Then comes a drifter, p.1
Then Comes a Drifter, page 1
Then Comes A Drifter
The Drifter Duology
Book 1
C. M. Banschbach
© 2022 C. M. Banschbach
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, subject line “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at uncommonuniverses@gmail.com.
Uncommon Universes Press LLC
1052 Cherry St.
Danville, PA 17821
www.uncommonuniverses.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editing: A. C. Williams
Proofreading: Hannah Wilson
Formatting: Sarah Delena White
Cover Design: E. A. H. Creative Design
To Monica
For loving Dayo first, and not being afraid to walk your own path.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter 1
Another day, another town.
Laramie brushed dirt from her olive-green jacket and loosened the dust scarf around her neck. The sun beat down mercilessly, reflected back up from the asphalt in endless dancing waves. She adjusted the sunglasses on her nose—those scarcely doing an adequate job of cutting the glare from the tired whitewashed buildings lining the main street.
A weather-beaten man, barely of middle years, but aged more by the sun, appraised her motorcycle from his seat outside the gas station.
“Nice bike.” He tipped his head in a quick greeting.
She swallowed to clear the grit from the back corners of her mouth where even the dust scarf hadn’t kept it out. “Thanks.” She swung her leg over the seat and stood, arching her back ever so slightly to stretch out the cramped muscles after having ridden for three straight hours along the lonely desert highway.
“Fill her up?”
Laramie nodded, peeling away leather gloves from sweaty fingers. She liked the people in small towns like these, different from the bigger cities back east. They never wasted time on excess words.
She dug out a water bottle from the left saddlebag and took a long drink of warm water. The price listed above the pump made her frown. It had increased from the last town.
“Passing through?” The man leaned on the pump. His steady gaze took in the entire length of her tall frame from her calf-high boots and canvas trousers, the twin knives strapped to her thighs, the jacket, and finally the long, blonde braid coated in dust. She tapped a finger against the bottle, waiting for him to make it back around to her face.
“Might stay a few days. Looking for some work to get me to the next town,” she said.
He squinted into the sun and spat carefully away from both their boots. “What kind of work?”
“Anything that needs fixing.”
“Mechanic?”
She nodded.
“Any good?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I worked my way all the way over from Caldwell.”
His jaw worked a moment before he spit again. He nodded slowly. “That’s a fair ways away.”
It was. Three hundred miles, four towns, and lots of empty desert to be exact.
“Any good with generators? I’ve got a cranky one out back.”
“I can take a look in exchange for that gas.”
The pump clicked and the man returned it to its holder, nodding his acceptance of the deal. Laramie took the handlebars and wheeled the bike after her new employer.
He gestured at the few feet of shade alongside the building, and she left her bike there. The generator rested a few feet away, a block of machinery sputtering and grumbling from its place along the wall.
Laramie flipped open the saddlebag hanging off the right side of the motorcycle. Her leather toolkit lay on top, embossed with her name. She smiled every time she saw it. A gift from Kayin before she’d left weeks ago. Something to help her remember him out on the road. Like she really needed any help.
She unzipped her jacket and shrugged out of it, leaving it across the bike’s seat, and rolled up the sleeves of her thin green shirt. A slight breeze curled around the gas station’s corner, wicking away sweat from her neck and kicking up more of the never-ending sandy dirt to skitter around her boots.
She squatted by the generator and opened the paneling. The man stood back, arms across his chest, watching as she poked around the machine’s workings.
“Looks like your carburetor is clogged up, and you’ve got a couple of fried coils here in the back. Had a big surge recently?”
Another stream of spit left a swiftly evaporating mark on the concrete. “Lightning strike a few days ago. I’ve got a couple spares, I think. Or might have to go down to Jackson’s place to get some.”
She sat back on her heels as he went inside. Bits and pieces of junk littered the concrete behind the station, all hemmed in by a rusty chain link fence. A water tower was visible from her vantage point, faded black lettering declaring Talbott “The friendliest town this side of the Anthis Valley.”
It’s probably the only town this side of the Anthis Valley. She used her dust scarf to wipe sweat from her forehead.
Scuffing announced a dog meandering its way from the station over to her, panting in a good-natured way. She ruffled its gray-streaked ears, earning a lick.
“Here you are.” The man came back, holding two new coils.
It was the work of a few minutes to install them, and then she started in on the carburetor. The man settled back against the wall to watch, turning his head periodically to spit away from her.
Laramie propped her sunglasses up on her head and ditched the dust scarf.
