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The smoke of his cigarette rose slowly towards the sky. There was a breeze, barely there, but noticeably in the scorching southern heat nonetheless. It brought a sweet relieve, just for a moment, before the ever present heat swept back in. Arthur took a slow drag from his cigarette and looked up towards the perfect blue sky. Not a single cloud to be seen. Another endless long day surely followed by a hot night. He had always fancied himself as a tough outlaw, hardened and unshaken. In his many years as an outlaw he had faced any threat head on, be it man or nature. This heat through, he mused, was something else entirely. A beast of its own caliber, bound to bring mankind to its knee. He had crossed deserts and valleys full of wolves, mountains and endless grasslands. But something about this heat made his skin crawl. Just the day before he had witnessed the death of a farmhand, the man just keeling over where he stood, dead before his body hit the ground. Just like this. Poor bastard, Arthur had thought as he had slowed his horse, contemplating if it would be worth his while to search the corpse for valuables. The man had looked poor as the dirt he now lay on and Arthur had spurred his horse on. Probably not even worth the effort of getting off his horse, he told himself. The sun had burned upon him for hours already, and he had felt stiff from the ride. ‘You’re getting old’ a quiet voice in the back of his mind had told him as he left the corpse to the local scavengers.
Out on the lake a boat slowly drove by, a fisherman absently looking past Arthur and the gangs campsite. Another drag of smoke filled his lung. Behind him the camp life lazily went on.
By the time Arthur returned from his smoke at the shore, little Jack stumbled his way through another chapter of his newest book. Arthur had found the penny dreadful while rummaging through a little shack, the way he found most of his treasures and oddities. The trash of one most often than not turned into the treasure of another. Maybe Dutch would’ve found something philosophical about it. Or poetic. Arthur had never cared about these things. It was simply practical. Something that was still needed or wanted by the gang.
Hosea, patiently as ever, helped the little boy through another sentence. Something about ghosts and ships, abandoned at sea. As Arthur strolled by the boy looked up, bright-eyed. “Uncle Arthur! Have you ever seen a ghost?”
“Well kid” he paused for a moment, eyeing the four-year-old. “A few. Bad business, all of them. Not much of them around anymore, tho” he added as Abigail, ever vigilant about her young son, gave him a look over the basket of wool and linen she was working with. Four was maybe a bit young to learn about this stuff.
“Woah, are they scary?”
“Uhm” Arthur scratched his chin absently, fishing for words. “Nah. They dead, aren’t they. If you know how to handle them, nothing scary ‘bout that. Not like other undead.. or ghouls or..”
“Undead?” Ah, shit.
“What your uncle Arthur is trying to say, Jack, is, that no ghosts won’t come to disturb you. Now” Hosea slapped his knee and gestured towards Pearsons wagon. “How about you go and see when dear old Mr. Pearson will be ready with todays stew. We’ll finish this book of yours later. Maybe we even find you one of those candy bars you like so much. How does that sound?”
For a moment Jack looked uncertain, like he might refuse and stay to ask more questions, but he was still young enough to be baited with the promise of treats. As the boy dutifully walked away towards the middle of camp, Hosea turned fully towards Arthur.
“Eloquent as ever, Arthur.”
“Na, didn’t mean it like that. Not much magic in the world anymore, anyway.” No matter how old he got Arthur still felt sheepish when Hosea called him out like this. He knew he didn’t possess the natural way most of the woman had with Jack or the careful way Hosea treated the boy. But he liked to think he had it better handled than most of the man when it came to talking with the kid.
Hose snorted, clearly amused by Arthurs floundering. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, son. There’s still enough magic and weirdness out there. Not as much as there once was, true. But still.” He closed the book in his hands. “Besides, Charles found a layline not far from camp. So we’re bound to encounter some magic around here, I reckon.”
