"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.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
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.
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."
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."
Monday, June 17, 2013
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."
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."
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