Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I do not claim any rights over the Magnificent 7 characters used in this story, which has been written for the joy of writing only (whether it be good writing or no) and for no other purpose (such as monetary gain). The Mag 7 characters/aspects of the story are owned by Trilogy Entertainment Group, the Mirisch Group and MGM.
Comments: It is not necessary to read The Telling I prior to reading this fic. The two have nothing in common other than the title and the general spooky type theme. However, if you want to read it, you can find it here: The Telling I (Slaughter of the Innocents)
The people (other than M7 characters) in this story are purely a figment of my imagination and are not based on any real peoples from history.
Kwik Glossary:
Hel - Norse Goddess of the Underworld
Mot - Canaanite God of Death
Uchati - Weepers for the Dead
Umbra - Shadow soul that lives in a dark, bloodless pseudo-life in the Land
of Shades
Part 1
The Telling begins...
There was a place in the hills, rarely visited by anything that didn't have wings or more than four legs - unless it had no legs and slithered - a place where the trees grew so thick and the light was so heavily filtered by their canopy that visibility was reduced to a few feet even in the middle of the day. The ground was covered in thick tangles of spiny brambles that hid square blocks of granite protruding here and there from the dark, loamy soil.
It was a quiet place, a breathless place - the air heavy, warm and moist. Any animal life that wandered through rarely stayed long. Most skirted around the brambles, noses twitching, ears swivelling to catch a whisper of danger. There were no nests in the trees, no burrows in the earth, no fallen logs, no deadfall of any kind. The place remained
as it always had - still and quiet, alive and waiting.+ + + + + + +
The stranger came to town two weeks into October - on foot. His skin was blacker than night and his hair a close-cropped mat on his head. His teeth were whiter than bones bleached by a desert sun. They gleamed brilliantly whenever he smiled or opened his mouth to speak. Something he did continuously. His horse, he'd said to those few people he engaged with conversation, had miss stepped on a rough patch of ground and broken its leg. His gear, all except a saddlebag and canteen, he'd left hidden in the hills.
He talked to Mrs. Potter that first day while he purchased provisions, inquiring mildly about the whereabouts of the livery and receiving an account of the town in return. Later, at the livery, he spoke to the man in charge and rented himself a horse. He was pleasant and friendly and, by the time he rode out of town, knew all about its recent
history - its progressive change from lawlessness to law-abiding and the interesting lack of any real church with a real minister, something the townspeople regretted in an unspoken way, though he had been assured that Josiah Sanchez had been doing admirably well by the town and their collective souls.
The stranger rode out knowing all he needed about the town and its residents; they knew little about him - not
who he was, not even his name. He smiled broadly and began to whistle as he left the dusty streets behind.
He was all and nothing, everyone and no one. He was life and death.
His name was Daimon, the Guardian of the Keep.+ + + + + + +
The stranger was not seen in town again until three weeks into October. By then, things had already started to go awry. Little things. Fruit pies left out to cool went missing. Doors and windows stuck in position - Mrs. Donalson from the edge of town had to climb out her bedroom window in her nightgown to get to her kitchen early one morning - scuttling about with her greying hair in rags and a frilly sleeping bonnet while most sane people were still abed.
Then there were the animals. Horses were becoming cantankerous and edgy, cats hissed at shadows and the dogs growled at the wind.
Josiah Sanchez, lawman, philosopher, part-time preacher, walked up to his church on the morning that marked the close of the third week. His stomach was full from breakfast. It was a fine day and Josiah was in a good mood. It wasn't until he placed his foot on the first step leading up to the church doors that he realized someone was sitting on the last step. He slowed down his upward trot and grinned broadly at the stranger.
"Something I can do for you, friend?"
The stranger returned the smile and began to stand. "Just moved into the area. Got a small place in the hills." He paused a moment and nodded toward the church. "Thought I'd stop by and pay my respects."
"All are welcome in the House of the Lord." Josiah continued walking up the stairs, putting an arm out to usher the man into the church. "Ours is a simple house, but it does the trick. Come in. Where did you say your place was?"
