With that in mind, Simon was carefully raised to his feet. His brow was covered in a cold sweat, his skin was pale despite his red face, and he was weak from blood loss. Ramone had Simon put his non-injured arm over Jessie's shoulders and use him for a support. Ramone estimated his own height might open the rib wound again if Simon leaned on him.
By now, the cultists were slowly slinking off, with the exception of their dead friend and the dogs. Neither group seemed willing to deal with each other again, so the avoidance was mutual. They would surely report what had transpired, but their injuries were no less extensive than Simon's in many ways. Their progress would be slow at best. And since Chester's house was on a distant plot even in this version of Dresden Port, they would not get back soon, let alone respond quickly. Additionally, Ramone set fire to the rags in hopes it might distract any further pursuing dogs for a time. The bodies were left in place for the town's cultists to find. This was also partially a decision made out of time concerns. And for the fact that anyone who would so wantonly abuse a child like this over her entire lifetime, didn't deserve an honorable burial, let alone to have dirt kicked over their corpse.
Now, they had no destination. The only goal was to wait things out somewhere safe and away from the fighting grounds until they returned home. Although they knew sequential times spent off world were said to be longer, they figured it couldn't have been too dramatic. "Anytime now…" Ramone suggested hopefully. He had concerns about leaving Black Beauty alone across town at the camp grounds, but cars could be replaced. People couldn't.
They wandered for a period, winding up into a sandy thicket of pine, black gum, and red maple. It was a fairly typical woodland dressing for these parts and a good place to vanish into cover. Rio was still with them, traveling alongside Ramone. She had grown quiet again and none of the boys spoke to her, although they occasionally glanced at the collection of loose puzzle pieces which consisted of the interconnecting scars and gashes all along her arms. Her wide sleeves had done an admirable job of hiding nearly emaciated limbs.
The group soon came to a rest amidst a copse of tall plants and thorny bushes. No one had much energy anymore, particularly Simon. Sitting tiredly against a rough barked tree, they took a break, watching the sun rise slowly into the sky through the tangle of brown branches above them.
As Simon slumped lethargically, Ramone looked to Rio once more. "Can I ask you something?" She glanced up at him expectantly.
"Don't take this the wrong way… I mean, we do appreciate your help and we're glad you're not with those crazies at the moment, but why are you following us?"
She blinked and looked uncharacteristically awkward off to the side before returning his gaze. "Oh. Do you not want me to?"
"It's not like that," Ramone said. "But, you're supposed to get punished, um, additionally for associating with us, right? And they didn't seem to like you revealing certain truths about them to us either. So, if I can ask, why? Is it part of that whole 'suffering brings God' concept?"
"No, not at all. I told you, being the Vessel is a great honor. Or so I am commanded to know. And one has the chance to have God fill their body, melding the flesh and spirit into a worldly avatar. But, what if I told you I was less than personally interested in such an outcome? I am a Vessel, true. But there are whispers amongst the town folk that I am also a heretic. So, my treatment has been that much harsher. They wish to awaken God in me before I can veer from the path."
"As I also mentioned before, you as Drifters represent all of which they have reason to fear and loathe. You come from a world with many gods, many spirits, from what I understand. A place where possibility, however small, does exist for things to change and that people may lead their own lives, despite most setbacks. Here? I have no such option. There is nowhere I can go. So I walk with you in the interest to learn of a world unlike my own. I don't know why Drifters manifest here at all or what the Drifting truly is, but it represents something beyond the dreariness and predictability of this world."
The boys exchanged looks with each other, although Jessie's expression was more wondering what was being discussed from Rio's side, which was still very much gibberish to him. Simon wasn't able to do much more than listen at the moment, so translation services were going to have to wait.
Ramone sat up. "Ohh, so… I don't know if this is something I should ask, or if it would appeal to you, but, um… if there's a way to get you out of here, would you take it?"
Rio visibly shivered at the suggestion. Searching about, she fidgeted her small fingers over the binding of her dark book. "You mean… where you are from? Is it truly as different as I imagine it is from here?"
Ramone smiled and thumbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe that and more. Where we're from, there's no people being sacrificed on poles. The sun is just a bright star. And there's lots of great food where we're from. Do you even have Taylor Haaa- uhh, I mean, do you have 'pork roll' here? Thin crust pizza?" He subtly side glanced at Jessie, wondering if he caught that.
"I don't know what those are. We have a mix of root vegetables, oatmeal, and dog meat."
"No wonder why your people are so pissy. Geez," said Ramone, half joking. "Point being, if we can figure it out… we'll take you out of this place, if that's what you want. We're not really sure how it works, but we're willing."
Rio made a small strained smile, as if some withered flower was trying to bloom in sandy wastes after a trickle of rain reached the petals. "I'd like that."
