by M. T. Miller
If I make a sword out of someone, he wondered, would they come back to life after I put them back together? He was almost close to trying.
It was almost noon when a messenger banged on the gate, forcing him back into this nonsensical world. He sighed as he opened his eyes, ready for the imminent frustration. The sight of Lydia watching him from the corner improved his mood somewhat, but also made him more confused.
Must dwell on practical matters. He went for the gate. If he kept himself occupied, he minimized the risk of losing his nerve or going mad. Assuming, of course, that he wasn’t already insane.
“Speak, soldier,” he said through the iron bars.
“My Lord,” the man said. “You are needed in the command tent. We have reports you might want to see.”
The Nameless considered asking more, but decided against it. A walk would do him good. He looked back at Lydia, who waved in response. He nodded. She is as puzzled by this as I am.
“I will be there shortly,” he told the guard.
***
The scene in the tent rang more bells than the Nameless cared to admit. The worried stares. The long faces. The messy pile of papers on the table. With slight variation, he had witnessed this sight many times before.
“Bad news, I presume,” he said.
“Depends on how you look at it, my Lord,” said Wallace. He and David stood in front of the table-map, with the paper heap visible before them. “On one hand, we’re moving forward. On the other, a lot of people will die.”
“We are being attacked?” the Nameless guessed.
“By the Juicers, no less,” David said. “Did you have to go and provoke her? Was it that important?”
It was. “What are our chances? From what I remember you saying, we have a clear advantage.”
“We do,” David said. “And we’d have had an even greater one if we waited another year or two. People are flocking to us, Lord Nameless, and our ranks are swelling, both militarily and economically. We’re the new Skull Kingdom, except without… well, with less insanity.”
“What’s done is done,” Wallace said. “The Purple Lightning wants our blood, and she wants all of it. Reports say she’s putting everything she has into this. Whatever you said to her, she took it bad.”
“You know what I said to her,” the Nameless said, looking at David. “No need to play dumb. You had me put under surveillance. I expected you to.”
After a couple seconds, David asked, “Mind telling us what that was all about, then? Because I find it hard to believe you would endanger the lives of your men just to make a move on the Juicers’ leader.”
“What I did may have been a mistake,” said the Nameless, “but I had to do it at the time. Now, however, I am infinitely more informed and rational. Not that any of you need to hear this, but it will not happen again. That I promise.
“Now, about this upcoming battle…” He approached the table, putting his hands near the paper piles. “We will meet them on the open field, yes? Crush them decisively.”
“Right here.” Wallace pointed at a naked patch of desert to the north.
“And you do not think they would go around us?” the Nameless asked.
“They could try,” Wallace said. “But the Juicers are still human, my Lord. They’re fast and they have a lot of stamina, but not even they can sprint forever. They try anything like that, our scouts should spot them and alert us in time.”
He isn’t smoking, the Nameless noticed. The Wallace he knew was seldom seen without a cigar. I wonder if this David has a daughter. The Nameless would ask after this matter had been resolved. No use risking any more morale damage.
“Besides,” Wallace said, “from what I see, I think they actually want a fight.”
“Even though they would lose?” asked the Nameless.
“These people are insane,” David said. He accentuated the word as if to drill it into the Nameless’ head. “The shit they take has rotted their brains. They most likely think they’ve got this in the bag.”
Interesting, the Nameless thought. The way this Rush had acted confirmed what David said. It opened up an interesting possibility, though he would keep it to himself for the moment.
“What do you think our losses would be?” he asked.
“Of the twelve thousand men we currently have,” Wallace said, “I reckon we’d lose anywhere between twenty and fifty percent, depending on unforeseen factors. This would bring us down to less than what the Church has, and more living men than the Movement can field.”
“But the living make up only part of their forces, I assume.”
“Right,” Wallace said. “We aren’t certain about the Movement’s full potential strength.”
“But we might see it soon,” David added. “The moment this battle ends, someone will start moving against us. This, I guarantee. No way they won’t attack once they’ve smelled blood. They let us recover, we win. But they won’t.”
“We will deal with that once the time comes,” said the Nameless. “There are more pressing matters right now.”
“I’m not saying there aren’t,” David said. “Just a reminder, nothing more.”
What is your function here, David? the Nameless wondered. His advice was as sound as always, but David was no military man. He would be put to better use in the actual city. Assuming one even existed. This army had to be getting its provisions from somewhere. One more thing the Nameless would need to tackle in time.
“It is appreciated,” he said. He turned to Wallace. “Anything else I need to know?”
“With all due respect, my lord,” Wallace said, “this is something I’d usually ask you.”
“Things change,” the Nameless said. “At the moment, you know our surroundings better than I do. Therefore, you are better suited than I am for working out the large-scale aspects of this battle.” He pressed his finger to the map, right where they were supposed to meet the Juicers. “I will earn my keep another way: on the battlefield. This power of mine has cost me dearly. I might as well put it to use.”
“As you say, my Lord,” Wallace said.
“Anything to add, David?” the Nameless asked.
“Not really,” David said. “But I do have a question. It concerns the Purple Lightning.”
Of course. “You want to know if I will be able to fight her. The answer is yes.”
“No,” said David. “I’m asking if you have the determination to kill her.”
“If I have to, I can kill anyone,” the Nameless said.
“I’ll hold you to that word,” Torres said.
So will I, thought the Nameless.
***
That night, the Nameless hardly slept. This was a first for him; in the past, his pre-battle rests were the ones he enjoyed the most.
He rose to the sound of the morning clarion, having been awake for a full hour beforehand.
“Stay a bit longer,” Lydia murmured, her face buried in her pillow.
“We take the field today, remember?” He started putting on his uniform. “Barring something unforeseen, the battle will take place tomorrow.”
“Oh, right.” Lydia turned on her back, her palm covering her forehead. “And you say you’re not worried?”
Not for the same reasons everyone else is. He clasped his belt buckle. “You should not be concerned.”
She sat herself up. “I know that. They say the Purple Lightning is a monster, but I don’t think anyone can pull off what I’ve seen you do.” She gave him a groggy smile. “So just make sure you get back to me as soon as possible, okay? I’ve been patient, but there’s only so much a girl can take, you know?”
“I do,” he said. I remember living with one for a year.
“Lemme help,” she said as she rose and took his coat off the nearby rack. She held it so he could don it easier.
The Nameless slipped into it, then extended his hands and fixed his collar. He faced her. “Torres and the General think this will be the pivotal event of the wa
r. Tomorrow will either make or break us.”
“And what do you think?” she asked as she came up to his face.
“To be honest,” he said, “I do not know what to think.”
Her expression went sour. “You still don’t think this is real, do you?”
“I am heavily leaning toward it being real,” he said. “And if it is, then the passage of time will only confirm it.”
“We women aren’t too fond of the idea of time passing by.” She smiled. “But in your case, I’ll be willing to make an exception.” She kept leaning in. Whatever that would turn into, the sound of the second trumpet interrupted it. Not even the Nameless was certain how he felt about that.
“I guess you should go,” she said.
“I should.”
“Hurry up, then.” She turned away and went back to the bed. She lay down, covering herself. “Otherwise I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”
Must be nice having that luxury. The Nameless exited the tent promptly, finding himself smack dab in the middle of the crowded camp. Everyone who was capable of holding a rifle was on their feet, and possibly even some who weren’t. If the Juicers were going all-out, then so would Babylon.
Let us get moving, then, he thought as he made his way toward the command tent.
***
That day offered nothing the Nameless hadn’t seen before. A grand speech, this time thankfully not delivered by him. A collective march. Meal breaks every six hours. The mixture of awe and terror in everyone’s eyes. It was as if they were advancing toward Sierra Nevada again, that uncertain and momentous battle of which he had been the only survivor.
This time he didn’t take the time to speak with anyone. Instead, he focused his attention inward, performing mental exercises and thought experiments about what he would do with all this power. Besides being useful for the upcoming battle, this meditation had the added benefit of shielding him from his own thoughts. At some point they would have to be addressed, but that day was not here yet.
The army was in position by eight p.m. They set up camp on a barren clearing, all eight directions covered by multiple units of mounted scouts. If their reports were to be trusted, the enemy was advancing along the predicted route.
Let us hope this goes different than it did at Sierra Nevada, the Nameless thought.
He slept better that night, most likely due to being somewhat tired from the march. When the morning trumpet resounded, he leapt to his feet with no sign of sluggishness.
“Enemy sighted to the north!” the relays kept shouting, and the men rose to put their gear back on. “They should become visible in fifteen! Everyone to their positions! On the double!”
As per his request, the Nameless took his place among the vanguard. It made what he was about to do that much easier. Staring northward with the rest of his men, he put a hand on the bullhorn at his side and waited.
Unlike Babylon’s army, the Juicers advanced in what could never be called a formation. The approaching horde had no sense of order or uniformity; its members sported clothes and hairstyles of all shapes and colors. From afar, the Nameless could swear he’d even seen some with blue or red skin. And in the forefront of this mess was the Purple Lightning; the Rush of this world.
They are about to charge. The Nameless took the horn and brought it up to his mouth. If it was possible, he would prevent them.
“I take it you are determined for this to end in bloodshed,” his voice roared. “Not a sign of good leadership, I would say.”
“Blah, blah, sob, sob!” Rush screeched back. She didn’t use a speaking aid, but her voice reached him regardless. “You got anythin’ important to add, dead man, or can we get it on already?”
“We could,” said the Nameless. “Our armies could collide, and in all likelihood you would lose everything. Including your life.”
“But I’d kill you before that,” she said.
Yes. “Why throw everyone’s lives away, then? If you are here for my blood, why not just take it by yourself?” He waited a moment. “Or are you too terrified to face me alone?”
