Colony

by SpunSilk

Part nine: Gun barrel

Over the centuries, mankind has tried many ways
of combating evil... prayer, fasting, good works and so on.
No one seemed to have thought about the
double-barrel shotgun. Eat leaden death, demon.

––Terry Prachett

A person. Another human being stood in the old grave-yard with me. He was real. His shotgun was, too.

He was quite literally quaking with fear. Here's news for you; a gun barrel looks very dark and deep when it's pointed at your head.

I will admit to being less-than-eloquent while staring down that shotgun barrel. After four weeks of not having heard another human voice (and hardly having heard my own) there was a disconnected moment of what's-wrong-with-this-picture. The man holding the gun looked some ninety years old, full-bearded and wild-haired, dressed scruffy in worn and patched clothing. (Not being judgmental here, I had grown rather-more scruffy myself, at that point.)

We starred at each other, one more amazed than the other. Only after some moments did I notice other details, like his hand-made shoes, like the terrible condition of his teeth, like the amulets and small bundles that hung around his neck on silver chains and varied cords. I saw a cross there, I saw other symbols I did not recognize. Largest of all was a pewter amulet that was the self-same symbol that had been painted on every structure, save the church, that had survived the thorns.

I had thought this whole valley was absolutely deserted. That had been the point of this thing, after all.

"What are you?" he demanded, by way of greeting, his eyes wide.

My arms slowly rose up over my head. We stared at each other for a few more beats. "Isn't the customary question 'Who are you?' " I asked incredulously.

"Don't you get smart with me, Spirit! Answer!"

"I'm a reporter, in from the city–"

"I'm serious, stranger! Tell me what kind of creature you are!"

"Just a man." I said carefully.

"You're human?" he demanded, incredulous.

"Yeah." I said evenly, thinking it was obvious.

"You look it. But I'm not so foolish as to believe my eyes! The Miscreation is slippery. You could be him, in the flesh! Or sent by him to torment and trick me!" He seemed at the point of hyperventilating.

"Nobody's tricking anybody, old timer, settle down," I said calmingly, never taking my eyes off him. I wasn't going to provoke him at all until that shotgun pointed elsewhere. He was fit to be tied, shaking with nerves and wide-eyed with fear. "Just slow down a bit, here, and ask me anything you want to know. I promise; you'll find me very cooperative."

"Whom do you serve? Answer me! The truth!" he gripped the gun tighter.

That was an odd question. "Nobody. I answer only to myself."

"What is it you seek here?"

"I was hoping the tombstones would give me more of a history... you know, of the town here..." I left the comment open ended, but he added nothing. I kept talking in a calm manner. "I'm just new in the area, trying to familiarize myself..."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "One does not just happen across this town, stranger!" he said. "Tell me what you know of the Troglodyte!"

I blinked at him. "I don't even know what one is," came my honest reply.

"Tell me of Lahabiel!"

"I don't know him."

"Her."

"I don't know her."

"How long have you been here?"

"Here in the valley, some four weeks. Here in town, just since mid-morning of today," I answered. "I had no plan to sneak in on you – that's the truth. I thought the whole place was empty… Mm... Can I ask a question? Who are you?"

He eyed me suspiciously, calculating. At length he answered, "Lawrence's son."

"Uh-huh. Do you have a name yourself, too?"

"Silence! No questions! What's there to stop my mind from deciding that you are the Great Evil?"

"Evil?" I glanced at the thorns that stood at the edge of the church-yard a distance behind him. I tried a different tack. "Ask yourself this, old timer; what evil do you think could enter this yard, even if it wanted to?"

He glanced around at the thorns far away at the edges of the church-yard and pondered this, it seemed to clear up his thinking. "And you claim to be a human."

"I do."

"Well, now." He blinked hard in thought. "If you be human... what the HELL are you doing here?!"

Ah. I hesitated. That was a sticky subject. With the barrel eyeing me nervously the way it was, I went for straight honesty. "I needed to get far away from populated areas. I might... I might have a disease... of a sort. Don't get too close, friend ..." I cautioned him. "I may be contagious."

"I have no intention of getting close, and you keep your distance too, if you know what's best for you!" Although he had relaxed a bit, his gaze was still pretty wild.

"I repeat, you'll find me very cooperative."

"Where are you housed?"

Housed? An odd way to say it. I smiled my most reassuring smile. I had no intention of telling this nervous, well-armed old man (of yet-to-be-determined mental state) where I slept at night. "Not far..." I told him vaguely.

Luckily he did not seem to notice. "What's that bag around your neck?" he demanded.

I glanced down. "That's a Mojo bag. It gives me protection."

The shotgun barrel wavered. "Mojo bag?" he asked softly, surprised.

Sensing I had his attention, I quickly ran through the contents of the bag, "Brass bell, copper wire, dandelion root, chicken claw, linen string and garlic." His jaw dropped. I explained farther, "Certain creatures from the Ether can't use their magic against me when I wear it."

For a bit he seemed dumbstruck. "You are human... and you know the Ether?"

Now it was my turn to be dumbstruck. "Do you?!"

"A man learns a lot living here." His eyes became haunted. The shotgun relaxed, and the point fell to the ground with a dull thud. He came a few steps closer to me, studying me with intense curiosity. Then something sparked in his eye and I could almost see a lightbulb go on over his head. He started to vibrate with excitement. "I grasp it now! Heaven has sent a replacement!" Jeez, he seemed at the point of hyperventilating from the excitement of the whole conversation. "It's over! It's over! You will take on the Task!" He looked up at the sky and raised his hands over his head in joy, but wavered on his feet. "My father passed the baton to me, now I can pass the baton as well! On to you! Blessed completion! It's over!"

"See here now!" I protested, "Not so fast! What––?"

But he wasn't listening to me, the stranger's eyes suddenly glazed over and he went limb. He had fainted dead away. On instinct, I moved in to stop his fall before his head hit the ground.