“Almost to the desert, Marshal! Get you outta the pines, yeah?””
The Marshal gave back a thin smile. The walker had a bucking, bumping gait that was difficult to get used too. The Marshal sat in the back on one of the benches, gut stretching his fine shirt and a ranger hat concealing his thinning hair.
“Not the, uh, smoothest ride, eh, Rattlesnake?” he said, trying to laugh. The third man in the walker sat in silence, eyes grimly set on nothing. He was older than either of the other two, but seemed like he would last to the end of the world and beyond. The rattlesnake inked down the right side of his face gave no emotion either. Without responding to the Marshal, he moved his head slightly towards Yacob.
“What’s the time going to be?” he asked.
“Well Rattlesnake…” replied his partner. “I’d say we’ll have to spend one night in the desert, yeah. And one on the way coming back. Nothing too bad. Hey, Marshal, what are we doing going after Nomads? I didn’t think you’d have business out here.”
The Marshal sat up, glad now to have a chance to explain the importance of his job. “Well, if the crime occurred in the Confederation, it is my solemn duty to pursue the perpetrators, no matter which side of Dark they end up on, even if it’s out of the forests. What we had here was a Nomad group coming far up, right to the forest edge. Apparently they were trying to slip coal off land belonging to a local farmer. Well, needless to say, words were exchanged and eventually shots. What ended up was a poor young man of the Confederacy dead in the fields. The Nomads got their rig rolling pretty fast after that and were gone by the time the authorities showed up. Of course, the Confederacy has a lot more influence than that. One of the Southland’s airship squadrons caught up to them and…explained the consequences of resisting arrest. Thankfully they got it all straightened out all civil like. The deal is, we bring in just the murderer. He gets tried in a Southlands’ court and the Nomads go on their way with a warning. As Marshal of the district of the incident, it is my duty, my solemn duty, to bring this man back to the courthouse. Of course, it wouldn’t do to wait for transport. People have better things to do. Which is why I’m much obliged to you two for agreeing to ferry me.”
“Hey man, no problem!” said Yacob, turning back to give a thumbs up. He momentarily lost control, the walker starting to strafe sideways. With much swearing and bucking and uncomfortable looks from the Marshal, he managed to set the course again. By now, the forest was receding behind them, the line of pine trees fading to grey in the distance. Rattlesnake simply sat and stared, looking out at the strange, twisted rocks in the desert, long shadows cast by the enormous yellow Daymoon overhead, each crater on it’s surface visible to the human eye and imagination.
-------
They camped that night in the back of the walker, Yacob setting up poles and a tarp over the flat back area. The Daymoon was gone from the sky, the many silvery moons of the night scattered above, whirling their way around the planet. The Marshal was visibly nervous. Only the Nomads willingly traveled the desert and even then they went in the safety of their massive tracked rigs. The desert was just a bad place. No one was even certain why – the things that made people not come back were faceless and unknown.
The Marshal was doubly perturbed when Yacob pulled out a pair of drums and began to tap on them, bobbing his head and smiling faintly as he let a rhythm pick up.
“Look…do you really think it’s wise to be playing music at this hour? I mean…”
“Shht.” Rattlesnake hissed. He reached into his own bag and removed an old guitar, pitted with scratches on its darkened wood.
“It’s no more dangerous at night than it is in the day. Just don’t go outside the walker to take a piss. And if something wakes you in the night, there is no god given reason to investigate it.” He said these words in a low voice, a simple statement. Then he began to play on the guitar, the notes slow and deliberate, hanging in the air, mixing with Yacob’s drums and spiraling to the moons above.
They camped that night in the back of the walker, Yacob setting up poles and a tarp over the flat back area. The Daymoon was gone from the sky, the many silvery moons of the night scattered above, whirling their way around the planet. The Marshal was visibly nervous. Only the Nomads willingly traveled the desert and even then they went in the safety of their massive tracked rigs. The desert was just a bad place. No one was even certain why – the things that made people not come back were faceless and unknown.
The Marshal was doubly perturbed when Yacob pulled out a pair of drums and began to tap on them, bobbing his head and smiling faintly as he let a rhythm pick up.
“Look…do you really think it’s wise to be playing music at this hour? I mean…”
“Shht.” Rattlesnake hissed. He reached into his own bag and removed an old guitar, pitted with scratches on its darkened wood.
“It’s no more dangerous at night than it is in the day. Just don’t go outside the walker to take a piss. And if something wakes you in the night, there is no god given reason to investigate it.” He said these words in a low voice, a simple statement. Then he began to play on the guitar, the notes slow and deliberate, hanging in the air, mixing with Yacob’s drums and spiraling to the moons above.
------
The Daymoon was directly overhead, encompassing the noon sky, when they reached the Nomad rig. The Nomads, in their leather clothing, furred and strange hats, looked troubled. You could sense the restlessness. Partly it was because of the tragedies of one of their members. The whole tribe, however, wished to be moving, to be rolling across the desert like they had done for generations. Motion was survival out here.
Yacob slowly brought the walker to a halt, stamping down the legs to steady it as he brought it in. He looked up at the massive rig the Nomads had. It towered above them, a mighty fortress on treads; window’s and pipes adorning it like rough decorations.
“Woah, Rattlesnake. Check that rig out! Can you imagine what it’s like to drive one of those, yeah?’
