S10E09 - "Waykeeper" - Drew Blood

Hey friends, it's me again. You know what's really easy to do and even easier to forget? Help me out and hit that like button if you're listening on YouTube. If you're listening somewhere else, what the hell? Pop in and give me a thumb. Say hi while you're at it. Helps me a ton with that damn algorithm. And besides, it's always nice to see you there. Alright then, let's hop on that crazy train. All aboard! Aw, shit. Welcome, friend. Welcome, welcome. I was worried y'all wouldn't show up on the count of National Pokemon Day and everything. Me? I'm not exactly a Pokemon fan. The last time I'd supposedly caught them all, it was some doctor in Singapore teaching me about STDs. Hmm, I'd like to forget about that. That was back in the old days when I used to work on drill ships in the South China Sea. Yeah, those were the days, Chester. Anyway, come on in, friend. And let me know if you ever need any antibiotics. They're expired by now, but they'll probably still work. Mmm. All right, smoke them if you got them and drink those glasses to the bottom, y'all, because your old buddy Drew Blood's got a tell-to-tale. And tonight, we welcome back our old pal Rory Dwayne. This one's kind of a post-apocalyptic grimdark western fantasy tale. That's the thing about Rory and genres. He collects them all, you know. So without further delay, from author Rory Dwayne, I give you... Waykeeper. Blood spills across the horizon. Scarlet scars as far as the eye can see. Once I had seen beauty in the sunrise, but now... Now it's just another day without meaning. Let me tell you my story. The blade scrapes across the dry ground. My oxen shoulders hold the weight of our future. The end of the world had happened many years ago now, and none saw it coming, except my father. As I work the land, my father Martin is fixing the wall to the south. Maureen and our daughter Savannah are in the cabin. perhaps sowing, perhaps some other feminine pastime. My father once told me in times such as these a man should never be more than an arm's reach from his firearm. My rifle is slung across my shoulders, sweat streaks across my body. As my hands shudder from the handles, the plow cuts deep. The light fades from the day and as I lead the ox into the barn, I hear hooves, more than one set. I sling my rifle and scope down the slope of my land, and see at least a dozen riders galloping towards my cabin. Marine! She appears in the doorway, shielding the dying sun with her hand, and sees the riders. She turns and flees back inside. I follow. We bar the door with an iron slat, close the wooden shutters, and Maureen and Savannah go below into the hidden basement, my wife armed with a shotgun. I wait. We have your old man, Walton. A hoarse voice shouts out. Come out, and we just might let you all live. I go to the door and open the peephole, seeing the speaker has spoken true. Martin is slouched behind the man's horse. bloodied and covered in dirt, having been dragged behind by ropes. You have ten seconds to open that fucking door and get out here, or else. The man pulls out a pistol and aims it at my father. Don't open it! My father calls out, and one of the bandit posse jumped down and whipped him across the face with the back of their hand. One! The leader calls out. Two I shut the peephole Then turned the yoke table over Taking cover behind it Ten A blast echoes outside And I hear my father cry out That one went through his fucking leg The next one goes in his goddamn eye You best be moving on I reply If you and your men value breathing Get to it! The leader shouts. Footsteps approach the cabin. I hear something collide against the roof, and soon smoke trails billow beneath the rafters. They were trying to smoke us out. You want to play games? We've got all day! The leader cries out, gaining laughter from his men. The smoke intensifies, and soon flames are spreading along the roof. I tie my bandana around my nose and mouth, dampened from a bucket of water. It'll stifle the smoke somewhat. I know my father is a dead man already. I must protect my family. Right, I'm done waiting. Get that fucking door open. The leader orders, and footsteps approach the door. They begin beating it with something heavy, and soon the hinges are rattling in their brackets. The door shudders and then gives way. I open fire as it hits the floor, taking the front runner into the face. He hits the floor. Blood pools as more run into the smoky interior of the cabin. I chamber the next bullet, aiming, following the next bandit. My shot takes him through the chest. I reload as they open fire, bullets pounding against the table. You're gonna pay! The leader calls out. You had your chance! I pull my pistol from its holster. The rifle was a hindrance at close range. I unsheathe my blade. I jump up as the footsteps come closer, flinging the blade. It thrums into the nearest man's throat. Blood gurgles between grasp and fingers. Three men I count quickly before diving back down behind the table. Fingers appear on the top of the table. I stick the pistol around the edge and blast, and the fingers disappear from view. You motherfucker! screams the shop man from the noise of his steps. I let off two more shots, blindly hoping, but they find the mark, and the man hits the floor. Four dead. At least eight more to kill, if not more. The room is chokingly filled with smoke, and I stumble away from the table, headed for the back door, trying to