As The Force Guides You Forward...

The heat was so immense, waves of it bounced off against the rugged sand of the desert. What was once thriving trees and grass, where lavish homes and paved roads of concrete was nothing but an arid desert. A space full of heat that was devoid of life except for the venomous flies and acid-spewing lizards that evolved to live here. Keep moving. That was the Nomad’s belief. She had to keep moving no matter what. No matter how many establishments she passed, no matter how many would offer “fresh” water and “fresh” meat, a comfortable bed, and a nice warm fire, she had to keep moving. One because she wasn't a cult member or no concubine and two: if she stopped in any of those towns, even nestled there for rest for even a week, or even a day, she knew, she’d never leave and her quest would end.

Far down in the bowels of her belly, sheathed behind intestines, a circulatory and nervous system, her soul was darkening. Not with the corruption of evil from the murder, robbery, or rape and cannibalism of the Babylon around her, but from the sense of despair growing within her. Despair over her promise not being fulfilled. She promised her mother, her withered sickly mother before she died, that she’d bring honor back to their family. She remembered holding her mother’s lifeless hand and uttering that promise, knowing her mother’s soul was long gone from this hell of a planet. 

The Nomad always kept her promises. So the promise to traverse the land of the once thriving and living earth to meet her clan, her true clan one last time and fulfill that promise was the only thing that she cared about. Nothing else. She knew the sense of normalcy in a world ruined by a ‘climate crisis’ would sink her away from her goal. She heard stories from her mother from a time before. A time where trees stood tall and water covered nearly every inch of the earth. Yet all the Nomad saw was an earth that didn't receive rain in over one hundred years. She wondered how the human race could have survived. Could have survived a global crisis that dried up lakes and oceans, destroyed most aquatic life on the planet, and left humans poaching and destroying any last remnants of life. Now the future generations had to pay penance.

The Nomad slung her sack over her shoulder and continued on, ignoring the snipping heat. Others would look at her like she was insane, a lone woman, out in the desert in the middle of the day. Others would see her as a rumor and a legend. She was making a name for herself across the wasteland. Sand Walker, they’d call her. The ghostly specter that would travel across the desert in the day, then disappear at night. She had to be a piece of fiction. Had to be.

What they didn't know was that she had something-someone on her side. Only her mother and she knew of this force that guided her and protected her against the elements. Made her fireproof almost and gave her the strength to avoid and if left with no choice, to release the miserable souls of bandits prowling at night from this world. 

She felt her lips grow dry and her tongue crinkle up from the arid heat, the last of her saliva dissipating. Daylight would fade soon, so she knew she would have to find a hole to disappear for the night and to spare the bandits from her wrath. She pulled a cask out from her bag and sipped at the water. Though it hadn't rained in over decades, underground reservoirs held any chance and hope of humans continuing on. She thanked the force for providing her with a sudden rush of quenched thirst as she went on further into the land.

It was when the blasting sun faded and the familiar void of darkness appeared. She was nestled in a cave, deep within with a fire started, roasting a lizard. The fire warmed her suddenly freezing body, the world suddenly turning to an unforgiving frozen wasteland, opposite of earlier that day. She thanked the force once again as her mouth salivated over the lizard. It spewed acid, yes, but after skewering it and pulling out its infamous gland, her meal wasn't spoiled and she wouldn't have to worry about her teeth dissolving like so many others had been the victim of before her.

She took one last sip of her water before she nestled in front of the fire and closed her eyes. She breathed, long and softly, finding herself in her breathing until she was in that infinite void once again. It was peaceful. She felt the events from earlier fade away and her anger, her grief, all her priorities vanish. She was in the presence of the force once again. She felt its hand wrap around her, and its power surge in her, a twinkle in her gut until it surged across her whole body and she felt like she was the air itself. She would lay dormant like this for most of the night. Most times. That was until the voice came in her head.