Rattlesnake nodded. He deftly leapt out of the walker, the Marshal gingerly stepping down behind him. The Nomads watched them silently. Some had cooking utensils out and were roasting some hare’s they had caught. A few children ran round behind the rig. A mechanic sat on one of the treads, noisily banging on a loose pipe.
A man stepped forwards. He was dressed in colourful, gold laced clothing and had a drooping mustache. His eyes were dark and distant and sad. Despite his finery his whole being seemed to sag.
“Please. The men of your country judged me, judged us, wrongly. The boy was shot by your own men. I was not there.”
The Marshal adopted a stern face, straightening his back and pulling the brim of his hat down slightly.
“Come on now, sir. We’re not here to argue the proceedings. I’m the Marshal and it is my job to carry out the law.’
The man closed his eyes briefly. Rattlesnake suddenly realized this man’s elaborate clothes were his funeral vestments.
“Where will it be done? I think we should go further out, so the children do not see this.”
Rattlesnake saw a woman approach and hover near them. She was small and slight, with a face grimed with dust and hair pulled back into a simple knot. She held a small fist to her chest and wavered where she stood.
The Marshal folded his arms.
“Now, I’m not going to take you out to the desert and shoot you now. There are proper methods of the law. You’ll be taken to the Southlands and given a proper trial.”
The man looked at him steadily.
“Why must there be a trial? They have already labeled me as guilty. My own people accept me as guilty. For them, I will call myself guilty.”
The Marshal shifted, becoming impatient with this man’s patience.
“Now look, I’m not arguing. You’re coming with us now.”
“Please. Please kill me here. It is not right for my body to lie outside the desert.”
The Marshal roughly grabbed the man, pulling him towards the walker. Yacob stepped deftly out of his way. He tried not to stare at the small scene.
“Now look! Look! Your body is going to lie wherever I damn say it’s going to lie! Get in the damned walker!”
The man let his shoulders drop further. He climbed up the side, moving to the back of the walker and sitting, with the solemnity of an imprisoned king. He looked back, at his tribe’s rig.
The woman ran forward’s now, grasping the Marshal.
“No! No, please, don’t do this, don’t take him! Not out of the desert! The spirits will destroy us for this! He must remain in the sands! Please, at least kill him here.”
The man turned his head towards her. He blinked again, his face still stony.
“Please. I’m alright. It is as it is.”
The woman collapsed, the Marshal backing away towards the walker.
“You don’t have to do this! We can fight! The tribes will assemble for this! Even if you die, will you not at least defend the will of the spirit’s?”
“It is as it is” he replied.
The woman stood, grabbing a fistful of dust and hurling it into the wind. It blew back at her, dusting her hair. Her voice gained the tenseness of anger.
“Why don’t you do anything! You’re being herding like a goat in a rig! You can’t even fight to save yourself!”
Yacob started the walker, the mechanical beast shaking, eager to begin the run. The Marshal struggled and flopped into the bed. He gave a jerked, impatient signal. Rattlesnake swung himself over the side. The man shifted to allow Rattlesnake to sit. He turned again to the woman.
“I love you.”
The woman fell to her knees, weeping, gripping and twisted the fabric of her dress. During the conversation, a small curve of Nomads had gathered. They watched the woman in a tense silence. The walker began to move, making a slow curve to point it back the way it had come. Dust kicked up around its legs. Suddenly, the woman was up and shrieking, the sands swirling around her, an enraged dervish of the desert.
“Damn you! Damn you, may the spirits curse your souls to the depths! I plead to the desert, may you all die before you can remove his body from the desert!”
The woman clutched her hands in front of her face, twisting them into a pattern. The Nomads drew back a little, some giving audible gasps. Then they were obscured by a cloud of dust as the walker set out on its course. The Marshal shook his head in indignation, muttering to himself. When the sands cleared, Rattlesnake looked back. The Nomads were moving. He couldn’t see what they were doing. Soon he distinguished only the rig, which began to shrink with distance. The prisoner beside him didn’t move. The Marshal looked at the prisoner once, and then looked away, simply watching Yacob gently guide the walker. Rattlesnake spat over the side of the walker. He sniffed the air. It might rain tonight.
The Daymoon was directly overhead, encompassing the noon sky, when they reached the Nomad rig. The Nomads, in their leather clothing, furred and strange hats, looked troubled. You could sense the restlessness. Partly it was because of the tragedies of one of their members. The whole tribe, however, wished to be moving, to be rolling across the desert like they had done for generations. Motion was survival out here.
Yacob slowly brought the walker to a halt, stamping down the legs to steady it as he brought it in. He looked up at the massive rig the Nomads had. It towered above them, a mighty fortress on treads; window’s and pipes adorning it like rough decorations.
“Woah, Rattlesnake. Check that rig out! Can you imagine what it’s like to drive one of those, yeah?’
Rattlesnake nodded. He deftly leapt out of the walker, the Marshal gingerly stepping down behind him. The Nomads watched them silently. Some had cooking utensils out and were roasting some hare’s they had caught. A few children ran round behind the rig. A mechanic sat on one of the treads, noisily banging on a loose pipe.
A man stepped forwards. He was dressed in colourful, gold laced clothing and had a drooping mustache. His eyes were dark and distant and sad. Despite his finery his whole being seemed to sag.
“Please. The men of your country judged me, judged us, wrongly. The boy was shot by your own men. I was not there.”
The Marshal adopted a stern face, straightening his back and pulling the brim of his hat down slightly.
“Come on now, sir. We’re not here to argue the proceedings. I’m the Marshal and it is my job to carry out the law.’
