The following work is based on the fiction of Stephen King. It is for entertainment purposes only and will not monetarily benefit me or thedarktower.org.
Wet and exhausted, Hiram looked resentfully up at the cloudy sky swirling above him. As gray as the day was the heat was heavy and refused to relent even though evening was approaching. The swamp air was musky…stinking of plantrot and unnamed things he didn’t care to consider. His boots made a sploshing sound underneath him as they were sucked on and off of his heels with each step. He desperately wanted to take them off and ease his raw heels but he wanted to get to where he was going too. The town of Breau was close enough now that he thought he could put up with it for the time being, uncomfortable though it may be. Discomfort was something he was used to…something any gunslinger was used to. Of course, some of them took to it better than others and he had to admit that he preferred softer duties…or at least the convenience of a fucking horse. Well…couldn’t be helped right now. He’d rectify that situation in town.
He started talking to himself again. This was a habit he’d always had but one that he indulged in more frequently of late. Hiram was not the kind of man that liked to be alone and if there was no one else to talk to…
“I can’t keep going like this…”
But you swore an oath.
“I just don’t believe anymore.”
You owe him your life. Look at it as paying a debt. Besides you swore an oath of fealty to him. Would you turn your back on that now that the quest is proving difficult? Have you forgotten the face of your father?
“I hardly knew Roland and no, I have not forgotten anything.”
And yet you would follow him into Hell if he asked it of you.
“Speaking of which, I don’t know where the hell I’m going, what I’m doing, or even why I’m doing it.”
You’re not a fool, you know, despite what you’re starting to think.
“That remains to be seen. I’ve got to stop talking to myself, that’s for sure..”
On that, I think we can agree. Not that you’ll stop.
“Fuck you then. I’m not talking to you any more…any more today anyway.”
Good. You’re going to be around people soon so its probably good that you get some practice not carrying on conversations with me…and fuck you too. You’re beginning to bore me anyway. You always want to talk about the same shit.
Hiram trudged through the wet heat of the swamplands, slopping along in his soaked boots. Leave it to me to fall into a swamp, he thought. But then he couldn’t be blamed…not really. He was sent on an errand with no idea of where he was going. The occasional misstep could, arguably, be blamed on others…or so he liked to tell himself who, for obvious reasons, never bought the excuse.
“The Tower…” Roland’s words echoed in his mind. “We must win through to the Tower. I know not why or how we will get there but I know that it will be the greatest adventure any of us can undertake, perhaps the only worthy adventure left to us. I know in my soul that it must be done. We may not make it there…certainly all of us will not. But we must get there or die trying. There can be no crying off. We must stand and be true.”
These bland and cliched platitudes would have fallen flat if delivered by anyone else and Hiram knew this. But that didn't change anything. He didn’t know why he was looking for the Tower but Roland did succeed in instilling in him a sense that it was worthy…that it was a good pursuit…something that had to be done. The man could have told Hiram to hold his chamber pot for him and Hiram would have considered it a sacred duty. There was something in the sureness…the undeniable will that used those pale blue eyes in front of it as if they were the points of swords driving into one's mind. His faith was contagious and Hiram had believed. He believed whole heartedly that what he was told; that the only worthy thing left was the quest for the Tower and that he’d find the Tower if he listened to his heart. But the road seemed so long and Hiram's heart had hitherto been totally silent on the subject of towers…dark or otherwise.
Besides that, he had no idea what he’d do when he got there. He had been assured that his heart would know what to do just as it would tell him where to go. Inspired, he had gladly pledged himself to the quest. It had seemed so grand, so noble an undertaking. He rushed headlong into the West. After going west for some time he decided that it might be best to go South. He reckoned that his heart was telling him to do so but in truth he wasn’t sure that it wasn’t desperation, the mirage of reason; the kind created by hope and need. But he figured that nothing like this could ever be concise. There would be no bright light from heaven, providing him with a ghostly waypoint to indicate the location of the Tower. He figured that if his heart was going to tell him something the message was likely to be a subtle one, shrouded in the chilled veneer of doubt…a test of his faith.
