Firstborn of the Frontier

Hands. How do they work?

An odd question to ask considering I was born with two perfectly functional hands and spent years learning how to seamlessly use four at the same time, but one that sits front and centre in my brain as I pick up the bristle hairbrush with my left hand. Seems simple enough, running a brush through Chrissy’s hair, one I’ve done thousands of times before, but all it takes is a switch up of which hand to use to throw me completely off my game. How much strength am I supposed to use? What angle do I hold the brush at? Did I go from right to left for a reason, or just because it was more convenient when I had both hands?

It’s not like I can just sub in a Mage Hand and magically know how it works either. The ‘muscle memory’, for lack of a better term, ain’t there, because the Mage Hands aren’t copies of my hands, but individual appendages all on their own. Nor is the actual mental memory stored in the same place, as the Mage Hands get their own little subsection in my brain associated with their control. So even though my real right hand knew how to brush Chrissy’s hair, that knowledge don’t translate over to either Mage Hand, right or left. That’s why I gotta spend so much time training them up after all, because what I learn to do with my own hands got nothing to do with my Mage Hands, and vice versa. That extra bit of practice is why most folks don’t use the Mage Hand Cantrip all that much. Otherwise, even a single extra hand would be… well, handy, especially since a ten-pound limit ain’t as restrictive as you might think. Can use it to grab cups or tools, take notes while you work, hold a piece of string while you run out with the other end to take measurements or what not, and all sorts of other useful things. Problem is, it ain’t easy acclimating to a new appendage lacking any tactile feedback to start, and most folks think the time invested ain’t worth the effort.

Always thought that sort of mindset was silly and short-sighted, but now I realize I didn’t have a day job or family to take care of when I was learning the Cantrip. I’m also understanding the frustration of learning something you feel you ought to already know, because as I stand behind Chrissy and go through the familiar motions of brushing her long, silver locks with a decided lack of familiarity, I can’t help but get irked by my gross incompetence. What’s so hard about brushing hair? Nothing, that’s what, so how come I can’t do it right? Keep running into snarls and tangles rather than feeling them out in advance, then accidentally pulling too hard and breaking fine strands off. Chrissy, sweet girl that she is, don’t raise word one of complaint, not now and not yesterday when my actions made it clear I don’t know what I’m doing. Sat through all that tugging and snapping yesterday morning, then came to fetch me this morning to do her hair again, all too happy to sit there like a lovely little doll while I do I hack job with her brush in hand.

Used to be so easy and relaxing, this little ritual of ours. Left arm lifts up a section of hair to hold like a waiter in a fancy restaurant drapes them napkins over their arm. Then the right hand starts brushing in sections, up and down motions starting from the bottom and moving right to left before continuing on to the middle, then top. Not too hard and not too fast, with the odd spray of miss Elise’s conditioning water to soften up the tangles and stop static electricity from causing frizz or flyaways. Simple and easy, no two ways about it, but my Mage Hands can’t hold up all of Chrissy’s hair at once and lack the fine motor control needed to brush with strength enough to get through the thick mass without breaking, tearing, or pulling every time they hit a snarl. Leaving me feeling like a bull in a porcelain shop, all caught up and afraid to move because something is sure to break the moment I do, and got me right ready to call it quits.

“You know Chrissy,” I drawl, trying to distract her from my fumbling efforts while not letting my frustration show, “A little birdy told me that when I’m out on the road, you brush your own hair in the mornings. That true?”

Rather than answer, Chrissy slowly pivots away from the mirror and my gaze both to stare out the window. It’s an endearing bit of subterfuge, because in her mind, out of sight is out of mind. It’s the same reason little kids love playing peekaboo so much, because object permanence ain’t a thing they understand just yet. Chrissy ain’t all that bad, but she don’t understand that the rest of us ain’t seeing or sensing all the same things she does, which means her behaviour can come out seeming strange until you understand her reasoning behind it. Might be she’s hoping I’ll get distracted by some flows of Aether or the rhythm of my Spell Structures and forget I asked a question, or maybe she’s hoping I won’t press her for an answer if she just doesn’t say anything.

Can’t let her get off that easy, because sweet and endearing as she is, she is anything but simple. Tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention, I ask, “You still with me Chrissy?” She nods. “You hear my question earlier?” A pause, then she shakes her head, a bit more forcefully than necessary which gives away the lie. “Want I should ask again?” Another shake of the head, one more subdued and girlish, because she’s caught on to my teasing and is none too pleased by it. Don’t wear her emotions on her sleeve or show them in her expression, but she feels them same as anyone, so I ease off the screws and lean in to give her a one-armed hug. “I’m just playin’ Chrissy,” I say, and my heart warms when she leans into the hug and nuzzles her temple into my cheek, even though her reflection in the mirror is impassive as ever. “No need to worry. I was just curious is all. I’ll still brush your hair whenever I can, so long as you still want me to.”

