Oct 19th, 2083: Southward Bound Part 3-The Endless Flock

We rose with the farmer's family as the eastern sky turned a pale lavender.  I assisted with the morning chores while Sam bargained with the farmer for a small cart.  I managed to do a fair bit of bargaining myself, trading in a child's storybook for fresh bread topped with thick hunks of salted pork.

I left the house to show Sam my hard-bargained wares.  To my surprise, the Trader and Alfather stood in close conversation, the brims of their hats nearly touching.  Both of their mounts were saddled, while mine was hooked up to a small cart barely large enough for our things.  I must be driving the cart.  Fair enough, the slender grey pony would be easier to deal with if I wasn't riding her.

Apparently Alfather was familiar with the area and had offered to be our guide.  It sounded too good to be true.  I glanced at Sam, but the Trader's expression was as inscrutable as ever.  I muttered some vague consent to the idea and climbed atop the cart, picking up the reins and giving them a quick flick.  The event was too serendipitous for my liking.  I resolved to keep an eye on the stranger until whatever sinister agenda he had was revealed.

The road south was nearly overgrown; the black pavement more like random stones than the smooth surface it had once been.  The trail we followed was nothing more than a pair of shallow ruts, illustrating how infrequently this road was traveled.  The sun rose high, yellow and warm like I remembered.  I let the warmth soak into my skin, falling into a sort of hypnotic state as we traveled the nearly invisible road.

It wasn't until we stopped for the night that I remembered there was a brand new person to whom I could subject my relentless curiosity.  One who, in fact, had volunteered to spend time in my company.  How could he fault me for wanting to know more about my fellow traveler?

Alfather rested his head on his bedroll, angled so he could read an old book in the firelight.  I eased down next to him, plucking a strand of grass and twirling it idly between my fingers.  I called his name to catch his attention.  He glanced at me, then back to the book.  "One second, I'm almost to the end of this chapter."

It was strange, seeing another person who seemed to enjoy reading just as much as I did.  I settled back, blowing on the blade of grass in the attempt to coax out a whistle.  I never had been very successful at the endeavor, and tonight was no exception.

After a few minutes, Alfather picked his own blade and used it to mark his place.  As he placed the book aside, I caught some of the title: "Die Ärgste Götzen-"  The rest was hidden behind his fingers.  I recognized the language from an old primer, though I hadn't gotten far enough through the book to recognize any of the words.

Most of the post-plague books I find have a very distinct appearance.  The covers and binding are made from a hodge-podge of whatever materials the author has available.  The writing may not be clear, the spelling almost certainly poor, but each page will be carefully numbered.

Alfather's book, from what little I could see, had the rough appearance of a post-plague book, but constructed from pre-plague materials.

The man in question uttered a gentle cough, jolting me from my reverie.  I remembered that I had been in the middle of a- no, I hadn't even begun to ask the question.  "I was wondering if you would answer a few questions for me."

"Sure."  He shrugged.  "Fire away."

"To start with, where are you from?"

"Well," he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully.  "I don't really know what it's called anymore."

Decidedly unhelpful.  I tried again.  "What do you do for a living?"

"You could say I'm a professional jack of all trades."

"So how long have you been a professional-" jackass "-wanderer?"

"Don't really remember."

At that, I closed my notebook, turning away to put it back in my pack.  "Look, if you don't actually want to answer any questions, that's fine.  I would rather have a 'no' than these half-assed responses that are just a waste of time."

Alfather stared at me, eye glinting in the firelight.  "I really don't know.  Time is...  Look, I don't think it works the same any more, all right?  People pretend it does, they try to use the same methods to track it, but how can you really know what time is when even day and night aren't the same from week to the next.  How are we supposed to keep track of the years when seasons are dependent upon the whims of terrible beasts?"

His words rang true.  We kept a calendar back home, but it was useless in the pitch black of winter when night lasted for weeks, maybe even months.  How can we count the days when daylight is the memory of a half-faded dream?  I wondered how others tried to mark the passage of time and how else the terrors of those lands managed to stymie the people's efforts.

"I didn't mean to shut you down like that."  Alfather sighed, shifting around so he fully faced the fire, legs stretching out until the flames licked at the soles of his boots.  "Tell you what.  I'll tell you about the Endless Flock to make up for it."

I brought my notebook back out and prepared to take notes.  "Does Roadkill come from the Endless Flock?  Is that why you have a horse with feathers?"

He chuckled slightly.  "No, but yes.  The Endless Flock doesn't have what you think of as a territory.  They rule the skies.  They are the skies."

"Why are they called the Endless Flock?"

Alfather leaned in close, stretching an arm past me to point at a nearby tree.  "See that?"

After a moment I was able to pick out the birds settled in the branches.  There were at least two, if not more birds per branch.  I nodded and when I did, each and every bird turned its head to stare at me.  I felt my heart still in my chest for a long moment before it resumed beating double-speed.

"That is the Endless Flock."  Alfather's voice was low, barely audible.  But for the warmth of his body next to mine, I might have thought him a spirit floating at my side.  "Every creature with wings, beak, or feathers belongs to the Endless Flock.  In night, in day, across all lands, in places you have never dreamed of and can never imagine, they are watching you."

Goosebumps popped on my arms and a shiver ran down my spine, but I still caught the most important part of that sentence.  "Me."  I turned to face Alfather.  "They're watching me, not us."  He met my gaze squarely and gave a short, sharp nod.  "You don't have any of those things.  The beak, the feathers, the wings.  So why did you say they were watching me?"

"You're a sharp one, Sen Stu Sha."  Alfather drew back slightly, a humorless grin on his lips. "I'll show you as a reward for being such a smart cookie.  Provided," and here he jerked his head in Sam's direction, "you don't share it with the Trader."  Sam seemed oblivious to our conversation, intently watching the contents of a can suspended over the fire.

Shit.  I wavered for a moment, my curiosity warring with my loyalty toward my companion.  Finally, I nodded.

I reasoned that if or when it became necessary to reveal the information, I would do so at the drop of a hat.  The health and safety of Sam (and the importance of my own goals) came before any spur of the moment promise to some stranger I barely knew.

Alfather shifted again, putting his back to the fire and Sam.  "Try not to vomit.  It hurts my feelings."  As he spoke the flesh on his face bulged grotesquely, moving as though something was squirming under his skin.  At first I thought it was an optical illusion generated by the dancing light of the fire.  That notion was quickly disabused as his eye rolled suddenly in his head, replaced with something black and shiny, with the texture of... feathers?  It forced its way out of his eye socket, easily twice as big as a human eye would be.  Alfather grunted in pain and I saw a trickle of blood drip down his face, running past gritted teeth.

A soft, wet 'pop' revealed the source of Alfather's pain.  A raven, or rather, a raven's head, jutted from his eye socket.  It twitched its head left, right, and left again, eyes darting around to take in its surroundings.  As I watched the curious eyes dance about, I understood why Alfather's single eye appeared avian in nature.  The raven opened its beak, streams of viscous mucus dripping free.

"Good enough?"

Speechless, I could only nod.  I averted my gaze as the raven retreated back inside of its host.  I swallowed hard before trusting myself to speak.  "And there's a whole bird in there?"

"At least."  When I looked back, Alfather had pulled out a coarse linen handkerchief and was cleaning the blood and mucus from his face.  His torn skin had nearly mended, only a thin red line remaining.  "Kilroy and Roadkill are always with me, but if necessary I can act as a conduit for as many of the Flock as necessary."

"So Roadkill can hang out inside your head, too?  Is that why you have the..."  I indicated the eye patch by circling one eye with my finger.

"Yeah.  That's why she spends all her time outside.  It hurts like a bitch just to get Kilroy out.  You can't imagine the suffering I have to go when summoning that one.

"Ugh."  I shook my head, turning away.  "No thank you."

