Morale’s everything out here on these roads. If the caravan’s too merry or there’s too much laughter, the devil’s around the corner, just waiting to enter. But if they’re all slumped over, eyes on the ground, hearts already buried, it’s time to pack up and head back to town. Then, you have what we had tonight. A balance of sorts. Hostility hung thick in the air, yet they still gathered around the fire, shared a meal, and passed around the drink. My Pa would’ve called it a fix for aching bones.

Fear’s just a sign you ain't drunk enough.

Joy’s mother brought me my bowl of food. I had set up a ways off by the canyon’s edge, where I could keep an eye on the wagons and the dark slit of the canyon. Like some lone soldier, I was meant to watch and, most of all, listen.

I heard the sounds of laughter and the clink of mugs. But it was all a show. They knew if they acted like they were already beaten, there'd be no fight left to pick.

Meanwhile, Oil Beard and his crew probably thought they had the upper hand. With their young guns and old dogs leading the charge, it wouldn’t be much of a dogfight.

But both sides were wrong.

Our caravan ain’t as weak as they think. And those boys in the canyon aren’t as tough as they imagine. Still, I fiddled with my spoon, staring into the food bowl I hadn’t touched. I wasn’t sure where I stood on trusting anyone these days. The sight of rough men with tough intentions still made me feel like I was on shaky ground.

I had built a weak little flame at my feet, it flickering and dying on dried leaves. It wouldn’t last long. Soon enough, my real shift would begin. My eyes would drift, the spirit would fill me up, and every noise in the canyon would sharpen into something more than just a sound. I grabbed a stick from the fire and started drawing on the ground.

Then, from the edge of my haze, a voice broke through.

“Mind if I join you?”

I turned to find her, those cool blue eyes locking onto mine. I grinned.

“I do mind if it’s gonna bring trouble.”

She blushed, lifting her long skirt as she sat down the way a working woman might.

“The drinks flow like a river tonight,” she said, her voice uneasy. “Guess that’s what happens when people are terrified.”

Her eyes hid something, though, some fear tucked behind the mask of false bravado. I noticed it but didn’t press.

“You didn’t drink any yourself?” I asked.

She shook her head, clutching the cross around her neck. Funny how people still cling to their faith when devils and demons run rampant on the ground.

“That’s good,” I said. “It ain't good for you. No matter what they say.”

“I’m sure you’d be drinking too if you weren’t on watch.”

That got a laugh from both of us, just a bit of light breaking through the tension. The night sky looked clearer then, the stars shining a little brighter. The wind didn’t feel so cold, and for a moment, it seemed like maybe everything would be alright. Maybe. Sharing it with Joy, though, felt like something real in a world that wasn't trying to kill me.

"So, how bad is he?" she asked, gesturing toward the canyon. "That big bearded man. You've run into other bands before, and it was never like this. They usually stepped aside, or you all made quick work of them."

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I nodded, picking up the stick again.

"Well, it’s like this."

I started drawing a pyramid in the dirt, each layer symbolizing a different kind of man.

At the bottom, I drew a circle and crossed it with a line.

"Here we’ve got the men who think they can take on the wilds but don’t have the experience or the spirit. Bottom of the barrel. These folks don’t last long. They burn out quick, like a moth to a flame."

I drew a second layer above that.

"Now, here you got folks like me. Some experience under their belt, a good use of spirit, but nothing that'll get you running for the sheriff. A handyman with both a rifle and mind."

She raised an eyebrow, smiling.

"I’d think you’re higher up than this."

I laughed, catching her smile.

"I will take that little lady as a compliment. But no, I know where I rank, and don't get me wrong—I ain't a beginner in this tier, and I don't plan on dying here."

I drew a third layer with two circles—one with a beard and the other with a star.

"That's the boss and old oil beard. We will call these folks named individuals. Once you enter here, you usually run a crew or two, maybe even have some hands on a devil gate. These folks are the kind that you call the sheriff on, and the sheriff, if he's got brains, will play his hand gently and call the government at first chance."

“Named individuals,” she said softly, “the scary ones.”

I nodded.

"Scary, yes. But they’re not the end. There’s more."

I drew a crown, a cross, and a pentagram at the top.

"Here’s where the real power lies. The crown, the cross, and the devil himself. The folks who can level villages, open gates to hell, or turn rivers into blood—or wine, depending on their mood."

She leaned in, her eyes studying the pyramid. They didn't look confused, but rather, they looked hungrily. Like there was something on her mind that ate away and wanted to come out and join our conversation. So, I asked her.

"What's that look that's got you crumpling those brows? Did I miss something?"

She paused, then took the stick from me, her gaze steady.

"I think there’s two more," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Mind if I add?"

I grinned, handing her the stick.

"Go ahead, teach."

She paused, then added a line below the bottom tier, drawing another circle.

"This is where the common folk are, like my family and me. We're on the chart, but we’re also off it. We don’t struggle for power. We don’t climb. But without that struggle, we don’t have the foundation to make a stand."

I nodded, letting her continue.

"And up here," she said, her eyes bright with certainty, "there’s something else. A power greater than all the others. A being who can rule everything."

I chuckled, shaking my head.

"Are you talking about God? You think a mortal can reach that level?"

She met my gaze, unflinching.

"Jesus did."

"Jesus also got hung up like a bandit and speared through the heart."

I caught myself there, muttering a curse under my breath.

"Sorry, didn’t mean to get cross with you. Religion just gets me hot."

She met my eyes, not angry, just calm.

"I don’t blame you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in what I’m saying. We live in a world that’s already been corrupted. Demons walk the earth, pacts are made with the devil. Who’s to say those same men can’t make pacts with God?"

"To that little lady, I would ask why the Chapel hasn't been blessed with these holy powers? "

That's outta stump her, I thought as I gave her a smug look and reached inside my jacket pocket for my cig. Like a cat, the damn girl grabbed it outta my hand, lit it on the dying embers of our little flame, and said.

"They ain't worthy. No one's been worthy. Not yet, at least."

Taking a drag, she looked a lot less innocent under the dark sky, with a cig in her hand and most of herself shrouded in the dark. She passed it over slowly. I eyed her, like a dog eying food from a new master's hand, took it, and breathed easy.

For a moment, I just watched her. The flame had died, and with it, our conversation. She stood, gathered her skirt, and gave me a smile that was hard to catch in the dark before she headed back to the wagons.

I watched her go, a thought creeping in.

Shit, I just might be in love.

And then, as if on cue, I heard the shadows whisper behind me.