Sand Storm, page 7
part #11 of Wildcat Wizard Series Series
Me, I lay prone, unmoving, and baked until I felt my head would explode.
The Cool of Night
My body spasmed, bringing me from sleep to wakefulness without that pleasant interlude where everything is fuzzy and the world is full of possibilities.
It was freezing. I shivered uncontrollably as I fumbled with numb hands to dress myself against the harshness of this barren wilderness. My teeth chattered as I tucked in my shirt then did up my jacket. The desert smelled strange at night, so different to England where every night, winter or summer, there was a dampness in the air. Here it was as empty and dry as space and the night stung my nostrils as I breathed in, overcome by a strange sense of being the only person left alive in a world that had finally decided enough was enough and eradicated humanity.
You could easily lose your mind at night, same as during the day, as the emptiness got to you, like standing on the moon and knowing you were a million miles away from your own kind, or I may as well have been for all the good it did me.
I had a short pee, my body holding on to what little moisture it could after my doze in the day, then I calmed my rumbling stomach with a few choice morsels of dried meats that had turned to something akin to old leather boots, and tasted even worse.
And then, like I'd done so often already, I walked.
Fed up with the whole damn thing, I decided I would not stop until I reached the village, where hopefully I could get the hell out of this place before the desert claimed me and slowly turned me to dust.
Not a Nice Heat
Acrid smoke stinging my nostrils brought me from my dream walk. My head snapped up and I sniffed several times—the unmistakable smell of burning rubber. Off in the distance I made out a pinprick of light, a torch in the emptiness. I knew different. It was a fire, and someone was burning something far from wholesome. No barbecue was this, but rather something vile and noxious.
It happened. We were far from anywhere, so many people disposed of their trash in the most obvious way. They burned it. Free heat, something to cook on if they were desperate, and it beat a big, stinky pile of trash.
At least it meant I'd made it. I was approaching the nameless village, and about time too. How long had I been gone? Already the days were confused and I dismissed it as unimportant. What difference did it make? It was a few days, certainly not a week, and I'd had a few adventures. It would be great to get a ride from the village to the main town, hop on a plane back to Dire Dawa, then go home.
Sure, I had a few things to sort out, like this damn artifact I'd been lumbered with, but I was confident I'd work something out, especially with the new and improved wards masking its, and thus my, location.
I sped up, keen to reach the sanctuary of the village, even though I knew I would find it quiet and deserted until the sun rose and people stirred from their slumber. Most got their work done during the first hours of daylight before the heat made doing anything but sitting somewhere shady a very bad idea.
The stink grew suddenly stronger, and I shook my head at the folly of setting fire to what I could only assume were old tires. I understood the logistics of getting shot of them, but surely they knew it was a bad idea? Different world, different ways, and I'd certainly done worse in my time.
The fire seemed strangely large though, but that was probably my tiredness and the desert playing games with scale.
Then I heard the screams.
Then the screams died.
Then there was silence. Which was worse.
I ran.
Blame the Old Guy
The village was nearly gone, what little there had been was razed to the ground. Adobe walls had collapsed under the intense heat as thatched roofs burned, steel buildings had buckled and fallen in on themselves, a few more robust buildings still stood, their contents destroyed, but solid construction was not the norm, so the place was eradicated.
Cars burned, blackened husks like oversized beetles, steaming with smoke, and everywhere was ash. The breeze blew it around the village like a macabre sandstorm, and I stood amid the carnage, smoke and ash swirling around me like I was walking through hell itself.
And the bodies, there were bodies everywhere. Most had died in their homes, several had been murdered as they made their escape, cut down by vicious wounds I knew were inflicted by magic. Most people were long dead, but several had just died, the ones I heard screaming, having been left for dead. What purpose did any of this serve? Why go to such despicable, cruel lengths to get my attention?
For I knew this was about me, or rather, what I carried.
"Curse you a million times over, Zewedu. This is all your fault," I screamed into the dawn. I felt like tearing at my flesh, pulling myself out of this corrupted carapace forever tainted by my involvement in this utter madness. Zewedu knew something like this would happen, that once the artifact was out in the world there would be those who would stop at nothing to get their hands on it, and he knew he would be putting my life and many of his countrymen's in danger. He didn't care, he wanted this thing taken far away from here, to be found, and had been more than willing to accept the consequences. Why? Because he knew he wouldn't be here to witness them.
Why couldn't it have remained where it was? Guess he'd thought it would be found sooner or later, that its power would seep out and somebody would retrieve it. But why did he care? Maybe he didn't. Maybe he wanted to test me, one final test of his pupil's strength, his might as a wizard after his tutelage. Or maybe it was merely because he was an insane old man and wanted a little fun even while he rotted forever in hell.
He'd got his wish. He'd brought that hell here, to his home.
The wind tore through the burning village, as angry as me at the massacre of innocents, and as the smoke buffeted up and away into the sky three ghostly silhouettes strode forward, angels of death bringing misery where once was happiness.
They picked the wrong fucking guy to mess with. I hadn't had any coffee for days, and wizards need coffee or they get grouchy.