"Any more questions?"  His face had settled back in place so only Kilroy's eye was glaring out of his socket.

"Not about the Endless Flock, right now anyway.  I did have a question about your book, though."

His eyebrows rose and he glanced at it.  "My book?  What about it?"

"I saw the title, what does it mean?"

"Die Ärgste Götzen Ansteigend.  A rough translation would be 'The Terrible Idols Rise'.  It's a first-hand account of the plague days.  The title's kind of pretentious if you ask me.  I don't really see the point in putting the title in a different language than the rest of the book.  It's just snobby."

This was perfect!  My new guide had a first-hand account of life during the plague.  It could prove an invaluable resource for my almanac.  I had to stop myself from ripping it out of his hands.

"Would you like to trade for it?  I have a few rare books I would be willing to trade."  Rare books was something of a redundancy.  Only well-cared for books survived, which made each and every one of them precious.  Though I would trade an entire case for the single volume in his grasp.

A volume that he handed over to me freely!  "I might look through what you've got, but I'll loan you this for as long as you want."  I caressed the smooth cover, wondering at the glossy finish.  Each page had the same durable cover, clearly the author- Isaac Van Avery according to the cover- knew that conditions would be harsh and tried to protect his work accordingly.

"How's your handwriting?  You could make a copy of it while we're traveling."

"Thank you."  I looked up to see him smiling at me like an indulgent parent.  At that moment, I didn't mind if he cut my food and spoon-fed it to me.  "I appreciate this, I really do."

He chuckled and pushed himself to his feet.  "I'll just go ahead and borrow one of your books so you can get started on that one.

"Thank you!"

Oct 18th, 2083: Southward Bound Part 2- The Eviction

I think a part of me was disappointed that Sam didn't want to challenge my decision to go south.  In my head I had built towering arguments demonstrating that the success of my mission depended on going south rather than any other random direction.  So when Sam accepted my decision without comment, it left me both disappointed and happy.

I was disappointed that Sam had not chosen to challenge my decision, but at the same time, I appreciated that I had been given enough autonomy to decide my own fate in the world.

"South, then."

I nodded.

"And this guy.  He just walked up to you?"

I nodded.

Sam sighed heavily, dragging a long-fingered hand through a head of close-cropped hair.  "I'll go where you go, kid."

"Thank you," I said to a hand covering a face.  The other hand waved me away.

At the end of it all, Sam managed to bargain away everythin in the sack except the strange metal sphere, of which there were eight more. One was tossed my way as we headed back to the hotel.  "Sit tight, kid.  I'm going to grab our gear."

Alfather waited atop his mount, next to a wagon hooked up to two oxen.  They were clearly not creatures of this pale place, with their rough fur and large brown eyes.  Their hooves were split into two sharp claws that bored into the cracked pavement.  Our newest companion had exchanged his mask for a simple black eyepatch and added a wide-brimmed hat, just as worn as his cloak.

Alfather's horse was another creature alien to this domain.  I use the term 'horse' loosely, for it while it might be considered a genetic brother to the horses I was used to, it was different enough to validate using another term entirely.  However when I asked, Alfather had raised an eyebrow and remarked that Looms was just as strange a sight to him and what right did we have to define what a horse was anyway?

Rather than a coat of fur, the coat was formed from sleek black feathers.  Baleful crow eyes glared at me and the thing stomped, feathers fluffling out briefly before settling back into place.

"Settle, Roadkill."  Alfather patted his.... horse fondly.

"Roadkill?"

He chuckled slightly.  "Yeah.  I was in one of those moods where stupid shit seemed like the funniest thing ever.  It's not a name I'm proud of, but she won't answer to anything else now."

"No, I meant what is roadkill?  I've never heard the term."

He paused, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully.  "It's this creature back where I came from.  It races up and down old roads like this, attachking anything that doesn't move.  It kills on the road, so roadkill."

It sounded off, but plausible.  I stared at Roadkill, who shook her head and snorted.

"Here, go on and give her a snack."  Alfather leaned over and pulled a couple of carrots that were outrageously bright in this washed-out land.  "Just hold your hand out flat like this-"

"I appreciate the help," I took the carrots from him, bristling at the patronizing tone.  "But I've been around horses my whole life.  They weren't feathered, but unless she's got a beak hidden in her mouth, I think I can manage to feed her."

Roadkill stretched her neck out and nosed at my hand.  The feathers felt a little odd, but sure enough there were normal equine teeth that plucked the carrots from me.

"Your whole life, hm?  So that's what, 15 years of raising horses?  17?"

"Kid."  I grit my teeth on what I had been about to say (which to be perfectly honest I'm still not sure what that would have been.  I doubt it would have been as impressively scathing as I might have wished) and turned to face Sam.

The Trader was leading two horses up, Looms and a pale grey horse with blank white eyes.  Behind them was a wide man pulling a cart laden with our luggage.  I say 'our' when I should say 'mine' since Sam carried nearly everything in Looms' saddle bags.  Meanwhile I was the one who had burdened us with large trunks full of books that I had not even read since the journey started.  Works which seemed to be of utmost importance were quickly forgotten when running for one's life.  I must remember to tell Sam to trade them for supplies at the next outpost.

"Bought you a horse.  Wagon loaded up?"  Sam stared at the wagon, empty but for a stack of burlap bags, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes."  The man behind Sam spoke up.  "Rudy, at your service.  Alfather explained what was up.  You can tag along until we reach the farmstead.  After that, you're on your own."  He didn't seem to begrudge the additional company, and even helped Sam load the luggage on the wagon.

I mounted my horse, who sidestepped nervously with its ears laid back nearly flat.  If the eyes weren't blank, I would have bet they were rolling.

"I thought you said you grew up around horses."  Alfather smirked.

"I did."  I could feel my face pull into the familiar tight grimace whenver someone made fun of my horsemanship.  "Doesn't mean the stupid beasts like me."  Once upon a time, they hadn't minded.  While I wasn't the best hand on my father's ranch, I still pulled my weight.  Recently though, I had been sentenced to the 'book work.'

I could feel the horse's hindquarters bunch in preparation to start what was sure to be an unholy round of bucking.  I jerked the reins to the right, forcing it to turn and shift its weight away from the impending jump.  "Did you have to get the ornery one?"

"She was calm enough until you jumped on."  A faint smile tugged at the corner of Sam's mouth.  "Maybe you smell bad.  Have you bathed recently?"

"Fifty's a right doll, ain't you girl?"  The wagoneer patted the mare on the nose before jumping up onto the wagon.

"The last time I heard that, the damn creature busted three of my toes."  Fifty tried to rear again but I managed to cut her off with the same trick.  I could feel a throbbing build behind my eyes.  "Let's just get going already.  Hopefully when she does throw me, it'll be over the blasted border and we can all move on with our lives."  My cynical grumblings prompted a short, sharp laugh from Sam.

A click of his tongue, a flick of the reins, and the oxen lurched forward.  The unexpected weight of the wagon brought them to a quick halt and their hooves dug furrows into the pavement as they strained to move.

Alfather pulled up alongside of me and muttered under his breath.  "You're not smuggling bricks, are you?  Because I hate to break it to you, but there are bricks everywhere.  They're not exactly a rare commodity."

"I'm debating on getting down there and pushing."  As I spoke, the wagon overcame inertia and creaked into motion.  We headed south down the heavily cracked road.

Once we left the city, the landscape immediately dropped into a flat plane.  Above us, the cold white sun (face) stared impassively down on fields of grey grass.  A brisk breeze ruffled my hair, sending a shiver down my spine.

This would be my first winter away from Jack Frost.  Would he know we were gone?  Would he come looking for us, like a shepherd for wayward sheep?  Would his flock of laughing children, with their empty eyes and predator teeth, circle our camp?  Would we wake up with one member missing, their sleeping bag frozen into a solid block of ice?

