Chapter 33
The sun rose on a new day. Dust was sat on Crucifix’s chapel to greet it; Father Kilkenny’d recommended the spot in a brief conversation before the man collapsed into well-deserved and much-needed sleep. When Dust saw the view it afforded him, the wide vista that stood out from a garish pink sky, he was thankful the Father had shared it.
It was hard to believe he’d set off from the Solution two days ago. Or that three days ago he’d been so bored he went to Low Tracks to get plum drunk. Particularly drinking at the Broken Bottle felt more distant than that, years away. Perhaps because he’d changed.
Dust’d given introspection a go last night as he sat on the chapel and waited for the sun. He’d not slept more than a few hours so he’d had plenty of opportunity. In that time, he’d decided that not considering… well, anything, had made him a restless waste of time and space. And perhaps that’s what Resistance’d wanted of him as it’d kept him tightly coiled for this whole mess. But one thing was certain; he couldn’t afford to be like that now.
It was weird to think of himself as a piece in a grand game, something to be moved and used by a greater force, but that’s what he was. Dust reckoned part of this affair had been Resistance trying to make him appreciate the power and control being an important piece gave him; after all, it’d allowed him to rescue Penelope. Dust had to admit he appreciated being… whatever he was a lot more now.
The morning light reached the tip of his hat as he watched it approach. He felt its relative warmth even through the leather. This marked his first day as a real Wanted Man, either as part of Resistance’s plan or a consequence of it. Penelope’d convinced Crucifix’s townsfolk not to report which direction he’ll head off in but someone from the Solution would soon arrive with a whole heap of questions and he couldn’t ask folk to lie for him, not with the corruption at its heart now revealed.
Ah, the damn Solution. Dust didn’t believe Dick was in on this mess with Naismith. He just couldn’t; the man was painfully honourable, straight as a fresh nail. Dick would’ve reported anything unusual or unholy right away, even if it’d come from the daughter of their benefactor. But Dick not being in on it didn’t mean half the Solution weren’t; it’d be easy to keep the highest levels of authority out of illicit activities with careful reporting and large bribes. Or maybe Naismith was part of a conspiracy who operated in subtle ways, one who’d taken a risk to achieve something grand. Dust reckoned that would make more sense for followers of Omnis.
Dust stretched, his hands reaching into the golden sunlight. It had to be Omnis, didn’t it? The god of knowledge, ‘the god of exposing dark secrets and hoarding important truths’ as someone had once told him. Dust thought it the worst god to face because it did its fighting through others, manipulating its fellow gods or even mortal forces to do its dirty work. You only saw a creature of Omnis if Omnis wanted you to and your first thought always had to be “What if it wants me to kill this thing?”
The chapel doors opened below him. Someone stepped out, closed the doors behind them. “Hello up there!” they called.
Dust leaned over the roof. It was Penelope. “Howdy.”
“Have a good night?” she asked, shielding her eyes with a painfully-thin hand. The girl would need a good amount of feeding over the next few days.
“Good enough.”
“Can I talk to you, Mr Dust?”
“I told you, Dust’ll do.”
“Dust, sorry. Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
Dust rolled onto his front and let himself dangle from the battered roof. Then he dropped to the floor, knees bending when he hit.
He turned to Penelope and asked “What can I do you for?”
“I was just…” Her hand started to shake. She gripped it tightly with its twin and took a deep breath. “I wanted to know what happens next. What are you going to do?”
“Well, the Solution is a wash. I promised Shadows Fade I’d go to her band when this was done. I reckon I’ll go there.”
“And after that?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to see what happens next.”
“You mean, see what story Eleanor tells people?”
Dust nodded. “I’m a fugitive now, I don’t doubt that. The size of the bounty’ll determine what I do next. And that’ll depend on what Naismith tells people and how much they believe her.”
Penelope waited for him to continue, needing more from him.
