Read Online Pilgrimage of the Sacred and the Profane by Hideyuki Kikuchi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hideyuki Kikuchi
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“You’ll have
to help me while I bring her away someplace safe. If you’re a real man, you’ll take
care of matters here.” And then she beat a hasty retreat.
“Who the hell are you?” Clay asked, his fingers still poised on his harp. Murderous
intent billowed from every inch of his body—it would’ve been enough to make the average
person collapse on the spot. He was head-and-shoulders above the warriors and Hunters
found everywhere else.
Scared perhaps by the younger Bullow’s demeanor, the man shook his head repeatedly
and raised both hands defenselessly. “How . . . how did all of you get here?” he asked.
It almost sounded like his windpipe was clogged with sand.
Odd as it was, it prompted Clay to reply, “We got scooped up by a mean old tornado
and went for a little flight.”
Clay watched with surprise as the other man’s shoulders slumped part-way through his
reply. His hands came down to hide his face. “It got you, too? I just knew it. We’ll
all be stuck here for the rest of our lives . . .”
“What’s that?!” Clay bellowed. “Just what do you mean by that? And who the hell are
you, anyway?!”
When Clay took a step toward the other man, his eyes were drawn to several riders
coming around the base of the mountain. Perhaps noticing them too, the man who’d been
crouched there suddenly leapt back up, gave a frightened cry, and raced over to Clay.
Just as the ragged man was about to collide with him, Clay dodged easily to the right
and stuck his foot out. Falling forward with great impetus, the man threw a cloud
of dust high into the air. But he quickly got back up again. He might have clutched
at Clay’s legs, but the warrior effortlessly backed away to keep the contact from
happening.
“Please, help me,” the man groaned. “I ran away from them. Up until yesterday, I was
one of them. There was no use trying to escape . . . no one’s getting out of this
damn desert!” the man cried with the most appalling look of hopelessness hammered
into his worn face.
But Clay did him one better as he glared back at the stranger with an almost demonic
expression. “Don’t make me laugh, you little coward. Unless you want me to turn you
over to them, you’d best promise to answer me straight about everything I wanna know.
If you do, I’ll chase ’em off for you. If not, I’ll personally see to it that they
butcher you on the spot.”
“Okay,” the man said, nodding without complaint. Although his face didn’t look like
that of a weak-willed person, the man exhibited considerable fear.
“Just so long as we’re clear on that. Wait behind me, then. Oh, and one more thing:
you gotta promise me you’ll keep your mitts off the girl.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Good. Get back there. You can relax now.” As he listened to the man scurrying behind
him for cover, Clay stood there waiting for the approaching dust cloud.
Though the man said that these were his compatriots, there must’ve been a grave mistake.
Astride cyborg horses that looked brand new, the group of men wore shirts so neat
and starched they looked freshly laundered. There were four of them.
“Hey there!” Clay called out, raising his left hand in greeting. The gazes that met
him were like stone. His smile never fading a bit, the warrior continued, “We went
and got ourselves carried off by a tornado. We’re in a spot of trouble, seeing as
we don’t know where we’re at now. So, this is great. You guys sure are a sight for
sore eyes. Just whereabouts would this happen to be?”
“We came for the man,” said the middle-aged man who stood at the fore—a powerfully
built character, who seemed to be their leader. His voice was impenetrable. It was
devoid of every emotion a human—or any creature, for that matter—normally possessed.
Actually, the voice would’ve sounded more natural coming from a rock. “You’re coming
with us,
to help me while I bring her away someplace safe. If you’re a real man, you’ll take
care of matters here.” And then she beat a hasty retreat.
“Who the hell are you?” Clay asked, his fingers still poised on his harp. Murderous
intent billowed from every inch of his body—it would’ve been enough to make the average
person collapse on the spot. He was head-and-shoulders above the warriors and Hunters
found everywhere else.
Scared perhaps by the younger Bullow’s demeanor, the man shook his head repeatedly
and raised both hands defenselessly. “How . . . how did all of you get here?” he asked.
It almost sounded like his windpipe was clogged with sand.
Odd as it was, it prompted Clay to reply, “We got scooped up by a mean old tornado
and went for a little flight.”
Clay watched with surprise as the other man’s shoulders slumped part-way through his
reply. His hands came down to hide his face. “It got you, too? I just knew it. We’ll
all be stuck here for the rest of our lives . . .”
“What’s that?!” Clay bellowed. “Just what do you mean by that? And who the hell are
you, anyway?!”
When Clay took a step toward the other man, his eyes were drawn to several riders
coming around the base of the mountain. Perhaps noticing them too, the man who’d been
crouched there suddenly leapt back up, gave a frightened cry, and raced over to Clay.
Just as the ragged man was about to collide with him, Clay dodged easily to the right
and stuck his foot out. Falling forward with great impetus, the man threw a cloud
of dust high into the air. But he quickly got back up again. He might have clutched
at Clay’s legs, but the warrior effortlessly backed away to keep the contact from
happening.
“Please, help me,” the man groaned. “I ran away from them. Up until yesterday, I was
one of them. There was no use trying to escape . . . no one’s getting out of this
damn desert!” the man cried with the most appalling look of hopelessness hammered
into his worn face.
But Clay did him one better as he glared back at the stranger with an almost demonic
expression. “Don’t make me laugh, you little coward. Unless you want me to turn you
over to them, you’d best promise to answer me straight about everything I wanna know.
If you do, I’ll chase ’em off for you. If not, I’ll personally see to it that they
butcher you on the spot.”
“Okay,” the man said, nodding without complaint. Although his face didn’t look like
that of a weak-willed person, the man exhibited considerable fear.
“Just so long as we’re clear on that. Wait behind me, then. Oh, and one more thing:
you gotta promise me you’ll keep your mitts off the girl.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Good. Get back there. You can relax now.” As he listened to the man scurrying behind
him for cover, Clay stood there waiting for the approaching dust cloud.
Though the man said that these were his compatriots, there must’ve been a grave mistake.
Astride cyborg horses that looked brand new, the group of men wore shirts so neat
and starched they looked freshly laundered. There were four of them.
“Hey there!” Clay called out, raising his left hand in greeting. The gazes that met
him were like stone. His smile never fading a bit, the warrior continued, “We went
and got ourselves carried off by a tornado. We’re in a spot of trouble, seeing as
we don’t know where we’re at now. So, this is great. You guys sure are a sight for
sore eyes. Just whereabouts would this happen to be?”
“We came for the man,” said the middle-aged man who stood at the fore—a powerfully
built character, who seemed to be their leader. His voice was impenetrable. It was
devoid of every emotion a human—or any creature, for that matter—normally possessed.
Actually, the voice would’ve sounded more natural coming from a rock. “You’re coming
with us,
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