Henri closed her eyes.
The air swished?
The sound of a hollow thump?
Then several more hollow thumps?
But the blade never landed.
Opening one eye slowly, she found Briarwood spun around and confused.
The stable boys had been camped near the construction of the barn, keeping to the shadows during the entire episode, until that moment, the moment Henri Ville needed their help - now it was their time. They ran screaming from the alleyways and shadows on all sides, each of them screaming as they chucked rocks at Rigby Briarwood and the many New Parishioners.
Someone else was charging toward Henri, the man named Michael-
A gunshot tore through the air, one right in the center of the crowd. The bullet found its way into the belly of the charging New Parishioner, but it was echoing of the gun blast through the town, bombastic and startling, that served as the most effective attack.
It was as if it had been a starter's pistol.
And all out chaos followed.
IX
The townspeople were ready and they stormed the New Parishioners.
Rebecca clawed the face of the nearest man. Children kicked the shins of grown-ups. Women stomped feet. Drunks charged. The stable boys continued to pelt anyone with a weapon, their numerous projectiles catching many off-guard. Jonathon ran to the porch of the Apothecary just as Chaim exited. Cant followed, Drewbell at his side; they were holding hands. She looked left, right, and then down at Jonathon with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. Clearly distressed by the boy (her chin dipped), her focus returned to the battle at hand, where it needed to be. All three entered the crowd, unarmed, and attacked no one, searching the bedlam for Henri Ville.
Sporadic gunfire could be heard in the chaos.
People had crowded the street and it was a mob of melee.
Henri continued to smoke her cigarette. In the throbbing mass, she could still see Rigby Briarwood. His attention had spun to the swarming mass. The light of dawn spread, and the candles and lanterns fell by the wayside. A distance had grown between Rigby and Henri. More sparks of close-quarters gunfire. Henri took steps toward him. Behind her, a familiar face: Novak had his back to hers, facing the people, his gun raised and occasionally firing when a clear shot presented itself.
"My name is Henri Ville!" she screamed at the panicked Pastor.
Rigby Briarwood twirled around to face her. One hand had a gun, lifted up in defense; the other, an ax. He hadn't fired yet, too dumbfounded by the battle-cries and gun-smoke filling the air. He had an astonished, frightened look on his face. He lifted his gun and fired one shot at Henri-the bullet was blocked by the ribs of a New Parishioner fighting against a drunk; they had been uncoordinated, pushing and shoving and pulling one another, both of their hands on the New Parishioner's pitch fork until the townsperson let go and the man flung backward, right into the path of Rigby's gunshot. He didn't crumple when the bullet hit his side. It stung him first, caught him off guard; then, he lowered his arms, dropped the pitch fork, and looked at Rigby Briarwood with reverence.
As he did finally fall, the look changed to contempt.
Henri continued toward the Pastor.
Rigby lifted his gun to fire at her again but a wounded man stumbled into his back and the second shot was wild. Behind her, Novak dropped his empty gun and used his fists to strike any nearby threats. Chaim was there, too, as were Cant and Drewbell. They were unarmed and stood behind Henri. For every step she took, they followed. Their eyes were unblinking, focused solely on Rigby Briarwood.
And as quickly as the rebellion had started, it was over.
The remaining townspeople were gathered closer to Henri, just as the New Parishioners were around Rigby. One side faced the other in the street of Carpatheon. Numbers had dwindled on both sides: Henri, Novak, Cant, Drewbell, Rebecca, and Chaim were surrounded by nine women, a scattering of children, and all of the stable boys; and Rigby still had a large portion of his clan, though at least ten were missing. The New Parishioners kept their guns pointed at a crowd composed mostly of women and children. On the side of the townspeople, there were no weapons, only eyes sharing a similar stare: one boundless, saved of emotion; one ready, not watching but seeing; a gaze through open eyes, all on Rigby Briarwood. And the man stared back with one eye black as night. He fixed his matted red hair and wiped the grime from his white shirt. He had dropped the ax a moment earlier (it had been knocked from his grasp by the wounded man) but he bent down and picked it up. His gun had been lost to the crowd. His smile was wide.
