Illus. by Dragonmun Studios
An explosion swept across the desert with incredible speed. Thankfully, the cave that Zenner sat in was positioned away from the oncoming shock wave. All she heard was the detonation, the rush of air, and the aftermath flew past her. Sand ripped past the entrance of the cave and off into the Badlands outside Orlandia.
“Looks like BK did it,” Zenner spoke and turned back. There was only one other person inside the cave with her- her trainee Flynn. The broad shouldered boy sat with his back pressed against the cave wall. He seemed unfazed by the sounds coming from outside. That was good. Zenner didn’t need some weak willed partner. Orlandia was gone. The desert was everyone’s home now.
Zenner walked over to Flynn, the echo of her boots overpowered by the roar outside, as it slowly died out. Zenner wondered who was left. Many of Jester faction had pushed into the city with the Bandit King. They knew they had high chances of dying.
Die with a man’s head beneath your boot, don’t live under someone else’s. That was the creed of the Jesters.
The plan had been to surge the city; to take back the land and return it to how it was before. Return it to the sand.
The Polaris and Orlandia’s military had tried to stop them every step of the way. The Polaris believed in justice. Like the world worked that way. It was eat or be eaten. At least the military understood power. But they too had wanted something concrete; a so-called utopia of order and prosperity through strict unity.
Unity. What a load.
You had to take what you believed was yours. Giving jobs and homes was just enabling the weak. And the only forms of payment were blood and sweat. No tears. Jesters don’t cry.
Illus. by Damon Dykes
Zenner doubted any of them did as they walked towards the almost-sure death. It had been pretty much every one of their numbers. Zenner and Flynn alone were to await The Bandit King to return and go from there. A small part of Zenner did hope for some of the others to return, though. It wasn’t much of a faction without more people.
As she pondered, the sounds outside all but died down. The Big Bitchin’ Bomb had gone off. Now it was done. Only the normal noises of the desert were left. Soft winds over rolling dunes.
“Finally done, huh?” Flynn asked, breaking Zenner from her thoughts.
“You’re a genius, aren’t you?” Zenner replied, raising a single brow at her trainee. He merely shrugged and looked back outside. Toughening trainees was fun, but only in the beginning when they couldn’t take the insults.
Flynn stood up and dusted himself off. “How long do you think it’ll take before BK gets back?”
“Probably a few hours. Can’t imagine he’d be able to just stroll out after that explosion.”
“Right,” Flynn nodded and turned towards the back of the cave. “We could go exploring.”
“In a cave, that we know is only about twenty feet long and leads to just more cave? Are you always this dumb?”
“I like to think I’m pretty consistent in my stupidity, yes.”
Zenner sighed and waved him off to do as he pleased. As long as he didn’t somehow destroy the cave they took shelter in, she couldn’t care less what he did with his time.
As Flynn walked off, Zenner wondered once again about their fate. What would become of the few Bandits left? Would they ride off into the desert to find more towns like Orlandia? Or did they stay and thrive amongst the ashes of the decimated city? Surely others would survive and they could join their ranks. And if they didn’t want to, they’d be made to. Or they would die. Zenner felt her lips split into a smirk. It would be nice to have some fresh blood for her to break in and teach the true ways of life.
“Hey! Uh…Zenner! You might want to come check this out!”
“Flynn. I’ve seen a rock before.” Once again Flynn had pulled Zenner from her own head and this time she felt much more annoyed by it.
“Not a rock. Definitely not a rock. Unless they make vacuum rocks!”
“What are you on about…?” Zenner muttered more to herself and then turned to walk back into the darkness of the cave. Her feet carried her roughly ten feet before she bumped into Flynn, who stood in the dead center of the cave. “What’s the deal with-!”
“Shh…-Listen.”
“Did you just “Shh” me?”
“It happens. Listen.” The dark figure of Flynn didn’t move, but somehow a little more of his form was growing into focus. At first, Zenner chalked it up to her eyes adjusting. However, there was clearly light growing in a space a few feet from the ground and the noise that Flynn had jokingly called “vacuum rocks” was becoming apparent to Zenner.
“What in the name of Khazradan?” Zenner whispered as the light and the suction grew rapidly. For a second, the two stood watching without any movement.
Illus. by John Thompson
Then the light grew and the suction force pulled with power a hundred fold.
Rocks and dirt flew up and around the two of them. Zenner covered her face with her arms as she felt her whole body being pulled forward. Amongst the rush of vacuum, she could hear grunts and groans from Flynn, but they were masked by the storm inside the cave.
Zenner fought the wind’s grip, but the pull grew too much too quickly and she felt herself lift off the ground and forward.
The pulling winds of the strange vacuum were replaced with a near silence. Zenner’s eyes remained shut, but behind them she could see an array of colors and hues. Her body was twisting and was screaming in pain, but she gritted her teeth and withstood it.
She was flying. And then she was on the cold hard ground. Dirt. Air. Okay, so she had been… swallowed and spit back out? There’s still the soft sound of the vacuum nearby and then the grunting thud of another body. Its voice was familiar and immediately Zenner realized that Flynn must have had the same thing happen to him.
The Jester quickly stood up on both feet woozily. Her hands jumped to her eyes and rubbed them.
As they adjusted, Zenner’s eyes found the landscape so unfamiliar, she had a small notion that she must have passed out and this was a dream. She definitely wasn’t in the cave anymore. There was no cave. She had been brought to an open plain. Purple sand and dirt crunched under her boot and the warm desert air had been replace with cool, almost electric winds blowing past. This wasn’t the desert she knew. This wasn’t Orlandia. Where was she?
“Is this some sort of joke?”