Cowboys and indians

a small sci-fi western story I cooked up one morning

It's strange how all the things from your childhood that you can recall are changed in your mind as you get older, the way the smells and images are faded and replaced by the current state of things. The monthly Bone-fires and the harvest day dances, smiles and laughter, hot cider and steaming venison, good memories that fade and are replaced like a canvas that has to be painted over and over.
Hunting all night in the rolling hills a few miles outside my village, the exertion of dragging a deer, newly gutted back to the waiting fires of my home, the barking and howling of the coyotes as they gratefully feast upon the gut piles we leave for them.

The smell of my mothers baking turns to the sharp tang of gasoline and gun smoke, my elders wise tales become everyday confusion, the world is eroded, fallen apart like the high buildings that collapsed under the bitter sands of the north. The elder hunters gave way to the wandering gunslingers that come and go, trying to hold a world together that has already fallen apart.
It's those same hills that I hunted as a child that I stand on now, my straw hat blocking the bright sun, my feet sinking into the deep sand that used to be verdant fields of grass, I squint and look down at the only watering hold left in this territory and the large round wagon that is stopped next to it.

I adjust the cavalry sword that hangs on my hip and watch the driver as he unhitches his oxen and stretched his back, he looks old but in these parts that means he's smarter and stronger than most.
For his sake I hope he's smart enough to give up his cargo peacefully, we need the guns he's carrying. The Reavers can't be fought with spear and sword, bow or sling, no they are too strong, too fast, we need guns and my scouts tell me this man has plenty.

Turning back down the hill I slide and jump down the fine sand to my waiting brothers, they stand next to their camels, their faces covered with long colored scarves, they wear billowing ponchos to hold in the moisture, and wide brimmed hats like mine to keep the sun from frying their fragile eyes.
"Brothers, he has arrived. On the other side of the hill by the water hole, he has unhitched his wagon and is vulnerable. Do not kill him or the oxen, only knock him out, do you understand my words?"

I made my voice hard and direct to carry my orders, the old timer was unlucky but he didn't need to die this day. My brothers were angry and wanted to spill blood, the Reavers had taken our food stores and most of our women in a recent early morning raid but that didn't mean that the old man down by the water hold had to pay the price.

With one last look at my nine brothers to make sure they were ready, I stepped up unto my camels saddle and patted his long wide neck.
Pulling my sword from it's scabbard I looked at the runes along the blade and not for the first time wondered what they meant, the words were an ancient language that not even my elders could decipher, the blade was from the old world and never dulled or chipped. It was an honor to wield such a weapon and I always made sure to bring honor to my father who had given my the sword on my naming day.

 

"Hiya brothers! To battle!"
With screams and hoots we charged up the hill, our camels kicking up a cloud of dirt behind us, the ridge fell behind us and our steeds took the downhill charge with speed and agility.

The short round man looked up from the water and cursed in his foreign tounge, a long barreled rifle appeared at his side and with a crack of thunder and smoke my brother fell to my left, a spear flew through the air and impaled the man through his chest, the gun fell into the water hole and I cringed at the lost weapon.
And just that fast it was over, we brought the pair of oxen together and began to pull the boxes from the wagon, with a joyous howl my brother broke the wooden case and lifted the gun into the air, I smiled at the way the sunlight glinted off the black metal.

I howled and patted my brothers on the back before going to where my fellow had fallen. His camel stood next to his body and looked at me with round, sad eyes. Cooing soft words I rubbed her neck and looked at my brother, his head was gone from the jaw up, a pool of blood and skull gore lay in the sand, still steaming from the heat of the body.
We would take his body home and the elders would see tht he went to the Homeland, the place all of the People go when we die, to dance around the bone-fires once more, to hunt in the green hills and to lay with all of our old lovers until the end of time.