Silver on the Road (The Devil's West Book 1) (47 page)

“Our abbot, he disagreed, for these orders were not things that the Church could approve, and there were arguments that shook the alcázar. But the viceroy, he determined he would do this thing, to keep his position safe and please the king.” Fray Manuel seemed somewhat sympathetic to the plight of a man who answered to a mortal king rather than the almighty one.

“What were those orders?” Isobel asked. “What was the thing the king commanded him to do?”

“No se. I do not know.” He swallowed and looked at Isobel directly for the first time. She realized with a shock that he was not much older than she was, for all that he was broad-shouldered. She shoved that thought aside and focused on his words. “I heard this only later, what Fray Bernardo told us. He was there, at the Mission Alta San Diego. We joined him later and were blessed before we crossed the Sierra Madres.” He crossed himself, as though checking to make sure the blessing still held.

Isobel waited, but when he didn’t go on, she prompted, “Why? Why come here, the five of you?”

“There were twelve first. Three fell ill crossing the mountains and turned back. Two stayed in the Santa des Oro, as planned, to relay news. And two died in a storm two months ago, as we crossed the peak.” He crossed himself again and looked down at the thought of those lost companions.

“They tried to cross in winter? Idiots,” Gabriel said, barely under his breath. Isobel couldn’t disagree. It had snowed only a few days before in the lower hills, and the Mother’s Blade was much higher and doubtless colder. She kept her silence, however, and after a moment, Manuel went on.

“We had already lost too much time. Fray Bernardo told us the viceroy, de Marquina, he summoned los hechiceros, warlocks. We were told they made a working in the King’s name . . . to undermine the devil’s hold and weaken this land to Spain’s influence.”

He was overwrought at that point, the horror of what he was
telling unmanning him in a way that facing the terrors of the Territory had not.

“It’s not a bad plan, as idiocy goes,” Gabriel said thoughtfully, then shrugged when Isobel and Manuel both glared at him. “From a purely tactical point of view, I mean.” He looked at Manuel. “And the Church disapproves of this why? You’ve been dying to get your claws across the mountains for decades.”

“It endangers the soul of all who allowed it,” Manuel said, offended. “And the King, in whose name it was done.”

Isobel wasn’t sure how the actions of one person endangered the souls of others, nor did she care.

“It is God’s will that you recant your ways and come to the light. But this . . . this black magic is not the way. One may not bring salvation through darkness.” Manuel glanced at where his companions lay, still oblivious to the world, and sighed. “We were meant to stop it. And now we have failed.”

“You never thought to
ask
for help?” Isobel found herself incensed at both the news and the resignation in his voice. “Never thought to tell us what was happening, ask our assistance?”

Manuel blinked at her, as though she’d suggested he ask their horses for help, or the birds overhead.

“Iz.” Gabriel’s voice was quiet but firm, his hand outstretched to bring her away from the fire. She stared at the friar, then shook her head and turned away, following Gabriel to a distance where they could not be overheard.

“The storm you saw. It was a spell. A dark spell, sent to—”

“To burrow itself into the Territory,” she finished for him. “The things I saw, the illnesses, the bad dreams and unease, the missing people . . . all from that?” It seemed impossible. Medicine was a thing that healed, or sent dreams, visions, not this. “How?”

“I think . . . they didn’t know what they were doing.” Gabriel cast his gaze up at the stars slowly crossing the sky above, as though it were easier to speak when he was looking away from her. “Here, it’s a thing
we rarely think of: the devil
is
, demon and magicians
are
. You know what a medicine bundle is and how to use silver to clear your way, or you learn, or you leave. Out there . . . it’s different.

“When I was across the River, I encountered witches. They knew I was from the Territory and were curious.” He sighed and looked back down at her. “They were mostly no more than herbalists and true-dreamers, gifted in some small way, but there’s not . . . The winds blow differently out there, Isobel. The wind doesn’t speak, the bones lay silent. You can’t feel a true road; it’s inert, silent.

“I couldn’t find water there, Isobel.” He shuddered and swallowed. “I don’t know why. But only here are there demon and dust-dancers. Only here are there magicians. Only here, of any place I’ve been.”

She tried to imagine that, but it was like a city: too much for her to understand. “Then how could someone—someone from outside—do such a thing?”

“I don’t know. I would have sworn it wasn’t possible.” He rubbed his chin, the soft scratch of bristles an oddly comforting noise. “The monk is useless; all he knows is what he’s been told, and damn little of that, I’d bet. Farron could likely tell us if he hadn’t flitted, but it’s doubtful he
would.
”

She felt overwhelmed again, too much being forced onto her and no way to sort it into tidy understanding.

“You ask the wrong person, little rider. The rider refuses to let himself understand.”

“I thought you’d gone,” Gabriel said, his eyes narrowing as he turned to greet the magician.

“I went to deal with the demon,” Farron said, flicking a speck of dust off his sleeve. “It bothered me to leave threads untied in that manner.”

Isobel sniffed, picking up the faint scent of cold dust and dry mud surrounding Farron. “You killed it?”

“Please.” Even in the starlight, she could see the look of disdain on his face. “Killing them would do nothing useful. I claimed their essence so I might make better use of it.”

That was worse. She swallowed, not sure why she felt sudden sympathy for the demon. “You drained them all. Like you would a crossroads.”

