Bray, he'd felt odd all day. He hadn't thought much about it at first, but then it got worse as the day wore on. Jumbled up thoughts going through his mind, voices that whispered in his ear. He pretended at first not to hear them, but he couldn't very well avoid them now. They were constant, persistent, so much now that his head had begun to ache.
He brought the axe down hard, sliced the wood cleanly in half. Set up the smaller halves on the tree stump, chopped them into further halves. He tossed the firewood on the growing pile, grabbed another thick log.
She is always nagging you. Always, and you keep taking it.
Bray frowned, swung the axe over his head and brought it down with a deep thunk into the wood. Sweat beaded on his shoulders, ran down his back. The muscles of his arms burned, but he loved the feeling, the pent up energy he could let go out here. The wife left him alone when he came out here, realized this was his place to think. And the kids, he'd told them it was dangerous work, better left to him.
She will never leave you alone. Never, never. Do something.
"Shut up."
Bray swung again, let his mind go as he chopped and set, chopped and set. Maybe he was getting sick. That was probably it. Gertie was always sneezing in the hotter summers out here in the plains, the smallest of his three daughters. Her eyes would get all red, and sometimes she'd have to stay inside the house until she cleared up.
Maybe that was it. Just a little sick, that was all.
They are all sick. They are all sick, and they are making you sick. Nagging, choking, annoying, sick.
He brought the axe down harder, and this time the handle slipped out of his hands. He swore as the blade clipped the log, jumped back as the axe tumbled into the long grass.
Bray bared his teeth in frustration and walked to where the axe had fallen. He stooped and reached down to pick it up, then snapped his hand back. Looked at his hand, saw a glistening line of blood form on his thumb. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, looked at it again. Blood trickled down his thumb, pooled in the palm of his hand.
"How the Hell did I manage that?"
Maybe he was more sick than he thought.
The blood helps. Helps you get better. More blood, less nagging, less annoying. No sickness.
Now that he thought about it, Bray did feel better. Much better, actually. He picked up the axe and went back to work, chopped another log in half. He bent down and picked up the halves, cut them down and tossed them in the heap.
He was mid-swing when the thought struck. The axe bounced off the wood, jarring his hands. He ignored the pain, frowning to remember what had just been in his mind.
And then he remembered. He bled, and then he felt better. Maybe that was it. Maybe, if he did the same to his wife, to his daughters, maybe they'd feel better, too.
The man sprinted through the desert brush in the distance, weaving around tall cacti, over the thin patches of green shrub that littered the region. He barely stood out now, only sighted by the occasional glint of metal at his hip, and the furious motion of his legs and swinging arms against the beige background of the desert.
The afternoon sun shone in the clear sky overhead, casting its stark, hot gaze over the West. The air over the harsh, broken ground shimmered in the heat, the arid land stretching towards the horizon, met by the vague outlines of wintry peaks far to the north.
A lone mesa stood to the northeast, the jagged rock jutting from the earth like a giant, solid table. Striped layers of dry, aged sediment defined echoes of men and empires long since passed, reminders that little remained of what came before.
The man, fading into the sand, obscured by the drab, washed out colors of the bleached wasteland, ran directly towards the mesa.
Shae Winter frowned, her lips set in a thin line. Damn thing is fast, she thought. Not that the damn Fade's getting away from me, no matter how fast the bastard runs.
She spurred her horse with a firm nudge. The mount picked up speed with a snort, the tan mare jumping forward as Shae slapped the reins down. "Sorry, girl," she whispered, the sound of her voice nearly lost in the whistling breeze as they galloped after their quarry.
"You say somethin'?"
Shae turned her head towards the loud voice, looked over her shoulder with a wry smile at the grizzled man a pace behind. Coffey, her mentor, an old hand at these kinds of hunts. He'd been chasing these bastards since before she had been born, before she had any sort of notion of what nightmares looked like in the flesh. Before she'd had to grow up, too fast, too soon.
She cut the thought off before it could dig any deeper.
