Jostice found himself alone in the gloom, staring at the man he once called father. The man he once loved and the man he once hated. A hint of light crept beneath the door, making Jerocobish skin appear like it'd been washed by ink, oddly moist, and producing a foul, fishy odor.
"I don't know what to do," Jostice shook his head, "nor who to be anymore. I think I love her … I know I hate him … And I want to be, to the boy, the father I never allowed him to have … but I'm not sure I can."
He felt an ache deep inside his chest. One that wanted to burst, and release the fury that once engulfed him, nearly driving him mad. It would be easy to give into the urge. Let it take over and rip his souls to pieces, but then it'd never leave him.
"She was the only thing that kept me alive," Jostice admitted, "yet, now I've realized, I had so much more to live for. But it's not over ... not like it is for you. A good man once told me that I need to right my wrongs in this life and not the next … and I'm starting to believe he was right."
Jostice stared off into the darkness, thinking of the man who gave his life for his freedom. Morgan Dale was a much smarter man than he. A better strategist. Quick with a blade and even quicker with a gun. Had he not engaged the way he had, Morgan would be the one breathing. No longer wasting his life, but fixing his mistakes.
"It should've been me who died that day …" Jostice squeezed his hands into fists. "It should've been me instead of Morgan; instead of Ma Jean; instead of Remmiron; instead of you. Y'all had much more to live for … all I've got is hate."
"Hate is not always a bad thing," a low, scruffy voice said. Grotknot hung in the doorway, snuck up like a cougar. "If you can control it, you can channel it into power and into potential. There are two sides to every boar — the brave and the beast — you have to keep them balanced or one will claim the other."
"Well the beast has claimed me …"
"Has it," Grotknot eyes sparkled of life, "has it really taken your soul, or is there something left?"
Jostice looked beyond his brim, glaring. "It was taken the moment I killed my brother … that was the last of it, anway."
"I don't believe so," he said, his bushy mane hiding his smile. "If it were true you wouldn't have tried to save him, and lose a shooting hand in the process."
"The Mayor had me do it—"
"Don't fill me with hog shit, Lad. I saw the way you looked when they took him. The way you looked when you were losing him. And the way you look at him now … That's love … and he loved you as much." Grotknot sighed. "We all have anger inside, myself included, but mine died the moment you put that boy in my midst and that ladle in my hand." He walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You just have to allow the brave side in."
Jostice looked to the old man. "He would've never been so weak …"
Grotknot guffawed, "your mother made that ripe, gunslinger a soft alchemist. I knew 'em before you both and Jerocobish was weak when it came Good Jean. She and you kids transformed him into a complete man. In fact, I was jealous I hadn't swooned that woman first … And truth be told, she always had an eye for me, but I never saw her in that way. Only ever saw her as a sister."
Grotknot chuckled. Jostice joined him.
"I guess we all have our weakness …"
"Yes," Grotknot nodded, "but there is a time to show and a time to act. When your Pappy lost Ma Jean he wept, but only to give himself the courage to act." He pointed over a shoulder. "And now it's your turn … what do you need to do?"
Jostice allowed himself a thought, "I need to beat the Mayor at his own game. It's the only way that he'll ever give us our lives back."
"And I'll help you," Boone said. He appeared as ghastly as Grotknot had. His hands resting on the revolver pearl handles. "And I've got us some help."
"No," Jostice said, thankful the boy hadn't heard too much. "You're not going into that tournament. You've got too much life ahead of you."
"I've lost everybody I loved dear to me," Boone said, eyebrows furrowed. "I've got to be a man … and take up the Rigger name. I can't stand aside and let y'all fight my battles for me."
Jostice shook his head.
"Who's this help you speak of?" Grotknot asked, rubbing his beard.
"I made allies with a Cyoakian princess …" Jostice and Grotknot stared unsure if to believe him, though there was no reason to be lying. "She commands two of the largest slingers in the tournament. They'll make good when we call upon them."
Jostice said, "even with the five of us, winning that tournament won't be that easy—"
"Seven!"
Behind Boone stood a woman with scarlet strands, olive skin, and the smell of the prairie. She looked more determined than any of them. "I've collected one of my own."
"Leslie!" Boone spun on a heel, squeezing her with all his might. She patted his head.
She fought back the tears, "I'm sorry I hadn't come sooner …" She looked towards the bed. "And I am sorry for your loss."
Boone allowed a few tears to escape.