Delivered from the blast
The last of a line of lasts
The pale princess of a palace cracked
And now the kingdom comes
Crashing down undone
And I am a master of a nothing place
- Smashing Pumpkins
The three of them tore down camp with exaggerated care at John's insistence the following morning; he spoke of the Murfree Brood, the same as Arthur had a few nights before when she had spent the evening with him in Saint Denis. Rane pulled down their tent and kicked over the fire's remnants as instructed, but her eyes were far away, her face lax and expressionless for much of these efforts. The dream she'd had the night before lingered with her like a pall, and though she could remember the last time she'd dreamed of Varda - after Sirius's death, and only a few hours before her own - she didn't remember feeling the same sense of disassociation, of dread. The finer details were beginning to slip away, like sand between her fingers, but the words Varda had said rang in her mind again and again. She had been just as vague and unhelpful before, but this . . . this seemed different.
His heart called to yours, and yours to his, across decades of time, seas of time. Even your own death could not stall it.
We are not passengers on this train, we're strapped to the front of it.
The road is forked. I cannot see past it.
"Rane."
Rane jumped as if goosed, looking around. Sadie and John were both staring at her. Sadie was grinning.
"Where the hell you at? You been stampin' on that fire for five damn minutes now."
"It's out," John added, looking amused.
Rane looked down at the scattered remnants of the bonfire beneath her boot and cleared her throat. "Sorry. Woolgathering."
"Well, gather wool on your own time, let's get movin'."
It wasn't until they were on the road, John riding back-to on Eli again, that she spoke at last of her own volition.
"Where are we headed, Sadie? You got a bearing? Not back to Shady Belle, I'd assume."
Sadie glanced back at her over one shoulder, hips rocking with her horse's cadence, looking surprised, her blonde hair wavering beneath her hat as the wind passed over them. "So you ain't lost your voice after all, huh? Hell, we can't get ya to shut up most of the time."
"Look, John," said Rane, glancing back at him. "She thinks she's funny. It's cute."
"Oh, hush. Dutch found us a little place called Beaver Hollow while back, for just such an occasion," Sadie replied, turning back to the road. "Not too terribly far, long as we don't run into any of them Murfree sons of bitches. I only got a couple more rounds in these guns and Johnny back there ain't armed with nothin' 'cept his skivvies, so you're gonna have to whip out that sword and make it a fancy fight if we get set on. So keep your eyes open and quit starin' into outer space, would ya?"
Rane snorted derisively. John, holding her waist, leaned toward her, speaking low over her shoulder.
"You okay there? You sound a little down in the mouth."
Rane waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, just . . . weird dreams last night, is all."
John's breath was hot on the cup of her ear another moment, the sound vital and close, and then it vanished as he leaned back, succumbing to this non-answer. "Alright. Just makin' sure."
"Are you okay?" Rane turned her head halfway toward him, her hair whipping out behind her in the wind generated by Eli's trot. She wasn't terribly keen on breaching the conversation they'd had last night, but perhaps it was better to get it out of the way. John, however, was quite inscrutable when he spoke, betraying nothing at all even to Rane's incisive ear.
"Fine. Ready for a change of clothes."
They rode in silence until they reached Beaver's Hollow, a place Rane immediately didn't care for. It was wide open, nothing more than a clearing before a rocky overhang, shot through with tall oaks and red soil. It reminded Rane violently of her earliest childhood in the Carolinas, and that disturbed her most of all, for some reason she couldn't put her finger on. The camp was still in the early stages of assembly, most of the camp's constituents aiding in this effort, and the smell of sweat and campfire smoke and cigarettes was strong even in the mountain wind.
"Christ, this place is fucking grim," she remarked, low, as they rode in. "Looks like something out of a McCarthy novel."
"Whatever you say," said John, hopping down off Eli and offering Rane a hand down. She took it, sliding down, her boots wafting up puffs of dust. "Thanks for the lift."
