The sun crept up higher into the Appalachian sky as the group made their way up the slope. The ascent became steeper, slowing their progress. Elise still floated next to Calvin, a bored expression on her face. She had played several games of Rock, Paper, Scissors already, losing every time. Calvin was the only one of the bunch who would freely grant her any attention, so she continued through the losing streak. She shot him a grimace, noting the glow in his eyes.

  “You’re using Resolve to anticipate my moves. Cheat!” She smacked his arm.

  Chip huffed, hardly tolerating the abuse of his rider. Calvin laughed and reeled back. He then gave Chip a little pat to reassure him.

  “You use what you got! I’m sorry!” He hardly stifled a chuckle.

  Calvin deeply enjoyed the feminine attention. He had tried for weeks now to convince the others, and himself, that his rejection by the Coven sat alright with him. It most certainly did not. Calvin found himself at an age where the opinions of girls really mattered. The most girly girls he knew, those floaty ones with the purple eyes, had cast their judgement and found him disgusting. To a developing boy, that judgement was reality. There was no denying it. This was like sinking in quicksand to him, he couldn’t struggle or he would just look more desperate. the other boys all had partner witches. They were all selected. They were all found to be sufficient.

  They were all worth it. Calvin was not.

  This was a reality which Calvin just couldn’t handle in a healthy manner. He sat up every night since, reliving the events in his head to analyze them, deconstructing his behavior and reconstructing a solution where he wasn’t so unacceptable. He had spent a lot of time in the mirror studying that accursed mark left on his shoulder. As if it was the source of his seemingly terrible affliction, he tried to scrub it off. He had rubbed his skin red, drawing blood, and even considered slicing it off. Ultimately, he settled on just sulking over the whole thing when nobody was around.

  However, Elise had seen his terrible energy and had not recoiled. He did not forget this. She had mentioned how bad it was, but her tone was more apathetic than anything. Apathy was normal for this particular witch, by Calvin’s measurement, and it was still a better reaction than disgust. Elise talked to him, she even played little games with him. Calvin, not having been raised well enough by his father on how to interact with women, was putty in the hands of the first young lady to show him any kind of attention. That young lady was Elise. Whether she knew it or not, she definitely had Calvin already.

  Elise, far from a conventional young witch of the Green Coven, was not so put off by Calvin’s abhorrent energy. It was a terrible and incomprehensible malady, yes, but nothing to worry about in her na?ve young mind. Calvin appeared to her to be a fairly personable, fairly strong young Gun who wasn’t too hard to look at. Unlike her partner Gun, the ever serious and moody John, Calvin seemed a brighter light in her life. She didn’t mind spending time with him. When Elise recalled all those wonderful things her sister Winona described about her own Gun, the man they called the Tornado, she thought more of Calvin Baird than she did John Calhoun.

  She blinked a little as she processed the idea that Resolve could help him win a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors.

  “Can that power of yours really let you predict the future?”

  Calvin shrugged, “It’s more like… a strong feeling. I get a hunch you will throw paper or something. I guess it’s not always right, I never really felt like I could see the future.”

  Logan butt in, “Resolve can let us read intent, Elise.”

  Elise looked over. She was a little relieved that the older and more experienced of them had decided to weigh in on the subject. “My intent, what I want to do?”

  “Exactly.” Logan waved a hand casually, still faced ahead, “Intent is determined when you make a choice to do something. This intent actually colors the currents of magic in the world, believe it or not. In a Resolute State, a Six-Gun can read this intent clear as day. You ever wondered how we can tell just when some beasty is lookin’ to strike? It’s their intent, we can see it. The more you decide on a particular thing, the clearer we can see what that thing is. That’s Resolve for you.”

  “Oh great!” Elise rolled her eyes, “So you can all just see what I want to do! That’s crap, ya know?”

  Logan chuckled a bit, tossing up uneven billows of cigar smoke. “Well I’d venture to say you picked the wrong opponent for your little games. Calvin can most definitely read your intent better than the others. He’s Clubs.”

  All three of the young Guns fixed their attention on their senior, now feeling a little competitive.

  “The Clubs tend to study and analyze the magical currents marginally more than Diamonds or Hearts.” The Bootknife continued, “They sweat the small stuff, try to figure it all out faster. Diamonds, like John and Buster, tend to be far more focused on the end result, the impact of the attack. Hearts, like me, are usually most focused on protecting bystanders or their comrades. We’re too goal-oriented to focus on the nitty-gritty, too.”

  “Oh great.” John piped up, “Go ahead and give Cal a big head about it…”

  Buster laughed, “Too late!”

  “Well yes you see!” Calvin had placed his pointer finger on his forehead, “I’m already three steps ahead!”

  All three of the boys, including the one still licking his wounds, had to laugh at the parody. Elise found this amusing as well. She liked this playful side of the Guns. Times like these she was reminded that they were still just boys, with all the goof and gaff that went along with it.

