FIC: Finding the Slayer (7b/?) B/W PG

The open expanses before her were awe-inspiring as much as they were mind numbing. It was easy to lose focus as the steady movement of her horse lulled the physical senses. She no longer had a wagon train to guard from evil and that made it harder to keep alert. They left the caravan after she destroyed the last nest of Vampires two; no three days outside of Council Buffs, so it was easy to lose her edge. With all the movement towards the West, the Watcher's Council had decided to send a Slayer out along the Oregon Trail to seek out any hidden nest of demons. They hads been out in the territories since early spring. It was now late summer and the Slayer was tired of the constant fight with both the harsh land and the demons. There had been many demons preying on the settlers as they moved in their cloth covered wagons, some attacking en masse, others picking off one or two humans at a time.

She and her Arthur, her Watcher were ?she didn't know how many days they were out from Omaha this time. They were heading south because there was a report that several settlers and wagon trains were missing in the area of Rock Creek Station, Nebraska.

The land had been changing in the last day from the nearly endless flat of the long grass prairie to the hilly land of the short grass prairie. The Slayer missed the tall trees and water of the East. This land was the same for miles, days, weeks at a time, with only the occasional break that a lone "river" would give it. Their rivers out here were laughable, what was labeled a "river" in Nebraska would be dismissed as a Mill Run or stream on the East Coast. Still, what water there was out in this barren land was clean, almost pristine, when compared to the fifthly sludge filled rivers of the Atlantic Coast.

With the hot sun beating down on the baked earth, they rode their horses up and down the hills in a rhythm that began to numb even her extra senses. The rough material of her breeches was soaked with sweat, as was her long-sleeved cotton shirt. She was thankful that her Watcher made sure they both had the wide brimmed hats that the men who worked the cattle so loved. The sun would burn any exposed skin in a matter of a few hours. It wasn?t as hot as her native Southside Virginia, but the sun on the open prairie was relentless.

She shifted her seat; she wasn?t use to these huge contraptions the westerners called saddles. She could never get used to trying to keep her seat during a trot instead of working with the horse and posting. Still, Arthur had found her a fine three year old Morgan in Omaha to replace the high strung thoroughbred that had raced off the night their caravan had been attacked by M?cak demons. She liked her small steady horse, though it was hard trying to get used to both "neck reining" and the strange saddle at the same time. The mild mannered chestnut didn?t seem to mind. He tended to know instinctively which way to go by just her slightest lean to one side or the other. Something her big Bay could never have mastered.

The sun slowly moved across the sky and still her Watcher pushed them. She rubbed the sweat off of her hand on the leg of her pants. Her Watcher insisted that she dress like a man or a young boy so that they wouldn?t waste time fighting off the ruffians and hooligans that seemed to try and make company with every woman in the small single street towns they stopped in.

What she wouldn't give for a real bath, with the soft fragrant soap of her childhood. Then the hardest decision she had to make was whether to wear the teal dress that matched her eyes, or the more daring pink to the summer formal. Then came the War, then came the demons, and lastly came her Watcher.

He was so dashing in his modern suits and British accent. It didn?t matter that he was as old as her Daddy, plenty of girls married older men. She had believed that he had come to her rescue like some prince charming and like Prince Charming he had courted her? little did she know then. Yes, they were married, but no, he had never touched her like a husband. It was on their wedding night that she learned of her duty, it was on her wedding night that she first felt her Calling; it was on her wedding night that she killed her first demon.

And it was on her wedding that Arthur told her he could never love his Slayer. That she would live a life of harsh realities and pain, only to someday die unwanted and unloved.

In the early afternoon she saw a figure. It was miles away, sitting on the top of one of the higher hills. They were traveling straight at it so she didn?t think it was worth trying to shout over the steady beat of the horse's hoofs to ask Arthur if he knew what it was.

If her Watcher saw it, then he kept his own council. Her Watcher was a man of few words. She never knew their plan more than a day or two in advance. When they traveled back east her Watcher wouldn?t give her the task or the name of the towns which became their hunting ground until the day before.

