To Race the Wylde Wynd CH. 26

Late morning had them breaking out of the forest and climbing a rough path to the top of a narrow ridge line. It had taken Chrysta very little time to saddle the two destria and get ready to move out with Templer helping where he could. The gunman picked up enough pointers from the competent woman, that if need be, he felt he could saddle a WILLING destria on his own. They started out at an easy walk. Chrysta's prediction that Zephyr would be stiff was proven accurate. Both animals seemed to have no lingering damage and they were now moving along at fast canter.

As they reached the top, Chrysta reined Zephyr in and walked him to where she could overlook the valley. As Nuva came up alongside, Templer took in a scene he did not know still existed on this tired, old world. The land opened up at the base of the ridge in a wide, oval bowl. From one side to the other it was an even mix of old hardwoods and open meadows. Small, shining streams intertwined through it and there was even a small lake at the far end. Chrysta curled her good leg around her saddle horn and just sat looking with envy in her eyes.

“Don Diego owns this. Ten thousand acres of untouched wild land.” Her lip curled a little. “He calls it an... investment. I call it paradise.” The woman gave a soft sigh and turned Zephyr back to the path. Templer heard her mutter softly, “I wish it were mine and Diego had a feather up his ass!”

“WHAT?”

Azra answered the gunman's confused question.

“She means they would both be tickled.”

“Oh...”

The priest did not point out she would have to be a man to bring this about. The Order did not allow women to own land. He wasn't sure how to address her statement, so he chose silence as the wisest course of action and just kept his mouth shut. They eventually came to a place where the path dipped back down. It split into three routes. One dropped into the lovely valley. One followed a winding, switch backed route until it paralleled the river into a dark, narrow canyon and the other continued along the ridge. Chrysta stopped again, seemed to hesitate than took the path along the ridge. At the gunman's questioning look she explained.

“The lower path is the shorter route... BUT... that canyon is called Splatter Canyon for a reason. I would have to be damned desperate to go that way. Winning a race just wouldn't be worth the risk.”

They rode on in silence. Templer wondered if the woman was having second thoughts about their intimacy the night before. Even for her, she was being unusually quiet. The Talon was having a few problems with it himself. It did not help that every time he tried to analyze the situation, it stirred up such an unsettling brew of emotions that his mind kept shying away from it.

Azra picked up on the guilt and fear swirling generously in the mix and finally intervened.

“What gives Constantine?”

His gravelly voice was pitched low to keep the conversation private. The priest realized by the tensing in the other rider's shoulders she was probably picking up on some of his emotional storm. He snarled softly to himself as he slowed Nuva, putting a little distance between them. The woman's sensitivity to emotion caused a whole other set of problems in a relationship. With his few friends, Templer could hide his face between the lowered brim of his hat and the high collar of his cloak. His emotions he hid behind a cold mask. With Chrysta, hiding anything was a little more complicated.

The gunman answered the demon with a question of his own. There was a lot that had been bothering him since Chrysta repaired the rift in the fabric of his mind. This topped the long list and Azra was probably the only being he knew capable of answering it.

“Azra... am I still mortal?”

“No Host... you are not. At least not in the true sense of the word. Your life CAN be wrested from you but whoever attempted this would have to destroy me first. As you well know... that is not an easy thing to accomplish!”

"It is quite possible then that I will outlive every person on the planet?”

This time there was a slight pause before he got an answer.

“Yes... Constantine. Everything that you once knew has already fallen under the iron fist of time. I expect that you again will see all you know and love crumble into dust. There is a good chance this will happen many times before our journey is done.”

“I see.”

Templer rode in silence as the implications of what his outrider said slowly sank in. A Talon's training prepared him for the fact that being bonded made him very hard to kill. Still, once an elemental had spent its strength, its host was vulnerable. It was proof of their very violent lives that most Talons did not live long enough to retire. The bonding also slowed the aging process but, it did not STOP it. At least this was usually the case. He was different and the Order not only KNEW this... they had been hiding it from him! There were Five centuries he could not recall. Eighty years had passed since he remembered strapping on the Trinity for the first time. The rare times he glanced in a mirror and did not appear a day older, should have raised all kinds of questions in his mind. The fact that his memories BEGAN on the day he took his... Templer winced as some of his deeper Bindings flared into life. Shards of glass tore through his head as his Vows tried to force him away from this train of thought. Ah... so that answered this particular question. Up ahead Chrysta turned towards him with a questioning look on her face. The Talon waved her on as he blinked away hot tears of pain. He reluctantly shunted those questions away for another time.

