“I’m not feeding on them but yes, General Ryman allows it.”
Old Dick had made the geniuses perform all manner experiments on him first though. Not for Dust’s sake, mind, but for America; Dick had wanted to know Dust wasn’t feeding the Triangle whenever he did it. After a few weeks of Dust playing with corrupted magic, Dick had been satisfied and Dust had become pretty good at it so it all worked out for the best.
Naismith turned to the wide Badlands vista, the dust and the handsome miles of horizon. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “So are you a monster too?”
“I am no monster,” Dust snarled.
Shadows Fade whistled Claw of the Gods. Maybe it was his tone or the flare of his tattoo but she’d clearly decided to leave ’em to it. The Spirit Wolf gave Dust a nod then followed his or her master on another hunt. Not that he welcomed the gesture; Shadows Fade probably thought they were family or lovers.
He hoped she didn’t; both thoughts were unbearable.
The warrior’s unsubtle flight gave Dust time to prepare for the conversation though. Naismith preferred it too; her shoulders relaxed and her breathing slowed once Shadows Fade was out of earshot. Dust wondered if it was because she viewed Shadows Fade as a rival or him as her toy, something she didn’t want to share. It could be both.
“There are files that I can’t get access to no matter how much I beg my father or try to browbeat the clerks and most of them are full of details about you.” Naismith started stalking round Dust as she talked. “What are you, Dust?
“What does it matter?”
She steepled her hands before her chest and looked at him, still walking. “Well, I would rather like to understand more about the ‘man’ who is protecting me during this mission, to know what I can and can’t expect from you. And how safe I should feel.”
Dust hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. “Shouldn’t you have thought about that before you insisted on coming on this mission?”
His tattoo warmed a threat.
“Don’t you dare get cheeky with me,” Naismith hissed. “It’s not like I’d expected to get put out here with you. I was not prepared for it.”
“That wasn’t what you said the other night.”
“I don’t recall that,” Naismith said, crossing her arms, still marching.
He couldn’t help but smile; fabricating her own versions of events was just another tactic Naismith used to get what she wanted. He was tempted to resist further, let her tie herself in knots, but she did deserve to know a bit more about him.
That and he had to keep her sweet if he was ever going to talk to Shadows Fade again.
“Never mind,” he said. “I’ll explain what I am. First, tell me, how many Gods are there?”
“Four,” Naismith replied straight away, the smug satisfaction of her knowledge overriding her anger momentarily. “That Which Sins, Melting Flesh, Omnis and the Lord, Jehova.”
She was right on the number but not in the naming. “The Triangle and the Christian god. Except you missed one; Resistance.”
Naismith nodded. “I’ve read texts that theorise about a potential fifth god,” she said, her voice quickening with excitement. “One that the Indians discuss and worship. You’re saying that it definitely exists?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
He patted his shoulder, the tattoo. “Because I’m a part of it.”
She blinked. Her mouth opened. Then it closed again.
“Pardon?” she managed.
“I’m part of Resistance. Or, more accurately, my soul has been permanently linked with it.”
Naismith licked her lips. Her hand started playing with the rifle across her back. “And the Solution are aware of this?”
“They’re the ones who told me.”
“What?!” Naismith exclaimed.
“Keep your voice down. We’re still in the Badlands, remember?”
Naismith looked around. She had forgotten her surroundings for a moment. Dust was not pleased but he’d been remiss with the footprint in the pole so forgave her this time. “That’s a bit… That’s just a bit surprising is all. How did they know?”
Dust shrugged. “They never told me that.”
“They never told you? So it might not be true?”
He shrugged. It had occurred to him that the Solution might be wrong or lying. But about three weeks after his first mission, an Indian medicine man named Thundering Rain had confirmed what he was. Dust figured he’d been a better judge of whether Dust was part of Resistance than anyone else and every Indian he’d met and everything he’d learned since had confirmed it.
Naismith resumed her pacing. “So what’s he like, this Resistance? What does he believe? What does he want?”
“I don’t know,” Dust said honestly. He looked down at the former Bloat and punted it across the Badlands. “It doesn’t talk to me; there’s just a link to it within me. All I know is that I have my tattoo and my abilities.”
The Bloat landed with another squelch.
“Strength, speed, and limited magic including, apparently, the ability to absorb corrupt energies,” she said, almost absent-mindedly. There was something on her mind but the thought was interrupted. “Wait, if you can do that, manipulate and absorb magic, why didn’t you do it for Luke?”
Dust shook his head. “That would have been much crueller death than a bullet in the head.”
Naismith continued walking round him.
“If you’re worried,” Dust said after she’d circled him twice, “you could talk to Shadows Fade; she’ll be able to tell you more about Resistance. And she could corroborate my story.”
“I might just do that,” Naismith said. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Thank you. Sorry, I just need to work this through in my mind. It’s somewhat… unexpected.”
She turned to get Shadows Fade but stopped herself. “I do have one more question. What do you make of the name that the Indians gave you?”
That was a good question; he had hoped she wouldn’t be able to pick up on it. “The Wanted Man? I don’t know,” he said, keeping his face straight and his tone light. “I presumed it came from the Indian who found me; that he told the mercenaries who kidnapped me that I was a wanted man and the nickname stuck and grew. Why?”
“It’s just that the Wanted Man is a mistranslation,” Naismith said.
“It is?” he said, faking surprise.
She nodded. “Yes. It’s a subtle translation, as many of their terms can be, but the Indians actually call you The Wanting Man.”
He wished he could give her credit for noticing but he had to keep that aspect of his nature a secret; nobody white, not the Solution, not even Dick, knew that his tattoo punished him for giving in to his desires and impulses too easily. Dust wanted to keep it that way. And he definitely didn’t want Naismith to find out.
He gave Naismith another shrug. “Must be language difficulties.”
She wasn’t satisfied with the answer but she took it.
Their palaver done, Dust saddled back up. Naismith did the same.
“Come on,” Dust said. “Let’s move on, check out this town up the line.”
“Alright,” Naismith said distractedly. Then she shouted for Shadows Fade, who appeared from a patch of scrubs and fell in beside them.
On the journey, Naismith began a conversation with Shadows Fade, presumably about him. As they spoke words he could not understand, he wondered what Naismith might learn that even he didn’t know and couldn’t help but wish he’d had more time to talk to Thundering Rain before the Omnis creature attacking his band had killed him.