“Okay.” Then after a pause, she adds, “Thank you Howie.”

“Anytime, Princess.” Don’t take much thinking to figure out why she never let on that she could do it herself. Was a time when we used to be inseparable, the two of us and Tina all thick as thieves. Then I started riding out with my daddy, and then she lost hers, leaving her with half the family she used to have most of the time. Two years later, my daddy passed too, and I didn’t take it well, not one bit. Threw myself into my training and didn’t spend all that much time with her even though I was home all the livelong day, not until a couple months later when she insisted on having me braid her hair one random afternoon, and here we are almost three years later.

Can’t braid her hair anymore, not for a bit. Gotta learn how to do it with the Mage Hands first, which means practicing on the horses I done bought and got no use for anymore, so they’re just crowding up the barn with Cowie and his gals.

The thought pierces through the thin veil of warmth and contentment I only done just found, so I hug Chrissy that much tighter in hopes of finding it again, but no dice. That ain’t her fault through, so I get back to work on her hair with a smile while going on about this or that, telling her the little things that went on while me and Tina were away, like my first meeting with Inari or the big ugly birdos the Khaganate had pulling their wagons. Didn’t take too many pictures of new animals this time around, as I had more pressing matters on the mind, but Chrissy is a forgiving soul and don’t hold it or my many mistakes against me.

“I didn’t see no ornitheros.” I can hear the pout before turning around to see it pasted across Tina’s rosy red cheeks as she leans against the door frame, her baby fat still clinging to her face gamely out of sheer stubbornness considering how hard she works everyday. Not just training for the Rangers, but chores too, as evidenced by the backlog she started chipping away at soon as we got back from my interrogation yesterday afternoon. I tried to help, but every time I got up to do something more than just hold her tools or play support, she’d shoot me a glare like I was fixing to get her in trouble. Then again, chances are she’d be blamed if Aunty Ray came out and saw me hauling hay bales, carrying wet laundry, or churning the compost heap to get it mixed in good and well. Doubt I could shear a wally, not sore, bruised, and one handed as I am, but I can still amble about the yard checking fences or sit down and sharpen shears if need be, so I don’t see why she gotta get so dramatic if I so much as try to pour myself a cup of coffee.

“Them big, mean birds were out in the desert, not in town proper,” I say, by way of reply, and she lets out a little huff of displeasure. Whole reason there weren’t pack animals in Pleasant Dunes wasn’t a lack of water. Nah, Ron didn’t want the locals getting familiar with beasts of burden and giving them ideas of maybe making a break for it in the dead of night. Not that them townies would’ve dared. Hell, half of them were up in arms when they found out what happened to their precious company employer, while the other half looked like they’d lost all meaning in life. Fools one and all is what they are, and I almost wish they’d’ve come at me in the morning light, so I could’ve put ‘em all out of their misery once and for all.

Hope Carl, Vicente, and the saloon gals made it out okay though. Rangers offered safe passage to anyone leaving with us, but not many took them up on the offer. Couldn’t spare anyone to leave behind and help guard the town either, meaning they in for a bad time should any bandits or other Abby come a looking. And believe you me, them bandits will come, whether it be Ron’s enemies looking to take over where he left off or them scav Khaganate wanting to find out what happened to their fearless leader Gunin. Shame he wasn’t smart enough to take the deal I offered him. Would’ve been nice to know what Wayne was really mixed up in or where Ron’s explosives manufacturing factory might be. Then again, Gunin might’ve come out singing a different tune from the yarn I spun up regarding what happened after my recording cut out. That’s why I futzed with the crystal and wiped my conversation with the man up on the second floor. Made it look like the crystal was struggling to record, maybe on the fritz or jammed up by Aetheric interference, like the sort caused by lead and Aberrtin in the walls.

Don’t feel good pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes, but the law is one thing, and Frontier Justice another. Wayne got what’s coming to him, that there is a fact. Wish I could’ve trusted Conner too, but he done betrayed me twice already, once when he bugged my hat, and again when he stood by and watched while they chopped my hand off. Maybe that ain’t enough to earn him a Bolt to the head in the eyes of the law, but I’d say it’s close enough.

And half the time, I even believe it.

While Tina leans in the doorway, I finish tying off Chrissy’s hair into a loose, low ponytail that starts just above her shoulders. With all the cat’s cradle I play, my Mage Hands are deft enough to tie all the knots my real hands could, and a hair tie don’t gotta be all that tight either. The work done, I gently nudge Chrissy to scoot over, and the sweet girl happily shifts aside to lean against the windowsill and stare down at the wallies and kiccaws playing outside. As for me, I gesture for Tina to come take a seat with a smile. “C’mon now,” I say, seeing her eyes light up, then dim again as she thinks twice. “Was supposed to brush your hair the whole trip home plus a day, but missed out on almost two weeks by my count. Figured you’re owed this, so long as you don’t mind if it ain’t my best work.” Flashing a grin to soften the blow, I add, “Could most certainly do better than that fresh-out-the-bucket mophead look you got goin’ on.”

Earns me a pout and a scowl it does, but Tina takes a seat in the chair all the same, pleased as a peach to be having her hair brushed even if I feel the fool for doing it. Only because of my lack of ability mind you; ain’t no crowd around to watch, which was the only real issue I had with brushing Tina’s hair. Course, things get a little more complicated with her, but mostly because of my feelings that I ain’t sorted out and don’t know how to, but that ain’t on her. So I work hard to keep my eyes on her hair rather than the curve of her chest, the nape of her neck, or her dainty little ears poking out from under her hair once I got her bangs and tresses out of the way. Though cut from the same cloth as Chrissy, Tina’s shorter hair gives her a plucky, stouthearted sorta look, like she ready to ride for the hills and shoot Abby from sunup to sundown. Shows in her manner of dress too, a crisp, clean, cream-coloured button up and a sturdy pair of navy-blue jeans without the wear and tear of desert travel. Add in her new healthy tan and freshly washed hair that smells of flowers and honey, Tina is the very picture of an all-American Ranger cadet once she puts on her Stetson.

Small wonder why most the other boots make eyes at her. Especially with the pinky-sized blue sapphire sitting front and centre of her forehead, with two golden bands emerging from it like a circlet atop her head. Regal is the word for it, striking another, while her soft eyes and rounded features make her appear cordial and approachable at the same time. And she is, a right friendly girl who’s always happy to put a name to a new face and lend a helping hand wherever she can, which is why she’ll make such a great Ranger. Learning how to fight, why any fool with luck enough can learn in time, but Tina’s got that can-do attitude that can’t be taught, a real go-getter who can go the distance no matter how tough the going gets. Looks easy breezy as can be on the outside, all cheery and bubbly as she is, but underneath that sunny disposition is grit and tenacity aplenty.

Showed it off in Pleasant Dunes, manning the Big Stick like she did, timing her shots to clear out the crowds while conserving what little ammo she had for as long as possible. Wish I could’ve been there to see it myself, but from what I’ve heard, she did a phenomenal job keeping a cool head and calm nerves in a sea of chaos and fire. We would’ve made a great team, the two of us running point down under dark, with me as the scout and her running interference on anything that keeps me from doing my job. Illusions and subterfuge, same as what Tim did back in Pleasant Dunes, with the added benefit of Tina’s breadth of Enchantments that can draw Abby to her or send them running for the hills all the same. What a pair we would’ve made, the Firstborn and the Songbird, partners and battle buddies to the end.

In a different world and a different time maybe. Now? Now all I’d be doing is holding her back.

So wrapped up in my thoughts about something that’ll never be, it takes me a minute to notice Tina’s hawk-like gaze snapped on my reflection in the mirror, her big blues all wide and watery as she takes in the sight. Can’t help but take a glimpse of myself in the mirror to see what she sees, and I can’t say I blame her for wanting to cry. I would too if I had to look at me all the time, a sad sack of scrapes and bruises that makes for a real sorry sight. Got me a pair of panda eyes, so similar to the ones I love to give my enemies, or what Captain Jung gave Sasquatch who’s sitting in cell awaiting trail at the same Sherrif’s office I visited just yesterday. That’s the first thing that really jumps out at you, but the rest don’t make it better, only worse. Got so many cuts on my lips they’re more scab than skin, and a big patch of skin on my left cheek that’s all raw abrasion. The bruises have mostly healed by now, but there are some patches still darker than the rest. Gives my skin the look of poorly stained leather, while the puffy bits brings to mind bruised, half-rotten fruit, that sorta swollen and saggy appearance that you don’t want to see.

On the bright side, it could’ve been a whole lot worse if it wasn’t for my Shield bracer and defensive measures, which is a fancy way to say how I curled up into a ball, but my ribs took a pounding and so did my legs. No breaks, only many suspected hairline fractures, meaning my duster did its work blunting the lion’s share of the damage I suffered. First time really putting it to the test really, and while it didn’t feel like it did much in the moment, the fact that the bruises on my torso are healing better than the ones on my face and legs tells a whole different story. Maybe I’d have been even better off with a Mage Armour thrown on too, and I bet I could’ve waded through the whole crowd with a set of Conjured Armour like Sergeant Begaye’s.