Coffey rode a dark brown stallion, its smooth movement belied by the ripple and twitch of powerful muscles as it kept pace with Shae's mare. He leaned over his saddle, one gloved hand gripping the reins over his horse's neck, the bare skin of his free hand pressed against his leg. His hat lay against his back, held in place by a thin leather strap across his neck. Dark eyes bored into her, darker than the long hair, streaked with grey, that swept over his shoulders.
"What?" he shouted.
Shae pointed towards the mesa, indicating the fleeing man. "I said, he's pretty damned fast!"
Coffey shook his head, motioned for Shae to slow up. "Ain't the man. It's the thing that's driving the man." He pulled back on the reins, his mount tromping to a sudden stop, kicking up dirt.
What the hell is the old man doing? Shae thought. She almost ignored it, almost pretended she hadn't seen his motion, but she knew better. He'd know better. Dammit.
She pulled the reins back, the mare's hooves biting into the coarse dirt. She guided her mount around and stopped next to Coffey, who was eyeing the mesa. "Why the hell we stopping, Coffey? We're gonna lose it!"
Coffey chewed on his lip for a moment, the fingers of his naked hand drumming on his pants. "That mesa there?" he finally said, sparing Shae a cold glance. "That's the Skarn. A hole dug into the earth at its base, an old mine abandoned years ago, once it dried up."
Shae had heard of the old Skarn mine, of course, but she'd never had a real idea where it was located. Plenty of holes in the ground, men digging and prying, and they all looked the same to her. Only thing that mattered was what chose to hide in those dark places.
"You think the Fade's shooting for it?"
"One way to find out, girl," he said. "Take a look." He turned away, spit onto the ground. A clump of tobacco juice spattered against the dirt.
Shae was a Sentinel, a hunter, tracker and destroyer of the demons of the West, but she'd never been able to fathom that nasty habit. Disgusting, is what it was.
She grimaced as she felt along her belt, pausing as her fingers brushed her holster. Her index finger traced the leather strap running across the grip of her pistol, flicked the button that loosened it. She felt the current of energy rush through her as her fingers neared the grip, the touch of the talisman that helped make her who she was. Excitement, anxiety, grabbed at her, the pull of the Veil throbbing in her veins, in her chest. The same mix of thrill and terror, exactly like the first time. Like every time.
Steady. She took a deep breath, and wrapped her fingers around the cool grip, pulling the pistol free of its leather holster in one smooth motion. Her hand tingled at the touch of the flintlock, her focus mesmerized by the elegant symbols etched into the grip, running along the barrel.
"Shae."
She blinked, breathed again. She fought the warmth reddening her cheeks. "Sorry," she said, her voice matching the renewed frown on her face. She closed her eyes and concentrated, let the talisman guide her. The flintlock purred in her hand, the low whispers and faint song of the talisman buried within. Her grip tightened, her heart hammering against her chest. She swallowed, opened her eyes and looked.
The Veil washed over her, dimming her world in monochromatic tones, shades and hues of grey. The sounds of Coffey, the shifting motion of their horses, the wisp of the breeze, everything reached her ears as if they were worlds away. She heard a muffled, distant noise, and then a sudden silence as her vision, as she, shifted completely into the Veil.
The western desert loomed before her, unchanged yet different, a whole new world that she knew yet could never understand. The sand and dirt, the shrubs, the thin plants and cacti, the mesa, the mountain range on the horizon, it was all there. Everything where it had been just a moment ago, transformed in an instant by stepping into the Veil, the divide between Shae's world, her reality, and the inhuman reality of the creatures that lurked within.
Fades. Shadows. The Boogeyman. All names the common folk had termed for them. Whispered stories, rumors, legends and myth, that's all they were to most people. Bumps in the night, haunting dreams and visions, forgotten by the light of day. But Shae, she knew them much better. Well enough to want to destroy every single one of the scheming, unnatural bastards.
She shifted her attention, focused on the mesa. The scrubland blurred as she strained her sight on that single landmark, the rock table standing out in stark relief. There. A dark spot jumped out at her, a hole at the base of the mesa on the southwestern side. A doorway into the crusted earth, framed by wooden beams and rusted iron. A small rail cart leaned against the wood frame of the mine entrance, like the metal car stood guard, set there to defend the entrance even though the mine had been empty and forgotten for years.
