Becoming Impossible to Kill
DAWN
The drought was dire, the kitchen garden near gone. At highsun, the prophet stood in the courtyard and called the storm. By lastlight, rain had reached Starfall. He’s never once let us go hungry.
They rode hard into the night with wolves on both flanks. The mountain path was steep and slick. By deepnight the horses were blown. Ice-studded rain bit their faces. They needed shelter.
The mining camp appeared out of nowhere like a stripped carcass in the moonlight.
Tailings in gray heaps, an old fence slumped and rotting.
Seemed abandoned until Dawn spotted movement, a woman picking through slag.
Then a kid burst from a shed, a hearth fire throwing light across the yard.
Laughter echoed, too happy for a place like this.
Dawn hated bringing trouble to strangers, but dropping dead on the road wasn’t an option. She gave a short whistle to catch Lore’s attention.
More figures stepped out of cabins and lean-to shelters. Dawn’s hand went to her revolvers. Fifteen, maybe twenty souls. Enough to be trouble if they didn’t care for company.
Lore swung down from his horse like this place belonged to him.
“We’re just passing through,” he called out. “We need rest and a roof till morning.”
An older man came forward to speak for the rest. He spat on the ground. “You bring trouble, it lands on us.”
“The night’s half over,” Lore said. “We have food we can share. I’ll mend your fence myself before we go.”
The man studied him, then gave a single nod. “One night,” he said. “Then on your way.”
He jerked his chin toward a low cluster of sheds. “My name’s Ridge. Take those. Not watertight, but warmer than nothing.”
They led the horses to the largest of the sheds. Dawn stripped Brimstone’s tack, checked her hooves, made sure the mare had water. Simple habits. Keep your horse sound, she’ll keep you alive.
Behind her, Talia wrestled with Jonquil’s straps until Holloway stepped in to help. The girl flinched like he’d hit her before apologizing. She’d been doing better, but today broke her all over again.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured. “We’ll be safe here tonight.”
Dawn turned away. Safe. Sure. Enforcers, wolves, no hope of resupply. Still, the girl needed to believe in safety. And Holloway needed to believe he could give it. Let them have their stories. Dawn would keep watch.
She walked the perimeter. The rain thickened to full sleet, and she felt the icy water slip down the back of her neck. She’d kill for the fur felt hat she’d left back in town.
She came upon Lore at the east side of camp. “You’re expecting trouble,” he said by way of greeting.
“Just what always comes.” She didn’t look at him. “The question is when it shows.”
“I have faith.” The man was sitting there in the full sleet. Didn’t even wear a coat. “If violence finds us, we’ll pay what is due.”
“This place doesn’t care about your sermons,” Dawn spat. “It only respects who survives.”
“Then we’ll survive.”
“Not the way we’re going. You’re putting soft people in a bad spot. We’re way off road here, and we need supplies. Keep this up and you’ll get people killed.”
“Some missions are worth dying for.”
Bastard. He really believed it. He walked away and left her watching the empty road. She thought she saw a flash in the distance, but then it was gone.
They came just after firstlight. Five riders. Just like she thought. They rode in a straight line, the gray morning light catching on silver stirrups. Too clean for bandits. Enforcers, for sure.
“We got company,” she hollered, and the camp jolted awake. Women shoved children inside, men reached for picks. Mining tools against military-grade rifles. Great.
Lore was already striding out to meet them. “I’ll talk to them.”
“Talk?” she said. “Let’s shoot them.”
“There’s no need for violence.” His voice was calm.
“Those enforcers are hunting us,” Dawn pressed. “We hide, they chase. We’re all dead if they catch us by surprise. We can see them coming now.”
He ignored her and started down the muddy track on foot, unarmed. His arms were spread wide.
Fuck that. She slipped behind a slag pile, revolvers out. Holloway crouched beside her. He squinted through the sleet.
“I know him,” he said under his breath. “Front of the line. That’s Jack.”
Dawn followed his line of sight. The lead rider was younger than the others. She recognized him too. The kid Holloway sent back with a false report.
Lore was already out front. The patrol reined up, confused. Good. At least he’d draw their eyes. She moved, boots quiet in the mud. If she could get a clean shot, this could be over quick. She was almost past the open stretch when a hand clamped her arm.
Talia. The girl looked half wild.
“No,” Talia whispered. “Wait. Don’t—”
“You’re fucking kidding,” Dawn hissed. “Get out of here.”
“Please,” Talia whispered. “No more killing.”
She wasn’t loud, but the sleet had stopped suddenly. The air carried every word.
The closest enforcer turned his head.
Dawn felt it the second they were seen, like a gun cocked beside her ear. She shoved Talia behind her, but they were out in the open.
“Hold there!” the lead officer, Jack, barked. “Identify yourselves!”
Two of them dismounted, fanning out. Jack leveled his rifle at Lore’s face. Point blank.
“We’re here for one fugitive,” Jack said. “Turn over Talent Salaren and the rest of you can go.”
Dawn saw a flash of movement at the edge of her vision. Holloway stumbled out, off balance, his body jerking like he wasn’t in control. There was pain carved across his face.
Jack’s gaze snapped to him. “Captain?”
Holloway tried to answer, but what came out wasn’t words. The oath. She could feel its power crawling under her skin from here.
“Don’t,” Holloway rasped. “Jack, don’t.”
Jack froze, rifle still pointed at Lore. “Sir, please stand down.”
Holloway’s hands shook. “Jack—listen to me.”
Lore hadn’t moved. He watched the exchange with a smile playing at his lips.
Holloway’s whole body locked. Every muscle seized at once, like he’d been hit with a live wire.
Dawn saw the oath take hold—blood blooming in his eyes, a thin red line from his nose, hands jerking up like a puppet. So this is what Lore put in him. No wonder the twisted bastard was smiling.
“Captain Sennett?” Jack’s voice went sharp. “What are you—”
Holloway’s mouth opened. Closed without a word. His hand was moving for his rifle.
“Go.” The word tore loose from between his teeth. “Run.”
But his body wasn’t his anymore. The gun slid off his back smooth and fast, leveled at the enforcer boy’s head.
Jack’s eyes went wide. “Sir, stand down!”
“I can’t—” Holloway’s voice broke. Blood streamed from his nose, down his chin. “Jack, I can’t—”
He was fighting it. Dawn saw it in every line of him. Tendons straining, shoulders tensed. His hand shook, but the rifle stayed level.
Jack saw it, too, just then.
“Captain,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”
He really wasn’t going to fight back. Damn. Holloway’s pupils were blown wide. Tears and blood streaked his face. He stared at the boy like he was trying to remember this moment.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Then the rifle went off.
The shot cracked across camp. Half of Jack’s face was gone. His horse screamed, reared, and dumped the body in the mud with a wet crash.
Holloway stayed standing, arms outstretched. Then his knees gave. He hit the ground hard, body convulsing.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped into the mud. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Like if he said it enough, it might change what he’d done.
The other four enforcers split up, found cover, took position. Holloway had trained them well.
Dawn dragged Talia behind the slag heap and dropped to one knee, both revolvers out. The first enforcer went down fast. Took two shots—shoulder, then chest. The second died behind a wagon. Three shots through the boards.
Two targets left.
Return fire cracked. She rolled right, emptied both cylinders, reloaded. Someone was shouting orders. Dawn tracked the voice, a female enforcer on horseback, turning toward the main building. Toward the settlers.
Dawn fired. Missed. The horse reared, broke her angle.
Fuck. Motion in her periphery. The other was circling around, trying to flank her.
She spun, fired without pausing to aim. Heard him hit the dirt, but he was still moving.
A settler bolted from the main building, pickax raised.
“Get down!” Dawn shouted.
The mounted enforcer’s rifle cracked. The man’s chest burst open in a blast of red spray. He dropped face-first in the mud.
The enforcer swung her rifle toward Dawn.
Dawn landed all three shots: throat, chest, face. The woman toppled backward off the saddle.
The last enforcer tried to run for it. Dawn tracked him. Forty yards. Fifty. She fired.
The man stumbled, dropped. Then silence. Just ringing ears and the taste of gunpowder.
A woman’s wail cut through the silence. She was on the ground, pulling the mangled settler’s body close. Blood soaked her dress. A child ran out, too, and started screaming.
A small crowd stared at the bodies. Five enforcers. One of their own.
