Here is a church and here is a steeple
Open the doors there are the people
And all their little hearts at ease
For another week's disease.
And eagle, eagle, towel, and scream
I never once left in between
I was on the fence and I never wanted your two cents
Down my throat, in the pit, with my head upon the spit
Oh Reverend, please, can I chew your ear?
I've become what I most fear
And I know there's no such thing as ghosts
But I have seen the demon host.
Timbre Timbre
"And STAY out!"
John Marston went careening into the streets of Strawberry, landing with arms pinwheeling in the dirt road. He landed with both palms skating painfully over the rocky gravel, kicking up dust. The bartender standing in the batwing doors of the saloon flung Arthur's hat after him with an angry flourish, brushing his hands on his shirt.
"COME OVER HERE AND SAY THAT!" John roared, rising unsteadily to his feet and snatching Arthur's hat up from the dirt. "I GOT HALF A MIND TO -!"
"Yeah, yeah, sure, just take your drunk ass on HOME for a change, boy!" the bartender snapped, waving a dismissive hand."I been putting up with your monkeyshines all damn week, I think you oughta find someplace else to soak 'sides here from now on. G'on, now, 'fore I call the law. Up in here knockin' out my patrons and smashin' up my bar. Lord."
He was striding back into the saloon, which was rife with drunken laughter and rippling piano, the batwing doors swinging shut behind him. John stood in the dust and growing darkness a moment, breathing hard, staring at the light and merriment with an angry, affronted expression on his face, then flapped a hand and turned away, staggering a little.
Eli was hitched to the post some ways off, one hoof resting on its tip at his leisure, gazing backwards towards John with an unmistakably wry expression, his long black tail flicking idly.
"Quit lookin' at me like that," John muttered waspishly, eyeing him. "He started it."
Eli snorted, ears swiveling. John pulled himself into the saddle, listing dangerously, and wheeling Eli around kicked him into a canter, starting away from town.
It had been a week or so since John had returned from Mount Hagen, where Micah, Dutch and Rane had all met their doom, and he had not spent his time well. He'd found himself drawn to the saloon like a moth to light, spending each day after the ranch's work was through sitting at the bar and pounding whiskey until he was knee-walking drunk and belligerent. The barkeep had tolerated his boisterous warmongering patiently enough - John had been met with fisticuffs nearly every day that week, and had the fat lip and swollen eye to prove it - until tonight, when John had smashed a barstool across a man's back for looking at him sidelong, breaking it into bits. Rowdy drunkards with big mouths were one thing; boys busting up property over a side eye, now, that was something else.
It was getting towards dusk, the sun hanging red and gorgeous over the spring countryside, but even this didn't do much to buoy John's spirits. He was hiding it with boozing and fighting, but he felt low indeed. His thoughts were never far from Rane Roth, or the image of her lean, blood-smattered body lying in the snow. He'd taken to carrying her erstwhile sword around with him, hung on his saddlebag, even though he hadn't the veriest idea how to use it (he'd tried once or twice, but it was heavy and awkward and he'd nearly lost a thumb trying to twirl it the way Rane once did).
He was on the outskirts of Strawberry, clutching Eli's bridle with one loose hand and letting his head tip back on his shoulders, lax, when the two strangers accosted him.
It was remarkably quick, and even if John had been sober he wondered later whether or not he'd have been able to elude them. There was a loud, sharp command that he didn't understand - daro rokko! - and Eli came to an immediate skidding halt, his hooves kicking up dust. John fumbled for the bridlde, trying not to go ass over end into the dirt.
"What in the livin' hell, Eli -?"
"John Marston?"
John turned, startled. He was surprised to see two riders there. One was a fantastically beautiful woman, tall and slender astride a white mare, with a curious little tiara of interwoven green and silver sitting atop golden hair that dropped to her mid-back. The other was a man, perhaps five or six years John's senior from the look of him, tow-headed and unshaven and ruggedly handsome, wearing a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Both wore swords on their hips much like Rane once had, and both were dressed in curious garb - dark green cloaks that wafted back over their mounts' hindquarters, and open-throated white tunics. There was something faintly familiar about the man, though John couldn't place it out of hand, not in his current state. Nor did he particularly want to. Armed strangers were not something he was too keen to entertain just this moment.
