He felt no burning sensation as he sprang through the wall of flames.
He landed on his hands and knees, not on tormenting coals but on cool, spongy terrain that reflected a deep golden light. He stood and peered under his boots. The ground flowed like melted stone, giving him the impression that he was standing on a lake of embers, but his feet felt no scorch.
Keech inspected his flesh for burns. Tendrils of white smoke rose from his palms, yet his skin was unmarred, not a hair singed. A steady breeze engulfed him, strangely peaceful and slow, like the atmosphere inside a pleasant dream.
From all appearances, he had leaped into a forest, a magical space much larger than the bonfire’s girth, a deep woodland full of evergreens. The giant trees burned from base to crown with a vivid green fire, but the wood never split or blackened. When Keech glanced back to mark what he had jumped through, he saw a thick barrier of cypress trees, all engulfed in green flames. He reckoned he must be seeing the boundary of the bonfire.
“Do not fear the fire,” he told himself.
Heavy crackles like boot steps on dry straw sounded behind him. He spun immediately, fisting his hands, but saw nothing but the fiery trees. Pa Abner’s voice whispered, Be careful. Learn your surroundings, but don’t waste time gazing.
Taking a few watchful steps deeper into the forest, Keech dared a glance up.
A halo of night sky, mulberry-colored and filled with stars, stretched above the blazing evergreen canopy. A glistening blue sphere hung motionless up there, like a full moon teeming with captured lightning. Keech knew he wasn’t seeing the real moon, only a replica, because the shimmering orb floated low in the sky, within reach of a long ladder.
“‘The Fang lies inside the fire, the Lair of the Wolf,’” he whispered, repeating the words the elders had used.
“Lair of the Wolf?” a voice thundered. “Is that what the Enforcers call this place?”
Keech wheeled around to see Big Ben step out from behind a massive burning tree. Before he could set a fighting stance, the outlaw lashed out. A fist with the power of a charging bull smashed into Keech’s shoulder, throwing him sideways.
Keech’s breath tumbled from his lungs as he crashed onto his elbow. Flopping to his stomach, he gasped for air. He tried to get up, but Big Ben’s boot cracked into his gut, sending a screaming pain through his ribs.
The killer stepped in front of him, boots squishing in the curious magma. “Righteous little lamb. You hope to slow the Master’s plan?”
Keech dragged in a small breath and wheezed, “We’ll never give up.”
“Don’t be foolish. You’re already conquered.”
“How’d you even get in?” Keech tried to crawl away, but the outlaw moved into his path. “The Osage closed the door.”
Big Ben’s disheveled red beard split into a mean smile. “My Chamelia followed your scent to the tree. Then all it took was a hard wallop from the Prime.” Big Ben’s face teemed with a terrible madness, the lunacy of a rabid dog. “Now tell me where to find the Fang. I know the Enforcers hid it somewhere in this holding chamber.”
Keech wheezed. “You think you’re so powerful, find it yourself.”
“Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child,” Big Ben said. Seizing Keech by the shoulders, the man wrenched him up to his feet as if hoisting a simple bag of feathers, then jerked him around to face outward. “But the rod of correction shall drive it far from him.”
Keech caught a glimpse of the charred Devil’s mark on Big Ben’s palm as the brute gripped his chin and cranked his head upward. The fiery canopy of trees filled his sight, and that tiny false moon hovered in the dark sky.
“Tell me where it’s hid, or I’ll snap your neck.”
Pa Abner’s voice called out. Size up your adversary. Find his weakest points.
Keech closed his eyes, recalling his first encounter with Big Ben in Wisdom. He had seen the man flinch in pain while cracking his knuckles and grimace as he stretched a kink out of his back. Though Big Ben was nearly invincible—he’d survived an explosion, after all—he couldn’t hide the fact that he suffered from feeble joints.
And all at once Keech knew what to do.
Before he could move, Big Ben threw him aside, sending him sprawling over the molten ground. Keech’s face pressed into cool earth.
“I don’t need you after all,” Big Ben growled, pointing up at the bonfire’s mock sky. “They hid the Fang in that foolish orb. Flimsy smoke and mirrors, just like this whole place. Pathetic.”
Keech attempted to rise, but Big Ben planted a boot on his thigh, holding him down. The killer’s weight against him felt like a slab of solid bedrock. Searing needles of pain coursed through his side, and Keech realized that Big Ben’s kick had broken a rib, maybe a couple.
Big Ben dipped his fingers into one of the pouches on his hip. He stirred the contents, muttering strange words, and when he drew his fingers back out, something that looked like pine resin dripped from his hand. The amber fluid dribbled to the ground, and Big Ben moved his fingers in small circles, letting the substance form a loose coil at his feet. He then puffed a quick breath upon the resin, and before Keech’s eyes, the material curdled into a lengthy rope. Big Ben fashioned a long loop in the cord, which he tied off with a honda knot. “Watch closely, little lamb. I’ll show you things an Enforcer never could.”
Rearing back, Big Ben tossed the conjured rope high above his head. Trapped under the outlaw’s heavy boot, Keech watched in horror as the lariat whizzed upward, beyond the flaming canopy, the line growing longer as it flew, and captured the sapphire moon. The rope tightened, and Big Ben tugged at the lariat as though he had roped a stubborn mule. The gleaming sphere pulsed against the dark sky as it descended.
Before long, the flashing orb was low enough that Keech could make out details. Though it had seemed bulkier in the sky, the object was no larger than a pumpkin. A waxy-looking rind surrounded the sapphire light, but the husk was thin enough that Keech could see the flaming trees through it. A dim shape hovered within the blue radiance, barely visible, like a fish drifting in murky waters.
