[continues from The Second Round.]
The world is flat....sand, dust, and dirt...cacti, mesas, rock formations. It looks like any number of realities, though the Blackbird had previously mentioned this was Arizona. This world's Arizona. The Reverend wastes no time, finding a low grouping of yellowbrown sandstone, and getting out of the wind.
Joe looks up from his moody reverie to scan the horizon, reflecting the starkly beautiful desolation in his cold blue eyes. He nods to himself, satisfied with what he sees. //Closest I've been to home in quite a while,// he thinks. //A damn sight closer than Loche's coffin of a ghost town back there, anyway.//
On Joe's world, this is the westernmost frontier of Greater Texas. He knows it well, for it was here that men like himself were the lonely sentinels of a distant Law stretching its arm over the dusty eastern horizon to tame a savage land. Here, he had been Justice incarnate. Here, the Lawman had been born.
He could give name to many of these craggy mesas and windswept canyons, if asked. Indeed, they had often given their shelter to his quarry, only to bear mute witness as justice was meted out in chains, and in blood.
"Put them down," he instructs, pulling from his long coat a small black book, well worn. On the cover it read, in simple worn gilt letters, 'Holy Bible'. "This might be awhile," he says to Joe, dark eyes quiet, and Willy, obviously used to this, moves away from the stretchers, out into the wind, staring East, away from the sun.
Joe checks himself before telling the Reverend to "take good care of them" as he eases the stretcher down. That would only be insulting to a man like the Reverend Black -- a man to whom offering good care is a way of life. Instead, he simply nods, straightening his fedora and wandering off to join Willy.
The Reverend settles down, head bowed, and murmurs to himself...prayers, in Latin, it seems. His large hat shades his face, but his long grey black hair that is is his own vanity, whips in the winds, tangling and hissing. He sits in theis same position, ignoring the outside world, for a very long time.
Willy calls over to Black, voice neutral, "He's gonna be at least a couple hours, and dog tired after that." The gunslinger pulls out a cigarette, turns his back t the wind, and expertly lights up.
Joe nods as he shakes out and lights a cigarette of his own. "Tell me somethin', Willy," he asks the gunslinger, "is the Reverend a doctor, too, or is this strictly faith healin'?" There's no scorn for the latter in his voice -- it's simply one more question from the mind of a detective, a mind that tirelessly collects facts in the way that lungs draw breath.
Willy says nothing for a moment, considering maybe. He does not seem a man who talks overmuch. "A bit o' both, I guess. Though what he'd be doin' now is pretty much an act of God." Willy takes a long drag on his cigarette, pausing again. "He's got some medical knowledge, though. We got a proper surgeon back home in Martin's Wheel." Another pause. "Guess he'll fix your woman up pretty good."
Joe nods, exhaling a wispy stream of smoke into the evening breeze. "Guess he will." But he looks away from Willy, gazing toward the rocky horizon with a pensive brow.
After that, Willy seems little inclined to conversation. He spends his time gathering flamable materials for a small fire...mostly old, dried up cacti. At some point he dissappears for awhile, and a gun shot can be heard. The gunslinger comes back with two rabbits, and no explanation of how he killed the second. The hours pass slowly, with the Reverend not moving much from his position, nor varying his rate of speech. Finally, the tall man slumps over, and Willy hurries over to him, solicituously helping him sit back. The Reverend calls over tiredly to Joe.
Joe strides quickly back to the camp, casting his smoke into the fire before crouching beside the Reverend.
"She'll live now...they both will. But they'll probably sleep for-" He cuts off as he stares in tired suprise. The Blackbird struggles to pull herself into a sitting position. She's still covered in blood, but the ragged edges of the visible wounds have knitted together, heavily crusted over with scabs, and in some places, new scar tissue. She seems to be fighting some heavy somnabolence.
"Joe?" she calls out, her voice cracking rustily, as her dark eyes peer through the growing dusk. Behind the Reverend, unseen, Willy grimaces, then sits the man back again, making him comfortable.
He's at her side faster than the sound of his voice can fade from her lips, kneeling at her side and clasping her hand in both of his. "I'm here, 'Bird."
She licks her too dry lips, and looks up at him. "When I can keep my eyes open for more than two seconds..." she pauses, and takes a deep breath, "I am going to skin the hide from your body, and make me a new coat, to replace this one."
He smiles at that, a relieved smile that refuses to succumb to his pain and weariness. //Oh, she'll live, this one will,// he thinks warmly as gazes down at her haggard form. //She's too stubborn and ornery to die.//
"I'm sorry, 'Bird," he teases gently. "That was damn selfish of me, tryin' to keep all that fun to myself."
Her lips crack into a smile, and she pushes herself up further to rest her head against his chest. "Did you get him, Joe?" she asks, her voice hopeful and dark at the same time.
He glances away at that, ostensibly to check on Willy's progress... but the smile fades from his face like the evening shadows drawing away from the desert rocks. "Yeah, 'Bird. I got him."
//Or in the end, did _he_ get _me_?//
As they talk, Willy spits the rabbits over the small fire, having skinned them earlier. Again, where he found the wood to do so is a mystery. Soon, the rich aroma of roasting meat fills the cold desert air.
The Blackbird sighs to herself. //I wish you would have let me kill him. It hurts you so much....// But she pushes the thought aside, and squeezes Joe's hand. "God damn, am I hungry," she announces cheerfully, and Willy looks up from the fire.
Joe chuckles quietly, running his free hand gently through her raven hair. "I could use a bite to eat myself," he agrees.
"Yeah, should be food soon." He smiles faintly, and goes back to his work. It seems to take forever, but finally the rabbits are done, and Willy deftly slices them up into manageable pieces, handing them around, apologizing for the lack of plates or utensils. The Reverend eats his piece quietly, eyes still far away, focusing on the hoizon. The Blackbird eats quickly, burning her tongue with a little 'ow'. The meal is finally finished, and the Reverend seems to pull himself to the present.