"Game on, motherfuckers," I hissed as I ripped Wand from his slumber and shunted so much power through my system and into my hand that he physically caught fire.
I felt no pain. Only anger.
More Bad Guys
For such a vast country there sure seemed to be a lot of adepts in the vicinity. Maybe it was the emptiness that allowed even the slightest hint of powerful magic to be picked up on so easily, nothing else around to interrupt the flow, or maybe they'd spent a day or two traveling after sensing the artifact. Either way, they would soon join the others who'd tried to take what wasn't theirs and what they would use for undoubtedly nefarious means.
"You look too old for such work, brother," said a man with long, mousy hair and tanned skin, his Afrikaans accent strong, making him sound utterly foreign yet belonging at the same time.
"I'm not your brother, and you look fucking stupid in that jacket. What, you guys think you're cowboys or something?" Each wore a long, lightweight duster and a wide-brimmed hat that I had to admit looked nice. They were covered in the dust of the desert but it was overlaid with the ash of the fire, with the ash of the dead.
"Haha, just keeping cool and looking it too," said the man with a sneer.
"You did this?" I asked. "Why?"
"Get your attention, old man. Knew you'd be along soon enough to investigate. Who wouldn't?"
"So you murdered these people to get my attention?"
"No, they died so you'd know who you were dealing with. Hand it over, it will go better for you if you do. Give us the artifact and you can die quickly. Otherwise..." He left the threat hanging, as though I'd do as he asked. Man, these guys were jokers, even if callous ones.
"C'mon, you really think I'll give you anything?"
"I know you will, because if you don't me and my men will fuck you up so bad that—"
Why is it that people assume that after they threaten you, promise to do terrible things to get what they want, and then insult you, that you'll just stand there and have a chat, trade insults, until they deign it the time to carry out their threats? It never ceased to amaze me quite how stupid people could be.
Wand spat a fat chunk of a fireball at the blabbermouth even as I was already turning and blasting at the other two wizards who did their best to defend themselves. It must have been rather disconcerting, what with their leader screaming and batting at his head as his hat melted down what remained of his face. He fell to the floor, his legs kicked wildly, his arms thrashed, and then his head actually exploded.
"Good job, buddy," I said.
"Cheers, always wanted to do that," Wand replied happily.
I shook my head; Wand could be a worry at times.
The two men used their staffs to send shock waves of ferocious magic my way, but Wand was on form and volleyed like Darth Vader fighting good guys as he swished to and fro, batting the barbed magic right back at the men.
I dodged to the left and ducked behind a burned-out car as the smoke blew across the ground, blotting their view, and mine. Keeping low, I skirted around to the front of the ancient vehicle, dashed behind them silently, then charged at one man and launched myself into the air, landing with Wand embedded deep in the guy's skull. I yanked Wand free with magical assistance, a sick sucking noise like slurping thick milkshake through a straw totally grossing me out.
The other man turned and slammed his staff into my side, knocking me back. I stumbled on a rock and landed hard on my arse, backpack cushioning my fall somewhat, although the box jabbing into my back ruined that as a move I'd like to repeat.
He slammed down two-handed with the staff, sigils flaring, the end crackling with volatile magic, but I rolled aside and kicked him in the kneecap as I did so. No bone broke, but it hurt him just the same, and he collapsed as I scrambled to my feet. Our roles reversed, I booted aside his dropped staff and readied to deliver a death blow.
As Wand powered up and beautiful magic engorged my system, he did something unexpected. He began to cry. Not great wracking sobs, but gentle tears that streaked his cheeks and beaded in his unruly beard.
A stain spread at his crotch.
"You dare cry? You dare be afraid and piss your pants after what you did here?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't kill me."
I killed him. Nothing worse than a whiner.
Energy spent, I slumped to the earth and sat there, despairing of just about everything in the world, but mostly the people who inhabited it.
I was beginning to hate Africa all over again.
The Dust Settles
After five minutes to catch my breath and wallow in self pity, I clambered awkwardly to my feet and shuffled about, unsure what to do, where to look, or if I should just close my eyes and wander about blindly. It couldn't be any worse than how things had been going already.
How to leave this place? How would I ever get home with so many people out to get me and what I had? Surely these guys had a vehicle? They must have, so where was it?
As if taking pity on me, the wind died down and the smoke cleared. I saw the true extent of the carnage wrought, which was no good thing, but at least I could investigate and find their vehicle. It didn't take long, and it didn't bode well. Their ineptitude had been complete, and the fools had managed to burn not only every other vehicle, including the one they'd stolen from me, but their own too. Guess they hadn't been expecting the wind, and it had blown the fires in all directions, leaving nothing but a burned out hire car that would have been nice and comfortable. It still had the sticker on the windscreen, a strange reminder of the modern world amid the battered vehicles dotted around the village.
Feeling the worst kind of nasty, I nonetheless scoured the village for anything of use, finding a big fat zero for my troubles, coming away with nothing but burned fingers and a soul-crushing sadness after witnessing so much needless, pointless death. In the end the stench of burned human flesh was what drove me back into the desert, that, and the need to punish myself maybe.
