ManOfAges

The sun sat about three fingers above the horizon as the Rider came out of the arroyo and glanced East to West at the dry riverbed of the Santa Fe. The Sangre de Cristos were illuminated as their name suggested, only the bald part escaped as it turned violet and blended with the dark sky beyond. The Rider tugged at the rope of his packhorse and it stumbled from behind the pinon tree, slowly trotting next to him. He tugged on the ropes and the bundle moved. He could hear the muffled cries of a young woman as he checked to see she was completely secured. Another quick look East at a graded slope leading out of the riverbed decided the direction of tonight’s camp. A few yards from the Santa Fe next to a sizable Yukka and near an outcrop of slightly flat rocks. The Rider built a small fire to help fight off the high desert night air. He quickly glanced at the now mostly subdued Sangre de Cristos near the bald mountain for this night’s moon. He studied where the mountains met the sky for any glint of light when a heavy thud came from near his horses. The rider leaped to his feet, kicking over his boiling coffee, dousing the fire. A large wet billowing cloud of smoke was caught up in the wind and pushed almost as one piece into the sky. The Rider continuing his action landed in the dirt. Then leaped again, almost comically, into the air, tackling the young woman as she rose free from her bonds. The two crashed to the ground and rolled until the woman’s back was stabbed by a group of four Yukkas. The Rider grabbed her upper arms hard and then slammed her back deep into the spikes of a Yukka until about a dozen of its spikes drew blood. She shrieked in pain but was unable to free herself without causing incredible pain. She stopped moving, almost frozen. Her breathing tempered to prevent the barbs from going deeper or ripping her flesh more. The Rider slowly let go and got to his knees. He looked back at his packhorse and whistled it over, which it begrudgingly did after the fourth call. With his right hand on the woman’s shoulder, preventing her from rising and his left hand deep in a saddlebag, he fetched out a set of iron chain cuffs. Fumbling them open with one hand, he cuffed the woman’s wrists together. Feeling a bit more secure the Rider stood up and grabbed another set of cuffs for her ankles. “I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.” The rider said to her as he locked the last one. Only now, feeling confident that both cuffs were locked tightly, he quickly jerked her body free of the Yukkas. Her scream filled the night air. A lone jackrabbit took flight and ensured dinner, dried beef and black coffee again. The Rider dragged the young woman back to the smoldering wet coals of his camp. She strained her neck and studied the horizon as the setting sun burned into her eyes. The Rider dropped her between the large Yukka and the coals as she desperately looked between the large blades of the Yukka, watching the sun touch the horizon. Then her body relaxed, and she laid on the ground and closed her eyes. The Rider examined the ropes and blankets that had secured the woman, and they looked as if they were gnawed through in places and torn in others. He found a long leather strap and a bit of torn cloth and went back to the woman. He quickly jammed the cloth in her mouth and secured it by tying the leather strap about her head. She struggled, but every movement opened her wounds and brought her closer to the Yukka behind her. He sat down across from her and turned his attention to the fire. He managed to find a hot coal and kicked dry sand over the wet spot. As the magic hour began, he was boiling the remaining coffee for his supper once again.

The red and orange alien world surrounded by many moons hangs in orbit around a red giant star. The blazing red glare illuminates the surfaces of several rocky moons. The dark side of the orange world glows from the lights of the cities of a powerful and ancient civilization. A single beam of blue light pierces one of the rocky moons. It explodes, raining down mountains of rock into the cities below. From the depths of space, an enormous fleet of blocky starships moves methodically towards the orange world. Blue beams emanate from each of them. The orange world’s energy shields deflected many of the moon rocks and ricocheted, some but others breakthrough exploding like nuclear bombs on the surface of the world. Millions die in an instant. Blue beams then focus their attack towards a fleet of sleek ships moving to intercept them. The ships explode into atoms in a blinding blue flash. All is lost. The blocky ships move into orbit around the crippled orange world, now shrouded by a cloud of rust-colored dust. A single flicker of white light appears in the dust and clouds. The blue beams swing their focus towards it, but the small, fast, sleek ship nimbly outmaneuvers them. It charges the fleet of blocky ships, forcing their blue beams to cut into their own ships. A hoard of blocky drones launches an interception attack on this lone champion. The drones fire machine gun like blue bursts slowly chipping away at the shields and armor of the Fighter, but he turns towards the largest ship. The bomb bay door opens. The Fighter is shot through the shoulder, his ship crippled by the onslaught of blue hell all around. The missile is launched. Silence. It obliterates the main blocky ship.

