Issue 25: "At War With The Devil, Part Three"

Dawn came, and camp was broke quickly, with breakfast consisting of a few bites of hardtack and jerky washed down with a slug of bitter coffee. Equipment was checked, mounts prepared, and weapons loaded, all in relative silence. A heavy feeling hung over the group, one that those who’d been to war were familiar with. It stemmed from the notion that their lives could very well be snuffed out by day’s end, yet their sense of duty and honor prevented them from doing the sensible thing and avoiding the danger that lay before them.

Right before they saddled up, James Thunderborne had them all stand in a line, then he walked in front of them with a sheaf of burning herbs, casting the smoke over each member of the party as he invoked blessings from He-No, the Thunderbird, to ensure the safety of their mission. Bat Lash, who was still uncomfortable with the hoodoo portion of this adventure, winced and held his breath when James passed before him. When the shaman was finished, Hawk stood before them and said in a authoritative voice, “As many of you know, my father led a special group during the Revolutionary War. They carried out some very dangerous missions, ones that the average soldier wouldn’t be able to handle. Not many people in Washington’s army knew at the time what Tomahawk and his Rangers were doing, and just saw the lot of them as oddities, the sort of fellas that couldn’t get along in regular ranks. I reckon that the world looks at most of us gathered here the same way: oddities, outcasts, unfit for civilized society. But just like the Rangers, we are willing to do what the average man can’t. Now, what happens today won’t likely be written down in any books or sung about in some tavern, but that doesn’t make it any less important. My father and his men fought to give this country a future free of tyranny, while we’re fighting to make sure it still has a future. So no matter what you see today, no matter what unimaginable Hell is thrown at us, this mission isn’t over until Wise Owl is dead and his ashes scattered to the four winds. Even if it comes down to just one of us left standing, that person will have to make sure the mission is finished today, or else there may not be a tomorrow.” Hawk took a moment to look over the men and women assembled before him, then said in a less stern tone, “Anybody wants to bow out, this is your last chance.”

No one so much as twitched.

“Alright, I’m through speechifying.” Hawk went over to his horse, saying, “Boots and saddles, people! We’re burning daylight.”



They traveled across the desert, eleven people on horseback and one lone wolf trotting along behind, their shadows stretching far in the morning sun. Johnny Thunder led the charge, flanked by Madame .44 and Nighthawk. The Ace of Winchesters lay across Johnny’s lap, one hand upon the stock to hold it steady -- there was no telling when or where an attack from Wise Owl could commence, so it seemed best to keep the weapon at the ready. Puerta Del Sol (or rather what remained of it) was to be their first stop, in order to assess the lay of the land should El Diablo put them on the run, then they’d proceed onward to the hacienda of Lazarus Lane five miles beyond the town. They knew that, if they managed to get into the house itself, the battle would likely turn into close-quarters fighting, making it difficult for gunplay, be it enchanted or no. However, drawing Wise Owl out into the open was dangerous as well, as it could lead to the possibility of him getting away. There was no “perfect” battlefield in this war, so they’d have to improvise as they went along.

As they approached the border of Puerta Del Sol, everyone in the group felt a sense of unease press down upon them. Even the horses’ steps began to falter, and Ironjaws let out a low whine and tucked its tail between its legs. Conjura and James appeared to be affected the worst by it, cringing in their saddles as if being assaulted by a hard rain. “Feels like I cain’t breathe,” Bat Lash muttered, and yanked off the kerchief tied around his neck. “Is this normal ‘round here?”

“It didn’t used to be this bad,” Matt Savage explained to him and the newer members of the group, “but the longer Wise Owl’s been leaching the life outta this place, the worse it’s gotten. The last of the townsfolk went crazy and died ‘bout two years back.”

“It’s gonna get the stronger the closer we get, ain’t it?” Jonah asked.

“Afraid so.”

