Against the Fading of the Light (Action of Purpose, 3)

by Stu Jones

  A strongly built man with blue face paint and a braided ponytail approached up the hillside to the edge of the group. “Her?”

  “Yeah, she’s a woman! Good-looking too.”

  The man named Saxon made his way to the center of the small crowd of dirty, jeering thugs.

  “What do you think, Saxon? She killed a bunch of our guys. Can we fuck her? Teach her a lesson?”

  “Yeah, all of us get to do her,” another thug said eagerly as he stooped and greedily groped at her breasts.

  Ari’s eyes grew wild with fear as she groaned and pulled against the men, shouting in her thick accent. “I’ll kill you!”

  “Oh yeah, I like ’em with some fight in ’em!” the bandit oozed to the laughs of his fellows.

  “Now wait just a second.” Saxon turned and spoke to Ari. “First, you tell me who you are.”

  Ari replied in Hebrew, “Hashem is my stronghold and my deliverer!”

  Saxon chuffed. “I’d know that filthy Hebrew speak anywhere. She’s Jewish.”

  Ari pulled hard against her captors again, straining with the effort.

  “And by the looks of it, I’d say she’s Israeli. Too defiant and well trained to be an American Jew.” Saxon knelt close to Ari, his dark ponytail drifting across his shoulder. “I was raised as a Muslim.”

  Ari curled her lip in anger.

  Saxon gestured casually. “The Muslim faith and all that ‘Allah is great’ nonsense didn’t really take with me. But my parents’ boundless hatred of the Jews did—to this day I can’t stand a fucking Jew.”

  Ari spat at Saxon. Saxon laughed. “I would expect no different response from a Jew bitch.”

  Saxon turned to the men. “I agree, gents. We need to break this little vixen. Put her back in her place. Reestablish the natural order of things. And one of the best ways to do that is to give everybody a turn with her and then bleed her dry.” The men erupted into slur-filled screams of excitement as they threw their hands in the air.

  A pall of despair lay down upon Ari, her fate at the hands of these filthy barbarians now all too clear. The thought of the coming assault soaked into her and made her cold inside. Cold and dead—which was what she’d rather be than have to endure it.

  “But first…” Saxon continued as he silenced the group. “First, she sees Malak. He won’t want to miss this one. And after that, we will do with her as we wish.”

  More cheers, as they hoisted her up and began to carry her back toward the road, their filthy hands never missing an opportunity to grope and molest her as they went. Ari closed her eyes and tried to hold back the approaching tidal wave of panic. Panic never helped anything. It only served to get you dead quicker. She started combat breathing to slow the hammering of her heart, to clear the oppressive distractions swarming through her mind. She had to get free. That was the only acceptable option.

  Arriving back at the place where the others had been murdered, Ari was thrown to the ground and cruelly kicked several times before one of the bandits put his foot between her shoulder blades, pressing her flat.

  “Don’t even think about moving, woman,” he said from above her.

  Saxon disappeared around the corner for a few moments, and when he returned, a massively muscular, bald man accompanied him. The goons suddenly hushed in reverence in the presence of this man, who was quite obviously their leader. He stepped forward and folded his arms across his chest, silently surveying Ari as she lay prostrate, facedown on the ground.

  “What do you want?” Ari managed.

  “You are a Jew?” Malak growled.

  “What of it?”

  Malak stepped a few paces away and kicked something toward her. “Do you know this one?”

  Ari clenched her teeth at the sight of her brother’s severed head as it rolled toward her, his glassy, dead eyes staring lifelessly up at her, the unmistakable hole from the round she had fired in the center of his forehead. “No,” she said and looked away.

  “He was a Jew. You’re sure you don’t know him?”

  “I’m sure,” Ari mumbled.

  “I don’t believe you. So you’re going to watch what happens next.”

  Several men dropped down onto her and pulled her hair, forcing her to look forward. Some bandits were bringing out a bunch of wooden planks nailed together in the shape of a star—the Star of David. Ari watched in horror as her brother’s body was lashed to the star and then hoisted so that he hung attached to it, upside down, his corpse still draining blood from the neck.

  Ari gasped and wrenched her arms against her captors. “You… You’re a monster!”

  “Yes, I am.” Malak grinned with sinister intent, a darkness festering beneath his skin. “Raise up the others.”

  Ari watched as several wooden crosses were raised next to her brother; the poor people who hung nailed to them were still alive. The final touch came when Saxon spray-painted a message on the barrier wall below them: “This is what happens to the followers of God.”

  Some of the bandits around her laughed; others clapped and whistled. Ari thought she might throw up. Malak approached her again.

  “Renounce God, and you’ll be spared.”

  The fierce Israeli woman bared her teeth.

  “You will be taught a painful lesson for resisting us, for killing my men, and for stupidly clinging to your belief in God. Your final moments on this earth will not slip quickly away. They will drone on and on until the pain is so great that you will beg us for death. This is your last chance. Renounce your God and join me or face the consequences of believing what you believe.”

  Ari continued to say nothing, her eyes drifting off to land on two small, dust-covered children who seemed so strangely out of place amid the murder and terror. They cried quietly as they sat chained to the flat bed of one of the bandits’ trucks, their eyes cast down like beaten dogs. Ari gnashed her teeth and shook her head.

  Malak sighed. “Just as stubborn as those fucking Christians. Have it your way.” He turned and looked to one of the drivers. “How far to Arizona?”

  “It’s still several days’ travel, boss, at least.”

  “It’s getting late, and we’ve wasted enough time on this entertaining but fruitless little exercise. Where’s Shank?”

  A mush-faced troll of a man shuffled to the front of the crowd. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Shank, you have not disappointed me before. Pick four men to help you deal with this woman. Then take a vehicle and catch back up with us on the interstate. We shouldn’t be that far ahead of you.”

  “What do you want done, my lord?” Shank slurred.

  “Spare her no pain and humiliation. You’re a creative professional; make good use of her and then hang her next to the other one.”

  Shank giggled like an adolescent. “Yes, Lord.”

  Shank quickly called forward the men he wanted to help him, causing the others to grumble at having to miss the festivities.

  “Back to the vehicles!” Saxon yelled as the men quickly dispersed behind Malak. Saxon turned and smiled hatefully at Ari. He stooped low and drew close, salivating in her ear. “I’m sorry I’m going to miss out on this one, darling. I’d really love to ruin you further, but I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied with cutting your baby brother’s head off.”

  “You don’t know anything—”

  “Yeah, I do. I do, actually. He told me everything. Spilled his guts like a fucking Jew coward.”

  Ari shook her head, her eyes far away as she drowned in toxic pain.

  “He was sure you’d come for him in the end.” Saxon smirked. “He was so sure. The poor bastard screamed your name. He begged for you to save him as I opened the flesh of his neck with my blade—”

  Ari erupted, shaking, a storm of fire billowing deep behind her dark eyes as she spat the words: “Understand this, here and now. I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? You’re just like all the other followers of God who are too weak to stand against us. What you’ll do is hang on your ve
ry own star, right next to the others—that is, once the boys here have had their fun with you.”

  Ari said nothing.

  “Cheers, bitch.” Saxon laughed roughly, stood quickly, and was gone, his ponytail swishing across the hard muscles of his back as he walked briskly toward the vehicles along the highway. Engines roared to life, and tires peeled out, the bandit caravan taking off down the deserted highway.

  Ari burned with uncompromising fury, her face a mask of hate. The men around her were undressing; the concussive sounds of their belt buckles jingling drowned out all else. It was the sound of her doom. She had one chance to live, and her only plan was something desperate and disgusting.

  She waited for the perfect moment; the taillights of the rest of the bandit caravan winked out of sight, signaling that they were at last alone. One of the men, now naked except for his sneakers, stood over her and argued with the others about who got to go first.

  It was in this moment that she did it. With one hard push, Ari evacuated her bladder and bowels into her pants, the unmistakable stench of urine and fecal matter filling the air around them.

  “What the—!” one half-naked bandit yelled.