The man closed his eyes briefly. Rattlesnake suddenly realized this man’s elaborate clothes were his funeral vestments.
“Where will it be done? I think we should go further out, so the children do not see this.”
Rattlesnake saw a woman approach and hover near them. She was small and slight, with a face grimed with dust and hair pulled back into a simple knot. She held a small fist to her chest and wavered where she stood.
The Marshal folded his arms.
“Now, I’m not going to take you out to the desert and shoot you now. There are proper methods of the law. You’ll be taken to the Southlands and given a proper trial.”
The man looked at him steadily.
“Why must there be a trial? They have already labeled me as guilty. My own people accept me as guilty. For them, I will call myself guilty.”
The Marshal shifted, becoming impatient with this man’s patience.
“Now look, I’m not arguing. You’re coming with us now.”
“Please. Please kill me here. It is not right for my body to lie outside the desert.”
The Marshal roughly grabbed the man, pulling him towards the walker. Yacob stepped deftly out of his way. He tried not to stare at the small scene.
“Now look! Look! Your body is going to lie wherever I damn say it’s going to lie! Get in the damned walker!”
The man let his shoulders drop further. He climbed up the side, moving to the back of the walker and sitting, with the solemnity of an imprisoned king. He looked back, at his tribe’s rig.
The woman ran forward’s now, grasping the Marshal.
“No! No, please, don’t do this, don’t take him! Not out of the desert! The spirits will destroy us for this! He must remain in the sands! Please, at least kill him here.”
The man turned his head towards her. He blinked again, his face still stony.
“Please. I’m alright. It is as it is.”
The woman collapsed, the Marshal backing away towards the walker.
“You don’t have to do this! We can fight! The tribes will assemble for this! Even if you die, will you not at least defend the will of the spirit’s?”
“It is as it is” he replied.
The woman stood, grabbing a fistful of dust and hurling it into the wind. It blew back at her, dusting her hair. Her voice gained the tenseness of anger.
“Why don’t you do anything! You’re being herding like a goat in a rig! You can’t even fight to save yourself!”
Yacob started the walker, the mechanical beast shaking, eager to begin the run. The Marshal struggled and flopped into the bed. He gave a jerked, impatient signal. Rattlesnake swung himself over the side. The man shifted to allow Rattlesnake to sit. He turned again to the woman.
“I love you.”
The woman fell to her knees, weeping, gripping and twisted the fabric of her dress. During the conversation, a small curve of Nomads had gathered. They watched the woman in a tense silence. The walker began to move, making a slow curve to point it back the way it had come. Dust kicked up around its legs. Suddenly, the woman was up and shrieking, the sands swirling around her, an enraged dervish of the desert.
“Damn you! Damn you, may the spirits curse your souls to the depths! I plead to the desert, may you all die before you can remove his body from the desert!”
The woman clutched her hands in front of her face, twisting them into a pattern. The Nomads drew back a little, some giving audible gasps. Then they were obscured by a cloud of dust as the walker set out on its course. The Marshal shook his head in indignation, muttering to himself. When the sands cleared, Rattlesnake looked back. The Nomads were moving. He couldn’t see what they were doing. Soon he distinguished only the rig, which began to shrink with distance. The prisoner beside him didn’t move. The Marshal looked at the prisoner once, and then looked away, simply watching Yacob gently guide the walker. Rattlesnake spat over the side of the walker. He sniffed the air. It might rain tonight.
-------
The Marshal was in a foul mood as they went back. He had a sense, that though he was the captor of this man, that he had no inch of control. The thought tugged at him, causing a bitter ire.
“You goddamn Nomads. You goatscrewing sandfreaks.” He spat out every syllable.
“Can’t keep straight in right society, so I guess this hellhole is the only place for you. And that damn woman back there. Screaming about ghosts and devils. You…people…are just as goddamn primitive as…as the things that live in the forest! You don’t even have the blasted brains to build yourselves a Steamcity out here. Course I’d be perfectly happy if you all rotted out here. But you drive your pile of junk up to my border! Start causing trouble. Goddamn! I think we should have just bombed your shitstain of a…a….gathering.”
The Marshal looked around. Yacob was silent, pretending to have all his focus on driving and thus not hearing the tirade. Rattlesnake had not moved an inch since he got back in the walker. His eyes simply wandered from one twisted rock to another in the desert landscape, flitting sometimes up to the glowing Daymoon.
The Marshal’s frustration grew. He wanted to end this. To kill the man, to throw him off. More than that, he wanted a reaction. He wanted this barbarian exile to jump at him. To scream back. To act like the primate the Marshal saw him as.
The man bowed his head. The Marshal stood up in the walker, walking awkwardly to the back, grabbing the man and shaking him. In the moving walker, with his victim seated and unresisting, this effort seemed almost laughable. The Marshal simply degenerated into curses and swearing, with much damning. The man looked up with dark, old eyes.
“You could kill me. You could say I resisted, that I needed to be killed. My body would not be found here.”
The Marshal smiled. He had found something. He shuffled back to his seat, leering at the man.
“Now see, you dumb Nomads don’t even care for your lives. You’re too damn cowardly to fight when you’re on the edge. Your damn woman even saw that! I’m going to make damn sure that you see it out of this desert. And when you hang, I’m burying your body myself, right where I damn want it. Damnit!”
The man cast his gaze down again. “If that is your conviction, then what happens will happen.”
