Three Past Desolation Cut: A Western Fantasy Novella: Lost Colony, #1.2

By Grant Stone

Time to Read: about 75 to 90 minutes

 

Armed with only three bullets, an old map, and a score to settle, Bonnie Murtaugh may be in the Splintered Man's territory, but she won't let anything come between her and vengeance.

Lost Colony is a quarterly magazine of mid-length (10,000 to 25,000 words) science fiction and fantasy in all of their varieties. This ebook edition also includes an Editor's Note in which the editor explains why this story was chosen for publication.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lost Colony Books
• Release date: Apr 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201596545

Book preview

Three Past Desolation Cut © 2022 Grant Stone

Editor’s Note © 2022 M.E. Pickett

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means whatsoever without written permission from the copyright holder, except for brief portions quoted for purpose of review.

Cover image by Nong2 via Shutterstock

Cover and interior design by M.E. Pickett

Lost Colony is a publication of Lost Colony Books, a division of Great Pond, LLC

www.lostcolonymagazine.com

www.lostcolonybooks.com

Lost Colony and its colophon are trademarks of Great Pond, LLC

image-placeholder

Volume 1, Issue 2

April 2022

Contents

About Lost Colony

Three Past Desolation Cut

About the Author

Editor’s Note

About the Editor

Support Lost Colony

About Lost Colony

Lost Colony publishes one masterfully crafted piece of mid-length (10,000-25,000 words) speculative fiction (science fiction and fantasy in all of their manifestations) every quarter. Quarterly stories are published for free on our website (with ads) and for one or two dollars as an ebook (without ads). Once a year, all four of the stories that have appeared in the magazine are published in an annual anthology, both electronically and in print. If you buy the ebook of either the quarterly story or the annual anthology, or if you buy the print version of the annual anthology, you will also get editor’s notes that explain why each story was chosen for publication.

I started Lost Colony after I wrote a mid-length story and very quickly ran out of outlets to submit it to. I thought that the mid-length story should get more love, so I decided to launch this little publication.

I named it Lost Colony because I had moved to Roanoke, Virginia, shortly before launching it. Roanoke, Virginia, has nothing to do with the lost colony of Roanoke (which was in North Carolina), but it was the first thing that I thought of when I learned about the city, so it made sense to me. It also evokes a sense of mystery, the supernatural, or even the exploration of the cosmos, so it fits nicely with what I’m looking for in the stories that I publish (for more details on what I’m looking for, check out the Submission Guidelines).

Three Past Desolation Cut

By Grant Stone

Chapter 1

All three of them were sat around the fire and Gosford had just finished saying grace when the man stumbled out of the shadows.

Bonnie’s gun was in her hand before he could step any closer. The stranger caught the flash of metal in the firelight and raised his hands. Sorry to disturb, he said. Don’t mean no harm. But I was passing and saw your light. Wondered if you might have room around your fire for one more, least for a while.

He stayed at the edge of the fire while the others took him in. He stood tall but awkward, as if something in him was twisted permanent, something grown wrong in his spine or his hips. His shirt hung loose around his shoulders. Didn’t look like there was a lot of meat on his frame. A sorry sight overall, like a doll dragged through the dust and hauled up to its feet.

Bonnie kept her gun pointed squarely at his chest. What’s your name? she asked.

The man’s right hand, already raised, brushed the rim of his hat. Richard King, ma’am. Like I said, don’t mean no harm.

A handspan of breaths passed with nobody moving. Bonnie could feel the cramp starting up in the fingers of her right hand, a slow but insistent throbbing in her palm. If she stayed this way, her finger wrapped round the trigger, the feeling was only going to get worse, spread up her wrist towards her elbow. She sighed. She wasn’t going to shoot this man. She put her gun away and tried to rub the ache out of her knuckles.

Gosford set his Bible in the dust, wiped his palm on his shirt and offered his hand. Owen Gosford, Mister King. That’s Bonnie Murtaugh. And that unconscionable bastard over there is John Eaton, Jesus curse his name. Gosford spat on the ground as he said this last.

Eaton gave no indication that Gosford’s insults stung him any. He didn’t stand, but he touched the brim of his hat. Not much of a fire, friend, he said, but you’re welcome to whatever warmth you can get. Ain’t that right, Bonnie?

Bonnie wasn’t sure about that at all. Something about the man didn’t sit right with her, though now she looked at him, she couldn’t quite place what it was. True, he looked odd, but she didn't think it was his appearance that vexed her. How had he managed to get so close without them hearing his approach? Perhaps he’d come in against the wind. Or perhaps your ears are wearing out same as your hands, she thought. You’re getting old, Bonnie Murtaugh.

She shrugged. Sit.

King slowly eased himself to the ground. Bonnie wondered if whatever was wrong with the man’s spine was causing him pain besides twisting him askew. But once he got himself down, he looked at the three of them and smiled. His mouth was full of browned teeth, crooked as a fenceline after a tornado. Well, I thank you all. It’s far too cold to be walking out under the sky tonight.

Bonnie stared at him through the flames. He was straw-haired and hatchet-faced and the firelight hid more of him than it showed. So, Mister Richard King. What are you doing on a cold night all the way out here?

Going north, he said. Got a sister up near Bostoke could use my help.

Bostoke? Where the hell’s that? Gosford said. He looked around at the others, a look of bald confusion on his face. Bonnie had the notion she had heard of the place, or at least there was something familiar about the name. But where it was, she couldn’t say. She shrugged.

But Eaton nodded his head, as if he were familiar. It’s a long way from here to Bostoke, friend. You’re planning on walking all that way?

No sir, King said. I know a man has a farm still working a few days north of here. He’s got some ponies. Small, most of them, but they’re of a determined type. One of those will take me to the end of the world and back.

Far as Bonnie knew, there was nothing a few days north of here. Nothing a few days south, neither. Nothing much of anything past the Cut, excepting where the three of them were already headed. She had that feeling of disquiet again. It flicked around her like a buzzing fly. But if the others felt the same way, they gave no sign.

Eaton picked