Chapter II: The Wastes

The Outlander and his new friend set out from Lazarus' Camp to journey to the fabled City of Es Sharam.

Aforemention

-

But, one day, the boy’s friend fell ill. The boy did everything he could to try and help his friend, but no medicine he brought him could cure his disease. He even went as far to ask an alchemist to teach him a way to save his friend. But no amount of sorcery could save his dying friend. He passed away in the night. Not a sound was uttered across the land, as the legends speak.

The trees that used to whisper fell silent and the birds that used to sing hid in their branches. The water that used to rush stopped and the wind paused, if only for a moment. While the agony took a breath, the boy laid his friend’s body to rest. There, it is said his tears filled the lands. His tears flooded and destroyed everything. Some say he still walks this land in constant search for his friend. Some say the rain still falls...

 

Chapter 2: The Wastes

-

The heat returned. Slowly, the light intensified until the cold world of the night was coated in a fury of blistering sunshine. The red heat surged like a fire across the barren landscape as the small, sparse creatures of the night receded into their hovels deep below the ground. As if by some cruel irony, the people of this world took the oppression as a cue to awaken and partake in the day-to-day affairs of sentient life. Why not recede with the night-crawlers?

Nevertheless, the Outlander’s eyes were burned open by the heat. He sat up and looked with blinded vision to the cave where Lazarus had retired the night before. He still hadn’t emerged, had he? The Outlander tried to lift himself onto his own feet, but could not muster the strength to raise his body above his knees. He fell back onto the ground and released a frustrated sigh.

“Let’s not overdo it, shall we?” came a voice from within the cave. “Nikk will be here before long and I don’t want to hand him an injured body. Makes the trek all the more unpleasant.”

What did he mean by injured?

Lazarus came over to the Outlander and threw his right arm over his shoulders and lifted him from the ground and onto his feet. The Outlander wobbled while trying to stand again, but Lazarus held him by the waist to make sure he didn’t fall over.

“Eventually,” Lazarus said with no strain in his voice from holding the frail body, “you’ll need to learn to do this yourself. Can’t be there every time to pick you up when you fall down.”

Suddenly, it clicked in the Outlander’s head that Lazarus wasn’t going to be there anymore. He knew this, but it just struck him like a force in his abdomen.

“Laz…” the Outlander muttered. “When will I…see you…again?”

Lazarus seemed taken back by the comment, but nevertheless responded. “Well, as of now, you know where I live. I don’t suspect that’ll change any time soon. You’re always welcome to visit if you can retrace your steps.”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Lazarus noticed the concern in the boy’s eyes. It wasn’t fear of what was coming but rather a fear of not knowing what was next. A slight smirk slipped onto the right half of Lazarus’ mouth parting his lips revealing a few of his yellowish tinted teeth. Otherwise, his staid expression remained unchanged.

“Look, I understand,” explained Lazarus. “Honestly, I do. I entered these Wastes about twenty-two years ago. I don’t know what brought me here or why, but every day I continue my search to understand my purpose. But, like you, I was scared. I still am. You never know which day out here will be your last. It’s difficult.”

There was a grim look on the Outlander’s face as his head began to fall and his posture began to sulk. Clearly this wasn’t helping the situation.

“But…” uttered the man. The Outlander’s face darted upward. “I keep going. I get up and walk through these Wastes in perpetual search for that purpose. I am afraid, but it’s not whether or not we do fear, but rather how we react to it that serves as a testament to our true character.”

“I don’t understand,” reacted the Outlander.

“You will,” answered Lazarus. Just then, he got up and prepared breakfast.

Hours passed. The two shared in small moments of laughter and optimism. Lazarus taught the young man the fundamentals of function and speech, and slowly the Outlander’s dominant cognitive functions began to return and his vocabulary began to expand exponentially. Lazarus taught him how to eat, speak, and compose himself. Before too long, one could accidentally mistake the Outlander for being an ordinary person. They spent about four hours in the heat until a figure manifested on the horizon. All of the sudden, Lazarus rose and called into the distance.

“Traveler! Of what do you cling to in the dead of night?!” echoed Lazarus into the vast, empty plains.

Faintly, the phantom responded, “A bottle of mead and a fine lass!”

Lazarus let out a chuckle, “That’s Nikk, alright.”

Lazarus signaled to the Outlander to join him in walking to the figure and welcoming him. The two approached the man and slowly his figure came into view. He was tall; not outstandingly so, but taller than the Outlander. He had long hair that reached down to his shoulders, combed all the way over to the right so there was not any hair in his face or covering his forehead. It was dark chestnut throughout apart from a lone lock that was a light blonde parted on the right side of his head. His eyes were a dark blue with a hint of green. His skin was fair but tanned clearly from his travel in the sun.

