Silver on the Road (The Devil's West Book 1) (54 page)
Read Silver on the Road (The Devil's West Book 1) Online
Authors: Laura Anne Gilman
Whatever Zacarías had done, the wounds had finally stopped bleeding, and the smaller ones were already beginning to scab over.
“He should be able to ride in a day or two,” the friar said softly. “But you, too, must sleep.”
He handed her a tin mug filled with the tisane she had smelled from their camp before, and she drank it down without hesitation.
Despite her fears, she did not dream.
The next day, Gabriel was using the mule as a crutch, resting his arm across its back as they moved slowly back and forth, wobbly but upright. And when she woke on the fourth morning just before dawn, the sky too overcast for late stars or early sun, Zacarías was packing up their camp, readying to leave.
Isobel sat on a rock, Uvnee cropping grass contentedly at her feet, and watched the road where the two Spaniards had gone hours before. Her elbows rested on her knees, her chin was cupped in her hands, and the sigil was quiet.
Gabriel, who had been double-checking the straps on Steady’s saddle, gave the gelding an affectionate pat and walked—slowly, carefully, but steadily—over to join her.
“You’re brooding, Isobel.”
“A little,” she admitted. She reached out to touch his side, where a thick plaster covered the worst cut, and studied his face to make sure he didn’t wince. “Thinking, mainly.”
“Nothing wrong with that in moderation.”
“Now you sound like Farron.”
“Cruel woman. I retract my accusation.” He watched her, making her uncomfortable enough that she turned away, back to the empty road. She didn’t know what he would see, wasn’t sure what she wanted him to see.
“What would you have done if he’d persisted?”
That hadn’t been the question she’d half expected. Isobel pursed her lips, then shrugged, a faint lift of one shoulder. “Zacarías won’t let his brother leave the road until they were well back into Spanish-held lands,” she said. After that, they weren’t her problem any longer.
He huffed in exasperation. “That wasn’t my question.”
Still the mentor, even now. Isobel had ducked the question intentionally. If Bernardo had persisted, if he had insisted on continuing
his path to find every bit of the spell-ribbons, no matter where they landed, or what they’d become . . . eventually, inevitably, his anger and his refusal to acknowledge the customary law of the Territory would have caused him to give offense. And she, as the Left Hand, would have been forced to take action.
Something inside her twisted uncomfortably at that fact.
The final word, the boss had called her. Silver on the road, Gabriel had said. The curb on power, Farron had warned her. Where she had thought first of the power, the respect, then she had seen only the burden, the shame of being the tool of another, she now understood obligation. Calls Thunder had not shaken off responsibility, nor had the marshals. They had other chores. This was hers, what she had taken upon herself, even unknowing.
Anyone might come to the Territory. But to stay meant living under the devil’s Agreement. Even things that had no name. Even things that had not asked to become. And everything under the devil’s Agreement was hers to protect.
“I don’t know,” she said finally.
“Yes, you do.” He reached up and tugged the brim of her hat down a little, his expression gentle. “We’re going to be riding into the sun,” he said. “Don’t let it blind you.”
She nodded and jumped off the rock, then swung into Uvnee’s saddle. East and then north again, they’d decided, riding easy while Gabriel healed. To listen for news of other places where the storm still raged, where bones shattered, illness spread, or strange new beasts lurked.
Eventually, the road would bring her home. But not for a while yet.
FURTHER READING
For further information on my research for the book, visit me at
www.lauraannegilman.net/devils-west-bibliography
.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The road to creating the world of The Devil’s West is long and encompasses so many people; it staggers me as to where to begin. So I’ll just mention everyone I can remember, and pray they forgive me if I leave them out . . .
First and foremost, acknowledgments are due to whose work came first, the people who shared their stories in oral histories that made their way—battered but intact—down to my generation; the translations into English of legends and the stories of first encounters and the negotiations and conflicts along the trading routes. Your individual names may have been lost, but your words remain—and remain relevant.
The world of The Devil’s West is not ours . . . but the core of it remains true. And that core begins with them.
For their considerable aid, information, and introductions
(ongoing):
My driving partner, Christine Hobson, who made every stop from Kansas City to Colorado Springs, no matter how odd, and was patient while I took photos from every angle.
Chuck Bonner of Keystone Gallery & Museum (Scott City, KS), for the history—and the cold water!
Vibeke Adkisson owner of Purgatorie Gallery (Trinidad, CO), for giving us excellent advice.
John Edwards of the Flute Player Gallery (Colorado Springs, CO), for letting me rummage through his reference books.
Jane Lindskold and James Moore
Samantha Cornelius
Fabio Fernandes (for reality-kicking my Portuguese)
Natania Barron (for the Québécoise amendments)
Aliette de Bodard (for the Spanish conjugations)
Constantine Kaoukakis (for the Latin backup)
Aaron Carapella of Tribal Nations Maps
Meg Turville-Heitz
Everyone employed by the New York Public Library, especially everyone who ever had anything to do with the map collection.
Phil Nanson and Peter Morwood, for general weapon and tactical knowledge.
All accuracy is laid at their respective feet; all errors I accept as my own
.
And last, but nowhere near least:
John Joseph Adams, who first bought “Crossroads” and “The Devil’s Jack,” telling me that there was interest in the world of The Devil’s West.
The First Draft Alphareaders, whom I put through hell. Thank you again.
Everyone in the WordWar Room, for what remains of my sanity.
And most especially, the folk who attended the SFWA Readings in Seattle and Portland, and the folk at SF-in-SF, in the spring of 2011, whose response to the early drafts of this book kept me going and gave me hope. You guys rock.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LAURA ANNE GILMAN
is the Nebula Award–nominated author of the Vineart War fantasy trilogy. She has also dipped her pen into the mystery field, writing the Gin & Tonic series as L. A. Kornetsky (
Collared
,
Fixed
,
Doghouse
, and
Clawed
). You can find her at
lauraannegilman.net
and on Twitter at
@LAGilman
.
VISIT US AT
ALSO BY LAURA ANNE GILMAN
The Vineart Trilogy
Flesh and Fire
Weight of Stone
The Shattered Vine
As L.A. Kornetsky: The Gin & Tonic Mysteries
Collared
Fixed
Doghouse
Clawed
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2015 by Laura Anne Gilman
Jacket illustration copyright © 2015 by John Jude Palencar
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The text for this book is set in
ITC
Galliard Std.
CIP data is available from the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4814-2968-9 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4814-2970-2 (eBook)