Chapter 11: THE GUNSLINGER [PART TEN]

Daniel pauses at the words, a small notch in unbreakable faith suddenly found. “Seriously?!”

“Mages who survive outside the collective are the most dangerous of them all.” Alto Carrin informs. “They’re runaways, survivors of the deep desert, and most importantly they’ve maintained their powers even here.”

“But you’ve killed an auditor.” Daniel interrupts. “What’s a simple mage compared to them?!”

“A Collective Mage’s power is derived from their ability to focus on a specific…”

“Ability to focus, to maintain a stillness of mind.” Daniel impatiently continues as he takes a long drink from his cup. From education and plunged textbooks he draws forth academic knowledge; assumptions taken from both dead cadeviers and living specimens. “Medically speaking it’s similar to that hyper-sleep thing with the magic boxes, but the patient remains conscious. It’s an at will process, assisted with an augment surgically implanted into the brain stem. But that doesn’t… ”

“They’re unstable, desperate, unpredictable.” The Gunslinger finishes.

Daniel takes a moment to unravel his words. “What?”

“When one is desperate, you never know what they’ll try to do. A mage alone in a world that seeks to kill her will do anything to survive. A regular mage won’t use handguns since it compromises their schools of magic, but a losethi mage will. Because she’s alone, and she wants to survive.”

Old Joe speaks up as he slides past them. “Yeah that bandit mage… she had a semi-automatic handgun on her right?”

“Seven point five millimeter handgun.” The Doctor-in-training notes with a long sigh. “And based on the autopsies grandma and I did she was using high velocity rounds. Went right through the sheriff’s body armor and clean out the otherside.”

Staying quiet the Gunslinger sips the clear water from his glass.

“Sheriff Omi didn’t cheap out.” Old Joe adds as he leans onto the bar, a hard sigh as he remembers the lost words of a dead man. “He told me that stuff was ceramic-kevlar, could take a rifle round straight.”

Daniel interrupts as he downs the rest of his drink. “And I don’t want to imagine what sort of augments she’s lugging around either. One of my Advisors was a Medic in the Armed Forces, said that according to the history books some mages were more metal than flesh. When she tore up the Mayor… ”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Old Joe rubs his eyes, a deep breath taken as he thinks of the young man’s family. “Bad time for your parents to send you here Daniel. I don’t think Donelle or Jan would be very happy if they knew the amount of danger you’re in.”

“Oh you have no idea how bad it's getting in March. It’s ration riot after religious riot, the entire city’s starting to go crazy.” The young man comments with wide eyes. “It’s like the old gods came back to turn people mad. Compared to that, this place with a collective mage about to kill us is a paradise.”

The Gunslinger next to him speaks up. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s bad.” Daniel continues, his memory flooding with images of his home-city. “I mean, are you heading up there Alto?”

“I am. A cleric… a friend of mine is dying. I need to go see him before it's too late. He’s… he’s the one who raised me.”

“Well it’s a three day drive up north to get to March.” Old Joe comments. “But the Gang took every last vehicle here to search for that rumored treasure up in the Plateau west of here.”

“Hey I’d drive you up there myself just to get out of this backwater place.” Daniel offers, stopping to motion at the bar around him. “But… no vehicle.”

“Thank you for the offer… but…” Alto blinks as he attempts to reform temptation. “Never mind.”

They pause as a lull within bar activity rolls through, the Old Man speaking up first as he nervously glances towards the far staircase. “I-I’ll go check on Clee.”

“Yeah I’ll check as well.” The Doctor-in-training stands.

“By the way Alto before I forget.” Old Joe stops as he reaches under the bar, tossing a single aluminum key towards the guest. “I’ll be back in five minutes, but room four’s all yours. There's also a washing machine on the roof as well so you can get yourself cleaned up. And if you need anything else just…”

“Thank you.” The Gunslinger smiles with a hint of concern. “I… I really appreciate your hospitality.”

Old Joe chuckles at the words, shaking his head. “Anything for a lost traveler, especially if he’s gonna save our hides.”

Five suns fading as they hang in the sky, darkness enveloping the landscape as the cyclical motions of a long day come to a close. The anguish of the gods dissolving into a light chill, an utterly black, undecorated horizon placed above the world. 

