by M. T. Miller
“I agree,” he said. “I will take first watch.” As penalty for my shortsightedness.
“I volunteer as your partner,” Tomas said as he dismounted.
I can do it alone, the Nameless thought, despite knowing how wrong it was. Both sides of the Spine needed to be monitored, as well as the surrounding desert. Two semi-alert men was a bare minimum.
“Fine,” he said.
This time, what they set up was less of a camp and more of a perimeter. Five sleeping bags lay arranged near one side of the vertebra, while their mounts were tied to a minor contraption they drilled into the opposite wall. Several pieces of fabric were used to cover the exits and minimize the chance of anyone seeing the fire they made in the center.
“I’m a light sleeper,” Frank said as he slipped into his sleeping bag. “First sign of alert you make, I’m up on my feet.”
“Such a unique skill,” Greg muttered, already zipped-up. “We’re all soldiers here. Well, some are deserters, but point is, we all know what we’re doing.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Frank said.
“And I was talking to you,” Greg said while fighting a yawn.
“Quiet down!” the Nameless snapped. “Rest. I will need you at your best tomorrow.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the two men said in unison. From the look of things, Mark seemed to have already fallen asleep. That, or he didn’t want to argue. Both were acceptable.
The first watch was meant to last two hours. The first passed without a word being spoken. The Nameless alternated between a state of alertness, simply admiring the scenery, and observing things with his unseen eye. As far as he could tell, there was no ambush in sight—either of them.
“Tomas,” he whispered to the other man, who was just returning from a piece of nearby elevation. “I have seen the way you and the others are looking at me. You think that I have lost my mind.”
“No one said that, my Lord,” Tomas said, now standing at the entrance between vertebrae.
“You do not need to,” said the Nameless.
Tomas remained expressionless. “We won’t desert, my Lord. You have my word. Me and the others, we are with you ‘til the end.”
He is avoiding the answer. “I know that. But why?”
Tomas turned to his left, facing the moon. “Simply put, you gave us hope, my Lord.”
“There is always hope,” the Nameless said. It dies last.
“Sure,” Tomas nodded. “But for what? Life, for the sake of living? Surviving ‘til you can’t fight anymore, then dying in battle? Forgive the expression, but fuck that, my Lord!” He looked the Nameless in the eyes. “You offered us a chance at peace; an existence without having to fear the Juicers, the dead, your religious nutjobs…” He pointed toward the camp. “The Skulls. With you, everything seems possible. And all grunts like me need to do is put our noses to the grindstone.”
He speaks of uniting this land, and the peace that may lead to. The Nameless cleared his throat. “Tomas, I should not need to remind you that I have holes in my memory. As far as you know, I am not the man… god who made that promise. Perhaps I cannot deliver on it.”
“Even if that were true, my Lord,” Tomas said, apparently unshaken, “then my work, and the work of men like me becomes all the more important.”
“I am not certain that I follow.”
“To help you execute your plans, my Lord,” Tomas said. “To keep you on the path you put us all on, and to remind you in case you stray.”
The Nameless considered his words. “I will make mistakes, Tomas. People will die.”
“People have died,” said Tomas. “People are dying, and people will die whether you make mistakes or not. I might not live to see the light of tomorrow, my Lord, but you should know that when my time comes, I will leave this world knowing that I have given it my best shot. And if a month, a year, or a decade after that, the world we live in becomes just a little bit better for it, then I won’t consider it a wasted life.”
The Nameless moved aside, letting Tomas pass. He didn’t speak again until his watch was over.
Chapter Twenty-One
Stumbling in the dark, the Nameless felt for the nearest wall. As soon as he touched it, a series of chills went up his spine. Bone was never this rough to the touch.
No!
He rose within an instant, frantically looking around. He was in the cave again, and unlike the Spine, there were no vertebra-spaces for him to escape through.
Not again! His heart rate accelerated in reaction to the inevitable footsteps. They were quick, belonging to someone who clearly knew where they were going. And they kept getting closer.