"I think we should come up with a plan of action, when we go to town. I have been gone...two days? Possibly...it is hard to tell when I am gone, in your Nexus...but I don't know how much damage Fever could have done while I was gone." He lets his brown eyes rest on the Blackbird. "This John Fever is a clever man...and he may be able to sense what you are. Perhaps Joe take a look first? At one of the open tent revivals...unless there is something about him this Fever might sense?" He arches an eyebrow at Joe, and the Blackbird bites her lip.
Joe shoots her a reassuring glance, then clears his throat and wipes his mouth with a hankerchief to buy the time to form a suitable reply.
"I won't lie to you, Reverend," he says earnestly, his ice blue gaze never wavering. "If this John Fever's handy enough with black magic, then yeah, there's something about me he might manage to sniff out -- the same thing that put a demon on my tail. Fact is, Rev, some folks like that can tell an agent of their Enemy when they see one."
The Reverend nods, and folds his hands on his lap. "I thought as much. I think then, I should explain to you something about this world." He glances at the Blackbird, and adds, "Josrfina has discovered the differences herself. She was quite suprised when she did so...." He pulls he weathered Bible out of his coat.
"From what Josefina has told me, many of the realities she's been to have some form of Christianity. However, I was intesnsely suprised when she told me that many of these forms of the religion rose from Judaism...and moreover, they tell their followers there is no God but the one of _their_ Bible." He opens his book, and strokes the delicate pages. "Monotheism means, to me, following one God. It would never occur to anyone but one far, FAR from divinity here, that there are not many such entities. My God is NOT the God you probably know, Mr. Black. And His enemies are not only many, but Gods in their own right, not evil spirits created by Him."
Joe nods respectfully. "I'm no philosopher, Reverend. I just know good and bad when I see'em and do what needs to be done about it. If that's what God wants -- in _whatever_ form He takes -- then I suppose I'm servin' Him, whether he claims me or not. And if not, well... I guess He's not what I'd call "God" in the first place.
He tucks his Bible back in his coat. "However, I still sense something about you, and possibly this Fever will as well. But he knows Willy's face, and mine...and Josefina tends to stand out strongly here to any mages, or users of magic." He smiles weakly. "So I think you are our best choice, with Shawn, when he awakens. It is also good to see this man with outsider's eyes, I think." He slumps back. "But I am afriad I can stay awake no longer....we will talk as we walk in the morning." He settles down on the hard ground, back to the fire.
As Josefina settles herself some small way from the fire, she murmurs softly to Joe. "There's something else you need to know here." She looks unaccountably sad for some reason. "I think this world is dying. Slowly, but still....it has the feel of a dying world. The reson mages can sense me so strongly, is that my entropy powers are increased strongly here. But my luck....I try not to use it so much. Things tend to go haywire when I do, and the outcome is always unpredictable." She looks up at Joe with shaded eyes. "be careful here. I'm not sure how things will affect you...."
He sits beside her, resting his arms on his knees and staring off into the inky distance. "I can't promise you anything there, 'Bird," he says. "You know how it is with me. I do what I have to do. 'Careful' just means doin' it the best I know how."
She sighs, and rests herhead briefly against his thigh. "I know."
He looks over at her, the flickering firelight making his expression unreadable. "You care about this place a lot, don't you, 'Bird? I can hear it in your voice when you talk about it."
She nods, and glances towards the Reverend, smiling briefly. "Clear seeing eyes, my love."
He lies down on his back, never taking his eyes from her. "Tell me more about this place, Josefina. About Willy, and the Reverend. And why it all means so much to you."
She twists her body so that she is lying on her side, and looks back at him. "I suppose....well, I guess it's because this place was...the right place at the right time. A while after I had...after all those people...well, I after I went on my little 'spree', I met Reverend Black. He had gotten to the Nexus by some sort of magical accident. His world's gates here are EXTREMELY limited. He was wandering around in a daze...I think he thought he had gone to some sort of Hell."
She rests the side of her face on her propped up hand, thinking back. "He was much like he is now...so calm, sure of himself, even in his confusion and suprise. He had this aura...I was immediately drawn to him. It was what I needed right then. Someone who knew what they were doing." She shakes her head, cheeks flushing slightly. "Very stupidly, I tried to seduce him. He was very kind, but very firm in turning me down. Instead, it was like he seduced _me_, though nothing so sexual...I found myself wanting very much to help him find his way back home. He has that effect on a lot of people. Maybe it's that he's a man of God. But I think a good portion of it is just...well, himself, and his experiences. He's one of the best men I've had the privelege to meet."
"He's a good man," Joe agrees with a nod. There's no trace doubt in his voice, no hint of patronizing reassurance.
"It was a long search, but eventually, with help, I got him back home. I had nothing better to do, so I stuck around for awhile. I was here for nearly a year, learning this small area of his world, and stopping in to his town every few months or so for some time, helping out with whatever needed doing. Doing some penance, I guess. We got to be pretty good friends, and he told me some things about himself..." she stops, and looks inexplicably sad. "The Reverend has done some things he is very ashamed of. I don't really feel free to tell you, it was told to me in confidence. Maybe some day he'll tell you himself. But those confidences...it started me on the road to healing. If so good a man could make terrible mistakes, maybe I wasn't completely irredeemable."
"I like to think so," he says, favoring her with a fond, wry grin.
"Like I said before, I spent a lot of time here...and I've been back many times in the last years, whenever things seem to get too complicated. Things are...well, simple here. I have never visited the cities, nor do I want to....they sound terrible. But out here in the desert, people in general are pretty decent folks. A little subdued, but that's just the way things work around here. I met Willy on one of my return trips...he had started hanging around the Reverend a few months prior to my visit."
