Cut Her Down

by Spencer Avocet-Van Horne

Colton didn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a bed. He didn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a meal that didn’t come from a can. He didn’t remember the last time he’d made love with anyone besides himself. He’d been hoping that this was the type of town where he could do all three without spending much.

The way things were turning out, though….

“I’ll have a whiskey.” As an afterthought, even though he knew it wouldn’t help: “Please.”

The bartender glared at him. Colton didn’t think it was a very bartenderly way to look at a paying customer, but he’d seen it before. The bartender could tell something was off and he didn’t know what. Without taking his eyes off Colton, he grabbed a glass from the counter and a bottle from the well. “You from around here?”

“New in town.”

The bartender grunted. His eyes scanned downward, to the ivory-handled revolvers on Colton’s hips. But that was no cause for concern. Half the people out here on the frontier carried guns. He glanced back up and finally saw what he was looking for. The thing that really scared people: the ears.

“You’re a faerie.”

It wasn’t a very nice word. It wasn’t even accurate. “I’m half-elven.” Colton downed his whiskey, worried that he might not get a chance to drink any more of it. “Any rooms available?”

The bartender narrowed his eyes. Colton recognized the look: an inner battle between confusion, fear, and hatred. This time, the last one beat out the others. “Not for you.”

Colton spread his arms. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m willing to pay.”

“You should find another town to bother, faerie.” The bartender’s fingernails made an anxious melody against the neck of a bottle. “We’ve had enough magic in our town without your faerie hexes.”

The bartender should have been a lot more worried about Colton’s pistols than his magic, but Colton decided it was a bad idea to say so. “I won’t cast any hexes in your town.” With some effort, he put on a conciliatory smile. “Refrain from charms, jinxes, and enchantments, too.”

The bartender didn’t like Colton’s joke. His hands snaked down the bar. Colton didn’t want to find out what he’d hidden down there. “If you stay any longer, you’re trespassing.”

Colton did remember the last time he’d been forced to shoot a poor bastard for no good reason, and he wasn’t eager to do it again so soon. Plus, he guessed that the eighteen patrons behind him who’d been silent since he’d walked in wouldn’t be on his side.

He slid the glass back toward the bartender. “All right. Be going, then.”

“Good.” The bartender visibly relaxed. “You’d better be.”

“Now, hold on,” said someone behind him.

Colton turned slowly.

The man wore a welcoming grin, but the way his hand rested on his revolver handle didn’t inspire much trust. He took a step toward Colton. “What’s your name, stranger?”

“Colton.”

“That’s not a very elvish name, is it?”

“It was my father’s.”

The man held out a hand. A pure-blooded human, by the looks of him, but trying very hard to appear friendly. “Mine’s Styring.”

The bartender’s angry grimace turned to a confused one. “Didn’t take you for an elf-friend, Sheriff.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Styring. “But it occurs to me we have a problem in our town that only an elf can solve.”

A half-elf, but the difference was usually lost on humans, so Colton didn’t correct him.

“Perhaps we can work out a deal,” Styring continued. “You help us out with our problem, and Mister McAlder here will allow you to rent a room at his saloon. Maybe even at a discount.”

The look in Mister McAlder’s eyes suggested that the discount was unlikely. But a bed was a bed, so Colton was inclined to agree. “What’s the problem?”

Styring lowered his voice. “It is said, in some stories, that all the fair folk have some magic about them.”

“I’m out of practice,” said Colton.

“But you do have some skill in the occult?” The sheriff’s eyes were wide, hopeful. “Some power over the realm of the spirit?”

Colton shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And are you a pious man, Colton?”

He wanted a bed, but it wasn’t his habit to lie. “Not really.”

Sheriff Styring’s smile faltered somewhat. “But you would agree that it’s wrong to tamper with the dead? You disapprove of exhuming corpses and performing… arcane experiments?”

“I wouldn’t do it myself.”

“You see, I bring this up because….” The sheriff stuttered, but at least he was finally getting to the point. “A witch has recently taken up residence here in town.”

“All right.” Colton had never met a witch.

“She has been digging up the bodies of our loved ones and performing unholy rituals on them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Even my deputies are afraid to go near her. I have spoken with her, but what power have I over one who can command the dead themselves?” Styring jabbed a finger at Colton. “But you! You could help us! Use your elven power to drive her from our town! Rid us of her evil presence!”

Colton had no idea how to do that. “And if I do that, I’ll have a room here for the night?”

The bartender glared at Styring.

“For as long as you want,” said the sheriff.

“And hot meals?”

“Of course.”

And… Colton tried to figure out if any of the women there might have been interested in him, or at least in his money. Didn’t look like it. Oh, well. Two out of three was okay.

He shrugged. “All right.”

“You have any brothels around here?” Colton asked.

It was a village only just holding on. Maybe two dozen households, with a rundown schoolhouse and a slightly less dilapidated church. There was only one saloon, and it was the one they’d just left.

“No!” Sheriff Styring looked mortified. “We are a good, gods-fearing town!”

Colton had prayed to a few gods in his life, and none of them had had a problem with prostitution. “So what do you want me to do with this witch?”

