Chapter Fifteen: The Dry Yearn
Nil trudged down the trail.
White sand caked his sandaled feet and ground between his toes. It itched at his arms and chest where sweat dappled his skin, the tiny flecks clinging long after the heat baked him dry. Above, the pale sun loomed, motionless in an empty sky. Its hard light shone down on the desert below and beat against the eroded mountains and thorny vegetation, as relentless as it was honest.
This was the great basin, and its dune seas flowed with sand and not water. When storms seethed in its skies, they blasted grit and not rain. Even the illusion of an oasis rippling on the horizon was denied to those who thirsted.
Nil respected it for that.
It wasn't cruel. Just brutal.
His empty canteen dangled from his belt and slapped against his thigh as he pressed onward. His bloodshot eyes scanned the barren hillsides. Sometimes he sighted an abandoned outpost or homestead. Hope for an old water well would scratch at his parched throat and drag him over steep ridges, desperate to be sated. But as was his luck, he'd only find bleached bones and some shade.
He swiped at his glistening forehead with the back of his hand, smearing it with his oily face paint. He had to admit that a little shade sounded pretty good right now. At least until evening when the heat died down. He eyed a granite formation and the shadowy refuge beneath it.
Then galloping hooves filled the air.
They echoed against the rocky outcrops and boulders surrounding the trail. His wishes about shade and water evaporated as the rhythmic clapping grew louder, thundering in his ears.
Whooping and shouting joined the melody. There was a hunger in their voices that sang like battle, and he reached for the bow slung across his back. As he drew it, he turned and waited for them, ready to add his voice to their war song and loot their water as his price.
A pair of chargers burst around the corner. Gravel sprayed from their hooves as they flew down the trail, their gleaming bodies pumping. They bounced against each other as they vied for the lead, metal scraping in a shower of sparks. Riders straddled their backs, their skin blazoned with the colors belonging to the desert Tenakth.
Nil took his stance and closed an eye as he aimed for the left one, her bare head an easy target. Then he watched, mesmerized, as she smoothly spun in her seat to face the rear, never losing her grip on her mount. She reached for the warrior bow bouncing at her waist and took aim.
Five more chargers appeared, galloping hard in pursuit. They too bore riders. Desert Tenakth by their colors, though they sported splashes of green with their reds and yellows. And they were ready with bows drawn and venom in their curses.
Arrows flew.
The racing chargers squealed, their armor peeling away under the onslaught. More arrows followed, burying deep into their muscle and splitting their curving horns. A pursuing rider slumped forward with an arrow piercing his chest. Blood spurted from the wound, and he fumbled for the cables in his charger's neck, desperate to hold on. A cable snapped in his hand in a spray of hydraulic fluid, and the beast's glowing eye blinked red. It bucked wildly, sending him sailing into the air, and he struck the ground with a sickening thump.
The pursuing riders wheeled back, and the two escaping riders barreled onward towards Nil. His aim remained on the leftward rider, matching her mount's jouncing rhythm. Then the chargers swerved, parting before him like a tide against rock.
"Watch out, you bare-armed spit-licker!" the rider cackled as she rushed past. "They'll eat your tasty body after they're done prickling you with their arrows!"
Then they were gone, like fading thunder.
He spied back over his shoulder, catching their glinting metal as they tore through the desert with a cloud of billowing dust trailing behind them.
"Who are you?!" a man called out.
Nil raised an eyebrow and turned back. The pursuing riders were soldiers now with their feet on the ground. Their unburdened mounts milled around them, their machine bodies needled with arrows and spraying sparks. Their eyes glowed a gentle blue except for one. Its eye blazed red like the blood trickling down its neck and shoulders, and it glared at Nil with its proud head high.
One of the men knelt beside the corpse, his fingers feeling for a pulse he knew wasn't there. The others stood over him with their misplaced hope pinching their brows. The last man, their leader by his armor wreathed with feathers, watched Nil, his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
"I asked you a question, boy," he said. "Who are you? What are you doing here? Are you in league with those weak-willed thieves?"
Nil glanced at the bow in his hands. He had eased the tension on the bowstring, but his arrow was still nocked. His odds were one-to-four on level ground with no cover as he slogged through mind-numbing dehydration. They weren't the worst chances he had ever faced, so he beamed in reply. "Now, sir, that's more than one question, so which of the three did you want me to answer?"
He scowled. "All of them."
"You needn't worry. I'm no one special," Nil assured, warm amiability pouring from every word. "Just a local passing through on a spiritual journey at best. I have no intentions other than that."
"Can't answer a simple question?" the leader growled. "You've got a lot of attitude for someone just passing through, especially with no tattoos on your arms in honor of your deeds." Then his eyes narrowed, and he thrust his chin out. "You're wearing Tenakth clothing and you bear the colors of the desert clan on your face, but I was born in this wasteland, and you don't look like anyone but a stranger to me. Who are you really?"
"Sir?" the kneeling man called out.
"Is he dead?" the leader asked, his stony glare never leaving Nil.
"Yes, sir," he sighed. "The arrow punctured his lung, and then went all the way through when he hit the ground. His neck is broken, too."
The leader blew out a long breath. "And he was the champion's brother…"
"Yes, sir," he replied, answering a question that wasn't asked, then he glanced at the bloody charger, "If it hadn't bucked him at a full gallop, maybe…"
"…Maybe he would have survived the arrow wound," the leader finished, "And he definitely wouldn't have a broken neck. But dragging back that walking scrap heap for Grudda to blast into molten slag won't be enough to save us from his vengeance."
Nil felt them shift, one-by-one, their eyes boring into him.
"We need something more."
