Looking back he wished that he had not stopped but travelled on through the night, entered the wilderness with the same relentlessness that made him the most dangerous creature for miles around. Normally he would. When he had no task to sate his will he wandered remorselessly, with no thought to his purpose. He roamed the wilds alone, unapproachable and unreachable, driven from town to town only by the tides of the wind. When the call came a switch turned in his mind – a purpose enveloped him that he did not know at any other time. To what end each call would lead him he never knew, the purpose of his work was never revealed. He needed no reason because this was all he had. Dark, languid days in the scorching and unforgiving sand, punctuated by brutal bloodletting. This was his life, and to him it was as good as any other.
The call had still not come – it had been 8 long months now, and he had wandered far without reason that he could comprehend. His mind twitched in his head, awareness pricking at him. It had never been so long before. Even if the call never came, he would not suffer agonies but for that girl’s eyes, he would happily wander forever. Those eyes had told him something, and whilst the light that fired them lived he had new purpose. An understanding that he had never possessed took him; he too was now a helpless passenger. Sometimes, he told people that he himself was fate, some nameless angel of darkness come from the desert to avenge their sins, and put their little lives to rest. He never believed this, no superstition moved him, no force but his own ego and his knowledge of the desire that people have for reason. Whilst he was mostly carried by the world, in his mind it was so because he allowed it. Now he knew he held no power. Life called him; those depthless eyes. A band of night tinged an ashen blue was spreading across the sky, foretelling the coming of dawn; another day of these most perilous times, and still he survived. He looked within himself, and saw once again that his mind was keen as a newly sharpened blade, ready to face those who would oppose him. When the day came that it wasn’t, it would be the day he died. The honour of that merciful release from the trial of existence would fall to others in the coming hours.
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When he came to Temple he had also spent the night sitting long awake under the stars. The sunset smote the land all the colours of death; glittering guttural orange of a billowing deadly fireball, and bright crimson red of the blood that had fertilised the soil. The sky dark, his thoughts followed. He knew not what to do, but sensed a flourish of menace in the land. He was drawn to find the girl, and this alarmed him. Yet he would obey his instincts, because they had never failed him – he had nothing else to do, not yet.
The next day he awoke, early, before the sky had brightened fully. It was still pale and lank and the sun feeble as it struggled reluctantly over the horizon. He patrolled what he had established as the perimeter of his camp, checking the traps and marking the land in his mind’s eye. If he was to remain a day or two, he needed to be vigilant, for whilst powerful there were still those who would threaten him – desperate men wrenched free of their senses by the hopelessness that surrounded them, and foul creatures, mutant carnivores that hunted in the night. He returned to his camp, his territory marked, grasping a dead lizard by the tail. As dawn rose he kindled a small fire of brush and made ready his breakfast.
He arrived in the hamlet just after noon, and in much the manner as he had previously; seated easily upon the camel’s stout back, staring out over the town set amidst the lunar landscape. Still, this was not the same man as the day before. His slate grey eyes, if anyone dared meet them, were less remote than usual. Today he had a purpose; he sought the girl. He found a place deserted, such streets as there were emptied; a dead place. He was not surprised, fear usually preceded him, for that he could blame no-one. If he feared anything, it was himself, his own terrible power. The houses were built of whatever could be gathered – fire blackened driftwood bolstered with brush and stone, mean and crude and roofless dwellings. Quick and sure as death, he pulled his shotgun from his back, cocked it, and fired it in the air in one fluid practised motion. The gunshot sounded across the dunes like thunder of the rains that never came. There followed a deathly silence – even the wind did not dare to speak.
“Come forward, or I will burn this town to ashes; come forward, whoever may be the leader among you”He did not shout, but to the cowering folk in their humble abodes his voice must have sounded louder and more fearsome than the gunshot that preceded it. They knew from the tone and command that The Bounty Hunter was among them, but could not tell who he came for. They could never tell. From one of the grander dwellings, roofed and permanent looking, came a middle aged man. He emerged slowly and walked forward nervously. He seemed unsure of procedure, walked in a half-crouched cowering pose which made him look smaller than he ought to have been. He drew within ten yards of The Bounty Hunter, and beheld him. To people of a hamlet such as this, The Bounty Hunter was a terrible legend, a mythical creature of darkness. He wore a black broad brimmed hat, with his mop of dark hair held fast beneath by a red and white bandanna. He wore camouflaged trousers and leather boots with deep soles that seemed almost as timeless as his weathered, ageless face. Over his crisp white shirt he wore a thigh length coat of time ravaged suede, and across his shoulders a dark travel-stained cape sat limp against his back, tumbling down over the flanks of his steed. He looked enormous before their eyes, more threatening for the blemishes and imperfections of time. The man could say nothing.
“I am looking for a girl of this town, more beautiful than any other. You will bring her here now.”
The man looked thunderstruck, then defiant. The defiance evaporated on looking into the bright hot coals of the Bounty Hunter’s narrowed pupils.
“I will bring her. She is my daughter.”
The Bounty Hunter nodded, but made no other movement. He had no doubt that the man knew the exact girl of which he spoke. Almost perceptibly, all of Temple exhaled as one. Rather the girl than them.
The Bounty Hunter remained motionless, only his eyes following the man as he hurried away. He imagined him cursing his ill fortune, that his girl should be taken from him. The part of him that was changed by her beauty and bearing, perhaps prompted by some deeply buried stirring of humanity, now drew his mind elsewhere. He asked himself what it would be, to live as other people do, and speak as they speak. To use means other than fear and the voice of command to communicate his wishes and obtain his desires. He pitied these people, but at the same time experienced a longing long absent – not strong, but there, like a forgotten memory that refuses to surface, nagging at the corners of his mind. Perhaps the answer lay in those eyes.
It was a full twenty minutes before her father returned, leading the girl by the hand. He marched boldly towards The Bounty Hunter almost dragging his charge behind him. The Bounty Hunter, who had not moved a muscle in this time, saw a desperation about the man’s eyes, and readied himself. He doubted the haggard figure could cause much trouble, but set his brain in motion anyway, to get the edge he needed. The man returned to within ten yards of him, and as he approached fell to his knees in the dust dragging his daughter to the floor alongside him. Whatever course of action he had determined, he had thought better of it at the last. He looked up at the impassive form that towered above him, sobbing tears of pain and rage and frustration.
“Please don’t take her”
The scrawny, scrabbling figure looked pitiful, rolled in dirt. The girl looked on, grave and silent; noble and beautiful and like nothing else in that bitter blasted place.
“I will protect her”The Bounty Hunter let the words pass his lips before he could halt them. Some new instinct was aroused in him. He did not let his momentary confusion show in his eyes or in the way he held himself. His endless certainty made him seem invulnerable, the fear this nurtured was his armour. He held out his hand to the girl, who stood and took it with a far firmer grasp than he was expecting. Without allowing himself pause to consider this, he flicked his arm and hauled her up and across his legs, where she dangled like baggage. He set off immediately, leaving the man floundering helplessly in the dirt behind him, wondering at what he had just witnessed.
It was a short ride back to his camp, and they did not speak a word. He could see that the girl was numbed by terror, unsure what fate lay ahead. Now he was with her, The Bounty Hunter too was lost, because he did not know what he expected to find. The truth would reveal itself, he knew. It always did in the end.
