Darkwalker: A Tale of the Urban Shaman

This book is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

DARKWALKER

© 2014 Duncan Eagleson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Cover illustration & design by Duncan Eagleson.

Published by Pink Narcissus Press

P.O. Box 303
Auburn, MA 01501
pinknarc.com

Library of Congress Control Number:
2013914501
ISBN: 978-1-939056-04-7

First trade paperback edition: January 2014

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

MORE FROM DUNCAN EAGLESON

1. WOLF

“
We’re being watched,” said Morgan, her voice tight and low. “From the bluff, ten o’clock.”

Rok slowed the jeep imperceptibly. I sat up from where I’d been dozing in the back seat. I peered at the bluff on the left ahead, and after a moment, I saw it. A flash of sunlight reflected off something, probably field glasses.

“
What do you think?” said Rok. “Welcoming committee? Or Ravager ambush?”

I thought it over. Zone towns weren’t as paranoid as they used to be. These days, travelers were more likely to be traders than raiders, so most places didn’t keep regular lookouts anymore. But we’d heard Apache Run was having trouble with Ravagers, so it could be either.

“
Good spot for an ambush, between those two bluffs,” said Morgan.

“
We’re still out of range,” I said. “Pull over, pop the hood. We’ll make it look like we’ve got engine trouble. Give us a minute to take stock. If it’s a lookout from the Run, he’ll hail us, or come down to offer help.”

“
If it’s Ravagers, they might pretend.”

“
They might.”

Rok pulled over and got out. I went to the back of the jeep and made sure the heavier weapons were easily accessible. Checked the loads on the two shotguns and slammed a clip into Rok’s sniper rifle. Morgan joined me, slipping Darkwater into her back rig. Railwalker swords are short, like ninja-to, short enough that most of us can draw them from a low-slung back rig.

“
Take your husband his,” I said, holding out The Fury.

“
I’ll put it in the back seat,” she said. Swords were not Rok’s favorite weapon. She climbed back in the car, and from the shadows inside, scanned the bluff with her own field glasses. I joined Rok at the front. He was leaning under the hood, wedging a large cooking pot between the DC inverter and the electric traction unit. There were several small rocks in the pot.

“
They’ve got to figure we’re armed,” he said. “If they’re Ravagers, and they’re smart, they won’t come to us. Not yet, anyway.”

I looked at the desert between us and the bluffs. He was right. They’d be too exposed. “You think if we don’t go forward, they’ll wait until dark.”

“
Wouldn’t you?” He straightened, stretched. “Wish we knew how many and what weapons.”

I scanned the skies. To our south, there were two black specks sailing west. “Lemme go ask,” I said.

I climbed back in the jeep. Morgan just nodded—she’d seen the two crows on the horizon as well. I settled myself, closed my eyes, slowed my breathing.

Flying—there just isn’t any feeling like it. It’s too easy for me, when I do this, to get caught up in the flow of air through feathers, the wind in my face, the sheer joy of soaring in any direction, in four dimensions. I had to really concentrate to preserve my human agenda. I let myself go now for just a moment, reveling in my flight. I could feel the crow’s awareness of my joining him, and something like amusement. I brought my mind back to the job, and glanced toward the bluff. We banked and coasted toward it. The other crow, winging along beside us, sensed what was going on. She flew a little closer, tilting her wings at us, and I knew she’d stay with us and be patient with my use of her partner as long as I didn’t overstay my welcome.

I opened my eyes in the dim interior of the jeep. Shook myself. Morgan looked a question at me. I waited until Rok slammed the hood and got in behind the wheel.

“
Six of them,” I said. “Four on the left bluff, two on the right. They’ve got two three-wheelers and a truck of some sort. Truck’s positioned ready to roadblock. Only saw one long weapon, on the left. The rest look to be handguns.”

“
They’ll want to get in close, then,” said Rok. “See a convenient drop point?”

“
Yeah. That big rock there on the right. With the creosote bush. You could get up the back of the right ridge unseen that way.”

“
Left would be better. I could flank the larger group. And they’ve got the rifle.”

“
Terrain doesn’t have enough concealment. They’d see you coming.”

