“Oi!”

They had just ridden out of the forest line and into the farmlands that distantly surrounded town McDougall.

Boyd sighed, “What?”

“Look up,” Bren said with a frantic break in her voice.

Out of the tree line, for the first time in the morning, Boyd looked up. He saw a creature greater than any Fae he knew or heard of in ancient song and tale.

The sight of it almost broke him.

Millions of years of evolution had no response to this otherworldly being. In a feeble attempt of a reaction, his jaw dropped and, he looked up with wide unblinking eyes as terror and despair wracked his flesh.

He did not scream nor did MacElory for they had lost if only briefly, their capacity to produce sound. Against something greater than their own mortality they froze. They gaped at a living being so real and powerful that it could annihilate everything they knew to be possible. For if all things died; not even memory or dust could persevere their being after the passing of the material body. They knew for the first time in their lives what it felt to be powerless.

They had been enjoying themselves at the Brownie camp only a short while ago. That memory seemed like a forgotten dream blotted out by dawn’s light. Adrift in the existential waters, their only raft was the lingering living experience of the camp proven by the porridge still filling their bellies.

Boyd licked his dry lips and blinked. He gasped and sucked in air through his mouth desperately; in that moment of looking up he had forgotten how to breathe. His ears pounded as his heartbeat sounded with the violence of a rattling bell.

The ancient tales spoke of a coming Death, Terminus-Mundus: a destroyer of worlds, that would vanquish the immortal Fae and with it all magic from Higeaxas. Was this it? Yet even that story seemed to pale in comparison to this being.

The sun was now shaped like a crescent. The radiant orb in the sky obscured around the contours of the Terminus-Mundus’ shoulder. Whose breadth spread like the ashen sky formed a volcanic eruption in the terrible stories passed on from down south.

How does one respond to a being that blots out most of the sky?

They rode on in confused and cowed silence.

Boyd's shoulders hunched over like an arch of a river bend. He kept his eyes on the path ahead. It is one thing to focus your attention on what matters at eye level. It is another thing entirely to avoid looking at the sky on the only thing that mattered now.

Bren, tougher than steel, seemed a pale shadow of her former self. She couldn’t even summon the bluster or bluff she had learned to use to plough through poor odds. That was when there had been a chance. She couldn’t grasp for a response in the face of... the Thing.

Boyd, by some primaeval response pushed himself towards safety. He rode Thistle even harder towards town McDougall.

The Fae creature, however, like the ones she carried seemed sluggish. She ran down the dirt path separating the farm fields. However, everything was heavier, and her chest heaved with the effort to breathe. Her hooves felt like they were sucked into a swamp.

A few miles later, Boyd spotted three riders heading towards them in the distance. He recognised the leader by his distinctive black hat. The moustached manager of the mines.

Out of habit, Boyd looked up. He judged by the sun rising in the sky, somehow still visible past the massive bulk of the one-eyed creature that it was close to high noon.

The trio rode up, and Boyd slowed Thistle to a trot and then to an all stop.

Somehow, the silver of hate he felt managed to breathe some sense of life into him.

Boyd’s eye twitched from discomfort and asked, “Black Jock, what you be doing here?”

A swarmy smile curved, “You’re not one of us.”

Boyd blinked and wondered why the man’s usual black eyes were pale white as snow.

His eyes shifted to the guns the three were carrying, “Where’d you get those, me and the Sheriff are the only ones allowed to carry.”

“McDougall is under new management. If you are not one of us then there are consequences,” warned Black Jock.

Boyd scowled, “I ain’t nae belly crawler. I act on behalf of the people of McDougall. I am elected to carry out their will. I answer to the Sheriff, to our democratically chosen leader and to them. Not to you piss pot.”

Black Jock looked up to the sky and for the first time in his life, Boyd saw the man looking happy. Not lustful or greedy but an expression of pure joy. He knew, somehow, constant serenity.

Black Jock brought his gaze from the heavens to Boyd, “You haven’t received its guidance. You can’t feel its will. I have to admit that your resistance is pleasing. I will be glad for the chance to bury you.”

They locked eyes and both lowered their hands to near their pistols.

A trickle of sweat rolled down past Boyd’s cheek, “Naw, you won’t.”

Black Jock started to sweat and his hand trembled, “Our Shepherd doesn’t care if one of the flock goes missing. It has so many… All of us.”

The sun touched the highest point in the sky.

Black Jock drew…

Bang!

Boyd slammed his palm down on the hammer.

Bang! Bang!

The trio rolled back onto their steeds. Alive but adrift on the fleeing rides that moved with surprising intelligence. It was as if they were guided by a hidden hand.

The sun moved behind the Terminus-Mundus and the land turned black, as its endless shadow overtook all it could reach.

“I always hated you after the famine. I watched you leech the life away from Geordie and Forby when they were in need. You exploited them. But the majority stood with you and I could do nothing. Never again, you will pay for this assault and for the unlawful possession of a magical weapon.”

Bren huffed behind him, “I don’t think that will be the case Deputy.”

He turned back to look at her.

“They all had the same eyes, as that Thing.”

“So.”

“New management, and them suddenly having guns. You don’t think the two are connected?”

Boyd sighed, “What do I know? This time yesterday I was looking for work in the fields. Now I have an outlaw tied up, I have duelled the three meanest munchkins in McDougall and there is a Terminus-Mundus that has swallowed the sky.”

“I think you should be untying me and we should ride as far away from that Thing as we can!”

“Naw. There is nae way that I am letting you go. You will whack me in the back or blow ma face off. We are heading back to McDougall and that is final."

“We will die if we do that,” she explained exasperated.

“Whisht!” Boyd shouted. His face flushed red in anger. “I… just be quiet. Someone will know what to do back home. It won’t be all that bad for you, honest.”

They rode town to Town McDougall, and Thistle climbed the built path up Mount Arbocem. Thistle’s bright horn lit the way. A tense quiet hung between the two that was finely balanced. A stability that could tip.

When the Shepherd arrived one of its fingers buried underground the great island of Tania. A single pressed finger destroyed an empire.

For, deep beneath Tania lay a great people. In vengeance for their fallen they rose out of the dark.

They too fell as they turned on each other. A precious few remained free from mental domination. In their last moments, they launched an arrow of diamond harder and sharper than any other weapon on Higheaxas. It tore open a pin-sized hole and exposed a vital organ.

A glimmer of hope at the cost of millions of lives.