Nathan Turnbeaugh
Prologue: Matt
One, two, three four, one two three four.
I repeated the mantra silently within my mind out of instinct as it kept my last ounce of
wakefulness from leaving me.
The endless expanse was desolate and draped in a large clot of shade that blotted out even the sun.
One. My foot collided with the soft dunes in a smooth stride, and the sand parted around me.
Two. The wind, or rather the lack thereof, sent chills down my spine and numbed my senses.
Three. The black spots dancing in my vision seemed to guide me to my destination, and the
mirage-like sirens enticed me with promises of endless wealth.
Fou-. It snapped.
With the cycle ending, I awoke from my stupor with newfound clarity, but with my madness
leaving me, the remaining strength had vacated along with it. Panicked, I attempted to grab the emergency transmitter I had socked away in the depths of my jacket, but to no avail. I needed to contact the others, but my energy had already long since been depleted as I stumbled senselessly and crashed into the icy sands.
Chapter One: Vergil
I woke to the blaring calls of the Titanic steam leviathans. Their eerie moans and ghastly songs
echoed through the labyrinth of valves and cheap PVC piping. As my ears adjusted to the sound, I could filter out the noises of rustling textiles, ringing bells, haggling merchants, and wheezing pipes. The ensemble only continued to grow as more and more brokers came to sell their wares. I sat upright and surveyed my chambers.
It had already been a month since the incident and a month since I and the others last contacted each other. Melancholically, I reminisced about the time we had spent together, our long nights filled with dreams and aspirations, and our plan to bring our hopes to fruition. However, ever since Matt, the most innovative of us, went missing, our passion left with him.
Reluctantly, I left the comfort of the various rugs and furs that had become my bed and set off
from the misplaced hole in the town’s walls I called my home and began my treacherous hike to the town hall.
As I closed in on the glowing building, I was greeted by the familiar stoic voice of the chieftain.
“Well, if it isn’t our precious little overseer, Vergil,” He spoke in a sing-song tone. “What street
trash have you brought us today?” He puffed out his chest as if proud of his play on words whilst eyeing the dumpster carefully. He was a white haired man, most likely in his 40s, with a prideful and stocky frame, which I had once put my trust in, but anyone could guess how that turned out.
“Just the usual,” I spat, my voice dripping with malice. “Ungrateful merchant that just can’t help
but stir up trouble, but I’m. “No thanks to you,” I added. The chief turned, veins bulging on his forehead.
“Well, it seems as if our cute little slave has forgotten himself,” He threatened through gritted
teeth. “If you keep disobeying the orders of your savior, I might just lock you up with this rat,” he gestured to the man in the dumpster, who now seemed to be stirring from his drug-induced slumber.
“Well, maybe, if you actually cared about your people slaving away in the streets for a mere
copper, you wouldn’t have to stir up trouble,” I snapped. “Who knows? If you actually solve real
problems instead of making fake ones, you’d be at least somewhat likable.” Stunned, we sat in unnatural silence for a brief moment, but it felt like an eternity as I was sent reeling from the authenticity of my own words. The soft mutterings of the guards broke the silence.
“Treason,” they called from amongst themselves, and the commands of the chieftain broke the fearful hum. “Kill him,” two words, from the strong they were enough to end lives. From the weak, they became no more than a hollow threat. Unsettled by my epiphany, I darted out of the courtyard, ducking between barricades and watchtowers as the chief’s guards slowly began to match my speed. “Do not let him escape!” The chieftain’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers around the town. “Lock that rat in here, and put his head on a pike.”
Great. Now, hundreds, if not thousands, of people would be looking for me, trying to gain the
chieftain’s favor. If only they knew how that turned out. The masses of the chief’s drones began to fan out as they scoured every crevice that I could be hiding in. Instinctually, I skittered up the dilapidated fire escapes that littered the town in hopes of some chance at escape.
I need to find a way out of this cruel prison. I need to find the others. Doing my honest best in this mad world is nowhere near enough to get by. Tearing up the world at its roots would be the only option for someone as out of place as myself.
Suddenly, the icy air around me seemed to freeze up as the town began to shiver, and its lights
were snuffed out. I strained my ears to pick up the remnants of an echo. It sounded like a call, a battle cry, a howl. The winds began to shift, this time opposite to the way they came, as the hulking tempests which littered the wastelands started to converge on a singular point, the town.
Urgently, I scanned the horizon for any signs of movement and spotted a small red dot off in the distance. Squinting now, I attempted to channel my years of experience as a watchdog into my glare. Suddenly, the one red dot turned into five, the five turned into ten, and the ten turned into hundreds of red dots in an armada all heading towards the village, nomads.
Each one was riding atop their wind-powered hoverbike, all painted with sandy tones as they
were ready for war. As they closed in on the town, they bathed the village in their blood-red lights, which seeped through the cracks of the walls. In a fluid motion, the nomads burst up the walls on their bikes as the massive tempest tore through the gates to our wannabe oasis.
The nomadic tribespeople shouted and raved as they tore through the town, but strangely enough, they only pillaged the bare necessities as they left entire homes untouched. However, their deliberate chaos seemed to converge on one point: the chieftain.
“We can’t allow your senseless power brokering to go long any longer,” a nomad declared as her garbs, which protected her from the harsh sands, hid her face.
“That’s big talk from nothing more than a group of vagrants,” The chief spat, but his power had
already become a shadow of what it once was, with all his guards either incapacitated or dead.
“Save the speech for the maker,” The woman drew a polished stake from the bag on her waist and scrutinized it briefly before impaling the chief cleanly in the chest. His scarlet blood began oozing forth as his frame lifelessly fell to the floor. It seeped through the cracks of the patchwork of metal plates and returned to the sands below. Cupping my mouth, I began skittering towards a nearby bike, but I felt something hollow hit my foot. A can. My foot sent it spiraling from the city into the alleys below.
Clack. The nomad’s leader turned to my rooftop. “A witness,” I was being chased again.
I flew from rooftop to rooftop, terrified by the mounds of bodies below. For all their talk about a greater purpose, it sure doesn’t seem like they’re willing to find a solution that doesn’t involve genocide. Once I had arrived at the gate, I searched for any form of transportation, preferably a nomad’s bike.
“Psst.. you,” I heard a whisper off to my left.
I jolted back. “aren’t you a-,”
“None of that matters now, I’m but a dying man,” the nomad croaked raspily, his garb falling over
his eyes. “I can tell you don’t belong here, the same fire we used to have burns in your eyes, like an ember waking from its slumber,”
“What are yo-”
“Take the bike. It’s no use to a cripple. You must scatter.” Gratefully, I mounted his steed, its
engine emitting a soft hum as I guided it toward the village entrance.
“He’s at the entrance!” I heard a nomad shout from somewhere in the mess of dilapidated
buildings. I pressed my foot on the throttle and felt my mount stir from its idle rest. As I began to ride, I could make out the man nodding. He knew. He knew that I had risen from endlessly doubting my efforts, questioning my faith in the world, but I set off knowing that my brothers and sisters all lay out in wait somewhere. All waiting for their flames to be rekindled.
Fin
Art Showcase Club 