Then again, if I’d called up a suit of steel plate out of thin air, I’m pretty sure Ron would’ve just had me shot, so ain’t no real point in considering what ifs.

“I really look that bad?” I ask, giving Tina a soft smile because a big one might split a scab on my lips. “Keep saying I look worse now than I did when these wounds were fresh.”

“Ain’t true though,” she says, before glancing at Chrissy to make sure she ain’t listening all that close. Seeing the silver-haired girl with her head half out the window, Tina leans back into my chest and whispers, “After the big explosion, they wouldn’t let us get close to the burning building, because they thought it was their stock grenades cooking off and there might be more to go boom. Was standing there watching the inferno for a good minute before I got to wondering where you were, then spent a few more going around asking if anyone had seen you. Then Sarah Jay gasps your name, and I look over to see you take a tumble out of the second story window with a cloud of fire and smoke on your tail like dragon’s breath showing you out. Ran right over and pushed my way through the crowd to get to you right quick, but you didn’t so much as move a muscle when I called you name. Just laid there so covered in ashes I didn’t even see the blood until we splashed some water on your face.”

Biting her lip, Tina takes a breath as if to continue, then thinks better of it and breathes it out slow, but her teary eyes and quivering lips tell me everything I need to know. She thought I was dead and gone for moment there, a cold, terrifying stretch of time, because uncertainty is a terrible thing. “Still here, ain’t I?” I ask, gently pressing my knuckles into her chin, because I don’t know what else to do. “It’ll take more than Ronald Jackson and Pleasant Dunes to bring me down.”

Took the Firstborn, and maybe the Yellow Devil too, but Howie Zhu is still standing, even if he ain’t entirely sure who that is just yet.

Tina’s eyes flash over to Chrissy before coming back to me with steel and fury. There will be a reckoning for this, and she wants all her questions answered. Not the edited broad strokes I’ll tell Aunty Ray and Chrissy, a yarn that might as well be fiction with how whitewashed the story will be, but the cold, unvarnished truth. For a long, torturous second, my stomach alternates between somersaults and backflips while I go through everything I’ve said and done since coming out that fire to figure out how she knows, but then Tina goes a step further and says, “It’s high time you stopped treatin’ me like some porcelain doll. I ain’t gonna faint when I hear the details Howie, or have nightmares and not be able to sleep.”

So it’s not that she knows I’m hiding something from everyone else. She only asking for the full story because she wants into the inner circle. Truth is, she is ready for most of it, though I doubt she’ll ever be ready to know I killed two Rangers in cold blood because it was easier than giving them a fighting chance. Even if she were ready, that there is a secret I best take to the grave, but she ought to know the rest of it. “You right,” I say, giving her a little nod, because truth is, she’s more than ready. “Fact is, I can’t keep protecting you even if I wanted to, not as I am.” That puts a frown on her face, which tells me she needs more confidence if she wants to take on this burden. She’s only lacking because I been working hard to keep ahead of her all these years, and that’ll change soon enough. From here on out, it’ll be me seeing her off as she rides out into the Frontier to fulfill her dreams, while I stay at home and hold down the fort.

Never knew I could be so proud and envious at the same time, and I can’t say I like the second feeling much.

Eking out every scrap of cheer I got left in me, I give Tina my best smile while quietly promising to get healthy quick so I can take over her chores and give her more time to train. Or just be a girl her age, so she can stop off at the saloon for a glass of cider after Basic, head down to the lake on weekends for a stroll and a swim, or whatever else it is kids her age do. I wouldn’t know, because I ain’t ever acted my age, and it’s too late to even try now. Tina’s still a month off from turning seventeen, while I’ll be a grown ass man of eighteen by the end of the year, so can’t hardly start searching for youth now. Better off working on those adult things instead, like getting a job, building a home, and finding a wife to love and to hold, in sickness and in health, or however them vows go. My daddy was married with a year-old baby and a steady job with the Rangers by the time he was my age, with a Proggie kill under his belt wherein he played a pivotal role and finished up without anyone going the way of the dodo. In contrast, I’m here foundering with only one hand, no prospects, and no idea of where to go next after doing the bare minimum as a set of eyes in a delve that got a decorated Ranger Captain killed.

Folks were always telling me how I was doing great, but no matter how you slice it, I don’t measure up to anything my daddy ever did. Incredible really. Add in how my mama was smart as a whip and accomplished so much in a short eight or so months on the Frontier, and I can’t help but think my parents would be sorely disappointed in how their son turned out, even if I still had both my hands on me.