“Which in turn depends on how far the conspiracy in the Solution goes,” he said. “If it’s low level, they might set a small bounty or only give a reward if I’m taken alive. If most of the Solution is against us, they’ll offer a ton for me, dead or alive, and I’ll be hunted by every bounty hunter worth a damn. The other cults of the Triangle will know that too and they’ll come at me when I’m fighting the world of men. It’ll be… interesting.”
Penelope made a small, non-committal noise and looked away. Her fingers shook still.
“It’s not me you’re worried about.”
“No.”
“I won’t sugar-coat it; you’re not going to have a good time either. From what Emmett said, I reckon Naismith’ll sell the story that I turned on her, fuelled by Resistance or greed or something, and tortured her for trying to save you. She’ll know I survived by now – might even know you did – so she’ll probably weave you into the story. She’ll say you came willingly, are beyond redemption, because you’re the only one who could implicate her. The only one folk might believe, anyway.”
“But what if I stayed in Crucifix, talked to the Solution officials who come to interview people? What if I told them what really happened? That could make a difference, right?”
He shrugged. Then remembered she was looking down at the ground and said “Maybe.”
“I don’t like ‘maybe’.”
“Look, it’s not impossible. Again, it’ll depend on how deeply the Solution has been compromised; if it’s shallow people might listen to you, do some investigations into their own ranks. Your pa’s influence will help and it might make the difference. You could go back home and this’ll be a story for your grandkids. But if it’s not that shallow then they’ll capture you like the cult did, tell observers, friends, family… Hell, they’ll tell everyone that you were scrambled by the magic or traumatised by me. And then…”
Dust caught himself before he predicted they’d kill her.
She closed her eyes. “I just want to go home.”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “I know. But I wouldn’t risk it. I’m sorry”
She sobbed twice then wiped her cheek.
“Sorry,” he said again.
Penelope looked up, smiled and put a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
She wiped her cheek again. “Why, for saving me.”
He smiled back. “It’s been a while since someone thanked me.”
“Then I thank you too,” someone said.
Dust turned. It was Shadows Fade. She stepped out of the chapel, stretching. Godly Claw was at her heel. The people of Crucifix chatted and moved around behind her, trying to return to some semblance of normality now their troubles were over. Or, rather, now they would be once Dust left with the Word.
“Morning,” Dust said.
The warrior closed the chapel door. “Morning. But I mean it; thank you for ridding my land of an evil like that Soulless.”
“Soulless? You mean the masked man?”
She nodded.
This was beginning to get a little embarrassing. Dust coughed, then turned to change the subject. “What do you want to do now?”
Penelope coughed. Her hand started shaking again. “Well, Shadows Fade and I took a walk earlier and we were talking… If it turned out there was no hope of getting my life back, I was going to ask if I could perhaps come with you?”
Dust frowned. “To Shadows Fade’s band?”
“At first, yes. Then, if you’d let me, further?”
A number of questions begged to be asked. He spoke the chief amongst them “Why?”
“Do you know what Penelope actually went through?” Shadows Fade asked.
“The Father told me Margaret was tortured and coerced.”
“But do you know what that means?”
“I don’t follow…” he said hesitantly.
“They put me in a cold room that drained me all the time,” Penelope said, her voice wavering as she spoke to the floor. “I shivered all day, every day. Then there were the demons, voices that taunted me almost constantly. And rituals that came overhead, played with my… with me. Mahrey, the witch, would come down and torture me with the same affects. And it was all to turn me to That Which Sins.”
“And you called on her when you could take no more?” Dust asked.
“Yes. That was when they arranged the final ritual.”
Dust blew air out through his lips. The Father had said the Vessels were tempted into deviance but he hadn’t appreciated what that meant at the time. He decided that he’d been a lofty asshole before he wore that Bond because he hadn’t even tried to understand.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said.
“Thank you. It’ll… it’ll take me a while to get over it. If I ever do.”
Dust hoped she would.
“But that experience makes me want to come with you, Dust. Shadows Fade tells me that the two of you killed every cultist in that temple and… and I think a lot of what happened to them might not have been their fault.” Penelope caught his eye. “I want to change how you do things. Both of you. Because I think some cultists aren’t to blame for where and what they are.”
