Chapter 7

To Perditus, there seemed no pleasure or safety in all of Bara Magna except in the speed of the Thornatus V9 and the whir of air rushing against his helmet. Always eager to patrol the dunes surrounding Iron Canyon, he had come to appreciate the company of his own thoughts. Driving with passengers was an unwelcome experience to him, however, for the silence of absent conversation was louder than the roar of the Dune Chariot’s engine.

Ackar continued to stare from his perch above the Thornatus’ roll cage, back at the dunes they had left behind. He seemed sickly; like a plant that had been moved into the wrong soil, as though he were missing something vital. Perditus had noted the difference as soon as they had left Vulcanus. The Prime Glatorian’s gestures weren’t as extravagant. His voice wasn’t as deep. Even his eyes weren’t as bright as they should have been.

After a long beat, Perditus chose to speak up.

“I’m surprised you’re looking behind instead of forward,” he ventured.

Ackar was a long time answering. Lowering his gaze, the wise Glatorian pulled a sad smile.

“In my experience, he said, “it’s what sneaks up behind you that’s the real threat. Not what presents itself before you.”

Perditus nodded, a study in silence. Ackar was a pleasant enough companion, happy to talk when prompted and comfortable in silence when not.

The pair had a tenuous relationship at the best of times, with vastly different life experiences and expertise. For the most part, Perditus kept to himself, steering the Thornatus V9. Life in Vulcanus had prepared him for his journeys across the Wastelands. Very little occurred, but he was always alert, anticipating sudden changes in the terrain far quicker than most.

The drive soon became endless for Ackar, who eventually turned his attention elsewhere, remarking scraps of armor that littered the sand as they whipped past, dazzling and bright enough to leave red spots dancing across his vision.

“It’s a wonder there’s still metal out here to salvage,” he remarked, raising a hand to shield his face from the glare.

“It’s a big desert,” shrugged Perditus. Ackar detected nothing in his clipped tone that sought further response.

The two Glatorian had been driving for several hours, spotting nothing of particular interest amidst the canyons and gorges beyond rippled dunes and rock formations weathered smooth by the sand. Everything wavered in the haze with the sun at its highest.

“You know, Raanu’s offer still stands,” mused Ackar, glancing down from his perch at the pilot. “Vulcanus could really use a Second in the arena.”

Just six months ago, Vulcanus had been poised as the foremost settlement on Bara Magna, with three well-trained Glatorian and a proud legacy of victory in the arena. However, an unfortunate chain of events beginning with Malum’s exile for poor arena etiquette had damaged the Fire Tribe’s standing immeasurably. Worse still, Perditus remained entirely unwilling to participate in arena battles outside of vehicular combat, leaving Raanu no choice but to approach the other tribes for assistance, commissioning Metus of Iconox to recruit new talent. With no other Glatorian in Vulcanus experienced enough to fill Malum’s vacancy as the tribe’s Secondary Glatorian, all arena matches had suddenly been deferred to Ackar.

“I left the arena for a reason,” growled Perditus with unexpected frost in his tone. “My talents were never with a sword as yours were. Besides, I don’t much like my chances going up against reigning Arena Champions like Vastus and Tarix.”

“Neither do I if I’m being entirely honest,” chuckled Ackar, reflecting on Tarix’s recent victory in the Annual Tournament. “But I was rather hoping you’d reconsidered in light of… well, I won’t be around forever.”

The Glatorian trailed off and hung his head.

Over the course of the past six months, a dangerous new breed of combatant had entered the arenas of Bara Magna: the Skrall. Eager to carve out a piece of Bara Magna for themselves, the Rock Tribe had contested every major Wasteland find since they had settled in Roxtus. So far, the Skrall had captured the Fire Geysers north of Vulcanus, as well as the valuable oases and farming land discovered near Tesara and Iconox. The Rock Tribe warriors were yet to be beaten, outclassing the likes of Gresh, Kiina, Strakk and now even Ackar himself. To many among the Fire Tribe, this was a sign that their Prime Glatorian had passed his peak.

Perditus shook his head.

