September, 1938

  The days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, as Team Bootknife continued diligently training on Crickett’s mountain. The cycle of physical training, Resolve cultivation, and Viper School pistol practice continued in full force. They worked non-stop from Monday to Saturday, sleeping only hours between all six days. Sunday was the rest day, where they would be given free rein to roam the mountain or travel back to the Sanctuary. Often, Logan would take them back to have a treat meal or see some of his buddies.

  It was during one of the Sunday trips that Team Bootknife happened upon another Six-Gun team of the same age. One of Logan’s gambling buddies, a Jack of Diamonds called Smallmouth, had a team of boys who had heard that Team Bootknife was entering the exam that year. They had been training hard as well, inspired by the team’s ambitious efforts, and asked to join. Calvin had even known two of the boys on the team. Teddy Rennick and Eugene Waller were two of Calvin’s school buddies training under Smallmouth. The other was a boy their age he hadn’t known, a Mexican-American from out West named Esteban Boca.

  Logan seemed apathetic to the idea, so the other team joined in the Festivities in late July. By September, they had all acclimated to the harsh regimen Logan put them through. One particularly inclement morning, Elise and Mavis watched the boys doing their pushups in the mud. Joined by three other witches of their coven from Team Smallmouth, they sat on the treehouse deck covered from the pouring rain.

  Elise sat with one leg crossed over the other comfortably, sipping from an elaborately decorated teacup. Steam from the rose into her face, delivering the rich smell of the morning brew to her nose.

  “They’ve really kept at it every day, you know? Except Sundays.” She looked to another of the witches The raven-haired witch who had initially approached Calvin during the Solstice, Dorene Thomas, was now partnered with Eugene.

  Dorene, sipping from her own cup, nodded as she watched them. “I like it, it’s rough and tumble. Really exciting.”

  Her words were gentle and refined. Dorene was a sister-witch whom Elise respected. She was calm, collected, ladylike, and very smart. Elise believed that all of their kind ought to be like her. She had excellent control over her magic. Elise, who often struggled with more complex spells or hexes, had focused on learning forward-facing destructive spells, as they were the only kind her emotional state tended to amplify. Next to Dorene, Elise felt quite incompetent. Nevertheless, she liked her as a friend and was happy to have her on the mountain.

  “I think sister Mavis finds the training quite interesting.” Dorene smirked.

  Mavis had her eyes glued to them, neglecting her tea entirely. Buster had gotten sick of his sopping wet shirt and was doing his pushups without it. He looked like a machine, pumping out the repetitions between gulps of air. The rain coated and slicked his body, which had refined with the months of brutal exercise and hearty alchemical meals. She hadn’t even registered that her name was called.

  “She’s an animal.” Elise shook her head. “Though I can’t say I blame her. They’ve all grown pretty well, as well as a bunch of filthy Guns can grow anyways.”

  “Must you be so rude to our men?” Shirley Mack, the tall witch partnered to Esteban, glared at Elise.

  The friction between the two of them had begun from a very early age, and would likely continue far beyond their period of partnership with Grady’s Posse.

  “Your men, is that what they are?” Elise sipped from her cup, “I didn’t realize the Posse was a boyfriend delivery service for lonely girls.”

  “We like our Guns!” Wendy Redwood piped up. The shortest of the bunch, Wendy wore a large black bow in her hair to appear taller. She was also a step wider than her sister witches, an insecurity which Teddy had met with reassurance that she was, in fact, the most attractive of the whole coven.

  Dorene elected to play the arbiter, “It is natural for young boys and girls to get on this way, but it’s also natural for Elise to feel differently. There’s no wrong answers here, ladies. Let’s not fight, or we’re no better than the boys in the Saloon.”

  Elise had to chuckle at that one, as did the others. The boys got rowdy in crowded spaces, with lots of Resolve signatures mixing together and agitating the less mature of the Posse.