The man had a sulk in his stature and was neither well-built nor frail. He appeared to be in his second decade of life. He wasn’t smiling and showed no teeth. His facial features were nothing unique of note but his expression spoke a million words and it was all business as usual. He didn’t seem like the kind of person to engage in informalities or to laugh, for that matter. But there was nothing sinister about him.

He wore a thin black tunic over dark grey chainmail. He had two small plates over his forearms and black, fingerless gloves. He had a sword on his right hip and a dagger on his left. He had a longbow on his back and a satchel on his right hip above the sword with the strap over his left shoulder and across his chest. He had simple linen trousers below his rusted belt. His trousers were a blend of black and dark brown fabrics. He had wrappings around his left and right ankles of faded white material. His boots were mostly masked by the wrappings, but were a dark black covered in mud and, along with most of his clothing, had a number of holes and tears.

His face was covered in dirt and what looked like soot. His face, though barren of facial hair, had some sign of growing stubble. He wore a medallion which had some engravings on it and a crest in the middle. He was clearly of importance, but dressed like a soldier who had deserted his army. He had a depressing air about him wherever he walked. This was a man who had been alone for quite some time.

“Lazarus. A pleasure as always,” spoke the man in a gravelly tone.

“Of course. What news do you bring of home?” asked Lazarus.

A slight smirk developed on the man’s face. “Oh, so now you care what happens back home, eh?”

Lazarus let out a guttural laugh. “Of course not! Simply formalities.”

“Well, the traders to the southwest have taken a contemptuous approach to their tributes to Es Sharam and, although Elser won’t admit it, our economy is declining. More people end up on the streets by the day, it seems,” responded the man. “He’s considering barring the entry of refugees until we can find enough housing to suffice.”

Lazarus shook his head. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll never understand why you people live in such close quarters to one another relying on the generosity of your neighbor to simply survive. The Wastes are oppressive, but at least I can manage myself out here. Don’t have to worry about Elser’s taxes or the ‘general welfare’ of anyone but myself.”

“Now, now, I didn’t come here to discuss your philosophy on civilization,” said the man in a superfluous manner. He looked at the Outlander with a puzzled expression. “Is this all?”

“He was the only one I found willing to come with me,” answered Lazarus.

“Are you Nikk?” asked the Outlander.

“I am. You are?” said Nikk curtly.

“I don’t really have a… ‘name,’” said the Outlander.

“You don’t have a…” reacted Nikk, visibly confused and looking to Lazarus for explanation.

“When I found him, the lad could barely speak. He probably couldn’t tell me which way was up, let alone his own name,” explained Lazarus.

“So, he has no memory of anything at all?” questioned Nikk.

“None at all,” said Lazarus. “I’ve taught him some fundamental basics while we were waiting for you, but apart from basic motor functions and speech, he has no retention of anything.”

“So what do I call you?” asked Nikk.

“Outlander,” said the Outlander definitively.

“Outlander?” said Nikk, almost chuckling. “I know what you are, boy. I want to know what I should call you.”

The Outlander was confused. What was the difference between what you were and what you were called? He looked to Lazarus for help.

“He prefers to be called ‘Outlander,’” explained Lazarus. “Don’t know why. Quite frankly, it makes no difference to me.”

“Doesn’t matter to me what he calls himself,” Nikk grunted. “Okay, Outlander… Let’s get going then.”

“Do you honestly expect to make it by sundown?” asked Lazarus.

“I believe we can,” explained Nikk. “If we get started now and keep up our pace, we should have no trouble.”

Nikk raised his right hand to block the blinding light and looked out onto the horizon to see where the sun was in the sky. Then, lowering his right hand and raising his left to scratch his chin, he looked west.

“The sun’s positioning implies we should have just enough time, but it doesn’t really matter,” said Nikk. “We’ll make it to Ramir’s Crossing by dusk. If we need to set up camp, we will. Not much more than a few hours from there.”

The Outlander slowly got to his feet. He struggled with balancing himself, but he hobbled over to Lazarus and looked him in the eye. This was the time for him to choose to leave or to stay. He knew his answer already. He trusted Laz, but there wasn’t anything out here for him.

“Thank you, Laz…for everything you’ve…done for me,” uttered the boy.

“It’s my job to save people like you from dying alone in this harsh world,” reacted Lazarus. “But, before you go, there’s something I must ask of you. Would you mind doing me a favor?”

The Outlander nodded in acceptance. Lazarus bent down and whispered into the Outlander’s ear: “There’s a lady who lives south of the city. She’s a very old friend of mine. I had planned to meet with her, but I can no longer make it. Would you mind going to her and giving her this?”

Lazarus tore off the loose leather strap that had hung around his neck and rested it in the Outlander’s palm.

“Where the trees grow, that’s where you’ll find her. Now, don’t go telling everyone of this, either. It’s our business alone. Tell her you have come in my stead. She will have you do something for her. I truly do apologize for asking you to do it in my stead, but I’m afraid my hands are tied. If you choose not to fulfill my request, then that is your prerogative.”

