Thunk.

  Thunck.

  Click.

  I snapped the breach closed. Took care of what mattered before I let all the rest sink in.

  A vast desert, a hundred, hundred miles of sand and wind. But there, every so often, was an island in this sea of sand. Great blooms of green and blue and red. Waterfalls and rivers, cool and crisp glitterin’ in the golden sun. The distant calls of birds, monsters, men almost audible on the dry whisper of the wind.

  And above them? The genuine wonder of this strange new world.

  Cities. Made of wood and bone and twisted, living, breathing flesh. Distant, far, far off, they floated in the air like dandelion seeds. Like lungs plucked from the chest of some impossible songbird, and full up, ready to sing. All that green just trailed them, growin’ in their grace, and withering to brown as they moved along.

  Where they went life followed, and where they weren't, only death could be had.

  That was the land of the ‘Empire's’ frontier.

  This was the 'untouched earth' we'd come to colonize. Don’t mind the people already here, we’ll see about that.

  Even a pig-shit farmer like me could tell no man, North, nor South, was wanted here. Somebody done beat us to the claim. Build majesty over harsh and hungry flame and had done so before the first human ever saw the sea.

  Yet still, despite it all, I could see the Empire's work. The first inch of their spreadin’ rot. A little grey speck of civilization amongst all this wild yonder. A dull, dead, little port.

  Squat, flat faced-buildings belched out black smoke, black oil, and the stink of industry.

  Around it rose tall walls, but only by the measure of a mortal man. The whole thing climbed up from the deepwater bay to grow upon the cliffs over it, layers of life all between. From those who worked, to those who lived, to them that ruled. Hierarchy and dominance, even in their brick and stone.

  The Imperial way.

  Yet, compared to the cities above, they looked like a child's sandcastles.

  I looked beyond that, pushed our destination from my mind and saw to the sea.

  A vast and endless ocean. I had crossed that, or some part of it anyway. My mama probably looked out the window and saw the same blue water, yet we could not easier be more apart.

  "Almost beautiful," said Temperance, turning to me, "isn't it?"

  I stared at her, stared through her, and tried to see what she was talking about.

  My eye only caught the spirits that flocked in her aura's wake. Destitute and desperate, clinging to her like children to their mother. She was kind to them, I think.

  "It sure is somethin'," I agreed.

  She smiled and turned to go. The ghost of a child clung to her cassock's hem. Kicked off by a callous step.

  What Saint do I follow? What man was the Patron of ghosts, of the dead, of the sinners and cold memory?

  Could only think of one. He wasn't from the Old Gods, or the Trinity. No. He was a man of the North.

  Horned and Righteous was he. Dead now too, by most accounts.

  We trotted down the slope. No hurry, no rush. Just the long road, the hard walk, the stink of salt and sun. We let the it beat down for a time, then took shade under a toll rock that rose from the ridge.

  "Why is it like all this?" I asked, too dumb to know what I even wanted to mean. I just waved my hand to the horizon, the distant islands, and the cities that floated and drifted in the sky above.

  "They made it," Temperance said, her smile gone, her eyes dark, "you see those cities, the ones that float? Up there are the strong," she pointed a slender, calloused finger to a red flower in the big blue sky. It bloomed, and from it, came a great seed of bone and flesh. Rained down to infect the jungle beneath, "those are the Ascended. The perfect, in this place. They dwell in opulence and luxury... But those who are not, well," she nodded to the desert and dunes, "they get that."

  I stared hard at them seeds. The longer I looked, the more my Arcane Eye made clear what should’ve been impossible to see.

  Not seeds.

  Men.

  In the shape, in the way they fell. The way they hit, wet and hard.

  They were dumping people out like mama tossed grain to feed the raptor hens.

  "Are they..." I started, my mouth suddenly dry, "are they killing those folk?"

  Silence.

  Then just the wind.

  "No," she said, "no, they are not. They are banishing them. Cutting rot from the perfect flesh, pulling weeds from gardens high, high in the sky."

  She was getting dreamy again. Like when she talked about...

  Well most things.

  "How in the deep dark hell do you know all this?"

  A grin, spreading over better teeth than mine. She raised a hand to point to her head. Her eyes went wide.

  "I see."

  Had to take that as gospel truth. Who was I to doubt her now? Just let the crazy woman with the Saint Crown and the bloody lips guide me on, and all shall be well.

  At the very least she'll pull my skinny ass out the fire and give heal.

  Good enough, Lorcan.

  Good enough.

  Down we went. Across hot sands, through deep ravines carved by rivers dead. We reached the wall by midday, the guards at the gates by the dinner hour.

  I led us up, and stepped up to a boy in a tin can helmet and a long rifle. I tipped my hat and grinned the best I could.

  "Howdy," I greeted around a stolen cigarillo. Mr. Hat had good taste in short cigars. I'd never had the like before and enjoyed it, til now.

  Sweet and spicy. Tasted of vanilla and the scent of a warm day, "how you doin' sir?"

  Call them sir. All tin-pots get as hard as a bull bronto in the milk barn when you do. Makes 'em think they're in charge.

  "Uh," he cleared his throat, coughing dust and salt, "reasons fer..." he grimaced and looked over to the woman on his right.

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  Older. Harder. Smarter.

  Dammit. I was hoping for a pair of rookies.

  "State your name and business, stranger," said the old guard, "or be gone. Seen enough outlaws come out the Sweep. And you," he glared at me, "look just like one."

  Well fuck you too.

  "Name's Roche," I gave a nod to the Mother, "this here is a Chant of the Trinity Mother Temperance. I am her guard," I said, "you bismur- Uh, you insult me, you insult the Chant."

  Smooth. Smooth as a pig's tit.

  Neither took the bait.

  "Still going to need some real answers. Son," the old gal hissed the last word. Then spit to the side, and put her rifle ro the ready.

  Dipshit took the queue too, and then some. Barrel nearly under my crooked nose.

  "Good people," said Temperance, finally dropping that grey shroud of memory, lettin' them see her true, "my apologies for the coarseness of my guardian. He is a rough man, but a stalwart one."

  They both turned their heads. Stared, eyes wide, and jaws slack. It was like they hadn't seen her before.

  Or more like the saw her again.

  The Mother was small and unassuming until she was not. Then she was as tall and bright as you like. Her voice, her eyes, her blood stained lips all took the mind and twisted it around.

  "I am Mother Temperance from the Roally Chant. This is Roche. A Northman guide. A hunter of men and beast."

  Both guards nodded.

  "Uh," the young man's voice cracked and he bent a little at the hip.

  Lucky I don't pop your jaw square you little shit. That's a damn Saint your lustin' for.

  "Can you let us pass? For a Blessing, perhaps?" Temperance said, and the old woman gave her a slow nod.

  "Yes Ma'am, of course. Assuming you both can fill a mark. I don't mean to insult, but we had a lot of prisoners and indentures try and sneak back in. Escaped slaves too, if you can believe it," she said and moved to fetch a slate from the guardhouse built into the wall.

  She walked close and held it before Temperance.

  What the fuck?

  What was this? Some new fangled artiface?

  Temperance said nothing, just pressed her hand onto the featureless stone. Grey turned to black, and the guard lifting it to read.

  "Mother Temperance. Cleric. Apothecary as your Patron. Clean," the guardswoman mutter, then moved to me.

  Did she just read her Path? Just like that?

  Well shave my head and call me a monk. That was a handy thing. And very, very bad for me.

  My breath hitched and my balls shrunk as she offered the device. Now that I could see the mana-etched runes, I could feel the weight of it. It was hungry. Like a hound that had not been fed, it snapped and strained to reach into my mind and pull up all that I was.

  My eyes flicked to my Saint.

  You're safe, that gentle blue whispered without a word.

  Really?

  ‘Cause I feel like I'm two steps from a new hole I don't need.

  “Come on boy, pretend its a tit and grab the damn thing.” Said older woman with a snort.

  I pressed a gloved hand to the stone and the guardsman blanched.

  "Take your damned glove off son, I did say tit, ain't you never seen a-"

  "He hasn't. And can't," said the Saint, "he is Ritual Scarred, sir. His hands are to stay hidden. Read what is written, and you will know why."

  The older woman gave a heavy sigh, but some reason she did what Temperance said.

  "Roche. Gunman. Ah. Iron Saint as your Patron. Makes sense then. Rare to see a crusader out here. Thought you lot were all dead."

  Iron Saint. What was an Iron Saint?

  ... Wait, that bat shit god of muscle and steel that made his folk work until they died? That's who claimed me?

  I barely contained a snort.

  Never worked that hard in my life.

  A lot better than if it had said, Lorcan Roche, Desperado, Patroned by a godsdamned monster…

  "Alright," the guard nodded to me, "clean enough. I will warn you though. Agustus' Hope is a penal colony. The government here keeps indebted workers. You try and free any of them, and the Magistrate will hang you both."

  Temperance nodded.

  "I would never think of challenging the will of the great and good Emperor."

  "Nor me," we both fuckin' lied.