Thoughts like this occupied my mind as we traveled down that road for what seemed like an eternity.  Then, from one eyeblink to the next, the sun was half-way below the horizon.  The sky fell darker and darker, pale dots of the stars blinking into existence.

"How far are we from the border?"  I asked, hating myself for the quaver in my voice.

"Come on, kid."  Sam didn't wait for the answer, pulling Looms ahead of the small group.  "Let's make a run for it."

I urged Fifty into a gallop, leaning low over her shoulder and narrowing my eyes against the suddenly biting wind.  Beside me Sam kept pace on Looms.  What should have been twin thunder of hoof beats was swallowed in the wide expanse of the plains.

I glanced back to see Alfather and the wagoneer already specks in the distance.  The fields, though...  Pale white flowers began to bloom in fields of grey.  White flowers with a single slash for a mouth, and stems of black.

"The Bone Men!"  I shouted to Sam.

"Shut the fuck up and ride!"  We dug our heels in and were rewarded with another burst of speed.  After minutes of riding, the border was nowhere in sight.

"How will we even know?"

Sam's hat was flapping on her back, held on by a piece of braided leather.  I glanced back again.  There were no longer fields of grass.  There were only Bone Men, their black bodies and stern faces eating the horizon.  The nearest of them would catch us in mere minutes.

Fifty stumbled.  The closest Bone Man reached out a long, slim hand, grazing the slender pony's tail.

A crack of thunder and a ragged hole appeared in the Bone Man's mask, followed immediately by spider-web cracks.  The mask shattered, and pieces began to fall.  It slowed, raising a hand to trace one of the cracks.

Five more shots, and five more masks came apart.  Before they were lost in the flood of Bone Men, I saw hints of raw flesh and teeth, a wide eye with no eyelid.

"Kid!"

I looked at Sam, who was reloading.  A bullet fell to the ground and Sam cursed vicously.  "Keep your eyes forward.  Don't look back for nothing!"

I faced forward once more.  In the distance, the sky was purple...

It was purple.  Not grey.  Not black.  "Fifty, go!"  I shouted.  Beneath me, the mare shook, harsh breaths throwing foam in my face.  I heard Sam call out.

The sun was a white sliver that seemed to slip away with each breath.  I could see the grass now; drought-yellow.

Like a line in the sand, color entered my world once more.  Sam drew even with me and I felt a vice ease around my heart.  We slowed to a trot, then a walk, wheeling around to meet with the others.

The Bone Men stood at the border.  The six that Sam had shot bordered our escape route, their masks still cracking and falling.  Sam cursed, a long stream of obscenities ending in a thick wad of spit in their direction.

They waited with us for the others to catch up.  Not a one reacted to the wagon rattling past, instead staring at us.  At me.

We traveled the rest of the way in silence.  The wagoneer is actually a farmer, who brings his harvest in each morning and sells it to the colorless people.  We are in the loft of his barn, sleeping on mounds of hay.

Sam is grumbling at me, saying the light is keeping them awake.  I don't think it is the light.

I think it is a brown, lidless eye of a woman taken from her family in the middle of the day to become one in a sea of Bone Men, staring at us while pale hands clench into fists.

Oct 18, 2083: Southward Bound Part 1-The Plea

I caught up with Sam at the market place, where the Trader was deep in argument with a merchant.

"You haven't got the wits of a drunken goat!  There's no amount of bullets worth that cheap piece of plastic."  The merchant's mask was navy blue, but it was only a three-quarters mask, leaving a piece of his flush faced open to our gaze.

"I don't deal with fools, Mister.  You got one more chance to accept my deal before I go to that stall over there."  The Trader jerked a chin over to a stall covered by bleached canvas.  "I reckon that one knows a good deal when he sees it."

"Go then."  The merchant flapped a hand at us as he turned away.  "You're wasting my time."

Sam's lips tightened into a thin line and I was sure that the merchant's items would soon be shattered on the pavement.  Instead, Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, face relaxing into the blank canvas I was accustomed to.

"What were you trying to trade?" I asked as we walked away, hoping to dissipate the strange bout of temper.  The Trader's stride was long and fast, making it a trial to keep up with my still healing foot.  I had fallen behind a few paces by the time Sam turned to look my way.  The remorse was clear, and the long strides shortened significantly until I caught up.

When we were side by side once more, Sam pushed the object in question into my hands.  "It's a relic I found a while ago.  It was a part of a weapons stash I came across but I don't know how it works.  I figure it's a weapon of some sort, but I don't want to fuck with something I don't know how to use.  I've been waiting to hit a bigger city before I traded it."

The object was twice as large as a chicken egg, but weighed about a pound.  It was perfectly round, with a handle jutting out alongside a small circular ring.  I ran my hand along the smooth metal surface.  It was a drab color, the kind that made your eye skip past in search of something more interesting.

I handed the metal sphere back to Sam.  "How are you on supplies?"

"Don't worry."  Sam swung the bag on her back around far enough to tuck the relic away.  "I've got a few more things to trade before we go, but even if I can't we should be good for another week."

"What way do you think we should go?"

Sam shrugged.  At the end of this journey, I would surely be able to make conversation solely on Sam's shrugs.  "Six of one, half dozen of the other.  You're the one writing the book."

Indeed I was.  I was also the one under an edict from a God to evacuate the premises as soon as humanly possible.

"There's a caravan moving south today.  We're welcome to join."

Sam didn't seem to be listening, instead digging through the backpack and drawing out a small figurine.  It was a girl balanced precariously on the very edges of her toes and dressed in a frothy pastel nightmare.  "'S up to you, kiddo."

I stood back and watched as Sam approached the merchant under the bleached canvas.  As I watched, object after object was liberated from the seemingly bottomless black bag to be paraded on the merchant's table.  Sam argued, bargained, bickered, and wheedled until the bag was nearly full with ammunition, rolls of shiny grey tape, and strange metal pieces.  When Sam turned back to me, a wide smile creased the normally blank features of the Trader.

"Right, then.  Where to, kiddo?"

Along with the strange surges of anger also came these rare moments of warmth.  A simple word said so much, and I didn't think Sam even realized it.  It was strange, how the inflection of a single word could convey so much warmth.  I heard Sam say "kiddo" and it seemed as though the Trader would walk through fire for me.  In a moment of fancy, I imagined the two of us surrounded in a hopeless stand-off.  The imaginary me knew Sam would charge into the masses, guns ablaze, so I charged for Sam, the lead piercing my body until I couldn't move under the weight and pain.

"Kid?"

I opened my eyes to the present, where Sam held my shoulder with a firm hand and snapped fingers in my face.  Dark green eyes met mine, squinting lines etching concern onto a tanned visage.  "Come on back, kid.  Where are we going?"

"South," I managed finally, my mind still on futures that never were.  I could feel the shot weighing down each breath, but it was a good weight, the kind of weight that meant some one else was alive.  "There's a caravan.  We can hitch a ride."

"Right, then."  Sam grabbed my shoulder firmly.  The grip brought back memories of my youth, when my father still seemed to understand me...

I shook off the melancholy and Sam's hand in one sharp movement.  "Let's go."

This is supposed to be an almanac of travel through the aftermath, not a childish diary of feelings.  I want to expend words telling my story to the reader, but I must restrain myself.  The deal was not to provide a blow by blow detailing of my personal trials, it is to assist the traveler in surviving the radical changes from domain to domain.  But too much of me wants to chronicle my own personal feelings, adding unnecessary bias to this document.

You the traveler do not need to know these facts about my life.  They will not help you survive the trials you face in transitioning between kingdoms.  But a part of me aches for understanding.  This understanding is not achieved by cold facts told without personal connection.  I cannot tell you this story without telling you about me.

I made a deal.  I want to tell you how to survive.