“What do you want?” the Nameless shouted, his baritone echoing through the cave. He turned toward the footsteps, immediately noticing the lean, dark figure as it approached. This time, it came near enough for him to discern a new detail: unlike the rest of its body, its face was as white as chalk. It resembled an adult porcelain doll.
“No more running!” the Nameless said, clenching both fists. His heart pounded hard enough to give him a heart attack. Each fiber of his being told him not to do what he was about to do. He chose to ignore it.
“We resolve this now!” he roared as he ran toward the figure. He wasn’t aware of it, but he shivered every step of the way.
***
“My Lord!” Mark shouted as he shook the Nameless back into consciousness. He wasn’t alone in the act. The other men struggled around their god’s sleeping bag, each holding him in place as he rocked in his sleep.
“You’ve had a nightmare,” Mark said as he slowly released the Nameless’ tensed-up shoulders. “A bad one, it seems.”
Tomas held the Nameless’ knees together. He said, “Are you back with us, Lord, or do I have to keep squeezing?”
The Nameless blinked several times. It seemed like early morning.
No cave. I am back in the Spine. Good. He resented his conclusion as soon as he came to it. Nothing about his situation was good.
“I am well,” he said coarsely. “You may let go.”
Relieved with no longer having to wrestle with their god, the men obliged. As the Nameless sat himself up, he couldn’t help but ponder the implications of that dream.
I used to have it back in the Circle, he thought. Irrelevant. It would go away, then return, but with one major change: the pursuer kept getting closer.
Frank handed the Nameless some water. He took a sip without looking back.
“Can you continue?” Mark asked. “My Lord, we can still turn back if you’ve changed your mind.”
My mind has changed enough. The Nameless handed Frank his water skin, then rose. “Will we make the appointed time?”
“We will,” Mark said. “But we will have to push our pace, my Lord.”
“Then so it will be,” said the Nameless.
He didn’t speak much after that, and neither did anyone else. They picked up after themselves, led the horses out, and proceeded to ride alongside the Spine’s length. Initially, the Nameless considered moving through it, in the shade, but quickly dismissed the idea as unwise. Easier to spot an ambush like this, as well as escape it.
Hours passed, and judging from the position of the sun, noon was approaching. By the time the Spine’s center was in sight, both the Nameless’ team and their mounts were showing signs of fatigue.
“We’ll be on location in ten minutes, my Lord,” Frank said as he looked through a pair of binoculars. He rode closer to the Nameless, then handed him the item “But it seems we’re alone.”
The Nameless took the binoculars and looked through. Besides having an overabundance of spikes (comparatively longer than the ones before), the so-called center of the Spine was little different from its other parts. What it didn’t have, though, were the Juicers he expected to meet.
“We proceed as planned,” he said. “We look in all directions. I give them six hours. If they do not arrive by then, we leave.”
“Yes, my Lord
,” the men said.
They tied their mounts on a dull spike, in what passed for shade during the sun’s zenith. Greg fed and watered the mounts, while Frank and Tomas spread out, scanning the horizon with their own sets of binoculars.
Mark entered the vertebra, where Greg would join him once he was done with the horses. Meanwhile, the Nameless climbed on top of it from the outside, perching and looking around from elevation.
Half an hour passed. Nothing changed. As tension turned to frustration, so did the Nameless find himself relying more and more on his second sight. Initially, all it did was add vibrance to his surroundings However, after twenty more minutes, he noted a peculiar swirl of color on the far end of the Spine. It was moving at great speed.
“Greg! Mark!” he shouted as he descended from the vertebra. “I think we have contact! Can you confirm?”
“Inside?” Mark’s voice echoed.
“I think so!” the Nameless said as he touched the ground. “It should be far away and nearing from the other end.”
The camp went silent. Over the course of a minute, this absence of sound turned into a rumble of rapid, approaching footsteps.
“Movement confirmed!” Mark shouted, more as a formality than warning. Everyone else was already clutching their bows and double-checking their sabers.
