re damned shapeshifters of a sort is what I know.¡± ¡°So you don''t remember what they are?¡± Day Long scoffed. ¡°What¡¯d I just say? I don''t know their life story.¡± He stabbed a finger at Nathan. ¡°What do you think of yourself as? I don''t think of myself as a colored man or mongrel, I think of me as me. That''s how I knew their true names an¡¯ destination.¡± ¡°Wait.¡± Nathan said. ¡°How''d you survive it? It tried to possess you, yeah? I mean, why¡¯d the shapeshifter die?¡± Day Long wrapped his fist around the foxhead, released and held it up between his thumb and forefinger. ¡°Maybe this protected me? My adopted people gave it to me. They said it was an important talisman and a symbol of my animal totem.¡± Nathan raised his chin. ¡°A fox. Now that suits you. A dark fox.¡± * From his vantage atop the butte Christian caught movement along a narrow break in the escarpment, the lengthened shadows carving out the previously invisible landmark. Peering through the spyglass, he noted the tiny figures of Day Long and Nathan leading their mounts along the precarious scree slope. With great care he hurried to the climbable side of the butte. The ascent far easier than the return, he stared down the hundreds of feet of cliff face and sighed. Day Long and Nathan descended the treacherous slope at a pained pace, slow and cautious. Their horses, mountain mustangs chosen by Nathan, chose their steps with deft surety. Still, Day Long stared out over the passing herd with great impatience. ¡°Damn it, brethren, time''s a wastin¡¯ and we need them spare rides.¡± Day Long gestured toward the approaching remuda, led by Sende. ¡°An¡¯ that there girl¡¯s the cause of all this.¡± Looking up from the scree, Nathan scowled. ¡°That might be true, but you''re the one that recommended the Semos family and their cousins.¡± Day Long huffed. ¡°Details.¡± At the base of the slope the two scouts remounted and rode through the small thicket of cottonwoods growing in the runoff that formed the cut in the escarpment. The sounds of the herd grew louder as the cottonwoods thinned among juniper and rabbitbrush. The strong scent of cedar soon mingled with sage. Clear of the cottonwoods, the two men rode to meet the remuda and halt Sende. Chapter Twelve Sende slowed her mount to a canter as Day Long and Nathan approached. Behind her, the spare horses took lead from her gelding, while she turned to make sure the mustangs did so. Sensing the moist ground and thick grasses at the bottom of the scree, many of the spare mounts were eager to graze. Sende reined up, dismounted and hobbled her ride. The gelding nibbled at the grass as the young wrangler moved to her pack animal. From the mule, she unwound a length of rope, ready to stake a temporary corral around the remuda. From the the front of the herd, and the distant chuck wagon, Sende¡¯s brother Hernan rode past Day Long and Nathan, followed by three fellow vaqueros. As Sende began driving stakes into the ground, Hernan reined the draft horses, stopping to assist, as did the vaqueros. The two scouts galloped around the eager herd of horses. Nathan swept off his gelding while it slowed into a canter and Day Long jerked on the reins of his mount swinging his leg over the rear of the horse, sliding off his saddle. Nathan approached a bay with calm focus. From his vest pocket he presented a saltlick. The bay nickered and pressed its muzzle into Nathan''s gloved hand. As the vaqueros walked around the remuda with rope in hand between them, Day Long strode up to and gripped Sende. ¡°We got shapeshifters lurkin¡¯ and no time for lies or anything you think ain''t important. What are you running from, girl?¡± Hernan lunged towards the Seminole scout and was stopped by Day Long¡¯s outthrust arm. Gasping, Hernan fell. Day Long swung his arm back around and pointed at Sende. ¡°Speak up Se?orita.¡± Before the shocked and angered young woman spoke, Christian galloped in shouting. Day Long ignored him. ¡°Don''t try an¡¯ scoop me, girl. Start jawin¡¯.¡± Off his mount and rushing forward, Christian protested. ¡°Sende doesn''t know. She already told me.¡± Day Long cocked his head. ¡°What she tell you?¡± ¡°Let her go and pull in your horns!¡± Christian said. ¡°She doesn''t know anything.¡± ¡°That''s what she told you? Warmin¡¯ up to her are you?¡± Nathan gripped Day Long¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Let her go.¡± Day Long raised both hands from Sende. The young woman rubbed her arms. Nathan shook Day Long¡¯s arm. ¡°Johnny! We ain''t got time for this. Time¡¯s wastin¡¯ and best we be on our way upon whatever scheme you have.¡± Christian turned to Nathan. ¡°Scheme? Where''s my brother? Where''s Van and their cousin Juan?¡± Day Long pushed Christian aside. ¡°Don''t you worry how we''re gonna deal with the shapeshifters. Help them drovers gather us up some spares to ride south.¡± ¡°South?¡± Christian scoffed. ¡°Hell are you talkin¡¯ about, shapeshifters? Why the hell are your arms all cut up?¡± Day Long stared over his bloodied shoulder, ¡°This ain''t no ¡®maybe, could be¡¯, little Har. This is serious business. Black magic and witchery.¡± Christian turned to Nathan in disbelief. Day Long laughed. ¡°What''s with the look to ol¡¯ Silver Hair? You don''t believe the tales your brother an¡¯ Van tell of their time in Azov?¡± Christian¡¯s face flushed red, whether by anger or embarrassment, it wasn''t clear. For Christian, it didn''t appear he knew either. ¡°That''s all beside the fucking point. My brother, Van and old Juan are out there. Do you mean to track them or not?¡± Day Long waved his pointer finger between himself and Nathan. ¡°We do, yes, but like I said before, you can''t come it. Yo duty¡¯s with the herd. Lotta money, lotta hope put into this here venture.¡± It was Christian''s turn to laugh in anger. ¡°An¡¯ what''s any of it mean, what''s it all come to, if they''re dead?¡± Nathan slapped Christian on the arm. ¡°It''s for you to travel north and sell the herd, provide for your sister-in-law and Aleya.¡± Christian swatted Nathan''s hand away, ready to speak, his nostrils flared. He hesitated, Nathan stood firm before him, a rein in his hand, a bay gelding stood behind the blonde scout. Hernan stood with Sende behind him, his body placed between his sister and the scouts. Day Long shouted orders to the other vaqueros and they formed up around the spare horses to encircle several within their rope corral. Christian glanced back at Nathan. ¡°Shapeshifters?¡± ¡°You don''t believe the stories of what happened to Teven in the Crimea?¡± Christian sighed. ¡°I don''t really know what happened to them. They don''t speak of it. But they have nightmares.¡± Nathan nodded. ¡°True, and Aleya''s shared some with me, when she couldn''t help Van. When long nights kept them both awake. She''s only mentioned Cossack magic and an army of nymphs and wraiths on the Azov Sea.¡± Christian stared north west towards the Colorado Territory. ¡°But shapeshifters? You two fought what, werewolves? Just now, I mean.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°No. Shapeshifters, maybe skinwalkers. Locals call ¡®em Diableros. Two of them disguised as Van and your brother attacked us after Day Long kenned to their nature.¡± ¡°How?¡± Nathan shrugged. ¡°He knew.¡± Christian watched the Black Seminole. ¡°He''s run into shapeshifters before?¡± ¡°Don''t think so, but he''s takin¡¯ us to people who have, or leastways knows how to kill ¡®em.¡± Christian''s eyes widened. ¡°Us?¡± Nathan raised a steadying hand. ¡°He and I. No one else. Like I said, get the herd to market.¡± He turned to his lathered, first mount and pulled out Teven¡¯s pistol. ¡°Your brother''s.¡± Calmer, Christian nodded and gripped Nathan''s shoulders. ¡°You find old Juan, my brother, and Van.¡± Christian glanced at Day Long. ¡°Kill the bastards that took them.¡± * Twilight crept across the Gasento lands as the scarred skinwalker and the thin and hawkish countenanced gunman delivered their captives. Fallen and abandoned mining structures, crooked and aged, cut twisted silhouettes against the western sunset. A number of skinwalkers emerged from the depths of a vast cave which yawned in the earth eighty feet from the group. Each wore varied animal skins that shadowed their bodies. Dark, crystalline macuahuitl blades hung from their backs. These exotic, native weapons appeared entirely crafted of an ebony crystal, with no wood, honed straight, thick, double-edged, and tapered. Dressed only in his long johns, Van watched as the leader of the shapeshifters approached. To Van''s side, Juan Semos, weakened by his loss of blood, strained to speak. ¡°Galtero Gasento.¡± Teven, also stripped to his long johns, leaned over Juan Semos. ¡°Rest. Remember, Van can understand most of what they say.¡± While Juan Semos nodded, it wasn''t entirely true. Van understood most Spanish well enough through Portuguese, but the skinwalkers, not speaking some supernatural tongue, did speak a mixture of native languages. The leader of the shapeshifters, Galtero Gasento, as Juan Semos said, stood atop a crumpled platform and looked down at the party. He pointed toward Van, addressing the hawkish gunman. ¡°They are not under your control, Nico?¡± Surprised, the thin and hawkish countenanced gunman grimaced, looking at the scarred shifter beside him. ¡°Only the old man, the other two could not be controlled.¡± The leader smiled, raising his hands to the scarred shifter. ¡°Do you sense the power in them, Mateo? The wealth of their souls?¡± Mateo, clad only in his wolf skin, nodded, waving his arm toward Van and Teven. ¡°Those two, yes, the other is but a common soul.¡± Teven frowned at Van. ¡°Netolli?¡± Van returned the look of confusion. ¡°I heard ¡®alma¡¯, which means ¡®soul¡¯. ¡®Alma comun¡¯, so ¡®common soul¡¯? Gasento seems to prefer Spanish. Makes sense, the family is Spanish legacy.¡± Teven shrugged. ¡°What''s ¡®netolli¡¯ mean?¡± Van frowned. ¡°Not any word I know.¡± Mateo approached Van. Teven, wary of the shapeshifter, shielded Juan Semos. The leader of the shifters raised his hand and Mateo stopped. ¡°These are ancient souls, but that one,¡± the lead Gasento pointed at Van, ¡°is especially unique. I''ve never sensed its like. A soul that retains its memories, in a cycle of rebirth, carries with it, knowledge. But that soul, of the two, oh my!¡± ¡°Something about rebirth and knowledge. Old or ancient souls?¡± Van said. Teven turned and spoke into Van''s ear. ¡°All souls are ancient. Aren''t the number of souls finite, plucked from the Tree of Life? ¡®The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life; and he that winneth souls is wise.¡¯ Proverbs?¡± Van nodded, his eyebrows drawn together and low over his eyes. ¡°Maybe it''s exactly that. He that holds a soul, gains knowledge and knowledge is power. I''d say they value souls as we do gold.¡± The three Gasento men stood together in a heated discussion about their captives and next moves. Two of the earlier trio of riders already held the guises and clothes of Van and Teven, sure to have returned to the cattle drive to carry out their part of whatever plan this Galtero Gasento crafted. Van listened as the lead Gasento shifter spoke to his diableros. The two nodded as their leader spoke. ¡°With no contact from Jacan and Muli, we must assume that the other souls are equally as strong.¡± He turned to the scarred skinwalker. ¡°Mateo, you will take a larger force, overcome the remaining souls, and return them to Los Orlos and our Caddite allies. The cattle can be sold north, driven by the vaqueros.¡± The scarred skinwalker nodded, his body now dry, no longer glistened with gore from his transformation. The shifters¡¯ instructions gave Van pause. Teven gripped his arm. ¡°What did he say?¡± ¡°Sounds like the shapeshifters that took on our countenances have gone missing.¡± Teven smiled. ¡°The boys likely done the bastards in.¡± ¡°Maybe, but that scarred beast is being sent after them.¡± Teven¡¯s expression cycled through mischief, disappointment, and confusion. Van followed his gaze. A new, cloaked figure joined the group and pointed toward the open maw of the cave. ¡°Spider riders from the city of Opio have taken the entrances to Subterranea and I advise we avoid physical entry into the Spirit Realm with such precious captives. We''ve no recourse but to ride overland to Los Orlos.¡± The lead shifter turned to the scarred diablero. ¡°Mateo, before you pursue the remaining souls and learn of Jacan and Muli''s fate, you will assist the priests. We must be wary of the Escuridon Watcher. Wait three days, enter Subterranea and destroy this gateway to the Underworld.¡± He gestured at Nico. ¡°We will transport these two souls to our Caddite allies at Los Orlos.¡± The dark gunman crossed his arms, annoyed. ¡°It will take longer overland. Especially if we cannot control their minds. Can we not do as planned, travel the Underwest of Subterranea and destroy the gateway to the Underworld behind us?¡± The hooded priest raised a gnarled finger. ¡°Mateo must engage the Spider riders and destroy the local gateway. Those souls are far too important.¡± The shapeshifters¡¯ leader nodded. ¡°With the riches of these prizes, Nico, we''ll soon be rid of such barriers to our people.¡± He gestured to the drovers. ¡°If we cannot obsess them, we will possess them. Control them from within, begin to weaken them through their fears.¡± A deepening ache grew at Van''s temples, the entrenched headache and wariness draining his reserves of strength. Juan Semos lay unconscious.Teven, concerned, watched Van with a knowing look. ¡°I don''t see a way out of this one, Van.¡± Van shrugged. ¡°Didn''t see a way out of Azov either.¡± ¡°I''d have preferred death at the hands of the wraiths, to death by these werecreatures.¡± Van grinned. ¡°Death by spectral women over loss of self to shifters? Don''t let Jessica hear that.¡± ¡°I hope she does, hope I''m the one to tell her.¡± Both men looked up as two new arrivals approached them. Shifters for certain, clad in cloth so black as to absorb the very light of the setting sun. Witches, brujas or brujos, nothing about them suggested a clear gender. Gnarled, clawed hands reached out and seized Van and Teven by their heads. The men struggled with the witches, their strength ebbing. His energy sapped, Van watched as the hooded figure holding Teven lifted him by his head even as the shapeshifter leaned forward. Teven clutched at the creature¡¯s wrists. Neither could see into the ebony darkness under the black hoods. Teven¡¯s eyes turned toward Van while his head could not, held vice-like in the grip of the creature. It made a hideous screeching growl, and the moment Teven looked back, the elder Har brother began to convulse. Seconds later, the black material that covered the shifter fell and a fine black mist rose from beneath it. Teven stood motionless with glazed, vacant eyes. Before Van had a moment to cry out in anger, the creature holding him forced its face into his. For a moment, he saw the vague hint of an asexual human face before a heaviness overwhelmed him like the pit of endless slumber. Chapter Thirteen The upper decks of the HMS Golden Fox blazed under an inferno. Sailors jumped from gunports of the lower decks, while more unfortunate men hurled themselves into the sea to extinguish their burning bodies. Even so, there was no escape within the frigid sea. Savage water nymphs pulled the still burning men below the waves. On shore, wraiths tore the men of the landing parties apart while singing a haunting call. Racked by a pain that hammered within his skull, Van watched from the shattered deck of the gunboat Stinger. The call of the wraiths, siren like, heightened the agony. Men danced on the shore beneath the cratered walls of the Russian fort in the grip of the siren call. With the command officers lost to bombardment from the shore batteries atop the Russian fort, Van and Teven drove the Stinger through the storm waves raised by the wraiths. The siren song drew the men into the ocean and waiting nymphs, while flying wraiths swept sailors and soldiers alike from land and decks into the mist and sleet driven by the storm winds. Van hollered commands. His throat raw from yelling orders lost on men bewitched by the siren cries, Van turned to and fro, overcome and lost. What good were their deck guns or rifled barrels against the hunger of ghosts? Fierce beings known equally for forcing companionship and seeking vengeance, dancing the men to death until they ripped the souls from each¡ªnot unlike the Norse Valkyries and Greco-Roman Keres Van read about as a child. Their voices so powerful that a few notes summoned the fierce storm winds raging around him and caused the earth to shake from the very force of their magic. * Seeing without looking, Teven saw through his own eyes, unable to choose where he looked. He saw what his body saw, what the skinwalker saw. It commanded his body. He tried to look left or right, any movement, large or small. To breathe in. To swallow. To blink. Teven''s body was no longer his to control. Panic and anxiety took hold and faded just as quick, for the familiar reinforcing reactions of the body did not follow. No nausea. No constriction of his chest. No butterflies, sweats, or flashes. He felt disembodied, floating, without senses, and disjointed. The skinwalker controlled his body, with Teven conscious and aware, unable to prevent it or to guide his own actions. The skinwalker galloped a large, black mustang, looking ahead at three other riders, one of them the leader of the diableros, each rode a similar beast. Teven gathered a vague lay of the land. The sun setting to his right meant the group rode south. He couldn''t see Van, but understood the diableros intended to deliver both he and Van to some larger group and unknown purpose. A helpless flood of imagery washed over him. Again that moment of fear and panic. Walking, unable to focus his eyes through a haze of vision. Leaden legs and utter exhaustion such that even his eyelids weighed more than he could bear. Lucid moments came and went and the hours stretched into days. With each loss of awareness, Teven eased into a deeper level of surrender and peace, lost track of time, forgot where he was, and felt a hunger grow. * Christian sat, uncomfortable, on his mount, watching the herd pass by. Dust rose into the pale blue sky. He raised and drank from his canteen, frustrated and angry. "Damned skinwalkers and magic. Ain''t right. Ain''t natural." His horse snorted from the dust as cloud rolled over the hundred feet between them and the cattle. He dragged his hand across his lips and nose, paused as his knuckles hit his second nostril. Why did the skinwalkers attack? And why disguise themselves as Van and his brother? The water settled uneasy in his stomach. The canteen secured to the saddle, Christian kicked his horse forward. At the head of the herd Christian called out to Marcos. "We''re being followed." Marcos watched Christian in silence, emotionless. Christian yelled through both hands held to his mouth. "Followed." The lead Semos vaquero maintained a trot. No reaction. Not to Christian''s satisfaction. The left swing rider watched with an amused curiosity. "Diablero?" Christian raised both hands and shrugged. An eyebrow raised. Marcos bobbed his chin. Christian sagged in his saddle. Abandoned. Surrounded. For the briefest of moments, he played with the horrific thought that the vaqueros were skinwalkers. Whether from the start, or on some dark night since. He fingered the handle of his brother''s pistol, recovered and returned to him by Nathan. He rubbed his forehead with the same hand.