Sheridan hardly budged. He promised him several sheckles of silver as a down payment plus a partition of the land on the north shore of Siana once Milner purchased it. But the old drifter only spat and drank whiskey and he sat alone while he considered the offer. Meanwhile Wade dug through the old bottles in the tavern cellar before settling on an aged bourbon. He twisted off the cap and threw it to the ground then whiffed the bottle. “I haven’t seen a bottle of bourbon in ten years,” he said to Sheridan. “You’re sitting on a fortune.”
The old man waved him off.
Wade took a swig then sat it down. He hung the satchel around his body and threw the rifle bag over his right shoulder and proceeded towards the door. “If I leave here, I won’t be coming back,” he said. “The offer will be null and void. Are you coming or not?”
Sheridan begrudgingly recorked the whiskey and prodded through the clutter before finding a tactical buck knife and then reached for an old Winchester and it’s case. He placed the rifle in the bag then closed it and looked sternly at Wade.
“You don’t know what’s out there,” he warned.
“Pack lightly,” said Wade.
Under the drizzled rain they left the deserted streets of Khiva and marched north toward the Yorkin Pass nestled in the Urbanas. They stopped briefly to fill their canteens at a passing rivulet before pressing forth and as the elevation climbed the air thinned out. When they were above the prevailing mysts of the Siana Valley and they walked at the feet of barren peaks, they came across a peculiar boulder at the opening of the pass. On its face was imprinted a palm in darkened and dried blood.
“Followers of Jonny?” asked Wade.
Sheridan couldn’t be sure.
At high noon they arrived at the summit of the pass before drifting downhill towards the plateau of Nain. The peaks again grew taller and the two men found themselves in a deep crevice surrounded by brown rock on all sides. At the opening several yards ahead they see a lone warrior standing tall with a spear in hand. As they approached they could make him more clearly. The man was totally naked and drenched in blood and grease from head to toe and his rotten stench extended out several feet. He lowered his spear and the travelers stopped.
Wade lowered his rifle. “You seem to be outgunned,” he called to the naked man.
“Have you been baptized in the blood?” the warrior posed.
“What?”
“This is the Valley of Josea. The gateway to the land of God.”
“And who’s that?”
“Josea. The prophet of Jonny. You are trespassers.”
“Is that so? Well how about I blow a hole in you right here and be done with it?”
“You could. But there will be others. There’s an easier way to pass through.”
“And what’s that?”
“You could surrender arms and join us in the purification of the body. We baptize not by water but by the blood of the slaughtered. For the land of Nain is sanctified and only the holy may enter.”
Wade cocked the rifle and pulled the trigger.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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