lead them away from my wife and daughter. Perhaps they have no knowledge of them. I rip open the back door. A rogue bullet catches me in the shoulder from behind. I fall against the doorway. Blood splashed against the rough wood. My blood. Stumbling out into the clear air, the footsteps follow. My horse is tethered just outside, and I leap on to her bareback, turning. grasping my shoulder. I'm about to kick my heels when a lasso grabs me from behind, and I'm dragged from my horse, rolling across the dirt, coming to a halt. I look up to see it's the leader of the bandits holding the rope. You thought it'd be that easy? He laughs. One of his men binds my hands and feet and drags me back through the cabin, which is half alive with flames now, and out through the front door. Martin is slouched in a bloody heap, blood pulling about him. His eyes are open, though, and widen as they see me bound. I'm pulled to beneath the leader's horse, who smiles down at me. Now, where's the stash? he asks me. Fuck yourself! I snarl and get a fist across my face for my trouble. Now, now, where's your manners, Walton? Laughs the leader. He nods. Search the cabin. Four men enter with bandanas strewn across their faces, the cabin almost entirely engulfed in flames now. I know my wife and daughter would soon succumb to the smoke. would it be a better fate than what these dogs would do to them but I know marine would slip both their throats first so I remained silent one of the men comes back out it's empty where's the fucking ammo and guns snarls the leader I just smile the man nods so be it he jumps down off his horse and unsheathes his dagger He goes to my father and pulls back on his hair, exposing the throat. My father's last words ring true to my soul. Remember the path, Waykeeper! The leader looks to me. Is this what you want? I remain silent. The dagger slices into my father's throat, and the blood gurgles onto the floor around him. The leader lets my father's body drop to the ground. Now! The leader approaches me. Your turn! A voice yells from the cabin. Savannah's voice. My eyes close. I can feel the leader smile at me. The men return to the cabin. They're under the floor! Moments pass, and then the inevitable. A shotgun blast followed by screams. I open my eyes as my wife and daughter are dragged outside. Shit, Harlan! There's tons of guns and ammo! One of the men shout. Their leader goes inside and then returns carrying a shotgun. You were holding out on us, Walton! All the while, Savannah is glancing around. Too young to understand what's to come, perhaps. I smile at her. Harlan nods to his men. Slip the girl's throat. Take the woman. She'll have her uses. They drag them apart, Savannah crying now. I struggle against my bonds as best I can, but they do not give. Harlan approaches me as the men enter the cabin, dragging my daughter behind them. and soon her screams fall silent. I stare up into Harlan's eyes as they bore into mine, and he smiles once more. Have no fear, Waykeeper, for you shall meet your father and daughter soon in the afterlife. He nods to one of his men. I feel their hands grab me, fingers digging into my scalp as they drag my head back and place the blade against my throat. I will find you, I hiss, in this life or the next. I admire your courage, waykeeper, but you'll have to wait. We've some business with your wife. Don't worry, we'll keep her safe. For now. The blade drags across my flesh. And my throat fills with blood. My world goes dark. Waykeeper. Your destiny has not been fulfilled. The voice is ethereal. surrounding me. Waykeeper. Waykeeper. That's what I once was. A man of means. A man of the world. A man filled with horrors. When I had placed down the pistol for the plow many years ago, after Marine and Savannah, My daughter's smile flashes across my mind's eye. Father, you must find Mother. But I am dead. Not yet. But we will meet again. Soon. Her face fades away into the darkness. Pain. It fills my mind. fills my soul. But it wasn't the pain of living, of my wounds, as I felt my throat and found it raw to the touch. It was the pain of loss. It made me open my eyes, made me gasp for air, which burned my throat and lungs. Waykeeper. The voice whispered through my mind, It had been many years. Stand. I stumble onto my knees, seeing blood clotted across my tunic and hands. My throat had stopped bleeding. The man wielding the blade had made a grievous error and had not made the killing cut. Find them. I struggle on weak legs inside of the cabin. Only burnt cinders and beams remain of the home. I find Savannah's burned corpse in the center of the room. Tears do not come, nor does grief. Instead, I go to the fireplace and remove the bricks, the hidden compartment inside unharmed from the fire. Inside are two pistols, a bandolier and a dagger. But also my old badge. Scribed onto its surface was a skull with a serpent coiling through the dark eyes. A waykeeper's shield. I holstered the pistols and shouldered a bandolier. Then sheathed the dagger and sticked the shield onto my breast. I carry Savannah to a copse of trees behind the cabin and bury her. My horse was taken, so I must walk. They seemed to have taken the northern trail, so I followed their tracks. Hours passed me by, and trees become sparser, opening out the hilled glades, stretching on for as far as the eye could see. The locals used to call this the Green Sea, back when herds of cattle were overseen by posses of