“Stand ready to fire at my command!” said the Nameless as he entered the vertebra. Frank and Tomas stepped in right after him.
“I say we hit them first,” Greg said as he saw the Nameless pull out his speaking horn.
“And I say you do what I tell you,” the Nameless said.
Greg nodded, albeit grudgingly.
“How soon?” asked the Nameless.
“A minute at most until we see them,” Mark said. “They’re charging like lunatics.”
“Which is what they are!” Greg added.
I wonder… The Nameless took a couple of steps forward, then approached the right bone-wall. He touched it with his right hand, his left still holding the bullhorn. It is all the same, he thought as he looked around with his mind’s eye. The same magic-stuff composed everything, including his body and those of his men. However, the five approaching figures differed drastically in hue to what he was used to.
Unlike the usual multicolored magic, or the red of what he touched, the Juicers shined in shades of violet. The one in the middle was particularly vibrant, and glowed brighter than all the others combined. Rush. He dug his fingers into the faith-mass that made up the vertebra he touched, and it gave way as if it were clay. Within a couple seconds, the entire “chamber” was bathed in crimson, at least to his eyes.
The weapons I created were rough. He started by focusing on one bubbling pocket of magic at first, making it form a black six-foot-long spike from the ceiling. Like everything else he made, it was sharp and serrated. Difficult to grasp and break, and impossible to punch or kick without serious injury.
“Lord,” Tomas muttered, “are you doing this?”
“Quiet,” the Nameless said. He now concentrated on forming two spikes from separate sides of the Spine-tunnel. It was easier than the first time. He smiled. Rough, yes. But I did not need hands to sculpt them. He took control of the whole vertebra. When the time came, it would be what he wanted it to be.
“My orders stand,” he said. “Do not fire until ordered to. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my Lord,” the men said, some more eagerly than others.
The Nameless didn’t have the luxury of paying attention to them. If an arrow wound up in his back, he would easily collapse the tunnel, killing everyone but himself. Granted, he would then be left alone with Rush, but that would be a different matter. For the moment, he would do his part and hope things would not come to that.
“Purple Lightning!” he said through the bullhorn he held in his left hand. “Rush! Leader of the Juicers, or whatever it is you call yourself! As per our agreement, I have come to talk! Slow down, and I guarantee that no blood will be spilled today!”
If anything, the five figures accelerated.
Stubborn and unpredictable, he thought. But this time, not in a good way.
“Second warning!” he shouted. “There is no need for anyone to die!”
Rush and her men were now visible to his fleshy eyes as well. The lighting and speed made it impossible to see the details, but from afar she looked about the same he remembered: pallid, violet-haired, and clad in worn leather and fishnets. The rest shared a similar theme, albeit their hair took on different, brighter shades. The Nameless wondered if some of them were members of Contrast’s old gang.
“Final warning!” the Nameless bellowed.
As far as he could tell, Rush responded with a bloodthirsty grin.
Contrary to his orders, Greg fired. His arrow sang as it cut the air, propelled toward Rush’s forehead with perfect accuracy. The way she swayed to evade it was just as graceful, though it did cost her speed.
Excellent work, the Nameless thought. He didn’t plan on it, but Greg’s insubordination made his plan all the easier. With the Juicers some thirty feet away, he animated the wall. Fifty spikes erupted, some in the middle, others on the opposite side of the vertebrate. For a time, Rush and her men were boxed in—at least those who know how to slow down.
“Oh shiiii—“ a Juicer screamed as he slammed headfirst into the freshly made grinder, emerging from the other side as a mixture of viscera and red mist. Two followed in similar fashion, the rightmost spraying the coat of arms on the Nameless’ forearm with wet crimson.
Now for some reinforcement. This time working more slowly, the Nameless formed more spikes from the floor and ceiling, then turned their jagged blades into more spikes. Rush could break them, yes, but she would need time and concentration, neither of which she had.
