Cowboy Necromancer 2: Infinite Dark: (A Post-Apocalyptic LitRPG Fantasy), page 31
“Yes, the technomancer, it will be interesting to see what he can do,” the Chronicler said. “Those ones are few and far between, like necromancers. But we still need to find him. Once we arrive in Moab, I will introduce you to the Elder there.”
“Can’t say I’m excited,” Sterling said, remembering the Elder of Nauvoo and his harem of brainwashed women and children.
“I believe you will find that the Elder of Icaria, who the Oracle has hand-selected to be in charge of Moab, is much different than the man that you encountered in the northwest. For one, the Elder of Icaria is a woman, and she is much kinder. You have to be; you have to be willing to take in some of the riffraff that seem to crawl their way through Nomadland.”
The rain started up again, and just as soon as it did, the dune buggy was shielded from the water by Zephyr, who continued to float alongside their vehicle. There were a couple times that it looked like they were driving through a rainbow, a trick of the light, the colors mesmerizing to the point that Paco and the Sunflower Kid oohed and ahhed.
They finally came to a national park sign pointing toward Canyonlands, Sterling also seeing that there were remains of what was once a tourist attraction based around dinosaur bones. Some of the words on what would have been the marquis were still there beside a toppled over Tyrannosaurus rex, both of its little arms missing, as well as a headless Stegosaurus. There were other dinosaurs that he didn’t recognize, which seemed to have been made of concrete and painted at one point, now burnt to a crisp by the harsh light of the sun.
Much to his surprise, Roxie pulled into the parking lot. “Check inside for charms,” she said.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Sterling told her, even though he knew that the odds of them finding something were slim. Still, he spent his sweet time combing through what was left of the gift shop, just a few dinosaur coloring books with water stains on them, and a velociraptor puppet that had been used in a way that he didn’t want to think about. Most surprisingly, a pterodactyl still hung from the ceiling, one which hadn’t been disturbed.
“I’ve never seen one up close before,” Paco said, looking up at the prehistoric beast.
“You’ve seen worse things than that, son,” Sterling reminded him.
“What’s it called again?” Zephyr asked, hovering before the pterodactyl with a curious look on her face. Sterling answered and she mouthed the word a few times. “That’s an odd name, isn’t it?”
The Sunflower Kid entered through the broken back door, graceful and enigmatic as ever. She had chosen a pair of brunette pigtails for the day, the haircut making her look even younger than normal, jewelry dangling from her wrists and making it impossible for her presence not to be heard.
“Nothing more out back?” Paco asked her.
“Just a few more of the abandoned statues. I fixed the Brontosaurus. Want to see?”
“Definitely,” Paco said as he joined her, Zephyr following him out as well.
Sterling turned back to the front entrance.
He was curious as to why they had yet to come across an outpost. If Midway had been in New Mexico, the distance between the necromancers’ former haunt and Moab would have been peppered with outposts, at least a handful by this point. But there was nothing of the sort in Nomadland as of yet.
“Don’t make no sense.”
Sterling stepped out of the gift shop. He rolled up a cigarette while waiting for the others to join him, and soon, they were back on the road, both Sterling and the Chronicler smoking like a pair of chimneys as Roxie kicked up dust along the highway leading toward Moab.
It was another fifty minutes or so before they came to the entrance of the Arches National Park, which was on the left, the ranger station surprisingly still intact. Sterling imagined cars lined up, waiting to take a road that funneled them on a curved path traveling up the side of a cliff wall. The national park had some serious elevation from what Sterling could tell, the cliff brushstroked in ochre and sangria colors set in layers, copper-colored sand all around providing a breeding ground for prehistoric plateaus and salt domes, nests of boulders seemingly out of place, as if someone had transported them there.
“Have you ever been?” the Chronicler asked everyone in the dune buggy, only realizing his faux pas after the question left his lips. “Likely not. It is amazing up there. The arches are unlike anything…”
“Should we take a look?” Paco asked.