I want you to survive.

Please.

Take these lessons.

Take them.

Survive.

Live.

Thrive.

Oct 18th, 2083: Leaving the Black Hills

Though the night lasted an eternity and I grew to know every twist and turn of the rafters' grains by heart, eventually I managed to quiet my restless mind and sleep.  I do not remember my dreams, though I woke at dawn drenched in sweat and a pitiful sobbing echoing in my ears.

Sam knocked on my door shortly afterwards and did not seem to be surprised by my neatly packed luggage.  "Some guy who looks exactly like Viceroy but claims he's not wants to talk to you."  A bundled napkin was thrust at me.  I unwrapped it to find an egg biscuit sandwich, steaming hot.  "Food's good."

I nodded my thanks and followed her down the narrow hallway to the main reception area.  The atmosphere was chilly and tense, people slipping by with their heads bowed as they nervously avoided eye contact.  No doubt the oppressive atmosphere was due to the Bone Man loomed by the front door.  The pale mask acknowledged our prescense with a brief nod.

"Passage has been arranged.  You need only let One know which direction you would like to travel."

I swallowed the last bite of my meal.  "We can't really say which way we want to go until I know what awaits us."

Another nod.  "To the south is the Whisperer, and furtherer south is Xochiquetzal.  If you go west, you will find the home of your unfortunate friend, the place where Angels and Sin Hunters dwell.  To the east you will find Emptiness and Quiet.  And north, as you know, is where your Lonely Boy rules."

I glanced at Sam, who shrugged.  "Up to you, kid."

My eyes scanned across the room, murmuring contemplative sounds to hide the fact that I truly had no clue where to go next.  No matter which way I went, I did know one thing for certain.  I would not be using the Tall King's Path.

"I appreciate the kindness, however-"  A glance at Sam, who only gave another wordless shrug.  "However I must attempt this journey using the same method of travel available to anyone.  Unless you can provide assurance that this Path is free for everyone to use-" A wordless stare in response- "then I must decline."

"Very well."  The Bone Man paused for  a moment to needlessly straighten its tie.  "You are aware, of course, that you still must be on your journey before the night falls?"

"I do."

"Good."  A brief pause.  "The night will not be your friend while you are in One's domain.  One suggests you start running."  Though the mask had stripped away all expression, the dark voice hinted at sharp teeth and torn flesh.  I heard the echo of Oar Ellis' head collapsing under pale fingers in a hand that was as long as Sam was tall.  I swallowed through a suddenly dry throat and nodded.  Then I blinked and the Bone Man was gone, leaving a chill that brought goosebumps to my skin.

"Well."  Sam pulled another biscuit from a pocket and started unwrapping it.  "I've got to stock up on ammo and other provisionly things.  Figure out which way you want to go and see if you can't find us a party to hitch on to."  With that Sam was gone, the front door swinging slightly in the Trader's wake.

A wave of vertigo and nausea rushed over me, most likely due to the sudden drop in adrenaline.  I rested my back against a nearby wall and closed my eyes for a moment.  My breakfast churned uneasily in my stomach, my eyes were gritty and dry from the long night, and my foot ached from the barely-mended bones that stupid horse had broken.

I rubbed my hand over my face and felt my mouth turn into a grimace as my palm rasped over the morning stubble I had neglected to remove.  Sighing, I opened my eyes to find a good ten to fifteen masked people staring at me.  As I met their gazes, they all turned away and back to their business.  All but one, a one-eyed man in a dark brown half-domino.  His skin was a pale brown, smattered with dark freckles, his hair a pale orange-blonde.

He rose from his chair, up and up, easily as tall as Sam, if not taller.  His tattered cloak fluttered as he crossed the room, offering an easy smile as I pushed myself away from the wall.

"Alfather."  He offered a hand, and this close I could see his other eye.  The pupil seemed to swallow his eye, a thin ring of yellow barely visible.

"Sen Stu Sha."  I shook his hand, the thick calluses not surprising given his well-traveled look.  "A pleasure."

"Well," he laughed, "you don't know that yet.  I could be a complete dickhead."

The jibe startled a laugh out of me and I relaxed.  "Fair enough.  What can I do for you, potential dickhead?"

"It's more 'what can we do for each other'?  I'm traveling south with a group through the Hushed Plains.  I don't think the caravan leader would mind a couple of extra bodies."  He leaned in closer, hiding his words from the curious onlookers.  I met his eye, my distorted reflection staring back at me.  "It's also the quickest way out of the Black Hills.  Six hours due south and you should be out before nightfall.  It's at least three days travel to the western border and weeks before you reach the Empty City in the east."

Alfather drew back and smiled at me.  It was an open smile, honest and friendly.  I distrusted it immediately.  Sam would have been proud.

"I'll need to talk with my companion first."  I stiffened my shoulders and walked past him.  He drew aside before we made contact, though his cloak fluttered against my hand for a brief second.  Unlike his hand, it was soft like eider down.

"Quickly, Sha."  I looked back to see his gimlet eye glittering beneath the domino.  "The Tall King does not give idle threats."

Oct 17th, 2083: Making of a Bone Man

Sam knocked on my door not long after I finished the previous entry.  "Food's on." Breakfast was subdued, any conversation expressed in grunts or terse words.  Sam's hat did a poor job of hiding red-rimmed eyes.  Tears?  A sleepless night?  An allergy to the hay-stuffed mattresses?  I didn't ask.

Oar's face haunted me.  Anthony was nothing more than a pile of limbs, meat stacked in piles like haunches of livestock waiting to be cut into prime sections.  A boy when I went to sleep, dead meat when I woke up.  Oar, though...  I remember the wet sound of his head being crushed like an overripe fruit.  His body lying atop that hill.  I hear his voice like an echo reverberating around my head.  His screams.

"Good morning."  The familiar voice resonated in my bones and settled into the back of my skull.  I rose from my chair, turning to stare up into the simple mask of another Bone Man.  It nodded to us, perhaps the most human gesture any of the stern guardians had made since my arrival.  "I am Viceroy.  I will be your guide today."  In a higher register his bland statements might have seemed cordial, but if there was any type of inflection it was beyond my ability to perceive.

We left the small in and started to follow Viceroy into the center of town.  I glanced up at the cold white sun-face-and could not quite control the shiver that crawled down my spine.  Those long fingers like bleached bone curling around his skull.

"One thinks you would like to see how a Bone Man is made."  Viceroy informed us.  "There is an individual who has been selected for advancement."  The few people out at this early air moved out of Viceroy's path.

Our destination turned out to be a marketplace with stalls of hanging meat and boxes of wan vegetables.  All around us, vendors unpacked their wares.  Once they caught sight of us, they would freeze like startled deer.  When they caught my eye they would quickly resume their work, though now their movements were stilted and sharp.

Viceroy halted in front of a stall.  The vendor of this stall stood with her back to us, stretching up to hang a string of garlic.  She had light blonde hair pulled into a bun and wore a paisley dress colored with light greys and blues.  She turned and like all the other vendors, froze upon spotting us.  She wore a full-face mask, the eyes rimmed in navy blue that drifted off on one side to form intricate curliques all the way down her cheek to merge with the bow of her lips.  Wisps of light blonde hair curled around the side of her mask.  Our guide extended a hand to her, a mask resting on his long and narrow palm.

"No," the woman whimpered, backing away from us.  "Please, no, I have children.  Thomas isn't even weaned yet."  Viceroy had to bend low to fit under the roof of the stall.  He reached for her mask with his other hand, tearing it free.  She wailed, a high-pitched sound that tore at my eardrums.  In taking the mask off, the Bone Man had removed more than the mask, he had taken the skin from her face.  Muscles and tendons scrunched into a wail that was quickly cut off as Viceroy pushed the other mask onto her face.

