Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies,
Don't fence me in.
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love,
Don't fence me in.
Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees
Send me off forever but I ask you please,
Don't fence me in
-Don't Fence Me In
"What're we doing here?" Izrail asked. He and Tommy stood outside a group of ruins, crumbled adobe brick littering the parched ground, weeds growing up inbetween used-to-be buildings and hollow windows gaping at them like missing teeth.
"If we're going to catch Dream, we need more help." Tommy tugged on his horse's rope, making sure it was tied fast to its post.
"More help than me?"
Tommy nodded. "I can tell yer power's fading. And trust me, once you meet this guy, you'll agree that he's the strongest man in the desert. We want him on our side."
Still skeptical, Izrail followed Tommy as he picked his way through the ruins. As they stepped over fallen beams and broken walls, Izrail couldn't help wondering about the people who used to live here. Settlers? Natives? Nomads? He would never know.
"Techno?" Tommy called. "Techonblade!"
"His name is Technoblade?" Izrail's doubts about this man skyrocketed.
Tommy grinned. "The one and only. Techno!"
"Who is Technoblade?"
"He's the most infamous outlaw in the west! No sheriff or bounty hunter has ever caught him. He's legendary!"
Izrail carefully walked around a pile of blackened beams and charcoal, not wanting to dirty his robes anymore than they were. "How do you know him?"
"He taught me how to shoot and ride a horse and basically survive out here. He's the reason I became a bounty hunter in the first place." Tommy cupped his hands around his mouth. "Techno! Technoblade!"
"What?"
Izrail whipped around. A man stepped out from the shade of a ruined wall, rubbing his eyes. His soft pink hair blended in with the reds of the desert. Several revolvers dangled from the holster at his hip, a rifle was strapped across his chest.
"Techno!" Tommy cried and raced towards him.
A small smile spread on Techno's face. "Hey, Tommy." He finally noticed Izrail. "Who's this?"
"This is my pal Iz." Tommy smacked Izrail on the back. "He's helping me kill Dream."
Techno studied Izrail, unimpressed. "An Angel of Death, huh? Where do you find these people, Tommy?"
"In Yucca Falls."
"Yuck. Not too fond of that place."
"Me either," Izrail mumbled.
"He speaks!" Techno exclaimed. "So tell me, friend, what dire straights have you found yerself in to be slummin' around with Tommy?"
"Death sent me here to put an end to necromancy," Izrail explained. "I need to find Dream just as much as Tommy."
"And yer here to ask me for help," Techno surmised. "Sorry, but yer out of luck. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm goin' for a ride."
"What?" Tommy shouted. "We need yer help—"
Techno turned and walked away, whistling.
"Techno!" Tommy scrambled after him. "Wait! You're the best gunman in the west—"
"Flattery don't work on me, Tommy," Techno sing-songed. He bent over and picked up an old glass bottle, sniffed at it, tossed it to the side.
"What I'm saying is that Dream is scared of one person in this whole desert—"
"That's why he doesn't come out here, Tommy. He's smart and knows not to bother Technoblade." Techno grabbed a hat hanging from the corner of a house and stuck it on his head.
"Please, Techno." Tommy grabbed his arm. "With Iz, we actually have a chance. Please. Help me."
Techno looked down at Tommy, struggling to hide the emotions fighting inside him. "You know I want to, Tommy. But I can't."
"Why not?"
"I made a promise to Dream." Techno shook Tommy's arm off. "And I never, ever, go back on my word."
"Even if it's for the greater good?"
"What part of 'never ever' don't you understand?"
Izrail sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, they could use Techno's help. Izrail's essence ached and his power floundered in his chest. Though this man lived alone in a ruined village, he carried himself with a confidence and ease that reminded Izrail of Phil. He was dangerous, skilled, and powerful.
"This is bigger than your promises," Izrail spoke up. Techno's head snapped to Izrail. "Death herself wants Dream gone. Isn't that more important than some deal between mortals?"
