We dealt with the aftermath in Coldwater in much the same way that we had in Flatbrush. The locals who had seen the fog from Dusty and those who had seen my little shadow drag trick blamed it on the strong winds that sometimes rolled through. They forgot or explained away everything, save me tearing out Calico's throat that is. That was easily mollified by simply saying that it was the only way I had to do it. Of course I got cracked on the head for being foolish. I should have just shot him.
That night, Dusty had taken me into the room and... he hugged me so tight I thought he was trying to crush me. "Well done, my boy. Good show." He let go of me and clapped me on my shoulder. "I have made the right choice it seems. Tomorrow, your lessons begin in earnest. But for now, we shall take our supper and a well deserved rest. Tomorrow we can collect our pay and move on."
"Hey, Dusty." I said, stopping him.
"Yes, Dodger?"
"What kind of monster are you?" I asked, with all the tact of a falling rock.
"Well, what a rude way to put that. We prefer the term Creature. We only use the term monster when dealing with mortals." He said, turning back to me and closing the door "But, to answer the intent of your question, I am an incubus."
"What's that mean?" I asked. "What does an incubus do?"
Dusty explained to me that an incubus or a succubus (which is what lady incubi are called) was a creature that feasted on dreams, on emotions. Most fed on positive emotions such as joy, love, pleasure or good will. Generally, the best of incubi can lend themselve to a joyous and happy surrounding. "But," he said somberly, "those emotions are weaker. Taste less sweet than negative emotions. There are those of us who feast on fright, anger and other malicious things that float in the darkness of a man's heart." He thumbed his mustaches in anger. "Those things are a plague on the world. They leave the places they settle as distrustful, angry... dangerous. They are the monsters that haunt dreams, rape and even kill by draining a persons hope to the point they kill themselves. And they cannot stop. That sort of feeding is like one who becomes tainted by laudanum. Once they become a creature of malice, incubi must be put down."
"Oh..." I said. A creature of malice must be put down. Those words rang in my head like a bell. I had done things... things I didn't think a good person should. I looked at him, my finger running over the butt of my gun. A gun that had taken lives. "I killed three people today, Dusty. Am I going to go to hell?"
Dusty knelt down, very close to me. "My lad, you have done nothing but good this night." He told me seriously. "I cannot speak for the state of your soul, No man or creature on earth can, but I do not believe that God would punish you for the actions you took." He laid his hand on my shoulder. "There are wicked men, and wicked things in the world. They must not be allowed to harm the innocent. It must not happen. I do not know if you follow Jewish or Christian teachings but there is a verse in Genesis that says this: quicumque effuderit humanum sanguinem fundetur sanguis illius ad imaginem quippe Dei factus est homo."
When I looked confused, he clarified. "It is Latin. It roughly translates to: Whoever spills a man's blood by man shall his blood be spilled, for God made man in his own image." He loomed at me with a tired smile. "Unfortunately, as man has not grown mayure enough to avoid spilling blood, we are the ones who must spill the blood in return."
"But why us?" I asked. "Why do it?"
Dusty shook his head. "Because we have been chosen. We have gifts for a reason, Dodger. We must use these gifts. For if we avoid this burden, someone else must carry it. We coat our hands in crimson that others may not stain theirs." With that he stood and took off my hat. "Do not wear this indoors. It is quite rude. Let us eat." And with that, he lead me to dinner. I was told, years later, that Dusty could also manipulate emotions to a degree. That was how I came to terms with things so quickly. It might seem wrong for him to do a thing like that, but he always did it to help, and he never stopped the emotional growth. He just made it easier to manage. After we ate, we went back upstairs.
In the quiet of our room that night, I asked him why we weren't chasing after Sumter and he explained that we simply didn't know which way he went. The leech had been tight-lipped about his plans and that the only man who had seen them said they had split up at the crossroads, each of them going in a different direction. We could try guessing but unfortunately it would most likely be a waste of our time. "Time is precious." He told me. "Everyday a Ranger spends chasing wild geese is time they could spend helping others. And that is the duty of our order."
This bothered me and I wanted to pitch a fit. But the smart part of me told me that he was right. Sumter, for all I hated it, was gone. "But," he said cheerily, "worry not, my young apprentice. Sumter Allen is not a man who can live out of the spotlight forever. He will cross the Rangers again. And when he does, we will punish him for his crimes." That made me think of something else that had been bothering me.
"You keep tellin other folk you're a marshal, but then you tell me you're a ranger. Which is it?" I asked him.