“The Fang of Barachiel,” Big Ben said, peering closer. The captured ball sputtered, showering the ground with hot indigo sparks. Big Ben continued to yank the turbulent sphere ever closer. A bolt of blue lightning flashed between Big Ben’s feet, but the outlaw didn’t flinch. “Flimsy smoke and mirrors,” he repeated.
Keech squirmed under the man’s boot. “Big Ben, you’re a fool. You use the power that Rose gives you but ignore the consequences.” He then used the words that Pa Abner had spoken to Bad Whiskey. “You’re under the control of a scorpion, and one day soon you’re bound to get the stinger.”
Big Ben raised his hand to the orb. “Maybe, little lamb, but if I ever do get stung, you won’t be around to witness.” Then he plunged his fingers into the glowing vessel.
A sudden shower of sparks cascaded around the man, and a shrieking noise issued from the orb. More of the blue lightning shot forth, this time striking Big Ben in the center of his chest. The killer grimaced in pain but kept his feet. He shoved his hand deeper into the globe, and more vehement sparks leaped at him. For a second, Keech thought the orb would overcome the man, but Big Ben turned his fist and squeezed. “Die!” he screamed.
The blue light began to fade. The gossamer shell fizzed away, exposing the object within.
Floating before them was a knife carved entirely from bone.
The blade was about as long as the span of Keech’s spread fingers, the edge curved with a sawtooth spine and the carved handle shaped for a firm grip. Keech stared at the spinning object with wonder. He had thought it would be an animal fang. He also didn’t understand how a bone knife could heal Ranger Doyle, but apparently it held properties that could reverse the wound caused by Big Ben. Only the light can heal the dark, Buffalo Woman had said.
Big Ben snatched the blade out of the air and held it before him, triumphant. He glanced down at Keech, pressing his boot down harder onto his thigh. “Did you know this relic is said to be the dagger that Abraham carried on Mount Moriah to kill his son?”
Keech didn’t answer. Instead, he curled his fingers into fists.
“Stories tell that the angel of the Lord descended from heaven to stop the sacrifice and took the weapon from Abraham’s hand. That’s why they say the dagger heals, because the angel, Barachiel, blessed the knife so that no blood could ever spill by it.”
“If it don’t spill blood, why would Rose want it?”
“Let’s just say the Master requires it to be whole.” Big Ben smiled. “You’ve been a worthy fighter, little lamb, but the Reverend can no longer allow the brood of Screamin’ Bill to interfere.”
“How about the brood of Bennett Coal?” shouted Duck Embry.
The girl leaped out from behind a blazing tree. One of the Protector’s nets flew from her hands and landed squarely on Big Ben.
A victorious cry escaped Keech’s lungs. He hollered, “The joints, Duck! Go for his joints!”
Duck charged in, driving straight for Big Ben’s legs. Keech didn’t expect her small body to faze him, but she kicked at his kneecap and sent the massive man staggering. He pitched over like a tree, his arms tangled in the net. As he crashed to the ground, the Fang skittered out of his hand. The outlaw bellowed, surprise and fury tainting his voice. He pried at the cords, trying to rip them away.
Holding a hand to his ribs, Keech pushed to his feet.
Delicate white smoke wafted off Duck’s clothes and hat. Her face was a crimson mask of rage, and her stark blue eyes burned hatred down on the man who had killed her family.
Still twisted in the mesh, Big Ben struggled to his feet, searching the ground for the Fang. Duck fell upon the killer, kicking straight at the center of his spine.
Big Ben howled in pain. Clutching the small of his back, he swiveled to face her, the mouth behind his red beard grimacing like a wounded animal. “You’re dead, kid!” He swung a husky arm at her head, but the net stifled his attack, and Duck jumped out of the way.
Big Ben stumbled past Keech to fetch the Fang. But Duck was already pounding a fist into his elbow. The outlaw screamed, flinching back.
As Keech scrambled for the blade, he noticed Big Ben’s hand plunge toward one of his medicine pouches, but Duck shifted to the outlaw’s other side, dropped low, and battered the reaching hand before it could scoop out a trick.
“This is for my mother!”
Keech heard the crack of bones as her fist broke the man’s fingers.
“This is for my father!”
Duck stooped again and kicked a boot heel into the side of the man’s ankle. The outlaw tumbled to one knee, his mouth opening for a scream that didn’t come.
“And this is for Nathaniel!”
She flung herself at Big Ben’s face, and her elbow crunched into his nose. Keech heard a sickening snap, and the brute collapsed backward.
Keech hurried the remaining distance and scooped the dagger off the ground. “Duck, I’ve got the Fang,” he called out.
Her eyes brimming with rage, she shouted, “Take it to Doyle!”
Keech swiveled toward the blazing cypress boundary, but he recalled Nat’s face in Wisdom’s saloon and stopped. Nat had pleaded for Duck and Keech to keep each other safe. “No,” he said, turning back to Duck. “We go together.”
“But I have to finish him!”
“I won’t leave you alone. Not ever. We’re partners.”
Lying on the ground, Big Ben gripped his ruined nose. He tried to rise in the net but crumbled back to his stomach.
Duck’s eyes brimmed with tears. She turned away from the killer. “All right.”
Keech took her hand. Clutching the Fang in his other, he led them to the edge of the burning cypress. The emerald fire gave off no heat, but Keech’s heart still hammered at the beautiful, terrible sight of it. He looked at Duck. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Holding hands, they vaulted through the flames.