ZEPH
"Let's keep it moving, Rhody!" I shouted, rushing into the middle of another grouping of Row's patrolmen. The girl held my silver revolver, Applause, and was fumbling at the task of reloading it. Coming from all around, wild spear stabs were easy enough for me to dodge and redirect. I weaved my way through them, allowing instinct to take over as I turned my focus to The Acolyte.
"S-sorry!" she replied as yet another cartridge dropped and hit the ground in a puff of dust.
My shoulders pulled back as a spearshaft flashed in front of my eyes. When I realized its presence, my hands were already upon it, wrenching it from its owner's grip. I spun, striking its other end into the jaw of a flanking attacker. The woman went reeling, a flash of crimson spittle streaking from her open mouth.
What was wrong with the blue-haired girl? Was she just battle-weary? That priest, Father Herus, had claimed her resourceful; he'd said the job would be half as hard with her along. As if that made up for the fact he was offering a third of my going rate.
An opening appeared; a very young patrolman, a whelp devoid of facial hair, overextended himself, exposing the back of his neck to a wicked elbow strike. His limbs shook violently as he went to the ground. Nerve damage?
The King of Wands Temple had gotten ahold of me as I was running out of leads for work. Maybe they were as fate-blessed as they claimed?
If that were so, they could have afforded to pay me more. I'd tried playing hardball with them and came away convinced Rhody's help was truly all they could offer to sweeten the pot. Why else would they assign such an unprepared girl to such a dangerous errand? My current mark, Karich Urough, was a renowned terror in combat, had consumed Ambrosia, and commanded a sizable warband.
I was surprised when they met with me about the mark. Of course, I'm capable, but my record didn't speak to that. I'd spent the past two years working to correct it, taking on the greatest challenges any employer would dare to give me.
I wound up agreeing to Rhody's company. Worst case, I thought, I'd have someone to carry my luggage. Best to slow her down with that ridiculous pack and keep her out of harm's way. I was starting to second-guess myself, though, after she'd tried to scatter herself and my belongings down a mountainside.
My eyes caught on Applause in her trembling hands, four rounds loaded. "That's enough!" I shouted to her, raising an open palm above the rabble and pounding my mirror-polished black boot into a patrolman's chest. He fell back, tripping over one of his fellows.
Applause careened through the air, off-course. I rushed forward, sidestepping a series of stabbing spearpoints, claiming three steps of contested territory, and snatching my silver six-shooter from the air.
My meandering focus shrunk, shrunk, shrunk to a pin-point. The shaft of the incoming spear drove toward my chest, one inch behind its tip; my gun hand snaked up, barrel pointing to it, and fired, blowing the spearhead off in a shower of splinters. Everything sped around me as I spun into the remains of the patrol, the sharp crack of Applause’s shots punctuating a tempo.
BANG!
BANG!
A beat, a hum, began to rise in my throat. A sound long buried. The music of my memories stirred within me like the forgotten voice of a friend...
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Dust swirled through a sleepy western town.
Rows of clapboard houses and sun-starched ground.
Not one bar brawl, shoot-out, or skull,
So damn monotonous and dull.
From within a squat white-walled home, a door banged open.
Out I stomped—a girl of thirteen years and three days—black hat askew, a wooden BB pistol gripped in my hand. My golden hair curled out wild and untamed as I glared down the empty street.
A wagon wheel creaked. A dog barked in the distance.
I sang, my voice bright but clipped; I was like a fire locked in a cage, words hitting like sparks that popped in the stale air.
“Another day—,
Another yawn,
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and here's this tiresome town at dawn.
The blacksmith bangs,
The cowboys hum,
Makes me wish I was blue and numb.”
I marched forward, my pistol swinging in rhythm with my steps, stomping purposefully on every beat. A tumbleweed rolled lazily into my path, and I sent it flying with a sharp kick.
The street bustled to life. Men tipped their hats. Mothers swept porches. Children chased each other through clouds of dust, singing out snatches of melody that harmonized with my own. A rancher strummed a banjo lazily on the steps of the saloon, adding twang to the town’s sluggish tune.
As I strode into the street, everyone around began to sway and move to the plodding harmony. Their voices blended like a creaking wagon train across a rutted trail.
“Mornin’, Zeph.”
“Howdy, Zeph.”
“Don't your swine need to be fed?”
“Ey there, Zeph.”
“Look 'ere, Zeph.”
“Don’t let those dreams get to your head.”
I spun dramatically, my arms thrown wide, and my frustration bled into a grin. The children nearby mimicked me, twirling clumsily, their laughter cutting through the dusty melody.
“Well isn't this swell?
It’s still the same!
The world goes on—why have a name?
A butcher cuts,
A cobbler kneels,
Like dirt stamped under wagon wheels.”
I raised and twirled my BB pistol, striking a pose before hoisting it into the air.
“Bandits wait beyond that ridge,”
POP! The BB pistol fired.