“Let me out and fight me, motherfucker!” she screamed from inside her newly-made cell. “You’re supposed to be tough, not some cheatin,’ punk-ass pussy!”
“Boss!” the surviving Juicer moaned. The Nameless couldn’t see him fully, but he was clearly in pain. “This shit, I got it in my gut! Like, clear through!”
“So?” she roared back at him. “Does that give ya the right to complain?”
The Nameless spoke before the Juicer did. “I am sorry about your other men, but you were warned. Speak to me now, and I promise to do what I can so this one survives.”
“Oh, goodie,” Rush said. She went over to her injured comrade, stepping around, over, and under the countless spikes in her way. She then grabbed him, rocking his head to the side and breaking his neck before his guts spilled out of from the wound she’d opened. She turned to the Nameless, her eyes burning with fury. “What now, cunt? Anythin’ else you can offer?”
Now that she was no longer far away, the Nameless was finally able to get a good look. It was definitely her, but the differences were almost as pronounced as the similarities. Instead of a side cut, this Rush had a loose, left-hanging Mohawk. Her eyebrows, ears, lower lip, and the side of her nose all bore various piercings. How she kept them in with her skin regrowing was anyone’s guess.
“Calm down,” the Nameless said, both to her and himself. He made the spikes extend just a little bit more. She snarled in response. She killed that man in cold blood, his voice of reason screamed. For the moment, he would ignore it. After all, this was what he came here for.
“Oh, I’ll chill,” she said as her eyes raced maniacally around her cage.
She is looking for a way to escape. The Nameless sighed. He made the spikes close in again, further limiting her movement and in all likelihood butchering the corpse she’d made.
He stared her down. “’I’ll chill after I’ve chilled you’ is what you wanted to say.”
“If you’re so smart and know what I think,” she grumbled, “then what the shit’d you call me here for?”
The veins in the Nameless’ forehead throbbed. It reminded him of the way hers had, right before she exploded. “Do you want to die, Rush? Are you forcing m
y hand? Is that what is happening here?”
“Hand, he says!” Rush broke into a manic laughter. “You didn’t fucking touch me, you pussy! All you do is hide behind your mojo. Pathetic! Dickless!”
Why must you be so stubborn? Was a simple conversation too much to hope for? Apparently yes.
He had planned on starting her off with diplomacy. If circumstances allowed, perhaps he would’ve prodded her state of mind, or the rationale behind her actions. However, given the state of things, the Nameless chose to be direct.
“Let me cut to the point, then,” he said. “Do you remember the world before this one? Do you dream of happiness, Rush? Of a better time, when you and me needed no one but each other?” His throat stiffened, but he would force the words out anyway.
Or he would have tried to, if Rush hadn’t hurled a torn-off piece of spike toward his face. However, her effort was fruitless. Now being effectively part of the Nameless, the vertebra-chamber rose to his defense, erecting a wall from the ground and intercepting the projectile mid-flight. The stare he gave her while the pieces melted back down was a weapon in its own right.
“Hey, had to try,” Rush said. She was grinning, but there was nothing friendly about it. Given the chance, she would do it again in a heartbeat. Several times, most likely.
“I take it you are not going to work with me on this,” he said.
“What’s ‘this?’” she asked. “No, fuckface, I’ve got no freakin’ idea what you’re talkin’ bout, and yes, I’m not liftin’ a finger to help you do a goddamn thing!” She flipped him off. “’Cept this one, but that’s different ‘cuz I wanted to do it. Now suck it, shithead! Suck it hard!”
Her mind is in shambles, the Nameless concluded. Was this the final stage of Rush’s drug addiction, or merely an extreme version of what she could have become? Regardless, and despite the similarity, this was not the woman he loved.
“My Lord,” Mark said. “Don’t you think it’s about time?”
“For what?” the Nameless asked. He knew the answer, but wanted to hear it.
“For the execution,” Mark said. The others repeated the word one by one, as if chanting. “This was the plan all along, right?”