Simon smiled and finally worked up the strength to fill in Jessie about what Rio shared with them. Jessie nodded and it seemed to bring him some measure of peace after the early morning rumble. "Maybe she'll just come back with us. But if it isn't that simple… and I wouldn't be surprised, we should ask that Ullah guy you told me about. If he's a Guide, he should certainly know if it's possible. From what I gather, Aveirasen probably would not."
Ramone leaned back and stretched. Aveirasen. She was another strange one. Even the name was rather peculiar. Was it her first? A last name? He had no idea. Sans the theocratic elements, Rio seemed like she could have been her younger sister from another dimension, if that were possible. He was intrigued by Aveirasen, but there was something not entirely straight forward about her. He wasn't so gullible that he couldn't tell she kept her cards close, but he couldn't tell what game she was even playing with said cards. His hunch was it had something to do with complications she experienced with the other Drifters in the past. Maybe she was slow to trust as a result. But there was some bridging between the two of them yet… he still had her phone number, thanks to Simon.
Listless and tired, Jessie stared sideways at some thorn bushes, but he wasn't particularly focused upon them. This had not been a good day for him. He lost control of himself again. Or was he forced to do what he did? He wasn't sure. He never saw himself as a killer and the fact he actually slew another man, a real one this time, even if just in self-defense, it did not sit easily in him. Ramone was a brute and even he could pull his punches just enough not to entirely shove someone's nose into their brain pan. So why couldn't he?
He knew it wasn't out of panic. The Clayforged unsettled him more. These cultists were mainly just unlikable scum of the earth. There was little of anything supernatural about them, short of their holy homicidal beliefs. Heck, Rio was more outlandish than any of them so far. So, it wasn't that.
Inside, he knew. The pent up rage issues, the things he said as a result that had little to do with the fight, and that brief glimpse of his uncle, all painted an unfavorable picture. He held his brow in his wide hands. He was better than this. He had to be. This time there would likely be no serious consequences to face. These cultists already wanted them dead from moment one… if they lynched the boys a few inches higher in vengeance, it would make no difference. But what if he snapped in his own world? What if he attacked a common person, no matter how annoying, or drew a knife on his meddling uncle? Even Nielson wouldn't forgive such a thing, let alone himself.
Deservedly, things grew peaceful as time passed. Simon had temporarily overlooked the problems of this place and was able to simply admire the soft rays of light from the actual sun far above its peculiar darker counterpart. The beams pierced through the branches and across the near invisible golden dust and pollen in the air. Even in a terrible land such as this, there was a mote of beauty yet to be found. And he did not need to look far for it.
Sighing placidly from a mix of rest and enchantment after so much gloom and blood loss, he looked to Rio, who was sitting on a small rock, occasionally rubbing her exposed arms. "If you don't mind me asking, does it bother you that they're showing?"
She kicked a small rock idly, as she stared at her feet and made a thoughtful pout. "It doesn't please me. I removed the sleeves for you."
"And I apologize. I've been remiss in showing appreciation. Thank you, Rio." Ramone nodded along with him.
She bowed her head slightly, but did not look up.
After a moment of silence, she spoke to him again. "They itch."
"I beg your pardon?"
"My arms. These cuts and lines… even those on my hands. They itch in the sunlight. With my sleeves, I sometimes scratch the back of my palms on my book for relief."
He observed her for a moment. He was not in the mind set to use his PSI, nor was he certain he could focus enough to do it right now. But he was capable of seeing the fault lines of a person's soul, from time to time. "So no one notices, right?"
She glanced up briefly, mildly surprised. Nodding with a blink, she fidgeted. "The Vessel isn't supposed to seek relief for anything. The more you suffer… the more pious and devoted you will be. The more God will love you above all other choices and become one with your body, they said."
Simon stopped smiling.
Rio hesitated and breathed in deeply. "If I scratch my nose, I have sinned and pushed God away. If I remove the burrs from my hair, I have insulted God. If I quench my thirst from a pump, I have shown weakness where a parched disciple shows reverence. If I tire and sleep…"
"I have often asked myself, if this is what I was made for, then why do I desire it not? I don't want the honor of the faithful. I don't want God to take over my body, even if it is an honor of sorts. It is conflicting. I am the Vessel that betrays herself. Why?"
At first, Simon wasn't sure what to say. The problems of this world were strange and dark. Rio herself embodied those two aspects well and she was likely disturbed from being raised in this uncaring environment. But there was a person in there and he could see it.
"These things you are feeling are normal. They've put you in the unenviable position of being both a scapegoat, while sitting you on a pedestal. It is not a crime scratch your nose, have a drink, or anything else. I would imagine all of them do the very same things as they feel like it."
She nodded. "They do. They know they are flawed. That is why a Vessel exists. I have to emphasize all the worthy traits they do not possess. The Vessel is both a symbol and a representative of the hearth's inhabitants."
