Volume One: The Road Out
Chapter Three
Verse Seven: A Dagger through
Parchment
Marion stared at
Blackhart, the rebel chieftain, in frustration. The guy had him nailed.
Until he could confirm Blackhart as good guy or condemn him as
bad guy, Marion was unwilling to fight him.
"How can you
be a good guy if you're playing my good intentions against me?" Marion asked in Frustration.
"You were
raised in one of the Locust King's cities then? The Locust King's
stories are filled with good guys and bad guys. In his stories the
hero is always right and the villain is always despicable, and
usually opposes the people already in power. In real stories the hero
is simply the one who does what is needed to keep the story turning.
Heroes can be awful people, so long as they turn the story. And there
was no villain in the old story before the Locust King, and I'm not even
sure he is the villain. For all we know, he is the hero delivering a
medicine we do not wish to receive. But that thought scares me. I
cannot imagine how his actions would be necessary to the story, and
so I oppose them. No, city boy shaman, I am not a good guy and I am
not a bad guy. There are no good guys and no bad guys in the old
stories, and I am most definitely a being of the old stories."
"Do you always
monologue?"
Blackhart was not
looking at him, Marion suddenly noticed. The man had shifted posture
gradually, scanning the surrounding landscape as they spoke. The
chieftain reached over his shoulders and pulled to simple obsidian
daggers that had been concealed somewhere on his back.
"Only when I
don't want the enemy to know that I see them." He said casually.
The other warriors spun and looked wildly, immediately drawing
tomahawks and daggers as they did. "I think you will now find
uses for your tomahawks city shaman."
"I don't see a
thing." Marion said, looking around as the quiet landscape.
"The things
see you. Be glad you were not alone." Then Blackhart addressed
the empty landscape, "I smell your oil and steel Mordred. You
reek of your father's magic. You may as well loose an arrow or call
the charge."
A voice echoed
amidst the grasses, "Are you in a hurry to die? Father will
finally acknowledge me properly after I present him with your head."
"My head would
be an empty symbol little boy, as hollow as your father's respect. I
am a many headed serpent, cut off my head and a thousand black hearts
will rise in anger against you."
"You don't
have a thousand hearts left Savage," And from a hidden
depression in the grass a young teenaged boy emerged in silver plate
armour emblazoned with a symbol of a cherub radiating ray of light.
The boy looked nearly identical to Fitzroy, save that his hair was a
curly platinum blonde. Around Marion, Blackhart and his warriors a
host of knights rose out of the grasses. "Who is the wizard at
your side Savage? I don't recognize his sigils?"
Marion looked down
at his shirt and noticed he was wearing Harley's old shirt to annoy
the devote, emblazoned with the helvetica styled letters: "WWLD?"
What would Loki Do? Marion wondered when he had put the shirt on. He
didn't remember choosing to wear it.
"That is none
of your concern boy." Blackhart answered, to which the teenager
grinned.
"Then he's
important. Get him and the Chieftain, alive if possible- dead if
necessary."
Marion shook his
head and said to Blackhart, "I should have warned you about my bad
luck."
Blackhart looked
briefly at Marion, who was shocked at how sad the man's face suddenly
looked, "If this is your idea of bad luck, then I hope you are
never forced to experience mine."
The Knights charged
and Blackhart's warriors charged. They clashed and crashed
together like hurricane of muscle and bone. Blackhart himself was a
stone in the river, unmoved by the current- a mountain that ignored
the wind. Anything hostile that made the mistake of getting too close
was crushed and rendered inert by precise strikes from strong hands
holding sharp knives. Marion was the river, flowing through the chaos
of the battle as though he had no substance and then dashing the
unwary against the rocks as needed. Marion was pleased and horrified
to realize that this was becoming normal for him.
The young teenager,
Mordred, was like an eagle plucking salmon from the current of the
river. Bursting into the melee with a short silver spear and impaling a
warrior and then withdrawing from the chaos to strike again. Mordred
and his knights outnumbered Blackhart and his warriors, but the ranks
of the knights quickly began to thin out.
"Hah, they are
like their King's namesake! They depend upon numbers and not skill to
take the day!" Blackhart yelled in the melee.
"Not all of
us!" Mordred snapped and was suddenly lunging and stabbing like
a eagle might strike the surface of the river.
