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Excalibur (.45 Caliber)

Not all who wielded Excalibur became legends like King Auther.

By Devin DowningPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 11 min read
2

Our history is filled with its legend: Thor’s hammer and David’s sling—an unbeatable weapon wielded by the worthy. However, not all who wielded Excalibur became legends like King Auther.

California (1851)

Sawyer leaned over the frigid river, swirling a tin pan just below the surface. The icy water nipped at his fingers, sapping both strength and dexterity. In the canyon, some stretches of river were already beginning to freeze, and Sawyer was growing desperate.

He didn’t have funds to survive the winter months. His father was bedridden, and the pneumonia was only getting worse. Father needed a doctor more than anything, but they could barely afford meat, much less medication.

Sawyer fought back tears at the thought of it all. He was only 12. He wasn’t supposed to be in charge. He couldn’t do this alone.

Sawyer drained the water and looked at the bottom of the pan. A few small flecks—too small to pick up—glittered amid the silt. Disappointed, he dipped the pan back into the river and scooped a fresh pile of mud.

His hands, pale and bloodless, were quickly going numb. Pretty soon they’d be blue. Sawyer couldn’t keep this up much longer. He swirled the pan slowly, sloshing the sediment into the river. At last, he leveled his pan. The breath caught in his chest.

GOLD!

The glistening nugget shimmered in the sun, glowing like a candle flame. The nugget was massive, the size of his palm and thicker than his thumb. It had to be worth thousands… if not more.

Sawyer grabbed the nugget and squeezed it in his fist, suddenly afraid he would drop it in the water. No matter what happened, he couldn’t lose the gold. This shiny chunk of metal was his salvation

Sawyer tossed his pan and ran. He needed to find his father and tell him the news. They didn’t need to mine anymore. They could move to San Francisco… find a doctor. They didn’t have to worry anymore.

Sawyer ran along the riverbank before cutting through the tree line. Finally, he found the trail leading back to camp. He was a few minutes from his father’s tent when the sound of hoofs trotted up behind him.

“Woah there, boy. Where ya off to in such a hurry?”

Sawyer skid to a stop, his gold-clutching fist finding refuge in his coat pocket.

Three hoarsemen trotted up to sawyer. One held a shotgun; another had a tomahawk resting casually in his lap.

The leader, Cody Carson, had only a colt peacekeeper on his waist. Ironically, the man was the antithesis of justice. He was known to prey on the weak, and Sawyer was as weak as they came.

“Don’t be shy, boy, we ain’t gonna hurt you. Why don’t you tell us what has you so excited?” Mr. Carson called soothingly as he approached. “Did you find something? Maybe some good pay dirt?”

Sawyer shook his head wildly. “Uhhh, no sir. Just excited to eat is all. Skipped breakfast, and I’m real hungry.” He gripped the gold even tighter in his pocket.

Carson hopped off of his horse and stood in front of Sawyer. “Don’t lie to me boy.” His eyes darted down at the coat pocket. “What do ya got there? Show me your hands.”

Sawyer did as he was told. He let go of the gold and held out his hands, but the nugget was heavier than expected. It sank in his pocket, causing his coat to sag. Immediately, Mr. Carson’s eyes widened.

Before they could grab him, Sawyer turned and ran. He only made it a few steps before something heavy struck him in the back, knocking him to the floor. He tried to stand up, but Mr. Carson was already on him, grabbing him by the coat and yanking him to his feet.

That’s when Sawyer saw what hit him. A steel tomahawk lay at Sawyers feet. Fortunately, he wasn’t bleeding out. The handle had struck him, not the blade.

They tried to kill me!

Sawyer struggled as Mr. Carson reached into his pocket and pulled out the golden nugget.

“Holy Shit!” a horseman gasped. “Is it real?”

Mr. Carson took a bite of the nugget and smiled. “My God! Where did you find this?”

Sawyer’s mouth went dry. He swallowed hard. “I… I don’t remember.”

Mr. Carson slapped him across the face, leaving his cheek stinging. “Don’t lie to me, boy. Tell me right now, or you’ll never see your Pa again.”

