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Jack trudged out his front door with heavy feet into what would prove to be the last normal day of his life. It was a crossing from one life into the beginnings of a new life.
The sun was just appearing, peeking up over the Central Mountains and seemed to burn with a new kind of twisted fury. Jack put on his hat, pulled it down tight and strolled to the far end of his dirt yard.
A lot had happened over the years to this small plot of land, and most of those were changes for the worse. The trees of his youth were all gone, and all that remained of them were a few petrified stumps at the back of the house: The logs those trees had provided had been used to erect the fence that now surrounds his home. The lake that had lain just to the west was also gone, dried up from the year long summers that now plagued this region of the earth. Every once in a while the spring that had fed that lake would find new water, and it would seep to the surface only to evaporate within minutes. It was bad water too, spoiled. He had happened along one morning, and to his surprise, found a thin sheet of water at the bottom of the dry lake bed. The night had been cool enough and the day hadn't gotten quite hot enough to evaporate that small, sparkling pool of liquid life. The water tasted fine and there was no sour smell, but Jack found himself later that night with fever and stomach cramps. He'd never allow himself to drink it again, no matter how hard times got.
Dust devils rose from his feet as he heard the popping and crackling of the growing fire behind him. There was no breeze to mention, and the fire instantly took hold of his dry, wooden home, consuming every inch within a handful of minutes. There was no turning back now. Burning his home was the only sure way for Jack to leave. He had already been putting this trip off for almost a year, every time he wanted to go, he would make himself one more reason to stay; every one of those reasons involved his home. Fix this, replace that. His mind had always been set that someone would come and find his home abandoned and claim it for themselves, which was fine with Jack, he didn't plan on returning here anyway and whoever came along was welcome to have his house. He had tried, really tried, to leave but he always came up with those excuses. He couldn't live the remainder of his life here alone. There had to be others out there, and he had to find them.
Now, a his house blazed with fire, casting heat on his face, there were no more excuses, no more reasons to stay. This was his defining moment, the beginning of a journey that was nothing but a mystery. He turned away from his lifetime home, knowing that he would never see it again. Only in his mind would he see the swirling smoke of the last memory he had of home.
The morning temperature was already a blistering 96 degrees and the sun was baking Jack's skin. With the rough and dry area in which he lived, you had to be able to stand the heat. In this part of the country, only the strong survived. Jack's father had been a survivor, a strong man, but the heat had finally claimed his life at the ripe old age of forty-two. Ever since that day and before, every year had become a little bit more unbearable. Jack was used to them now. And this winter (This is winter, isn't it? Jack asked himself. Funny how you forget so much) was the hottest yet. It was past time for him to leave this place, and he wondered what it was that really kept making him stay here? He blamed the house, but there had to be more to it than just that.
It all boiled down to fear. All the reasons and excuses he had come up with were the byproduct of his fear. Fear of the unknown that ley within and beyond those mountains. Fear of the people that lived there. Fear of the bad memories that were sure to come, weighing and pressing down into his mind, and crowding those he already had. But other than fear, there was now hope. Hope that somewhere in this scorched and broken land, there beyond those towering mountains was a way of life that was simple, where people were gathering together in friendship and not in fear of each other. He hoped that his dreams would become reality.
He looked to the sky where there wasn't a single cloud. Rain had become a precious commodity over the last few years. The rain storms that did brew here usually came suddenly and with hurricane force. Jack remembered one such storm several springs ago. It had come out of the north, pushed along by strong winds from the west and had been blocked by the tall mountains. The storm boiled and rolled over itself, building in intensity and started to push southward. Jack remembered how the clouds churned and surged over his home like a horde of wild horses. Rain pounded the packed earth like monstrous hooves, causing flash flooding in all the lowlands, while the lightning pounded the air, shaking his home like a fragile pile of cards, ready to topple. Three funnel clouds touched down that day, throwing fist size hail into the ground and the house, and thankfully, none of them decided to devour him or the house.
There were other storms, of course, but Jack could remember none worse than that particular one. It had reminded him of the Breaking, something he tried desperately to forget.
Now, with only his memories and the few articles in his pack, Jack paused and looked around one last time, just that one final glance and he turned east for the mountains, never looking back. He shifted his backpack for a more comfortable position and tighten the straps a little more. While he walked he checked over his weapons. His shotgun was loaded, and the safety was off. He placed it in its holster on the side of the backpack, within easy reach over his left shoulder. He had two nine millimeter hand guns, one on each hip. They were old models from the late 1980's but is father had taken extremely great care of them. His tan fatigues were straight from a once great army and they seemed to complement his sharp facial features. The clothing was also old, but they still blended in perfectly with the desert. His father had worn them in a distant war in the early 90's, and, like his guns, they were still in excellent condition. There were six pockets spaced evenly up and down each leg, three to a side, and each pocket contained either extra clips for the guns, boxes of ammunition, or other survival materials such as eating utensils, throwing knives, a snake bite kit (which only consisted of a rusted single edge razor and a ball of yellowed gauze), compass, and a couple of old flares that probably didn't work. The ammunition for the weapons was also very old, but he had taken some at random the morning before and fired them at the side of the house. Eight out of ten rounds fired from the pistols and all the shotgun shells fired. But if worse came to worse and the guns became useless, Jack had a beautiful single edged sword hanging from his waist, which he preferred over any other weapon. He and his father had spent many of hours mastering the art of sword play and self defense. Pushing his hat down onto his head, he tightened the draw strings under his chin. The wind could be a real hindrance at times, and sand storms often popped up out of nowhere.
