Chapitre 77: A Song for the Sorrow
Mason laughed, "There are plenty of eyes here—"
Mitch patted his boy on the shoulder, "now don't get to hasty, son. No need to start the fireworks early." The man tilted his black hat. "We'll be seeing you soon, boy."
The wagon jerked. They were off towards the east, heading down main street, glaring at the Horns until their wagon was lost in the crowd and the smell of lavender had faded like a dream.
"You're quick to rouse with anger, Laddy. You must learn to stop and use what's inside of here." Grotknot prodded his head.
Boone waved off his hand, "a true Gunslinger's reacts before the other."
"True," Grotknot said, eyeing the boys trembling. "But you're no Gunslinger, Laddy. Don't have the nerves for it. You're training to be an alchemist … and with alchemy, you must plan each of your steps."
Boone said, "Well maybe I don't want to be an alchemist ... see what good it's done you and my Grandpappy. And besides, I've learned nothing from you except how to brew a stiff drink."
Groknot scratched his beard, "if you feel this way then I will train you no longer."
"Good!" Boone plopped back down into the wagon. "I'll just find a tome in the library … or, better yet, ask Grandpappy once he's back to himself."
The rest of the ride to the Stir Doctors was quiet except the beat of hooves, the squeak of wagon wheels, and Quincy occasionally sucking on a pipe to draw smoke into his lungs. When the wagon stopped in front of the multi-chimney building, Boone was first one out.
"Are you coming?" Boone asked, looking at the young girl and boy who stared to him with their green-gemmed eyes.
"We have other matters to attend to," Quincy said, his hand shifting inside his coat pocket. "Thank you kindly for watching after my sister."
Boone looked up at the girl who glowed in the sunlight. Beautiful as she was in the morning. The boy wasn't any good at saying goodbyes. Still holding on to the thought that his parents were out there, and Ma Jean was cooking in the cottage, awaiting their arrival. Maybe this was the time to start?
Boone tilted his hat, "I'll see you at the tournament."
Olivica smiled, "I hope so …" She faced forward as the wagon jerked. They rolled down the road and out of mind.
Boone climbed the steps of the Stir Doctors, feeling uneasy since arriving. Last time he'd been there Rynan was the one in bed while the fires roared, the rats scurried, and whatever beast rattled the chains down in the cellar filled the place with a foul stink. But as he walked inside, he was surprised by the eerie silence and the darkness, no flames feasting inside the fireplace. Greeted only by the black, rounded-eyed centipede that watched them from the jar on a stand.
"Nice place they've got here," Grotknot shuttered, looking at the shelves stacked with jars.
"Wait until you try the food—
"Master Rigger!" Oakot appeared from the cellar steps wearing the same red robe he'd last seen him in. The dispirited look across his face made Boone uncomfortable. "Come," he waved a hand, "you must come at once."
Boone nor Grotknot hesitated, they climbed up the stairs where they were shown to the room at the back; the same room Rynan had been treated, and where he killed a man. Boone's grandpappy had already been through enough, and this was a bad omen.
Oakot stopped at the door and dropped his head, unable to meet the boy's eyes. "Your Grandpappy saved his last bit of strength for you, I believe."
Boone felt his hairs crawl. "What do you mean, last …"
Oakot said no more. He slowly opened the door where candlelight expelled out the room. The shadows that lingered around the door dispersed, only until the three of them entered the room and shut the door behind them.
Jostice stood at their approach, his head wrapped once white rag, now stained red. He stood like a man who'd lost his soul. Grimacing. No longer the gunslinger who'd been courageous in the face of death, but a man broken, the wounds only shown on the weary look on his face.
Grotknot removed his pelted hat. He and Oakot stayed behind at the door while Boone slowly approached his grandpappy. The boys ears rang of sharp inhales and weary gasps coming from the bed, the blakents hiding the one who exhausted them.
Boone got to the edge of the bed where he looked upon the man who'd raised him since he was a boy. Jerocobish's face was covered in black, webbed splotched while his eyes were black as oil. The blankets that covered his chest rose slowly then fell rapidly, as hot, musky breath left his lips.
"My boy," Jerocobish eyes turned upon him. "My sweet Remmiron … I thought I'd never see you again."
Boone's lip trembled. "It is not your Remmiron, Grandpappy. It is I … your grandson … Boone Rigger."
Jerocobish raised his lips slowly, "but of course … you look as your father had." He turned hacked , gargling until he found his breath once more. "I have seem to have misplaced my alchemy tome, but when you find it … it is yours." He hacked, and with the last bit of his strength pulled the blankets from over his nude body. "For now, you have this … they were the pair I was going to give your father."
Boone looked down upon his Pappy's stomach were a set of silver, shining revolvers glistened with handles white as pearls.
"They are achellet revolvers … and you're ready to wield them."
Boone lifted the guns from his chest, they were heavy and cold. Held by the hands of a man Boone wasn't certain he could live up to. With more kills than and gunfights then the boy had ever heard in tales and from Ma Jean's stories.
"My boy," Jerocobish said, "You are now a man …" He took one last breath then exhaled as his body went still.
Boone stared at his Grandpappy, arms falling to his side. Hands trembling. Unable to speak or to find the courage to scream. He stood there frozen, soulless, while the tears washed across his cheeks … and he prayed … prayed they'd wash away his sorrow.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone