A Message From Above

The Injustice               

Silhaines was far from a sanctuary. Nestled on the western frontier, it was a town ensnared in the petty squabbles of gangs and the sticky webs of corrupt officials. Mara, with her keen eyes and sharper wit, understood the town’s true nature more intimately than anyone. However, her brother, Dustin, had been blinded by his own escapades. He had long abandoned any hope of change among the townsfolk, choosing instead to immerse himself in the fleeting thrills of adventure, which often landed him in hot water.

The siblings resided with their grandmother, Lyra, on a modest ranch skirting the northern fringes of Silhaines. Their homestead, a patchwork of grain fields and fruit orchards, provided a humble living through the sale of their harvest. Yet, Dustin harboured secret pursuits, ones he kept well-hidden from both Lyra and Mara. While Mara shouldered the brunt of the ranch work, compensating for Lyra’s declining strength because of her advanced years, Dustin seemed content to waste away his days in slumber, only to roam the shadowed streets come nightfall.

For the most part, their family remained an island, untouched by the town’s ceaseless turmoil. That was until the day the fabric of their secluded life was torn asunder. The morning unfurled like any other, with Mara rising at the crack of dawn to prepare a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs for herself and Lyra. After tending to her grandmother’s needs, she wasted no time venturing outside, armed with a basket to harvest the ripe black cherries.

An hour into her routine, the basket nearly brimming with fruit, Mara’s ears caught the sound of heavy footsteps accompanied by the jangle of metal. Setting the basket aside, she crept back towards the house, weaving between the tall crops, her steps alternating between a hushed tread and cautious tiptoeing. When she reached the open path, she spotted Dustin, a large sack slung over his shoulder, striding purposefully towards Silhaines’ core.

“Curious,” Mara murmured to herself. It was an unusual sight—Dustin awake at such an early hour, and the urgency in his step, coupled with the mysterious bag, piqued her suspicion. She lingered until he had vanished into the streets, then swiftly, yet stealthily, trailed him, ducking behind the walls of their home whenever he seemed poised to glance back. She watched as he veered into Market Alley, a slender vein that led directly to the town’s bustling centre of taverns, shops, and stalls.

Abandoning the safety of the walls, Mara pursued Dustin’s path down the alley. By the time she arrived, he had disappeared from view, but she knew he couldn’t have gone far. Reaching the alley’s end, she stepped into the claustrophobic throng of Silhaines’ market streets, the air a tapestry woven with the enticing aroma of fresh bread and the acrid tang of stale tobacco.

Pausing to scan her surroundings, Mara’s gaze drew to the pawnshop just as its bell chimed. Dustin emerged, a pouch of coins now in hand. She wove through the crowd, a spectre among the masses, until she was close enough to seize him by the shoulder.

“What’s that?” she demanded, her voice a blend of curiosity and accusation.

“Money… what else would it be?” Dustin snapped, spinning to confront her.

“I can see that. But where did it come from?” Mara pressed, her eyes narrowing.

“Oh, I… I sold some fruit. Needed a bit of extra cash for tonight,” Dustin stammered, his gaze darting away.

Disbelief tinged Mara’s laughter. “You sold fruit at a pawnshop?” She shook her head, her smile fading. “Dustin, what are you hiding from me?”

A heavy silence hung between Mara and Dustin, thick with unspoken fears. Dustin’s face, usually so full of reckless bravado, crumpled into a mask of despair. “It’s nothing, I…” His voice trailed off as his gaze shifted past Mara to the figures approaching them.

The Ringer’s Gang, notorious outlaws of the western frontier, approached with a swagger that spoke of unchecked power. Their long dusters, frayed from countless encounters, fluttered in the breeze, and the distant glint of rifles and revolvers peeked from beneath the worn fabric. They stood, a formidable wall of menace, before the siblings.

Dustin’s voice was an inaudible murmur, meant only for Mara. “Stay back, let me deal with this.” He stepped forward, the weight of his fate in every step, and presented the bag of money to Gunner, the gang’s infamous leader. “Here’s your payment,” he declared, tossing the bag to one of the henchmen.

