#cowboytale

Unconsciously, your hands gripped into the folds of your dress. You hoped the group would continue to the road leading into town or turn toward the desert wilds. But when the head rider turned the steeds towards your haven with a flourish of a blackened glove, your soul dropped.

You couldn’t hear the shouted words clearly over the wind, but you didn’t need to. You were alone. There would be no help should you need it this far from town.

By the stars, please don’t let it be the Moore brothers.

You shifted further into the garden and closer to the house. Though small and useless against anything larger than a dog, your picket fence gave a certain sense of safety. It was a barrier between you and those to come and could at least buy you some time if needed. And though it did little to quell your growing anxiety, it felt like something.

Rooted in place you waited, eyes straining to focus. The pounding of galloping horses continued closer, eventually allowing their raised voices to carry over with their advance.

It wasn’t long before your soul completely dropped.

Through the dust, four skeleton Monsters made their way to your gate, clumps of dirt and grass kicking up from their speed. Outfitted in high-quality leathers, they all sported their fair share of firearms, two openly brandishing revolvers.

They were, in fact, not the Moore brothers, their lack of physical skin was more than enough proof of that. Even so, you didn’t have to look too closely to know they were just as dangerous, if not more so. Then, on top of it all, the fourth and largest skeleton of the group lay over the third’s back, long arms limp as a large hole in his skull bled magic and dust down the front of his partner. The bandana around the rider’s face was caked in the powdery substance.

Your stomach rolled, legs going weak at the sight. You couldn’t look away, even as unrecognizable shouting filtered through the pulsing water in your mind and their words grew more intense. Time stretched as if it could go on for an eternity as you stared at the powdery remains.

It took the firing of a single jarring shot to finally snap you out of your trance and get you back to the, if hazy and buzzing, present.

“Are you with me now! How many of you reside—”

You gasped for breath, lurching forward to run toward the gate. You didn’t so much as let the black-as-pitch skeleton at the front finish.

“Put those stars forsaken guns down and get him inside!” Your voice was already breaking. “There might not be much time!”

Throwing open the gate, you ran to help get the strangers off their horses, paying little mind to the revolvers pointing your way. A skeleton with black oozing sockets and an erratically pulsing red target above his chest managed to dismount at your approach, barring your path with the cocked barrel of his gun. His leader, using his horse to do much the same, snarled above, its deep timber rumbling through your chest.

“I won’t ask again, woman! How many!”

All but slapping the closest barrel out of your face, you pushed past the skeleton on the ground to glare up into a single cyan eyelight.

You needed to keep moving. Had to keep going before it was too late.

“We are wasting time! I live alone! It is more important to get that man aid and threatening me isn’t helping! So, you can shoot me, or help me. Either way, something needs to be done, and soon!”

A glove gripped your shoulder. “Boss I can—”

Another frustrated growl gave the hand pause, though its biting grip stayed the same. You felt it in your core as precious seconds ticked by with the Boss’s tense deliberation. Their boss's horse mirrored their owner’s energy, flicking its head while restlessly stepping about. Then with a jerk of his head, the man motioned for the others.

“Killer, go check the Barn. Dust, hold tight until I can assess the house and we get Axe inside. Keep an eye out for any followers.”

A grunt and a yes sir were all that it took for the hand to disappear and the skeleton in front of you to dismount. Breaking your glare, you called after the now retreating outlaw behind you.

“Bring water back from the well while you’re at it. We are going to need it.”

There wasn’t time to dwell on whether he would or not, or the rather scathing scowl the blackened skeleton sent your way. Experience and instinct overrode self-preservation.

Turning on your heel, you lead the way toward the door. Cursing and heavy footsteps let you know they were following. At least, you had assumed. So, when a rather agile tar-like tendril tightly wrapped around your upper arm and almost pulled you off your feet, to say you were surprised would have been an understatement.