“You think it’s dangerous here?” Abigail inquired as she abandoned her work and leaned forward. Clearly worried already. Arthur found himself watching camp more closely, looking out for Charles. The man in question was fletching arrows by the scout camp at the outskirts of camp.
“No, my dear. And we will be vigilant, regardless. Why, I meant to send Charles out to look into this a bit more. Maybe you will ride with him, Arthur?”
“‘Course.”
Evening brought a stronger breeze with it and Arthur found himself back on horseback, following Charles out into the woods that surrounded their camp.
“It’s not far” Charles had reassured him. “We can check it out and be back before nightfall.”
Night was still a few hours away, but Arthur felt himself wondering if they would make it back in time. He was used to sleeping under the stars, next to his horse and gun and nothing else, but lately he found himself strangely anxious. He had always been prone to anxiety, he knew. When he had been young Hosea used to tell him he way the most restless boy he had ever met. Always fidgeting and worrying about this or that and never quiet relaxed. Learning his way around a gun had helped. So had growing big, tall and strong. And after some years with the gang, small as it used to be at those times, his fears had become less prominent. The darkness scared him no more than a snake did. It was something he was conscious about but there was no real fear. He knew how to handle himself. Those couple months since Blackwater had been stressful. And maybe he was getting old..
Taima softly snorted next to him and his mare Blue flickered her ears but remained calm as ever. They had made their way through some thick bushes and Charles pointed out some big, gnarly trees ahead of them. The woods were thick here with a variety of trees. The one Charles pointed to, however, were remarkable for how bad they looked. Big with many wicked branches. No green on them, withered. Dead. Strange butterflies stretched their wings in Arthurs belly, just for a second. He felt that strange restlessness within him flutter in tune. The way he sometimes felt before a gunfight. Usually those who went bad.
“Up there. Then we should be able to see it” he told Arthur in that soft voice he used whenever he was alone with Arthur. That, too, was something that made Arthur strangely restless. But in an another way altogether.
“Alright, lead the way.”
Behind the gnarly trees lay a soft hill, overgrown with bushes and smaller trees and some colorful little flowers and behind that, the layline. Soft light bounced from the earth where no flower nor grass grew, casting the trees above in strange colors. Like a scar in the earth, discolored and weirdly alive. The sounds of the woods where loudest here, birds and smaller critters chirped and yelled and seemingly whispered with each other. A deer and some rabbits scattered when the two riders brought their horses closer. The mares snorted and whinnied and Arthur and Chales left them a short distant away from the line.
“It’s just a small line” Chalres said in his usual flat tone, almost apologetic. He crouched a few meters away from the light and Arthur figured he was looking for tracks. Animals often stuck close to these magical lines, like they did around water in a desert. And while deer and small critters like rabbits and even foxes would not bother them, Arthur wasn’t too keen to meet some bear or wolves. Or whatever predator might also live close to a source of magical energy. It was hard to tell with magic, that seemingly never quiet followed any rules. Arthur watched the magical light bounce around in the grass below his feet, watching out for any sign of danger or that weirdness, that always came with magic. Like those nasty ritual sites magic users sometimes Loft behind, with funny smelling candles and bones. He came up empty handed.
“You think there’s trouble around?”
Charles hummed and got back on his feet. “Right now? No.”
“But?”
“Like I told Hosea, I found a few prints this morning. Nothing fresh but big like those of a grizzly. Only it wasn’t. They’re still here, but nothing new. And this place.. Do you feel it?” He turned, watching Arthur closely.
“Me?” Arthur looked down, letting his trusty old hat cast his face in shadow. Self-conscious about his inability to feel magic as strong as ever. “Nah. I’m not good with this” he gestured a bit with his hand. “Never was. Dutch always says I’m too thick for this. Reckon you’re the expert. What does it feel like?”
“You’re not thick” Charles stated bluntly and Arthur didn’t rightly knew what to make out of it. He often didn't when faced with Charles’ straightforward way. And he preferred not to dwell too much on how it made him feel.
