Page 4 of The Cruel Dawn
No one follows me, yet this big world feels cramped with too many pairs of eyes.
Sometimes as I walk, the daxinea blots out the daystar and casts shadows across the land. Sometimes she circles, but she never slows even as the terrain climbs, and pebbles become rocks, and thorns grow to the size of a man’s hand.
I gape at the sharp red rocks stabbing the sky, at those three-headed lizards and tiny-winged wolves lurking from their dens and rocks. My muscles ache as though I’ve fought every creature in this realm.
The daxinea picks up speed. I run to catch up with her again and—
Roars. Growls. Women screaming. Men shouting. Children shrieking.
Supreme, help us!
Supreme, hear our prayers!
Supreme, have mercy!
The cries and roars echo throughout the canyons and roll over this desert.
Humans in distress.
Fuck.
Here we go again.
2
The faster I run, the louder the cries and roars.
Am I about to meet the ones who made those large shoeprints? Or is something worse waiting for me?
I race through the scraggly desert glen to the mud-bricked walls of a town. The tall date palms on its perimeter are on fire.
I know this city. Gasho, the capital of the kingdom of Ohogar, in the middle of Doom Desert. One of my favorite provinces in Vallendor Realm is now besieged—but by whom?
The scorching winds from the burning city whistle, but they aren’t as loud as the cries of the humans within, which grow shriller the closer I come.
A tiny part of me whispers, “Not my problem.” But my heart is bigger—I can’t pretend that I don’t care, that I can’t help, and that whatever happens in this mud-bricked town will stay in this mud-bricked town.
I snap my cloak, and the air around me swirls with red dust. The dark stone in my amulet barely glows. I’m not strong enough. I’m not blessed enough. But I’m strong and blessed enough todo something.I’m as blessedly strong as I’m gonna be.
A bridge crosses over a dry canal and into a city now lost in smoke.
My mouth is dry and my throat parched. I need water before launching into another fight, but I don’t smell any water. The way tiny tumbleweeds roll up and down this canal, water hasn’t run here in ages. My eyes burn from the spinning dust clouds and smoke. And then the stink of rot and decay hits me and makes me gag.
Down in the gully, a mother holds a child by the hand and clutches a baby to her chest. Together, the three of them clench into a tight ball. A man holds the gash in his neck. His mouth gapes, and his eyes widen as his end comes. Children shake the shoulders of unmoving adults; some cry, “Amma, wake up!” and “Papa, I’m scared!” Fat and hungry corpse flies buzz from body to fallen body. I skid to a stop and think about jumping into the canal, but I don’t know what I can do to help them. Ihaveto help them!
A woman screams from the rooftop of a house. Somewhere, a bell clangs. Everywhere, people shout, weep, pray.
No!
Run!
Get back!
The iron-studded gates of this town dangle on their hinges like front teeth, like they’ll be knocked out by a good punch.
Where are the city guards who were all here when I last passed through this town?
Amus: he’d been a long-distance runner, I remember. He’d been mean but committed to protecting his town.