They spent little time there, with only Scalphunter and Firehair dismounting to check on the interior of a few buildings, making sure they were sound enough for fallback positions. After deeming them good, the group headed northwest towards the hacienda. One could tell that the surrounding area had once been picturesque, but now the tall grasses had turned yellow and brittle, and the few trees dotting the landscape were withering, the wood becoming gnarled like arthritic hands. All the while, the oppressive feeling pushed down upon the group like a physical weight. Then, less than three miles from their destination, Nighthawk’s horse let out a scream and fell to the earth, but he managed to fling himself clear so as to not get pinned beneath it. The animal flailed on the ground, seemingly mad, then Nighthawk saw the source of the trouble: an ugly-looking root spiraling around the horse’s left foreleg, with thorny protrusions sinking into its flesh. He barely had time to comprehend it when an identical root shot up from the ground behind him and took hold of his waist.

“Everyone, spread out!” the Son of Tomahawk shouted, even as he drove his own horse towards Hannibal. Before he can even get close, all the earth around the group erupted in a tangle of roots that clutched at whatever happened to cross their path. The horses, being closer to the ground than the riders, were the first victims, and soon everyone was on the ground as they either jumped from their saddles like Nighthawk or fell to the earth with their mounts. The moment they were down, the roots didn’t hesitate, slithering like snakes across the parched soil to entangle the feet and arms of whomever got near.

As some of the roots reached out for Johnny, he instinctively opened fire with the Winchester, shattering them on contact. The rest of the group followed suit, shooting whatever came near them, and it was quickly deduced that this plant matter, while magical, was just as vulnerable to regular bullets as any old flora could be: the moment they were severed from the ground, they shriveled up and died. The same effect could be achieved with knives, as Jonah soon discovered, using his Bowie to cut Firehair loose from the root that threatened to strangle him. No sooner had he freed the Blackfoot warrior when another mass of roots sprang at the two men, but before they reached their target, Ironjaws leapt up and sank its teeth into the roots, wrestling with them like they were a nest of vipers. Jonah sliced through the roots as fast as he could, but by the time the job was done, he realized it was too late: just like the horses within the first moments of battle, the roots had crushed Ironjaws to death. The bounty hunter allowed himself only a moment to touch the wolf’s still form before he and Firehair moved on to help someone else. All the while, the roots kept bursting out of the ground, as if a forest had suddenly decided to grow in the middle of nowhere.

In the midst of this chaos stood James and Conjura, each one playing the skills they were best at. Conjura had prepared a few spells in advance the night before, and was now manifesting a wall of force around her body. So far, she’d managed a four-foot radius around herself, within which sat Scalphunter as he tended to Matt Savage, whose left thigh had been run through by one of the hardier roots -- his brother had sliced the root to pieces before the two of them took shelter within the perimeter of Conjura’s shield. Meanwhile, James was casting out powder from his medicine bag, sanctifying the soil around him so that the roots couldn’t penetrate. Madame .44 spotted what he was doing and tried to make her way over to him, saying, “How much of that do you have?”

“Enough, I hope.” James took out a pinch and threw it as far as he could, the amount seeming to grow as the wind took it.

“Think you can cover three miles with it?” She pointed in the direction of the hacienda.

He spared a moment to look, then said, “I doubt I could cover the entire distance, but it’d be a start.” He took up a larger amount of powder and threw it northwestward, clearing a path roughly four feet wide and twenty feet long. “Find Jonathan while I start forging ahead.”

Jeanne’s task wasn’t all that hard, for the Ace of Winchesters made a very distinctive boom every time Johnny pulled the trigger. “Head this way!” she shouted, grabbing hold of his shoulder and turning him towards the path. The others soon caught on and followed, all of them running as fast as they could down the narrow strip of land James had sanctified. Johnny and Jeanne were right behind the shaman, followed by Bat Lash, Firehair, Jonah, and Hawk, who kept looking back at Hannibal -- the roots had wrapped around him hard enough to crack a few of his ribs, making it difficult for the masked man to catch his breath. Scalphunter supported Matt as they ran, and Conjura took up the rear, her slim legs pumping like mad to keep up with the rest of the group.

Though the path they tread was safe, the roots could still reach them from above and the sides to a degree -- tiny vine-like tendrils whipped out at them, drawing blood but never taking hold. One of them slashed Bat across the eyes so hard that he fell to the ground, causing the members of the group behind him to come to a halt. “Get up, yuh dandified horse’s-ass!” Jonah yelled. “We cain’t exactly go around yuh!”

“I can’t see...I can’t see!” The panic in the gambler’s voice was plain as he lay in the middle of the path, blood spattered across his face. Without a word, Firehair grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him to his feet, pushing him forward.

Johnny and Jeanne were much further ahead of the rest of the group now, unaware of the lag, and James had a decent lead on them as well, still scattering the powder from his medicine bag before them. They’d crossed over a half-mile in this fashion, and he noticed that the amount of powder in the bag was becoming rather low. He turned slightly, intent on telling the others this fact, unaware that the last handful he’d thrown out hadn’t completely covered the ground he was about to step on. The moment James touched one of the unsanctified spots of earth, a gnarled root as thick around as a man’s leg shot up, spearing him right through the abdomen and exploding out his back. It continued to grow in the middle of the path into a grotesque black-barked tree, as if feeding off of the shaman’s blood.

The entire group stared wordlessly at this, unable to comprehend at first what they were seeing, then Johnny pointed the Winchester at the base of the tree and began firing, one explosive shot after another, until the tree split and fell over. James’s body was high above the path by that point, and when it came down, it landed in a tangle of roots a good fifteen feet away and was immediately swallowed up. More roots soon blocked the path in front of them, and Hannibal let out a yelp when he saw tiny shoots coming up from one of their footprints left in the powder. Hawk looked back to where Conjura stood and barked, “We need a way out of here, right now!”

“This isn’t going to be easy,” she replied, holding her hands out before her and moving them in slow circles. “Wise Owl’s tangled up all the magical lines of force nearby. I have to find a way through the mess before I can make a portal.”

“I ain’t asking you to make it pretty, missy, just do it fast!”

Conjura nodded as she continued to work her magic. The strain of her task was plain to see on her face, but soon a shimmering oval appeared in the air. The others in the group were mesmerized by the sight, briefly forgetting all about the creeping green that had begun to brush their boots. “This isn’t going to be very big,” she gasped.

“Don’t worry, we’ll manage.” Hawk gestured to Firehair, saying, “We’ll toss Lash through first, then you follow, so’s we can help Savage and Hawkes slide through.” As he talked, Conjura opened up the portal as wide as she could, pulling at the edge of it with all her might in order to keep it open -- there was barely enough room for a full-grown man to pass, but under the circumstances, it would have to do. Hawk climbed through the portal with a spryness that surprised a few of them, then turned around and grabbed onto Bat Lash’s shoulders, guiding the still-blinded man through as Firehair pushed from behind. The action was repeated with the other injured members of their party, then Johnny helped Jeanne through before going himself, the Ace of Winchesters gripped tightly in his hand.

Scalphunter turned to Hex, who looked unusually nervous. “What’s the matter?”

“Ah’m beginnin’ tuh regret lettin’ yuh talk me into this.” Hex gestured at the portal, saying, “Where’s thet hole lead?”

“Presumably somewhere that these crazy plants aren’t.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Come on, you two!” Hawk yelled through the portal. “No more lollygagging!”

Jonah snapped at him, “Ah’m gettin’ there, dammit! Why don’t yuh yell at the girl? She’s standin’ right there next tuh y’all!”

“Because I can’t leave,” Conjura told them. “The magic around us...keeps fighting back. Doesn’t like what I...” She cried out as her grip on the portal’s edge slipped a little, but she managed to keep it open. “The second I let go, the portal will disappear.”

The Kiowa warrior blanched as he realized what she was saying. “I’m not going to leave you here to be smothered by these things!”

“Sometimes...you can be...just as stubborn as your brother.” As exhausted as she was, she still managed to fix a hard glare on him as she said, “Will you get going already?”

Not liking it one bit, Scalphunter did as she asked and climbed through the portal, his wide-shouldered frame scraping the edges. Once he was safely on the other side, he turned back to see Jonah finally approaching the portal. He reached out a hand, intent on pulling his friend through as fast as possible. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Scalphunter saw Conjura’s fingers slide off the edge of the portal one by one -- he yanked his arm back just as the portal slammed shut. The only thing that marked where it had been was a bloody, dark-skinned fingertip, which hung in the air for a moment before falling to the ground.