As noble and grand a quest he might have thought it in the beginning, he didn’t feel so grand at the moment. After he had tumbled into the swamp he had, of course, quickly cleaned his guns and did so with the same mechanical precision he used when shooting them. Fortunately his extra shells, of which he had many, were stored securely in his gunna which he had consciously thrown aside before he hit the black, muddy water. In fact, if he hadn’t been so conscious of his precious cargo he might not have fallen in. He recognized this but it bothered him not. The trade off was too steep. The memory was all too clear.
click...click
No…not a sound he wanted to hear in battle…not ever again. For that he could stand wet clothes…even as the soaked denim of his pants pressed heavily and uncomfortably against his thighs he could see his way clear to overlooking it. His hair on the other hand, was a different matter. Hiram tussled his beloved, curly blond mane and cursed as small chunks of black mud fell from it. He scratched through the brown thickness of his bushy sideburns, removing the caked mud he found there. He was tempted to complain but he’d already told himself that he wouldn’t be speaking to him again until the next day and he was too proud to go groveling back now.
He had taken a moment to look at his guns before putting them back into their holsters. He mused over them sometimes, recounting their history. Like Roland’s, Hiram’s guns were also made from the sword of his ancestor and blessed with the power of the White. The light of the gray, waning day endowed them with a soft gleam that made them seem ethereal, as if they’d been placed on the cloth by an angel. Hiram thought about how lucky he was to have them…how lucky he was to have been born a descendant of Lance Durolais, knight of Eld. Sometimes having that blood running through his veins had made him uncomfortable…self conscious around other gunslingers that did not have such lineage as he. Because of this, Hiram had put more effort into his training than most and his teachers certainly gave him no special treatment except to be harder on him than others. It was as if they also wanted to insure that he was worthy to bear his father's name as well as to carry his guns. Perhaps part of it was that his father had died when he was very young and because of this he needed more training than most to make up for the lack of that paternal example. Hiram supposed their reasons didn’t matter. He was better for it in the end anyway. After becoming a gunslinger at sixteen he carried this sense of responsibility with him. Despite his love of comfort he volunteered for the hard jobs, making every effort to earn the glittering guns at his side. No man had ever questioned or attempted to denigrate his lineage and he’d see to it that no man ever would.
He pulled another cloth from his gunna and rubbed furiously at his head and face. He wasn’t far away from Breau now and he wanted to look as presentable as his threadbare clothing and tattered gear would allow. There was a certain standard to uphold after all. Still, his guns were fiercely beautiful and he knew that this was what counted the most. In general people were just as awed by a gunslinger’s weapons as they were with the gunslinger himself and their eyes invariably went to them. Hiram chuckled at the thought of marching into town completely naked except for the steel at his sides and the belt they hung from, no one noticing anything but his guns. This last bit drew another chuckle as the definition of “gun” could be a loose one and he hoped that they’d be impressed with all three of his. No…that wouldn’t do at all. No gunslinger he’d ever heard of walked into any towns naked…well…not one he hadn’t already been in anyway…and he didn’t want to blaze that trail. He pulled his wide brimmed hat off his head and gave it another once over as he slogged along, scratching out the dried bits of dark mud and flicking them away into the brush.
After another hour he finally found the road that would lead him into Breau. As he walked, his level of caution rose. These days, "civilization" was always more dangerous than the wild. He wondered how long he’d been traveling. There was really no way to know. Since the world had moved on the machinery of time seemed to be slipping on its gears. When was Jericho Hill? A year ago? A hundred? He wasn't there but he often wondered what would have happened. It wasn't that he had any delusions of grandeur. He wasn’t thinking that the outcome might have been different if the great Hiram Durolais had been present. No, what he wondered was how he might have met his death…which is not to say by ax, arrow, or bullet. He wondered instead how many men would have died in taking him down? Might he have had the chance to kill the Good Man before going down himself. He’d always dreamed of being the one to do that. He would have happily sacrificed himself if he could have done that…or maybe that traitorous bastard Broadcloak if he’d been there. That would have been worth it too. The question wasn’t whether or not he would die well. He knew that he would. The question was just how well.
Hiram’s ponderings were cut short by a figure standing in the road. It didn’t appear to be much at first glance but his training dictated otherwise. He had not been expecting to see any person and he was startled. His muscles tensed and his fingers tingled…itching to feel the steel of the trigger and the jarring blast of gunfire. But that same training stayed his hand. This all took place with no movement from the gunslinger…a single instant decision that meant life or death but one that was predetermined by the reaction that was carved into him by his teachers.