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered begrudgingly, “lest we end up with no Glatorian at all…”

✴        ✴        ✴

Following the direction of Atakus’ map as he led the pack north between Skrall River and Creep Canyon, Malum eventually noticed a difference in the quality of terrain underfoot. There was no exact place where the sand ended and the baked earth began, but the gradient of the desertscape grew steeper, until there could be no doubt that they were leaving the Great Barren behind; at last venturing into land unfamiliar to even the eldest Vorox among the party.

‘We need to go that way,’ observed the aide, pointing the tip of her stinger tail in the direction of a gorge between two large mountain ranges.

“Which direction is that?” countered Malum.

‘The right one.’

Malum stopped abruptly. Startled, the aide stopped as well and turned to face him.

The former Glatorian’s eyes betrayed the cautionary warning of a bonfire waiting to be lit. She had gotten away with dry retorts in the past, but now the look in Malum’s face told her in no uncertain terms that it would not be tolerated any longer.

Malum held her fearful gaze for a while before speaking.

“Mind your tone, aide,” he said slowly. “Strength is a language that needs no translation. I can speak it more fluently than any other.”

The translator considered this before bowing her head in submission.

“You have served me well so far, and I have confided much in you,” Malum said, brushing past her. “I would not enjoy burying that to the sands of time.”

He looked back at her.

“But I will if I must.”

The translator glanced around to see if anyone had observed the exchange. Most had been otherwise occupied, but there was no doubt that they would sense a subtle shift in Malum’s demeanor.

She looked again at Malum’s retreating form, quietly impressed by his display. He was right. The Vorox would never respect one who allowed backtalk or slander.

He had passed the test.

Allowing herself a slight smile, she shuffled after her leader.

✴        ✴        ✴

In the early afternoon, the leading scouts became aware of another large speck on the horizon. Malum couldn’t tell what it was, or even if it was natural in origin, figuring the object to be a fallen tree. The exile’s weary eyes passed over the outlying curiosity without immediate interest. His time in the Wastelands had taught him to recognize a mirage from afar. Most likely, it was a ridge of dirt or rocks.

As they journeyed further, however, Malum wondered if perhaps this area of the eastern Wastelands had been naturally lower, a region where true valleys and craters had once held water and plants. At first there was no sign of any such features, but as they went on, strange shapes and shadows began to appear. Sensing that the pack had finally reached the furthest feature marked of the map, he stared at the peaks in hushed malevolence. The walls of the canyon were tapered and obscured to him.

Before long a change came to be perceived in the behavior of the remaining Zesk, who grew reluctant to advance further as they skirted against the furthest extent of the Wastelands. Met with a low growl from deep within Malum’s throat, the scavengers fell back in line with some apprehension. Though they had once enjoyed the freedom known to all self-governing Agori, the centuries had trained the Zesk well to let their leader do the thinking for them without challenging the point.

Ascending the earthen slope, broken cliffs and granite boulders came into view, jumping up on either side of the trail and shimmering in the daylight. Lofty crags rolled away on each side, forming the familiar sharp, ragged outlines of a canyon rising up to meet the afternoon sky.

Further changes in the pack’s behavior could now be observed in the Vorox, who had begun to twitch and bristle, as though they had picked up on a sensation he had not. When he could tolerate the writhing of his followers no longer, Malum planted his feet in the ground and spoke up.

“What’s is this?” he demanded openly, noticing that he had at last outpaced even the most eager of his scouts. “Don’t tell me the mighty Vorox are scared to leave the desert behind?”

Before anyone could so much as chirp in response to Malum’s challenge, however, the ground beneath his feet began to tremor. Small pebbles and shale cascaded down the slope before the sand itself erupted into a giant fist, snatching the exile up in a gust of debris. Snared by the churning sediment, Malum was hoisted into the air several feet off the ground by the construct, the world before him reduced to a beige blur, as though his head had been submerged beneath an ocean of clay.

“What manner of Sand Flea scurries across my surface?” demanded the swirling tempest in the language of the Agori, its voice barely recognizable as female.

Struggling for his life, the exile swung his Flame Claws at the constraints, the sheer mass feeling as though he were fighting beneath the liquid depths of an oasis. Calling out in confusion, Malum watched as his followers starred in awe at the spectacle. One by one, the Vorox threw themselves to the ground in worship.

