Shade cringed, thinking on those words. If that was the case, why would he pursue Cooper at all? So she would never again visit him, so she would exist only in memories? Stop it, he thought. That’d be selfish. That’d be evil.
“I will avenge you,” he whispered. He went to pat her leg, but stopped his hand inches above her glowing, ethereal skin.
“I’ll be waiting,” Vera said.
“I want to kiss you.”
“Then try.”
She gazed at him from beneath her brow. Shade leaned toward her, keeping his eyes open even as she closed hers, watching her glowing flesh flare to life. Their lips met, trailing curls of radiance. For a brief moment he felt her, he truly felt her! Shade’s heart raced and he shoved his head forward, his mouth parting, but they found only emptiness. The ring of stones descended into darkness. Only the soft sound of breathing remained.
“Vera?”
A pair of tawny eyes bore into his from the other side of the ring of stones, and something growled. Lost in a moment of confusion, Shade took a step toward the center of the circle. His heel landed on something spongy, and a piercing, muted howl broke the near silence. The eyes opposite him bobbed up and down, came nearer. Panicked, Shade reached for his belt, grabbed his Eldersword.
The Rush filled him.
His muscles humming to the beat of his blade, Shade bounded to the side, narrowly avoiding the large, black form those tawny eyes belonged to. A whoosh of air knocked back his wide-brimmed hat. With a flick of his wrist the Eldersword was unfastened from its clip, and with another it extended out before him, its violet pulse reflecting his sorrow.
The growl sounded again from behind him, followed by claws rapidly scratching against packed sand. Shade dropped to one knee, braced his free arm against the stone beside him while flipping the sword around in his hand and driving it backward. His blow met resistance, the glow of the blade nearly disappeared as the tip pierced flesh. At the same time there was a gargling scream that might’ve been terrifying had he not been under the Eldersword’s thrall. The sword shuddered in his grip, warm fluid rolled down the grooves and wetted his hand.
Shade exhaled deeply and yanked the blade forward. Something fell to the ground behind him with a sodden thump. He turned slowly and looked down at a sabrewolf, as long as he was tall, its canine eyes staring up at him almost pleadingly as life fled its body. The creature must have followed his scent, seeking unaware prey. Even near death it worked its two giant tusks up and down while blood poured out its mouth. Its long, bushy tail still wagged, albeit weakly.
A moment later, the beast stopped moving. Shade let out a sigh and wiped his sword, which now shimmered a mixture of purple and pale red, on the dead sabrewolf’s fur. With a thought the Eldersword retracted, and he clipped it back to his belt.
“I’m sorry,” he told the dead beast, “but I can’t have anyone eating me to—”
He was cut off by a faint mewling. He turned from the dead sabrewolf and pulled his sword back out, letting its glow light the ring of stones. Shade walked toward the sound, and to his dismay he found a nest of tumbleweeds. Six small pups crept about in search of their mother’s teats, whimpering. One of them writhed on its side in obvious pain.
The one he’d stepped on.
He looked back at the dead sabrewolf. The beast hadn’t been hunting him; she’d been protecting her young. Shade put his sword back on its clip, pulled his hat down low, and quietly left the ring. For a moment, he considered going back and ending the pups’ suffering, but his heart wasn’t in it. Other desert predators, or the intense heat of day, would relieve them of life soon enough. Better that, than allow the Wasteland’s most dangerous hunters to grow to adulthood.
Instead he slogged back to camp, the sky brightening ever so slightly above him while his soul darkened. The horses nickered from their resting place against the large jutting rock. I’m going crazy, he thought. He couldn’t stop questioning what had just occurred. Had Vera truly come to see him, or had it all been in his head? Had what he’d thought was her breathing been nothing but the mewling of the pups? Was she truly dead, or were his visions something his mind had created subconsciously to help him cope with the fact the love of his life had decided to stop writing him?
If the last was the case, Shade was downright pathetic.
“Stop,” he said aloud, and plopped himself down on his bedroll. “You’re not crazy.”
