The Fiddler and the Hero -- Chapter I

[D.C.]

The boy was playing his lute alongside the road when the gunslinger found him.

It happened on the highway that ran straight through the magnificent, great plains that stretched all the way to the horizon and quite possibly far beyond it as well. Three days had gone by since they had escaped from the big prison fortress, occupied by bandits; three days had gone by since she'd broke out the boy. The boy had insisted on retrieving his lute, and had forced the two of them to go back for it when they had just left the cell block, and so they had made their way through the big corridors and hallways. They had found the lute but never had any time to rejoice; bandits cornered them and the gunslinger told the boy to get away while he still could, and she would stand and cover him, praying that he would be able to get out by himself.

She felled rogues and bandits, cut them down with her flaming blaster bolts, and now that she sauntered down the highway, looking for the boy, she held a powerful regret in her heart. The only reason she had killed that day was because if she wouldn't have those bandits would have taken her life instead. Kill or be killed. She hated it; it wasn't hers to decide when and where someone would die, was it? But death came and went as it pleased—it had always done that, throughout the centuries—and so Shannon just had to deal with it.

She was a gunslinger, after all.

Gunslingers killed.

It was part of who they were.

It was an internal conflict that she just couldn't seem to resolve herself, and she had come to doubt whether it could ever be resolved at all. Shannon O'Hara was not a killer—she was definitely not a murderer . . . but she was a survivor. And there was only one way to stay alive: take aim and pull the trigger. That was the paradox that was slowly tearing her apart.

While she walked on, further and further down the road, hoping that she would find the boy soon, she took her revolver out of the holster that hung low on her right hip. She held the gun in both hands and stared at the weapon in awe, as though she hadn't ever laid eyes on the thing before. She clenched its grip and its barrel in her hands and looked up, eyes on the horizon, and she pressed her lips, gritted her teeth in an attempt to prevent the tears from flowing.

I'm not a killer, she told herself. I only killed because I had to. But that doesn't make me a killer.

But it did, you see, that was the point. It did make her a killer. And she knew it.

She knew it full well.

She let the gun fall back into the holster and closed her eyes as she walked on, and this time . . . this time she couldn't help it. The tears came and flowed down her cheeks. She opened her eyes and looked up at the sun, her eyes shimmered and glistened and seem bluer than ever—luminous angel eyes showing a deep sadness.

But she was a gunslinger, damn it.

So deal with it.

——————​

She found the boy at dusk. The sun set in the west and he sat there, beside the road, playing his tunes. Maybe he did so because he was scared and he wanted to make himself feel better; or perhaps there was another reason why he was playing his lute here, in the middle of nowhere, somewhere along the highway that ran straight through the great plains, no end in sight.

He hadn't seen her yet because he sat with his back toward her; he seemed to be concentrating solely on his instrument. Shannon stopped at a slight distance, just to listen to him play; she didn't want to disturb him now. She had found him after all, time wasn't important anymore. She could wait. She would let him play. And she would approach him when the time came to do so.

She took off her hat and held it in both hands in front of her, her long, red hair wavered softly in the slight, calm evening breeze. Her luminous eyes glistened with tears, but not because of the killing anymore . . . this was about the sheer moment of peace and serenity. A moment in time that seemed so surreal because there wasn't a sign of violence or death. There was only the calming music, only the beauty of the haunting sounds.

Caleb played his instrument 'neath a starlit sky while entire worlds elsewhere in the universe burned to ashes, never to be restored.

He played his instrument, played his tunes, while wars were being fought all across the galaxy.

But only the music mattered.

Only the beautiful, ethereal music.

In her moment of sadness—as she watched the kid sitting there beside the road with his back toward her, all by himself—a real, genuine smile finally played on her lips.

 

[Wit]

It had been three days now, three days since the woman who had identified herself as Shannon had sprung him out of prison. He shouldn't have left her behind like that, but he also knew that they would both have died if they had stuck together. They had needed to split up, that way he had at least pulled off some of the guards behind him. But still, all the logic in the words could not make him feel good about leaving someone behind in a fight, specially if that someone had sprung him out of a jam like that.

