to turn over, to give his back a break from the torture, but moving hurt too much. Two men came over to him, giving him water and a chunk of bread. His mouth was so dry, it felt like not even a drop of water made it down his throat into his stomach.
Then they pressed on, and only when it became dark did they finally stop to rest. Rhine couldn’t tell how many there were, but he figured there were over thirty. Before dark, they’d set up two large tents. Rhine was tied to a stake at the end of one, not caring that his body was set in an awkward position, just glad to have a break from being dragged.
That night in the tent he got a good look at his captors. They were different, he knew from the clothes they wore that they weren’t from Bly.
Later that night, after the fires had died down and all the men went quiet, Rhine finally fell asleep. What felt like seconds later, he awoke to someone touching him. His first thought was they were waking him to torture him more, but he was wrong.
“We’re getting you out of here,” Hector mouthed to him in the dark, too fearful to make even a sound.
Using a knife, Hector cut the ropes free. He led Rhine out the back, another of Rhine’s men holding up the tent so they could crawl under. Rhine winced with each movement, the pain in his back and leg was severe. It appeared that they hadn’t killed all of his friends.
Hector and two others led their leader over to where a group of horses were tied to a cart. Rhine saw that it was their cart, the one full of their stolen goods that these men had stolen back. The plan was clear, they would steal the horses and ride like hell out of there.
“We’re gonna get you out of here,” Hector whispered.
He helped Rhine onto a horse, all of them keeping as quiet as they could. As the others climbed their horses, a sound broke out. Men yelled that Rhine had escaped, they poured out of the tents, armed and ready for a fight. Hector slammed the hilt of his sword against Rhine’s horse, sending the horse running into the dark.
They yelled for their horses to move, hitting them with their heels. Spears rained down on them, knocking two of the bandits off their horses. Hector sped up alongside another bandit, chasing after Rhine. In a few seconds they were out of reach from the thrown spears, but Hector turned back and saw that their pursuers had now mounted horses and were sprinting after them.
Rhine rode the horse into the darkness, unknowingly in the direction of the sand dunes. He was still in pain and partly delirious. If he’d been thinking straight, he would have headed to his left, for there is no way through the sand dunes. But he kept going, his only mindset being, I need to escape.
The men were catching up to Hector and Rhine. They had already taken out their third bandit, leaving just the two of them still getting away.
They heard the familiar yell of the man with the black hat, screaming for his men to take them out, not bothering with trying to capture them. They came closer and closer, three of them in all, closing in on the two bandits.
Hector looked ahead at Rhine, saw what he had to do. He stopped his horse abruptly and turned around. With his sword drawn, he charged the three men. Rhine glanced behind, caught a glimpse of Hector charging their enemies. He wanted to turn around and help, but he knew he would be useless in a fight. He didn’t even have a weapon. He rode on into the mountains of sand.
Hector reared back and sliced his sword through one of the man’s chest, sending him to the sand in two. Another horse collided into Hector, flinging him to the ground. Hector rolled to his feet as the two men attacked him. He ducked, dodging their blows, and sliced at their horses legs. Both men fell, struggled to their feet, and charged at Hector.
He stabbed one through the heart, but the other cut off his hand at the wrist. Hector’s bloody hand fell to the soft blowing sand, still holding tight to his blade. The man wearing the black hat stood over him. A gold star reflected moonlight on his shirt.
“So our plan worked,” he said. “You fell for the trap, and now we have you all dead.” He looked up at Rhine, riding off into the darkness of the rolling sand dunes. “You’re leader will die out there. Your rescue attempt has failed miserably.”
He brought back his sword. Hector closed his eyes. The blade came swiftly, and Hector’s limp body collapsed into the sand.
6
There’s nothing in the sand dunes but sand, wind, and scorching rays of sun. No plants, no animals. Just crumbling tiny bits of rock piled by the trillions and shifting at natures will. Horses were not bred for surpassing deserts, the sun wasn’t high in the sky when she fell and Rhine was forced to make the journey alone and on foot. He trudged onward up and down mounds of shifting sands, his footprints disappearing with the swift breeze, like he was never there at all.
Maybe life is like that. Just like a shifting sand dune. You appear, you leave a mark, and before you can even look back to see the mark it’s gone. The dunes of time leaving behind not a trace of your existence. Rhine threw out such thoughts, he was a bandit not a philosopher. He dealt in the real, the here and the now. And here he was, in the middle of a scorched desert, and it was the middle of the burning day.
The sun crisped whatever it touched. He swore his clothes would catch fire any second. Shade, give me some damn shade. But there was nothing in sight in all directions but sand. Few people had travelled in the dunes and returned alive. But no one ever returned twice. One time was enough to experience what they called “as sure a death trap as anything.” The harsh sand dunes made life in Canyon Land look like heaven on earth. After all, there is shade in Canyon Land. Blessed, blessed shade.
As the sun was dropping on the horizon, he felt he couldn’t go on. He’d been walking for what felt like a dozen lifetimes. Time stood still in the sand dunes, forcing you to experience every never ending second of it. He went from being thirsty in the dark, to his head pounding and his mouth going dry, to feeling like the sand he walked upon. As is every ounce of water in his body had run away from the heat, leaving him dry as a bone.
As night began to fall, and his muscles ached, and his skin and eyes burned, he began to see the mysterious lights appear on the horizon. He’d looked at them since he was little, and they always caused him to pause. Strange flickering white lights that rose up and disappeared. Nobody knew what they were. Nobody had ever made it far enough to find out. And neither will I.
Rhine tried to think only of bringing one foot in front of the other, tried not to think about his men, his friends that were now all dead. How Hector had turned to save his life. He vowed he would kill the man in the black hat if he survived. Part of him wanted to turn around earlier, while it was still dark, to chase him down and try and kill him. But it was a lost cause. He couldn’t show his face anywhere near Bly without being killed. Hell, half the people in town he’d threatened before. And he couldn’t go back to Canyon Land. They probably knew where the hideout was, and even if they didn’t he couldn’t be a bandit by himself. No, he walked on to his death, towards the strange lights.
The sky grew darker and Rhine’s hope bleaker. His mind wandered like the dunes, but his body reminded him constantly of the pain and exhaustion. He felt his body would give out, fall to the sand and soon be buried and forgotten like everything else. His body kept him going, forcing itself to push beyond limits he never knew it could. What he wouldn’t give for water. What he wouldn’t give to quench his scorched throat.
With the darkness came shade, a welcomed escape from the heat. But soon the cold came. The desert cold that appears out of nowhere, freezing the air in seconds. Rhine was shivering before he even knew it was cold, sweat still present on his skin from the heat of the day.
Rhine Toledo couldn’t move any farther through the dried up desert; his life was going to end, die in the desert all alone, nobody around, nothing around, and all because he’d asked for it. The calling of the bright lights beckon, they reach out to touch your soul, but kill you in the end. A Siren from that ancient text he’d read when he was young. What was the name of that s
tory? Falling hard, his face into the cracked earth, dying, he wished he could remember.
His body sat face first in the sand. Windblown specks gathered near his neck and shoulder, collecting at cracks, preparing to cover him completely. They would have, were it not for a hand that grabbed him from the darkness. A hand that held him and dragged his body. Still breathing, still barely conscious, Rhine looked up into the eyes of a young woman.
“You’re going to be fine,” she said. Her voice was soft and soothing. A contrast to the coarse world. Her hair was a long flowing black stream, her eyes a deep brown twinkling in the moonlight. She held Rhine tight, leaned down, and looked into his eyes. “Welcome to the heart of Pillar’s Shadow.”
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