Rane rode a trifle ahead of John and Arthur as they made their way back toward camp. Arthur allowed this to go on for as long as he could stand, watching the back of her head and the gentle sway of her long back, before spurring his horse on and pacing Eli. John hung back, watching this a trifle uneasily.
"Okay, you had your couple minutes." He was watching her profile impatiently. "Talk to me about what happened to you back there, I wanna know what happened."
"Does it matter?"
"Is that rhetorical?"
Rane glanced sidelong at him, her eyebrow cocked. "Maybe it just seems that way because you can't think of an answer."
"Yeah, it matters," said Arthur, a little roughly. "It matters to me a hell of lot, that you're bein' honest with me if nothing else."
Rane scoffed, rolling her eyes. Arthur didn't let up.
"Look, I'm gettin' ready to marry you, for Chrissakes, you gotta learn about bein' straight with me about this sort of shit. I wanna know what's goin' on." Arthur tipped his hat back with his thumb, looking at her steadily. "I need you to talk to me about this."
"What makes you think I know?" Rane asked him, glancing over at him, her hair blowing across her face. "What makes you think I can tell you anything about it?"
"Because you lived a whole 'nother life before you showed up in Lemoyne while you were dealin' with whatever the hell is the matter with you," said Arthur. "And because I know you know, Rane, moreover. You get specious when you're lyin'. And glib."
"I didn't realize my fiance had a thesaurus built into his brain all this time."
"Quit it."
"Quit what?"
"Tryin' to distract me from what I'm askin', appealing to my sentiment. Rane, I know you're smart, but just because I look like a big dumb bastard don't mean I am one, I'm warnin' ya." He waved a hand at her. "Talk. At least tell me what ya think."
Rane sighed, pushing her long hair behind her ears and pursing her lips. Eli was eyeing Arthur warily, his ears pinned, clearly discomfited by his nearness.
"Okay, well, you know about the ainur thing," said Rane slowly. She hesitated, chewing her lower lip. "The ainur are, um . . . well . . . well, it doesn't matter, they're divine beings. Super powerful. I have one with me, she's . . . she's sort of wrapped up in who I am. I'm not sure if I'm her or she's me, or something else."
Arthur nodded, his brow furrowed. "Alright. And I know you surely must understand why I have some difficulty believin' that."
"You asked me," said Rane grimly, "and I'm telling you what I know. I don't know it all, I just know the little crumbs I've been able to gather on the floor. I'm trying to answer your question."
"Well, you ain't answered shit yet," said Arthur gruffly. "And we're comin' up on camp. Talk to me like I ain't an idiot."
"You wanna go all Socratic method on me? Fine." Rane shifted her weight, looking unhappy. "This is what the Elves call umbarae. It's a feeling that we get, when something bad is about to happen. Like a . . . a feeling of dread. This happened to be before, when things were about to go sideways, but it's stronger now, for some reason. Maybe because I died? I have no idea. It's something I don't understand all the way. Like she's trying to communicate with me, to tell me things, while I'm still awake."
"Who?"
"Varda."
"Who the hell is that?"
"The ainur."
"Rane, none of this shit is answerin' my question." Arthur looked bothered and fretful. "I still ain't hearin' what happened."
"Arthur, I really don't know." Rane sighed. "I have theories, not facts. I can tell you what I think is going on -"
Arthur flapped a hand.
"Well, I think it's just . . . her. Manifesting more strongly. Because this is . . . I dunno, the second go around." Rane shrugged, looking at him. "Listen, at this point it doesn't matter, because to be perfectly honest, I have no fucking idea at all what's happening to me. Half of the shit I can do, I don't know why I can do it. There's no, like, collegiate data to draw on for something like this. I've just tried to keep moving along, no matter what weird shit happens to me."
"Umbarae."
"Yeah." Rane was chewing her lip.
"You know somethin' bad is gonna happen, but you don't know what."
Rane shrugged. "Pretty much."
Arthurs sucked his teeth. "What a gip."
"You're telling me." Rane glanced alongside at him, her face naked. "I don't like to talk about this stuff, Arthur, I really don't. It's scary to me, what happens because of it. It's unprecedented. I'm finding all this stuff out for the first time, for the most part. You understand?"
Arthur sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. Camp was coming into view, Charles guarding the trail and eyeing them suspiciously up ahead. "Alright. As long as it won't hurt ya."
"It won't," said Rane, not knowing if this was true or not.
"You good for tonight? You ain't gonna have another fit and freeze up and get shot down?" Arthur was eyeing her with real anxiety. "I don't think I can handle that, which is why I ask. Totally selfish, I promise."
"Who goes there?" Charles called from up ahead.
"John and Arthur and Rane!" John called from some ways behind them, lifting a hand.
"I love you," Rane said softly, meeting Arthur's eyes. His gaze softened at this a little.
"I know you do, I love you too. I just wanna know you're safe."
Rane cast him a lopsided grin, trying to look more confident than she felt. "I've thrown off worse shit than a few army kids, I think I'll be fine, babydoll."
She spurred Eli into a canter, bypassing him and tipping Charles a salute. Arthur watched her go, frowning, then followed.
DUTCH was not in evidence, once again, and Arthur, dismounting from his horse aside Old Boy, grasped John's shoulder roughly, aiming a finger.
"I want you to go find him," he said softly, not specifying who he meant. It wasn't necessary. "Just let him know shit's movin' along. Okay?"
"Why, what are you gonna do?" John asked, looking a little resentful. "I wanna go see about Abigail and Jack."
"I know ya do. And it ain't fair of me to ask, but I wanna see Swanson."
"Swanson's gone," said a voice near at hand. Both Arthur and John spun around. Karen stood there, stuffing a wad of dresses into a suitcase.
"What? Where's he at?" Arthur asked, bewildered.
"Gone." Karen swung a hand toward the horizon. "Cut out. I ain't far behind him, I ain't shy to say."
"What?" John eyed her, startled. "You're leavin'? Why?"
Karen cast John a cool, rather hurt look. "Well, what cause for me to stay, since Sean is gone? Huh? Watch Dutch make more crazy plans and lead us all to hell? I'll give that a pass, thanks very much, no offense."
She snatched up her suitcase and strode off haughtily. Rane watched her go, brow furrowed.
"Well, shit," said Arthur, his shoulders sagging. "Without Swanson -"
"Forget it." Rane reached up, taking his face in both of her hands and kissing his mouth firmly, meeting his eyes. "I love you. It doesn't matter. Go talk to Dutch."
Arthur took her hands in his own against his cheeks. "Rane, listen, I wanna do this, I can't -"
"Go talk to Dutch," Rane repeated, and smoothed his hair back gently. "I already know I love you, Arthur, I don't need a receipt for it. I'm not going to bring you back for a refund. We can worry about that later."
Arthur laughed, low, but he grasped her face in his own hands, his eyes bright. "Rane, this means a lot to me, I want it."
"Then we'll do it later. It's okay." Rane ran a hand down his cheek. "We'll get there, Swanson isn't the only holy man in the world. Right now we just need to do what we need to do. Make friends with your boss man, so we can get this job done."
Arthur pursed his mouth, nodding, then kissed her briefly before turning back, looking around.
"Alright, hell." He started forward, waving. "Dutch! You ready?"
Dutch was striding forth some ways away with John and Micah in tow, his eyes on Rane. As he approached them, a broad grin stretched across his face.
"Pearson!" he said as he drew near, spreading his arms. "And old Uncle! They both said to Tilly they were runnin' for their lives! I think young Mary-Beth ran as well!"
He arrived before Arthur, placing his hand in his pockets, looking at Arthur with a sort of polite, grim interest.
"You know about this?"
"'Course I didn't know about it," Arthur replied, looking insulted. "Why would I know about it?"
"They are cowards, Arthur, goddamned cowards." Dutch was pacing before them now, stroking his chin restlessly. "Of all the time to run off -"
"Maybe they don't want to die, Dutch."
"Ain't nobody gonna -" Dutch grasped Arthur's shoulder. The motion seemed to bring on a another fit of coughing, and Arthur leaned over, his fist curled before his mouth, his eyes squinted shut. Rane reached forward, grasping his shoulder, but Dutch watched this with an unsympathetic eye. "Look, this ain't good timin', and you ain't well."
Rane's eyes snapped up to him at this, suddenly fiery. He knew Arthur was sick, he knew, and yet he pushed him. The fury that flared in her chest was almost more than she could contain.
"You think?" Rane snapped, glaring at him. Dutch eyed her a moment, frowning.
"Girl, I didn't think I was including you in this discussion -"
"Well, I'm including myself. You wanna do this train job without me?" Rane asked him. Her heart was beating very quickly beneath her shirt as she met his eyes, her mouth turned down with genuine ire. "You want me to sit this one out?"
Dutch eyed her, then shook his head. "No, I do not."
"Then listen to what he has to say," said Rane, low. "You owe him that much."
"Listen, if we let Jack and the women go -" Arthur was beginning to get his cough under control, straightening. "Well, then maybe we could -"
"Arthur, all we need is one more big score!" Dutch brandished a clenched fish before his face. "One more big score and we get enough to leave all this shit! The Pinkertons, the army -!"
"You don't know what you're sayin', Dutch," said Arthur, low.
"We rob Uncle Sam and we leave." Dutch shook his head. "The poetry of it all."
"Dutch, the women, and the children -" Arthur gestured toward the camp, shaking his head. "John and his family. I'm afraid I have to insist. I mean, if the Pinkertons come through again, they will kill everyone."
Dutch looked at Arthur a long moment, his eyes shaded beneath the brim of the bowler he always wore. Rane watched him warily, her hand on the helm of her sword, her eyes watchful beneath her brows.
"Insist." Dutch's voice was low.
Arthur met his gaze. "Yes. Insist."
There was a beat of silence, then Dutch raised his hands, regaining his old heartiness.
"Of couse, partner. Whatever you want." He clapped Arhur on the shoulder, positively friendly. "Whatever you think is best. I will see to it. Now." He glanced at Rane, smiling winningly. "We gonna rob a train?"
Rane met his eyes, unsmiling. "Yeah, we sure are."
Dutch spread his arms, looking pleased, and grasped Rane's shoulder as he passed her. She shrank beneath his grasp, pulling away without trying to conceal it, glaring at him.
"We will survive," he was saying as he strode toward the horses hitched aft. "We will flourish. We have work to do. Get the rest of the boys and meet me yonder."
"Alright, Dutch," said Arthur, watching his back diminish. "Sure."
He glanced sidelong at Rane, whose hand was still on the hilt of her sword. He nodded, catching her eyes.
"Keep it there," he said, very low. "Just keep it there."
"I just wanted to marry you," Rane murmured.
Arthur leaned down and kissed her temple gently. "We ain't done yet. He ain't gonna stop that, so help me."