  “Laugh all you want.” Logan didn’t hesitate to ruin the fun, “But I have only ever been beaten in a duel by a Club. Sure, I been outnumbered and outgunned. But in a fair fight, only a Club has ever truly got the better of me.

  “Billy Baird?” John asked, knowing full well that Cal’s father was widely considered the best of the Clubs in the Thirties.

  “Not him. Baird and I have never been on opposite sides. Somebody else.”

  “You didn’t have to bring him up.” Cal shot him a sideways glance. “I already agreed not to talk about him.”

  “No I meant it, Cal.” John looked back at him, “Seems like the Bootknife knows your old man. I just got curious is all.”

  “Shut up, you ingrates!” Logan barked, “I know each of your fathers. You’re not special, none of you. And if you act like fools I’ll call ‘em. They’ll sort you out, if there’s anything left of you when I’m through.”

  Buster actually believed this. Clowns held familial ties in high regard. His parents would not tolerate misbehavior on his end.

  “You gonna actually get ahold of my Pa?” Cal held a flat look.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Naw he doesn’t give a fuck about you so you’re safe.” Logan couldn’t resist the opportunity to beat someone down.

  “Yeah, we already knew that.” Cal rolled his eyes, unphased by the jab. “You’re not slick.”

  “Sorry, Calvin.” John shook his head.

  “It’s cool man.” Calvin shrugged, “Say, Bootknife, are we close now or what?”

  Logan nodded, “Actually we are. The Old Man is about at the peak, if I remember right.”

  “Is this some old Gunslinger?” Elise asked, floating up alongside John. She had given up the losing games with Cal.

  Logan leaned back a bit, swaying with his horse’s steps. “Better you just see him for yourself.”

  Clopping along atop the large Bay named Kilgore, the Bootknife relaxed his grip on the reins. Calvin often studied the way that Logan carried himself. It was hard to think that the Bootknife was such a powerful sorcerer in his own right, with how nonchalant he appeared. He was always leaning against something, relaxing, smoking, or otherwise lounging. Cal wondered how such a man wasn’t immediately killed by beasts, or heavens forbid an oath-breaking Six-Gun.

  It was easy for him to falsely interpret his teacher this way, but he received his education on the subject during the test with cigars. Logan appeared calm, but was always ready for complex and deceptive attacks on his person. He was a masterful martial artist with punishing strength and razor sharp reflexes. Calvin had yet to learn the truth behind the divine inaction of those who mastered Resolve, but sitting mere yards away from him was the Six-Gun who would show him that truth. Not the man riding atop the tall Bay, but the one sitting still in the brush and the moss of the Appalachian mountainside.

  Logan stopped when they had reached a flat spot in the slope, bordered by an assortment of smooth, pale stones. It was clear these had been brought from elsewhere, placed in a circle around the clearing. From this part of the mountain the whole range could be seen, ancient peaks stretching North in a marvelous view. All three boys stopped behind him. Cautiously surveying the lush greenery, Calvin felt as if they were not alone.

  John dismounted his horse. He took a few steps toward Logan and Kilgore. Silence fell over the group as they tried to interpret the energy of this high place. It was serene, peaceful, and relaxed. However, crouched within the idyllic hum of nature was something of far greater power. Logan only smirked.

  “Hey old man, it’s me.” He called out, breaking the silence of the mountainside.

  In the center of the stone circle, amidst ancient stones covered in moss, two eyes opened. The boys immediately snapped to the movement, on high alert. It became clear now that among the rocks was a figure like a statue, sitting cross-legged Indian style, with two hands clasped together. An unmistakable brim of a Six-Gun’s hat stood out a bit in the rocks, the hat was wrapped in an old badger pelt, its flat paws hanging from the brim. The figure was as covered in moss and mushrooms as the earth and the stone around it, blending in entirely with the surrounding mountainside.

  The figure creaked as it moved, shaking moss and crawling vines from itself. The boys watched in awe as a man stood up from the brush around him. He had been stained green, his clothes fused with the moss and greenery of the mountain. Red-capped mushrooms grew from his hat and shirt, as well as the long cloak he had tied around his neck, draping from his shoulders to his knees. He appeared to be absorbed by nature, now as much a part of it as he was Mankind. Quietly, the Old Man stepped forward. He sported a long, tangled grey beard stained green with the plants around him. John noted a decaying gunbelt, with shimmering Gellerite poking from within. Even with the overgrowth corrupting its sheen, the pistol remained a clear symbol of the Posse’s might on this otherwise unassuming character.

  “Logan Denton…” The creak of an elder voice retuned the Bootknife’s call, “Oh.. Logan Denton…”

  Calvin found himself suddenly filled with dread, as the overwhelming pressure of the Old Man’s Resolve nearly melted his brain. The Old Man had turned it on like a switch, filling the air with the heavy weight of his magical prowess. Calvin felt utterly powerless in this moment, faced with the Resolve of someone who clearly understood the universe at levels far beyond his own comprehension. The strain of the shockwave of Resolve was causing microtears in his brain, forcing a dull headache.