“Effectively, yes. Don’t look so shocked, little rider. This is our nature: they would do the same to me if they had won. And I will be of far more use to you than they would.”

The doings of magicians were none of her care, and not wise to meddle with. Isobel took the warning and returned to his earlier words. “What did you mean, that Gabriel won’t let himself understand? Understand what?”

“This is not the time or place,” Gabriel said, lowering his voice again and glaring at the magician, who glared right back.

“And you say you do not trust
me
?” Farron’s expression actually looked hurt, but a heartbeat later, it had rearranged itself to the usual mocking grin, and she knew whatever it was, he would not tell her. “We needs deal with the immediate disaster first, little rider, and toss recriminations and revilement later. For now, it shall be enough to say that this little game has greater reach than those fool Spaniards could imagine.

“Seeing them, seeing the shape they make in the wind, I understand better. It was a thing shaped of ill intent, if no great power, but once here . . . The Territory has its own ways with dealing with intruders, little rider, and not all of them are healthy for we who live here.

“You need to find their medicine, find its shape in the wind, and dig it out before it spreads further. You, none other, Devil’s Hand.”

Isobel felt panic press on her, her heartbeat too fast, her skin prickling with cold sweat. The magician had his own secrets, appearing and disappearing, and everything Gabriel had warned about him was true. He had his own reasons for being here, his own reasons for helping them. Magicians thought only of themselves, their own power. She could not trust what he implied about Gabriel . . . but Gabriel wasn’t denying it.

“Easy,” Gabriel said, his hand a calming touch on her shoulder.
“Easy, Iz.” He was gentling her the way he might a horse, but she couldn’t bring herself to protest, not when that voice and touch eased the cold, calmed her pulse. Gabriel was here. He had made a bargain with the boss to guide her. He was keeping secrets, but none that would harm her, none that would prevent her from doing her job.

And this was hers. Her responsibility. Her obligation. Isobel pressed her right thumb into her left hand, pressing the mark there. The words the boss had said came to her again:
maleh mishpat.
The words had been strange to her, were still strange to her, another language she did not know, but the meaning had rested within her from the moment he had said the words, although it had taken her longer to reach it. The depth of it could not be translated, could not be explained, could not be described, only understood.

Isobel was beginning to understand.

“I am the cold eye and the final word,” she said, and when she turned back to the fire and the waiting friar, she knew that whatever differences they might have, whatever secrets they kept, the two men were at her back.

Wh
en they returned to the fire, Isobel had merely told them to get some sleep, that they would discuss things further in the morning when the sun was up. When she could see their faces, he thought she’d meant.

For now, Gabriel sat by the fire and watched the soft rise and fall of Isobel’s side as she slept beside him. Farther away, close to his companions, Manuel had wrapped himself in a blanket and had his eyes closed, although Gabriel was close to certain the friar was not actually asleep. He couldn’t blame him, and he didn’t particularly care. His only concern was that Isobel be well rested. Or as well rested as they could manage, anyway.

The magician didn’t seem to need sleep at all, spending the past few hours walking around the camp, occasionally disappearing but
always, regrettably, returning. He did a slow circuit of the friars still on the ground, then came to stand by Gabriel. “They’re waking up.”

“Good,” Gabriel said, not looking up. “Hauling them around would have been difficult, unless you could conjure up a wagon.”

“We could have just—” Farron stopped when that drew Gabriel’s glare. “You would have objected?” He laughed softly, the sound not carrying, and sat down beside Gabriel, watching the coalstone cool down as the sky slowly lightened. “You think she should not have blood on her hands?”

“I think she’ll have enough blood there soon enough. I’ve no desire she spill it sooner.”

“What, you think that they will simply fall in with us? That our pet friar will not revert back the moment his leader awakens and deem us all fire-worthy scum? And don’t think you’ll escape his wrath, legacy. You’re as tainted as the rest of us. Mayhaps even more so.”

The magician wasn’t wrong. For all that people had looked at him oddly in the States when they learned where he came from, for the most part it had been curiosity and some fascination that ruled, not fear or hatred. The people of the States saw the Territory as land to be taken, not cleansed, and any white man was considered a potential ally, not a threat.

“I don’t suppose you can wipe their memories clean, send them on their way home?”

The magician pursed his lips as though considering the thought. “No.”

“Good,” Gabriel said. He didn’t trust the man already, even less so were he able to do that.

“Of course, if I were, would I tell you? Or mayhaps I’ve already told you and asked you to forget?”

“You’re not fool enough to tangle with someone who rides with the devil’s Hand.”

“No. No, you’re quite right about that. I do not fear the devil but I’m not fool enough to tangle with him needlessly. And she’s passing
fond of you and would be most displeased with me. Assuming she remembered, of course.”

Gabriel hadn’t survived nearly four decades without knowing when he was being teased, maliciously or otherwise. But he was too tired to play the game just then. “Harm her, and I will shove a silver blade so far into where your heart should be it will come out the other side, and stake you in the middle of a river.” It might not kill the magician, but the combination of silver and running water would certainly make it unpleasant until he worked himself free.

“You’re vicious when you’re tired,” Farron said. “And you do not trust my oath.”

“No. I don’t.”

They sat together in silence as the sun rose and the rest of the camp began to wake.