“We’re getting closer to Moab, only fifteen or twenty minutes away, tops. Up to you all,” said the Chronicler.
“Does anyone live up there?” asked Paco.
“As desolate as Nomadland can seem, someone lives everywhere. Just think of it like that, and many of them are quite territorial. On second thought, maybe it’s best if we just go into town now and if we get a chance, or reason, we can see how the tourists used to do it before the Reset,” said the Chronicler.
The statement made Sterling smirk.
Land had been so coveted and so ripe for exploitation by the Before People that the government had to preserve the wilderness for future generations. They even made it easy for them, many of the best viewpoints accessible by cars, the only hardship involved in getting to the area being the comfortable air-conditioned ride it took to reach the park and the airplane ride to Utah.
Once again, Sterling couldn’t blame them.
With everything at one’s fingertips, it made sense to treat the environment in a similar way. And it also made sense to give future generations a taste of what it must have looked like so long ago. It was a weird way for Sterling to think of it, considering how society had reverted back to a more primitive state, but a successful future, as far as he could tell, was one of accessibility.
A checkpoint came into view, one that had been erected on the single road leading into Moab, a walled defense built up around the opposite sides. Rather than wearing modified athletic gear draped in white cloth, the men and women manning the gate wore beige, sun-bleached fabric that reminded Sterling of pink salt. Roxie stopped the dune buggy behind a spray-painted line about ten yards away from the main entrance, Zephyr lowering next to the vehicle.
“We are here on behalf of the Oracle,” the Chronicler said as he got out of the dune buggy. Two of the guards had already begun to approach with weapons drawn. Sterling caught sight of a mancer closer to the walls, his eyes igniting with fire.
The Chronicler produced a series of documents, and as one of the guards looked over it, another, standing near the wall, recognized him.
“He’s clear,” this guard said, the man hanging in the shade and smoking a cigarette. He approached them and shook the Chronicler’s hand. “The Elder was speaking about you the other day, wondering when you would return.”
“Arnold,” the Chronicler said with a grin. “How’s the wife?”
“Annoyed at the heat and not looking forward to the cold, as always.”
“Did you say the Elder was wondering when I would return?” The Chronicler laughed. “What was it? Less than two weeks ago that I left? Surely she hasn’t missed my company to that degree.”
“I’m not the one that said you were good company, she was. Who are your friends?”
“Ah, yes. This is a group I’m traveling with, and we will eventually be moving further south toward Kayenta,” the Chronicler said, leaving out the part about Monument Valley. “Sterling, Roxie, the Sunflower Kid, Paco, and the aeromancer is named Zephyr.”
The guard, who had a scraggly beard and blue eyes, looked at the Asian woman floating just about two inches off the ground and nodded. “Not going to lie, Dusty,” the man finally said, “this is a strange bunch you’re coming in here with. Real strange.”
The Chronicler shrugged. “Yes, they are a bit out there, but they are good people. And once we meet the Elder, we can discuss if there is anything that needs doing around here that we could potentially exchange for information.”
“Information?” Arnold the guard asked. “What kind of information are you looking for?”
“We’re looking for a technomancer. We are already aware of the other guy we need to find, a shaman-type who, last I heard, has made a nuisance of himself at the Hole ‘N’ the Rock.”
Arnold shook his head. “Yeah, him.”
“See?” Roxie quickly whispered to Sterling. “Everyone hates Don Gasper.”
“I like him,” said the Sunflower Kid, who was listening to the conversation from the backseat, an absent smile on her face.
“I know about the shaman, but I haven’t heard anything about a technomancer,” Arnold the guard admitted. “But maybe the Elder knows. You know where to find her.”
The two men shook hands again. The Chronicler returned to the dune buggy; Roxie started up the vehicle and waited for them to open a gate made of scrap metal.
They had finally reached Moab.