ranchers, but long gone were those days. I journey across a sea of blades. The sun strikes its path across the blue, blue sky and lowers into the west. I can't help but feel it is the blood of my fallen kin that stains those distant peaks. As hours pass into days, storm clouds brew in the distance. The rain pelts against my flesh, washing away the blood. But not even the tears of God can wipe away this rage within me. I trudge onwards. Four days pass me by in the blur of screams, of past memories buried that now show their ghostly apparitions in my mind. Soon I leave the green sea behind and come to the passes. Giant mountains roam in the distance, clawing the sky. I come to a gushing river and drink my throat parched and raw A bridge crosses it the current too strong to ford the river on the other side for miles Their tracks had dwindled, but this is where they came through. I could feel it in my bones. I go to cross the bridge, but a man stands on the middle of it, blocking my path. Who goes there? The man asks. His eyes are a mere wide orbs, blind as death. A man of vengeance, I growl, resting my hands on my pistols. Your words hold truth to them, but you must pay a toll to cross my bridge. And what did the bandits pay? Something of value, the man replies simply. I notice something in his breast pocket, and approaching closer, I see it as a braid of hair, like my marine war. You let them pass without questioning their morality, I growl. What kind of man allows bandits to keep women as commodities? You may be blind, Tollkeeper, but you are not blind enough to hold no answer to God. And what has God to do with this wretched land? The Tollkeeper hisses. I pull out my pistol, Aemon. The Tollkeeper simply smiles. Your weapons have no effect here, Waykeeper. I lower my pistol. You know what I am? Indeed? Then let me pass. I will cause you no harm. But I'll be having my wife's braid. This woman was your wife? Unlike the ways of God's damned to keep harlots? The man sniggers. Enough talk. I take my shield and approach the tollkeeper. He lifts his staff and hits the ground with the end. Instantly the bridge tilts and I find myself sliding across the surface. And without another thought of what to do next, I'm plummeted down into the gushing river. The tollkeeper's laughter hisses through my mind. The tauren is strong so I let myself be carried away with it. It curves around the bend, no overhanging trees appear, and I barely evade the sharp rocks as they flow past. Soon the river intensifies, and I know what is to come. The end of the river appears, white frothing swirls engulf my vision, and I am swept over the edge of the waterfall. And fall. And fall. I slam against the surface of the water. And I'm dragged beneath. Darkness engulfs me. Is this death? But no. I claw my way to the surface. And the river has eddied to a slow gate. I swim toward the edge of the river. grabbing hold of an overhanging tree and pulling myself up onto it. Back on dry ground once more, I stare up to the top of the waterfall and say an oath that I will make the tollkeeper pay. The path takes me through the passes, and now I am truly lost. Days pass by as I make my way through the maze of narrow trails. Snow clouds form and flakes drift down against the barren ground. Soon the path grows choked with it, and as another day dawns with my sleep spent fitfully in a slight crevice in the cliff, I trudge ever onwards. My stomach gnaws of hunger. However, my feet are blistered, as rough and raw as my healing throat, but I pay it no heed. One word makes me force a path through the deep fall snow. Vengeance. Coming to the end of a pass I can view out over the landscape to come. It is a flat land of sand in the distance, and I know I will not survive the journey across that barren land without water. I have no bottle to collect snow, so press on and work my way down through the zigzagging trail, coming to the end of the passes. The snow-capped peaks slowly erode into the distance Like an ivory god's fingers being dragged back down beneath the earth Sand dunes lay in my wake And before me lies nothing but miles upon miles of madness My father had once told me about the dunes About the rabid men who plagued this land But I held no fear in my heart and rise after slope I ventured. The moon rose in the bluest hue I have ever seen and the cold clawed at my soul. Silence is the language of this land. The moon was at its zenith when the ground rumbled beneath me. Slopes began to shift. The dunes crumbled like the towers of Babel. Slowly a hand emerged from beneath the millions of grains of sand, as the weight of oceans dispersed as if naught but a feather. I crumbled to my knees just as the head appeared from beneath the dune in the distance, and this demon, or an ancient god perhaps, rose from its resting place. place. Scarlet eyes viewed me from above, as weighing my soul in the balance of its palm. Way Keeper. The being's voice was deep and echoed across the land, reverberating along my spine and making my eyes widen. What do you wish of me? I called. You seek meaning in a world of lost promises It blinked slowly, then nodded But if you wish to cross this land My domain Then you must pay for passage I have nothing Nothing but a need in my heart. And what need is that? I am a waykeeper, a protector of souls. I am a waykeeper, and I know my power in this land outweighs the words of a lost god. My words echo across the ground. The being