May, 1938

  For two days Calvin stayed with John and Buster in the little cabin in the Cherokee Nation. He spent most of that time playing cards and marbles with Buster, who was eager to make a friend of him. Cal found he liked Buster, his upbeat demeanor, and his little party tricks. Buster was very physical, which Cal believed made sense for a clown, and would often stomp about or loudly proclaim his magical prowess while pulling things from his hat or sleeve. Cal didn’t completely believe they were illusions either, he was very certain there was some kind of sorcery at play. Nevertheless, they were only party tricks.

  John rarely joined in their games. Calvin had decided he didn’t much like him, he was quiet and reserved. They were supposed to be fellow students of the sour elder Gun who had yet to give his name, Cal figured they ought to learn about each other and become friendly. But John didn’t feel the same way. He would sit and read quietly in his chair, sometimes remarking at how loud they were when Cal and Buster started roughhousing. He didn’t engage in their conversations unless he wanted of offer some little slight or complaint. Cal found this tedious while stuck in the cabin with him.

  He had learned a great deal about Buster, as the clown was more forthcoming. He learned why Buster looked odd for a circus clown, forgoing the comically large clothes and full face getup for more practical Six-Gun attire and relatively conservative makeup. Buster had taken the time to explain that there were many types of clowns in the Order of the Harlequin, which had gone back centuries. He had learned the basics of Rodeo Clown life, they were a great clan of clowns who swore themselves to Grady’s Posse. The reason Cal hadn’t met him at the Sanctuary was that he was training in a Rodeo Clown caravan. His clan was a nomadic one, and his life had been a long road which led him here.

  Perhaps most interesting of all, to Cal, was the fact that clowns were practitioners of a magical art which they called Comedy. Comedy had many forms to the clowns, and had for centuries been studied and refined. Comedy, not entirely unlike Resolve, came from ritual and repeated gesture, little rites which had to be timed appropriately to invoke the magic. Comedy could influence people’s mood, it could alter properties of the physical world, and most impressively it could phase matter in and out from some other plane. Buster said it was historically called the Grimaldi Phase of matter, but in America it was more commonly referred to as “Hammerspace”. Juvenile practitioners of the comedic arts, like Buster, could manifest small and often harmless items from Hammerspace, like a playing card or a colorful cloth. But he had emphasized that legendary clowns could phase in entire trains or buildings from Hammerspace, if the rite was performed properly and enough comedic energy was expended. The colorful clothing, the slapstick movements, the face makeup; these were all ritual elements which improved Buster’s practice of Comedy.

  Comedy, combined with the lifelong study of Resolve, made Rodeo Clowns particularly powerful Six-Guns. They had their quirks, and Comedy opened the clowns up to dark influences which often made them wary to take on certain tasks; but the Rodeo Clowns were nonetheless a staple of Grady’s Posse. Cults of ancient Gods, magical clowns, alongside sorcerer-gunslingers and benevolent witches, had all opened Calvin’s perspective of things. He now saw America as a deeply frightening and curious world, full of wondrous and terrible power.

  The third morning since his departure from the Smoky Mountain Sanctuary, Cal awoke to a shroud of darkness. He was wearing a cloth sack over his head and could feel distinctly that he was outdoors. Having gone to sleep in his bunk the night before, he was extremely disoriented. He had woken to a loud chorus of war cries. The cacophony in the dark made him somewhat nauseated. He felt a hand grab his shoulder firmly, reminding him on some primal level of the night the Yellow Cult had come to his home. He struggled but his hands were bound behind him. Thrashing, he tried to wriggle away. The hands gripped him tight and propped him up on his knees. His nerves were alive with anxiety, recalling the horror of the Cult. He struggled to breathe.

  Then suddenly daylight hit him as the sack was yanked from his head. His hair a mess, he looked around with frantic eyes. He was sitting on his knees in a large stone circle carved into the mountainside. John was in the same position to his right, and Buster was to John’s right, all three having been taken from the cabin in the night. over a dozen Cherokee warriors stood around the circle from elevated positions, belting out practiced war cries at the boys. It was a dizzying scene for the young Guns.

  Degataga stepped in front of them, now wearing Cherokee battle clothing. His chest, the color of Southern clay, was covered in white war stripes, and his face was painted red. The other warriors wore their normal clothing, but Degataga was the master of this ritual. Calvin couldn’t see him, but their mentor stood among the Cherokee behind them, watching in silence.

  “Young men of the Storm Walker!” Degataga’s voice was a roar, powerful and true. It stirred Calvin’s blood. “Today you will face It With No Name, as your master had many decades before!”

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  The crowd swelled with their howling. Degataga gestured to the mouth of a cave which sat before the boys. The stone was painted red, but no light permeated through. It was pitch black within.

  Degataga continued, the crowd softening to silence as his next words were important, “You will go within the cave, one at a time. Steel your Resolve, you will be met with It With No Name. You will go before It and sit. You will not fight, you will not run, you will not waver. You must sit before It and be judged. It will look within you, judge your Resolve, your courage.”

