Fan Fiction ❯ "I was born, six-gun in my hand . . ." ❯ Chapter 5

Chief Evim Saquorro taught the way of the Gunslinger as had his father before

him, and his father before him and so on until possibly the time of Eld, for someone must have taught that mais the honor and skill that goes with carrying those big revolvers. And for all the time the Chief's family had been the masters of Gunslinger wisdom, the final test had been the same, and so generations of skill was set against each potential Gunslinger, making them stronger with each passing generation.

 

In my time in Chrysler, I'd seen ten people attempt the challenge. Four succeeded. All of the challengers were older than me, the youngest (one of the failures) was seventeen. Failure meant not only the injury to ego and body sustained in battle, but shame and exile into the east. For me, failure also meant death, because the first thing I would do was kill myself.

 

I knew it was wrong to challenge, I knew I wasn't ready, knew it was stupid to even attempt the trial at the unheard of age of fourteen, but youth breeds its own kind of idiocy. My heart knew it was wrong, but that was originating from the same area and speaking in the same voice as the conscience, and damn to all the powers that be if I listened to that. It all came down to one thing, one truth, that held any sway over me then. Deinonych Erach.

 

There was a field in Chrysler where the trial took place, the Path of the Grandfathers (perhaps Eld's people weren't completely backward), and at the end of the long field was a bell. One ring was the hourly call, but two rings meant challenge. The Gunslinger-iar followed me to the Path and took seats alongside while I marched o the bell. Without a second thought in my empty head, I took the rope in my hands and pulled. The bell was huge and heavy, but the instant metal struck metal the sound was generated. Beautiful as a chorus of angels at sunset it was, but terrifying as a lion's roar a hand's breadth from your face. The others huddled together, afraid as I had been when I first heard the Bell, but I was beyond even the salvation offered by that device. I could have left it alone, gotten off with just a scolding for a second-rate prank, but I tightened my grip and pulled with all my might. The second ring was even louder, and different. Less musical and more menacing, like an enemy army come to call.

 

The Chief was there in a matter of seconds. He looked at me and shook his head. “Don't be a fool, maggot,” he growled. “The death of your friend does not warrant stupidity.”

 

Any other day, the implication of stupidity would have had me burning with anger, but I was cold that day. So cold. I know what that cold is now, and it comes back with every battle, sharpening my sense but carrying my mind far away. There is no room for useless things like emotions (or thought to a certain level) in a fight, and this was my first.

 

“I rang the Bell. I cry challenge Vai.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

He was giving me a way out. Our Kesh'ikai was extending me the most kindness he could give. And of course, I ignored it completely. “I cry challenge Vai Saquorro.”

 

The gauntlet was thrown. The Chief had no choice but to accept. “Choose your weapon.”

 

I had put no more thought to a weapon than I had to the challenge itself. My focus was now three steps ahead, something I'd been warned against. Walking up and down the weapons rack, I waited for epiphany to strike. Guns were not allowed, but anything else was fair game. I saw one boy win with a falcon, but I doubted it would work twice. I bypassed the sword (my favorite, and my best) and the knives (my second best) and found myself staring at a pair of fans. Never before had I trained with fans, never even used one to be honest, yet they beckoned to me like the Rainbow had. It was these items I chose, fans of some light but strong metal called “titan-num,” the outsides sharpened as much as any sword.

 

“I call fans Vai Saquorro.”

 

He nodded, and in his eyes I saw what looked like pity. “I call staff.”

 

We met in the center of the Path and saluted in our different ways, him with the hand to forehead way of the Imperials, and I with the outstretched leg bow of the Il'duri. That done, we assumed ready position and waited to see who would make the first move.

 

Even at his age, the Chief was still the fastest of us all. It seemed as if one moment he was simply looking at me and the next he was gone. Automatically I stepped aside, turning around to seize the end of the staff that would have hit me in the head if I'd been slower. I wasn't able to get purchase on the smoothly polished staff, but it did knock off the Chief's balance enough to force him to take one more nearly imperceptible step. That was enough time for me to open the fan in my left hand, hearing it slide apart and lock into position with a satisfying swoosh-ching-clang! As the Chief swung at my side, I blocked with the still closed fan in my right hand and slashed at his chest with the one in my left. I missed him entirely, bu a nice slice appeared in the front of his shirt. We both smiled grimly at that.

 

The Chief charged at my left side, then V-stepped to my right. The point was to put me off balance, but he'd trained me better than that. I kept the momentum of my left-handed strike going until it was now an upward slash on my right where the Chief was. He dodged that easily, but was caught unawares by the kick to the back of the head I delivered as he moved away. He stumbled, nearly fell, but recovered quickly with his staff still tight in his grip. When I came in for a second kick, he batted my leg aside easily, sending me sprawling.

 

I don't know if I got up as quickly as the Chief, but I vaguely heard murmurs of approval as I launched myself into the air and onto my feet. The Chief was there already, of course, and trying to sweep my legs out from under me. Somehow I planted my feet on his staff and kicked off, executing a back flip and landing perfectly. In the act of doing so, I had knocked the staff out of his hands, and he was reaching for it. Instantly I was on the offensive, blue fans blazing through the air as I spun around and put gashes in his outstretched arm. He knocked the fan out of my left hand, the open fan, just as I intended, then went again for the staff. In that time I'd opened the right fan, spun and knelt and put my left hand on the staff. My right hand, open deadly fan waiting, was at the Chief's throat.

 

The staff was mine. I'd passed.

 

Like when I was hiding in the tree from the wizard and his company of Shades, time seemed to stretch. For the longest time we were frozen, me with one hand on the staff and the other clutching the fan, him reaching for the staff, his hand in midair and his throat on my weapon. Slowly, oh so slowly, Chief Evim Saquorro got to his feet and beckoned for me to follow. Stiffly I rose, closing the fan in my hand and tucking it under my belt where I could get it quickly if necessary. In my left hand I still held the staff, refusing to give it up yet. When the Chief reached for it, I finally managed to let it go and then stared up at him. If he'd attacked me then, I probably wouldn't have been able to do anything but watch it come at me. Thanks be to the man Jesus that he did no such thing, just saluted and waited for me to say something, which I managed to do after a moment. “Kannai rekka, Vai Saquorro.” Victory is mine.

 

The Chief nodded. “You've earned your guns Gunslinger. Go get them.”

 

I nodded and went off to do that. All that remained was to get my guns, and then I could cry for Maerlin's life. Kan Vega Deinonych Erach.