growls and then balls its hands into fists and smashes the sand around it. I find myself being blown back from my feet and roll across the ground. The wind whips across my face, grain scratching at my eyes. You may pass, Waykeeper. And with that, the ancient god delves back beneath the ground, the dunes covering its resting place, as if nothing had ever risen from its depths. I stare out across the land, wondering where my marine was. A blot appears on the horizon. I make my way toward it. A lone man stands, staring out across the dunes. What is your name, Waykeeper? The man asks without turning. There is something familiar about him, but I cannot say what. He turns and I see he is ethereal. His skin like transparent pearl, and he's aglow with light. It does not matter. No names matter in the dunes. No person exists in this land. It ebbs away who you were, and you can be whoever you wish. Truly, I ask. What is it you seek? Vengeance. Ah, a most unsatisfying motive. Perhaps you wish to rest? My eyes feel tired, my body weak, but I fight against it. You are a magi? I ask him. Once. Tell me then, which way do I go? If you wish for redemption, no direction matters. You will never see your wife again, I fear. I pull out my pistol, aim it, but the magi has disappeared. Laughter rebounds around me. I stand among piles upon piles of human bones. Rivers run deep with blood. In my hand I hold a beaten heart. I look down to see a hole in my chest. Find the way. It lies within you. I snap my eyes closed and reach across the expanse of time. Reaching now with all my willpower, all my strength, and opening my eyes, I find myself back on the dune. I know which way to go now. I can sense her. I head north, destined for vengeance. The dunes pass by in a blur. I see her face as crystal clear in my vision as the moon above. My feet glide across hollow after rise, and soon the end comes before me. A cityscape rises from the ground. Shattered columns, ancient civilizations have existed here, but nothing remained to say they once lived except the hollow eyes of skyscrapers. Still rusting beams, windows glassless, like some graveyard of humanity. It echoed the emptiness inside of me. The cracked road leads through the giant's graveyard And I see tracks now in the dirt I find the corpse among rubble and debris Nothing could tell me it was Maureen Except the feeling that arose in my heart This was her Used and discarded Her bones were bleached and withered As if years had passed Perhaps it had been years since I had left the cabin Perhaps days Perhaps no time at all I lift the remains of a shell of a ghost And bury my love among the flowers which grow between the high towers Standing there, I close my eyes And feel the wind blow through my hair Feel the beat of my heart I turn and walk away, hatred now taking up all of me. Nothing else remained. I find the horse untethered, wandering the streets. It is saddled and well kept, so I search around but see no one who could own it. I climb onto its back and make my way north, following the main road through the city. Slowly the towers diminish in scale until I leave the graveyard of giants behind and strike out across flat land. At noon I stop by a brook to water the horse. In its saddlebags is grain and a nose bag. I feed the horse. As the sun scalds down upon my flesh, I think of the bandit leader's face, the thing which haunted my mind now. I need to find him and put an end to his misdeeds. Climbing back onto the horse's saddle once fed and watered, I follow the bare patchy trail along the flat land. Where this path would take me I did not know, but I must put my fate into God's hands. I come to the walled town at dawn. Above in the towers are watchers, and they glare down with dark eyes at my approach. I wave to one. Who goes there? Shouts the man with crimson hair I am a waykeeper I wish for grain and meat Well a wish isn't worth the paper it's printed on, friend The man nods But you may enter Open the gate The thick studded gate is opened And I guide my horse inside Ramshackle huts and tents lay inside Men, women, and children stare at me as I pass them by Unwelcoming to say the least The crimson-haired man appears I haven't seen one of your kind for some decades The man offers his hand My name is Killer Are you a killer? I ask him staring down at the tattoos on his hand skulls on each knuckle names on his wrist crossed off ain't we all a friend? I'm tracking a group of bandits ah their leader goes by the name of Harlan did you see them? killer nods they came by we hadn't known they were bandits or we would have hung them on sight I surveyed the camp. It is high-walled, with towers in the north, south, east, and west boundaries. Men armed with rifles stare out across the land. You know which way they were headed? I asked. No, but my guess would be to the caves and beyond. It's banded territory beyond those damn dark crypts. Hmm. You need a guide, he says. I can find a way. But still, Killer sucks his teeth. I have itchy feet, and my rifle ain't been used in some years. I offer my services. At what cost? Killer looks me in the eyes. Teach me the path of the Waykeeper. The Waykeeper's secrets are sacred, I frown. But prove yourself, and perhaps. Then it is a bargain. I take his hand in mine. It is. Killer uses his contacts in camp to grant the leader of the group to allow us sacks of grain, dried meats, skins of water, and ammo. For this, the leader wishes simply for