From Disdain to Understanding
- J.R. Winton
- Jun 28
- 7 min read
Based on the book, "The Tearing of the Veil" . By J. R. Winton
“How’s the head?”
Stepan turned, slowly and painfully, to look over as Cole Taggart slid into a seated
position on the log to his left, the other man looking at him in evaluation. Stepan
lowered the damp cloth he’d been holding to his skull above his left ear and tried
to shrug, winced. “It is…not as bad as it could have been.”
Taggart nodded in empathetic understanding. “From where I was, it looked like
the bastard clocked you pretty good.” He gave a dry chuckle. “You elves must
have pretty hard heads.”
The comment jerked an involuntary laugh out of Stepan, who immediately winced
and pressed the cloth back to his head. “Oh, please do not make me laugh,
Taggart. I beg you.”
Taggart smirked but held up his hands in supplication. “Sorry. Been there; getting
whacked in the skull ain’t ever fun.”
Stepan looked at the blood stains on the cloth and sighed before putting it back to
his head. “No, it is not.”
They sat together in a companionable silence for a few minutes before Stepan
lowered the cloth again and threw the other man a look. “I wanted to thank you. If
you had not been so aware of everything going on… well, I believe you saved my
life.”
Taggart shrugged absently, and waved off the comment. “Don’t worry about it.
I’m sure you…”
“I am sure I would not be here nursing this growing lump on my oh, so very hard
skull if you had not seen Amanda and I in danger and responded accordingly.”
Stepan spoke the words slowly and with emphasis, very much seeking to make
sure Taggart understood how important this was.
Taggart gave him a look. “I’m getting the idea there’s more to this than just that,”
he observed cautiously.
Stepan hesitated, then nodded. “When the G’ovlinni attacked, I absorbed myself in
weaving the proper shields to keep them back from the wagons, to protect the most
vulnerable of us.”
Taggart chuckled. “Yeah, that shit still blows my mind. Watching those fuckers
run head-on into empty air always makes my day. It confuses them, and obviously
scares the shit out of them. Everybody tells me it looks like a mirage of sparkling
gold. There’s times I wish I could see that.”
“Taggart…”
The other man looked at Stepan, his expression turning grim. “Seriously, Stepan…
what’s on your mind? I’m here and I’m listening.”
Now it was Stepan’s turn to chuckle. “Cole, you are fully aware, I know, that when
we first met I was full of arrogant contempt for you and your guns.”
Taggart snorted. “I kinda picked up on that,” he observed drily. “Don’t feel bad; I
felt the same way about you. At least at first.”
“But now,” the elf went on, “I’ve come to realize how much I’ve learned from you,
and how much I see you as a friend.” He took a deep breath. “When that fight was
going on, I was so focused on maintaining the shield… I did not even see the
G’ovlinni coming until it was almost too late. I tried to duck under his blow, and I
feel lucky my attempt to dodge resulted in the impact being minimized, but it was
still enough to knock me down and leave me dizzy and unsteady.” He leaned his
elbows on his knees. “I was on my hands and knees, and when I looked down I
realized there was a gun on the ground in front of me. At first I intended to ignore
it and leave it where it was, but when I tried to get back up, I realized Amanda was
there trying to help me. She’d used her own power to throw my attacker back, but
she’d been so focused on me she didn’t realize the G’ovlinni had not been
disabled. It was coming at us again, raising its weapon, and in my compromised
state I could not find the focus to create a shield between us and it, nor did I have
time to shout a coherent warning to her. Out of sheer desperation I scooped up the
gun and tried to use it – something I swore years ago I would never do…”
Stepan turned agonized eyes to Taggart. “Cole…I had no idea how to make it
work. I pulled the trigger and nothing happened, and I realized my student and
friend – the closest to being a child of my very own - was going to be hurt and
perhaps killed because of my ignorance. I simply did not know what to do…and
then I saw its head slam back and heard the shot that had killed it even as it
collapsed in front of us. I turned, and you were turning your rifle towards the next
threat, and I realized you had once again protected us from harm, and with the very
weapons I have held in such disdain ever since I first became aware of them.” He
ran a hand over his face. “And only moments after I failed in attempting to protect
us with one.”
Taggart leaned forward. “Stepan, you can’t blame yourself…”
“Why not?” the elf demanded. “If I had asked at the outset if you would teach me
to use a gun, would you?”
Taggart hesitated, then nodded. “If you’d asked. Yeah.”
