Chapter 11
Light.
Blinding, hot light.
Nightwing groaned, water bubbling in his throat. His eyes opened a crack, staring straight at the sun. He rolled over, onto his stomach, vomiting river water. Coughing hard, he cleared his lungs. Struggling to all fours, his hand felt for his eyeband. They were gone. Grunting, he sat back on his haunches, cracking his eyes open wider.
Large, jagged cliffs of a canyon wall rose steeply on either side of the river he had so easily fallen into. Nearly a quarter mile away, the cliffs stopped…and the beach dunes began. The mountains spread far in the North, their peaks smeared with distance. The river itself ran gently into the ocean, feeding the eternal waters of the world. The dark assassin stood shuddering fitfully on a small pebble shore bank that bordered the water. The sun glared down hot.
Nightwing nearly fell as sudden, unfamiliar pain flared from various points on his body. His face throbbed, along with his legs, arms, and torso. Glancing at one such throbbing spot on his forearm, he was met with an enormous black and blue bruise the size of his hand. "Rocks," he muttered, groaning lightly. Looking at the beach again, he began to walk towards it on wobbly legs.
----
Starfire stood in the sheriff's office, a blanket over her shoulders. Her face was streaked with angry red lines, denoting hard crying. She occasionally hiccupped up bit, as a reminder of her long cry in the officer's car.
"One more time, Miss Sylvia. You were being…" the sheriff glanced at his e-pad, where electronic scribbling covered the shiny surface. "You were assaulted by DeCray at the party when you asked for an interview, right?" He looked back at the pad. "Then, you're friend, Mister, uh, Smith intervened and forcefully tore him off. Am I getting this right?"
Starfire stared at the metal desk before her blankly, nodding only slightly.
The sheriff, a man of about eighty-three, scratched at his graying hair. Fit, burly, and healthy as the day he was born only because of mod-patches. Like so many others. He sighed, leaning back in his squeaky chair. He glanced at the pad. "All right. Then, DeCray called in," glance, "the Harvester. There was a fight, with Smith on the losing end." The sheriff looked skeptical. "Then, Harvester's head supposedly blew up." He put down the pad. "Miss Sylvia, this whole story sounds very…contrived. Either you're lying, or you're on some sort of medication." He glances up at his deputy, who was leaning casually against a wall, munching on an apple.
The deputy wiped his mouth and moved forward. "We confirmed the body, the weapon, and that there was a fight. Only way to describe such torn up dirt, singed grass, and a thick tree seemingly slashed clean through." He sighs a bit, glancing at the sheriff. "The head was missing from the body, and it seems to be from a concentrated explosion of ordinary black gunpowder." He pauses and leans forward a bit. "But, Miss Sylvia, you're story is shaky at best. Witnesses say you flirted with DeCray and took him out back. And, it was mighty lucky that you're friend, who was not seen at the party, suddenly appeared from out of nowhere and helped you. Not only that, but DeCray's throat was stabbed through. Cause of death was severing of the spinal cord." The deputy squinted his eyes. "A sort of wound that would be too clean for the scythe we got from the crime scene."
Starfire didn't look at him. She stared, stared, stared at the metal desk, as if seeing something the others could not.
The deputy leaned forward a bit, trying to get into her line of vision. "There's something else at play here, Miss Sylvia. Are you sure there aren't bigger things we should be worrying about."
The door burst open suddenly. The two men swiveled to look. Starfire didn't even move.
"Ah, Miss Sylvia. I see you've gotten to know the local police force. Come along, let's get back to the City."
The alien girl looked up slowly, her emerald eyes questioning. She almost smiled.
Bruce Wayne stood in the door way, a casual, easy smile stretching his face. Dressed in normal business attire, he seemed completely comfortable in the somewhat dreary police station. He turned to the police, flashing them a grin. "That's no problem, right?"
The police understood and began to nod. "Yes, Mr. Wayne, she's free to go," the sheriff said slowly, his voice tainted with something akin to fear.