"Can I fuckin' help you with somethin'?" John asked sharply, looking between them. His hand had drifted to the butt of his gun and lingered there now. "I'm just tryin' to get home, I don't want no more damn tr - hic - trouble tonight."
"We aren't here to start any trouble, buddy," said the man, lifting one hand palm-out. He spoke with a faint Southern timbre. "We just wanna talk to you. Or she does, I guess."
He cast a glance sidelong at his companion, who offered John such a genuine, sunny smile that he felt some of his reticence melt away.
"We mean no harm," she said. Her voice was husky, lovely and warm. "I believe we may have a mutual friend."
"Mutual friend, huh?" John eyed her suspiciously. "I ain't never met you before in my life, miss. Neither one of ya."
"We come from overseas, far and away." The woman gestured behind her. "Come. We much desire to speak to you, and the hour grows late."
"I ain't got nothin' to say to you people."
"Well, buddy, you just might find that you do, when you hear what we have to say," said the blonde man a trifle restively. John eyed him from beneath Arthur's hat, wavering a little.
"That so?"
The man nodded. "Damn straight, buddy. Yea, verily."
"You got a funny way of talkin', mister."
"Well, I guess I've heard worse said about me." The man gestured impatiently. "Listen to this good lady over here and come with us. I don't care much for this little town, it gives me the creeps right down to my boots."
John looked between him and the woman a moment longer, lips lifted into a little mistrustful sneer, his blacked eye dark and grim in the growing dark.
"And how do I know this big feller ain't gonna try to knife me and take me for what I got in my pockets, lady?" he said at last, lifting a chin.
At this, the blonde man threw his head back and laughed heartily. Again, John was stricken by the familiarity of him. The set of his shoulders, maybe, or the tilt of his grin? He was almost positive that he had met this man before, though he couldn't recall when.
"Boy, what of yours do you think I'd want, huh?" he asked, still smiling. "You got a big ass ol' estate hidden in them skinny drawers or something? Couple-few stacks I can make my fortune with, retire young?"
"Wade." The woman's voice was a touch remonstrative. "You are being rude."
The man scoffed, looking affronted. "Rude? Iliwynn, that guy just straight-up asked me if I was gonna steal his shit off of him! How the hell you gonna talk about me being rude?"
The woman - Iliwynn - cast the man a dire look. "You embarrass me, Undunai. Hush."
"Yeah, well -"
"Hush, I say. Quillë." Iliwynn offered John a bright, apologetic smile. "Forgive my companion, he speaks far too quickly. Please." She gestured again. "Come. We will not take up much of your time, Mister Marston. Nor will we harm you."
John was eyeballing the blond man, who was still chuckling and massaging the bridge of his nose, then nodded. "Yeah, okay. Lead on. I got a few, I guess."
He followed them into the forest some ways away, where they had clearly set up camp. Neither of them addressed him during their ride, but they spoke plenty between themselves, in a language John did not understand. Much like the man with the ponytail, it seemed familiar to him, somehow, though distantly. He was too drunk and tired to ruminate much on the matter, all things considered. Mostly, he was curious, and with good reason; no one in Strawberry was supposed to know his true name, and the fact that these strangers had come upon him and called him out like that was a trifle worrisome. At the very least, he wanted to see where they came from, and how they knew who he was.
At length, the three came upon a sparse little billet in the forest, not much more than a campfire and a pair of cots. John dismounted Eli and hitched him, looking suspiciously around him as he tied the stallion off. There didn't seem to be anyone else around, and the camp was scant; they didn't have many belongings, save the two horses they'd ridden in on. Once they'd hitched, the two strangers took a seat before the waning fire, flickering in the low dusklight.
"Your fire's fixin' to go out," he muttered, lifting his chin at it as he took a seat. "Oughta stoke it."
The blond man pulled something from his pocket - something John recognized at once - and pointed it.
"Incendio."
The fire sprang into fullness, casting its red glow over the little clearing. John looked at the blond man, shocked.
"That's a wand!"
"Sure enough, mister Marston." The man was stowing it away, glancing at Iliwynn. "I guess you might be right about him, hearing a muggle talk that way. Lucky MACUSA isn't popping up outta the bushes to tackle him."
This term, too - MACUSA - rang a bell deep in John's memory, though once more he could not recall where he knew it from. He eyed them.