"Are you okay?" Rane asked him again, watching his face closely, one hand on Eli's stout neck. John met her gaze, his smile fading a little.
"Rane -"
"JOHN!"
They both turned. Abigail was rushing toward John, and a moment later she flung her arms around him, her eyes squeezed shut. After a moment she broke away from him and began striding toward Rane, her eyes bright.
"Thank you," she said softly. "Rane, thank you. Truly."
Rane flapped a hand, unsmiling and a little uncomfortable. "It's no big deal. I'm just glad he's squared up and safe."
"Yeah, well." Abigail shuffled a little, wringing her hands and looking equally ill at ease. "I know I ain't been very nice to ya, and I thought you oughta know I appreciate you gettin' him outta that prison. For Jack's sake," she added hastily.
"Like I said. No sweat." Rane was beginning to unbuckle Eli's tack, not terribly thrilled to accept this diffident requital. "He's gonna have to work on not getting arrested, that's all."
"Well." Abigail placed her hands on her hips, watching Rane. "Hey, Arthur's here."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. He ain't quit talkin' about you since we got here."
"I'm flattered," said Rane dryly, pulling the saddle off Eli laboriously and dropping it onto the red earth.
"Rane -" Abigail moved forward and snatched Rane's wrist. Rane looked at her, surprised. "Lemme say somethin'."
Rane eyed her uncertainly, then gently withdrew her hand from Abigail's grasp. "What?"
"Do you know how Arthur feels for you?" Abigail asked, her voice low and strained. "Do ya know? He ain't keepin' it from ya?"
Rane met her gaze guardedly. She nodded.
Abigail pursed her lips. "Good," she said. "I'm glad. That man don't need no more heartache. That's all I wanna say on it."
Rane nodded too, her face impassive. "Go see to your man. We're all squared away."
She turned before Abigail could say anything more, taking Eli's bridle and leading him toward the hitch, wanting out of the situation.
Rane was still tying Eli to the hitching post near the front of camp when Arthur spied her. He was standing at Dutch's side, a cigarette dangling from his lips, together with Micah and two hangdog men Rane didn't recognize. Their eyes met across camp, Rane's over Eli's back, Arthur's over Dutch's shoulder. At the sight of her he brushed past Dutch roughly, pulling the smoke from his lips and flinging it away, and began toward her at once, his gait quick, arms swinging at his sides, not quite running. Rane darted around Eli and made for him too, and before Dutch had even moved she had reached Arthur and leaping up had thrown her arms around him, kissing him fiercely and knocking his hat askew, eyes squeezed shut. He lifted her a few inches off the ground, his breath rough against her mouth. The taste of him, the smell of him, was wonderful, familiar, quickening her heartbeat, warming her from a deep place within. She felt like nothing so much as a junkie getting a fix in that moment; what she wanted was to whisk him off someplace private and indulge in him alone, to touch his face and stare into his eyes and feel his closeness.
"You goddamned idiot," he muttered, and hugged her to him, squeezing her body against his rough vest. The sensation of his firm chest beneath his clothes was dizzying to her, making her breath hitch a little in her throat. "You goddamned idiot, I was so worried for you, gone so damn long. I kept thinkin' the worst -"
Rane grasped his cheeks in her hands, her eyes roving over his features hungrily. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"Me?" Arthur laughed, smoothing back her hair from her temple, his eyes darting over her face. "Me, hurt? I'm fine, girl, what about you? You're the one bustin' fellers outta jail! Oh, darlin'." He leaned forward, kissing her mouth again, his brow knitted. "Girl, I missed the Christ outta you, you're a sight for sore eyes -"
"People are looking -"
"Fuck it, let 'em."
"You shaved," Rane remarked, stroking his smooth cheeks and beaming up at him. "And you slicked your hair back."
He laughed, his eyes turning up at the corners. "You don't like it?"
"No, no, it's nice! It's awesome!" Rane planted several kisses on his mouth again, still grasping his face. "Jesus Christ, how is it I missed you this much just since -?"
