Blood and Steel

Fourteen years, and seventeen days. At this very spot, fourteen years and seventeen days ago, he had found the home his father had built, broken. Whatever was left of his parents, their faces were stuck in a horrid visage. All that was left to his name was his father's Colt, his colt, a shovel, and five cartridges. He had buried his parents at that very spot, and had left in search of lawmen. Of course, the lawmen labeled it as another case of Indian. And so, Hank Williams, the boy in question, had lied about his age and conscripted into the Army.

Alas, it was a terrible year to begin conscription. Tension between the North and the South had risen to an all time high, and so war had begun. To add insult to injury, the Mexicans had decided that the best course of action was to declare war on both the Union and Confederacy. Finding himself in the 15th Texas Regiment, he found himself in the center of a four-way war. Whenever it was the Mexicans, the Union, the Confederacy, or the damned Indians, magic was heavily on the battlefield. His first encounter with magic was from the sharp end of an Indian Blood-spear. Being charged by enemy Indians, the Company had managed to fire a three rank volley, fix bayonets, and counter-charge the enemy. The line had begun to spread as the fighting began, one side trying to encircle the other.

Hank was somewhere near the center of the line, stabbing over a fellow soldier's shoulder. As if by unlucky fate, the soldier's neck ripped open, and blood spattered onto Hank's eyes. Unable to see and afraid for his life, he threw himself down like a sack of potatoes, desperately wiping the blood off his eyes. When he could somewhat see again, he saw something out of a storybook. A masked Indian, his tan skin contrasting the red and white paint that patterned his skin, was surrounded by kneeling Indians. The masked Indian would pull a meter long line from one kneeling Indians, pull it back, and throw it like a javelin. Both armies had somehow parted in a circle, allowing the masked Indian a large area to throw his spear.

Barely controlling his shaking arms, Hank let go of his musket, and drew his father's revolver. In a futile attempt to calm himself down, he breathed out, cocked the action, and aimed the revolver.

*BANG*

The revolver sang out five notes, each in tempo with the last. Instead of the report of a meaty slap, the sound of steel against steel echoed three times. On the fourth, glass shattered. And on the fifth, the crack of bone. The sudden salvo had forced the masked Indian to dodge in panic. But alas, he stumbled over his blood bags. What was to become a trivial and easy-to-heal gut wound had become a much more painful spinal wound with his shifting about. The Sanguimancer's concentration had broken, and so had his warding circle. The Confederates suddenly noticing a large, empty space; pushed through the gap and overpowered the Indians, slaughtering them to the man. Hank would eventually pick himself up, hands shaking and colored in blood other than his own.

Later that day, he would ask his sergeant what the hell he saw. His sergeant had called it "Injun' Magic," and to keep his damn mouth shut. Once he saw it, he began to see more. Rituals that would use human sacrifices to poison an army, blood that would come alive and strangle a man, men simply dropping dead for no reason. In the coming years; after his battlefield promotion, a change of officers, and a redrafting to a cavalry unit; he would learn from a slip of a Frenchman's tongue that the magic was called Wabakawashi: the remnants of magic from a done civilization, brought down by a curse.

After a steady service of four years, the Confederacy surrendered, but the War was not over. It did not take long for the gray to become blue, and for brother to stop fighting brother. Texas had managed to withstand the Mexican and Indian onslaught for four years, and it was time to push into Mexico. Tired from the constant fighting, the Mexican troops were unable to withstand the American reinforcement, and combined with the American's heavy use of Gatling Guns and railroads, surrendered on sight. Of course, the Mexican Government had collapsed again, so a new one had to be drafted in Mexico City. A treaty was negotiated, and Mexico ceded all territory north of the 22 parallel. America would support the Mexican Government until it wouldn't collapse, and Mexico could not attack the United States of America for the next 100 years.

But, magic and politics mattered little to Hank. He left the Army with the expiration of his three year contract and had gone to Washington to reconfirm the deed of his father's land. The mess of the two armies becoming one had slowed most offices to a halt, and he was only able to confirm the deed days after arriving. With a new revolver and a gleaming repeater that hung against his back, he took what money he had from his seven year service and began to rebuild what was left of his father's ranch. Nothing would stop him. For the next seven years, he would manage a herd of 100 cattle, selling them to butchers as he saw fit. To him, the Indians were dead and his parents were avenged. Life was good.

And as such, it was a surprise when he awoke to his cattle's cries.