JUSTICE

The war had left him tired. Consisting of endless walking and countless encounters with people whose sole desire seemed to be based on little more than complicating life. Over his left shoulder his horse Bess followed as best she could but the wound in her flank made it hard going. Although he had removed the bullet, cleaned the wound and patched it as best he could he was no medic and he knew it. With every hoof-step the injury would pull apart causing a continual trickle of blood to leave a trail where ever they had been.

His boots were caked in dust and the cloak which wrapped around his body danced behind him. It billowed like a flag so much so that from a distance one could almost be forgiven in thinking this man had wings. Deep inside the cloaks hood but hidden from view his eyes gave entranceway to his soul. They were pale blue and kind yet surrounded by hard skin already old before it's time.

High up in the clouds three falcons circled round scouting the ground ahead and keeping an eye open for bandits. Together they were a team – all five of them. Jonathon Stice and his traveling show. Or at least that was the front they used. An oddity indeed, even more so since the Great-War had brought such suffering. Perhaps they were seen more as a family of freaks, leveraged from the rocks of society and no different than the rest.

“Come on Bess not far to go now.”

As the towns edge beckoned them closer the falconer and his entourage passed the first ram shackled building, bringing into view a blacksmiths awnings and with it the welcomed sight of a well. It had been three days since they had tasted fresh water. A small girl, perhaps twelve years of age, was leaning on the wells edge gazing down in to its abyss. Covering her body was strange jumble of clothing so worn through and repaired that it gave the appearance of having been woven from several smaller sets. She watched her spittle, that she had ejected only moments earlier, cartwheel as it seemed to drift forever downwards occasionally reflecting diamonds of light back into her eyes. The falconer entered her peripheral vision just in upper right corner of her right eye. She made no attempt to acknowledge him, until he was closer…

When Jonathon was within twenty feet Leona looked up and beamed a wide smile at the stranger. It was a false smile but it usually worked – the trick was not to reveal it too early.

“You look thirsty mister.” She stated the obvious.

Jonathon allowed the edge of his mouth to curl and responded with a barley visible smile. He reached a gloved hand forward took hold of the wells crank handle and began to turn. Leona ignored his silent gesture and skipped playfully round his horse and cart. “Looks like your horse could do with mending too!” she chirped as her eyes searched frantically over his animal and the belongings it towed.

“Everyone who comes here from the plains needs mending. I can show you the best Inn in town if you like. You don't want to go too just any of them. Some of them will rip you off right proper they will. It's terrible what they do to strangers. I can help you find you a good place. For a few coins mister?” The statement ended with a raised inflection turning it into question and her ‘pitch'. It was not her best, but if she'd been too practiced he'd have spotted her strait away.

From out the sky fell two birds of prey almost in unison as if attached by some unseen thread. Their talons grasped for the wells cross member taking hold of each side as they landed. Jonathon made no reaction to their appearance;. Instead he poured the now raised pale of water into a nearby trough. Bess eased her tongue into its depths and began to quench her thirst.

“I need a doctor for my horse.” He finally replied.

“Course you do mister. And I know the best one for that too. I can get him if you like? Cost you though.” She played with him.

Jonathon was silent. He'd traveled to all the corners of this land and knew a scam when he saw it. This town probably only had one Inn and as for a doctor, like Inns, they weren't hard to find. Yet he was tired. Before his journey across the plains there were bandits, before them there were robbers and before that… well before that was the reason he had travelled to this place.

Leona may have been young but she'd lived on the streets most of her life. What she lacked in age she made up with ‘smarts'. She could see that playing the ‘helpful town girl' wasn't fooling anyone, but it had served its purpose of distraction so she decided to change tact and taunt him for a while.

“I heard about you mister. They say you travel all over, putting on shows. They say lots about you.”

From within his hood, his eyes drifted to the side. He was expecting this.

“Why is it a man like you would come here? You can put on shows anywhere. People here haven't got a lot of money mister. People here don't want shows. What they want is money. You got more money than them. You probably even got money in banks. In the cities. This place ain't where you wanna be if you wanna make money mister. Maybe you're here for another reason? Maybe I know what that reason is? Maybe you should think twice before ignoring me.”

“What is it you want?” Stice was to the point. His voice was steady and calm. Clearly this was no time for a show.

You ain't got long mister. I knew you were comin'. It won't take long for them to know where you are too. Maybe they already know… but you know that don't you mister. Come here to put on a show did you? If you wanna catch ‘em you'll need to know which ones are the important ones. Is it the butcher or maybe it's the blacksmith? You might find ‘em mister. But wouldn't it be easier to be pointed in the right direction?

