Boone felt the energy within him spread from his shoulders down to his hands, index fingers twitching.
A leaf twirled from the trees.
Boone pulled his revolvers, spun them, and let them crack like a whip. With a second spin, he slipped them into their holsters, still smoking
The leaf touched the earth.
Darn it …
Two bag-faced scarecrows, stuffed with hay and pinned to stakes, hung with two blue splatter marks; a shot to the left shoulder and one to the crotch.
Boone's eyes fell on two red splotches to the chest.
"E'krek's already been here … he'll be able to get the jump on me."
His legs churned quickly, twigs snapping beneath his boots. It was an ascent up the mountainside to the cottage, and the path was overgrown and underused. Branches extending, smacking his legs like switches.
Two more scarecrows, twenty paces away, one on each side of the path.
Boone felt warm energy spread throughout his hands, draining into his fingers; they twitched. In an instant, he ripped the two revolvers from their holsters. The weight of each gun even, spinning until their barrels drew towards the targets.
Two more cracks sent a flock of black screeching birds airborne.
The first bullet met its target while the second went astray, popping against a tree Boone failed to find.
He carried forward, hopping over logs while his coat-tail waved at his back, whipping, urging him to quicken his pace. He pushed his legs harder.
Boone had grown over the last year, not much taller, but adding an extra ten pounds of muscle to his frame. His stamina had doubled, yet he could never keep the pace of E'krek which displeased his Grandpappy Krigun. "You must allow the wind to carry you. And if there's no wind, then the spirit of your ancestors," he always said. Boone used to reply, "We Rigger's are tough as iron" until Krigun told him iron made him strong while the wind would make him swift.
His hammers cracked two more times and he felt the pull of steel. Each bullet met their target, but with wounding blows; two shots, each to a scarecrows knee cap.
His barrels slipped back into the holsters with a click.
"Can't hit the broadside of a barn," he grimaced, gazing upon two red splotches painting the scarecrows chests.
There's still a chance to best him …
He made his way up the final stretch of path, out into the opening where the cottage rested in the distance, just across a vibrant green field.
Boone could sense the disturbance; the field was never this silent. Usually filled with the whistle of crickets and the hammering of wings from the large beetles that took flight.
From the treeline to the cottage was fifty paces away. He moved slowly, keeping an ear high, while his eyes scanned his surroundings. E'krek could be anywhere. He was like a serpent, coiled up and ready to strike.
Since the tournament, Boone still felt the phantom pain in his right hand. The damage the poison did was minimal, but some nights he'd wake from a shock of pain that moved up his arm. It has to be the snake wound, he'd tell himself.
His ears caught the rustle towards the east.
Boone drew his obsidian blade and lifted it to meet sharp stone. Crack! Sparks shot off like fireflies.
E'krek smirked, holding out his Tomahawk
He was dressed in his tall, black-brimmed hat, a button shirt, trousers, and his moccasins. His face was painted with clay, red as blood. And he wore beaded bracelets that slipped up and down his arm with each spin of his weapon while beaded earrings twirled as his head bobbed.
"Your guest disrupted my attack …"
Guests?
Boone kept his eyes on the boy. Leg crossing, one-over-the-other, circling around each other.
E'krek movements were difficult to predict. Always changing angles; leaning low and feral then standing tall, chest out, before a quick strike. He curled his lips, watching Boone who still stood like a novice holding his blade. It never felt comfortable in his hand, just like the revolvers, though if he focused his energy, he could swing much quicker than the boy warrior.
The abdomen. Boone eyed the opening in E'krek's stance. I'll strike there—
He lunged forward. E'krek took a step back, chopping downward while shifting right. Boone's legs pushed forward, and he stumbled, catching himself before eating dirt. He spun on his boot, raising the blade where the tip glistened from a streak of sunlight.
E'krek let out a low chuckle, standing upright, walking the circle defenseless.
"You still focus through your mind. You must not hesitate — not think — but focus with your heart." He spun the Tomahawk. "Use your senses if you ever wish to best me."
Boone let out a harsh yell. He brought his blade above his right shoulder then chopped downward. One. Two. Three swings sliced the air. E'krek danced around the keen edge, not a drop of blood spilled.
"I do not even need to listen to your mind … your movements and eyes show your next strike."
Boone stood, back arched, lungs expanding and shrinking quickly. "You speak as though you can not be beaten …"
"By you, no. I am far superior with a blade. And though you're quick to the draw, you lack accuracy."
"If I best you I want you to admit it," Boone said, ocean blue eyes narrowing. "You shot Rynan with that decayer!"
E'krek stopped, baring his stained yellow teeth.
"Admit it!" Boone's voice shook, blonde bangs slipping across his face.
"Admit what?"
The boy's nose wrinkled, pulling his eyebrows downward. He pushed the inner energy into his swinging arm, and his hand felt like it caught fire.
Each swing was more committed than the last. He chopped and cut, jabbed and sliced.
E'Krek took a step back for each swing, dodging the first five, then drawing his Tomahawk to parry the next seven. Sparks danced. Stones clashed. Then the boy's locked, hands on wrists, fighting against the other's weighted force.
They danced in a circle, pushing and pulling while their limbs trembled. Dust spun from the earth, sending the beetles who watched silently in the grass, skyward; their wings a blur, beating like hammers against an anvil.
"You're a worthless," Boone took a breath, "liar!"
"And you," E'krek said, sweat trailing down his forehead, "are just worthless—"
"Enough!" Krigun's voice carried like a horn across the field.
The boy's tense muscles relaxed, and they pulled away, searching for the man.
Boone turned to find Krigun standing cross-armed only a few feet away. How he had gotten there without detection was a mystery. Lips twisted like rotting roots. His eyes sharp like being in the eye of a predator, with no chance of escape.
"Is this how you display yourselves to our guests?"
Boone raised an eyebrow at the word, searching until two heads of fire-red hair emerged from the treeline. One on a young, beautiful woman. And the other on a goofy faced boy, tall as a giant.
They both waved wearing smiles that spoke of their long absences.
"You should not be here," Boone said, eyelid twitching. "You're only a distraction!"