me to return once the deed has been undertaken, and I promise that I will. We strike out northwest, destined for the caves. The land is hillsides and crevices, good ambushing territory. It is on the third day of leaving the camp that we see the dust trail to the south. What is it? asked Killer. I squint my eyes, knowing just well what it was. I suspect the bandits left some men behind to track us. How many? I climb down from my horse and rest my ear to the ground I slow my heart and focus and I hear the hooves thundering against the dirt Six Dead men. Yes. We ride north to a cliffside and tether the horses. Then I check my rifle, pistols, and dagger, making sure everything was ready. It was. The riders come galloping over the rise, I scope the nearest and aim, waiting until they come within distance. The shot takes him through the head. Killer's shot misses. The five remaining men close the distance as I reload. They begin ascending the crevice. I pull out my pistols and lean up against the dead fallen tree. Killer is beside me, his pistol also readied. The bandits run from one boulder to the next. Once close enough, they open fire, and I count the bullets. It's time for them to reload. Now! Now what? I leap over the tree and Killer is behind me, cursing. The nearest bandit pops his head slightly over the boulder to glance, and the bullet rips through his left eye. ducks behind the boulder. I hold no qualms about death and walk slowly to the next boulder as the next bandit blindly opens fire from behind it. The bullets merely go wide of me. I holster my pistols. I wanted to make these dogs pay. I leap over the boulder as the bandit is reloading and he jumps at seeing me. He goes to pull out his blade, but it is much too late for that. I slice the dagger across his face, through his eyes, blinding him, and then knee him in the groin. He deflates as I take hold of him and turn him around, facing the barrage of bullets from his brothers. Using him as a human shield, I close the distance to the next man. A bandit leans out too far and Killer's bullet catches him in the throat. Three bandits remaining. I throw the dead man against the next bandit, unbalancing him. His shot hits the ground and I punch him across the face. My knuckles crunching into nose and splintering bone, breaking his eye socket. I keep punching him until he stops moving. The two bandits turn and flee. Killer takes the one on the left through the back. I take aim breathing even and fling my dagger into the air and then slams into the man's back. I close the distance. The bandit is still breathing just as I had hoped. You bastards! Where is Harlan? I growl. Fuck yourself! He spits blood. I pull the blade from his back and then slice it into his fingers, dismembering them. No! Shit! Please! Where is he headed? To our base! Past the caves and to the east! I plunge the dagger into the bandit's heart, still in him. Killer stands beside me. You have a death wish or what? I turn to face him. A waykeeper knows not fear. Hold nothing inside of you and walk always in death's shadow. And with that I make my way to the horses and we head north. We come upon the caves. The entranceway is bordered by two giant hounds of hell. Frozen in granite when the end of times came. This is it, Killer says, surveying the dark interior of the mountain. What do you think lies inside? I smirk. Demon, surely. You're kidding, right? Smiles Killer. I kick in my heels. You're kidding, right? He shouts, cantering behind me. We approach the yawning mouth of the cave, and inside, pillars the size of towers hold the weight of the mountain from caving in on us. You know I heard these pillars were a god's teeth, ripped out when the end times came, and a god kept a way open for all those lost to wander the earth for all time. Killer holds wonder in his eyes, staring up at the soaring roof. God has no place here, I tell him. Keep your mouth shut and eyes open. Killer nods. Further we delve beneath ground. Time has no meaning in a place such as this. Eyes watch us as we make our way through the caves. Yellow slit ones. Red orbs of luminescence. Gray swirling ghosts linger in the corners of my vision. Souls of the damned trapped down here for eternity. We ride on. As the horses tire, we use the wood brought with us to light a fire. You think that's a good idea? Whispers Killer. I nod. Waykeepers are known by all those damned All troubled spirits acknowledge a kindred sense of hopelessness within us You're just a bottle of sunshine, ain't you? Smirks Killer Hmm I take my bedroll and place it beside the fire I'll take first watch Killer nods and lies down on his bedroll Light snores soon ripple through the silence. Why, I prayed to understand, did this man want to learn the waykeeper's sacred knowledge? I did not know. Every man and woman holds a place inside of them, a hidden chamber filled with a shred of longing. Longing to understand themselves and their own mortality. It was not my place to dictate which path he should trod. No. I view the darkness around me. The eyes blink from the abyss. I see movement in the corner of my vision and snapping my head round. There stands a hooded figure in the skirts of the fire's light. Marine. Long braided hair falls down past her face as she pulls down the hood. I stand on trembling legs. My love. I say. My voice echoing around the cave. The figure waves for me to come closer. I go to take a step closer. I can smell the oil she used to put in her hair. And I can taste her flesh. No! I growl, turn, and Killera stood there wide-eyed. It is a banshee, friend! I shake my head and look back. The figure throws back its head and begins to wail. A blood-curdling moan, and we both block our ears from the pain of listening to its woe. More figures appear in the distance, all hooded, screaming. I whip out both my pistols and the shots break through the apparition. They come storming at us. I run to the fire and pull out a long stick. It's in the flame. Killer is still blocking his ears and he is succumbing to their death wells. Soon it will drive him mad and there can be no coming back from that darkness. I dash around Killer, swishing the flames at the Banshees, and they fall away, afraid of the light. I drag Killer away from them, back towards the fire, and the Banshees follow, emboldened. I draw my pistol, firing until both are empty, but there are too many. Killer's eyes are rolling back in his head. Blood leaks from his ears. Listen to me, I shout in his ear. Know yourself. Do not fall prey to your hatred. It will be your undoing. But my words have no effect. I curse, unsheathing my blade, and slice it across my palm. Then do the same to kill her. I did not want it to come to this. I did not know if he was ready. But sometimes, as my father had once said, you're better off doing something than living with the fear of it. I bond our hands together and a white light begins to glow around us. My blood is the blood of the fallen, the blood of the watchers. It would kill him or else change him into something not human. Killer rides around on the ground Eyes aglow with the same white now Tendons stick out on his neck like spider webs It was close to happening He was going to die But as the worst was about to happen I hear Savannah's laughter float through the cavern There could be no mistake in the sound I look up and see her silhouette approach and the banshees turn and scatter. Savannah, my daughter, merely a spirit now, a shining blinding glimpse of light. I shield my eyes as she stops in front of Killer and places a hand on his brow. Instantly there is a flash of green light and a thrum of power bursts from her and her silhouette explodes. I collapse I awake with the fire still alight Killer beside it And I stand on unsteady legs What? What happened? My voice is hoarse Savannah? Killer looks up at me That was your daughter's name? How do you know that? I growl. I had a vision of a girl. We were stood in a copse of trees, overlooking a burned-out cabin. She told me you would show me the way. I frowned down at Killer. You saw her too? Killer nods. I sit beside him. She saved your life in exchange for her spirit. She sacrificed her soul for you. What does this mean? Asks Killer after a moment of silence. I look at him. It means you are a waykeeper now, boy. I stand. Come, we've spent far too long in this godforsaken place. We break camp and follow the path through the caves. As the ground begins to sland upwards, the stale air clears. We're nearing daylight. We ride through the mouth of the cave and approach a high ridge line, overlooking nothing but slanted high forest on all sides. The eternal forest. Killer looks around. I have heard tell of these trees. And what tales are they? It is a dark place full of monsters. Well then, let us not linger. I kick in my heels and we set off at a gallop across the clearing and up a trail, switching back and forth between high cliff sides. As dusk settles upon the land, we set up camp without fire. To enter the eternal forest is one thing, but to cleave the wood from the trees would be to test fate upon yourself. Darkness encroaches. How did you become a waykeeper? Killer asks. That is my story. Perhaps one day you shall know of how I came to traverse the world in search of redemption. But until then, be at peace with knowing that I followed after my grandfather's footsteps. He was a waykeeper? Indeed. With that we sleep. Whether it was the act of speaking the words into existence, I dream of my grandfather that night. He had been in absence in my childhood, appearing every few years with his silence overshadowing his presence. It was on my thirteenth birthday when he arrived, this time with two horses instead of one. My father silenced Mother, who had begun to cry. You must go, Father points to Grandfather. Be safe, my child. Grandfather nods to me, and we set off. A lone glance back to my home, which I would never see again. We had traversed the land for years, until one day I had earned his respect. When we had been overrun by ghouls one night, he handed me a satchel. Opening it, inside were two pistols and a waykeeper's shield. I had been a warden of souls ever since. Dawn breaks through the dense tree line. We ride. What lies to the east? I ask. Bandit territory. Then that is where we must go. We set off east. On the third day, the eternal forest comes to a crumbling bridge. We must cross, but midway across a familiar figure stands upon it. Tollkeeper. The blind man nods. I hear two sets of wolves, says the Tollkeeper. Your ears do not deceive you, calls Killer. Two waykeepers then. The Tollkeeper sucks his teeth. I suppose you have no payment again? I will not be hindered by a blind old fool, I growl. Hmm. Perhaps you may pass, if you can tell me what became of sweet Marine. I frown. She was a warm soul, warmer still beneath the bed covers. The Tollkeeper laughs. I slip out my