"JOHN!" Dutch's voice was strident. Rane glanced around Arthur at him, startled. He was glaring at John, who was embracing Abigail nearby in his prison stripes. "What are you doin' here?"
John broke away from Abigail, walking toward Dutch. "Good to see you too, partner."
"I meant that I ain't sent for you yet!" Dutch's voice was low, but his eyes were positively alight with fury. Rane felt a tinge of unease at the sight of him. His fists were clenched at his sides. Here, again, was the man who had chided her playfully on a ledge in Guarma and murdered a stranger in cold blood ten minutes later, as unpredictable as the sea. "How the hell are you -?"
"I went and got him," said Rane, breaking apart from Arthur and taking a step forward. Dutch turned his eyes on her, his gaze imperious. "I felt like we needed to get in front of it."
"You felt that way." Dutch eyed her coldly.
"That's right." Rane positioned herself a little in front of John and Abigail, staggering her feet and looking squarely at Dutch. "I felt that way, yeah."
"And on whose authority do you act, girl? Surely not on mine, because I ain't said boo to you since that night you tried to wheedle me into a bed with ya."
Rane flushed a little, but her gaze didn't waver. "They were gonna execute him."
Dutch advanced on her, his face coming within inches of hers. He was much taller than her, and she shrunk a bit beneath his imperious gaze in spite of herself, meeting his angry eyes.
"You defied me again, girl, and I asked you not to do that anymore. Matter of fact, we had a good long talk about it, as I recall. I thought we had us an understanding, but it appears I might have been mistaken."
"Dammit, Dutch, she didn't do it to piss you off, she just did it to help me to -!"
Dutch waved a hand. "John Marston, I ain't talkin' to you."
"I couldn't just let him die, he's got a wife and a kid," said Rane, not flagging beneath his aggressive advancements. She jerked her head toward John. "So here he is."
"So here he is." Dutch was nodding, his gaze dark and furious on hers. Rane met it defiantly. "Here he is. Because you felt."
"You want me to take him to Sisika and hand him back over? Is it too much of an inconvenience?"
"Rane." This voice belonged to Charles, some ways back, his eyes dark and worried. "Easy, now."
"You gonna let that little girl talk to you that way?" said Micah from behind Dutch, hands in his pockets, watching this exchange with a smile. "Ain't the Van der Linde I know."
"Micah, for once in your life, shut the hell up," said Arthur, low. He, too, was watching Dutch and Rane, wary and stiff, his blue eyes acute beneath his hat.
Dutch shook his head, his mouth pulled down into a sneer, eyeing Rane. "Oh, girl. You're tryin' to cross me, and I wanna let you know now that it ain't a good idea -"
"And letting John swing is? Letting Jack lose his dad and Abigail lose her husband? That's a good idea?" Rane was not in a quailing mood, not even beneath the tall, angry man before her. "How did you arrive at that one? Because that's some long division like I ain't never seen before, Dutch, I mean the mental gymnastics here are fucking impressive. There must have been a lot of hurdles on the way there and you jumped over every single one of them."
Dutch's arm twitched, as if he were considering hitting her. Rane didn't flinch, but her hand went to the hilt of her sword, and she met his gaze steadily. She was happy to catch a fist from him. Hell, she was happy to come to blows outright. She welcomed a straightforward fight in these sorts of situations, as opposed to this verbal foxtrot. Her tolerance for these things had thinned over the years.
"Don't you lift that damn hand," Arthur said from behind Rane, watching Dutch. His voice was low and dangerous. He had seen this gesture for what it was, too, and his blue eyes were deadly below his hat. "Don't you fuckin' do it."
"They were gonna hang him, Dutch!" Abigail cried, still clinging to John's arm, glaring at Dutch. "Hang him! There weren't no time to fuss about with -!"
