As the cold night air moved across the desert floor, carrying bits of sand along its path, it blew against something it had not touched in that part of the land for over a hundred years. If the wind had feeling, or if it cared at all about the pain, fate, or purpose of men, then it might wonder why it was brushing against the skin, hair, and eyes of a living body. Of course the wind did not care, and so it pounded along against the figure just as mercilessly as it would against the thousands of dunes that could be seen for miles when the sun was up.

As the shadowed figure continued to walk against the wind, he tried to remember the sun that had burned his body only a short time ago. He tried to remember how his skin baked and his eyes stung under the relentless beams from the great ball of fire in the sky. He tried to remember these things, but it was gone as if it had never been. All that existed now was the moon, the sand, the stars, and the cold night air.

His continual march forward defied everything that his body told him. His every muscle was spent, but still he kept them moving him onward. His mind was exhausted, and demanded sleep from eyes that he never let close. Even his lungs and heart tried to mutiny against him and give up the futile struggle to continue their never-ending duties, but they continued because he willed it so.

He had no idea what lay in any direction from him. Even if he possessed the strength to turn his head from one way to another, he would have continued to stare straight ahead because he did not care what was on either side of him. He knew only that behind him was something terrible. Something unthinkable. So instead of thinking on it, he merely continued in the direction he faced, because that was as far away as he could get from where his footsteps started.

He could not remember the day before this night, and so he could not remember if that day was preceded by a night like this one. He did not know when he began this journey, and he did not want to know. His mind would not think of the past beyond the breath that he just breathed. He walked along as if in a dream.

He did not even wake from the dream as he entered the gates of the city.

He was barely aware that his feet sank into the ground less than he expected because the ground was firm and well trod. He heard voices, saw the fires of torches out of the corners of his eyes, and felt weak hands try to hold him in place. He merely pushed past any thing or any body placed in his way, never looking at them or paying them any attention. After all, if the screams and pleads of his own body failed to stop his progression, why should the voices issuing from other bodies sway him?

He would have continued on in this way indefinitely, except that he heard a voice so clear that it could not be ignored. The voice did not enter through his ears, but straight into his mind. Help me, it pleaded. Please! Someone!

Never stopping his feet, he changed his direction to a narrow gap between two buildings that was not lit by even the moon. He felt the voice come from that direction, so he did not hesitate as he entered. He heard the sound of hurried movements and heavy breathing as he walked into the darkness. As he continued forward he bumped into something, which lashed out at him with some hard object.

After one painful blow to his chest, he seized upon the arm of the body that hit him. He pulled the arm down hard; creating a strange popping sound, and then threw the body against the nearest wall. He heard it slump down after the impact. Paying more attention now, he heard the intended blow from a second body approach, and caught the fist as it came toward him. There was a groan of pain as he tightened his grip on the hand, and it struggled to break free. He raised his other arm high above his head, and then swung it downward straight in front of him, and the groaning and struggling ceased. Only moments after he arrived, the alley was completely quiet except for one more body breathing heavily.

He immediately felt a swell of gratitude, and heard again the ringing voice as it said, Thank you, whoever you are. He heard hurried footsteps right before he was momentarily blinded by the torchlight of the men who had tried to stop him earlier that night.

In the flickering, orange light his eyes focused, and he could finally see the bodies of the two men who had attacked him. The bodies were breathing, but unmoving. He could also see a third body lying on the ground with cuts and bruises that he had not caused. It was a young, pale-skinned man, bound with cords, gagged with cloth, and as bald as the moon itself, squinting up at him.

When the men with torches saw the damaged bodies, they turned and stared at him in horror, and then began shouting at him and to each other with unintelligible words. They tried to surround him, but were also careful to stay out of his arms’ reach. Suddenly, someone came out of the crowd with a bucket, and splashed him right in the face with unbearably cold water.

The water caught him by surprise and made him cough and sputter as he pushed himself through the crowd, and back out to the open street. Stop! Don’t! said the voice, but he didn’t listen. After the endless cold night air, the cold water was too much to bear, and his invincible will wavered.

As he emerged from the crowd, he could see the golden rays of the sun rising from the distant horizon. I will make this right, said the voice. Sleep. You are exhausted, and I will not let anything bad happen to you. I owe you my life. The voice was still piercing, but it was much calmer now, and he believed it. As the sun continued to grow on the horizon, his eyes closed and he gave himself to sleep.