Turning to his left as he walked, he brought his fingers up to his lips and let out a high, shrill whistle. A dog trotted out from a dry creek bed to the north. His tongue hung out of his mouth from the heat and his once dark coat was now sun bleached tan. Kid was not an overly large dog, or particularly mean, but when it came down to it, he could be all bite. Jack had witnessed, one summer when food was scarce, Kid's remarkable hunting ability. He had come across some fresh hog tracks and immediately, Kid was on the trail. He had had trouble keeping up with the dog and when he had finally found him in a small canyon, Kid had killed a rather large hog. In fact, the dog still had the hogs neck between his jaws when Jack found him. There had been no barking from Kid and no squealing from the pig. Death had come swiftly and silently for the hog. Jack didn't even have to waist a shotgun shell on that particular hunting trip, and Kid had provided the both of them with enough dried meat to last the rest of that week. Kid was what Jack considered the perfect companion, and they both knew and trusted each other. Both could be considered weapons in their own way, and each of them respected the other.
Jack held out a small piece of dried meat for him and patted the dog on the head, paying particular attention to that sensitive spot behind the ears that Kid seemed to enjoy so much.
"Come on, Kid. It's time we tried to make a better life for ourselves." Kid took the meat, devouring it in seconds, then followed close to Jack's heels.
Jack put his attention back on the journey at hand, at the mountains in the east, and at what would, several days from now, prove to be the most difficult journey of his life.
Back before the Breaking, these mountains had already been large, tree covered behemoths. Now they were about twice as large as they had once been. The trees were gone now, burned from their faces as their summits burst open, spewing liquid fire that erupted from deep within the ground. The lava had spread rapidly, devouring everything in its path; trees, cities, people, animals...nothing could stand in its way. The lava had also enlarged the mountains considerably. It had flowed for so long and strongly that the mountains had grown to nearly twice their original size. They now looked like decaying teeth, protruding from the cracked gums of the earth.
Now those cratered peaks belched not lave, but boiling hot gasses mixed with enough sulfur to kill off anything that could have survived the onslaught of their eruptions and the Breaking. The mountains still promised future eruptions and God bless anyone who decided they wanted to stick around when it happened. Finding a pass through there was going to be hard, and Jack wasn't looking forward to it.
No one expected the breaking to do the amount of damage and change that it did. In fact, no one was expecting it at all. That quake was of such magnitude that it sparked other fault lines across the globe to groan and split and collide with such force that the Earth was forever changed. Lakes and rivers sprung up instantly, while others drained and closed. Volcanoes sprouted up from the dirt like zits, spewing their lava over major cities. Islands formed out of the depths of the oceans while others disappeared into their watery graves. Existing mountain ranges rose up toward the sky, doubling in size overnight, while others cracked and crumbled and fell to Earth. New mountain ranges were sprung where no one expected. All over the world, lava and sulfur infiltrated the lakes and oceans, poisoning most of them, while hot ash and dust filled the atmosphere, blocking the sun for months on end. These are just some of the tales that Jack had heard from the wanderers and journey men who happened along his home. But Jack would only know the results of the breaking and wouldn't find out the real cause until later in life. The breaking had been a disaster of global proportions and only the strong (or the incredibly lucky) had survived. Jack was one such survivor, and his survivor's mentality would be the only thing to get him through the coming months.
The first day of his journey was uneventful. He sat on his bed roll with Kid already asleep beside him. The desert was quiet. Even the wind had hushed her sweet voice. He looked up at the stars and a memory flashed through his mind, a memory of a bright shinning moon that floated through the sky, giving dim light even by night. That had been before the breaking though and he was too young to remember if it had been real or make believe. If there was a moon once, where is it now? he thought. And again, that would be another question that wouldn't be answered for some time.
Sleep came fast, and the morning came even quicker. There were no dreams to disturb him this time, and Jack was thankful for that. He had been very young during the breaking but he hadn't been young enough to not remember the horror of that time. It came back to him in dreams. His youth had been plagued by dreams of screaming women and men and children, fire, darkness, and the earth moving under his feet. The dreams were not as repetitive now, but they were still terrifying, even after all these years. Some things you just cant shake off, but must live with.
Jack put his bed roll into his backpack and set off into the sunrise. There was a slight breeze, still carrying a hint of the night's coolness, but it would soon blow like hot steam.
