Against the Fading of the Light (Action of Purpose, 3)

by Stu Jones

  “Water.”

  The figure stopped and turned, shaking its noble brow slowly.

  “But I don’t know that I can continue, without—”

  The figure raised a colossal arm as if to silence the boy, and the look on the figure’s face seemed to say, “You must.”

  From off to Tynuk’s left, a voice whispered ever so gently, “Come here, boy. I have water for you. Stop and rest a moment.”

  Tynuk turned his head and regarded the shadows that danced along the canyon walls. He shook his head. “But he said—”

  “He is being cruel to make you walk all this way with no rest. Come; have some refreshment with me,” the shadow said, eyes laughing in the darkness.

  Tynuk turned deliriously stumbling toward the sound of the voice. “Maybe just a quick drink. I’ll just sit for a moment.”

  “Yes, yes, just for a moment,” the voice echoed.

  As Tynuk neared the shadowy walls of the canyon, he felt himself start to drift. He was so tired. He would just rest for a moment. Without warning, a vise closed down across his arm; it was warm and wet and pulling him hard away from the wall of the canyon. As he turned, he saw the figure staring at him as it firmly gripped his arm, its displeasure at his straying from the path evident in the scowl upon its face.

  “But I was just—”

  The figure shook its head plainly. It turned to wordlessly point back up the mouth of the canyon from whence they had come.

  Tynuk turned slowly as a demon, eyes wild with rage, came howling up the canyon from behind him. With a shriek, the creature leaped at him, but he was already turning, his body moving to a rhythm he had spent thousands of hours honing. Tynuk spun, and the colors of the world spun with him as he struck the demon and sent it flying back against the nearby wall of the canyon.

  He readied himself and half closed his eyes, knowing that in the grip of the poison his senses were of no use to him in this fight. He would have to rely on instinct alone.

  As the demon came in, he ducked a swipe of its weapon and came up inside its guard, slamming into it with a barrage of hand strikes. The creature faltered, stepping back as its chest labored, and it shrieked, a terrible sound. Tynuk breathed deeply and readied himself as his body continued to operate completely devoid of thought.

  The demon came in again slashing and thrusting, attacking him in a fit of rage. Tynuk parried, blocked, and dodged the blows easily as he slipped beneath the demon’s arm and rose high in the creature’s armpit, wrapping his arms tightly around the far side of its neck in a vascular blood choke.

  Tynuk now unleashed his fury as he clamped down and bared his teeth, clinging to the monster as it thrashed him about the walls of the dim canyon floor.

  With a groan, the demon fell to its knees and then onto its face. Tynuk held tightly, giving a few more violent pulls at the demon’s neck, to ensure it was indeed finished. The creature shuddered and became still.

  Without a word, the dazed warrior boy rose and turned, his chest rising and falling with the effort of battle. The noble figure stood before him, its tattered robe flowing with the canyon breeze. It nodded sharply and then motioned for the boy to follow it once more.

  Tynuk swallowed the dryness in his mouth and followed the figure, running out of the canyon and into the wasteland desert that beckoned them onward.

  It wasn’t long before the second runner found the body of the first dead Comanche runner, strangled against the red sand of the canyon floor. With naught but an oath of vengeance howled amid heaving breaths, the seasoned warrior exited the canyon, sprinting into the desert evening, furiously driving after the mysterious, unbreakable warrior boy.

  Kane stepped from the cab of the beaten Chevrolet truck as he raised his hand, and the train of vehicles behind him came to a stop. He surveyed the scene of smoke and wreckage carefully, no detail overlooked, no evidence unconsidered.

  “What is it?” Jenna called, standing through the top of the Jeep behind him.

  “An encampment of some sort. Now…there’s not much left to look at.”

  “Is it safe to check for survivors?”

  “As safe as it gets out here.” Kane motioned for everyone to exit their vehicles and search the camp.