Something savage and wild glinted in Technoblade's eye. "You think I'm mortal?" He stepped towards Izrail and looked down at him, sneering, his hand on his gun. "Do you?"
Izrail struggled to find words as Techno bore down on him, the air around them boiling. Chanting rose in Izrail's ears, voices soft and indiscernible, as Techno's eyes glowed. Pressure built in Izrail's skull and the air throbbed in time with his heartbeat and still Techno towered over him, ancient power rising out of his skin. The voices grew louder and louder, hissing and screeching like a horde of cicadas until Izrail could make out what they were saying.
Blood for the blood god.
"You're him," Izrail breathed. "The god that ran away."
"You still think my promises are worthless?" Techno asked.
Izrail shook his head.
"Good." Techno stepped back and the voices vaporized into the arid air. Izrail's shoulders slumped as the pressure in his head eased and the air around them stood still.
"What just happened?" Tommy's mouth hung open.
Technoblade ignored him. "I wish both of you the best of luck, but I can't help." He turned around again, ignoring Tommy's pleas for him to come back. "Don't follow me," he said. And he headed off into the desert, swallowed up by the shimmering mirage.
"Stupid Technoblade!" Tommy yelled. He stormed through the ruins, kicking at the ground and throwing rocks at the unstable walls, muttering to himself.
Izrail watched the show from his perch on a roof, absentmindedly fingering his shadows. Tommy had been at this for nearly an hour, absolutely furious that Techno wouldn't help them.
Izrail didn't share the same sentiment. He was still sore about being shown up by the other god and decided that he didn't much like Techno anyways. If Tommy would hurry up with his tantrum, they'd arrive in Dusthollow with plenty of power still in Izrail's chest. Who needed Technoblade?
Or so he told himself.
Izrail had heard of Technoblade in Death's realm. Of course, he didn't have such a stupid name back then. Everyone knew him as the Blood God. Like Phil, he'd given up his power to live in the Overworld. But, Techno wasn't just another angel, he had been a god. His fall was nearly legendary in the afterlife. Techno's power would certainly be helpful.
Oh, well. With Technoblade out of the picture, Izrail now had to focus on consoling this child. There he went again, lugging a huge rock and chucking it at a barely-standing wall. The wall collapsed and dust exploded all over Tommy. He roared in anger and stormed off to find another rock.
Izrail drummed his fingers on the roof, considering leaving Tommy behind, knowing full well he wouldn't. Izrail still had no idea how to get to Dusthollow.
"Tommy?" Izrail called. "I think we should get moving—"
"NO!" Tommy didn't stop his rampage and chucked a rock through a busted window.
Izrail rolled his eyes. He hopped down from the roof and walked over to Tommy. "My power is fading every minute we spend here. If you want to kill Dream—"
"How could he just walk away from me!" Tommy seethed. "I thought we were friends—"
"Tommy—"
"Oh, Tommy! I can't help you! I made some stupid promise to a murderer that I won't break! Wo is me! Yeah, right, Techno! When I see him again I'm going to—"
"Tommy!" Izrail grabbed his arm. "Let it go! We need to get to Dusthollow."
Tommy hung his head, breathing heavy, his fists clenched and shaking. After a minute, he swallowed and said, "Yeah. You're right Iz." He pushed Izrail's hand off of him and marched off to his horse.
Izrail followed, shaking his head in disbelief.
Humans were crazy.
Tommy didn't wait for Izrail before riding off. Izrail rushed to untie his horse and hurried to catch up.
Izrail pulled his horse alongside Tommy's, proud of himself for riding that fast all on his own. "Tommy—"
"Don't talk to me, Iz," Tommy grumbled. "I've had enough of gods for today." Then, he added, "We'll reach Dusthollow by night."
They rode for hours, the rocky ground beneath them shifting into a narrow trail that angled west into the setting sun. The mesas faded into craggy mountains, juniper trees twisted out of the ground and wildflowers poked out of the grasses. Bluebirds darted over Izrail's head and for just a moment, he wished he could fly with them.
