by Marc Watson
Many of the people who once embraced the life of the Power were now scattered across the world. Some believed themselves seers of the Divine, but all they saw were self-indulgent lies and hubris. Some remained hidden from the eyes of the world, safe from its horrors. However, if they didn't foolishly seek out more power than they should, they'd get no trouble from Nixon Ash.
Nixon Ash. What a stupid name it was. He thought he might as well have been called Big Fire Man if he was to be named so obviously. He was, in his heart, nameless, a vessel for God’s will, and as such, no name was ever required. The people of this world would have none of it. Things must be named, lest they even exist.
Magnus, his first and most trusted guide and friend, now dead longer than Nix chose to dwell on, had told him he needed a title to simply fit in, as there would be times he would have to spend months, possibly years walking the earth for his target. His appearance, although always different, would also always be strange. He had been small, big, dark, light, man and woman. He'd been old, young, and all points therein.
He had not, to the best of his memory, ever been anything like he was now. That was his first sign when he awoke that something was different. Never had a foe required such a large and powerful appearance. He was very curious to see whom it was he was chasing.
Nix passed beyond the outer border of the town and set off down the road. Although he did possess the ability to fly, his trained senses couldn't track his target when he was this close. Flying only got him great distances quickly, but once the gap was shortened, walking and investigation were the best options. Besides, for all the time he slept, it was often quite nice to stroll for a while. He had nothing but time. He'd catch up to his prey when he had to and not a moment sooner. Other than that nasty little hiccup with the foolish (and alas, cunning) Man-God, that was the way it always was. When Nixon of the Great Fire and Ash arrived before you, you had gone too far down the dark path, and now your time was up.
This time was certainly different. Although he had his great tracking skills, ones attuned to the rise of the Power as well as his sword, his constant companions were all absent. There had once been a worldwide network of people, places, and things dedicated to the old God and His Word. Now they were all gone. Where once he could jump from place to place, fly even closer and then track the Power, this time it was just his home. He had looked for the other places, the pockets outside of time that only the wisest (or craziest) of the Embracers inhabited. All but one (a place he had no desire to ever return to) were lost or closed against him.
The items that would guide him such as maps or symbols hidden in churches and places of worship were also lost. This was likely due to the amount of time that had passed since last he had arisen. He had suspected that the time would come when the land itself forgot his kind. He was very upset it had come to pass in what seemed to him to be rather short order.
Worst of all was the loss of his people. Men and women dedicated to him and others of his kind. Even after the loss of the True God, there had been thousands around the world who aided him with news, information, and advice. Magnus had been his first, there from the time of Nixon’s current sentience. He had taught him all he needed to know about the world and its inhabitants, the Power and the Knowledge, Earth’s two undividable yet infinitely different absolute truths. He taught him his purpose.
And when Magnus was lost, there had been others who served God. Others who heeded the righteous call and let him know the truth of the day.
Even when God was lost, there had been many who had found ways to keep him informed. A vast network of information gatherers who funneled it all back to one or two who stayed by his side for all time. He would awake, gather the information he required, jump to his destination, and let the hunt begin.
Days ago he awoke alone in the body he wore now, more beast than man in appearance. His sword, thank God, was where it always was at his side, ready for service. He would have to question it all later. If he was awake, it meant he had a purpose. Find and destroy the fool, which meant the source of the greatest power had been found. It made him weary to think about it. Always the source was found and always a fool would use it. No rest was likely ever to come to him. He supposed eventually the sun would expand and explode. Then, maybe, he could get some much-needed peace.
The road stretched ahead of him, a long line slicing through dry rolling hills. Large caravans passed him often with many people, racing off for who-knew-where at top speeds. Damn it, he wished he knew what was going on. He wasn't accustomed to being so out of the loop. Something big was in the direction he was going, but he had no idea if it was the Power or something else entirely. The old man in the bar had mentioned something about troubling times coming but refused to go into details with Nix, as it did not pertain to his promised story.
“You’ll get nothing more than what you were promised from me, beast,” he had said. Nixon could be very polite, amazingly charming, and patient like none other. That old bat had seen right through each tactic. He likely knew Nixon was a man out of sorts, and he certainly took great pleasure in seeing him on the ropes.
It wouldn't be easy breaking down someone’s fears in this particular incarnation, but he had great patience. He'd learn it all in time. Until then, he just had to keep walking to his destination. The place the old man had mentioned. The village of Tan Torna Qu-ay.
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He had walked long into the night when he met the scout.
He chose to walk since he was so close, following the road to the Valley of Smoke. He was passed by many people, either on foot or in a caravan, but most either ignored him, running from their own demons, or spotted him only in poor light and gave a wide berth.
It was for the best, at least for the moment. Being so close, Nix was much happier focusing on the task at hand. He could have tried to talk to someone passing by for information as to why they were all so keen on leaving the place he was heading, but someone who can't die has little reason to fear anything. He wondered what made them run more out of curiosity than fear.
After the moon had been high and the night grew shorter, he'd noticed no more passers-by. Whatever they feared, it would soon be apparent.
