No Name for the Free

by Devin Harbison

  "Em saved you. Not me. Your life is your own, Yemi."

  I can understand why he would think that I saved him because I did not kill him when I could have and maybe should have, but that doesn't matter. Even my mention of Em being the one to save him, which I know is true because she is the only person around capable of stitching up such a wound, doesn't matter, other than to make sure he is thankful to the woman who has kept us both alive, but none of that matters to him when there is a greater reason for why he feels the way he does.

  "No, that is not the way of my people. You have bested me and spared my life. What time I have left in this world I owe to you. I am yours to command."

  I can understand the motivation, the cultural influence of wherever he comes from, but the way he says that I am his to command makes me sick to my stomach, when I'd rather not own another individual or any living being at all. Yet, rather than shut him down or explain how much I hate what he offers, for fear of offending his past when no offense could be worse than me cutting off his arm and almost killing him anyway, I try to respect where Yemi has come from but also demand that he and I move forward from this day as friends.

  "Then I ask that you get off of your knees and stand beside me as my equal. Nobody knows these sands better than you, and I need you if we are to finish this."

  He does not stand yet, but he looks up at me, seriously, like he is ready to rise as he speaks.

  "You truly wish to finish what Gorm started?"

  I know my answer. I have for a long time, but I still have to swallow what little spit is in my throat before I speak, because I now understand what our journey might lead to more than I ever have.

  "Yes, even if it means more of us must die. I am ready to sacrifice my life to succeed."

  As he stands up, he looks angry, so angry I wish he would just sit back down, but, with all his strength, he stands, steady, and sprays little bits of spit as he speaks.

  "Look at me. I have lost my fucking arm, and, in doing so, I have forgotten all of our brothers. Gorm, Abraham, what would they think right now? Why should I be able to stand beside you still?"

  His words hurt, but not because the anger is directed at me. It is anger directed at himself, for his actions, and I hurt because I feel sorry for him, when guilt can shape us all so intensely for better or worse. So, when I respond, I do not say much, when I would prefer this conversation to be over, but I am so blunt there is little he could say to argue with me anymore.

  "Because I am asking you too."

  Yemi looks down at the sand, when his anger becomes sadness and sweaty flesh readies itself for tears, but, faster than they come, he nods and offers me something, in place of his life.

  "Then, I must ask that you take a gift from me, instead. For what you have done."

  He bends down and picks up the shining metal he had dragged through the sand when he was bowing to me, and, once he holds it in front of me, I can see what it is clearly. One of his swords is offered to me, with an explanation.

  "I only need one now, if I can even manage a fight, but you should keep this. We can keep it with Abraham's and Gorm's, like the way we keep their weapons to remember them. I want you to keep mine to remember the fool I am, and that we will keep fighting together no matter what."

  When he calls himself a fool, he laughs, and I manage a chuckle too, and the gesture warms my heart. To keep mementos is important when all we carry with us otherwise is memories, so, as I respond, I feel comfortable enough to make a joke.

  "Thank you, but tell me. Did they bury your arm at least?"

  With a smile on his face, he grabs hold of the bandages, and has something clever to say, quicker than I would have expected.

  "Sadly. I was planning to keep it to hit you over the head with until my brothers buried it."

  The thought is good, but disturbing, when I'd rather not get beat by a loose arm, yet the change in tone between us sets a mood that fills the air, affecting Em too as I look at her smiling through all that has happened. And, now that all is discussed as much as it can be, I move towards the tent's flap and make a request to them both that could not be any simpler.

  "Come."

  I could not step out into the dunes again any slower, but I am no longer so afraid when I do, with Yemi, Em, Yemi's brothers, and the wolves all behind me, and the sight of something so hopeful is enough to get the rest of the men around our poor camp to stand up, even if they thought they would never get up again. And, with their attention, I speak as loud as I can with a simple wish.

  "We must move on."

  If it were not for how tired and broken we all are, what takes thirty minutes would now take ten, as little the camp is set up and as little as we have left, but, as we get ready to set out into the nothingness off in the distance again, I decide not tell them we may run out of water in the next day, and finally accept the dehydration we have barely been keeping at bay just slightly, since so many have died from it already. I think they already know that, and I know that is why I feel the way I do. The searing headache as I look close to the sun, the ache in my bones, I at least hope that it is all just the result of little water, and not something we cannot fight, as far as we have come. What water we have had has been of poor quality, but I find new happiness when I enter Gorm's old tent to retrieve my sword and my canteen, with something beautiful inside of it. The flower I have kept inside all this time has died, frozen over, thawed out just to dry up even more, but it still means so much to me, when it feels like little else has made it all this way, to see that it has stayed. And, as I stare at it, Em has something to say, while she looks even more surprised than I am that the flower has not become dust like so much else.

  "Would you like another one?"

  I only have a few words to offer her before we leave the tent, tear it down, and set off towards whatever may or may not wait for us out there.

  "No. I would like for this one to just stay by my side."