“Been drifting long?” he asked.
“A few years.” She took the grease rag he handed down and wiped her fingers before reaching back into the machine.
He pondered this in silence. She waited for the follow-up most people seemed surprised to announce.
“Seem a bit young to be drifting the lower country.”
Laramie lifted a shoulder. “Most people just want something fixed.”
He nodded. “And I guess those help with all that.”
She tilted her head up in confusion, until he tipped his chin at her. Understanding flashed. Her eyes. Gray with small drops of blue scattered in the iris—bits of magic still clinging to her blood, telling the world she still had a knack for her people’s old skill with building and mechanical things.
“Itan, aren’t you?”
“Last I checked.” She smiled, though the real answer was more complicated than that. Her eyes and hair said yes, but her heart and mind hadn’t really been for a long time.
A few more minutes’ uninterrupted work finished off the carburetor. She closed the paneling and flipped the generator on. It started up with a steady hum.
“You know you’d do better with a harnesser.” She pushed back up to her feet.
The man shrugged. “I’ve got the gas, so I don’t concern myself much with the lightning. Some other folks round here use it on the rare occasion we get some strikes.”
Laramie wiped her hands on the rag and shoved it in her back pocket as she put away the tools. Maybe she’d be able to find some more work around. Dust always gunked up the harnessers and most folks didn’t know the best way to clean them out.
Though to be fair, no one really knew how the harnessers even worked. They were remnants from the days when magic and science collided to gather and transform lightning for use. She’d been lucky enough to figure out how to open one up and poke around inside to get it running again on its mystery power source.
The man frowned down at the generator. “All right. Guess you earned yourself that gas. I’ll spread the word around. You might head up the road and drop word yourself at the store if you’re looking to stay a few days. Always something around here that needs fixin’.”
Laramie nodded and stuck out her hand. Calloused palm met calloused palm and they parted ways. She wheeled her bike ba ck around to the station lot and settled onto the leather seat. The engine came to life with the comforting roar that always managed to still the itch in her feet for a little while.
The station manager pointed her up the road with a last wave and she waited for a truck to rattle past before pulling out.
Worn speed signs warned of radar enforcement, but towns that size rarely had more than two officers. A cross street later, long stretches of connected buildings stood tall on either side of the road. Wooden awnings stretched over the sidewalks, providing some shelter from the sun.
Pharmacy, salon, two bars, clothing store, post office, then general market store. She guessed at the faded parking lines and idled to a stop, tucking keys into her pocket. More signs of life stirred in the stores, hurrying along sidewalks to get out of the heat, driving along the road behind her in dust-beaten trucks and cars.
Some looked curiously back, others ignored her, intent on their own business. But the whole town would know she’d been there in the next hour. That part was just good for business.
She propped her sunglasses up onto her head as she pushed open the door and stepped into the artificial coolness of the store.
Ordered aisles, a flickering light in the back corner, never-ending dust clinging to the baseboards by the door. It looked like every other store west of the crumbling towers where the green hills gave way to ragged brush and dried riverbeds.
“Help you, stranger?” a cheery voice called.
An older woman who’d earned her age in spite of the sun made her way over from the baked goods display. Her nametag introduced her as Mollie.
Laramie returned her smile. “Yeah, need some travel packs, and wouldn’t turn down a recommendation for the best place to get a meal around here.”
Mollie laughed. “Travel packs back this way.” She gestured over her shoulder.
Laramie followed, grabbing a chocolate bar from a shelf as she passed. She’d have to eat it before leaving town, or else it’d melt all over her saddlebag. She’d learned that the hard way when she’d first started crisscrossing the lower country three years ago.
“How many you need?”
“How far to Danton?” Laramie countered.
“On your bike? About two days. But you’ll hit Arrow and Ceasefire between here and there.”
“Five, just to be on the safe side, then.”
Mollie grabbed five packs from the shelf, the thick brown paper crinkling under her hands. Neat type spelled out the different items in each pack—dried meat, hydration packs, thin cans of vegetables, and an extra nutrient bar.
They made for boring meals on the road, but lasted longer than anything else she could buy. One of these days she’d figure out how to rig a cooling system in one of her bags.
She trailed Mollie back to the register, snagging a few more items on her way. Mollie rang her up and Laramie handed over the neatly pressed bills that resided deep in her wallet.
“You the one that’s looking for work around here?”
Laramie arched an eyebrow. It had taken maybe five minutes to drive down from the gas station.