The only reason she knew where they were heading this time is because she overheard him getting directions from a trail boss in Lincoln. The Slayer was weary of the constant travel, the continuous fight, the seemingly endless number of demons she had to kill. She felt like there was something missing in her life besides a husband that actually cared for her or a number of children. She felt that she was meant to do something monumental for the world ? not that she didn?t think slaying individual demons and nests wasn't important, it was very important work. Still, she just didn?t understand why she was only one. How could there be only one Slayer for the entire world?

Why couldn?t she just quit fighting and go back to Southside and raise a family? Why couldn?t she be normal?

The figure in the distance never moved, as the horses carried them up and down the large hills. The sun was just over the horizon when her Watcher called a stop for the night. The light from the sun was slowly being replaced by the silver glow of the full moon.

They reached the lee side of one of the larger hills; it was a good position to try to defend. She could see all four sides.

"I think the horses need a rest," her Watcher said pulling his paint to a stop. "What do you think of this place?" He asked her, as he always did when it was a question about tactical planning, or in this case where to place their camp.

"I agree, Arthur." she answered with a relieved sigh and then slowly dismounted. As a child, before the War, she loved to ride the hunt. Now though, riding through this strangely barren land, with its sameness day after day, she prayed for the day that they would leave the horses behind them.

After Arthur unloaded the packs and unsaddled the horses she walked them around. It loosened their tightened muscles and hers at the same time. When she finished walking the horses she always fed them while she rubbed them down, drying the moisture on their bodies so that they wouldn?t get sick when the night air turned cold.

"Aye, I?m worried about the paint?s left foot." Arthur said, coming up behind her. "She seemed to be favoring it."

"I?ll check it," she told him and then lifted the horse?s rear hoof to clean it and examine it. It took her a few minutes to find the small crack but when she did she let out a long sigh. "Her hoof is cracked clean through. I wish we could have found a blacksmith in Beatrice to shod her."

"So she is quite useless to us?" For such a smart man, he sure could say the dumbest things. The Slayer swallowed her retort and looked over the horse?s back at the figure in the distance instead. It was backlighted by the moon and it seemed to cast an eerie shadow over the plain.

She shivered as a vague feeling of dread rose up through her. She was curious about the shadow form on the far hill and yet intuition told that she would never find out what it was or how it got there.

"Belle, what is the matter?" Arthur asked and the Slayer was brought out of her gloomy thoughts.

Rubbing her arms she shrugged. "Nothing really, I just had the strangest feeling." She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

"Was it a premonition?" He continued to question her. He walked around the paint, looking down at her. She could see the concern in his green eyes. "If you don?t tell me then how I can I help you? Innocents could die ?."

So there it was, the concern she saw was just Arthur being her Watcher, it was nothing personal.

"T?was nothing Slayer related, Watcher of Mine. Just my tired mind playing tricks." She shook her head again trying to clear it, the anger she felt at her Watcher for tricking her into this sham of a marriage had long since died. Still, he acted so much like her father sometimes ? the aloofness, the blazing intelligence, the insight into the way of the world, and at last the ethics. Sunnydale Horse Farm had no slaves, as did most of the farms and Plantations in Southside, but when the North sent it?s unwashed hordes to invade it didn?t keep the men from joining the fight to protect their homes.

The Slayer often thought Arthur had played on that weakness. She had missed her father and brothers so desperately after the War. Yet, Arthur and, what she later found out was the Council had been a godsend. Thanks to them, Sunnydale Horse Farm had recovered before all the rest of her neighbors and her mother and sisters would live a comfortable, happy life. Even if she wouldn?t.

"Belle what is it? This is the second time your mind has wandered off." Arthur hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder. She shied away from his touch and the horses picked up on the tension, shuffling their feet. It reminded her of the paint?s injured hoof.

"Nothing Arthur," she told him running her hands over the paint?s forelock. "The night in this empty land is just spooking me." She shrugged her shoulders. "To answer your question, yes ?the paint," she paused at the horse?s name. They had decided after Thunder had dashed off that they would not name their horses. It hurt too much when they lost one and they would surely lose another horse or two before this awful trip had concluded.