“Whassat?” muttered a dazed voice a few feet to his left. Meesh rolled over onto his back, his eyes opened half-mast. “Whereyoubeen?” he asked, and his eyes closed once more.
“Nowhere,” Shade told his dozing brother. “I’m lost.”
Meesh snored in reply.
Shade pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and hummed to himself as he awaited the dawn.
3
“THEY ARE LIKE HOLES IN FABRIC, AND JUST AS DIFFICULT TO MEND. HERE, MY BROTHER, LEAVE IT TO AN EXPERT.”
—ABEDNEGO THE 4TH
27 SECONDS BEFORE DEMISE
Abe fussed as he sat atop his horse and rubbed at the saddle sores blooming across his inner thighs. He brought the reins to his mouth and bit down to hold them, reached down, and adjusted his manhood. He wished he’d thought to bring balm with him.
“Brah, quit playing with yourself.”
Meesh rode beside him, and there was a twinkle in the man’s blue eyes and a wry smile on his lips. Abe squinted against the cruel red sun and grinned. “Hard to stop myself,” he said. “Especially when I think of your mother.”
He cringed at the filth that came out of his own mouth, but the cackle that rose from Meesh’s throat in the aftermath was worth it. A warm feeling always came over him whenever he matched the youngest and palest of the knights at his own vulgar games.
From the other side of him, Shade sidled up on his awkwardly-trotting mare. “The joke would probably work better if any of us actually had mothers,” he said. It was obvious from the sour expression on his face that he wasn’t kidding. “Enough nonsense. We’re almost there.”
Shade urged his horse on ahead.
Meesh spit the last of his good humor over the side of his mare and stared at the back of Shade’s ratty duster. “You know, that dude needs to get laid.”
“He needs something,” Abe agreed. “He’ll get over it. Hopefully.”
“C’mon now, brah. He’s been like that since before we left home. Something’s going on in that head of his.”
“I know.”
“He talk to you about it?”
Abe shook his head.
“Me neither,” said Meesh. “Got any clues?”
“Not a one. That man’s been my brother for six years now, and every time I think I’m starting to understand him, his attitude changes.” He grunted and hawked his own wad of spit to the dusty ground. “I worry about him.”
Meesh shrugged. “Eh. I don’t. Not really. I more worry about what kinda trouble his bad moods’re gonna get me into.”
“You?” asked Abe. “You’re the king of bad behavior and senseless needling.”
“Only when it’s appropriate, brah. I know when enough’s enough, and I’m always in control.”
Could’ve fooled me, Abe thought, but he kept silent.
“Grumpy, however,” Meesh continued, “don’t use his head when he’s like this. Remember Sal Morrow? Dude tried to take out twenty brigands all by himself!”
“In fairness, they’d murdered three young girls. That was distressing for all of us.”
“Yeah, but neither of us decided to sneak out by his lonesome in the dead of night to try and kill the bastards. Think what would’ve happened if Belial hadn’t come to get us. We would’ve been toast.”
Abe remembered that conflict well. The three of them had been sent to the far northwest by the Oracle just last year, the riddle saying something about a fissure leading to the deepest darkness, like a bottomless well. They had arrived to find the town overrun by a gang of thugs
who called themselves the Red Riders. Abe had decided it best for the knights to hide their true identities until they figured out how to decipher the riddle, but after seeing those three butchered girls, Shade had gone ballistic. One night, without telling anyone, he had stormed into the brigands’ compound with thundermaker blazing. Belial Monroe, their informant, had come rushing to the inn screaming bloody murder. The knights hurried off to help their out-of-control brother, and with the help of a few brave townspeople, they took down the brigands. Had Belial not been a man of conscience, who knew what might’ve happened? All three of them could very well be dead, and the hellbeast that arose from the fissure the very next day might have killed untold thousands…
“No,” said Abe, shaking his head. “We talked about it. He wouldn’t go off on his own like that again. He promised.”
Meesh sighed. “Sure thing, brah. Because Shade always does what he says he will.”
“Most times, he does.”