Dread and hopelessness poured into your soul like a waterfall filling a glass. The heavy suffocating energy sapping any warmth you had and turned your skin clammy and cold. Your knees threatened to buckle beneath the building pressure, eyes widening. Not even your old training helped through the sheer flaunting of power surrounding and consuming you. All you could do was stare at the Monster responsible.

Blazing cyan light glowered back, three more tendrils waving impatiently behind their snarling owner’s back. His words were little more than a hiss through the rumbling of his throat.

“I don’t much care to be ignored or blatantly disrespected. Much less so when one of my own is Falling on the Line. So listen and listen well. Should there be anything untoward inside this house or if my right hand should run into any trouble, I will make sure there is nothing left of you or this place after we leave. Am I understood?” When your voice refused to work, he pulled you closer to his face. “Do, you, understand!”

You gasped through the sludge that was your failing words. “Y-yes sir…”

“Good.” He took a step back and released you, the overwhelming negativity slipping away with it. “Then by all means.”

With a very pointed gesture, he motioned toward the house. You wanted to collapse, just managing to stay upright using all the tricks from your previous employ. Then, hesitating, you glanced over at the injured rider.

“Your friend—”

“NOW!”

You didn’t want to admit to yourself that you had flinched, quickly ducking your head to shoot past him. You tried to be light on your feet, not daring to look back. The awful twist in your guts didn’t help. And even though the feeling of grinding teeth was uncomfortable, you used it to ground you enough to focus on the task at hand.

One moment at a time.

Passing the garden, your heels clicked on the few steps up your covered porch, a chipped piece of the whitewashed paint falling from the railing in your haste. Sweat beaded on your neck. The door had been getting more finicky lately, years of wear warping the wood just enough that it tended to stick. Combine that with a tight semi broken knob, you tried but failed to get it open on the first push. Your hands shook, grip failing to turn the smooth metal far enough to unlatch and it certainly wasn’t going unnoticed.

A snarl was your only warning before the familiar black tentacle and a leather-bound glove lunged past you, snapping the hinges off the door from the force with which they pushed it open. Then, for the second time that day, you found yourself being grabbed.

Your cry did little to stop the larger man from dragging you through the splintered opening, an added sensation of cold steel digging painfully into your side.

Hot breath brushed your ear. “I’m running out of patience, little hare. Should there be any more inconveniences, I fear there is no other reason other than my self-control, for which you remain alive.”

You were fearful yes, but something inside of you stirred at his words, fear giving way to your indignation. Heat boiled within your chest, the lingering cold of his energy and tentacle fading with it. It was getting harder to tell if your lingering tremors were from the fear or your newfound anger as you took a breath.

Clenching your fists, you tried to focus on the bite of your nails to keep your tone even and calm. “Shoot me all you like if it makes you feel better. I will not apologize for an old sticky door. This is nonsense. I've already told you I live alone, and I don’t have any reason to lie. You are wasting time your companion doesn't have.”

Hard metal pressed deeper into your side. “So you say. But people lie. Inherently so. And I won’t be taken for a fool. Is it not suspiciously strange for one such as yourself to be alone this far out? This land seems remarkably established if so, does it not?”

“I am perfectly capable and allowed to own this land. Despite anyone who might say otherwise. And yes, it was established beyond my own means. Not that any of that is your business.”

 “For your sake, I beg to differ.”

You refused to cry in front of this man. From anger or fear. You refused to show him, or anyone else your weakness, no matter how long of a pause it took to temper down your pain and control the quake you knew would be in your voice.

Pulling every ounce of righteous anger you stored in your soul, you allowed yourself to snap. “I was married! He’s dead. My husband is dead, you ignorant jackass. That is why I live alone. That is why things are the way they are. And that is why you, are, wasting, your, time. But since I know you don’t believe me,” you pointed across the modest living room to an open door next to an entryway and a set of stairs, “That door leads into my sleeping quarters, the entryway goes into the kitchen and dining area, and there are four rooms up those stairs!”