As he drew closer he saw something completely unexpected. Standing in this jungle teeming with snakes and frogs and alligators and who knows what else was a girl…a long lanky thing with a goofy grin on her pretty face. Awkward she seemed. No older than fifteen or sixteen but fully matured. She appeared to be completely oblivious to how the loose, colorless frock she wore clung to her breasts and buttocks, making the girl into a sexual being. She was smiling at him with an almost dazed expression. Her hair was long, dark, and straight and her large eyes were a deep brown, almost black. They reminded him of the black muddy pool he’d fallen into hours before.
“Pleasant evening, gunslinger.” She said this in the same way that she might give a greeting to a friend she passed in the street.
Gunslingers were not the only men in Mid-world that carried guns and this fact was not lost on Hiram who had met more men with guns than he cared to remember. Despite what the girl’s statement implied he managed a smile.
“Hello, little one. Long days and pleasant nights.” He removed his hat and bowed low, his heel planted in the ground before him. He kept his eyes on the girl. “And how know you that I am a gunslinger? Gunslingers being rare enough these days…”
“You carry yourself like one, sai. But never mind that. Auntie told me you were a gunslinger…and she knows everything…well…everything that matters anyway.”
Hiram affected an impressed expression by lifting a sandy eyebrow over one of his hard hazel eyes. “That’s quite a bit to know. But does she know my name?”
“No, she doesn't know that. But she knew you were coming days ago. She told me so.” The girl looked down shyly, sliding her foot in the dusty road then looked back up at him still grinning. Hiram noticed that the grin had an almost needy, lecherous look to it now that made him slightly uncomfortable. He had to admit that his discomfort was due to the fact that he was vaguely aroused. “She said you were handsome too.” She added, the grin still on her generous mouth.
Hiram smiled but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He was delighted to see another human being after weeks of solitary travel but the uneasiness at the look he just saw coupled with what he felt at someone “knowing” of his comings and goings was blazing in his mind. He liked to think that he would have known if someone had gotten close enough to observe him well enough to relay the information that this girl had. His sureness that he had not been trailed made him even more wary. Now he had a mystery on his hands and one that he was compelled to rush headlong into. Breau was the only town anywhere close. He needed food and fresh water. He needed a horse.
He replaced his wide brimmed hat and took a step closer to the girl. She did not back away. She was completely unafraid of him, not that this was surprising. He was a gunslinger after all…something that the girl somehow knew and in knowing that she also knew that she was safer with him than with her own kin.
“And how would your aunt know that I was coming, girl?”
“You can ask her that yourself when we get home. The whole town is waiting. We’ve even prepared a barbeque in your honor. The pigs’ roastin’ right now…might be done by the time we get there.”
“That…sounds wonderful.” Hiram exhaled earnestly. “It has been long since I’ve had a home cooked meal. I’d heard of Southern hospitality but I’ve yet to experience it first hand.”
The girl’s expression became sad. “People aren’t as friendly these days, gunslinger. But then I suppose you know that.”
“A sad fact, that.” He agreed. “Well…” He walked over to the girl and offered his arm. “Perhaps you would allow me to escort you back to Breau.”
Shyness took hold of her pretty face but she took his arm all the same and they began to walk.
“I’m Darcella…but everyone just calls me Dot.” She offered.
Hiram nodded. “I am Hiram…but you can call me Hi.”
She looked at him dreamily. “That’s a cute name, Hi.”
He had seen this kind of thing before. Hero worship. It seemed that just about every woman in every village he entered became fixated on the glamorous gunslinger ambling through town. But for some reason he was truly flattered by this girl’s obvious crush on him. Yes, she was awkward…goofy even. But she was so beautiful, all the more alluring because of her awkward goofiness. He laughed in spite of his worries.
“No where near as cute as “Dot”, Dot.” He smiled softly at her and turned his gaze forward, pretending not to see her alabaster cheeks turn pink and her large doe eyes grow glassy and distant as she fell head over heels in love with this man she’d just met.
It was evening when they walked into town and, as Dot had promised, the whole town was waiting. He could smell the food and his mouth watered. Breau had certainly rolled out the welcome mat. Besides the pig that was waiting in the pit there was roasted corn, mashed potatoes, peas, and biscuits all set out beautifully on an outrageously long picnic table.. This town seemed to be especially glad to see him. The first person to approach him was a portly, middle aged man with short thick hair and a jovial, welcoming face. He walked to the gunslinger in long sure strides and extended his hand.