"Did you have a hand in this?" Dutch bellowed, rounding on her. Abigail quailed at once, falling behind John, her blue eyes widening in surprise. "Did ya? Is that why this fool went rushin' off without my say-so, Abigail? You thought you could just point her and aim without mentioning it to me? That it?"
"You gonna talk about me like I'm a Smith and Wesson while I'm standing right here in front of you?" Rane asked him loudly, flaring.
Dutch turned back to her, his eyes flashing, and grasped a handful of her shirt in his hand, jerking her roughly back.
"Hey, HEY!" Arthur said loudly, alarmed.
"I'm gonna talk about anybody I damn well please anyplace I feel the urge," Dutch told Rane. He released her shirt and shoved at her shoulder with the tips of his fingers, sending her back another staggering pace. "What are you gonna do about it? Stab me to damn death? Curse me?"
"I might could do, yeah," said Rane softly, glaring at him. Her hand was grasping the helm of her sword now, white-knuckled. "Quick work. I won't even send you the bill. Consider it on the house, motherfucker."
"You gonna talk to me like that?" Dutch roared, shoving her back again, hard. "Like THAT? ME?"
"You need me to speak up for the folks in BACK, ASSHOLE?"
"Arthur, grab her, will ya?" John hissed. "Somebody grab her, before she -"
"Hey -" Arthur snatched at her shoulder. "Quit it, now that's enough -!"
Dutch was still glaring at her as Arthur dragged her back by the scruff of her shirt. His hand was resting on the butt of his gun now. Micah, behind him, was fingering his as well. The camp had frozen around them to watch this exchange, bewildered and curious.
"You don't seem to know who you're talkin' to. I'd lay your scrawny ass low before you reached down, little girl."
Rane jerked free of Arthur, her lips thin, glaring at Dutch insolently. "You wanna fuck around and find out?"
"I damn well might if you keep on mouthin' off -!"
"COME ON, THEN, FUCKER!" Rane shouted, drawing her wand, and aimed it at him. Dutch pulled his own pistol and aimed it at her, and Micah did the same. "COME ON! TRY IT! I DARE YOU!"
"No, goddammit! NO!" Arthur was yanking Rane back with both hands, his hat falling back on his neck. "Alright, now, everybody just calm the hell down and quit actin' like a bunch of - !"
"YOU WANNA SEE WHAT I'M MADE OF, GIRL?" Dutch roared. He brandished his pistol toward her, the barrel flashing in the low light.
"GO ON, SEE WHAT HAPPENS!"
"WHAT'LL HAPPEN IS THIS BULLET WILL GO RIGHT THROUGH YOUR PRETTY FUCKIN' HEAD! THAT'S WHAT'LL HAPPEN!"
"Rane -" Charles had stepped to the fore and was pulling Rane back alongside Arthur. She bucked against them, breathing harshly, her shoulders straining as Arthur pushed the arm she held her wand in down toward her side. "Rane, knock it off, that's enough."
"Nah, you boys let her go!" Dutch cried expansively, grinning. "Let her go! Let her find out! Maybe she needs a feller to knock her around a little bit, remind her who's -!"
"Dutch!" This was Mary-Beth, who was staring at all this in genuine fright from some ways behind John and Abigail. Her voice was pitchy and alarmed. "Dutch, stop! Listen to yourselves! Jesus! Have you all lost your minds?"
"She's right, that's enough, goddammit!" Arthur stepped past Rane, pushing her behind him with one hand, meeting Dutch's gaze, his eyes angry. "You ain't got no cause shoutin' at her like that, Rane and Sadie did us a favor, gettin' John out, they didn't do it to piss you off! All this sparrin' and shit-talkin' has gotta stop -!"
"A favor?" Dutch approached Arthur until they were chest to chest. "What happens when springin' John brings the law down on all our heads, huh, what then? We gonna lay back and let your pretty little girlfriend handle all our problems some more? Huh? Or are you gonna do it for us, Arthur Morgan, after I put a hole in her forehead?"