“There is something here. Something that lives here. Or at least comes to visit this place. Something magic, I think. And old. Like these trees. Truth be told, it makes me feel uneasy. The horses know, too.” Arthur could tell that this was true by the way the horses stood awkwardly by the trees, flickering their ears.
“But not now?”
“No. The animals are calm. But I’m not sure we should stay here long.” That sounded off until Arthur made the connection.
“You mean the camp.”
“Yeah.” Charles had come up to Arthur, the men standing close to each other and keeping their voices down.
“Did you tell Dutch?”
Charles hesitated for a moment. “I did.”
“And?”
Charles paused, watching something to his side. “He didn’t appreciate the idea of moving camp.”
Of that Arthur was sure. He could tell by the way Charles squared his shoulders slightly that the conversation between Dutch and Charles probably hadn’t been very pleasant. Must have happend while he had been out hunting for deer. It also explained the subdued way Charles had been sticking close to the scout fire throughout the last days.
“Yeah, well. He thinks there’s money in this town. Knowing Dutch, he probably has a lead or something already. We can stick it out for a bit, I think. We’re not that close anyway.” Arthur looked up towards the tree line that surrounded them. The daylight had dimmed quiet a bit since they had saddled up. “Took some time to get here.”
Charles didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t argue his point.
The ride back took them close to the broad dirt road that connected Rhodes with New Hanover. Even close to nightfall a few people where still around. Mostly people on their way back home or into town, if Arthur had to guess. The few faces he saw close enough to judge looked tired and everyone’s clothes showed layers of redish dirt from the roads. Arthur and Charles had fallen into a comfortable silence they often shared and Arthur found himself drifting a bit. Thinking about todays work and tomorrows worries. He should ride into town, come up with a lead. Maybe there was a homestead to rob or livestock to steal. Towns like Rhodes, rural but big enough to attract a fair share of business, were bound to produce some opportunities for an outlaw like him. And maybe with some money in their pockets Dutch would be satisfied enough to leave, maybe even head west this time. Arthur had always liked being west.
A gunshot close to his right brought Arthur abruptly back into reality. Out of the corner of his eyes Arthur could tell that Charles already had his sawed off shotgun pointed at something. His six shooter was up only a heartbeat later. They had ridden behind a small loaded with a few sacks stuck in the back. A farmer ready to sell, maybe. Two figures had emerged, weapons ready. Shouting orders at the farmer.
“Raiders” Arthur grunted. A shootout. Not how he had imagined his evening.
Beside him Charles shouted “Ambush!” at the same time.
To their left the trees had come to life. More Lemoyne Raiders jumped out from their hiding spots. And Arthur could hear riders coming up behind them.
Which left his right, an overgrown field dotted with little flowers. It only took a little encouragement for Blue to jump into action. The mare took off towards the fields while Arthur shot the first man to his left. Charles had also sprung into action, had turned around and was covering their backs. In the next moment chaos erupted around them.
Arthur managed to shoot two more raiders before the man turned onto him. By that time he had come around the wagon. A flick of his wrist and the two raiders in front of the rearing wagon horse fell. Bullets flew past him, seemingly out of every direction. Blue jumped across the street and the farmer took off. Arthur tunred towards the trees just in time to see an angry looking redhead aiming a rifle at him. He ducked low. The bullet missed. He shot the men clear through the head. Behind the redhead and older, much bigger men whipped his shotgun around. He knew he’d be too slow.
“Fuck.” The shot went off and Blue screamed. The mare jumped into the woods, Arthur barely holding on and threw Arthur sideways into the trees only a moment later. For a second the world toppled over. He saw a glimpse of the darkening sky above him. Someone shouted what could have been his name but his heartbeat was too loud to made it out. Pain erupted in his side.