Rattlesnake looked back out over the desert. This was going to be a long ride, although the Daymoon was starting to make progress down across the sky. He saw gather clouds in the distance, dark and brooding. He felt the wind blow in his face. Yes, rain, most likely rain.
With a movement that made the Marshal jump slightly, Rattlesnake whipped his head around, his normally laconic eyes gazing intently.
“What do you see, oldtimer?” asked the Marshal with a tone of uneasy jest.
Rattlesnake ignored him. Out there in the sands…the sand itself. He thought he had seen the sand shift. He knew it. The sand had bulged, distorting, for a hint of a second. Whatever it had been, thought, it was gone now. He continued to keep vigilance as the walker clanked and scrambled through the desert. All the men remained silent.
The Marshal was in a foul mood as they went back. He had a sense, that though he was the captor of this man, that he had no inch of control. The thought tugged at him, causing a bitter ire.
“You goddamn Nomads. You goatscrewing sandfreaks.” He spat out every syllable.
“Can’t keep straight in right society, so I guess this hellhole is the only place for you. And that damn woman back there. Screaming about ghosts and devils. You…people…are just as goddamn primitive as…as the things that live in the forest! You don’t even have the blasted brains to build yourselves a Steamcity out here. Course I’d be perfectly happy if you all rotted out here. But you drive your pile of junk up to my border! Start causing trouble. Goddamn! I think we should have just bombed your shitstain of a…a….gathering.”
The Marshal looked around. Yacob was silent, pretending to have all his focus on driving and thus not hearing the tirade. Rattlesnake had not moved an inch since he got back in the walker. His eyes simply wandered from one twisted rock to another in the desert landscape, flitting sometimes up to the glowing Daymoon.
The Marshal’s frustration grew. He wanted to end this. To kill the man, to throw him off. More than that, he wanted a reaction. He wanted this barbarian exile to jump at him. To scream back. To act like the primate the Marshal saw him as.
The man bowed his head. The Marshal stood up in the walker, walking awkwardly to the back, grabbing the man and shaking him. In the moving walker, with his victim seated and unresisting, this effort seemed almost laughable. The Marshal simply degenerated into curses and swearing, with much damning. The man looked up with dark, old eyes.
“You could kill me. You could say I resisted, that I needed to be killed. My body would not be found here.”
The Marshal smiled. He had found something. He shuffled back to his seat, leering at the man.
“Now see, you dumb Nomads don’t even care for your lives. You’re too damn cowardly to fight when you’re on the edge. Your damn woman even saw that! I’m going to make damn sure that you see it out of this desert. And when you hang, I’m burying your body myself, right where I damn want it. Damnit!”
The man cast his gaze down again. “If that is your conviction, then what happens will happen.”
Rattlesnake looked back out over the desert. This was going to be a long ride, although the Daymoon was starting to make progress down across the sky. He saw gather clouds in the distance, dark and brooding. He felt the wind blow in his face. Yes, rain, most likely rain.
With a movement that made the Marshal jump slightly, Rattlesnake whipped his head around, his normally laconic eyes gazing intently.
“What do you see, oldtimer?” asked the Marshal with a tone of uneasy jest.
Rattlesnake ignored him. Out there in the sands…the sand itself. He thought he had seen the sand shift. He knew it. The sand had bulged, distorting, for a hint of a second. Whatever it had been, thought, it was gone now. He continued to keep vigilance as the walker clanked and scrambled through the desert. All the men remained silent.
-------
They camped again in the walker on the second night. Rattlesnake had been right in his estimations. A desert storm hung over them, the rain playing a light staccato tune on the tarp above them. Rattlesnake lit a lantern and placed it among them. All four men stared at the light with some form of discontent. None of them were enjoying this journey.
Yacob decided to at least attempt it. He went to his pack and pulled out his drums. He began to tap, but the rhythm lacked a direction. Finally, the Marshal snapped at him.
“I’m in no mood for music, you damn Zethian! Put your goddamn skins away!”
Yacob looked hurt. Then, a rather unfamiliar look came into his usually open face.
“Hey. Marshal. It’s not right that you’re using the good name of the people of Zethio in the same sentence as your foul cursing.”
The Marshal stared back at him, uncertain of his next move. He felt that this desert was sapping his authority. Out here, there was no law, except of the small laws between men. The Marshal grunted and pulled back. Rattlesnake lightly touched Yacob on the shoulder. The young man slowly put his drums away, and then laid back on his bedroll.
Rattlesnake looked up at the tarp, seeing in sway slightly from the rain. He listened to its pattern. His instinct, his age and experience told him something was not right. But it would only cause more danger to investigate it.
The Marshal laid back on his bedroll, muttering. Then he got back up.
“Rattlesnake. How do we know that this man isn’t going to kill us in our sleeps?’
“I’m not going to sleep Marshal. Lay yourself down and rest.”
“Well, he’s right here beside me! I don’t trust a resting place beside a Nomad!”
“So you want one of us to change places, eh Marshal?” said Yacob from where he was laying. “Scared of sleeping with the lights out?”
“Shut up! I’m not going to be insulted by a couple of mercenaries!”
“Be quiet” The prisoner had spoken, suddenly. “I am trying to listen to the rain.”
“You don’t have the goddamn right to speak!” said the Marshal. “For Chrissakes Rattlesnake, can’t we tie him up?”
“Leave it.”
The Marshal was beginning to turn red. He shifted, fidgeted in the confines of the walker. He had a cold look in his eyes.
Finally he turned to the prisoner.