“I’ll meet them all atop the bridge!
A bounty high,
A legend made,
To claim a mark's—the grandest trade!”
The banjo plucked a cheeky tune as shopkeepers muttered and shook their heads, wiping their brows or folding their arms in choreographed exasperation. A baker, hands streaked with flour, clapped a rhythm as he wiped his apron in time with the beat.
“She’s mad,
A loon,
A girl with no sense.”
“She’d shoot out,
her eye,
If given a chance.”
The town choir swelled, swaying and rolling their eyes in perfect unison. Children mimed exaggerated gun battles, throwing themselves to the ground, felled by imaginary bullets. I continued to the general store, my eyes glued to the silver-plated revolver in the window. Its tag gleamed like a beacon: fifteen dollars.
“Guns and assassins,
What nonsense she’ll spew!
But chores will remind her—
Life’s work is the glue.”
I spun on my heel, brandishing my pistol and marching up to a trio of gossiping women with wicker baskets. The women shifted their stances in a practiced waltz; their noses tilted skyward. I raised my voice to confront them.
“The trick-shooter! She told me how—
Assassin's work! I want it now!
With perfect aim,
With iron will,
I’ll climb my way atop that hill!”
I belted the line and leaped atop a barrel. The banjoist struck a dramatic chord as I sang of my imagined future. My shadow stretched long in the golden light, and I gestured toward the horizon as if drawing my dreams across the sky.
“I see it there—
The world’s dark edge.
Beyond that fence.
Beyond that hedge.
Where shadows pool and steel burns hot,
You'll find me there—taking my SHOT—.”
I pulled the crumpled, hand-drawn wanted poster from my coat and waved it high like a battle flag. The other children danced around my barrel in a mocking circle, laughing and pointing, but I continued,
“Trick-Shot Legend, Assassin Queen!
Her pistol bright with silver sheen.
The page will turn; their jaws will drop.
And Zeph’ll climb—
And Zeph’ll top—.”
I took on a triumphant pose, my hat tipped low as the last note rang out.
The laughter faded, and the townsfolk scattered back to their daily routines, their movements a dull echo of the earlier harmony.
"Girl needs to pull her weight. Have ya seen the state of her ma's ranch?" someone muttered, tipping their hat in time with the lingering music.
“Yer right, she’s dodgin' more than a prairie dog in a barn dance.”
I sighed, hopping down from the barrel. My pistol hung limp in my hand, and my voice softened to a wistful melody.
“They laugh and scoff,
They don't believe—
But I’ve got dreams they can't conceive.
What’s life to me, if life’s this small?
If nothing changes, nothing calls?”
The banjoist shifted into a minor key as boots clattered against wooden planks, drawing all eyes toward the rider storming into town. His horse’s mouth foamed, and his voice broke through the fading tune like a cracked whip.
“It’s come agaaaaain!
All teeth and claw!
It killed the Whitmans—ate 'em raw!”
A gasp rippled through the town choir, their staggered voices rising in alarm.
My head snapped to him, and I stepped forward, my gaze sharp.
“What's that?” I demanded.
The rider wheezed, slumping forward in his saddle. “A terrible beast! Part armadillo, part mountain lion! Down near the gorge!”
The music trembled with tension as the mayor waddled out of his office, pale-faced and shaking. “I'm puttin' a bounty on its head! Fifteen dollars—”
I didn’t hear the rest. My eyes locked on the general store window where the revolver gleamed. The music surged with pounding purpose.
My BB pistol raised, and my voice rang out, clear and defiant.
“A beast’s rough hide—
A silver prize.
It’s finally time, no compromise!
I’ll take my aim,
I’ll take my shot.
I'll slay this beast, and earn my spot!"
The town choir erupted into chaotic protest, their movements clashing as voices overlapped in frantic disarray.
“She’s lost her mind!”
“Someone stop her!”
“Please Mayor, rescind yer' offer!”
But I, undeterred, pushed through the crowd, my grin wide and wild. The banjo picked up a furious tempo, and the music swelled into a final triumphant refrain.
“Let them sneer!
Let them doubt!
I’ll earn myself some gosh darn clout.
This town can scoff,
But I will soar!
It’s time to reach—for something—MORE—”
The last note soared into the dusty sky as I burst from the throng, my black hat tilted, my pistol raised in challenge. The townsfolk stilled, and the music faded into the whisper of the wind.
BANG!
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\My focus returned to the present. Rhody gingerly approached me, stepping across the circle of dismantled patrolmen, all injured or unconscious. My gaze narrowed upon her as she reached for Applause's spent form. There was something familiar in the girl, though she was doing her best to hide it.
I handed over the revolver and turned my attention to one of the injured patrollers, the woman whose jaw I'd battered with a stolen spear. She was slumped against a wall, clutching her mouth and eyeing me wearily.
I squatted down before her, "Hope you can still talk; my associate Rhody here has some questions for you."