"Oh, yes. I guess I have not explained that properly yet. Have a seat. Let us have a little palaver." He told me, pointing at the ottoman in front of the armchair. I had no idea what palaver meant but his attitude was the same as when my daddy did when he wanted to tell me a story. So I slid the stool over and plopped down on it, my head in my heads, my two-tone eyes fixed on him. He lit a cigarette, adjusted the ashtray beside him and took a draw. When he exhaled he began to explain. "I am a US Marshal. However, that is merely a job. A title that allows me to properly conduct my true duty. That is the office of Ranger. Now, we are not these state rangers that come from say Texas or Arizona. No, those rangers actually took the name from us. To be a true Ranger is to take on a sacred duty. We are the ones who maintain the balance between the natural and the supernatural. Between humans and the creatures of what humans believe to be myth." He took another pull.
"So you hunt down all the monsters and kill them. But doesn't that mean you have to kill me? Or do Rangers get an exception?" I asked. I didn't understand.
He exhaled and chuckled. "Obviously not. If that were the case, creatures would have been hunted down long ago." He told me. "No, our order was formed to keep the balance. Creatures that go beyond what they are supposed to or become monstrous things. We hunt corruption, if you will."
"But why? How did this all start?" I asked him. "If all monsters are so powerful why not just kill all the people and rule the world?" I truly was baffled by this. I had seen but a taste of what creatures could do. It wouldn't even cause them to flinch, I thought.
Dusty pointed at me with his cigarette. "That is exactly what happened in the old days." He thumped his ashes. "Vampires ruled vast herds of humans and warred with them as if playing chess. Werewolves went willy nilly about killing who they would and using their powers to lord over others. Fairies danced through the woods and trapped humans to feast off of. This treatment was of course what splintered them into the different courts, but that is off the trail we are following." He said and took another draw stretching out his legs. "The Fallen created cults in their blasphemous image. All manner of Creatures acted in various horrid ways."
"Yea. So why the change?" I asked. I was intrigued. This story had my full attention.
"Well, we call it the Great Schism. In the Year of our Lord 1204 The humans rebelled. See, humans breed at a much faster rate than Creatures do. Even the Ratkin could not match their numbers. And so, they began to fight back. It has always been true that even the most powerful of lions may be laid low by a large enough pack of jackals." He said. "And many Creatures began to fight on behalf of humanity, recognizing what others would not admit to. Creatures need humans. They are our source of nourishment. Dreams, emotions, the creative impulse, their flesh..." he pointed at me. "Their blood. We must have humans if we are to exist. But more than that, humans were not just cattle to be packed off to the slaughterhouse. They live create and love. The Fey had always known this but the old guard of other Creatures could never understand this and the horrors they committed turned humans against us."
The marshal sighed and thumped his ash. "They found ways to kill most of us. To hunt us, like foxes. Always in large numbers and always using our weaknesses against us. Technology, fire, silver, holy articles, iron. None were safe. With this hardenening world, even Wizards began to lose their gifts, very few being able to conjure anything." He told me these things as if they were nothing. But the sadness in his eyes spoke volumes. "I was not alive then but My great-great-grandfather lived through the schism and told me of the madness it caused. The look in his eyes when he spoke of it haunts me to this day." He shuddered, then took another drag and continued. "Anyway, the world carried on this way for about 100 years until, between the in-fighting and the new human hunters, we were pursued almost to extinction. Our numbers were so reduced that the experts of the day predicted, if 5 more years of open warfare had come to pass neither humans nor Creatures would have enough of us left to exist anymore."
He shook his head and thumped his leg in frustration. "What a stupid waste of life." After a moment he pushed on."So, a grand summit was called between the peoples of all sides where our leaders met in an attempt to end the senseless violence. A pact was made after many weeks of debate. All records of the war were to be expunged, all knowledge of the seperate world would be destroyed, and all of the Creatures left on Earth would go into hiding. They were to give up their lands and armies and resume life unnoticed by the world. In exchange, the human world agreed to take on a form of willful ignorance. The Wizards put this on all of the Creatures present, save for themselves. It was a masking to a limited degree. It would stop most mortals from noticing the effects of our more flamboyant gifts. And this agreement was called The Facade. Creatures would do what they had to in order to survive and flourish but they would not do enough damage that the human world would become aware of our presence. We could not risk another war."
I nodded. "Right, but how do Rangers come into it?" I asked excitedly. This story had me in its grip. Boy howdy, I remember that I could almost see these old knights fighting werewolves and beasties, swords flashing and the great battlefields.