She turns her gaze this time to the man sitting facing the fire, absorbed in his own world. "I don't know all of his story, or why he hooked up with the Rev, but I think maybe he has something dark in his past, too. He doesn't say much. I know he used to be some sort of outlaw, or bandit, and he isn't anymore. He spends a lot of time in brothels. He seems to have no friends, other than the Reverend, he likes to gamble, and he likes to drink, often to excess. I also know he is INTENSELY loyal to Reverend Black, and that endears me to him, if nothing else." She shrugs, seeming to say 'What else matters?'.
"That's a funny thing about men like Willy," Joe observes, resting his head on his hands to gaze up at the canopy of stars. "Seems like when they finally find somethin' to believe in other than their own interests, they latch onto it with more feelin' than you'd think they had in'em. They're like a bottle that's gone from empty straight to full.
"I've thought often about moving here for good. This place suits me, I think, even though I often seem so out of place. I never have, because it would cut me off entirely from my family...but the thought is often there. This desert...it's beautiful. The land is hard on the people here...but it also burns away a lot of the pettiness you see in other places. And the touch of strange makes life interesting." She laughs.
He looks back over at her and smiles wistfully, his blue eyes seeing back through years and worlds. "I saw a lot of that here. On my Earth's version of here, I mean. People pull together real well when the land doesn't give'em any choice. It's like rough livin' tenderizes their hearts... that, or makes'em all the harder..."
She leans against Joe again, smiling. "So there's the story...no great adventures in it, I'm afraid. And I don't know much of the world beyond the circle of towns that was my route...Martin's Wheel is the Reverend's home. There's about ten other small communities scattered about...you can cover them all in a wagon in a few weeks, if you only stop to eat and sleep. Water is precious here...in the cities, I understand it's some sort of currency, or a way to exchange power. Magic here is strong and wild...and very unpredictable."
He pulls her close, kissing her forehead. "Strong, wild, and unpredictable... yeah, I can see you likin' a place like that," he says with a grin and a wink. "Well, come tomorrow, we'll see what we can do about keepin' it around a while longer."
The Black bird chuckles, and slides her hand to the back of Joe's neck, pulling him in for a rather more involved kiss.
He lays his head down once more and closes his eyes, the afterimage of stars playing on his retinas like infinite possibilities.
******
The morning dawns hot and bright, like every day. The Blackbird wakes, stretching, and sees the Rverend stirring, as well as Shawn. She smiles to herself, glad the younger man made it through. Willy sits off some distance from the camp. It is impossible to tell how long he has been up.
The trek to Martin's Wheel takes the first half of the day. The Reverend spends most of that time trying to explain the town to Joe, though he clearly has little to compare it with, besides the cities that the Lawman also has no experience with. What comes across is a fairly settled place with more than its fair share of oddities...though it's to tell if it is normal for this reality. Of John Fever, the Reverend knows little, but suspects more. He refuses to voice his supicions in anything other than a vague way, however.
"I don't want to influence you," he explains.
"No need to worry, Reverend," Joe assures him dryly, blue eyes narrowed in the harsh morning sun as if to glimpse secrets of the coming day. "When I see him, I'll know what needs doin'."
The Reverend ahs at the comment, but a little frown blooms on his face, and his eyes look troubled.
The town comes into sight a little after high noon. The Blackbird bites her lip as they come in closer, and squeezes her eyes shut. The Reverend glances over at her, dark eyes full of compassion. And then the mpment is over, and they are entering the town. It seems to be made up of piecemeal buildings, of tin and wood, and cement, in the middle of the desert, centralized around a small water hole. It seems more like deep Australia than Arizona. Popping up all over the town are windmills, of all types. Tall slender ones, short squat ones. Chickens walk through the streets, as though it was their own private city, fighting their little brood wars, and living their simple feathered lives.
However, few people are evident. Those that are seem distant and distracted. The Reverend frowns darkly at this, and explains, "More and more people are spending their time at those camp revivals Fever holds two miles out of town. I want to stop at Howard's, then we can head to the church. And Willy can show you to the revivals, Mr. Black."
'Howard's' turns out to be some sort of general store, at least from the outside. Tin sheeting and plankboard make up the exterior, and a sign neatly lettered in Hebrew, as well as English. The paint is faded, but not unreadable, and the Reverend pushes back the blue bead curtain in the open doorway.
Inside, it seems less of a store for the purchase of dry goods and materials, and more of a curio shop, packed to the gills. Stone statues and idols vie for space with eclectic, homegrown pistols (plasma, laser, and bullet). Articles of clothing clearly designed for a different, wetter climate hang loosely on a rack, along with flowing robes, and shimmering dresses. Machinery with unknown origins and uses beeps and clicks unpleasantly, and dead animals hang from the ceiling, stuffed and dried. The prototypical alligator, as well as less recognizable creatures.
Insinuating himself from the shadows is a rather short man. Most prominent about him is a simple enormous bladed nose, slicing through the air. Watery blue eyes stare out of a sun darkened face, set off by pale blonde hair. He wears a rather severe suit, which seems much too hot for the climate, despite the numerous fans in this place, fluttering with bits of inscribed cloth and paper. He has the air of a particularily proper funeral director.
"Reverend Black, it is a pleasure." The man's voice is smooth, urbane, and tinged with an upper crust British accent. "And Mr. Cash, Mr. Able...and the lovely lady Ms. Guitierrez. It has been too long..." He sweeps her a formal bow, in fitting with his attire and manner. "But this gentleman I do NOT know," he turns his pale eyes to Joe, arching one eyebrow in question.
"This is Joe Black, a friend of Ms. Guitierrez'," The Rverend introduces him. "Mr. Black, this is Howard Barr, a long time citizen of Martin's Wheel."