Constantine's dark gaze again settled on the trim form riding ahead of him. The events of the night before re-played through his head and the priest used all of his iron will to push the images into an internal vault and lock them away. He could not let it happen again. Azra stirred but Templer cut him off before the outrider said a word.

“Don't even try, demon... I do not know how to handle the loss of every man, woman or child I allow myself to get close to. The only way I can keep my sanity is to just... not... care!”

There was a small flash of anger at his use of the D word but this did not stop his outrider from speaking.

“Isn't this something that all living things deal with eventually, be they mortal or not? Even the lowly dove mourns the loss of its mate.”

“It's something a NORMAL person would likely deal with a few times in their lives. Azra... I don't think I can face that kind of loss time and time again as death continues to pass me by.”

The outrider flinched at the desolation rolling through his host's mind. He was all too familiar with the pain of losing EVERYTHING that one held dear. His sigh was a soft rumble in Templer's mind.

“This is something you will have to work out for yourself. I truly do not know how to help. I will say this Templer Constantine. Eternity is a very long time to be alone!”

Without any direction from her rider, Nuva slowed her pace even more. Chrysta was so preoccupied she didn't seem to notice. An odd itch developed behind Templer's eyes. As the man absentmindedly reached up to rub his forehead, he was reminded of how he had seen Chrysta do that same thing... many times.

A soft, sweet voice rumbled through him. It was so utterly different from the other voice that usually played in his head that the priest looked around for another person.

“DARKFIRE...”

The words hissing through his mind echoed with age and had a definitely feminine flavor to them.

“Thisss iss what your Lifessstream looksss like now.”

A vision of velvet darkness was inserted behind his eyes. A long chain of gold tarnished to brass braided with one of ebony black wove and spun through the emptiness. On one end was a black stone that absorbed the light so completely it looked like nothing more than a dis-embodied shadow.

Nuva stopped and a sky blue eye gleamed as she looked back at him

“Thisss isss what it could be!”

Again there was that velvet black but this time the chain flowed gleaming in the darkness. Its golden portion glowed, clean and bright. The shimmering ebony was braided into it and together the two seemed as one. The black stone still anchored the end, but it had been faceted and polished until it flashed with an unusual black and gold flame. Interspersed along the chain where six extraordinary gems. Somehow Templer just KNEW that each jewel represented one of the friends that he tried so hard to keep away from his heart. One glowed a lovely blue. This was the color of a summer sky. It was as deep and steady as the strength than ran through Blade. Chyanne's was a deep velvet red. This one glowed like the sun shining through a glass of the rich burgundy wine he loved. Iniko's gem, much to his surprise, was a steady glimmering topaz. The clear gold captured the true honesty that the girl tried so desperately to hide. Skye was a Sky Queen, so it was a surprise that hers flowed with the subtle greens of a deep ocean current. Maybe this had something to do with her having been raised by a sea wolf? Sig's was a smooth gleaming silver stone that seemed to swirl with the mercurial ever flowing fire of quicksilver. A piece of strong granite the color of steel streaked through with veins of true gold and the sharp spark of crystal represented Sloane. The dwarf was a Son of the Mountain whose powerful body and sharp wit were tempered by a heart of gold. Further along in the ever-dark he could see places on the chain waiting for him to find and set other priceless gems.

Templer's heart ached at the thought of watching these friends leave this world one at a time... but along with this was the sure knowledge of how empty his long life would be without them.

“Yesss... Your Lifessstream MAY flow to eternity. Just imagine what a wonderful thing of beauty it could become, Hmmmm?”

The Talon closed his eyes in order to capture the vision of that lovely chain forever in his mind.

He realized there was a jewel missing. And he asked curiously,

“What does Chrysta's essence look like?”

The sweet voice chuckled and answered slyly.