“She seems like an ordinary woman,” said Styring. “She has a certain otherworldly beauty, I’ll admit, and her witchcraft is impressive, but she’s physical. Mortal. If you can use your power to stop her from casting a spell, I could reason with her. Convince her to leave.”

Colton hadn’t used magic in a long time. He reached out with his mind, probing the veil between the material world and the spirit realm, from which all magic came. He found the cracks, the places where the veil was thin, and dragged the threads, patching up its holes. “All right. Sure.”

They reached the church at the center of town. It was painted white, stained murky by the dust-filled air, with a small wooden gargoyle carved into its roof. Along its side was a graveyard. Nearly every plot had been disturbed, the sandy earth dredged up and shoved aside.

“This is what she does to our dearly departed. The respect she has for our people.” The sheriff shook his head.

Colton’s half-elven eyes caught a name on one of the wooden grave markers. “Reina Styring. A relative?”

Styring closed his eyes. “My wife. Dead for less than a season, and her body tormented by this witch’s experiments. Now you see why I want her gone.”

A door opened at the side of the church, and a woman stepped out. She wore the feathered robe of a cleric of the forge god. “Sheriff! Visiting your wife’s grave with another of your otherworldly friends? A faerie, this one, is he?”

The sheriff glanced at Colton. “I don’t like that word much, Mother Kendra. He’s come to save us from the horrid witch.”

The priestess pursed her lips. “Finally come to your senses, then.”

Styring’s hands balled into fists, and one drifted dangerously close to his pistol. “I tried to drive her out before now. She is treacherous.”

“Yes, and she ensnared you.” The priestess glanced at Reina Styring’s recently-exhumed grave. “With more than her silver tongue, I’d bet.”

“Go back inside, Kendra!” shouted Styring. “I’ve heard enough of your accusations!”

Not very gods-fearing, Colton thought.

Kendra didn’t go back inside. She walked through the graveyard, spittle flying from her sun-chapped lips. “You brought her here! You allowed that disgusting woman into our town, and when I objected, you called me a fool. Now you think a faerie can put this right? You want to cast out magic with more magic? The gods will cut you down for this madness, Styring.”

It was starting to look like Colton was in danger of losing his bed for the night. He reached his mind out, and this time, when he found the cracks in the veil, he slipped through. He found the weave of the priestess’s mind, and gently — ever so gently, as his mother had taught him — he sent a thought of calm across the void.

He came back to himself. Sweat had beaded his brow, and his hands were cold. He stumbled.

“Colton!” said Styring. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Colton steadied himself. “I shouldn’t have had that whiskey.”

Kendra’s expression relaxed. “You’re a fool, Styring.” She shook her head, turned, and walked back inside.

The sheriff looked nervous. “Are you able, Colton?”

Colton took a drink of water from his flask. “I’ll be fine. What was the priestess saying? You allowed the witch here?”

Styring didn’t meet Colton’s eyes. “At first, she seemed harmless. But she is treacherous. Come on. Her camp is up in the hills.”

Colton followed, and he wondered if he had the strength to face this enchantress.

The hills were rocky and bare, dotted with shrubs and faded cacti barely clinging to life.

“How did you come to these parts, Colton?” Styring panted.

His mother had brought him. Colton’s father had been a human businessman. He’d been two when the Moonlight Emperor came to power in Celenis and human blood had become a liability. A threat to the purity of Elvendom, the Emperor had said. So his mother had taken him here. She’d thought, of all human lands, this untamed frontier so far from civilization would be the most accepting of a half-breed like him.

But that was none of Styring’s business. “This land is my home.”

“Of course,” Styring chuckled. “But were you born here?”

“I was born in Celenis. I don’t remember it. Is this the witch’s camp?” It didn’t look very impressive. It was a small tent of rough canvas with the dead embers of a campfire in front.

Styring nodded. “She’s in there. Do your magic now. If she casts a spell, we’ll be entirely at her mercy.”

Colton’s mind played across the labyrinth of the veil between worlds, finding its flaws, plugging its holes. He felt faint. McAlder’s beds would have to be damn nice to be worth this.

They pushed through the canvas flap.

The inside of the tent was far nicer than the outside. For one thing, it looked at least five times the square footage. Several coffins were pushed up against one wall, and on the floor next to them, in white chalk, was a complex network of runes and pentagrams. Opposite them was a massive bed with silk curtains and a desk of dark wood inlaid with gold.

At the center of the room stood the witch. Styring hadn’t been wrong about her. Her hair fell in waves the color of a dying fire, her eyes shone gold like the rising sun. “Ah. Sheriff Styring. If you’re hoping to get me to reconsider, you’ll be disappointed.”

“Not this time, witch,” said Styring. “This time you’re powerless. And I’m the one with the gun.”

She looked at Colton with those big golden eyes. “And who are you?”

“I’m —” He tried to keep his focus on the veil. “Jack.”

The witch didn’t give his ears a second glance. “I’m Yelena.” She held out a hand.

“He’s an elf,” said Styring. “And with his faerie magic, he’s blocked you from your power. Now. We had a deal.”

The strain of blocking off the spirit realm was starting to get to Colton. He wiped sweat from his cheeks.