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Did the vaqueros understand English? He thought Marcos spoke English. "Followed," he said to himself. "Hell is it in Spanish? Hunted. Pursued. Chased, chasse?" He mumbled. "Damn it." With the herd at a steady trot, straight across the broad plain, he directed the left swing rider away from the herd and slowed to await the remuda. The swing rider Orlin, a Semos cousin, sat in the usual Semos silence. Christian turned to Orlin. "What''s ¡®hunt'' in Spanish?" Orlin tipped his hat back and wiped a handkerchief across his forehead and through his thick black hair, while his horse looked at the frustrated younger Har brother. A second cloud of dust rose to the north of the cattle herd, the first sign of the remuda. Sende at the head of the herd of spare horses. Impatient, Christian spurred his mount and closed the gap. Sende reined up seven feet from Christian and Orlin. "Is something the matter, Se?or Har?" Christian nodded. "We''re being followed and I want to alert your cousins." "Followed? Diableros?" "I don''t know if your cousins are having one on me, but I believe the skinwalkers are hunting us." Sende shifted uneasy on her mount. "My cousins don''t speak English. Marcos knows numbers, but my brother, Juan and I do speak English." She looked west along the length of the herd. "Why do you think the diableros follow us? Se?or Long and Se?or Drake fought and killed them." Christian shook his hand. "Yeah, but Day Long says they were meant to capture him an'' Nathan." Sende translated for Orlin and added an instruction to ride to the rear of the herd and alert the tail riders. "I''ve sent him to tell my cousins. The Gasento Family must want the cattle, but as you saw, Se?or Van branded each one, and none carried a brand before." "Don''t mean nothin'' if those Gasentos believe the beeves belong to them. In a way, I guess they do. These lot probably started from the Gasento stock." Sende watched the remuda. Keen to follow the wrangler, the spare horses gathered behind her, while the outer geldings scanned the brush and sparse grasses for fodder. "Are we stopping?" "No, we should find our way to the nearest town. I figure they won''t likely try anthin'' that brings too much attention to ¡®em." Sende nodded and trotted forward. Christian watched her go, his eyes trailing over the remuda before settling on the cattle in their lethargic crawl across the arid plain. The herd followed Red, the lead steer. Skinwalkers, shapeshifters, the diableros had but to assume the skins of cattle, take the form of Red or possess the steer and lead the herd wherever they wanted. Christian shook himself from such paranoid thoughts. Still, he found himself eyeing the cattle with a newborn suspicion. * The chaotic din of the cold winter''s battle continued as the Golden Fox burned and the shore batteries assaulted its hull. Closer to shore, the gunboat Stinger steamed toward the coastal fort, its deck guns silenced by the screams of men torn from the ship by wraiths seeking their souls. Van cursed. "I will never escape. Never be free. Death follows me like some damned shadow." He gripped his head, his eyes clenched tight. The song of the wraiths and the roar of the wind and waves filled his ears, drowned out all else until all became an endless droning buzz. The wraiths swirled around the gunboat as the constant buzz narrowed to a wavering tone, up and down ahead of him. Through strained vision, Van tracked the source, astounded by what he saw¡ªa honeybee. It twisted not four feet in front of him, heedless of the wind and sleet. The chaos rampant around him, Van followed the bee, and for the first time, he felt his body again, his tongue tingled at the thought of honey. The bee spun round as he watched and his eyes refocused on the shore. There, among the torn and soulless bodies of the landing party stood a woman with golden hair not unlike the wraiths. In striking contrast against the stark, near winter, grey-blues, her green dress called to Van with a stronger draw than any siren''s song. A calmness overcame him, perhaps there was an escape from a life of pain and horror. The woman stared back at him, her eyes locked on his across the miles between the gunboat and the blood-soaked shore. Her gaze hit him like the hard impact of a fist. * Teven rode south across a broad, flat plane. Van must have been there too, but Teven could not see him. He looked out through eyes no longer his own. Ahead, three skinwalkers and their leader galloped on large, black mustangs at a breakneck speed. Teven navigated the haze of memory, and didn''t recall any stops, nor did he remember much through the brief spells of lucidity of what must''ve been days. This moment too began to fade. Teven drifted at the edge of his subconscious, sensed a connection with a power within and accessible through him. Some result of possession? The tales of possessions told across Europe and within the Bible came back to him. Of demons cast into swine and the mania which gripped those who did the Devil''s bidding. How the possessed saw everything done with their body without the means to stop the demon. Why then, was he drifting in and out of consciousness? Why this sense of power within his reach? Perhaps the connection to his body usurped by the skinwalker? Why then the deep hunger? * Van rocked back on his heels, steadied himself and rubbed his eyes. He lowered his hand, assaulted by new sensations, by absolute silence and a vast panorama. He recognized it immediately. The high mountain air, the undulating skyline, the corral and outbuildings, the ranch house. Home. Aleya. More than the sharp mountain air, a specific scent, unmistakable and gentler than the pine and cedar, animals and feed. The pleasant, scented oils Aleya wore reacting with the heat of her skin. He looked down, reached out, needed only to lean forward, Aleya not two feet in front of him, stooped and working on a corral post. A great sense of calm overtook him. Was this real? He hesitated, his chest tight, he found it hard to breathe. He fought to draw air in, his throat constricted. Confused, he stopped, was he breathing? Where was he really? Dead? Is this what possession meant, what happened when a demonic force took hold of your body, replaced your spirit? Time enough, then, to see Aleya a final time before the skinwalker gained his soul. A voice sounded behind him, rasping and guttural. "How are you doing this?" Van turned. The skinwalker stood in its black robes, faceless under its dark hood. Van understood. Spanish or English, the skinwitch spoke within him, in his mind. This was no simple possession, something was wrong, and even the skinwalker knew it. Van was awakening. Chapter Fourteen Teven watched the countryside roll by in covert silence. Hot, flat, and harsh. Vast desert-scrub in severe contrast to the cool, low elevation pinyon-juniper of the cattle drive route left behind days ago. Best guess, the journey south took them close to the Mexican border, maybe west Texas, a good six days non-stop ride south at a right angle from the west-to-east cattle drive route through the Zuni Mountains. Further and further from their investments, the vaqueros, and his young brother Christian. The skinwalker steeds made the journey south in fewer days. How many fewer days? He wasn''t sure and couldn''t know. The unnatural, black mustangs seemed tireless. Though he often lost track of time, the skinwalkers didn''t appear to sleep or even stop. No mundane or natural riders or steeds these. His mount galloped at incredible speed, with deep, steady breathing. It showed no signs of being blown. These diableros were no skinwalkers, but skin riders. Did such creatures haunt the territories beyond the reach of civilization? If he and Van survived, it was a question to ask Nathan and Day Long, as their future cattle drives depended on avoidance of threats of all kinds, natural and unnatural. Future drives. If they survived. If he survived. Teven dwelled on the idea of future drives. It wasn''t the threat of death and surviving the skinwalkers that troubled him as much as that possible future. The decision to partner with Van and create a cattle empire. His indecisiveness driven by doubt, he thought of Jessica. He couldn''t lay blame at her feet, she''d expressed no disfavor regarding the move from Boston to Chicago. But Teven knew Chicago was too far from St. Maria, in the north west corner of the Colorado Territory, for her to live the life of a journalist. Even so, he couldn''t argue with Christian and Van that her opportunities to write about life on the frontier greatly increased her value to the eastern papers. Or perhaps, she''d be made a widow, return to Boston and maybe to her family, living out her life of exotic travel, or remarry. He only hoped she could find happiness and avoid suffering. His selfishness whispered from the same source as his doubts and fears. How dark that place. With the future unwritten, he knew of one thing, with each lucid period, he felt less of the skinwalker''s hold and its fellow diableros seemed to be unaware. If the skinwalkers talked to each other through some arcane connection, they showed no sign of it. None of the creatures reacted to his lucidity. Perhaps it was the same as the spoken word and ears to hear. When speaking through this sixth sense, if the skinwalker within him "spoke", they could hear, but it remained silent and no longer controlled his movements. Worse still, and more troubling, Teven felt sated. The deep hunger of earlier days, gone. Yet the skinwalkers didn''t stop to eat. As uneasy as that made him, Teven kept his gaze forward and allowed the black mustang to follow the riders. * Van glanced at Aleya and back at the diablero. The beast leaned forward. "How have you brought us here?" The lower half of its face showed under its black hood, revealing a yellowed grin. "Through your fears we will break you and claim your ancient soul." Van raised his hand to the skinwalker. "We? I only see the one of you." He flipped his palm up. "I know you and what you are. You''re a diablero, a witch, Crus de la Vargos."Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. The skinwalker twitched, its cloak rippled from the movement as it reacted to its given name. "Yes, I also know your true name, though not whether it will free me. Somehow I''ve gained your magics as well as memories, some of them at least, which brought me here." He gestured to Aleya and the land around them. "That''s my wife, this is our ranch. I''ve always been here, but we''re not really here." He tapped the side of his head. "This is all in my mind, not quite the spirit plane. Not the Astral. You''re trying to control me, and you''re failing. You chose to use my fears, and that was your mistake, because she," his finger shot back toward Aleya, "is my escape from it all. My escape and my strength." The skinwalker pointed with a leathered finger. "That you can fight us is why you are of value. You have a knowledge within that you do not harness. Such mementos to harvest from your soul. Such power." Van tilted his head, curious. "Knowledge of magic in me? Is magic returning?" A deep croaking from within the skinwalker confused Van, before he realized the beast laughed at him. "Magic never left, it is withheld. We live in slavery." Van pointed at Aleya. "She is my freedom and we are happy to live without magic." The skinwalker stepped forward. "She is not here, I am. I control your mind and your body and we will harvest your soul." "She is always with me." Van slapped his hand against his chest. "Here." The skinwalker edged closer. Van stepped forward. "You don''t control me." * Christian sighed as he suffered the snail''s pace of the herd. Traveling no more than ten miles a day, they''d covered only sixty miles and not yet reached the relative safety Albuquerque and its military post might provide. Any means of avoiding those loyal to the Gasento Family, and shapeshifting diableros, seemed so close and yet so far. One more day, ten miles and maybe they''d escape the shapeshifters. He rubbed the grit and dust from around his neck, reached with his free hand to his canteen, and eyed the cattle as he had for days now. There was no escape. The herd plodded past as he sat and sipped the brackish water from his canteen. No time to stop for fresh water at the tributaries of the mighty Rio Grande. He lowered the canteen as the flank riders trotted past. No sign of the damned diableros, unless of course, they hid in plain sight, walking in the skins of man or cattle. If no diableros hunted the cattle drive or hid among them, then perhaps the scouts, Day Long and Nathan, clashed with the creatures. Not knowing their fate, Christian fastened his canteen and secured it to his saddle. If the threat hid among the cattle, the solution was clear. * The black mustangs slowed to a canter as the lead skinwalker raised his hand. Teven missed it at first, as he scanned the plain. Two miles ahead, a figure stood. The riders entered into a trot as they approached and the distance closed. Teven risked glances to his side, found the entranced bodies of Van and Juan Semos mounted to his left on similar black mustangs. He looked forward again, focused on the figure standing among the rabbit brush, not twenty feet away, black with no sheen to his clothing, like the robes of the skinwitches, an absence of reflected light, as if the cloth absorbed the sun, if it was an Earthly fabric. This was no ordinary man. Perhaps no man, as inhuman as the skinwalkers. What light did reflect, glinted off an array of simple blades set in his vest and sheathed along his belt. Knives all. He raised a black, gloved hand and nodded. Silence hung heavy, the early afternoon sun already edged its way toward the western mountains. The lead skinwalker sat on his black mount, his back to Teven. After one, perhaps two minutes, the shifter dismounted and Teven followed the lead of the other shapeshifters. The Gasento men stood with great unease ahead of their mounts, while their leader bristled as if ready to attack. Teven looked towards Van from the corner of his eye. Van and Juan Semos stood with the same look of unease as the other diableros. Gripped by a dread that he was alone, cold sweat dampened Teven''s clothes and his thoughts turned once more to Jessica. Chapter Fifteen The dark figure stood unmoving, his hands clasped behind his black. A gentle breeze stirred his black coat. His sable hair tied back tight beneath an inky, flat-topped cordobes hat. Not a speck of dust marred his jet black attire. His boots as dark and unspoiled as when crafted. He stood, as if rejected by the land around him. Teven watched, equally silent and still, as the lead skinwalker raised a hand to the tense shifters. Perhaps an act of habit, a former human muscle memory, the hand gesture didn''t disprove Teven''s suspicion of telepathic communication between the creatures. How soon until they found him out? He decided to follow the lead of each skinwalker and do as they did. Each diablero stood unmoving, their grim horses too, unnatural in their stillness, so silent, the ever-present, distant rush of mountain air across the arid plain thrummed in Teven''s ears. Panic. Perhaps the attention of the shifters, so focused on the stranger, meant none would notice his sheen of cold sweat. Teven swallowed out of habit, thankful for the bandana which hid the movement of his Adam''s apple. * Christian jerked the bandana from his face and squeezed his nose between thumb and forefinger. Ahead of him, Red, the lead steer and number one shifter suspect, led the herd onto the steep and narrow slope down into the wide canyon below. Sende rode beside her brother Hernan, the chuck wagon left near a copse of cottonwoods, the draft animals nearby, already grazing. "Are you sure you are doing the wise thing, Se?or Har?" Hernan said. Christian wiped his face with the bandana. "Wise? Dunno. Paranoid maybe." He shook his hand toward the herd. "If the scouts didn''t run into more shapeshifters, then you can be sure the beasts are after us. Like I said." Sende glanced at her brother. "But surely by now, the diableros would have attacked." Christian grunted. "Why bother?" He turned to stare at the mestizo siblings. "They are, what you call ¡®em?" "Diableros." "Yeah, sure. Shapeshifters. They could be down there right now." Hernan frowned. "Among my cousins? In our cousins?" Christian watched the swing and flank riders guide and funnel the herd. "Sure. But more likely, pretendin'' to be them beeves." Sende crossed her arms, uneasy, she looked down into the canyon. "And we leave the ganado here?" "Yeah, leave the cattle here." Christian smiled. "Way I see it, if they''s shifters, then we can ride hard for town. Take an hour or so at a gallop. Sure faster than another day at the pace of the beeves. We hole up in town." Sende and Hernan shared a skeptical glance.