“Never seen one like that before,” Granny said, her eyes staring off into the distance. “No, that’s not entirely true,” she added. “A long, long time ago I think I saw one somewhere in a distant land . . . Now, what the blazes was it? A Noble’s grave?”
D gave a small but firm shake of his head.
“Well, isn’t someone gonna say a prayer for him?” Granny asked with her hands on her hips. “I’m not really good at that myself. Didn’t even say one when my husband died. Too gloomy for me. Would somebody else do it?”
“What’s it matter?” Clay said, shrugging his shoulders. And then, staring intently at the grave, he added, “The dolt. Went and died before we could have another rematch. You know, five minutes after we leave, no one will even know this is here,” he said, spitting in disgust.
Looking at D, Granny said, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance a dhampir would know a prayer for a funeral either. So, what are we to do?”
“I’ll do it,” Tae offered.
“Oh, my—I nearly forgot the most important person. That’ll be fine. He sure was devoted to you. That’d be the best memorial he could ever hope for,” Granny said, and her tone made it clear her heart was in those words.
In truth, they would’ve been better off sticking to D’s earlier plan and leaving immediately. Their first consideration was making it to the edge of the desert as soon as possible, but not one of them mentioned that. D had carried Lance’s body from the wagon, and Clay had dug the hole. While they worked, Tae and Granny kept their eyes on the men every second, as if it was the least they could do.
Taking a few steps closer to the grave marker, Tae wrapped her arms around her own shoulders. Her voice was somewhat indistinct.
.
We hereby commit our beloved
Into the eternal rest of Thy kingdom,
Into the dreams of Thy gentle arms . . .
.
The verse broke there. Tae squinted her eyes as she tried to remember. Her frail body shook, but no words came out.
“I’ve forgotten how it goes,” Tae said in a hoarse voice. “It’s funny. I used to say my prayers every morning without fail when I was back in the Nobles’ castle. I wonder why I can’t remember it now.”
Something glittered on its way down the girl’s cheek. Before it had reached her jaw, D’s rusty voice continued her prayer.
.
Neither great nor small are we;
Off into the distance we go, only to be born again,
And thus are we called the far wanderers . . .
.
Shifting her line of sight, Tae saw the Vampire Hunter through hazy eyes.
No one moved.
The wind and the moonlight alone flowed around them, disturbing the surface of the sandy mound ever so slightly. Sand coursed smoothly down the slopes. Suddenly, the flow of sand became heavier, and various shapes began to rise from the otherwise flat surface.
.
Though we wander the earth seeking Thee,
No answers are we given,
Naught but shadows do we see in this troubled world . . .
.
Behind the stationary figures, other forms moved. Like ghosts walking across the bottom of a lake, they swayed to and fro as they approached. Whether the group noticed them or not was unclear. D didn’t move. Clay and Granny both kept their positions by the grave. The wind blew a bit of sand from the shoulders of those drawing ever nearer.
D’s voice remained as soft as ever.
.
Yet we know not fear;
The words of silence are known to us,
And as we see the unseen,
We are Thee and Thou art us.
This far wanderer we now commit to Thee.
.
The moonlight became a blade that danced out. The sand men who challenged D broke apart, each being cleanly bisected, while the others collapsed before a melody strummed beneath the crescent moon.
Silence descended.
“Well, that didn’t take them all of thirty seconds!” Granny said as she pushed Tae toward the wagon.
D turned around. Clay did, too.
New figures were being born of the sands.
“This is crazy!” Clay exclaimed in a voice that choked with fear for the first time. The warrior’s self-confidence had crumbled; he realized that these new figures were actually just revived versions of the sand men they had just defeated.
Shapes flowed from the sand like water, encircling the party.
“So, the desert is evolving, too,” D muttered.
“Time for fun. I’ll blast every stinking one of them to smith-ereens!” Clay shouted, all five of his fingers tugging at the instrument’s strings.
“D, someone’s coming!” Granny called out as she sat in the driver’s seat with one arm extended.
“Bro!” Clay shouted, but he seemed surprised by something as he froze.
Following the younger Bullow’s lead, the sand men also watched the rider approaching from beyond the dunes. There was no telling where he’d been or what he’d been doing, but the sleeping man that swayed there on the back of his horse was the very same Bingo as always. Perhaps his outlandish appearance fright-ened the desert, because the sand men froze in their tracks. But soon enough, several of them headed toward this new foe.
“Damn! Get in the wagon!” Clay shouted. “You’ll be wiped out!”
Not understanding what that was supposed to mean, but goaded by the urgency with which he’d bellowed it, Granny and Tae dove into the wagon.
“Shit! It’s too late now,” Clay clucked, waving both hands at his older brother. “Stop, Bingo! It’s me!”
Whether or not the older Bullow heard him was unclear, but a second later, spheres that sparkled like foam on the water issued from Bingo’s mouth. While they may have resembled soap bubbles, the effect they had was beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings. The bubbles shattered right in front of the sand men shambling toward him. For a short time there was no change at all in the sand men, but seconds later their bodies began to look incredibly blurry, and then they were suddenly gone.