A small thought budded in the recesses of my mind, growing into a sickening horror as I began to realize...  I saw Sam's eyes widen, presumably for the same reason.  Almost in unison, we reached up to the masks still on our faces.  The masks we had forgotten about; the ones that conformed so perfectly to our faces that we had lived in them for the past 24 hours.

We reached up in almost near perfect unison and began prying the mask off our faces.  It hurt.  It felt like I was tearing off a newly formed scab.  By the time I finally ripped myself free, I was panting from the effort.  Or from hysteria.  Sam's face was raw, abraded and bleeding in several places.  I felt a warm wet trickle begin to trace its way down my cheek.  I could see pieces of flesh from my face stuck in the domino.  A drop of blood hit the mask, trickling down into the valley of the nose before falling softly to the ground.

I looked around, wiping at my face with the back of my hand.  The world had stilled around us, the vendors and consumers silent witnesses to our frenetic actions.  I turned back to Viceroy and the woman.  Twin silent faces filled my vision, pale imitations of a white sun that was the face of a monster.  I scrambled backward, grabbing at Sam's arm and dragging her with me out of the suddenly overcrowded marketplace.  We stopped on the street corner where Sam watched as I tried to regain my composure.  Wind rushed harshly through my lungs, burning the passages of my throat.

"Kid..."  Sam pulled me into a rough hug, arms like a vice.  "In for three, out for three.  Just count.  Don't think about anything, just count."  I buried my forehead in the rough fabric of Sam's shirt and my whole world became three numbers and warmth of another human body.

"One wonders why you are currently experiencing a state of duress."

I pulled away from Sam.  Viceroy had caught up with us and stood far enough away that I did not have to strain my neck to see his plain mask.  The mask that was now his face.  In an instant, the panic and fear turned to anger.  "Duress?  Your King wonders why I am under duress?  Does he really not understand the fundamental concept of humanity, that we might actually be distressed if someone we knew were suddenly and violently killed?  Your King ripped apart a boy because he wandered into the wrong house!  He crushed a man who only wanted to share his beliefs!  He shatters a family because he wants another Bone Man, when there are enough of you to fill the clearing in the middle of that forsaken forest."  Propelled by the impetus of my emotional outburst, I threw my mask onto the ground and stepped on it, grinding my heel on it over and over until it lay in pieces on the street.

Viceroy was silent for a while, staring at the shattered mask before my feet.  Finally, it raised that blank face to me and when it spoke all traces of humanity, all imitations of human behavior were gone.  "The mechanical abomination was given sufficient warning and chose his fate.  The Michaelman infected several citizens before he was caught.  Many had to be put down to keep the poison from spreading.  Realize this, visitor.  You are all ants but those citizens were the One's ants, not the Angel's."

My thoughts went back to the woman in the ochre mask, the one who was escorted away by the Bone Men.  I replayed yesterday afternoon's events in my head, trying to count how many people had listened to him speak.  Had Oar Ellis been aware of the effect his words would have?  Was everyone who listened to him automatically given a sentence of death?  His message had seemed fairly innocuous so why had it driven that woman to such acts of self-violence?

Like a sudden blow knocking the wind from my lungs, I was frozen, waiting for my brain to catch up with the rest of the world.  Sam's vitrol made more sense, had she forseen something like this happening?  Was it only my naivety that kept me from predicting this would occur?  "I..."

"You are leaving tomorrow."  Viceroy did not ask, he stated.  "You may travel through the forest, if you can bear to travel a path you consider 'forsaken.'"

I nodded.  Viceroy turned and strode away, his long legs taking him out of sight in a matter of seconds.  I finally noticed the crowd that had gathered around us.  My face burned with embarassement; despite my short time with a mask, I felt unnervingly vulnerable without it.  I ducked my head and headed back to the hotel, Sam at my heels.

The trunks I had abandoned days before were waiting for me in my room, leaving barely enough space to open the door.  I stared at them as the rush of adrenaline finally left me.  "I'm just...  I need to rest for a bit."

Sam's expression bore something akin to pity.  She pushed her mask into my hands then gave my shoulder a brief squeeze.  "Don't break this one.  You'll probably want a souvenir or something."

By the time I made my way over and around all the luggage cluttering up my room, all of my energy was gone.  I pulled a pillow over my head in futile attempt to smother my thoughts, but only succeeded in breathing in must and the smell of moldy feathers.

I won't bore you with the hours of self-torment I forced upon myself while lying in that small, cold room.  Suffice it to say that eventually I realized this journey will not get easier.  No doubt I will see others die in cruel, terrible ways.  All I can do is record the mistakes made and hopefully keep others from making the same ones.

Oct 17th, 2083 (dawn): I dreamt of buildings taller than the sky

I stayed up late into the night, scribbling down the events of the day.  Faces flashed through my mind, floating up into focus before sinking back into the swirling miasma of images.  A flash of inspiration hit and I wasted at least twenty pages sketching portraits of people I have already met along the way.  The melding of flesh and metal that was Anthony Morales.  Oar Ellis' wide-brimmed hat.  Charlie and his team of ornery horses.  Sam's sharp, fox-face shadowed by a battered cowboy hat.  I don't know how I managed to fall asleep, but eventually I must have.

I dreamt I was an architect.  I stood on the top floor of a building that stretched into the sky.  I couldn't see the ground, only clouds.  Occasionally flocks of birds would break the white expanse like a fish snapping at water-sliders.  I was a king, a God.  I was to be admired/worshipped/feared for breaking the laws of gravity.  No one knew the secret of my success, how I could create such towering buildings and make myself a kingdom above the clouds.

My crown grew heavy, weighted down by the burdens of my people.  I held court and they overwhelmed me in droves, tearing at my robes as they begged for my wisdom.  I scaled countless flights of stairs to the top of the tallest building.  Out there on the roof, I stretched my hand out to the Moon, but She turned Her back on me.  I grasped at Her, my fingertips brushing the cool skin of Her back in a lover's caress.

I tripped.  I plummeted down through the atmosphere, the air rushing past my face until I was surrounded by a corona of fire.  Like a comet, I streaked across the sky, watching as the world which had been so far distant drew closer at frightening speeds.  The people I knew as a mere mortal stared with open mouths as I burned from my own glory.

A fluttering of rags and my father caught me in strong arms.  I woke up tangled in threadbare sheets, the brief touch of the Moon still tingling on my fingertips.  The images which seemed so clear moments before are quickly fading in the cool light of dawn.

Oct 16th (evening): The Trial of Oar Ellis

In the middle of the forest, there is a clearing.  It is filled with a crowd that wears the same stern visage.  The crowd surrounds a hill, as tall as a mountain yet still not as tall as the trees.

On top of the hill, the Tall King takes a seat on a throne woven from black trees.  Before him stands a tiny speck of a man.  Oar Ellis.  The man with the serene smile.  I cannot see his face from here, but I doubt he is smiling now.

From our vantage point at the edge of the crowd, we cannot make out what words, if any, are spoken.  Nobody moves, except for the throne, which writhes as if the tree branches are growing underneath him.  It.  The Tall King leans forward and reaches out a long pale hand with too many fingers and too many joints.  It lays the palm over Oar Ellis' face and wraps slender fingers over his scalp to lay flush against his jaw...

Some instinct makes me look away before the deed is done, but I still hear the wet 'pop' across the clearing as the Tall King crushes Oar Ellis' head like an over-ripe grape.  My hand hurts.  I look down and see that Sam's hand is still in mine.  The Trader's knuckles are grey under dusky skin.  Mine are white; I am sure my grip is no less forceful.

A sudden intake of breath from my companion.  I do not want to look, but I must.