Talia stared at the dead settler, then at her hands. Her shoulders curled forward. Good. Intentions didn’t matter out here. Just consequences. The sooner the girl learned that lesson, the better.
Dawn wanted to leave. She’d warned Lore he’d get someone killed, and look what happened. He shut her down again.
“We stay,” Lore said. “These people deserve a proper burial.”
Ridge looked like he wanted to argue, but he eyed the bodies. Big enough mess, few enough hands. He gave a tight nod.
Holloway sat slumped against a wagon wheel, face gray, eyes vacant. Blood crusted across half his face. He stared at his hands. Talia knelt near him, but she avoided touching him.
The day crawled by. Lore dug the graves himself. Cleaned the bodies and set them to rest. By lastlight, all five enforcers and the settler were in the ground.
Folks gathered in a half circle around the graves, hats in hand. Some stared at the dirt. Others stared at Lore. He held the silence for longer than comfort allowed. When he spoke, his voice was deep and musical. It rolled over the crowd like a spell.
“These people didn’t die because they were weak,” Lore started off. “This world burns its brightest souls for fuel. That’s hard to hear, but I respect your intelligence too much not to be honest with you.”
Dawn hadn’t watched him preach before, and she was surprised at how quick his words set in. The widow still wept, but softer now. A few people were nodding.
“I know you want to build walls against the pain of loss,” Lore continued. “I’ve wanted that too.” His voice dropped so folks had to lean in. “But pain is not your enemy. Pain is the gateway through which we access the divine.”
Someone in the crowd whispered, “He’s the prophet from Gateway.”
The words jumped and caught on like fire in dry grass. Heads bowed. The mood in the air changed. Anger drained from their faces. Dawn’s hands found her revolvers. She didn’t draw, just felt their weight.
“Today we bury six bodies. Their pain is ended, but ours must not. Think about what I just said: Pain is not your enemy. When you avoid pain, when you mistake numbness for peace, you let survival make you smaller. Isn’t that a kind of death?”
He was looking at Talia, and Dawn saw the moment the hook went in. Exactly what she needed to hear. No reassurance or gentle lies. The kind of truth that hurt. That’s how he got them. Dogma just sharp enough to make folks feel brave.
“The true gods passed through agony,” Lore said. “They endured loss, embraced sacrifice, and ascended to power. The false gods ran from pain and were consumed by it.”
Holloway had been staring at the mud all afternoon. Now his head was up, eyes on Lore. Like a drowning man who sees a ship in the dark. Fuck. He has them both.
“May the true gods stand with us now.” Lore stepped forward, stopping before the widow. “May we honor the dead by choosing to live. Feel it all. Carry what you can. That is how we outlive death itself. That is how we become impossible to kill.”
The settlers had fallen silent. Then the widow nodded and squeezed her child’s hand. More than one person was crying. Cold ran up Dawn’s spine. She’d seen swindlers work a crowd. Lore was worse. He believed he spoke the truth.
When the crowd broke up, Holloway went straight to Jack’s grave. Stood for a while with his hat in his hands. When he moved on, he picked up a fence post and drove it into the ground.
Lore grabbed an ax and went to work beside him. Two men who’d gotten people killed today, building something in the last of the light. She couldn’t say if Lore was mad or brilliant. She knew for certain he was dangerous.
“Should’ve shot the bastards when I had the chance,” she muttered under her breath.
Dawn was done asking permission to survive. Next time she saw a threat, she didn’t plan to hold back.
They shared their food with the settlers. Let them keep the enforcers’ horses too—all but Jack’s, a white mare called Larkspur. Holloway didn’t want to leave her, and Sorrel needed a mount.
Dawn avoided small talk as she packed her gear. She wanted this place behind her—the graves, the sermon, all of it. She watched Talia chatting with a few of the settlers as they tidied after dinner. Her eyes looked brighter. She even smiled once. Lore’s words had done that.
They set out at firstlight. Mist rolled low over the slag heaps, and the camp quickly faded to gray nothing behind them.
Lore led the column. Talia rode just behind him.
Then Holloway, pale and silent. His hands shook on the reins.
Sorrel rode behind him, just as broken. Poor man had nowhere to go but along with them.
Dawn brought up the rear, revolver resting easy on her thigh, eyes on the road behind them.
Lore doesn’t need chains. These people forge their own.