"Rio… I know this place is harsh and unfair. And we've only been here for just over a day now, I believe," Simon said. "For you, you were born into this. But you have the instincts to see it for what it is. You're not wrong for that. We will do everything we conceivably can to try to get you out of here. We meant that. We don't want to see you suffer needlessly."
She shared a feeble smile. "You and your friends are very nice… Simon, yes? Forgive me, I am not accustomed to addressing others by names. I want to believe you. I truly do. So much it hurts. I want to see what lies beyond this stagnant hateful place. I want to know that this isn't all there is. And I want to believe you'll come back for me. And that you're real."
"Real?" he asked curiously.
"There is a belief among my order," Rio began, "That you and those like you are not actual people. That you have no souls and that your presence is merely to test us so we do not become undisciplined. The field upon which the dead Drifters rest… how can there be so many? I wandered through there one day to survey the dead… and I counted hundreds upon hundreds. Yet Drifters only appear sporadically and in small groups. Why do they come here to die? My people believe you are living lies."
His brows rose sharply. "They don't think we're real people? Then what would we be?"
"Solid illusions sent by god to test us. Or perhaps devils to tempt us from the path, by some weaker forgotten god whose name was erased. Or simply the figments of a maddened dream."
"I would assure you we're quite real, Rio. We all have a past, memories, ambitions… not terribly different than your people, I would wager."
"I know, Simon. But it is difficult to believe it, sometimes. We are taught these things and little else, for our entire lives. We are programmed to think this way, to be this way, and there is no place for dissension. To my people, change is the enemy. There are only the traditions which once brought us success in a vaunted past, and we live in the echoes and recreations of those days and their supposed glory. Because that is the way of things and we have stated them to be 'right'." She frowned and sighed. These looked to be thoughts she experienced often and the constant awareness brought her no joy.
"I'm not going to lie. We have people like that where I come from, too. Although it's not as overbearing or as widespread as it is here. Truth be told, even if we remove you from this place, you may be dealing with these thoughts and issues for some time. You will carry some of this culture with you. And it will be awkward. But you will have a better chance to move on and grow. And we can show you all kinds of wonderful things. A day at the beach. A moving picture about a cat going on an adventure. Macaroni and cheese!" he grinned.
"But how do I know you're real? That you'll come back? I could wake up tomorrow and this could all seem like a dream," she lamented. She spoke the words with a pained melancholy that stung at their hearts.
He thought for a moment, wincing. For a moment, he considered leaving some memento of their visit. One of the rags, his sunglasses, or a coin from his pocket. But all these things could be taken away from her during the beatings these people inflicted upon her. And he wasn't sure when they would next visit, let alone how the passage of time worked. It could have been a while. But then, he thought back to one of his favorite books and how it gave him the ability to make a leap of faith in times like this.
"I have an idea, Rio," he said. "I read a good book once, about a little girl named Alice and her adventures into a world that was in some ways similar, but largely unlike her own. And there, she meets all manner of wonderful characters, one of which is a unicorn. But Alice is uncertain of his reality, despite seeing the creature with her own eyes."
"So, the unicorn gets an idea to make a compromise between the two of them. And he says, "Well, now that we have seen each other… If you believe in me, I'll believe in you. Is that a bargain?"
Rio pondered this. Slowly, she made that rare smile once again. "I see what you mean. Very well, that seems fair. I suppose I am no more a fact of reality to you than you might be to me. But we will believe that we will see each other again, someday."
He nodded and smiled warmly. "Shake on it?" he asked, extending a hand. She looked at his custom and knew it for what it was. But no one had ever asked to shake her hand before. Who would want to with someone who was both above and below everyone else in status? And yet, these Drifters…
She rose and approached, seeing that Simon was better off not moving for the time. They clasped hands and shook. And in belief of the Drifters, she held a spark of hope for their fair fortune and return to make good on their promise. She would dream of the day she would be freed from this world of endless banality and theocratic cultural slavery.
After meeting as imperfect equals, she raised a finger, motioning that she had one further idea. "I want to give you something. Sometimes people forget, yes?" Simon tilted his head curiously.
She reached into her long mane of hair and between the ebony str
ands; she ripped out a single small hidden lock that was braided. "They don't know about this. It's my way of remembering who I am in the worst times. I want you to take it back to your home, Simon. If I can never leave this place, maybe some small part of me can, in my place. May it serve to remind you of all you have seen, wish to forget, and need to remember of this place."
Simon gently took the small section of braided hair into his hand. His heart warmed, although he couldn't put it to words exactly why. It just felt genuine. "Thank you, Rio," he said with a deep smile. They bowed to one another and she turned back to sit upon her rock once more. "Of you, we will remember most of all," she heard him say.
As she turned about once more and reclined, she glanced at the others. Except Ramone and Jessie were nowhere in sight, as if they never existed. In all the conversation, they had spoken nothing, and just listened attentively. When did they leave, she wondered?
Desperate By Dusk Page 31