My pain is self-chosen
At least so the prophet says
I could either burn
Or cut off my pride and buy some time
A head full of lies is the weight tied to my waist
The river of deceit pulls down
The only direction we flow is down.
- Mad Season
Dutch finally dismounted when they drew flush with the train station. The overcast skies had finally stopped threatening and started delivering; it was misting lightly, humid and cool, and as always the city smelled of piss and horseshit and exhaust. The steam rising from the cobblestone was white and dense, drifting up past the horses' legs, making Arthur feel sticky and sweaty and discomposed.
He swung a leg off his horse, landing with both boots onto the damp road. The motion caused him to break into a bout of coughing, curling a fist over his mouth as he did. The burning pain that rose in the center of his chest as he did was familiar now, and he could feel Rane's eyes lingering on him as he straightened at last, wiping his palm distractedly on his jeans, not needing to look down to see the red smear that was left in its wake. He'd seen more of his own blood the past few weeks than he had in his whole life, and he'd taken a lot of bullets and a lot of fists.
Arthur felt Rane's hand touch the small of his back gently. He turned, trying to make himself seem at least somewhat composed. She was standing there before him, looking as impossibly lovely as usual, her hair a little frayed at the temples from the humidity, her dark brows knitted and her mouth turned down into a frown. She wasn't dressed for the weather; she was clad in a filthy black button-down that clung to her lean torso and stopped at her elbows, and he could see the gooseflesh rippling down her forearms.
"You want my coat, darlin'?" he asked her, disliking the way his voice cracked on the last word. He could already feel a fresh volley of hawking threatening at the back of his throat.
Ignoring this, Rane licked her thumb, reached up and ran it along the corner of his mouth. Arthur saw the red there before she wiped it onto the shoulder of her shirt.
"Are you okay for this?" she asked him, her voice low.
"Never been better." He tweaked her chin gently, smiling. "I keep sayin' it but it seems I must be hollering down the rain barrel, since you keep asking anyways."
"Dammit, Arthur, come on. What do I look like?"
"Just the prettiest lady I ever saw in my whole life, is all."
"No, knock it off."
Arthur watched her a moment, his blue eyes flickering between hers. Her face was quite naked, devoid of her usual bravado and grandiloquence, bare with her devotion to him. He was reminded of the night they'd spent at Shady Belle, her barely sober enough to draw breath and him proposing marriage with abandon. She'd looked at him with the same bare vulnerability now, the same vacancy of her typical hauteur and derision. Here, as then, there was only concern in her eyes, and love, raw and unrefined by ego.
"Don't worry," he said, and placed a kiss on her forehead. It was easy to do - she was four or five inches shorter than his six-one or so - and he was grateful, because bending over further aggravated his chest, and he didn't want to cough anymore just now. "I'm okay."
Rane grasped his hands briefly in hers as he drew back, meeting his gaze, perceptive and clear. She knew he was lying, but she was willing to accept it for the nonce. It was a sobering thing to witness.
"You stay close to me," she muttered.
"They'd have a hard time dragging me away from you."
"I mean it." Rane cast him a rather stern look, unsmiling. "Stay close to me. And don't do anything stupid."
"Alright, alright, Jesus." Arthur kept his voice light, but he wasn't blind to the humorless gaze she was throwing at him. "Lighten up, sweetheart. I done this a time or two."
"Okay, you lot," Dutch said loudly to their left. "Sadie, Cleet, you take the middle. John, you and Rane and Arthur are gonna board at the back. Rest of ya, follow me and Micah and join once they stop the train."
"Who's this guy?" Rane asked, gesturing at Cleet.
"He's a buddy of mine," said Micah, casting her a cool glare. "You got issue, girl?"
"With some rando showing up out of nowhere?" Rane replied, eyeing Cleet with clear distaste. "If I didn't I'd think less of myself, yeah."
"You know, you sure do have a smart mouth for a woman."
"I've got a smart blade, too, you wanna meet it? Keep talking shit and I'll introduce you two."
"Hey, HEY!" Dutch roared. "Christ, will you two shut the fuck up for a change? Feels like I asked you fifteen times already."
Micah pointed at Rane. She flipped him the bird from the waist.
"Alright, Jesus." Dutch was massaging the bridge of his nose. "Here she comes."
Arthur took a step forward, leaning over the rails, watching. The train was coming, indeed, big as a bastard, steam shooting away from its wheels. The problem was that it wasn't decelerating.
"It's goin' awfully fast," Bill remarked, clearly on the same track.
"She'll stop." Dutch sounded confident. "She'll stop, alright."