“Let’s get one thing straight. What you say doesn’t matter in the least! So keep your mouth shut!”
“Our actions choose our paths” murmured the man.
“I said, shut…” began the Marshal. He never finished. Rattlesnake moved fast, his hand going to his gun, the gun rising, the delicate mechanisms racing in their beautiful, deadly nature. The bullet, flying to the target. Piercing the heart. Freeing blood.
The prisoner moved back from the Marshal, who he had been bent over. The bullet had gone through both of them. It was too late though. The man had already slit the Marshal’s throat. The Marshal was staring with dead, furious eyes, gurgling in hatred. Blood splattered over his shirt. He sank back onto the bedrolls.
The prisoner touched the place where the bullet had met him. He smiled, then slumped forwards.
“By the Books….” muttered Yacob, staring at the scene. “Holy Books…what the hell…”
Rattlesnake slowly put his gun back.
“Oh dear lord…what do we do now?” said Yacob. “O Books, there both dead.”
“Yacob!” shouted Rattlesnake. Suddenly the laconic gunslinger had come alive. Fire burned in his eyes. His chest sucked in air his muscles tensed.
“Start the walker! NOW!” Rattlesnake ran to the equipment box, flinging open the lid. Yacob was already scrambling. When Rattlesnake meant something, he meant something. They would deal with the little tragedy later. It still seemed unreal. They looked like two men collapsed on their beds, not fallen to death.
Soon the walker engine was humming. Yacob needed no directions. He headed straight, the walker’s legs beginning to clank and groan. Her engines roared defiance at the night as she sped off, trundling over the events of the present. Now it was movement. Now it was piston’s and gears and steam.
In the back, Rattlesnake tore down the tarp. He needed room. He then unfolded his tool, jamming the pieces into place. The mounting. The crank. The barrels glistening. The crank gun stood ready to spit fire into the night. Yacob hazarded a glance backwards.
“What the hell do we need that for?”
Rattlesnake kept moving. Ammo in its place. Now, the light. The light was key.
Yacob began to notice what Rattlesnake had already noticed. There was a rumbling, separate and beyond the sounds of his machine. It was a boring, crunching, writhing noise. And it was following them.
“What…what the hell is back there?!” he said, trying to suppress the welling panic. Two men dead. Now some horror of the sands behind them. This was a black night. The forces from beneath the planet were working foul this nocturne.
Rattlesnake had snapped everything together. He hesitated only a moment as he flicked on the light. A bright patch of artificial Daymoon sprang into being behind the walker, casting long shadows across the desert. And casting shadows of the things that followed.
What came to the surface that night was a horde. Hundreds of writhing forms of anger. Like worms, large as dogs and fattened. With snake’s scales and gaping angry mouths they came, skipping and sliding over the sands. They screeched and gibbered, moving over rocks and another. It looked like one solid mass, an ocean from hell raising it’s tide against them, threatening to consume them.
“Oh….” Said Yacob, looking back. There was nothing more to say. The nightmare that always threatened here had broken through to the other side. He turned with grim determination to the controls of his walker, pressing them down hard. The walker gained new life, roaring ever faster, the legs still keeping the necessary pattern as they lightly leapt off the sands.
At the rear, Rattlesnake steadied his gun. This was to be a long night. It would be dawn before they reached the end of the desert. The struggle would last until then. He saw that even more of the creatures were birthed from the sands, screeching in their eerie tones. He began to fire, turning the crank slowly, with a patience he had fought to learn. Black blood sprayed up, illuminated in the searchlight.
The gun began the steady heartbeat of its purpose. Rattlesnake gently guided it to and fro, beating back the swarm of Lizard Worms wherever they threatened to engulf the rear legs of the walker. The moons spun in their set patterns and the stars glowed, almost red with intensity. The worms emerged in greater numbers, gaining speed. Rattlesnake could not imagine what weird force pushed them in such an unnatural manner. The chase was begun, and he did not know how long they could go.
Yacob decided to at least attempt it. He went to his pack and pulled out his drums. He began to tap, but the rhythm lacked a direction. Finally, the Marshal snapped at him.
“I’m in no mood for music, you damn Zethian! Put your goddamn skins away!”
Yacob looked hurt. Then, a rather unfamiliar look came into his usually open face.
“Hey. Marshal. It’s not right that you’re using the good name of the people of Zethio in the same sentence as your foul cursing.”
The Marshal stared back at him, uncertain of his next move. He felt that this desert was sapping his authority. Out here, there was no law, except of the small laws between men. The Marshal grunted and pulled back. Rattlesnake lightly touched Yacob on the shoulder. The young man slowly put his drums away, and then laid back on his bedroll.
Rattlesnake looked up at the tarp, seeing in sway slightly from the rain. He listened to its pattern. His instinct, his age and experience told him something was not right. But it would only cause more danger to investigate it.
The Marshal laid back on his bedroll, muttering. Then he got back up.
“Rattlesnake. How do we know that this man isn’t going to kill us in our sleeps?’
“I’m not going to sleep Marshal. Lay yourself down and rest.”
“Well, he’s right here beside me! I don’t trust a resting place beside a Nomad!”
“So you want one of us to change places, eh Marshal?” said Yacob from where he was laying. “Scared of sleeping with the lights out?”
“Shut up! I’m not going to be insulted by a couple of mercenaries!”
“Be quiet” The prisoner had spoken, suddenly. “I am trying to listen to the rain.”