Gunner’s eyes narrowed, his voice a low rumble of discontent. “Two weeks late… and where’s the extra for making me wait?” The air grew thick with tension, the market’s usual din fading into a distant murmur.

Dustin, known far and wide for his reputation as a formidable gunslinger, felt a rare flutter of fear. “No one said anything about extra,” he countered, his stance firm despite the tremor in his voice.

“Now you’ve been told,” Gunner sneered, stepping closer. “So, where is it?”

“I’ve given all I owe; there’s nothing left to give,” Dustin replied, his resolve hardening.

“Can’t or won’t?” Gunner’s voice was a taunt, a challenge.

“It makes no difference; the outcome remains the same.”

The crowd, sensing the brewing storm, kept their distance, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination. Gunner’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Pity… perhaps this will loosen your pockets,” he said, drawing his revolver with a fluid motion and firing without hesitation. The shot rang out, a death knell that pierced the morning calm, and Dustin crumpled to the ground.

Mara’s scream disappeared amidst the chaos as she hurried to her brother’s side, frantically pressing her hands against the wound, attempting to stem the crimson tide. “You have three days to find the money,” Gunner barked, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. “Two hundred more for the inconvenience.”

The gang’s mocking laughter drowned Mara’s pleas out as they sauntered away, leaving her alone with Dustin. The townspeople, ever self-preserving, continued their lives as if nothing had happened.

“Dustin, stay with me,” Mara sobbed, her tears mingling with the blood that soaked the earth. “Our grandmother needs you; I need you…”

But Dustin’s eyes, once so full of life, grew dim. “Erewhon,” he whispered, the word a cryptic echo as the light faded from his gaze.

The Agony

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of dark orange and speckling it with the first stars of the evening, Mara stood alone before Dustin’s grave. The open field, a sea of green grass and scattered hay, was his final resting place, chosen for its view over the land their family had tended for generations. Words failed to capture the maelstrom of emotions within Mara—grief, anger, and an aching sense of injustice.

Though Mara and Dustin often found themselves at odds, their ultimate desires aligned. Mara longed for a just, civilised society, free from the shadows of fear and violence that the Ringer’s Gang cast over Silhaines. But with Dustin’s passing, justice seemed like a distant dream, and the gang’s reign of terror went unchallenged.

“I wish I had your quick wit, your skill with a revolver, your courage to stand against the wrong,” Mara whispered through her tears. “You would have known how to stop them… if only they hadn’t taken you with a coward’s bullet. You could have been the one to end their tyranny.”

She pondered the cruel twist of fate that had chosen Dustin as the gang’s target. “Why you? What debt did you owe them to warrant their wrath?” she asked the silent stone that marked his resting place. “I suppose I’ll never know…”

Rising from her knees, Mara cast a final, lingering look at the tombstone before turning back toward the ranch. The threat of Gunner and his gang loomed over her, a constant shadow in her thoughts. She was no gunslinger, no law-bringer, but her resolve was ironclad. She would not bow to the demands of her brother’s murderers, nor would she surrender a single coin to them.

As she climbed the wooden steps to the front door and entered the kitchen, she found Lyra sitting in quiet contemplation at the table. Lyra’s gentle inquiry soon broke the silence. “Did he tell you anything?” she asked, a faint smile gracing her lips.

“What?” Mara chuckled, despite the heaviness in her heart. “The dead don’t speak, Grandmother.”

“No, of course not… but in his last moments, did he say anything to you?” Lyra pressed.

Mara hesitated, the memory surfacing with a pang. “There was one word that puzzled me. As he lay there, he called out ‘Erewhon’… I think.”

Lyra’s expression shifted, a mix of surprise and contemplation. “Erewhon? I never imagined Dustin had any interest in the spiritual.”

“Spiritual? What do you mean?” Mara asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Erewhon is a place shrouded in ancient lore, some 40 miles south of here. It’s said that the people of Erewhon possess the power to commune with the spirits of those we’ve lost. It’s not knowledge I’d expect Dustin to have.”

Mara’s mind raced with possibilities. “But he knew of it. How do these people speak with the dead?”

