Riders of the Storm: The Legend of Skull and Talon

By J W. Matthews

Skull, the Arion. Skull is one of the last survivors of a race of warriors genetically created to be the perfect weapon of war. The Arions' light blue skin, enhanced strength, cunning, and keen tracking sense makes even one of them a formidable foe for an entire platoon.

Talon, the Ariel. Talon is an outcast among his race of benevolent philosophers, the first genetically created race. The Ariels have been given superior intellect, the peak of "human" physical attributes, and wings that carry them even further above normal men.

Skull and Talon. Two unconventional men, trying to live up to the legacy of their fathers while finding their place in a clockwork world full of humans and mutants, Skull and Talon struggle to survive in a world built by the uneasy partnership of forgotten magic and late-century science.

Partnered by fate, bound by destiny-this is the legend of Skull and Talon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 26, 2006
• ISBN: 9780595842407

J W. Matthews

An avid fan of science fiction and fantasy, j W. matthews is a self-imposed recluse who lives in an underground home in southwest New Mexico.

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Copyright © 2009 by j W. matthews

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ISBN: 978-0-595-39836-2 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-0-595-84240-7 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Universe rev. date: 4/13/2009

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

PRELUDE TO EXILE

Special Thanks

Matthew, Will, Francis, Tabitha,

John, Kirstin, Chloe, Xoe, Brandon, Mary-Francis,

John Sr., Anna, Curtis, Julie, Jae,

Kattio, Mylinda, Johnny, Carolyn, Josh

CHAPTER I

Skull treaded slowly through the desert. Sand crawled into his boots through every crack and crevice with each step he took. His body sweated heavily under the leather jacket that he wore, baking him in the desert sun. He peeled the skin off the skull of his twenty-fifth kill as he walked, taking care not to nick or damage his trophy. Skull’s feet sank deep in to the scorching sand. He stopped briefly, just long enough to rip off his shirt. The sun glistened off the sweat on his chest, arms, and face, highlighting his teal-blue skin. The jacket was what made him hot, even without its sleeves, but he had to keep wearing it. His father always had.

Skull rubbed the freshly peeled skull down with the hot desert sand to clean away the excess blood and flesh. The skeletal head made a dull hollow sound as Skull placed it in his sack with the others. He was roughly twenty miles from the next town, and he prayed on his father’s grave for some excitement along the way.

Talon landed long enough to flex his wings and re-adjust his chest pack. He stretched his wings and rose into the air once again. The wind felt good on his face. He smiled brightly and did several loops in the air.

In the distance he saw them; his eyes were keen and sharp like those of a hawk. Men on motorcycles and in jeeps closed in on a lone desert traveler. The Arion traveler seemed to pay no attention to the approaching mob. The scene was nothing new to Talon. These were hard times, not to be compared with any that had come before; not that anyone could ever remember them. Vagabond rats, like the mob below, were known to prey on lone or small bands of desert travelers. Talon was certain that the Arion wayfarer could use some help defending himself.

An Arion! It had taken a while for the complete image to register in Talon’s mind. Arions were some of the fiercest and most powerful fighters in the world. Scientifically born and bred for war. Talon took a head count of the mob. There were fifteen of them. The odds of the blue-skinned warrior needing help were not in Talon’s favor, but he decided to assist anyway. Arions weren’t known for accepting help from outsiders. To them, dying in battle was a great honor, not to mention that they didn’t believe in being in anyone’s debt. That didn’t matter to Talon, he had to be a part of this fight. Given the situation he doubted that his help would be refused.

Fighting was in Talon’s blood and there was nothing he enjoyed more. Well, almost nothing. There was always fucking. Not having sex. Not making love. Fucking. Fighting and fucking were both similar in nature, the build up, the sweat, the rush and the release, but in his mind each stood alone. Fucking made him feel good, fighting made him feel alive. Talon wasn’t a masochist, but he believed that a fight wasn’t worth his time unless his life was in jeopardy. It made the victory that much greater. Knowing that he could have been killed but wasn’t made him feel invincible. He imagined that this was how the Arions felt, and through that he believed that he shared a form kinship with them.

Oh, yeah, spoke Talon aloud. He pulled his wings in tight and angled down for a power dive. This is gonna be good.

Skull heard the mob as they rode over the dune behind him. He pretended to be oblivious to them, while slowly pulling the shotgun off his back. He waited till the last possible moment before he turned and fired at the closest man to him. Fire erupted from the barrel of the shotgun as it cried out. Skull wasted no time in pumping the gun and firing again. His first shot ripped the tread off the right front tire of the lead jeep. The driver swerved to compensate for the sudden drag, pulling him into the path of Skull’s second blast. The blast spread from the shotgun ripped through the driver of the jeep, sending the jeep rolling up on its side, throwing its passenger from the back, and providing makeshift cover for Skull. Skull placed his sack of trophies out of harm’s way and prepared to add some more to its load. He flexed his muscles, and arched his neck and back, letting his backpack and jacket slide off his shoulders. He pumped the shotgun again, and pulled his survival knife out of its boot sheath.

Skull chewed hungrily on his lower lip, drawing a steady stream of blood. He took several deep breaths to get his heart racing. Being out numbered as he was, Skull wanted to work up a good sweat and make sure that all exposed skin was well covered in it. He didn’t like using his skin’s poison to help him in a fight. It was an Arion defense mechanism that was generally only triggered when they were angry or scared. Most times it ended the battle before he had a chance to enjoy himself. Considering the odds against him, he really didn’t mind this once.

The thirteen remaining members of the vagabond tribe circled around Skull like Indians attacking a wagon train. The encirclement consisted of five motorcycles and two jeeps. Skull stood with his back against the hot underbelly of the overturned jeep, but with the desert tribe surrounding him its cover became useless.

This was a game that the Vagabonds played with all their prey. They circled around them, letting their victims own fear eat at them, making them easier to kill. It was ineffective against Skull. He knew the games, too, and was much better at them.

So, called Skull, his voice was low and gravely. What’re you waitin’ for? His eyes were focused straight ahead, but his sight was everywhere. Almost everywhere. The passenger of the overturned jeep jumped from its upturned side and down onto Skull’s back. The man’s arms clutched tightly around the warrior’s neck, trying desperately to strangle him. Skull tightened the muscles in his neck to keep from choking. He didn’t have to fight against his attacker, all he had to do was wait. Slowly, the attacker’s grip loosened and went limp.

Two down, Skull said to himself. And many to go. He examined the situation very carefully. As confident as he was, the outcome of the battle was not locked in his favor. With two of their party already dead, the desert bandits could decide to kill Skull outright and be done with him. He searched the crowd for the one he thought to be the leader of their gang. He saw his man riding on the hood of one of the jeeps. He was naked from the waist up, with the exception of a large metal face mask that Skull assumed had to be hard to breathe through and hotter than his jacket. The mask was supposed to make the man look imposing and intimidate others. To Skull, he looked like an idiot with a target on his face. Skull trained his gun on the masked man and held his arm straight. If he killed him chances were that the others would be too busy scurrying about trying to save themselves. With the leader dead any one of them were next in line for the position.

Without warning, a large shadow passed overhead.

What the fuck? mumbled Skull. He raised his arm to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the desert sun and allowing for a better view. Against the sun, Skull saw the large winged figure fly overhead just before it looped and doubled back.

Oh, shit! cried Skull. He dove into the desert sand head first, keeping his gun trained on the one he concluded to be the leader. His eyes he kept focused on the winged man that seemed to be heading back for him. As with most Arion’s, Skull was extremely paranoid, or as they saw it, combat alert. He lay there in the hot desert sand and watched as the flying figure approached him. If he was going to die, he wanted to see it coming.

Talon watched as the lone Arion summed up the situation and tried to make the best of it. He flew over and past the desert travelers, getting a full view of the ensuing skirmish and scanning the horizon for bandit reinforcements. Talon spread his wings wide, looped up and over, and flew back towards the fight. He saw the Arion dive for cover and took that as his cue. He zeroed in on the Arion’s aggressors, unstrapped his assault rifle from his shoulder and pulled his wings in tight.

It’s showtime boys! howled Talon. He filled the air with bullets from his AK-47. Five of the men fell immediately, the others scrambled away from the sudden rear threat. Talon called out to the blue-skinned wanderer before swooping back into the air. Rise ‘n shine!

Anger rose in Skull. He crawled to his feet and tried to comprehend everything that had just happened.

An Ariel! Skull screamed and shook his head violently. His hair hung wildly in his face and around his shoulders, making him look more like a beast than a man. Skull turned and fired a round from the shotgun into the belly of the overturned jeep. The explosion blew against Skull, bathing him in immense heat and almost knocking him back to the ground.

A fuckin’ Ariel!

The desert scavengers started retreating, leaving their dead and wounded behind. Talon landed beside Skull and watched as the one time attackers ran away. He began to get the feeling that helping Skull might not have been the right thing to do. Talon knew of Arions, but had never met one until that moment. They were an angry, brutal, war-mad race that had all but extinguished themselves over the many years since their creation. If Talon had made a mistake in helping Skull, then he knew the Arion would kill him to make amends. He decided to strike up a conversation and see where it led.

