To Race the Wylde Wynd Chapter 6

To Race the Wylde Wynd Ch. 6

By the time Templer and Nuva rode into town late that evening, the horizon had turned a deep purple and the first stars were twinkling into view. Chrysta and Zephyr split off several miles outside town, heading for Don Ricardo's ranch. This left the other pair to make their own way home alone. There was still a lot of traffic on the main street. All the businesses were gearing up in preparation for the festival. The few individuals dumb enough to get in Nuva's way hastily cleared a path when the mare gave them the evil eye and popped her fangs together, making a sound like a gunshot.

They turned into the alley beside the Inn and were met at the barn door by one of the stable hands. He took hold of Nuva's reins as the gunman dismounted. Templer stretched and winced when his back made the same sounds as Chrysta's had earlier that day. The priest was grateful that Azra was... elsewhere... he would never hear the end of it otherwise. Removing his bundle of belongings from the saddle and giving a final pat to Nuva's crest, he headed into the Ironwood with a hot shower foremost on his mind.

Grant was behind the bar. A couple of waitresses moved amongst the tables in the common room, serving food and drinks. Business was hopping in the small establishment. Chrysta had asked Templer to relay a message to the bartender so he stopped at the bar for a moment, waiting to catch the big man's attention. Grant finished the order he was putting together and ambled over to speak with him.

“SOOO Padre... you survived your first destria ride, and with CHRYSTA to boot... Imagine that!” Grant's smile lit up his whole face. “Are you going to have a meal down here or would you like me to send something up?”

The innocent look that accompanied that smile told Constantine that correcting the man about his rank again would be an act of futility. He gave a small mental shrug. Padre it was. He should count himself lucky that the other man had not settled on one of the other titles that a Talon had to deal with. HOUND was one that instantly came to mind! At this errant thought, the priest's lips twitched up slightly at the corners before he was able to smother the impulse. As he held the others steady gaze, Templer was again struck by how much he liked the man.

“I smell far too much like a destria to eat amongst the public.” Templer did his best to ignore the fact that Grant's smile turned into a face splitting grin.

“I may get something later on AFTER I take a shower. I just stopped to relay a message. Chrysta asked me to tell you...” The priest paused, making sure what he relayed was word for word... “Be sure to turn on the electric fence and put out the warning signs... she is bringing El Diablo in tonight after the crowds thin out.”

The gunman was concerned when Grant's smile disappeared and his face paled. The other man seemed to sag in on himself. Templer reached for him with his flesh hand, worried about the bartender's turn of health.

“Are you okay?” His deep voice held a note of concern.

The barman waved his hand away.

“I'm okay, it's just that I hate dealing with that one. The S.O.B. SHOULD have been named the Anti-Christ!!”

The talons on Templer's blade-hand, which had been tapping lightly on the bar's smooth surface, stopped as the gunman gave his outrider a mental nudge. He studied the other man, noting the increase in blood pressure and respiration that were telltale signs of stress. Just what in the seven Hells was Chrysta bringing into town that could illicit this kind of reaction?

“What is the problem, Grant?”

The big man looked up, his worried brown eyes meeting the gunman's now glowing ones.

“El Diablo is a breeding stallion, this alone in a normal destria would make him difficult to deal with. Add the fact that Diablo is also VERY intelligent. I believe he can out think the average person on any given day. Last but most important... the fucker is unstable. In my humble opinion he is insane. He EARNED the name El Diablo because he is as wicked as they come. I would wager my last copper that one of these days, Chrysta will slip up and that bastard will finish the job he started on her.”

The man's quiet voice had real venom in it. Catching Constantine's look of curiosity Grant shook his head.

“You will just have to ask Chrysta. It's not a story I care to repeat. It is bad enough I can't just erase it out of my mind.”

The man shrugged and gave a heartfelt sigh, “Well, I guess I had better go make sure things are ready for him.”

It was a Talon that watched as Grant stomped from behind the bar and headed out through the kitchen door. The man was still mumbling to himself and shaking his head as he disappeared from view. Azra followed Templer's train of thought then interrupted with a savage growl.

“Don't even think about it host. YOU are supposed to be on vacation. Call someone else in! WE are not up to handling an exorcism if this is some kind of demonic possession.”