He did not know if she had made it out, or what route she would take if she got out. All he had was the name of a nearby town, where she had said she had received the job to spring him out. So he had assumed that if she had made it out then she might make her way back to the town, so he had himself made his way towards the town. He had finally reached a merging of the paths, where a number of such paths joined to give birth to one that lead straight to the town, a crossing that she would ultimately have to pass if she wanted to visit the town. Having reached there a few hours before sundown, he had decided to wait for her there before nightfall, at which point he would head on to the town and wait for her there. He needed to find out who had hired her and why, and there was also the matter of thanking her for getting him out.

having made up his mind Caleb had settled down on the side of the road, pulled out his lute and started playing. He let his fingers dance over the lute, intricately and delicately they moved as the music flowed out into the dimming light of dusk. He let everything that was bottled up within him, his longing to find his mother, his unease over letting Shannon stay behind to let him escape, the unexplained yet steadily growing feeling of dread he had been feeling over the past few months, he let it all flow out into the music he played. He didn't know how long he played, a minute, ten minutes, an hour, but when he looked up she was there. Hat in her hand, crimson hair the color of flames, just like his own, flowing in the wind, a smile on her face and a tear in her eyes.

"How..how long have you been standing there?"

 

[D.C.]

"Long," she said softly, warmly. A single word. It was all she could utter. The truth was that she had no idea how long she had been standing there because the music and time itself had become one. She had listened to it and it had calmed her down. It had helped her forget the pain and sorrow for the moment. It made her feel whole again, for the very first time in her life. She wondered how Caleb had pulled this off. She had heard a great many bards in many places, but none of them had ever managed to calm her down . . . let alone make her smile. Genuinely smile. Most of the time she smiled nowadays it wasn't real. It was a mask.

She slowly approached and then sat down to his right. She put her hat upside-down on the ground and brushed her red locks out of her face and beyond her ears. She glanced at the boy and said, "That was beautiful. I just didn't want to interrupt you, ye ken. In fact, I just wanted to listen . . ."

She looked up and saw the first stars appearing in the darkening sky.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her eyes lingering on the twinkling stars awhile, but then she looked back at him. She looked concerned now. She hoped that he wasn't hurt or anything.

 

[Wit]

Caleb looked down at the lute in his hands, uncomfortable at receiving the unexpected praise. At the same time the praise made him think of his old mentor, Bialy, who had been the one person whose praise he had sought and the one thing he had been unable to receive from her. A sad, rueful smile spread across his face as he remembered his somewhat eccentric mentor. "You should have heard my teacher play, she could make a stone weep. But thank you, a musician is always glad to know his work his appreciated." He pushed himself up to his feet and executed a elaborate bow towards the red haired woman, a cocky grin now on his face.

He followed Shannon's gaze and looked up at the stars as well, wondering when the evening had passed by. He was taken aback by her question, for it was almost the kind of reaction he would have gotten from his mother, she seemed to sense his uneasiness even before he himself was aware of it. But then he realized she must not be asking about the sense of dread he had been feeling these past few months, the question wasn't about his mental well being but rather his physical well being, after all they had fought their way out of a prison only a few days back.

"Yeah.." he started as he began putting his lute back in its case, "a couple of bumps and bruises, nothing to be worried about." He slung the case on his back and pulled back the sleeve of his cloak to reveal the bandages wrapped around his left forearm. "This was the worst I got, thanks to you."

He smiled warmly at her then, suddenly remembering his manners and executing another bow towards her, simple yet more sincere than the previous one had been. "Thank you for getting me out of that mess. But I have to ask, why? Why risk your neck to spring a kid out of prison?"

 

[D.C.]

Shannon watched him bow to her and a smile played on her lips. He was a well-mannered boy, that he was.

"Ya don't have to bow to me, Caleb," she said in a friendly voice, "we're equals.

"As for your question. Does the name Tom Trumpet ring any bells? It was he who approached me n told me that you were in trouble. He asked me for help, and then I went so I did. I broke ya out because it was important to do so. And besides, it's just what I do, you ken?"

She looked heavenward once more.

"There's so much trouble in this universe. So many wrongs that I want to try to right. I'm on some kinda mission, you could say. I know I can't ever succeed at this, but you know what . . . if I start tryin to make the world a safer place . . . if somebody tries . . ." She looked back at the boy. "I reckon that's at least a step in the right direction."

She kept on smiling but in truth she wasn't so happy. The pain of the universe was her pain; the suffering of the innocent was hers. That's why she saved Caleb Fel from those bandits. She saved him because she couldn't allow this to happen.

"It's gettin dark now, though. Let's make a fire and camp here for the night. Is that okay?"