Lazarus stood back up and put his right hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s your choice from here to decide what to do next. I won’t question your path.”

A small cloud covered the sun relieving some of the intense heat for only a moment. The three let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“I’m certain you’ll choose the best one,” spoke Lazarus as his final words to the young specimen. He gave the Outlander a powerful, yet brief embrace then ruffled his hair. “Good luck. Now, go.”

Nikk had already been walking toward the sunlight. The Outlander took a few steps toward him and then looked back at Lazarus and waved. Lazarus smiled, then turned back to his boulder and perched. He took out a pipe, leaned back on the rock and closed his eyes. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be back to roaming the Wastes in search of other survivors. The Outlander ran after the courier. Thus, the duo of Nick and the Outlander began their long journey to the City.

“Where are we going?” asked the Outlander.

“Did Lazarus not tell you?” responded Nikk.

“I understand we’re heading for a…city.”

“Do you not know what a city is?”

“No, no. Lazarus told me a little. I just don’t know what’s so special about this city.”

“The people there claim it has existed for some ten thousand years. They hold it as the sacred symbol of survival in these insufferable Wastes. It is a beacon to the lost and a refuge to the forgotten. For over one hundred thousand people, it is home. It is the only home they will ever know.”

The Outlander was taken back by that number. One hundred thousand. How many could that be? Is that the number of hairs on his head or the stars in the sky at night? Either way, he could not even begin to imagine…

“To the west there are bandits whose dreams it is to topple this great fortress. They’ve been attacking our outposts along the Frontier Plain, which is where Lazarus found you. The King of Es Sharam, His Highness, Elser Dant, son of Efiris the Humble, has taken to expanding our influence to the gates of the Golden City of Babel.”

“That place. Lazarus wouldn’t tell me what it was called…you say ‘Babel.’ That’s where we all…come from…right?”

“Well…that’s true, but only to a fault. Some people have theorized that we all come from the city as outcasts, or in your case outlanders, and made our own treks through the Wastes until we founded the mighty city of Es Sharam, and we all descend from outcasts, if we are not already ones ourselves. Others claim some descend from outcasts while others descend from survivors.”

“Survivors?”

“Yes. Some legendary ‘great calamity’ once ravaged this entire landscape, ages ago, or so they say.”

All of the sudden, the mood shifted. Nikk looked out onto the land around him, visibly deep in thought and consideration. Quickly, his staid expression developed into something of contempt. It was almost as if he was imagining the world as it used to be: calm and cool instead of threatening and hot. A peaceful world; one where the trees were tall and green and the sky was a blue pasture where clouds roamed freely. It was something of a distant memory for the Wastes. No one had any recollection of what the world used to be. They didn’t even have a firm grasp on the notion of grass.

“What caused this…call-middy?”

“Who knows? If it even did happen, then none remain who were there. I’m not sure if anyone would able to survive such a horrendous event. If you ask me, if it was some wizard, or a ‘god’ of some sort, then they were damned foolish. They destroyed what I’m certain would have been a flawless world and all out of some selfish retribution, leaving the world to rot in this ruin.”

“But at least the world wasn’t completely destroyed. That has to be worth something…right?”

“Perhaps, but what good does that do us now? Besides, it’s no more than a myth.”

There was silence. A slight, but palpable tension hung over the two as the Outlander thought of what to say next. They crossed under a bridge between two mesas. On the tops, there was some brush. It was the first green the Outlander had any memory of seeing. It took a moment for his eyes to comprehend the color.

“Well, do you have any other questions? It’s a long trip and I’d prefer to get the conversation out of the way now so I can enjoy the rest in silence,” barked Nikk.

“You and Lazarus,” retorted the Outlander.

“What about us?” asked Nikk.

“Are you two friends?”

The question threw the man for a loop. His eyes shot open and then over at the Outlander. It’s almost as if Nikk had never considered the question before. He struggled to find the right words to articulate.

“’Friends’ is a bold term out here. We’re business associates.”

“But you seemed… comfortable with one another.”

“We’ve been doing business for a long time.”

“You can’t be…that old.”

“We’ve done business for over five years.”

“What kind of…business do you do?” persisted the Outlander

“I’m a courier and an asset for the King’s Court. I perform His Highness’ grunt work out here in the Wastes.”

“Picking up wasted bodies?”

“If that’s what it takes,” lashed Nikk back at the Outlander.

“Takes for…what?”

Nikk paused to think.

“Takes to keep the kingdom safe, I suppose,” answered Nikk. “The less of you there are for the bandits to find, the less bandits there will be in the end.”

“So…we’re simply rescued…so we don’t become…bandits?” asked the Outlander almost sarcastically.