Templer thought about it... then ignoring his own vague unease, the man pushed the elemental to the back of his mind.

“Come on Azra... Demonic possession? I am sure our BROTHERS would not be happy to be called in on a case that turns out to be nothing more than us overreacting to a bad tempered stallion.”

Ignoring the demon's soft hiss of outrage... Templer gathered up his belongings and headed up the stairs to his room. The long anticipated shower was first on his priority list. Digging in his bags the priest set his Cricket on the table after checking that the quasi-intelligent device was still alive. He felt Azra reach out and feed the insect-like construct some energy out of their depleted reserves. It had no access to light while put away and it was starving. If they had not retrieved the construct, it would have died. As he undressed, the priest listened to the messages he had missed while it had been down in the ravine. The majority of them came from Iniko. This young thief was his go between when Templer had to deal with the Saint. The rather annoying girl operated under the misguided premise that Constantine could not take care of himself. As a result, he spent an inordinate amount of time avoiding her. The fact that the little pest had somehow got her sticky little fingers on his access code... AGAIN... had the man grinding his teeth. Most of her messages followed along the lines of...

“HEY... tall, dark and scary... Where are you?” And... “Come on, pick up you Demon infested prick...” AND... “Answer your damn... Where the HELL are you Temp... answer your damned calls!” The last one proved the girl had lost all control! “What the FUCK, TALON Templer Constantine! At the risk of sounding like Sig, GET your Gods be damned head outta your tight little ass and at least let me know you are still freakin stalking around in the land of the fricking LIVING!”

The priest was already in the bathroom when that message came on. It was impossible to resist peeking out to make sure the Cricket hadn't burst into flames. The bug WAS glowing a little as the gentle elemental that powered it responded to the outpouring of negative energy.

Templer sighed... if this kept up he would have to change his code again.

As he turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it, Azra stirred and gave him a mental nudge.

“HEY Constantine, look up and to your left!”

His outrider's voice thrummed with suppressed excitement. Templer obliged and noticed a jar sitting on a high shelf. It was filled to the brim with what looked like deep green leaves.

“If that is what I think it is, your sore muscles will soon be a distant memory,” Azra was bursting with anticipation. “Take it down and sniff it. Do NOT get any water into it.”

“What, you are into bubble baths now?” Templer couldn't help himself. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen!”

“Just do it!” The demon snarled.

The gunman unscrewed the lid and took a tentative whiff. He couldn't control the reflex as his neck muscles jerked his head as far away from the jar as possible without actually decapitating him. He slapped the lid back on, his eyes watering.

Azra howled with laughter at his reaction...

“HAHAHAHA....Serves you right for the bubble-bath comment!”

“HOLY...” Templer prodded the green mash with one talon's sharp tip. “What in the hell is this stuff?”

The Talon was familiar with many herbs and plants, his training as an assassin covered the use of toxic flora and fauna. He had NEVER smelled anything like this innocent looking jar of dried weeds.

“Back in the day... it was called Dreamleaf, or Life’s Bane. If it is used the way it's intended, it is a powerful muscle relaxant and pain killer. If you smoke it, dreamleaf is the worst mind-fuck there is!”

“How come I have never heard of it?”

Templer found it hard to imagine how awful the stuff must smell or taste when it burned.

The elemental was silent for a long moment. The priest did not press... Azra's memories were almost as fragmented as his own... the fact that the outrider had dredged up this much information was a surprise. Whenever Azra tried to piece some of these fleeting memories together, Templer tried not to break in on his train of thought. This time... his patience was rewarded.

“I get the impression that dreamleaf cannot be grown on this plane of existence. If this is correct, importing it from Hell would make it very expensive, not to mention highly illegal. A good reason, I think that the Hand has not gotten wind of it. Also, if this drug is mishandled, the results can be quite... lethal... hence its second name... Life’s Bane”

Wonderful... as if the realm did not have enough problems as it was!

"And you think I would like to use this... why?"

Templer was skeptical of the outrider's motives. Altruism was not high on the demon's short list of positive attributes.