“Yeah. Need anything?”
“Not right now, but I know the Dunstans were needing some help out at their place. They probably have some extra space for you if you need.”
“Thanks.” Laramie flashed a smile. She gathered up her purchases and stepped back outside, nudging her glasses back down.
She held a short debate with herself as she stored the packs in her saddlebags. The post office was next door. They usually doubled as record keepers and courthouses when circuit judges drove through. Best just ask before she got too busy.
The office clerk popped his boots down off the counter when she walked in.
“Help you?” He leaned on the counter.
“Looking for some records on a family.” She carefully dug out the photo from the inside jacket pocket. She’d put it in a protective covering a long time ago to preserve the edges worn from sleepless, tearful nights.
“Name’s on the back.” Hesitation slowed her hand. She always hated handing it over, even for a few minutes. Like somehow it would vanish in the wind and the dust for the short time it spent in someone else’s hands.
The clerk turned it over. “Sol...Solfee...” He drew his head back, brow scrunching in effort.
“Solfeggietto,” she supplied.
“That’s a mouthful. What is that? Upper country tribe?”
“Itan.” The word rolled from her mouth with a little bit of pride. Even after all these years.
His mouth pursed at the corners as he nodded. “Solfeggietto,” he murmured softly under his breath, at least closer this time with the pronunciation.
“Doesn’t sound familiar. Relations of yours?”
“Yeah. Folks in the picture passed away years ago, but I always check for any other relatives when I pass through towns. Just to see, you know?” She shifted, anxious to have the picture back.
He set it on the counter, face up. “I’ll go check the records. Be back in a sec.”
“Sure.” Laramie pressed her fingers on the edge of the photo. A young couple stared up at her, laughter spilling out of every line on their faces as they wrapped arms around a young boy of about seven, and a girl of about five. The pigment had faded to a light brown at the edges, but all four of them had blond hair, the same gray eyes spotted with blue, and the anticipation that life was never going to be anything more than the clapboard house with roses under the windows and each other.
Hard to believe it had been sixteen years ago. She didn’t remember the day the picture was taken, didn’t remember the softer sun of the upper country above the Rift, and barely remembered the sweetness of the summer roses and the melons growing on trailing vines in the garden boxes out back.
“Sorry. Nothing on that name, or even on any other Itans in the area.” The clerk returned, his mouth still twisted down, this time in regret.
Laramie tucked the photo away. “It’s okay.”
There were never any records. And all of the Itan settlements on either side of the Rift had been wiped out a long time ago by Tlengin raiders. In the three hundred years since the Itan had migrated to Natux to build the river bridges across the Rift, they’d still not ventured far from their own people. It had been a long time since she’d run into another Itan.
“Though.” He leaned on the counter again, tapping his chin as if debating his next words. “I did see a passing note about a small group of Itan heading west to the Christan Mountains a few years back.
Her heart leaped at the first solid lead she’d gotten in years.
“But those are the far border of Rosche’s territory.” He shook his head as if giving up on the possibility of her finding a way there. “They might not have even made it through.”
Laramie caught the corner of her bottom lip under her teeth. She’d heard rumors of Rosche, even back east. His name became more common in the desert as she’d kept traveling west. A self-styled baron—more like warlord—who’d carved out a massive territory for himself ten years ago.
He controlled most of the oil in the western territories of the lower country. Not even the current governor-general bothered with him. Just adjusted the map borders to exclude him from the more civilized areas, and tried to negotiate a price slightly less than exorbitant on the oil and gas exported from his territories.
“Got a map?” she asked.
The clerk raised his eyebrow again, but headed to the back wall and pulled a neatly folded square from a drawer. He spread it out on the counter.
“Here’s us.” He pointed to a dot near the middle of the desert. The Anthis Valley cut a wide swath to the east. She could walk her fingers from the valley to the Christan Mountains in two steps, cutting her way west across Rosche’s territory without a problem. She leaned on the counter.
“I’d planned to cut up north to Danton.” The town settled closer to the Rift—a gaping chasm torn across the width of the continent between the upper and lower countries. On the way around back home.
“Mountains are out of your way then.”
Laramie nodded. She’d be heading straight west, instead of north and a little east. But if there was a chance of finding more Itan, that meant maybe finding some blood relatives. It might be worth the risk.
She smoothed a crease to better study the territory on the other side of the mountains. More desert turned to canyons that eventually emptied rivers into fertile lands. She’d never been that far. No one she knew had.