But the mine wasn't empty now.
Shae caught the shift of movement within, the play and blur of an aura against the dark, shadowed edges of the mine shaft. A glow, an ember that radiated reds and oranges, colors and hues swirling and melding together in violent collisions.
Her breathing slowed as the shape within the black hole of the mine stilled. The ember stretched. Two thin limbs extended from the central mass, grasping at the wooden frame. A face appeared out of the murky black of the mine shaft, eyes a burning white, its expression intense as the Fade returned Shae's stare from the edge of the mine's entrance.
The demon waited for them, she realized. It wasn't trying to hide, or escape its hunters. The Fade wanted them inside the mine, under the earth, inside the pitch black tunnels. Alone, in the dark, it would wait for the Sentinels, hunt them like they'd hunted it.
"Fine, you bastard," she said, her firm voice loud against the silence of the Veil. You don't want what's coming, not really, but you'll get it, Daeva. The alien word rang in her ears, even as she thought it, like she'd spoken the name aloud. The true name of the demons, ghosts, the haunted, twisted beings of the Veil.
The Daeva reacted like it heard her, like the creature heard her voiced, and unspoken, challenge. A line appeared on its face, curved upwards on the corners, the disconcerting smile one of pure, eager malice and threat. The face suddenly shifted, and a chilling sound reached Shae's ears. The Fade screeched, a wailing keen that made her cringe, and then the shrill cry was gone, the demon gone with it, faded back into the pitch of the mine.
Shae let out a heavy breath and closed her eyes, releasing her hold on the Veil. It was always difficult, and she'd noticed over the past few years it got harder to refuse the pull of the Veil. Like the shifting auras and strange touch of that world called to her, fiercer in its grasp each time she pierced that alien reality.
The warm breeze flicked across her skin, through her hair. A bird called out in the skies above, and she felt the heat of the sun on her face, the sweat on the back of her neck. The world pressed in around her, replaced the oddness, the faint and washed out greys of the Veil.
"Well?"
Coffey's bark stung her ears, his rough voice shredding what was left of the Veil, the images and auras slipping away into dim memory, already a half-remembered dream. She cringed as she opened her eyes, the harsh sunlight bringing tears. She pulled her hat up, tilted the brim over her forehead.
"Fade's in the mine, alright," she said, motioning towards the mesa, and the mine buried below it, with her eyes.
He glanced at her, his cool eyes on hers for the briefest of moments before they flitted back towards the north. "You sure? It's not gonna run?"
She nodded. "Oh yeah, bastard's not going anywhere. Damn thing practically begged me to follow it. Think the demon wants us in there with it." She smiled as she put her flintlock back in its holster at her hip. She snapped the leather strap back over the grip, her fingers lingering over the ebony. "Like it'll enjoy that very much."
Coffey shrugged, spit again, his horse pounding the dirt with impatient hooves. "Maybe you shouldn't enjoy it so much either, girl. You remember there's a man in there, somewhere, right? Ain't his fault."
He didn't look at her, no accusatory glare, and his tone wasn't especially harsh, but Shae bit her lip as her smile died. His words were enough, and they cut just as easily as any reprimand, slap, or angered stare.
"Alright then," he continued, glancing up at the sun. "Let's not keep the Daeva waiting. Not much daylight left, and I don't want to be down there all night."
Shae nodded, kept her face a mask, and let Coffey lead them north towards the mesa and the Skarn mine. She remained silent as they picked their way across the desert.
Coffey was right, of course, she knew that. The man, the shell that the Daeva had taken over, it wasn't like he'd had any choice. Probably just some ordinary man, working his land, maybe a wife and kids. He wasn't trained to handle the nightmare that planted itself in his head, that whispered promises and slowly worked its way into his core, until his thoughts were the Daeva's thoughts. Good man or bad, he'd been exposed for too long and the Fade had melded with him, taken him heart and soul, left him no choice.
But right or not, Coffey's words stuck in her craw, one defensive thought overriding the others. She stewed as they rode, the thought jostled around just like she was in her saddle.
It wasn't her fault, either.