GHOST LESSONS

Jordi new better than to be scavenging too far from the small shanty town he called home. Their small community had been on the defense ever since a band of warriors had raided them some months back, killing several people he considered family. He needed to scavenge though, it was a necessary part of life outside the walls of the Hive City, and he needed to eat and buy ammunition from the traders when the passed later this week.

He sifted through the scraps and heaps of slag , looking for something worth trading or selling. He had been at it for more than a few hours and dusk was beginning to creep all around the waste land. Jordi finally settled on three fist sized metal cogs and a sheet of wire mesh that only had a few holes in it.

Tossing the cogs in his pack he double checked his stub pistol and clambered his way through the junk pile. He need to cross a few dunes and a black ore outcrop before he was home- and anything could happen here in the Ash Wastes.

The dusty dunes seemed gray and lifeless, the fading light laying long shadows ahead of Jordi's path. His pace quickened while the wind feel silent and the soft ash seemed to crunch under his battered rubber boots. For a moment he thought he was being watched but shrugged off the notion as he continued his trek home, walking faster and faster as the minutes passed.

Reaching the black ore outcrop always gave Jordi a sense of safety, he relaxed a bit as he pulled his canteen from his pack. He drank deeply and carried on down the sharp slope.

He never heard the blade being unsheathed. Jordi was slammed to the floor on his stomach and the cold steel was pressed against his neck.

Jordi dare not scream or move. He simply lay there as he heard the familiar click of a respirator being turned on. The Nomad drew close to Jordi, his breathing so light it was hardly audible.

" How many in your war party boy?" The Nomad nearly whispered.

Jordi stammered trying to remember how to speak.

" I am no warrior, I am on my way home, to the people who dwell past this black rock..."

He said the words so fast he wasn't sure he said the right thing.

The Nomad pressed the blade tighter to his neck. He tapped Jordi on his head with the butt of his own stub pistol.

" This is a poor quality gun boy, even if you managed to aim it at one of us I doubt it would fire..."

Jordi was flush with anger, but still the Nomad withdrew his blade and hoisted Jordi to his feet. Jordie was stunned to see six or seven Nomads, surrounding him in the darkness, their night vision goggles unnerving him.

The Nomad who assailed him tossed him back his pistol and Jordi stared it at for a moment and at them. He realized he was outnumbered and over matched and opened his pack as an offering.

The Nomads had no reaction, instead, one by one they dispersed in the darkness and the Nomad who spared his life stood there starring at him.

" Go home boy, next time, travel with a friend. The gun you have is useless. Tell your elders to seek the Merchant Guild, not the traveling peddlers who pass through these dog towns....go now...and speak not that you came across my tribe."

Jordi nodded his head and turned on his heel, still shaking from the encounter.

He walked as steady as he could wondering what the Nomads were doing here and why they didn't kill him. The Nomads came from nowhere- like ghosts living in the dunes... the spirits of the Ash itself.

Who knew how long the had lay in wait with their re-breathers and respirators turned of, hiding in the jagged black rock and shifting ash. Jordi had been taught a valuable lesson by a lethal teacher, who may have only let him walk away through pity.

He was happy to be alive but knew in his gut that something bad was just around the bend.