GUN SALAD

By the time a few minutes had passed, Roulette’s attitude toward the dune-cave’s poor lighting had undergone a complete reversal.

The staircase they traversed proved to be long indeed, leading them deep beneath the sands of the Diflagrati desert. The pitch-blackness of the environment made the descent a treacherous one; the girl found that she had to move at an agonizingly slow pace just to avoid jostling Morgan and Marka, who plodded down the stairs just ahead of her… Not that she could blame them, given the state of Marka’s leg. 

Morgan’s ability to buoy the injured man along was impressive, she thought–he was stronger than he looked. If it had been her with the big man’s arm slung about her shoulders they surely would’ve taken a tumble by now.

“Holy hell, do these stairs ever end?” Morgan panted. “If I have to go on like this much longer, Marka’s won’t be the only bum leg we have to contend with.”

“I apologize,” the big man replied. “I never wanted to be a burden to you… I should not have been so careless.”

“It’s fine. The dolt who took you down seemed about as subtle as a bull with bells on, but he was fast–that’s for sure.” Morgan paused, toiling away in silence for several steps before continuing the thought: “Not sure I’d have been able to take him, myself. Glad we had a means of clearin’ out of there before things got nasty.”

Roulette saw an opportunity to pipe up. “He was after you, y’know, Morgan,” she said. “I didn’t tell him anythin’ of course. But he said you were his ‘target’. Any idea why that would be? Did you know him?”

“No,” he answered. “Then again, my memory gets spotty when I think too far back… Must’ve taken a blow to the head or somethin’. I know one thing, though: if he was lookin’ to do me harm, I probably deserve it. I haven’t always been the fine, upstandin’ gentleman you see before you now.”

Roulette snorted loudly at that.

“Hey, now–no need to be impolite,” he scolded.

“Can’t help it… I mean, not only are you the least gentlemanly gentleman I’ve ever met, I can’t even see a hand in front of my face right now, much less your upstandin’ personage.”

“Hmm… On that note, I may have a thought,” Marka said. “Look closely at the walls. Do you see anything?”

Roulette leaned toward the nearest wall, peering at the surface from less than an inch away. In truth, she couldn’t see anything… But she did recall catching a glimpse of something lining the walls on their way in from the outdoors: intricate, flowing patterns rendered in some kind of green material–probably arcan.

“No. But there were some funny green lines I saw on ‘em when we walked in. Looked to be made of that wizard’s metal if I had to guess.”

“Exactly. Arcan,” he agreed. “That gemstone on the door was probably created from arcanic ore as well. The desert is full of such things. The mages came here as conquerors long ago, you know–they used this mineral to power and control their great works.”

“How d’you know so much about this stuff, Marka?” Morgan asked.

Roulette nodded. “I was wonderin’ that, too. Back in Wesson we hardly think about the wizards or their old toys.”

“Truvelo is different,” he explained. “I do not think their kind ever made landfall in Wesson. Here, though, they were once a mighty force, and they left behind much for scholars to study. Many tourists come to visit Port Pistola for that reason. Of all the major settlements, my city is the closest to ruins like these.”

“I see,” Roulette said. “But what does all this have to do with the junk on the walls?”

“My people have a special relationship with arcan.” Marka’s breathing quickened as he lumbered along; Roulette supposed that the strain of talking and ambling down stairs at the same time must have been getting to him. “When the Magocracy failed, we began to scavenge their ruins. We gathered a great deal of it and learned its ways. This is what we found…”

Roulette couldn’t see exactly what Marka did at first, but a sudden glow from the wall at his left made it clear: he’d held up Voidthrower alongside it, causing the green-hued patterns on its surface to shine with ethereal light. It was beautiful–and useful, as it turned out. The light was more than enough to see by.

“Perfect!” Morgan grunted. “Don’t know what you’re doin’, but keep at it–I can finally see where I’m walkin’!”

The man was pragmatic as always. Roulette, however, found herself more awed by the display than anything. “Marka, that’s amazin’!” she gasped. “How the hell did you do that?”

He chuckled knowingly. “The reason arcan was so beloved by the mages was its usefulness as a vessel for magic. It could hold enchantments, be used to craft magical relics or devices, and–as you see–glow in the presence of the arcane.”

“The arcane?” the girl echoed. “You’re not sayin’ you’re a wizard, are you?”

“No, no. But all Gunslingers are, in some way. A Gunslinger’s weapon contains arcan, you know, and through the use of ancient techniques the Legendary Gunsmiths can turn that arcan into a… Hmm, how to describe it? A booster. It draws out the small amount of mana we have to power the weapon.”

“...So, when we hold our weapon, we become… What, wizardly?” Roulette was trying her best to understand, but the concept was so strange… So alien. She didn’t much like the idea of being wizard-like in any sense.

“Where our hands and our guns connect, there is arcane energy. This is all I can say,” he concluded. “I spent the last few years searching for relics that could do the same–arcan-forged treasures from Enfield that could harness mana the way our guns do. But it never worked… They were created with the power of mages in mind. Only the work of a Gunsmith can make our small reserve of mana useful, it seems.”

Curious, Roulette held Lady Luck up to the opposite wall. Sure enough, the ivy-like patterns of arcan came alive, generating the same level of luminescence that Marka’s gun had produced. She smiled, dazzled by the beauty of it. As underwhelming as Lady Luck’s projectiles had proven to be, it was comforting to know that she still held something truly special in her hands. All at once her doubts about being associated with mages vanished into the ether, leaving only a sense of excitement and pride in her heart.

Morgan whooped–apparently he’d found something of his own to get excited over. “There’s enough light to see all the way to the bottom, now! We’re almost there!”

He was right. By the light of the arcan’s glow, Roulette could see a floor of smooth sandstone at the end of the narrow stairwell. She figured she was nearly as happy to see it as Morgan was; a patch of bare floor would be all they’d need to wait out the storm and, possibly, get some well-deserved shuteye. The man heaved a sigh of relief the moment his feet touched solid ground, then moved immediately to shunt Marka off to the side (though, to his credit, he made sure to lower the Truvelan into a comfortable sitting position before revoking the use of his shoulder).

“Phew!” he exclaimed, wheeling his arm about with enthusiasm. “For a little while, there, I didn’t know that I’d make it… You’re heavier’n a horse, my friend.”

The dimness of the chamber made it hard to tell, but Roulette reckoned she saw a blush creeping into Marka’s cheeks. “Yes, well, as difficult as it may have been to get me down the stairs, making our way back up them is sure to be worse.”

“Nah. We’ll just leave you here.”

“Morgan!” Roulette squeaked, aghast.

“Relax! I’m jokin’, I’m jokin’...” he assured her. “Still, we will need a better way. Stairs’re too narrow for us both to carry him at once.”

“A walking stick, perhaps?” Marka suggested.

“That’s what I’m thinkin’. A stick or somethin’ stick-like, seein’ as there don’t look to be a whole lot of trees down here.”

Roulette was already walking out into the darkness of the chamber, her gun held aloft in anticipation of another arcan-bearing surface. She soon found one… Then another. And then another. As she walked the length of the room, it became clear that they stood before the openings of multiple hallways, all of which carried on into blackness her light was too dim to penetrate. Thankfully, just like the staircase, their walls bore graceful lines of wizard’s metal for Lady Luck to react with.

“Well, ‘least we got no shortage of options,” Morgan quipped. “Have you got a preference, o great and fearless leader?”

“Quiet…” Roulette replied, cocking her head in the direction of the forbidding passages.

“What? What is it?”

She looked back at him, puzzled. “I hear somethin’ ahead. Sounds almost like…

“...Machinery?”