  “What do you think they’re gabbing about?” John asked Calvin between huffs, both boys looking to the treehouse.

  “Probably laughing at us, if I know Elise.” Cal responded with a slight cough.

  He too had removed his shirt for the morning’s exercise. Calvin had noticed the changes to his physique. His body had gained contours, his arms thickening, and his shoulders were much larger and firmer than before. He felt like if he kept it up he might hang up his pistol and become one of those strongmen from the competitions. His clothes were getting tighter around the chest, thighs and arms, and he had to get bigger sizes from the tailors at the Sanctuary. It felt good to improve himself, not just physically but mentally as well. His study of Resolve under Crickett had made him more confident in their sorcery.

  He was happy to have Teddy and Eugene with the group. They were not as strong with Resolve as John was, to be sure, but they were not members of the great families either. Esteban, whom Cal hadn’t known before, was the strongest of the three. He was quiet, though, and he and Eugene tended to follow whatever Teddy said. The loudest of the bunch got his way more often than not. Calvin was happy to see Teddy hadn’t lost his loudmouth nature with all the training and trials.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “I bet they’re talking about how cool we look!” Teddy butt in. He was still wearing all his clothes, letting his cotton crew shirt stick to him. “I bet Wendy really thinks all the pushups I’m doing are awesome.”

  “You like your partner witch a lot, huh?” Cal chuckled, breaking up his breathing rhythm.

  “She’s the sweetest girl, man.” Teddy spit onto the ground, “She likes to bake for us. And she loves a bit of hand-holding. I think I’m in love, Calvin.”

  “Be careful with the witches.” Esteban decided to speak up.

  All five of them looked to him now, their pace slowing. This earned the ire of their slave driver.

  “Pick it up, before I kick the shit out of you!” Logan barked. Smallmouth smoked a cigarette, standing with him. It was protected from the rain from Smallmouth’s extra-wide hat brim.

  The pushed harder again, coming to a better pace. The conversation had to continue, however, the topic was too critical to the young Guns.

  “What do you mean, Esteban?” John huffed.

  “Oh here we go again with this shit.” Teddy rolled his eyes. “He’s been saying this stuff since we met him.”

  “What?” John reiterated.

  “The witches, they aren’t here to play house.” Esteban continued. His noticeable Mexican accent painted his words, “They are here to have us protect them while they study things. Curses, monsters, that stuff.”

  “That’s obvious, what’s so bad about it?” Calvin looked confused.

  “They value the Coven over us, trust me. Many Six-Guns like us end up dead because the witches need something dangerous done.”

  John focused on him, taking in the idea.

  “A lot of Six-Guns marry their witches for life.” Cal grunted.

  Esteban nodded, “I’m not saying they’re bad, man. I’m just saying we ought to be careful is all. Don’t let a pretty face march us to an early grave. You ain’t even got to worry about that, anyhow Calvin.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right.” Cal looked back to the ground as he continued his pushups. “I don’t know. Yeah I don’t have to worry about it.

  Cal enjoyed having more of his friends join in on the rigorous training, but he didn’t like how it made him feel that now there were five partnered young Guns on the mountain, and only him and Logan who were unpartnered. Smallmouth’s partner witch, an elegant lady of the Coven named Tamitha, would sometimes come by to offer him some news about the Coven or assist the girls in their own studies. She didn’t appear too close to Smallmouth, but they looked to Calvin to have an effective professional relationship. Seeing all the pretty girls made him feel even worse about his situation. He thought that he would get over it in time, but it only cut a little deeper every day.

  Calvin was growing up to be an expert at the old three-word command, suck it up. It had done an excellent job sucking it up and committing to his training, something Logan had told him a few times in private, and he knew he would have to just keep sucking it up. The Bootknife had offered to see if a pretty Plaidshirt girl would take five dollars to give him a kiss, if it would make him feel better. He said he would foot the bill, and mentioned that a homely one would probably do it for only one dollar. After all, a kiss was a kiss either way. Calvin didn’t much like that idea, electing instead to just suck it up.

