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!"
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Monday, November 4, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, November 1, 2013
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.
"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."
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."
Sunday, July 14, 2013
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
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.
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.
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