Lyra shook her head. “It’s a mystery to those of us in Silhaines.”

“Maybe Dustin discovered their secret… If there’s even the slightest chance…” Mara’s voice trailed off, hope and desperation mingling in her eyes.

Lyra reached out, her hand resting on Mara’s. “It’s all folklore, my dear. Don’t chase after shadows.”

Mara’s silent nod was a quiet surrender to the inevitable. She retreated to her room, the weight of her decision settling in as she awaited the cloak of nightfall. The possibility of seeing Dustin again, even if only for a fleeting moment, to seek answers or guidance against the Ringer’s Gang, fuelled her resolve. It was a slender thread of hope, but it was all she had.

As Lyra surrendered to sleep, Mara prepared for her journey. She packed her essentials, not forgetting her brother’s revolver and a generous supply of bullets. With the night as her shroud, she slipped away into the unknown. Uncertain of what lay ahead, yet driven by a purpose that outweighed her fears, Mara stepped into the vast desert.

The Lonely Desert

Mara’s journey into the night was a silent testament to her determination. As she ventured further from the familiar borders of Silhaines, the desert’s vastness enveloped her, a blanket of solitude that both comforted and intimidated. The stars above were like distant beacons, countless, their cold light offering little warmth but serving as a guide for her weary eyes. They were an opposing feature to the warm, bustling streets she had left behind, each one a reminder of the life that continued without Dustin.

The desert was a canvas of shadows and whispers, the soft shifting of sand beneath her boots the only sound in the otherwise oppressive silence. It was here, under the celestial mosaic, that Mara’s thoughts roamed. She pondered the finality of Dustin’s death, the abrupt severance of a bond that had been her anchor for so long. In the desert's quiet, her mind replayed their shared memories, the laughter and arguments, the moments of unity and discord.

The loneliness was a tangible presence, a companion she had not invited but had no choice but to accept. It was in this isolation that tested Mara’s resolve, her purpose questioned. Yet, it was also here, amidst the desolation, that her thoughts found clarity. The desert, with its unyielding expanse, mirrored the vast emptiness she felt within, a void left by Dustin’s absence.

Upon reaching the crest of a dune, Mara deemed it a suitable place to rest. The desert sprawled before her, an ocean of sand and solitude. The stars, once mere points of light, now revealed their splendour, an intricate dance of constellations that told stories older than time. They were a silent audience to her plight, indifferent yet constant in their vigil. It was against this backdrop of stellar beauty and earthly aridity that a sinister rattle sliced through the silence. Frozen, she scanned her surroundings, her eyes locking onto the origin—a viper, its body coiled and ready to strike.

Instinct took over as Mara drew Dustin’s revolver, the weapon feeling foreign yet familiar in her grasp. Her first shot missed, the bullet disappearing into the sand as the viper lunged with renewed fury. Two more shots rang out, each a desperate plea for survival, but the snake advanced, undeterred. With a steadying breath, Mara aligned her sights and fired once more, the bullet finding its mark and bringing an abrupt end to the viper’s threat.

In the aftermath, Mara’s breaths came in heavy gasps, her gaze lifting to the dotted sky above. The desert returned to its eerie calm; the wind’s whisper the only testament to the life-and-death encounter that had unfolded. Exhausted, Mara collapsed onto the ground, her bag serving as a makeshift pillow. Darkness enveloped her, and she surrendered to sleep, her dreams a tangled web of fear and anticipation for the journey that lay ahead.

Erewhon

Dawn’s light crept over the horizon, a gentle herald of the new day. Mara awoke not to the melody of songbirds but to the harsh cries of hawks circling above, their sharp calls a reminder of the desert’s unforgiving nature. She rose swiftly, her bag in hand, descending the dune that had been her bed and resuming her southward trek.

As she walked, Mara’s thoughts drifted to her grandmother, Lyra. The harvest was nearing its end, and the workload would lessen, but the thought of leaving her grandmother alone gnawed at her. Loneliness, she reflected, could be as lethal as any venom, or it could be a serene companion. The dichotomy of solitude weighed heavily on her mind.