He chuckled and ground out his cigarette. "Patience is a virtue, young Dodger. I was just about to come to that." He poured himself a drink of water , downing it. He continued. "To ensure the peace, the strongest selection of warriors from both sides took an oath. They swore to protect the weak and innocent, to always stand guard against the forces of evil, and to make sure that peace was maintained between the natural and supernatural. If a human began to viciously hunt benign Creatures, they would be stopped. If any began to be cruel to one another, they would be stopped. If Creatures broke the Facade, they would be stopped. Any form in which evil reared its ugly head, these men and women would stop it. These masters of blade, fist and bow were to take and train apprentices, one at a time, to carry this sacred duty. These were the first Rangers." He laughed. "Interestingly enough, only two humans were in the first Rangers. Sir Percival and Sir Galahad, King Artorias' finest knights. My forebear said that when these two were demanded by all the congregation, Atorias was so incensed nearly slew the poor Elf that had been tasked with the demanding."
"Whoa..." was the only response i could come up with. I was shaking down to my boots in excitement. An ancient thing like that. Knights and kings, grand battles. My father had told me stories about the knights of the round table. He had been a wonderful storyteller, my daddy. And it was always about fantastic stuff like this. I guess I had always wanted to believe it was true (what child doesn't?) and now I was neck deep in it.
"Whoa, indeed." Dusty said, a boy's grin seperating his goatee and mustache. "But that is how our order started. Of course, we rarely use swords these days, but you will learn it anyway. Our techniques have evolved to adopt the way of the gun and the explosive. Our order will continue to evolve, so long as the world keeps turning and we find news ways to kill each other. You will see tomorrow. Now, my curious Dodger, I am going to sleep. You may choose to do the same or you can sit here, but rest and the innkeeper's best sheets are calling me." With that he sprang to the door and walked into the bedroom before I could start throwin questions at him.
And God above was he right. I saw alright, the first thing the next day. Let me tell you people something before you get roped into being some apprentice in some high-falutin ancient order of warriors... read the fine print. My years with Dusty were a whirlwind of training and learning. When I wasn't learning how to be fast on the draw, I was learning to use a knife and my hands. We worked with a sword, a bow, even a damned stick. I was pushed to my limits again and again, each time pushed a little further and then a little further still.
I learned how to draw on the blood in my veins to make myself stronger, faster and tougher. At my best, when newly fed, a knife could only scratch. Even small caliber bullets didn't phase me. But it always hurt. It didn't go well when we tested Dusty's pistol... took me a whole day to heal from that. Let me tell you from experience a bullet hole is no fun.
But even when we weren't doing something that pushed me physically, I was busy as bear learning to dance. When I told Dusty that I could read a little, but that i mostly just knew my letters...he looked at me with such a face as could curdle new milk. He made me learn. And not just in English. No, the old battleaxe made me learn Latin and French, too. I didn't mind the Latin. Most exorcisms and prayers of repulsion are made in Latin. At least Christian ones anyway. It was a language with a function. Plus it sounded pleasent to me. In nomine Patris, et filli, et spiritus Sancti. Has a nice feel to it. But au nom du père, et du fils et du saint esprit always felt somehow greasy in my mouth. Same thing just a different language.
Then there were the lessons about Creatures. Some were born. Things like werewolves, the Fey, devils (which are not demons), and wizards and countless others. Then there were True Monsters, which were critters that somehow existed, will o' the wisps, swamp monsters, slimes and so on. Still, there were Creatures that were made. vampires, Dire animals, wolfmen, wraiths, mummies, ghosts. These Creatures could pass on their gifts or were Creatures who had been cursed or some such thing. I could go on listing but it would take me months to write them all down and it would be a waste of time. You probably wouldn't remember having encountered these things even if you had seen them. Not because of your intelligence but because of the Facade. But, as a bit of a side, thise of you who do remember... I am truly sorry you have to sleep with that.
But, certain things seem less affected by the Facade these days, And that was part of Dusty's problem. Rangers were busier than ever. It had gotten to the point where nearly all Rangers kept apprentices with them and they needed them to be perfect. Chasing this, Dusty was a total taskmaster and had no problem driving me. He never beat me or overly berated me. But, Christ in the Chapel, I can still feel his solid raps on the head with his stupid cane! It was always just the one thump and always no harder than needed to drive his point across. But boy did it ever smart!
Anyway, we hunted and marshalled. We fought a hundred gunfights and faced too many terrible things to count. If I had known first battle in Coldwater was just me dipping my toe into the ocean of blood that my life would become. I might have cried off then. No... that's a lie. I was born to be a Ranger and the quickness with which I took to it only showed that the crimson that stains my hands today... I enjoy every minute of it.
That sounded twisted. Let me fix it. I enjoy doing what I do. I have regrets, yes. In the moments that come you can see how I struggle and hesitate but looking back on those fights, those dusty streets, I am fulfilled knowing that I prevented some other kid from becoming me. I hated what I was so I never wanted it to be someone else. That's what I enjoy. Avenging and defending the cause of light. But sometimes that light... well sometimes that light turns a little foggy.