Michael Spradlin: Blood Riders

Human beings, the Archaics had learned, were not without their own strengths. Men could be devious and clever, and used technology to their advantage. Their civilization had grown and progressed, while the Archaics’ remained stagnant. Soon they were vastly outnumbered and finally retreated deep into the mountains of Eastern Europe, where few humans traveled, and it became their law to avoid contact with humanity at all costs.

There were many in the tribe who disagreed with the decision, and from time to time there had been Archaics who reigned terror on the people nearby. But for the past few centuries her people had lived in peace, hidden high in the mountain passes.

Though many suspected Malachi of culpable actions in the death of Genevieve, there was no proof.

When the Council finished their deliberations, they announced Shaniah as the newest leader of the Archaics. Her word was now the law. Technically, she answered to the Council and could be removed if it was deemed necessary, but that had never happened in the recorded history of her race. For all intents and purposes, her decisions were final.

When she was chosen, Malachi, who long believed he would rule one day, slowly descended into madness. He was convinced he deserved the office and fomented rebellion. His anger at what he considered a betrayal overwhelmed him. He spoke out, building dissent among the people. When Shaniah ordered him arrested and brought before a tribunal, he escaped with a few followers, left their mountain stronghold, and terrorized the towns and villages below. She and her personally chosen soldiers had not been able to catch him before he captured a ship and escaped. And it was up to her alone to bring him back. He must face Archaic justice. Or he must die.

The sky to the west had gone dark, and a half moon rose above the mountains to the southwest. Shaniah waited, using all of her senses to be sure the camp below was deserted. When she was certain, she spurred Demeter to a slow, careful descent down the canyon.

She rode along the edge of the camp, staying to the far right of a stream. The sound of the rushing water made her feel slightly nauseous and she circled away, reining Demeter around behind the buildings. Time, wind, and rain had removed any sign of the massacre. No doubt Malachi had dragged the bodies off, and there was no blood visible on the ground. Malachi had killed here though-she could smell him.

She dismounted outside the general store and tied Demeter to a hitching post. Inside, the store was full of goods. It was strange no one had come here to steal the food, guns, and ammunition still lining the shelves. But she supposed the stories of what had happened here kept the looters away.

The general store held no clues, and she moved on to the saloon next door. She found the signs of a struggle and bloodstains lining the floor. Most of the killing had happened here. She knelt and examined the scene, but it was harder to single out Malachi’s scent because there were too many smells mixed together. It was there though. Perhaps if she concentrated, she might be able to lock onto it and follow him to his lair.

He had eluded her repeatedly over the last four years. Being able to travel only at night, her unease in crossing rivers and streams had made her job more difficult. Malachi was feeding on human blood, giving him the ability to more easily tolerate the things that made an Archaic weaker, like rivers and streams. And Malachi was cunning. He knew she would be coming. He did not make it easy, leading her on, doubling back, and sending her down any number of false trails.

Two years earlier, he had staged a massacre of a band of Blackfoot Indians in Montana. But he had left the bodies and his band had refrained from drinking the blood. The massacre had made big news in the territory. The humans made inquiries and decided renegades had killed the Indians. When Shaniah was finally able to examine the site of the killings, she discovered that Malachi had staged the elaborate scene to taunt her. His smell was everywhere, but he was long gone and it was months before she picked up his trail again.

She stood and headed for the doorway, and upon leaving the saloon found three men, all of them dressed in filthy buckskins, standing next to Demeter. The sound of the rushing water in the stream had covered their approach and they had entered the camp downwind, her sense of smell failing to warn her. One of them held her horse by the reins. He was tall, missing his two front teeth and had a long beard, twisted and gnarled below his chin. It was stained and dirty and Shaniah did not want to think about what might have landed in it. The other two men were shorter, and just as ugly and disgusting as the first. One of them, his face lined with scars, wore cavalry pants and a ridiculous-looking top hat. He held a large rifle, which she thought might have been a Sharps carbine, and the other one, his hair greasy and matted to his head, held a lantern, which cast a flickering shadow on the wooden walls of the surrounding buildings. The man holding Demeter’s reins had two Colt pistols with handles out, belted around his waist.

This was trouble.

“Well, lookee here,” the tall man said, his tongue pushing through the space of his missing teeth, giving a lisping quality to his words.

Shaniah was dressed completely in black; a long leather duster, riding boots, and woolen pants. She had bound up her shoulder-length blond hair, hiding it beneath her black Stetson, but up this close it was easily apparent that she was a woman. And she carried no weapon except a dagger hidden in her boot.

Shaniah studied the men and for several seconds said nothing. It was quiet as the looters waited to see if she might try to run.

“That happens to be my horse,” she said. During her years in America she had practiced her English and her words came out only slightly accented. One of the men standing behind Demeter laughed and shifted his rifle, holding it at port arms.

“Is that so?” The tall man lisped. “Me and Beaver and Jonesy here was just riding along and we seen this fine stallion and thought he might have gotten lost. Where you from, honey?” he asked, as the two men chuckled behind him.

She didn’t see their horses anywhere, but they could have left them outside the camp. They were most likely scavengers, here to raid the town of whatever supplies remained.

She ignored his question. “Yes. The horse belongs to me, and I’ll be taking him now,” she said, stepping forward slowly. She needed to be at just the right distance.

“Well, we’ll see about that. You got some proof on you? Somethin’ shows you didn’t steal him? Awful big horse for a little bitty thing like you. Seems kinda strange, woman like you up here all alone on a fine animal like this.”

“He belongs to me, and I would be most grateful if you handed him over. Before this situation worsens.”

The scavengers behind the toothless man broke into uproarious laughter.

Toothless Man reached out and grabbed Shaniah by the wrist.

“Maybe we’ll just have us a little party fore’n we decide who the damn horse belongs to.”

Shaniah whistled loud and shrilly through her teeth and Demeter instantly kicked out with his back legs. The man holding the lantern screamed as the hooves connected with his midsection. The kick broke the lantern and the coal oil splattered on his clothes and caught fire. He dropped his rifle and batted at the flames consuming him.

Shaniah moved with speed and precision, catching the toothless man completely by surprise. She twisted her arm and broke the man’s grip, and turning sideways, drove her elbow into his throat. The man gasped as his larynx was crushed and he clutched at his neck, unable to breathe.

The third man looked at his burning friend, then at Shaniah, and raised his rifle to shoot, but she shielded herself with the toothless man, who was now drawing his last breath. She lifted her leg, pulling the dagger from her boot, and in one fluid motion threw it, watching as it landed squarely in her remaining tormenter’s chest.