“No… I suppose there is some sort of human compassion in my job,” Nikk responded with some residual contempt. “But thank the King. He’s the one who wants this job done. I’m just the one he trusts the most to do it.”

“So the King…trusts you?”

“One would assume. That’s why I’m out here.”

“What else do you do out here? Anything?”

Nikk was beginning to realize this kid was indispensable in his questioning, given he had no knowledge of anything in this world apart from what he’d learned in the last day.

“I collect information. Be it bandit raids, trading disputes with our partners, trials and tribulations of neutral city-states, I collect the information so Es Sharam can act or react accordingly,” explained Nikk.

“Seems like a big job for one person to do,” continued the Outlander.

“I’m not the only one. Just one of the few,” answered Nikk.

“You must be honored.”

“Tremendously,” responded Nikk, almost mockingly.

Nikk could tell the Outlander was confused by his tone.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate being one of the King’s most trusted advisors; I just didn’t expect the majority of my work to be collecting malnourished bodies and wandering in the heat day in and day out,” sighed Nikk.

“Why do you do it, then?” asked the Outlander.

“It puts food on my table,” responded Nikk decisively. “And besides, if I don’t do it, who’s going to collect you forgetful wash-ups?”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“No offense, of course,” assured Nikk.

“I appreciate what you do…if that’s worth anything,” consoled the Outlander.

Nikk smirked. “Thank you, Outlander. It means a lot.”

The Outlander couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. The notion of sarcasm itself was still new to him. They walked for a mile or two it seemed before the Outlander spoke up again.

“What will happen once we get to Es Sharam?” he asked, slightly concerned.

“Now that’s a practical question,” responded Nikk enthusiastically.

“Practical?” said the Outlander confused.

“We’ll get to vocabulary some other time. It’s a good question,” Nikk assured the Outlander. “I’ll get you straight to the Integration Office. A clerk there will write you into one of their books and you’ll be given a badge or pendant, or something of the sort, and then you’ll be filed away. I assume he’ll then take you down to the Gold District from there.”

“Gold District?” asked the Outlander.

“It’s the part of the city where the immigrants end up when you first arrive. Few remain there indefinitely. Most move up to the Red or Grey Districts where there’s work. And you’re young, though rather frail. I’d assume you’ll find a job within a few weeks and, if you save up, you’ll be able to leave the Gold District behind in a hurry. Even if you don’t, you have your whole life ahead of you. Oftentimes, we find old, frail individuals with little to no hope for their futures.”

“What’s so bad about the Gold District?” asked the Outlander.

“It’s crowded and the housing isn’t well maintained,” answered Nikk. “Trust me, you won’t want to be staying there for long.”

“So I’ll just remain in the city…for the rest of my life?” reacted the Outlander in awe.

“It would appear to be the case. Not much else out here for you to go or do.”

The Outlander recalled Lazarus’ warning about deciding his own path and the lady in the trees.

“Do you know anything of a land of trees?” inquired the Outlander.

“Trees?” reacted Nikk puzzled. “There’s a small glen to the southwest of the City. What draws you there?”

“Lazarus told me…” he paused, pondering what to say, “…there are trees. I want to see…what they are.”

“Well, I’ll let you find someone in the City who’s willing to take you down south,” Nikk retorted.

Nick had given the implication that he grew tired to the incessant questioning and, if by some natural instinct, the Outlander picked up on the hints and abstained from further questioning. The two traveled for another hour before they crossed a bridge over a small canyon. The sun had just begun to descend from the middle of the sky. Nikk realized they were slightly behind schedule. He picked up the pace, but the Outlander couldn’t keep up. He was hungry, tired, and fatigued.

“Can we take a…break?” asked the Outlander.

“Break?! We’re not even halfway to Ramir’s Crossing!” reacted Nikk.

“My body doesn’t seem to care,” quipped the Outlander in response.

Nikk realized it had been a while since they had left Lazarus’ camp. He set his knapsack down on a rock.

“Eat this,” said Nikk as he tossed the Outlander a piece of what looked like bread.

“What is this?” asked the Outlander.

“Well, all you really need to know is that it’s food,” retorted Nikk.

There was an awkward silence as the Outlander unraveled the food from its paper and inspected it.

“It’s called manna,” explained Nikk. “It’s basically bread, but it naturally comes from the ground out here in the Wastes. It’s hard to differentiate from sand or rocks, but I’ve been out here so long, you come to realize what’s edible and what’s not.”

The Outlander had already begun to scarf the manna down. He realized his thirst had been quenched as well.

“This is amazing,” said the Outlander in awe.

“Don’t get too excited,” responded Nikk. “It has natural moisture that builds in it. All you’re feeling now is an energy boost. That’ll, unfortunately, dissipate here in a couple hours.”

Nikk looked out towards the eastern horizon to see if he could make out some of the landmarks.