The first time she heard it, she was shocked, mortified. She thought she finally went insane like the cannibals in the wasteland. That was until it revealed itself and showed her its power. Now its familiar voice vibrated through her skull, not asking her- telling her to follow its orders.

Go.

She did. She put out the fire, packed her things, and continued on, through the cold night. After the climate crisis, most of the earth’s atmosphere disappeared, making the daytime a scorching land of fire, and the night an icy landscape. Two hells over, her mother used to say.  While a part of her did as the force asked, the other was hesitant, cursing to herself. This was not the time to travel, not because of the cold, but because of the prowlers that roamed at night. Easy animal pelts and old rags from a century ago could protect you from the cold. Bandits could sneak into settlements or camps and relinquish lives with the snap of their fingers.

They didn't discriminate against nomads. Nor did they discriminate with what was ahead.

She felt it before she saw them. A surge of energy in her gut cascaded through her body. The voice came back to her, pulling her closer to the blur of shadows in the distance. Protect. Guide. Teach.

She felt something else. Unknown energy pinged in her gut, almost like a hand touching her own ethereal form. It pulled her closer to the supposed carnage in the distance. She was walking in a mountainous valley, filled with corners and crevices of rock where plenty of bandits could get shade during the day, but hide and attack during the night. The way closer became tighter until she was on a straight path of the rocky walls until she got to a small clearing. The clattering of swords, grunts, and the scent of copper warned her first.

She ducked around a corner, then unsheathed her sack, pulling off her makeshift garb from her face, and stared at the fight in front of her.  The bandits were small, a band of four, but carrying machetes and stone hatchets that the Nomad once saw cave a skull in. And they were angry. They were swinging at what appeared to be a shadow at first, but closer inspection revealed another wanderer.  The wanderer was holding their own too. 

They separated and distanced themselves from the murderers before appearing with a weapon of their own, a long staff, that flurried across the bodies of the bandits. The Nomad squinted her eyes. The wanderer was a man-no- a boy. The boy disabled one bandit before moving on to the other, like lightning, cracking his fist into the killer’s face. It was only so much he could do though. In the dark, it was hard to see your next opponent. 

The Nomad saw him and was charging towards the bandit as fast as the boy could turn and see a dagger almost sink into his face. The Nomad sent the bandit back with a flying knee and quickly yanked the boy out the way from another strike. The Nomad usually avoided fights, better chances of survival but her old instincts from long ago made it back to her. She was sending a hard elbow into a bandit and sending another back to the ground with a hard crack. The boy watched the Nomad as she blitzed through the four bandits, each one, howling in pain, the dark liquid seeping to the crusty earth before the last one made a dash for her and was stopped with a whipping of the boy’s staff.

The Nomad and the boy stared at one another and the link hit them like a sword in the gut. She felt the pull just as much as he did. The force came back to her in her mind once again. Protect. Guide. Teach.  The boy jumped away from her and brandished his staff in her face. The Nomad smacked it away and stepped toward the boy, but he quickly stepped back again. “Who are you? “ he asked, although, to the Nomad, he was speaking in a language lost to her. She rose an eyebrow and put up her hands in surrender. “One: you could be here to help. Or two: you’re just another crazy folk ready to try and kill me.”

The Nomad quickly grabbed the staff and yanked it away from the boy. He was instinctual to react with a kick. The Nomad caught it, then quickly swept him to the ground. She sent a foot down on his chest and waved a finger at him. She was blinded by pure light. She stumbled away and through blurry vision found the boy holding the sun itself in his hands. Wait...no...it was.

