“How’ll she survive in battle, though? I mean no offence, Penelope, but you need an edge when fighting eldritch things.”
“We were thinking,” Penelope interrupted, “that I could use the Bond. I may never learn real magic but I can learn to fight safely with that on.”
“I have examined it,” Shadows Fade said, pre-empting his next question, “and I do not believe it can affect the wearer beyond preventing them from casting or falling victim to magic. It would be safe to let her use it, provided we get her the right weapon and she obeys orders.”
Dust looked from Penelope to Shadows Fade and back. This was too perfect to not be co-ordinated, a pincer attack planned down to the last word. He chuckled. “Alright, we’ll see what we can make of you. And what you can make of us.”
Penelope squealed and threw her arms around Dust. With her zeal and emaciation, it was easy to forget she was still so young.
After a moment, he returned the hug.
“You won’t regret this,” she said.
“Make sure I don’t,” he replied.
She stepped back, eyes sparkling. It’d been a while since he saw someone that happy. For some reason, it made him think of the deep rend in his memory, the aching gap that hurt to remember. He tried not to let it spoil his mood or Penelope’s and instead turned to the rising sun. They stayed in silence for a while, just watching the arriving day.
“Let’s get going. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us,” Dust said. “Even longer with us only having Horse to share. You’ll be taking him until you’ve recovered, Penelope.”
“You named your horse ‘Horse’?” Penelope asked.
He frowned. “Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“What’s wrong with ‘Horse’?”
“Nothing, I guess,” she said.
“Damn straight.”
They went into the chapel to gather their things. The townsfolk were in a heated discussion when Penelope opened the door, deciding whose houses would be used for spare lumber to fix the others. The argument came to an abrupt halt when Dust appeared.
He gave them a smile and said “Morning.”
Few returned the gesture.
“We’re going to gather our things and head out, catch as much daylight as possible.”
Then there were smiles. Some covered their relief, though they did their best to be polite about it. Dust didn’t mind. He couldn’t, not any more.
“All of you?” asked Abel’s hard wife, the one who’d been at the forefront of the mob last night. She looked particularly at Penelope.
“All of us,” Penelope said.
“Oh!” said Mary, standing up. “The Father said you might go before he woke up. He insisted on being woken-”
“There’s no need to get him,” Dust said. He could easily go get the Word himself.
“I wasn’t going to,” Mary replied sharply. “The poor man needs to sleep for a week if I’m any judge. Maybe more. But he said if I couldn’t wake him I was to give you something…” She knelt down and scrabbled around in her pile of possessions and bedding. “Aha! Here it is.”
Mary rose with the ironwood box containing Margaret’s Word in her hands. She smiled meekly, knowing she was doing the Father’s will, and then offered it to Dust. “Here you go. The Father said you’d know what it was.”
Dust stepped forward and took the box. He could feel the Word still inside, dormant but radiating power. It felt as though the Word was content. So much fighting, death and destruction had been over this piece of a brave woman’s soul… but if Margaret hadn’t had the courage to escape, the cult would have been stronger and Dust might be dead. When they got to Shadows Fade’s band, he’d sit down with their elders and discuss the possibilities the Word provided them. Because Margaret’s sacrifice deserved to be worth something.
It was a little tempting to slap it into his other gun but his tattoo warmed at the prospect; Resistance had other plans.
“Thank you,” Dust said.
“What’s in it?” Bowler Hat asked.
He noticed that the townsfolk were watching him. “It’s a gift. Something the Father has been looking after for a friend.”
“You’re sure he meant for… Dust… to have it?” Bowler Hat asked.
“Of course I am! I’m not an idiot, am I?” Mary demanded.