Sawyer hesitated a moment. “It was deep up Gangrene Gulley. There was a fallen cedar tree. I was panning on the shore right next to it.”

“Smart boy. Now get lost. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill ya. You hear me?”

“Y-yessir,” Sawyer stammered.

“Mr. Carson climbed back on his saddle and turned his gaze uphill. “Cmon, boys. Looks like we’re gonna be rich.”

“I reckon we will!” the tomahawk man laughed as they rode off.

Sawyer stood there for a moment as his hands shook. Just like that, his gold was gone. His father was doomed.

It’s not over yet!

Sawyer started running. Not to his father, but back towards Rockslide Creek. He had given the men the wrong directions. If he hurried, he could still find some gold and leave with his life.

Sawyer found his pan on the beach and snatched it up. He’d never panned with such intensity. Scooping up the rocky soil, he rapidly swirled it into the water. Suddenly, something glittered gold.

Sawyer shook the pan, and a chunk of metal emerged from the silt. But it wasn’t golden… It was copper. Sawyer plucked the strange object from the pan and held it up to his eye. It was a cylinder of brass, sharp on one end and flat on the other. The sharp end transitioned into a different metal, maybe lead?

Suddenly, Sawyer recognized what it was. He had heard about these from the other miners. It was a cartridge. A bullet, powder, and primer all in one. It was a new technology, one sawyer had never seen before.

He tossed the cartridge in his coat and gave the pan another swirl. To his surprise, another bullet was sitting amid the sand. Then another. After a few minutes of panning, Sawyer had found a dozen rounds.

But where did they come from?

That’s when he saw it. Something golden glistened in the water. Something big. Sawyer dipped his hand beneath the water and reached into the muddy river floor. As he removed the object, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was a gun, a revolver to be exact. It had a polished wooden handle and a short golden barrel. The entire frame was decorated with golden accents. It was a beautiful weapon, and it looked to be in pristine condition.

Amid the designs, a single phrase was inscribed on the side of the revolver.

Excalibur .45 caliber

As he held the weapon, he could feel it pressing upon his mind. The weapon was alive, and it only wanted one thing.

Revenge.

— — —

Sawyer waited a mile from Gangrene Gulley. He knew the men wouldn’t mine long. More than honor, the men lacked work ethic. He chose a spot in the trail where he knew he’d intercept them.

But it was more than that. The weapon whispered in his ear, helping him strategize. The trail on which he stood was straight for nearly a hundred yards. It gave him a long field of vision, mostly devoid of trees. He’d need that to his advantage.

Sawyer found a tree stump and stooped over it. He carefully aligned his six spare rounds on the wood. The other 6 were already loaded in the revolver.

Suddenly, the sound of shouting men could be heard echoing over the mountain. A few moments later, Sawyer spotted three horses galloping down the trail.

Oddly enough, Sawyer didn’t feel fear as they approached. The pistol seemed to draw away his hesitation, filling him with something else. Excitement even… bloodlust?

The gun guided his movements. Like a tap on the knee, his body responded instinctively. He gave the cylinder a spin and pulled back the hammer as the horses broke free of the tree line.

When Mr. Carson saw him, he spurred his horse faster. His men did the same. One raised the shotgun. The other lifted the tomahawk.

Sawyer didn’t want to hurt the horses—they were innocent after all—but Excalibur convinced him there was no other way. It was already lifting his arm, aligning the sights slightly higher than Sawyer expected. Then, it was urging his finger to squeeze the trigger.

BANG! BANG!

The first two bullets struck the nearest horse in the neck. The stallion immediately tumbled, tossing Mr. Carson from the saddle.

BANG! BANG!

The second horse dropped. It rolled twice—a tumbleweed of muscle and sinew—before coming to a rest on top of its rider. The man cried out in agony as the beast crushed his legs.

The last man saw the slaughter and yanked on the reins. His horse did a quick 180 before galloping away. Excalibur wouldn’t allow it.

BANG!

The bullet pierced the horse’s flank, sending it into the dirt. After sliding in the soil, the man was quickly on his feet. He scanned the ground, and upon spotting his shotgun, outstretched his hand.

BANG!