The landscape was an unchanging sea of sand and stone until, after thirteen relentless hours, a small wooden church emerged on the horizon. It stood solitary, its perimeter marked by a simple fence, the structure’s back nestled against towering red rocks. The early hour suggested its inhabitants were still asleep, so Mara passed by quietly, her focus unwavering on her destination: Erewhon.

The church, with its prominent cross, was a symbol of faith, but not the one Mara sought. She pressed on, the sun climbing higher, its rays turning from warm to scorching. The desert’s chill was a distant memory now, replaced by the oppressive heat of the day.

At the crest of a modest dune, Mara paused to survey a village below. It was a patchwork of huts, shacks, and stone dwellings carved into the cliffs, an oasis of human life in the midst of barrenness. She descended into the village; the sand giving way to patches of grass and mud, a sign of life’s tenacity.

Upon entering the village, Mara’s gaze fell upon a delicate flower, its petals a dance of white and blue, jagged yet soft. It was a breath of fresh air against the harshness she had endured. The village centre welcomed her with the fragrant aroma of spices and tea, a sensory embrace that momentarily distracted her from her quest.

A gentle tap on her shoulder broke her reverie. “Are you new here?” inquired a woman, her tone laced with curiosity.

“Yes, I’m Mara. I’ve come to see Erewhon,” Mara replied, her voice steady despite the uncertainty that flickered within.

“What business do you have with that?” the woman probed, her eyes searching Mara’s.

Mara felt the weight of scrutiny upon her, the presence of her brother’s revolver at her side marking her as an outsider. “I… I need to speak with my brother. Someone murdered him only a few days ago; his name was Dustin.”

“You’re Dustin’s sister?” the woman asked, a hint of recognition in her voice.

“Yes, why?” Mara responded, her defences rising.

A moment of silence hung between them as the woman seemed to weigh her trust. “Come with me,” she finally said.

“Where to?” Mara asked, her curiosity lifted.

“Erewhon.”

Way of the Dead

Guided by the enigmatic woman, Mara entered a dwelling carved into the very heart of the stone. The hallway was a museum of antiquity, adorned with relics that whispered tales of a time long past. Yet, there was no time to linger; the woman beckoned her forward, leading her to a door that seemed to be one with the cave itself. A flicker of unease brushed Mara’s mind, but the weight of the revolver at her side was a silent vow of her ability to defend herself.

The caves welcomed her with a gallery of ancient artistry. The walls were alive with depictions of native ceremonies, each scene meticulously detailed and vibrant with history. Among these images, the blue and white flower appeared repeatedly, a motif that connected the cave to the world outside. They arrived at a chamber where the cave opened up, and slivers of light danced through the cracks, casting a celestial glow.

The woman faced Mara, her hands cradling the same blue and white flower. “Here it is,” she said, her voice a gentle murmur.

“A flower? I thought you were taking me to Erewhon,” Mara responded, her confusion evident.

“This flower is Erewhon. It’s our conduit to the departed. Your brother, Dustin, he was part of our fold, if only briefly.”

Mara’s heart skipped a beat. “Did he ever tell you why he sought Erewhon?”

“No… but perhaps you should ask him yourself.”

With trepidation lacing her courage, Mara accepted the flower, its petals etched with swirls that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. “How does it work? Do I need to prepare it somehow?”

“It requires no preparation. Consume it whole and do not fear; this flower is humanity’s boon.”

“And its effects? How long will they last?”

“Eight hours, give or take. It begins swiftly, so make every moment count.”

Resolved to seek the answers that had eluded her, Mara ingested the flower. The woman’s parting words were a distant echo. “I’ll be nearby if you need me. Sit, relax. The beginning may be disorienting, just clear your mind.”

Mara settled onto the cool stone, alone with her thoughts. She closed her eyes, attempting to conjure Dustin’s image, but her mind wandered amidst a kaleidoscope of patterns and possibilities. Time lost meaning as she sat, entranced by the energy coursing through her, searching for a sign, a connection to her brother.

When she opened her eyes, the world had vanished into darkness. Whispers floated through the void, distant yet insistent. Then came the screams, a cacophony of voices crying out in desperation. Loneliness enveloped her, a shroud of fear and isolation.

