Underneath the Draconian Sky

by Chatwin, Dale M.

  The mighty dragons yawned and acrid indifference surged from their mouths.

  Cold blooded monsters masquerading as animals. It takes a barbaric soul to toy with a person’s sanity. Vicious calamities and retentive hands bring it all to a swirling finale.

  7

  Colin Shesi had been through a dramatic transformation, it is not every day a young man finds himself being tortured and maimed for a crime he didn’t commit. Only 3 days had passed since that appalling night, yet he felt half insane. Or was he half sane? Is the glass half full, or is it half empty? Who was he to say that insanity could take hold after such a short period of time? Maybe he had been insane all along; maybe he had tried to harm that poor, innocent whore.

  Bitterness had also taken his emotions for a ride around Vacant Avenue; Colin spat whatever saliva remained in his mouth onto the sand.

  The Guy found himself taking deep gulps from the clear bottle of water he had purchased the night before. It was a sweet drink that moistened his exhausted mouth; the sensation was like having Aloe Vera massaged into sun burnt skin. After having a smoke he approached Vincent.

  “I’d like to see the boy now,” said the Guy.

  “I’m just going out to give him his dose of punishment, care to watch?”

  The Guy felt shivers crawl like a centipede up his spine.

  “No punishment, he’s innocent,” he took the knife from Vincent’s hand.

  “How do you know? Did Monica defend him? I had a feeling she would, she’d taken a shine to that laddie the moment he walked in here,” sweat began to bead on his forehead.

  “No. I’m going to speak to him, after I’ve untied him and brought him inside to regain some strength,” the Guy fixed the proprietor with a hard stare.

  “How did you know my brother?”

  “He was my, employer, of sorts. I came to respect him in my own way.”

  “It filled me full of sorrow and anger when I heard the news of his death, everything burnt to a cinder. If I caught the fools who’d done it they would get a far more barbaric treatment than Colin,” tears began to well in his eyes, but Vincent swept them away with the back of his hand. The Guy stepped outside into the heat of the day, to the north he saw the Moffatt Fields and knew he could not afford more delays.

  Colin had been half conscious when the Guy cut him down, dead weight. Vincent helped him drag the boy into the saloon.

  “Where shall we put him?” asked Vincent.

  “Monica’s room, that’s where it happened; she doesn’t need to be there though.”

  “Good.”

  One of the Tainted Ransom’s ladies had been a nurse before the hospital was burned down in the City, her name was Harriet and she tended to Colin’s wounds under the Guy’s supervision.

  It was evening when the boy first opened his eyes and felt the luscious comfort of the bed. His raw flesh had been bandaged and his pain had been numbed, he came face to face with the Man with the Emerald Eyes.

  “I thought you were a dream, sent to either taunt me into insanity, or torture me into an early grave,” he said. Speaking the words was like dragging a solid gold statue through dense forest.

  “I’m not a dream, but he is. You know of whom I speak.”

  Colin nodded; his face awash with suspicion. It was at that moment he realised where he was, and for a stitch in time hysteria folded into his mind like meringue.

  “Why am I here? Let me leave. All I wanted was a quiet life in the Fields. To live in peace and become a free man of the land.”

  “Soon you will be free. Until then I need you to listen to me and close your eyes.”

  The boy did as he was bid and settled, he heard the mysterious traveller speak and saw images he wished he could forget.

  “My words whisper and the sand storms create chaos. Why are we so quick to judge nature? Execute neurons and dismiss any wandering dream for what I want is a specific moment. A vision, a prophecy, an intrusion, call it what you will. My voice is a steam engine, pumping out tranquil clouds and creating organic sounds. What can you see amidst the steam?”

  “Amaranth, glowing like a new born star, it resonates within my soul but makes my stomach tumble like a polar bear caught in an avalanche. He…It? is there, concealed in robes of flowing silk that billow like an autumn flood. He shows me things, terrible photographs flashing, semi-subliminal. Pictures of torture and mutilation, I also see bodies, red raw, dry and cracked and moaning in torment. Sorrow and discharge are everywhere. He tells me of a pale rider; death. I thought you were the rider, sent forth to carry my doom into the cosmic realm, but you were not. He doesn’t fear you. He is beyond feeling that emotion and that makes him a formidable enemy to have. Stay away from the Moffatt Fields, 1107. We all owe a debt to the cosmic forces and eventually we must all pay, but not so soon,” Colin shuddered.

  “Shadows have brought me here to make exceptions to the rule. Brought on by need and the cry for help, I never swayed and always brandished my soul like a newly forged sword and only in silence do I weep to share. These people, these escapees of Bachman Gardens are just forgotten enigmas who approached my domain and therefore I must refrain from my own insane remarks. I have taken my silent steps, but bronze memories are steeped in unspoken tragedies. They are forever poisoned and all I do is pass on by. I am just a rare fossil painted on the walls of time; no constraints of mine wither away.”

  “The Man with the Amaranth Halo, he says you are forever damned and will be plagued by hindsight until you draw your final breath on the Fields. You could have saved them all, but instead you couldn’t break away from the mission.”

  “I wasn’t hired to babysit her. Sylvester gave me a job and I did it.”

  “Correction…you are still doing it. You don’t do this for them, you never did. You do this for yourself, to fulfil some sick brand of curiosity. Let us not talk of these matters in such an uncouth way, I feel this poor, tender boy needs to rest some more. Come to me, 1107. I am waiting.”

  Colin inhaled deep and held his breath.

  “Awake kid, you have been through enough.”

  Colin exhaled, spluttered and opened his eyes.

  The Guy was gone.

  Vincent had served him 3 bottles of mead.

  “You need to be careful with that stuff,” he said handing him a 4th.

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “I bet, so how long you staying?”

  “Leaving tomorrow, I still have a long road ahead of me and I can’t afford to waste any more time.”

  “Shame, could have used you as security”

  “Maybe some other time,” the Guy finished off the alcoholic beverage and asked for water, Vincent obliged him gladly.

  “Are you sure the boy is fine now? I would hate myself for trusting you, only to find out that I should have gutted the little bastard.”

  “He’s fine, and he’ll leave with me tomorrow just to be sure.”

  “That’ll do fine by me then. You want a lady tonight? On the house for your trouble.”

  “If it please you. I’ll take Monica again.”

  The Guy took the damaged woman to bed with him again and together they made music sweeter than nature’s dawn song. Her brown skin and curly coal hair reminded him of Nancy Mooring, for all he knew they could have been sisters, but he preferred to leave that out of his thoughts. Some songs sound sweeter if you can’t see who is behind the curtain.

  8

  There were many things he had to consider since departing from the City.

  Colin awoke feeling fuddled and light headed, his back felt like it had been riddled with a hundred year spell of arthritis.

  There were many things to ponder whilst making his journey to the Moffatt Fields.

  There were many things to consider as he gathered whatever ambitions he had left and withdrew from the bed.

  In the main room a man with iodine stained skin and cracked, black pepper teeth played a dainty tune on a beaten up acoustic guitar.
His sallow fingers plucked the strings nimbly, showing he had awe inspiring dexterity for a man who looked like he had just walked from the set of some cheap, exploitative B-Movie.

  Colin saw the Guy supping a bottle of water and gazing at the newcomer.

  “On your feet, good, we leave in an hour,” he said, never taking his eyes off the pallid man.

  “It would seem someone has caught your eye,” said Colin, pulling up a stool at the bar.

  “It would seem so. He plays like one of the Gods of old.”

  Vincent entered the scene, when he clapped eyes on Colin his face filled with fear and regret.

  “Mr Shesi,” he said, shuffling towards the bar. “I’d like to deeply apologise for what I did to you. I had no clue what the truth was, but this fellow here explained all to me while you were out cold. If there’s anything I can do, just ask.”

  “One of those bottles of mead won’t go amiss. ‘tis true I’ll never be the same again but you did what you had to. You were protecting those you cared about. Now let’s not talk of it again. Words don’t heal wounds,” Colin drunk deep and greedily, treasuring every gulp.

  The Guy couldn’t bring himself to look away from the gentleman playing the guitar; there was a freakish aurora about him and there was still some interference in his head from the Kolxic Neuros he had inhaled at the factory. It made it hard for him to figure out the oddity. The UV goggles would be too conspicuous in the saloon, so he couldn’t run a scan. Instead he closed his eyes and listened to the music, sweet desert music that flowed like a quill on parchment. The occasional scratching of fingers on strings sent shivers up his spine.

  “It’s always nice to get a musician in here, too few pass by these days. All we have is a crippled piano that Molly plays, she ain’t the best but it gets us through the silent evenings. This, however, is a treat,” said Vincent, pouring himself a small glass of mead.

  When the pallid man finished playing there was a scattered applause from the whores and few patrons. Vincent lifted his glass and thanked the musician, then knocked back his drink.

  The Guy stood and approached.

  “You have some fine skills, it’s just a shame your instrument isn’t as pretty as your technique,” he said, seating himself opposite.

  “I thank ya, as for old faithful here, she’s been with me to many a place and hasn’t once failed me,” the pallid man appeared more decrepit up close. His hair was jet black, greasy and with streaks of silver that reached for his mid back. His skin was pulled tight over his face, making him look like a skull that had been painted by leprechauns and the bags beneath his eyes were charcoal blemishes.

  “Loyalty is a tough thing to come by these days, even from an inanimate object,” said the Guy.

  “Loyalty is irksome when it comes from organics anyway. My guitar never talks and doesn’t walk, therefore I have complete control. If a string breaks then I replace it, and the guitar lives on.”

  “What if the instrument breaks?”

  “It won’t, because I reward its loyalty with affection and constant care. This is a very droll experience considering you just approached me outta the blue. To what do I owe this…pleasure?”

  The pallid man offered his hand and the Guy received it without making any signs of abhorrence.

  “I’m just a man traipsing across country trying to find a quiet life in the Fields. I stopped here to recharge and found myself listening to a bewitching lullaby. Can’t blame a person for wanting to mingle with the talent.”

  “No you can’t. The Fields you say? Well son, I’d say you best be getting there soon whilst the Harvest is on. They got some ripens for the picking this year.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because I just came from there,” the pallid man smiled, revealing those mouldering teeth that could house a million maggots. The Guy had a moment of realization, and swiftly everything became translucent.

  The hunter has found his prey. Touché.

  9

  The Man with the Emerald Eyes had gone to talk with the musician, Colin took this as ample opportunity to stretch his legs outside and gather some desert air in his lungs. In the sky, the turquoise aurora borealis still meandered like a cosmic river flowing into the oceans of the universe.

  He heard the sound of hooves stamping on the ground, and a soft snort accompanied by a whinny. Colin made his way toward the noise hoping to see his horse so he could pet her and tell her all about his nightmare. Animals were perfectly neutral creatures that never judged or voiced an opinion. The sight that befell his eyes made his wounds tingle and his tender brain gyrate. The voice with the amaranth soul had spoken true prophecy. It was a pale horse that greeted him, and the name of the man with the guitar, was death.

  10

  “Do you serve the High Occultist?” the Guy asked. The pallid man hawked up a chunk of phlegm that made a fellow patron run outside and vomit.

  “That pariah? Heh, no. I serve only the ancient reptilian deities that have manipulated our kind since the dawn of time,” he lit up a cigar. The smoke was like fog and had a seasoned bouquet. “I can keep him out of my dreams, through meditation and smoking small doses of dry Yage and tobacco.”

  “You serve the Aakmanu then?”

  “I am not an affiliate of the Cult, but I serve them in mine own ways, 1107.”

  “Then you’ll know I have been sent by the Aakmanu themselves to exterminate the High Occultist.”

  “You cannot kill him; he’s a force of the cosmos now, no longer part of this world. I am here to stop you.”