"Pleased to meet you," Joe says, offering his hand.
"Indeed, Mr. Black, I have been here...from the beginning." He politely holds out a hand with neatly manicured fingernails, and his shake is slight cold and damp.
"They are both here concering Fever," the Reverend continues, and a startling change comes over Barr. His eyes narrow alarmingly, swallowed in his dark face, and he bares his teeth in a sneer.
"Ah yes, THAT luminary. I take it you are here for a status report, considering your absence." The longer he speaks, the more evident it is Barr talks with a subtle musical lilt. The Reverend nods.
"I didn't think you'd mind. We were detained longer than I expected..."
"Four days, Reverend Black."
"Ah yes, four days."
Barr glances over at Joe and Josefina. "You will pardon me...but I must ascertain our visitors intentions before I go any further...Ms. Guiteirrez is a powerful mage, and I believe her...friend....has some unusual talents as well, am I correct?"
Joe arches an eyebrow. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that," he says noncommittally. "Mostly, I just know my way around a gun."
Barr nods, one winged brown arched subtly. "Of course, of course." His blue eyes focus intently on the other man, and then he smiles. "Of course," he repeats. "Well then, Reverend Black," he turns his attention back to the tall preacher. "I think you have noticed how quiet the town is, yes?"
The Reverend nods. "Most of the town spends a good part of the daylight out at Fever's little encampment. They come back around dusk...leaving most of the work undone. Some of the animals are starting to run wild, and there's some stealing going on, though that seems to be the work of only a few individuals." Barr continues, with his thin lips pursed. "More importantly, some of the younger folks are talking of packing up and moving on with Fever when he moves to the next town. Plus, people have been tapping the water tower, and the resevoir more frequently. I'm certain it's not being used for the animals or other necessities. Assuming everyone stays in town, which I am no longer sure of, we will have to ration carefully until the next rains."
The Reverend listens to all this with a thoughtful expression, and a small frown. "It's what I expected might happen. Thank you, Howard. We are going to head on to the church now, but I will tell you what we learn, of course."
The smaller man bows oilily. "That will, of course, be appreciated."
****
The emptiness of the town becomes more obvious as the group of five walks down the street. A few doors swing lazily open on hinges, no one there to shut them. A radio blares loudly, sitting on a porch, jazz beat brassy, but no one is dancing. The Reverend drops back from the rest of the group, and motions to Shawn to join him, staying out of earshot of the rest.
Brushing a shaggy lock from masked blue eyes, Shawn readily steps forward. Knocking one boot lightly against the other to remove a bit of dirt, a rather sheepish motion, the youth leans an eager ear to what the Reverend says.
"Shawn, I'm worried," he confides to the youth. "Things are getting bad here...but I am also afraid that Joe Black will decide to take matters into his own hands. I invited Josefina here because I wanted to assess the situation," his dark eyes move forward to encompass that pair. "If I had wanted a mercenary or a hire killer, I could have just sent Willy."
Shawn's thinned lips perk a little at the corners, one eyebrow creasing in a tiny arch as the pale, attentive eyes follow the Reverend's without prompting.
He looks back to Shawn. "I know you can't stop him, if he decides to take the shot then and there...but I want you to keep an eye on him when he goes to Fever's camp. Convince him to stay his hand, if he looks intent on killing, if you can. I trust you."
Those eyes flick back to the figure of Black, taking him in. Heaving a sigh that is only thoughtful, Shawn tips the brim of the fedora towards the sun. "You know I'll try, Rev'rend. Cain't promise anythin', but I'll give it m'best shot." The youth's trademark roguish grin suddenly lights the angular features, and Shawn nods to the Reverend in agreement.
"Never hurts to polish one's silver tongue, " Shawn mutters inaudibly, eyeing Black one last time before the fedora is replaced over the youth's eyes.
The Reverend smiles. "Thank you, Shawn."
The clandestine discussion doesn't go unnoticed by the Lawman, but he pays it little mind. He's caught the scent of a hunt in the offing. So long as his companions keep nothing from him vital to that hunt's success, he won't pry.
Instead, he turns his attention to Josefina. "You did real good back there, 'Bird," he tells her. "I want you to know that. I won't lie to you: if I had it to do over again, I'd still probably try to keep you out of it... but I couldn't have done it without you. You were right about that."
She simply nods, head down, the brim of her hat hiding her face. "Your intentions were...good, but I would suggest not underestimating me like that next time." Her voice carries a hint of a smile, and she reaches out to lightly stroke long fingers across Joe's hand.
Glancing about at the town's little eccentricities, he gives her a quirky smile. "And speaking of doing good, I'm not quite sure what the rules are here. Before this little revival, it might be a good idea to see if I'm 'up to speed', so to speak."
The mage looks up, and nods again, this time more firmly. "You're right...I should have thought of that. There is a form of law here, but it tends to be enforced by the community pretty frequently. Community standards vary a lot from town to town, but the basics here are pretty simple: murder's not good unless it is considered justified, rape's a no-no, hurting kids is bad, wasting water is bad. Most cases of assault are sort of allowed to slip by, unless the person is actually being harrassed, or is consdiered incapable of protecting themself. Justifications for murder are self-defense, killing someo one who is considered a harm to the town, or killing a rapist, something like that. It's a real case by case basis...though there is a judge in town, duly elected by the people."
She glances over at Joe. "in other words, watch your step, lover. Folks here don't take kindly to vigilanteism, unless they've had a say in it, if you know what I mean."
Joe chuckles softly in response. "All that's good to know, 'Bird – not that it'll make any difference for what needs doin' -- but I was talkin' a bit more literally about me bein' 'up to speed'."
A slight narrowing of his eyes is all the warning Josefina gets before her face tingles with a quick, faint rush of air.
