Led by his dispassionate mentor, Calvin rode at a brisk pace into the mountains, forgoing the usual roads. Night fell quickly and without any lights to guide them the young member of Grady’s Posse couldn’t keep his bearings. At night the mountain came alive with the sounds of insects calling, and the wind blowing through the evergreen trees. Cal took the time to enter a Resolute state and try to feel out his mentor’s Resolve. He breathed in deep, focusing himself. In the years since he became a Gun it had become remarkably easy for Cal to enter a Resolute state. He was able to transition into it in only a moment. The darkness around him lit up with life. Everywhere he looked more swirling trails of energy shot through the dark. The world was teeming with life’s vibrant colors.

  The elder Gun could tell he had done this. His energy dropped in a moment from its deep red signature to almost nothing. Calvin could hardly tell he was alive. But for a moment, he could feel the Gun’s intense Resolve. This man was one of the most powerful Guns he had ever met, his signature almost as large as Louey’s. Calvin was floored when he quickly shut it down.

  “Any Gun worth his salt can alter the signature.” The elder Gun huffed, “You’d be dead against a Mandrake if you didn’t.”

  “Mandrake?” Cal hadn’t heard of whatever that was.

  “Can it, kid. No questions until you complete the Trial.” He shook his head, “And you’d better save your Resolve. You’re gonna need it.”

  A few hours into the night the two Guns came to a fork in the road. Two paths stretched out into the dark forest. The elder gun halted his horse. Cal looked around. He could see a little better, having adjusted to the dark.

  “What now?” He asked quietly.

  As if to answer his question, three men stepped out of the brush around them. In the dark, Cal could see they were members of the Cherokee Nation. They had on jeans and flannel, they did not appear to be wearing war gear. Calvin knew very little about the Cherokee, but he had been around them for some time. They worked alongside Grady’s Posse, each group exchanging their knowledge and helping with the supernatural problems in the South. This brought a few Cherokee to the Sanctuary from time to time.

  Cal noticed a strange nobility about the men whenever he saw them. The members of Grady’s Posse were typically mellow, sometimes rowdy, and often very crass. But these Cherokee were no Six-Guns, they were true warriors raised up from generations of warriors. They had a formality and pride about them which Calvin found magnetic. Whenever they were around, the Guns knew to show respect.

  “One for the Trial?” A Cherokee approached the elder Gun, speaking in his eloquent English. The Cherokee had a manner of speaking English which exuded patience and professionalism.

  “One for the Trial.” The elder nodded. He slipped off of his horse, removing his riding glove and clasping the Cherokee’s hand in a sign of brotherhood. “How’s things?”

  “We are very well this summer.” The Cherokee replied, “I think I will have a daughter any day now. I hope it will be a daughter, anyway.”

  “That’s great. Anyway, that’s the kid.” The elder Gun gestured to Cal, who had similarly dismounted.

  With a few sure-footed steps, the Cherokee approached Calvin. He inspected the boy in the dark. After a long moment, his eyes wide and powerful, he looked back to the elder Gun.

  “This one is tainted.” He whispered out of Calvin’s hearing.

  “So what?” The elder appeared disinterested.

  “How do you know he will not be killed?”

  “I don’t.” the Gun shrugged, “I got orders. It’s the way. If It doesn’t like him, It’ll do its thing.”

  “Very well,” The Cherokee pursed his lips. Turning back to Cal, he smiled. “I will take you to the trial. What is your name?”

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  Cal couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m Calvin Baird. Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “I am Degataga, Stand Firm.” The Cherokee offered his hand. The men with him each gave a sharp howl in respect to the name of a great warrior.

  Cal took Degataga’s hand and shook it. He let the men lead him down one of the paths. Only once he reached the torchlit cabin up the mountain did he realize that his mentor had not followed. It was just him and the Cherokee men. This did not discomfort Cal, he found the firmness of the Cherokee disarming.

  “You will sleep here, Six-Gun.” Degataga told him, “In this cabin. A good rest. When the time is right, you will be taken for your Trial.”

  Cal furled his brow, “We aren’t doing it tonight?”

  “No, you will wait for us to take you”

  “But, well…” Cal carefully assessed what he wanted to say to this warrior.