“I am Malum!” yelled the crimson warrior, waving his weapons to steady himself, “Scourge of Vulcanus. Warrior of the Wastelands. Victor of a thousand battles. Above all, I am Champion of the Vorox! Now who in the name of the Great Beings are you?”

A terrene mass emerged from the swirling ground, allowing Malum a glimpse of the stranger’s true shape. At first, he thought the figure to be a piece of claywork vaguely sculpted in Glatorian form, but then a set of alien eyes blinked open. Her helmet was adorned with thorned extrusions and her armor possessed the same organic sheen as the hide of a Scarabax Beetle. Her expression was impossible to determine for the apparatus of serrated mandibles at the bottom of her helmet, which was the source of the buzzing, clacking voice that spoke.

“At one time I was Empress of Atero and Conqueror of the Great Barren,” she nattered in response, surveying the assembled Vorox and Zesk before her. “Now I am little more than the guardian of the Eastern Deadlands.”

Recalling painful memories of the Core War, it slowly dawned on the exile that he had unknowingly wandered into the clutches of the reclusive Elemental Lord of Sand. Revered across Spherus Magna for her tempestuous rage and ever-changeable nature, she had commanded the vast legions of the Vorox Empire that had decimated many battalions that Malum had himself served in. In spite of her military exploits, however, the absence of the Elemental Lords had left a sour taste in the mouth of a great many Glatorian over the centuries. Digging deep, the crimson warrior flexed his muscles against the clay tendrils, freeing his arms and gesturing to the infinite sea of desert.

“You mean there are lands deader than this?” he challenged.

The Elemental Lord buzzed a laugh and unfurled her thick fingers, severing her command over the construct and leaving Malum to plummet back to the ground, the shingle that had been his prison moments before now cushioning his fall.

“The signs have been scoured away by wind and buried in time,” she murmured, admiring the landscape of the Wastelands as though she could see their furthest edge. “It has been many centuries since children of the tribes have dared approach these borders. What is it that you hope to find, Malum of the Wastelands?”

“I seek answers,” said the exile simply, dusting the sand from his armor and returning to his feet. “I understand that this area is dangerous, but I have no choice but to continue in pursuit of my goal - I want to know the secrets of Bara Magna. I want to understand this broken world and my place in it. I want to know where civilization began and what lies at the end of this world. Do you have any such wisdom to impart?”

“You mistake me to be of a charitable nature,” growled the Elemental Lord, fixing the exile with a glare. “If others should be foolish enough to venture this way, then I shall tell them only that horror awaits beyond this canyon, the same thing that you now know, for all the good it did. Wisdom is wasted on your kind. Besides, you are not known to me… Glatorian, and I have no trust for traitors and renegades. If you truly fancy yourself equal to my Vorox, then you will kneel before your empress.”

Behind him, the pack continued to watch from the ground, even his loyal aide humbled in allegiance to the Elemental Lord. He wondered, perhaps, how the Vorox would regard a champion so thoroughly cowed. He had seen pack leaders banished from tribes for inadequacy and he knew his followers to be some of the most brutally efficient predators on Bara Magna. After so many errors in judgement on this expedition, so much betrayal of weakness, he could not afford to show any more in their sight, even in the face of a swirling desert storm incarnated.

“The Vorox would never follow a leader who served another,” he said with steely defiance. “They respect me for my strength and follow me for my conviction. I will not kneel - not before you, not for Raanu, not for anyone.”

As though a rare cloud had passed overhead, the gaze of the Elemental Lord grew dark. Anger did not permeate her features, however, which made her countenance all the more dangerous.

“You are a fool to think leadership is anything but service,” rebuked the Elemental Lord in short response, her great head wagging in something close to disappointment. “The Vorox have made you strong but the heart beneath all that armor is wrong if you do not recognize this.”

Malum felt his jaw tighten as control began to slip through his fingertips, for losing his self-control now would be to lose his standing entirely. As difficult as it was, he forced his fiery emotions down and willed reason to prevail. He mulled the words over and judged the wisdom behind them.

