The boys had no way to judge how far up the slope they'd gone but for the pain in their feet, rock-cut and bramble-pricked. The fear smothered any thoughts of exhaustion, choked off any cries before they'd reached their throats; if they stopped, /he/ would find them by the sounds of their breathing. Midul, the younger of the two, held fast to his brother Ishey's hand; stared at Ishey's back, still expecting to wake up.

Hours ago, he'd felt a rough hand on his shoulder shaking him awake; at the same time, he realized that the distant rhythm of cannonfire in his dream was someone rapping on the front door. Aza--the wanderer father had hired to help him pan for silver up the creek--was crouched between his bed and Ishey's, had woken up Ishey first by the looks of it.

"I didn't want to leave without saying g'bye to you boys. Didn't seem right," he said. Ishey started to speak, but Aza held up a hand. "No time to explain. Just wanted to thank you for treating me like kin. Remember what I taught you about shooting, and mind your ma and pa."

More slamming on the door; a voice shouted something Midul couldn't make out. Mother and father stood in the doorway, grim as their sons had ever seen them, father holding his rifle and a lantern.

"Go on and slip out the back. I'll keep them talking," he whispered. Aza nodded, smiled at the boys, and ducked out the room. Father answered the front door; Midul heard his voice, and another, deeper voice he didn't know. Mother was nervous, but

remembered the boys and stepped into the room, sitting next to Midul, patting a spot on the other side for Ishey. Just as she was putting her arms around them, there was a loud pop and something split the air.

It was just how Midul remembered the rifle sounding when father and Aza had taken them on a hunting trip. That memory was so fresh, he couldn't quite match the sound to home, to night. Everything started moving faster; mother went to the doorway, father shouted and there was a crash in the kitchen; a man Midul'd never seen before stomped down the hall with a rifle. He pointed the gun at mother, looked past her at the boys, then muttered something that got her to take a step back. Father followed soon after, face set hard.

"What on Earth is--"

"You stay here with the boys. Boys, stay with your mother!"

Last time father had raised his voice like that was when Ishey'd gone climbing too far up in the foothills, had a bad fall, and came home covered in cuts and bruises. Midul felt cold. More shouting out back of the house now; the boys looked at each other and slipped past mother while she was trying to make out the words, scrambling down the narrow hall to where three men stood around something just beyond the light of the lantern father had set on the ground. It was a strange shape, and though it wasn't moving, it terrified Midul. The longer he looked at it, the more it looked like Aza: but it couldn't be Aza, because he'd just been alive. Whatever this was was dripping something dark and sprawled out like a just-killed mountain goat. The air stank of rotten eggs.

The big man who'd barged down the hall was saying something under his breath to another, smaller man wearing a stetson, shouldering a rifle of his own, puffing on a cigarette. The big man cocked a head at the boys, and father turned to see them standing in the doorway.

"I told you to stay with your mother! Get back in the house!" He jabbed a finger at them as he stepped in the way. Ishey just looked straight up at him, holding back a sob.

"Why'd they kill Aza?"

Kill? Midul thought. Kill Aza? That's not right. You kill goats and ox and grouse for food, or wolves and hawks for causing trouble, but kill a man? Still, Ishey sounded so sure, and Ishey was usually right.

"Ishey, go back insi--"

"Name wasn't Aza." The bigger man spat on the ground and nudged Aza's head with his boot. The way it rolled back to the dirt gave Midul chills. He saw what looked like a hole near the back. "This here's Partesh. Come here from back east, say, six months back?"

Father looked over his shoulder. "He did."

"Right. Well, you're lucky we came along before he got ugly. The elders of some tribes out there got together to put a price on his head. Thieving, arson, murder. Multiple counts of each; real rotten one." The big man shook his head. "Still, not something the little one should have to see. Could have--"

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Something stirred near Aza's head and caught Midul's eye. The patch of dark was shrinking. It was going up into the hole it had come from, and the hole was closing. Aza blinked, and he sat up.

"What the--" the small man in the stetson tripped over himself backing away from Aza, pointing his rifle at him. "D-demon!" Father and the big man both turned just as Aza stood up. He looked around like he'd forgotten where he left something. For a moment, watching him let Midul think that he'd dreamt him lying there. Father went stiff for a moment, ran straight to the boys. The big man took aim, but stepped back just the same.

