Chapter One: The Black Rider
A/N: So I decided after reading this story that it needed some work before I could continue it. I usually just make things up as I go so sometimes I find plot holes I didn't notice before I posted. I also have a Beta reader now. I didn't before I posted this story..at least I don't think I did. I can't recall. I could go look it up but I'm too lazy.
The sun was high in the sky as the black rider crossed the plain. He was moving slow to keep from jarring the wounds in his left thigh, and right shoulder. He'd had a run in with a group of Indians the previous day that hadn't turned out too well for him; worse for them. He had managed to kill or wound at least eleven of them before the rest had run away.
He shifted painfully in his saddle to survey the ground. There were hurried tracks from the Indian's unshod ponies. He wasn't following the rogue band that had attacked him; he wasn't even sure if it was the same group. All he knew was that there were Indians in the vicinity that could attack him or an unsuspecting group of helpless pilgrims at any given moment.
A sigh left his lips as he crested a hill. It wasn't the same band that had attacked him, but a large band of Apache surrounded a small group of wagons heading north and were preparing to attack. His orders weren't to get rid of the Tribes yet, but he couldn't just let innocent civilians die...could he? Just his presence could be distraction enough, although the Apache hated him so he might have to just kill them.
Youji yelled at Omi to get in the back of the wagon to grab his shotgun then stay put till it was all over. Ken had his own pistols out and was taking aim at the nearest group of Indians when all of the sudden they turned tail and ran, yelling to each other. Youji stared in amazement before running to Burt Hanson, who owned the lead wagon. "What the hell is up with them Burt?"
"I dunno Kudou." The older man shrugged. "They was hollerin' in that weird talk o' thar's. I didn't catch a word. Did you Frank?" He asked their guide. Frank was in his early sixties and didn't seem like he was in charge of all his faculties, but he knew some of the native's languages and customs. He also knew a lot about the trail and had been hired for his knowledge.
" Jis' hollerin' about the devil. It's all nonsense." Frank shook his head then frowned and pointed to the top of the hill directly north of them. A rider dressed all in black riding a black horse was perched at the top of it. Youji shaded his eyes to get a better look as Ken and Omi came riding up next to him on the brunette's appaloosa. They were also squinting into the sun trying to see who was out there.
After a few moments the rider started down the hill towards them. Youji stared in awe as the man got close enough for the blonde to see him in detail. Everything he wore was black except for the band around his hat, the buckle of his gun belt and his spurs. Those were all untarnished silver. A long coat and gloves ensured that his skin would be protected from the harsh sun.
His hair was a starling shade of red and he had a scar that ran up from his jaw into his hairline. His eyes glinted like amethysts and he gave off an aura of danger, despite how attractive he was. Youji bit his lip slightly as warmth flooded to places where he really shouldn't be feeling warm like that and knew he was getting aroused.
He hadn't been keeping his attraction to men a secret, but he hadn't been broadcasting it either. Only Omi knew. Maybe Ken did too. The rest of the wagon train was in the dark though. He wasn't sure they'd care, but he'd rather not take chances.
The rider came to a stop in front of them bringing him back to the present. He almost wished it hadn't. With him this close the blonde could see hints of the far east about his eyes, in the delicate features of his face, and in the slender lines of his body. He sat stiffly in his saddle saying nothing as his eyes moved over the wagon train, the reins gripped loosely in his black gloved hands.
"Where ya headed, stranger?" Burt asked jovially. The stranger was silent for a while; as though he was debating whether or not to answer.
"California." It was only one word, but Youji fell in love right there; or at least in lust. The stranger's voice was lightly accented. It was also dry, but before he could offer any refreshment Burt spoke again.
"How's about that for a coincidence." The wagon master grinned. "That's where we're all headed."
"Ah." The redhead gathered his reins and was about to ride off when he stopped. "I feel that it is my duty to inform you that you are going the wrong way if you are taking these people to California." This information was directed at Frank.
"Goddamnit." The old man swore kicking the ground roughly. "I shoulda known when we crossed that damn river a couple a miles back."
"Son of a bitch, Frank." Burt groaned taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. Youji wrinkled his nose. He hated hats, whenever he saw someone take theirs off and their hair was all sweaty and greasy underneath, it turned his stomach. That was why he never wore one. He had some sunglasses to protect his eyes. "We paid you good money to take us to California."
"All these goddamn trails look the same." Frank complained.
"This part of the country is not on the trail that your party should be on." The stranger cut in. "The trail is about five miles west of here. You're right in the middle of Apache territory and they do not like the white men."
"Speaking of the natives." Ken said suddenly. "What the hell was up with those ones that ran off a little while ago."
"I dunno." Frank shrugged. "They were yelling something about a black devil is alls about I could catch." Every head turned to look at the stranger in black. "I s'pose they was talking about him."
"That true stranger?" Burt asked. "They were runnin' from you?" The redhead shrugged.
"They do not like me much."
"You just said they don't like us neither. So what made 'em run?"
"I honestly have no idea." The stranger replied. He had a slight smile on his face that made Youji think he knew exactly why the Apache had run.
"I find that hard to believe." Ken frowned.
"You can believe whatever you want." The redhead replied. "It is not your business. Protecting these people is so I will say again. You are going the wrong way." He then rode off.
Youji couldn't believe his luck when they caught up with the stranger a few days later. The black rider was sitting under the shade of a tree with his head bowed while his horse drank thirstily from a watering hole close by. He, Ken and their guide had ridden ahead of the wagons to scout for water when they came upon the sight. The stranger's horse lifted its head to look at them then walked over to its rider and nudged him none too gently. A gloved hand batted at the horse with annoyance then the horse nudged him again even harder. The stranger growled something under his breath then lifted his head. His violet eyes came to rest on the three men seated on their horses just a few yards away. "Still lost I see." He stood brushing dust from his coat.
"I ain't lost anymore youngun'." Frank growled irritably. "I know exactly where we is." He folded his arms as the stranger looked at him skeptically.
"You are still going the wrong way." The redhead said quietly.
"We'll hit the trail soon enough." The old man grumbled.
"I doubt it since the trail is somewhere south of us. You are headed into a desert." Youji groaned as the stranger's words sank in. He hated the desert with a passion. It was dry and dusty. It was also hot, made people hallucinate, and there was barely any water. They were all going to die.
"Ain't no desert out thatta way." Frank pointed a finger. "Thar's some o' the most beautiful country." The stranger sighed, shaking his head.
"Have it your way old man." He swung up into his saddle just as they heard the faint approach of wagons. "I tried." He turned and galloped off to the west. Youji sighed, watching him go and silently prayed that they would meet again.
Aya watched the wagon train from a small copse of trees high on a hill and sighed. The old guide wasn't listening to him. He was leading them right into the desert. Plus the rogue band of Indians had set up an ambush that wasn't meant for the settlers. They were waiting for him.
He tried to tell himself that he didn't care, but that was a lie. There were children and families down there. They didn't deserve to be slaughtered for something he had done. He also had the feeling that among their party was the man he was looking for and he had to finish the job he had taken.
Omi was hot. He fanned himself and gulped lukewarm water, but nothing helped. Sweat drenched the front and back of his shirt making him feel all sticky. It was too much so he crawled out of the covered wagon bed to sit next to Youji on the bench behind the horses where there was at least a small breeze. "What are you doing Omi? I thought I told you to stay back there." Youji frowned down at him.
"I can't. It's too hot." Omi complained. "I was gonna melt back there."
"Going to, not gonna." Youji sighed. "Don't start abusing the language we had to learn to live here " Omi pouted and chose to say nothing. So what if he wanted to talk like Burt and Frank. The other kids his age talked like them...worse even.
Ken rode up next to him with a broad grin on his face and Omi tried not to blush. He couldn't help it; he found the brunette extremely attractive. They had only met a few months ago, at the beginning of the trip, but Omi thought himself in love. Sure it wasn't proper and he was only seventeen so he had never been in love before, but he had heard and read about it a little and Ken was nice. It also didn't hurt that he was handsome. They'd shared a few kisses when there was no one around, but they were mostly just friends.
They talked a lot about their home country since Ken was from Japan too. He had come to America because of all the stories about gunslingers. Once he had immigrated and learned the language he'd become one. Omi was different. He had come to America because Youji had. The teenager would have been alone, since Youji had been the one to take him in after he had been found wandering the streets with no memory. The older man was a doctor.
The smile abruptly disappeared from Ken's lips. "Get in the back of the wagon Omi." He ordered.
"Not again, why can't I-"
"Just do it, kid." Ken said quickly. "And don't go poking your head out until I say its safe." His eyes moved up to Youji's face as he made the signal to circle the wagons. "You might want to get back there too." That was when Omi heard the whooping.
"Not a chance." Youji replied grimly, grabbing his shotgun and pulling on the reins. Ken nodded and galloped off to the head of the column. In minutes the wagons were in a circle with the women and children safely hidden.
Youji tried to stay steady as the Indians began to charge. They were still out of range, but closing in fast. Suddenly they reined in their horses as something to the east caught their attention. All Youji saw was a black blur, then the Indians turned their horses in that direction. Shots rang out then there were screams of pain as the black blur disappeared among the Indians. A minute later it was silent and all twenty of the Indians were dead. Their horses galloped away.
A solitary figure stood on the hillside surrounded by the fallen natives. A figure dressed entirely in black. Youji's heart leaped as a black horse trotted up to their wagon. The man in black began walking down the hill towards the circled wagons. Youji straightened as did the rest of the men as the redheaded stranger from before approached.