It appears as if they’re running away.

No. Skull brushed past Talon and mounted one of the dead men’s motorcycles. Only cowards and fools run from a battle once it has been declared. We fight until death! Skull put the knife between his teeth, revved the cycle’s engine, and chased after the men.

Damn! spat Talon. He flapped his wings and followed behind him.

Well, wait for me. Talon flew low to the ground chasing after Skull. He came up beside him, matching his speed.

So! cried Talon, against the wind. What’s this all about?

Skull shot a glance in his direction.

Kill first, talk later. Skull managed through gritted teeth. His knife was firmly held in his teeth. He gunned the bike, pulling ahead of Talon. The desert marauders were still a good distance away. Skull started shooting before he even got within range.

Talon flew high into the air, and as far ahead as he could. He rushed to the front of the retreating mob and spiraled down upon them. He caught the men off-guard, using the skies to his full advantage.

Gotcha! Talon flew between the two lead motorcycle riders. His namesake talons protruded from the tips of his fingers. The men’s throats came off in his hands, ripped clean from their necks.

The two men fell from their bikes. One slumping off the back, his left leg hit the rear tire, making the body twist has it hit the ground; the other simply fell back and to the right, and crumpled on the hot desert sand. The motorcycles both turned inwards before coming to a halt, forming a minor barricade as if to stop the others retreat.

Skull steadied the bike with his legs and checked his gun. He had one shot left, and he had to make it count. Skull leveled his gun at the gas tank of the last remaining motorcycle and fired. The bike erupted in flames and shrapnel, sending pieces of the rider in all directions. Skull stopped and watched as the leader and the others smashed through the motorcycle obstruction with their jeep and continued to run away.

Skull took his knife and placed it back in his boot sheath, before turning around and heading back to the place where he had left his sack and jacket. Talon was there waiting for him when he returned.

Well, started Talon. He wiped the blood from his claws with a piece of cloth torn from the shirt of one of the early kills. Now that we have killed first, can we talk later?

Talon’s attempt at levity was lost on Skull.

Why did you help me? What made you assume that I needed help? That I needed your help? Skull asked the question, but didn’t wait for Talon’s answer. He carefully shook the sand out of his jacket before putting it back on. The jeep explosion had singed it some, giving it an even more ragged look. He opened the sack of skulls and checked to make sure that none of them were broken.

To be honest, I like a good fight. The bloodier the better.

Skull looked Talon over. He was an Ariel, genetically engineered to be smarter than both humans and mutants. They were also known to be pacifist.

A word that burned Skull’s tongue just thinking about it. For him to engage in a battle not his own was completely out of character. Skull had a strange feeling about him. He strapped his sack to the bike and hopped on.

Ah’m goin’ to Skrags. It’s a town not far from here. Come with me. I’ll buy ya a drink for yer help. Give us a chance to talk.

Sure, why not. There was something about the Arion that Talon liked. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was there.

Lead the way.

Skrags was a small town just outside the desert. Like most towns and cities in Neutra America, what few buildings that remained intact had been restored (as much as possible), but none were taller than five stories; or even looked safe at that height. Electricity was a commodity that no one took for granted. It was distributed to homes and business, and in most cases was powered by magic. New houses had been built closer to the businesses, but looked as old and rundown as the older ones that were still standing. Skrags was one of the few towns where both humans and mutants were welcome.

Skull parked his newfound motorcycle in front of the first bar that he saw. He reached inside his pack and pulled out an old, ragged towel that looked like its usefulness was several years past. The towel was worn completely through in spots, and looked is though it was being held together by spots of dried blood, and other stains that Talon didn’t even want to guess at. Skull used the rag to wipe the sweat off his body, paying particularly close attention to his arms and face. He stuffed the damp rag into his pack before untying it and the shoulder sack from the bike, and took them both inside. Talon landed between the bar and the general store. He folded his wings in tight upon his back. He removed a black cloak from his pack and put it on. The rough leather cloak made him look like a hunchback, but he didn’t mind as long as it covered his wings. Talon didn’t like for people to know that he was an Ariel: it gave him the element of surprise in a battle. Plus, like Arions, there weren’t many of them roaming the land. Ariels withdrew from current society and stayed amongst themselves in their hidden enclave. Those that strayed outside its confines were few and far between.

Talon secured his cloak and removed his chest pack. He walked in the bar shortly after Skull.