Once the portal was gone, everyone’s attention became focused on the ever-growing thicket, which was now over a mile away. The roots wove in and out of themselves, making it impossible to see what could be happening within, but they all had a decent notion. Johnny reached out and tightly took hold of Jeanne’s hand as the full realization of James Thunderborne’s death sank in. The loss of Conjura and Hex was hard to take as well, but James had been a close friend and mentor. Losing him hit Johnny just as hard as losing Jeanne or his father would.

Unfortunately, now was not the time to mourn, a fact that Hawk made clear when he told the group, “We have to keep going.” The Son of Tomahawk then turned to face northwest once more -- their passage through the portal had cut the remaining distance to the hacienda in half. “Five minutes to reload and bandage wounds, then we’re back on the march.”

One last squeeze, then Johnny let go of his wife’s hand and began to reload the Winchester.

Someone was driving a railroad spike into the side of Johnny Thunder's head. The blows came at a steady rhythm, sending waves of pain through him with such force that he wanted to cry out, but his mouth refused to open, and his tongue lay fallow behind his teeth. The rest of his body seemed to be having the same problem: no matter how hard he tried, Johnny couldn't even twitch a finger. I'm dead, he thought. Dead and buried and awaiting Judgment. Surprisingly, the notion brought no fear, only sadness, since this meant he wouldn't see Jeanne again until her own time had come. Then he realized that his body wasn't as motionless as he first believed. My heart...I can feel my heart beating...there's breath in my lungs...what is this, then? Why can't I move? Had he been capable of furrowing his brow, he would have, for he now tried to focus upon the sounds around him -- someone close by was talking, but the pain in Johnny's head made it difficult for him to concentrate -- and after a moment or two, the words became clear.

"...expected to have this opportunity once again. It has always galled me that the power of the Windrunner was constantly kept out of my grasp, yet here it is, showing up on my very doorstep, and contained within something far more valuable to me at the moment." Johnny felt a pair of hands press down on his chest, then heard the rip of fabric as those hands tore his shirt open. The motion caused Johnny's head to roll slightly to the left, and his eyes opened just enough to give him a limited view of his surroundings. The room was lit by firelight, and he could make out the dark figure of El Diablo staggering towards a high-backed chair. The person who'd torn his shirt open was standing at the very edge of Johnny's vision, saying, "This will make a fine vessel."

"That's what all this has been about? You've been looking for a new home for your diseased soul?" Despite the gasping, exhausted tone, Johnny recognized the second voice as Hawk's, but was unsure as to where it was coming from. Then he saw the older man pinned against the far wall, his arms spread wide as if crucified, though it was really a thick tangle of thorny vines that held him in place.

"Only in part. In order to fulfill my goals, I need a strong body. One that can withstand the power that will inhabit it. The power already dwelling within this vessel makes it all the more appropriate." The figure moved further into Johnny's field of view, and he was soon gazing upon the infamous Wise Owl, whose bare torso was dripping blood from the patterns carved into his wrinkled flesh. "Ahwehota denied me what the spirits bestowed upon him, as did the thieving white child, but they are both dead now. They can deny me no longer."

"And what of I?" El Diablo rasped, one hand pressed over the gaping wound in its chest, while the other gripped the chair to steady itself. "You promised...once you found a vessel...you would free me. I have served you...killed for you..."

"You only served me because I forced you to," Wise Owl replied. "Do you really think I would be stupid enough to free you, after all the times you tried to turn on me?" He reached out a hand towards El Diablo, then quickly closed it into a fist. Though Wise Owl was nowhere near him, the demon cried out in agony and collapsed onto the chair. Black smoke poured off of its body until the slumped form of Lazarus Lane was revealed. "As soon as I've acclimated to my new body, I'll be taking your power as well," Wise Owl continued, "not that you truly contain that much. Oh, for a body like Lane's, it's a tremendous amount, but had I taken him over like I'd originally planned, the power within me would've torn him to shreds in a day or so. It's fortunate for me that I realized this before I'd begun the transfer." He caressed Johnny's cheek with his mutilated right hand. "That is not the case with you, child. You are perfection."