The trail widened as the harsh desert faded behind them. The mountains rose taller and taller, snow blanketing the peaks and white waterfalls trailing down the faces. Fir and ponderosa trees reached for the cloudless sky, beams of sunlight parting the branches. Winter-yellow grasses swayed in the still air and the endless wilderness spread to eternity.
As the sun fell behind the mountains, Izrail could make out the lights of a town just ahead. They'd finally reached Dusthollow.
Reluctantly, Izrail stretched his human guise over himself, mourning at the loss of power in his chest and the itching that attacked his skin. But, subtlety was key. Dream couldn't know they'd come for him until it was too late.
Dusthollow was first and foremost a railroad town. The rails ran east to west, carrying in fresh settlers and delivering supplies from the cities. Tourists and fresh-faced explorers bustled around the train station, gawking at the towering mountains and untouched land.
The road wound past the station and dumped Tommy and Izrail onto Dusthollow's main street. Unlike Yucca Falls, Dusthollow was fresh and cheery and bright. The painted storefronts shimmered with new colors, the wooden and even brick buildings stood up proud and straight, the lanterns lined the streets to keep the dark at bay. With such a steady supply of new, naive, and unlearned citizens, Dusthollow fought to keep its place as a haven for tourists. This was the Wild West most people in the east dreamed of and imagined when they read their books and articles: New and exciting and glamorous.
Izrail followed Tommy down the main street, trying to reel in his shadows and magic as much as possible. With his power as low as it was, Izrail found it difficult to keep his human guise up.
They stopped at the Grande Hotel: An emerald green building with golden letters painted on the second-story balcony. Izrail caught a glimpse of stuffed couches and purple carpeting and blue wallpaper through the window.
Tommy slid off his horse and stretched his arms, eyes roving up and down the street. "I'll go get us a room. Mind puttin' the horses away?"
Izrail shook his head and stroked his horse's neck. He hated to admit it, but he'd taken a liking to her over the past few days. He liked to think that she had as well. She'd even let him feed her the other night.
"Keep yer eyes peeled," Tommy said. "This place is infested with bandits. They like to pick off the pigeons." He nodded to the train station still crowded with new arrivals. Tommy spun on his heels and marched to the hotel, glancing over his shoulder before stepping inside.
Izrail jumped off his horse, grabbed his reins and Tommy's, and led the horses around the back to the stables. He stroked his horse and remembered that Tommy had called her Bluebell. Izrail undid her saddle just as Tommy had taught him. Bluebell suited her.
With the horses taken care of, Izrail went to join Tommy at the hotel. The mountains cast long shadows over Dusthollow, making it dark before dusk. The new arrivals had dispersed from the station and now wandered up the streets, comparing inns and hotels and saloons, hope and dreams still sparking in their eyes. It still boggled Izrail's mind why anyone would willingly come out west, but that was a human problem he couldn't hope to understand.
Just as Izrail stepped onto the hotel porch, his essence shivered. Something wasn't right. He looked up and down the street, searching for anyone who stood out.
A bell jingled as the hotel door swung open. Tommy poked his head out.
"C'mon, Iz," Tommy said. "I've got us a room—"
"Shush." Izrail narrowed his eyes, gathered the power at his fingers, crouched lower. Something was definitely off. His ears started to ring, the air around the street shimmered.
Whatever it was, it was getting closer.
Tommy could feel it, too. He stepped onto the porch and pulled his gun out of its holster, prepared for attack.
It was getting hard to breathe, the dark sky pushing down on the street, a bad taste filling Izrail's mouth, the ringing growing louder and louder and he couldn't see it what was happening—
There.
A man walked on the other side of the street, his head ducked, hunched over from the bulging bag on his back. All around him the air shimmered and rippled as if tearing itself apart. His aura throbbed deep blue, so bright it forced Izrail to look away.
Only one man and one book had that much power in the west.
"It's Dream," Izrail breathed.
Tommy raised his gun and shot.