Blackhart was
blocking and murdering two different knights at that moment, and both
his weapons were occupied. Marion flowed into the space between
Blackhart and Mordred, not entirely sure why he was defending a man
who had openly indicated that he would use Marion for his own
purposes, but defending Blackhart nonetheless. Mordred was fast and
Marion was unable to position himself perfectly to defend the blow
either, but his positioning proved acceptable. Marion used the hafts of
both tomahawks to slam against the point of the spear and knock both
spear and Mordred off balance, preventing Mordred from withdrawing as
he had previously. The boy collided with Marion and the two of them
tumbled to the ground amidst the growing pile of corpses. As Marion
fell he found himself thinking that a pile of corpses on the ground
was a somewhat redundant statement. After all, the dirt is made of
corpses, really old corpses. Marion landed and the dead bodies
prevented him from rolling with the fall and he found himself winded
from the landing and struggling to catch his breath. He looked around
to try and place the position of Mordred who would- he was certain-
be readying another attack. The boy seemed the aggressive type, much
more so than Fitzroy. As Marion looked for Mordred, he suddenly
caught sight of something that knocked him out of his flow. Staring
back at him from amidst the other corpses was his own body, clearly
dead with a horrible spear wound through the throat that had very
nearly separated his head from his body. Marion instinctively
scrambled back and bumped into another of his corpses, this time the
blow that had killed him was a sword slash that had opened him up
from shoulder to abdomen. Around him, he could see half a dozen other
corpses with his face staring up at him from the ground. His brain
couldn't process what he was seeing and he felt panic rising up in
his throat like bad tacos, when suddenly he noticed Mordred clawing
his way towards Marion across the Pile of corpses and the battle
snapped back into focus. Marion found the ground beneath his feet and
pushed himself up to standing, knocking the teenager's clumsy spear
attack backwards as he rose.
One of the older
Knights saw what was happening and cried out, "The Prince is in
danger! Call for aid! Call the Bone Man!"
"Our Lord is
not here." A younger knight answered. "He has passed
through the Shadows. I do not know how to send word to him through
the Shadows."
"I know."
The elder Knight answered, he paused as though in thought and then
said, "Guard me as I do the ritual."
Marion watched as
the elder Knight performed a series of hand motions like he was
warding off evil. The knight finished by spreading his arms with his
hands positioned palms up and his face turned to the sky. Marion felt
something change, a connection formed between the knight and
elsewhere or elsewhen. Marion could not tell what passed between the
Knight and whatever he had connected to, but he felt the connection.
Marion kicked
Mordred hard in the chest as the boy tried to rise to his feet,
knocking him back into the growing pile of corpses. he quickly backed
out of the melee, easily dispatching two knights as he retreated.
"Well monkey
see, monkey do." Marion said to himself, "If they can send
messages to their boss, maybe I can send messages to Harley."
Marion put himself
into the same mindset he used to call the tomahawks and repeated the
hands motions he had seen the knight perform, ending in the palm up
position. He felt the connection opening and reached out to whatever
it was- grasping for contact until finally the connection formed.
Marion was hit was a wave of emotion that he could only describe as
dismissal or disdain.
"I was not
expecting a second transmission, especially not from the Dreamer,"
The Bone Man said into Marion's mind. The shock of hearing the Bone
Man nearly jolted Marion out of the connection. "You fight with
the Lion I see. Be careful Dreamer. Even the Lion can be corrupted if
it falls victim to fear."
"I'm not
afraid of you." Marion answered.
"You are
separated from your other half. Fear springs from separation. Perhaps
you trust the tribe? Trust your allies? But you will always be
outmatched. We are the Locust, we are the swarm and we do not fight
alone."
Marion pushed back
in his mind against the disdain, reaching out to see where the
connection led. He had a glimpse of Harley and the kids trapped in
the goblin while a pitch black dog or wolf stalked towards them.
"You have seen
enough Dreamer. This ends." And Marion felt himself being forced
back to the battlefield, and he saw the battle still whirling beside
him, but as he brought himself back he saw the suspicious eyes of
Blackhart staring at him and burning like embers in a campfire.
"What are you
doing?" Blackhart demanded, trying to push through the whirl of
combat to reach Marion, "Why are you calling for the Locust
King's troops? Are you another of his puppets? Like Myrddhin or
Morrigan? Curse You!"