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "If Day Long and Nathan show up with your cousin, my brother, an'' Van, then we ride back here." He spurred his horse forward toward the edge of the abutting cliff. "If the shifters are down there now, they''ll have taken the herd by the time we return. If not, we''ll round up the beeves and continue to Santa Fe and north." Sende and Hernan sat uneasy in their saddles. Christian watched the vaqueros spread out on the canyon floor, the tail riders still half a mile back along the thinning bulk of the herd passing him and the mestizo siblings. It would be several hours before the entire herd and most of the remuda filled the box canyon. * Aleya wiped the sweat from her brow. The damned corral posts taking the better part of the day from her. Her father was due for dinner along with her friend Rebecca, all come to help entertain Teven''s wife Jessica. No burden there. To the contrary, Jessica was well read and possessed of many tales of exotic lands around the world. Places Aleya might never see. She released the canteen from her belt and removing its cap, drank deep. The ranch outbuildings almost complete, pleasant sounds of carpenters at work caressed her ears. The thin, cool mountain air filled her lungs after the refreshing mouthfuls of water. She hesitated, fumbled the canteen, and looked back toward the outbuildings. Had someone called her name? She stood silent for a moment. No. The hammer falls and rhythmic rasp of saw blades continued. She secured the cap of her canteen and placed it on the ground. Taking up the shovel from where it leaned against the previous post, she sighed and began to dig the next placement. * On his besieged mindscape, Van faced the skinwalker. It stood on the spirit form of the ranch land, four steps from Aleya as she worked, and a threat to both. Observed from the spirit realm, Aleya burned as a beacon in Van''s heart and brought clarity to his mind as the diablero continued its possession of him. "We control you, and all your kind, who are blinded to our world. Your fears are plain to us, they shine as bright as do your ancient souls." Van balled his fist. The wraith assault in the Crimea, tales of Greek, Roman, and Celtic myths, Van knew a hidden world existed, and run from it to the New World. Fool he to think the same wouldn''t be found in the Americas. Trouble followed all of his days. "I''ve no greater fear than living this life, haunted by war and the likes of you." The diablero grinned, waggled its finger, its eyes gleamed. "That is not your true fear." * Cristian watched the tail riders drive the final cattle into the canyon. To his left, Sende and Hernan waited with their cousin Marcos, waving the dust from their faces. On the far side of the narrow slope, which led into the canyon, the remaining vaqueros waited. The hundreds of cattle milled and grazed on the grasses below, unaware of the unnatural threat Christian suspected hid among them. Christian waggled his hand at the wrist, signaled the party to ride out. As the vaqueros set out, Sende rode up beside him and a terrible wave of guilt, a pressure in his chest, caused Christian to slouch in his saddle. He raised his open hands, staring at them. "Come to America and live on the frontier, sure. Join the cattle run, it''ll be an adventure." He sighed. "Idiot, I could be helping build the ranch." The years spent painting the peoples of northern France at work in their lands, Christian supported himself working as a carpenter. He found he excelled at it and more, he enjoyed it. The insight it brought him improved his art and outlook. Still, when his older brother returned from war, Christian found himself drawn into Van''s vision of starting anew. Van, as much a brother to him as Teven. Like Teven, taken by the skinwalkers. Minutes passed before Sende roused him from his thoughts. "If we lose the herd, you will have lost everything." Christian stared past his hands, down into the broad canyon, his back to Sende. His leather gloves creaked as he balled his hands into tight fists. "Fuck those skinwalking bastards." Chapter Sixteen Teven sweated the seconds as the inhuman figures faced off. Both held their hands at their sides, the sky a cobalt canvas above the stark fastness of the land where the territories leaned toward the Rio Grande and Mexico fell away. An arena of ancient hostility. Silence and beauty contrasted by creatures risen from the Underworld. The natural against the unnatural. Was the supernatural unnatural? Teven''s experience in the Crimea and the past six days served only to confuse him, the world a wider place than what remained hidden, its ancient secrets obscured by human bias. The stranger stood ten feet from the lead shifter. The leader of the shapeshifters raised his arms with his palms up. "Se?or Diogo DaFaca." The stranger waved a hand in a flourish and tipped his hat. "Galtero." Moments passed and the lead shapeshifter, Galtero, gestured towards Teven and the shifters. "Come to join us?" DaFaca smiled and stepped forward. "To where?" "We ride south." "I see that, and as your family''s Watcher I find there is no reason for you to be so far from Gasento lands." "Is that why you''ve come? To escort us home? Have you spoken with my brother?" DaFaca raised a finger. "Don Gasento knows the rule of the Escuridon." The Watcher placed his hand on his chest. "He need not speak with me." The lead shifter tensed, with hands held in tight fists by each thigh. DaFaca observed this and shifted into a more casual stance, his weight shifting to favor his right leg. "Is it Los Orlos you journey to? We are aware of the true Caddite intentions beyond their mortal desire for the Caddo Republic." He paused. "But tell me Galtero, why has a gateway within Gasento lands fallen?" The lead shifter grimaced. "There''s a war coming." DaFaca''s eyebrows pinched together. "Coming? There''s open war¡­" The lead shifter interrupted. "Not the mundane War of the States, power struggles in Mexico, or the war waged in the depths of the Domnu, the same war you''ve conscripted souls of the Escuridado into. No. Not even our own fight for freedom within the greater Tezca. A Planar War is coming, perhaps even the first new High War in eons." DaFaca laughed and everyone was clearly disturbed by it. The lead shifter pointed at DaFaca. "You laugh at me?" DaFaca raised his palm to the lead shifter. "My role is to guide your family." "Enslave. My family and all the peoples of the Escuridado are slaves to the Escuridon." "You are servants of the Escuridon, citizens of the Escuridado, and the legacy of Atlantis." The lead shifter waved away the notion of an Atlantean legacy. "The Escuridon and Escuridado? The time of Atlantis, the gods, the Tezca Lords, that era is done. We will live free of them all." DaFaca leaned back and looked down his nose at the lead shapeshifter. "And yet you support this foolish uprising against your own people, while the Dominion of the Sepul is awarded lands to the north by the Sedes?" The lead shifter stepped, for the first time, toward DaFaca. "Ah! You disagree with the decree of the ¡®venerable'' Sedes?" "Disagree?" DaFaca scoffed. "That''s an age-old question. ¡®Who will rule? Men or gods?'' It''s not for you to decide." The lead shifter spoke through clenched teeth. "Did I not say that but moments ago? It''s already decided. Hundreds of years ago. The gods cower and hide from the Sepul and the Siege does nothing." DaFaca laughed. "The Tezca never joined the august body of the Sedes." It was the lead shifter''s turn to laugh. The shapeshifter pointed north. "The ¡®Sedes''? In my lifetime I''ve only ever heard of the assembled membership as the ¡®Siege'', because they are under siege from within and without!" The lead shapeshifter turned like a politician to the assembled diablero riders. "I believe the Escuridon serve the Siege." For the first time, the diableros moved, indeed cheered, and Teven was too surprised and almost too slow to act. The lead shifter turned back to face DaFaca. "At the least, the Siege had something to do with funding the Escuridon and setting your order of Judges and Watchers to rule over the people, the Escuridado, here on this side of the world." Galtero flung an arm in a wide arc. "But you mistake the Siege for what former power it held. The Planar War will start with the Sepul and their demonic legions." DaFaca shook his head and dipped his chin, his eyes hidden under the brim of his hat. "Ah, yet you''ve sacrificed your souls and humanity to be free of the Escuridon and our Tezca Lords? You''ve become diableros, corrupt witches. Your brother, Don Gasento, is alone now, he and his wife and daughters."Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. The lead shifter spat. "As alone as you?" Teven risked a glance at Van. Odd. His body watched the two men argue. It stood with cold, unmoving aloofness, unlike the other shifters. Even so, its stance, his expression, held none of the childhood friend Teven knew like a brother. * The mindscape of the ranch stretched out around them as Van stared at the skinwalker, a dark-haired, tan skinned, young Mexican of Spanish descent. Fit, his skin slick, his eyes reflective and uncanny. The skinwalker cocked its head, confident with arrogance. "We know your thoughts, sense your fears. Your true fear is losing your wife." The creature grinned, pointing at Aleya as she continued her work on the corral posts. "That is truly what brought us here. She is your weakness and your prison. I see now, her soul is like yours, your soulmate. We know where she dwells. We will harvest her soul too. We¡­ " The shifter hesitated. Van stood in utter silence, as silent as possible in a spirit realm, where thoughts dwell. He seethed and the Astral mindscape began to shudder with the swell of unnatural gusts and a darkened sky. The skinwalker stepped back. Besieging Van''s mind, possessed of Van''s body, the beast knew Van''s thoughts. The creature''s threat toward Aleya awoke a terrible wrath within Van, and the shifter knew its death would follow, with finality, by Van''s hand. The skinwalker knew fear, deep and cold, and the resolute anger and certainty of Van''s intent, just as Van knew the creature''s thoughts. The skinwalker regretted its mistake. Van''s eyes flashed. "Fear the rage of a good man, for when it comes, it is terrible and all-consuming." * Christian galloped atop his mare, followed by the twelve Semos vaqueros, Sende and Hernan to his left, and Marcos at his right. Temptations and second thoughts tore at his mind. Nothing in comparison to what Day Long described of his brief possession by skinwalker, yet this was more insidious. Christian was at war with himself, besieged by second-guesses and self-recriminations. Guilt. What did he really want? What did any of them want? Truly? Teven, uncommitted to the ranching partnership. Aleya, was she as confident and steadfast as she always appeared? His sister-in-law, Jessica, waiting at the ranch, supporting Teven? Nathan wandered the mountains until invited by Van to form the partnership. Day Long, a mystery, Se?or damned Loco. Christian laughed, where did it get them? Divided, running from the very thing which drove Van from the Old World¡ªmagic. "Damn it!" Albuquerque still lay half a day''s ride away and once there, what next? Do as he told the siblings, Sende and Hernan? Sit around and wait for the scouts, or his brother and Van, to return? The army was of no use. They''d not believe them and wouldn''t mobilize to escort cattle. He shook his head. Which army? Union or Confederate? Talk at Red Clay spoke of a battle. Who held the town now? Having to rest the horses, Christian reigned in and turned his mount, pulling on the lariat that guided his spare. Each rider rode with one spare, assigning the twenty-five horses of the remuda. Christian stared back along their route, turning south, plagued by the further questions of his brother''s fate. What was Day Long''s plan, or was it more of his madness? "Se?or Har?" Sende carried her saddle to her spare horse. "You must dismount." Christian nodded, still looking south, before clearing his throat, tossing a leg over the rear of his horse, swinging down. He reached under the mare, its breathing heavy and loud, to unfasten the saddle. Doing so he set it down beside him. With one hand on the shoulder of the mount, he paused. A glint in the rocks to the north, caught his eye. He shifted his head, moved up and down, left and right. There it was again. To his right, Sende straightened the saddle blanket on her fresh bay gelding and, aided by her brother, swung her Texas saddle into place. Christian removed his own blanket, a calm within him, settling the boiling anger. "Sende, who knows the most recent news from Albuquerque?" Sende called out to Marcos, who in turn, gave an uncharacteristic shout in Spanish, repeating Christian''s question. A thick, middle-aged vaquero called out and led his horse over to Christian, chattering in Spanish. Sende turned to Christian while Hernan secured her saddle. "A battle was fought weeks ago in and around the town. The Confederates held Albuquerque." She paused. "How does this help us? Are you afraid of the soldiers?" Nathan pointed north. "Look north, there, toward those rocks." She looked but turned back, confused. He threw the horse blanket over his shoulder, walked towards Sende, his arm raised. "Follow my arm, see where I''m pointing, up among the rocks above the stunted cedar. Something there''s catching the sun." Sende frowned. "Metal?" "Brass, I''m thinkin''. Gun brass. Maybe the Rebels hid some cannon on their retreat from Glorieta." Sende''s eyebrow jumped as she took on a skeptical countenance. Christian flapped his hand at her. "Don''t look at me with that face." Hernan tested Sende''s saddle. "Cannon? How will that help us, Se?or Har?" "Help us? It won''t, we''re riding for town. Union forces and plenty of locals to surround us with." The siblings frowned. Sende shrugged. "Surely the diableros can hide within the town? Attack us in the night?" Christian huffed and turned back to his mount. "Right, the longer we remain out here in the wilds, the more likely the bastards can end all this doubt and hesitation." He cursed as he realized he had the fresh gelding to saddle up. He jumped at the touch of Sende''s hand on his arm. "Hells girl!" "If more diableros hunted us, then they would have us." She pointed back at her brother. "And I do not mean to say they hide among my family." With an unsteady hand on the shoulder of his remount, Christian brushed the back of animal. It turned its head to stare at him, feeling his frustration. Christian dropped his head to rest on the horse''s side. The animal seemed satisfied with that as Christian felt the muscles of the horse relax with a turn of its head back to the sparse grass. "I don''t know what a bunch of witches want with us, but cattle means money. The world runs on money, magic or mortal." "That does make sense. The Gasento family also profited as Comancheros¡­" "What?" Christian raised his head and looked Sende in the eye. "What does that mean?" "They''re slavers." Christian raised his palm in a questioning gesture. "Of Comanche." Sende smiled. "No, they buy slaves from the Comanche. It is how my family came to live as slaves for the Gasentos." Christian''s shoulders sagged. "Suppose it''s like Se?or Loco says. They want our souls. These shapeshifters." He began walking toward the distant rocks. "Dunno how Day Long beat them, but I bet, if we got functionin'' cannon up there, a shell or two could smoke the bastards and put an end to ¡®em." Chapter Seventeen With all attention on DaFaca, sweat trickled off the tip of Teven''s nose unseen. The knife-man stood but five feet from the lead shifter, bound by fierce tension. Alone. The echo of the lead shifter''s last comment resonated within Teven. Was Van lost? Juan Semos? The old vaquero''s body reacted the same as the other diableros. Van hadn''t moved, he remained still and silent. Teven returned his attention to the knife-man at the sound of DaFaca''s voice. "It is you who are alone, Galtero." The lead shifter laughed, turned with arms raised and smiled with a politician''s best grin. "Are we alone in our fight?" Teven couldn''t understand a word of it, but the gist was clear. The shifters raised their fists with raised voices and he joined them. DaFaca pointed at Teven. Wary, shocked, and sweating, Teven froze with his arm still held aloft. "Hand over the souls, Galtero. To hold these souls is itself a risk, drawing the attention of those you do not want gazing upon you." "Why would I do that?" With crossed arms, the lead shifter leaned forward. "Are you afraid? Who is it you speak of, your Tezca Lords? The demonic Dominion of the Sepul?" "Yes, among others, I speak of the Sepul, this is what they want. Demons manifest and thrive on intense emotive energies. Hatred, conflict, war, it will create an equipoise for them, and worse, a polarity to the Celestial." The lead shifter turned back to look at the diableros. "We will drive them from the Earth. Their kind are no more welcome than any who are not of the free peoples of the Escuridado." DaFaca stepped forward. "Galtero, are we to stand here and discuss planar politics? You can stand with these diableros, you can continue your struggle fighting alongside the Caddite mortals and mystics, but what are they before the expanse of the Escuridon or the Sepul? This is but one world, on one plane of existence." The lead shifter raised a finger. "It is our world. We, the Escuridado emerged from the Third World into this, the Fourth, free in Death''s domain." DaFaca tilted his head to the side. A slow, casual movement. "You wish to enter death''s domain? There will be no return from it, as Coyote decreed. Or is that why you seek these souls? Do you hope to extract mementos that will reveal forbidden secrets?" "That they are forbidden implies they are known." Both smiled at that point. Check and mate. DaFaca nodded. "Perhaps." "You fail at your duty, ¡®Watcher''." "Have I?" DaFaca said. The lead shifter continued. "Where have you been these past months, or even these six few days while I''ve held and sought this pentad of ancient souls?" DaFaca adjusted his hat. "You avoided the caverns of the Third World and journeyed overland. That was but one sign of your duplicity." Silence. DaFaca continued. "The men you sent to destroy the gateway, led by Mateo? That is where I have been." The lead shifter bristled at the name of the scarred and favored warrior. "You killed Mateo and let the scouts escape? The souls that killed two of my warriors?" "Warriors? Your fallen followers? No, I don''t care about any ¡®scouts'', wherever they be." DaFaca sighed. "No more defiance, you''ve betrayed yourself, seeking fellowship with the Caddites. If you will not bow your will to the Escuridon, consider, I know your true name. Yield."Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. The shapeshifter turned with arms raised. "I die for the Escuridado. We will be free." DaFaca entwined his fingers behind his back. "Galtero Gervaso Amado Gasento." The lead shifter shuddered, glaring at DaFaca with hate-filled eyes. DaFaca stepped back with arms bent, hands raised. "It''s done, you''re human once more, and have three days to live. Make peace with Don Gasento and your nieces. There will be no male heirs. The Gasento name ends with your brother." DaFaca grinned. "Then again, three days is a long time to plant one''s seed." The lead shifter lunged at DaFaca with ebon macuahuitl weapon raised. Among the diableros, Teven gave up his pretense of uncertain disguise and strained to see. DaFaca flicked a blade from his breast sheaths in a short arc, stepped back, drawing the blade through the forefinger and thumb of his free hand, yet there was no blood, the knife gleamed bright and clean in the sun. The knife returned to its sheathe, Galtero''s body and macuahuitl struck the ground. All was silent. * Winds whipped through the few trees near the corral, a cluster of cottonwoods. Van glowered at the confused diablero. Black-tongued flames intermingled with a mane of golden fire rising from Van''s shoulders and around his head. Thin, molten lines cut across his face, spoke-like from the bridge of his nose. The diablero backed away, cast its head about and held it between both hands, screaming. "Trying to exit my mind? Attempting to escape? Are you in the grip of fear?" Van smiled. "Surely, fear leads to suffering. Yet, what happens when one embraces their fears?" Van pointed at himself. "This is what I fear." The diablero shrieked, baring long, canine fangs. In contrast to both, Aleya continued her work on the corral posts, sinking each thrust of her shovel with a good stamp from her booted foot. Van smiled. "Ah, but you see, you can never know." No matter what the diablero knew, the creature possessed Van''s body, his mind, but not his soul. "Memories I cherish, love I hold!" The beast knew only the thoughts and memories of Van''s mind. The fear of magic dwelled deep, his true fear, held within the depths of his soul. Not so much fear, but revulsion. He didn''t fear losing Aleya, he''d never lose her. But magic? The corruption and temptation of magic, he feared. As the sky grew darker, and the light failed, the vision of the ranch fell away. Only Aleya, he, and the diablero remained at the center of a roiling Astral storm. Aleya worked as if in a pantomime, her surroundings and shovel gone, Van''s heart warmed by a final glance at her, as she too, finally faded. Van turned back to the now weakened, shriveled diablero. "Time I think, for an end to you." * Atop the vermillion rocks, Marcos studied the two, 12-pounder, M1841 mountain howitzers partially buried in a deep stone cleft. Two more vaqueros stood over three crates of canister shot and limited, but dry, gunpowder charges. No limber or caissons and certainly no gun carriages could be found among the rock outcropping. Frustrated, Christian turned to Sende. "We get one shot, maybe, if we tie the gun down and get the shifters where we need them." Marcos lit a cigarette. Sende looked at Christian with sad eyes. "We can still ride for town." Christian stared east towards Albuquerque. Their perch atop the seven-foot high, broken ridge offered an expensive, panoramic view of the always stunning countryside. He sighed. "Sende, I know I asked you before, but I''m inclined, much as it sticks in my craw, to think of what Day Long said." Hernan pushed past Marcos. "And you said my sister doesn''t know anything." "Give it a rest, Hernan." Christian looked down at Sende. "I think you do, I think you know precisely what it is you''re running from, Sende." She shared a long look with Hernan, before turning to Marcos, who drew on his cigarette and held his breath before he shrugged and exhaled silver vapors. Sende squeezed her left arm and tilted her head down. "I saw Galtero Gasento die." There was a stunned silence before all eyes turned to Hernan. He realized the inference. "No, I didn''t kill Galtero. Sende?" Sende looked up at Christian. "As I''ve told you, I was a servant, a slave, to the Gasento Family, in Se?or Galtero Gasento''s household. Se?or Gasento awaited visitors and sent me into the hacienda to fetch him a fresh pair of boots. Galtero was always very particular about his appearance." "Bit of a dandy?" "Dandy?" Christian pulled on his vest. "A Belvidere, a fancy dresser." "He was, yes." She looked away. "While inside the hacienda I heard terrible noises, a fight and horrible screaming, and so I hid. But the noises continued." Hernan stepped between Christian and Sende. She pushed her brother back. "Shh, it matters little that he knows. We all know. The diableros may be waiting for us, what will it hurt to tell him? They''ve all gone, his friends, the gringos. Young Se?or Har is alone." Christian waved Hernan away. "Yeh, hobble your lip, Hernan. Go on, Sende." "I waited for hours, as the diableros went through the house." She pulled on her dark hair in absent-minded thought before drawing her own attention to it. She released the raven lock, studying her hand before looking up into Christian''s eyes. "Se?ora Vargos and her diableros, they killed Galtero Gasento and his men. Now, only his brother, Don Gasento, remains. The Don and his wife have tried for many years to have a boy. Try as they have, their child is always a girl. With Galtero dead, they have no male heirs." Chapter Eighteen The hawk-nosed gunman locked eyes with the knife-man. The tension at its highest, the body of the lead shapeshifters, Galtero, rendered human and mortal by its true name, lay at DaFaca''s feet. The knife-man stepped over the body. "Hola, Nico." The hawk-nosed Nico remained silent. "Mateo served Galtero," DaFaca gestured back at Galtero''s crumpled form, "They chose not to bow to the service of the Escuridon. What will you do?" Teven jumped in shock as the diableros moved as one, perhaps at the silent, telepathic command of the hawk-nosed Nico. The coal-black mounts bolted, galloping south. DaFaca was a blur. Knives, of what seemed to Teven to be enchanted silver, struck home on several attacking diableros with little effect. The knife-man yelled a few more names, but to his and Teven''s confusion, it did not have the desired effect of rendering the creatures human and mortal. Even among the supernatural, the tales of how very difficult it was to kill a diablero seemed true. DaFaca, still calling out the true names of the diableros, chose a new set of blades, these too hinted of silver, but Teven was by now too preoccupied by diableros who noticed he was not fighting alongside them. Juan Semos, still possessed by a diablero, charged Teven with a macuahuitl. Teven looked down at his own body, he may have been possessed, but they''d not trusted him and Van with weapons. Teven placed himself between Van and Juan Semos as the possessed vaquero closed the distance with three more shifters following. DaFaca called the names of the diableros with no effect, and so, hurled his silver-like blades. His true name called, Juan Semos fell to the ground, spared a blade by the taxed but skillful DaFaca. Not for mercy so much as necessity, the Watcher likely held a finite number of blades or chose not to have his own weapons turned against him. Teven backed away as a blade sunk into the ground at his feet. His eyes darted from the silvery knife to its source. DaFaca made eye contact with him and nodded. Teven snatched up the knife. The ground shook and a deep rumble sounded in Teven''s ears, felt more than heard, among the din of battle. Tearing himself away from the chaotic dance of supernatural creatures, Teven turned to finally see an expression on Van''s face. Van stood, stooped forward, a mask of intense rage distorting his face, his mouth agape in a silent roar, and the ground rippling around him. * Christian threw his arms up. "Who the hell is Victoria Vargos?" Hernan sat against the vivid red rock while Marcos and the two vaqueros shared another cigarette, taking care to stay clear of the gunpowder charges. Sende raised her hands. "She wanted Galtero to join her against the¡­" Marcos gripped Sende''s wrist, causing all to fall silent and stare. Christian frowned. "The hell? Let her go." Hernan removed Marcos'' hand. "We do not say that name, Sende." Christian snorted. "You mind making an exception for me? Right now I''m pretty sure it don''t matter. Those shapeshifters are out there, somewhere." Sende ran her fingers over her wrist. "The Darkness. Se?ora Vargos¡­" "The fucking Darkness? They''re called the Darkness?" Sende nodded. "Yes, our ancient masters. Se?ora Vargos wished for Galtero to join an uprising of the people against them." "The Darkness. Just a name. Just a name." Christian paced in the small area available to him. "I guess they never wanted to steal the herd. Hold on, if Gasento is dead, why are the diableros hunting us?" The Semos cousins shared glances.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Sende glanced at Hernan. "Perhaps they sought the cattle too, but they are after cattle of a different sort, human cattle. Souls." "Sure, I guess souls are like gold for this crowd. Doesn''t matter who you are, gold fever will take ya. Still, if they want souls, why aren''t they runnin'' around availin'' themselves of the natives, the Texans, and folks? Plenty of souls out here, spaced out as they may be." Hernan dragged a hand across his face. "They might. The Escuridado are not the Darkness, we are all ¡®Escuridado'' in their minds, descendants of those who survived and emerged from the Third World into this Age. Vargos and her kind need to sustain their army, with both a mortal and magical means of funding. All wars are fought with money and men. Weapons paid for and men to wield them." Christian crossed his arms, all of the Southwest was in danger. "So who are they? Vargos and this army?" "Revolutionaries. They see all who live here as slaves to," Hernan paused, "to the ¡®Darkness'', and have taken no particular name, but they work with the political group known for seeking to form a Caddo Republic." "Caddites." Christian shifted his weight. "Yeah, but they seem pretty damned intent on hunting us. Maybe they know you saw Galtero die." Sende placed her hand on Christian''s arm. He looked at it and back at her as she spoke. "I thought so as well, until Se?or Long returned. I think they want your souls." * Standing beside Van on the rippling desert sand, Teven studied the knife DaFaca had thrown, with purpose, at his feet. The triangular blade was not silver, ensorceled or otherwise. Smooth, it possessed a polished wood appearance, silver in sheen and the look of an Arkansas toothpick. Diableros being vulnerable to white ash, these blades appeared to be a special form of ash wood. DaFaca moved with deft skill between the two-dozen attackers, throwing, recovering and slicing with his ash wood knives. The diableros in turn, slashed with black crystal macuahuitl weapons, their saw-like edge drawn back against the light-absorbing suit of DaFaca with no visible damage. It made sense for DaFaca to be protected from the lesser weapons of the people over which he watched. Still, the two-dozen shifters continued their withering assault, falling before him. Wary, Teven watched for any further diableros to turn from DaFaca to attack. They now seemed focused on the Watcher and his ash wood blades. Teven dragged Juan Semos closer to Van, the air around him pulsed, its pressure felt in waves on Teven''s body, emanated from Van. Debris, sand, and pebbles rose suspended around them. Teven rolled his tongue in his mouth, but could not clear the metallic taste as his hair and those on his skin began to stand on end. "Van?" A loud, eerie, hellish chord sounded, which caused Teven to whirl around and seek its source. So much had changed in mere minutes. DaFaca stood holding the oddest, yet beautiful, weapon. Like Dafaca''s suit, the weapon was jet-black such that light seemed unable to escape it. At its heart, the hilt, an x-like, figure-eight, bucket-guard lay at the center of two rough and cracked crystal cones and a bending of the air at the ends of the tips. The total length of the arcane weapon was almost seven feet, widest at the base of the cones to the hilt at half a foot wide. * The grating sound continued, crystal against crystal. Galtero Gasento, neck and chest cut open, held an identical weapon against DaFaca''s. The hawk-nosed Nico stepped beside Galtero and smiled. "My choice? There is no choice. I serve Se?ora Vargos." DaFaca twisted away. "Vargos?" Galtero shifted into her own form, the olive-skinned, raven-haired appearance of Victoria Vargos. She grinned. "Watcher." The diableros maintained a ring around DaFaca as the Watcher shifted his defensive stance, one end of the weapon pointed at Vargos. "Victoria Vargos? How is it I did not sense you or that Ouroboros?" DaFaca deflected a harsh blow from Vargos, the air twisted with the distortion emanating from the ends of the Ouroboros weapon, knocking Nico and the forward-most diableros to the ground. Vargos stood fast, her weapon held above her head, with arms bent and palms faced up. Like the Watcher, Vargos unsheathed the arcane weapon from a spatial pocket in which Watchers sheathed and stored their Ouroboros. DaFaca lowered his body, with his knees bent and feet apart. "You''re wearing of Galtero''s skin doesn''t account for the use of your Watcher''s Ouroboros blade." Vargos swung her blade around. "I''m no skinwalker, my family is descended from those who reverse-engineered and crafted these cosmic blades for your Escuridon masters. My people will not serve." With a savage, downward thrust, Vargos'' arm doubled its length, snaked behind and slashed DaFaca across his back and ribs, cutting through the black, otherworldly coat. The Watcher stumbled but kept his blade ready, as tentacles erupted from the dirt, seized DaFaca and swung him down as Vargos hammered him into the ground again and again. * Surrounded by floating debris, Teven watched, bewildered. Beneath his feet the ground shifted, radiating out around Van, drawing the attention of the rear diableros, while twenty feet away, Vargos held DaFaca with tentacles sunken into the ground from her legs, her stolen Ouroboros blade arcing down on the Watcher. The rumble grew, but it was a voice that drew Teven''s attention, Van''s voice and a name. "Aleya." The ground erupted in a torrent of light, rock, and dirt. The displaced blast of air threw everyone aside, with Teven at its epicenter and Van the source. Chapter Nineteen A clear spring sky met Aleya''s gaze as she stood and stretched her back. The gentle relief of popping released a prolonged sigh. Then came the strangest sense of the familiar, of Van. A gust of wind blew back her long, golden hair, pressing her light green dress against her slim form. Pulling strands from her face, she cast her gaze about the fields and corrals, the ranch hands, and few horses. The constant sound of the carpenters at work met her ears. The musty scent of unearthed soil filled her nostrils and she breathed out. "Honey Sly?" * Van came to with acid in his throat. He shivered with weakness and felt eyes upon him. His captors knew, likely through the spirit link he''d experienced with Aleya. For it was no dream. No final vision before death. He sensed too, that ultimate instinct of his that served him so well in the Crimea, the same as the unspoken communication forged between he and Teven¡ªinstinct. The two friends shared the shortest of glances and Van knew Teven also controlled his own body and defeated the skinwalker within. Teven held the strangest of blades, strange that is, until Van saw the double-sided conical crystal weapons held by two combatants, male and female, dozens of feet away from him. A man armed with knives, wounded, lay on the dirt entwined within off-yellow tentacles, with his crystal weapon raised. The man spoke. "Where is your Watcher?" An olive-skinned woman, who appeared be in control of the tentacles, grinned. "Dead." The two crystal weapons clashed, the sound high-pitched; not unlike fingernails on chalkboard. Teven pulled Juan Semos beside Van. "Van, what was that¡­that blast? How did you escape your diablero?" Van frowned. "I don''t know, how did you?" "It just¡­it faded." Teven said. "You?" "Faded?" Teven frowned. "I woke up, or rather, it was like a long dream, I was exhausted, ill, like a fever. Then I awoke and did as the shifters did. Mostly, we rode, for days." "Days? How many?" "Maybe a week? I think we''re in Texas or Mexico." Van pointed at DaFaca and Vargos. "What are they?" "Fuck, Van, I don''t know. Let''s get out of here. But I don''t trust their horses. They ain''t natural." Van flicked his head about. "What horses?" Teven gestured north. "Out there somewhere." He stooped and placed one of Juan''s arms over his shoulder. "Help me with him." Van gripped Juan''s arm. "There''s desert all around us. Where will we go?" A horrendous cheer broke out among the diableros. Teven and Van flinched first at the unexpected sound and a second time as an Ouroboros blade embedded itself two feet from Teven. The elder Har fell backwards away from it, part from shock and from the numbing waves radiating from the blade. With Juan Semos supported by one arm, Van, reached forward with his free hand. Teven sat up. "Van?" Ignoring Teven, Van gripped the hilt of the Ouroboros blade as diableros charged toward the trio. He recoiled in pain, his body rigid, before he released the hilt and dropped to the ground beside Juan Semos and Teven.