The guttural roar that escaped Rush’s mouth almost made the ground tremble. “Step up, ya piece of shit, and I’ll show ya who should be scared of who!” She started stomping forward, her head turned toward her men. “You lot! Stay there and don’t move a goddamn muscle or you’re next!”
Not even a grumble of disapproval could be heard. The Nameless wondered what commanding such an army might be like.
“Stay here,” he said as he dismounted.
“My Lord…” the captain to his right said in surprise. “What do we do if you are… killed?”
You attack anyway, the Nameless wanted to say, but kept it to himself. He didn’t want Rush to hear it.
“Then you surrender,” he said as he made his way toward the center of the battlefield. It didn’t matter either way. He didn’t intend to lose.
Rush was now running, not at full speed, but most likely out of a barely contained desire to end his life. When he looked at her with his unseen eye, he found the sight difficult to believe. The purple faith-mass that made up her body was not merely bubbling and coursing as usual. Instead, it burned, taking pieces of her environment with it as she ran. Whether she knew it or not, this Rush was, at least to a certain point, capable of magic.
It will make no difference. Unlike her, the Nameless had full control of his surroundings. The ground he treaded, as well as some hundred feet in each direction, was the deepest shade of red. Upon getting closer, she would be his.
Without any warning, Rush disappeared. The Nameless didn’t have the time to wonder why. His warrior instincts screamed, telling him that he was in life-threatening danger.
On his command, the ground around him changed, sprouting hundreds of black blades. He stood ready in the center of this circle, his eyes darting in search of Rush.
He caught a glimpse of her for one second, and then she was gone again, leaving only a cloud of dust. A moment later, she became visible on the opposite side of the barricade, disappearing once he made more spikes.
This is ludicrous. Looking at Rush’s energy-body gave the Nameless some insight into what was going on. Moving at a speed no flesh-and-blood eye could follow, she was running circles around him. In all likelihood, she was looking for an opening. He would give her just that.
For the better part of a second, the Nameless made the spikes to his left bend in a clumsy manner. He then took control of the entire field of metal, merged it into one, composite heap, and blindly collapsed it around that location. He couldn’t see Rush’s expression when the trap closed around her, but the way her energy raged inside the thickening metal cocoon told him she didn’t enjoy it.
This should keep you in, at least for a while. The iron was cool, but completely under the Nameless’ control. On the inside of the cocoon, he made it form a layer of expanding spikes, which then grew more spikes. If she punched it without being careful, her hands would be cut to ribbons.
Now to address her army. The Nameless hoped they would cooperate. After all, with their leader held captive, the miniscule chance they had of victory evaporated. He never got the chance to try. The barrier he’d erected around Rush shattered within one tenth of the time he expected it to hold.
As if propelled by an explosion, she broke through the thing’s roof, ending her ascent some fifty feet above the Nameless. Smart, he thought as he noticed the steel plates on her fists, forearms and shoulders. She had moved so fast, they only just became visible.
“FUCKER!” she roared as she fell toward him.
The Nameless had but one course of action, and he didn’t like it one bit. She will recover, he told himself as he overtook several patches of the ground around him, turning them into more spikes. Screaming bloody murder, Rush impaled herself on three of them, taking one through the stomach, and one near each shoulder.
Do not move.
Her hot, blue blood dripped as she lay suspended in mi
d-air, squirming like a speared fish.
And then the spikes snapped.
The Nameless wasn’t sure if he had created them shoddily, or if she was simply too strong. Rush, the Purple Lightning, descended on him, bleeding and foaming at the mouth. And he had nowhere to evade. They were both in a trap of his own making.
Go ahead, then. He closed his eyes and relaxed his body. This was it. If he were to die, he might as well let her do it. If anyone deserved that honor, it was her.
There is nothing for me here, anyway, he thought, waiting for the strike that would end his lie.
The deathblow never came. What hit him instead was a splash of what could only be blood. How…? No! He looked up, and the first thing he saw was the shocked, dying stare of Rush. The iron spears that surrounded him had acted without his input; they’d formed a composite spike and penetrated her heart as she descended. She was killed within an instant, and the rest of her body was just becoming aware of it.
The Nameless extended a hand, grabbing her ironclad fingers. They were as relaxed as they could be. He gritted his teeth as he realized what had just happened. When the chips were down, he truly didn’t want to die.
This is not my Rush, he told himself as he released her hand. This is not my Rush! THIS IS NOT MY RUSH!
The tears running down his cheeks challenged that claim.
Part Four:
The Answer
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Camp in sight!” the relays shouted as the Nameless’ army marched, victorious, back to their home base. He barely reacted, or allowed himself to think. He was, for all intents and purposes, a mounted statue.
Babylon’s forces were now towing prisoners. Out of the defeated Juicers, only a third had agreed to honor the deal and surrender. The second third attacked the very moment they realized their leader was dead, and had to be cut down to the last man. The Nameless took no part of it. Instead, he had surrounded himself and Rush’s body in a protective layer of iron, and wept until the battle was over. He didn’t speak after that.