An instant later, Joe holds up a tiny hair for her inspection. "You had an eyelash on your cheek," he explains with a small grin. "Looks like the rules here work in my favor."
Josefina arches an eyebrow. "For now," she says, but cautions, "Rember, this are...inconsistent...here. It depends on whose influence you come under."
Her speech finished, she glances up to see that they've reached the church, a small wooden and tin affair, much like most of the rest of the town. Double doors lead into the chapel proper, a simple one room building with sturdy wooden pews obviously scavenged from crates and other buildings. The Reverend heads up to the altar, while Willy slips out a door in the back, heading towards a modest building in which the Rev. probably lives.
On the back wall, contrasting to the poorness of the church, a beautiful wooden crucifix, gleaming mahogany covered in a light layer of dust. This world's version of Jesus Christ has strongly African features, and the nails go through his wrists, rather than his palms. Binding his damaged feet are elaborately carved snakes, his close cropped head is bare, no crown of thorns. The Reverend glances up as he enters, then dips his head reverentially, before checking in a small cabinet that rests against the back wall. Satisifed, he approaches Joe.
Joe removes his hat as he steps inside, pausing a few paces down the aisle to gaze silently up at the crucifix.
//Good afternoon, Boss. Interesting face you wear in these parts.//
For despite the Reverend's words to the contrary, Joe knows an image of his Lord when he sees one. And even if Rev. Black is right, and this somehow really _isn't_ "his" God, well... as a symbol for the Great Truth in this world, He'll do.
"Welcome to Martin's Wheel's one Christian church," he says, voice rich with both irony, and gratitude. "This is where we can meet, after you and Shawn see Fever for yourself. I'm sorry I cannot offer richer accomodations, but there is a hotel in town, if you would prefer to stay there." He glances at Josefina, and smiles.
"Hmmmm...?" Joe asks, blinking as he looks down from the crucifix to its caretaker. "Oh... no, this place'll do just fine. If it's good enough for the Good Lord, it's good enough for me, right?" he adds with a wink.
"The 'show' should be going on until after nightfall...do you want to go now, or wait until later?" The late morning sun shines through the dusty windows of the little chapel warmly.
"I'd like to have a look now, if it's all the same to you, Reverend. We'll be less likely to miss important details while it's still light out."
The Reverend nods. "That'll be fine then...Shawn can show you the way." He nods to the younger man. "If we don't see you back here by midnight, we'll come looking for you."
"As you like it, Sir." Tipping the brim of the fedora, Shawn steps forward and nods to Black. "If y'would follow me, Mr. Black."
With a grace somewhat out of place in this town, the youth strikes out across the terrain at an easy but quick pace. All around, the sand stretches, giving way to but a few occasional gasps of scrub or rock while the wind coughs against the sand with all the strength of a malnourished child. The sun with all its oppressively hot glory beckons over the two, escorting them.
Shawn says nothing except, "It's about two miles from here."
*****
The Blackbird stands in the doorway, watching her man leave. The Reverend speaks quietly behind her. "You love him very much, don't you?"
She turns, smiles. "Of course I do, padre. I'd face the fire of Hell for him."
"You always were a loyal soul, child. But I worry....I think he may act rashly."
Josefina spits the words out, instantly hostile. "Just what are you saying?"
The Reverend sighs, having expected this reaction. "Joe is a very good man. You know things aren't so simple here. He seems a man that seeks simple solutions to complex problems. Men of good heart are often like that."
She almost growls at the older man, "He'll be FINE..."
"Josefina, you know I'm not disparaging him. You've lived here...you know how things can be. Howard and his...people. The brujeria. The Children of Mohamed. I am the only witch doctor in this town, and still I struggle with the hearts and minds of the people."
The Bkackbird sighs, turns back the open doorway and the blazing sun, resting her cheek against the dusty door frame. "I know, padre. I apologize. But Joe is not stupid. He won't endanger anybody, and I trust him to be able to assess the situation."
The Reverend turns back to the crucifix on the wall. "Your faith in him speaks worlds, Josefina." //Let's hope it is deserved.//
*****
Two miles across desert hardpan can seem long, especially at late morning. But the small group of tens that has sprang up is visible from a long way off, grouped near a series of rock formations. The scrubby vegetation gets slightly thicker around the tents, indicating some nearby water source. As the two get nearer the tents, the faint sounds of singing can be heard, clear, though ragged. All the tents are a dun color that blends in neatly with the background. A few haphazard and obviously temporary buildings in the nature of shacks are scattered around. And the one person that is visibly present stands outside the largest tent...and enormous black man, wearing only a pair of dusty jeans and some boots. His enormously broad chest gleams with sweat....and as the two approach his fixes them with dark, oblique eyes. He says nothing.
"Mornin'," Joe says, tipping the brim of his fedora. "We're here for the sermon."
The man nods, and holds aside one flap of the tent....
Inside is a sight probably not all that unusual to Joe, but simply shocking to Shawn. To Joe it seems like a fairly energetic tent revival...a man at the front exhorts the crowd in a smooth, resonant voice. He has wild dark hair, and looks like about two days growth of beard. He is slender, and flushed, and his fingers point here and there, as he preaches.
Shawn's head dips, eyes steadying on the floor.
"This MAD man, they called him, but HE KNEW THE TRUTH! Will you see it when it comes, brothers and sisters? Will it SHINE to you like all the HEAVENS, as though GOD HIMSELF touched your eyes?"
Joe's relief upon setting eyes on the man is immediate. Unless his instincts have failed him -- which, granted, has happened too often of late -- this man is unworthy of his attentions. If there's evil hiding behind those fervent eyes, it's not of the pure, venomous variety that is the Lawman's jurisdiction. Is there duplicity there? Hypocrisy? Avarice? Perhaps... But even if Joe _could_ sense such things, no such vices would warrant a quick bullet to the head -- a bullet which Joe had been fully prepared to deliver, crowd or no, had he smelled the sulfurous stench of the Infernal on this man.