blade. You have the Shroud of Death upon you, fool. I go to take a step closer when the man lifts his staff once more. There was no river beneath, and he would surely plunge us to our deaths. I run at him, and he falters back a step. I do not know why he hesitates, but I close the distance as he stumbles back. No! He cries. I cast my dagger and watch as it twirls through the air. The Tollkeeper attempts to block the blow with his staff, but it passes through the wooden stick as if it's not there. And the point embeds itself into his chest. The old man falls. You... You have the blood of innocence on your hands now. The Toll Keeper's eyes are wide. I can live with that. I growl, taking the dagger by the pommel. I rip the blade from his chest. Blood spurts out. I raise it into the air Be damned then For eternity The dagger plunges into his heart And his next words choke on his death throes I grab his corpse and toss it off the side of the bridge Killer nods Good riddance Old fool was batshit crazy I mount up What is sane in this world? Killer remains silent. We cross. The eternal forest roams across the horizon, but soon we come to a crossroads, and the signs are old and weathered, but by the skull etched into the eastern sign, we were on the right trail. The forest gave way to barren hills So much for eternal But then, nothing lasts forever We remain headed east Soon the crows appear Flocks upon flocks of them They follow us now Eyes of the bandits, perhaps It did not matter if they knew of our arrival For my pistols were ready and so was I. The hills slant ever upwards and we come upon a high tower dark and foreboding. On it swing hanged men and women. Watchers appear on the battlements scores of them but they do not aim their rifles. We approach the tower the iron door swings open and three men walk out through the doorway Who goes there? We are waykeepers, I reply, in search of a group of rogues, led by a fiend named Harlan. The man who spoke nods. They came here all right, four days ago now. They wanted our stores of food and ammo, so we ran them off. What exactly lies east of here? asks Killer. A good question. Nothing but swamp and buzzards, friend. The man approaches closer. If you plan on entering that land after Harlan, then you have my blessings, for I shall never see you both again. So be it, I say, turning my horse. We strike out eastwards, leaving the tower in the distance. The land slopes downwards, and soon we enter swampland. The going is treacherous, so we must dismount and lead the horses along the footpath. Signs of passage appear here and there. Ashes of a fire, used cartridges of bullets, a crumpled corpse of a woman. So a lag marine that it panged pain in my heart. We bury the woman and continue. We come upon the man at dawn the next morning. He has his back turned to us, rifling through an overturned cart. Dead bodies lie strewn like autumn leaves, blood pooled and congealed around them. Turn and lift your hands! I shall. The man rises slowly, arms held aloft. He turns to face us. It was the man who had slit my throat, what seemed a lifetime ago. You! The man gasps. It seems today the dead raised from the grave. I cock back my pistol. Wait! He shouts and takes a step forward. I can show you the way! I can lead you to Harlan! I smirk. Oh, you'll lead us to him, all right. And without another word, my bullet rips through his skull. What the shit? Shouts Killer. I go to the man's corpse. Taking my shield, I slice open the man's chest cavity and take his still-beaten heart from its resting place. Killer looks pale. What in the underworld are you doing? A blood invoke. I begin to eat the heart, and soon my veins fill with the power needed. I spread my arms and hiss. Black flies cloud out from my open maw. Soon the fly's material lies into a figure, and the bandit's face appears within the mess of insects. Master! The figure calls, echoic, distant. Lead us to them. Yes! The figure floats away over boggy land without causing imprint. We follow via the path and soon are underway once more. What was that? Ask killer. Something you will one day understand. The bog soon ends at a walled encampment, and the fog is dense here. Flames are visible on the ramparts, as are dark figures toting rifles. This is where Harlan is. I can feel it in my bones. The figure turns back towards us. He is inside, master. I nod. You have done your duty. You may rest. And with that, the vapors disintegrate. What's the plan? Ask Killer, surveying the camp through the scope on his rifle. We kill them all. They have the high ground. Yes, but we have a more sinister advantage. Such as? Watch and learn. I take my shield and blade and bury the badge under the boggy ground. Then slice open my palm and let blood leak onto the dirt. Soon the blood soaks in and I stand back, spreading my arms. Demons of the Waykeeper, I call to you. Rise and do my bidding. Silence. But did it work? Instantly the ground begins to grumble, and the dirt ruptures, and faces appear in the mud. I point to the encampment. Go! And with that the demons swirl forwards, bulging beneath the walls without hindrance. Screams ring out. I rush forwards. I rush forwards. The watchers on the walls are looking into the encampment for the attackers. I aim, scoping, and my shot takes the closest bandit through the chest. We go to the gateway, and I can hear the carnage inside. I can smell their fear. Footsteps approach, and the gate swings inwards. The