Josiah pushed open the door and the pair walked in.+ + + + + + +
The day passed, long and slow. A languid, yearning time of the year - summer long gone, winter not too far off. A time when things change without a person realizing that change is taking place, when events happen that most people remain unaware of their entire lives. It was relatively warm for October, though still windy. Skirts and aprons flew wildly about their wearers. Hats tumbled down the street regularly. Coats, scarves and bandannas whipped against agitated bodies and tight faces.
Sometime in the afternoon, that dead time between noon and dusk when the body starts to wind down and the eyelids feel weighted down with bags of sand, Josiah, avoiding wind and dust inside his church, noticed a fine crack in the base of the church podium. He set at it with his tools, humming as he often did when working, and by dinnertime had repaired most of the damage to the wood. Satisfied, he set off down to the saloon for food, drinks and the company of friends. Strolling in the still darkening night, he recalled his visit with the strange newcomer to the area. Daimon, Josiah remembered. Something odd about that man, something not quite all together.
The muted noise from the saloon became louder the closer he drew, and a frown passed across his face. ...quite all together... Did the sounds inside seem louder than usual? Forced, perhaps? Josiah stood a moment outside the batwing doors, soaking in the sounds and the atmosphere. A quick glance showed him the usual crowd inside. He shook the feeling off and pushed his way in to join them, ignoring the deepening cast of the shadows, the overly bright light of the flickering lamps.
Ezra and Nathan were trading barbs on some moot point of honor - moot because the topic wasn't as important as the need to take opposite ends of the discussion. Josiah secretly thought the two men would surprise themselves one day with the realization that they were actually friends, but until then they slid their pointed asides across the table
as if they would never agree on anything.
Buck and JD were also deeply involved in conversation - Buck's expression wide and mischievously innocent, JD's cocky, disbelieving and gullible all rolled into one. Chris sat by himself, so deep in the shadows the casual observer might miss him completely. His elbows rested on the table, a glowing cheroot tucked into a loose fist. The smoke was curling back toward his face and his eyes had become slits against its sting. Vin Tanner had just left the bar, scruffy as usual and not long in from the day's patrol; he had a bottle tucked under one arm and fresh glasses in his hand. He headed directly for Larabee's table, the ghost of an amused grin on his face.
Josiah met him half way, a friendly nod, a welcoming glint to the eye, all the invitation he needed. It turned out to be a pleasant evening, relaxed, full of laughter and wry comments, that broke up late and left all seven men with a comfortable feeling as they headed for their beds to get some shut-eye before first cock's crow in the morning.
Back in the church, star light and faint traces of the moon were the only illumination. Any candles left burning that night had long since burned into non-existence or simply snuffed out. Christ on the cross loomed over the podium, his tortured, bleeding eyes staring his agony to the empty pews. Shadows across the newly mended furniture caused it to look twisted, as agonized in its structured form as the Christ above it. When Josiah returned to the church the next day, he would find the crack had widened, the wood splintered and jagged where he had left it smooth and soft.
That night the dogs began to howl.
In the hills, above a thickly wooded grove shrouded in gloom and lit eerily from within by an unmoving fire, a lone wolf bayed at the moon.+ + + + + + +
Near the end of the fourth week, the lone wolf came to town.
No one noticed it at first. Another windy day in a string of much the same had kept most people inside. Eddies of dirt and sand and dead leaves rose and fell randomly along the street. Occasionally, an uprooted sagebrush would roll along the road, a stray piece of litter, someone's hat. It was the sagebrush that caught the boy's eye. He'd just stepped out of Mrs. Potter's store, a sack of sweets grasped firmly in his hand, when it rolled past him. It struck him as funny, and he raced along the boardwalk then out into the street to chase it. The brush rolled faster as if taunting the boy to keep up. They were near the edge of town, and the boy knew that soon the brush would escape him forever. He laughed out loud and took a last wild leap. The brush hit a rut in the road and bounced ahead. The boy lost his balance and tumbled head over heel in the dirt. He came up laughing and coughing, dirt streaked across his face and up his arms, his shirt ripped, a knee skinned, but the sweets still safely held in his hand.