And if such a taint IS there but well hidden, it will take further digging to find... and, once found, can perhaps be dealt with in a less public forum.
The crowd is made up of a good mix of race, gender, and socioeconomic status. A large portion of dusty manual laborers, but also those in fine clothes. A fire seems to sweep thrugh them, as they shout back to this man gleefully, ecstatically, even some weeping.
"YES!" "Amen!" "Preach it brother!" "HALLELUJAH!"
To Shawn, ths is the equivalent of seeing one's extremely old grandparents, who up and until now have been the models of decorum, decency, and tact, all of sudden get up and begin screaming at the telelvision during a soccer game, "Kick him in the balls!" In short, out of character, and more than a touch disturbing.
The youth fidgets more than a little, as a colt pestered by a buzzing insect. Unable to look at the crowd around them, Shawn dip a weary head to divert the gaze.
For his part, Joe offers the proceedings an almost imperceptible nod of approval. While such garish displays of faith had never been to his taste in life -- the occasional "HAY-men!" had been the most dramatic response elicited by his father's Baptist sermons -- excess in the worship of the Almighty is no vice, to his way of thinking. Even if this man turns out to be the basest of charlatans, he cannot taint whatever righteous fires he's ignited in the bellies of the faithful.
The light in here is dim, but still, some people in the crowd stand out. An older Asian woman, pretty in a severe sort of way, dressed in flamboyant red silk. A man on the floor, rolling and gibbering, howling, dressed in a rather staid grey suit. A decrepit, raggedy teenager, gender unknown, who seems unaffected by the entire spectacle, evincing only slight amusement at it all. His/her face is scarred and twisted.
//Interesting,// Joe thinks, noting the teen's ambivalence to the proceedings. //Might have to have a word with that one, just to satisfy my curiosity.//
As the man in the front brings the crowd to new heights with his strange rambling talk of holy madmen and divine insanity, both Joe and Shawn notice an odd smell in the air, over the damp smell of sweat and dirt...but is almost impossible to place, though quite enticing. At the same time, a strange lassitude begins to set in....
Shawn's restlessness begins to dwindle, but the youth still gives an occasional twitch as if something nagged unconscious thoughts. A belly of fire which founds the youth's spirit balks, leaving a sense of consciousness somewhere in Shawn's skull.
Joe scowls in frustration as the nature of the scent dances just beyond his mind's grasp. Some part of him knows that missing such a detail isn't like him... and, more alarmingly, that some other part of him is quickly ceasing to care.
From the side, a low voice, thick and a bit raspy, "Care for a cigarette?" The owner of the voice apparently has snuck up close completely unnntoiced, an unusual event in and of itself. The man offering is dressed in all black: leather pants, shirt, vest, boots, duster. Everything he wears seems wound with long strips of black cloth, even his hands, leaving only his pale, dextrous fingers free. Shoulder length dark hair is covered by a hat, a wider brimmed, shorter version of a top hat sporting black feathers out the back. His face is hard to see in the gloom, except for a large, beak-like nose, but he is completely covered in layers of dust, moreso than most here. A cigarette hangs from his mouth.
//Injun?// Joe thinks idly. The thickening fog in his mind renders the question an amusing puzzle, nothing more.
As he holds forth a small tin, containing more, the scent of tobacco wafts by Joe and Shawn...cutting some of the strange lethargy.
Joe latches on to that scent like a drowning man grasping at driftwood. "Don't mind if I do, friend," he says, a bit too quickly. Then, to Shawn: "Have a smoke, son." It's not an offer.
The man offers a light to Joe, his head tipping back, and by the sudden flare of the match, his green eyes are visible, pure and cool. Thin lips quirk an absentminded smile, but those eyes hold enough intensity for his entire face. He looks to be in his mid to late thirties, and his sharp nose compliments the rest of his angled features.
The cut throat fire flares, and Shawn's head inclines, a quick and agile hand accepting the offered smoke. The edge of the youth's mouth quirks for no understandable reason, though the reduction of lethargy allows Shawn to produce a match and a flame.
A deep breath later, the youth retreats once more behind pale blue eyes, becoming the mere observer.
The tobacco has a remarkably clearing effect. Joe can suddenly see past the gloom, and both men suddenly realize fully that the strange lethargy was just that...unnatural. And that odd smell seems diminished, but still there...a sweet, dusty scent, dry, and old. Almost cinnamony, but more exotic, spicier. The man with the cigarettes takes a long sniff of the air, obviously looking for something, then turns to Joe, his green eyes wide and startled. He covers this quickly, and looks at Shawn, eyes travelling up and down the young man's body, though not in any particularily lecherous way.
"Shawn Able, isn't it? Gambler?"
Shawn nods with a quick hat tip. "I am." Blue eyes flicker over the other in turn. "Though I can't say I remember you." The youth means nothing by the remark, it is just a comment.
"No, you wouldn't..." the man flicks quick eyes over the revival. "I know a good many people from these parts."
Those green eyes turn back to Joe, a touch more warily. "But you, I don't think I've seen around here before. You staying with the Reverend Black?"
Joe's ice-blue eyes echo the man's wariness, making a quick sweep of the crowd before meeting his gaze once more. "That sounds like a subject we'd best take up elsewhere, friend," he says neutrally.
Shawn quirks an eyebrow vaguely, but just surveys the crowd. Once again, the sight forces the blue eyes down.
"Mmm." The man looks back to Joe. "If it makes you more comfortable. Though this crowd is hardly in a state to be interested in eavesdropping." He flashes a quick grin, full of teeth and amusement. "I'll meet you about fifty yards east of this encampment. Big cactus by a small formation of three rocks." He slips away as quickly and silently as he came.