She didn't. The train reached the station and barreled on past them, still at full speed, its wheels rushing, blowing all their hair back at its passing. Dutch watched this, his face distorted with fury, one protective hand on his hat to keep it from sailing off his head in the upsweep.
"Should I just sneak on now?" Arthur asked as the cars rolled by, his voice derisive. Rane snorted in spite of herself.
"God dammit." Dutch watched the cars going past, kicking up gusts of dust. "Well, I guess . . . everybody mount up."
"You're still goin' through with this?" Arthur said sharply, grasping Dutch's shoulder. Dutch jerked away, glaring at him.
"Of course we are." He was already striding toward his horse. "Come on."
Rane strode toward Eli, swinging onto his back sinuously and reeling him around. The rest of them were galloping off after the train, and she spurred Eli after them, feeling uneasy.
"We can jump on at the side!" John shouted from up ahead.
The train was still a ways up, the steam of its exhaust hanging in the air, rank and cloudy. The train was near now, its caboose nearly within touching distance. Arthur spurred his horse nearer to it, turning East with the tracks, hot on Eli's heels, Rane's hair flying back from her temples ahead of him.
"What the fuck are we supposed to do now?" she cried, her voice nearly lost beneath the thunder of flying hooves and gyrating wheels.
"We're gonna have to jump!" John shouted, glancing back at her briefly. "Onto the flatbed!"
Rane eyed the moving train with distaste, frowning. "Fuck."
"Can you slow it down, girl?" Dutch bellowed from up ahead, riding along the opposite side of the train.
Rane scoffed, looking distressed. "I could, sure, but the whole thing is liable to go tits up if I do, I don't know how these fucking things work! If it was a Mustang GT, maybe -!"
"Alright, well then forget about it, we'll do it the old-fashioned way," Dutch shouted, waving a hand. "Go on, you boys, get on up there!"
"Jump! JUMP!" Arthur flung himself from his mount, landing awkwardly onto the car. Rane paced herself alongside him, spurring Eli for all he was worth, and then with an awkward motion leapt from his saddle, grasping at the car's holsters. She caught them in both hands, her legs hanging off the side, too near the tracks for comfort, and hauled herself up with an effort, her mouth turning down. Arthur and John yanked at her arms.
"That was not fun," she remarked, a little winded.
"Wasn't 'spose to be. Get low, girl." Arthur shoved her head down beneath a crate unceremoniously, both guns drawn. "Here's where we need ya."
There were men emerging from the car up ahead as the train trundled along beneath their boots. They were clad in military garb, armed with big irons and aiming for their assailants, and John and Arthur were sliding into cover as well. Rane pulled her wand, kneeling behind the crate.
"Who goes there?" one of the men bellowed. His voice cracked, and to Rane he looked no older than twenty. Her heart cramped a little.
"Jesus Christ, they're young," she murmured, dismayed.
"I told ya, didn't I?" Arthur growled, pulling the hammer back on one of his guns. "This ain't top brass, Rane, these are just gophers."
"Don't shoot to kill, huh?"
"Like hell I won't!" Arthur replied, looking at her with real surprise. "You think they're tryin' to wing us rather than blow our brains out the backs of our heads? Shit, Rane, you got a little bit more sense than that -!"
"Just let me," she said, meeting his eyes. "I'm a chick, they're not gonna fire on me right away."
John scoffed. "There's damn thirty of 'em up ahead, you can't handle 'em alone, Rane -!"
"Yeah, put a bandage on that bleedin' heart of yours," Arthur snapped, looking thoroughly put out. "I ain't tryin' to lose anybody to a bunch of raw young boys -!"
Rane rose from cover, her wand held before her, and Arthur made as if to rise too, looking alarmed. John yanked him back down by the scruff of his shirt.
"Hang on a tick, Arthur, just hang on -!"
"God dammit this woman, if she don't get killed I'm gonna kill her myself -!"
"Just hang - on, I said!" John said roughly, snatching at his shirt as he tried to get up again. Arthur cast him a dire look, stumbling back down, his eyes hard and glittering beneath his brows. "Hang on and let her, she ain't stupid!"
"Well, she sure is doin' a pretty damn good impression of it -!"
"Miss, you ain't cleared to be aboard this vessel!" one of the Army boys was crying, gun pointed at Rane, his eyes wide and a trifle wild beneath his hat. "What's your business here, huh?"
"Take it easy," said Rane, lifting both hands. "I'm not armed, I didn't even mean to board. Howabout you boys aim those things somewhere else?"
They did, for a wonder, and as soon as the barrels were pointed at the ground Rane twirled her wand. There was a brilliant flash of red light, and the soldiers were thrown away from the train en masse, arms pinwheeling, crying out in surprise.