"Sir," the kneeling man said as he stood up. His hand reached for his sword, and as he drew it, it flashed white in the bright sunlight. "I think I know this man. He's not Tenakth. He's a Carja."
A menacing grin spread across Nil's lips.
"He's the devil that massacred our army at Cinnabar Sands," he spat, and his jaw clenched with hate. "He can wear whatever paint he'd like, but those of us who survived that battle will never forget his face."
"It's always good to be remembered," Nil said slyly, his arrow's fletching itching his fingers. "Though I can't tell if I regret not being a little more thorough on that battlefield, or if I'm delighted that I saved some for later."
The men edged towards him, their blades sliding free from their scabbards.
The fluttering buzz of electricity pulsed from a wounded charger, its static building.
Nil side-stepped, putting the glaring sun behind him.
The static crackled in arcing blue.
Then sparks flew.
In a blur of motion, Nil drew his bow and loosed his arrow. It thumped into the first man, its lethal tip splitting a seam in his armor and burying deep in his gut. He staggered a step, mystified by the arrow protruding from his belly, and then rage darkened his face. He lunged at Nil, thrusting with his sword, and the others closed in behind him.
Nil dropped his bow and whipped his dagger from his belt. He brought it up as the sword plunged for his chest, and the blades sang as he deflected it away. He pivoted at the hip, letting the man stumble past, and then he stomped down on the side of his leg. A satisfying crunch followed, and the man screamed as he collapsed onto the ground, clutching at the bloody mass that once was his knee.
A sword gleamed, nearly blinding Nil. He snapped his dagger up, blocking it before it sliced his throat. The blade slid down his dagger and slammed into the guard. He twisted, leveraging his weight against the man's grip.
"A dagger in a sword fight isn't exactly fair," Nil hissed with a devilish smile, "Would you let me borrow your sword?"
Then he slugged the man in the face. Cartilage and delicate bone shattered against his knuckles. The man staggered back, roaring with pain. And his grip broke.
"Thank you," Nil said warmly, and he snatched the sword by its hilt midair. The blade flashed as he swept it up, parrying the next man as he sprang for the opening. Nil's piercing, silver eyes held him, and he clucked. "Wait your turn."
Without breaking away, Nil jabbed his dagger behind him. A sharp wheeze through a broken nose warbled in his ears like music. He didn't need to see to know he had stabbed him through the sternum, piercing his heart. The anatomy of the kill was etched into his bones. The man toppled, blood streaming from the black wound in his chest.
"Now it's your turn," Nil assured.
The man's eyes widened, and in their reflection, the devil lunged. Their swords clanged at a desperate tempo and Nil pressed forward, as fluid and irresistible as a sandstorm. The man stumbled, a rock slipping under his heel, and Nil thrust his sword through his throat. Blood sputtered from the man's gaping mouth, and he grasped feebly at the wound as Nil yanked out the blade.
Nil glanced around. "One more to—"
And a bright, yellow light slammed him into the ground.
His breath exploded from his lungs, and he gasped for it as he tumbled over gravel and hard-packed dirt. His back cracked against a boulder, and the world spun.
He forgot about the chargers.
"Fuck…" he coughed, his ribs aching with every choking breath.
A shadow fell over him. It was a charger with its curving horns haloed by sunlight. It glared at him with its yellow eye and reared. Sharp hooves beat the sky, eager to slam down and crush his bones.
Then the beast blew apart in a blast of shrapnel. Through the swirling fire, another charger burst forward, its red eye as vivid as blood. It hooked the sparking carcass with its horns and bucked, shredding what was left. Another yellow light blazed, and the red-eyed charger hurtled for it. A shuddering crunch cracked the air as it rammed into its side, and it flayed its enemy open with its raking horns.
Nil blew out a breathless laugh as he gawked at its unbridled fury, and the way it slammed into a third one, knocking it down. Hooves flying, the red-eyed charger trampled and kicked it, smearing the ground with its synthetic guts.
Then Nil spotted a familiar curve half-buried in the sand, its limbs bent by string.
The red-eyed charger spun, thirsting for another yellow light. Then a sword sliced towards it, tearing through muscle and splitting its hock. The charger screamed with electronic rage as it stumbled, its leg giving out from beneath its weight. It struck the ground hard, and its hooves flailed, kicking up dust.
The leader loomed over it with his sword outstretched and hate darkening his face.
"You fucking piece of shit!" he snarled, spit spattering his lips and chin, "You're not worth the shards to haul your parts back. And even if you were, I'd rather put you down here and let the scrappers grind your bones.
The red-eyed charger snorted angrily, its hooves scrambling for purchase in the sand.
"There are hundreds of chargers across the territories," he seethed, the tip of his sword circling over its eye. "We'll trap more. Just like we trapped you. So, I'm going to carve through your defective processor and pry out that override module. And the next charger we put it in will understand that machines have only one purpose. To be property and obey us."
The leader raised the sword and braced himself to plunge it down.
"I think it chose a different purpose," Nil interrupted. He sat on his knees, wincing as he breathed, his bow in his hands.
The leader looked up, blinking in surprise.
"And I'm pretty sure it belongs to itself," he added as he drew the bowstring, aimed, and loosed his arrow. It shot through the air and punched through the leader's skull, piercing him through to the brain. He crumpled, his sword clanging as it struck the ground.
Nil sighed and slumped back against the boulder. "Headshots… my favorite."
The red-eyed charger glared at him, the dust settling around it.
"You're free," he said to it, his fingers tenderly pressing his ribs, checking to see if any were broken. "You can choose to do whatever you want now. Just do me a favor and don't decide that means trampling me, all right?"
It continued to glare.
He looked away and shook his head. "All right."