The man with the cigarettes is nowhere to be seen outside the tents, though the large black man eyes Shawn and Joe as they leave. The rocks and cactus are where he said they would be, and so is the man, leaning nonchalantly against one of them. His cigarette is gone, and he looks even more dusty and dark in the harsh glare of the sun.
"This what you were looking for?"
"This'll do," Joe agrees with a nod. "Now, as to your question: yeah, I'm a friend of the Reverend's. A friend of a friend, anyway. The name's Joe Black -- no relation."
The man nods absently.
"And as much as I appreciate your help back there," he continues wryly, "I hope you'll understand that being all I care to share until I know a bit about who I'm sharin' _with_."
"Mm." Instead of introducing himself, however, the man takes out another cigarette, lighting it in a smooth gesture that is eeriely familiar to Joe, if not to Shawn.
Joe's brow furrows in mild curiosity, but he lets the moment pass without comment.
Finally, his green eyes meet Joe's blue ones. "I go by McCoy around here. Carl McCoy." He does not hold out a hand to shake. "The Reverend knows me, though I doubt he'd give me a glowing review. He does not...approve...of my work. Men of god seldom do." He takes a long drag, and tamps some ash. "You can make your own judgement. I'm here because events ike these interest me, and I feel I might have to intervene. Depends on what exactly is going down."
"As for who I am, in a more thorough sense, I don't think you'd really understand. Call me a mystic, it's easier."
Joe nods. If the man is what he claims to be, whatever magics should be fairly innocuous and benign. Certainly not the sort of thing to draw the ire of the Lawman.
"Well, as it happens," Joe replies with a small grin, "I'm of a mind to find out what's 'goin' down' here, myself. I don't much care for folks messin' with my head -- there's enough goin' on up there as it is. That bein' the case, I suppose we'd both be better off poolin' our resources... unless you think the Reverend'll object too strongly, that is."
He eyes Carl appraisingly, feeling the cool burn of the badge beneath his trench coat but fighting the urge to put this man to its test. There's no need for that. Not now. And there's Shawn to think of...
McCoy shrugs, his green eyes turning to the middle distance. "Who can say? In any case, I'm guessing I haven't found out much more than yourself, only being here for a few days...I've been mostly watching who goes in and out. Obviously, there's some sort of chemical or drug being used, but I have yet to find a source. It isn't Fever...the preacher. But quite a few well placed people are showing up...Miss Minh from Martin's Wheel," Shawn recognizes the name...the local madame, also a force in town politics. "Hans Rutten, Simms Tabak, and Michelina Delacroix. Mihn and Tabak stay after hours, quite frequently. Don't know who the kid is," he pulls his fingers over his face and screws it up, in a mime of scarring, "...but she's avoiding me, and I don't want to push her."
Joe nods. "No, there's no need for that. Not just now, anyway."
McCoy gives Joe a very oblique glance, at his automatic assumption as a position of both equal and ally.
He scratches a scruffy cheek thoughtfully, mentally promising himself a long overdue shave. "Well, let's head back to the church. I doubt there's much else to accomplish out here tonight. And even if there is, I'm too damn tired to do it.
"Oh... and I think a mutual friend of the Reverend and myself'll be more than willing to vouch for you, mystic or not," he adds with a small chuckle. "She may not always trust my judgment -- Hell, I don't half the time myself, these days -- but she knows be better than to think I'd bring a black magician through the door of God's House."
He regards Carl curiously, starlight glinting in his frosty eyes. "Her name's Josefina -- Josefina Gutierrez. You know her, by any chance?"
While McCoy's earlier reaction had been extreme, it seems he's prepared for this one, and keeps his face studiedly neutral. "Mmm. Yes, a few years back. Very well. She was...and I imagine still is...a woman with an enormous amount of potential." He seems to have little else to say on the subject, flicking his eyes over to Shawn.
Joe nods noncomittally, just managing to keep the scowl from his face.
He's long ago come to terms with the more... carnal aspects of Josefina's past. The implications of McCoy having known her "very well" fan only the faintest embers of jealousy.
But the "potential" such a mystic might see in the Blackbird, a woman whose abilities even now tread just this side of the line drawn by the Lawman... THAT is another matter entirely.
"I have things to do here. If what you were just voicing was an invitation to Martin's Wheel, I would be pleased to take you up on it. But you will excuse me if I do not follow immediately." He tips his hat, revealing long, dusted grey, dark hair that is ratted into almost dreadlocks. "Gentlemen, if you don't mind, I'll take my leave of you."
Joe tips the brim of his fedora in return. "Fair enough. We'll see you when we see you, then." Then, to Shawn: "Let's get back to the church. I don't want Josefina comin' to look for us out at that revival – she might not end up as lucky as we were."
Shortly thereafter, Joe stands with Shawn at the front door of the church, stooping at the threshold to brush the dust from his jeans.
The Reverend sits quietly up near the altar...Josefina is taking a broom to the dusty wooden floors, pushing the dirt around a bit absent-mindedly. Willy is nowhere to be seen.
"You were right to come lookin' for help, Reverend," he says as he steps inside. "What's going on out there may not qualify as outright _evil_, but I'd sure as Hell -- sorry, Rev -- call it underhanded, and unatural. There's something in the air in that tent of Fever's, something that's affecting folks' minds. Whatever it is, it even got ahold of us. _Both_ of us," he adds, giving Josefina a significant look.
The Reverend nods fiercely. "I thought it might be something like that. There must be some action to take..."
The Blackbird, on the other hand, gives Joe a considering look. "Both of you..." she bites her lips. "This might be a little more difficult than you imagined, Reverend." The Reverend scowls.