"Who are y'all, anyway?"
Iliwynn touched the base of her throat and inclined her head, rather decorously. "I am Iliwynn Talaeos, daughter of Elrohir. I am the cáno of Ylle Thalas."
"The what of what?"
"The boss," the blond man supplied, smirking.
John turned his eyes toward him. When he spoke, his voice was a trifle hostile. He wasn't sure he liked this guy. He had a smart mouth, and John was too drunk for monkeyshines.
"And who are you, exactly?"
"This is Wade Roth," said Iliwynn, gesturing. "He is my foremost lieutenant, and a maethor of my city. A general, if you will."
"Roth." John was looking between Iliwynn and Wade, frowning. "I believe I heard that name before."
Suddenly, the familiarity of the blonde man was starting to come clear. His mannerisms, his strange accent, the shape of his face, the high cheekbones, even the little lilt of his smile and the way his eyes turned up at the corners . . . they were Rane to the life. It couldn't possibly be her father - he was far too young - but a sibling, maybe? An uncle?
"You got kin, name of Rane, mister? You look an awful lot like a friend of mine, now that I notice it."
"Well." Wade sighed. "That's kinda why we're here,"
"My city received a raven from Hostas, in Guarma, some time ago," said Iliwynn slowly. "Regarding a woman who took shelter in their house. Black of hair and lovely, as they said, wielding heavy Elven steel with great skill."
"Yeah, they were stuck there for a piece, years ago." John laughed, uncertain. "'Black of hair and lovely, wielding heavy Elven steel.' Yeah, that sounds like her, alright."
Now that the resemblance had been established in his mind, John found himself eyeing Wade helplessly, his eyes skating over the other man's face. It was strange, how similar to Rane he was. Wade met his gaze, a touch insolent.
"You see something green, boy?"
John averted his gaze, self-conscious. "It's just that she favors you, is all. Sorry, mister."
Wade cast a rather long-suffering look at Iliwynn, who was watching him.
"Iliwynn, this is getting a little bit too strange for my taste," he muttered, low. "This kid over here saying how she looks like me, now? The hell is all this, anyways? I'd know damn good and well if I had a daughter."
Iliwynn touched his arm gently, her gaze stern and unwavering. "We must unravel this. That's all. Sérë."
"Your daughter?" John was a little astonished. "You can't be more than, what, thirty-five?"
Wade laughed, low, shaking his head. "Boy, I bet I've got six goddamned centuries on you easy, don't try to tell me I'm too young for a kid."
John shifted his weight, a little reticent. "Well, either way, she talked about you, couple-few times."
"Like hell she did," said Wade at once, but he looked, for the first time that evening, a little disquieted. "She told you my name?"
John nodded. Wade scoffed.
"My name? Wade? Wade Roth? She gave you that name?"
"Yessir."
"Iliwynn, what in the living hell is going on?" Wade snapped abruptly, staring at her. Iliwynn looked back at him calmly, her hands clasped in her lap, eyes gentle and patient. "You drag me out into these God-forsaken shit-stinkig boondocks talking about some daughter I don't have, and here goes this stranger -!"
"Wade, peace you."
"No, peace yourself!" Wade snapped, quite put out. "I don't know what the hell we're doing out here in the middle of goddamned nowhere, Iliwynn, asking after some damn kid I don't even have, I don't even -"
"Undunai." Iliwynn's voice was sharp. "Compose yourself, please."
She offered John a rather placatory look as Wade stared off sullenly.
"I believe I must explain myself," she said. John snorted.
"Well yeah, I'd sure appreciate it, lady, I still don't know what I'm doin' out here."
"I must lead by advising you that we do not know your friend, Rane Roth," she went on.
"Then what the hell are you both doing fucking with my evening?" John leaned over one knee, looking at them admonishingly. "You just havin' me on or something? Hell, I coulda been home with my wife and kid, rather than -"
"John, Rane doesn't exist yet." Iliwynn leaned forward, meeting his eyes. "She comes later. Do you understand? Did she ever speak of such things?"
John hesitated. "Yeah, she did, actually."
"And when - ?"
"She talked about 1996."
Wade and Iliwynn exchanged a significant look. John scoffed.
"Look, she said a lot of shit, and that wasn't even close to the craziest."
