Of A Dark Heart

Chapter Two: There Are Those Who Wait...

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Excalem wasn't welcomed.

Strangers out here were stranger than most. LAST, or FIRST depending on who you spoke to, was a town beyond the known world. To make it here wasn't natural. Sand Shades haunted the desert and the only way to survive them was to make a pact. Stay here forever or become one of them. It wasn't a choice.

Stumbling through the doors of the pub, the weary Swordsworn collapsed against the wall. To be inside, away from the sun, blinded him. Everything was bright green in his vision, his eyes unable to adjust to the sudden dark. His body tortured him, burning from the sun, ice in his blood from the shade. He had come all this way and still the gates were beyond his reach. His prey was escaping but now he had an idea of the one hunting him.

She was an Ark! The Demon was a bloody Ark! She would be unstoppable. And she had been here already. Had she past him in the desert, somehow missing him? No, that would be impossible. An Ark was never lost. She had been able to fire a grappling hook hundreds of kilometres to where he was standing. Whatever powers she had, they were powerful. So how did she reach here first? And why not wait for him?

"I liked Willy. He was my friend."

Rolling his head around until his vision cleared enough for him to see, he saw a middle aged woman with a rolling pin.

Of course he was, we're all friends here buddy o' pal o'mine. But Willy wasn't real, and neither are you and neither am I. Not anymore. I am dead, and you are are dead, and Willy's dead and She's an Ark.

"I am sorry for your loss."

The words burnt at his throat. The mud had dried again and he could do nothing more than spit orange dust. She merely shrugged. He waited. She said nothing else. Slowly his eyes were letting him see again. The woman continued to stand over him.

"How much for a roast?"

"We don't get paid to roast. We just stand outside."

"I meant the leg of lamb."

"No roast lamb. Only Willy can ask for a roast like that. But he's gone now. Bye-bye."

Excalem closed his eyes and let himself blackout. If his mind was kind he would wake up in the hospital, back home. The doctors would say his fever broke and he's on the mend. His daughter would be by his side. He would make the local news for surviving the worst form of his disease and everyone would send him "Get Well Soon!" cards. No conspiracy, no murder, no vengeance, no talk of angels, no demons, no men with latex gloves, no pain.

Excalem knew his mind was cruel, knew the reason it was cruel was because life had been cruel. Life, and possibly Death, and men in white surgeons' masks.

When he opened his eyes he wasn't surprised to find the middle aged woman with a face like an old leather bag still standing in front of his slumped body, rolling pin in hand.

"How long was I out?"

"You never left. You were on the floor the whole time."

Sighing, Excalem stood groggily to his feet. The inside of the pub stunk of beer and sweat, both fresh and recycled.

"How far is it to the restless dead?"

The populace of the pub, consisted of people wearing singlets and shorts, flannelette shirts and jeans, beers in one hand, the counter in the other, all stopped. The Publican shrugged, his wide and heavy shoulders rising and falling like the tide.

"Why don't you tell me why you want to go there and then perhaps I'll tell you."

"How many reasons are there?"