Ain’t no sense bringing it up, because ain’t nothing anyone can say to change the facts, so I put the finishing touches on Tina’s hairstyle and make a voila gesture with my hands. Or one hand and a stump I guess, but she don’t take no notice of the gaffe while she looks this way and that to admire my work in the mirror. “Thanks Howie,” she says, beaming pretty as a posey now that her bangs and side flicks ain’t all up in her face. “You could make a whole career out of this if you wanted you know? Give Madame Martin a real run for her money.”

“Hard pass. You and Chrissy are family, so you the exceptions.”

Leaning back to look me in the eyes, Tina sits there with a smile and doesn’t say a thing, just waits expectantly like there’s something I’m missing. All I got for her are a few puzzled blinks, which earns me a pout and a scowl. “Where’s my hug then? Chrissy got two while you was brushin’ her hair.”

“How long was you watchin’ for?” Maybe everyone ain’t walking all that soft, and it’s my situational awareness that’s lacking. Giving Tina a hug all the same, I hold her tight because I can tell she needs it, as she’s still shook up by what went down in Pleasant Dunes and all the talk that’s gone on since. I was under strict orders to keep my mouth shut about the specifics during the journey home, and truth was I was happy to keep mum about it all since I hadn’t made up my mind on how it would go. Gave the Captains the broad strokes in my A.A.R, but they both decided it was above their pay grade and left the problem for someone else to handle. Pretty sure they both suspect some funny business went down, as does the rest of Wayne’s company, but the recording is proof positive that he was mixed up with Ron’s illegal enterprise. From there, the rest of the details don’t matter much. A Lieutenant working with a slave driving, drug dealing, explosives manufacturing outlaw is a bad look for the Rangers and the Federation as a whole, which means the higher ups will be all too happy to sweep everything under the rug.

A good thing too, because I was counting on that to get away clean with what was likely legally considered murder. Hooray for me.

Breaking off our hug, I give Tina a light swat on the back of her head to keep her sharp, as she gonna hafta toughen up to make it out there. Earns me an indignant glare it does, mostly because she knows she can’t fight back, not with me as I am, so I laugh it off and head down with the both of them to get a start on the day. Breakfast is a toothsome affair once more as Aunty Ray brings out the savoury chive and egg pancakes alongside a hefty portion of grilled greens, crispy back bacon, and all the fixings so I can wrap everything up into a strange sort of burrito. Makes it easy to eat with one hand it does, which goes to show how food and cooking is Aunty Ray’s love language. Not only is she making sure I eat plenty so my body has strength enough to fix what ails me, she even accounts for my inabilities without making mention of it at all. Haven’t had to use chopsticks or a fork and knife since coming home, though I’ll have to adapt eventually. The problem with eating with Mage Hands is that they’re slow and weak, so I’ll need to put more force and attention into controlling it so as to mind my manners and keep from scraping plates or having my mouth open wide for too long while waiting for my Mage Hands to make it there. So much to learn and adapt to now that I only got one hand, things I took for granted before. Like buttons, which are near impossible to fasten one handed, or even putting on socks, which is why I went without today.

“They say if you’ll be back for lunch?” Aunty Ray asks, the question directed towards Tina since me and Chrissy ain’t got nothing planned.

“Should be,” Tina replies, talking around a mouthful of bacon which puts a frown on her mama’s face. After chewing and swallowing with a sheepish expression, Tina adds, “Captain Jung said it’d be a short meeting to discuss what’s happenin’ with training moving forward. Good quarter of the boots were injured in the fightin’ and are out for a few weeks at the very least, which don’t leave much time before we graduate. Heard talk of extending Basic out to a year and runnin’ two classes at the same time, with seniors helping the juniors on the foundational stuff.”

“As well they should,” Aunty Ray says, having made this argument before. “Six months of Basic is hardly enough to get you kids ready for what’s out there, and y’all haven’t even had that much. Don’t know what they was thinkin’, sendin’ you out like they did, not when we got all manner of Abby attacks to handle right here at home.”

Neither one of them knows about the Proggie I don’t think, though I know Tina got her suspicions. She ain’t about to share them at the breakfast table though, and I ain’t gonna be the one to spill the beans to Aunty Ray. Woman’s already worked up as it is, and she’ll have a full-blown conniption if she knew I went delving under dark even after she specifically warned me to steer clear. Means I’ll have to work something out to hide my share of the Proggie money when it gets back to me, but it shouldn’t be too difficult since I got plenty of savings to draw on.