“You don’t have the goddamn right to speak!” said the Marshal. “For Chrissakes Rattlesnake, can’t we tie him up?”
“Leave it.”
The Marshal was beginning to turn red. He shifted, fidgeted in the confines of the walker. He had a cold look in his eyes.
Finally he turned to the prisoner.
“Let’s get one thing straight. What you say doesn’t matter in the least! So keep your mouth shut!”
“Our actions choose our paths” murmured the man.
“I said, shut…” began the Marshal. He never finished. Rattlesnake moved fast, his hand going to his gun, the gun rising, the delicate mechanisms racing in their beautiful, deadly nature. The bullet, flying to the target. Piercing the heart. Freeing blood.
The prisoner moved back from the Marshal, who he had been bent over. The bullet had gone through both of them. It was too late though. The man had already slit the Marshal’s throat. The Marshal was staring with dead, furious eyes, gurgling in hatred. Blood splattered over his shirt. He sank back onto the bedrolls.
The prisoner touched the place where the bullet had met him. He smiled, then slumped forwards.
“By the Books….” muttered Yacob, staring at the scene. “Holy Books…what the hell…”
Rattlesnake slowly put his gun back.
“Oh dear lord…what do we do now?” said Yacob. “O Books, there both dead.”
“Yacob!” shouted Rattlesnake. Suddenly the laconic gunslinger had come alive. Fire burned in his eyes. His chest sucked in air his muscles tensed.
“Start the walker! NOW!” Rattlesnake ran to the equipment box, flinging open the lid. Yacob was already scrambling. When Rattlesnake meant something, he meant something. They would deal with the little tragedy later. It still seemed unreal. They looked like two men collapsed on their beds, not fallen to death.
Soon the walker engine was humming. Yacob needed no directions. He headed straight, the walker’s legs beginning to clank and groan. Her engines roared defiance at the night as she sped off, trundling over the events of the present. Now it was movement. Now it was piston’s and gears and steam.
In the back, Rattlesnake tore down the tarp. He needed room. He then unfolded his tool, jamming the pieces into place. The mounting. The crank. The barrels glistening. The crank gun stood ready to spit fire into the night. Yacob hazarded a glance backwards.
“What the hell do we need that for?”
Rattlesnake kept moving. Ammo in its place. Now, the light. The light was key.
Yacob began to notice what Rattlesnake had already noticed. There was a rumbling, separate and beyond the sounds of his machine. It was a boring, crunching, writhing noise. And it was following them.
“What…what the hell is back there?!” he said, trying to suppress the welling panic. Two men dead. Now some horror of the sands behind them. This was a black night. The forces from beneath the planet were working foul this nocturne.
Rattlesnake had snapped everything together. He hesitated only a moment as he flicked on the light. A bright patch of artificial Daymoon sprang into being behind the walker, casting long shadows across the desert. And casting shadows of the things that followed.
What came to the surface that night was a horde. Hundreds of writhing forms of anger. Like worms, large as dogs and fattened. With snake’s scales and gaping angry mouths they came, skipping and sliding over the sands. They screeched and gibbered, moving over rocks and another. It looked like one solid mass, an ocean from hell raising it’s tide against them, threatening to consume them.
“Oh….” Said Yacob, looking back. There was nothing more to say. The nightmare that always threatened here had broken through to the other side. He turned with grim determination to the controls of his walker, pressing them down hard. The walker gained new life, roaring ever faster, the legs still keeping the necessary pattern as they lightly leapt off the sands.
At the rear, Rattlesnake steadied his gun. This was to be a long night. It would be dawn before they reached the end of the desert. The struggle would last until then. He saw that even more of the creatures were birthed from the sands, screeching in their eerie tones. He began to fire, turning the crank slowly, with a patience he had fought to learn. Black blood sprayed up, illuminated in the searchlight.
The gun began the steady heartbeat of its purpose. Rattlesnake gently guided it to and fro, beating back the swarm of Lizard Worms wherever they threatened to engulf the rear legs of the walker. The moons spun in their set patterns and the stars glowed, almost red with intensity. The worms emerged in greater numbers, gaining speed. Rattlesnake could not imagine what weird force pushed them in such an unnatural manner. The chase was begun, and he did not know how long they could go.
--------
For what was truly hours the two men set grimly to their tasks. The walker was beginning to creak and groan, not being meant to take this much stress over such a period of time. Slowing down, however, was not an option. The worms were almost at them now. Rattlesnake kept the great gun plowing through the living field, always just a little ahead of the inevitable outcome.
Then came the clicking noise of a parched gun. Rattlesnake swore silently under his breath. There was no more ammo. He pulled his revolver, firing slowly now, only hitting the worms that were nearly a threat. Then he was too slow. One worm skirted to the left, managing to match the walker. Then it leaped, landing in the back of the walker, writhing on the floor like a dying fish. Rattlesnake turned to face it, then dropped himself to the ground. The worm spat forth a vile substance, missing Rattlesnake and splattering itself on the crank gun, which steamed and melted. A fleck of the ooze landed on Rattlesnake’s cheek and he couldn’t help crying out. He brought his revolver in front of his face and shot the worm while lying down. He struggled to his feet, only to see now that the worm horde was on either side of them. He heard screeching and squashing from below the walker. They were on top of the swarm as well. The walker shook and stumbled, unable to run on the floor of worms. Yacob gripped the levels at the front, partly for steering his faltering walker and partly to keep him upright. Now Rattlesnake was firing just to keep the beasts from leaping into the walker again. Even as the walker began to swing from side to side, he aimed his shots carefully to find a match.