“AHHH now... That iss sssomething... you... shall have to find out on your own... isssn't it? Darkfire... one lifessstream isss eassy. It sspins out forever empty. It will remain eternally dark. The other includesss pain and ssacrifice but... oh... the beauty you shall achieve! It isss your decision, beloved. Which future will you choose?”

Slowly, the exquisite vision darkened and was replaced by the day's ordinary sunshine. Templer reached forward and ran his fingers through the cream's silky mane. He had no true way to thank the elegant mare. Nuva's blue eye winked at him and the itch faded. The cream trotted forwards again, neck arched and tail flagged. She was clearly quite pleased with herself.

They caught up with their companions as Chrysta started to turn down an overgrown path and catching herself, doubled back to the main one. She looked around with a slightly bewildered look on her face that cleared as Nuva came alongside the big black.

“There you are!” she flashed a quick smile at him. “I was worried we had lost you there for a moment.”

As the woman pushed Zephyr back up into a canter, she didn't hear Azra murmur.

“That is funny... I was just thinking much the same thing!”

Chrysta stopped a couple of times to check her maps and it soon became clear to the priest she was developing a route that shaved distance while keeping to relatively open terrain. She explained that although Inferno had incredible speed, his agility wasn't the strongest in the field. The rider had to choose her course keeping that in mind. Constantine traced a finger along their path and found the small trail she had almost turned down.

"Where does this lead?" he asked.

Seemingly startled by the question, Chrysta slashed him a quick look and her open face became guarded. The woman folded the map. As she turned Zephyr back to lope along the path she had chosen, she answered in a clipped tone.

"It goes to Forrest's grave."

It took them until midafternoon to make it back to the edge of town. Templer tried very hard to ignore the many contemplative looks they seemed to attract as they rode down the main street. He could not see the attractive contrast they made as they rode along. The tall woman dressed in black, mounted on the dark, golden eyed Zephyr was a perfect foil for his own bare shouldered, dark haired, pale beauty mounted on the elegant cream.

As they turned into the now familiar courtyard, Chrysta called Andrew over to them. She dismounted and was already removing the tired animal's tack.

“I need you to go find the race council and let them know there is a large pack of Rapines hunting along the lower river route. Tell them there are at least twenty left.”

Templer watched as the young man silently took in the long cuts on Zephyr and Nuva. His quick gaze flicked over the Trinity resting in its holster on the gunman's hip and noted the fact that Chrysta was wearing the Talon's spider-silk shirt. The young man gave him a quick respectful nod. Then he took to his heels, heading down the alley and out to the street.

The two riders made short work of getting the black and cream cared for and settled into their paddocks. Chrysta was very quiet as they worked. Templer could not help but wonder if her silence resulted from their tryst or if there was another cause. As they passed El Diablo, the stallion rumbled deep in his throat. When Templer looked his way, the beast bared his fangs in what looked like a knowing, nasty smile. Chrysta hesitated at the sound. Without looking at the silver male, she continued on into the Inn. The gunman lagged back a little just catching the worried expression on Grant's face as the woman slipped up the stairs without stopping to see him. It was a Talon who made a point of stopping.

The gunman's black eyes studied the other man's face and Grant looked away with a barely concealed sigh. Templer caught the barman's wrist with his human hand.

“What am I missing?”

He did not release the man when he tried to pull away.

Grant looked up the stairs for a moment.

“I would appreciate it if you could make sure Chrysta comes downstairs for dinner tonight. I would rather she not be alone at all.”

Templer let the big man go.

“Would you mind telling me why?”

Grant smiled sadly at him.

“I just like to keep an eye on her on the anniversary of Forrest's death. She doesn't deal with it well at all.”

That evening, the priest tried every trick in the book to convince Chrysta to go down to the common room. She resisted to the point that finally in exasperation, Templer snatched her up. He threw her over his shoulder and ignoring her struggles, headed down the stairs. Half way down she hissed “FINE...have it your way!” Templer set her on her feet. Chrysta straightened out her clothes while giving the man the evil eye. Then complying reluctantly with his earlier request, the woman continued down the stairs under her own power.

Grant settled them at a back table. Ignoring her dirty look, the man set a bowl of thick stew in front of her and a beer and small bottle of Anesthetic in front of the silent gunman. He gave Templer a stern look.

“She has to eat first.”