"Shit, well that worked a treat," John remarked, standing.
Rane shouldered the door at the end of the car open. "Where's the payload?"
"Probably at the front." Arthur aimed and fired at another soldier near the front of the next car, dropping him. "Keep movin' up."
"Hey, don't -" Rane gave Arthur an unhappy, mulish look. "Can you not? They're just kids, for crying out loud -"
"Rane, I love you to pieces, but this ain't a social call, these boys are gonna try to kill us, and they'll do it if we don't kill them first." He looked at her sternly. "That's the way it is, darlin'. I asked you once before if you could drop a man and not hesitate in the moment, and you told me you could. You gotta harden your heart up a little bit, alright?"
Rane sighed, nodding, looking subdued. "Okay."
"What the hell are y'all doin'?" Javier shouted from behind them, staggering to his feet from where he'd leapt to the train. "Bunch of them boys just jumped ship!"
"Rane cursed 'em!" John shouted back.
"Ha!" Javier looked delighted as he drew his gun and strode ahead. "Bueno!"
"How ya doin' there, Arthur?" John bellowed. He was taking cover behind another stack of crates. The retaliatory gunfire from the boys up ahead was coming hard and fast now, whistling past all of their ears.
"I'm okay!" Arthur aimed another pair of shots, this time one from each hand, and another pair of soldiers dropped in the doorway, their lean forms collapsing bonelessly against one another. "Look out, there's one on the roof -!"
"SECTUMSEMPRA!" Rane shouted, and a long, ragged gash appeared on the chest of the man standing on the top of the next car, spewing bright red blood. He grasped at his shirt, crying out, his gun clattering from his hand, and fell headlong off the train, rolling into the forest alongside.
"Jesus Christ!" Bill cried, looking shocked.
"He was gonna shoot ya dead and you're clutchin' your pearls?" Arthur said loudly, glaring at him, but he felt a trifle nauseous himself. Sometimes this magic stuff was a little bit too much to handle. "Keep movin' up, all of ya!"
"Next carriage, next carriage!" Rane was saying roughly, striding forward. Arthur watched her a moment, a little taken aback by her, not for the first time. She was strange in a lot of ways, but seeing her in the throes of battle was another animal entirely; she was like a carnivore, stalking her prey, not afraid of her quarry in the least but only circumspect, anticipating their next move and acting accordingly, like a bobcat batting at an injured rabbit. Her face was mild, almost disinterested, performing these tasks with practiced ease, emotionless and graceful and aloof. He was reminded again of the afternoon on Guarma when she had rescued Javier, knocking men down like they were bowling pins. He had wondered then if her heartbeat ever climbed above a gentle trot while she went about it, and he wondered again now. He doubted it did.
"Keep pushin' forwards!" John was shouting.
"Rane, get up onto the roof, there's a couple-few in that next car 'bout to shoot," Arthur ordered, his guns still aimed ahead, breathing quickly and pressed against the wall. "Can ya see 'em?"
Rane put her wand between her teeth and in a swift motion grasped the ridge of the roof and hauled herself up onto the roof, struggling to her feet from her belly. Arthur and John watched her as she stood there, the wind whipping her shirt around her lean torso, looking ahead.
"Stay there a sec," she said, and aimed her wand. "STUPEFY MAXIMA!"
There was a brilliant flash of red light, and then she glanced back down at them, her long hair catching on her lips as it flew from her temples.
"They're down. Go, go."
Arthur and John broke cover, rushing forward. They didn't get far; there was a brilliant, ear-splitting explosion, and the car ahead burst into flames, the black smoke trailing into the sky. Rane staggered back, shocked.
"Let me put it out," Rane began, aiming her wand, but Arthur snatched her wrist, shaking his head.
"Don't bother, it's shot." He jerked his head. "We gotta bail."
"We can't get through the smoke!" John was shouting, running towards them, grasping at the crates as he went. "Dutch -!"
"Jump!" Dutch was crying. He was riding his horse hell-bent at the side of the car, his eyes on Arthur. "Jump on, you damned old fool!"
Arthur did, arms flailing, and landed squarely on the Count, grasping at Dutch's vest. John had done the same, landing onto Old Boy. The fire was growing rapidly.
"Rane, JUMP! GET ONTO A HORSE!" Arthur roared, looking at her with alarm. She was still standing at the side of the carriage, grasping at the railings, her hair whipping around her face.