  “Killing me won’t cause Him to stop existing.”

  “Bah! The Aakmanu need the High Occultist in their world, He will be their ticket off this Island, and into the open world. Though he was a freakish accident, the Aakmanu know how they created him, and they will create more like him. Imagine an army of abominations. Imagine if you could control them.”

  “So where do I fit into this?”

  “They fear you, El Vagabundo Misterioso, They fear you because They don’t know who you are or where you came from. All they do know is that you’re a Rift Walker, like them, and that makes you dangerous. They hoped that your death would come at the hands of the High Occultist, but I can’t afford to take the same risk as them, so here I am, serving the Aakmanu in my own way.”

  A stagnant silence collapsed into the saloon, both the pallid man and the Guy stared into each other’s eyes. The musician drew deep on his cigar and exhaled a veil of smoke that obscured their field of vision.

  The sound of footsteps filled the atmosphere and Colin came bursting into the room. His last words were:

  “Death, Death has come!”

  The pallid man moved with uncanny speed, he flicked his wrist and from under his sleeve shot a thin sliver of steel and in a nanosecond it was buried in Colin’s neck. The boy dropped like a sack of soft, rotten apples. The Guy had no time to show signs of awe; instead he shot up, kicked away his chair and drew both guns with the same uncanny speed. The saloon was full of the sound of heavy machinery, crashing and exploding, magenta dramatically spattered the walls.

  The clangour caused Vincent to dip behind the bar, his ladies ran into the back and the patrons began pacing like rabid apes toward the saloon doors.

  The Guy kept hammering the triggers, even after the barrels were empty. Gunfire, the smell of gunpowder and the sight of blood made for a powerful aphrodisiac. He twirled the shooters and holstered them, like a genuine gunman. The pallid man was pinned against the wall coated in blood, on his face he wore a smile and this confused the Guy, but didn’t stop him from showing a smile of his own.

  Colin Shesi had died, as the High Occultist had prophesised. He was buried next to livery at the rear of the Tainted Ransom. Only 3 people would remember him and only 1 would visit his grave regularly to lay down fresh flowers. People would ask about who was buried in that spot, but no one would talk about it. No one would speak of the Double Demon Showdown.

  “I
should be going,” said the Guy as Vincent Claproot laid the last shovel-full of desert onto Colin’s grave.

  “It’s probably best you do. I don’t know what you are and I don’t care to find out. It seems to me you have powerful enemies out there and it ain’t my place to get involved.”

  They shook hands. The Guy saddled his gelding and rode off, away from the Tainted Ransom and away from another tragic death in his time on the Island.

  11

  The aurora borealis fluctuated in the night sky; the stars burned and proved to the world that time travel was possible. The Guy made camp and built a fire, for a couple of hours he stared at the constellations, pondering his role in the universe.

  Something out there has blessed me with a curse. Am I a reincarnation of a bastard God that pissed off the cosmic forces? Was my birth just an inconvenience? I can’t even remember my birth. It was so long ago that now it seems like a myth. A tale woven in my mind to make me believe I am like the rest of them, but I am not.

  He sighed and rolled a cigarette. The night was cold, so he huddled close to the fire for warmth. In the distance he heard the wails of some desert creature and decided to keep a weapon in hand just in case.

  There is still something out there waiting for me. I can feel it, close, so close I could reach out and lick it with my tongue.

  He began to think about Monica, her vulnerability had turned him on that night; both of them in that room, their bodies interweaved in harmony. Somewhere, in the halls of his subconscious, a scenario plays out involving Monica and Nancy. A fantasy filled with a thousand wrongs, but a reality that would feel like Utopia. He imagined Nancy kneeling naked while he and Monica worshipped her bodice by suckling on her soft breasts. Nancy’s brown nipples stood erect, they both kissed her, both of their hands caressed her shaved pussy feeling its wetness and basking in her moans. Nancy’s first shuddering orgasm would bring about penetration, her body on top of Monica’s as he took turns inseminating their sopping cunts.