  "Good," the guard nodded and stepped aside, "welcome to Agustus' Hope, Mother. Crusader. Find some work and keep your noses clean and we won't ever meet again."

  That sounded just fine to me.

  Just tipped my hat, and let the Saint walk ahead.

  What lay through them big gates, well, I wasn't prepared for it.

  Never seen a proper city, 'cept from the back of a prison cart. Hard to appreciate the sheer scope when you're packed like canned fish and looking out through iron bars.

  But now that I was a free man, walkin' under my own rhythm.

  Well, this too was a sight.

  Flat-faced buildings made of stone, brick and rough wood flanked a long central street. All manner of folk from every corner of the Empire walked, led beasts, and rode up and down the dusty thoroughfare. I saw a caravan of men and women who bore long curved blades and dressed in white cloth.

  Waterfolk, mighty rare back home.

  A troupe of Pardaz hunters filled in a building with a big painted sign that named it the local hunter's guild.

  Whores in pretty dresses and nice-fit suits waved and hollered to catch any passing eyes. Men drank, smoked, and gambled in every other door and the sound of good music mixed in with the hustle of work and trade.

  Hammers on steel, hammers on wood. A smithy, a carpenter, a leather worker. The scent of leviathan oil and the distant clunk of some arcane factory. People bought, people sold. Guardsmen sat in a tower and watched it all, and the sun beat down on us from a cloudless sky.

  The only thing missing here was one few could see.

  Spirits.

  While they flocked thick in the jungles and even the deserts beyond, they were utterly absent here.

  No ghosts.

  No memories.

  No echoes of the past.

  In that way, this place was a scar. Hell, maybe it was an open wound. Carved from the world around, made somethin' different, lesser I suppose.

  There was more too. There was something queer in the way folk dressed and carried on. In the way they cut their hair and styled their beards.

  Wasn't just a new place, but a new kind of folk altogether. I was so far outside of any of this.

  Temperance certainly didn't seem to like it much. Her lips, still stained with wet blood, turned down as her eyes grew cold.

  "Come with me, Lorcan, do not be enticed by the sin here. Come, to the Chant," she said and took me by my crooked, wriggling hand. I could feel a lot more than touch, even through the gloves. Like them tendrils I had for arms could taste her sun-burnt skin.

  "It's time we discussed matters in depth, in a place more suited to our work," she said as we passed a pair of guards in long, black coats and brass buttons. Tin stars on their chests.

  Whatever you say Tempy, but I'm a hittin' up a whore house the moment your back is turned. This place had plenty of vice, and man, I sure needed some.

  We crossed the street. The crowd parted. I couldn't tell if they saw her or not, but she had a way about her that drove men and women and folk, drove them out of our way.

  She used some magic, all the time I think, to make people not see her, or to simply feel her the way she liked.

  Wasn't sure I liked that.

  We crossed the broad street and moved between a narrow alley.

  Two men, drunk, gave us a glance.

  Glassy eyes found the iron at our hips and they took their business elsewhere.

  Had to grin at that. Magic was good, but you always can trust in steel.

  We picked our way to a smaller, tighter road, cut between and behind yet more rows of squat buildings. I caught a glimpse of the walls that ringed the city, and saw the massive gun emplacements on the towers. Wonder what those was for. Not just monsters, I suspect.

  Finally, our path ended at a humble little Chant. The kind with the Trinity cross at the top. Three points to one. Three gods, one church.

  A sign for each, and I made them as I was taught. One for the Maiden, healer, and inventor. Another for the Mother, keeper, and carer. The last for the Crone, guardian and executioner. Spring, Summer, and Winter death.

  Best not offend them, even if you are a man of sin.

  There was no door, just a tattered curtain stained red with dust and sand. On the other side, incense and oil replaced the stink of life among humanity, and for a moment, I thought I heard a choir.

  Could almost hear little Alice singing with them.

  My nostalgia was shattered though. Smacked apart by an open-palmed slap and shove that nearly set me out the door.

  A little limp dick man just hit before I could think.

  Then he did something dumb; he turned his ire to my Saint.

  "Where in the Trinity have you been!?" He screamed in Mother Temperance's face, hand cocked, "and what in the hells have you brought back from the wilds, you stu-"

  Drew, kissed his eye with a barrel's bruise.

  Turned the gun in hand, planted the butt to his nose.

  A kick in the gut as he went down. One more to make sure it stuck.

  He was a Priest. I know, 'cause I saw the red collar.

  Good, he'd have something to say when he met his gods.

  Click.

  "Stop!" Temperance screamed, a hand over the barrel of my gun, "he's my husband!"