The first of the larger explosions burst off at a good distance from him on the southwest horizon. A fireball rose into the night like a spark from a distant flame, but fire and Nixon were old friends, and he was certain wherever that had occurred it was likely to have destroyed everything. It was something serious, and also far beyond the capabilities and technology these people possessed. It wasn’t just an explosion; it was a literal pillar of fire, erupting from the ground in a skyward cylinder.
He smirked to himself. No wonder they were scared. Whatever it was, it was big, foreign, and powerful enough to strike the fear of God into these common people. Nixon had served the common people his whole existence, so any threat to them was something to be watchful of. The enemy of his friend was his enemy.
Lost in the thought of the ‘who’s’ and ‘what’s’ of the situation, he was almost oblivious to the eyes that watched him. Only by luck did he catch a glimpse of reflection when another explosion lit up the sky ever so slightly.
He let the observation pass, keeping a good eye and keen ear to its location. As he walked, he sensed it following him. Whatever it was, it certainly didn't walk on the ground. It was far too silent for that. No, he thought as he moved, this lit’l bugger can fly.
Something in this land was advanced enough to fly like a bird yet be silent like a soft wind. Nixon's curiosity continued to grow. This was truly becoming a land of mysteries.
The object (it was certainly just an object. He could feel that it was not alive in any way he was familiar with) followed after him, making a very soft 'click' 'click' ‘click click' as it moved. He kept his knowledge of his spy a secret. He would have more to learn that way.
A bit farther on the object, which had circled around him from the front to the rear and back around again,
emerged from behind a small scrub, the only cover it could find.
It was round and simple, no bigger than Nixon’s hand. Its shell was an onyx black and seemed to absorb light as it moved. Anyone with less attuned senses would not have seen it, and that was likely on purpose. Scout and inform. A simple device. A common one through all ages, be it plane, machine, or even bird.
Nixon stopped, making no more illusions about his awareness. With its emergence, it was clear that it was now ready to be found. Thus, he could deduce several things from this. It had either collected all it needed to know, it had malfunctioned in some way, or it was preparing to communicate in some fashion knowing it had been found out.
Discretion being the better form of valor, Nixon smiled, bending and bowing the formal greeting of his people. “Greetings t’ ye’, little one. T’ wha' do I owe the pleasure this night?”
The clicking increased instantly, getting louder and softer in random waves. It moved higher, possibly to be beyond Nix and his none-too-hidden sword.
A blue light came from the bottom of the object, its clicking intensifying as the light grew brighter. Nixon suspected he'd either triggered something or someone else had done it for him. Either way, any fool could see it was building to something.
Nixon couldn't be sure that this item wasn't the source of the explosions. He had no idea how advanced the people who'd sent this thing were. He drew his sword, feeling the power build from his hand and up to his arm. A welcome feeling he was sure he'd never be tired of, one of confidence and familiarity.
He stepped back, searching the night for any other of this scout’s kind. Confident there were none, he attempted to continue the discreet approach.
“Well now wee one, what's all this?” No response, just blue light and clicking. “Well, if we 'ave no further business, I'll continue on my way. G’day.” He bowed and began to walk once more.
A blue light hit his face almost immediately, bright and blinding. It dazed and dazzled him for a moment, causing him to step aside. Rare was the light that could affect him like that. His eyes could see in the darkest darks and the most blinding lights.
The light no longer in his face, he looked again at the object and paused to watch it as it clicked. The blue light still glowed from its base, yet did not follow him. He looked about, searching to see if it was illuminating something else. He found it: a pinprick of light in the middle of the road. A laser. He should have known. Those damned things never seemed to go away, and damned if they didn't disrupt Nixon’s vision in any age.
Then the clicking stopped. The light still glowed brightly, marking its spot on the ground, but the night fell perfectly quiet. Not even a wind blew.
The object was seemingly happy with its information. Nixon watched as it flew away, and eventually it was gone, back into the night it came from. The light remained planted firmly in the road. Somewhere, getting higher above, it was still there shining it down.
Nixon had been called upon many times in his life to chase the unbalanced Power and the misfortune it brought about. He'd seen man revert from one phase of life to another. From simple and nomadic to huge and powerful. He'd seen all ages and all peoples from the eyes of an outsider with no real sense of time. He remembered all these things very well. The fortunes they'd brought and the treasures they'd destroyed.
Essentially, Nixon had been around a long time and seen much. Because of that, Nixon knew a targeting laser for what it was.
He grinned slightly, finding the coming storm very amusing. Soon, he began to laugh, getting louder and louder as he heard his fate falling faster toward him.
By the time the bomb hit, he was nearly in hysterics.
Stupid people. You can't kill a phoenix with fire.
Then the pain began, and his laughter turned to screams.
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Not much farther ahead, Johan was slogging across the intensely rough terrain when the explosion lit up the sky behind him.
His shadow stretched out before him as the pillar of light turned night into day. Terrified, Johan knew enough to brace himself, and he fell quickly to the ground. His mammoth pack tumbled down over his head as he did so.