"She was born in 1996?" Wade asked roughly.
John hesitated. "No - she - well, she told me her daughter was -" John cast about. "She said she was twenty-six when I met her. Hey, look, what the hell is going on, anyway? I don't understand none of this, she's been dead goin' on a week now, what the hell is the difference?"
Both Iliwynn and Wade leaned forward at this.
"Dead?" said Iliwynn sharply.
"Yes'm, she was shot down."
Iliwynn sat back, watching. "Shot down."
"I buried her in the ground, miss. I know for a fact that she's dead."
Iliwynn exchanged a glance with Wade, who was watching her uneasily. "We are too late, then."
"I still think you're all the way wrong about this shit, Iliwynn. That girl wasn't mine, they just had it wrong in Hostas, is all."
"No," Iliwynn replied coolly. "I am still quite sure that - "
"Hey, will one of y'all tell me what the HELL is goin' on, huh?" John said loudly, sitting up and fixing both Wade and Iliwynn with sharp, cold looks. He pulled Arthur's hat from his head and dropped it in his lap, his face contorted with anger. "It's late as hell and I still can't figure out what the fuck you all want from me, askin' after my dead friend, and I don't much care for none of it, so why don't you tell me what you need outta me so I can be on my way? Huh? I'm havin' a hard enough time dealin' with her bein' gone as it already is."
Iliwynn was watching John perceptively. "You were in love with her."
John hesitated, some of his anger melting away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it in the bonfire and sticking it into the corner of his mouth, his heart beating a little hard.
"I don't see what that has to do with nothin'."
"You did." Iliwynn was still looking at him, shrewd. John shrugged, his face reddening a little.
"Maybe I did, I dunno."
"Look, we're just confused," said Wade, waving a hand. John turned his eyes towards him, trying to ignore the knowing look Iliwynn was throwing him. "I don't have a daughter, mister Marston, and the fact that we got this message from Limdur Eilric is a little bit troublesome. He ain't exactly the sort to make accusations without good cause."
"Well, he ain't the sort to do nothin' anymore," said John. "He stabbed her through the chest and got shot dead for his troubles, way I heard it."
Iliwynn and Wade exchanged a significant look. Wade cleared his throat.
"Yeah, we heard about that. Way it was told to us, some filthy gunslinger put a bullet in his -"
"Hey, that's my FRIEND you're talkin' about, mister!" John shouted, suddenly angry, leveling a finger. "He ain't a filthy NOTHIN'! So you just watch your mouth, talkin' about Arthur!"
"Boy, you better take yourself down a notch before you talk to me that way," said Wade dangerously, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. "I'll skewer your punk ass, see if I won't -"
"Wade! WADE!" Iliwynn's voice was harsh. She gave John a gentle smile. "Please, Mister Marston -"
"What the hell you want from me?" John asked again, his voice harsh. "What the hell you want? Huh? What can I help ya with? Rane's dead in the ground a week now, I don't have nothin' for ya, do I? I don't know nothin' about none of this shit you're talking about."
Iliwynn was looking at him, silent, her mouth thin.
"Well, say somethin'!" John burst out, impatient.
"Hey, you watch your MOUTH, boy, that's the cáno of Ylle Thalas you're talking to!" Wade snapped waspishly, looking affronted.
"Undunai, stop." Iliwynn waved a hand. Her eyes were still on John. "Mister Marston, may I tell you what I believe? With regards to your friend, Rane Roth?"
John felt his shoulders sink a little at the sound of her name spoken by another. Her face, lovely and angular, swam before him, heartbreaking in its clarity.
"Yes, ma'am," he said softly, a little reticent. "Please."
"Perhaps we can speak alone."
"Oh, what the hell," Wade remarked at once, looking put out. Iliwynn cast him such a dire look that he quailed a little beneath it, looking uncharacteristically chastened.
"Stay," she commanded imperiously, and beckoned to John, getting to her feet. "Come with me. We will speak alone. With no interruptions," she added, glancing at Wade.
He lifted both hands as John got up and started after the lovely blonde woman. "Whatever you say, boss lady."
"Tolo ar'nin," said Iliwynn, gesturing. She shook her head, seeming to remember herself. "Come with me, I mean. We must speak."
John did, following her lean form away from the firelight.