  There are many things I would like to keep by my side. The blades of those who have fallen, those who are still alive, and, as unsure as I am about how long anything or anyone else will last, I take the flower as a sign. I am not exactly sure what that sign might be, but I have plenty of time to give it my own meaning as we set out, while I spend most of the time trying to undo the sleeves from my jacket, so that the heat is not as strong. Eventually, Em grows tired of my efforts, or just can't stand to look at the fool I make of myself and hold back her laughs anymore, and she helps me, so that I am no longer so warm. That only gets better when night comes.

  For the first time, we travel through the dark, shifting and stirring the sand under the moonlight, and, though the desert is as hot as a thousand fires during the day, it is so cold during the night that I wish I still had my sleeves, when there is not a single bit of foliage to stop the wind that rides the dunes like a boat rides the waves. And, only when that thought comes do I think to myself that, maybe, this desert was once an ocean. That gives me greater hope that we will find what we need, when we have gone hours without anyone collapsing, but, while I have the time to think peacefully and look for signs of what might have once been a sea, I decide why the flower is so important to me.

  It is special enough when the stubborn stub has made it so far, without being lost or broken at the stem completely, but there is more to it. If I lose Em, it may be all I have left of her, and, if she loses me, it may be worth keeping. I can only hope she will feel that way, when I would rather not be buried with dozens of flowers. Keep what is mine, and yours, and let my body become one with the earth. While I once said that I wanted a statue on my grave, I now expect that never may be the case, but understand why I felt that way. My entire life, far before Gorm, Yemi, and Abraham likely came together to form the group that we carry on, I wanted to be special.

  I wanted to be loved, appreciated, but, more important than anything else, I wanted to be remembered for who I was. And, if I did none of what I have on this journey to change who I am, an
d who I will be remembered as, a statue would have done enough to satisfy that need. The material would last longer than my lifetime and those of my children, and their children, and those children's children, and into the next civilization as history comes and goes, and is made. I want to be a part of history, and Gorm's journey to become one with history too has helped me find myself. So, I can only hope that, before long, we find fresh water and our destination so that I do not have to become history yet, as much as I might want to one day because, for the time being, my story is not complete, nor is our journey.

  Only when the sun starts to rise behind us again, once the stars in the sky have been replaced by clouds and shades of blue, do we get an understanding of where we are, for the rising sun is still in the direction we walk away from, and, before long, so is something we have been searching for. From the top of the thousandth dune, we can all see light reflecting off of something massive in the distance, out in the sand, different from the way it reflects off of the shards of yellow beneath our feet, and, as massive as it is, I can only assume that it is a pool of liquid. Water would be best, but I would take anything at this point. That same reasoning, or a lack of sanity, also sends some of the men running towards it, and others tumbling down the sand.

  The fall is enough to make many of the men scream as they go down, but they all just get back up and keep running in the end, off towards what we all see. Even one of Yemi's brothers goes, joining the madness, and so it is not long before the rest of us are chasing after, just to keep up and make sure nothing else goes wrong. But, while wasting the energy doing so is bad enough, everything afterwards only gets worse. The closer we get, the easier it is to see the color of the pool, darker than a night sky, and, as a handful of men shovel God-knows-what into their mouths, one of them goes under in a flash. The liquid is as thick and heavy as oil in a lantern, and, as easy as I could see the men choking so quick on the substance that they fall dead into the pit of black, the man was gone so fast that he only could have been dragged under, since he didn't let out any coughs or sounds of choking before. The only sound to fill the air is the snarling of Yemi's wolves. Yet, none of that is enough to alarm the men at the edge of the pool, still filling their mouths with the tar, and, as mad as they have gone at the sight of anything to drink, they barely flinch when what lurks beneath the liquid makes itself visible.

  Only a few seconds pass as whatever it is stirs the surface of the pool while it swims closer to us again, and, when the beast emerges once more to grab the brother that Yemi is trying to rip off of the ground, the creature steals the man and almost takes Yemi's last arm too, before he falls backwards and screams.

  "SCORPION!"

  I have seen ones small enough since we entered the desert, and Yemi had to explain to most of us what they were. Though, I never expected one to be the size of many men. This one is so large that it can grab and lift a man with one pincer in an instant, and drag them under the surface to suffocate, but, even worse, the tail alone, armored stronger than any of us, is about as thick as a curved log but faster than a whip, demonstrated when Yemi barely dodged it as he fell backwards while his brother met some awful demise.

  Yemi is still screaming seconds later, kicking backwards through the sand as one wolf comes to his side, but the rest of us have already pulled out our weapons and readied ourselves as Em and I help Yemi up while some other men pull those still drinking from their trance. The latter efforts are hopeless when those men start choking, coughing up black, and suffocating in the open air as soon as they have been disturbed, but none of us have time to help them, hold them, or even think about their deaths when the beast comes back so quick.