  Stepping between the plumes of acrid black smoke, remnants of trash, body, and bone, Kane and Jenna moved together with their weapons at the ready. They stopped, Kane motioning Courtland and Dagen forward across the small camp. There were no signs of life. Nothing.

  Lowering his weapon, Kane stepped into the center of the smallish, ransacked camp and stopped in midstride, the evidence of the crime washing over him in a visual stimulation that he’d never asked for. There was no longer any question if this was the work of Malak and his Coyotes. Jenna gasped and put her hand over her mouth. The lifeless bodies and heads that stood before them, mounted on stakes that protruded carelessly from the ground, bore witness to the pain and suffering of so many.

  “Lord Jesus, come quickly,” Courtland said from across the way.

  “Is there anyone left?” Kane managed with his sleeve across his face.

  “Those bastards don’t leave anything to find but this,” Dagen stated plainly.

  Jenna turned and saw the crude crosses that protruded cruelly from the earth, those who hung on them now long deceased. Beside them, a wooden star sat angled crookedly on the ground, a loose rope dangling over a headless corpse that was still lashed against the crude wooden implement. It appeared to have been cut down.

  “Dear God! I can’t look at this anymore. Their suffering must have been…just…just…” Jenna turned, but Kane grabbed her arm. She looked to him, desperate questions lingering in her eyes.

  “Jenna, get your first-aid kit.”

  “Kane, you can’t be seeing what I’m seeing. Whom could I possibly treat?”

  “Her.” Kane pointed, stepping forward toward the base of the star where a woman lay, her chest rising and falling rhythmically.

  Understanding instantly, Jenna wheeled and ran for the vehicles, throwing the door to the Jeep open and fishing out the black canvas bag with all the medical supplies she had been able to muster. Slamming the door, she ran as fast as her legs would take her back to where Kane stood quietly before the woman.

  Jenna stepped forward, but again Kane stopped her with an outstretched arm, motioning to the tightly gripped, curved, blood-covered knife that still rested in the woman’s hand.

  “Don’t startle her. Let’s try to give her some room. We don’t know what she’s been through.”

  “I think we know,” Courtland said quietly.

  Kane knelt down and leaned just a little forward toward the beautiful but beaten, dark-haired woman, as she lay unconscious.

  “Miss.”

  Kane waited as the small group filled in the gaps, watching.

  “Miss, please wake up. We’re here to help you. Miss?”

  No reaction.

  “Toss something toward her,” Sam said.

  “No.” Kane glanced over her shoulder. “The last thing I want to do is give her the wrong impression.” He took a crouched step forward. “Miss.” Then another. “Miss, please wake up. We want to help you.”

  The movement came so fast that Kane barely had the time to raise his guard and flinch back as the terribly angry woman came to life, slashing with the blade where his body had been just moments before.

  “Get back!” she snarled.

  “No, wait!” Kane shouted as he stumbled and lost his balance, falling backward. Before he could readjust his position, she was upon him, her knife hooked against the side of his neck. He had instinctively grabbed her hand and clenched it tightly against his body, leaning his neck as far away as he could from the knife.

  “Drop your weapons, or I open him up!” Ari shouted frantically.

  “We don’t want to fight you, lady.” Courtland held his hands up as Kane gave a suppressive motion with his free hand, and the other members of the group slowly dropped their weapons to t
he earth.

  “Do anything stupid, and I’ll do it. You can’t stop me!” Ari shouted with a delirium-soaked resolve.

  Kane took a deep breath. “Look, I’m going to let go of your wrist. OK? I’m not here to hurt you.” Kane slowly released his grip and felt her push the blade flush against his neck. Kane gritted his teeth but said nothing further as he waited, eyes half-closed.

  “Liar! There is no one left to trust in this world. I should kill you now!” Ari cried in her heavy accent, her breathing hard and fast.

  “No.” Jenna reached out her hand. “No, please, look at my face. Look in my eyes. I promise you that we only want to help you. Please let us do that. Please, don’t hurt our friend.”

  “Why should I believe you? Why would you help me?”