  As quickly as it had come on, the wave of Resolve left. John fell to one knee, a trickle of blood running from his nose. Calvin, similarly impacted, held onto Chip for balance. Buster had passed out, he was now being held in his saddle by Mavis. Only Logan and the witches kept their composure.

  “What did you bring me?” The Old Man’s face had become sunny, a smile wrinkling his features.

  “Hey, watch it Crickett!” Logan grimaced, “I brought newbies, a bunch of twos. You tryin’ to kill them?”

  “Huh!” The Old Man turned to the boys, “Whipper-snappers these days can’t handle real Resolve, I reckon.”

  Logan shook his head, “Not true. You just don’t know how to meter out your shit.”

  “Oh, well, uh… my bad…” The Old Man stroked his long beard. The red mushrooms lived there too, springing back up as his hand moved past them, “Now what else did you bring me, besides young pistoleers, hmm?”

  “Here.” Logan fished in his saddlebag. He withdrew a deerskin pouch and tossed it at the elderly figure. The Old Man caught it effortlessly, bringing it to his chest. He opened the pouch up and fished out a very odd light blue flower Calvin had never seen before. It looked like the maw of some horrible sea creature.

  “Yes… Flower of Charybdis…” The Old Man groaned, “Very rare indeed. I can’t wait to unlock the secrets it keeps…”

  “Good enough?” Logan asked curtly.

  “Pretty good to me, Logan. What do you want?”

  Logan leveled his gaze at a struggling John Calhoun. “Train these ones up. We want to test in October.”

  “Too soon!” The Old Man had already made an expert judgement of their skills without even looking in their direction. “Next year for sure. They are strong, but this year is a stretch. Next year they will be the stars of the show!”

  “No.” Logan huffed, “I could do that myself. We want it this year. Can you do it or should I find another Sage?”

  Calvin found this exchange oddly amusing. Here was somebody of great power, to be sure, far greater than their teacher. Yet, Logan was comfortable enough to bargain, even call him out. Calvin was starting to see the real grit of his grizzly teacher.

  The Old Man groaned again impetuously, stroking that horrid beard of his. His Resolve had now completely died down.

  “You really have faith in them? You never brought me no students before!”

  Logan locked eyes with the Old Sage, “These are the first ones to pass my test. They ain’t just strong, Crickett, they got hefty nuts for their age. Not a lot of kids like them are running around in the Thirties. Can’t you just play ball. old-timer?”

  Buster sputtered a bit and threw his arms out in front of him. “What? Are we not gonna talk about how the old guy was fused to the ground! And all that grass and stuff living on him, what the actual hell?”

  John looked over to the Rodeo clown. With his own face still bruised and battered, he found himself jealous of the clown makeup. It would do well to conceal his shame. He did not add his thoughts on the subject.

  “You watch your mouth or I’ll punch out your teeth!” Logan fumed, “This is a master of Resolve! You will treat him with respect!”

  It wasn’t lost on Calvin just how casually the Bootknife himself was speaking to the old man. He wanted to point out the hypocrisy, but he knew better than to talk back.

  The elderly Six-Gun bellowed a bit and chuckled. Beetles and ants climbed around his clothes, stirred by the movement of his chest.

  “Denton, you’re an uppity whipper-snapper, I’ll tell you that.” He ran his hand through his kinked and knotted beard again. “I will introduce myself to your charges, and judge their Resolve. If they are up to snuff, I’ll help you out. But it’s gonna cost you.”

  Logan pursed his lips. The old man turned to the boys and took a step in their direction. The grass and moss rustled as his cloak fluttered behind him in the mountain breeze. The midday sun bathed him in a magnificent glow, to Calvin’s eyes. His profile, shaped by a prominent hat, billowing cloak and the power of his stance, exuded mystery and strength. The sight of him in the sunlight, with Logan and the whole mountain range behind him, was breathtaking.

  Calvin was almost too distracted to interpret the elder Gun’s words. His instincts screamed at him to go Resolute, and he followed his gut. Just as he entered a Resolute State, a sharp pang cut through all other distractions in his mind. Calvin followed his instincts further, doing the only thing he felt he could.

  The Bootknife caught it too, a Critical Moment thrown across the currents of magic around them. His eyes bugged as he interpreted it. “Wait!”

  He was cut off as an immense wave of Resolve burst from the old man like an explosion, washing the currents with his magic. Instinctively, Logan formed a Resolve Stall. He was too experienced in combat with other Resolve sorcerers to be caught off guard. One’s own Resolve Stall, if sufficiently formed, could act as a barrier for another’s crude Resolve, such as the wave of energy emanating from the old sage. Logan’s eyes were wide as he stood there in shock. The previous wave of Resolve might have been an accident on Crickett’s part, but this was an outright attack, a bombardment of Resolve sufficient to kill other magical beings in range. This much crude Resolve could fry the boys’ synapses and burst their capillaries. He knew the witches would be safe, but the boys, his boys, they would be wiped by this in an instant.