All in all though, almost everything that happened in Pleasant Dunes is being covered up. Luckily, none of the boots died, and I was the only one to come out crippled. The others got broken bones mostly, with a smattering of lacerations and a concussion or two to top things off. Not bad at all considering Wayne went off book and held his ground in town instead of running for the hills, which goes to show how effective them chemical explosives really are. Still, that there is a dangerous double-edged sword I wouldn’t trust most governments with, much less your everyday average joe. As for the Rangers, they incentivized to keep a lid on what went down in Pleasant Dunes so as not to let on that they had a crooked Lieutenant on the payroll, which will also allow them to downplay the part those explosives played in defending the town. Far as I can tell, the official response so far has been that it was a live-fire training exercise in real battlefield conditions that stumbled across an Abby staging ground. A home away from home essentially, one where greenies grow fungus and break down gathered biomass into a nutrient dense paste that don’t spoil and is easier to carry back home to their Proggies deep under dark. As luck would have it, our training mission arrived while they was sitting on a large cache of paste, and they got all riled up thinking we was here to steal it away. While Wayne held down the fort, Marcus led a small strike team to wipe the place out, leaving the enraged horde of greenies nothing to protect once their base of operations was no more.

Truth mixed in with lies, that’s how all governments operate, so I don’t see any reason why I can’t pay them back in kind. Only bad thing about how it all played out is that Marcus’ death will be swept under the rug, listed as a casualty in battle and his achievement left off the record since officially, there was never a Proggie at Pleasant Dunes. As for what went down between me and Vanguard National, that’s not related to the Rangers, so it’s all on my shoulders, which is fine by me. The official story won’t fool everyone, but it’ll fool enough folks, as even the townies in Pleasant Dunes weren’t to know they’d come under a Proggie attack. As for Wayne and Conner, they’re being listed as Killed in Action same as Marcus, and were given funerals with full honours back in Meadowbrook, even though there weren’t no corpses to bury. Burns me to know Wayne’s rep won’t get out to the public, but his Company and the higher ups will know enough to leave me alone.

Which is a real weight off my shoulders now that I’m home free and clear, both figuratively and literally as it were. All that’s left is for me to work out what I’m gonna do with the rest of my life. No small potates that is, and it won’t be easy, but the important things rarely are.

Doesn’t help seeing the boots getting back on track so fast, even if it’s just a meeting to discuss their future. One I can no longer be a part of, so I keep mum while Aunty Ray and Tina fill the silence talking about this or that, until it comes time to clear the table. While I putter around trying to make myself useful without catching Aunty Ray’s ire, she says, “Oh Howie, I talked to Art and he said to go see him soon as you free so he can take a look at your injuries. Bring Chrissy with you for a ride in the wagon and stop off at the bakery on the way back. Order’s been made and paid for, so it should be ready by the time you get there.”

After telling me to take it easy and be careful a half-dozen different ways, Aunty Ray stands in the doorway and watches me make my way down the stairs with Chrissy clinging to my arm. Takes me longer than I like and I don’t dare rush for fear of stumbling, because that’d only make Aunty Ray worry even more. Though I pretend not to notice, I spot her peering out through her windows while I ready the wagon, and I take my sweet time so Chrissy can stop and play with the wallies for a bit. Ignores the kiccaws all lined up on the fences, which is strange considering she seemed enamoured of them yesterday, all too happy to pet and cuddle the rotund little birds while teaching them how to chirp instead of squawk when they want attention. Ain’t no open arms from Chrissy today though, as she pats the wallies and stares at the birds one by one in an uncharacteristic display of focused contemplation.

After a long minute of studious silence, Chrissy turns to me, tilts her head, and asks, “Which birdy?”

“Which birdy?” Takes me a moment to pick up on what she’s putting down, and when I do, I can’t help but break out into a smile. One that splits a dry scab in my lips, but even the taste of blood can’t dampen my spirits here. “You mean which little birdy whispered all your secrets into my ears?” She nods, as serious as the grave and adorable as all heck, because she’s rightly steamed about getting snitched on by some feathered fool. “Well, what you gonna do when you find out who it is?”

Chrissy’s head dips in thought before coming back up with an answer. “No hug,” she says, only to correct herself a moment later when she decides that might be too harsh a punishment. “Short hug.”

“How awful,” I gasp, all wide eyed and shook, but Chrissy ain’t buying it. Just stands there and waits for my answer, so I grin and say, “Well, luckily for these kiccaws here, wasn’t any one of them that sang. Was a bird you know well though, one you’ve already hugged today, so any punishment will have to wait until tomorrow.”

With only a moment’s thought, Chrissy arrives at the correct answer. “Songbird.”

“Got it in one, but don’t be upset. She didn’t mean nothing by it, just wanted to let me know how you capable and independent now. That’s why your mama sent you with me right? To gimme a hand if I should need it.”

