(no subject)
Title: Dark Tower XII: The Horn & The Calla (part 1 of 2)
Author:
kanedax
Fandom: Dark Tower
Rating: PG for mild language
Spoilers: Major spoilers: Dark Tower VII. Minor spoilers: The Stand, Desperation, The Regulators, Firestarter, The Tommyknockers, and The Mist.
Disclaimer: Part one of what will probably be a two-part story. It takes place after the events at the very end of the DT series. I don't own Stephen King, nor any of the characters from his vast network of stories. However, since we're all connected to The Tower, it probably wouldn't matter, anyway. This story could just be called historical nonfiction, say thankya.
“I don’t like this.”
Tian Jaffords sighed. “You’ve made it fully clear what you do and do not like, sai Overholser,” he mumbled, his eyes never pulling away from the fire.
Wayne Overholser pushed himself down the log on which they both sat. As he leaned in to speak to Tian, the log readjusted itself to the weight of three people sitting on one end. Zalia’s hands flew to the wood on both sides, regaining her balance.
“How do we know they’re gunslingers?” he whispered in a low voice. “And that they’re not just hardcases who are going to rob us blind?” He tilted his head towards the man sitting off in the shadows. “Because the Old Fella said so?”
Ben Slightman wandered over to the fire, closing his fly from his business in the woods. He sat opposite the three on the log, next to his son.
“I got a look at them earlier, hear me, I beg. Benny and I dared to slip a little further into the woods to get a good view.”
Overholser looked up in shock. “Are you mad? They could have killed you where you stood, and we would all be in the clearing before we knew what hit us.”
A snort came from the shadows. They all looked towards the Pere, who was looking out into the woods, in the general direction of the ka-tet’s camp.
“Please, Overholser,” the old man said, “You don’t seriously believe that we’re actually well hidden, do you? Those four look like they’re well traveled. Gunslingers, hardcases, criminals, whatever.
“They know we’re here. If they wanted to kill us, we’d be dead already.”
Silence greeted his words. After several seconds, Slightman cleared his throat.
“The…” His voice cracked as he tried to get back to his train of thought. “The dinh of the group, the older man of the four... He could definitely be a gunslinger. He has the look of a killer about him. Maybe a gunslinger, maybe a professional, but he’s definitely hard.
“The other man, the young one, might be dangerous. But he also looked somewhat soft. And rich, too, by the likes of the sack full of paper he had next to him. One of those high and mighty types.” Without thinking, his eye slid to Overholsers, and looked away quickly when he realized what he was doing.
“He never spoke a word to any of the others,” he continued, befuddled. “And he wouldn’t even listen to others unless they looked in his face. Like he was a simpleton, or something.”
“And the girl?” Tian asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
“The girl…” Slightman paused. “Well, the girl isn’t any older than my Benny, I set my watch and warrant on that. Even if there were women gunslingers, There’s no way she could be. She might be the daughter of one of the men and the woman, possibly…”
“The witch, you mean.” Benny interjected.
“Please, Benny…”
“I saw her light the campfire,” he continued, ignoring the plea from his father. “She just looked at it, and it started, faster than any flint or any match could.”
Tian and Zalia shared an uncomfortable glance. Overholser’s face paled.
“And, one time, she just looked at the man. The rich one. He wasn’t even facing her, but he… jerked, I guess. Like she had tapped him on the shoulder, but she was at least as far away from him as I am from the Pere.”
“Enough,” the Old Fella said. He stood and walked to the fire, unzipping his black leather jacket, which he had worn the day he came to Calla Bryn Sturgis all those years ago.
“Jesus Christ, what a pack of wimps,” he mumbled. “I’m going to talk to them tomorrow, get the lowdown. If they’re kosher, then I’ll come back and get you.”
Tian opened his mouth to respond, but, as was usually the case with the old man, he often couldn’t figure out half of the words that came from his mouth.
“And if they’re… not… kosha?”
The Pere smiled, brushing his long gray hair back behind one ear. “Then hopefully they shoot me instead of turning me into a weenie roast.”