It is a pin-striped suit.  The stripes are thin and ivory, they rise above the material of the suit somewhat, and as my eyes travel higher and I see joints and cracks, I realize the stripes are made of bone.  The suit is not made of material, the Tall King is the suit.  The jacket blends into the shirt, which melds into the tie wrapped around a slim neck and the cold white sun is staring down at me.  His face is the face of the sun and he sees everything.

I clench my eyes shut and wait for the hand to wrap around my skull.  Will it be cold?  Clammy?  Will it burn to the touch?  For a brief moment, I want to ask Oar Ellis if it had the rough texture of bark.

"Your passage was fairly bartered."  The deep thrum of the Bone Men echo around us.  "You may continue along your way."

Some instinct pulls me down into a deep bow, perhaps the self-preservation that Sam so thoroughly ridicules.  When I finally gather the courage to raise my head and open my eyes, the clearing is empty.  Wind tosses a scattering of black leaves across the open space, where they settle on to Oar Ellis' headless corpse for a moment before being swept away again.

Sam has to lead me back the narrow path.  I am struck dumb.  Speechless and sightless, unnerved by the callous violence of recent events.  I have lost two companions in equally brutal and horrifying ways.  For the first time, I truly miss the comforts of home.

I have to wonder if this is all worth it.

Oct 16th (afternoon), 2083: Slender Falls part 2-The Trial

"What do you want to do now, then?"  Sam asked as we left the cavernous City Hall.

From atop the wide stairs, I stood head and shoulders above the crowd.  Well, most of the crowd.  Here and there, about one in every fifty people, stood those who were stretched out like the guards inside.  Their masks are practically featureless.  The one concession to humanity is a single horizontal line representing a mouth.  Yet even that lone mark conveys so much.  They are clearly guardians...wards of the citizenry.  The single line turns a blank slate into a stern visage.

I could also see what looked like a large garden a few streets away.  The trees were predominantly black, however there were a handful of white willows.  As I scanned the garden, I began to notice the crowd gathering.  The majority of the people were maskless, and from my vantage point I could see a familiar wide-brimmed hat in the center.  It seemed Oar Ellis had found his way to the city as well.

"I think I'm just going to find a spot and people-watch."  I waved my hand at the distant crowd.  "How about you see if we can get someone to pick up all that stuff we left behind?"

The Trader followed my gaze.  "That sounds like a fucking terrible idea."

"I know.  I'll be careful."  This statement provoked a sneer that clearly demonstrated Sam's opinion of my ability to stay out of trouble.  I placed a hand over my heart and put on my most innocent smile, though we both realized that the likelihood of me not finding trouble was slim to nil.

"All right, kid.  But these masks only afford us so much protection.  So don't go poking your nose into other people's business!"  With that, Sam turned and walked away.  For a while, I could track the bodyguard's progress through the streets by her battered cowboy hat, however eventually that too faded from my sight.  Once Sam was gone, I trotted down the steps and to the entrance of the black and white garden.

I found a bench near enough to Oar Ellis to hear his orations, yet far enough that the mass of the crowd still blocked me from his sight.  It was nearly identical to the speech he had given a couple of nights ago, however the reaction he received from the people of Slender Falls was very confusing.

Most of the maskless would wander away, brows furrowed in concentration.  I overheard one or two making plans to take the next westbound caravan out.  The few masked people would leave without a word.  After a couple of hours, one of the masked people who had been there at least as long as I had stumbled away, trying to pull her mask off her face.  The mask itself was a full-face, with blue eyes, cupid's bow lips, and rosy cheeks.  Someone of some minor importance; perhaps this was the kind of mask the life license clerk would wear when he had to leave his mirrored protection.

As I watched, she tore at the mask, trying to pry her fingers under it.  No one else seemed to pay her any attention.  They were all entranced by Oar Ellis.  When she could not rip the mask loose, she stumbled to the nearest tree and began smashing her face into the rough bark.

"Hey!"  I jumped to my feet and ran to her...  Or rather, tried to.  A heavy hand, pale, with fingers like spider legs, fell onto my shoulder and held me back.  I looked up...and up....and up...into the stern mask of one of the city's guardians.  One more had wrapped both spidery hands around the woman, who had cracked her mask from the force of her blows.  I could hear her panting, see her struggling against the tight hold.  The cracks distorted the expression of the mask, and blood had leaked through, turning a formerly plain mask into resigned terror weeping red tears.

"This is not your concern," the masked guardian told me in a deep voice that shook my spine.

I looked at the crowd around Oar Ellis.  Well over twenty of the tall men were scattered throughout the crowd.  The Michaelman seemed not to notice, though I could see that he avoided meeting their blank gaze. I turned back to the woman, but she and the other had disappeared.

These must be the Bone Men of which the clerk had spoken.  While I watched, they began to close in on the Michaelman.  They never seemed to move, but when I blinked, they would be closer.  And there would be more.  Until nearly the entire crowd had been replaced by Bone Men.

Strangely enough, Oar did not try to run.  He accepted the long fingers wrapping around his neck with a nod and a peaceful smile.  "I have spread His word in this terrible place and rescued the sheep that have been led astray."  Even though I was certain he didn't know I was there, it seemed as if his words were directed at me.  "I will go back to His embrace knowing that I have done all that He asked."

"No."  All of the Bone Men spoke at once, in a thundering rumble that shook my bones and weakened my muscles.  "The Tall King does not suffer trespassers lightly.  One has words for you."

Oar Ellis lost his serene smile.  His eyes widened until it seemed as though the dark irises were lost in a sea of white sclera.  "No!"  He shouted, pulling against the pale hand imprisoning him.  It did no good, as the Bone Man pulled him off his feet and began to carry him further into the garden.

The weight on my shoulder lifted.  I looked back to find that my own Bone Man had disappeared, probably to join the rest as they followed Oar further in.  I waited until the last Bone Man passed, then followed in their footsteps.

"Sen!"  Sam called out, her voice sounding so far away.  I turned around and saw Sam, standing at the end of a long corridor framed by black trees.  I stretched out my hand to her, and it seemed to reach out for forever.  I felt her fingertips touch mine, then she wrapped her hand around mine in a firm grip.

In an instant, my bodyguard was back at my side, breathing raggedly.  "Sen!  What the hell do you think you're doing?  You said you were going to stay out of trouble."  She realized then that she still had my hand in her grasp.  She glanced at it, then at the trees towering over us and opted to keep hold of it.  "Don't you have any survival instincts at all?"  She pulled me toward the way she had come, but I dug in my heels and pulled back.

"They took Oar Ellis."

Like always, Sam sneered at the Michaelman's name.  "Good riddance to him, then."

I resisted her pull once more.  "I need to know what happens."  I needed it like my next breath.  With every fiber of my being, I needed.

Sam gritted her teeth and pulled out her gun, holding it against her leg.  "Fine.  If we end up stretched like taffy, I'm going to paint "I TOLD YOU SO" on my mask."  Black leaves crunched under our feet as we headed further down the path.

After an eternity/after a moment, the path opened up into a clearing filled with Bone Men.  A space was cleared in the middle, and there knelt Oar Ellis.  And before him, stood the Tall King.

We give the New Gods names that try to define them, when really all we do is mock our own inability to comprehend them.  He is tall, as tall as the trees.  He is man-shaped, but even a child would see that he is not a man.  He forces rigorous structure on the people and cities in his domain.  Why?  Why does he do that?  Why does he seek to turn people into faceless automatons?

I am scared now.  The Tall King stands as high as the tree-tops, but his aura spreads through the clearing and beyond.  I see now that the trees are made in his image, tall and thin and black.  He has no face, but I know that he sees me.  To him, our half-masked faces must stand out like glaring beacons.  There is no hole deep enough to hide me from his attention.  He will find me.  He will always find me.

I hold Sam's hand in a white-knuckle grip as we stand at the edge of the clearing and watch Oar Ellis being put to trial.