"The paint cannot bare your weight, or the weight of the packs. She may still fetch a good price or trade if Rock Creek Station has horses to sell. Until then my Morgan will have to double up," she concluded hobbling the paint. She didn?t like the idea of hobbling a horse. They were too high spirited of animals. If they were frightened it wouldn?t matter what was on their legs, they would try to run, and if they ran with the hobbling they could break their legs. No, she would much rather tie them; except there was no place to do so, there were no trees, no fences, nothing.

Her Watcher nodded at her words. The horses were her area of expertise. "Will the Morgan be able to handle the weight?" His question was a good one considering that if they lost both horses they would be sitting ducks for any demon or outlaw in the territory.

"If we go slowly he should be fine. The Morgans are a hearty breed used to pulling wagons and plows. How many days are we from the Station?" Belle moved to the Morgan in question, giving him a long drink of water then an extra ration of grain. The only thing the land had going for it was that the grass could feed their horses for weeks at time. Meaning they only had to carry enough grain to supplement their diet. One thing about the open expanses of the land was that the horses were in their natural environment. The one which God had created just for them.

"We should be there tomorrow, if the directions the chap in Lincoln gave me are to be believed. But we can always backtrack to that last community." He followed her back to the camp after she hobbled the Morgan.

"No, Arthur. I didn?t see any horses worth a trade and I?d rather keep going," she told him, looking again over the hills to the far figure. For some reason the sense of doom wouldn?t leave her and she wanted to get beyond that hill tomorrow ?she felt that if she could just find out what the lone figure was then everything would be all right.

They ate a cold dinner of beans and jerky. Since they had camped on the lee side of the hill, just under the horizon or top they decided not to use a fire to heat their supper. Though the Slayer would have liked some tea to wash down the vile concoctions instead of just water.

Arthur was nearly asleep sitting up by the time they finished supper. And since the moon was three quarters across the sky she decided to send the older man to his bed. In their travels they had fallen into the rhythm that Arthur would keep watch over their campsites while the moon was in the sky and that Belle would take over once the moon set. She never needed more than a few hours sleep each night anyway, and she could go two or three days with no sleep at all if necessary.

"Go to your bed Watcher of Mine," she told him gently, taking the tin cup of water out of his hand. He started awake, his green eyes blinking furiously behind his wire rimmed spectacles.

"No, no, I?m quite all right for duty tonight." His protest was cut off with a huge yawn. "We do not know what manner of evil is lurking by the Station and I want you well rested for the trials ahead." Another yawn caught Arthur. She just held his look as he tried to straighten his drooping shoulders.

"And just what good would ye be to me tomorrow night if you don?t rest tonight?" the Slayer asked reasonably. She didn?t tell him the real reason she didn?t want to sleep was that she thought if she just closed her eyes for a few moments, she would never awaken. The gloomy feeling had grown all throughout dinner into an almost overwhelming sense that there was something calling her to the fight. That even as they spoke something was getting closer to them.

Oblivious, Arthur nodded at last and stumbled to his blankets, he didn?t bother to pull the top cover over him. The Slayer could tell that he was asleep in moments.

Now it was her time. The night belonged to her. She always carried a few daggers in specially designed sheaths in her boots, and stakes on her person but tonight she took three swords out their weapons pack. The beautiful curved Katana and the long saber she kept for herself. The sharp long sword she placed by Arthur. She checked the horses to make sure they were all right. She always kept their tack near them in case they needed to escape quickly. Her Watcher had insisted on being able to saddle and bridle the horses in 30 seconds.

After the moon set she crawled to the top of the hill. She had seen some Indians do it while they were hunting buffalo. She knew that no person could see her over the tall grass, yet she could still see all the accesses to their camp.

We live in fictitious times. We live in a time with fictitious election results that elect fictitious presidents. We live in a time when we have a man sending us to war for fictitious reasons. We are against this war, Mr. Bush. Shame on you. Shame on you.
-- Michael Moore