“Hile, gunslinger!” He exclaimed.
Hi unhooked his arm from Dot’s and shook the man’s hand with two firm shakes as the man introduced himself.
“I’m Constable Anderson, Andrew Anderson…Andy Anderson.”, the constable stammered then laughed at himself.
The man was a bit nervous and probably eager to make a good impression. It was like that, Hiram noted. Local lawmen always wanted to make a good impression with a visiting gunslinger. Of course, there were those few and far betweeners that viewed gunslingers as threats to their authority but Hiram was always respectful of lawmen. Sadly, he had known some gunslingers that weren’t as respectful as they could have been. It wasn’t that they actively showed any distain but some gunslingers made it painfully obvious that they viewed themselves to be on a higher level of authority and training which, in fact, they were. But Hiram felt that local sheriffs were valuable allies that knew their respective territories and the people in them. They were men that enforced the laws, defended the innocent, and kept the peace just as he did. He always tried to build relationships with them first by trusting their judgment about the people and places that they knew so well, in most cases, better than he. Most of these men were given their positions for very good reasons. It meant a lot to him that such men handed their trust and their respect to him without a second thought. He would never do anything to make them think that this respect was misplaced and he would return that trust and that respect…until that man proved himself unworthy.
But now Hiram was not visiting any town as part of his patrol or to keep the peace. He was not sent here as an emissary nor had he been called here to mete out justice. Those days and duties were, more or less, over…not that he could deny a request for succor. But still, he was passing through. The Tower had to be the priority now. As much as he appreciated this town’s excitement at seeing him, he was discomforted by their welcome because it was obvious that they wanted something from him and he would be delayed from his quest. The urge to move on was great.
But he kept a friendly smile on his face and kindly received all who introduced themselves to him. There was John Tulane, the saloon owner and Charlie Budroux, the smith. There was Maria La Blanc, the leather worker, Brad Gonzalez, the wood worker and so on. The people were very friendly...overly so really and it was the strangest thing. They all seemed so attractive to him…if not in a physical way then in a more personal way. There was a warmth that came from these people; sort of a golden glow of familial camaraderie that made Hiram wish that he could belong. Hiram wondered how such a community could develop on the edge of a giant, foreboding wetland. In his experience, a harsh environment made for harsh people. He wondered what such people would need of him. The shadow that covered so much of Midworld seemed so far removed from them…almost as if this part of the world had not moved on.
Hiram had been seated next to the Constable near the head of the table. Dot sat down next to him and made sure he had everything he needed. The food was absolutely delicious, spicy for his taste but wonderful all the same. As the evening wore on spirits seemed to run higher. There was much conversation and many of them had questions for him, isolated from the world as they were. From the saloon a piano began to plink out a happy tune which was heard throughout the small, one road village and some began to sing along.
“Pretty little girl, won't you come out tonight,
Come out tonight, come out tonight.
Pretty little girl, won't you come out tonight
And dance by the light of the moon.
As I was walking down the street,
Down the street, down the street,
A pretty little gal I chanced to meet,
Oh, she was fair to see.
Pretty little girl, won't you come out tonight,
Come out tonight, come out tonight.
Pretty little girl, won't you come out tonight
And dance by the light of the moon!”
The song was a particularly fitting one as the moon had risen and had become more bright and silver against the dark blue sky. Hiram noted this with passing interest but Dot was more intrigued…almost entranced by the shining pale orb rising slowly over the earth, flooding the town with its silvery light.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Hi? Nights like this are so exciting. I feel like the moon is promising me something I’ve always wanted…something wonderful.”
Hiram glanced up at the moon and her feeling was not altogether lost on him. He sighed contentedly.
“Yes, its almost like the night itself is alive in a way.” He agreed.
“Around this swamp you have no idea just how “alive” the night is, gunslinger.” Andy Anderson broke in, disregarding the real topic of conversation. “So much nocturnal life…snakes, gators, birds…all kinds of things.”
Hiram nodded. “Of that I’m sure. I can’t imagine what all is out there, slithering about…” He laughed. “Not sure I want too.”
The constable grinned ironically at Hiram. “I’m not sure you want to either.”
Hiram looked again at Dot, who seemed to still be lost in her private rapture. He gently nudged her.
“Where’s your aunt? Here I’ve met everyone in town except her.”
Dot’s large eyes gazed up at him over a sensually lopsided smile.
“She’ll be along, Hi. Night is a busy time for her and she prefers to eat late.”
Hiram thought back to how this woman had “known” that he was coming…how she seemed to “know” so much without ever meeting him.
“I’m eager to meet her, Dot. I hope she comes soon.”
Suddenly Dot’s eyes flashed with anger that made Hiram start. But it was quickly replaced by a sullen expression that pained him.
“Everyone wants to meet her.” She said in a low voice. “Every boy I meet wants her more than me and she always gets them too. Just like last time…”
“Quiet girl!” Anderson snapped. Instinctively, Hiram shot Anderson a sharp look. The man’s tone softened. “I’m sure Sai Durolais doesn’t want to hear about your petty rivalries with your aunt…a woman, I might add, that looks after you and this town. Its not her fault that men find her beautiful.” He looked at Hiram apologetically, "Pay her no mind, gunslinger."
Hiram didn’t like seeing Dot distressed. He certainly didn’t like anyone speaking to her the way the constable had begun to. She was sweet, perhaps a bit touched, but sweet. He put his hand on Dot’s.
“I find it very hard to believe that I’ll ever meet a woman that matches you, Darcella.”
He said her full name in such a way as to let her know how much he relished it and how it was beautiful to him simply because it was hers. He hoped that he didn’t sound as if he were patronizing her. This would have been the worst thing she could think in the state she was in. Besides, in truth, he wasn’t. He found himself wishing that she were a little older.
Nice save, jackass. He offered himself.
And once more, he ignored himself.
Just what are you at, Hi? You’re ten years older than this little gilly at least. True, not a big difference if you were both a little older but she’s practically a babby!
She’s not a gilly! His mind roared back.
Oh! Talking to me are we? Feeling a bit touchy about this one? Need I remind you that we have a job to do? Places to see? People to meet? Towers to find?
No, no need. Now please shut up.
Yes…please shut up. A breathy feminine voice chimed in his mind. The voice was seductively silken but somehow vaguely intimidating.
Hiram gasped. This whisper was not his own but sprang from the same place as his own thoughts.
“Whats wrong, Hi?” Dot asked him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Hiram shrugged but didn’t answer.
Yes…whats wrong gunslinger? And shame on you! Thinking of my sweet little niece like you are. Mmmm my! You certainly are creative, aren’t you?
Hiram’s head was suddenly filled with mockingly alluring laughter. He bolted to his feet. His hands were on his guns before he was standing but he stayed his hands short of drawing. His eyes scanned to the left and right. Everyone was suddenly quiet, their expressions were a mixture of fear, surprise, and somehow…amusement.
Then, she was there.
Standing at the end of the table was a tall, strikingly beautiful woman that seemed completely out of place with everyone and everything around her. She looked far more like a courtier of Gilead than the matriarch of a backwater swamp town. Her clothes were fine and her black hair was braided perfectly into a long thick rope that snaked down and around her. Her flesh was ghostly pale and the moonlight made it glow a shocking white that blended with the long, immaculate gown that clung to her in all of the appropriate places; at once revealing and modestly covering her slender but curving body. Her eyes were dark and unfathomable. They seemed to Hiram to be impenetrable while still inviting him to fall headlong into them. He almost did just that, just as he had fallen into the pool that afternoon. But he was able to center himself this time. He did not fall. He backed away from the table, a guarded expression on his face.
“Do not worry yourself, Hiram.” The woman said in a comforting tone.
“How did you…” He was about to demand. She waived her long fingered hand with a graceful but authoritative gesture, stopping his question short.
“We all have our talents, gunslinger. One of mine is reading the thoughts of others…”
“And seeing over great distances?” Hiram cut in. “Your niece told me you knew that I was coming.” He nodded at the dinner table as if to give her further proof.
The woman’s face became mischievously shy.
“Well…I cheated a little on that. But please, let us save these questions. There is much I wish to discuss with you.” Her eyes dropped and she raised them again, giving her an innocent affect. “Can we not have our own palaver, Hiram, in private?”
But Hiram, knew as surely as the sky was blue and the grass was green that this woman was in no way innocent. He looked around then at the people of Breau. Their expressions had not changed, except perhaps, in that they might have been a bit more amused. This was a trick they’d seen before. Dot, however, was not amused. She looked at her aunt with an expression that conveyed both fear and petulant envy.
“He’s supposed to mine, Auntie! You said I could have him!”
“And you will, Dottie. He’ll be all yours.” The woman oozed with reassurance. Then she grinned. “But only after I’m done with him.”
Hiram had heard enough. He blinked and had his guns out before lifting his eyelids.
“Don’t you think I have a little say about who “has” me? Whatever the hell that means…” Hiram knew what the woman was now.
As if to confirm this realization, she smiled at him, baring long and delicate fangs. They seemed made to fit the equally long and delicate features of her face. Her gaze caught his own and he immediately began to feel a warmth inside his mind, a hot, floating sensation that lulled him. He began to muse that it might not hurt so much if those fangs slid into his neck. It seemed to him that it would be a gentle and even intimate thing and…”
What in the fuck is going through your mind?! He bellowed at himself. His body jerked and the thought was gone. But again her laughter flooded in…
I am going through your mind gunslinger, as a thief would your closets and drawers and chests…and just like a thief… I’ll take what I like. Shall I start with your will? No...lets start with something more gentle...
In Hiram’s mind she appeared before him naked in the moonlight. He ceased to see the world around him. Her white skin glistened in the silvery light, looking of polished marble. The long thick braid of ebony hair fell between her inviting, pointing breasts, around the small of her back, resting on her comely hip. The end blended with the short, black hair above her sex as if to show him the path he might take should he caress her. He felt his cock stiffen, a completely involuntary reaction. She glanced down, then slowly lifted her eyes to him, a feaux shy smile on her generous lips.
Do you want me, Hi? Do you not yearn for me?
The Lady…Nissrine was her name. He knew that somehow. Lady Nissrine Rochelle was inside of his consciousness. He tried to force her out but couldn’t. She reached her lithe white arm out to him.
Will you follow me, Hiram? Will you come to me when I call for you?
She danced before his mind’s eye swirling amongst imaginary trees, all at once darkling and illuminating the path before him through a moonlit forest primeval, pulling him along after her. The piano in the saloon seeped into his thoughts. The tinking, plinking tones of the instrument and the shadowy, whispered lyrics ran through his head in erratic descending and ascending notes. The dark rhythm of it made him think of two black cats chasing each other, around and around, in a pitch black room.
"Pretty little girl, won't you come out tonight,
Come out tonight, come out tonight.
Pretty little girl, won't you come out tonight
And dance by the light of the moon."
Can you not see me, Hiram… Nissrine slid into the circle briefly enough to slide her chilly fingers across his face, a loving caress that made him gasp. He looked around for her as her dark light faded off.
My beautiful Hiram. Follow me into that dark shadowy place yonder and love me.
Hiram jerked his gaze about. Through the haze of Nissrine's trance he could see only barely the faces of the coven around him. They're skin had grayed and their mouths were opened to reveal their own fangs. The bloodlust was upon them but they dared not come between their Lady and her new toy.
“NO!” It was Dot. “You can’t have this one! He’s mine! He already loves me! He doesn’t love you!
Nissrine ignored her. Constable Anderson spoke for her around his pronounced kanines.
“No one loves you…you live only to serve us and you're lucky to have even that much. Now run along and fetch…something.” He gave her a dismissive wave and focused on Hiram and Lady Rochelle.
Dot stammered in indignant humiliation. Those that took notice of her grinned at her, some chuckled. They then turned their attention away from her, paying her no mind. All the time of being here, being treated like a dog, came flooding back to her. She looked at Hiram…at Hi. He was fighting the same battle that all that had come before him had lost. But this one had not succumbed so easily and Darcella could see the strain in her auntie’s body. She would win, of course. No one could resist her. She’d have him crawling on all fours like a beast for the amusement of the rest of the coven before the hour was out but it had never taken so long before. It had never taken so much effort. Dot had never seen Nissrine so taxed. The gunslinger was hard and he was sharp. He resisted as no one had resisted before. And for one instant Dot felt her aunt's control of her ebb. More and more of the vampire's strength and attention was being used to conquer the will of the gunslinger but he was still losing...just losing slowly.