It was a large area to protect. The high desert city of Moab seemed to be built along a single street, with neighborhoods branching off from it that were now surrounded by man-made barriers, reducing the amount of space needing to be protected. There was a gaiamancer here, and from what he could tell, based on the fast-flowing creek that funneled through a series of flectomancer-crafted fans to provide hydroelectricity, there was also a hydromancer.
Nomadland, or at least the heart of it in Moab, was a functioning civilization to an extent that Sterling had yet to see. It was different than Saltair, not dependent on a single main structure, and in many ways it was leagues better, the cowboy necromancer in awe of the signs of civilized humanity presented before him, from a school that was actually functioning to numerous shops providing everything from supplies to enhancements and upgrades. Most of the structures were well-made, their adobe outer walls mirroring the orange, yellow, and off red tones of their environment.
“This is amazing,” said Paco as they now walked through the city, Roxie having returned the dune buggy to her inventory list upon passing through the front gate. Like there had been in Saltair, there was a parking area for buggies, Sterling spotting ATVs and motorcycles as well, but it was easier for the female gunner to keep their mode of transportation on hand.
“This is what it could be like,” Sterling said, convinced by what he was seeing. Even if they had an affiliation with the Serpents of Paradise, who Sterling didn’t fully trust, these people could pull something off like this, able to maintain natural society, even with the proximity to the Godwalkers’ terminal. It was proof that humanity could succeed in the end.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything about it earlier,” the Chronicler told them, “but I figured I would keep it a surprise. You know, sometimes the best-kept secrets are held that way for a reason. If everyone knew that Moab was like this, they may try to come here and ruin it. At least that is the way the locals think. I don’t fully agree, mind you, but they have made a fairly impressive society, even with all the threats that often present themselves.”
“Threats?”
“The usual. Bandit groups, amalgamations, alien monoliths, and likely the natural spread of Comancheria. I don’t know how long until the Comanche reach Moab, but it is a very real possibility,” the older man said, growing serious. “Very real possibility.”
The people they had already seen wore clothing Sterling was more comfortable with, most of them clad in jeans and button up shirts, the women in similar outfits as the men aside from their bonnets, which appeared to be a prerequisite to be a member of the Serpents of Paradise. He was even more impressed once they walked by an actual saloon, a man playing piano inside and others enjoying drinks.
“Shee-it, you all know where I’m going to be tonight,” Sterling mumbled.
“Yes, it’s a popular location here, but it does get a bit rowdy,” the Chronicler told him.
They passed under an arbor without planted vines twisting along its contours. This didn’t mean there wasn’t any plant life, Sterling soon discovering a rather beautiful cactus garden, one with bluish flowers and other desert shrubs, all leading up to a two-story home with a front porch offering plenty of shade, two guards standing out front, likely mancers.
“Let’s see what the boss lady is like.” Sterling tipped his hat at the two guards, who seemed to recognize the Chronicler immediately. They motioned for him to enter the home, none of them questioning the presence of Sterling and his party, which told him that the Chronicler really had some clout around here.
Their group was led into a foyer with ample seating, where they found a woman dressed like the Oracle, draped from head to toe in white cloth, waiting for them. Sterling purposefully kept his hat on, yet bowed his head slightly to greet whom he assumed was the Elder of Icaria.
The woman motioned for them to take a seat.
“That ain’t her?” he whispered to the Chronicler.
“No, that is the Elder’s assistant, Moira. Hello, Moira.”
The veiled woman nodded at him and turned to a flight of wooden stairs. She lifted the ends of her white dress and slowly made her way up to the top.
“Always some theatrics,” Sterling said, wishing he had rolled up a cigarette. It was a bad habit, the Sunflower Kid and Roxie reminded him of this every now and then, but in situations like this, ones in which he was faced with the unknown, it gave him something to do, something to fiddle with.
“I think her veil dress outfit is cute. Can you imagine if I wore something like that?” Zephyr asked. “It would be majestic.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” said Roxie.