“If you dissolve a small amount in a tub of hot water and soak in it, dreamleaf will remove all the stiffness and pain out of your muscles. I just figured you would like to relax.” Azra made an effort to sound sincere, which put his partner on instant alert. “If you are in pain, it carries over to me. I drained our reserves to heal your injuries after the wreck. There is little left to waste on small stuff... like being saddle sore. I have no ulterior motives. I am disappointed that you do not trust me after all we have been through.”

“Yeah...right!” Constantine wasn't buying it. “I think I will pass on trying it this time.”

Still, the priest couldn't control his curiosity.

“How do you know so much about it?”

The demon became evasive.

“HMMMM, I think we need to adopt a don't ask don't tell policy about that.”

After a long shower... Templer got a glass and a nice bottle of red wine from the bar. He then sat on the roof and watched the crowds coming and going from the different activities in town. It was early morning before the people started to disperse. Knowing he wouldn't sleep that night, the priest laid back and was studying the stars when a guttural scream shattered the early morning quiet. This started out high pitched enough to hurt his sensitive ears then traveled down the scale to end in a deep, rumbling WAH HUH HUH. A massive shadow separated out of the darkness and seemed to flow on to the empty main street.

The destria that appeared out of this shadow glimmered silver in the moonlight. Black striping flowed over his broad shoulders and down his long legs. The stallion's high crested, heavy neck was bowed until his bearded chin almost touched his muscled chest. It was obvious the powerful beast was fighting his rider's control every step of the way. As they came abreast of the Inn, the destria tried to twist sideways. He rose on his hind legs, cloven front hooves clawing at the air. Again that hair raising scream echoed through the night. El Diablo flung his horned head high. His sharp fanged mouth gaped to its widest and his long silver mane swirled in the wind of his passage. Ice cold feral green eyes locked with the Talon's golden ones for a moment. Azra had roared to the surface at the first sight of the mix of hate, rage and insanity that Chrysta called... The Devil!

The rider stuck with the animal and made the turn leading into the courtyard. Constantine heard the back door bang open as Grant came out on the run. The battle stallion saw the big man and made an open mouthed lunge at him. Chrysta snatched a double handful of reins and hauled hard, turning that wicked head as she drove her heels into the stud's sensitive sides. El Diablo reluctantly turned and sprang forward, his cloven hooves striking sparks from the cobblestones. She rode the beast hard into the reinforced paddock. As they passed one of the posts, the woman flipped a rope over it, throwing the end to Grant. Its other end was clipped into a thick leather and steel collar that wrapped around El Diablo's neck just behind the horned ridge. The bartender, moving fast for such a burly man, pulled the slack out. The raging stallion ended up with his head locked down close to the post.

Chrysta slid off. She somehow managed to unbuckle the saddle in the same motion. When the stallion lashed out sideways with a sharp hind hoof the woman was already out of range, saddle in hand. She moved to the animal's head and threw the leather over the top rail.

Templer realized with a start that he could see no sign of the woman's former limp. The thick muscle on Grant's arms stood out as the man tightened his hold on the rope when she reached up to remove the bridle. Somehow, even with his head immobilized, the destria stuck forward with a powerful front leg. Chrysta must have had a sixth sense. She twisted away and the strike from the battle stallion's inside claw which should have opened her ribcage just grazed the forearm she threw up as a shield. The Talon was off of the roof and moving towards the paddock as the hot smell of fresh blood filled the night air.

Grant seeing the movement, caught his eye and grimly shook his head. The gunman stopped just outside of the paddock but drew his weapon all the same. Chrysta had spun away from the attack and was heading, bridle in hand, towards the exit. The bartender reached up and unclasped the rope, releasing El Diablo just as the woman stepped through and slammed the bolt closed. The whole fence shuddered as almost two thousand pounds of pissed off destria hit the gate. Grant flipped a switch turning the power back on and the stallion jerked away from the hot fence, voicing his frustration in a deep, hoarse roar.

“Holy...” Azra watched through his silent host's eyes as the massive beast made a fast circuit of his paddock... occasionally testing the electrified fence as he went. “Host... I would rather participate in an exorcism then get our collective ass anywhere near that devil's back. I have changed my mind... I don't want a destria. It is my professional opinion that Ether-cycles are SAFER!”

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The artwork for this was done by Sarah Berman also known as Blacknightengale on Deviantart. I have no training in creating graphic art and commissioned this from someone who is quite skilled in it. I was very happy with her work.