The sun had lifted over the horizon enough that light was everywhere. Shadows were curling, relinquished to the edges of buildings. Night was gone. Bodies could be seen here and there, women, drunkards, New Parishioners, some in the distant background, death on all sides and everywhere. The broken gallows were behind, a pile of cracked and fallen lumber. The dog-pile of men at the end of town was visible only as a shroud of fabrics stained a dark shade of red, indistinguishable as a mountain of dead.
Jonathon had disappeared from the front of the Apothecary.
The streets were quiet.
Rigby Briarwood lifted his ax in the air, not to strike but as a signal.
"Ready your aim," he called out to his flock.
Their guns were already lifted but they steadied, cocked, and prepared to fire into the opposing crowd of Carpatheon residents. Henri took the hands of those closest beside her; they, in turn, took the hands of those nearest them, until everyone was holding someone's hand.
"My name is Henri Ville."
Henrietta Sofia Villanova's voice was strong in a way it hadn't been in some time. It was sturdy, truthful, certain, and fearsomely determined.
"And I WILL NOT die here today!"
Rigby began counting, the head of the ax lifting higher into the air.
"Three!"
Everyone locked eyes with someone on the opposite side.
"Two!"
Henri dropped the cigarette butt (long extinguished) to the ground.
"One!"
X
The FLASHES were quick.
The BLAST, deafening.
Three fell. Some were blown back. Everyone was disoriented.
Henri fell hard. Her eyes opened against the dust and dirt and found the ax lying near her - there was a melted dent in the metal head, and a large singe covered half of it in soot-black. The New Parishioners had backed away, some stumbling over the wood of the broken gallows, others turning to run and flee. Henri watched as several New Parishioners ran for the edge of town. Strings of light reached from the blue of the sky and touched each of the people running; the impact was so great, the shock so hard, that one of them was blown from their shoes. Chaim was beside Henri, lifting her up, pulling her back, running toward the nearest building. The others - townspeople, stable boys, friends - they were doing the same, shaken but running for cover.
More strings of light reached down.
Several of the New Parishioners were hit. The LIGHT touched the metal of their weapons and belts and knives, leaving each person fatally wounded, their hair smoking and burned and sections of their skin coal-black.
And then Henri saw it, clear as day.
The Droit.
It had returned.
For the first time, Henri could see the details of her long-time stalker, her enemy in the clouds. It wasn't a mile up, not this time. Now it was close, hovering three stories over the town, close enough to see two gaping, cannon-ball shaped holes in its grey under-carriage. Sparks were raining down. It wasn't as steady as it should have been, wobbling left and right. The vessel was shaped like a wide, long grey triangle, free of detail but for the shine and glimmer of the metal, and the many wears and scratches along its' sides. The front was sloped, a black rectangle in the front like a windshield, but the rest of the exterior was a chromatic grey, with slats like gills along the side where normally a door might be; it was from these slats that spindly a
rms of lightning were extended, each side spasmodically twisting and joining and breaking and lifting in jagged twists and bends of pure electricity eagerly searching for metal.
Henri made it inside the nearest building, which happened to be the dentistry. Chaim was still holding her by the elbow, Novak on the other side, and Drewbell and Cant were behind. They ran through the dentistry and continued out through the back door. The Droit had lowered closer to the ground, now just a few feet up. Dirt blew out from below in a propulsive cloud. Windows imploded at the impact of the Droit's proximity. Behind Cant - who was last in the group running for the back door of the dentistry - shards of glass hit the walls while a beam of light reached in and touched the metal frame of the dentist's chair. A concussive echo followed him down the hallway and, as the others made it back into daylight, Cant was picked from his feet, slammed against the wood frame of the doorway, and tossed out onto the ground, unconscious. His ears began to bleed.