But amidst the chaos, a melody emerged, a chorus of the departed singing in haunting harmony. Drawn to the beauty of their song, Mara moved through the darkness until a voice she knew pierced the veil.

“Mara…” it called.

She turned, and where fear once resided, now there was only joy.

“Dustin? Is that really you?” Mara’s voice trembled with a cocktail of hope and disbelief.

“It’s me,” Dustin affirmed, his grin as wide as the skies above Silhaines. Mara approached; her steps hesitant yet eager.

“You knew I’d come looking for you…” she said, her voice a mix of accusation and relief.

“I had no doubt you’d piece it together. I’ve missed you,” Dustin replied, his eyes reflecting a sorrow that belied his smile.

Mara let out a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s only been a few days, and you’re already sentimental. Tell me, what’s it like on the other side?”

“I wish I could tell you, but I’m caught in limbo. I haven’t moved on; there’s unfinished business tethering me here, and I need your help to resolve it.”

“Help? I was hoping you could help me deal with the Ringer’s Gang,” Mara confessed, the irony of the situation not lost on her.

“I’m aware of the predicament,” Dustin said, his tone serious. “You have one day left before they come knocking.”

“Do you think I’d hand over the money to those crooks?” Mara’s voice was defiant.

“That’s my sister,” Dustin said with pride. “And that’s where I step in.”

“How can you help?” Mara asked, scepticism lacing her words.

Dustin’s response was a gentle command. “Open your eyes, Mara.”

As if pulled by an unseen force, Mara’s vision cleared, and she found herself back in the cave, the crevices now glowing with a preternatural light. The flower’s influence lingered, sharpening her senses to an almost supernatural degree.

She stood, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Dustin before her, as real as the stone walls that surrounded them. “How is this possible?” she gasped.

“I’m not truly here,” Dustin explained. “Erewhon is ancient, its power profound. It bridges the gap between life and death. If you let me, I can harness its energy.”

“To what end?”

“I can guide you, enhance your abilities. Together, we can confront the Ringer’s Gang. Think of it as… a partnership.”

Mara hesitated, the notion of being a vessel for her brother’s spirit unsettling. Yet, the gravity of the situation left her with little choice. “Can we really defeat them?”

“I believe so,” Dustin assured her. “The flower’s potency will fade, but there are more blooms to be found. When you do, wait until you’re at the border of Silhaines before you consume it. I have a plan.”

Mara’s eyes narrowed with determination. “What’s your plan?”

Dustin leaned in, his voice a whisper that carried the weight of their shared past and the hope of their town’s future. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”

The Church

As the last vestiges of Erewhon’s influence faded, clarity and resolve crystallised within Mara. She lifted herself from the cave’s unforgiving floor and navigated the labyrinthine passages back to the house where the woman awaited her return.

“Did it work?” the woman inquired, her eyes searching Mara’s face for a hint of the peace she hoped had been found.

“It did… I spoke with Dustin. Your help means more than I can express,” Mara replied, her gratitude genuine yet tinged with the urgency of unfinished business.

“Dustin was a kind soul. It brings me comfort to know you’ve reconnected,” the woman said, a soft smile gracing her features.

“Nearly,” Mara responded, her mind already racing ahead to the challenges that awaited her.

With a brisk pace, she departed the village, her eyes catching sight of the blue and white flower that had first greeted her arrival. Seizing a moment of distraction, she secreted the bloom into her bag, its presence a silent promise of the confrontation to come.

The relentless desert sun charted her journey back to Silhaines, the sky shifting its hues from the fiery oranges of day to the cool blues of dusk. As she approached the church, a scene of discord unfolded before her—a trio of black-clad men, armed and ominous, stood at the entrance. Instinctively, Mara sought refuge behind a tree, her gaze fixed on the outlaws.

A gunshot shattered the silence, a violent intrusion that spurred Mara into action. She concealed herself behind a bush near the church’s perimeter, her revolver drawn and ready. The man responsible for the shot advanced toward the door, his intentions clear and malevolent.