“Don’t mind if I do…” Sterling muttered as he plopped down onto the seating that had been provided in the foyer, Paco and the Sunflower Kid doing the same. The Chronicler crossed the room to examine a threadbare tapestry hanging on the wall, while Roxie remained standing. She didn’t have a weapon visible, but Sterling knew she was packing heat somewhere, the female gunner always on high alert.
“Take a chill pill,” he told her, just to tease the woman. “We’re honored guests here, ain’t that right, Dusty?”
“Actually, yes, yes, that is right. I’m close with the Elder of Icaria. We’re on a first name basis, you know,” he said, quite smitten with himself, his cheeks with just a flush of red to them. “But of course, it would be impolite of me to tell you her real name.”
“Your secret is safe with you,” Sterling said, not really giving two shits about the Elder’s real name. They had come to Moab for a reason, and that was to seek out information on Don Gasper and Maron the technomancer. Anything else was either a side quest in the making, or potential trouble.
The Elder’s assistant appeared again, lightly grazing her fingers against the railing as she came down the stairs. She moved like a ghost, and the veil covering her facial features that hung all the way past her ankles didn’t help. Once she was at the base of the stairs, she motioned toward the top.
“Great, she will see us now, that is so kind of her,” said the Chronicler.
Moira the assistant stood by as they headed up the wooden stairs, the Chronicler leading them into the first room on the left. It was a large space, with a hand-stitched rug on the ground and an oak table in the center of the room, built-in bookshelves lining the walls, the drapes a maroon color that matched the rug.
Standing near the bookshelf with a book in her hand was a black woman with a puffy afro. She was rail thin and wore a pair of beige overalls beneath her white cloak, the diamond jewelry on her wrists matching her dangling earrings. A chihuahua began to bark, but it never left a bed of white fur, which had been placed in a basket next to a couch against the opposite wall.
The Elder of Icaria snapped the paperback shut and turned to them, a goofy grin on her face. “I’ve always wanted to do that. Ha! Did you guys think I was actually reading this book?” She looked at the spine. “Sacred Cat Island? Who writes a book called Sacred Cat Island? Ha!” The woman tossed the book onto her desk and crossed her arms over her chest, her chihuahua continuing to bark. “Quiet, Evan. I’ve already fed you today.” Evan the chihuahua growled at her. The Elder turned to her pet and gave it a harsh scowl. “You have something else to add?”
The chihuahua yipped and turned his head away from her.
“He’s on my shitlist at the moment,” she explained. “Keeps pissing on everything. You don’t smell piss, do you?”
“No, ma’am,” Sterling said as he dipped his head to some degree, still keeping his hat on just in case she was a telemancer.
“My manners? Where are my manners? I’m so sorry!” The woman approached them and looked the group over, starting from Sterling and then making her way down the line to the Sunflower Kid. She even looked beyond them, to Roxie, who had held back a bit, the female gunner standing in the door. “What have you brought me here, Dusty?”
“These are the people I’m traveling with at the moment, we’re…” The Chronicler cleared his throat. “Actually, it’s quite a long story. Do you care if we take a seat?”
Rather than sit on a chair, the woman leaned against her desk, her arms still crossed over her chest. “Why do I feel like this is going to be some bullshit, that whatever you brought in here is going to be something I have to deal with in the future? Moira,” she called out. “Bring our guests water.” She returned her focus to Sterling and his group. “Which one of you is the leader?”
The Sunflower Kid pointed at Sterling.
“The cowboy dressed in all black, huh?” The Elder chuckled to herself. “Are you a mancer?”
“Sure am. Necromancer.”
The smile on her face broke. “A necromancer…” She shook her head. “Never was my favorite mancer, but I’ll give you a pass for now.”
“Heck, I ain’t so bad,” he told her with a shit-eating grin.
“And the rest of you are mancers?”
“Solimancer,” said Paco.
The Sunflower Kid simply turned her palm around and produced a peach, which she took a bite of.
