Burning papers into ashes
What are seasons, how they fly high
From the ground up
There is yet another fountain
Flowing over as the night falls
Keep dreaming away.

- The Dø

The three of them rode away from camp unmolested, Rane bringing up the rear and Arthur and John heading the caravan. None of them spoke until they were well way from camp. They were all nervous, and all thinking the same thing: if Dutch spied them together this way, especially after he and Rane had bayed at one another like a couple of broody cougars when she'd shown up with a prematurely rescued John Marston, there'd be hell to pay.

Arthur had been deep in rumination since they'd left camp, his brow furrowed and his mouth thin beneath the shade of his hat. He'd spurned Dutch's orders more times these past few weeks than he'd done for their entire tenure together, starting with falling in love with Rane Roth. The conflict still existed within him, of course - he had been taking the man's word as gospel since he was a teenager, and defying him didn't come naturally - but Rane seemed to have changed some fundamental aspect of him, to have focused a beam of light on a place in his soul he hadn't even known existed, one he supposed had to do with his own faithful nature. It was suddenly becoming clear to him that his unquestioning loyalty might demand a high price indeed, and he was not prepared to pay it. Not yet. Not while some of them could still get away.

"The dynamite's off that way," John said, pointing toward an offshoot of the main trail. Arthur jumped at his abrupt voice.

"Christ." He passed a hand over his face. "Is it far? Where'd ya stash it?"

"'Bout a quarter-mile east of the trail," John replied. "Won't take but -"

"Don't bother," said Rane, shaking her head. She was staring above them at the growing rainclouds, her face uneasy. Her voice was oddly offhanded, almost lazy. "I can do it."

Arthur and John glanced back at her, both frowning beneath their hats.

"Rane, it's a huge damned bridge, I don't think you realize how big it is," said John. "It's half a wheel across a gorge -"

"It's fine. Forget about the dynamite."

"You sure?" asked Arthur.

"Positive."

"But Rane, it's a bridge." John seemed to feel that he hadn't communicated this sufficiently. "A bridge. A big one, like all the way between two cliffs. It's gonna take six bundles of mining charges just to put a damn dent in it. You hear what I'm tellin' ya?"

"Yeah, I hear you." Rane was still looking up at the clouds, her eyes oddly far away as she rocked back and forth on Eli, her long hair wavering before her face. "I'll take care of it."

John and Arthur exchanged a glance. Arthur shrugged.

"Let 'er take care of it," he said, inclining his head toward her. "She wants to take care of it, let her take care of it. Shit, it'd save us a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, well what if it don't work?"

"If it don't work then we go get the dynamite and string 'er up like a Christmas tree, same way we planned. Hell, we got 'til mornin', it ain't even dark yet. But I think it'll work fine, John. I seen her do stranger shit than that and so've you."

"I don't know, Arthur, that bridge is bigger than Billy-be-damned, this ain't just whistlin' Dixie -"

"Im tul na'belth."

Arthur glanced at Rane over one shoulder. "Beg pardon?"

Rane didn't answer. Her gaze had slid down to Eli's mane, becoming unspecific and tenebrous, her hair hanging in her face. Arthur eyed her, a little unsettled.

"You alright?"

"Y'know, we might could just swing by and grab them charges, just in case, even if we don't use 'em," John was musing, rubbing his chin. "That way if it don't work the first time we save ourselves a trip to -"

"Hang on a tick, Marston." Arthur's voice was low and sharp as he pulled his horse to a stop. "Look at 'er, she ain't right. Hey, Rane? You okay? What's wrong?"

John yanked Old Boy to a halt beside Arthur as well, staring back. Eli was faltering of his own accord, stamping in the dirt a few yards back, clearly unsure why he wasn't receiving commands. Rane's grip on his reins had become flaccid, her long thighs slack against his sides. Her head hung on her neck, limp and aimed toward the sky, her eyes unfocused and lidded beneath her brows, her long hair wafting over her face and catching on her slightly parted lips. And her eyes . . . her eyes had changed. Arthur, who had stared into them more times than he could count, noted it right away; they were not hazel anymore but a bright, icy blue, fixed and constricted, the eyes of an owl or a puma, not a woman. He had seen it happen only once before, on the shores of Guarma, when Limdur had asked her if she was a . . . what was the word he'd used? Arthur could not remember. A pear-dill? A par-deal? Some fucking thing like that.