The man screamed as his first two fingers were obliterated from his right hand.

Before he even realized the cylinder was empty, Sawyer’s hand was reaching for the cartridges. He slid them into the gun as if he’d done it a thousand times.

The Tomahawk-man took notice as well. Somehow, he’d managed to free his legs. With a warrior's cry, he charged at Sawyer and threw the battle axe.

BANG!

A bullet struck the tomahawk midair. It splintered the handle and slowed the weapon in its flight. Sawyer flinched, but the handleless axehead stuck into the dirt a few inches from his feet.

To Sawyer’s surprise, Tomahawk-man began to scream louder and collapsed to the ground. He clutched his knee as the blood began to ooze through the gaps in his fingers.

Sawyer smiled in disbelief. The same bullet that stopped the axe had continued on its path, shattering his attacker’s kneecap.

Excalibur directed his focus to Mr. Carson. The man now stood behind his fallen horse, using its abdomen as cover. He crouched, drawing his Colt Peacekeeper, and raised it into the air.

“I surrender. Don’t shoot!”

With his other hand, he removed the gold nugget. Slowly and cautiously, Mr. Carson approached. He held out the nugget, bargaining for his life.

“Here, take it,” Mr. Carson insisted. “It’s yours.” He tossed the nugget into the air.

Sawyer wanted to reach for the nugget, but Excalibur’s wisdom saw right through the trap.

As Mr. Carson raised his revolver, Sawyer did the same.

Excalibur was faster.

BANG!

A bullet struck Cody Carson in the deltoid, tearing his shoulder to shreds. His arm drooped—dangling by a few delicate tendons—but somehow he kept hold of the Peacekeeper.

Mr. Carson didn’t scream. He only grit his teeth and passed the Peacekeeper to his left hand. With a guttural cry, he raised the gun again.

BANG!

This time, the bullet struck his left shoulder, doing the same damage it did to the right. His left arm dropped, and the gun fell to the ground.

For the first time, raw fear consumed Mr. Carson. His body trembled and his lips quivered. “Please. Spare us. We’re no threat to you. We’re injured and unarmed. Please.”

And the truth is, Sawyer wanted to. He wanted to let them live, but Excalibur had different plans. He had three rounds left: one for each head.

As his finger tightened over the trigger, Sawyer squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see the slaughter.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Sawyer only opened his eyes to retrieve the gold. Then, he ran.

— — —

Sawyer stood on the riverbank at Rockslide Creek. He was out of bullets, but he knew he could find more. All he had to do was pan the river bottom.

Excalibur urged him to do it. Begged him even. The weapon was powerless without ammo, and it craved nothing more than power.

Still, Sawyer resisted. The weapon couldn’t control him, only guide him. Deep down, Sawyer had wanted to kill those men. He was just as guilty as the gun in that regard. Maybe it was best that he abandon the weapon?

He gave the cylinder another spin, looking down at the water.

Reach into the river; retrieve more ammo, the gun seemed to whisper. Arm yourself. Together, we will be unstoppable.

Sawyer said nothing. He only gave the cylinder another spin.

You’ve seen what I can do, the gun hissed. You’re a mere child, and I made you a champion. You should know, I can do far more. I can make a child into a king. I can make you a ruler of nations.

Sawyer thought for a moment, then he spoke out loud. “How would you do it?”

Images and ideas flashed in his mind. He would join the US army, fight on the frontlines, become a war hero. Then, he’d run for president. He could already see his campaign: The young boy who believed in the American dream. The boy who went West and struck gold on his own. The boy who, despite his riches, chose to fight for his country's freedom. The people would love him for it; they would vote for him.

That’s all Sawyer needed to hear. He had made up his mind.

For the first time in centuries, Excalibur had made a mistake. His plan for Sawyer's future had failed to mention the one thing he truly cared about.

His father.

Sawyer took one last look at the mystical weapon, then he tossed it into the rushing water.

Fantasy
2

About the Creator

Devin Downing

Medical student and self-published author of contemporary fantasy. You can trust my wound descriptions to be pathophysiologicaly accurate.

Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

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  1. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

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    Niche topic & fresh perspectives

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