Cold Iron

The rooster’s crow signaled dawn upon Hawker’s Glen.

Cobalt sun rays slowly peeked over the tops of the Twilhurst Mountains, illuminating the small town. The sky had begun to change from the dark navy of night to a multitude of pinks, orange, and reds. The caw of a raven rang out from the skies, its wing-beats cutting through the cold. Its eyes gazed down at the scenery below. Wooden buildings made from pine lined the main thoroughfare on both sides, a light snowfall having covered the landscape nights before. A two-story building loomed over the others, a sign above the porch reading “Lucky Fox Saloon”. The raven silently glided over the town, getting more in its vision. Small herds of cattle were being turned out into pastures, mooing softly while the ranchers guided them out from their warm barns. Just in front of the row of buildings stood a small wood and metal sign, welcoming those who entered with the town’s name in white lettering. Letting out another caw, the raven flew towards a secluded house a few miles away. A small barn sat several feet behind the home, surrounded by spruce-fir trees. The sounds of a horse were muffled behind the closed doors. The raven slowly began to descend to the roof of the house, hopping down towards the windowsill below. Tap-tap-tap. Its long beak knocked on the glass, a tiny grunt rumbling in its feathered frame. Inside, the room was dark, the silhouette of a young man outlined from the shadows. Tilting its head, the raven tapped on the window once more.

Tap-ta-tap-tap.

The young man stirred, sitting up from his bed. Blinking, he turned slowly towards the window, noticing the perched raven. It gave a loud, albeit muffled, caw before flying off towards the mountains. He rubbed his eyes, swinging his legs towards the edge of the mattress. Bare feet hit the wooden flooring as he shuffled towards the water basin. Splashing cold water onto his face, he wiped away the droplets with a nearby cloth while staring into the mirror. A young, yet exhausted face stared back, amethyst colored irises gazing into the reflection. Silver hair rested at the crux of his neck, poking up and out in various places from bedhead. He silently pushed his hair back with his left hand, picking up a dark headband with his right. The cloth slid over his forehead as he pulled his hair back through, letting it drape over his neck to the tops of his shoulders. Exhaling, he turned away from the mirror, looking back outside towards the mountains.

It begins again…

The wind from the open front door bit at his fingertips as he pulled his dark duster over his torso, adjusting the collar. Slipping a large brimmed hat over his hair, he stepped out into the winter landscape, boots sinking into the snow. He slowly trudged over to the barn, opening one side of the doorway. A blue roan paint stood within one of the stalls, warm hay and grass surrounding it. It nickered softly when the man approached, resting a hand on its muzzle.

“The winter didn’t get you too cold, did it, girl?” he whispered, stroking the horse’s black and white hair. He took hold of the horse’s equipment nearby, stepping into the warm stall. He gently placed the saddle onto the horse’s back, hearing it paw at the ground in anticipation. The young man softly hummed to the horse while putting the bridle and reins into its mouth. Climbing into the saddle, he gently tugged on the reins, clicking his tongue. The paint nodded, walking out into the frozen landscape.

The journey to Hawker’s Glen was the same as it always was. Despite the deep snow covering the landscape, making the trip a bit slower, his trusted horse knew the way. With the rider’s guidance, the two reached the outskirts of the small town. Snowflakes brushed over his hat brim, sprinkling onto the shoulders of his duster. Gazing forward to the main thoroughfare, he could sense a familiar feeling around him. Cold and heartless stares looked out at him through the fogged up windows of several establishments, eyelids narrowed as he passed by. He gave a small shrug, trying to ignore the gazes. Pulling back on the reins, he stopped his horse in front of the Lucky Fox before jumping off the saddle. He tied the reins to a nearby post, gently patting the horse’s neck.

“I won’t be too long, girl,” he muttered, his boots clomping up the single set of stairs. A warm, familiar wave of comfort washed over him. The inside of the saloon was fairly sized, medium round tables dotting the floors, stools scattered around each. A wooden staircase near the bar led up to the second floor where the young man knew they had storage for perishable food and drinks along with extra tables, in case the first floor got too crowded. The back of the bar was stocked with various bottles and cups, each filled with different colored liquids. A small door led away from the bar to the saloon’s back outdoors, where a small fire pit waited during the winter. On the other side of the bar, opposite of the stairs, a small piano rested against the wall, closed up until ready to be played again.

“I thought I had heard someone enter.” A soft voice descended from the stairwell, causing the young man to look up. An older man, his black hair peppered with grey, eased his way towards the bar, smiling. “I knew it was you, Shiye.”

“Good morning, Walt,” Shiye greeted, removing his hat. “Business wasn’t too rowdy last night?” The saloon owner shook his head, chuckling.

“Well, with that storm coming in over the mountains, folks wanted to board up as quickly as they could. Make sure their livestock were kept warm, things like that.” Walt pulled out a small kettle, pouring coffee grounds into it. “Your usual, I take it?” Shiye nodded, taking a seat at a nearby barstool. He blew warm air into his hands, the wintry bite nipping at the nape of his neck. The scent of strong coffee wafted into his nostrils, bubbling water trailing into his ears. Walter leaned against the countertop, wiping down a mug. “So, how’d you sleep?” Shiye gave a small shrug, placing his hat onto the bar.

“I’ve been having those dreams again, Walt,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Dreams of flying with a raven… One even visited me at my window this morning.” Walt leaned back, massaging his chin.

“Think it’s a sign? For us, we see the raven as an omen.”

“I’m not sure, Walt. All I know is that this raven dream seems to be leading me somewhere… That something big might happen.” Walt gave a tiny smile.

