The Scoop
Excerpt from Chapter 4 of Lunatic
Riding, riding, steel wings through the night
Wind in my hair and the moon in my eyes
Riding on until the morning light
Below the stars until the dawn’s sunrise
The roar of the Triumph’s engine no longer registered in Arn’s ears; it had become a part of him, as natural as his breathing or the soft thump of his heartbeat in his chest. Heavy leather gauntlets shielded the skin of his hands from the flat handlebars, but he could still feel the vibration of his bike like a living thing, through his hands and between his thighs.
“Ah, but you are alive, Cheylan,” he murmured, and the bike purred in response, obeying his lightest touch, flying along the highway as if it barely skimmed the surface. Arn knew he could close his eyes and they’d stay on the road, but he kept them open. He knew he was being watched, and he intended to watch too.
“Who watches the watchers?” he asked, and then answered himself: “I do.” They sped along the freeway into the desert, having escaped the rain and the city with it.
Arn knew that somewhere, out there, they were moving, slow and malevolent, existing only to cause pain and chaos in the lives of the innocent. “Gwath,” he murmured, tasting the word and hating it, longing for it not to be, wishing he didn’t know it and yet knowing that it couldn’t be any other way. “Gwath.”
Riding, riding, searching for the light
Song in my heart and love in my eyes
Searching, searching through the day and night
Answer and knowledge, reward and prize
He turned off the freeway, heading north, kicking up dust that he hardly noticed. Gwath. He felt eyes on him as he rode, and smiled; the little coyote brothers were always there, guarding the desert, longing for the day when they could take it back from those who had claimed it.
And I’d help them if I could. But their concern is not my concern, their battle not my battle…nor is mine theirs. Though perhaps they’ll help me before the end.
Arn saw a pair of eyes flash in the darkness next to the dirt, road, and he threw up one gauntleted hand in salute, and rode on. Again he turned off the road, onto yet a smaller one; there were no lights now, and still he rode, a dark thing in the darkness, casting a little light ahead of him.
Up ahead he saw the outcropping of rock that he was heading for, and smiled. He was tired, and happy that he’d reached his destination. Oh, to rest, he thought yearningly, but he knew that rest was not for him, not yet. Maybe not ever. As long as there was work to do, he needed to be there to do it. There is no rest for the Chosen Ones.