"You ain't puttin' a hole in NOTHIN'!" Arthur shouted, suddenly strident. "Listen to yourself, Dutch! What the hell's wrong with you? You're talkin' -!"
"So, Dutch! Did ya miss me?"
They all spun around. Molly O'Shea, filthy and disheveled, was staggering into camp, closely tailed by Pearson. She was staggering, her eyes red-rimmed and her usually elegant red hair trailing off in all directions. She was glaring at Dutch with a fiery hatred, and Rane felt a little swoop of fear alight in her chest at the sight of this.
"Oh, shit," she said, soft. She grasped at Arthur's wrist, all her ire and fury evaporating. The way Dutch was right now, worked up, full of piss and vinegar and halfway crazy -
"I found her drunk in a pub in Saint Denis," Pearson was saying, a little winded. Molly had stumbled ahead of him, her eyes on Dutch, fierce and furious. "Thought I'd bring her back here so she could answer for her absence, Dutch."
Dutch turned his eyes on Molly, the terrible anger in his black eyes still discernible, in sharp contrast with the broad, winsome smile he aimed at her. "Oh, you're back, how jolly, Miss O'Shea -!"
"It's Molly, you sack o' shit -!"
"Back and drunk," Dutch amended, glaring down at her, his gaze cold.
"Oh, who made you the master? The Lord God almighty?" Molly crowed, circling, throwing her arms into the air. She was, Rane realized, very drunk indeed; her pupils were as big as coins and her gait was unsteady and vacillating. Even her voice lilted wildly, and with an accent as thick as hers it was a feat to be able to tell. "I won't be ignored, Dutch Van der Linde -!"
"Molly, calm down." Dutch was watching her with an expression of grim disgust, but he was making no move to comfort her or take her away, and Rane felt her regard for him slip another notch. "Calm yourself, miss -!"
"You're clouded! Yer judgement is clouded! By that WITCH!" Molly threw a hand toward Rane suddenly, stumbling, her eyes wild. "That BLOODY WITCH FROM HELL! You've been WITCHED, you old dumb BASTARD, by a pretty face, a leannán sídhe, and now you're about as CLOUDED AS THEY COME -!"
"Molly." Rane was watching her warily, both hands extended, palms down. "Please, just -"
"SHUT UP!" Molly shrieked at her. "SHUT UP, CREATURE, DON'T YE DARE SPEAK TO ME!" She drew a breath, leaning forward, the cords standing out in her neck, and then, her voice rising to a scream: "WITCH! WIIIIITCH!"
This done, she forked the evil eye at Rane and spat between her fingers, staggering, her green eyes wild. Rane recoiled at this, frowning, her hands falling back to her sides.
"MISS O'SHEA!" Dutch said loudly. "Relax, I said -!"
Molly got into his face, quite unabashed, eyes flashing. "I don't owe you nothin'! NOTHIN'! I spit in yer eye!"
"Will somebody calm her down, please?" said Susan, looking irritably at the men watching this display without intervening. "Arthur, John, one of you fools wanna do somethin' besides stand there dribblin' and rubberneckin'? We done enough shoutin' in this camp for one damn -!"
"I TOLD THEM!"
A silence fell among the little crowd gathered around this display. Dutch's face fell at once. The change was dramatic; irritated, annoyed, still pissy from his argument with Rane, then suddenly . . . homicidal rage. In the space of a heartbeat. Rane felt her throat tighten at the sight of it. This was Guarma all over again. Arthur, at her side, clearly saw it, too; he moved a step in front of her, pressing her behind him a little with the flat of his hand on her hip, tense and watchful.
"I'm sorry?" said Dutch, his voice deadly quiet.
"I TOLD THEM!" Molly went on. She was far too drunk to see the dangerous way Dutch's eyes were flashing now, certainly. "I told 'em and I'd tell 'em again! Now that I've got God's EAR -!"
"TOLD WHO?" Dutch roared.
