A Rope of Thorns (Hexslinger 2)

“They keep this up, they’re only gonna get themselves butchered,” Morrow said.

Geyer, preternaturally calm even in his fear, agreed wholeheartedly. “Yes. And I’d very much like to forestall that same eventuality in our own cases, Ed.”

Back on the ridge, Yiska hauled her mount to a stop and twisted to catch Yancey’s eyes again. That same tug wrenched at her mind, leapfrogging language: We do what we can, dead-speaker, so you may do what you must. If the red boy is willing, tell him—

But here Chess’s own presence irrupted into the connection like steam-heat, hot enough it made Yancey want to gag.

Just tell me yourself, you snatch-lickin’ squaw. Thick with blood-glut euphoria yet oddly calm, hazed by intoxication yet strong, so strong. Merely hearing it so close, with no particular effort invested, shot viselike pains through Yancey’s mind; she could feel them echo straight through, into Yiska’s. Give me orders? You came here to help, then help.

>

As you say. But will you listen?

I’m listening now, ain’t I?

Challenge the salt-man once more; ask him to name a final ground. When he does, bring him there. We will follow, and quickly, for we know it already—the only place he may be beaten.

Yiska turned away, breaking the connection; Chess nodded, and let Yancey go as well, focusing his whole attention on the Sheriff. “Love, you too-dead shitkicker, you’re wasting both our time!” With a single stomp of his boot, the earth seemed to ripple, half-seen waves shocking the Weed-army rigid. “Care to settle this right now?”

Love turned to look, Yiska and her braves immediately forgotten. “If you’re so inclined.”

“Then you name your place, and we’ll finish it—together.” Chess spread his empty hands, green light-haloed. “Just you, just me.”

Your word’s no good with him, surely, Yancey thought; he’ll throw the offer right back in your face. But apparently, this was a day for surprises.

“Bewelcome,” Love named, without a second’s hesitation. “The very centre of your iniquity, Pargeter. As you’d already know, were you but honest.”

The response came so quick that Yancey knew, with utter certainty, how Love had all along sought to herd Chess back to the scene of his crime, so’s the Sheriff could take proper vengeance. Had all her suffering been nothing but a gambit? Her life, and theirs, no more than pieces sacrificed in some unspeakable game?

But Grandma knew as well, she reminded herself. So . . . might be you’ve already done yourself a disservice right there, you bastard.

Chess laughed, low in his throat. “Well, dead man, if you’re itchin’ to get your ass beat there twice, then come on.” He glanced back over his shoulder, half-saluting the poor, hex-belaboured drink-groggery behind him. “Thanks for the booze, Joe. Don’t expect I’ll be back this way again.”

A dim holler, from inside: “Suits me!”

Chess laughed again, then raised one hand, twirling it elaborate. Immediately, the wind kicked up heaven-high, dust and stones flying fast. Yancey hunched instinctively into the shelter of Morrow’s body, both unable to tear their eyes from Chess, or from the twister taking shape above his head.

Morrow had to bellow to make his voice audible. “So—what’s the plan? We gotta . . .”

Chess shook his head. “Not ‘we,’ Ed.”

“Chess—”

“I said NO!” The yell left Chess red-faced enough he switched to thought-talk halfway, with a pissed-off shake of his head. Wanted me to care—well, this is that, God damn you. I’ve cost you enough already, and I don’t aim to run my tab up further. So now I kill him or he kills me; either way, he’s done, and you’re safe.

Tears poured down Morrow’s face, torn from him by the wind, along with a bafflement so deep, Yancey’s heart twisted at the sight. “Chess, you stupid son of a—”

What’d I always say, Ed? Truth’s no insult. I know what she was. And I think— Chess glanced at Love, then back. —I know what I am, now. Or what I can fix to be.

He lifted his hand, palm out, an unmistakeable command. Stay, the both of you. Ride’s been fun, but it’s over.

Chess closed his eyes, cyclone’s roar intensifying, staggeringly loud; the air itself began to warp, writhe, and tear apart above his head. At the same time, Love approached, false clothes untouched. They locked stares, equally unimpressed: green kill-flash against level cataract-pale, two halves of one incomprehensible sum, inexplicably balanced. The moment hung, then broke as Chess hauled down hard, as if pulling a rope.

Blackness ripped open at the base of the twister’s cone, a lightless void. Chess stepped toward it, Love at his side. Together, they lifted their feet over the threshold . . .

. . . as Yancey lunged forward, one arm hooked ’round Morrow’s waist, for once. But found him already on the move, as though he’d read her intent, without knowing it.

They both grabbed hold of Chess’s purple sleeves at once, holding tight. And the twister’s fury skirled sky-bound, a vast hand made of air and anger which caught all four of them up in its palm, shaking them invisible.