by Lucian Bane
“So you know my dear Poe?” Scribbler asked.
“Yes,” Rukie answered, her lips seeming to resist a smile.
“I’m happy to hear you looked out for him.” Scribbler pounded Poe’s arm roughly. “And what province did you say you’re from?” Contessant looked between Rukie and him. “Or did it not get disclosed.”
“Paranormal…” Rukie volunteered after a few seconds.
Poe regarded the young girl now. Why did she lie? Poe wondered even more over what the lie was that she’d just told. He didn’t know. He only knew that the energy in her words were of an untruth. But he also knew it wasn’t a lie of much consequence.
“Where shall I take you Poe,” Rukie asked, turning smiling blue eyes at him.
Poe paused, again hit by the energy from earlier. The one that made him feel as though he’d missed some element of something. “I…” He glanced at Contessant who eyed him with a strange look. Poe angled his head, perplexed at reading some sort of angry emotion. Poe glanced around. Perhaps something was amiss and penetrating the sensitive crosshairs of his sensory. He hoped their little squabble in the forest hadn’t summoned worse problems.
“Take us to the Queen,” Poe finally answered, looking at Rukie.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Quarks, child, are you telling me I cannot trust the Queen?”
Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head. “I’m just… asking if you’re sure. And do not call me a child.”
Poe chose to ignore the last comment, duress over her first consuming him. “Well, now I’m not sure.” Poe studied the area, feeling suddenly lost in his own skin. “Take me to the Ancient Ones,” Poe decided. “I shall see what they know.”
“Wise idea,” Rukie nodded, before holding out her hand to Poe.
Without thinking, he took it, only to realize Rukie hadn’t extended a hand to Contessant. This time the angry look from his Scribbler burned him even as she smiled so very beautifully at him. The contradiction caused his powers to surge, gulp, and sputter about, torn between devouring her lovely mouth and putting a safe distance between them.
Rukie shot out a hand to Contessant and in a second’s time they traveled the miles from the forest to where the Ancient Ones guarded the edge of the Paranormal Bog.
Chapter Four
Hurrying forward to the ancient trees, Poe didn’t waste a second more. “Good evening Octava’s Ancient—”
“I see who you are, you Musing Miskriat,” the first tree bellowed.
“What!” the third tree boomed, branches shaking about like he’d been startled from sleep. “Where is he? Block him! Don’t let that Musky Rat through!”
“He’s not flying in,” the second tree answered in loud annoyance. “But if he were, you’d have cost us another goal, you crumpled sheet of wide-ruled paper.”
“Another!” The third tree’s limbs whisked about. “If I recall correctly, it was you that let him through last, you son of a Yankee’s bat.”
“Shut your gnarly barkings!” the fourth tree yelled. “Our Rukie is with him.”
Our Rukie? Poe couldn’t understand what exactly they hated about him and loved about her.
“What do you need child?” the fourth tree went on in a cooing tone.
Poe stood there, incensed as Rukie walked forward. “We need to know who we can trust.”
“Nobody!” the first tree shouted, his branches thrashing vigorously.
Poe took his Scribbler’s hand when she came to stand beside him. He regarded her, then paused at finding her mouth a perfect oval as she stared at the trees. Right. Poe looked again upon the ever-disgruntled beasts, trying to understand her rapt fascination with the moody whittlings of some Scribbler from long ago.
“They’re talking,” she whispered.
“Oh brother,” the second tree said loudly. “Who do you have here? She looks like one of those wild hairs from the sub-sub-sub romance genre species.”
Poe thought to be incensed, only his Scribbler’s laughter prevented him.
The first tree’s whisper came like a growl, “Second thought, she may be from the cartoon province, a few sub genres removed.”
The combined laughter of the trees sounded like thunder. “She does seem a few chapters shy of a book!”
Poe’s anger flashed but again, his Scribbler’s peals of laughter stayed his ire. “Why do you find their insults funny?”