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Teven shook Van. "The hell, that''s some sorta weapon of the gods! You don''t reach out and touch it." Van wrung his numbed hand and shook his head. "Need to defend ourselves." Teven pointed to Juan''s fallen macuahuitl. "Use it!" Van said. As Teven scrambled to his feet, the first two diableros skidded to a halt brandishing their macuahuitl weapons. One grinned, reaching out to grip the Ouroboros blade, Vargos calling out a warning too late. The diablero all but touched the blade and the weapon''s warding erupted, splitting the skinwalker''s flesh into molten rivulets which streaked up its arm before the skinwalker exploded all over the Ouroboros blade, it''s fellow diableros, Van, and Teven, leaving a minor, smoking crater, a foot deep and five-feet across. * Dozens of feet from the newly formed crater, Vargos laughed, DaFaca at her feet, with Nico gloating behind her. DaFaca''s face, hideous and bat-like, glistened with thick blood. His vampirous nature revealed, Vargos watched him with anger and revulsion. "You spoke of us corrupting and sacrificing our souls? How old are you DaFaca, how long has a camazotz sustained you? A bat-demon? You''re no better than the Sepul hordes." DaFaca moved at incredible speed, seizing hold of Vargos'' usurped Ouroboros blade. The two grappled, Vargos overcome with seething rage; let out a strangled, guttural roar. DaFaca subsumed his vampiric countenance. Blood coursed from deep wounds across his head and back. "We live in this, the Fourth World, in the dominion of death. Is not the bat the symbol of death? How am I no better than the likes of the Sepul?" Droplets and debris flew out from the two combatants, propelled by the pulse of energy from the Ouroboros blade. DaFaca held the x-shaped bucket-guard of the Ouroboros blade in one hand and the hilt in the other. "You may hold the weapon of your fallen Watcher, but you can''t harness its reality-bending capabilities, Victoria." Vargos hissed through her clenched jaw as tentacles erupted from her body, to further entangle DaFaca. "And you''re too weak to last." Her eyes locked on DaFaca, she yelled at her lieutenant. "Nico, secure the ancient souls. Tie up those damned ranchers and bind them with spells." * Christian dropped down onto the red sandstone with a grunt. Pulling off his leather gloves, he rubbed his palms, red with an hour of rope-work to move and secure the mountain howitzers. The group agreed to make the outcropping a fortress for their rations-worth of two days before they rode for Albuquerque. Hernan argued for Sende to ride with immediacy and she refused. With a party of sixteen and twenty-five horses there was no hope of hiding and the horses would soon consume what fodder and feed they grazed around the broken ridge. With knowledge of naval knots taught to him by Teven, Christian secured each of the discovered cannon, with the aid of the vaqueros, at points around the outcropping, covering each approach. The canister shot would allow each to fire twice and their heights and knots allowed a limited swivel on each gun. The canister itself, once fired, would spray any skinwalkers with shrapnel. These might slow any attack, but it was the few exploding shells that lay ready for loading at a singular point of approach once the diableros arrived. Sende offered a canteen to Christian. "I don''t believe the diableros have any reason to wait. Maybe they¡­perhaps Se?or Long and Drake stopped them." "If they have, then we''ve no way to know and can only wait for them to return with the others." "How will they find us?" Christian guzzled from the canteen, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and thought better of pouring any over his face and neck. Sende studied him. "They''ll ride to Albuquerque like we agreed. Then backtrack." he waved his arm. "We can''t exactly hide out here. An'' it''ll work on them arrogant shifters too." Sende sighed and Christian stood with a dismissive wave. "If any of you are worried you won''t be paid, you can ride for Albuquerque now. Give in your promissory notes and you''ll receive your earnings for this part of the drive." He glanced at Sende, gesturing with flicks of his hand. "Go on, tell ¡®em. Pesos." Sende cut her eyes at him. "Go on." Christian pointed at Hernan. "Or you tell them." Sende raised her hand to Hernan. "We already talked about pay. We have nowhere to go. We drive north to find work. She glanced at her brother. "Perhaps to find work on your ranch." Christian laughed. "Van''s ranch. Well, Aleya''s, more I see it. Our ranch maybe, if Teven would decide." Sende frowned. "Decide?" "I ain''t settlin'' out here if my brother don''t decide to go into a full partnership with Van." Marcos blew circles of smoke in the air as the other vaqueros gnawed on dried beef and beans, smoked, or took swigs of water. Sende shrugged. "We can never escape the reach of the Darkness, no matter where we go, we live in their shadow. But we have no prospects in this mortal world if no one will employ us." Christian''s shoulders fell. "Yeah well, Van hates magic, we came here to make out a new life away from such unnatural things." Chapter Twenty Teven grabbed ahold of Van, dragging him from DaFaca''s fallen Ouroboros blade. "Leave it, before it blows us apart." Van pulled away from Teven as a low rumble began to shake the ground. "The thing hurt me but the skinwalkers will be upon us soon enough." He pointed at the diableros who approached the weapon with caution. "There''s no way for us to escape." Teven shrugged. "Not yet. And it didn''t appear so in the Azov, but we''re here, we survived." The rumble grew, deep like distant thunder. Van sat up. "We survived because we dared. Because of the magic of the wraiths." Van placed his free hand on Teven''s. "I experienced something during the diablero''s possession of my mind. It didn''t fade away, I was bound to it, learned what it knew as it learned what I knew." The resonant vibration rose through their feet and in their bellies. Van reached out into the pulse of air emanating from the curious crystalline weapon. "Fragmented memories of both, but intense images like the battle at Azov against the Krasnodar Cossacks. The wraiths killing our shipmates and landing parties. We survived because we embraced the magic." Teven released Van. "But you hate magic because of Azov." Van nodded. "Hate is driven by fear and both lead to suffering." He stepped toward the vibrating weapon. His hair and flesh rippled in the force of the thunderous atmosphere around the blade. He forced his hand out toward the hilt. "Happiness is the avoidance of suffering and we came here in the pursuit of happiness, so I''ll be damned if these bastards rob us of that dream!" The rumble grew into a tremendous roar, the air and ground so disturbed by DaFaca''s weapon, Van and Teven unaware of the arrival of a cavalry unit of Caddites led by the diableros'' coal-black horses two miles out, obscured behind Nico and the diableros stalking toward the two friends with weapons raised. * Christian stood atop the highest point of the crimson outcropping with Teven''s telescope to his eye. He watched as two vaqueros gathered water from melting patches of snow a mile to the northwest. Suspicious and cautious about ambush by the diableros, he insisted on watching their every move as they sought out water sources away from the group. Telescope held firm to his eye, Christian spoke as he continued to watch the vaqueros. "So how is it you and your cousins know so much about the Darkness?" Sende sighed. "Well? Was Day Long right to be suspicious? Hernan bolted forward, restrained by Sende. "How many times must we make it clear to you?" "Hernan, basta. Marcos, te importa?" Sende asked, but Christian did not see Marcos'' reaction, as Sende continued. "My cousin Marcos left farming and entered a thieves guild as a child. Many who learn of the Darkness believe it to be nothing more than a guild or highly organized gang." Christian nodded. The distant vaqueros now on their way back, he continued to watch through the telescope. "But they are, like the darkness, endless and full of mystery." Christian shifted his feet. A moment''s silence passed. "Juan found Marcos and brought him back to the family to serve as Rurales against cowboy gangs like the Croshans and other rustlers who entered Mexico to steal cattle and drive them north to sell." The vaqueros rode at a steady gallop back to the outcropping and Christian surveyed the flat plain east and west of them. Satisfied it was clear, he sat and nodded at Marcos, who sat across from them among his fellow drovers. "Turned your life around, eh Marcos." Marcos kept his usual, aloof, silence. Sende smiled between the two. "Juan also fought against the Comanche when he was our age. They have started raiding south again with the War of the States drawing away American troops."Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. "Yeah, like those Comanche what got killed by the skinwalkers. Shifter bastards who took my brother an'' Van." Sende nodded. "This is how Day Long became familiar with my family." Christian leaned forward with interest. "Oh? An answer to a curious mystery about Se?or Loco?" "Juan and Marcos fought beside another group of Rurales, the Mascogo forces who drive back Indian raids for Mexico in return for citizenship and land to settle." Disappointed, Christian waved his hand around. "What''s that got to do with witches and shapeshifters?" Sende shook her head. "The Comanche, Apache, and Navajo, they are not true Escuridado. The people of the Escuridado emerged from the Third World at the dawn of the Age of Motion. We live in this Age and it is ruled by Death." "Death? You mean the Escuridon, uhh, the Darkness?" She waved off the wary eyes of Marcos and the vaqueros. "No. Both the Escuridon and the Escuridado are ¡®the people of the darkness''. The Escuridon, however, enforce the will of the Tezca Lords." "What are they?" Hernan leaned forward. "Some say they are the elder lords of the Ancients. Others say they are gods of the Underworld." Christian sighed heavily, leaned back, and stared out over the plain at the returning vaqueros as they approached. * Struck by the sudden awareness of the sweat on his body, Van grunted through clenched teeth as he closed his hand around the hilt of DaFaca''s Ouroboros blade. He cried out in pain as a sharp, cold impact stung his arm. His body weakened and quivered with the pain before his arm went numb with an abruptness that sent a chill through his shoulders and chest. Fingers of lightning played along his hand and forearm as his numb skin blackened, hardened and split. The black, rock-like growth continued to his elbow, forming a cracked ebony armor that very much resembled a gauntlet of rock. He placed his left hand around the hilt, the pain sudden and abrupt, he lost sensation as the molten stone erupted and hardened around his forearm. A moment passed as he caught his breath, his body sore and weak. Studying the uncanny weapon, he marveled at its exotic nature. The unique blade was more an enormous handle for its unseen blades of distorted reality. Black such that light seemed unable to escape it, which formed a dark double image haze with its movement. At its heart, an x-like bucket guard encircled a two-handed hilt, and on each end were two rough and cracked crystal cones. Tornado-like vertices of distorted air extended from the pointed tips of the jagged cones, like mirage waves over the hot desert floor in summer, and unlike the dark haze around the body of the weapon. The double-bladed hilt, reminded Van of the haladie of India, and the madu of the ancient fakirs. Yet this cosmic weapon was far older than either of the mortal blades and the weapons that influenced the haladie. Realization hit him as he recalled his trip through the pueblo ruins - this weapon was the symbol of the x-man depicted on the rock face. "Van!" Teven slashed through the arm of a diablero with a deft parry of the polished silver ash blade to avoid the lethal saw-toothed edge of the creature''s macuahuitl. Focused on Nico and his diableros, Teven saw past them to the true source of the thunderous rumbling. Four-dozen or more horsemen galloped in from the south east behind the unnatural ebony horses of the diableros. "Van, riders." Van looked up at a large force of Caddite cavalry thundering towards them from the south east. He hefted and spun the weapon, surprised by its light weight in comparison to its seven foot length and crystalline structure. "I think this will help." Teven felt the pulse of the weapon thrum though his body, a nausea grew up from his crotch, his voice distorted. "I''m not sure of that." Van grinned, his lips and cheeks rippled in the power of the Ouroboros blade, his hair flowed in waves, his voice warbled. "Then we will destroy as many of these abominations as we can." Teven glanced at DaFaca''s silver ash blade and shrugged. Like brothers, he and Van, if they died together and defended the comatose Juan Semos the best they could, he honored his family and left Jessica the widow of a resolute man. * As the large force of Caddite cavalry reined in around the diableros, Vargos squeezed DaFaca with her tentacles, pulling him close. "My Caddite allies will be interested in¡­learning from you. Studying you, while I unlock the power of those ancient souls and the Ouroboros blades." DaFaca coughed up blood, his face contorted, yet he restrained the demonic force within him, allowing it to sustain him through his wounds. As his grip on Vargos'' stolen Ouroboros blade weakened, he continued to focus on the protective warding of the weapon, attempting to bind himself to the weapon. Unable to activate its dimensional sheath, where Watchers stored their weapons, he chose instead, to deactivate the usurped blade. Vargos didn''t appear to have fully activated the weapon and DaFaca found he couldn''t lock her out. His binding failed, he felt the link to his own weapon waning as well. This drew his attention to Van, before the thunderous roar of cavalry intensified and a force of fifty Mascogo irregulars, led by Day Long and Nathan, swept in from the south west, still two miles from the mixed diablero and Caddite half-troop of mounted troopers. As the supernatural horses of the diableros galloped north and clear of the group, the Caddite horsemen deployed into lines of battle, the blades of their sabers glinting in the bright afternoon sun. With a shared moment between the Caddite commander and Vargos, the Caddites charged, headed straight for the Mascogo force. Chapter Twenty-one The Caddite commander deployed twelve dismounted troopers to defend a low ridge line between Vargos and the Mascogos. Armed with rifles, the Caddites ranged and sighted the Mascogo force, while a section of mounted troopers galloped forward to engage. In rapid array, the Caddite cavalry of forty sabres, moved up in two lines, confident, as they drew near, and the fire of their riflemen became more violent. With irresistible urgency the line charged forward at full speed, and soon the crest of the ridge was passed. From the south west, Black Seminole horsemen, Mascogos, fired their carbines to little effect, and immediately wheeled about as the Caddite horse surged across the open space. The force of the Caddite charge smashed through the rear of the Mascogo force, but their arrogant lack of control meant the Caddite heavy cavalry rode too far. The Mascogo force revealed their feint and counter-attacked with an enraged frenzy, cutting down the Caddites with an insatiable thirst for vengeance and destruction against the likes of those who would enslave them. Flash answered flash as the opposing guns opened one on the other. Seconds past before the head of the section leader spewed blood, sniped by Day Long, as the Seminole scout and Nathan thundered around the skirmish. Their officer dead, the leaderless Caddite detachment fell back. * Intense pain coursed through Van from DaFaca''s Ouroboros blade. The obsidian-like gauntlets of stone around his arms surely diminished some of the pain, as a means of handling the weapon, or so Van believed. The sheer effectiveness of the weapon even with his considerable lack of skill with, and understanding of, it proved out as he cleaved through the attacking diableros. Nico, Vargos'' second in command, remained at a distance, whether from caution or fear, with a large, ornate gun. At Van''s side, with the unconscious Juan Semos between them, Teven defended himself with DaFaca''s silvered ash blade, slicing its nine-inch length through the few diableros able to survive Van. Unused to the ease by which their quarry cut down their fellow shifters, the diableros slowed their attack to employ tactics and commands from Nico. Teven''s chest heaved as he drew his forearm across his forehead. Now covered in the ichor of the skinwalkers, Teven spat several times to clear his mouth. "This as bad as Azov?" Van said. Teven huffed. "You can joke? How are you managing that weapon? And what''s happened to your arms?" Van breathed heavy. "It might get us out of here. Look, look there." He pointed west, at Day Long and Nathan barreling toward them. * Vargos, aghast at the sudden turn of fortune, shrieked at Nico, her tendrils tightened around DaFaca''s body. Turning on DaFaca, she drew him close and hissed at the battered Watcher. She pointed at Van with one of her human arms. "How is he doing that? How can he use an Ouroboros blade?" DaFaca wheezed as he drew a meager breath. "How can you?" The shapeshifter scoffed, backhanding DaFaca with her human arm. "Let go of the Ouroboros blade!" DaFaca clung to it with his fleeting strength. Yellowed tendrils, like succulent worms, encircled DaFaca''s wrists, crushing the multitude of tiny bones. The Watcher clenched his jaw in exquisite torment as Vargos'' tendrils worked their way around and broke each of his fingers. DaFaca endured, bound as his life force was by failing magic to his fallen, fellow Watcher''s weapon. The bond, tenuous as that which bound him to his weapon, might last long enough for the ancient soul, Van, to fight through and reach them with his Ouroboros blade.