  “Enough” Degataga cut him off, “It is said that Storm Walker, the man called Grady, waited on this mountain for 40 days to be taken to the place we will take you. He waited because he knew the significance of this place. His men must follow in his footsteps.”

  Talk of Grady shut Cal right up, as it had shut up his impatient father many years ago in that exact spot. He did as he was told, entering the cabin through the heavy front door. His eyes, adjusted to the dark, took in the bright lanterns very poorly. As his eyes adjusted the door shut behind him. The fuzzy vision receded and Calvin found himself faced with two other boys around his age.

  Sitting in the corner of the room on an aging padded chair, a boy in Six-Gun clothing and a hat looked up at him. He had big blue eyes the color of corn flowers, staring with curiosity. After a moment, the boy turned away, his boots kicked up on the windowsill.

  The other boy hung by his legs from the top bunk of a set of bunk beds, grinning with delight. He looked very strange to Cal, his face covered in white makeup, with two big diamonds in red makeup at his eyes. A bright red ball sat over his nose, he looked like a clown. He wore thick leather riding chaps which helped him comfortably hang upside down from the bed rail, and his stark green hair hung down. What struck Calvin the most about this boy was his stark eyes. Each the color hazel, they appeared vibrant. Without even entering a Resolute State, Cal would tell this young man carried great Resolve.

  “Whoa there!” The clown boy chuckled, “We got a live one! Check it out John Boy!”

  “I told you, nobody calls me that.” The other boy rolled his eyes. While Cal focused his attention back on him, the clown fell from the bed and hit the ground with a hard crash.

  “I’m ok…” Cal heard from the floor

  “It’s John, by the way.” The other boy told him, “I don’t know where he got ‘John Boy’ from.”

  The Clown sprang back up, now wearing an elegant red Stetson. “My name’s Buster, Order of the Harlequin.” He offered Cal a hand.

  “I’m Calvin Baird, uh, Grady’s Posse. Cal’s good though.” Cal stumbled for some confidence.

  Buster laughed energetically, “Oh come on! We’re all Six-Guns! What a crack!”

  “But… you’re a clown.”

  “Yeah, and a Gun! You’re too good!” Buster continued to chuckle.

  John shot him a puzzled look, “You don’t know about the Rodeo Clowns?”

  “No” Cal looked equally confused.

  “Aw don’t be mean now, John Boy.” Buster slung his arm around Cal’s shoulder, “We Rodeo Clowns are from a long line of jesters and fools who follow Grady’s Teachings. I’ll tell you more about my people if you’re ever interested. But I wanna know about you!”

  Cal felt a little touched, a smile forming in the corners of his mouth. He didn’t expect to meet a clown, but he definitely didn’t expect him to be so friendly. After getting the cold shoulder from his mentor, Buster’s openness was a warm welcome.

  “Well, I’m from Florida.” Cal looked to him, “I have been studying at the Sanctuary for a few years. I haven’t seen y’all there. I’m here for the Trial. That’s why you’re here too?”

  John adjusted himself, settling into the chair a little more. He decided not to dignify such a stupid question. Buster, on the other hand, grinned wide and nodded. Plopping down on a nearby rocking chair, he answered in earnest.

  “Yup! We’re both here for the trial, Calvino. Soon, I’ll have my own pistol. Then we can start training with that old sourpuss.”

  “He’s your mentor too, huh?” Calvin shook his head, “What’s his deal?”

  “Dunno” Buster shrugged, “I suppose we ought to tease it out of him when we get back. But for now, it’s a waiting game.”

  Cal went over to the bottom bunk of the bunk beds, sitting himself down with a sigh. “You know how long we’re supposed to wait?”

  “Can’t tell.” Buster shook his head, “I been here two days now.”

  “Four, for me.” John groaned from his spot, his hat over his face.

  “Dang,” Cal looked across the room, taking in the mountain cabin furniture. They had a potbelly stove in a small kitchen in the corner of the cabin. This little place was not unlike his childhood home on the St. John’s river, a simple one-room dwelling with an improvised layout. It brought a dull ache to his chest as he thought of home and his Momma. Every now and again, something would remind him of her and bring his mood down. Given the exciting circumstances of his Trial and meeting some fellow Guns, he found it hard to be too depressed. He was, however, becoming tired from the ride over. He wondered about Chip, figuring he was with his mentor. The wandering thoughts were not enough to keep him awake.