Takes a moment for the words to sink in before I realize my gaffe, and I chuckle a bit at the statement. Gimme a hand, because I only got the one. Silly I know, and ain’t even all that funny, but here and now, it feels like the funniest joke I done ever heard. Chrissy don’t laugh, just nods and goes about hugging the hoppy little birds one by one like the darling angel she is, while I laugh until I’m red in the face.

Because the alternative would be to cry, and I done cried enough these past couple weeks.

Now some folks would think Chrissy simple for thinking the kiccaws gave up her secrets, but they don’t understand animals and how much information a good Enchanter can glean from them. And make no mistake, Chrissy is an exceptional Enchanter, a bonafide sixteen-years-young Magus who’s more than earned her bronze triangle, and is close to earning her Heart and Eye, the respective symbols for the schools of Enchantment and Illusion. Means that if she wanted to, she could learn all the towns secrets from the various birds around town, to say nothing of what the marties, horsies, wallies, and other domesticated beasts could tell her. Not everyone can pull it off, but Chrissy most certainly can, and she assumes everyone can do what she does because it comes so easily to her. Might as well be breathing in her eyes, something wholly natural and not at all remarkable, but I can’t even convince the kiccaws to eat something out of my hands using the Animal Friendship Spell, so reading their emotions is a whole other level of mastery that I don’t got. Can read a person’s general mood with the Empathy Spell, which is from the school of Divination, but like I showed in the talk with the Sherrif, Marshal, and Judge yesterday, it ain’t an exact science as the Spell only reads your surface emotions, not the ones you suppress down or intentionally hide away.

Some Diviners claim they can tell when someone is lying 100% using a combination of Empathy and Detect Heartbeat, but most dependable Diviners will tell you it’s 50/50. Might as well guess if you go by the Spell alone, but used in combination with standard interrogation techniques, then it most certainly helps. Still, gotta keep in mind that folks are all built different. There are those whose hearts will race when asked what the current date is, while others can look you in the eye and believably claim innocence while standing over a pile of carved up bodies with a bloodied knife in hand. That’s why that sort of lie detection magic ain’t admissible in a court of law, and why I was so confident I could lie to the Marshal despite our long history together.

Still don’t like it much, but not like I had any other choice. Conner and Wayne didn’t leave me any other, and I wasn’t about to risk Cowie’s hide, so I did what I had to do and would do it all over again.

Once I got the wagon all set up, Cowie trundles on over to say good morning, larger than life and gentle as can be as he pushes his enormous head into my chest for a hug. Don’t act no different now than from before, not stopping to look at my missing hand or make any faces when he sees my bruises and cuts, because he knows it’s still me underneath, albeit a bit battered about. Don’t mean he don’t care about my injuries neither; to hear Tina tell it, Cowie didn’t leave my side the whole night after everything went down, and he stuck close for the next few days while staring down any and all possible threats around me, Rangers included.

A more dependable partner, you’ll never find, but now Cowie gets to live out his life happy as can be right here in New Hope. There’s the bright side in all this. He don’t yearn for the open road or relish in the violence like I do, so he’ll adjust to his new life better than I ever could, and I can be grateful for that at least.

Cowie’s stoic acceptance of my injuries is a world of difference from how the townies treat me as they watch me go by on the wagon with Chrissy beside me. Get a whole lot of looks as we roll along the cobbled streets, with folks stopping to stare and whisper about this or that. I do my best to smile and nod at everyone I can, but most try to play it off like they wasn’t caught staring and avoid making eye contact by glancing around at empty air. Makes them right uncomfortable it does, seeing evidence of the violence that’s so commonplace outside their walls, but they’re also burning with curiosity too, eager to find out what happened in Pleasant Dunes now that the rumour mill has had a day or two to spread fact and fiction alike.

Ain’t a one of them brave enough to stop me ask outright though, and it might have something to do with the bloody smiles I’m flashing left and right without fail, a fact I forget until we roll up to the hospital to find Uncle Art waiting to greet me outside. “Looks like you been chewed up and spit back out,” he says, welcoming me with open arms and a tear in his eye as his weathered features struggle to put on a happy face. Pulling out a wad of white gauze, he gently dabs at my lips and grimaces at what he sees underneath. “Fool boy,” he mutters, using one strong hand to tenderly help me into the hospital at a slow and steady pace while staring at my stump. “How’s it possible for someone to be so smart and so stupid at the same time?”

Seeing the opportunity, I give him a shrug with both palms up. “Good question. I’m stumped for answers. Can’t really think of anything off-hand.”

Earns me a snort of laughter before Uncle Art catches himself and looks mortified, only to spot my soft smile and roll his eyes. “Well, can’t be all that bad if you already cracking wise.”

“You know how it is,” I reply, doing my best to put on a happy face as I hold up the stump. “Trying not to focus on what’s missing.” Holding up my left hand, I continue, “Instead, I’m trying to appreciate what’s left.”