"I didn't expect it to be easy. But it is my job to protect the people of my town, at least spiritually! And i don't like what this man is doing to their spirits!"
"I don't care for it either, Rev," Joe agrees, easing out of his trenchcoat and hanging it on a peg. "So I plan on staying as long as it takes to put a stop it. But Josefina's right: from what we saw at that tent, we may have a long row to hoe."
"Lucky for us, a man was there to help us out," Joe continues in a transparent attempt at a casual tone. "Said he was a friend of yours, 'Bird... Carl McCoy?"
The Blackbird, who had been looking concernedly at the Reverend, stiffens her back, and draws in an audible breath...it would almost be funny, if it weren't for the welter of emotioms that flow across her face like water. Suprise, shock even...apprehension, and some fear...and sadness. Her ahnds tighten on the broom, and she slowly turns her dark eyes to Joe. "McCoy?" she says the name helplessly.
"Yep, Carl McCoy," he replies, ignoring her discomfort with no small difficulty as he presses ahead. "A mystic, he called himself. The way he snapped us out of whatever hex Fever's people worked up, I can believe it.
"He seemed to think a lot of _you_, 'Bird," he adds offhandedly as he sits and stretches out in a pew. "Said you always had a lot of... potential, he said."
Josefina breaks out of her frozen trance, and walks over to Joe, gripping him lightly on the upper arm. "Let's talk about this outside," she says, leading him out into the harsh sunlight.
***
The Reverend sighs, and leans tiredly against the altar. "Shawn, thank you for your help....perhaps you could give me a cearer description of what happened out there. Joe is a good man, but his report was full of vague assumptions..."
Head dipping, Shawn thinks for a moment. "Ain't much more to say, really, Rev'rand. There was somethin' happening in this tent, and I don't believe it was of the naturally occurring kind. Moment we stepped in, my head got all fuzzy, like I was halfways asleep. That's when McCoy stepped in, offered us a smoke which cleared my head again, and his, I assume." Shawn jerks a glance towards the Lawman. "Then Mr. Black suggested we talk the conversation elsewhere when your name came up, and we talked outside the camp."
The youth gives a shrug and scuffs one boot. "Then it seemed more of a stand off between two cocks when her name came up." A chin jerk towards the Black Bird. "McCoy had only scraps of news, and didn't know much mor'n us. Just names, really." Shawn spits off to one side, clearing the dust from thinned lips. "It just keeps gettin' odder, Rev'rand, as far as I can see. Odder, and odder.."
***
The Mexican Blackbird pushes her hair out of her face...it hangs limply back, dulled by sweat. "It's a long story," she begins, to forstall any questions, and leans against the wall of the little chapel. "One, McCoy is a mage...of sorts. I would have to go into a long explanation of the nature of magic here, but let's just say he does things a bit differently than me, or someone like the Reverend. Most magic here is 'wild' magic...you can either use it or you can't, and if you can, it's almost instinctinctive how you do it. Like me. I don't know HOW I'm calling spirits, I just do. McCoy learned how...and gained most of his power through ritual." She still doesn't look at her lover, dark eyes cast downward. "I'm not sure if you can really appreciate the distinction but there's a big one."
Joe nods. "I think I get the picture."
"Two," she takes a long slow breath, and lets it out. "We were lovers. Years ago. He left me...searching for his version of the Holy Grail, called the Nephilim. This was a man I thought I might marry, if I had been interested in marriage back then. He is frighteningly intense....but his Nephilim were, in the end, more important than me." She finally looks back up to Joe, and there is sorrow there, as well as a deep anger. But she reaches out, grasps one of his callused hands in her own.
The news only reaffirms Joe's suspicions, yet her words – spoken plainly, stripped of McCoy's vague hints -- carry far more power than he'd thought possible. Here was part of the Blackbird's past given a face. Not the face of a "client" -- he'd reconciled himself to that ugly piece of her history well enough -- but that of a lover.
Rather than probing this unexpectedly sore wound, he latches onto the more sterile information.
"Nephilim?" he asks, clearing his throat. "The offspring of a human woman and an..."
He lets the thought trail off, alarmed to find himself fleeing headlong from one tender subject straight into another.
Josefina nods, a bit tiredly, obviously missing Joe's wandering thoughts. "Yes, that's one explanation for them...there are several in this world. They are little more than myth here...but Carl thinks they're real. Why not?" She shrugs her shoulders, and the resentment she still feels after all these years darkens her face. "There are more things on Heaven and Earth..."
"I'm sorry Joe, that I reacted so strongly in there. But it was like I never had any closure on this relationship. I've never been truly in love with another man, except for you. And..." she breathes deeply again, "...we are bonded together, McCoy and I, through some mystical means. We did a few blood rituals back then..." She shakes her head. "I'm not sure the extent of these bonds, what exactly we did. It seemed like a good idea at the time, when I thought we would be spending our lives together."
He squeezes her hand, warm compassion behind the frost of his eyes. This is no time to entertain his personal demons. Not while her own are clearly on the march.
"That's love for you, 'Bird," he says softly. "If you're makin' sense, you probably aren't doin' it right.
"But I wouldn't worry about that bond too much just yet," he continues. "Whatever else he is, McCoy's not a... _bad_ man. Driven, maybe, the way you tell it... but then, I don't suppose I'm one to talk about that, now am I?" he finishes with a small grin.
She smiles back, carefully. "No, he's not a bad man. But then, I don't know if there's anyone that really fits that description here. This world is short of villians, long on the lesser human flaws...greed, selfishness..." She trails off. "Anyways, I thought you should know." She shakes her head, eyes downcast. "I didn't mean for you to be suprised by him, like that...otherwise I would have said something earlier. Carl likes to have an edge on people...anyways." She trails off again.
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