“Because they are!” she cried, walking toward the trees now. “And what Scribbler had the glorious honor of scribbling you four? What are your names?”
Her unexpected admiration seemed to throw the trees into shock, filling the forest with their confused sputtering, limbs slashing against one another like gorillas raced through their branches.
“She’s a Scribbler herself,” Rukie said, smiling at the trees.
Poe waited for their reaction to that. He didn’t trust the sarcastic saplings one octave of a second.
“So it’s true,” the first tree said, astonished.
“Impossible!” the third tree grumbled. “Scribblers don’t come to Octava! They reside on Earth.”
“How about prove it to us,” said the fourth.
Contessant glanced at Poe, appearing unsure.
“There will be no proving anything,” Poe said walking forward. “She is my Scribbler, you have my word. And I would very much like to know if I am safe to speak of sensitive security matters regarding Earth, with the Queen.”
“Sensitive security matters, he says,” the second tree mocked with riotous laughter. “There are no matters that are sensitive to us, dear Muskrat.”
“I didn’t say you, I said the Queen,” Poe corrected, at the end of his patience.
“Why do they not like you?” his Scribbler asked, curiously.
“That is a fantastic question,” he said, looking at the trees now.
“We don’t like misfits!” the second tree said.
“Or misfires,” added the first.
“Or cheaters!” the third barked, his leaves shaking as if in a hurricane.
“Cheater!” Poe cried, hands on hips. “It is you that are the cheaters, moving the opening to the forest when one wishes or has dire need to enter.”
The first tree mocked his words in a rickety voice, before booming, “We don’t move it, we disguise it.”
“I’ve a mind to read your codecs and rewrite you with some manners,” Poe said, ready to leave and never return.
“Rewrite you say!” The fourth howled with laughter. “Indeed, if you can, please write him into a box of matches.”
“Matches, indeed!” the first said in deep offense. “I want to be rewritten into a great ship. I could then sail the seas of our great Octava.”
“A ship!” the second said, mocking. “Why not be something useful?” The tree turned all his branches at once to Poe with a great swishing. “Like the strong beams of a home, where families grow up. To protect them! That is what I’d be!”
“And I,” the first tree chimed in, “have had many a notion to one day retire as a fine bow and quiver of arrows.”
“Bow and arrows!” The first sounded as outraged as he was curious.
“To be owned by a great and noble Octava warrior,” the fourth defended.
Poe had a sudden idea. “I have a deal for all of you. You give me the answers I need, and I shall see that you all become these… things you have always longed to be.”
The air filled with a sudden silence that made Poe feel as though he’d broken some ancient law. He was sure he hadn’t. Nowhere did he ever remember it saying that a character could not interact with another classical character. And Poe was sure the posts the four trees held could be easily replaced.
“Is that even legal!” the first tree hissed to the other trees.
There were lots of murmurings between them while Poe waited impatiently until finally the fourth said, “It’s not illegal.”
“Is it possible!” the second asked quietly.
> “He did turn Zinfandel and his pack into kittens.” Rukie clasped her hands behind her back with a smile. “Saw it with my own eyes.”
“What is becoming of this kingdom?!” the third boomed suddenly. “Once upon a time, characters on Octava could not perform such things on other inhabitants outside of stories. When, oh when did this change?”
“While we were playing a bump on a log,” the first muttered.
“It’s that blasted Independent Province!” the fourth said. “It’s been chaos since they gained sovereignty. I’ve felt it in my roots since. A war is coming.”
“What kind of war?” Poe asked. “The Minister of Sound said the same.”
“The Minister of Sound?” the second tree hissed.
“So much for knowing all things,” the fourth bumbled, sounding useless. “Once upon a time, there was nothing on Octava that we didn’t know. The fibers of every fictional breath ran through our roots and leaves.”
“Where did you see the Minister of Sound?” the second asked. “The last time he came to Octava was for the blasted Independent Province broo-ha-ha ceremony.”