"You were dead. I'd swear it," he said, voice trembling. Aza shrugged and took a step towards the big man; the big man shot him in the chest. Midul saw the blood filling Aza's shirt, saw Aza stumble back, but the dark spot where he'd been hit dried up and he kept walking. He reached out and grabbed the big man by the coat, pulled him close, and wrapped fingers around his neck, lifting him up off the ground. Another gunshot; the man in the stetson had gotten back up and fired into Aza's back, but there was no sign it did anything. The big man swung his rifle butt at Aza's head over and over, but every bloody gash healed almost as soon as it opened. He gurgled and grunted, his arms moving slower, legs kicking weaker until, finally, he went limp and the rifle fell from his hands. Aza threw him to the ground like he was a ruined piece of tarp.

He took up the gun, turned and shot the small man in the chest while he was trying to reload. Then it was quiet. There were two bodies just as broken and wrong as Aza's had been when the boys first snuck out. Father trained his gun on Aza's back, tried to nudge the boys back. Mother was stood in the doorway, silent. Ishey was barely breathing. Midul needed someone, anyone, to tell him what he had just seen.

"Aza--Partesh--whatever your name is. That still you in there?" Father said, voice wavering.

"It is. For what it's worth," Aza said, walking over to the small man's body, trading guns with him and picking up the shells he'd been fumbling with, "I didn't want it to be like this."

Mother rushed up behind the boys and pulled them close to her.

"Get the boys out of here now. Go to the marshal." Father said quietly, through grit teeth. Neither brother had it in them to say anything or resit their mother's urging, and they found themselves running into the dark. Then there was another crack; mother fell to the ground and didn't move. Midul couldn't feel his legs anymore. Another shot, and Aza's head jerked off to the side. Father let out a horrible shout like nothing the boys had ever heard before and threw himself at Aza.

"Come on!" Ishey said, grabbing Midul's hand, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve as he pulled him. They'd not heard any more gunfire, but they'd not been climbing the slope between home and town long when they realized what must have happened. Neither of them said it, but kept climbing. There were hints of lantern light gaining ground on them from down the slope.

A rock caught Midul's foot and he tumbled forward onto his hands and knees. In the moment he was still, the weight of the night finally caught up with him and he started to sob. Ishey covered his mouth and yanked him back up onto his feet, spinning him around to face him. Midul didn't know what to make of the look in his eyes.

"You have to keep quiet," Ishey whispered. "Keep quiet and keep going ahead. We should be close to the top. Remember the rocks where we used to hide our treasure?"

Midul nodded. That wasn't so long ago, and they'd made the climb at dark plenty of times when they should have been in bed. There they would be--

"You go ahead and hide there. I'm going to try distracting him. You hide there until the sun's up, and the goatherds are out on the other side of the slope, then you run to them." He put his hands on Midul's shoulders, feeling the moment his little brother understood him by his trembling. "You'll be okay. You just keep running no matter what, okay?"

Before Midul had any chance to reply, Ishey was running back down towards the lantern. He was alone now; nothing for it but to keep running, just like his brother'd told him. He felt the hot tears pouring down his face, no longer had it in him to wipe them away; all he had left was to keep scrambling up the slope. He could make out the starlit form of the rocks where they'd hoarded their unusual rocks and bones and tufts of fur, and stepped carefully down the familiar stones until he was fully enclosed. He noticed himself begin to breathe faster; what had seemed a shelter with Ishey now felt like a trap where he waited for . . .

He rose to a crouch, eyes level with a gap under one of the largest rocks, a narrow window back to the open slope. He swallowed hard and tried to calm his breath, watching carefully for any sign of movement. Eventually the lantern drew closer, throwing light ahead and around outcroppings until finally it appeared, carried along by a man walking slowly and deliberately on. No doubt it was Aza. Midul took a step back and put a foot wrong, tripping. He tried to right himself against the rock, but twisted his ankle and let out a cry that he cut short by biting his lip as he fell.

"Midul? I heard you, boy. Come on out, no need to make this take any longer." Aza said. "I know you're scared. You're all alone now. Better to end it quick." Midul heard his boots crunching against the dirt and pebbles, saw the lantern's light play against the inside of the rocks through the gap. He was getting closer; did he already know? Midul tried to hold his breath, but the footsteps were coming closer.