The Brave

This is what you get, they said back. This is the least of what we deserve.

They weren't wrong. But she had to know what that was and where it was coming from. She walked out from behind the bar; they tried to drag her back. She pushed them aside. She told them to settle down, that she'd be back. They weren't asking for anything they didn't deserve, after all.

Wherever the song was coming from, it was beyond the town limits. She walked over to the stables looking for a horse, but the stables were locked. A message on the door directed her to the Sheriff's Office.

Garrick was there. She asked for the keys to the stables, as if his throat wasn't sliced and his scalp wasn't missing. Garrick took offense to that for some reason. He was a good man, he said. He did wrong in the past just like she did, he said, but she let that woman kill him anyway. Why did he deserve to die while she lived? What made her change so damn special?

She said she didn't remember saying she turned over a new leaf. Bullshit, Garrick called. It was in her decisions, her actions. She asked Garrick, what about his actions? What about the racial slurs and the white supremacy, and treating the people under him like trash? He never changed, she argued; he just stopped murdering people in cold blood. And she told him, one last time, to get the goddamn keys to the stables so she could go find out where that singing was coming from.

Garrick, of course, hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about.

The stables had already opened when she arrived, with Vic and Clem standing in front of her horse. Vic wanted to know if she felt different, now that she'd had her revenge. Clem asked about the wives and children of the people she killed; would she give them their revenge if they came looking for it?

She had to think on it, but she liked to think she would.

Vic pointed out that not all of them could shoot like she could. For those people, the only chance they had at closing the book was to see her hang by the neck for her crimes. Instead she hid, he argued, like the coward she was. If she truly believed their deaths were necessary, then she had to agree that her death was necessary as well.

She did. She had no clever comeback or turnaround, nothing to justify herself. She was tempted to say that she was defending herself, defending Sam, defending Wind, and her victims in turn were stupid enough to try and defend what wasn't worth defending. But the law was the law, and she never broke it in service of anything truly righteous or necessary, save for maybe those last couple of people.

All she had was the song, the one they couldn't or wouldn't hear, and the pressing need to find out where it was coming from and who was behind it.

It didn't feel like she was going anywhere. It felt like her horse was running in place and the world was rotating under her. It felt different yet it made no difference, because she was getting closer to that song, that beautiful voice that radiated through whatever atmosphere this was. Day shifted to night, without warning and with unnatural speed. As the world began to feel suddenly familiar, she recognized the horse she was riding, and she leaned in to gently pet his mane and whisper encouragements into his ear, assuring him that he need not run himself to death this time.

Then the desert shifted to grassland, and she saw a familiar farm house coming up fast in the distance, prompting her to pull the reins and slow her horse down to a trot. Looking over it made her stomach twist into knots as she pondered everything that house was supposed to be, could have been, and everything it actually was.

And then the door opened, revealing him in all his handsome, rugged glory, no wounds, no haunted expression, no anger, just a big smile for the wife he had missed so much. After the initial shock, she knew it had to be a trap to keep her in this place, but it was an excellent trap, and she ran to give her husband the kiss she'd been waiting five years to give.

He was so real, and so warm, and he looked so good, and she told him as much.

He said she didn't look so bad herself, and he took her by the hand and guided her to their favorite spot in front of the house, where they would always break for lunch while they built it up, where they'd camp out to watch the stars and make love to stay warm and ensure a blissful slumber. There'd be none of that now; even as a piece of her mind was screaming about how perfect and right this was and that they could stay in it forever, she knew she needed to go; the song, however much it had faded, still called out to her.

Snuggled up against him, laying on the cool, grassy ground, she told him how sorry she was that she didn't stay and fight with him. She knew he wanted her to live, but given that this world seemed dead-set on reminding her of her failures in life, she supposed she'd been judged for it somehow, or maybe she'd judged herself. Either way, apologies were clearly owed.

He told her to put that out of her mind, that of course he wanted her to run. He was proud of the life she'd built for herself, and he even liked her new friend. Her heart sank, and she squeezed his hand and asked if he knew that nobody could replace him. He said that in this place, there were no such concerns.

