Inkslayer

Chapter 7: Sermon Hill

The Mounds were close now, their silhouettes bursting up on the horizon. There were three of them, two smaller slopes surrounding a larger tor in the centre. It was that middle one they called Sermon Hill. Some said it was an old Ootana worship site, but it'd been taken over for a while now by the Pastors of the Sacred Sun. The sun-cult had spread throughout the Wild North, but Nox had no time for it. You didn't pray to that hateful sky-fire. You didn't even glance at it, and you certainly never gazed. But that didn't mean you didn't keep it in mind. In that sixshooter in your head, you kept a bullet for the land and a bullet for the wildlife, one for the wind and one for the sand, and those last two lead pellets you reserved for the sun. You know, just in case you missed.

The sun made the shape of the church and other buildings stand out upon the plateau of Sermon Hill. They weren't big buildings, but the dune made them dominate the area. Apart from the other hills, there was nothing around for miles. It made anyone standing there in the dirt look like a mound of their own. Nox knew well that he was easy to see, and knew twice as well that he was being watched.

There was a shuffle up there by the old school. It was small, but Nox caught a glimpse of a figure darting from one building to another. The dust betrayed them, and the scree sought to turn them in. Nox would've loved to have his old monowheel for this, with that bounty box in the back just big enough for half a dozen overflowing bodies. If he was going to earn his coils, he was going to cash in big.

He dismounted the hyper-hog and strolled into eyeshot of the church, and probably, he was well aware, into the eyeline of a gunman up above. Now, the Coilhunter was a crack shot, but you didn't ever try a showdown when they were up and you were down. You might as well've been shooting from six feet under then.

He took his eyepiece from his well-stocked belt and yanked open the telescopic lens. He telegraphed his moves big and broad, so it was clear to those watching that he hadn't pulled out a gun. Of course, nothing was certain when it came to the Coilhunter. He could've looked at you with a lens and you didn't know you were staring down a barrel. And when you did know, you wouldn't know for long.

The magnified view showed the church in greater detail, with its spire on top, and a big old symbol of the many-rayed sun on top of that. The real thing glared against that false idol, using the copper alloy to reflect its burning rays down upon the believers. Nox was no preacher, but if he were, he might've told folk it burned everyone the same.

The shuffling figures were easier to spot now, as were their rifles. They were trailing him as he walked, shifting over to better vantage points, and better gunning points too. As far as they were concerned, that wasn't just a little worship town, but a fortress. As far as Nox was concerned, it was just a sand castle, and his big old boots were drawing near.

He circled that hill until he saw the way up, a passage of carved steps, some of which had crumbled away in the many sandstorms. There were planks of wood and even strapped-up ladders bridging the broken parts.

Nox was as close now to barging through their batwing doors as he could be without climbing that hill to do a little praying of his own. It must've been clear as day it was the Coilhunter down there, and clearer still that he prayed with lead.

Then one of the figures threw something down, and Nox backed off quick, thinking it was a grenade. When it rolled closer, however, it was evident that it was a rock with a piece of paper wrapped around it. He glanced up at the person who threw it and rolled his eyes. It wasn't like he was gonna test their ink. He kicked the stone until the paper came loose, and let the wind open it for him. The handwriting was good, but the words were short: "Go away."

Now, I just can't do that, Nox thought, and he thought it with grit.

Why, they must've heard him, because that was when they started shooting.