Yelena shrugged. “I brought her back, Styring. That’s what you wanted. But I won’t make her see you.”

“She’s my wife!” the sheriff shouted, through gritted teeth.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” said Yelena.

“Wait,” said Colton. “I was supposed to be making her leave. Now you’re making her summon your dead wife? How much more do I have to do?”

“Just wait for her to do this, and then she’ll leave and you’ll get your room at McAlder’s.” Styring drew his revolver. “Now give me my wife back. I let you dig up all those graves, run all those tests. Give me what I’m owed!”

Yelena spoke a few words that Colton didn’t understand. He felt a pressure on the veil as something probed around his block. Darkness encroached on his vision, and he grabbed a tentpole for support. The witch frowned.

Styring looked at Colton and grinned. “See! Whatever spell you conjure against me, it won’t work!”

Colton’s lips had turned numb.

Yelena looked at Colton and then back to Styring. “You know why I’m not letting you talk to her, right?”

“Because you’re a lying, treacherous witch!”

“Because you killed her!” she said. “She told me everything! When I asked if she wanted to see you, she said no!”

“It was an accident!” shouted Styring. His fist was trembling around his gun. “It was a mistake! I have to explain, she doesn’t remember!”

“She doesn’t? You spent the day at the saloon, as always, and when you came home she said the wrong thing. And you beat her to death.” The witch was looking at Styring, but for some reason Colton got the sense that her words were meant for him.

“I need to apologize!” the sheriff yelled. “Just let me tell her I’m sorry!”

Colton shored up his mental focus. He tried to think about the nice, warm bed he’d sleep in at the end of the day. The first in a long time. And a nice hot meal. And maybe several more shots of whiskey.

“She doesn’t want your apology. She wants to be left alone.”

“I’ll shoot you if you don’t let me!” With a thumb, Styring drew back the hammer on his gun.

“What’s your plan, then?” said Yelena. Her arms were raised now. She was looking a little nervous. “You’ll have to let me use magic to get her back. Did you put any thought into this? How drunk are you?”

“Don’t insult me, witch!”

Colton’s half-elven eyes were just keen enough to see it. His combat instincts were just honed enough to recognize it. The subtle tightening of the sheriff’s finger. His hand bringing the sights into alignment with his eyes. A firming of his stance, to brace against the recoil.

Even if Colton let down his block, the witch couldn’t speak an incantation in less time than a bullet took to cross the room.

The ivory-handled revolver cracked. Smoke puffed into the tent. Styring — the poor bastard — fell to the dusty floor.

Colton reholstered his pistol. “Are you okay?”

The witch was pale. “I’m fine.”

Styring took a rattling breath. “The gods will cut you down, Colton.”

He kicked the sheriff’s gun away from his grasping hand. “Believe me, Sheriff, they’ve been trying.”

Yelena knelt down by Styring. “He’s dying.”

“You gonna try and heal him or something?”

She shrugged. “I could use a fresher test subject.”

Colton’s head swam. He sat down on the ground next to Styring. “All right.”

Together, they put the body into one of Yelena’s coffins. She was remarkably friendly for someone who’d just witnessed a shooting.

“It’s the groundwater here,” she said, heaving Styring’s arm into the box. “There’s an unusually high amount of life energy in it. I’ve been running necromantic tests to see if it has an effect on reanimated tissue.”

“And does it?” The witch’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“It seems to improve the bond between the soul and the anchor object — the zombie or skeleton being reanimated. But interestingly, it even works when the soul is anchored to an inorganic object, like a gemstone!”

“Fascinating,” said Colton. And for some reason it really was, even though it wouldn’t have been from anyone else.

“I think I’m ready to move on, though,” said Yelena. “The effect seems even more pronounced northwest of here, so I’m going to head that way to continue my studies. Anyway, I’ve had enough of this town.”

Colton was disappointed. They’d only just met.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Are you leaving today?”

“Probably,” she said. “Were you planning to stay in town? I could use a traveling companion. It gets lonely, being a sorceress out here. Most people are scared of me.”

He weighed his options. He doubted he would be welcomed back at McAlder’s now. “It’s been so long since I’ve slept on a real mattress.”

Yelena glanced at the oversized silken canopy that enclosed her bed. “Well, I’m willing to share.”

He smiled. It was all he’d wanted for a long time. Almost. “I hope the next town we visit has a decent brothel.”

Yelena looked confused by this.

“Oh, were you coming on to me?” he asked.

“I didn’t mean to presume. It’s all right if you’re not interested. It’s just that almost everyone I’ve seen for the past several months has been either dead or that jerk.” She pointed at the newly-filled coffin of Sheriff Styring.

“No, that sounds great!” he said. “But can we eat something first? I only have baked beans.”

She looked embarrassed. “Me too.”

Well, two out of three was okay.

Spencer Avocet-Van Horne was born and raised in Silicon Valley. He has lived in the Pacific Northwest and the Middle East, studying politics, religion, and the Arabic language. Today you can find him living in Dublin (California, not Ireland) with a German Shepherd, a Chihuahua with an underbite, and his lovely partner Madison, and writing new stories whenever he gets the chance.