It wasn’t hard to feel the ill intent rising just from his grip, his breath hot through a growl. “There is an awful lot of space for a single woman whose husband is dead.”

He was insane. You hadn’t been this close to tears since the incident at the Ebbot courthouse. It made you want to strangle the man. If he didn’t have a gun to your side, you most likely would have at least slapped him. Instead, you had to bite your tongue, physically and metaphorically. 

It was all beyond exasperating.

“I’m older than I look and we wanted a family. If it wasn’t for…” Subconsciously, your head turned to the side as your eyes briefly clamped closed, a calming breath following. “If you wish to check, then I suggest you hurry. For all your caution, it will all be for naught if that man dusts.”

It was by pure divine intervention that the void socketed skeleton stepped through the broken door at that very moment, stealing whatever words the man holding you at gun point may or may not have wanted to say. Black ooze seeped down the bony arches of his cheeks as he rolled the cuffs of his white shirt further up his arms. The eerie red of a target-shaped soul hovered dangerously above his vest.

“Barn and surrounding area are clear, boss.” He set what you assumed was your bucket down on the wood floor. “Should I bring the others in, or…”

You were not expecting the forceful shove or the abnormally monstrous snarl. You would have fallen flat on your face had it not been for, “Killer’s”, sturdy arms catching you.

“Watch them.”

Without another word, the tentacled beast stormed over and up the stairs, gun ready and cautious. You bit your lip, Killer’s twitchy bouncing soul far too close for comfort. 

The day was proving to be more than you had bargained for. 

Carefully pushing away, you righted yourself, taking a moment to smooth the wrinkles in your dress to hide your growing unease and stress. Killer let you, the grin on his face straining at the edges as he stared. You could hear the loud footsteps of his “boss” through the boards of the ceiling.

Raising your head, you did your best to seem as unbothered and professional as possible. “It would be wise to warm the water you brought on the stove. It will be most useful after a good boil. I have some in the reserves already, but I doubt it will be enough alone. I can help you–”

“We’re not movin, till we’re told.”

Killer’s fingers twitched near his side, but you pressed on, ignoring the way your own soul writhed in annoyed anger.

“It is just in the kitchen. Your companion—”

“Boss.”

“—Whoever he is, had to pass it before continuing up. Besides,” You gave him a stern look. “He said to watch me, not stay in place. The risk of your friend dusting is getting worse the longer everyone uselessly dawdles and does nothing.”

Red light flashed uncomfortably in your eyes as the floating mass above his chest spasmed and jerked. As the seconds ticked by, more black spilled from his empty sockets. Everything else remained unnaturally still.

You hated it.

Going against all rationality, you took matters into your own hands once again. Glancing past him, you scooped up the damp bucket and headed into the kitchen, grumbling over your shoulder as you went.

“A fine lot of help all you are...”

He didn’t step in your way or stop you as you clomped through the entryway to your modest little kitchen. You did note, however, that the sound of footsteps followed you and his shadow stayed within the framework you had passed through. While you busied yourself with pouring the water into a larger pot and stoking the wood beneath the burners, he remained quiet but painfully present.

You continued. Years of notes and learning were pondered as you went, using what little you saw of the injured man to make the best inferences as you could. Trudging quickly from cabinet to cabinet, you moved on to then find everything that would best aid the injured skeleton waiting outside.

Healing herbs were placed into a bowl next to a pestle, extra cloth gathered from a drawer for cleaning. The horde of tonics locked in a chest on the counter were carefully looked through, and finally, your half-forgotten magic powder was retrieved from the back of the old storage supplies.