Got a whole host of jokes lined up, and rapid fire them to test them out, but Uncle Art just shakes his head and smiles while making sure I’m in good health. The check-up don’t reveal anything I don’t already know, and it’s tough seeing Uncle Art take it so hard. Unlike most townies, he knows good and well how bad it is out there, because he’s the one who’s gotta fix up the worst of us who make it back alive. Not even a whole case of whiskey is enough to cheer him up, mostly because I can’t unload it myself, not with one hand as I am. Need Chrissy’s help to get it out of my wagon, and Uncle Art puts the gift aside without so much as a taste. That’s how I know he’s really feeling down in the dumps, and all the hand jokes in the world can’t lift him out. Not sure if he knows everything that went down in Pleasant Dunes either, because even though he’s technically a Ranger, he keeps himself insulated from the day-to-day stuff and is pretty much just a medico on payroll.

A damn good one, which is why he don’t inundate me with questions or materials on where to go next. Just lets me know there are plenty of options to explore and that we’ll look through them all together when I got the desire to do so, because he can tell I ain’t ready to talk about it just yet. I’m still in mourning is why, unable to move past the loss of my hand and struggling to come to terms with the fact that my entire life has changed for the worse. That’s the reality of my situation, one I’ve been ignoring because there were more pressing issues to attend to, like getting my story straight and avoiding prison or worse, but now that that’s all settled and done for, I got no choice but to face the facts.

I, Howie Zhu, am a cripple.

Ugly word that, but don’t make it any less true, and all the stares and whispers only hammer home the facts. Though Uncle Teddy still got plenty of faith in me, I can’t help but despair for my future, because it’ll be a long hard road to recovery which might well never see me back to 100%. Even with a proper fitted prosthetic or a new and improved Mage Hand Spell, I’d still be a burden to any crew willing to take me on, because there are limits to prosthetics and Spells both that are all too easy to get around.

Forget things like having to strap on you hand or Conjure it up before a fight; any gunfighter that can be taken out of action with a blanket, wide-spread Dispel ain’t much of a gunfighter at all.

To make matters worse, I was so close to making a name for myself, one that goes beyond the Blue Bulwark here and out into the Frontier proper. Even though most won’t ever know even half of what happened in Pleasant Dunes, the facts of the matter speak for themselves. I went head-to-head with Vanguard National, who I imagine weren’t no small potates themselves, and now only one of us is still standing. That there would’ve been my ticket to the big leagues, a debut of epic proportions that shows Howie Zhu ain’t a man to cross lightly. Forget having to sell hot ticket Cores like Mage Armour; won’t be many outlaws eager to cross the man who put Ronald fucking Jackson down, not if they know what’s good for them. Took his guns, and Gunin’s rifle too, who no doubt had a rep of his own out there on the Coral Desert sands. Outlaws talk, and mercs pick up on those whispers because there are plenty of dubious outfits with a foot in both worlds after all. That alone might’ve earned me enough cred to get genuine offers from a reputable crew, and maybe even applications from seasoned hunters looking to join mine.

It’s ironic really. My actions in Pleasant Dunes would’ve really kickstarted my career, if they hadn’t also been the end of it. These are the thoughts that rattle through my mind as I finish up at the hospital and head to the bakery with Chrissy, a slow start to a slow day that’ll set the tone for every day yet to come. I’m going from the Firstborn of the Frontier to just another townie like anyone else. No longer can I call myself a gunfighter, Spell slinger, bounty hunter, Abby killer, or Proggie tracker, a career I barely got off the ground before crashing and burning in most spectacular fashion. Though like in the song, I was born to be a rambling man, it seems I’ve yee’d my last haw and put all my beloved cowboy bullshit behind me. Here on out, I’m just Howie Zhu, an uneducated townie with one hand who’s at least a year behind his peers when it comes to finding a proper career. Got nothing to look forward to either, nothing besides hot showers, afternoon naps, and fresh baked pastries, a dull and boring life lived behind these walls amongst the sheep of the Frontier whom I look down on so much.

Could be worse. Could be in prison, or scheduled for a long drop and a short stop, so there’s that. Could still end up there eventually, if I should ever let slip the sins I committed in Pleasant Dunes, a soul-crushing concern that’s been weighing heavy on my conscience these last two weeks and will continue to haunt me for all the rest of my livelong days. This here is the hard fight, one you can never outright win, because so long as you still breathing, the struggle to survive is always gonna be there. All I can do is hope for the best like how my daddy taught me, but he never covered what to do when the best don’t look all that bright to begin with.

Suppose I’ll just have to figure it out for myself, one slow, boring day at a time.