“Who are you?” The second of three direct questions.

“Me mister? I ain't nobody. I don't care if you find them or they find you. They ain't gonna be wearin' their robes in public you know. Not here. You might get a few of ‘em but what if it's the whole town? What if they're all devil worshippers? Can you kill ‘em all? How'd do you know that I ain't one myself? You gonna kill a small girl? Whose gonna look after your horse when you're out chasing the shadows? You should listen to me mister. I know what I'm on about. I've seen you die in my dreams I have.”

Jonathon's hand slipped slowly to his side. Resting at ease should he need to draw his blade. “Why are you here?” This was the question Leona was searching for.

She replied more focused than before letting her playful mood drop into her shadow. “I seen you eight years ago. I was so small you didn't even know I was in the same room. Hid under a pile of clothes I was. This here is the sweater that was over my head.” Leona pulled at her outfits misshapen collar and it then became apparent that she had fastened the laundry into a single garment. Leona took two paces back and moved around the side of the cart. Her young rough hands dug in to its beaten edge allowing her venom to bubble to the surface.

“You killed my Motha. You killed my Fatha. I watch you do it! I saw ya hackin' in to em with that sword of yours”. Jonathon's hand did not move. “I watched you preach God words, spoutin' all sorts of stuff I didn't' understand as their blood covered everythin'. Everthin'! Callin' ‘em the devils work and evil you were. They was me parents! You butchered ‘em in the name of the Lord.” Leona's breathing was heavy and erratic, matching her broken language. “Well your Lord ain't my God mister. Not after what I seen he makes you do. You belong in hell. That's where the real Lord is. He's the one that'll make you suffer. I've seen to it. This place is gonna be your hell. This is where you're gonna suffer now – Forever!"

Letting go of the cart Leona bolted for the safety of the building on the other side of the street.

With his body motionless only his head silently tracked the girl with a delicate clockwork movement. Pursing his lips he created bat like whistles that echoed up into the atmosphere from where a leaf could be seen plummeting to earth. With no less than ten feet to go before Leona reached cover the leaf suddenly appeared above her head. Revealing, to all those who could freeze time and observe its beauty, the majestic outline of a falcon about to strike its prey.

With all things being relative the following are ordered into a neat list of events. But as quarks dance from one reality to another so too moments can be born as twins and die together. Who can say which event came first or whether there is a beginning to an end? Is it cause and effect or a simple patchwork of emotions that hold us to the moment? For Leona there had been torturous years for her leading to the creation of this event and from her eyes the scene was both cold and calculated. Jonathon had no sense of the past or future; each breathe to him was only evidence of the moment that he had been born to live.

Men in black robes exited all the buildings from either side of the street and a muffled gunshot rang out as Leona dropped to the ground. With only heartbeats separating talons from flesh a net exploded onto the scene, ensnaring the loyal falcon within its web. Stice dropped to two-thirds his height, readying his body in cat-like stance, signaling for his ‘children' to take to the air.

Bess began to choke. Her nostrils contorted and the poison from the well caused her legs to collapse beneath her. Leona stood with the captive bird flapping helplessly at her feet. “Told you didn't I mister!” She called back pulling all the moments into one.

Stice makes no sound. He does not shout or cry. Ten robed figures approach from the front, twelve from down the street and six more from the blacksmiths. Behind him stretches the open plain from where he came – the only possible escape route. But his family have been hurt and he will not leave them and for reasons that no-one else could really understand this is where he had been heading all his life. One thing can said of fate – in the moment that one becomes aware of its existence so too one can truly feel themselves within it. As now are we.

From behind the ram shackled building burst five horsemen, making their way to cut off his exit. Each wear black velvet robes embellished with blood red symbols. Stice is encircled. Thirty-three figures of death surround him, led by a child.

With one smooth motion Stice throws his cloak into the air letting it settle over his shoulder to reveal the sword that had previously lain in hiding. Its golden hilt shimmers in the sunlight as blue flames appear and disappear though its scabbard. His hand rests gently upon it.

With a scream that gouges at the inside of her throat Leona lets out her war cry. Her tongue spews words drenched up from hell. Incomprehensible sounds that tarnish the air and caramelise the clouds to slate grey. The surrounding robed figures advance in formation drawing their swords and aligning their death blades symmetrically with each other. Jonathon looks deep into their demon eyes before closing his own. “Steady Bess” he whispers as his lips purse once more…