Fallout: Rise Of The Burned Man

Chapter I

I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death. - [Book of Revelation]

They still speak of you, you know. The Courier had said upon his departure from the orange lands of Zion. The Slaves still speak of the Burned Man who walked away from the canyon. The Legion haven't acknowledged you live on, beyond the slave stories.

Joshua Graham had smiled at that. Their refusal to acknowledge that he breathed had been admittance enough; defeat enough. He had attempted to restrain himself with the thought that every breath he took was a piece of revenge, a metaphorical fuck you to Edward. But with the Courier's arrival and departure to and from Zion, he had felt the stirrings of his old, proud nature, the parts of himself he had thought the Lord had purged.

And of you, Courier? Will you spread the rumours amongst the Legion men?

The Courier had smiled at that, the grin touching the parts of his face which were not concealed by the goggles he wore and the low brim of his hat. It seemed, like Graham, he too felt the need to conceal his face.

No, he'd said, the battle for Hoover Dam draws nigh and I have a part to play. I would not disturb the men on the eve of victory with stories of burned-out ghosts.

Graham had laid his hand on the man's shoulder at that, and bid him farewell. The Courier hadn't meant to offend him with his words, and his frankness reminded Joshua of himself before the flames, before the second baptism. Before the fire.

Before the salvation, he reminded himself, you are purged. Clean. To return to the Mojave would be to return to dust and dirt; to sully the cleansing the Lord has given you. Your work is in saving Zion.

He turned over the Legion Aureus coin which had slipped from the Courier's pockets over in his bandaged grasp. The gold glinted in the harsh Zion sunlight, catching the eye of a green gecko down on the shoreline. Graham, however, was well out of its reach, perched upon a red ledge which jutted out of a canyon wall; safe in his solitude.

"Aeternit Imperi," he murmured, reading the inscription upon the coin, "Pax Per Bellum." For the eternity of the empire, peace through war. The old language didn't suit the harsh brightness of Zion and Graham regretted speaking it out loud, as though he had offended the area by mentioning what he had come from.The area. Was it wrong that he still thought of it as that, and not as home?

"Lord," he said, "My work is done in Zion; the White Legs have been crushed into the red dirt so the Sorrows and the Dead Horses may find their peace unhindered. With the arrival of the Courier, the war was brought so soon to an end. I fear its consequences may distress Daniel more than I had originally thought. He does not see, as I do."

The sun winked down at Graham, harsh and bright. It caught the coin again, a flash of gold against the azure of the sky, dragging his gaze back to it. Edward sneered up at him from the coin, his gilded expression one of triumph, as though he had already won the war. Which hehadn't and wouldn't until he took the Dam. Hoover Dam was a symbol and had been of his defeat last time. But this time, the Courier had seemed sure.

With a noise of anger, Graham threw the coin away, casting it down into the clean waters below and sending the gecko scurrying in shock. It gave him small satisfaction to see the glinting face of his old friend fall down beneath the water, the glint extinguishing as it was buried into the river's silt. No more.

"The Legion buried beneath the muck of the dam," Graham said softly, playing with his gun, "Their ideals lost as mine were, so they may be reborn. That would be a new way for the Mojave."

A better way, he thought, sending a rock skittering down as he stood, realisation seizing him. "I see. The Courier was sent with a message unbeknownst to him; you sent him to tell me my next great work. Now Zion is saved, I must return and save that which I started. I will walk free of the slave's stories and cast my long shadow across the Mojave again; it is time your Grace found the sordid world of New Vegas."

The dawn sky over Zion was already overcast when Graham turned his eyes to look upon the landscape for the last time. The thick grey clouds heralded rain and drizzle, something which Graham had grown accustomed to in the area. It had shocked the Courier, the first time he had seen the skies split and the water descend. Graham had told him that God was washing his hands.

The people of Zion are blessed with daily baptisms, he'd said, the Lord keeps our spirits clean, something which cannot be said for your people of the Mojave.

"You leave us?" Follows-Chalk appeared from the green brush, his expression almost hurt as he sprung from Zion's undergrowth. Graham hadn't heard him approaching. "Where do you go to? We need your guidance, Joshua!"

"My work for Zion has come to its end," Graham replied, his voice rough and deep, "The Lord has called me to my final task, which will change the land of the Mojave."

"Are you going to see the Dam?" the youth was surprisingly perceptive; "The Courier said it was as big as mountains! I can see why the people would fight over something like that."

No you cannot, Joshua thought, but instead intoned. "Yes. My work will involve the Dam."

Follows-Chalk thought for a moment, leaning on a throwing spear. "I will come with you," he said.

"No," Graham said, "You must remain with your tribe. It will need guidance now more than ever with the falling of the White Legs."

"And I am not the one to give it!" Follows-Chalk had begun to sound angry, "Daniel will show the Sorrows and the Dead Horses the right way, I am sure!" He threw down his spear, "I am sick of being Follows-Chalk! I do not want to follow chalk; I want to draw the chalk myself! I want to find the way instead of follow it! I want to follow you into the Courier's world of lights and singers and deathpaws! I want to see New Vegas!"

"Deathclaws are not something you wish to see," Graham said quietly, "The Mojave is not for you."

"Zion is not for me!" Follows-Chalk exclaimed, "There is nothing for me here if you leave this valley. If you do not allow me to travel with you, I will make my own journey. Although I do not know the way," he finished quietly.

Graham surveyed him sadly, his eyes glinting through the slit in the bandages. It occurred to Follows-Chalk that although he must be growing old, he did not look wearied by the world yet. Not like Daniel. Daniel had been disappointed by the way Graham and Courier had handled the White-Legs and Salt-upon-Wounds, Follows-Chalk could tell.

He waited for Graham's response.

"You may come," he said finally, "You will have to carry my pack and do not act the tribal for the folk of the Mojave." He dropped a heap of material on the floor at Follows-Chalk's feet, "The Courier left these behind when his pack grew too heavy. You will wear them and tell people you are out of the Utah."

"Thank you Joshua Graham!" Follows-Chalk was ecstatic and he shed his tribal gear immediately, casting his headdress to the floor and beginning to pull on the pre-war outfit the Courier had left behind. The jeans were cold against his skin, and he struggled with the metal buttons; something he had never had to tangle with before.

Graham turned away from his new follower and let his eyes rest out over the day breaking over Zion Nation Park. The water, the rock, the canyon; it was all converted to the Burned Man's memory as he turned away, ending his time in Zion in exchange for the Mojave's dust.

New Vegas waited.