The Devil You Know14
The wind blew. It soughed in the trees, creating a mournful dirge. It slid across the snow, raising waves and scattering them like tears across the landscape. It whistled in the valley and sounded like ghostly voices crying out warnings.
Sunrise streamed across the sky in a gorgeous palette of roses and golds. It sprang along the clouds and littered the horizon with streams of light that colored the snow. It was still cold, bitterly cold, however and ice hung from the scrub as John passed.
He rode alone, on his faithful horse. He had set out at first light, after packing everything he thought he would need. He had reloaded his weapons. His hat was drawn low over his head to break the wind slicing through him. His black duster flapped to either side of him.
His grip on the reins was tight, belying his emotion. He kept his gaze fixed on the distance. The landscape was flat but would soon give way to a valley, a depression before the hills rose up a few miles further. The valley was bathed in shadows and reputed to be haunted. It was the remains of an old boom town and that come and gone as quickly as the silver strike that had created it. It was almost forgotten and nearly forsaken.
It was the Barrows.
John licked his lips and slowed his horse with a gentle tug. The animal softly neighed and paused, shaking its head. John eyed the valley. It was mostly in blackness. Faint streams of the sunrise were penetrating, weakly illuminating a few dilapidated buildings. It sparkled on the frozen river, creating a zigzag line of light across the old town.
He knew that Moira could be in any one of those buildings. He knew that Kolya could be holed up in one of them as well, just waiting with a shotgun aimed right for him.
John dismounted. He patted his horse and unfastened his shotgun. He checked his pistol. He adjusted the knife at his back. He swallowed his misgivings and fears as the past threatened to reassert itself.
He strode boldly towards the town.
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"He's gone? He went alone?" Rodney sounded outraged as he stood in the hotel. He stared round as the men who were trying to enjoy their breakfast. "How could you allow that? How could you just let him go! This is outrageous! Fine, just sit there on your lazy behinds and let your sheriff once again risk his life to save yours!"
"It's his job," one opined.
"That's no bloody excuse and you know it!" Carson flared, rising to his feet but having to sit back down as his leg threatened to give way under him.
"I am going after him! Do any of you know where this Barrows place is?" Rodney challenged.
"I do." Ronon entered the hotel. His contemptuous gaze hit the other men and many looked away in shame, in guilt. "You sure you wanna ride out there, city fella? They say it's haunted."
"Haunted? There are no such things as ghosts!" Rodney declared.
"And there could be cannibals," Ronon added with a sly grin.
"You are not amusing, sir! And even if there are such monsters I still wish to ride out there! I, for one, do not abandon my friends!"
"You're friends with Sheppard?" Ronon asked, dubious.
"Well…no, I mean yes, I mean we have been through a lot together. And I certainly will not allow him to face danger alone. And I certainly will not allow Mrs. Sumner to remain in the hands of that ruffian any longer!"
"Be careful, Rodney. This Kolya…he's brutal," Carson warned. The doctor sighed. He could only imagine how Moira was faring and it made him sick.
"I'll take care of him, doc. Let's go, fancy man." Ronon hefted his buffalo gun on his shoulder and strode out of the hotel.
"Why does everyone call me that?" Rodney wondered. He adjusted his silken cravat and followed after the tracker.
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Moira stirred from a fitful doze as a hand lightly slapped her. She woke, struggling in the chair as she was struck again. Pain stung her cheek and made one eye water. Furious she blinked away the tears to see her captor leering over her.
"Wake up." Acastus eyed her. She was a mess of bruises and cuts. Her hair was straggling around her face, falling from the braid in waves. Her brown eyes were defiant and angry, however, and he began to get an inkling of what John saw in an otherwise plain woman. "Seems the hero is here now."
"He's…John! JOHN!" she shouted, but Acastus suddenly gagged her with his kerchief.
"Enough of that now, woman! I won't have him warned just yet." He tied the gag and checked that her wrists were still bound together. He stepped back to view his handiwork. "That'll do." He smiled as she tried to talk round the gag, but only muffled sounds could be heard. "I'm sorry it had to come to this. Just know you aren't the first woman to die because of him, but you will be the last, I promise." He tipped his hat to her and exited the building.
Moira stared after him. She had no idea what he was talking about and she didn't care. She struggled. Squirming in the chair moved it slightly. The rope at her waist was tight, painfully rough against her and it made movement awkward. She tried to move her wrists. The rope bit into the tender flesh, rubbing it raw to bleed. She tried to work the gag out of her mouth but it was too tightly bound.
She rocked and rocked, scooting the chair inch by precious inch towards the window. There was no glass and it was open to the darkness and the dawn. She could see very little. She wondered if John would hear her, or catch sight of her before Acastus made his move.
She was desperate to warn John in any way she could, even at the cost of her own life.
She ignored the trail of blood she was leaving on the floor.
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John forded the frozen stream, carefully stepping along the rocks. They were slick with ice and he slid a few times, but doggedly persisted. Sunlight shone brightly on the ice, seemingly creating a path for him to follow. Instead he crossed the creek and quickly moved to the shadows. He stood near a building that only had two walls standing.
He peered round. It was quiet, dark. Even the wind was low down here and whispered on the snowy ground. He spied footprints and followed them with his gaze, marking where they lead. He waited, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Nothing moved.
He thought he heard a sound, a woman's cry but it was abruptly silenced and stolen by the wind. He tensed. He licked his lips again and his fingers slid along his rifle. Finally he moved, stepping out of the shadows.
He walked slowly down the street. Most of the buildings he passed were weathered beyond repair. Walls were missing or leaning to one side. An old stove glinted in the ruins of a house. A tumbled chimney was a stack of bricks eroded to a patina of a ghastly green. Shadows striped his path along the road and the snow, creating a monotone world of black and white, black and white.
It was eerily quiet. It was eerily still. Not even a tumbleweed crossed his path. He paused, gaze on the tracks, on the ruins, on everything around him.
"Kolya! Kolya!" he called.
His voice echoed through the valley, bouncing off the higher ground. It sent a flock of birds to flight. They flew across the rose-gold sky and were lost to sight.
"Kolya! I'm calling you out!"
John's fingers flexed on the rifle as he realized he was holding it too tightly. He felt the reassuring weight of his other weapons. He took a few more steps down the road, tensing. Every sense was alert.
He stopped in the middle of the road. He knew he was making himself a target, but he didn't care. He knew he wouldn't be shot, not just yet. He wondered where Moira was.
"Kolya! Kolya! KOLYA!"