"Rane," said Arthur sharply, his voice echoing flatly off the grounds around them. "Hey. Rane. You're scarin' me, girl."

" Le meluvan úne ar alye lúmessen tenna nurucilie." Rane's voice was still low and lazy, a sleeptalker's intonation. "Nurucilie. I have no choice. I must. I must."

"Look at her eyes," said John, soft, his voice wavering. He had never witnessed this phenomenon before, and his voice was low and unnerved. "Arthur, there's somethin' wrong with her eyes."

"Yeah, I see 'em," Arthur replied, very quiet. He held a hand out, palm down, moving slowly. "Don't do nothin' for a second, John, don't disturb her. Just be still. Don't do anything sudden."

"What's the matter with her?"

"I don't know." Arthur's voice was gentle and vigilant. "Just let her be a sec."

John did. The two men watched Rane Roth, side by side on their mounts, tense and watchful from some seven feet ahead of her. Eli, for his part, looked quite calm, despite what was happening on his back, and Arthur took some heart in this. Rane had remained in the same lax position, but now a strange, blue-white light had begun to emanate from her, low and hardly perceptible, like the glow of a flashlight in the afternoon sun. There was a low wind picking up around the three of them, whipping about like a tempest, throwing dead leaves and bits of grass into a little tornado. And something else; she was speaking, almost whispering. Neither John or Arthur could make out what she was saying, but her lips were moving gently. She looked relaxed and strange and terribly beautiful in the crimson light of the approaching storm. Arthur felt the skin on his forearms rippling with gooseflesh, and there was a sort of hair-raising energy surrounding them in the air, as if lightning were preparing to strike. The fine hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. Eli may have been calm, but Arthur's horse and Old Boy were both snorting, uneasy, prancing, their ears pinned back, rolling eyes fixed on Rane. They clearly felt it too, whatever this was.

"Rane!" said Arthur sharply.

Rane's head snapped down suddenly, her eyes flashing back to hazel, and stared around her for a moment as if bewildered by her own environs, the leaves swept wild by her winds falling around her, suddenly lax. She looked at Arthur and John, both men watching her with astonishment. For a moment she only stared at them, her brow knit, eyes flitting between them, as if unsure what they were doing there.

"You okay?" said Arthur gently.

"What do you mean, am I okay?"

Arthur was watching her intently. "What I asked."

Rane scoffed. "What, like psychologically? I mean, yeah, I guess."

John and Arthur exchanged a glance.

"You sure you feel okay?" John asked.

Rane stared at him. "What the hell? Yeah, I'm fine, what -?"

"You just acted a little -"

Arthur punched him in the shoulder, and not gently. John winced, grasping his arm, glaring at Arthur.

"Shut up, Marston. You look a little peaky. That's what he meant."

"I'm fine." Rane was looking between them suspiciously. "Totally fine. The hell is wrong with you guys, you look like you saw a ghost."

"Nothin'. Come on." Arthur turned his horse and urged it on, casting a significant look at John. "Let's get a move on."

THE bridge was as broad and expansive as John had promised. Rane slid off Eli, looking at it assessingly, her mouth downturned. The void beneath was whistling, broad and unforgiving. Her two companions were dismounting as well. Arthur was peering toward her, one hand shading his eyes, squinting.

"Jesus Christ, that's a gigantic motherfucking bridge," Rane remarked, low.

"I told you!" John said stridently from where he was hitching Old Boy. "I told ya it was big! I told her, didn't I?"

"Look here, now, we need it busted through right in the middle there." Arthur pointed over his horse's back as he tied her off. "Can't be too close to either side, otherwise it'll spoil the way the train goes down."

Rane whistled, low. "This is gonna be kinda tricky. I was expecting, like . . . y'know, fifteen feet of wood over a creek or something, not the goddamn Pont du Gard."

"Girl, you oughta get your ears checked out," John remarked, shaking his head.

"You think we should go back and get that dynamite?" Arthur asked her, tipping his hat back.

"Nah, nah, I got it." Rane was rolling her sleeves up, pacing back and forth before the bridge. "Dang. Taking me back to my first year at the Ministry with this shit."