demon, eight feet high, midnight black, with claws the length of my arm. It nods, then turns and runs back into the encampment. Come on! I shout, and Killer is right behind me. We rush into the camp, and chaos rules here. Men are being cut apart by the demons, a score of them. mist through the foggy air. Entrails lie scattered about like scarlet trailheads. In the center of the camp, a figure emerges from the tent. Harlan. He is armed with a rifle and sees me. Waykeeper! He smirks. Your time has come, I reply. The bandit leader throws down his rifle, reaches into his breast pocket and takes something silver out. I drop my gun. It is a waykeeper's shield. Yes, I'm like you, see? Arlen places the shield onto his coat pocket. This can't be. What? Killer hisses. Just kill him. A waykeeper cannot harm another of their kind, I tell Killer. Arlen smiles widely. It seems like you've come all this way for nothing. Fuck this. Killer points his gun, and I go to stop him, but the bullet erupts into the bright green flash. And Killer is blasted back from his feet. He rolls to a halt, and then looks up at me. Blood leaking from his eyes. Shit. Killer sighs. And then his eyes close. I stare across at Harlan. There's only one way to settle this, I say. A blood duel, smiles Harlan. We both draw our pistols. I aim, as does the bandit leader. and our pistols flash green lightning. The bullets move as if through water, too slow. They collide mid-air and the force from the blast sends my feet sliding backwards, but I hold my ground. I put all my energy, all my hatred, all my memories into the spell. The light shining from my pistol is golden now. Harlan is black as his soul. A figure appears beside me. It is Marine. Her ethereal form flings itself into the chaos, and my light emits red sparkling flares up high into the sky. No! Harlan shouts. but the power on my side is increasing. I know the cost of a blood duel, but not one such as this, with the souls of innocents weighing in the balance. I grip my teeth and grip the pistol tighter as the golden flames emitting from the barrel are rippling close along the beam of interconnected light. As the golden light reaches the barrel of Harlan's pistol, he screams, I will find you! He shouts. In this life or the next! I have no place among the damned fool! Now fucking die! With that, the barrel of his pistol explodes. and he is incinerated before my very eyes. Nothing remains but a burnt patch of ground to say he ever existed. I go to kill her. He is still breathing but barely. I lift him onto my shoulder and slowly we make our way out of the encampment. I place him onto his horse's back then go and retrieve my shield from its resting place. I ride westwards. Entering the Eternal Forest once more, killer comes to as dusk settles upon the land. What happened? He asks me. You almost died, fool. What of the bandit leader? He made a grave mistake. I smirk. Only a blood duel may decide which waykeeper the superior. I suspect he never performed one before. He's dead? I nod. Good. Silence. What now? We do as the waykeepers have done for millennia. We patrol the boundary between life and death. We keep those along the path safe. or as safe as can be in times such as these. Easier said than done, friend. But we must. We break camp, destined for the path back through the caves. The banshees pay us little heed, for they remembered us. Once back in the camp where I had met Killer, we stable our horses, and sit in a quaint hut they call a tavern. Locals eye us suspiciously. The leader greets us with a bottle of whiskey. I never thought I'd set eyes on both of you again. Well, I guess we were just lucky, I say. Got a job for the likes of you. A waykeeper's task. The camp leader wipes the sweat from his brow. Werewolves lurking in the black woods. Six days north of here. We're gathering a posse, and you'd both be a welcome set of pistols. I suck my teeth. Killer looks to me. I nod. So be it. Blood spills across the horizon. Scarlet scars as far as the eye can see. Once I'd seen beauty in the sunrise, but now... Now it is just another day without meaning. But now I had a purpose. To shield and protect those who could not do so themselves. These pages of my life I inscribe to you, Waykeeper. One day my story will end. And the mantle of keeping the way safe will rest upon your hands. But that is not yet our tale. May the path guide you. And that was Waykeeper by our old pal Rory Dwayne. A little about old Rory. Our pal Rory, also known as R.C.J. Dwayne, is an author living in the Midlands of Ireland. You can check out his website at roryduaneart.wordpress.com and you can find him on Facebook, YouTube, and Patreon as well. Thanks, Rory. And do old Drew Blood a favor, would you? Subscribe to his podcast wherever you do your listening and leave him a five-star review and a kind word, even if you're listening on YouTube. He needs soldiers on all fronts to win this battle. and he appreciates it. 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If selected, you'll get the full treatment, 10 Bananas. Well, I'm afraid this is where we part ways, at least till next week. So grab a drink for the road, friend. Maybe you've still got some time to catch yourself some Pokemons out there. Oh, hey, did you hear Japan's offering thesis to travel over there and bang chicks. True damn story. Anyway, see y'all next time. Go fuck yourself. Chester, pack our bags, son. We're going on vacation. Amen.