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. * Seeing that his section officer was dead and the first line in disarray, the Caddite commander galloped forward and ordered his second line to engage the Mascogo riders. But as the Caddites charged, the commander''s horse was shot out from under him and he disappeared among the dust clouds and chaos of horse flesh. The Mascogos pressed forward, the battle devolving into a standoff in a matter of minutes. Charges and countercharges trampled fallen troopers and desert brush alike, as the forces clashed in mounted, hand-to-hand combat. Before long, a heavy dismounted engagement raged with heavy casualties on both sides. Tomahawk versus saber and carbine against rifle. As each side found it impossible to reload their weapons, a final mounted charge by the rallying Mascogos stopped the Caddite assault dead in its tracks. Nothing could stop the Mascogo forces. Gathering the fallen rifles of the Caddites, instead of halting, they charged toward the diableros. The Caddites fell back, overwhelmed and overpowered. * The shimmer of afternoon heat off the red rocks and dust of the plain caused the distant mountains to hover over all but the eastern horizon. To the east, a few hours'' ride, Albuquerque awaited, and a week''s ride further, Santa Fe''s gateway to the Great Plains. Christian watched the two water-seeking vaqueros trudge back toward him. The prospect of lurking skinwalkers seemed less likely as the day wore on. Christian turned to the mestizo siblings. "So I understand better, your family, well, people round these parts, they call Black Seminoles the Mascogos?" Sende and Hernan nodded. "Hmm. Maybe Se?or Loco ain''t so loco." Christian shook his finger. "It was Day Long who recommended your family. Drake¡­Nathan¡­may have been the one to talk on it, but Day Long spoke up for you, and Teven never did make that clear to me." Sende rested her hand on Hernan''s shoulder. "It was also Se?or Long and Se?or Drake who spoke up for my brother and I at the livery." Christian sighed. "Yeah. Yeah they did. An'' it was Day Long who pretty much put an end to it before Teven went over to you all." Sende smiled. "I know you understand what ¡®loco'' means. She waved her arm in an arc, and rested her hand on the barrel of a howitzer. "Maybe all this is a little crazy?" Christian guffawed. "Maybe." * Focused on Van and Teven, Day Long and Nathan galloped around the melee into the small cluster of flayed and remaining diableros challenging Teven and Van. The scouts reined in beside Teven and the comatose Juan Semos. Van faced off against a dozen seething diableros. He glanced over his shoulder. "Get Juan Semos out of danger." Teven looked up at the scouts. "One of you must take Juan Semos!" The scouts eyed each other before Day Long slid off his horse, yelling at Nathan. "Hold my reins, yo too girly to lift the ol'' man up." Tying Day Long''s reins to his saddle horn, Nathan shook his head as Teven and Day Long lifted the unconscious Juan Semos. Day Long''s reins secured, Nathan helped pull Juan Semos face down across the back of his horse. "Shut up and help me tie him firm." Van twisted to his right sweeping the Ouroboros blade to his left, around Teven and the scouts. Dropping two diableros, he pivoted and skewered two more at his right. The vortice of twisted space at the end of the crystal cone burrowed straight through the creatures with sickening ease, spewing putrid, pus-colored, yellow gore. With a lunge to his left, beside Nathan, Van slew another diablero, its own meager ebonite macuahuitl weapon arcing through the crisp afternoon sky. Spinning to his right, he backed DaFaca''s arcane weapon through yet another diablero, before delivering a slashing strike to his front, cutting another diablero and its macuahuitl in halves. Three more of Vargos'' soldiers, dead. Years of training and hours more playing Musketeers and King Arthur served Van well. With Juan Semos tied to the back of Nathan''s mount, Teven leapt over the gore and ravaged bodies of diableros toward Day Long''s terrified horse. Remounted, his horse unsteady, Day Long pulled hard on his reins. "The hell is Van doin''? An'' what the hell is that he''s throwin'' around like he owns it?" Teven turned. "Van! Let''s go, rides'' here!" Van spun and glanced at the two horses. He stared hard at his childhood friend. "Go." Day Long cursed. "Come on brethren, he''s set to it. He done caught a weasel sleepin'' an'' found a way to kill these bastards." Teven stood with his hand out to Van, slowly curling his fingers into a fist. Day Long thrust his hand out to Teven. "Oy! Get a wiggle on while we got the bulge." The advantage was theirs for the moment, but fleeting. Grasping Day Long''s hand, Teven swung up behind the Black Seminole scout and adjusted himself behind the saddle roll. Beside them, Nathan jerked his head in Van''s direction. "Look at him, he hates magic and war, but he always runs headlong towards it." Teven smiled. "And we his merry men." Chapter Twenty-two The Caddite commander, battered and bloody, ordered the remainder of his unit reform. With horses in flight and rifles spent, there was little the Caddites could muster. The spirited Mascogo force split the remaining Caddite line in two. Divided into mounted and dismounted men, the Mascogos on the ground attacked the flanks of the Caddite line with axe and rifle-turned-club. Bludgeoned, slashed, confused, and overwhelmed, the Caddites broke and fell back. The Mascogos swarmed like bees as their mounted force knocked over the fleeing Caddites and trampled straight through them with their chargers. The Caddite commander turned, retreated to the ridge, and found refuge among his last troopers. The riflemen fired with wild abandon in alternate groups of fire and reload. The Commander slumped to the ground exhausted, his eyes drawn to the witch Victoria Vargos, and the black-clad Escuridon Watcher. Their eyes met and seconds later a tentacle erupted from the ground between the commander''s feet. He jolted back, his eyes shut, expected to be crushed to death in its python grip, only to blink at the sound of a deep female voice. "Where are your katanic fusiliers? Your goetic knights?" The Caddite almost choked, stunned. A sculpted head, the beautiful face of Victoria Vargos, glared from the end of the neck-like appendage. "Well?" The commander waved his hand. "They''re all deployed in the war? Why would they be here? Why would you expect that?" The mouth hissed as the tentacle absorbed the countenance and withdrew into the dirt with a sickening gelatinous suction. * DaFaca fought to draw in the smallest of breaths as Vargos, enraged, squeezed his throat in her tentacles. The dirt fallen away, revealed the off-yellow, fleshy appendages extended from her feet, which still held the appearance of leather boots. Vargos hid beneath a glamor, or shapeshifted and wore nothing. Her dark hair hung straight and long down her back; Galtero Gasento''s fancy, embroidered, black jacket and trousers dusted and soiled, but not yet torn. Even so, the clothing couldn''t have been more contrasted to DaFaca''s eldritch black suit, untouched by the sun, blood, and dust of battle¡ªthe material remained devoid of light. Vargos hissed and threw DaFaca against the ground, once more, into a deepening hollow. A cloud of dust hung over the ground from the previous round of brutal hammering. She never once let go of the Ouroboros blade, her arm extending as she hammered the Watcher with each impulse of rage and frustration. "Let go of the weapon. You''ve lost." DaFaca lay in the depression, his face covered in blood and dust. Tiny bits of sage and rabbitbrush clung to his skin and yet, his suit remained immaculate, the only thing preventing Vargos'' incredible strength from crushing him outright. Although she tried, her tendrils couldn''t find a way under the clothing, nor was it possible. Vargos drew DaFaca and the Ouroboros blade to her, the weapon held between them. His face so close to the hilt of the blade, he noticed the skin of her hand rippled. Her skin flowed like a shallow stream over rocks, or ripples on a pond. The ripple repeated, like an ornate detail in a fountain. Vargos was in pain and hiding it. She was being damaged by the weapon, constantly shapeshifting and healing the damaged tissue. What incredible strength and metamorphic power did she possess? Was her rage tinged by the possibility the weapon''s defensive wards weakened her? Vargos looked up from DaFaca, past the Watcher, to the routed Caddites. Her face, already twisted with rage, contorted and DaFaca strained to follow her line of sight. His head and neck held in the vice-grip of Vargos'' tendrils, DaFaca peered from the corner of his eyes, past the gunman Nico, to the diableros engaged with the ancient soul. Beyond the man, the ancient soul who held his blade, Mascogos slew Caddites with savage blows and reaping slashes, while three more of the ancient souls fled with the unconscious mestizo drover beneath the darkening sky. * The main Mascogo force served as a defensive screen between the drovers and the Caddite-held ridge as Day Long and Nathan spurred their horses in a punishing gallop, south west, toward the rear force of mostly female Mascogos. Teven and Juan Semos needed to be exorcised to the satisfaction of all, Juan Semos'' wounds tended, and Van rescued. Teven yelled over the thunderous gallop, his mouth an inch from Day Long''s ear. "These are your people?" "Brethren." Teven snorted. An apt description. Day Long continued. "Figured we could use their help against the skinwalkers. They have history with their kind. Know how to kill ¡®em." The ground rose up as pale yellow swaths whipped around Day Long''s mount. Teven careened into the conveyor of desert scrub at great speed, shoulder and neck wrenched him into a brutal spin with a searing snap. Nathan pulled up his mount as Day Long landed heavy to his left, just as tentacles erupted from the anchoring earth to encircle Nathan''s gelding. The blonde scout leaned away from the fall as his horse whipped head first into the dirt with an incredible crunch like that of broken timber. Nathan flew forward and swung on the reins with the momentum; the horse, dead in that instant, angled ass-up, held by the ground-rooted tentacles. Juan Semos hung from behind the saddle by the rawhide and hemp rope which secured him to the gelding. Nathan glanced at Day Long, unmoving on the ground, but couldn''t see Teven. Day Long''s horse squealed as the tentacles broke its back and legs as Nathan returned to Juan Semos, drawing his knife on the run. * Van rushed, focused westward, on his friends, his already overworked legs pumped the ground, his lungs ached as air rasped through his throat, pursued by the incensed, surviving diableros. He was too late to cut the pale, lashing tentacles around the scouts'' horses. The appendages, sent underground by Vargos to capture the drovers, released the mangled horses.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. An electric sting of pain lanced through Van''s body, his legs tangled in an unseen web. His exposed skin burning, Van fell, rolled and came to a stop as the Ouroboros blade dug into the ground. Strands of glowing gold magic, visible where it cut across the Watcher''s weapon, revealed a binding cast by Nico from his spellcasting weapon. Van struggled, but the gold strands tightened and burned his skin. As the vortice at the ends of the Ouroboros blade crossed and came in contact with the magic, its spatial effect cut through the sorcerous strands above his head and below his knees, but failed to unravel them. As Van struggled, Nico grinned at him with his hand raised in a fist shrouded in a web of golden, glowing strands connected with the ornate spellcaster gun. * DaFaca blinked as Vargos shrieked. "Nico use your spellcaster to blast off DaFaca''s hand!" Nico did not react fast enough and Vargos spat. "Forget the rest of the ancient souls, you''ve bound the one with the Watcher''s blade. Come here. Prepare your spellcaster!" DaFaca''s vision darkened. He couldn''t remember the last time he was so weak and his essence so drained. DaFaca''s life force, and that of the bat demon within, acted as a dual bond and warding to his Ouroboros blade. This prevented anyone from usurping control. For that reason, he knew his fellow Watcher died at Vargos'' hand. She was not in control of the stolen weapon, but nor could DaFaca take control, as it was not his personal weapon. As a Watcher, bound to his own blade, he looked across the battlefield at Van, as Nico approached. Control of the stolen Ouroboros blade impossible, he maintained a tenuous communication with his own weapon, the Ouroboros blade held by the ancient soul. He reached out through the soul-bond to his weapon and released its security wards. Nico protested to Se?ora Vargos. "Mistress, we can''t shoot through DaFaca''s shadow suit. It will absorb any assault by my spellcaster." Vargos sneered. "You will shoot his hand, not his arm." Nico darted his eyes between Dafaca''s clenched hand and Vargos'' mask of rage. "Can''t shoot his hand with it around the weapon''s hilt." Vargos yanked Nico close, her human hand twisting his jacket tight at his chest. "Shoot his wrist." DaFaca prepared, unable to move, held vice-like by Vargos'' tentacles and tendrils. Nico placed the muzzle of his spellcaster against DaFaca''s wrist and fired. * The sun crept behind the western mountains trailed by flamed skies of amber as the chill of winter swept in with the twilight and first twinkling stars. Christian chewed a strip of dried beef from his saddle bags and swirled the few ounces of coffee in his tin cup. His hand on the horse''s shoulder, he sighed. Sende stepped beside him. "This is for the best. We ride to Albuquerque, purchase supplies and return to the herd." Christian sipped from his cup. "We''re losing the light. Have your cousins decided who will take first watch?" Sende watched the vaqueros lay out their crude bedding from blankets and tarp. "And you still insist on taking the small hours?" Christian shrugged. "We''d not be out here had I not stopped us. You''d be in a proper bed." "Or we would be many miles back, bedding the ganados and remuda for the night." His eyes fell, weary, on the mestizo girl. "There are many would-be''s." "Yes." She rubbed her arm, whether from the chill or the memory. "And I might have died with Galtero Gasento." Christian frowned, the scent of her in his nostrils. "So might my brother be, he, Van and your elder cousin Juan. What good then is any of this? What do I tell their wives? At least you know, you and Marcos, your cousins and extended family. Yet I must carry that burden the rest of the drive to market in Denver and beyond. Hold it with me until I return to St. Maria and to the ranch." "Do you feel they are dead? Do you truly believe it?" Christian turned the cup in his hand, its warmth faded, the coffee as cold as the chill across his shoulders. Did he believe? * Van rolled towards his fallen friends, catching a glimpse of Nathan with each roll. The blonde scout, having cut the unconscious Juan Semos loose, dragged the old drover toward the second of the two dead horses. Teven and Day Long remained hidden behind their fallen mount, but Nathan appeared to be yelling to someone over the din of battle. Bobbing up and over the Ouroboros blade with each roll, he took care to avoid its ends, but at the weapon''s seven feet length, he only needed to protect his lower legs as he forced each roll. The conical shape of the weapon also caused him to correct his course. With each roll he saw the diableros behind him, set upon by Mascogo warriors, black men of mixed heritage¡ªDay Long''s "brethren". He allowed a laugh at that. Something Day Long would say. * Day Long held his head, the six-day growth of hair matted with blood. He''d shave his head again the first chance he got. No question of surviving, he''d put an end to all these bastards and see to it that ol'' Silver Hair knew it. His vision doubled and blurred, he felt along his scalp for a cut, but no, the blood must''ve run from his mouth and nose while he lay unconscious, however long, on the ground. To his left and right, his Mascogo friends dispatched Caddite and diablero alike. Good, but where was Teven? Where was ol'' Silver Hair and old man Semos? Day Long rubbed his eyes, blood, sweat, and sand smeared across his face, the fine red dust mixed into a clay-like mud that stung and stunk of iron and lime. Teven lay at an awkward angle not ten feet from him. Caddite corpses and wounded all around. Crazed horses darting this way and that. Silence. Realization struck him like the kick of a mule. He couldn''t hear a blessed thing. The thrum of battle shook his body, but not even the eerie ring that follows a close cannon blast came to his ears. He let loose a vile string of curses until his throat grew raw. He''d felt that too. Deaf and half blind he found his axe and a fallen macuahuitl, ripped both from the ground, and bellowed as he rushed forward to protect Teven. The damned Caddites and skinwalking bastards, he''d kill ¡®em all. He whirled around at the sense of a presence and withheld his blow at the final moment. Before him stood a Mascogo kithla with raised hands. Among the Mascogo, and their Seminole legacy, the kithla served their people in shamanistic practices. "Get yourself killed sneakin'' up on a fella, brethren." The kithla pantomimed a number of gestures and pointed at his own ears. His chest heaved, but Day Long took the offer, lowering himself to the ground. The kithla touched points along his neck and back. The shaman paused, pressing his fingers in front of Day Long''s ear lobes, at the top of each ear for several minutes. A warmth flowed through his ear canals and erupted a sneezing fit. Sneezes the Seminole scout both felt and heard. His vision cleared, Day Long made to stand but the Mascogo pressed down on his head. The kithla smiled. "Take a moment, let me mend your wounds." Day Long spat a wad of blood. "And the others." "Of course." * Sour. Van''s entire body, weak and numb, betrayed him. The spell further sapped his strength, and yet the arcane crystal weapon no longer did. The pulse of endless pain from the weapon ended with an abruptness that was its own impact. His eyes stung and his face itched such that nothing short of a dunk in a cold river stream might soothe it away. In all, a relief, the weapon still functioned, but something was different. Was the weapon disrupting Nico''s binding? Having absorbed many of the skinwalker''s memories, a skinwitch, Van understood the binding around him, but could not dispel the web. The spell served Nico as one of many, loaded within his spellcaster, one of a variety of weapons wielded by goetic, theuric, and thaumic knights¡ªmercenaries armed with magical weapons. Nico was either of the three and this left Van as he was, bound by the binding web, with Vargos ready to pounce. Chapter Twenty-three The Caddite commander, bewildered by Vargos'' wild expectations, studied the left flank of the crazed Mascogos. With less than a dozen armed troopers, he considered a retreat north and roundabout return to Los Orlos. The mad witch be damned. His men, after the past half hour of dismounted skirmishing, had dwindled to the wounded and the dying¡ªa total rout. The Mascogos ordered a final mounted charge at the ridge. His chance to retreat denied, the Caddite commander ordered the troopers deployed along the ridge to fire on the charging Mascogos to cover the retreat of his surviving men. The dismounted Caddites fought as they fell back to their fellows on the ridge. More Mascogos mounted their horses and charged forward over and through the panic-stricken Caddites. The thud of the galloping horses and the cries of the troopers tormented the commander''s ears, as his men scattered and tried to save themselves. The Mascogos over-rode the fleeing Caddites, galloping forth to complete the havoc and cut down the fugitives who escaped the initial burst and charges of battle. * A darkened sky hung overhead. Van frowned, the sun still blazed with a glow of late evening flame. The darkness was unnatural. The rumble of the past half hour as strong as when the Caddites and Rurales rode into this field of battle. Flecks of sand and small stones hung suspended in the air, mixed with the smoke and dust of the Caddite and Mascogo battle. The binding web cast by Nico shimmered around Van as he continued to roll, tracking Nathan''s movements. The blonde scout dragged the unconscious Juan Semos toward a third man, a black Rural Guardsman, who leaned over Day Long. Van couldn''t see Teven. His head dropped to the coarse desert ground. The ever present stench of lime and iron dust, acrid and sharp, mixed with the metallic sour exhaustion of his body and the electric charge in the air. Damn these shapeshifters. Everything he tried so hard to escape from, came to pass here in a forsaken, liminal fastness, with friends, his family, battered and bleeding. All of their dreams, their happiness, ruined. Aleya. Never to see her again, feel her and breathe in the inspiration of her presence? His vision blurred with exhaustion and likely some damage from the effects of the arcane crystal blade held tight against him. Aleya was Van''s strength, yet he''d not known her during his time in the Andrew. Their meeting came months later and an ocean away. The truth to his survival of the naval battle lay at the heart of his true fear¡ªan acknowledgement even the diablero failed to uncover, a fear that as always, led to anger. The ground erupted around him, pale yellow tentacles lashed at him as the force threw him into the air in a mass of dirt and rubble. His muscles tensed with the volcanic rage building within him. His headache unrelenting in the absence of the excruciating pain from the knife-man''s arcane weapon. His ears more sensitive to the growing, thunderous din. The rubble and dirt hovered around Van as he twisted in the air, Vargos'' tentacles shot up to encircle him. The first snaked its the way around his legs, the second, his torso and the weapon bound within the binding web. The ground split open in a trench, like the soil before a plow, as Vargos drew Van back. She grinned with smug surety of victory with Nico stood beside her preparing his spellcaster, likely to ensnare Nathan and the others or devastate the black Rurales. Nico paused, looked up, confusion sculpting his face as it was lit by a purplish light. Van was unable to see what Nico stared at, but the air was already charged with energy, the weapon Van held vibrated to it, the rumble in tune with it. Held so close to him, against his body by both binding and Vargos, the thrum of the crystal weapon resonated in his bones, in the core of him, keyed to the agony within his skull. These sensations had flooded him on the mindscape of his possession. The charged energy in the air familiar and so too the color, full and dark in his faded vision, overwhelmed him. * Day Long scratched at his scalp, unused to the week''s growth of hair. The air itself bit at his skin and irritated his scalp. Nathan and the kithla knelt over Teven and Juan Semos. Teven''s arm reset, and Juan Semos mended from the wounds of battle.