  “Because…” Jenna looked around nervously, knowing her answer could provoke a terrible response if not properly understood. “Because our God commands us to. It’s what he wants from us now that all else is lost,” Jenna said softly and pulled her hands to her chest.

  “What God are you talking about?” Ari trembled, her resolve threatening to break with the smallest interference.

  “The God of the Bible. We are Christians—well, many of us are.” Jenna motioned to the group.

  Ari looked down at Kane as the blade of the knife trembled, more now as her body began to shudder.

  “I can’t,” she cried as she fell back away from Kane and tossed her knife aside. “I couldn’t cut Aviel down before I passed out. I can’t see him like this anymore!” Ari cried openly and shielded her eyes.

  Kane sat up slowly and touched gingerly at a small cut against the side of his neck. Jenna moved forward, gently motioning.

  “Shh…it’s OK. If you let me, I’ll help you,” she said softly as she gently placed a hand on Ari’s shoulder. “Together we will get him down and find a place for him to rest in peace. You are among friends now.”

  After a moment, Ari bit her lip and nodded, took a shuddering breath, and wiped the tears from her face. “Hashem. Elohim. My God has spoken and is forever faithful.”

  Malak stepped out of the passenger side of a rusted junker that had seen better days in some far-removed suburban life filled with groceries and car seats. The human skulls that hung as a permanent fixture on the crudely welded steel ram grate on the front of the old Suburban remained a warning of the impending doom of all who bore witness to it. Malak’s heavy boot ground the gravel beneath it as he stepped a few steps away from the rusted caravan full of gypsylike bandits. All psychos and sadists in their right, they had submitted themselves to him and had now become a part of something much larger. A dark plan that had been put into motion long before humankind, in all of its arrogance, had even existed. Malak brooded at the thought of the power to come, the lavishness of it. The sheer lust he felt for it was beyond comprehension. He wanted it all, and there was nothing in this world that could stop him now.

  The pain struck him and caused him to cry out as he stumbled and shook his head. Swarming with unrelenting agony, Malak thought his head might burst from the pressure. Inside, his guts twisted, gyrating against each other as the thing shifted itself against him. It was like something straight from the twisted minds of the greatest horror writers the world had ever known. But this was real, and when the Voice was ready to emerge again, it would. Until then it would remain inside him, guiding him, cloaked in a disguise of flesh and bone. He placed his hands against the side of his head and bared his teeth.

  “What do you want?”

  For you to remember.

  “Remember what? I’ve done what you wanted.”

  Remember to whom you belong. Remember this: though you may enjoy the power, it does not, and will never, belong to you.

  The entire convoy had now exited and was watching the bizarre exchange along the dusty roadside, as Malak continued to groan and converse with some unknown oppressor. The men didn’t understand it, but they also knew not to interfere with it.

  “Why do you torment me, Voice? Have I not been faithful?” Malak continued, hissing through clenched teeth.

  Oohh, yessss, Malak’sssss been sooo faithful. But he never seems to get the job done…

  “Do not mock me!” Malak raged.

  Touchy, touchy, Lord Malak. Such little faith. You have no idea what is coming. How the Master will cleanse this wretched planet with blood and fire. When he comes, you will be granted all that you desire. You will be a god over these miserable people.

  “Yes. I will be a god.”

  Yes. But you must first complete your mission. You must first reunite us with the Machine. It is the key to the power you crave so.

  “And where will I find this Machine?”

  It resides where your kind keeps all the things they value—in the secret places of the dark. Keep moving west, and I’ ll show you…in time.

  “I understand.”

  And, Malak, take care to guard those little ones as though your life depends upon it.

  “Oh?”

  Malak glanced to see a few bored bandits jeering at and taunting the two helpless children tied together in the bed of a nearby truck. They sat huddled close, each the other’s only and final defense from the evil that surrounded them.

  Malak laughed, amused at the irony. “So you would spare them out of love?”