Oct 16 (morning), 2083: Slender Falls pt 1: City Hall

I want to get out of this city.

I don't know if I can put this feeling into words.  The cold sun seems to pull the warmth from the day, so it feels as though every day is a trial to confirm that I am worthy of drawing the next breath.  I am constantly bombarded with the concept that I have to ask for the right to exist, rather than the idea that because I exist, I have a right to maintain my existence.  Every day I am in this forsaken city it feels as though I have to prostrate myself before an uncaring god for the right to my next heartbeat.

I have never felt the impact of history as I do now.  In every neighborhood, without fail, empty buildings are being forced into disrepair.  The night before taught me not to trust a well-kept house and it seems to be a lesson that the people of Slender Falls have taken to heart.  Every so often there is a house in pristine condition, just like the one Anthony entered.  The houses which surround it are in varying states of disarray and they will always be inhabited while the kept up house is not.

Forgive me, but this will be a very long entry and I must ask in advance that you do not skim the contents therein if you intend to travel within the Tall Man's grasp.  As I understand it, Slender Falls is not unique in the many cities under his domain.  The experiences recounted here should serve as a warning and guidance for those seeking to travel safely through the Black Hills.

It is clear that this city once held so many more people.  In Bismarck it was different.  The Gear Baby tore down empty buildings and recycled the materials.  Here in the Tall Man's domain the buildings are left to fall apart, dramatically emphasizing the loss humanity has sustained thanks to the Plague.  I wonder if maybe the Tall Man leaves the buildings in order to reinforce his hold over his people.  As if to force them to confront their former independence just to emphasize how tight the shackles of slavery are.

The morning started out innocently enough.  We left the hotel early in the day and headed to the city hall.  The intent was to acquire a guide, just as we had in Bismarck.  I know that last night I mentioned the faceless masses.  Under the distant white sun, I saw that I had exaggerated somewhat.  There are people without masks, however they seem... less.  They fade into the background when compared to their masked counterparts.  If I continue through the Tall Man's domain without a mask to protect me, will I fade away just as these others have?

Yet it is not that the masks are excessively ornate.  They range from simple half-dominoes to full-face featureless covers with slits for eyes.  They are all ivory or ecru or the color of old linen, trimmed here and there in muted colors.  People stare at us, at our uncovered faces.  I think there is something about us, something new and strange, for we were not ignored like the other unmasked residents.  Instead, they stare.  Gawk, I think the word is.  They gawk at us.

"Sam..."  Behind me, the Trader gave a wordless rumble of acknowledgement.  "I feel...uneasy."

"Maybe there's hope for you after all, kid."

The comment did nothing to ease my nerves.  We followed the signs to the City Hall. The building is a hallmark of days gone by, and I will try to do it justice.

It is a grand white building that dominates the local landscape, towering above the other buildings in the area.  The building itself is constructed of a white stone with grey and gold specks.  Marble?  I think it must be marble.  It is not what I pictured in my head when I read about this unfamiliar stone, but it fits the all the off-handed comments about this seemingly regal stone.  Where I come from, ancient rivers have etched canyons into layers of sandstone.  I can see now that my mental image of marble was only a glorified picture of a weak and frankly cheap substrate.  Now I can see why marble is associated with opulence.  The stone glitters in a way that attracts my eye, and like a magpie, I am drawn to it.

Thick marble columns frame the polished wooden doors that comprise the entryway.  The doors themselves are a dark wood, the same brown as old, dried scabs.  Bas relief sculptures are set into the walls on either side of the doors, etchings of a blind woman in robes, holding aloft a set of scales while bearded men hold scrolls and appear to deliver grand speeches.  Wide, flat stairs lead up to the doors, though an odd, shallow ramp is built into the left side of the staircase, framed by rails that gleam in the uncaring sunlight.  The columns hold up a roof that is peaked, whereas the main building's roof is a dome topped by a spire.

The doors swing open with barely a touch.  The entryway is a cavern of the same scabby wood.  Tall, thin windows begrudgingly admit light into the oppressive space.  At the end of the room, a grand staircase rises to a secluded second floor.  Two guards stand on the landing.  They look...wrong.  Stretched out.  Tendrils of shadows dance at their back.  Their masks don't even have eyeslits, as if the wearer doesn't even need to bother to pretend to be human anymore.

Even without eyes, I knew they were watching us.

Sam walked up to a mirror with a sign that states in silvery lettering: HELP DESK.  I confess, I didn't pay much attention to the exchange.  Instead, I walked away to another mirror with the helpful plaque: LIFE LICENSES.

"Excuse me."  I didn't recognize my own reflection.  The face in the mirror looked more like my father's than my own.  I poked and prodded at the new bags under my eyes and almost missed the voice behind the glass.

"Yes, how can I help you?"  The voice that answered was a pleasant tenor, and unnervingly human when coming from behind the mirrored glass.

"Erm.  I guess I want to know more about life licenses.  I'm new to the region, you see."  I leaned my arm on the window sill and discovered that if I looked into my own reflection, I could see the man behind the glass.  He shared many features with Sam.  They both had the same narrow, fox-face, the same sharply angled cheekbones.  I had to wonder if they shared a common ancestry.

"Oh!"  He looked over his shoulder, into a dark area beyond the limited area I could see.  "Um.  Well, then.  Erm.  Every citizen must purchase a license for the privilege to live.  The Tall King graciously allows at least one offspring per citizen, free with purchase of a life license, however citizens may purchase a lottery ticket for additional offspring if they choose.  Does that answer your question?"

I glanced back at Sam, who was deep in discussion with the face behind the other mirror.  "Sort of.  So by purchasing a life license, they are purchasing a right to have a child?"

"Um, no, sir.  They are purchasing a right to live.  The right to have a child is provided as an incentive for citizens to purchase licenses."

My mind takes circuitous routes, sometimes.  I can't ever really say why certain questions come to mind as they do.  What is it, that when told about what citizens must do, I ask about- "How do you handle the non-citizens?"

"Sir?"

I took a moment to compose the thoughts running through my mind.  "I suppose the question I'm really asking is, do non-citizens not have a right to life?"

"Oh, no, sir!"  The voice on the other end of the mirror hastened to assure me.  "It is just that without a life license, the chances of ones' survival quickly shrinks."  He must have spotted my blank look from behind the mirror-glass.  "The life license assures that registered citizens are protected from any potential Bone Man hazards encountered over the course of the registration term."  After an agonizing moment of confused silence, he added, "Bone Men.  They are the guardians."  I guess he understood how completely lost I was by the whole encounter.  "Look....  If you see a mask with no eyes, that's a Bone Man.  They're the next highest level under the Tall King, so you'd better not make them angry."

He finally made eye contact with me behind the mirrored glass.  It was the strangest thing.  Once he realized I could see him behind the mirrored glass, once he had been "unmasked," he immediately turned away and started addressing the wall.  "If there are no more questions, please step back so that other customers may approach the window."  His tone was cold and clinical, but there was still an obvious underlying current of fear.

What is it?  What is the clerk so afraid of?  I just...  I don't know.  I really and truly don't know why the people of Slender Falls are so afraid.

I exchange polite goodbyes with the life license clerk, and turn away from my haggard reflection to greet Sam with the shadowed facsimilie of a smile.  "I think I'm done here."

Sam only nods.  "We'll have an official guide tomorrow.  Until then, we're allowed to walk through the city as we see fit, so long as we wear these."  She hands me a half-domino mask trimmed in a color like burnt wildflowers.

I hesitate for a hair's breadth before I fit the mask against my face and tie the ribbons behind my head.  It seems as if the mask adjusts to my face, moving and settling like a living thing.  I want to tear it off my face and throw it into the gutter, but indecision stays my hand.  If I throw this vile thing into the gutter, will I still be allowed to walk the streets?  If I choose my comfort, will I sacrifice information that might save the life of a future reader?