Hiram slid his guns into his holsters…not sure what to do with them. He couldn’t use them now. This was a fight his guns couldn’t win…or could they? Why was he not sure of this? Pretty little girl won't you come out tonight... He began to mumble the lyrics. But that song had made him think of Dot too and he was sure that he'd heard her voice breaking through the mist from somewhere in the back. He held on to it tight but it was like grasping a post in a tornado and then having that bouy blown upward along with you.
Enraged Dot stalked away. They paid her no mind. They were all caught up, fascinated by the breaking of a gunslinger. They wondered at the vampire that he might mature into if the Lady allowed him to live long enough. But this wouldn't happen. This one was strong, perhaps would become strong enough to rival her. She'd destroy him long before that...after she'd tired of him.
Just as when she left no one noticed Dot appear again next to her aunt. Her face was burning with rage. No one paid her any mind...she was Dot. She was the dumb mortal that ran and fetched for them and guarded their slumber. The one whose pain and anguish and complete helplessness to do anything about it was a source of mild entertainment if it meant anything at all. But neither they or Nissrine were paying attention. They were paying her no mind.
“You just had to have him, didn’t you. You have to have them all! I'm nothing to you!"
Dot raised a sharpened shaft of wood to her shoulders and shoved it into her aunt’s bosom with all of the strength her rage and hatred could give her. Before anyone could react Dot had driven it in deep…just deep enough. Nissrine lurched backward with a shrill scream that penetrated the night like a lighting strike. The vampires fell back, confused and in pain. Dot watched in wide eyed wonder as Nissrine struggled on the ground, dying around the stake between her breasts.
With Nissrine's unearthly shriek the collage of moving images swirling about Hiram's mind shattered like glass. Awareness was uncomfortably slammed back into him. He half stepped, half stumbled to Dot, drawing his right hand gun. He pointed it at the coven. The vampires stopped in their tracks. They knew that the gunslinger’s weapons were talismans of the White. They could see and feel it emanating from them and they knew that a shot to the heart would be deadly to them. But Hiram knew that their fear wouldn’t stay them for long…he didn’t have enough bullets for all of them…even with reloading with the shells from his belt, which he doubted he’d get the chance to do, he’d still leave many of them standing. The blood lust was upon them and they were mightily enraged. They’d be willing to make the sacrifice before allowing him or the girl to escape.
“Dot.” He said her name flatly. She was still staring at the pile of dust that had been her aunt and her mistress for so long.
“Dot!”
The girl finally became alert and turned to the gunslinger.
He spoke to her without ever taking his eyes off the coven of Breau. “You go over to that saloon, you take that big brown horse from the post and you ride. You ride hard and fast and don’t stop until that beast dies underneath you or you see the light of dawn.”
“No! I can’t leave you. I won’t leave you! I love y…”
“YOU DON’T KNOW ME, GIRL! GET ON THAT HORSE AND RIDE!”
She shrank from him, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. "But..."
“Please go.” He breathed out meekly.
Her eyes widened a moment then settled into a look of new understanding and cold resolve. She went over and untied the horse then pulled herself up into the saddle.
“I know all I need to know to love you, Hi. You’re the best man I’ll ever meet in this world.” She turned and addressed the coven.
"I know where you sleep...all of you. And now there'll be no one here to guard you come daybreak...or the next one...or the next one!"
With that she turned the horse and charged down the road, riding fast away from Breau.
Hiram looked at the vampires and gave them his most winning smile. They were still cowed but soon…very soon…
I suppose this is it then. I would have liked to have seen Roland's Tower.
Who are you kidding? You know that if you could have gotten out of this you’d have whisked that girl away to a nice quiet little village. You’d settle down with her, get married, have babbies…but was this ever really your ka?
Yeah…you’re right. Its better this way. She made me forget the quest. She made me forget the face of my father, that girl. This way no one really fails.
Hiram Durolais thought again of Roland’s words.
I know in my soul that it must be done. We may not make it there…certainly all of us will not. But we must get there or die trying. There can be no crying off. We must stand and be true...
He smiled again at the now emboldened vampires slowly advancing on him, grinning back at him, fangs glistening, wet with saliva. His eyes were a hard and cold green. He spoke to his lord who was far out of sight and out of hearing but somehow, always there. Hiram was not the kind of man that liked to be alone and if there was no one else to talk to…
“I see you Roland...”
Hiram slowly drew his other gun and brought it to bear. It was time.
“I see you very well.”