  You think me funny? This act is not one of love. Their innocent blood and their pain are necessary for the Master’s task. If your dogs corrupt them, it will be on your head—and you, of all people, cannot afford to fail the Master further. Now continue as you have been told and be a good, ignorant little host.

  As the Voice faded from him and the pain subsided, Malak felt a whole new fury bloom within him. In a fit of rage, he pulled the door off the Suburban and plucked the shrieking driver from behind the wheel, holding him for all to see. With one deft movement, Malak pulled the man’s head from his shoulders, the way a grown child dismembers an outgrown action figure. Blood pumped from the corpse and splashed down, creating red puddles along the dusty highway. The children shrieked in dismay, covering their little faces. Malak watched as the Coyotes dropped to their knees in fear and reverence, chanting for him to spare them, and the fear of all who had seen his power began to calm him. Nothing could stop him. He would be a god. And when that day finally arrived, no one—not even the Voice—would dare to mock him again.

  11

  IT HAD TAKEN hours for Kane and the others to clear the site of all the bodies. That included appropriately burying those who had been crucified or put on gruesome display, including Ari’s brother, Aviel. Ari had cried, trembling quietly and stalling the act of covering him with earth. They had obviously been very close.

  Kane watched the Israeli woman for a moment now, as she sat off to the side, fighting some horrific internal battle alone. She had cleaned up and changed out of her blood-and gore-soaked clothes into something cleaner, a rugged button-down shirt and some camouflage BDU pants tightly rolled and tucked into her boots. Her raven hair, while not washed, had been mostly cleansed of blood and debris and was now pulled into a simple ponytail. While likely not completely recovered, she appeared to have regained her composure significantly.

  Kane chanced a look at the group and saw that they had scavenged what food, fuel, and weapons there were to scavenge and prepped the vehicles to roll. He knew there wasn’t much time to waste after they had spent the entire afternoon here, but he also knew this woman and her brother deserved their attention and care. As much as he disliked the idea of their group traveling at night, it was a foregone conclusion at this point.

  Taking a few steps over to the silent female figure now staring off into nothingness, Kane tried to rehearse what he should say. He had never been a wizard with words, and most times the filter for his mouth didn’t function properly. He unconsciously scratched at the itchy stitches in his abdomen.

  Here goes nothing.

  “Ari, right? You don’t have any knives close by, do you?” Kane t
ried feebly to make light of their first encounter. “You seem to know what you’re doing there.”

  Ari looked up slowly and rubbed her sleeve across the corner of her eyes. She flashed a small but genuine smile. “I do. But I think you’re safe, for now.”

  Kane chuckled, touching at the small cut on his neck, and sat slowly next to Ari, with a groan of pain from the healing wound in his side.

  “Sorry about all that, by the way.” She cut her eyes at him, with what looked like a hint of embarrassment.

  Kane gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “That’s the world we live in now.”

  “You are injured?” She looked him over.

  “Huh? Oh yeah, a little banged up; got a few stitches too.” Kane settled himself next to her and dusted his hands. “I’m healing, but it’s slow going.”

  Ari gazed at him questioningly.

  Kane made a dismissive gesture with his hands to indicate he didn’t want to talk about it. “We’ve all been wounded. We’ve all got scars. None of us would have made it this far if we didn’t.”

  “And your name is Kane, and this is your group?”

  Kane answered in the affirmative, stroking his beard.

  “Where is your group going?”

  “We’re going west.”

  “And what’s west?”

  Kane grimaced, a look half smile and half pain; he wasn’t sure if he should tell her the whole bit.

  “Unfinished business.”

  Ari regarded him carefully, her thoughts also shrouded in a veil of secrecy. “The man with the crutches—”

  “Dagen.”

  “Yes. I heard him say something about having seen this before.” She waved her hand over the shattered camp. “Like he was familiar with the bandits that did this.”

  Kane didn’t respond.

  “Do you know who did this, who murdered my brother?”

  “Ari, revenge is a difficult thing. It’s going to hurt you more than it’s worth—trust me.”