Mark Chadbourn - The Burning Man

‘Where are we?’ Ruth asked.

Rick laughed, realised she wasn’t joking. ‘You don’t know?’

‘Just answer the bleedin’ question,’ Veitch said.

‘You’ve got a lot of anger in you, I can see that. You don’t need to let it eat you up here, man. You’re with friends.’

‘You’re not my friends.’

‘Yeah, we are. You just don’t know it yet. We’re a community, one of the last real ones left in this grasping, mean old world. We look after our own. You don’t need to watch your back here. We’ll do it for you. You can check all your anger and guilt and hatred at the door. We’ve all been there. We all know that pain. Here we can live the life we’ve always wanted to live and know we’re safe.’

Veitch opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, shrugged, shifted uneasily.

Rick smiled. ‘Good. We’ve got us an understanding. Okay, I’ll take your question at face value. This is Burning Man Festival.’ He looked from Veitch to Ruth to Miller, saw only blankness, sighed. ‘You fell out of the sky?’

‘Something like that.’ Ruth said.

‘Okay, Burning Man one-oh-one. An eight-day festival held up here in Black Rock every year ending on Labor Day. We come from all over, thousands of us, more every year, and set up this temporary city. You must know this if you’re here, right?’

‘We’re pretty sure we’re here for a reason. We just don’t know why yet,’ Ruth replied.

‘Yeah, a lot of us Burners are like that. We’re all searching for something here. Some even find it.’

‘So what’s the point?’ Veitch asked.

Rick laughed. ‘The point is the world has no point! Art, spirituality, friendship, community, love — all the things that matter are forgotten out there. Sacrificed on the altar of commercialism.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘This whole deal is an experiment. In community. In self-expression — you see the art out there? It’s everywhere, a part of everyday life as it should be. And it’s an experiment in self-reliance. This place is the antithesis of the real world. There are no cash transactions. No stores. You can’t buy what you haven’t brought with you. If you don’t come well prepared you’re in real danger out here. Or you can rely on the support of your neighbours. Offer to do something for them, they’ll look after you. That’s how a community binds together. What’s your community?’ He directed the question at Veitch.

Veitch shifted uneasily. ‘I’m on my own.’

‘How’s that working out for you?’

Veitch didn’t respond.

‘We have ten principles here at Burning Man. Radical inclusion, gifting, decommodification, radical self-reliance, radical self-expression, communal effort, civic responsibility, leaving no trace, participation and immediacy. Now, to me that’s a pretty good constitution for this new age we’re moving into.’

Miller nodded. ‘I like that. I like that a lot.’

Ruth struggled to see anything relevant in Rick’s words. ‘Maybe it was just an accident we dropped out here. Totally random.’

‘There aren’t any coincidences,’ Veitch muttered. ‘All right, I’m going to have a look around once that dust-storm’s dropped.’

‘Black Rock City is built in an arc with concentric streets. You’ll find the Burning Man at the centre,’ Rick said. ‘Good luck with your quest. You look like you need to find some answers pretty quick.’

As they made their way out of the tent, a shaven-headed man offered them a comic book he had been reading. ‘You want to take a look at this,’ he said with a lazy smile.

Veitch examined it. ‘ Seven Soldiers?’

‘Grant Morrison. Celtic mythology. Seven heroes saving the world. Has all the best antecedents, if you know what I mean.’

Veitch handed the comic back. ‘Seven is good. Five is better.’

‘Rick’s a nice guy,’ Ruth said as they stood at the door waiting for the wind to drop.

‘Reminded me of Tom. Only without the misery injection.’ Veitch stared into the whipping dust, lost to his thoughts.

‘I think we should split up, meet in the centre.’

Veitch eyed her suspiciously.

‘I’ll be there. You can trust me.’

‘I’ve heard that before.’ He turned to Miller. ‘You come with me.’

‘You can trust me, too!’ Miller protested.

‘’ Cept I can’t trust you not to do something stupid, like getting run over or accidentally wandering into the desert. I need you where I can give you a clip round the ear when your brain packs in.’

Miller looked affronted.

Ruth surprised Veitch with a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you for trusting me.’

‘Don’t let me down.’ Veitch grabbed Miller by the collar and dragged him into the baking heat.

As Ruth made her way amongst the drifting crowds of bohemians, stopping every now and then to examine the spectacular art displays, she tried to make some sense of her own see-sawing emotions.

She knew she loved Church, but she was increasingly aware of a growing affection for Veitch, which both Tom and Shavi had clearly recognised in Beijing before she had even allowed herself to be aware of it. But how much of that was due to her own feelings, and how much had been caused by Veitch’s power-sucking spell in Cornwall? Would she ever know the truth?

Veitch had done some terrible things, yet she could see that he was still at heart the hero who had been chosen by Existence. His great flaw was his emotional weakness. At times he was like a spurned child, lashing out at the things he believed had hurt his hopes and feelings. Could he be saved? It was her flaw to believe she could help him, and she was afraid it would all end in tears.

But love him? No, surely not.

From out of nowhere, the wind whipped up the dust into a choking smog in the avenue between the tents and shacks. A mutant vehicle, a three-wheeled motorbike with spider legs, roared by. The rider, a black woman wearing snow-goggles, yelled, ‘You want to get under cover. There’s another white-out coming on the back of the last.’ She disappeared into the dust.

The storm grew stronger in seconds. It was already too late to attempt to make her way back to Rick’s tent; her best option was to try one of the nearby homes.

Before she could move, the sound of hoof-beats began to draw near. From out of the swirling clouds came Etain, sword drawn. It took Ruth a second to realise she was the target and by then the Sister of Spiders was almost upon her.

At the last moment, Ruth threw herself out of the way. Disoriented by the dust blasting her eyes and face, crushed by the intense heat, she couldn’t run.

Etain brought her mount round again. Her scarred and blackened face gave no hint of the emotions that drove her.

Ruth barely avoided the thundering hooves. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she yelled as she rolled out of the way.

As the words left her lips, she knew. ‘You’re jealous,’ she said, stunned.

She was left reeling by the revelation that there was still some echo of life’s richness deep beneath the surface of what she had considered a mechanical shell. And she knew that Etain would not stop until she was dead.

Etain was lost in the now-raging dust storm. Choking, Ruth could barely breathe, barely stand. She covered her face and turned her thoughts inward.

I can do this , she pressed. Not so long ago I could have torn this world inside out. I can do it again .

As Etain roared out of the dust, Blue Fire exploded in Ruth’s head. The chaotic force of the dust storm bent to her will and smashed against Etain like a hammer, knocking her from the saddle. The impact probably broke several bones, but she was up in a second, sword in hand, marching towards Ruth.