Johnny wanted to spit in the man's face, but it was impossible. Whether due to the head trauma or Wise Owl's magic, he was frozen in place, unable to do anything but watch as the shaman began to chant in a guttural voice. With his good hand, Wise Owl traced one of the bloody patterns on his chest with the tip of his finger, then reached down to carve an identical pattern on Johnny's own chest, their blood mingling as Wise Owl's jagged fingernail pierced his flesh. It felt like a red-hot poker was being dragged across his skin, but Johnny couldn't scream, he couldn't fight back, he could only lay there as Wise Owl carved unholy obscenities onto a body which would soon no longer belong to John Tane. With every passing second, Johnny's heart banged harder and harder against his ribcage, as if it were trying to force its way out. Then, in the midst of all that pain, a bizarre thought came to him: when the spirits that granted Windunner his power reached into young John's chest eleven years ago and repaired the damage done by Black Spider, they had literally touched his heart. And now that heart was beating faster, not from pain or fear, but from the need to release what had been laying dormant within for so long. Johnny did his best to block out everything around him and concentrate on his heartbeat. He needed to bring forth whatever power had been granted him, to let go of both John Tane and Johnny Thunder...to embrace his third self, Jonathan Thunderbird...

Lightning exploded out of Johnny's chest, blowing Wise Owl backward -- he collided with Lane's chair hard enough to knock both it and Lane to the floor. After taking a moment to recover from the shock, Wise Owl looked over and saw a being of pure energy floating above the altar, upon which Johnny's human body still lay. The smell of burning ozone hung in the air as tendrils of lightning crackled off of the being, which was glaring down at Wise Owl with eyes like miniature suns. Then it dove at the shaman, striking him with enough force to shatter the floorboards and causing the two of them to fall into the disused dining room below. Even after they hit the ground floor, the being continued to strike Wise Owl with his fists, searing the man's skin with every impact. The smell of charred flesh began to fill the air, but what had formerly been John Tane took no notice of it: his mind and spirit were overwhelmed by the power of the Thunderbird, now unfettered for the first time since it joined with young John's dying body. His human morals were forgotten, his sense of mercy brushed aside, and his doubts about taking a person's life dissolved to nothing.

Wise Owl barked out a guttural phrase, and soon a great hand took hold of Jonathan Thunderbird from behind and threw him across the room. Thunderbird recovered quickly, turning in the air to see a massive plant-creature emerging from the floor, blocking Wise Owl from view. "You can wound my body all you like, child," the shaman cackled, "but you cannot stop the magicks that flow though me!"

Though the plant-creature was anchored to the floorboards from which it spawned, it had a long reach, and it soon took hold of its opponent again with its bark-covered hands. Thunderbird lashed out with a bolt of energy, setting the plant-creature alight, but more sprang into existence. They burned as well, filling the room with billows of smoke that began to drift up through the hole above and into the room where Hawk was still pinned to the wall by vines. He wished he could see what was going on down on the first floor, but try as he might, be couldn't get free -- while Hawk was pretty spry for a seventy-one-year-old man, there was only so much he could do.

As Hawk continued to struggle, a groan came from behind the toppled chair, which lay at the very edge of the hole in the floor. Hawk looked towards it and saw Lazarus Lane, his eyes wide and full of desperation, trying to crawl away from the chair that had been his prison for far too long. "Lane!" Hawk called out in surprise. "How in blazes are you managing that?" Then he realized the majority of the binding spell carved into the floor had been destroyed, allowing Lane a chance to escape, especially since -- going by the sounds of battle downstairs -- Wise Owl was rather distracted. "Can you stand up?"

Lane shook his head, gasping out, "Can't...too weak." He looked up at Hawk. "Who..."

"I'm a friend, Lane. Been working to rescue you for a long time." Hawk managed a grin. "How do ya like it so far?"

Lane didn't seem amused. "This thing inside me...can you...can you kill it?"