Starfire stood slowly, letting the blanket fall. Bruce placed a comforting arm around her lithe shoulders and led her out of the small, county precinct. As soon as they stepped into the car, the smile melted into a hard line. Starfire didn't say anything as the gentle purr of the engine arose.
"So, he fell in the river." It was a statement, not a question. Bruce gripped the steering wheel hard, his knuckles turning white. "Idiot."
Starfire lifted her head slightly, staring at Bruce in slight shock. "But I was led to believe that he was your pupil? Have you no ill-emotions for his demise?"
The faction leader turned cold eyes on her. "The moron's not dead. You think falling into a river would kill him?" He waved a hand airily. "It'd take more than water to kill such a tenacious soul." Bruce sighed. "He'll show up. I'll send out some search parties to see if they can find him, but I was thinking…"
Starfire looked up as Bruce stared at her. Beautiful scenery flashed by unheeded.
"I was thinking that maybe you would have the best luck finding him."
Starfire jerked. "What?"
Bruce shrugged. "You two seemed to get rather attached."
Starfire's eyes narrowed. "How would you know such a thing?"
"Mini-cams. Quite easy when a camera is only the size of a grain of sand. I watched the little fiasco with that Harvester guy as well." Bruce shifted a bit in his seat. "Had my men run a background check on him. He was hired by the Slade faction. I'd bet money on that research." His fingers tapped a bit against the steering wheel. "Apparently, Slade's not as slow as I thought. He got an assassin protecting one of his top 'wallets'. A good one. Managed to scratch up Di…" He stopped before glancing at Starfire. "…scratch up Nightwing pretty bad. Even break a rib, if my analyzers are worth their salt. And that's hard to do. Nightwing's the best." The billionaire turned back to stare out the front windshield, his mouth in a hard line.
"It is wonderful to know that our privacy is compromised," said Starfire bitterly. She suddenly turned, her eyebrows furrowed. "Why did you force Nightwing to detain me? Surely, there are other holding areas."
Bruce actually chuckled, a genuine one. "You could be a powerful asset, seeing as you rammed a Romanian giant on steroids into a tree without flinching."
"I desire the true reason." Starfire tucked a red strand behind her ear, as if to listen better.
"Hmm, well, there are several, I guess." Bruce's face melted into seriousness. "One being that he was going insane. Another, he doesn't talk to anyone about anything but business. And finally, you're insurance."
"Insurance?"
Bruce nodded. "Yes. He could very well go rouge. If you were to form some sort of bond with him, he would have to come back." He scowled, drumming his fingers again. "Unless he's far more heartless than I give him credit."
The alien slumped against her seat, her eyes staring out into the wild mountains, sightless.
----
Clink!
Clink!
Sparks.
Lazily tendrils of smoke curled up past the leafy, palm-like trees and into the twilight sky. Nightwing put down his knife and a small flint rock he had found before leaning back into the dry, cooling sand, watching the small flames gradually grow bigger as it lapped at larger pieces of wood. The wind blew gentle and warm from the ocean, several hundred yards away, bringing with it the sharp, salty smell of seawater. The dark assassin picked up a turnip-like plant he had dug out of the ground earlier and impaled it on a stick before setting it over the fire. There was little twilight. It came, lingered for a few moments, and plunged into the surreal darkness of night, lit by the Shattered Moon and distant, twinkling stars.
After walking nearly five miles either way along the beach, Nightwing had found no signs of habitation. He really shouldn't have been surprised. This colony world was a relatively newly settled one; only one hundred years had the City and its counter-parts been able to grow since being claimed by the United States Empire. The Cities, full of paranoid people still fearing a repeat of Felandra Incident, had not reached to the waters and wouldn't for many, many years. Cities grew slowly, only developing several square miles a year. Not even resorts or outposts this far out. Brave few dared building retreats in the mountains, but people such as those brave few were the ones making the money.