She told him about killing Vic and Clem, and how she supposed things were even now, fleeting as her satisfaction was. She told him what they told her at the stable, about how if they deserved death, then so did she. He supposed he agreed, though the idea of someone deserving to die struck him as funny since everyone owed a death. But he also wondered if wanting to live was really so horrible. Absolution in this life may have been impossible, but he had to ask what would have a greater effect on the balance of the world: Turning herself in so the families of her victims—their victims could have closure, or working to better the world around her until justice came calling on its own, in whatever form?

She mused that she could just stay here. After all, there were worse ways to go out than avenging a loved one, and far worse places to be than in this eternity.

True, he said. But then she'd never find out who was singing to her.

That song. That beautiful song was back in full force, and he had heard it too. Somehow it didn't surprise her. It was coming from just over the hill to the east, he said.

She didn't want to leave just yet, she said.

He said not to worry, that she'd be back when the time was right, and that the place might even look a little different, too; it all depended on what she did when she woke up. Either way he would love it, and her, as much as he did in his last breaths of life.

Eternity, he said, was funny like that.

She couldn't resist one last kiss; the kiss goodbye she always wished she could give him. When they parted, he smiled at her one last time, and she smiled back and dashed off to the hill that had suddenly appeared in the east.

It grew steeper the further up she got, to the point where she almost had to climb it like a mountain. But her fingers and feet dug easily enough into the earth, and the song in the air, growing louder and louder as she came closer to its crest, kept the strength in her limbs.

Her head popped over the crest to find the sun was coming over it fast, and with one last burst of strength, she pulled herself up as the sky and the air went white.

* * * * *

And then it was suddenly night again; a gorgeous night, actually. She saw darkened tent canvas when she opened her eyes, but there was just enough of a nip in the air to tell her as much. That, along with the feeling of the blanket on her body and the bedroll on her back, told her that she was conscious, and when Sally turned her head she saw the stars were just starting to shine across a darkening sky. Just a few feet outside the tent was a roaring campfire; beyond that, a sparkling tributary. On her other side, Wind was kneeled over her, her expression focused and severe as she sang that wordless song that had carried Sally through wherever she was.

The blonde was still for a few moments more, wanting to enjoy that melodic voice for as long as she could, but she ultimately couldn't resist telling her friend "You sing so pretty."

Wind jumped and turned to her, the native's face instantly melting into relief. Sally smiled back; she started to push herself up on her elbows, bearing the pain in her stomach, only to be gently pushed back to the ground by Wind.

"No no," she said, "rest, cante skuye. Take it easy."

Something deep within Sally's mind made a mental note to ask Wind what "chahn-day skue-yea" meant, but her conscious self, however little of it was active, didn't care. "S'long as you keep singin' to me," she muttered, "I'll do anythin' you want."

Wind smiled, easing her hand over Sally's. "I'm not singing to you," she said, "but I'll keep singing for you."

And when Sally closed her eyes, so she did.

* * * * *

When Sally woke up again, Wind gave her something foul to drink for her considerable pain, then asked her to pull her shift up so she could change her bandages. Sally was hesitant to expose herself to Wind even briefly, but got over herself when she realized that she had to have gotten into that shift somehow. It wasn't that she was embarrassed or even offended; more like disappointed.

Things were what they were, though, and there were more important things to worry about. "So how long've I been gone?" Sally asked, sitting up while Wind unwrapped the bandage around her stomach.

"About four days," said Wind. "The bullet missed the liver, kidney, and stomach proper. The surgeon got it out, but you'd lost a lot of blood."

"Any infection?" asked Sally. "Thought I heard somethin' 'bout an infection."

"Well, you don't lose four days from a bullet wound unless your body's fighting something off, but luckily I learned a few things from my father..." With the bandage off, Wind looked closely at her wound. "...and it looks like you might be doing okay. I could probably even take the stitches out tomorrow." Wind put her hand to Sally's forehead. "Feeling any chills?"

"Not really. It's a little cold out here, but not..."

"Yeah, your fever's gone down, at least. Nothing out of the ordinary?"

"Just a helluva lot of pain...actually it's goin' away a bit."

"I wouldn't make you drink that crap without a good reason."

Sally chuckled, then thought of something else. "Also, is a bullet wound s'posed to be...sticky?"

"When you put honey on it? Absolutely."