"You sure?" Arthur was watching her. "We can go get it, Rane -"

"You trying to insult me? Because that's insulting." Rane cast him a grievous look. "You realize it's insulting, what you're saying, right?"

Arthur lifted both hands palms out, shaking his head and grinning. "Alright, alright, Christ, go on then."

Rane continued to pace back and forth for a moment, eyeing the bridge. John and Arthur leaned against the depot wall, arms folded, watching.

"We shoulda gotten the dynamite," John murmured out of the corner of his mouth. "Ain't no damn way she's gonna take that bridge down."

"Best watch your mouth, boy, that girl can probably hear the heart in your chest from fifty yards away."

John scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Like hell."

"He's right, you know," Rane said from up ahead, not looking back. "You might wanna get that arrhythmia checked out, maybe watch your cholesterol."

John paled a little, placing a palm over his chest. Rane had turned at last and was presently striding toward them, drawing her wand.

"I think I can do it, but I need some booze," she said. "And that was a joke, by the way," she added, smirking at John. "If you really think I can hear your heart beating from all the way over there, I've grossly oversold myself."

"What the hell you need booze for?" said Arthur.

"Because I'm nervous, for some reason," Rane admitted, looking a little rueful. "Not about the bridge, just . . . I dunno. It's weird, I can't shake it off and I don't want to fuck this up."

Arthur eyed her a moment, thinking back to that . . . episode, or whatever it had been, back on the road leading in. He dug into his satchel, making a mental note to bring it up with her later, once the work was done. He wasn't sure what exactly was going on there, but it felt important, whatever it was. Maybe a little dangerous, too.

"Here." He tossed her a flask. She caught it deftly and drank long, eyes shut. "You feelin' okay? Besides nervous, I mean?"

"I don't know why you guys keep asking me that," said Rane, sighing roughly and throwing the flask back to Arthur. She waggled her shoulders, loosening herself, hopping around a little. "Okay. You guys ready to see some cool shit?"

"Does it mean we don't have to go back there for them mining charges?" said John, still rubbing his chest a little warily.

Rane nodded. "It do, it do."

"Then yeah, have at 'er." He nodded to the bridge. "I wanna see this."

Rane rolled her head on her neck a final time, then turned to the bridge, aiming her wand and squaring her shoulders, setting her feet apart. She puffed out a quick breath through pursed lips, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Okay, okay. Here we go. You're comin' down, babydoll." She aimed her wand, twirled it elaborately, and taking a step forward shouted, "BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"

Nothing at all happened. Rane remained where she was for a moment, wand still extended, eyes on the bridge. Arthur cleared his throat.

"Well, I guess we're gonna be takin' volunteers to head back and grab that dynamite, then -"

"No, no, I'm just out of practice," said Rane, resettling her feet and cracking her neck, frowning. "Haven't done this one in a while. Dry run. Okay, here we go, here we go . . . BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"

This time, it worked. There was a massive explosion in the center of the bridge, burgeoning into a mushroom cloud of red and blue flames, sending a giant plume of black smoke into the air and creating a sound so loud it echoed off the walls of the gorge like guncracks. Rane, Arthur and John all clapped their hands over their ears. A rush of hot air blew past them, kicking up dead leaves and dust, and all three of the horses reared, braying wildly. Both Arthur and John staggered back, eyes widening. Rane pocketed her wand, watching with grinning satisfaction as the bridge crumbled into the waters below, the steel groaning beneath the heat of the fires.

"Well, slap butter on my ass and call me a biscuit!" Arthur bellowed, laughing.

"Told you!" Rane shouted back, beaming at him. She spread her hands expansively, laughing. "I still got it, baby!"

"Holy shit," said John, the fire reflecting in his eyes, watching flaming chunks of wood and metal rain down into the crevasse. "I'll be double fucked."

"Okay, get over here," Arthur was beckoning to Rane, still speaking loudly over the ringing in his ears. "We're gonna camp up someplace and take a load off, just the three of us, and come nightfall we go find Dutch and the rest. Y'all good with that?"

"Fine with me," said John, still watching the bridge collapse.

"I'm starving," said Rane, stroking Eli reassuringly. "Destroying bridges is hungry work."