That was when he noticed the wolf. It was sitting right in front of him, its long tongue hanging loosely from its mouth. Only the wayward sagebrush separated the two. The boy didn't gulp or scream, or even breathe - not until the wolf bared its dripping teeth and growled with such cold-blooded menace the boy's innards quivered with fear, and then the boy was up and running and screaming.
Vin Tanner was in the livery, brushing down his horse when he heard the screams. He darted out to the street in time to catch the boy, but the words coming out of the terrified child's mouth were gibberish. The boy could only point before pulling himself free and running again. Tanner ran back into the stables to retrieve his rifle then headed in the
opposite direction to the boy.
The wolf was standing on all fours, the sagebrush still in place, when the tracker reached it. Rocking from side to side and snuffling as if it had a cold, it held its head up high to shake it then dropped it low to the ground to push the side of its face along the hard-packed earth. Tanner skidded to a stop. He could hear someone coming up behind him and he waved whoever it was away even as he dropped to one knee and brought his rifle up.
"Rabid?" Chris Larabee whispered beside him.
There was a short silence as Vin adjusted the sight on the rifle. Larabee waited patiently. The wolf was staring at them and Chris felt a tingle of fear shoot down his spine as the animal growled low and deep.
"I reckon," Vin finally answered. His shoulders rose and dropped to relieve the hard ball of tension in his neck. He lifted the rifle up until the butt rested comfortably against his shoulder and caressed the trigger with his finger as he bent his head to peer through the site directly at the wolf. The sound of the townspeople collecting further back dropped to a low muttering as the sharpshooter took aim. The wolf's growling had changed tone, a little higher in pitch. It now had a whining edge to it. As Vin's finger tightened on the trigger, the animal lifted its head to the sky and howled. Vin's blood ran cold and he stopped moving. The damn wolf was looking right at him as the howl trailed off in the wind. There was no sound now from the townsfolk - no sound at all.
"Shoot it," Chris hissed. "Now!"
Vin's finger depressed on the trigger. The ring of the shot echoed around the buildings. The wolf jerked to the left then twisted on its hind legs and scuttled away as the bullet flew uselessly by.
"Goddamitalltohell!" Vin cursed as he stood up, pushing his hat back off his head. Ignoring the man beside him, he strode back to the livery and hastily began saddling his horse. He heard the scuff of a boot on the ground behind him. "Have ta track the damn thing down and kill it 'fore it gets worse."
"Me and the boys'll back you up," Chris said, moving to his own horse.
Vin shook his head. "Better if I go alone. More chance of one man sneakin' up on the bastard than seven."
"No, the way things have been around here lately, you should have back up. If seven is too many, then we'll just make it two."
Vin looked across at the other man, not pausing in his work, and nodded. They'd go together.
Part 2
The wind whistled through the trees, branches squealing in protest as they were bent back and forth. A constant rain of leaves fell to the ground. The wolf paid no attention to any of it as it shuffled, stiff-legged, along a trail it couldn't see, following a scent that filled its nostrils with driving hunger. It had some sense that it was being tracked, but the call to move forward overrode the need for survival. Soon the scent it followed grew stronger, thicker until it was more than scent, more than hunger - until it simply was.
A whistle came softly in the dead air, and the wolf pushed its way through brambles, unmindful of thick thorns ripping through its coat and skin. The animal's blood dripped from the thorns and soaked into the black earth beneath. It broke through the hedge and into a clearing where large squared blocks of granite formed what was once a massive wall. On the far side of the clearing, in a space between the blocks, sat Daimon, cross-legged, his hands resting lightly on his knees. He whistled again and the wolf stepped closer, the hackles on the back of its neck bristling momentarily and then dropping. Its tongue lolled from its mouth as it panted its thirst and stepped close enough to rip the throat from the man if it so chose. Close enough for the man to smell the beast's death on its breath, and for the beast to smell death in the man.
The wolf dropped to the ground and lay its head in the man's lap. In the distance it could hear the coming of its enemy. It closed its eyes on a deep sigh of contentment, the scent and soft whistle enveloping it in a cocoon of longed-for release, and went to sleep.+ + + + + + +
Vin and Chris stopped outside the brambles, the tracks of the sick wolf they followed clearly visible in the bare earth. It had gone straight through the hedge. Vin pointed to traces of sticky blood on inch-long thorns.