To lead was to be strong. To serve was to be weak. The Vorox had followed him, quite literally, to the end of the earth. In their minds, at least for now, his strength prevailed over his weakness. Would submission to this supposed deity not betray weakness?

Wouldn’t it?

Or would it? After all this time, despite his failures, he had consistently proven to hold the best interests of the Vorox in mind. To be an alpha was to truly understand that he could do the job better than any other, and to take action accordingly. He had done this every step of the way. He deserved to lead… but only if he prioritized the interests of the tribe. Was it in the best interest of the tribe to acknowledge the supremity of their ancient defender? Is it inherently weakness to pay respect to those his followers venerate? Not at all. There is, after all, a big difference between salluting and groveling.

So what if the Vorox continued to revere this Element Lord above him? The Vorox had united behind him for a reason. The Element Lord had paid no interest in the affairs of her former soldiers; it was he who had sought her out. So long as she acknowledged his rights as a leader, could he not acknowledge hers?

On many occasions he had scorned Raanu for his indecision and excessive arrogance on such matters. While many Agori had enjoyed the comforts of complacent stability, it was no secret that the tribes had become stagnant and unwilling to change, and in no place was this more evident than the council chambers of Vulcanus. It seemed to him no other Glatorian could embrace Bara Magna in its purest reality.

Malum visibly relaxed.

“A leader is only as strong as the faith of his followers,” he finally conceded after much thought. “I seek to do right by those who follow me - to honor the noble Vorox and Zesk under my command. To do this, I must be different from past leaders. They named me Champion so that I might lead them to salvation and uncover the answers they cannot themselves.”

Although every instinct screamed at him to give in to his emotions and rage, he forced them down. Once he could never have exercised such control, but his time in the wastes had tought him much. Submitting to the will of his pack, he at last fell to one knee and bowed his head, embracing the sand.

’I swear my fealty to you, wise Elemental Lord,’ he chittered in the tongue of the Sand Tribe so that his followers might hear, the words feeling natural. ‘I pledge to honor and defend your tribesmen, wherever they reside. So surely as there is a blade in my hand and righteousness in my cause, there shall be sand in my soul.’

Satisfaction did not become the expression of the Elemental Lord, but her gaze grew warmer. Reaching forward, she placed the palm of her hand on Malum’s shoulder. Her manner was coarse but the touch felt delicate and smooth, as though she had conjured the finest grains of sand in all of Bara Magna for the occasion.

A wave of invisible energy seemed to pulse through the exile’s breast. When it succumbed, he felt invigorated. Rising with the blessing of the Vorox deity, the sands of the Wastelands suddenly felt more a home to him than the hovel of salvaged metal he had once called home ever could have.

“I have watched my Vorox from the fringes of this world since the time of the Shattering,” she lamented, retracting her hand and gesturing for the pack to rise. “I have observed Agori drive Zesk from their villages as though they were vermin. They huddle around fires in the desert at the dead of night, reaching for the glow of the flames for comfort and heat, fearing the howls of Wasteland Wolves and the rumbling of their bellies. Once every thousand years, however, this world spits out a tribesman who grows to resent the fire and ventures off into the night to find his own way, envious of the wolves and eager to satisfy his hunger. I believe that you are one such tribesman, Malum, though the path you have taken is not measured in distance traveled.”

“And still there is further to go,” said the champion with a cursory glance at his aide. “If I am to truly be worthy of leading the Vorox, then I must complete my quest and discover the lost secrets of Spherus Magna. I must learn what has transpired over the centuries so that I may avoid their mistakes and restore my people to their former glory. I must ask a question that perhaps only you know the answer to: what has become of the Great Beings?”

The Elemental Lord tilted her head back and drew breath only to pause. The roar of an engine could be heard, flung in echoes from the ridges of the plateau. Inclining his head in the direction, Malum froze at the sight of the Thornatus V9 roaring towards him, its side-wheels extending out at the direction of the pilot. Rows of wickedly-sharp blades glinting in the light of the desert sun as though fate itself were rushing up to meet him.

It appeared Ackar had finally caught up with his trail…