"We're not
done yet Savage." Mordred said, stepping between Blackhart and
his path to Marion.
Marion smiled in
spite of himself, "You're right about one thing." He called
to Blackhart as he began to run, "Your luck is worse than mine."
"This is not
over city wizard!" Blackhart yelled as he engaged Mordred in
battle.
Marion ran until
his lung burned, his legs ached, his abs screamed in pain, and his
feet were lead weights. The plains stretched out in nearly all
directions. The sun was setting in what Marion assumed was roughly
the west. He couldn't be sure as to whether he was in the northern or
southern hemisphere, or in fact whether this place had a northern or
southern hemisphere. So, he could only say that the sun was setting
roughly to the west and not northwest or southwest. And thus roughly
to the west he could also see mountains edging purple in the far
distance. And now that he was not running for his life, Marion could
also see a huge sparkling tower of some sort, crystalline or glass
far off in what Marion assumed was the east.
"If this is a
vision or a dream," Marion said gasping for breath, "Why
does everything hurt so much?"
He stopped and took
and appraisal of his situation. He was trapped in this alternate
world again, this time on purpose by the Bone Man: somebody who was
overtly working against Marion. That same Bone Man was also
apparently hunting his best friend and the kids they were now
protecting, using some sort of ghost or shadow dog.
"Right, so if
he trapped me here, then it's because I could help. So I need to
help. How might I be able to help them? Well I can call the
tomahawks. The Bone Man said I was waking up to my role in the story,
so what? That probably means Harley can do this too, but I've figured
out how to do more of this stuff than he is. That would make me more
of a threat to them recapturing Maia and Fitzroy, which seems to be
what they want. Okay. So I have to figure out how to use my powers,
do I call them powers? Is that the right word? Maybe, who knows?
Alright, so I need to connect back to the real world, if the other
world is the real world. And I did that before, I mean okay, I got
the Bone Man and not Harley, but I saw Harley. So let's try that
again."
Again Marion went
through the motions he had seen the knight perform and reached out
with the same feeling as previous. A little more familiar with the
process Marion noticed this time that there were more potential
connections that what was immediately obvious. This time Marion tried
to reach out and seek not just any connection, but to feel for
sympathetic connections and found that he could feel the difference
in demeanour of the connections that he could feel. He found a
connection that felt gentle and grasped it.
"Can you hear
me?" Marion projected into the connection.
"Marion? is
that you dear?" The voice answered, and Marion recognized the
presence. It was Mrs. Trilby, "I thought the boys Mrs. Boots
described, sounded like you and your boyfriend."
"Harley is not
my boyfriend Mrs. Trilby. Harley is straight."
"Oh, that's a
shame. You would have made such a cute couple dear."
"Mrs. Trilby,
if I can talk to you, then I'm assuming you're part of the story and
I need your help. I'm the Dreamer."
"Oh. I'm so
sorry dear. I was so hoping that it was a brain tumour Storytellers
don't live very long these days, none of the main characters do. It's
so much better to be a supporting character. You do the minimum the
plot requires and stay out of the way. We lost so long ago, and
nobody has resurrected our story in over a century. Only a few tribes
in remote corners still live our story. The rest of us hear it second
hand if we hear it at all."
"Mrs. Trilby,
the Bone Man has trapped my in another world and a big black ghost
dog is hunting Harley in the real world. I need your help."
"Oh dear. The
Hound. You can't stop the hound dear. It smells fear, you know."
"Can I slow it
down or distract it?"
"You could sic
a familiar on it. Maybe an astral projection or a summoned
holographic form of it."
"What does
that mean?" Marion asked.
"I could let
you throw ghost version of Mercer at him. It would slow down the
hound, but it would make it angry too."
"So we'd be
delaying it, but making thing worse in the long run?"
"Pretty much
dear."
"That's been
our working strategy so far, why change it now? What do I do?"
"Call for aid,
dear. Just call for aid from people who care. You do not fight alone
dear. Tell them that. Trust your allies."
Marion nodded,
"I've heard that before. Ok,"
He reached out with
the connection seeking Harley. When he found a connection that felt
right, he raised his voice within the connection and cried out, "We
do not fight alone! Trust your allies! Call for aid! I call for aid!"