"Went in here, prob'ly lookin' for a place to die," Vin said. His low voice sounded loud in the hush of the woods.
Chris looked around, searching for signs of animal life and finding none. "Vin? Seem a little quiet to you?"
Vin was already pushing his way into the thicket.
*******
"Well, come, my friends!"
Vin felt a tremble run through his body at the unexpected voice, and he stood up warily - his hackles, like the wolf's before him, warning of possible danger. Muttered cursing came from behind. "Move your ass, Tanner!" The silent man shifted enough to allow his friend room to move, but no further. As Chris stood straight, he noticed the tense line in the younger man's stance. His gaze fell away from the tracker to the ancient wall at their feet and, finally, to the seated man and the wolf opposite them.
The man was hard to see at first, his skin darker than the shadows that gathered around him. Only his eyes were visible, but as the two men adjusted to the gloominess of the copse, they were able to make out his hands - slowly moving across the sleeping wolf's head - and his grinning mouth. The mouth opened and his voice eased out to welcome them again.
"Well, come. You've arrived just in time."
Tanner cocked his head to the side and let his eyes slide across the clearing, looking for a trap of some kind. It was Chris that responded to the stranger's welcome. "In time for what?"
The man's grin widened, his teeth catching what little light there was. "Take a seat," one hand swept out to the blocks of granite "You'll find out soon enough."
Vin and Chris shared a suspicious glance before sitting down. The remains of the wall ran in two lines with a slight furrow of soft earth in between. The men sat opposite each other and at a distance from the stranger. Both kept their hands near their guns.+ + + + + + +
Buck Wilmington paced the boardwalk restlessly, his hands clenched firmly on his hips. Every now and then he'd pause and stare down the street in the general direction of where, only the day before, Vin had missed the wolf. "I'm tellin' you, we should have gone with them. It's Halloween for chrissake, all sorts of weird things have been going on. They should never have gone off alone."
JD was chuckling. "You ain't scared a'ghosts and goblins now are ya, Buck?"
Buck stopped moving to glare at the young man. "Course, I'm not. Just tellin' ya that weird stuff's been happenin', and it just isn't a good time to be wanderin' around the hills."
"Has been quiet lately, too quiet. Maybe we should go look for them," Nathan suggested.
"See," Buck said. "Nathan feels it too. Let's go."
"I'm certainly not going traipsing around the countryside looking for two grown men both perfectly able to look after themselves, all because it's Halloween and Buck and Nathan have a 'feeling'." Ezra leaned against the wall of the jail and tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat.
"Any of you boys talk with that new man? Name of Daimon?" Josiah had been sitting down, but started to stand as he asked the question. His brow was creased with concentration.
"No, can't say I've had the pleasure," Ezra drawled.
Buck spun around to face the preacher. "What's that got to do with anything, Preacher?"
Nathan and JD both scowled at Buck and answered, "No," at the same time.
Josiah merely held up his hand to ward off the younger man's impatience and stared down the street. "Look at the big picture, Buck. Unusual things have been happening. Nothing big, just... unusual. A rabid wolf comes to town. Did you notice how it seemed to stare at Vin? Vin did, I saw him pause just before he took that shot; he felt something wrong about the wolf. This stranger too feels wrong. I talked with him yesterday at the church. He asked a lot of questions, answered very few of mine."
"What's his last name? Maybe we've got a poster on him," JD said.
"He never told me. Just his first name..."
"Daimon?" Buck pushed, wanting to be gone from here and out looking for Chris and Vin.
Josiah nodded to the anxious man. "An unfortunate name, perhaps, on All Hallow's Eve."
"How so?" Ezra inquired, not quite sure if he should be bored or interested.
Josiah looked straight at him and the gambler felt a chill of presentiment. "Daimon is another name for demon."
All four men stared back at the big man, the same chill that Ezra was feeling running through the other three. No one said a word. Without looking at the others, Buck stepped off the boardwalk and strode toward the livery. Josiah followed him, Ezra, Nathan and JD close behind.
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