  “You nasty bitch!” cried another.

  The two holding her down flinched and loosened their grips— providing Ari with the exact moment she was waiting for. She twisted, rolling hard to break free as she deployed the hidden karambit knife from her waistline and locked it open. Lashing out, she cut the Achilles tendon at the ankle of the closest goon, sending him crying and stumbling to the ground. Rolling forward and rising fast, she slashed upward with the clawlike knife, opening another man’s throat in a spray of gore. The thug gurgled, blood and air mixing in his throat as Ari grabbed him and spun, another goon opening fire on them with a revolver. The thudding concussions of the rounds striking meat in front of her only fueled her fury as she groaned and shoved her human shield toward the shooter. Slamming the bodies together, she saw the revolver knock free and slide across the ground. Wasting no time, Ari dumped the body and lashed out, slicing through the man’s femoral artery near the groin and back across his abdomen with the popping sound of his gut bag releasing. She watched as he stumbled away, moaning and clutching his intestines in terror before crashing to the ground. With two steps and a final lunge, she drove her blade through the eye socket of the first man she had wounded, causing immediate brain death. She tossed his lifeless body to the ground and turned.

  Shank took a step back and pulled two eight-inch Japanese tanto knives from his belt. “You are adept with the knife. That’s good. That’s real good. I’ve been waitin’ to test myself against someone like you.”

  Ari said nothing as she circled him, swinging the karambit to the outside of her hand and back to her palm, regripping the blade.

  “That was impressive. An’ I gotta say, shitting your pants to get us to back off was pure genius—fuckin’ gross, but genius,” the man slurred, his face unnaturally puffy in the low light.

  “Shut your mouth and make your move, dead man,” Ari hissed.

  “Heh, you’re cute when you’re angry.” The ugly man spat. “I’m gonna cut your pretty head off just like all the others.” He winked at her. “Don’t worry, sugarplum. I’ll keep it as a souvenir.”

  With a swift movement that belied his stumpy, troll-like form, the ugly man lunged at her. Only her lightning-fast reflexes spared her a fatal thrust of his tanto to her chest. She felt the blade snag her clothing as she turned and lashed out. But Shank came up quick and met her blade with his, sparks briefly illuminating the darkness. Again and again, they went back and forth, slashing, dodging, and parrying. Ari swiped low, but Shank evaded and punched her solidly across the jaw, her world spinning with stars and night. He came in fast as Ari deflected the thrust of his blade and hammered him with a powerful A-frame kick to the groin. Shank stumbled back, groaning and clutching his stomach. Ari could tell he was losing steam. She watched closely; the man’s labored breathing increased significantly as he moved. With a cry and a lunge, he came for her again in the darkness, and with a brilliantly timed check-parry-pass movement, she ducked beneath his attack and sliced deep into the brachial artery of his arm with her blade. Shank cried out and tried to retreat, but she was too fast, centering behind him with four deep strikes from her karambit to his liver. The bandit groaned, spittle and blood hanging from his swollen lips as his knees buckled. Ari grabbed him under the chin and dropped with him to her knees, pulling his weakened body against her.

  “You don’t have a clue what you’re doin’,” Shank wheezed in defiance. “Malak ain’t gonna let this slide, you stinking bitch.”

  Ari fumed menacingly into the ear of her dying foe. “You and Malak, that blue-faced piece of shit, and all the rest of these ignorant pigs have failed to realize something of vital importance here.” Her accented words sliced as deep as the blade she wielded.

  “Yeah? And what’s that—? Gak!”

  Ari silenced the puffy-faced man as she drove her blade deep into the base of his skull and twisted.

  She took a deep breath and then let it out very slowly. As Shank’s hot blood quickly soaked through her clothes, a steely calm settled over her features, and her focus relaxed ever so slightly.

  “You picked the wrong girl for this.”

  9

  QUEENASHANO STOOD ON the edge of the Palo Duro Canyon, looking down into the mists below with an obvious expression of interest.

  A warrior from behind the war chief spoke hesitantly. “The boy is dead, then?”

  Queenashano shook his head slowly. “No.”