As the root slowly cooked over the fire, Nightwing checked his make-shift bandages of leaves and fibers. He hadn't been bleeding earlier but his rib had been screaming pain. He had reset the only way he knew how, the hard way. Make an incision, correct the bone, then splint it. The sand was still red several yards. Other damages were small. Bruises, black and ugly, burned cuts, and slight lacerations from colliding with river rocks while unconscious. It was a miracle he was alive. The assassin seriously reconsidered being injected with nano-healers, despite his phobia. It would have made recovery much easier.
His shirt and overcoat lay in ripped and ragged strips beside him, ready to be charred for the use of tinder. There wasn't much he could do with them anyway, seeing at they were practically trash after his little brawl with a deranged lunatic. He sighed, wondering how he would make himself a shelter, seeing as all he had was a fighting knife and waterlogged dynamite charges. He had doubtlessly lost his bladed pole somewhere in the raging torrents of the river and the gun was useless as the clip was empty and he hadn't thought to bring more bullet charges.
Nightwing's only hope was the fact that Bruce would send out search parties along the river. Unfortunately, they wouldn't find him at the river. Apparently, that's where all the local carnivores drank. He nearly lost his head to what looked like a large deer with retractable blade-like claws. From that moment, he had promised himself that he would never be swayed by an innocent face again.
Picking up the now-soft tuber, he ate carefully, muttering to himself around hot mouthfuls, trying to organize his thoughts. "Damage assessment; I feel like crap. Shelter assessment; trees, yea." Munch. "Weapon assessment; knife and useless crap." He threw the gun and soaked dynamite out onto the beach disdainfully. "Life assessment…Yeah, it's crap too." He scowled off into the dark, his food almost forgotten. "Starfire had better be all right," the dark man mumbled softly.
The waves lapped softly at the beach, lulling him. His eyes hooded over, the deathly hard gaze softening. "What am I going to do?" The night didn't answer him. A star twinkled for a bright moment in the sky. "What have I done?" Again, no answer. "What will it cost me?" He sighed, crossed his legs and arms, and leaned toward the fire. The heat was almost unbearable, but he held his face there. "It could have all been so different," the dark assassin whispered into nothing. "No easy answers."
He slept, hunched towards the fire, his face red with the heat. And the dreams came.
----
Glimpses of light in the overbearing dark. Images flashed, spun, twisted, merged. Crimson, emerald, obsidian, and chrome. A maelstrom of thought, sound, and blood.
He stood in the middle of the twisting, warping winds, sobbing, gripping his shoulders, tearing his face, pulling his hair. His weapon cast aside. The storm tore at him, jerked him, pulled him. A new face, a new voice added to the spinning madness. The Harvester. Just another soul.
The wind died, leaving him on a long, dead plain. Rocks, sharp, cutting, slicing. He sat on the plain, the stone pressing into him. Ripping his skin, scratching his muscle. He didn't care.
Bones. Hundreds of thousands of bones. Stretching to the horizon, striving for infinity. He sat on death. He sat on horrible, horrible death. He cared. Weeping, crying, mourning. He cared. The slate grey sky rumbled with thunder, scarlet lightning igniting the world in incarnadine light. The rain began. The red, red rain.
A hand brushed his shoulder. He jerked. An arm gripped his chest in a fierce, yet gentle hug. Green eyes bored holes in the grey, grey clouds. They fled, taking their red with them, taking their bones and rocks with them. Taking their pain, even if for a short while. He…smiled.
Hmm, I have receivedquestions as to Starfire's emotional state. To answer that…I've decided not to. Heh, I'm the author, so 'neya-neya'.
As for the chapter, well, if you'll notice, there's less angst and some more scientific explanation junk. Sorry about that. I've been reading an compendium of short stories by acclaimed sci-fi writers and it's rubbing off on me. Even my style was slightly altered…just by reading one book. Says something, doesn't it? Well, if you find out tell me. I've got Algebra II junk to sort out. Ciao.
Razvanor