You held it close to your chest to keep your hands steady, inspecting it for any outside contaminants. The tin was older, the once blue painted exterior faded with some scuffs and a small dent marring the lid, but otherwise still in good shape. You let your thumb gently run over the raised metal of the brand, steadying your beating heart as you went…

Shuffling and the murmur of low voices caught you off guard. Turning, dark bones and curling tentacles leaned close to Killer, an exchanging of words passing quietly between them before they parted to lock eyes with you. It was clear by his stance, that the boss was far more composed than when he initially left you to Killer.

“Seems you were indeed telling the truth. I trust you know what you’re doing then?”

For the hundredth time today, you stifled your annoyance, trying in vain not to let it show. “I wouldn’t have been so insistent otherwise.”

He simply hummed, subtly tilting his head. You couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine at the unnatural way his single eyelight shone, but you refused to look away. Then, without a word, he turned and headed for the door.

Killer stepped forward.

“Boss is bringing the big guy inside. You really think you can help him?”

You nodded, slowly moving to gather your haul and follow his boss towards the main door. “I used to be a nurse. If he’s not too far gone, I’ll do my best to fix what I can.”

Grunting, he folded his arms almost protectively over his chest as you passed. “Good.”

* * *

You had them bring the injured giant, Axe, into your bedroom instead of sending them precariously up the narrow flight of stairs. He was too large to manage safely, his broad shoulders taking up much of your double-sized bed. And while the group as a whole were impressive in stature, you doubted any good would have come from trying. It also made all the difference to be able to assess him quickly without any added effort, accidents, and wasted time.

The flower embroidered quilt you had sewn yourself was left beneath him on the dark wood framed bed. No one had thought to remove it before carefully placing Axe on top, and you were too worried to think much of it. Even the dust trailing over your knot rag rug went without comment. Instead, you took your time drenching a clean cloth in one of the bowls with the prepared hot water, avoiding wetting the medicinal herbs sitting on the humble little dresser at the head of the bed. Your desk would have been a more suitable place for them, but it was in the opposite corner and currently housed your prized sewing machine along with all your unused fabric.

It didn’t take long to wipe and clean away most of the clumping, dusting magic for better access around the wound. Once complete, you really roll up your sleeves, moving closer to the head of the bed and braced for the more difficult work that was ahead. Green magic pooled at the tips of your fingers. Picking up the healing herbs, you infused them with the intent to heal and placed them into the second bowl of the hot water you had brought with you. It briefly swirled and lit up the water as it entered before you quickly soaked and rang out the excess water of your cleaning cloth.

Pushing your tendrils of green magic against the spilling agitated red of Axe’s, the heat and added components helped disinfect and sanitize the ragged dusting bone with easing your magic into the wound itself. Once it was established, you were able to toss the rag aside to push more of the raw green glow down into his damaged mana lines. All of this made it possible to start stopping the leakage and ultimately, his dusting.

Deep breaths and concentration on these first few steps were vital.

You had been grateful that his skull had not been entirely caved in on his left side as you had first thought. Yes, there was a sizable hole in his skull, enough so that you could easily put a fist through it, but with the oozing magic and dust out of the way, it left the majority of bone around it intact. Nevertheless, it only gave you so much extra hope and it didn’t take him out of the metaphorical fire. Any head trauma was bad trauma. Even with magic. Especially for Skeleton Monsters.

Gently but firmly, you pressed and worked your hands around the wound, falling back into forgotten routines of pushing green magic through the most obvious mana lines with a hiss.

…

Something was off.

Everything was in no small amount, a mess. Instead of his magic compressing deeper into the skull or scrambling like what you would see with a normal head wound, his magic pushed outward with several severed connections attempting to trail out of the bone. It made it seem as if the head wound came after whatever caused the magic to “pop”. It brought up a lot of questions, experience telling you to look deeper.

Whatever had happened, it wasn’t contained to the edges of his cranium.

Though muted from your concentration, your voice carried through the room. “Is there anything I should know about concerning what happened? Anything at all about how the wound came to be? The more I know, the better I can help what has been injured and hopefully prevent any dusting caused by complications.”