I don't know.  I truly don't know.  So for now, I grit my teeth and bear the alien monstrosity that squirms across my face before settling into the shape of a half-domino trimmed in orange.

Oct 15th (evening), 2083: The Long Walk

All too soon, the wagon rolled away with Oar Ellis as the sole passenger.  Sam waited until the wagon passed out of eyesight, then heaved a great sigh and started opening our luggage.  Her sudden anger confused me, and I had no clue what she might do next.

After opening the luggage, the Trader rose to her feet and scanned the landscape, pulling her hat off and running a hand through her short hair.  "Start packing what you can into this big one here.  I'll try and find us some sturdy branches."

I glanced nervously at the simple building looming over us.  Sam's gunfire had turned the thing that had been Anthony Morales' head into a pile of red mush.  The rest of his body was still inside, however.  Who knew if some other random body part would come to life and attack when my back was turned.  What colorful insult would Sam have to come up with if she came upon my body, beaten to death by a knee?

My black humor helped lighten the quiet burden of terror the house had thrust upon me.  Sam reloaded the gun, flipping the chamber back into place with a flick of her wrist.  She flipped it around, grip toward me.  The simple wood grip was polished with age and the natural oils of the skin.  I reached out to grasp it, proud that she would trust me with such an obvious heirloom.

Only to have it spin out of my reach and into Sam's holster.  I looked up into a toothy white grin.  Sam turned away and reached out to Looms, patting the creature fondly on the neck.  "Ol' Looms here will take care of you."  The horse snorted and shook his head, pawing at the ground with one razor-sharp hoof.  "Besides.  You'll shoot your eye out, kid."

With that parting shot at my maturity, Sam disappeared between the tall white trees.  I rummaged through my books, pulling them out and sorting them into piles.  When I had a whole wagon at my disposal, every volume seemed as necessary as the next.  Now that I had only Looms' strength to rely on, Wildflowers of the West seemed less important than an incomplete copy of a ragged survival guide.

Eventually I was able to narrow down my resources to the limit Sam had set.  Just in time, as the resourceful Trader emerged from the forest with two long branches.  She used some of the things I had cast aside to build a contraption of some sort that attached to Looms' saddle.  A travois, I realized, finally able to put a picture to a word I had only read.  Sam loaded the heavily reduced baggage onto the travois, then paused, glancing back at me.

"Don't suppose you know how to ride a horse?"

"I know how.  Doesn't mean I have to like it."  Still, when Sam stepped aside, I swung myself into the saddle.  My toes were fully healed from the break the last temperamental horse had given me, but they still ached if I put weight on them for too long.  Sam took the reins and started leading us down the broken black road.

The scenery dragged on, hills slowly disappearing into rolling fields of gray.  Looms' rolling gait acts like a gentle lullabye to my strained senses.  It became a struggle to stay awake.  In order to keep my eyes open, I entertained myself by composing poems about Looms.  The cold sun has started to set by the time we arrive at the outskirts of a city called Slender Falls.  The twilight is odd here, the light fades in shades of grey, as if the Tall Man abhors color.

In an attempt to cheer up Sam, who has become progressively dour the further we get into the town, I recite my ode to Looms.

"So much strength within a breed
Like mare, like foal, a man assumes
And I ain’t seen a finer steed
Than that noble gelding Looms
Ride on past the fields and mills
You’ll find me with my dappled roan
Braving heat and wind and chills
‘Cause I can’t handle them alone
...also he doesn't break my fucking toes."

I'm not one for cursing, but when I do Sam's lips twitch slightly in a smile.  For the quiet Trader, that is high accolades indeed.

I apologize for ending this so abruptly, but I must stop for the night.  I am weary from the day's travel, and have been struggling to keep my eyes open while I transcribe the rest of the day's events.

I will note one thing, before I stop for the night. Everyone here hides their face.  Masks and veils in the street; the clerk at the hotel stays behind a pane of smoked glass.  The entire city practically defines the term "faceless masses."

Oct 15, 2083: The Honeytrap

It seems as though it has been an eternity since I last put pen to paper.  In my dreams I stayed home.  I took over my father's ranch, found a partner and raised children.  I can see hazy, half-formed images of their faces.  One was freckled, the other had a loud and boisterous laugh.  The years pass, and so do they.  The children drift off to form their own families, occassionally visiting with little ones of their own.  Soon the yard is full of children playing games, limited only by their robust imaginations.

The happiness is shortlived, however.  A sickness comes and soon I stand alone among a field of gravestones.

I woke up with the crusted residue of shed tears on my face.  I can still feel the weight of time on my shoulders.

When I awoke, the sun was barely above the horizon.  It is still a cold sphere that cultivates the general aura of desolation prevalent throughout the landscape.  There is a low fog hanging around the river beds.  It carries a strange near-life; out of the corner of my eye it almost pulses like a heartbeat.  The sunlight seems to drive it back to the bottomless depths.

The desolation seemed to have affected my traveling companions as well.  They packed up the camp without any words, heads bowed low and shoulders hunched.  I feared the answer before I ever asked the question.

"Where's Anthony?"

"Forget about him," Sam cautioned me, while at the same time the caravaner jerked a thumb to the house where the young man had chosen to spend the night.

"'E's in there."

I started walking toward the house and was quickly intercepted by Sam.  "You don't want to see it, kid."

The caravaner gave a harsh bark of laughter.  "Let him.  He ought to understand what the Tall Man will do to trespassers."

I stepped around Sam and she grabbed my arm.  "You don't want to see what's in there."

"No," I agreed.  "I don't.  But I think he's right. I think I need to understand.  If I don't, how will I know what to be afraid of?"

Sam let me go, worry etching deep lines in her brown.  I took a deep, fortifying breath, and started walking toward the house where Anthony slept.

Daylight gave the house a more ominous tone.  What was once warm and forgiving the night before could easily be seen as a gilded deathtrap.  A harsh, remorseless aura pressed down on me with every step.  Perhaps most unsettling about the exterior was that the porch steps did not creak under my weight.  The complete absence of sound proved more oppressing than any sighs or groans could.

The door swung open weightlessly with a single touch.  It bounced lightly against something, then swung back, coming to rest partially open.  That brief glimpse into the room beyond was enough to understand why Sam did not want me to see the aftermath.

The walls were painted in red pinstripes where bloody wires and circuits had been tossed and left to follow gravity's slow progression.  Small bits of unidentifiable tissue lay scattered here and there throughout the room, but the majority of his body had been stacked neatly by the fireplace.  The only thing that seemed to be missing was the head.

I remembered how the door had seemed to meet resistance before it should have made contact with the wall.  I feared the answer before I asked the question...

I peered around the door.  There, in the furthest corner, was a head full of sandy blonde hair.  As I watched, it rustled, then began to turn.  I stumbled away from the door, trying unsuccessfully to perform some combination of retching and shouting as the contents of my stomach finally rebelled against the gory sights.  Sam's eyes grew wide as I fell to my knees beside her, and she pulled her gun from her holster.  The gunshots made my ears ring, drowning out the sound of my vomiting.

I heaved until there was nothing more left to give and my vision was turning gray from the effort.  When I finally looked up, it was straight into the caravaner's smug gaze.

"And good riddance, I say.  Anyone who gives in to these monsters is nothing better than trash."  He pulled a small green can out of his shirt pocket, only to have it plucked out of his grasp by Sam.  Without a word, she turned and hurled it into the distance.  The caravaner, initially stunned by her brazen move, was goaded into action a the soft 'plonk' indicated his precious tobacco had landed in a bottomless stream.  He snarled at Sam, who met his eyes with a cold stare.  Whatever he found there evidently wasn't worth the fight.

The caravaner spit, a thick glob of tar landing directly on Sam's boot.  "Unload your stuff.  You're walking."