“Well, let’s just say I don’t wanna be the one who pays the price next time he doesn’t.” Meesh pointed ahead of him. “And it looks like we’re gonna get a chance to see real soon if he’s a man of his word. We’re here.”
Other mountain ranges Abe had seen—like the Knots to the northeast and the Blowards to the northwest—merged perfectly with the surrounding territories, the land elevating gradually before shooting upward. The Rocklaw Mountains, on the other hand, ascended from the cracked earth as if they’d been dropped down from above. The whole range was ugly as sin; black stone at the base and covered with twisted ash trees halfway up, and above that the swirling Poison Mists circled the mountains’ peaks.
The knights turned to the north, following the ridge of the mountains. Even though Abe had seen these mountains up close countless times, he still felt awed by the sheer scope of them. They stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions. The tops of the peaks were shielded by the Mists, and the jagged spires that could be seen clearly rose at least two miles into the air. It was like an entirely different world.
After an hour of searching, the brothers came across a shallow gulley forty feet wide. Behind that gulley was an uneven path cut between a pair of protruding crags that twisted along the side of the mountain. Abe stopped his horse short as he sidled up to the gully. Inside were numerous human-shaped forms draped in nightweed, the nocturnal plants feasting in daylight. The vines were pink instead of clear; they turned that color when they fed on blood. It was an unsettling sight, but one Abe had seen before. In the Wasteland, all living things did whatever was necessary to survive.
Shade removed his flat-brimmed hat and held it down by his side. A stench like vinegar filled the air. Meesh pinched his nose and turned away. Abe wondered why in hell he constantly found himself staring at piles of corpses.
“What happened here?” asked Meesh.
“Mass grave,” Shade said. “Damn greedy plants.”
Abe dismounted on the edge of the gulley and squatted to examine one of the forms. When he extended his hand toward it, the nightweeds retreated into the sand, revealing the withered husk of a man, body nearly sucked dry of moisture, flesh black and burnt. The eyeless face stared up at the brutally hot sun; the jaw hung open in an eternal scream. Abe leaned closer and ran his fingertips over the remains of the corpse’s scorched clothes.
“Huh,” he said.
“What is it?” asked Shade.
Abe shook his head and moved to the next body. The nightweeds retreated to uncover another burned man, this one with arms and legs shattered. “This is not good,” he said.
Meesh jumped down off Pam, who snorted. “What is it, brah?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That’s helpful,” Meesh said as he wandered toward another of the corpses. The nightweeds recoiled for him. “Nasty.”
Abe got to his knees and held his breath while he tugged on the arm of one of the bodies. The flesh peeled away, and bubbling white gunk flowed from the split skin.
Only it wasn’t the skin that had split, but a lesion atop the skin. “Damn,” he said, brushing the dust of dead men off his hands. “Scourgers.”
“And?” Meesh asked.
“Scourgers don’t leave behind their dead. They bury them.” He pointed toward the peaks. “Up there.”
“Maybe they left in a hurry.”
“Couldn’t have. Not possible.”
“Why?”
“Because they took the time to burn them first.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I haven’t the faintest.”
Meesh went to ask him another question, but Abe made a point of walking away before he could. He stepped out of the gulley and rounded to the east. There he saw abundant wagon tracks heading northeast. He lifted his head, bladed his hand over his eyes, and gazed in that direction. All he could see was reddish-brown sand, cacti, protruding rocks, and…
There was something else out there.
Meesh appeared beside him. “Brah, you really need to tell me what’s goin’ on,” he said. “Oh, would you lookit that. Someone’s been here recently.”
Abe shook his head. “Actually, no they haven’t. These tracks are at least two months old.” He worked his jaw up and down. “Which is about the time Quint said the Scourgers first came into Barrendale.”
“Two months? You sure?” The long-haired man crouched down, ran his fingers along the impressions. “Wouldn’t the sandstorms’ve gotten rid of ’em by now?”
“Not these. Look at the imprint. See those black streaks? That’s basalt, which in this part of the desert lies under six inches of compressed sand. Whatever these carts were pulling was heavy. So heavy they churned directly into the next stratum.”