"I don't know. Right now, our priority is killing Wise Owl...and I think that thing inside you might be able to help with that. If you can let out it..."

"No!" Lane shouted, belying his earlier signs of weakness. "No, it's a monster! It can't be trusted! I'd rather die than have it take me over again!"

"El Diablo may be a monster, but it's been suffering for the past six years right alongside you, all because of an even bigger monster. If you want to live to see another day, then the two of you are gonna have to come to some sort of an agreement, and fast!"

Lane lowered his head for a moment. When he brought it back up again, his eyes had become glowing red embers. "The shaman has escaped judgment for far too long," El Diablo spoke with Lane's lips. "The souls of the innocent dead cry out for his destruction, and I am more than willing to carry out their command."

"You join our cause, and I'll see what we can do about freeing you both," Hawk said. "The Son of Tomahawk always keeps his word."

El Diablo nodded Lane's head in acknowledgment, then howled in pain as the transformation began once more.

The sun was getting low in the western sky, casting long shadows over the parched land. A second set of shadows were being cast by the newly-rekindled fires throughout the hacienda: to ensure that none of evil Wise Owl crafted fell into the wrong hands, they decided to burn the entire house to the ground. Lazarus Lane wasn't too happy with the decision, but he could see the merit in it. After moving a few harmless items out of the structure, they went from room to room, putting the torch to anything capable of burning. While the others were hard at work with this task, Scalphunter and Firehair set off on the three-mile trek back to where they'd originally been attacked. It was hoped that most of their supplies could be recovered, including bags of salt and some magical items that would be used to consecrate the hacienda's foundation once the fire was through with it. After what they'd all been though, they were taking no chances.

"I grew up in this house," Lane told Hawk as they watched the hacienda burn. "So many memories for me are tied to this place, and now...I'll never be able to think about it without being reminded of that monster and what he did to me. To both of us."

Hawk cocked an eyebrow. "Do I detect a note of sympathy towards El Diablo?"

"As you said before, we've both suffered, and I'd hoped that, once Wise Owl was dead, whatever he did to bind us together would be undone. But it's still locked up inside me." Lane sighed and said, "We're free, but not of each other."

"Don't fret, I've got a lot more friends than those you met here today. If'n there's a way to get the two of you unstuck, we'll do our best to find it. In the meantime, it might not be bad to keep letting that thing out every once in a while. El Diablo seems to have a healthy sense of right and wrong when left to its own devices."

"It was literally born to punish people," Lane replied. "I've gleaned that much in all the years we've been together. Its entire purpose in Hell was to torment sinners, but Wise Owl forced it to go after innocents as well. I don't know if it's possible for a demon to feel guilt, but I think El Diablo does on some level. It wants a chance to redeem itself, or at least it says it does."

"It's part of your soul, Lane, I don't think it can lie to you."

As the two men continued to discuss El Diablo's possible moral standing, the others in their party tended to their wounds. They'd hauled an old divan out of the house earlier to lay Johnny upon while he recovered from his out-of-body experience, and Matt Savage had commandeered a chair so he could take some weight off of his injured leg, which Nighthawk was currently inspecting. Bat Lash sat on the ground next to them, waiting his turn.

Kneeling next to the divan, Jeanne brushed her fingers over Johnny's tousled hair. Some of the coal dust he used to disguise its natural color had flaked off, revealing his true blond locks. "I thought for sure I'd lost you," she told him.

"Thought I was gone, too." He smiled weakly. "Turned out I was just...changing."

"Thank God you changed back. No way we'd be able to explain to folks back in Mesa City why you're suddenly glowing in the dark." They both laughed, but Johnny winced in pain after a moment and held his head. "Still got a headache?" Jeanne asked.

"Not as bad as before. Don't feel as sick, either." He tried to sit up, then thought better of it. "Wonder if this will happen every time I let the Thunderbird loose."

"Is that what we're calling it? That living lightning bolt you turned into?"

"That's what James called it...called me, I should say...but I prefer Johnny Thunder." A pained expression came over his face, more emotional than physical, and he said, "I wish he'd told me about all this sooner. If I'd already known about this power inside me, I could've worked harder to bring it out before we got here. I might've been able to save him."

