~ Part One ~
No one remembers how or when he arrived, not even the man himself. To him, the recent years have been naught but a blur in his mind. He's lost track of how many listless days he's wandered, how many backwater moons (if they could even be called that) he'd set foot on, how many men he'd killed out of anger or necessity or boredom.
To the people of this particular town on this particular moon, he is a mystery they wish to solve. But it is a daunting challenge given the lack of information he possesses.
"What's your name, boy?" someone had asked when he'd first stepped into the saloon.
"I have none," was the stoic reply.
"What, did you forget it or somethin'?" came another inquiry.
"No," he had answered. "I simply don't have one."
"But everyone's gotta have a name."
"I don't. I'm something of an exception to the rule in that regard."
Ebony eyes scanned the room, remnants of his former self sparking to life. The questioning became an argument, the argument a scuffle, and before long six men lay dead, several more wounded, and one last poor soul was dying upon his sword before someone could get a shot off.
He can't remember the time in between, only waking to the sound of wheat swaying in the wind and the late sun upon his face. For a moment, he believed himself ot be dead. Strange, he thought. I would have assumed it would be darker.
And then there was her voice. Soft and low, humming a lullaby that reminded him of the scrap of childhood he'd known.
"Finally, you're awake," she cooed as he opened his eyes, moving to his side. "Don't try and sit up just yet. They did some kind of work on you back there."
Cool water trickled onto his forehead, and it wasn't until that moment that he realized he was feverish. The muscles in his jaw worked to create speech, but he could only manage a pathetic mumble. Gently she held his chin, pressing the damp cloth to his swollen face. His eyes closed at the cool relief.
"Did somethin' terrible to your face, too," she added softly, wiping stray rivulets from his chin. "I'm surprised they let you live, after all the trouble you made. Killed you a fair share of good men that day. But I'm sure you know that."
She sighed and stood, laying the cloth over his forehead.
"Best let you rest," she said. "The road ahead ain't gonna be an easy one."
He tried to watch her as she left but found that the pain in his neck forbid him from turning his head. With a sigh he focused again on the sound of the fields, the sun on his face, the odd familiarity of this place. When again his breathing slowed and his mind faded into dreams, he saw the worn house he had been born in, heard the songs and laughter of the people who had been his family.
He didn't know he was screaming until he saw her standing over him, panicked. She looked him over but found no evidence of wounds reopening or anything else that could cause him pain. But he knew what it was, and as she left him again, he almost wished he could tell her.
The last image in his mind before she woke him had been the burning bodies of his family.
If this is what the future holds for me, he prayed silently, then take me now and be done with it.
~ Part Two ~
To the people of this particular town on this particular moon, he is a mystery they wish to solve. But it is a daunting challenge given the lack of information he possesses.
"What's your name, boy?" someone had asked when he'd first stepped into the saloon.
"I have none," was the stoic reply.
"What, did you forget it or somethin'?" came another inquiry.
"No," he had answered. "I simply don't have one."
"But everyone's gotta have a name."
"I don't. I'm something of an exception to the rule in that regard."
Ebony eyes scanned the room, remnants of his former self sparking to life. The questioning became an argument, the argument a scuffle, and before long six men lay dead, several more wounded, and one last poor soul was dying upon his sword before someone could get a shot off.
He can't remember the time in between, only waking to the sound of wheat swaying in the wind and the late sun upon his face. For a moment, he believed himself ot be dead. Strange, he thought. I would have assumed it would be darker.
And then there was her voice. Soft and low, humming a lullaby that reminded him of the scrap of childhood he'd known.
"Finally, you're awake," she cooed as he opened his eyes, moving to his side. "Don't try and sit up just yet. They did some kind of work on you back there."
Cool water trickled onto his forehead, and it wasn't until that moment that he realized he was feverish. The muscles in his jaw worked to create speech, but he could only manage a pathetic mumble. Gently she held his chin, pressing the damp cloth to his swollen face. His eyes closed at the cool relief.
"Did somethin' terrible to your face, too," she added softly, wiping stray rivulets from his chin. "I'm surprised they let you live, after all the trouble you made. Killed you a fair share of good men that day. But I'm sure you know that."
She sighed and stood, laying the cloth over his forehead.
"Best let you rest," she said. "The road ahead ain't gonna be an easy one."
He tried to watch her as she left but found that the pain in his neck forbid him from turning his head. With a sigh he focused again on the sound of the fields, the sun on his face, the odd familiarity of this place. When again his breathing slowed and his mind faded into dreams, he saw the worn house he had been born in, heard the songs and laughter of the people who had been his family.
He didn't know he was screaming until he saw her standing over him, panicked. She looked him over but found no evidence of wounds reopening or anything else that could cause him pain. But he knew what it was, and as she left him again, he almost wished he could tell her.
The last image in his mind before she woke him had been the burning bodies of his family.
If this is what the future holds for me, he prayed silently, then take me now and be done with it.
~ Part Two ~