Mara’s hand itched to consume the Erewhon flower, to summon Dustin’s aid, but she resisted. She must preserve her resources for the encounter with the genuine threat, the Ringer’s Gang. She bided her time, her weapon cocked, her aim true.

Another shot rang out, this time from within the church, and the would-be intruder was driven back. Seizing the opportunity, Mara fired, her bullet finding its mark with lethal precision. The second assailant fell, unaware of his assailant, as the third turned just in time to meet his fate at the hands of the church’s priest, emerging with a shotgun in hand.

“You the one who claimed him?” the priest asked, nodding toward the fallen man.

“I am,” Mara confirmed. “It seemed you were in peril, though I see now you had the situation well in hand.”

“This is not uncommon here,” the priest replied with a weary resignation. “Faith is a necessity, but so is a willingness to defend it. I’m grateful for your assistance.”

“Bless you, Father,” Mara said, holstering her revolver. Time was her adversary now, and she hastened her departure, the priest’s words echoing in her mind. He had faith and fortifications on his side; Mara had only her wits and a plan that felt increasingly like a gambit.

As night descended, Mara pressed on, her spirit wearied by the day’s grim necessities. The act of taking a life, even in defence of the innocent, left a hollow echo in her soul. Change was on the horizon, but whether it heralded triumph or tragedy, only the coming dawn could reveal.

The Vengeance

Silhaines lay silent, a stark contrast to the bustling town Mara knew. She crossed the threshold, pausing to draw in the air's stillness, a ritual of courage as if channelling Dustin’s spirit. With a resolute breath, she retrieved the flower from her bag, contemplating the gravity of her next action. She consumed the bloom, its essence a bridge to her brother, and waited for his guiding voice in the darkness. Moments later, her eyes opened to Dustin’s ethereal form, a spectral warrior poised for battle.

She expected a confrontation as she navigated toward the heart of the town, the marketplace, and observed that the streets were deserted. No crowd, no Ringer’s Gang; it was eerily devoid of life. “Where could they be?” she murmured, more to the silence than expecting an answer.

“I believe they’re closer than we think,” Dustin’s voice cut through the quiet, directing her down an alley that led home.

“Why there?” she asked, but Dustin remained silent, a harbinger of the pending peril.

As they approached, the sight of six Ringer’s Gang members came into view, their weapons a grim promise of violence. “It’s time,” Dustin whispered, a call to arms.

Gunner’s voice sliced through the tension as he stepped out from Mara’s home. “Your family… I can’t fathom it. Your brother died for his tardiness, and here you are, late. Do you wish for death as well?”

Mara met his gaze, unflinching. “You never mentioned a specific time.”

His laughter was sharp, devoid of humour. “Enough with the jests. Where’s the money?”

“Now, Mara,” Dustin urged, but she held her ground.

“It’s inside. Let me retrieve it,” she said, her eyes locked with Gunner’s.

“Fine, but I’m accompanying you,” he replied, suspicion lacing his tone.

Mara approached Gunner, her stare unwavering, then turned to lead him into the house. “Your gun,” he demanded.

Reluctantly, she handed over Dustin’s revolver, her only tangible defence.

“Proceed,” Gunner commanded, following her inside. The house was silent, Lyra nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s my grandmother?” Mara’s voice laced with concern.

“That’s for you to answer. It was empty when I arrived,” Gunner retorted.

He shut the door, sealing them in. “This will either take two minutes or forty, depending on what I find.”

“The money’s on the table. Take it and leave,” Mara insisted, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions within.

“That’s not how this works, lady. I own this town. You don’t get to call the shots.”

“You claim ownership of this town, but you possess nothing of value,” Mara retorted, her voice steady and defiant.

Dustin, ever the tactician, recognised his sister’s strategy: isolate Gunner, eliminate the head of the snake, and demoralise the gang. As Mara edged closer to Gunner, Dustin’s spirit surged through her, the Erewhon flower lending its otherworldly strength. In a swift motion, she snatched Gunner’s revolver from its holster and aimed it squarely at him.

Gunner, unfazed, acknowledged her resolve. “Quite the grip, I must say. There’s a ferocity in you that’s fit for the Ringer’s Gang.”