  “But it is impossible that he survived—”

  “No,” Queenashano interrupted with authority. “No, it is impossible that he was actually trained by the great Nuk’Chala. It is impossible that he possesses such a noble warrior’s war belt. It is impossible that a boy traveled alone across bandit and cannibal-infested territory to find us here. And it is impossible that such a boy would seriously injure and kill so many of my highly trained warriors without breaking a sweat. But he has done all of this, and some of it I have seen with my own eyes. So, until I see his body for myself on the floor of that canyon, he is alive.”

  No one moved, and no one spoke as the group looked incredulously at their leader.

  “Mia ranu! We have wasted enough time.” Queenashano waved the group on impatiently.

  The journey down through the canyon was a solemn one, each step taken in contemplation, every hand placed against the dark canyon walls with an almost painful thoughtfulness. The gray sky loomed overhead and gave the midday light of the canyon a dimness that rivaled dusk.

  Queenashano quietly led the group of warriors who had volunteered to participate in the boy’s trial, though they would soon find if they were indeed needed at all. Some of the younger warriors, prompted by Neraquassi’s snide remarks, laughed in hushed tones about how ridiculous it was that Queenashano had insisted upon finding the body. There was no possible way the boy had survived a fall several hundred feet to the floor of the canyon, all while fighting a lethal dose of poison. The concept that it was even possible was obscene, and they knew that when they found his mutilated body, they could finally conclude this foolish errand.

  After a long descent, Queenashano stopped, and the rest of the group came to a halt behind him, watching as he crouched and plucked up a few strands of thick, black animal hair from the sand of the dry canyon floor. He took a moment to roll the strands curiously between his fingers as he analyzed the strange hair.

  “Thutseena tsoyaa,” Neraquassi said assuredly.

  “No, my son, it is not wolf hair. We have not seen wolves here in this canyon for many, many cycles.”

  “What then? A coyote? Maybe the trickster watches us even now!” Neraquassi laughed mockingly.

  With animalistic ferocity Queenashano spun and came up hard against Neraquassi, striking him with his palm in the pit of his stomach. Yellow Horse dropped to the ground, gasping for air a
nd digging his fingers into the sand beneath him. Queenashano yanked the young warrior’s hair back as the others looked on with mute interest.

  “Do you think it’s funny to speak of the trickster in such a way? Your foolishness will bring about your doom.” He released Neraquassi’s hair with a shove as the young warrior knelt before his father, humiliated. “If you weren’t my own, I would drain your blood on the floor of this canyon. Don’t you ever forget that the role you play in this universe is a very small one. There are forces at work here that are far beyond any of us. To mock them is to mock the turning of the ancient wheel of time. There are spirits that have preordained that this must occur. We are already caught up in the winds of fate like the played pawns of some greater game.”

  Some of the warriors looked on seriously, while others dumbly tried to discern his meaning.

  Insulted and embarrassed Neraquassi stood and angrily wiped his raven hair from his face. “What of it then? That doesn’t have anything to do with the dead boy you’ve become so obsessed with since his arrival!”

  “No?” Queenashano turned calmly so the rest of the group could see the perfect, if shallow, imprint of a body in the sand of the canyon floor ahead of them. The indentation was ever so slight, much less than the crater that would have been left by a body falling hundreds of feet. There was no blood or any other sign other than the footsteps that meandered away into the dim, ruddy canyon ahead. Queenashano pointed upward. “You see, our camp is directly above this place. This is where he fell.”

  The warriors stood rooted in place, some with their mouths hanging open, their eyes traveling up and down as they tried to make sense of the strange set of events.

  “And there, the body of Ito.” Queenashano motioned. “It hangs there where the boy tossed him in.” He pointed to the mangled, bloody arm that hung exposed from a ledge above them. “This is the place.”

  “But…there is nothing! Where has he gone?” Neraquassi managed to say.

  “This is what I have been speaking of, you fool. There are forces at work here that we cannot explain. But there is one thing I am now sure of: that boy is still alive. And I want to know for sure why the spirits protect him still.”