Chaim looked back for only a moment. His eyes crossed the land, circling back to see Cant on the ground and Drewbell kneeling at his side, his hand in hers. He might have felt sad if it weren't for the generator, which had caught his eye. There was a moment - adrenalin-fueled, lucid, and obvious - when Chaim knew what he was supposed to do.
The Droit was momentarily out of sight, still on the main street of Carpatheon. Its explosive FLASHES were still visible, blinding, and the deafening CRACKS that filled the air were inescapable for miles.
"I need your help!" Chaim yelled to Novak.
Novak was momentarily bewildered but followed nonetheless.
Chaim pointed to the large, metal spider that was the steam generator.
"Get water!"
Novak hid his look of horror and diligently ran along the back of the buildings. There was a dirty water trough about fifty yards back. Chaim was already hobbling toward a stack of wood - he was moving a lot faster than he had lately.
Henri was alone, for the moment.
"You're gonna die today, whore-spawn!" a voice violently screamed out from behind her.
Rigby stepped from the blind corner behind the dentistry. His gnarled black eye had the stare of a rabid dog.
Henri turned to face him.
Her hands tightened into fists and she growled.
"Come on, then!" she snarled.
Rigby Briarwood charged Henri Ville. His shoulder caught her in the chest and brought her to the ground. Henri dragged her clawed hand down the right side of his face, her intention to grab his black eyeball from out of his skull. Rigby screamed and fought harder straddle and pinned her, swatting away the arm to hit Henri in the face with a weak punch. (He had never fought someone before.) She recovered quickly, her hand shot up, and her fingers wrapped and gripped Rigby's windpipe; her other hand hit him twice in his functioning eye, both good punches. (Henri, on the other hand, had been in many fights; had hit a lot of men since her abandonment in the west.) Something hit the back of his head and Rigby jolted, rolling off Henri. He stood a second, disoriented, and found that Drewbell had hit him in the back of his head with a piece of wood.
Rigby took one quick swipe and knocked her unconscious.
Turning back, he found Henri Ville standing.
She spit blood from her mouth and wiped her lips.
This time she charged him.
They both backed against the nearest wall. Henri punched Rigby in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs, and then again in his jaw. His forehead lowered into Henri's face, catching her in the nose. She took a step back, momentarily weakened, and Rigby pushed off the wall. Again, they fell to the ground. Rigby straddled her once more and hit her in the face again. Henri didn't recover as quickly this time. Her head lulled side-to-side from exhaustion and pain and an inability to find more strength. Rigby closed his hands over her throat, tightening his grip.
"Henri Ville, today you die!" he screamed with a primal rage.
Henri's face turned red.
Her eyes searched for help.
Novak had returned with water and poured it into the basin of the generator. Chaim was stuffing wood in its belly. Neither of them had noticed Henri's predicament yet, and they stayed focused on the task at hand - starting the generator at full power.
The world darkened in Henri's eyes.
It was ending?
Henri felt a peace in the knowledge that her journey was over. Her abandonment in the west was coming to its inevitable conclusion, and she was ready. She was ready to rest, to sleep forever, to just stop?
Rigby's body pushed forward a moment, and his eyes slightly glazed. His grip loosened and Henri began to breathe again. Rigby used one hand to reach around for something on his back, something he couldn't reach. He twisted to try and see it.
On one side, Henri could see the young Jonathon William Beckett the third standing behind Pastor Rigby Briarwood; on the other side, she could see a knife stuck in the middle of his back.
It was then that the saloon blew apart.
XI
Jonathon William Beckett the third stole a knife while pacing Pellsley Grant's general store, waiting for Anson Sharpe to finish talking about manufacturing liquor, many weeks earlier. He only stole it at Drewbell's request. She didn't want the knife but more so wanted Jonathon to have the experience of doing something bad, something wrong. She nudged and nagged and prodded until, finally, Jonathon took a blade from the display, one in a sheath, and he stuck it into his pants. He had a crush on Drewbell since the first day, when they followed Anson Sharpe to the town with the cross-dresser. Jonathon had watched her and she had known he had a young boy's crush on her. Their friendship had been brief and took place in spurts and individual moments, as Drewbell liked to keep to herself. By the time they got to The Catlight Infinite, Jonathon couldn't stand being away from her - he volunteered to bartend instead of spend his time with the stable boys just to be in the same house as her.
