Eye of The Storm

[Thaal Sinestro]

Angels sang in Sinestro’s ears as he lay in the darkened crater, charred and black. Deep grooves ran from his chin to his brow, blood running thick and free from his face. The fringes of his long, woolen poncho were burned, and the strands of his shirt curled around large seared holes. His hat wore a new puncture, just above the right eye, where shrapnel had narrowly avoiding burying itself into his forehead. Perhaps the only part of him that was left unscathed was his thick leather boots, too low to take the brunt of the explosion.

Groggy, he pried his eyes open, willing his body to move despite every inch of his form demanding his stillness. He drug his hands below him, already-aching bones protesting, and pushed himself up to see what lurked in the swirling fallout that surrounded him. For a moment, he saw nothing. Then, the shadow was pierced by the angry red of a charging laser rifle.

She strode forward through the smoke, wispy tendrils grasping at every angle. Gashes deeper than the would-be deputy’s were traced all over her body, the red of her blood barely detectable on her dark skin. Her ill-assorted armor rattled with every step, broken straps and chain rings left flapping as chunks of metal dangled from her muscular frame, unused and unnoticed. Her thickly rolled dreadlocks tumbled down around the scowling white skull of her face paint, her burning eyes glaring even more brightly than her weapon.

A steel-plated heel sunk a few feet in front of her target and she lifted the rifle. Sneering, she closed her eye and looked down the scope.

“No last words?” Sinestro quipped, his voice just as charred as his flesh.

“I got some last words for you,” she spat, “stay the fuck out of my dunes.”

A gunshot rang out, the zing of a bullet on steel calling out as her weapon was forced to the side. “You have forgotten the face of your father,” Roland said, his true voice twisted with an accent unknown to either who listened.

The bandit’s teeth grit together as the sheriff slowly pulled back the hammer of his weapon. He shot faster than she ever could, and he wouldn’t miss. Still, she held her ground. “I don’t have a father,” she retorted and turned her weapon on the lawman. The laser gently brushed his jacket’s shoulder as he swayed to the side, the sound of his gun almost drowned by the crackling discharge.

She fell unceremoniously to the ground, and the sheriff’s gun slipped back into its holster.

The wind whipped over the scene, tossing Roland’s coattails into the air as he looked upon the two broken combatants. “Fear…” he scoffed, the aura of death removing the shroud of patient compassion he wore within the limits of his city. “Ye have not the skill to curse a man with fear,” he completed his thought, hat-shaded face glowering at the wounded korugaran. Out here in the desert, amid the sun and desperation, his mind returned to his ka, his destiny. His features grew hard, his voice firm and severe. He was a man with no patience for the tussles and squabbles of Omni’s children. “You still shoot with your hand.”

Growling, Sinestro slid to his knees, red blood drooling down into the yellow earth from every feature of his body. “You know nothing of fear, Roland,” his burned voice rasped. Heaving, he managed to plant a single boot. “I have built empires. I have destroyed them.” His leg pushed him back up, limply standing as ash and grit tumbled from his clothing. “I bred fear in the heart of Will itself, and gave the most powerful force in the galaxy something to dread.” Rolling his shoulders back, his hazel eyes locked with the Gunslinger’s. “I am the herald of the Blackest Night, and I am the one who brought it to its end. I was the first to wear the white symbol of Life, and I am the Greatest Lantern that ever was, and ever shall be.”

“What ye were is not what ye be now,” Roland said softly, turning his attention to the camel that towed the horse thief and what he stole. He sauntered to the broken man that was bent over the horse’s back, glaring down at the massive burns that covered his chest. The emblem of the Corps, emblazoned upon his flesh, stared back at him. “Mayhaps ye might be something akin to it, given time.”

Roland unfastened the connection between the camel and the other mounts, beckoning his own black mare over. He rigged his mount to the train and stepped up into his saddle. “For now, you will continue your work, and I shall continue to watch.”

Sinestro’s fists balled at his sides, ambition coiling in his chest like a viper. “And what horrors you will see,” he uttered beneath his breath.

---

Cool water ran down the bandit’s sweating brow, her face hot and aching. A labored sound came from her lips, not quite a word. Her knuckles dug into the clean sheets that lie underneath her, the bandages that wrapped around her fingers catching the fabric strangely. Swirling, oppressive light slowly dimmed to a bearable gloom and she opened her eyes.

“You sure are a fighter, aren’t you?” a warm, older voice said calmly. “I was surprised you even made it back to the house, let alone recover.” The blurry human form moved away, taking the wet cloth with it.

She lifted a hand, wiping it over her cheeks. Her paint was gone. Groaning, she rolled her head to its side and looked upon him. He was tall, skin a little lighter than hers, with grey cornrows rolling from his hairline straight back to the nape of his neck. His eyes looked at once soft and sharp. “Would have been better off leaving me in the sand, old man,” she spat.

“Oh, is that so?” he chuckled, lifting a tea pot by the handle and poured its contents into a ceramic cup. He smoothed his hand over the long grey shirt he wore, the collar high upon his neck. “I’ll consult the book again about that situation.” He placed the tea on a small wooden table beside her, the swirling steam offering the scent of lavender and honey. “But I’m fairly sure that it talks about helping people in need.”

“Sounds like your book is trying to get you killed.” Tentatively she tried to turn her body, but a sharp pain radiated from her chest into her neck and abdomen.

“Oh, be careful!” he said, a look of true concern furrowing his brows. “I’m not much of a surgeon, so try not to move too much. I don’t want you to start bleeding again.” He shook his head, “You’d better be glad we heal fast here, you’d be down for a lot longer.”

She ran her hand over her body, the old tatters she had known stolen away and replaced with clean, fresh linen. Still, her body knew where she had been shot. The pads of her fingers found the gauze that covered the wound, just beside her heart, the bullet still caught in her shattered rib. “Why am I alive?” she asked herself, pushing down onto the wound, exploring the pain in disbelief.

“People are strong here, girl,” he smiled, fiddling with something on the underside of the bedding. He pulled free a pin and gently lifted the upper half of the bed, putting her to a more seated position. He took the tea in his hand and offered it to her slowly. “And it seems like bullets can be mighty weak.”

“Not for us they aren’t,” the bandit said, a sadness in her voice. She ignored the cup and looked around the small, quaint room a moment. Wood panels, only a few scattered pieces of simple furniture. The windows were covered with heavy blankets, thin beams of sunlight only piercing them through their moth-eaten holes.

The man put the cup back on the table. “It seems like most folks have a background of eating bullets in these parts. It’s nice to meet a person that reacts as aversely as I do.” He pulled a seat which sat close by to the edge of the bed. “I’m from a place called Persephone, a planet in a system far, far from Earth. In my ‘verse, there was nothing that would have saved a man from a bullet to the heart, save God.”

Taking a deep, pained breath she sighed, “There is no ‘God’ here, only Omni.”

A faint smirk crossed his lips, “Believe whatever you want to believe, just believe it.” He gathered the cloth and dipped it in the cool water once again. “So where are you from?”

A deep frown covered her face, creases folding in a well-practiced expression, “Nowhere.”

“What do you mean ‘nowhere’?” he asked. “Everyone in this place is from somewhere.”

Her body tensed in pain as she lifted herself from the cot, her dark eyes locked with his. “Not me.”

Eyebrows perked in confusion, “Do you not remember? I’ve met a few souls that got knocked on the head and forgot.”

“No. I’m not from anywhere. I just am.” Her gaze moved away, and she held a hand to her chest with a wince.

“Alright,” he said, not wishing to escalate the woman’s anger any further. “Well I’ll have something made for dinner soon. You lay and rest for a while.”

She allowed her body to fall back into the propped bedframe, looking away from the man. “Where are my things?” she asked, a shortness in her voice.

He opened a cabinet and removed a large pot, probably his only cooking vessel. Ignoring her question for a minute longer, he poured rice into the bottom and used a pitcher to fill water over it. “Hm? Oh, your gun?” his voice was chipper, but a clever person would see through his enthusiasm.

“And my armor,” she said slow, “and my clothes.”

The man slowly gathered a collection of strange, twisted vegetables on the counter and carefully began to chop them. “I’ve got them safe. I didn’t want you worrying about that until you had a chance to heal up, though. If you leave in the condition you’re in, you’ll find yourself at the fountain before you can spit.”

Gritting her teeth, the bandit tossed the blanket away, desperately trying to sit up. “I’ll risk it,” she snarled, eyes wild with anger.

The man rushed over, holding his hands up, “Alright, alright! I’ll get them for you. Just please lay back down.” He stooped down and opened a cabinet, retrieving her torched pile of personal gear, gently placing it on the floor next to her sleeping area. “There, can we please sit a spell and have some food?”

Swallowing her rage, she collapsed back, relishing in her agony. It quieted the discourse in her mind, it stilled her shaking hands. The pain was all she had to rely on to distract her from the frustrations of reality. She had no more words for him, and so she said nothing.