“Hopefully that’ll at least get us to Elvar’s Gully,” pleaded Nikk. “From there, if we drag our feet, then, at the very least, we should be able to make it to Ramir’s Crossing before twilight.”

The Outlander looked behind them and realized for himself the sun sulking in the sky. He agreed with Nikk that they needed to pick up the pace. Then, before Nikk had a chance to say anything, the Outlander began running forward.

What does he think he’s doing? thought Nikk. He’s a damned fool, he is…

Then, Nikk began chancing after him.

“Do you think this will impress me?” shouted Nikk.

“Does it matter?” shouted the Outlander back.

Suddenly, the Outlander began sprinting. He saw a distant mesa. He planned to make to that mesa in as little time as possible. The Outlander thought for sure this would save time in the long run. He didn’t calculate the time it would take for them to catch their breath at the mesa before they could move passed it nor that it would likely make running more costly than walking.

Nikk realized he was running toward the mesa. He let out an irritated grunt and was convinced that the Outlander had lost his mind.

“When I catch up to him,” Nikk muttered to himself. “I think I’m going to kill him…”

Nikk began to close in on the Outlander and realized that he was reducing his speed. Nikk slowed down, believing the Outlander would soon stop. As a result, Nikk stopped, relieved. However, just as Nikk had planned to open his mouth and denounce the Outlander’s actions in a quick, sardonic quip, the Outlander made a sudden, final sprint toward the mesa. Just then, Nikk had enough. He stopped running and returned to a well-paced trot until he reached the Outlander at the mesa.

The Outlander slowly reduced his speed upon approaching the hovering rock before him. He touched its face with his right hand while panting emphatically. He dropped his hands to his knees and slouched over. He didn’t quite understand the phenomenon of being out of breath. He gasped for more air with no idea how to accomplish this. His body giving up on him, he collapsed to his side onto the scorching, hard ground. Nikk finally returned to the Outlander’s side and glared down at him with a staid, but clearly disgruntled face. The Outlander sat up, looked at him, and smiled agape, still struggling for breath.

“Well…there…we’re ahead of schedule now…right?” said the Outlander gasping for breath.

“Yes, yes, of course. Now you’re not going to be able to move for about another hour. Well done,” said Nikk plainly. “But I’m going to keep moving.”

The Outlander struggled to focus his eyes on the path forward. Tiny droplets perspired from above his brow and trickled down across his face. There was pain in his right abdomen. He was still struggling to breathe, but absolutely could not understand why and it was beginning to annoy him. By the time the Outlander regained his bearings and rose to his feet, Nikk was shrinking onto the horizon.

“Wait!” cried out the Outlander.

“Keep up,” barked Nikk from nearly a quarter mile away.

The Outlander picked up his pace to a slight jog, but he still wasn’t able to go very far very quickly. Nikk glanced back upon occasion to see if the Outlander was closing in. After about a mile, Nikk rolled his eyes and very slightly reduced his pace to allow for the Outlander to catch up more easily. Soon, he and the Outlander were side by side again, but Nikk’s expression did not change.

“That was an utter waste of time,” whispered Nikk to himself. He noticed, ironically, they were slightly ahead of schedule by the sun’s position in the sky. Nikk let out an irritated sigh, but let a smirk sneak onto his otherwise phlegmatic face, but as soon as he realized, he returned to his indifference and pressed onward.

Several hours passed until either one spoke. The golden light had evolved into a warm, orange glow hanging above the edge of the horizon. The Outlander took notice to Nikk’s silence. It unsettled him and he wanted to ease this tension in his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” blurted the Outlander.

“What?” asked Nikk, taken off-guard by this sudden exposure to sound.

“I’m sorry,” repeated the Outlander.

“No, I know what you said,” explained Nikk immediately in response. “I had just grown so accustomed to the silence, I had almost entirely forgotten you were here.”

One might assume Nikk was upset by hearing his words, but he wasn’t. His tone implied that he was merely amused. Nevertheless, the Outlander sighed in disappointment.

“I know I’m a burden…” released the Outlander.

“A burden?” retorted Nikk, snidely. “Everyone I’ve ever picked up out here has been a burden. Don’t you worry; you’re no different.”

The Outlander began to sulk.

“But,” continued Nikk. The Outlander’s eyes shot up to his. “At least you’re somewhat entertaining to have around. Most people I gather out here are dying or are inordinately pessimistic or they have no energy to actually run like you did. It’s not like it really matters I suppose, but it’s just been a while since I’ve felt…” Nikk struggled to find the word. “Amused.”

The Outlander smiled.

“Don’t get too content with yourself,” Nikk affirmed. “We’ve still a long way to go. Don’t mistake my provisionary amusement for fondness.”

The Outlander’s smile had reduced to a snide grin. He was complacent. “So, how much longer until this gully?” the Outlander inquired.

