| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Alone in the Desert |
| Date: | Wed, 5 Nov 1997 00:27:55 +0000 |
+++++relay via tacstation Aden-42
>>>>>[TO: J R W Lynch Archive
This is... different.
Worst thing is, I believe it. When the spirits speak, sometimes you have
to _listen_.
+++++begin video
Lynch, moving on foot down a scrubby slope, rifle in his hands and boots
sliding in the gravel. He pauses at the bottom of the gully, examining a
patch of gravel that seems little unlike any other.
"Two weeks, tops." he mutters.
"Eleven days, Running Wolf." A voice speaking Arabic (subtitled), from
the weathered yet ageless man standing ten yards away: unconcerned about
the rifle suddenly aimed at his chest. Lynch relaxes.
"Don't _do_ that. Good moves, though. How may I help you?"
"You may share some coffee with me, Running Wolf. Then I have a message
and a gift for you." The man - certainly Middle Eastern, dressed for the
area, not visibly armed - indicates the direction, and Lynch slings the
G3K and follows him for a few hundred yards in a silence broken only by
the wind and the faint slither of gravel: both men move like ghosts.
Under an overhang of rock, the stranger has a bedroll, a pack, an old
but meticulously cared for Lee-Enfield rifle, and the embers of a small
fire that he coaxes back into life under the coffee pot.
"You know my name, old one. What should I call you?"
"I am best known as the Wanderer.". The old man teases the fire around
the pot's base. "I am sure you know many who enjoy such a name. Perhaps
I am merely _a_ Wanderer." He chuckles.
"You probably wouldn't like the Wanderer I've heard most about." Lynch
sighs. "But for sure you're not him. Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Please. Could I beg one from you also?" The man pours two cups of the
thick black coffee.
"Keep the pack, if you're short."
Wanderer nods, and both men light cigarettes: smoking in companionable
silence for a few moments by the slight warmth of the fire.
"Your time is short, Running Wolf. The storm gathers, and you must make
what preparations you can."
"How do you know this? My name, where to find me, what's going on?"
Lynch asks.
"A djinn of the desert and a djinn of the sea, came to me with the sea's
message and the desert's gift to you." Wanderer shrugs. "The djinni told
me where to find you, how to address you, what message to give. I did
not question them: it is not wise to guess the motives of the djinni.
But they were correct to the day, and to the hour, as to when we would
meet."
"Okay." Lynch seems to relax. "So, what do they want me to know?"
"The stormclouds are thick above you, Running Wolf. You are drawn to
dangerous times and places, and they to you. This you know already."
"I'm not some sort of Champion Eternal, am I?" The mercenary sounds
amused.
Wanderer laughs. "No. Perhaps you are a convenient tool of Fate, but if
that is true, surely when you are dulled or broken she will discard you
and find another. Perhaps you are merely driven, or insane: fortunate,
or unfortunate. But you are in the right place and the right time, to
begin to repair a wrong the djinni wished amended."
Lynch sips the coffee, so strong and thick you could run tank engines on
it, but Wanderer continues before he says anything.
"There is a place where even the spirits scream in horror. There is one
dwelling there who has sold his soul for power, and is now eaten from
within by those he haggled with. The djinn of the sea and the djinn of
the sand who visited me, call for his destruction. You know of whom I
speak: he who now has no face, he who hewed off his own hand."
There is a long pause.
"Yes. I know him." Lynch says at last. "His death at my hand was certain
when he first harmed my wife."
"The spirits near that place are weakened, and some sicken and die. I
did not know this could happen, yet it has. The djinni would not speak
of where this place lay, yet. They would only say that the storm that
will break soon is this man's work, and that you might greatly harm
their enemy. That you should trust in your instincts, and do what you
thought best, remembering only that soon you fight this man's pawns.
That the storm here will lead you to the Faceless One's agents, then to
the Faceless One himself."
The old man refills Lynch's cup. "Running Wolf, I am sorry. They did not
tell me more."
"Spirits aren't usually renowned for clear guidance. So, there _are_
troops in the area?" Lynch asks.
"Many. Scores of young men, two weeks ago. They were being taught how to
use their rifles, though they did not fire."
"How long have you been waiting here?"
Wanderer shrugs. "The djinni spoke to me four months ago, I have been
travelling for most of that time. The journey was faster than I
expected. And I must not forget this." He reaches for his pack,
carefully unties a long, cloth-wrapped bundle, hands it to Lynch.
Inside the handwoven cloth is a sheathed sword: a long, heavy, weapon
with a grip intended for two hands and a beautifully chased and engraved
guard and pommel. Drawing it from the plain leather scabbard, Lynch sees
the blade is superbly forged (though machine-made, not hand forged), a
chef's cleaver to the razors that are Lilith or Easy's katanas. Much
better suited, in fact, to Lynch's style. "It's magnificent."
Wanderer shrugs. "It is merely a sword. I believe it is quite young:
perhaps it was lost in the desert and the djinn found it, and considered
you should have it. It told me many of your friends had swords, yet you
had none, and this lack should be amended. And since it was asking you
to aid it, that this was a fair gift."
They sit, watching the fire die and the light fade from the sky.
"Do you know how long we have before the storm?" Lynch asks at last.
"Days at most, Running Wolf. The rain will come early this year. You
have little time."
"Will we meet again, old one?"
"I hope so. And soon."
+++++end video
I've got a vagrant prophet saying the spirits want me to do what I'd do
anyway.
Weird or what?
But I believed him. And I believe what he knew about me and about the
Doctor, and I don't believe someone "just turns up" waiting for me to
spin a line.
And the sword is beautiful.
I'm heading back to Camp Three in a day or so. Got what I need, now I
need a two-way link not this snail-rate TacStation mobile unit. Better
than nothing, but not by much.]<<<<<
-- 1Lt J R W Lynch <00:27:42/11-05-58>
Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency