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. The kithla turned. "Old man Semos is a great friend to our people. We won''t lose him this day." Day Long grunted. Nathan was more articulate. "And our friend Teven?" "His body will heal, but there is no sign of the skinwitch which possessed him." Nathan frowned. The kithla raised a hand over Juan Semos and lay the other against Day Long. A doubled, darker image formed over the elder vaquero. "See here? The skinwitch is dead, but Old man Semos must be cleansed." Nathan watched with curious eyes. "Day Long?" "There''s a sort of¡­shadow around Juan Semos." "In his spirit?" Day Long nodded. Nathan addressed the kithla. "What''s different about Teven?" "Your friend has a unique aura, and no sign of possession." Day Long gripped the kithla''s shoulder. "Show me." A luminous, multi-hued glow appeared around Teven as the kithla held his hand over the elder Har brother. The kithla twitched, curling his hand into a fist as Teven''s aura reached out and drew similar light, life force, from the Mascogo. Day Long''s stomach spasmed and his head swam. Snapping back his arm, Day Long released the kithla and fell over. Nathan jumped forward. The kithla sat back, breathed heavy and raised his hand to the concerned blonde scout. Day Long spat as the kithla spoke. "Soul eater." * Van fell back, striking his head against the slick deck of the Stinger. Wraiths tore men from the gunship, but none screamed, taken as they were by the ecstacy of the spectral women''s embrace, their souls given willingly and their minds lost. Vomit on his lips, blood from the deck awash in the rain and seawater of the supernatural storm, Van cast about as he searched for Teven. His eyes fell upon the shore. British sailors dancing as wraiths swept them off into the dark storm clouds above. Cannon fire belched from the Russian fort while return fire from the naval squadron faltered, ended, as the men of the Royal Navy lost their senses to the siren-like calls of wraith and fierce sea nymph alike. Horrors summoned by the Cossack warrior warlocks among the Russian forces. Van held his fists to his face, his eyes clenched tight until, with a cry of anguish, he threw his head back. The sheet of heavy rain passed, revealing Teven at the wheel of their gunboat mad men cavorted and gyrated, seized by the sick wills of the wraiths. The wraiths. The squadron decimated by the necromantic shades. Death dealt by death. Teven yelled at Van, but no words reached his ears. Cannon fire rained upon the Stinger, the gunboat maintaining its fatal drive toward the Russian fort, loaded as it was with gunpowder, and the only remaining weapon he and Teven wielded. Drawn to Van, or perhaps directed from the Russian-held shore, four wraiths swept in and circled him. At the helm, Teven continued to shout, his words snatched away by the thunder of wind and waves and unending siren song. The wraiths swirled around and caressed Van. Their golden mist enshrouded him and ignited golden, black-tipped flames that formed a blazing mane around his shoulders, neck, and head. * Day Long cursed beside Teven and Juan Semos, while Nathan and the Mascogo kithla shared a confused look. Day Long gripped Nathan''s shoulder, pointing behind the blonde scout. "The hell is that thing?" All eyes followed Day Long''s outstretched arm. Blue-black clouds roiled above the battlefield, ignored by the Mascogo and Caddite cavalry. Closer to Van and Se?ora Vargos, a haze of debris filled the air, while closer to the kithla and scouts, individual rocks and stones clearly hung suspended above the ground. This time, it was the kithla who cursed in Gullah Creole before standing. "That is a tear in the Veil between this and the Spirit World." Nathan frowned, but understood the general gist before Day Long clarified. The thunderous roar of the past half hour only growing even as the main Mascogo force pursued the flight of defeated Caddites. The sound originated in the Spirit World. "They''ve done torn a hole into the land of the dead." Nathan shielded his face against a growing wind as he tried to locate Van among the surviving skinwalkers and their shapeshifting leader. "We''ve got to get to Van. Can your medicine man friend tend to Teven and Juan Semos?" Day Long and the kithla nodded. Nathan patted his body. "Do they have weapons we can fight the shapeshifters with?" The kithla called out to the approaching rear party of Mascogo women. A tall, mixed race woman galloped in and swept down from her mount, one arm raised to her fellows. Two more rode forward and three others dismounted to lift Teven and Juan Semos. The towering woman, her skin lighter than the others, handed a wooden war hawk, its axe blade and handle a single polished silvered gray piece, to Day Long. The second two women presented another to their kithla and a third sacred war hawk to Nathan. Turning the weapon over in his hands, Day Long grinned at Nathan and gestured with his axe. "A war hawk. Matches your belt, Silver Hair." Nathan glanced at his silver belt buckle. "Let''s go get our friend, ¡®brethren''." Chapter Twenty-three (part 2) The light touch of the wraiths filled Van with an absolute calm, a pleasurable sense of relief, the alluring release of death and endless peace. An end to pain, loss, and suffering with the promise of enduring happiness adrift in blissful nothingness. All he had to do was give in, to join them in their embrace. But he didn''t want to. The truth is, he could, just as those many years ago. He''d not known Aleya then. The only thing that centered him was his sense of self, not pride, and it sure as hell wasn''t duty to King and country. No. The best of him and the worst of him, the same fears the diablero sought to use against him, bubbled forth. The flames raged around his head, his flesh untouched and his hair aglow with energy. The golden mist of the wraiths darkened with the sea spray and clouds above. His vision of the past narrowed in a darkened tunnel. Van''s love of Aleya wasn''t how he survived the Azov. A power was unleashed, connecting him to the spirits of the dead and endless Spirit World, a link to the Astral. Light blazed around Van. That''s when Vargos screamed. Her tentacles blackened and charred, Vargos'' tentacles dropped Van as, twenty feet away, she leaned over and gripped DaFaca with one of her human hands pointing to the blazing body of Van. "That ancient soul hurt me more than this weapon burns me." Vargos shook her stolen Ouroboros blade. "What did you do?" DaFaca held his mangled wrist, a spectral, clawed hand almost visible in place of his severed right hand. "You have stolen one Ouroboros, but I think that ancient soul will stop you from gaining mine." Vargos dropped DaFaca and turned on Nico. "You were to bind the ancient soul. How is it he continues to move? How is he surviving the fury of DaFaca''s blade? What is that nimbus of spirit flames burning around his head?" She shook the Ouroboros blade again. "How is he ablaze and alive while this weapon burns me such that I must constantly reform my arms?" DaFaca, laying on the ground, coughed a wet and croaking laugh. Vargos stopped, her eyes wild with realization. Nico leapt back as Vargos swung the Ouroboros blade at him. "Drop your spellcaster!" Nico stared at Vargos in utter confusion, understanding too late. The binding web around Van connected Nico via his spellcasting gun. The hawk-nosed gunman looked up too late as the flames destroyed the web around Van, snaking like a stroke of lightning into Nico, devastating his body. As Van stood, ablaze and free of Nico''s binding web, Vargos charged with a rage matched only by Van''s. * Fierce winds tore across the plain as the atmosphere twisted around the Astral rift. Lightning cracked as tendrils of energy tore open the ground, spewing further debris suspended around Van and Se?ora Vargos. The Mascogo steeds reared and fought the scouts, refusing to ride any closer to the hole between worlds. "Damned animals, don'' know what they''re more scared of." Day Long swept off his bucking mount. Dismounting, Nathan shook his head. "Do you?" "I ain''t scared, Silver Hair." Nathan scowled. "What''s that saying about fools?" "Oh I know fear, I''m lookin'' at it." Nathan ignored him, turning as both men sprinted toward the eye of the storm, followed by the rear force of the Mascogos. Day Long pointed toward the rift in the sky. "Looks like the Astral is leaking ether through that hole an'' feeding something in Van, birthin'' them flames." Nathan glanced at the kithla and Day Long running beside him and yelling out to each other in Gullah. Day Long yelled a response back to the kithla. "Spirit energy yeah, but what''s with Van''s burnin'' head?" Nathan stared through the suspended, swirling debris and silver mist forming the eye of the rift. How was Van ablaze with that hideous halo? Nathan pulled his bandana up over his nose and charged into the storm. * Van deflected a savage blow from Vargos, and the horrendous sound of nails on chalkboard grated in his pained head as energy crackled across the crystal surfaces of the Ouroboros blades. The air hummed with power; dirt, dust, and rocks hovered within the eye of the storm as the two combatants struggled with cosmic weapons beyond their means. Vargos snarled, her voice beastial. "How are you doing this, boy?"This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Van didn''t know and remained silent, parrying each move the shapeshifter made. Van glanced at the ebon-clothed Watcher lying nearby, clutching his severed wrist, next to the scorched remains of the hawk-nosed gunman. Limited knowledge of the weapon flooded Van''s mind; the link between the Ouroboros blade and its owner remained weak but present. Both Van and Vargos fought at a disadvantage; she was in pain and equally unfamiliar, but he gained more surety with each move. Through his own intensifying pain, the all-too-familiar crush of his temples taunted Van, warning him of more than the evident danger surrounding him. He whirled away from Vargos, even as her tentacles erupted around him, hesitant of the unsettling black-tipped flames spewing from his shoulders. She appeared more fearful of the uncanny flames than of the Ouroboros blade. Burning. Vargos said the blades burned her, just as the black stone gauntlets protected Van from the searing touch of the crystal weapon''s hilt. Did the gauntlets transfer the effect of the weapon''s defenses into a sleeve around his body? The fallen Watcher showed no such display, perhaps because he owned the blade. Vargos roared, lunging with the second Ouroboros bladed hilt point aimed to skewer Van. He deflected the thrust, pushed from his feet by the force. Chunks of limestone thundered down around him as Vargos took to weaponizing the landscape with her multitude of appendages. Too late, pinned to the ground, Van recovered as the flames around his body ate through the limestone. Vargos drove the jagged crystal cone down on Van. He countered, and the two blades met with the impactful crush of glass against glass. Energy shimmered at the end of the deadly tips. Vargos pressed both blades down atop Van; her strength overwhelmed him, but his flames were lapping around the shapeshifter. She shrieked in anger and torment, crushing Van beneath the weapons. Energy erupted from the blades, striking the etheric cloud in the eye wall around their private arena. Short of breath, Van''s vision blurred and darkened, but for the flashes of lightning across the black crystal cones. The eye wall crept closer as the rift contracted. * Day Long followed Nathan as the storm winds buffeted them, and debris struck with harsh force to cut and tear at their bodies. Light flashed in the ripping twilight from lightning and etheric energies. Beside the scouts, the kithla sang protective invocations. Day Long cried out; his words ripped away, but he was already sweeping the kithla and Nathan off their feet. The three men hit the ground as a dark mass careened overhead. Laying in the dirt, with dust and rocks ripping through the air, the three men crawled headfirst toward each other. Day Long gripped Nathan by the scruff of his neck. "This is all sortsa crazy!" Nathan yelled back. "How are we to pull Van out of this hell?" Day Long grinned and immediately regretted it. "Only Van could inspire a man to run into a damned Devil''s twister." Nathan grunted. "You sound like Teven." The winds barreled overhead, sounding for all the world like a dozen locomotives steaming right over them. They stayed locked together, their faces beneath their arms and hands, buried in the dirt, shielded as best they could. Their bandanas caked in dust, their hair whipped about in the deafening howl of banshee winds. Lightning flashed all around, rocks and debris battered the scouts and Mascogos as they struggled to draw a breath, the vacuum formed in the vortex pulled air from their lungs. The ground shook as the thunderous rumble grew deep and predatory¡ªa continuous cacophony of sounds. A deafening howl of anguish arose as if the sky cried out in pain from the hole ripped open by the Astral rift. Minutes away from blacking out, Day Long found it impossible to breathe. He and the others bounced as the wind speeds increased, lifting the group, tossing them around the central eye of the rift. * The wall of the storm continued to contract, and with it came the incredible struggle to draw breath. Vargos seemed immune, but both she and Van succumbed to the pull of the vacuum and the rift itself. The lead shapeshifter sank six erupted tentacles into the ground with savage force, then risked great pain to ensnare the hilt of DaFaca''s blade beside Van''s stone-gauntled hands. Van lifted off the ground, pulled by the etheric silver mists that once flowed out of the Astral rift. So close now to the door between planes, bolts of force struck the Ouroboros blades with increased and frightening intensity before an immense font of power hammered into the earth. * The cracked and broken ground ahead of the scouts smoked as the kithla motioned Day Long and Nathan from the crater''s edge. The debris cloud dispersed like an unraveling tornado and the sky cleared in the twilight of evening. Day Long, hunched forward, coughed with fierce spasms. Nathan outright vomited. His head thrust back, Day Long laughed a wicked cackle. Nathan frowned. The Black Seminole pointed into the crater where the burnt remains of the lead shapeshifter''s appendages sizzled. "Missy done lost some of her pieces." The kithla pointed at the sky. "That was no tear in the Veil, this was something else." Day Long leaned into the kithla. "Where''d they go?" Nathan shook his hands, bewildered. "Are they dead? There''s nothing left. Are they in the Spirit World?" Day Long gripped Nathan. "No, I think it''s like what them East Coast mediums flannel-mouth people into." "What?" Day Long cursed. "Fleecin'' people of their money. Flim flam from charlatans who ain''t got a lick of what it takes to visit other worlds." Nathan pulled away. "Oh! The Astral plane?" The kithla called out to his fellow Mascogos, and the bulk of the rear force reined up around the crater. Battle weary, the wise warrior directed his people into positions. Nathan stood by Day Long. "They working to return Van to us?" Day Long shook his war hawk. "Or send us after him." The kithla shook his head and pointed back a mile to where the Mascogos tended to Teven. Nathan frowned. "What''s he pointing at?" Day Long rubbed his six day beard. "Teven." * Van and Vargos hurtled through a kaleidoscopic tunnel of reality¡ªa refracted stratum of the Astral replicating worlds in simulacrum. The constant mimicry created a turbulence and surge that, at first, seemed to be a result of the rift, preventing them from tracking their point of origin. They hurtled along at a rapid pace, lost between worlds. Van marveled at the vast etheric river around him. Vargos tumbled nearby, clutching her stolen Ouroboros blade. She shot her extended tentacles to recapture Van, looping them around his legs and torso. "You fool, without the protection of the Ouroboros blades, we risk becoming someone else, somewhere else!" He didn''t understand what she meant other than his knowledge of the Astral as Heaven''s Eyes, the lens of the gods, a lenscape from which the pantheons observed the realms they sought to rule. "You''re a damned