Grant transferred his hard gaze to the quiet woman.

“Just to be clear... this is ALL the alcohol I am letting you have.”

Her eyes flashed up in anger.

“I can always go to another bar, Grant.”

“I think that would be over our very... dead... bodies!”

Azra's deep voice was grim. Elemental fire sparked at the tips of the Talon's blade-hand as the outrider made his point. He could be as stubborn as the best of them.

Chrysta glanced at Templer. He leaned back, crossed his arms and nodded in agreement with his demon. He had to crush the guilt that welled up in his breast as the anger faded, leaving her eyes the same flat dead color the Talon had seen the night before. The look she gave all three of them made it eloquently clear what the woman thought about their ganging up on her.

Grant's ploy worked in that Chrysta finished her meal. Her eyes had at least shifted more to green then gray when Templer poured her a small glass of the potent blue liqueur. The gunman sipped his beer and watched as they greened up a little more when the woman noticed the larger than usual crowd of tourist's.

Grant was preoccupied at the bar when Azra gave his host a slight conspiratorial nudge.

“The guy in the blue is packing.”

This got Templer's attention.

“What?”

Azra spoke slowly and there was an odd note in his voice.

“I... said... The guy in the blue is packing iron. The little man in the red shirt has a knife in his boot!”

Chrysta had looked up, and she saw the strange expression that crossed the gunman's face. A small smile played around her mouth.

“If you are really going do this, once it starts, just stay the hell out of his way.”

She watched as Templer scooped up her empty bowl along with his beer glass and headed toward the bar. A nudge here, a bump there and eddies of discontent whirled through the crowded room following the general path that the gunman took. He had just reached the bar when with the crash of breaking dishes, all hell broke loose.

Templer just barely managed to step back as Grant came OVER the bar. The big man moved with a speed and grace the belied his size. He was there when the knife came out of the "little man's" boot. Grant caught the man's wrist and twisting it, forced the knife to drop. He used that man as a shield to block a fist from another fighter and kicked that one's feet out from under him. Tossing the knife wielder into a struggling knot of drunken combatants the older man moved on. Grant seemed to flow through the fight. Where ever he paused and applied his fists or feet, men found themselves suddenly sleeping on the hard floor.

Templer leaned back against the bar to watch, impressed in spite of himself. The bartender reached the man with the gun at the same time he was dumb enough to draw it. Blue shirt found his hand, and the gun engulfed in the big man's hard grip. Grant held him effortlessly, waggled his finger in the universal "no you don't" sign and floored the wanna-be gunslinger with a fist between the eyes. Constantine glanced Chrysta's way and saw she had not moved from her seat. The woman watched the big man clear his bar with an appreciative gleam in her now sparkling eyes. Noticing the priest's glowing gaze looking her way, the woman raised her glass of anesthetic in a silent toast.

It took Grant a total of three minutes to get the fight stopped. Those that didn't want their asses handed to them scurried out the door and those that had less intelligence were unceremoniously thrown out. The patron's that were smart enough not to get involved, (mainly locals, Templer noticed) gave the bartender a standing ovation as the last fighter rather forcefully exited the bar!

It took the three of them along with the staff, a good half hour to clean up the resulting mess. Listening to Chrysta's occasional chuckle as she rehashed parts of the fight with the barman and seeing the worried lines relax around the Grant's brown eyes, made having to mop the common room floor TWICE worth it. By the time the Talon finished, Chrysta had gone upstairs to soak in her bath. Grant shooed Templer away, maintaining that he and his staff could manage the rest of the night.

Chrysta was still in her bath when he got up to the room. The sharp smell of dreamleaf floated in the warm air. Templer couldn't help but notice that there was a glass of red wine on the night stand by the bed and a book rested beside it. He was comfortably sprawled across the coverlet, sipping the wine, and working his way through the third chapter of a slow mystery when Chrysta came out of the bathroom. She did not notice that his eyes followed her over the pages of the book as she stood in front of the window and watched El Diablo for a long moment.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

The man kept his voice soft and nonthreatening.

Chrysta didn't turn away from the window,

“What I would really like, is to not sleep alone tonight.”

She turned and gave the prone gunman a hopeful look. He slid over and held the covers up, inviting her in.
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