Then the shockwave hit.
It roared over his head like dragon’s breath. Fast and hot. He was far enough away that the air had cooled it greatly from the point of impact, but it was still searing and difficult to breathe in.
The wind toppled Johan’s pack, tearing it from his back, straps and all. Luckily, he had long since put his prized dagger on his person.
There was no use screaming or moving. Both would have been fruitless. The noise was ear-shattering, and any attempt to shift one way or another would have meant being carried away to wherever ill wind blows. For the moment he just crouched there, head down, waiting for the end. He clutched his head, shielding his ears from the noise, eyes clenched tight against the dust and debris. Then with great difficulty, he peeked between his eyelids, trying to make sense of whatever he could see, desperately trying to gauge the distance to the epicenter of the blast.
The winds and noise died out slowly, seeming to take forever to get within manageable levels at which he could begin to move and assess the situation more thoroughly. The fireball had fizzled out by now, and the night was dark once again.
Johan rose, eager to learn what he could while he still had time. Dirt and dust fell off him in piles, invading every inch of his body, exposed or not. His arms were red and sand-blasted but didn’t hurt yet, the shock of the situation softly numbing the pain like a conversation in another room. He knew it was there, and was likely to be much louder shortly, but for now, it was more than manageable.
Smoke filled the air where the blast had been, and it allowed him an excellent chance to judge the distance. About two hours walk behind him he guessed.
He had listened to Rider Stroan’s words about the country but decided the best course of action was to leave the road and break trail anyway. He was from this land, after all, and its dangers were all too familiar to him. Sand pits weren’t a worry; he’d learned everything about them years ago. As for raiders and rough country? Sure, the country was rough, but the gain of time outweighed the hardships. Any raider this far off the beaten path was likely more insane than anything. Johan could manage insane.
Whatever had been blasted, it was back on the road he’d come from at the beginning of the night. He thought regretfully that the target may have been another caravan of people, like the many that had passed him after Aryu and Stroan had left.
He briefly looked for his pack. There was nothing in his that was truly irreplaceable, and in the times ahead there was nothing that could help against machines, but he figured he’d better look all the same. He found it in a dried creek bed. The pack was quite beaten, but not beyond repair. Straps could be tied and holes mended. After giving the pack a thorough search he saw nothing of value had been lost. Some clothes, some cooking instruments, nothing more.
He sat in the creek bed for a rest, the events up to then upsetting him enough to finally stop his youthful energy. The echo of the shockwave still rang in his ears.
The power, closeness, and pure reality of that blast had shaken him quite a bit. This was actually happening, and it was terrifying. All the books, all the stories, and all the warnings of the ‘evils’ of machines and technology were nothing compared to the explosion he’d just witnessed. He wanted to be home, despite his soft loathing of it. He wanted to be there with his friend and welcomed a hero. Now, he wondered if he’d ever see it again.
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It seemed that Aryu could still surprise even himself.
Barring any unforeseen difficulties, he had presumed that he would be able to fly in elongated bursts, gliding as much as possible. The evening was still cloudy after he left, followed by a typical chilly night, so there were no thermal updrafts for him to ride. Still, he could glide a great distance. His wings were strong and his body and supplies relati
vely light.
Once the sun was down, it was all he could do to simply pick a direction by the stars and go. There was no ground to see in this blackness. No markers or points of reference. Just an endless field of black, highlighted briefly by bits and pieces of darker or lighter gray illustrating the undulations in the ground below. Once the sun rose again, he figured he’d take to wing as high as he could and search for any visible sign of the Valley of Smoke, a rather large reference point on this landscape, and follow that to home.
Provided there was a home to arrive at.
He’d seen from his vantage point the pinpricks of light in the far west that likely marked more large explosions. They were still some days away by foot, or even cart, but they were much closer than Aryu was comfortable with. He’d spent much of his flight thinking the same as Johan had not too long before.
It’s amazing the difference a day can make.
This time yesterday he was perched on the mountainside, eating a cold meal, and relaxing with Johan. He was now flying as fast and as far as he could to get to a home that may have long ago been destroyed by the Army of the Old, stomping out of history to claim his land.
Stroan had certainly not been sure as to the condition of the Valley of Smoke. Only that he “didn’t think they’d made it that far east.” Hardly a resounding reason to sleep easy. Besides, it was clear in the words he said (and didn’t say) that he expected the Army of the Old to make it there soon, had they not arrived already.
Aryu was often lost in thought at the multitudes of possibilities that had presented themselves in the last day. Often as he thought, his gradual rhythmic gliding motions would slow down or stop outright and he’d drift through the vast emptiness, descending as he did so. He’d then snap awake as the ground approached, give his body a good mental ass-kick, and begin trying to climb into the night sky again.
He had surprised himself with his abilities and endurance in the last few hours. Although he had initially thought he could float like that forever, enjoying the feelings he rarely got to indulge, by the time the moon was high he was beginning to get tired. The muscles on his back were straining to keep him aloft after so much time.