He wondered how it a summer day could be so
blessedly sunny and cold at the same time, and then figured that maybe being
shot in the side and losing large
("Copious, Mr.
Sanchez. The word is
copious," reminded Ezra Standish from the back of Josiah's mind.)
amounts of blood- albeit slowly but steadily- would have
something to do with it.
He wondered, somewhat forlornly, when his
friends would find him. They would find him, sooner or later; the stage from
Eagle Bend would arrive unattended and they'd go out looking. They'd see the
churned-up
swath of earth where four bandits had surrounded the coach
and its frightened horses and forced it to stop. They'd see the bodies of three
of them, and the hoof prints of the horse belonging to the fourth; right next
to those would be Josiah's own, trailing tracks- trailing because it was, he
supposed, very difficult to walk when one had been shot in the side. Vin, being the astute tracker he was, would pick this up and
follow the tracks to where Josiah Sanchez- or his corpse- lay.
Thinking of corpses wasn't pleasant, but the
hole in his gut didn't particularly cheer him up, either, so maybe the latter
of the two possibilities wasn't so bad, and started to look like the more
probable as time wore on.
The Almighty only knew how long he'd been
here. With any luck, not as long as it felt he'd been there, as seemed like he
hadn't moved for an eternity. The earth had been created on the first day, but Josiah'd
occupied that same space in the primordial void before God even
got around to separating the land from the sky. At least, it felt like he had.
The very thought tired him and he closed his eyes.
A twittering beside him pulled him up from
sleep
(Or was it the valley of the shadow of
death?)
and he opened suddenly-heavy eyelids. A raven stood right
before his face, black eyes glinting coldly in the sunlight; the bird's head
tilted to the side, as if in scrutiny, or as though he were considering
something. What the bird scrutinized or considered Josiah had no idea, but he
figured he didn't really want one anyway. He tried to close his eyes and turn
away, but the bird's gaze held his own.
Josiah found himself thinking of another
black bird- one that had visited him the night before he made his agreement
with five of his friends to defend that village. Wondered what exactly those
birds had been doin' there, both in his dream and on
the window sill the next morning. Maybe they had forecast the death of Anderson
or the Confederate dream he carried. Maybe they warned that his own death would
be brought about by his involvement with those five other men, if not then,
well it would come in the future. Maybe they just tricked him and he, like a
foolish young man
(like J.D., crazy
kid)
wanted to die in a blaze of glory instead of in peace, like
an old man. He laughed at that thought- he was old. Far too
old to be gallivanting around the countryside, escorting stagecoaches and
protecting some dusty little frontier town. He tried to remind himself
that one is only as old as one feels. The black, knowing eyes that gazed into
his didn't help; rather, they reminded him how old he was, how numbered his
days were.
He thought about Odin, who'd had two ravens
of his own, lucky bastard. Thought and Memory had come to him and whispered
secrets in his ear. Odin had done a lot to know everything- he'd hung himself
from a great
tree and plucked out his own eye to gain the secrets of
some ancient runes. Josiah wondered if Odin ever thought that his sacrifices
were worth it, and wondered if the raven perched by his head was Thought,
Memory, or Death.
Or all three.
(Son, get your nose outta those heathen books
and help me write this sermon. It ain't writin'
itself, boy.
(Yes, sir. But you should really look at this. Did you know that
the ancient Sumerians had a great flood myth similar to the Flood of No-
(Josiah, I don't care what the ancient
Sumerians had, nor the ancient Greeks, neither- not even the ancient Romans,
the Babylonians, nor those pagans we got runnin'
around the plains. What they didn't have
was a Bible, an' I aim to see that the rest of this
country don't go that same way. Understood?
(Yes, sir.)
Josiah felt the old bitterness rise in him.
His father never could see things he didn't want to see; the Holy Light of God
had blinded him as effectively as a flash of lightning on a dark night. Too
much brightness and you burnt your eyes, Josiah reflected, and closed his own
because by God, that noontime sun sure was bright. Not too warm though. He
shivered a bit and tried to curl up to preserve heat, but even thinking of
moving made his side clench in agony. The raven's eyes brightened at the pain
in his own eyes and it fluffed its wings in satisfaction.
(Well, looks like I'm gonna die. Wish I could
die a little closer to home, though, and not all the way out here in this
Godforsaken scrub. Still… ain't much figuring on the when's or how's of it,
just know it's gonna happen some day, somehow, and
for some reason.
(Never figured on the how's,
and never bothered tryin'. One way seemed as good or
likely as the other. Wonder if the other guys've
thought how they're gonna die? Maybe. Chris figures
it'll be in some gunfight,
and J.D. thinks so too- at least, he's hopin'. I know Chris wonders why J.D's so all-fired ready
to die from a bullet… maybe J.D. reckons that it'd be better than dyin' in bed, like his Ma. Buck, I'm sure he doesn't know,
but then, he figures he's immortal somehow; s'long as
he dies in bed- with a lady, preferably, he'll probably be happy. Ez'll probably never die… he'll con Death himself out of reapin' his soul. Nathan was figurin'
on swinging at the end of that rope like Odin, and Vin
does too.
(Maybe that's why he rescued Nathan… didn't
want to see another man get hung for something he didn't do.
(Hangin'… talk
about leavin' me hangin'
here.)
"What're you talkin'
about, hangin'?" demanded the raven in a soft
Texas accent. "Y'been shot, preacher. Hey,
Nathan! He's over here!" The raven's voice sounded familiar, and it hit
him that ravens didn't speak.
"Vin?" Josiah managed. He realized a shadow covered him- not
the shadow of Death, but the shadow of Vin Tanner. A second shadow joined him a
minute later, and Josiah recognized Nathan. After registering Nathan's
presence, it became too difficult to keep his head up. He'd never realized how
heavy his head was before; he fought the urge to laugh at that, because
laughing would hurt.
(Hurt like the Devil.)
That brought him even closer to laughing,
which sent red waves of pain radiating out from the wound in his side. He
gasped, and all thoughts of laughter vanished as fresh agony jolted up from the
bullet hole. He
became aware (slowly) of Nathan setting down carbolic acid
and bandages.
"Okay now, Josiah, this is gonna hurt
some, but we gotta get this cleaned out."
Nathan's soft, reassuring voice sounded from somewhere above him; Josiah felt
cold in the shade and wished Nathan would move
a bit. "Looks like it went clean through,"
Nathan continued, ignoring Josiah's silent plea, "I don't think it hit
anything major, though, but we're gonna have to find that out back in town. I'm
gonna pour some carbolic on that hole an' wrap it up, so I want ya to try'n stay real still, okay?"
Josiah managed a nod and braced himself,
ready for that damned carbolic. Or not so ready, as it turned out; the pain that
accompanied the sudden flood of acid onto the wound almost shattered Josiah's
resolve not to scream. Death began to look like a viable, even tempting option,
and speaking of Death…
He managed to open his eyes, but the raven
had gone.
Dimly, he heard Nathan say something, and it
took a moment for the words to filter through his brain.
"Looks like you're gonna be okay,
Josiah. Now we need to be getting ya back home."
The preacher managed to laugh softly to
himself: two out of three wasn't too bad.
THE END