“Oh shit…” mumbled Yacob from the steering place. “This is bad witchcraft, right here. Oh lord, we have a curse upon us, can be nothing but a curse.”
“Don’t stop!” barked Rattlesnake. He fired more shots and then the revolver stopped, being emptied. He cursed again. Even if he killed a hundred more, they would still not escape the desert in time.
“Keep at it. I’m going to shed some weight” said Rattlesnake. The walker just needed to go faster – even now, it was steadily slowing as the worms threw themselves under it’s feet.
Rattlesnake slid across the back of the walker, moving quickly. He tossed the tarp and poles off, the canvas fluttering and vanishing into the night. He looked around. Some unnecessary cargo boxes were hefted and tossed overboard. Worms screeched as the boxes smashed open upon them. Rattlesnake felt something bump against his feet. He looked down, to see a serenely smiling face. The body of the prisoner nudged against him.
Rattlesnake made up his mind quickly. Taking the man under the shoulders, he moved to the edge.
“Sorry” he muttered. “But I guess this is what you wanted, anyways.”
At that moment, the walker gave a terrific lurch. Yacob let out a panicked scream, banging the controls in frustration. The walker had ground to a halt. Worms began to crawl up every side of the walker. Rattlesnake still held the prisoner, using him as a shield, while he reached for his long knife with his other hand. A worm attempted to leap over the side, Rattlesnake lunging out and stabbing it. The worm gurgled, the corrosive ooze bubbled up. Rattlesnake hissed and dropped the knife, drawing back his hand to save it. Suddenly a worm leapt from behind him. It hit him firmly in the back. He was pushed forwards. The corpse he held tipped down and over the edge, carrying Rattlesnake with it into the writhing mass.
For what was truly hours the two men set grimly to their tasks. The walker was beginning to creak and groan, not being meant to take this much stress over such a period of time. Slowing down, however, was not an option. The worms were almost at them now. Rattlesnake kept the great gun plowing through the living field, always just a little ahead of the inevitable outcome.
Then came the clicking noise of a parched gun. Rattlesnake swore silently under his breath. There was no more ammo. He pulled his revolver, firing slowly now, only hitting the worms that were nearly a threat. Then he was too slow. One worm skirted to the left, managing to match the walker. Then it leaped, landing in the back of the walker, writhing on the floor like a dying fish. Rattlesnake turned to face it, then dropped himself to the ground. The worm spat forth a vile substance, missing Rattlesnake and splattering itself on the crank gun, which steamed and melted. A fleck of the ooze landed on Rattlesnake’s cheek and he couldn’t help crying out. He brought his revolver in front of his face and shot the worm while lying down. He struggled to his feet, only to see now that the worm horde was on either side of them. He heard screeching and squashing from below the walker. They were on top of the swarm as well. The walker shook and stumbled, unable to run on the floor of worms. Yacob gripped the levels at the front, partly for steering his faltering walker and partly to keep him upright. Now Rattlesnake was firing just to keep the beasts from leaping into the walker again. Even as the walker began to swing from side to side, he aimed his shots carefully to find a match.
“Oh shit…” mumbled Yacob from the steering place. “This is bad witchcraft, right here. Oh lord, we have a curse upon us, can be nothing but a curse.”
“Don’t stop!” barked Rattlesnake. He fired more shots and then the revolver stopped, being emptied. He cursed again. Even if he killed a hundred more, they would still not escape the desert in time.
“Keep at it. I’m going to shed some weight” said Rattlesnake. The walker just needed to go faster – even now, it was steadily slowing as the worms threw themselves under it’s feet.
Rattlesnake slid across the back of the walker, moving quickly. He tossed the tarp and poles off, the canvas fluttering and vanishing into the night. He looked around. Some unnecessary cargo boxes were hefted and tossed overboard. Worms screeched as the boxes smashed open upon them. Rattlesnake felt something bump against his feet. He looked down, to see a serenely smiling face. The body of the prisoner nudged against him.
Rattlesnake made up his mind quickly. Taking the man under the shoulders, he moved to the edge.
“Sorry” he muttered. “But I guess this is what you wanted, anyways.”
At that moment, the walker gave a terrific lurch. Yacob let out a panicked scream, banging the controls in frustration. The walker had ground to a halt. Worms began to crawl up every side of the walker. Rattlesnake still held the prisoner, using him as a shield, while he reached for his long knife with his other hand. A worm attempted to leap over the side, Rattlesnake lunging out and stabbing it. The worm gurgled, the corrosive ooze bubbled up. Rattlesnake hissed and dropped the knife, drawing back his hand to save it. Suddenly a worm leapt from behind him. It hit him firmly in the back. He was pushed forwards. The corpse he held tipped down and over the edge, carrying Rattlesnake with it into the writhing mass.
------
As Rattlesnake fell, he thought he could feel every rain drop that landed upon him. He felt like the ocean was rushing to meet him in a storm. He felt old. He hit the moistened sand. A thunderclap sounded overhead. There was a rumbling. That was the idling engine of the walker. Rattlesnake sat up and looked around.
The desert around them was empty. All around him, the sand seemed to be shifting in strange patterns, a mosaic of whirlpools that grew smaller and vanished. He looked up and saw the corpse that had fallen with him lying on the ground. He staggered to his feet. Then he saw the corpse move, the sand around the prisoner’s body move. The body began to sink into the desert sand. Rattlesnake did not dare to interfere with its progress. Soon it was gone and the sands stopped shifting. A light wind blew and scattered raindrops in his face. He turned around, hoisting himself back onto the walker.