Rane put two fingers into her mouth and whistled. Eli came racing to the fore at once, his mane flying behind him, ears pinned back. She jumped, and nearly missed; it would have been bad, had she not snatched the saddle horn, wheeling back, her spare arm pinwheeling.
"We're gonna hop on next carriage!" Arthur cried from up ahead, glancing back at her. Rane was still snatching at the reins, her eyes wide. "Get ready to scoot!"
Rane spurred Eli on roughly. His hooves flew faster still beneath her, and when they were flush with the next cabin Rane flung herself awkwardly against the flatbed again. This time it was almost not enough; she grasped the edge in both hands, scrabbling, and clambered on with an effort, her breath shearing between her teeth, her brows contracted.
"You got it, girl," Arthur said, yanking her up by her elbow.
"Damn near," Rane replied, looking at him. "This is the most romantic date I've been on since I had to storm the beach of Normandy."
"Wait 'til the honeymoon," Arthur replied, smirking at her, striding ahead. He was pointing toward the carriage behind them, which was rife with flames now. "Somebody uncouple that carriage before it blows us all up!"
"I'm on it!" John was rushing forward, his face now smeared with the residue of the smoke.
Arthur stared past him as he ran past, toward the rock walls alongside the tracks. There were men on horseback appearing now in the woods, full gallop and armed. He shoved Rane down again.
"Fuck, they're onto us. Stay low." He pulled the hammer of his guns back, aiming. "This is about to get messy, girl, you keep that wand handy."
"They're comin' for the money!" John shouted. He was striding back now, the flaming car falling behind them, engulfed in fire. "They don't know -!"
A gunshot rang out, and John gasped abruptly, his arms pinwheeling. A wound opened in his chest, red and broad, and he fell backwards off the edge of the train car, rolling into the brush and out of sight.
"JOHN!" Arthur bellowed.
"Fuck! FUCK!" Rane stared after him, her face harrowed. "FUCK! JOHN! JOHN!"
"RANE, GET DOWN OR YOU'LL BE NEXT!" Arthur shouted.
Rane spun around, her wand drawn. The shooter was on the roof of the next car, a lean-hipped young man with a shotgun aimed at her. She waved it with a flourish, her eyes bright and terribly angry beneath her brows, her mouth turned down into a sneer, all thoughts of mercy for the young soldiers now departed. When she spoke, her voice was rough with rage.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
There was a green flash of light, and the man's gun tumbled from his hand as his muscles relaxed. He fell off the train, limp and very much dead, his hat flying from his head and wafting off into the forest.
"DUTCH, THEY GOT JOHN!" Rane shouted, glaring to her right, her hair flying around her face, staggering against the motion of the train. "THEY GOT HIM!"
"I'll get John! You get that money!" Dutch cried, veering off to one side, his hands tight on the reins. "Get that money, now!"
"Fuck!" Rane said, low and rough, as he rode off toward the woods. "Fuck! FUCK!"
"Quit." Arthur grasped her wrist briefly. "He might could be okay. Just focus. Dutch has got him."
"DUTCH IS BATSHIT CRAZY!" Rane shouted, her eyes wild. "HE GOT SHOT!"
"FOCUS ON THE JOB!" Arthur retorted, just as loud. "FOCUS! FOCUS !"
Rane jerked her hand away from him, and Arthur was dismayed to see the brightness of her eyes. He could feel tears threatening, himself. He couldn't think on it now, that much was certain.
"Come on, honey, we gotta get this done and dusted, we'll figure out the rest later." He turned and started for the front of the train without another word, feeling absurdly vulnerable. "Come on, now!"
"I'll go stop the train!" Cleet bellowed from a little ways ahead, bent behind a crate.
Arthur scoffed, looking furious. "Stop the tr - whatever you do, do NOT STOP THE TRAIN!" he yelled. "You secure up ahead but keep us movin'! You hear me?"
Cleet eyed him uncertainly a moment, then nodded.
"I asked if you heard me, boy!"
"Yeah, I heard ya!"
"Arthur!" This was Sadie, a ways ahead now, looking wild-eyed. "You and Rane get the hell up here! I think I know where it's all loaded up, I found it!"
Arthur slapped Rane's shoulder lightly, starting forward. She was walking quickly ahead at his side, her eyes bright and her brow furrowed.
"Those sons of bitches," she whispered as they made their way through the next cabin. "Those sons of bitches, those sons of bitches -!"
"Quit," said Arthur, very low, his voice hoarse. "Quit it. Just get ready to blow this bastard up."
"They shot John."
"Yeah, and they're gonna shoot the rest of us if we don't pull our shit together," Arthur agreed. He hated the hurt, raucous quality of his voice. "Focus, baby, just do what we gotta do. We'll see about John after it's over with."