  All six of them continued their routine through the summer months, feeling the intense heat take its toll on their bodies. They continued to drink Deisel, working on their gunslinging into the long hours of the night. They actually got to shoot their guns during these short summer nights, adapting to the intense recoil of the .458 Comet round.

  It was an invigorating feeling for Six-Guns young and old, the crack and kick of the pistol. This was their namesake, after all. To shoot was almost a divine action, to inflict deadly force from behind the gleaming Gellerite. Fortunately for them, Smallmouth was more schooled in the Viper than Logan, so the Bootknife took a backseat for that leg of the training. Calvin felt himself improve every day and night.

  With Smallmouth teaching them the Viper, Logan was free to teach the boys hand to hand combat in the ways of the Nootu. Primarily, Pugilism. Boxing and grappling were the two main ways Six-Guns fought with their hands and many of them were experts, like the Bootknife. Logan worked in his knife fighting with this, taking care so they didn’t harm each other.

  Daily sparring sessions built up their muscle memory and kept them sharp, pitting the boys against one another in friendly hand to hand matchups. They would pad their fists with leaves and moss, wrapping them up in bandages to soften the blows. This was a particularly nasty, Spartan element of their training. It left them with bruises and minor cuts which the alchemical meals repaired every day.

  It was after one of these brutal sessions when Cal sat back to back with John, both of them bruised up. Calvin wiped the blood from a busted lip, catching his breath.

  “Hey…. Hey man…. You good?” He asked, trying to hold his concentration.

  John dabbed at his bloody nose with his sleeve. “Yeah…Why you ask?”

  Both of them sat in silence a moment listening to the sounds of summer. The heat was oppressive, wringing sweat from them by the bucketful. A large raccoon passed them by, moving to the camp to see what it could steal.

  Cal turned his head a bit. “October is getting closer. I just… hope you’re ok.”

  “Why do you even care, man?”

  “I just want you to get back at that guy.” Cal looked to his boots, which had worn in significantly with the passing months. “We don’t talk.”

  John was silent for a long moment. Calvin wondered what could be in his head. In many ways, he felt like he could relate to John. Their Resolve signatures were very complementary, they just worked well together. Cal asked himself if there was a world where they could be friends.

  “I’m sorry, Calvin.”

  “Sorry?” He raised an eyebrow, “What for?”

  John’s eyes suddenly felt heavy. The events of their initial outing a few months ago had weighed on him through all their training. It seemed to him that no matter how hard they trained, it wouldn't matter when he became paralyzed in combat again. He had been watching Calvin, since that mission; he could tell that his team mate had been going through a lot. At times, he felt the need to apologize. It wasn't until now that he found the chance.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t help you back then, when you got shot.”

  Calvin pursed his lips, trying to think of how to respond. He hadn’t considered John or anyone at fault for his incident in Chattanooga. He knew that his own inaction had gotten him shot.

  “Nah man, you and I both froze up. Everybody did. Wasn’t your fault. ‘Sides, I’m here still. Water under the bridge.”

  That answer made John nod a bit, his eyes leveled to the ground. He found he still had more to say.

  “I never said thank you.” John turned his head a bit.

  “For what?”

  John let out a breath. “For sticking it out with me, with this Willerbee stuff. Not everybody gets that kind of help. I know you got your own problems. I hope that after we’re done with the exam, and I get my licks in, we can figure out how to fix that curse. I owe you anyhow.”

  The two of them sat there for a few more minutes. Calvin had plenty to say, but he didn’t know how to say it, so he just sat in understanding. An unfortunate side effect of the ‘suck it up’ mentality for Cal was his growing inability to properly communicate his feelings.

  Calvin thought about John for a long time, about how he must feel. His mind had gone to it many times in the months of their training, but now he felt just a little different. He didn’t envy John at all, this was a hard place to be for him.