He should make it to the foothills of the mountains by dark, and tomorrow he would be able to look forward to crossing them. They weren't an hour into the day when Jack noticed a deep rumbling in Kid's throat. The growl grew in intensity and the hair on his back began to stand up.
"What is it boy?" He squinted into the distance, but the sun's brightness cast streaks of light off the sand, limiting his visibility with mirages of water across the sand. Kids growl now had a small whine to it. Something was scaring the hell out of him. And if there was anything out there that would scare Kid, then it was something that he would defiantly have to face with caution.
Jack saw bothering the dog now. It was a man in a black cloak walking rather slowly. A hood attached to the cloak had been pulled up over the figures head, hiding any features. There was something different about the way the figure walked and moved, something strange, but Jack couldn't put his finger on it. He stopped and waited as the figure strolled up to him. Kid ran off into a low gully and watched from a distance, still whimpering.
Jack ran a damp arm over his forehead, wiping the sweat out of his eyes as the man in the black cloak approached. A long fingered hand appeared from within the cloak and the hood was brushed back from the figures head. Jack looked into empty eyes, void of life. There was no facial expressions at all. The man looked like a walking corpse.
"Excuse me?"
"I asked if you are a friend of the blackcloaks, or a foe. I am sworn to kill anyone who does not befriend us."
"You sure cut to the chase don't you?" Those blank eyes stared into Jack's and the hair stood up from his body as a shiver shook him. He was suddenly cold.
"Choose wisely, your words."
Jack grew up being a smart-aleck and he didn't like what he was hearing one bit. His body was giving off signals that told him to be very afraid of this man, but his mind had now been challenged to the point that it didn't like being told what to do.
"OK, sir. What if I say I'm not any friend of yours or ever will be?"
There was no warning whatsoever, just a blinding swish of an arm and the blackcloak came up with a burning sword. Jack ducked out of the way, pulling his sword from its scabbard as he spun up from the ground. He stood up to a barrage of burning thrusts from the blackcloak, one maneuver actually caught him on the arm, burning his shirt. Jack was too stunned to do anything but defend himself. A burning sword? What is going on here? Other questions came, but there were no answers for any of them.
The blackcloaks ability was no match for Jack. After getting through the initial shock of the attack, he was finally able to keep from stumbling around and defend himself properly, with a little bit of finesse and flair. Through the entire ordeal, the eyes of the blackcloak never changed their focus. Jack also concentrated of the flaming sword. It felt solid as the swords collided and he decided that it was some sort of trick that the blackcloak was using to distract its opponents. It was only an illusion, Jack thought. But why did it burn through my shirt?
It was time for Jack to bring this conflict to an end. He began to take the offensive gradually, letting the blackcloak drive him back a little just to throw him off. A couple more minutes past by and Jack had completely turned the fight around. The blackcloak was now completely on the defensive. He didn't stumble, but Jack noticed that the blackcloak was wearing down. He looked into the eyes again. There was now something there besides that empty void. The blackcloak looked on him in utter hatred. The flames of the sword were reflected in those eyes and Jack hesitated no longer. No more toying around with this freak, he thought.
Jack swung his sword to the right with all his might. It connected with the other sword and drove it off to the left of the blackcloak. Using the momentum of his swing, Jack spun around on his heel. The blackcloak didn't have the speed to bring his sword back to block off Jack's attack and Jack's sword bit into the pale flesh of the blackcloak, just below the ear.
As Jack watched his blade pierce the neck of the blackcloak, he saw several things happen at once that were hard to imagine possible. First was the blackcloak's blood. Streams of it shot into the air, but none ever stained the ground, but seemed to turn to clouds of red smoke that drifted up into the air and finally disappeared. His sword didn't completely sever the neck and the blackcloak was still standing as if denying death. Then he spoke, and from the depth of the cut there should have been no way for the blackcloak to be able to speak for the throat was separated from itself by a jagged line of raw flesh and blood that boiled to mist.
"The master has spoken, 'No blackcloak blood shall ever stain the earth.'"
Then the body of the blackcloak exploded into a pink mist that drifted away on the breeze. All that remained was the cloak, lying limp on the ground. Jack teased the cloak with the point of his sword, thinking that it would possibly spring up off the ground and attack him, fearing that it would, but hoping it didn't. At this point Jack was ready for anything. What he just witnessed defied any rational explanation that his mind could devise. He bent down and retrieved the cloak from the ground. Just normal material, at least that's the way it felt.
At that moment he realized what bothered him about his first vision of the blackcloak. When the man had been walking toward him there had been no dust rising from his feet, and as the wind blew, the cloak that covered him never stirred or blew out from him. It was as if the blackcloak had not been an actual part of nature. Nothing had touched him that had been associated with the natural world. Jack traced the path the blackcloak had come and sure enough, there were no footprints on the sandy ground.
Jack threw the cloak on the ground and started out at a quick trot toward the mountains. Kid came up beside him, matching his pace. Jack's only thought at that time was to put as much distance between him and the cloak as possible. For once in his life, Jack was truly frightened.
