Riding the Devil
By William Mangieri
Copyright 2012 by William Mangieri
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Riding The Devil
On the third Move since they’d escaped the J’harn, Dire Smith marked Aaron Walker. Aaron was only three.
His ma’s holding him, and his pa has his arm around them both as they stand with the rest of the folk at the edge of The Town, silently looking out at the mountains surrounding the plateau they’ve stopped on.
There’s a murmur and movement to their right, and the crowd parts, and there’s Smith in his tan longcoat and his black Thunderbird hat, standing right next to Aaron. Smith’s red-rimmed eyes ride above his mask of a neckerchief, pass over Aaron and take him in. He feels his ma shudder and his pa’s arm tighten. Then Smith turns away and shambles off with that slow, dragging gait. No one says a word as he disappears into the dust.