  Cal listened carefully. He had been wondering what the Trial would actually be. It ate at him the whole time he was waiting in the cabin.

  “Now is your time to back out.” Degataga looked to them, “If It finds you wanting in any way, it may kill you. This is the road that you take, following the Storm Walker’s footsteps. If you are lacking, if you do not have what is required, this land will destroy you. The Trial is no different.”

  An unfamiliar shiver ran down Cal’s spine. His time since Lou Cobb picked him up had been full of wonder, learning, and growth. Rarely did it dawn on him that he could actually die in these mountains. He knew Six-Guns fought horrifying creatures sometimes, but that danger never hit close to home, until now. He looked to his fellows.

  John did not appear phased at all. He kept a stern, serious look in his face. Cal could see now he had been preparing for this. Perhaps all that time in the cabin that he and Buster were goofing off, John was getting ready for this challenge. He wondered if John knew what was in store. Nobody had told Cal what the Trial would actually involve, but it was becoming clear to him that somebody had told John.

  John stood, hands still tied behind him. Calvin watched as he took a step forward. Degataga untied him and gave him a hard smack on the back.

  “Go, man of the pistol. Face It With No Name. Do not waver.” The warrior told him.

  John rubbed his arm, hesitating for a moment. Calvin couldn’t see the determined look on his face from where he sat. After taking a breath, John stepped into the cave. He was swallowed by the darkness as he walked. Degataga looked to Buster.

  “Rodeo Clown, go forth.”

  With that Buster went in as well, his hands untied. Calvin felt another warrior undo his own binds. He stood up, eyes fixed on the cave mouth before him.

  Degataga looked to him, “Will you go, Marked One?”

  Calvin breathed in, face flushing. “You know…”

  “Our people enjoy sanctuary from the influence of the Old Ones. Yours do not. This place was never for the White man, or the Black man. The Old Ones, you will struggle with them for eternity. Everything has a price.”

  “Will it… know?” He gestured to the cave.

  “The nature of It With No Name is beyond me.” Degataga put a hand on his shoulder. “I would not begrudge you to turn back now. I can see you are brave enough.”

  Calvin’s eyes lowered. He thought about Louey, who had told him that life wouldn’t be easy with his mark. Calvin hadn’t had to deal with it until now. For years he just hid the mark and didn’t tell anybody. The witches all knew, he could tell by the way they looked at him as he passed. He guessed that ever Six-Gun adept enough in their Resolve could feel the energy coming off of his mark. To Calvin, it just felt natural. He knew Louey would have wanted him to go in.

  “I’m going.” Calvin raised his head. Degataga stood aside, keeping his stoic demeanor. Cal stepped with false confidence into the mouth of the cave and let the darkness wash over him.

  The world tumbled out from under him as he entered some unknowable entity’s domain. He felt as if he was floating infinite darkness, weightless, as if he was in the depths of the ocean. His body went numb, his fingers tingling.

  “You come as those before you.” A voice filled his head. He could tell he wasn’t hearing it with his ears, but his mind. “Only the worthy may be granted that which my bosom renders.”

  The words felt jumbled and scrambled in his head, yet he still understood the sentiment. The void around him shifted, like some massive leviathan encircling him. A single point of light opened up before him. Calvin watched it float closer. The light opened up further, exploding with energy. He felt it pass through him in a torrent, like water in river rapids. The energy was oppressive, roaring in his mind with the chorus of a million screams.

  Calvin could feel he was seconds from death, this force would tear him to shreds. He let his instincts take over and entered a Resolute State. Concentrating, he focused his Resolve. His mind knew what to do, he strained himself strengthening that core of Resolve within him. Calvin conscripted every muscle in his body, clenching. Death was looming over him, encircling him, But his Resolve exploded from him in a burst of colors. He could see the cascade of greens, blues, and reds. The sight would have amazed him, were he not on the edge of death. He continued to struggle, screaming out.

  “NO!” His own voice melted into the chorus. Millions of teeth tore into his flesh from all sides. The pain was unbearable, he could feel his body being ground into the jaws of some horrible creature. He fought it with everything he had, projecting his resolve. A feeling rose from his chest, coloring all his other emotions. Rage, a kind he hadn’t recognized in himself before. However, there seemed to be a deep well of anger in him. He let it out, tapping into the raw energy it gave him. It was a complicated feeling, both shameful and cathartic. His resolve became stronger than ever, and he could feel his brain about to melt. The jaws started to subside as he wrenched himself free. That storm of colors shone brighter in the darkness.

  Something in him shifted, the mark on his shoulder suddenly burning. His colors all went stark yellow, and he lost his vision. Calvin’s consciousness left that void, but did not return to his body. In a distant place, two eyes opened. Fixed on him, they looked like two yellow coals smoldering in the darkness.

  “There you are.” Spoke a deep voice, not the same as the one from before. Calvin felt a cold shiver climb up his spine.