“Did you see the battle we were in?” Dust asked, aghast.
“No but-”
“No. We were fighting for our lives. There wasn’t exactly time for interviews!” His tattoo flared at his anger, bright warm pain. He winced, realised he was being unusually emotional, then said “Sorry. That was harsh.”
Penelope’s hands and shoulders shook but still she spoke. “I’m not criticising you or the way you’ve been doing things because you didn’t know, did you? I could see it when I explained what happened to me. Just hearing it, though… I don’t think that’s enough. You don’t know what it was like. Almost no-one could withstand that pain. But you can pull the hatred and horror out of someone, correct their mistake as you did mine. And I want to help make that your usual practice.”
“Why? Most cultists are too far gone to survive it,” Dust said.
“Perhaps. But they would have died at your hands anyway. What about those who would have survived the process? Don’t they deserve the same chance I got?”
“If they even want to turn their backs on That Which Sins…”
Penelope shrugged. “Well, if they don’t, you kill them as you would have before. But you’ll be giving them a chance at getting their lives back. And you’ll be more likely to take people alive, let them make up for their mistakes, with someone else around. And, well, I haven’t got anywhere else to go now, have I? You said it yourself. Eleanor and her like have taken my life from me.” Her body stopped shaking as she balled her hands into fists. “I don’t want that to happen to anyone else. Never. Never ever.”
Penelope’s words and determination inspired a cocktail of emotions that Dust wasn’t too comfortable with. He had to admit she had a point; if she could be forced into worshipping one of the Triangle in four days, how many others like her had there been in that temple? Or in his previous missions? How many of his victims’ first and only crime had been not killing themselves before they’d given in? Hell, the scenarios were probably set up so they couldn’t end it first…
“What do you think about this?” he asked Shadows Fade.
“Which bit?” the warrior asked, leaning against the chapel. “That we may have killed dozens of innocent people or that she wants to come with us?”
“Both,” he said, noting the use of ‘us’.
The warrior looked toward the rising sun. “I still have a lot of thinking to do about the first point; I do not believe Resistance would have let us slaughter people who did not deserve it but it is possible we did not understand his desires. As for Penelope?”
The girl smiled up, hopeful and bright.
Shadows Fade smiled back. “I see something of myself in her.”
Dust looked at Penelope, examined her real close. He’d never questioned his ability to rid something or someone of the Triangle’s influence. But that was before, when he’d been a dull waste. It was possible Penelope had picked up on Resistance’s intentions for the power by actually experiencing it. He’d have to think that through over the next few days. More than that, her inner fire made him wonder if the gods didn’t use people as game pieces but instead tried to set things up so they’d work in their favour, like loading dice or stacking decks. If so, he reckoned Penelope was like a pocketed ace of hearts.
“How’ll she survive in battle, though? I mean no offence, Penelope, but you need an edge when fighting eldritch things.”
“We were thinking,” Penelope interrupted, “that I could use the Bond. I may never learn real magic but I can learn to fight safely with that on.”
“I have examined it,” Shadows Fade said, pre-empting his next question, “and I do not believe it can affect the wearer beyond preventing them from casting or falling victim to magic. It would be safe to let her use it, provided we get her the right weapon and she obeys orders.”
Dust looked from Penelope to Shadows Fade and back. This was too perfect to not be co-ordinated, a pincer attack planned down to the last word. He chuckled. “Alright, we’ll see what we can make of you. And what you can make of us.”
Penelope squealed and threw her arms around Dust. With her zeal and emaciation, it was easy to forget she was still so young.
After a moment, he returned the hug.
“You won’t regret this,” she said.
“Make sure I don’t,” he replied.
She stepped back, eyes sparkling. It’d been a while since he saw someone that happy. For some reason, it made him think of the deep rend in his memory, the aching gap that hurt to remember. He tried not to let it spoil his mood or Penelope’s and instead turned to the rising sun. They stayed in silence for a while, just watching the arriving day.