Jeanne rested a hand on her husband's cheek, saying, "You saved the world, John, which is exactly what James Thunderborne hoped you would do. I don't know where his spirit is right now, but wherever he is, I know he's proud of you, and I'm sure his friend Windrunner is proud of you, and so are all those souls you freed when you stripped the power from Wise Owl."

"You saw them too?"

She nodded. "And I saw something else...I don't know what it was, but it was beautiful."

"I think it's where these powers come from. Some kind of...force in the universe, set in motion by God. A sentient force. James's ancestor, He-No, is a part of it, and so's Windrunner, and...I guess I am, when I want to be." He smiled again, more broadly this time. "For right now, though, I think I just want to be plain old John Tane."

"Are you suggesting we hang up our guns?"

"For a while. At least until the world needs saving again."

"Sounds fair." Jeanne leaned over and kissed him.

Matt looked over at them from where he sat. "Damn, that Johnny Thunder is one lucky bastard," he said to Nighthawk.

"Tell me about it," Nighthawk replied as he finished redressing Matt's wound. "I've always had a weakness for redheads."

"What am I missin'?" Bat asked.

"Johnny and Madame .44 stripping down naked and making mad passionate love," Matt answered.

"You're jokin', right?"

"Hell yes, I'm joking....they're still wearing their gunbelts."

"That ain't funny!" Lash took a swing at Matt, but only managed to hit the chair. "Here I am, blinded for life, and you're takin' advantage of it!"

"I keep telling you: You're not blinded for life," Nighthawk said, moving over so he was sitting on the ground next to him. "You just need to wait for the swelling to go down, and I betcha it already has to a degree." He carefully unwound the bandage covering Bat Lash's eyes. "Looks a little better, though you've got a lovely pair of shiners."

"Oh yeah, they're a beaut," Matt added. "You look like you're wearing Hannibal's mask."

"You keep it up, Savage, and I may forget that I'm a peaceable man," Lash told him.

Matt put a hand on the gambler's shoulder. "Hey, c'mon...you're one of my brother's oldest friends. You know I wouldn't hack on you if I didn't think you couldn't take it."

Lash nodded, though the statement reminded him that he'd lost another old friend today. Jonah Hex may've been the meanest man that ever walked the Earth, but neither he nor that Conjura gal had deserved to be crushed to death by a bunch of overgrown weeds.

"Let's see how your vision is," Nighthawk said, then lit a match. "I'm gonna try and open your eyelid a bit to see how your pupil reacts to the light, okay?" Bat Lash let out a hiss of pain as Nighthawk touched the left side of his face. "It's contracting...that's good. How well can you see the flame?"

"It's pretty bright. You got it close to my face, don'tcha?"

"About six inches away." He pulled it back. "How about now?"

"Saw it move to the right...my right, I mean. I can see it a little with my other eye."

"Okay, that's...ow!" The match had burned down and singed Nighthawk's fingers, causing him to drop it on the ground.

"Now it's over to my left. I can barely see the thing."

"No, it's not. I dropped it and it went out."

"Well, there's some sort of light over thataway, and I daresay it's gettin' brighter."

Both Nighthawk and Matt looked in the direction Bat indicated to see an oval of light hanging in the air about thirty feet away from them. It was roughly the size of a dinner plate at the moment, but it was slowly getting larger. "It's Conjura! It's gotta be!" Matt exclaimed.

Despite his advanced years, Hawk was the first to reach the portal, which opened not long after. On the other side stood Conjura and Jonah Hex, their clothes torn and numerous scratches on their skin. A piece of shirttail was wrapped around Conjura's right middle finger, the tip of which had been sliced off earlier. Behind them were Scalphunter and Firehair. Hawk held out a hand to help Conjura through, saying to her, "Glad you could join the party, missy."

"Very happy to be here." She stumbled into Hawk's arms as she passed over the portal's threshold. "You'll have to excuse me, I'm just about done in."

"I can imagine," Jeanne said, supporting her still-weak husband as they approached. "How in the world did you two make it out of there alive?"