“But I didn’t ask,” Stepan pointed out. “I was too proud, and so full of contempt
for you and the others for your belief in the use of such things. And now, that
attitude very nearly destroyed us, and would have, if not for you.”
Taggart looked at him for a long time, obviously thinking about what he wanted to
say. “You still have it? The gun?”
Stepan nodded wordlessly and pulled his satchel off his shoulder, holding it out to
the other man. “It is inside. I am afraid to even touch it.”
Taggart took the bag and swung the flap open. He gave an absent-minded grunt
and reached in, extracting the firearm before handing the satchel back to Stepan.
He gave it a quick visual inspection. “I’m pretty sure this is Mac’s. He told me he
realized it had been knocked out of his holster and was going through the area he’d
remembered it happening, trying to find it. He’ll be glad to get it back.” He turned
the gun and held it up so Stepan could see it in profile. “See this lever here?”
Stepan nodded. “I do.”
“That’s the safety. It’s why the gun didn’t work. Let me guess: you pulled the
trigger, and the trigger moved, but nothing happened?”
Again, Stepan nodded.
Taggart nodded back, as if satisfied. “This pistol’s a Beretta M9, the same pistol I
used in the Marines. Just so you know, I’ve seen trained veterans in the middle of
combat forget to flip off the safety, or even accidentally engage it when handling it
under stress. It’s something training can minimize.”
“And are you willing to train me?” Stepan asked.
Taggart waved a hand as if the question was nonsense. “Of course I will.” He
looked at Stepan closely, and the elf was momentarily caught off guard by the
intensity in the other man’s eyes. “But,” Taggart clarified, “you aren’t going to
become a competent gun handler overnight. How long do you figure it took you to
become as good as you are at magic?”
Stepan blinked in surprise. “I have studied the Art my entire life, Taggart.”
“Well, the ‘art’ I’ve studied my whole life is shooting and gun handling. I started
as a boy, learning from my grandfather, and went on to training in the Marines and
later with the Marshals. I practiced a lot on my own time, and I regularly paid out
of my own pocket for advanced training with the best instructors available
whenever I had the time or the money. It won’t take anywhere near as long for you
to learn effective gunhandling as it did for you to learn magic, but it ain’t gonna
happen overnight either.”
Stepan nodded thoughtfully. “So, how do we proceed?”
Taggart scratched his chin. “First, I’m going to give Mac his gun back. He’ll be
delighted you found it, and I think he’s aged five years trying to find it. A Beretta
probably isn’t the best gun for you to start with either. I’ll look through what we
have and we’ll find you a good starter to work with. Then we’ll start going over
basic gun safety and manipulation in the evenings after we make camp. Once I
think you’ve progressed enough, we’ll get you a holster and let you start carrying
so you get used to the weight. Once I think you’re ready, we’ll inject live fire into
the lessons. We don’t have an endless supply of ammo, but enough for you to
learn the fundamentals.”
Stepan nodded once more, looking down at the ground. “I never would have
believed I could be here, considering this.”
“When you decided to start training in magic,” Taggart began, “what made you
decide to do it?”
Stepan blinked in surprise, then thought about his answer. “The world had faced
great tragedy and destruction,” he said finally, “and I knew that our complete
destruction was prevented only because there were master wizards and witches
who had stood in the crucible and fought back. When I was presented with the
opportunity to train with a true master I jumped at it without a second thought.”
“So you could protect yourself and the people important to you.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Of course.”
Taggart smiled wryly. “See, for all your dismissals of being armed with guns, you
still get the basic concept.”
Stepan tilted his head curiously. “I am not sure I understand.”
“Okay,” Taggart leaned forward, holding his hands up, palms towards his friend,
“think about it this way: in my world, magic is more myth than anything else.
There’s still danger, and threats in the world. We can’t weave magic shields or
such, but a smaller, weaker person can still defend themselves effectively even
against a bigger, stronger assailant. People took up arms most often in the name of
self-protection and self-preservation, both of which a lot of people felt made it
about as fundamental a right as exists.”
Stepan winced slightly, paused, then shrugged; a little awkwardly. “My biases and
prejudices are still there, and a part of me wants to reject that idea…except that
today I saw the truth of your words, and I feel the weight of them. And…” He
looked at Taggart with a faint smile on his face. “…and a little education never
hurt anyone.”
Taggart nodded, and smiled back. “And that’s the truth.”
Find books and stories by J. R. Winton on Amazon.
Comments