“Let’s get going. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us,” Dust said. “Even longer with us only having Horse to share. You’ll be taking him until you’ve recovered, Penelope.”
“You named your horse ‘Horse’?” Penelope asked.
He frowned. “Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“What’s wrong with ‘Horse’?”
“Nothing, I guess,” she said.
“Damn straight.”
They went into the chapel to gather their things. The townsfolk were in a heated discussion when Penelope opened the door, deciding whose houses would be used for spare lumber to fix the others. The argument came to an abrupt halt when Dust appeared.
He gave them a smile and said “Morning.”
Few returned the gesture.
“We’re going to gather our things and head out, catch as much daylight as possible.”
Then there were smiles. Some covered their relief, though they did their best to be polite about it. Dust didn’t mind. He couldn’t, not any more.
“All of you?” asked Abel’s hard wife, the one who’d been at the forefront of the mob last night. She looked particularly at Penelope.
“All of us,” Penelope said.
“Oh!” said Mary, standing up. “The Father said you might go before he woke up. He insisted on being woken-”
“There’s no need to get him,” Dust said. He could easily go get the Word himself.
“I wasn’t going to,” Mary replied sharply. “The poor man needs to sleep for a week if I’m any judge. Maybe more. But he said if I couldn’t wake him I was to give you something…” She knelt down and scrabbled around in her pile of possessions and bedding. “Aha! Here it is.”
Mary rose with the ironwood box containing Margaret’s Word in her hands. She smiled meekly, knowing she was doing the Father’s will, and then offered it to Dust. “Here you go. The Father said you’d know what it was.”
Dust stepped forward and took the box. He could feel the Word still inside, dormant but radiating power. It felt as though the Word was content. So much fighting, death and destruction had been over this piece of a brave woman’s soul… but if Margaret hadn’t had the courage to escape, the cult would have been stronger and Dust might be dead. When they got to Shadows Fade’s band, he’d sit down with their elders and discuss the possibilities the Word provided them. Because Margaret’s sacrifice deserved to be worth something.
It was a little tempting to slap it into his other gun but his tattoo warmed at the prospect; Resistance had other plans.
“Thank you,” Dust said.
“What’s in it?” Bowler Hat asked.
He noticed that the townsfolk were watching him. “It’s a gift. Something the Father has been looking after for a friend.”
“You’re sure he meant for… Dust… to have it?” Bowler Hat asked.
“Of course I am! I’m not an idiot, am I?” Mary demanded.
“Sorry, just checking.”
Dust, Shadows Fade and Penelope gathered their things in the silence that followed, watched either slyly or openly. No-one had too much to collect so they were soon stood at the chapel door, ready to move out.
“I know Penelope asked it but don’t you lie about where I’m headed,” he said to the chapel. Their good moods drained as he spoke. “People from the Solution will come and you shouldn’t trust them. Nor should you mess with them. Just listen to the Father and he’ll steer you well.”
Silence was their only response. They mightn’t appreciate his words now but they would when the Solution arrived. He took a final look around the battered church before giving them a nod. Then his strange band went to collect Horse from the stables behind the tavern.
When they were safely out of earshot, Penelope said “None of them thanked you. After all you’ve done for them. Both of you.”
“Nope,” Dust said.
“Doesn’t that anger you?”
He cast a look back at the chapel. “Nope.”
Horse whinnied impatiently when they neared. Dust had protected him with invisibility spells and wards and the lack of markings on the stables proved he hadn’t been discovered last night. The whinnies continued when he opened the stable door, unimpressed noises that told him the beast was hungry and annoyed.
“Sorry Horse,” he said. “We’ll rustle something up for you on the way.”
He got a dismissive snort in response.
“I know. But we’ve all got something to put up with.”
Horse accepted a pat on the nose, if not the sentiment that preceded it.
When Penelope was settled and ready, he and Shadows Fade led Horse out of Crucifix. Godly Claw padded beside them. They walked toward the sunrise, which cast their long shadows back onto the town for some time.
The End