Wind could almost hear Sally blink in confusion; it amused her. "Honey?" she asked. "Really? Ooh."

Wind was already slathering that honey on her wound, taken from a jar where it had been mixed with other oils and herbs. "Part of a concoction that helps it heal properly."

"What else is in it?"

"Trade secret, I'm afraid," Wind said with a smirk, capping the healing mixture before dressing her abdomen with a new bandage wrap.

"Fair 'nough, I guess." Sally smirked back, remembering that first free lunch she offered Wind. "So where are we?" she asked.

"A little spot I'd found on my way into town. Nice scenery, clean water, lots of fish. It's in Navajo territory, but they happen to like me, so nobody'll bother us here save for Charlie. He should be here in a few days with our reward for killing the Van Patten boys."

Sally winced.

"What's wrong?" Wind asked.

"Nothin' really," she said. Her bandage changed, Sally let her shift slide back down her body before laying back down and closing her eyes. "But if he ends up smackin' me across the face, don't shoot 'im for it, 'cause I sure got it comin'."

Not long after, she felt the bedroll shift next to her, and felt Wind's lips on her cheek. This wouldn't do at all; Sally turned her head so her love could give her a real kiss. It was slower and gentler than she wanted, but given the painful hole in her gut, it was hard to fault her.

"I'm so glad you hung on," said Wind.

"It's 'cause I'm selfish," muttered Sally. "Couldn't imagine not ever kissin' you again."

"I can live with that, cante skuye," said Wind, the last thing Sally heard before she passed out.

IX. - The Pure and the Damned

Sally, to her surprise, never got smacked across the face when Charlie finally arrived three days later. To her bigger surprise, he had brought someone else. "Goddamn, girl," that someone shouted, almost laughed, after he jumped off his horse. "Didn't I tell ya 'bout messin' wit' crazy?"

Sally was up and moving at that point, wearing the light-colored farmhand clothes that Charlie and Wind packed for her when it was time for the women to leave town. She moved slow, however; it no longer hurt to breathe, but it sure as hell did whenever she pushed herself too hard or put too much pressure on the wound.

Still, that wasn't going to stop Sally from giving Big Jake Russell the biggest hug she could. "Aw, Jake," she said, "seems you can't not mess with crazy when you're a lil' crazy yourself."

"Well, at least you're still alive," said Jake, backing off the hug and taking Sally by the shoulder. "Shot in the gut and you just shook it off. That girl's a miracle worker!"

Charlie seemed impressed, but declined to give Sally anything more than a short nod and an awkward smile. He went right over to Wind to be brought up to date on the last week of Sally's progress.

Of course, Jake had to know: "Is it true? What Charlie said 'bout you bein' an outlaw?"

Sally nodded. "I'm sorry if I let you down, Jake."

"Damn," said Jake. "So this here's prolly goodbye anyway, huh?"

"I'm thinkin' it is, darlin'. I dunno how much the rest of town knows, but if I stick around, it ain't gon' be long 'til they know everythin'."

Jake looked away, stewing in his heartbreak. "So what comes next, then?" he asked.

"I dunno," admitted Sally. "We ain't talked about it much. A part a' me feels like I'll hafta find my own way once I'm recovered."

"Now don't make this sadder than it already is. If ya gotta leave, leave with her. It ain't like she don't like ya; I caught her lookin' over at you twice already while she's supposta be talkin' with Charlie!"

Sally resisted the urge to look back and caught herself looking down instead. "Yeah, well, I'm sure...but that don't necessarily mean nothin'."

"Sally," said Jake, with a hand on her shoulder that felt more paternalistic than she expected. "If it feels real," he told her, "it prolly is. You run away from that, you end up a drunken old fool like me. Be a waste of a fine woman, I think."

Sally looked up at her dirty old friend and gave him a warm smile before leaning in to peck him on his lips. The encounter sent Jake's blood rushing to his cheeks, and he retreated into a shy giggle.

"Good for you, I take it?" she asked, batting her eyes.

"Better than I coulda imagined," said Jake, and Lord did he mean it.

Charlie came over shortly after with a large poke in his hand. Jake took this opportunity to go tell Wind to take extra care of the best barkeep he ever knew, leaving the two of them conveniently alone.