“We passed Elvar’s Gully about two hours ago,” explained Nikk. “We’re only an hour or two out from Ramir’s Crossing. I suspect we’ll arrive just passed nightfall.”

The Outlander nodded in response and raised his posture and pressed onward. Sure enough, after another hour or so of walking, the twilight faded into darkness and they had still yet to arrive at the crossing. Soon, however, a trickle of water could be heard in the distance. The Outlander had yet to hear the peaceful sound of running water. It soothed the young man just from the sound.

It’s amazing, the qualities of water. It sustains life, heals ailments, cures diseases, and separates the living from the dead, yet it can flood lands and drown its enemies. Water… water is extraordinary, wouldn’t you say?

Nikk dropped his gear and began to pitch a fur tent from his knapsack without saying a word. The Outlander perched upon a rock near the brook and let out a relieved sigh. His head was experiencing something of a throbbing sensation. He was still learning the effects of fatigue. Nikk pointed to the brook and commanded:

“Drink.”

The Outlander realized the water running beside him was the same as the water Lazarus and Nikk had given him in the canteens. The Outlander nearly leaped off the rock and began to lap up the water from the stream like a feral being.

“Don’t be so crude,” reacted Nikk. “Use your hands, for the love of the Light.”

The Outlander was confused. He didn’t know how to grab the water with his hands. The water disappeared when he tried to clutch it. After about a minute of the Outlander trying to hold water, Nikk sighed quite audibly, marched over to the brook, cupped his hands, then dipped his hands into the stream and drank. The Outlander, now enlightened, mimicked Nikk’s actions as he walked away.

The Outlander drank to his satisfaction while Nikk finished pitching the tent. After he was finished, the Outlander laid back and looked up at the stars. He felt relaxed. It was a feeling he’d scarcely experienced, but he certainly liked it. However, he realized he’d heard no word from Nikk, so he stood up, turned around and saw the tent before him.

“What is this?” asked the Outlander. He’d clearly never seen the skin of an animal before. He’d never even seen an animal.

“What?” replied Nikk. “The tent?”

“Tent…?” reacted the Outlander.

Nikk let out a sigh and dropped his head. “I have neither the time nor the patience,” he muttered to himself.

Nikk threw a handful of fabrics at the Outlander. The Outlander caught most, but a few fell to the ground.

“You’ve slept before, correct?” barked Nikk. “Throw some of those below you, lie on them, then throw the rest on top of you and sleep.”

The Outlander stood staring at the fabrics for a moment. He felt like he had walked for an eternity. His entire life, it seemed, had lasted just two days; the most recent of which felt excruciatingly long. He could barely recall the morning. He couldn’t recall much from the previous day at all. He realized… he could barely recall Lazarus’ face.

Why did that matter so much to him?

Lazarus was the only person he’d met in the Wastes apart from Nikk. Lazarus had taught him so much in so little time. He’d shown the Outlander, to some miniscule amount, compassion. But that was the most he’d ever known, or that he could remember. He recalled the word Lazarus had used to describe their relationship: friend. He wasn’t certain what it really meant, but he was absolutely certain that Lazarus was one.

He thought about it but only for a moment, however. Something occurred to him; he had, now, two people he knew, didn’t he? Two people who’d taken the time to give a damn about whether or not he lived or died. Two people, now. Two… friends… The Outlander smiled, then fell swiftly to the ground clutching the fabrics. He was exhausted and passed out in the matter of an instant. He became enveloped in that relaxation he’d felt by the brook moments ago. He was, as best he could understand it, happy. He had returned, yet again, to that darkness from which he’d emerged; that once mysterious, but now comforting, silence.

The night felt as if it were a mere moment; an instant lapsed across the small bind of time that was darkness. Dreams are very difficult when there is so little you’ve known or seen. It makes the nights all the more tolerable. However, in the tranquil void of silence and nothingness, it turns out time moves as an accelerated pace. How disappointing. If you could enter that void of vast, infinite absolution, would you want to leave?

The light. That damn light. As quick as it had dissipated, it came surging back. Only this time there was a physical motion about it. It was almost as if the light itself had the power to shake the land by its mere presence or perhaps it had taken a physical form altogether. Indisputably, however, the Outlander was shaking. It was something hard to make out at first, but soon became fully apparent.

What’s happening? thought the Outlander, drifting in and out of what the ordinary man would call a “dream.”

We need to move.

What?

Now.

This was becoming surreal. What was happening? Why did the Outlander need to move? He was comfortable where he was. He was�"

“Now!”

Suddenly the peaceful darkness completely disintegrated and the light took complete control. His eyes were open and staring directly at Nikk’s face. Although his voice sounded urgent, his face was stern, but ultimately calm. Nevertheless, the Outlander obeyed his command and jumped to his feet, frantically. Nikk had already deconstructed the tent and threw most of the fabrics on the ground into his knapsack and slung the rest over his shoulder.