At that moment, D had the weirdest sensation. Somehow, it felt like the moment one awakens from a dream.
Once more, the group stood squarely in the middle of silence.
“Hey, bro . . .” Clay said, his tone as muddled as if he’d just woken up.
Not replying to the cry from his younger brother right away, Bingo was swaying back and forth in the saddle, but his face suddenly jerked up. Looking and sounding refreshed, he said, “So, you’re still with them?” And as he stared in D’s direction, his eyes were once again filled with the lethargy of the bizarre sleeper.
When Bingo asked if his brother was still with them, it was probably just another way of saying, “Why haven’t you killed the Hunter yet?” Judging by the way Clay grew pale, his brother was reproaching him.
Turning his vacant gaze to D, Bingo said, “Seems you folks have been looking after my brother.”
D was silent. His longsword remained in its sheath. Perhaps he assumed no enemies would be coming because Bingo had destroyed them all.
“Suppose I could join your merry band?” Bingo said, his face aimed at the ground as he gave a light kick to his horse’s flanks. It looked like something a drunk would do. The mount staggered over to the group. Even the sleeper’s horse had a funny gait.
“Another unwelcome guest,” Granny snorted. At some point, she’d poked her head out over the driver’s seat. “Haven’t lost your food and water, have you? Because we don’t have any to spare.”
“My brother don’t need food or water,” Clay said with a smirk. “He gets them someplace else.”
“That’s just fine, then. At any rate, what do we do now, D?” asked Granny. “It looks to me like this blasted desert is even stronger than before. At this rate, we’ll never get of here.”
“We’ll finish it off,” D said succinctly.
“How?”
“And how was that?”
“The day will break soon,” D said as he looked to the sky in what seemed to be the east. “Until it does, we’ll head back to the southwest.”
“Southwest?” Granny asked, her head cocked to one side. But her eyes soon went wide. “You mean toward that cloud of dust . . . that sandstorm? Tell me you’re joking because—”
Before the crone could finish saying there was no way in hell she’d be following suit, Bingo stopped her. “Right on the money,” he said in a tone as vast as the universe.
“Did you see it?” D asked.
“You bet,” the elder Bullow replied. “And we ought to put this thing down real quick.”
Straddling his horse, D said, “Let’s go.”
“You’re a lost cause, you know that? Never listen to a thing anyone says,” Granny muttered. “Remind me of my husband. In the end, he took off one day and never did come back.”
“Did you try to stop him?” asked D.
“Nope,” the old woman replied, slowly shaking her head from side to side as she jerked on the reins.
A few glances fell on the sandy grave—from D, Clay, and the old woman. Right before they disappeared beyond the dunes, the pale blossom of a face peered sadly from the back window of the covered wagon. And then a wind from nowhere in particular carried a cloud of sand that covered the tiny cross and made the deceased a permanent resident of the desert.
.
III
.
The light of dawn revealed a high wall of sand that extended thousands of feet into the heavens. Back on the ground, D halted his horse when a spray of grains began to strike his cheeks. The sandstorm was less than a mile away.
“Wait here,” the Hunter said as he turned his back on the party.
“I wasn’t about to go into that thing,” Granny said, a gloomy look in her eyes as she sat in the driver’s seat. “Don’t know what you’ll find there, but I’m sure you’ll probably be back safe and sound, right?”
“Wait twelve hours. If I don’t come back, use one of your sand paintings to erase the sandstorm. You can do that, can’t you?”
Granny looked at D for a second with apparent surprise, and then quickly pursed her lips as if angry. “Sure, and wipe you right out with it.” No sooner had she spoken than she grew pale and added, “But you’d better come back. Without you, I don’t know how we’d ever get out of this place. If you think it’s getting too dangerous, remind yourself you have a duty to protect a weak old woman and a girl and turn yourself right around. We’re still counting on you.”
“They’ll protect you,” D said, looking back at the warrior brothers.
The sight of the two grown men straddling a single horse surpassed amusing and went right into disturbing. There was nothing else they could do, however, as Granny refused to let Clay sit up front with her—mainly because she didn’t want him anywhere near Tae.
“But what’s inside the sandstorm?”
“I don’t know,” D replied.
“You don’t know, but you’re going there anyway? Guess us mere mortals just can’t figure what goes through a dhampir’s mind.”
“When we were going to cut through it before, Tae led us off to the forest,” D said as he turned toward the sandstorm.
“You know, you’re right,” Granny said.
“Most likely, it didn’t want us going in there.”
“Why not?” asked the old woman.
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
Without any words of parting, D advanced into the wind on his horse. After the Hunter had gone fifteen or twenty feet, Bingo came chasing after him and pulled up on his right side—apparently he’d left Clay behind. Considering which hand D used to wield his weapon, the warrior could’ve easily been cut down there and he’d have no one to blame but himself. Was it merely carelessness on his part, or was he confident he wouldn’t suffer that fate? And just what was that bizarre talent for disintegrating things he’d displayed the night before?