"Mr. Milton and Mr. Ross, about the bank robbery!" Molly went on, heedless. She was gesticulating wildly. "And I wanted 'em to kill ya! Hear me? KILL YA!"
"You WHAT?"
Dutch had drawn his pistol and aimed it at Molly in the space of a heartbeat. Arthur moved forward at last, leaving Rane's side and grasping Dutch's shoulder, speaking low into his ear. He'd hoped that Dutch would deescalate himself, but it was clear to him now that this wasn't going to happen. After John getting busted and Rane bucking up, Molly's sudden resurgence had the makings of a perfect storm, and Arthur didn't like the empty, manic look in his eyes.
"Dutch, now don't do nothin' stupid -"
"I LOVED you, ya goddamned bastard!" Molly shouted at Dutch, her green eyes filling with tears. "Go on, SHOOT ME! GO ON!"
"She's crazy, she ain't worth it," Arthur said softly, his voice low. Rane watched this silently, her heart racing, eyes flicking between Molly and Dutch. "She's drunk and crazy, Dutch -"
"Oh, you ain't so big now, are ya?" Molly cried.
"QUIET!" Arthur shouted, casting her a dire look, then turned back to Dutch. "Listen, she's a fool, she ain't worth it -"
"You know the RULES!" Dutch said loudly. The gun in his hand was trembling a little. "THERE'S RULES, ARTHUR!"
"Dutch." Rane's voice was barely more than a whisper. Her hand was on the wand in her pocket, her grip tight, and her heart was racing. "Dutch, don't -"
There was an ear-shattering crash as a shot rang out. Rane, fumbling, cast a hasty Shielding spell between Dutch and Molly, her wand whirling in her hand, but it was futile; the bullet that demolished Molly's chest didn't come from him at all. A massive, grisly hole opened up in Molly's shirt, spraying blood and shards of bone in an arc. Rane, shocked, staggered back a step, her wand faltering, eyes wide and mouth falling open. Abigail uttered a low scream, jumping, her hands clutching at her face. Arthur, still at Dutch's side, jolted, covering his mouth with his forearm in shock.
Susan Grimshaw stood there, a smoking shotgun in her hands. Molly wavered before Dutch a moment longer, her face fixed into an expression of surprise that would follow her down to her grave, then fell onto her back in the dirt, dead. The gunshot echoed across the land, falling to a mutter and then into silence. At length the only sound was Rane and Abigail, both breathing harshly behind their hands.
"She knew the rules," said Miss Grimshaw loudly, looking around her. "She knew 'em. Arthur, what the hell's the matter with you? You ain't so dumb as all that!"
Arthur said nothing. He, too, was staring down at Molly, his face long with shock. Susan turned from him impatiently.
"Mister Pearson, Mister Williamson, get this body outta here and burn it straightaway. And quit your lollygaggin'," she added, glaring around at the wide-eyed faces surrounding her. "Get back to work! All of ya! Get back to work!"
Rane dragged her eyes away from Molly and let them linger on Dutch. What she saw there - utter, remorseless vacancy - filled her with even more dismay than Molly's murder had. She made a hoarse sound in her throat, bending over at the knees, her long hair hanging around her throat. After a moment she lost the struggle with her gorge and darting to the edge of camp vomited into the grass, coughing harshly. Arthur swept past Dutch, making for her.
"You're alright. Come on, now. Pull it back in, Rane." He touched her shoulder gently.
"Jesus Christ, he shared a bed with her," Rane whispered, casting a look backwards at Dutch. He had walked away, still quite expressionless, convening with Micah some ways off. Molly was being dragged away unceremoniously by Pearson and Bill, one on each ankle, her limp hands trailing behind, but the pool of blood on the ground remained, shining and dark. "He shared a bed with her, Arthur -!"
"I know it." Arthur pulled her up, placing a hand on the small of her back. "Come on. Let's take a ride, let's get outta here for a little bit. I need some air and I don't want you here with him alone right now."