Without his coat on Youji could see the arsenal he carried. The silver hilt of a dagger stuck up out of his left boot and a pair of silver colts with pearl handles hung in his holsters, which were belted around his waist and tied to his thighs. This was to enable them to be drawn them quickly. Did that mean he was a gunslinger like Ken? Something about how he held himself said military.
In one hand he was carrying what Youji recognized as a katana and walked with a slow agile grace, that reminded the blonde of a hunting cat. As he got closer Youji saw a black mask covering the lower part of his face. The mask was from a set of samurai armor and had an elegantly carved, snarling mouth with fangs. The stranger reached up and removed it to reveal the face Youji had been dreaming about the past few nights.
"That's twice you've saved our hides now." Burt said as soon as the man was close enough. "You got a name?"
"Aya." The redheaded warrior replied softly.
"Well Aya, how would you like a job?" Burt grinned. Aya cocked his head.
"I have one." He said quietly. Burt remained unfazed.
"We could always use another man who knows his way around and can handle hisself in a fight."
"We don' need 'im." Frank grumbled. Aya frowned at him.
"Perhaps not." He said evenly. "I have no desire to be a guide." Frank puffed up. "However, the course you are currently on is leading to a desert and it is unlikely any of you will survive."
"I'm telling' ya. There ain't no desert over yonder." A gloved hand gripped the older man's chin tipping his grizzled head up. No one had seen Aya move.
"What do you smell?" The redhead asked softly. "Trees?" Frank shook his head. "Grass?" Again, Frank shook his head. "If we were to walk to the top of that hill, do you think you'd see some of the most beautiful, lush country you had ever laid your eyes on?" He quirked a brow and continued, not waiting for an answer. "No, you wouldn't because over that hill there is nothing but miles of sand and sparse vegetation. Over that hill is certain death for a wagon train this size, which tells me that you are the man I am looking for. I was told it would be an old man, guiding a large group of wagons, loaded with families, homesteaders bound for California."
"Who are you?" Frank asked, his eyes wide. Youji's eyes narrowed suspiciously, along with Burt's and Ken's. Why was Aya looking for their guide and why was his voice so grim?
"Someone who was hired to find out what happened to the missing wagon trains." Aya replied, releasing the old man's chin. "I found them...well I suppose I should say I found what was left of them, you know, after the desert did its job. Now what, do you suppose, all those trains had in common?" He stared at the now terrified looking man in front of him. "Their guide. He was known by different names of course, but he was an old man." Aya's eyes grew even colder. Frank didn't even try to deny what was being implied. "And now that we are here, standing at the precipice of their demise, I know who that old man is." Youji didn't even see the man move, but suddenly Frank's head fell from his shoulders. Aya calmly cleaned the blade of his katana on Frank's stained shirt then placed it in the sheath hanging from his back while the screams of homesteaders chorused around him. Youji was a little bit in shock when the man's horse walked up and Aya carefully wrapped the corpse at his feet with a blanket from his saddlebag then tied it up with a rope hanging from his saddle.
"What are you going to do with him?" Burt asked in a hushed tone.
"Take him out of sight and leave him for the buzzards." Aya shrugged. "Why?"
"He needs a proper Christian burial." Langston Jefferies spoke up, his voice tight. He was the preacher on the wagon train, so Youji understood his plight. The Christian's were the forgive and forget type. So even though Frank had been planning to leave them in a desert to die; he still had to set an example for others. Aya looked at him then at the now bloody blanket wrapped corpse at his feet and shrugged, dropping the rope.
"Suit yourself." He swung up onto his horse with a soft sigh.
"Wait, where are you going?!" Burt cried.
"I need to find you a way back to the trail, do I not?" Aya replied, gathering his reins. "With no guide I doubt you would make it very far. You might want to make camp here. There's water just over that hill." He pointed at a small hill in the distance covered in trees. "It is the last you will find for a few days at least so I suggest you make good use of it." He turned his horse in the opposite direction.
"Go with him Ken." Burt said quietly. "Make sure he's doing what he says." Ken nodded before getting on his own horse and following the other rider. When they'd disappeared over a hill everyone looked down at the corpse of their guide and got to work.
A/N: I would like to clear up some stuff before I continue on with the story. First: Timewise this story takes place after 1850, which is when California became a state I believe, but before the Civil War. Second: The trail the wagon train was supposed to be on is called the California Trail, which split off from the Oregon one and cut through northern Nevada. The desert I made up. Third: The native Americans who have been attacking are a group of rogues, because I do know those existed. They are a band of exiled braves who hate white men...and Aya, especially Aya lol. The only reason I started writing this story was because I was hooked on the Smoke Jensen books by William Johnstone. I also read Louis L'Amour. What I know about the wild west I got from reading westerns so this story is going to be full of historical inaccuracies. I hope I will be forgiven. I will answer any questions my writing poses.