Skull was seated at a table in a darkened corner at the back of the bar. His head hung down as he ran his fingers through his hair. Talon pulled up a seat at Skull’s table. He turned the chair backwards before sitting down. Skull sat in silence. He often did after a fight. His muscles twitched and jumped as the adrenaline rush washed out of him.

The waitress waited a short while before coming over to take their order. Her long stringy blonde hair did little to cover her topless breasts.

What can I get for you two rough riders? She stuck her chest out a bit as she talked, showing off her wares. It never hurt to make a little money on the side. From the looks of the patrons, tips were out of the question.

Tequila said Skull. Bottle. No glass. He straightened up to order, pulling his shoulder length black hair out of his face long enough to speak. He paid no attention to the waitress or her flirtations. Talon, on the other hand, was a different story.

I’ll have a cold beer. His hand left the table top and moved to the inside of her thigh. He pushed his long sun colored hair out of his eyes with three fingers. Talon was a pretty boy, and it showed. The waitress stopped his hand before it traveled too far, but didn’t remove it. She shook her head from side to side, giving Talon a glance at her breasts.

That’ll be three gold pieces for you. she indicated to Skull. There was no true economy in this world. The sale of goods and services had gone back to the only monetary system it could rely on, gold and trade. As long as payment was made in one way or another, most people and places didn’t care.

The waitress turned to Talon, a wicked smile crossed her face. His good looks made up for the hunchback.

And for you she winked. Ten gold. One for the drink, and nine for the special.

I said that I’d buy you a drink, said Skull. He pushed four gold pieces across the table. I didn’t say anything about food.

Talon paid for the special and leaned forward against the back of his chair. The waitress returned with their drinks and a piece of paper for Talon. The note read: Upstairs. Third door on the left.

The name is Taleo Thenopolis Logan. Talon to my friends. It was my father’s name. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? Skull sneered at Talon’s preposterous claim.

What a coincidence. I have heard of ‘your father’, Talon. He fought in the Great Revolt alongside an Arion named Skull. My father. I am Skull, of clan Kantra.

"Are you telling me that you’re the son of Skull? That’s impossible. Everyone knows that Skull died alongside Talon fighting the dark leviathan, and that he never produced an heir."

That’s funny. I’ve always heard the exact same thing about Talon.

Talon slid violently forward in his chair, smacking its back against the edge of the table. The bottles of alcohol lifted from the tabled and rattled back down to its surface. His right hand reached out for Skull, its razor sharp fingernails extended from the nail base.

I am the son of Talon! His blood flows through my veins! Never question my lineage!

Skull calmly sat back in his chair. A sly smile eased across his lips, and Talon could tell by the twitch of his arm that he had a gun pointed at him under the table.

And don’t you question mine. Their standoff lasted only a few seconds, but seemed to each like an eternity. Try as they might, both felt that their confrontation was wrong. Talon slowly retracted his claws and his arm. Skull’s arm relaxed as well, but Talon was certain that he hadn’t put the gun away.

I had always heard that you Arions were supposed to be great fighters. I mean, that’s why I joined in earlier. It’s like I said before, quoting myself: ‘there’s nothing I like more than a good fight’. Talon took a hefty gulp of his beer, leaving very little left in the glass. Why were they after you anyway?

Skull gave Talon a look of agitation. He wasn’t in the mood to play twenty questions, but felt that he owed him an answer. For some reason, he felt like indulge Talon. I wasn’t a feeling he could shake.

They were just a bunch of desert rats. Saw me walking alone through the desert and probably thought I’d be an easy kill. Skull took a swig of his tequila, closed the bottle, and placed it in his pack. Bad call.

Skull crossed his arms and cocked his head to the right.

Looks like your lunch is ready.

The blonde waitress passed their table and up the stairwell behind them. Talon arched his eyebrows and gave Skull a Cheshire cat grin.

If you’ll excuse me. I have to go give this woman the time of her life. As he stood, his grin faded and his expression became very serious.

I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind sticking around for a while? I figure you and I could make some decent money working together. Talon shook his head slowly. He couldn’t believe what he had just said.

Yeah. I-uh… Skull tried to fight the uncomfortable feeling that came over him, but couldn’t. I should still be here.

Talon’s urges left Skull sitting alone at the table. Skull had been watching the people as they came and left the bar. The place was filled with mutants for the most part. He didn’t expect to see any Arion’s, and he wasn’t disappointed. Skull thought of his race as a dying one. The Arions own destructive nature was killing them, and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it. Fighting was in their blood, they knew nothing else. It was who they were. Why they existed. How they were created. Why they were created. The perfect soldier, engineered by men who had no idea of what they were really doing.

An old man in a white cloth jacket began walking in Skull’s direction. Skull had noticed him