Yacob was sitting on the edge of the raised control platform. He was shaking his head and muttering.
“Oh, by the Books, oh lords, how can I tell what’s real, dear lords above me…”
He looked up at Rattlesnake, managing a thin smile.
“Tell me man. Am I here?”
Rattlesnake moved over and put a hand on Yacob’s shoulder.
“You’re all here. Let’s get this thing moving.”
--------
By the time the Daymoon began to rise, they were at the forest’s edge. They had passed the storm and could see only the clouds out in the desert. The yellow Daymoon glow penetrated through the trees and bathed the walker.
Yacob ran his hand over the controls. “Oh, by the Books you did well…” he murmured. He turned back, moving to where Rattlesnake was seated. Yacob pushed over a heap that lay on the floor of the walker.
“Oh shit, man. We still got a dead man on board. I…lords, yes. He killed him, didn’t he?”
Rattlesnake nodded.
“Shits…I never was expecting that.
Rattlesnake shook his head.
“Rattlesnake, man…what are we going to do? We have a dead Confederate Marshal in our walker.”
Rattlesnake looked back out over the desert. He began to talk slowly.
“I…don’t figure that they’ll accept our story. Especially with the fact that the money he paid us is missing. It went overboard.”
“Shit. No…the law doesn’t full trust mercenaries.”
“Yeah. Come on. Help me with this.”
As the sun rose, they dug a shallow grave at the place where the desert began. The placed the limb and flabby corpse of the Marshal inside and covered it with dirt.
“So…” said Yacob, yawning. “What do we do now?”
“Now we disappear. Then we eat. Then we sleep.”
“Where we gonna disappear to? North into the forest is Confederacy. East and West the border between the trees and desert runs a long while. And even if we went that way…you’re still a wanted man in the Colonies.”
“Yeah. And I don’t want that same reputation in my home, either. We stay out of here until this event is forgotten”
Rattlesnake looked over the desert.
“Yacob. Would you know where Zethio would be at this time?”
“Course I would! I know the path the island flies, its in my blood to know where she soars.”
He paused.
“Yeah! We could go there. But, of course, to get there without an airship, we’ll need to take the walker back into the desert.”
“Hmm” replied Rattlesnake. “I think that’ll do fine.”
As Rattlesnake fell, he thought he could feel every rain drop that landed upon him. He felt like the ocean was rushing to meet him in a storm. He felt old. He hit the moistened sand. A thunderclap sounded overhead. There was a rumbling. That was the idling engine of the walker. Rattlesnake sat up and looked around.
The desert around them was empty. All around him, the sand seemed to be shifting in strange patterns, a mosaic of whirlpools that grew smaller and vanished. He looked up and saw the corpse that had fallen with him lying on the ground. He staggered to his feet. Then he saw the corpse move, the sand around the prisoner’s body move. The body began to sink into the desert sand. Rattlesnake did not dare to interfere with its progress. Soon it was gone and the sands stopped shifting. A light wind blew and scattered raindrops in his face. He turned around, hoisting himself back onto the walker.
Yacob was sitting on the edge of the raised control platform. He was shaking his head and muttering.
“Oh, by the Books, oh lords, how can I tell what’s real, dear lords above me…”
He looked up at Rattlesnake, managing a thin smile.
“Tell me man. Am I here?”
Rattlesnake moved over and put a hand on Yacob’s shoulder.
“You’re all here. Let’s get this thing moving.”
--------
By the time the Daymoon began to rise, they were at the forest’s edge. They had passed the storm and could see only the clouds out in the desert. The yellow Daymoon glow penetrated through the trees and bathed the walker.
Yacob ran his hand over the controls. “Oh, by the Books you did well…” he murmured. He turned back, moving to where Rattlesnake was seated. Yacob pushed over a heap that lay on the floor of the walker.
“Oh shit, man. We still got a dead man on board. I…lords, yes. He killed him, didn’t he?”
Rattlesnake nodded.
“Shits…I never was expecting that.
Rattlesnake shook his head.
“Rattlesnake, man…what are we going to do? We have a dead Confederate Marshal in our walker.”
Rattlesnake looked back out over the desert. He began to talk slowly.
“I…don’t figure that they’ll accept our story. Especially with the fact that the money he paid us is missing. It went overboard.”
“Shit. No…the law doesn’t full trust mercenaries.”
“Yeah. Come on. Help me with this.”
As the sun rose, they dug a shallow grave at the place where the desert began. The placed the limb and flabby corpse of the Marshal inside and covered it with dirt.
“So…” said Yacob, yawning. “What do we do now?”
“Now we disappear. Then we eat. Then we sleep.”
“Where we gonna disappear to? North into the forest is Confederacy. East and West the border between the trees and desert runs a long while. And even if we went that way…you’re still a wanted man in the Colonies.”
“Yeah. And I don’t want that same reputation in my home, either. We stay out of here until this event is forgotten”
Rattlesnake looked over the desert.
“Yacob. Would you know where Zethio would be at this time?”
“Course I would! I know the path the island flies, its in my blood to know where she soars.”
He paused.
“Yeah! We could go there. But, of course, to get there without an airship, we’ll need to take the walker back into the desert.”
“Hmm” replied Rattlesnake. “I think that’ll do fine.”
The End
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