“He sent me to Earth. To find the Seven Arks.”
“The Seven,” the third said with a boldness. “We know of these.”
Poe felt the trees knew, but not all. He saved them some dignity by volunteering the whole story. “They are not traitors. They were sent to Earth to learn answers about the evil eating at Octava. And when they arrived, they forgot who they were because of the Tabard placed around Earth.”
“Tabard,” the second whispered. “The Night Shade. It steals everything, sucks everything into it.”
“The Seven were stranded,” Poe said. “They didn’t remember who they were. They wandered, lost on Earth, living lives they didn’t understand. The Sound Scribbler hid in an insane asylum, never speaking the human language to prevent from being discovered. Waiting for rescue.”
“And you…” the second said, sounding astonished.
“And I… was sent by the Minister of Sound. The 8th Ark of Octava. To retrieve the Seven.”
“And they are here?” the fourth asked. “The lost 7 Arks?”
“I do not know,” Poe said. “The Sound Scribbler opened the portal with a dance, a most astonishing symphony of power that formed the doorway leading back to Octava. And my Scribbler,” he took Contessant’s hand. “She… scribbled herself into Octava with the Sound Scribbler’s pen.” Poe regarded the trees. “Tell me… what is this war you speak of?”
The low growling of the trees rumbled under Poe’s feet. “Nobody speaks of it out loud. But for years it’s been felt at the core. A lurking shadow. Never there but always there. Always just out of reach, out of sight.”
“What is it?” Contessant whispered. “Is it… is it coming from Earth? Are the humans doing this?” she looked at the trees now, sounding worried.
“We weren’t sure.”
“It’s one of the guardians,” the first tree said, sounding disgusted to say it out loud.
“The Paranormal Guardian,” Poe checked.
“Shhhhhhhhhhh!” the fourth whispered. “It is but a rumor, but one you will lose your life for, if you are found uttering it aloud. No character of Octava is allowed to speak against one of the Seven. Protocols must be followed. With the Queen. Which is why you must go immediately and speak to her about this.”
“We shall go to the Queen at once,” Poe said, then wondered, “Do you… happen to know the whereabouts of Kane.”
“The young Kane?” the second tree perked up.
“He’s no longer young,” Contessant said. “His Scribbler tried to use him to kill Poe and prevent his return to Octava. He failed. But Poe saved him.”
The mutterings of the trees did not come with words but more leaves brushing against one another, like a nervous fidgeting. The second tree suddenly bent its branches slowly to the ground. “My deepest apologies Miskriat. We have misjudged you.” The other trees slowly followed suit, filling Poe with an odd warmth. He recognized the emotion of gratitude but wasn’t sure what he was to do about it or even if he was supposed to do anything.
“I have misjudged many things about Octava,” Poe said sadly. “Together, we will get to this dark source and end it.”
“We are here if you need us. For… whatever you may need.” This came from the fourth and the others concurred their agreement.
Poe nodded, pride filling him and more of that gratitude emotion. “I may very well need a bow and sturdy quivers.”
“You may need a ship too,” the first said. “To get around Octava.”
“Oh, I bet you would make a lovely ship!” Contessant said, smiling.
“And if you need timber for a new home,” the second said. “I wood be honored. “ He boomed out a laugh. “I wood. Get it?”
“Farewell for now, Ancient Ones of Octava,” Poe said, smiling, glad to have made peace with them finally.
Rukie hurried to him and grabbed his hand, holding her other out to Contessant as she did.
Contessant placed her hand in Rukie’s and Poe braced for the whir of particles. When they didn’t come, he eyed her. She stood as though frozen in a moment before her lashes fluttered.
“Sorry. I shall take you now.”
The odd voice alarmed Poe but before he could act, they were launched through the vortex of power inherent in her codes. At his next breath, Poe steadied his own energy, looking around at the unusual interior they stood in. Where were they?
“Welcome,” a soft voice said behind them.