shapeshifter, what''s it matter who you become? You can always change back." Vargos pulled him close. "Your soul isn''t worth this." Van punched the witch in the face, and the black crystal gauntlet made contact with a satisfying crunch. Vargos reeled back enraged, and as sudden, her face contorted from anger to shock, her eyes focused behind Van. He knew then¡ªthe piercing agony in his skull, the dangers mounting¡ªthat something hunted them. Chapter Twenty-four Vargos pulled back her head, tentacles tightening around Van. Her expression unsettled him, for the first time, the shapeshifter showed fear. He felt it too, something followed them in the rush of the etheric wash between worlds. Van struggled to see as Vargos tensed. Her voice sounded in his head, again, that question of how one spoke beyond the Mundane Plane, even when manifested bodily between worlds. "Ignore it or you give the beast substance." Van''s instincts screamed out, his body charged with power drawn from around him. Swiveled in Vargos'' grasp, he faced the predatory planar creature as it barreled through the mists. The beast was larger than a buffalo, with the head and flattened face like a hideously deformed pug or bulldog. An enormous mouth of thick, jagged teeth, the size of paving stones, gaped wide with menace. A similar creature consumed the first from behind, and another, more transparent, did so again in a chain that vanished within the rushing mists beyond. Van brandished the Ouroboros blade as the beast snapped at him with its maw of crooked teeth. "Lower the Ouroboros blade!" Vargos cried out in his mind. "Do you not hear the creature?" Indeed he did, the beast whispered to them¡ªit needed only one soul to validate its presence and anchor itself to Earth. Vargos tightened her grip around Van. "Clear your mind of the creature!" "Help me fight!" Van slapped the tentacles around him, but Vargos seemed resigned to escape. As a witch, she knew more than Van about such matters. The beast surged forward and Vargos released a spell. The creature continued, unfazed. Van, having some control over the Ouroboros blade, drove the warped vortex shimmering at the tip of the black crystal into the planar beast. Vargos, her blade inactive, thrashed in the etheric flow; shifting her movements similar to that of a squid. "Ignore my counsel if you will, as you should ignore the creature!" "Give me better counsel! You took me prisoner to take my soul and this weapon too, so you must know its secrets!" Vargos'' face twisted with indecision and anger. "The blade is a tool, an ancient instrument meant to mend reality." "Mend reality?" "The Escuridon remade the Ouroboros into a weapon, ironic really. If DaFaca entrusted it to you, then you can return us to the Earth." Van shook his head. "No, we can destroy the creature, else it follows us." "You do not understand. We cannot fight, and cannot run forever. What valence is needed to calibrate the Ouroboros? We have to escape. Hide, forget the creature as it must forget us, once we return to the Earth." "Wait, I don''t understand, isn''t the Ouroboros a snake eating its own tail?" He pointed behind them. "Isn''t that creature consuming itself?" Vargos snapped Van''s arm down. "It is a chain of creatures, and the weapon is called an Ouroboros for the symbol of infinity." The symbol on the rock, among the ruins. The was a primitive representation. Who was the figure standing with the lance-like weapon? A Watcher? Vargos continued to guide them through the ley line current, metres ahead of the pursuing beast. "Keep your eyes on me, Atman." * Day Long kicked at the fallen stones that once hovered around the battlefield. Nathan glanced over his shoulder before returning focus upon the Mascogos. Their kithla led the medicine party in a continuous song around the still unconscious Teven. Juan Semos, recovered, lay nearby, tended by the Mascogo women. Several of the warriors stood mounted guard around the entire group, as their fellows dispatched the remaining diableros and Caddites. The sun sat heavy and bloated behind the western mountains of the Continental Divide, the wisps of cloud and pale sky colored with twilight hues. Nathan sighed. Time ticked away, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of recovering Van became more unlikely. Day Long looked about ready to tear a new hole in the Veil to drag back their friend all by his lonesome. For all Day Long''s oddities, his loyalty blazed like a beacon. The self-same means the Mascogos hoped Teven to be¡ªa beacon to guide Van home. * With each attack the creature grew more powerful, no matter the damage done to it by spell or weapon. The beast''s cries grew more coherent and in the depths of the etheric mists, more creatures took form from dark shadows, drawn to its psychic calls. For all its ferocity, Van kept the frustrated beast at bay, noticing its aversion to the flames around his head. Now a deep black-crimson, the flames intermingled with a crown of golden fire rising from Van''s shoulders and around his head, their intensification apparent even from his vantage within them. Thin, molten lines cut across Van''s face, spoke-like from the bridge of his nose. The black crystal gauntlets spread up his arms and across his chest, his long johns consumed by the bubbling black energy which coalesced into the ebony rock. Lightning arced across the stone armor. The beast reared back from Van, the intensity of the manifest flames blackened its pug-like face. Van gripped Vargos'' tentacle with his free hand. "If you want the creature to ignore us, take its form. Wrap that form around me." Vargos refused. "Your flames already burn me, and as when I hunted you, your ancient soul is like a beacon to all!" With that, she unraveled her tentacles, abandoned him, disappearing into the mists. Van spun out of control in eddies left in the wake of Vargos, his mind reeling as fierce as his tumbling body. An anchor and a beacon. His own soul served as a beacon, drawing the creatures to him. The creatures sought to use him as an anchor to the Earth and the Mundane Plane. His only escape was to hide that beacon and if so, his friends would be unable to find him. Aleya. Earlier in the day, trapped in his own mind by the diablero, Van saw Aleya. His strength. Aleya, his true strength, she and his friends forged his world. His clarity. They allowed him to overcome the possession and find himself, overcoming his fear of corruption through magic. Now he needed that anchor to guide him home. * Day Long paced as the kithla held a hand over Teven''s head and his torso¡ªtwo points of power within the body. Nathan placed a hand on the scout''s shoulder. "Patience."Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. "Ain''t got the time, Silver Hair. The longer we wait, the less likely we''ll find Van. The Spirit World ain''t like hereabouts." "Yes, I am aware." Day Long shrugged off the blonde scout''s hand. "Yeah, you are." Crossing his arms, Nathan watched the Mascogo ritual. The rurales continued to sing, preparing Teven''s Astral body to enter the Spirit World beyond the damaged threshold of the Veil. * Everything seemed so far away, Aleya, the ranch, his friends, and the Earth. Is this how the Spirit World functioned? Was this what Vargos meant? A realm of mind and spirit; of thought, dictated by intent? We don''t create the world around us so much as we and those we love anchor us to it. Only the surge of the etheric river kept Van ahead of the planar beasts. They snapped as they drew closer, and his sole source of momentum remained the flow of the dragon line. A creature flanked him on each side, with the third inches from him, its mouth wide with hunger. The howling pain of the beast tore through Van''s mind, its teeth and face ablaze with black-tipped flames. An aura wrapped around Van in a protective envelope, pulsing in tune with the energies of the Ouroboros. Van stared at the weapon and, for the first time, considered whether the Ouroboros was the source of protection or if the weapon unleashed a curious force within him. Held at bay, the beasts undulated like serpentine dragons, crowding him at a hesitant, predatory distance. He couldn''t run forever, just as Vargos said. Van focused once again on the Ouroboros blade, gripped it with both hands and stared at the black crystal facets in its two cones. Only then did he notice a silver cord two feet from the glow given off by the weapon. The string-like filament disappeared into the mists that swirled in the wakes of the three planar beasts pursuing him. The Watcher, DaFaca, held a connection to the Ouroboros. DaFaca served as an anchor to the weapon. * The kithla spoke, stirring both Juan Semos and the impatient Day Long. Nathan looked to the Seminole scout with apprehension. "What happened?" Anxious, Day Long clenched his fist. "They''re ready to guide Teven into the Astral after Van." Insistent, the kithla waved the two scouts toward the center of the circle of singing Mascogos, to sit on either side of Teven. * Cautious of the flames and aura which protected Van, the planar beasts made tentative attempts to bat Van between them. Their infernal cries only served to draw more of their kind. The creatures'' intrusive voices crowded his mind, as each threatened to find their way to Earth, to feed and sate their eternal hunger. His potential for escape, to return to Earth included the dangerous possibility of travel with the creatures. What then? For a moment, another voice spoke in the cacophony, familiar, intent, direct. Teven. Surrounded as he was, Van didn''t see Teven. Was his old friend in the Spirit World with him? "Van! Day Long''s people, they''re trying to rescue you." The Black Seminole scout''s people? Hundreds of miles from Florida? Van dismissed the question, the mystery of Day Long irrelevant, now was the time for more pressing answers. Van concentrated on Teven. "Find the Watcher, he has a tether to this weapon, he can call me back." * The high notes of the Mascogo song pierced the ears of the two scouts. Day Long rocked on his haunches, impatient. Nathan flexed his hands, sore from long tension held as tight fists. "Pohis." The kithla murmured. Louder, "Teven. Pohis!" Day Long sprang forward and gripped the shaman. "Well? The hell did Teven say?" Speaking in the nasal tones of the Mascogo, the kithla explained, as Day Long jumped up and twisted, studying the ruined landscape of dead men and horses. He yelled out in English and Mascogo for the group to search for DaFaca. On his feet, Nathan raised his hands. "What did Teven say, did they find Van?" "He did, and Van has a way back. Sounds crazy, but no more crazy than today. Find that sinister fella dressed all in black." Riders joined in and within minutes, a Mascogo warrior called out from across the battlefield. The scouts set off at a run and found DaFaca laying on the ground beside the mounted Mascogo rurale. Even after the hellish tornado, DaFaca''s unearthly garments remained immaculate, darker still in the dim twilight. "Recall your weapon, El Capitan." Perplexed, Nathan stared at Day Long. "What weapon?" "Van said you need to call your weapon back. Do it." Day Long spat. "Devuelve tu arma!" Coughing, DaFaca rolled to face the scouts. "I speak English." "Then do as we ask or the lot of us will do you in." Day Long said. Still confused, Nathan stepped between the two, paddling hands with the frustrated Seminole before glancing back at the Watcher. "If you have any sense, you''ll do as he asks, although I admit, I don''t know what that is." "I maintain a tether to my Ouroboros blade, but I am too weak to recall it to me. Your friend must trigger the sheath of the Ouroboros." Day Long and Nathan frowned at each other. Nathan sensed it before Day Long acted, gripped and twisted his fellow scout, the Seminole''s boot missing the Watcher by inches. "Get off me, Silver Hair!" "Hold up and let''s speak to your shaman friend. Get word to Van through Teven. If it doesn''t work, well then, you can go to work on that¡­whatever he is." * Batted between the burnt and blackened planar creatures, Van continued to draw comfort from Teven. His voice grew distant, weaker, and harder to focus on. A fourth creature burst into flames, only to be replaced by the next in its chain, while those undulating around it, fought for dominance. "Anything?" "They''re searching for the man in black." Teven''s voice answered within Van''s head. He laughed, people always said the two of them seemed to know what the other was thinking¡ªmore so after the Crimean War. "They found him. He said to sheathe the weapon." "Sheathe it how? Shouldn''t he be wearing the sheath?" Van studied the hilt. A sheath¡ªwhat did that mean? He turned the blade over. "He has to explain how." Teven''s voice grew weaker still, the pull of the Spirit World drawing Van further away, with the standoff between planar beasts and dark flames unending. Running, lost, to become someone else, somewhere else. Alone. * The long hours of the afternoon ended, the call of night weighed heavy on all who''d fought and survived the day. Hope ran short as DaFaca raised his remaining hand to recall the Ouroboros from its sheath. In the smallest shimmer of the cool evening air, Van appeared beside DaFaca with the Ouroboros held between them. DaFaca released his hold of the weapon and closed his hand into a fist. The Ouroboros grew silent, the twin vortices at the end of each cone gone. With the weapon''s security activated, the pain returned. Wincing, Van dropped the blade. DaFaca considered the Ouroboros and Van. Both weak from their ordeals, the two men lay in silence, propped on their elbows, the scouts and a number of Mascogos gathered around them. "You have accomplished much this day." The Watcher said. "Did what was needed to help my friends." Van sat up, his head tight in a vice of incredible pain. "Will you promise safe passage to us?" "I am in no position to stop you." "No." Van raised his trembling hand and fought to halt the tremor. "We mean to make a cattle business. We must return each year to gather stock." "Ah, I see. For all you''ve accomplished, you have also done much to right my failing with Vargos and her compatriots. This I can do for you in return, but only inasmuch as there shall be no presence this far north of those who would do you harm. I will not come to your defense." "You''ll watch." Day Long scoffed from where he stood, with arms crossed. Looking to the two scouts, Van grinned. "How''s Teven?" "The Lord of the Gray is sleeping it off." "I''m fine, Mr. Long." Teven hobbled toward the group assisted by the kithla. Juan Semos followed out of the twilight, aided by two of the Mascogo women. "Glad to have you back, Van, what''s next?" Teven said. "We ride." Helped to his feet by Nathan and Day Long, Van and DaFaca shared a final glance. "You are perhaps, the great thunderbird, the raven." "What? My family name means "raven", is there some significance?" "The raven and the crow are two sides of the same coin." DaFaca flipped his spectral, demonic hand over, palm down. "Portents of luck and death. Mediators between life and death. The raven represents life and the crow, death." "Then by that reasoning, am I not the crow? Look at what happened here. Wherever I go, death follows." Dismissive, Day Long grunted. "Some would say there ain''t a lick of difference between the two damned birds." "Those would be the ignorant and the blind." DaFaca said. Day Long laughed. "We''re only as blind as we want to be." Van rubbed his chin. "I''ve experienced a great deal these past few days. Curious things." "Ah, you sense it. You waste your potential." DaFaca grinned and this was all the more unsettling. "You are the bringer of light. Perhaps you will hold back the darkness. You are not blind to the Otherworld, I do not think, to this Other West." Day Long smirked. "Van''s a patient man, a kind man, an'' kindness is a language even the deaf an'' the blind can understand, brethren." Stunned, Nathan stared at the Seminole scout. Punching Nathan on the shoulder, Day Long continued. "Now, let''s get out of here ¡®fore more Caddites show up lookin'' for their brothers." * With the surety of being recaptured should they hesitate, the battle-weary drovers pulled on their reins and charged north, away from their fallen captors and the Caddite stronghold of distant Los Orlos. Behind Teven, Van, and Juan Semos, Nathan and Day Long waved to the Mascogo riders as the rurales turned south toward Mexico. A cloud of dust wafted across the field of battle, the sun bloated and sinking behind the mountains to the west. DaFaca''s wounds ached, he winced as he laughed. "Captain Bran. Of course. The souls. It''s all about the souls." His Ouroboros blade beside him, DaFaca activated and extended its dimensional sheath around him and disappeared, his laugher fading with the final light of day. Epilogue Van and Teven came to a stop along a low ridgeline from which a wide panorama spread out north to south along the eastern horizon. The grasslands of the American prairies stretched out, with Texas directly ahead, to the east. Far behind them along the distant western horizon, mountains rose to a dull gray blue in the desert haze, and reddened closer to the desert floor. The sun already casting the sky in amber, the party made ready to bed down the herd and camp for the night. Nathan chased Day Long from the covered chuck wagon. Christian and Marcos helped Juan Semos down from his Appaloosa, while Sende led the remuda into a temporary rope corral held by Hernan and seven of the vaqueros.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Teven gestured across the herd. "After all we''ve been through, this all seems so terrestrial." Van shrugged. "It''s mundane, and the life I want." Teven frowned. "I''m not sure there is such a life, Van. Least ways, not for us." Van gazed east into the twilight descending upon the plains and the first inkling of stars, thinking of Aleya. "It''s enough." Never, the end. Otherwest Hello all, I''m not sure the western vibe fits here on Royal Road, but the inspiration for Otherwest surely does¡ªepic fantasy, wuxia and xianxia, and the sense of progression as seen in Gamelit today. While there are no stats in Otherwest, the progression is real. It begins with this western tale of our heroes, but as seen if you''ve read through this novella, there are supernatural elements threatening the Earth. Van and his friends must step up, and in true cultivation fashion, look deeply into themselves and the supernatural world beyond the Veil!Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. If you''d like more, please comment or review. I continue to work on the series alongside multiple projects. Thank you.