  We have only moved back a few steps, but that is enough for the creature to have to dig through the sand too, not just the pool it calls home. Unfortunately, that is no struggle for it, once it seems to move through the sand faster than the tar, and, before anyone can ready a sword at its face as it emerges from the ground, each claw grabs one man by the legs and tries to drag them back towards the pit faster than we can stop it. Above the surface, the beast is a shade of blue, but still covered in yellow sand and black tar, and, after it impales one of the men trying to stop it with a tail far longer than any of our blades, it and us get covered in red. Because this is not my first time to get covered in blood, I am not so disturbed, nor are the dogs chasing the creature with me, and I manage to slam with my blade hard enough down on the joint where one part of its arm meets another that it loses its grip on the one man, who Em helps up, but it is more than happy to clap its empty claw, still attached, as it scuttles away, slaps one of the wolves away, and then drags another man to his death. The sixth to die already. The one wolf eventually gets up and shakes off the blow, and I let out a command in hope that we can organize ourselves and prevent many more deaths.

  "MOVE AWAY FROM THE PIT! WE WILL HAVE TO FIGHT IT WHEN IT IS ABOVE GROUND!"

  I even think about telling them all to just keep running, but that seems pointless when the beast is fast enough to catch us all and drag us back to the tar, one by one. So, once we are far enough away that we have room to defend ourselves and free any man it grabs before it drags them to a black death, I shout out another command.

  "TURN AND FIGHT!"

  My timing is right enough that the twenty-or-so of us left have more than enough chance to stand tall and be prepared to swing, including the wolves at our side, yet, when the creature emerges from the sand in the middle of all of us, that all goes to shit. Several of us go flying at the sudden burst of force from the ground, including myself, and the rest are blinded by the sand. So, the damn insect or whatever it is gets its pick of whichever man or wolf it wants before any of us can even get close enough to attack, but, when someone finally is, I am barely off of the ground when I hear a shout that is more like a screech.

  Em swings her blade in an arc and catches the scorpion's stinger, where both of them are moving so fast that the she loses the sword once it gets stuck halfway-through its hard shell, and Em, Yemi behind her with his one sword, and the creature get covered in its blue innards. Such a strike is enough for the creature to let go of both men it holds and scuttle back towards the pool, but, before it dives in again, it stops and snaps, while the wolves snap their teeth back. It does so with both of its claws, to show how upset it is, but, when the beast tries to whip its stinger once more, it only causes itself more pain and paints more of the sand with the blue blood.

  Doing so sets Em's sword free, and, like it is tired of the broken weight, the creature puts the tail above its head, close enough that one of its pincers can clamp the wound and, once it has done so, cuts away the broken limb. It leaves it in the sand, and the sight of it makes my stomach flip, only because I once again see Yemi's arm, cut free from his body, in my mind, and, in the time it takes to gather myself, the scorpion has submerged itself again and seems ready to go back on the offensive. Why it felt the need to go back in, when it has no poor souls to drag with it, I do not know, but the beast shows off its new wound proudly as it comes swimming to the edge of the pool once more and digs through the sand.

  It is so close to the surface now that what is left of the stinger rises above, covered in the tar that likely helps hold shut the new scar, and, rather than move at us head on, the scorpion goes off in a random direction, off to our left. Doing so brings it up a dune, only to disappear over the top, and, when we see it again instead of just hearing the sounds it makes while it moves the sand so easily, we all watch as it bursts out of the side of the same dune, into open air, only to dig back into the earth when its legs hit the ground once more, headed right for us. This time, it is low enough in the ground that the only sign of it is the slight stirring of the sand that happens wherever it goes, and, while it digs underneath our group, everyone does something different. I'm far enough away that I am in no danger, but Em and many others dive out of the way before it knocks them off of their feet strong enough to force the air from their lungs, while Yemi an
d a few others stab into the sand to no avail.

  The beast seems to be messing with us as it digs right past, but, rather than curve around like it did previously, it turns underground instantly. And, with how separated I am from everyone else besides one of the wolves, it starts to rush in my direction. The sight sends a couple of others rushing towards me to help, as just as many stand frozen or are still recovering from the last scare it gave us. But, now, I fear there will be no scare. It moves so quick I barely have a chance to blink before it is underneath me, and, for half a breath, the sand stops shifting and only does so when the tip of my blade digs into everything. I only move the metal a few inches into the ground beneath me, but the scorpion forces a million little bits of sand into the sky as it finds a final resting place. No matter how long my blade is, the beast only comes to a full stop when its entire body has moved up every sliver of my blade, and, while I stare face to face with it, I get a good look at its two eyes as black as the tar and a mouth where smaller claws, still large enough to cut through my neck, climb out of what can only be described as a demonic abyss to greet me just as its pincers, now that I sense how both of them are wrapped around my waist.

  Never in my life have I been so close to death, about to be torn in half, and all that keeps me from falling apart anymore mentally is the silence of the scorpion now that my sword has filled that disturbing mouth, and so much more. Thankfully, Em comes screeching again, faster than the blood can leak out through its face, and, as fast as she swung at the creature prior, she has found her sword again, to help her cut off more. She only needs two, good swings to cut off both pincers, and leave them on the ground around my feet, but doing so just covers us both in more of the blue blood, and me even more so as I pull my sword free, get sprayed all over, and find some happiness at what is left of the beast's body.