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I don't know what to say about this Dystopian, Western Fantasy. It's good. Please comment. |
| Worthington rode down a narrow trail dragging the three Johnsons behind, tethered in ropes. It was morning, the mist lifting. The poor family hadn't done anything wrong in Deal's eyes, causing him to feel things he hadn't felt in years. But, having been made young again also allowed him to feel unnatural. The boy rode in the back where he watched the staggering couple complain in agony, openly pray and fall repeatedly behind the white stallion. Their young boy trodded slowly, his rope tied once to the horse in front and once to a noose around his mother's neck. The mud gullies slowed everyone's movement, even the horses. Every time a Johnson slipped and fell, Deal noticed the husband attempt to pick up a rock, then drop it just as quickly. 'I need to be careful. Please, don't do something to blow my cover.' he thought. "Hurry along!" yelled Worthington. "There's a town up ahead, I can feel it." He turned and looked back long enough to take a head count. "I believe you're right, Sir." said the Johnson man. "We know the place. And, they know us. They'll say we're good people." "That'll be up to the Judgement. God judges all." "You're the one who did this to us." shouted Johnson. "We were just trying to live." "Can't be a Threader... pulling the world out of balance, and live right. You broke the law of the land. Nobody defies God by using magiks." "God's magiks... Hmph! They're miracles... to be used by everyone." Worthington pulled reins, swung legs and dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. Slapping gloves together and pulling them off, he casually clanked and shuffled his armored self toward the man. Johson turned aside, facing the sun. Deal watched him shake and nod the closer Worthington drew, knowing what was about to happen. "You will be judged," said Worthington. "and, you will be punished for your sins." "What gives you the right?" screamed the wife, drawing his attention to her. "The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want." Worthington raised a stout arm above the man as he cowered and knelt. "Those words stop you from doing whatever it is you've been doing. Don't... tempt me." The arm slowly withdrew. The Knight stepped back, unbuckled and yanked down his leather waistband. Soon, a long, yellow dribble shot out, turned and proceeded to splatter down Johnson's leg. He twisted himself toward the wife, shook himself, buckled and spat. "If you'd confess your sins, then we can all just be friends and act like one, great, big-ole family." Worthington breathed deeply, slowly, and exhaled. "Too late." The wife lunged toward him. "What do I need to confess? I already told you..." "The Lord is Shephard. I shall not want." spat the Knight, facing an open palm skyward to stop her. He continued to stiff-leg a stirrup, took the horn and hoisted himself over and into the saddle. A quick tug of the reins moved the procession again. It would have been such a beautiful spring day, if not for the three rope-bound prisoners between Deal and their captor. He still took every chance to catch his fill of the magnificent, succulent breezes. White, puffy clouds occasionally rolled over the hills. Quick views of the crik through the laurels, teaming with rainbow trout and tasty crawdads. The sour mood lifted around every new hill and ravine until he saw their faces or heard them fall. "And, how did you get involved with... him?" Deal looked down, seeing Johnson walk right in front of Jezebel. "I was asked politely," said Deal. "and, I would keep my mouth shut. There'll be plenty of time to talk soon enough." Pa Johnson double-timed steps to catch up to Ma Johnson. She looked back and shook her head, mouthing the word no. Deal tipped the hat brim each time he caught her staring. She'd always turned away out of embarrassment. 'Please be quiet.' thought Deal. 'If Worthington makes'em drop, I'll drop too, and that'll be me there in their stead.' "The Lord is my Shephard," said Worthington. "I shall not want." Deal hung low and tried backing up a little more, though not wanting to draw the Knight's attention. The Lord's Prayer had become upsetting, especially hearing it from that big man's mouth. "I smell something... cooking." said Worthington, raising a clenched fist in the air. The procession halted. "Shane, go on ahead and scout. Make sure there's nothing strange going on over there." "How will I know, Sir?" 'He doesn't even know my name.' As he straddled the ditch to catch up, they both gazed upon large open fields and houses in the distance. Smoke poured from a chimney. A pleasant taste of real, cooked food carried on the wind. "Take my banner," said Worthington, tossing a rolled up sheet and untieing a spear from the left side of his huge, white horse. Deal hadn't noticed the lengthy weapon all the while they'd ridden together. "and tie it to this spear through these loops. Ride across town and back again holding it high. Make sure everyone sees." "Yes, Sir." "If I think everything's Kosher, we'll meet on this side of town." Deal nodded and tied the banner, hoisting the flag in his right arm as he galloped across a sparse field of wheat. The small town he already knew as Butters, a farm village known for cows, sour milk, and inbreeding. But, Butters had seen better days. The teenager sailed the banner across the field. Tidy rows lay full of tracks, freshly-dug pocks, and wilted weeds. Some row ends raised sticks with colorful rags knotted on top. He noticed a couple rows hadn't been tended lately. Different crops appeared the closer he rode to town, along with several broken limbs sporting shirts, hats and even britches. A man waved from one of the rows, then simply stood still holding one arm in the air. Deal flew the white sheet flashing a red cross in the middle - made the same way as the back of the Knight's armor. Approaching the houses, two children rolled a leather ball in the dirt, kicking back and forth. They left the ball and ran separate ways. A distant bell began to ring as he passed the first home. A half-clothed man rushed out, mounted a horse and galloped away. "Go to Hell!" came an old woman's shout. The boy didn't bother looking to see who said what. Another horse fled behind him, riding off to the south. Inside a home, a loud crash rang out, a baby cried. Even the dogs scattered at first sight, two large, white on black herders. He stopped and partly turned after trotting a couple hundred yards of desolate dirt. He noticed more fields, freshly planted with running water sloshing through ditches. A distant man headed towards the far woods, then, the man's head flashed in the sunlight and slipped below a ditch, no longer visible. He knew everyone had seen the ominous, red cross. He'd held it high, but also enough to cover his own face. 'I could leave right now, head west and ride for days.' he thought. 'But, that wouldn't save them.' Back at the entrance side of town, there was a large oak tree, one bearing a taut limb hanging straight over the road. There he dismounted, while Worthington came toward town in the distance. The man from the first field stood on a covered porch. A full glass in his hand, he leaned against a beam and whistled with a toothless grin. "Are we gonna see a hanging?" he asked. "Yuuup." |
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