rovidence, noun: divine guidance or care. (Merriam-Webster) Racon loaded the last stone onto the cart from his Grandfather’s field. His hands covered in dirt and calluses ached. He had spent the entire summer walking through this field pulling out rocks, loading them on the cart, so the plow wouldn’t hit them in the spring when his Grandfather planted again. What a job! And finally, he finished it. Racon had just turned fifteen and was looking forward to using the plow soon. But his Grandfather said he had to build muscles and the best way was to clear out the rocks. How many rocks had he picked? He had created ten piles at the north end of the field. Thousands of rocks, he guessed. Racon tugged on the rope, and the old horse begrudgingly started pulling the cart. The sun was high and hot. The horse walked slowly, and Racon didn’t mind. Finally, they reached the piles and Racon tossed the rocks, making it a few inches higher.. He didn’t know it yet, but his Grandfather was planning to build a fence with them and Racon was a key component to the plan. The sun was setting as Racon ran from the barn to his house. His mother and father were waiting for him so they could start supper. He washed in the sink and then sat at the table. After a quick prayer, he dug in. Supper was always better after working hard all day. Even if it was simple. After supper, Racon lit a candle and went up to his room. His mother had thrown open the window to let the cool evening air in, but tonight it was so hot that it didn’t matter. He didn’t bother changing clothes and as soon as he heard his father snoring he blew out his candle and climbed out the window, over the rooftop, and down the back porch. This was the third time Racon had snuck out. He didn’t enjoy sneaking away from his parents, and if his father caught him, he would get the belt for sure. But he couldn’t let them know what they had found. It was too dangerous.

The shot missed. It was too low. The elk bolted through the brush down the mountain. Racon sighed to himself, knowing that it would take all day to haul the carcass back up the slope. He was planning to get back to Durango by sundown, now it would be sun up if he was lucky. Slinging his rifle, he surveyed the path down. The slope, lightly covered in snow, great for tracking but terrible for climbing. He reached into his bag and pulled out his canteen from between the two ragged-edged books. Taking a long drink, he shoved his canteen back in, tightened the straps, and adjusted his buckskin leather coat. “I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way.” He said as he pulled his hatchet from the sheath on his belt and used it to help slow his descent down the hillside. It would dull up the blade something serious, but it was better than breaking his neck. Reaching the bottom of the ridge, he spotted the blood trail and followed it with his eye towards the frozen creek. Just behind a small fur tree, he could hear the buck’s labored breathing. “Must have nicked the lung.” Racon thought to himself and walked up to the beast, admired it for a moment, then seeing it had just died he processed it for the long climb home. He almost didn’t hear the truck’s engine as he focused on his bloody work. But he looked up just as the engine turned off, making a horrible rattling noise. Slowly he stood, sheathing his blade and reaching for his rifle. The three men sat side by side in the small pickup truck. The driver’s mouth moved and then after a moment, they all raised their right hand. The driver looked at all their hands as if to count them, then they got out of the truck, three rifles pointed back at Racon as steam lifted from his head and the body of the gutted Elk. “No need for the rifles strangers.” Racon said in a flat tone. The three strangers split, two moved to his right, and the third moved left towards the cover of a fallen tree. “You are the stranger here. And according to the laws, you need to come with us. Weapon down.” The driver said and pumped his shotgun and raised the buttstock to his shoulder. Racon took a moment to look over his situation. The man on his left had found his kill shot while the other two advanced. Maybe he could get one. Maybe not. He slowly placed his rifle on the bloody snow at his feet. “Alright. I got no fight with you.” The two advanced on Racon while the third covered them. They grabbed his rifle bag and relieved him of his hatchet and blade. The driver looked into the bag, pulling out the two books. “What are these papers?” He said as if he had never seen a Bible before. Racon kept silent as they escorted him at gunpoint to the bed of the little truck. In the back, they had a chain running down the middle with handcuffs attached to it, ten in all. They cuffed Racon to the middle one and sat awkwardly on the low wheel well. The three men got back into the truck and the rattling engine started hard. With a big jerk, they backed through the woods and started down a rough trail towards the East. It was sunup when the little truck turned down a paved road, now overblown with snow. Racon sat with his back to the cab while he fought to keep his left hand from freezing. The truck stopped and Racon heard the muffled voice of the driver, then two of the three raised their hands and the truck moved on. The truck stopped again after the sun had been up for about an hour. This time all three men raised their hands. They exited the cab and stepped to the side of the road to relieve themselves. Racon stood as best he could and did the same over the side of the truck bed. He looked back west and saw he was far from his home in the valley of Durango. To the East he only saw rolling empty fields. “Where we headed?” Racon said as the three men got back in the truck. The engine started with that terrible sound and they moved on. Sometime around noon, Racon woke from his cold nap. The truck had stopped and parked in the middle of a small town. There was a hardware store, a bar and some kind of jailhouse. The rest of the buildings seemed to be more residential or boarded up. Five men walked out from the bar and the three men got out of the truck. They removed Racon from his cuff and stood him behind the truck while they spoke just out of earshot. Six of the eight men raised their hands, and they led Racon into the jail, where he was put in a cell and given a strip of jerky from his own bag and his canteen. He slowly chewed on a big bite, savoring the juices while he strained to listen to what was being said outside. “Strangers are against our laws, they upset the balance. Too many opportunities to tie or break a vote. I say we dispose of him.” a gravelly voiced man said. The next voice was one Racon recognized as the Driver. “But we ain’t seen a stranger in almost fifty years, shouldn’t we find out where he’s from, how many more there are of him?” The group of men grumbled, then the gravely voiced one said, “Vote on it.”

A story about a young woman with a special gift.