"There." Sadie was gesturing to the next carriage, her hair flying about her face in the backdraft. It was a big one, sealed with an iron door that looked thicker than a treetrunk. "Right in there. The next one up is the engine. Gotta be here, otherwise it was a bad tip."
"Y'all take a couple steps back." Rane drew her wand, waving it elaborately. "REDUCTO!"
The door exploded in a spray of steel and fire. Sadie and Arthur ducked, shielding their faces with their forearms. Rane moved forward between them, her face grim and set, peering inside.
"There's a shitload, what are we supposed to do with it all?"
"Move." Arthur shoved past her, grasping at the sides of the blown door, staring around. "Oh, shit. We got somethin'. WE GOT SOMETHIN'!"
"What is it?" Sadie cried.
Arthur grasped at the nearest bag of cash and tossed it out. "Catch!"
She did, staggering against the weight, looking astounded. "Holy Christ!"
"Yeah, there's more, too." Arthur snatched at another bag, tossing it out, his breath shearing out between his lips. "Grab it, you lot, quick like -"
"Arthur, the bridge is coming up kinda quick," Rane said, eyes ahead, her mouth thin. The empty gorge was in sight now, drawing nearer every second. "We've got a couple seconds, maybe -!"
"Morgan!" Cleet had appeared at Arthur's elbow, his face slick with sweat. "The driver's dead! This thing ain't stoppin', we gotta get off!"
"Shit!" Rane snapped, catching a bag full of money, the muscles in her arms bulging. "Arthur -!"
"I'm comin'." Arthur grabbed one last sack, panting, and strode out of the carriage. "Jump, you damn fools, jump now!"
They did. Rane landed on her side badly, gasping, the sack rolling off to one side. Arthur came to a rest next to her, cursing, grasping his chest. The train rolled on heedlessly, steam pouring out of its wheels, loud and caustic. They got to their feet, watching its progress, breathing hard. The train rolled on, reaching the hole Rane had made a few hours earlier, then slid off into oblivion, wheels still spinning. It fell into the gorge, crashing into the rock below, the noise fantastically loud, the smell of burning metal strong and unpleasant in the humid air.
"We're alive," Bill remarked, sounding astonished at the fact.
"Yeah, just about." Arthur was still staring after the train, looking a little shocked.
"You're bleeding," said Rane, nodding at Sadie's arm. She looked down at her wrist, startled.
"It ain't nothin'," said Sadie.
"Lemme see." Rane snatched her hand, moving her wand over the scrape. Her eyes were overbright, her mouth downturned. "Hold still."
"Rane, John's probably fine."
"I don't want to be the one to tell his kid if he isn't, is all," Rane muttered, her expression dire and angry. She removed her wand, patting Sadie's arm. "Good to go."
There were hoofbeats thudding behind them. Arthur turned, still holstering his guns. Dutch and Micah were riding toward them.
"Where's John?" he said loudly, caring not at all for the way his heart was thumping beneath his shirt. "Where's John, Dutch?"
Dutch shook his head, looking almost comically mournful. "I tried. I tried."
"He didn't make it," Micah supplied, looking thoroughly unconcerned. "That patrol killed him. We had to run."
"THEY WINGED HIM!" Rane shouted, shocked, her voice strident and furious. Micah's horse faltered a little at it, stamping, its ears flattening. "THEY JUST WINGED HIM!"
"Well, what you want me to do, bring him back from the dead?" Micah snapped, looking at her with a little trepidation.
Rane glared at him a moment longer, then turned away, throwing both hands into the air, her eyes on the dirt. Arthur met Dutch's eyes.
"You sure?" he said, low.
Dutch nodded. "Yeah, I am, son."
Arthur placed a hand over his eyes, grasping the bridge of his nose. "Christ."
"Come on." Dutch looked around at all of them, brisk and unafflicted. "Before another patrol turns up."
Arthur looked up at him, his mouth turned down, watching him. He had never felt such resentment for the man until this moment. John Marston was dead, and Dutch was treating it like . . . like an inconvenience. A man he'd known since boyhood. Like it was nothing. Nothing at all.
"Where's the body?" Rane asked, glaring at Dutch. She was really shooting daggers now, her eyes sharp and cold. "Huh?"
"You're a little hard of hearing, ain't ya, girl?"
"Sure, if it helps you sleep at night." Rane stepped forward, her eye on his, hard. "Where's his body? Say."
Dutch reeled his horse around without answering, looking away from her. "YA!"
He rode off at this, tailed by Micah. Rane watched him go, her eyes narrowed.