The boy pointed the flashlight at her, then to the bandits. He aimed it back to her then scanned her. He felt it. Some strange force he felt when he appeared on this world getting closer and closer. And it was here. He was staring at it. He aimed his flashlight back on the ground and sighed. “Sorry. It's just that...I’ve had a long day. Or week. Month? I honestly don't know.” The Nomad stared at him confused. Through the moonlit night and the echoes of the flashlight in his hand, the boy was dark, as dark as the dirt her mother told her used to bring the old trees to life in the time before the end. He had a large bush for hair with strands of it like braids. He was in dirty and wet purple robes wrapped in a sack and a bag that strapped to his shoulders. A backpack as her mother used to call it.  He looked just as surprised as she was when she stepped closer to him. She let a handout and her hand vibrated, pulsated with energy. Garrett found his hand and met hers and did the same. When their hands touched, nerves crackled under the skin and a sudden understanding came with the Nomad. She wondered if the boy felt the same. “Uh okay. That was weird.” the Nomad could understand the boy completely now.

She nodded in agreement. The boy looked around at the bandits sprawled on the ground. “So by the smell and ragged looks of these guys, I deduce that I am on an earth where the apocalypse has happened.  Now people resort to mindless crime, looting, and cannibalism. Am I right?”

The Nomad was flustered. She nodded. “Yes…” she muttered. “You are..different.”

“Uhh yea. I get that a lot. Wow, it's been a while since I’ve done this. Another earth. Another adventure huh?” The boy stepped over the bandits. He found his staff and slid to the ground. “And no closer to home.” the Nomad could see the sadness flood over the boy’s face. She felt for him. About what, she did not know. Home didn't exist to her anymore, yet she still understood that pain. Her mother was home. She was gone now. She walked over to the boy and he looked up, his sadness disappearing. “Welp, it seems like, we’re gonna be stuck with each other for a while. At least until I find a way back to the Orrery.” The boy let out a hand. “The name’s Garrett. Garrett Thompson.”

The Nomad stared at his hand. What was he doing? The voice in her head rumbled once again. Protect. The Nomad hesitantly let out a hand and the boy grabbed it, shaking it. “Nice nice. And you are…?”

The Nomad nodded. “I am…” her name was lost to her. It wasn't that she forgot it, more so it was not spoken by her or anyone in so long, it meant nothing to her. Her promise was more important. “Nomad.” she finally answered.

“Nomad. Like Captain America. Nice. and you’re giving me Cassandra Cain vibes so this will be fun. And that sweep was nice! What was that? Muay Thai or something?”

The name was unfamiliar to her. It sounded similar to the ancient art The Nomad’s mother taught her, Muay Boran: The art of eight limbs. Guide. Teach.

Understanding started to solidify in her mind. This Garrett un-slugged his backpack and pulled out a bottle of water and held it out for her. “Surgat said to bring water for the next door I go through. I’m glad I did. Mad Max vibes here am I right?” Garrett grinned. Nomad took it, unscrewed its cap, and felt the chilling stream of water run down her throat. She felt a sense of relief and elation. “Core water with added electrolytes.” Garrett took a sip of his own water. He gathered his things, then followed Nomad as she gathered her own belongings then patted down the bandits. Garrett shadowed her and did the same. “Oo! A dagger! Souvenir! Some pelts. May be able to trade these? Or this isn't how it works on this earth? Or how about this?” The boy shoved a jewel in Nomad’s vision. She looked at the crimson red jewel, then grabbed it. See waved the boy’s flashlight over and stared into the crystal. Then she chucked it all the way to the moon. Garrett stood silent. He nodded. “Alright.”

Nomad started to walk away, hesitant with this boy. Yet he still followed. “No seriously though. Muay Thai right? I mean that's pretty awesome. Tony Jaa vibes…I mean I know Shaolin Kung Fu, Wing Chun, and Jeet Kune Do, but that's damn awesome. Maybe when we have time you could throw some lessons at me?”

The Nomad ignored him and kept walking into the night. The force rumbled inside of her, reassuring her of what was to come, of her quest. Of her promise. And somehow this Garrett Thompson was a part of it. Something was in him, something similar to the force that led her. She just didn't know what. She found herself looking up at the starry night. A bright star glittered in her vision. She repeated the words the force told her before. Protect. Guide. Teach. The boy?