Meesh waved his hands in front of him. “Huh. What d’you think did it?”
“I don’t know. But there’s something still out there. Too far away to see.” He turned and yelled, over his shoulder, “Shade, come here. I need your spyglass.”
Shade rode around the gully and handed over the spyglass. Abe pressed his eye to the viewer, and the image came clear. Out in the distance, right in the way of the tracks, were the remains of a hellbeast, its large shell surrounded by sprawling, chitinous limbs. He was too far away to know for sure how big the thing was. He handed the spyglass back to Shade.
“So…?” Meesh asked.
“A hellbeast,” Abe answered. “A dead one.”
“How’d it die?”
“How am I supposed to know? It being dead is good enough for me. One more thing we don’t have to kill ourselves over.”
He didn’t feel the need to tell them the real danger of the situation—that a fissure large enough for a hellbeast to squeeze through might linger nearby.
Without another word, the trio made their way back around the gulley. Abe took a few moments to look for more tracks and saw a grouping of footprints pressed into the hard-packed sand. These were much more recent, and stemmed from the path behind the gulley, venturing off in the other direction, toward Barrendale.
“We’re lucky. This is definitely the Scourgers’ way off the mountains,” Abe said.
Shade inclined his head. “Good. Then we head up.”
Meesh slapped his mare on the side, and she whinnied. “Gonna have to do it on foot. Too steep.”
“Don’t care,” Shade said coldly.
Abe grimaced. Meesh best not be right about him…
Abe unpacked his blitzer, attached the stock to the barrel, and checked his ammunition. He had two clips of silver-tipped tracers and five containing caseless bullets with brass heads. He chose the brass, tucking the silver back into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He hung the massive blitzer over the opposite shoulder. Shade strapped on Rosetta, and Meesh already had two holsters secured to his thighs. With weapons at the ready and enough supplies for two nights, the knights began the long, hard trek up the mountainside. This better be enough, Abe thought. They left the horses beside the gully, tied to the rocks. Abe h
oped the beasts would be safe until they got back.
If they got back.
“Remember,” Abe told his brothers, “we aren’t aggressors. We see if they want to talk before we resort to violence.”
Meesh nodded. Shade stared blankly.
With the sun still hovering over the misty peaks of the mountains, they had five or six hours of sunlight remaining. The trail was narrow and boulders rose a good foot above Abe’s head on either side. His boots gained little traction with loose sand underfoot. He had to hold onto the rock protrusions to keep from falling back into his brothers and send them tumbling like a rockslide.
They trudged up a steep incline for more than two hundred yards before the grade leveled. Abe sucked in a deep breath, thankful for the reprieve. His lower legs ached; thighs weren’t the only places where he’d have sores after all this was done. He heard his brothers panting behind him and slowed his pace. He breathed in and out deliberately, even went so far as to clutch the handle of his Eldersword for a short time, allowed it to pump his veins with vigor. He didn’t dare hold it for too long; while the sword did indeed energize him, he tended to wind up even more exhausted afterward. Elderswords weren’t magic; they simply enhanced what a body already had at its disposal. Its targeted vibrations jolted the nervous system, forcing energy to flow where it was needed most. That meant nutrients were used up at a much faster clip. Given his age—according to the surgeons back in Sal Yaddo, his body showed signs of aging consistent with a sixty-year-old man—if he were to use the blade for too long, his body would eventually shut down.
Abe didn’t want to die hiking up a damn mountain. He would just have to put up with the pain.
The walls on either side of the path lowered gradually with each step they took. It eventually opened onto a huge flatland dappled with vegetation. The path widened to the size of an actual road, and odd chunks of soft black stone crunched underfoot. Green grass, like they had in the far north, sprung up all around. There was a small pool of bubbling and steaming water just off to the left. The twisted ash trees, which grew to Abe’s height, were everywhere. The faint smell of ammonia filled the air. Not for the first time, Abe felt amazed that a place such as this could exist in the Wasteland. A different world indeed.
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