“I share none of your vile traits,” Mara declared.

“Is that so? Prove it. If you pull that trigger, you’re no different from me. But I doubt you have the nerve,” Gunner taunted.

“Your doubt is misplaced,” Mara cut in, and with a decisive pull of the trigger, Gunner fell, his reign over Silhaines ending in an instant.

The line between Mara’s will and Dustin’s influence blurred, but her resolve did not waver. She burst through the door, her movements guided by Dustin’s spirit, and dispatched two gang members with unerring precision. As two others fled, seeking the dubious safety of the sidewalls, Mara’s aim remained true, felling them before they could retaliate.

A stray bullet from the remaining gang member whistled past, striking a wooden pillar. “We end this now,” Dustin’s voice urged her on. Mara dove forward, rolling with grace born of desperation, and reclaimed Dustin’s revolver from a fallen foe. With dual guns in hand, she unleashed a final volley.

The last of the Ringer’s Gang lay defeated, their threat extinguished as quickly as it had begun. Mara’s arms fell to her sides, the revolvers slipping from her grasp as she collapsed to her knees, desert sand billowing around her. 

“How do you feel?” Dustin’s voice was a whisper, a ghostly concern in the aftermath of violence.

“I’m uncertain… but we won. It’s finished,” Mara replied, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

Above

Lyra emerged from her makeshift sanctuary behind the hay, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and confusion. “When did you become such a formidable fighter?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly as she took in the scene before her.

Mara turned, her face a canvas of fatigue and solemnity. “I never learned, Grandma,” she confessed. “It wasn’t me out there… I found Erewhon, and through it, Dustin. He was with me, guiding me.”

Lyra’s expression flickered between disbelief and wonder. She had heard whispers of Erewhon’s mystical properties, but to witness its effects was something she never anticipated. “Dustin is here?” she echoed, her scepticism warring with hope.

“Ask me something only Dustin would know,” Mara urged, her eyes earnest.

Lyra hesitated, her mind racing through memories until she found one to test the truth. “On his sixteenth birthday, I gave Dustin my old pocket watch. What did I say to him after he unwrapped it?”

A hush fell over them, the silence stretching as Mara listened to Dustin’s voice, invisible to Lyra. Finally, Mara spoke, her voice carrying the weight of years and love lost. “Time is the most precious thing we have. Make every second count and cherish every day.”

Lyra’s hands flew to her mouth, tears spilling over as the reality of Dustin’s presence washed over her. “He wants you to know how much he loves you, how sorry he is for leaving so much on your shoulders. He’s eternally grateful for all you’ve done,” Mara continued, her voice soft but clear.

Overcome, Lyra rushed to Mara, enveloping her in an embrace that spoke volumes of their shared grief and love. “He has nothing to apologise for” Lyra whispered fiercely. “Tell him I love him, and I’ll hold him in my heart until we meet again.”

“We’re safe now,” Mara reassured her as they parted. “Go inside, and I’ll join you soon. I need a moment with Dustin… and to take care of things out here.”

Lyra nodded, managing a smile through her tears. “I’ll be waiting with a pot of coffee,” she said, stepping carefully past the remnants of the battle that had raged in her front yard.

As the effects of Erewhon waned, Dustin’s voice reached Mara once more. “It seems our time is up for now.”

Mara’s heart clenched. “I’m not ready to let go,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dustin stepped closer; his smile tinged with sadness. “You won’t see me for some time, but when you do, it’ll be like I never left. And if you ever find yourself yearning for another adventure, Erewhon will bring me back to your side,” he said, his laughter a ghostly sound in the quiet.

Mara’s laugh mingled with her tears, a bittersweet sound that filled the space between them.

“The Ringer’s Gang was just the beginning,” Dustin said, his form fading. 

“There’s more to be done, more battles to fight. But for now, rest. You’ve earned it.”

And with those final words, Dustin’s presence dissipated, leaving Mara alone with the dawn’s early light caressing the fields of Silhaines. The fight was over, but the journey was far from finished.

Written by J.T. Barker

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