The knife had been with him every day after, his only memento of Drewbell.
Pastor Briarwood had spoken to Jonathon many times about their goal: it was to work towards the good of all mankind. He had always listened to the Pastor's words, heard them, understood them, agreed. There was never talk about innocents being hurt, as only the worst were punished. He even dressed like the Pastor, his diction becoming eerily familiar in the time between his initial kidnapping and their confrontation with the town of Carpatheon. It wasn't until the young Jonathon William Beckett the third rode into this town that he again saw Drewbell, a person whom he had thought gone forever.
He had hidden before the FLASHES, ashamed.
It was from this hiding spot that he saw Pastor Rigby Briarwood strike Drewbell. Anger welled inside him. Drewbell was a good soul; she didn't deserve this, even if she was fighting for the opposite side. Jonathon William Beckett the third stabbed Pastor Rigby Briarwood before even realizing that he had left his hiding spot. He walked out with a fierce determination, knife in hand, and he plunged the blade into the muscle between the shoulder and the spine. Henri was on the ground, looking up at him. He didn't much care for her but, after everything that had happened, he didn't much care what happened to her, either. He knew the town was splintering, just as he had seen his own town. He knew there was little time before everything was gone, broken and destroyed and gone, just gone. Drewbell was his concern. He would help her, even drag her if he had to.
The Pastor stood up at the same moment that a building some distance down - Chaim's Saloon - blew out in a million splinters. The debris spread in all directions, knocking chunks from buildings and landing over the mostly vacant land. Some of the wood landed near Chaim and Novak. Henri, as she was able to again see clearly, found this newest explosion had caused a delay in their start of the steam generator.
From the smoking rubble that was once Chaim's Saloon burst electrical arms of the Droit, and then the machine itself emerged through the rubble. It had driven straight through the saloon and blown on the other side.
; Now, it was fast approaching them.
There were bare few seconds left as the Droit closed in.
Rigby was standing, having finally pulled the knife from his back.
Henri got to her feet.
The CHUG-CHUG-CHUG of the generator began slowly.
Rigby threw the knife into the ground, his arms hulking at his side like a gorilla. Henri tightened her fists once more. They were ready. It was time to end this.
The Droit struck out wildly in all directions electric. One of its electric tendrils hit the generator - which struck up a surge of FIRE LIGHT, of RED LIGHT not of the Droit but from inside the generator, causing an eruption of fire and sparks, blowing Chaim and Novak several feet back - and a blinding FLASH followed, the deafening CRACK paralyzing everyone except the two left standing.
Rigby Briarwood charged Henri Ville. He aimed for her chest, as he had before, but this time she was ready. Her hands caught his shoulders, slowing the collision into her, and she swiftly kicked him between the legs. His groan was muffled as Henri hit him in the face with the tough part of her forehead.
"My name is Henri Ville!" she screamed, grabbing him by the lapels, she twisted him around-"And I will not die today!"-and she threw him several yards back.
Rigby stayed on his feet, stumbling and stumbling back?
The Droit crashed: It ceased emitting electro-magnetic pulses the moment it struck the surging power of the generator. The energy of the steam generator polarized the energy of the Droit itself, shorting it out and shutting it down entirely, and it lowered, propelled forward by its previous momentum, skimming the ground once, twice - skipping the surface like a stone across the water-Pastor Rigby Briarwood looked up with an expression of pure fright as the crashing Droit caught him head-on, taking him with it (he instantly vanished) as it proceeded to skip twice more until its tip stuck in the ground and there was an outburst of soil and smoke.
Silence.
Henri Ville hazily glanced around.
Everyone else was on the ground, either hurt or unconscious.
She was the last one standing.
EPILOGUE