Arthur found himself laying in some bush. It took some effort, but he finally got some air back into his lungs. As he blinked into the gloom he took stock of his situation. He had lost his main hand but not his off hand which had still been in his holster. He hurt all over, but nothing too bad. Coming up on his feet, he grabbed the revolver. He saw Blue already on her feet again, flank bloody but alive. She took off, scared beyond reasoning. He worried about her but more about what he couldn’t see: the men with the shotgun. Arthur hurried into the trees to his right, seeking shelter. What a disaster. If anyone in camp found out he would never hear the end of it. Where was Charles? Last he saw they had managed to take down most of the raiders, but Charles had still faced at least two more enemies. He needed to get back. And fast.
Something to his left broke. Arthur ducked low, aiming in the direction but not seeing anything between the dark trees. He held his breath. ‘Come on, show yourself. So I can get outta here already.’ Listening. Nothing. No footfalls. No sounds. Something cold and dark went down his spine. No sounds. No birds or horses, no gunshots. No screams. No wind in the trees. Silent. Suddenly, he felt cold. Like he had plunged into icy water. Cold, like he felt back in the mountains.
‘This ain’t right' a voice whispered in his mind. Something was off. Surely the raiders haden’t had used any magic. Right? He had been sure but now he started to doubt himself. Maybe a spell. But surely nobody in their right mind would cast a spell like for something so mundane as an ambush. Couldn’t be it, then. Maybe he had fallen so hard he has lost his hearing. Was that even possible? Never had happend before and he had had some experience with falling. But..
Another tree branch snapped only mere meters in front of the tree he hid behind. Arthur turned and peeked. The raider, shotgun in hand. Wide eyed. Face white as a sheet. His outstretched arms were shaking badly. Scared. Aiming, but not at Arthur. Not even in his direction. But to his left. At something Arthur couldn’t see. Wasn’t even sure he wanted to see. He was cold even through just minutes before he had been sweating in the southern heat. ‘I’m afraid’ he realised. The kind of fear that children knew in the dark. A nameless, evil thing he had no control over. This wasn’t natural Maybe this wasn’t even magical. In every case it was unbearable. With no clear way out he did the one thing he had been taught, again and again, to never do in a gunfight. He turned his back and closed his eyes.
There was a noise. Quiet but terrible. A growl, but he knew of no animal who would be able to make a sound like this. Deep. Dangerous. The raider whimpered, cursed, begged. It was over in a heartbeat. Arthur could hear something big coming through the woods, fast. Too fast. The men screamed and broke into a gurgeling sound, abruptly. There was the sound of breaking bones and something hit the ground. Then, silence.
Arthur didn’t knew he had held his breath until he ran out of air. His body acted on its own accord and he started breathing, harshly. He found his wits when his hand found his revolver at his feet. 'Geht up. Fight. Get up!’ Against his racing pulse, he turned back, still crouching. Opened his eyes. And wished he hadn’t. Blood. Everywhere. A leg, ripped off, to his right. Other limps and pieces of the men with the shotgun everywhere. He couldn’t see the head and he had no desire to. ‘Charles!’ He needed to get back. Fast. And he needed to get away rom whatever just happend, even faster.
It took everything he had to step out from behind that fateful tree, weapon ready. But despite the gruesome scene, there was nothing to aim at. Careful Arthut stepped over one of the legs. He knew he couldn’t be far into the trees. That god forsaken road had to be right behind the next few trees. Shit, camp itself wasn’t that far away. He was almost home. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than getting into camp. ‘Get yourself together, Morgan. Just gotta find Charles and get outta here. Easy.’ Didn’t feel easy. But getting back into a gunfight was something familiar. Like the back of his hand. He moved quick, mindful not to slip in the wet grass. Mindful to keep watchful without looking to close at the bits and pieces the raider had been just minutes before. There was still no sounds but he knew his way. Was sure of it. He made it three steps.
Something above him, something big, moved. Arthur had time to look up, to see large dark eyes. He didn’t even knew if he screamed. Then, nothing.