“A raiding party from the west has been patrolling these parts,” explained Nikk while the Outlander rushed to compose himself.

“They’re near,” he said. “If we don’t put ground behind us, we may become surrounded. Assuming we aren’t already…”

Nikk started pressing forward and the Outlander rushed to his side. However, just as the two began moving, they were halted by a booming call from behind:

“You’re right!” came the voice.

“Azubar…” muttered Nikk under his breath.

“You are… surrounded.”

Just then, from behind the boulders ahead came four men donning rags and bandages with large, curved blades in each hand. The Outlander struggled to comprehend why they bore such large, luminescent objects. It was his first time seeing a sword.

“The great Nikk Gunner, chief courier to the King of the Great City in the East, caught in an ambush?” spat the man from behind.

Nikk turned around to face the man. The Outlander followed suit. Before him stood a tall man with a long, scraggly beard and a long mane of hair falling below his shoulder blades. It was unkempt as if he had never paid two seconds of thought to the maintenance of his image. His skin was a dark grey and his eyes were nearly hidden behind his bangs.

He didn’t wear a shirt, but had a large, thick, leather armor brace on his right shoulder with a strap crossing diagonally across his torso. Below that, he wore but rags and donned bandages on his left and right forearms and palms. In both hands he held small axes and a sword was slung across his back. His expression was arrogant, but forbidding.

“You’re reputation precedes you,” taunted the man.

“As does yours,” Nikk riposted. “Coming here with just four soldiers? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

“Spare me your prideful remarks,” reacted the man, angrily. “It will do you no justice in death.”

“Azubar Wasari…” started Nikk. “Principal sycophant for Chief Habagar.”

“Speaks the principal lackey for Elser Dant,” snarled the man Nikk had called Azubar.

“What are you looking for?” asked Nikk. “Surely you’re not simply picking a fight. That’s below a man of your stature, or am I mistaken?”

“I seek information,” explained Azubar.

“You, or your master?” snapped Nikk.

“I am no man’s servant,” commanded Azubar.

“Nooo… not in the least,” replied Nikk, sarcastically.

“I am seeking the knowledge your city possesses that you have kept from the rest of the Wastes,” explained Azubar. “You and your city have preserved your secrets for far too long, Nikk.”

“What makes you so sure I hold the secrets you’re looking for?” Nikk responded.

“Don’t play me for the fool, Nikk,” expressed Azubar, latching his axes to his belt and drawing his sword. “You’re the king’s most trusted advisor and diplomat. If anyone other than the very king himself held secrets of any value to us, it would be you.”

Azubar pointed his blade directly at Nikk.

“Surely you don’t expect me to tell you what I do know,” clarified Nikk.

“No,” responded Azubar. “But taking you hostage will perhaps draw the eye of the King of the East. If you won’t tell us, then certainly he’d be willing to make a deal to get you back.”

“I’m not going with you, Azubar. I’m on a mission,” explained Nikk, indicating the Outlander with his left arm.

Azubar looked directly at the young man at Nikk’s side. “Yes… still stealing my men, I see.”

“He’s not ‘your man,’” growled Nikk. “He actually has a future, unlike your indoctrinated bandits.”

“My men do not live in fealty to an overlord. They can make their own lives,” elucidated Azubar.

“Their own lives?” laughed Nikk. “Azubar, you’re either a liar or a fool. Your men are trained to fight from the moment you find them and enslaved to the will of Habagar and Karagk whether they know it or not. You may tell them they’re free; you may tell them what I’m doing is imprisonment, but what you engage in is captivity. They’re hostages of you, of Habagar, and of the King in the West. At least, in Es Sharam, they have a life. They can buy a home, have a family, pursue a future. There’s something in Es Sharam you severely lack in your crowded camps out past the Forbidden Ridge: hope. You don’t have a future, Azubar; none of you do.”

“You dare speak to me of hope!” shouted Azubar. “What hope is there in trapping yourself in the confines of a walled fortress and playing the role of a cog in the machine that is the Dant family? Do not speak to me, sir, of freedom. I roam these lands at my own resolve; at my own peril. I choose to serve my brothers out here and to save the Exiles from the likes of you. I served a king. I followed a rigid society to utter perfection and I was exiled and left to die out here in the Wastes! What good the system did me, eh? Out here, with these men, we do as we please. We have no constraints; just a mission: to purge the world of the tyranny of order.”

“You have no idea, do you?” pleaded Nikk. “You claim to end the reign of kings and lords, but you do so whilst following a king yourself. But you steal, rob, and kill at your own leisure, so I suppose that’s true freedom by your standards.”

“Enough of this,” commanded Azubar, audibly irritated. “I do not have to explain myself to a petty courier of a city doomed to fall like all the rest.”

Azubar beckoned to his soldiers to close in on Nikk and the Outlander. They encroached on them, swords drawn.

