Dustland Requiem (A Bard's Folktale) (Volume 2)
Sigurd Martinez is a simple boy with a single goal: taking care of his family. But in the heat of the desert sun, the violence and corruption of gangland Mexico make it harder and harder to tell what’s worth fighting for, and how much is worth sacrificing to get it. Back in the comfort of the suburbs, Charisma Roberts is readjusting to her life after a rough summer full of mayhem and madness. With the help of a spoony bard and an old friend, she’s determined to fix the mess she’s created. Though these two idealistic youths have never met, they’re about to find they have much more in common than just a bad poet.
trying to remember what Adelais had been like before he had become a monster of a man. He couldn’t remember much. Siggy laid his head against the passenger side window as the truck continued barreling along. Resting his head, the excitement of the day finally started catching up with him. After a while, weariness ambushed his sleepy eyelids, and dragged them down to the resting place. * * * Siggy’s body lurched forward against his seatbelt as the truck ground to a halt. He forced his eyes open,
so sorry, Lorena, but ya’ gotta do what ya’ can with these quick as possible. Ade and Kody are holding ‘em off, but we gotta get outta here.” She wiped the tears from her face, improvising with the clothes Siggy gave her. She hid behind him, leaning on him for support, as he listened for movement on the other side of the panel. Unable to hear anything herself, she debated whether it was worth the risk to re-enter the fray. Siggy cautiously slid the panel open, checking the scene. Catching a
dance mix, “Party Rock Anthem,” as the engine cut off. They both turned toward the entrance of the chantry to see a bright-red convertible parked outside the bar. The mare tied up near the chantry’s entryway began fretting, causing a ruckus. “Seems it’s my time to go. Viaje is getting upset. I wish you health and safety, Lorena, and truly, I regret what happened to your brother.” “I—I’m sorry Alejandro was yours.” Arturo excused himself and headed outside. Lorena, with Perrito’s help, rose to
ain’t a killer,” she said. “Good or bad, sometimes I am,” he replied. “That’s why I pray.” He took a seat next to her, looking at his palms. “My hands are responsible for too much filth to ever be clean, but no man may say if that’s true for my spirit. It becomes difficult to see the way forward when the path you’ve left is littered with the dead. So I seek guidance that I may not become lost, like your friend has.” Lorena leaned her head back, looking up to the sky. She remembered when her
duster—same as the banditos’—only kept him safe so long as he didn’t draw attention. Fear of the banditos kept people tolerant of their presence and provided Kody with an effective guise, but a lone bandito causing a ruckus could easily test the limits of that patience. Kody glared back at the crowd, making his way through them until he was outside. He began heading toward the truck, keeping an eye cast over his shoulder as the crowd slowly started to trickle out in his general direction. He