Bingo hadn’t mentioned that he’d be accompanying the Hunter, nor did he even look at D. While they rode along with a scant three feet between them, neither of them seemed to take any notice of the other. In no time at all, a golden veil of sand and dust shut them in. The sun vanished. It was impossible to see more than a yard ahead of them with the naked eye. Yet through that storm the pair of riders silently advanced.
“My kid brother told me what happened,” Bingo said in a sleepy tone. “Seems you saved his life twice now. I’d like to thank you for that.”
D said nothing.
“It was the desert that was out to get us, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” D said in a rare response. “How did you know?”
“I saw it in a dream,” Bingo replied, his voice clearly audible despite the whipping winds. “In my dreams, I saw the desert’s dreams. You know, that’s where our true intentions come out.”
“How about my dreams?” the Hunter asked.
“I’ll have to pass on yours. I don’t exactly feel like going crazy at my age.”
Just what did the elder Bullow mean by that?
“Doesn’t seem like anything’s lying in wait for us,” Bingo said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t bothered by the lack of reaction from D. “And after we took the trouble of riding all this way. I wonder if the desert might’ve changed its mind? Or does it just know what lies ahead for us?” Bingo said, but the howls of the wind scrubbed away his words.
The two riders then kept silent and let the snarling wind tear at the edges of their clothes as they advanced through the golden dust. And then, before they knew it, a shape darker than the hue of the sands came into view up ahead. Neither of the men seemed bothered by it as they advanced.
The wind sideswiping them seemed to strip away the very same yellow curtain it had raised, as desolate ruins stretched all around the riders. And what a wealth of structures this place boasted—even in the midst of a wicked sandstorm. There were vast streets and intricately carved columns. The scattered remains of mysterious machines—parts of some gigantic mechanism perhaps—stretched on forever, fading into the far reaches of the cloud of dust.
Taking a paved road neither end of which they could see, they crossed a bridge that was on the verge of collapsing. At some point, Bingo let his horse fall a length behind D’s. The elder Bullow probably realized which of them knew where he was going.
After traveling down a corridor laced with a spider web of cracks, they suddenly came to a magnificent valley. This land where merciless dust clouds ran wild now opened a gaping maw, and from what appeared to be the bottomless darkness a resilient object that looked like a conglomeration of massive crystals stretched to the heavens. The girth of the various crystals only increased as they stretched higher. The strange disproportion of these objects indelibly stamped both the purpose and consequences of their creation in what could only be described with a single adjective—disturbing.
From the depths of the earth there spilled a pale light. It was alive.
At the edge of the earth, D gazed in silence at the crystalline mountain. Whatever sort of thoughts D had as he looked out at the scene couldn’t be read in his elegant features.
“Is that it?” Bingo called out from ten feet behind the Hunter.
“You said you saw it in a dream—was this it?”
“Yep.” His reply was gummy with sleep and fatigue. “It had some crazy idea about combining humans and Nobility, of all things. Even after the research center here fell into ruin, the machines kept going, and they let the things they made run loose in the desert. Can’t say I blame the thing for wanting to get smarter.”
Almost as if in response to Bingo’s explanation, the light in the depths of the earth grew stronger.
Long before, forbidden experiments had been conducted in the vast region guarded by the sandstorm.
Regardless of what the results might’ve been, time marched on cruelly, and unbeknownst to anyone the abandoned machinery produced a child beyond anything they could have intended.
What did D think of the desert having a will, or the reason it sought to evolve even further? His gorgeous visage clouded darkly from the incessantly blowing sand and glowed mysteriously with the light rising from deep in the earth.
“What now?” asked Bingo.
Saying nothing, D got off his horse. In his left hand he carried a rolled-up blanket. The wind echoed through the heavens. Taking a knife from his pocket, he bent over and began digging up the ground.
The actions that followed were most likely beyond the com-prehension of Bingo, who watched the Hunter from behind. But then, in this condition there was really no telling whether Bingo was awake or asleep, and perhaps the daydreaming warrior never had any intention of watching D at all.
Once he’d dug up enough earth to fill both arms, D opened the blanket. A bundle of thick, twisted branches spilled out—no doubt procured back in the moving forest. Taking two of the logs in hand, D rubbed them together lightly until they produced flames. Throwing them down on the dirt and adding the remaining wood, D then held his left hand up to the flames. The knife in his right hand flashed across the opposite wrist. Fresh blood gushed out like a torrent, falling on the flames and the dark earth so that a strange black smoke billowed from them.
“Is that enough?” D asked.
“I suppose that will do,” a hoarse voice somewhere around D’s left wrist replied.
That same hand rose high into the air. And as soon as it did, a howling wind twisted all around the young man in black. Sand and dust dancing wildly, the smoke and flames stretched long and thin and perilously close to snapping. Then, finally, they did snap right off. The flames flowed into a single stream of a color that defied description. The palm of D’s outstretched left hand swallowed the stream—not only the flames, but the earth that’d tasted his blood, as well.
Pilgrimage of the Sacred and the Profane Page 15