“Take them both; leave them alive,” ordered Azubar. “We’ll take the courier hostage and train the boy in our ranks.”

Nikk let out a laugh. It startled the Outlander and didn’t feel like the appropriate reaction to the situation at hand.

“I expected better from you, Azubar, truly I did,” taunted Nikk. “The mighty Captain of Wasar has fallen so far.”

Just then, Nikk drew his blade and lashed out at Azubar. The four from behind jumped to tackle the Outlander, but Nikk swung his leg out and kicked one in the jaw. The bandit grasped his broken jaw and fell over another bandit behind him. The Outlander managed to squirm away from the other two that had grasped his tunic.

Nikk and Azubar quarreled relentlessly. Azubar had a titanic defense, but Nikk was fast and passionate in every little move and motion he made. He was fervid.

“Outlander!” shouted Nikk in the midst of his squabble. “Here!”

Nikk quickly tossed him a dagger from his belt in between strikes.

“You’ll be needing it,” smirked Nikk, calm in the midst of the battle. It was almost as if he fed off of this energy. The Outlander, needless to say, was utterly terrified. He picked up the dagger from the ground before him and noticed his hands were trembling. But, just as he began to realize this, one of the two bandits grabbed him by the shoulder. The Outlander, as if by an instinctive reflex, swung his dagger outward and into the abdomen of his assailant. The bandit groaned in pain and grabbed his side and slouched over.

The other bandit seemed to be enraged by the outburst of aggression from this seemingly harmless boy. He lunged at the Outlander, but before he could reach him, an axe came flying into his chest. It was Nikk. He had robbed Azubar of his left axe and thrown it directly at the bandit, who them fell over and perished. The Outlander began breathing far more heavily and sweating profusely. He clutched the left side of his chest and slouched over with his right hand onto his knee.

Nikk noticed this, but remained unfazed. He began to relax his motions and let Azubar assume the upper hand and then, as Azubar’s confidence built to an apex, Nikk struck him down by grabbing his right wrist and striking the back of Azubar’s right hand with the butt of his blade causing him to release hold of his sword. He tried recklessly to grab his right axe with his left hand, but as soon as he reached across his waist, Nikk swung his blade downward and cut Azubar’s left hand clean off his wrist. Azubar let out an excruciating scream. He finished the man off with a slash horizontally across his stomach. Azubar lay eviscerated on the ground, groaning in agony.

“Look at you,” pronounced Nikk to the bleeding, inevitable corpse at his feet. “You were once an honest man of integrity. The mighty Captain of Wasar… and this is how you choose to end your run? Dying a slave to criminals at the hands of a courier… once your friend.”

He lifted his body lightly off the ground with his foot to see how deep the wound cut. Nikk was content with the finality of his blow, but still grieved in his victory.

“What a pity,” shamed Nikk. “What good that friendship did either of us.”

Nikk stared hollowly at eyes of his fallen adversary. He seemed almost distraught.

“I found solace once in the arms of a friend, but here he lies before me. What a waste. Trust is so vastly overrated. Each and every time it has managed to betray me and leave me out here alone again. Sometimes I am tempted to seek out other lines of work.”

He looked directly at the Outlander, who was now sitting on the ground still processing the scene before him.

“But I don’t want to see these people die for nothing; to die in service of criminals and scum. I want to see them reach the potential that Babel did not offer them. For whatever reason, they are out here, and while they are, I intend to see them to safety and security and hopefully put them on a path to individuality and opportunity. But at the very least, I will carry them on my backs to that City to keep them out of the clutches of your kind and to give them a second chance in this life, even if I need to do it all on my own.”

Nikk turned back to the now dead body of Azubar Wasari.

“That’s what separates the likes of me from the likes of you.”

Nikk turned around and began to walk to the Outlander. However, one of the bandits had regained his consciousness and hobbled to his feet. Nikk then, in immediate reflex, rammed the butt of his sword into the left side of his skull, knocking the bandit back out. Nikk inspected the bodies. He bent over and grabbed the dagger out of the abdomen of one of the dead bandits. He licked the edge of the dagger and spat on to the ground. The poison was still potent. Three dead; two unconscious.

“Not too bad,” Nikk muttered to himself.

He then turned back to the Outlander and realized he was still in utter shock. He had been breathing heavily, mouth agape, staring directly at the ground in front of him. Nikk realized the Outlander would have a difficult time understanding and coping with what had just happened. Nikk sat down beside the Outlander. He stared up to the sky and smiled. He had been through this countless times, but he had absolutely no idea how to console someone who had never seen anything like this before.

Instead, he elected to say nothing. The two just sat and breathed; side by side. They had just, in fact, narrowly avoided death.

Author's Note

Let me have it. This is only a fragment of the chapter, but I've finally made some more progress on the book and I want some criticism. Is it too busy? Is it too messy with the dialogue? This is a rough, rough draft.