Nightmare, the one you now knew was their “boss”, watched from the corner near your dresser, frowning but saying nothing. Killer shuffled from foot to foot near the end of the bed, growling and elbowing Dust, the last of the four skeletons, in the side.

Dust grunted but was otherwise withdrawn and mostly quiet. His eyelights, one red with the other a red ring around blue, brightened beneath the brim of his dusty hat.

“Fell…”

You weren’t convinced in the least. Eyes furrowing, you moved one hand to the back of your charge’s cracked skull while simultaneously pressing the other on his forehead closest to the hole. “Falling certainly wouldn’t have helped, but I can already tell that was not the main cause of this injury. His magic is spiraling and pooling in a way that makes it seem like it burst out, not caved in…”

With your back facing them, you couldn’t see the hesitation that went through the group, but you could almost “feel” the tension going between them from the subtle shifting. You were about to ask again for more clarification, but Dust’s same quiet, husky voice was the one to finally speak up.

“There was a… scuffle. The fish Bi–” Something slapped against bone, making him pause with another grunt before continuing. “He was engaged with someone when there were shots. Didn’t think anything of it at the time, but after we were able to… lose them, he collapsed.”

Things were starting to make a little more sense. “Alright. And when you said he ‘fell’, were you standing, or…”

There was a sigh, the other two skeletons leaning to hear as well. “We fell out of the train.”

Your head whipped around to face him, eyes wide. The green magic pouring from your hands stuttered. Nightmare blanched, his words mirroring yours.

“What?!” “What?!”

He refused to look at anyone, choosing instead to turn his head with a dip of his hat and tuck his crossed arms closer to his body. “We were trying to get to the horses. He collapsed before we could mount. Thought he… hit his skull…”

You don’t know why you were surprised. Being shot and falling off a train certainly fit with what you were seeing and how the bunch had been acting.

“Alright… Alright.”

Shaking your head with a long exasperated deep breath, you forced yourself back around. An onslaught of scolding beratement and quiet mumbling quickly ensued, but you ignored it to return your focus to the task. You needed to push and maneuver your magic through the chaos to find the actual pathway of damage. Closing and rewiring the mana lines near the surface of the hole would do absolutely nothing if you missed any or all the, “internal bleeding”, within his skull. If it didn’t outright kill him, it would certainly cause major mental and physical health problems afterward. While more durable to having their magic and forms be manipulated by natural forces, Monsters were glass cannons when any outside damage with intent occurred. You just hoped it wasn’t too late and that the bullet didn’t carry or linger long enough to be too potent.

Sweat beaded on your neck as faint green light continued to slip from your fingers and curl around swirling, agitated red. At least there were good signs that your patient was fighting and not falling down. The color of his magic was bright and moving, willingly pulling and connecting with yours to try and fix itself. And the deeper you pushed, the stronger it pushed and gripped.

If only you had another nurse or doctor with you. They could have checked and kept an eye on his stats…

Luckily, after you pushed past the initial mess of connections and mana lines, you found what you were looking for. A perfect void, narrow and humming with strong intent stemming from his right empty socket. Branching out to fill and ease it, you couldn’t help but notice the eerie green glow flowing and filling the inside of said socket in places it shouldn’t.

You cursed, mumbling under your breath before shifting one of your hands to hover over the new area.

“What is it?”

You tried not to flinch from the sudden proximity of Nightmare’s voice. “His socket is damaged. I can’t locate the bulbus oculi… the structure of his eyelight.” You shifted some more, shoving several of your fingers into the void to delicately swipe around the damaged area. Negative intent slowly burned at your skin and magic. “There’s been too much intent focused into this area. It no doubt corrupted the magic. There’s not enough there for me to bring back.”

The air cooled. “Will it dust him?”