Poe spun in confusion, then froze. A very strange being sat perched on the arm of a great chair that seemed carved of a ruby gem. He wanted to ascertain that the walls, floor, and ceiling were the same, but the being held his utter attention. “Where are we?” Poe wondered aloud.
“I… I didn’t intend to come here,” Rukie whispered.
“The Paranormal Guardian wishes to see you.”
Chapter Five
The creature spoke as it stood, and Poe marveled at the myriad of different… creatures that flitted over its body. A body that refused to remain in any particular form but instead seemed in a constant state of shifting into these other creatures. Man, woman, wolf, dragon, bird, serpent. With each step, turn, or gesture, one of these creatures peeked out of various areas of the skin on its person. Poe stared in rapt fascination, mesmerized and repulsed with the cycling of creatures that bubbled along the being’s body at the speed of its heartbeat or breath.
“Where is… he?” Poe finally managed.
“You do speak to us,” the being said.
Poe stared as its legs shifted—dragon talon’s scraping the ruby floor one second, the foot of a calf the second, then a human after that. The constant shifting was as hypnotizing as it was dizzying.
“Tell us, Rider, all that the Sound Scribbler has revealed to you.”
“The Sound Scribbler,” Poe heard the words from his mouth even though he’d not thought them. He also felt the power in every word the being had uttered. It was an order he couldn’t refuse.
“Poe.”
The urgent tone in Contessant’s voice drew his gaze to her. She shook her head and grabbed hold of his hand. At the sudden connection, he heard her fears. Don’t answer. It’s got you in a grip. Something’s wrong.
“Of course we do…” A rumbling dragon voice vibrated along Poe’s skin followed by the soft voice of a woman, “…we are of the Seven that guard Octava. And all creations are subject to us and in our grip, as you say.” The final words hissed through the mouth of a three headed serpent.
“I am no creation of Octava.” Contessant’s words came after many seconds and Poe’s energy responded to the fear he felt in them.
The being moved slowly closer, its lower body a green mist now. Legs suddenly appeared, resembling pillars of matching fire. “Indeed.” The silky word turned to a deep growl as the head of a beautiful woman morphed into something large and black. The eyes pooled with bright
green lightening. “And you are in our realm. A realm that you do not belong in, Scribbler.”
“What do you want with Poe? He is a part of my realm, my creation as well. What are the laws Poe?”
The Scribbler’s desperate question caused a plethora of data to surface in Poe. But he couldn’t make sense of it. The words raced about and jumbled together. “I… I know but…”
“Think Poe. Focus. Listen to my voice, your Scribbler. What are Octava’s laws? What are the limits of Octava’s Guardians?”
“Tell me Poe,” the Guardian whispered. Poe fought to resist the command as ebony wings shuddered and unfolded from the beast’s growing body and encompassed the three of them. They huddled together and peered into the face of a dragon, snout large enough to eat them whole. “Tell us all that the Sound Scribbler showed you.”
Steam from its huge nostrils heated the air before them, making Poe dizzy. “The Sound Scribbler,” he whispered, needing to sit. A thick tongue snaked forth from the being’s mouth and wrapped his body in a soothing embrace.
“Yesssss,” it hissed.
“What are you doing to him?” Contessant whispered, her voice an echo in his mind. “Poe! The Queen. How do we get to the Queen?”
“The Queen is going to execute your dear Poe,” the Guardian said. “We are merely trying to protect him from that.”
“I don’t believe you,” Contessant said in the growing darkness. “Release us. You have no right to hold us!”
“Oh, I will.” The being lay Poe, nearly unconscious now, onto the floor. It coated his body with a sticky mucus, and Poe could feel it savoring his flavor while drawing from him the very thing he fought not to give. But the Guardian held him fast with its will, like an iron straightjacket.
I can’t… I can’t… Poe’s yells were distant in his own mind as the beast sliced through his brain’s cortex to locate the information it sought.