"I was able to create a shield around us, but it took almost everything I had left to maintain it. Luckily, the roots eventually stopped growing, and Mr. Hex still had his knife, so he was able to cut through most of the mess surrounding us." Conjura nodded towards Scalphunter and Firehair, saying, "Then these fine gentlemen came along and heard us struggling to get out, so they finished the job from the outside."

"We were able to find James Thunderborne's body, as well," Firehair said, and set down the blanket-wrapped bundle he'd carried through the portal. "He should be buried in sacred ground, not in this cursed place."

"Thank you," Johnny told him quietly.

"I think it's time to retire that Confederate coat of yours. It's all ripped to shreds," Scalphunter said to Jonah, who was standing off to the side. In his arms was another, smaller bundle containing Ironjaws.

"Ah'll get it patched up, same as always." Jonah looked down at the bundle and added, "Wish everything could be fixed thet easy."

"If'n you want to bury your wolf in Echo Valley, you're welcome to," Hawk told him. "I reckon the critter's spirit would be very happy there."

"Whut Ah want is the damn money yuh owe me fer participatin' in this here nightmare. After thet, Ah want tuh go an' find a stiff drink or three so's Ah kin forget all about it." Jonah was glaring at the older man, but then he spied Bat Lash standing over by Matt and quipped, "Damnation, Lash, yuh look like a raccoon."

"I'm still handsomer than you," Lash answered with a grin, not caring about the insult: knowing that Jonah was alive to make it took some of the sting off. "But I've gotta admit, you're tougher than me."

"Ain't hard tuh be tougher'n a daisy-wearin' pretty-boy."

Hawk reached into his fringed buckskin jacket and pulled out a large sum of bills. "Thanks for throwing your lot in with us, Hex. I know this job was a little outside your area of expertise, but..."

"Stow yer thanks," Jonah said, grabbing the money. "Just point me in the direction of the nearest town whut ain't got a hoodoo on it."

"Fifteen miles due north," Hawk replied without hesitation, "and I recommend stopping in the Trailblazer Saloon for those stiff drinks. Tell Don I sent ya."

Jonah grunted and started to walk north, not even giving the group a second glance.

"Is that man really going to walk fifteen miles across the desert at night with no supplies and carrying a dead wolf?" Lazarus Lane asked in disbelief.

"From what my brother's told me...yep, he is," Matt said.

"Reckon we'll be making that trek ourselves soon enough," Nighthawk added.

"If the rest of you will show more patience than Mr. Hex," Conjura told the group, "I'll gladly ferry everyone home just as soon as I've gathered my strength again. Now that Wise Owl is gone, the lines of force around here are much more pliable."

"She's right," Johnny said. "That oppressive feeling that hit us when he first got here is gone. It's like the place is...more vibrant."

Hawk nodded. "Reckon it's a good sign. Maybe someday, this area will even be livable again." The old man cast his gaze around the landscape, then looked back at the group, which was discussing all that had come to pass that day. He was about to express his gratitude to them for what they'd done, but the words died in his mouth when he saw a newcomer with a very familiar face standing right next to Johnny Thunder. Eleven long years had passed since Hawk had last seen that face, yet he knew it instantly: Chris Maxwell, the Windrunner, mingling with the men and women who'd banded together to destroy the same evil that had caused him to become lost in the spirit world.

Firehair noticed Hawk's shocked expression and went over to him, saying, "Are you alright?"

"It's Chris," Hawk finally managed to say. "I can see Chris...he's right there." He pointed towards Johnny, who took no notice of their conversation, nor did any of the others.

"I cannot see him," Firehair said with a note of disappointment.

"He's fading now," Hawk told him, "but for a moment, I could see him plain as day."

"He-No spoke of this. He said Windrunner would return someday, and one of us would be there to see it."

"No, it's not that...not yet." He looked at his companion, saying, "I never had the touch as strong as my brother, but I have enough of it to know I just got a glimpse of things to come."

"Do we tell them?" Firehair asked.

"When the time is right," Hawk replied, glancing over at the group standing before him. "For now, I think it's best to let 'em enjoy our victory for a while, without making them worry about what might be waiting for us up ahead."