Tales from the Wasteland | The Desert of Loss

Chapter 11

Darkness fills the senses. Eyes become numb to the light, while the ears listen intently. Is the sound coming from the veiled world or the mind? No matter the situation, Rod still asks the question quite often. After all this time he still questions his sanity. The lightless cavern has only magnified the voices in his mind. Like an echo chamber from Hell, they call out to the hunter, whispering his misdeeds, and laughing at his horrible luck. He always had a knack for nicknames, hitting too close to home, the hunter thinks, bending under a veiled boulder.

Then why hold onto such a nickname if you despise it so? The Dark One asks. Rod keeps his hand next to a jagged wall as he continues feeling his way through the massive cavern. He's been here for what seems like hours but very well could be only thirty minutes. Time loses all meaning in the darkness, gifting ample opportunities for the mind to play tricks, and wander along the threads of the past. His hand glides around a mossy patch of rock when a memory of his old friend materializes from the blackness.

"I often wondered what his beard felt like. Long and black with streaks of gray. His face was always so hard, like he was expecting the world to stab him in the back."

Well, did it? The Dark One asks.

"I guess you could say that," Rod answers. Hidden drops of water trickle down on his head as his hands lead the hunter into a narrow corridor. His breath grows heavy as his friend's last moments ripple across the dark palette in front of him. Even during his last moments on earth, Rod's old friend could crack a smile and a joke. Blackbeard was his name, but most just called him Captain. His wisdom far surpassed his age. He was hard, but also fair. "No man deserved his fate. He lost his village by my hand, and his life by his brother's."

So he was the boy from before? When we found one another.

"I was lost back then. No better than a beast. I should've been put down on the spot. Most of that time before my meeting with Gramps was a haze. Even now, I barely remember anything."

You were an animal with no master. A man with no purpose. I spent years trying to repair your lost mind. Not even the energy from the kniln could completely repair your shattered psyche.

"And yet... I still feel lost. Something is missing and I don't know what. I, I feel disconnected, like I don't belong here."

There is something peculiar about you, Rod. Probably the reason we were drawn to one another. I'll admit, I loathe your kind, but there's always been something about you that's fascinated me.

"And what's that?"

Your tenacity. I witnessed you time and time again come to the brink when all hope seemed utterly lost and you somehow found a way to keep going.

"I'm sure some of that is your doing."

Because your determination and will to do what's right fuels me. This aura you exude is what allows me to manifest in your reality for so long. You-- well-- we hold the key to something grand. But what that is I don't quite know. It's like I'm staring at a blank page, anticipating that words will appear, and when they do, I can't read them. It fogs my mind.

"So we're both two lost lambs in the darkness trying to find our way, knowing full well the wolves are closing in all around us."

Something like that. We're more like the wolf closing in on the sheep. Problem is I'm not sure where the sheep are. It's hidden from me.

"So you're hunting something?" Rod inquires. He stops suddenly as his hands crash against a wall of rocks. He blindly searches before deciding to climb up. He aims the gauntlet skyward and fires, hoping to grasp onto anything. A sharp clank echoes through the darkness, telling the hunter he's got a snag. He gives it a couple of sturdy tugs before making his methodical ascent upward.