Pulling your fingers out, you again placed a palm over the socket to counterbalance the healing green magic from your hand near the cracked skull. “It’s hard to tell. I don’t think so. The socket and eyelight themselves aren’t the main issue. It’s the damaged mana lines between that’s more worrisome. However, due to the nature of bullets and how small they are, I am fairly certain I will be able to mend that damage. I will not be able to save his actual eyelight.” You took a breath, calming your fractured nerves. “In a way, he’s lucky. It seems like that was the area that was hit or injured first. For you skeletons, the oculus is almost its own entity within the skull. The spread of intent mostly stopped with its destruction.”

You could feel the air get warmer with his displeased hum, but surprisingly, Dust’s voice cut through the following silence as he punched the wall and left through the open bedroom door.

“Sure… Lucky…”

…

No one else spoke much after that unless necessary, not even when, after an hour of working, your charge gained enough consciousness to fly into a roaring blind and panicked rage. The others simply rushed to hold him while you forced him back into a calming unconsciousness and finished your work.

They hovered and fidgeted, helping only when needed as the air grew more charged the longer it took you. It was more than a relief when, after a couple of hours passed, the deed was done. The large skeleton’s magic was once again stable and no longer leaking from their various damaged lines.

You could have collapsed then and there were it not for the enthusiastic consumption of processed liquid magic during your endeavors. You left the boys and their boss to their own, despite how utterly exhausted you were, to wash up from your efforts and make your way to a favored apple tree next to the barn.

Pinks and oranges danced across the open horizon with the lazy lull of the sun and breeze settling to a slight hum. A larger purple, ripped, and faded neckerchief hung from a branchlet of one of the lower main branches. Every once in a while it would flutter with what little wind remained this late in the evening. The leaves whispered and danced, echoing the rattle from the grove across the way and bringing a wave of comforting relief. Dust and drying magic clung to the edges of your sleeves, apron, and hem of your dress, but the crisp fresh air soothed the ache your efforts had made.

Bark scraped against your back as you allowed your body to carefully slip down to the drying grass below. Leaning your head back, you let your shoulders droop and eyes close with a sigh.

“I still don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m not… I’m not as strong as you.” You let the natural sounds around you take over for a moment as you rested and let your mind spin. Clasping your shaky hands in your lap, you looked up at the tattered bit of cloth. “I know I should be more cautious. They aren’t my soldiers during the war. But I couldn’t…” You refused to let the tears fall after so long of holding it inside, your breath taking on a tale-tell whispered shake. “I can’t just stand by and let that man dust. Not after… not after everything…”

Somewhere a cricket began to chirp, announcing the end to a very long day. Your throat and eyes burned. The world had changed so much, and you were desperately trying not to drown. Despite everything, you wanted to prove that you could continue to go on.

…

Movement near the barn had you wiping at your eyes and patting your cheeks. You expected to see one of the skeletons, but when you turned, nothing was there. Rising, your eyes found the neckerchief one last time. You were tired but not yet broken.

“Through thick and thin…”

The walk back didn’t seem as daunting as when you walked away. You had things to do and not enough time to waste. If your guests hadn’t killed you yet, they most likely wouldn’t. Besides, everyone was no doubt hungry and in need of a place to sleep. They weren’t your soldiers at the old nurses’ tent, but you reckon they’d act just the same. You’d kill them with your stubborn kindness if you had too.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done so.

The fourth and largest skeleton of the group lay over the third’s back, long arms limp as a large hole in his skull bled magic and dust down the front of his partner. The bandana around the rider’s face was caked in the powdery substance.

Your stomach rolled, legs going weak. You couldn’t look away, even as unrecognizable shouting filtered through the pulsing water in your mind and their words grew more intense. A few moments stretched as if it could go on for an eternity. It took the firing of a single jarring shot to finally get your mind back where it needed to be, if but hazy and buzzing.

“Are you with me now! How many of you reside—”

Your breath quickened, lurching you forward toward the gate. You didn’t so much as let the black-as-pitch skeleton in the front finish.