After all, this may have been Zewedu's doing, but I was to blame too. They were after me, after what I had, and I could have left it where I found it, let some other poor sap deal with the power the artifact contained. But I couldn't, could I? Because if these dark wizards got their hands on it it would be armageddon, and no, I'm not exaggerating.
To be purged of it all was my wish, but I had done too many bad things in my time to dare imagine my wish would become a reality. I would merely have to suffer and do what I always did. Grumble, but get on with it, and emerge victorious one way or another. Or if not victorious, then alive, which is always a good deal.
So I returned to the desert, knowing I had a long journey ahead of me, the longest journey of my life.
Seriously?
By day three of my travels after leaving the massacred village I was out of food, almost out of water, and sure as shit out of luck. Semi-delirious, smothered in sunscreen that was almost finished, and unable to walk another step, I sank to my knees in soft sand and looked to the sky for help, or inspiration, or maybe for a hungry bird to come peck out my eyes.
All I saw was blue. Flecks floated in my eyes, making it appear as though things were falling from the heavens. And then there came a sound from up above, as if these floaters had taken on form and were raining down on me. I knelt there, looking skyward, unmoving as a huge lump of mangled metal landed not three feet away. The impact sent sand billowing, and yet I remained motionless for I was unsure if this was real or a waking dream. It had to be a dream, lumps of metal didn't fall in the middle of the desert, did they?
When the dust settled, I stared at the deep crater and the globe of metal the size of a football that nestled in the ground like an oversized robot's egg.
"Just fucking great," I mumbled, before a tearing sound split the sky and it truly began to rain in the desert.
Not nice rain that you jump about in and stick out your tongue and taste that sweet, life-giving nectar, but a rain of death. Of metal and plastic and bodies and bits of things you have no name for.
The sky was ablaze now, as comets streaked then thudded to the ground all around me. Sand exploded high into the air as pieces of airplane shattered or buried deep and hissed.
With a sonic boom, a huge section of the rear of a small plane landed not far away; the tail fin stuck up like a beached whale.
Numb inside, I dodged the pieces of burning metal and walked to the large cylinder. Inside were several people still strapped to their seats, all were dead.
God forgive me, but I thanked my lucky stars as I took bottles of water from the pockets in the seats and snacks from their hands, and then I left, enough sustenance to keep me going for several more days.
Sometimes the desert is a funny place, but mostly not. All it holds is death, all it does is take, yet this day it gave back, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or a very bad thing.
Things Get Dicey
I became lost to myself over subsequent days. No longer The Hat, no longer Arthur, no longer a wizard. No longer even a man.
What I became was nothing but heat, thirst, and hunger. A machine that continued, somehow, to put one foot in front of the other and slowly make its way back to civilization. There were no thoughts any longer, no memories good or bad, just pain and suffering that became so overwhelming it lost all meaning.
Had there ever been anything but this feeling? This all-encompassing discomfort that burrowed so deep into my flesh, my bones, my insides, that the lines blurred between pain and ecstasy? Hurt became so entrenched that it was a part of me now. My throat was raw and dry no matter that I still sipped occasionally on drops of warm water. My hunger was insatiable even though I chewed dried meat in tiny mouthfuls that left me constantly ravenous but stopped me dying.
My lips bled intermittently, blisters formed at the corners and pus congealed in my beard, the taste venomous. My skin burned and peeled until finally it must have grown dark and the incessant itching subsided, but my arms refused to tan properly and simply peeled to reveal raw, fresh flesh that burned all over again then repeated the cycle.
My boots held up well, but even so sand became a constant source of irritation. No matter how tight I tied the laces, or how often I tucked in my trousers, sand got everywhere. The rawness made every step an experiment in pain. Blisters popped, seeping milky, sometimes green liquid that crusted around my toes, sticking my socks to my feet. Every day when I stopped during the hottest hours and removed my boots I got deep knots of dread in my stomach before I tore my socks free, the skin along with them.
The smell was nauseating. My feet were rotting from my own bodily fluids, the stench of sweat combined with blood and pus so vomit-inducing that it made me purge.
Yet I thought little of it in the end, as this was what life was like in the desert and I was no longer a man, just this thing that walked and carried pain around with it like an old friend.
On and on it went, interminable suffering, until I was utterly empty inside. The worse it got, the more I walked, refusing to even stop during the worst of the day. Sometimes I found a few sticks and lit a fire at night and huddled beside it, dropping off into sleep consumed by nightmares. More often I simply fell, exhausted, and slept until I awoke then clambered to my feet and continued my journey.
Was there a point to this? Where was I going, and why? I refused to think about such things, merely walked, not hoping to reach my destination, not wishing to remain in the desert.
Just walking.
Days blurred until they had no meaning. I grew thin and wiry, stringy like a desert rabbit, until my trousers were loose and I reached the last notch on my belt.
For some reason I still carried a small spade. It was a constant annoyance yet I refused to leave it behind, something telling me I would need it one day, if only to dig myself a shallow grave I could climb into and finally be at peace, at rest.