Sally started, "Look, Charlie—"

"This is your cut of the Van Patten bounty," he cut in, offering the poke. "It was $250 for Vic, $150 for Clem Stuart, and $100 each for his crew, makes it $800 even. I know you did most of the work, but I figured we'd split it three ways since I had to deliver the bodies, or what was left of 'em anyway. So that's $267."

"Yeah...yeah, it sounds good," said Sally, taking the poke off his hands. "Thanks." He nodded, and then Sally noticed that he didn't have his deputy star on. "Charlie," she said, staring at the vacated spot, "you didn't—"

"Handed it in myself," he said. "Decided I'm not really fit to be a lawman, given the past few days."

Sally wanted to melt into the earth. "Charlie," she started.

"Just tell me this," he cut her off, "was anything I knew about you real?"

"'Stillwell' was my name before I took Sam's," she insisted. "I swear to God, I never lied about the kind of person I was or the way I felt about you."

Charlie shook his head. "Man, I wanna believe that."

"Well, what's stopping you?" asked Sally. "What can I do to convince you this ain't some game to me?"

"Honestly, Sally? I don't know."

Sally took a deep breath, tried to wipe the dust out of her eyes. "You're my best friend, Charlie," she said quickly, like she only had so much air to say it with. "I wish you could read my mind right now so you could see that losin' you's the worst part of this whole mess. I dunno what else I can say that—"

This time, Charle stopped her with an embrace, surrendering to his first instincts about her, and found it difficult to let her go. Still, when they separated, it was with new eyes that Charlie looked at her, loving, but guarded.

As she and Wind watched Charlie and Jake ride off into the sunset, she thought maybe that was for the best.

After he got back to Grant's Hope, Charlie partnered up with Jake and Stu Kessler to rebuild and expand Golden Rock Saloon. A nightly show was added, as well as more games and a full-time piano player. Jake's drinking caught up with him a couple of years after the grand reopening; he died in bed, warm and comfortable, in the company of a saloon girl who had been quite amenable to his advances. She claimed that she heard him muttering half of a conversation with a woman by the name of Julia before his passing.

Not long after that, Charlie suddenly decided to sell his share of the saloon to Stu. He told Stu that he got an offer to partner up with an old friend in a business venture out west. He was looking for a change of scenery anyway, so he left town the morning after the papers were signed and never came back. Stu kept the name Charlie and Jake insisted on using when they reopened, a name he'd initially been against, but was glad to see didn't much affect business.

Brave Sally's Saloon would serve Grant's Hope until Prohibition forced its closure.

* * * * *

It didn't take long for Sally to start feeling wobbly after Charlie and Jake left. Wind was at her side right away, guiding her back to their tent.

"All right, skuye, down you go." Wind eased Sally into her bedroll, fluffing up her bag before she could rest her head on it.

"You been sayin' somethin' like that to me a lot," said Sally. "What's it mean?"

Wind smiled wide. "You finally asked," she said. "Cante skuye means 'sweetheart' in my first tongue. When it's just skuye, it means 'sweet.'" Wind brushed some hair that was suddenly really itchy away from her face. "Ever since you got shot," she continued, "I've had a little trouble tempering my words."

"I like it a lot," said Sally.

"Well, listen," she said, "if you don't feel the same way, don't think—"

"Oh, I think I do," said Sally. "I think I felt it ever since you asked me for your first water." Wind's eyes bulged in something like shock, cut with plenty of relief and joy. She laid down next to Sally, taking the blonde by the hand, locking eyes with her. "It's just that even with Sam," the blonde continued, "it took a while of knowin' 'im off 'n on. With you, it's like thunder; all-a th' sudden, bang, it's you. Just dizzyin', is all."

"I understand. When I realized what was happening at first, I couldn't help but embrace it, but then George—The Englishman—that happened, and I thought...I honestly didn't think I was going to survive whatever I thought would happen with Garrick, so I was thinking, 'What am I doing? I'll be dead soon, I don't need this distraction, I don't need her falling for me.' But I just..." Wind seemed to hang on her words for a minute, trying to figure out how to parse this idea that was obviously strange and/or complex, until she finally admitted, "I don't know. Or maybe I do, but I'm not sure how I can say it."