“
Okay,” he said, getting out. He kissed Morgan quickly.

“
Take care, bear,” she said.

Rok climbed into the back, and I took the driver’s seat. Morgan and I slid our swords into the clips mounted above our heads, pommels toward our doors. That makes it much easier to draw as you exit a vehicle.

I started the engine. When I pulled back onto the road, the electric engine, normally a quiet purr, jangled and clanked.

“
What the fuck?” said Morgan.

I laughed, remembering Rok’s pot full of rocks. “Why does the lion limp?” I said.

Morgan sighed. “Right, grasshopper,” she said. “To make the antelope think it’s safe.” She racked the slide on her Gunspire to put one in the chamber, dropped the clip, replaced the chambered bullet, and slapped the clip back in. I drove in fits and starts, trying to mimic an ailing engine. Near the big old stone and its creosote bush, I veered a bit, slowing down, and throwing up a lot of road dust. I felt the jeep shift as Rok’s weight left it.

When the rocky walls of the bluffs rose up on either side of us, I saw the battered old truck they had rolled across the road. The doors and one side panel were missing; it was barely a cab and a short bed on wheels, so rusted and dirty I wondered if they’d towed it here rather than driven it. When we were five or six yards from the clunker, a shot rang out. The bullet kicked up dust in front of us. I floored it for a second as if startled, bringing us within a couple of yards of the truck, and stopped. Figures appeared from the rocks on our left, three of them, pointing pistols in our direction. Gods, they were just kids, barely out of their teens. No one appeared from the right. The three, looking nervously at each other and glancing up to our left, ranged themselves out, one approaching me, the other two headed for the front of the jeep. One of them would have kept going to Morgan’s side, but she stepped out, Gunspire held low at her side, hidden by the jeep’s open door. He stopped, covering Morgan. The second kid, a pimply-faced blond, stood directly in front of the jeep, but couldn’t decide whether to cover me or Morgan.

“
Sounds like you’re having a little trouble,” said the first guy, as he stopped by my door. He was the oldest, obviously the leader. My own Gunspire was in my hand, hidden below the window, trained on him through a hole we’d cut in the driver’s side door for just this purpose. You could shoot through the tin of the door, but it slowed the bullet’s travel slightly, and could affect its path a little, too.

“
You don’t want to do this,” I said.

He laughed. “What’s up with the eye tattoos?” he said. His pistol drifted a bit as he squinted, peering at my face. “Some kind of gang sign?”

“
You might say that,” I said. “Ever hear of the Railwalkers?”

He snorted. “Bullshit,” he said. “The Railwalkers are all dead and gone.” He stepped forward, bringing the old six-shooter to bear on my face. I was about to fire when a shot rang out, and his head exploded. I stamped on the accelerator as I heard Morgan’s gun bark. The jeep jumped forward, pinning the blond guy against the old truck. He screamed, then jerked as Morgan put a bullet in his head. I leaped from the vehicle, drawing Windsteel. A shot pinged off the jeep, cracking one of the roof’s solar panels. I heard another shot from behind me, and a scream from up the bluff. Then all was quiet.

Morgan and I glanced at each other. Rok was coming out of the rocks on our right, carrying his rifle. He jerked his chin toward the bluffs on the other side.

“
Pretty sure I got him,” he said.

“
I’ll check,” I said.

As I started hiking up to the top of the bluff, I heard Rok say, “Shit. They were just kids.”

Morgan replied, “Rollins said their Ravagers were juvies. This must be them.”

Apache Run was on the edge of the zones, where the desert began to give way to a greener, damper climate. “Began” being the operative word. It was still dry and dusty by most standards, though the locals managed to raise corn and beans, and there was even a vineyard. By the time the outlying farms came into view, the landscape was less flat, the rising hills showing patches of green amidst the browns and golds. We were glad to be here. The jeep had needed some solar cells replaced even before the junior Ravager’s bullet had cracked one, and those were hard to come by out in the zones.

When our jeep came over a rise to give us our first glimpse of the town proper on the horizon it was still early afternoon, the sun spilling down into every niche and cranny. Which was how we saw the dust.