The township’s lights switch on as electrical energy is siphoned from ancient ley lines, their spheres of illumination snuffed out a dozen yards into the desert wastelands. Beacons of hope consumed by this world, a universe of darkness approaching the warm homes of man.

The Gunslinger sits as he stares off into the empty horizon, time passing mindlessly in contemplation. A commanding position on the roof of the building, cool night air rising forth from the breath of the world receiving just a single request from the human being. Speaking to gods above, words voiced in a prayer of desperation. “Please keep him alive for just a little longer. I need to finish this, for the sake of these people.”

A godless world beneath five dead suns fails to reply, the Gunslinger left alone with his thoughts.

From his holster he draws forth divinity; a fragment of a godly weapon molded together with human technology. The chosen of the divine, potential squandered in the lost wanderings of a nameless wanderer.

The light footsteps running up the stairs behind him return his attention to the present, the Gunslinger turning around as the form of Clee runs up to the roof.

Evidence of injury nearly erased, the girl stares wide eyed at the young man. Both hands functional, she speaks. Hello.

How is the arm? The Gunslinger crudely replies with tired signs.

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Healed. The girl approaches as she puts her hands behind her back.

“Wait, does Old Joe or Daniel know you’re up?” Alto asks out loud.

She thinks for a moment. No. I sneak good.

“Well you should be resting.”

Clee shrinks back slightly. Sorry.

It is fine. Alto waves away, now vocalizing his words. “How are you?”

Without much reaction the girl rubs her arm, the noon’s injury seemingly healed a naught twelve hours into recovery. Scared

“Scared?” The man blinks with curiosity. “What are you scared of?”

Bad people will come back. Am scared that they will hurt us.

“Oh that.” Alto scoffs with a hint of nervousness. “It’ll… it’ll be fine.”

Unconvinced the girl slowly slides towards an open seat on the roof. Hands raised, she speaks in silence. You will kill them right?

The Gunslinger blinks as he stares into the black horizon. “I have to.”

Silence as an unusually warm wind blows past them, Alto Carrin taking a deep breath. “You should probably be in bed Clee. Night’s when the old gods come out and shoot people that are still outside you know?”

She narrows her eyes at his words. But you can shoot bad gods, you have the gun. You can protect us.

The Gunslinger stops at her words, stops at the child’s faith. “How much do you know about the god gun?”

Clee blinks. Dad, told me about it. A savior. But Dad and Mommy are gone now.

Alto signs the words. I’m sorry.

On the stone outcropping she curls her knees in, thoughts of recent memory emerging into young minds. The loss of entire worlds, a life shattered like glass brought to the bullet. The reality of a dying wasteland, robbing those of lesser standing for purpose long forgotten.

She signs the words quietly. I want to kill her.

Alto Carrin remains quiet as he reads it, a world coming to a stop. Memorized scripture returned, abridged for the child.

The Gunslinger quotes it as he stares into the girl’s eyes. “‘Vengeance only harms its taker.’ When the old gods died, even their anger; their vengeance, could not save them.”

The girl just stares in silence.

Familiarity in self-reflection, the Gunslinger takes a deep breath. Through the distortions of a lost mind, he speaks. “Do you want to hear a story?”

The girl doesn’t reply.

Without response the Alto Carrin begins, words spilling from memories of holy scripture, sermons, and ancient folk tales. A woven tapestry of language, a history augmented by the longevity of religious conviction. 

The creation of their world at the hands of subservient gods, an era of magic and wonder; their race ruling the sky beyond even the walls that now contained them.

A betrayal at their very hands, the heavens above burning with lances of hellfire.

In their moment of desperation, ancient gods bending their will to a single instrument: an object of the divine used against their very kin.

Broken, scuttled in the embers of a dying conflict. The five pieces entrusted to the mortal hands of this world with a single promise: redemption, salvation in a savior to come. A prophecy of hope repeated through the eons of history, through the wars, the starvation, the rage.

Tragedy, interest, replaced through the creative wonderment of a young mind. Clee listens without a reply, enraptured by a tale that spans the eons of humanity.

To wander this desert: five heroes from a far flung era. Bringing forth the forgotten fragments of a dead god to save us all. A destiny laid out in the thousands of years before now, a promise made by the divines above.

Sleeping in the midst of a story, a day’s events consuming the little girl as she drifts into nothingness. And another day to come.

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