“Well, maybe this big thing might change the folks’ view of you,” he whispered, Shiye shaking his head. He glanced at the kettle, hearing it whistling away. “I know you’ve been having a hard time adjusting, Shiye. You still have me. You can be damn sure that I won’t let anyone lay a finger on you. Understand?” Setting the mug in front of the young man, Walt carefully poured the hot liquid within. Shiye gave a small, solemn nod, taking the cup into his hands. The warmth radiated through his fingers, bringing forth a small comfort. Steam pushed against his face as he took a sip.

“You always make a good cup, Walter,” he smiled, the old saloon owner giving one in return. The squeaking hinges of the saloon’s batwing doors perked his ears.

“Excuse me.” A voice made the two look up from their conversation. A young woman stood in the saloon’s doorway, a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her emerald eyes wandered through the empty saloon. “I tried to stop by your office, sheriff, but the inside was dark.” Shiye smiled, setting the steaming mug atop the bar’s surface.

“Apologies, ma’am,” he replied, tipping his left hand in greeting. “How can I help you?” The young sheriff noticed the woman wringing her hands underneath the shawl, nerves causing creases in her expression.

“You see, sir,” she hesitated, glancing around the large space. Shiye waved at her, offering a comforting look.

“Whatever you might have heard about me, ma’am, you can have your fears eased. Just tell me what the issue is.” The woman sighed, relaxing her shoulders.“It’s my husband’s livestock, sir. Several of them are missing.”

“Missing? You think a wild animal got to them?” The woman stepped forward, shivering from the winter cold. She shook her head.

“Didn’t look like any wild animal attack I had ever seen. There was no noise from the cattle, nothing. All we saw that was left of them were bloodstains. Not even any decaying carcasses.” Shiye leaned against the bar, rubbing his chin. As he stood up, the woman inhaled, her eyes sharp. “Another thing…the wind got blisteringly cold during the night. We could even feel it through the house, even with a fire going. Why, I swore I could even see ice and frost forming on every piece of furniture we own.” Shiye raised an eyebrow, clearing his throat.

“I see. Well, I can take a look, ma’am.” He turned to Walt, placing his hat on his silver hair. “Walt, thank you for the coffee.” The old saloon owner nodded, whisking the cup away while wiping down the wooden surface. Pushing open the door, Shiye nodded as the woman passed him. “Forgive me for asking, miss, but who is your husband?” he asked, stepping into the stirrups of his horse. The woman paused, pointing towards a building several feet from the thoroughfare.

“His name is Latros, sir. However…” she stared down at her fur-lined boots. “I haven’t told him you were investigating the matter. So, when you arrive, you may face some...resistance.” Shiye turned his head, his amethyst eyes gleaming.

“Don’t you worry, miss. I’ll make sure no harm comes to either of us.” He untied the reins from the post before turning his trusted horse in the direction of the crime scene. He glanced down at the woman.

The pasture was eerily silent. Shiye calmly leapt off his horse, snow flying upward from his landing. While he climbed over the wooden fence, the farmer’s wife retreated back towards her home. Even from a distance, Shiye could see the windows were glazed over in a thick frost. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils, guiding him to the middle of the snow covered pasture. Kneeling down, he brushed a layer of the fresh powder away, unveiling a patch of rust colored grass. He inhaled again, feeling the scent pull him towards a section of forest outside the fence’s borders.

A loud bang erupted from behind him, the feeling of static electricity flying past his right ear, causing his hair to raise upward.

“Hey, you!” a voice roared out, the smell of gunpowder now permeating the sheriff’s nostrils. Standing upright, Shiye gazed at the porch of the farmstead. A dracovir glared at the young man, his gold colored scales reflecting the morning sun’s rays. A flintlock pistol was clutched in his left claws, the barrel smoking. “So, back for more of my livestock, are ya?!” Shiye lifted his hands, stepping forward cautiously to the house.

“I can assure you, sir,” he called out, inching ever so slightly towards Latros. “That’s not my intention this morning.” Latros growled, pulling the hammer of his pistol back. Light cyan sparks coiled around the barrel.

“Then what the fuck are you doing in my pasture, boy?!”

“Latros, that’s enough!” The dracovir’s wife stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowed. “He’s only here to help!”

“Quiet, Zaera!” Latros snapped, aiming the pistol at Shiye’s shoulder. “This lying thief is going to get what he deserves!” Shiye sighed, running his hand along the back of his neck.

“Looks like we have to do this the hard way.”Another shot rang out, a loud yelp accompanying the bullet. Latros clutched his left bicep, blood seeping underneath his fingertips. Shiye holstered his own pistol, his hat brim shadowing his gaze. “Now, listen, Latros. Zaera filled me in on the situation just moments ago. I’m going to find out what happened to your livestock, and you are going to allow me to investigate, as sheriff of Hawker’s Glen.”

“Wait a minute!” Latros screeched, turning to his wife. “You telling me that this boy is the sheriff?!” Shiye trudged up to the front porch, tipping his hat.

“I assume you two haven’t been in Hawker’s Glen for very long. Either that, or you don’t go into town very often?” Zaera couldn’t help but snicker, her husband glaring at her. The woman looked back to Shiye.

“I’m sorry for the trouble my husband caused you, sir. Please, do whatever you can to find out what happened. We don’t have much in the way of a reward, but-.” Shiye held up a hand.

“No reward is necessary, ma’am. Just doing my job, that’s all. Now…” he stared hard at Latros. “I do apologize for the wound, sir, but you left me no option. You’d best get to the infirmary.” Latros grumbled a response, his wife leading the disgruntled farmer towards the town. Shiye turned back to the forest, pulling up his duster’s collar.

Looks like I may need some help...