Scribbler Guardian 2: Seven Sons of Zion

by Lucian Bane

  A blast of hot air erupted from Poe’s body then disappeared. Poe gasped and looked down, feeling his clothes. Dry. He touched his hair. Dry too.

  He looked at a grinning Sabre who also stood dry. “Shhh, let’s go back to the car and let him wonder.”

  “The car,” Poe muttered, remembering the blood there.

  Slight repulsion lit Sabre’s face. “Right.” He looked around a bit. “Bloody bastard,” he mumbled, heading back to the vehicle. “I’ll make him clean it.”

  The lethal in his tone promised interesting things to come very shortly. Just so Poe didn’t have to sit in blood, he didn’t care. He was sure Sabre wouldn’t do anything… detrimental.

  Chapter Twenty

  Charlotte’s hand screamed slow downas shescribbled madly. But the words were demanding. The pen scratched against the thick paper and became a frenzy of creative music that she danced to, danced in reckless, to-hell-with-outlining abandon, in the echoing large room. A room with a ceiling so high that not even the wall of windows touched the dark’s mysterious depth above. The place reminded her of a Victorian era library in the home of a famous aristocrat, down to the stained wood floors and ship-sized desk with the quill pen. Thankfully not the kind you had to actually dip in ink. Modernized quill, she guessed.

  She decided it was best to not to look up into the shadows above. Her horror scribbling blood depicted things in that darkness she was better off not thinking about. She decided to focus rather on the quaint Victorian feel of the space.

  She wasn’t sure when she sensed it, but by the time she did, she had the impression it had been there for a while. Her hand froze for the barest second before she resumed her scribbling, feeling like if it knew she was aware of its presence, then it would require things she didn’t want.

  A single clink of a buckle from somewhere in the room made her freeze again.

  Charlotte couldn’t pretend to scribble now. She was too scared to move or think. Her mind fought to remember where the sound had originated. It seemed to come from everywhere. She pictured a man hovering above in that darkness. With a belt?

  The puzzle did nothing to detract the terror. Why was she so scared?

  The buckle sound came again. She gasped, turning only her eyes to the right, from where it came. She couldn’t see anything.

  Her eyes jerked left when the clink-clink came from the opposite side.

  “I was in the vicinity.”

  Charlotte screamed. A person stood, staring out the windows at the front of her desk. Her breaths shook out loudly in the silence as she strained to see and find the source of that buckle sound, see if he carried some kind of weapon, was he dangerous? She made out that his clothes were very odd. He wore an extra tall top hat that might have been centuries old for the wear and tear. The remaining outfit was much the same. Charlotte realized they were dusty looking. Like he’d freshly robbed them from a corpse several inches shorter than himself, maybe.

  “And I sensed an anomaly,” he continued in a smooth, sing-song voice. Masculine tenor. He turned abruptly and she jumped, gripping the arms on her chair. She struggled to make out his face, but the light from the windows behind him hid it in dark shadows. “So I thought… let’s check that out, shall we?”

  “Who… who are you?”

  The sound of the buckle rattled again. “The Marksman, of course.”

  “The Marksman,” she whispered, staring harder at the dark face. She was sure that whatever slowly came into view as her eyes adjusted, would make it all worse.

  “You’ve heard of me?” He sounded hopeful as he slowly drew closer, though she couldn’t tell his legs moved. He reached the edge of the desk directly across from her and various white hues surfaced to form a skeletal looking face. “Why is it so dark in here, child?” The clink of that hidden buckle came with the question.

  Charlotte’s inside’s quivered and shook. He wasn’t referring to the light that you see by, he meant something else. She felt it. “I don’t…”

  He shot up a long crooked finger and Charlotte eyed the bony digit as it wagged slowly. “Ah-ah-ah,” he scolded in light warning. “No lying. There can be… no lying to Mr. Buckles.”

  Charlotte remembered the phone even as the man angled his head and reached an arm to slowly slide all the items off the desk. Oh God. Whites glowed all around his dark irises as he leaned in with denture-perfect teeth in a huge smile. “Mr. Buckles… knows everything,” he said, softly. “He hears everything.” Boney fingers fanned at meaty long ears as he leaned closer. “He sees everything.” Silence fell for many seconds and his face remained frozen. He boomed suddenly, “Walls cannot stop him!”

  Charlotte shrieked and the man laughed and laughed before he sang in a happy voice, “Skin and bones can’t keep him out, and every realm is home to him.”

  Charlotte finally rasped between her hyperventilating, “What do you want from me?”

  “Want from you?” he asked, sounding so very enamored by that clearly odd question. By now she made out more of his face. His brows looked like ancient caterpillars that rode his forehead and with every word he spoke their furry bodies squirmed and danced a most disturbing dance. “Mr. Buckles doesn’t want anything. Mr. Buckles has everything he needs.” He lifted off the desk and Charlotte let out a huge breath of relief, realizing his close presence was suffocating her. “It is the realms child, the realms that has need of Mr. Buckles. Finally.” He said this while appearing to ice-skate along the floor in long gliding strides.

  “Finally?”

  He ice-skated to her desk again and slid his fingers over her paper. She gasped as the words lifted up and began to dance in the air above it. “You like to play with your letters, I see? Make them dance?” he whispered. She watched as the letters began taking shapes of people. Men and women doing raunchy things. Oh God. “You like the dark dancing, do you?” he whispered, lust in his voice as he continued to make the letters form sexual scenes she’d written.

  He dropped his hand and the letters fell to the page into a mess of ink splatters. He tapped something along the floor, maybe his foot as his back remained to her. “I asked you…” he began with light patience while inspecting his fingernails. “Why is it… so dark in here? Where is the light?”

  He began to skate around the room again, his hands clasped behind him, humming. “Ah yes, I see it. I just needed to dig a little. There it is.” He gasped and gave a huge smile. “How lovely! You do have quite the talent, Miss Scribbler.” He skated back to her and stopped, slamming both palms onto the desk, his face inches from hers. “But see. Mr. Buckles is here… to mark,” he muttered softly. “And he has a very busy schedule. To mark all inhabitants of alllll the realms. What kind of mark you say? Why am I marking you say? Well, to start,” he kept his voice low. “I have only two itty bitty symbols that I mark with. “Yay… and Nay.” He straightened and his laugh rang out in flutters of disharmony. “Yes, or No, Black or White, Good or Bad,” he said as he walked in reverse then stopped when his back banged the window. “See what I mean?”

  No, she didn’t.

  “I’m the marksman!” he exclaimed, like it should have dawned on her. “Didn’t… you read about my coming? I do believe it’s recorded,” he said, before tsking as he paced before the large windows. “I make my splash on the page in a single, sacred, passage,” he said with a giggle and lots of buckle noises. “To mark allll the inhabitants of the realm. For the final war, Miss Scribbledydee. Yes. Or No. That is what I mark. And only I… am qualified to know who gets which mark. Because…. Mr. Buckles sees everything. Everything,” he stressed with a light hissing whisper that sounded almost lustful and yet painful. “Way deep down where the light of day can’t go. I can. And I must. And I shall.”

  “Are… you here to mark me?” Charlotte had never been so terrified of an answer. She was sure her mark wouldn’t be a good one.

  “Noooo!” he cried lightly. “I told you I was in the vicinity, and,” he twirled his boney pointer finger
at her, “saw the anomaly.” He grinned for several seconds. “I will certainly mark you but our appointment isn’t till…” He looked at a huge object on his wrist. “Soonish,” he said with a huge smile. “Very, very.”

  He glanced all around then, his nose wrinkled. “It smelled fishy,” he murmured before looking at her with an almost sane expression. “But… upon closer inspection… I think perhaps my long and ardent ocean voyage had me smelling things.”

  He reached up and held the brim of his hat, bowed his head, and vanished—buckle sounds echoing in the empty room around her.

  Charlotte’s entire body lost strength and she sagged into the chair as a person with no bones. Poe! She bolted up and opened the drawer, pulling out the phone. Three missed calls! How?

  ****

  “She can stay with the car,” Sabre whispered, standing several feet from where they were parked.

  “The bog is miles from here,” Poe reminded, hating to bring in negatives but wanting him to consider.

  Sabre sighed, running a hand through his hair.

  “You should have brought her to her province,” Valentine said lightly, both hands up.

  “Don’t!” Sabre grit. “I’m not taking her anywhere in the condition she’s in. She’s my responsibility.”

  “She’s a fictional character! Barely!” Valentine hissed.

  “I swear, V, I’m going to hurt you for real if you don’t quit.”

  “I am not trying to piss you off, brother, but think about it.”

  “I already have and my decision is made. I am pretty sure she can understand to stay in the car.” Sabre glared at Valentine who made facial gestures that said he doubted that.

  “I’d stay,” Poe said, “but we really need to all go. We don’t know what’s there, what we might face.”

  “She’ll stay and wait,” Sabre said. “That’s all we can do.”

  Poe watched with Valentine as Sabre went talk to the girl. The girl with no name and no brain. Poe’s fingers paused on the phone in his pocket that Sabre had gotten him. He dialed his Scribbler once more, not understanding why she wasn’t answering. Again, it went to a recording. He’d had Sabre check the number, it was correct. He’d try once more before they headed out. He’d leave a message as Sabre instructed if she didn’t pick up again.

  Poe walked to the vehicle and waited for Sabre to finish. He could hear him explaining to the girl in soft tones, making it like it was practice for her first job. Clever. She was ecstatic of course.

  “Thank you,” Poe heard her say with much joy.

  Silence followed, and suddenly Sabre got out of the car, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He stared at Poe with shock in his eyes before hissing, “She kissed me.”

  Poe’s brows raised and he fought a smile then remembered his idea. “Why don’t you leave her your phone and you can call her from mine? To make sure she’s okay.”

  Sabre gasped in utter relief. “Yes! Of course!” Then he paused. “Might take a long time to teach her.”

  “Just try,” Poe said, “she seems bright.”

  “Oh yes,” Sabre said, “Bright.” Indicating he knew just how true that wasn’t. Poe admired that he wouldn’t voice it though.

  “What is it about her?” Poe had to know.

  “What?” Sabre wondered quietly.

  “I mean, I know it’s not romantic because you had an interest in this character before this.”

  Sabre shook his head with a smile and shrugged. “I have a friend that knows his… her, Scribbler. I don’t know, I guess it’s my way of looking out for their interests, even though I can’t actually.”

  “Your friend knows the scribbler?”

  “Well, you know. Knows is a sort of relative term.”

  “Right,” Poe said chuckling. “Thank you for explaining. So about that kiss.”

  “Oh God,” Sabre said, resuming the initial shock of that. “I think she did it out of ignorance, I’m sure. Like hello, or good job,” he pat Poe on the shoulder, “kind of gesture? You’re smiling like I’m dreaming, and dead wrong.”

  “No, I’m smiling like it’s funny how you are so utterly…” Poe shrugged his shoulders trying to find the term to fit.

  “Weirded out?”

  “Why? You were written for it.”

  “No, no, no. I wasn’t,” he shook his head. “That was not my role in the story.”

  “Yet,” Poe said laughing. “Neither was I.” The sudden terror in Sabre’s eyes made Poe laugh more. “I’m quite sure I once had that look when thinking of that.”

  “I don’t… I mean, I can’t,” he corrected quietly as he leaned closer, “be that kind of character.”

  “Hmm,” Poe said, curious. “You had better get started teaching her.”

  “Right.” Sabre took a breath and opened the car door while Poe hung around where he could eavesdrop. Plus he was not keen on chit-chatting with Valentine. He seemed upset with him over the blood incident still. Probably that Sabre made him clean his mess. It required a mere metaphorical snap of his fingers, so his pain was an egotistical one.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Poe gazed around at the public park. It was the best place to be since it was open twenty-four hours and shouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. And the closest they could get to the Paranormal Bog with a vehicle.

  Poe angled his head, listening to Sabre coo the phone instructions to the girl in a way that was romantically cultivating, making him want to laugh. It was a double edged sword for Sabre. He seemed to not be able to be anything but nice to her. If she had tendencies, he was feeding into them by the spoonful. He was rather glad. Maybe break that bond she should have never formed with that Valentine character.

  Sabre got out of the car, gasping for air. “She did it again!” he cried.

  “Divinities,” Poe said. “Maybe her Scribbler started mentally refining her and she’s coming into some of her common sense. Realizing you’re a better romantic fit?” Than the Valentine idiot, he wanted to say.

  The look of terror on Sabre’s face made Poe grin. “Come on,” Sabre whispered with desperation. “We need to hurry. I need to get her to her province before any further bad bonds can form.”

  “You done with your girlfriend?” Valentine said as they walked up to him.

  “Yes, I am, thank you,” Sabre said in a cool tone.

  Poe smiled that he didn’t rise to the bait. “I’ll try my Scribbler once more before we head out.”

  “Good grief,” Valentine mumbled. “You two are worse than mother hens.”

  Poe got the blasted machine for the third time and left a message saying he’d call within the hour. He avoided any intimate words at the expense of more ridicule from the blood baboon.

  They set off on their hike, and reached the forest before the Bog in just under an hour, running steady. The plan was to go straight to the guardians and talk them. If anybody knew a thing, it would be those two. Invisible Man and Adam, son of Frankenstein.

  He just hoped Invisible Man played nicely.

  If the classical characters didn’t have any information, then the three of them would borrow enough power from the energy pool to locate him. Guardian codes were part of the Bog. It should work.

  “We’ll go to the Ancient Ones,” Poe said.

  “Who are they?” Sabre wondered.

  “How on Earth would you not know?” Poe asked.

  “We pretty much stay on the other side of the realm,” Valentine said. “Paranormal may seem like fantasy but technically, no.”

  “Right,” Poe said then wondered. “How… do you know the Queen so well, then?”

  “Because we’re good friends,” Sabre laughed.

  “You forget we’ve been around the block a few more times than you, Rider,” Valentine said dryly.

  “Right,” Poe muttered. “Which is why you should know about the Ancient Ones.” He eyed the two, pointing between them. “There’s somethin
g you two aren’t sharing,” Poe let them know.

  “I didn’t realize we were required to give you a list of things we’ve done on Octava,” Valentine said.

  “It’s fine.” Sabre pat Poe on the back. “When we have a moment, I’ll fill you in on everything.”

  “Good,” Poe said, heading toward the trees. “Keep your eyes open in this forest.”

  “Anything in particular we need to watch for?” Valentine mumbled a few yards in.

  “Anything and everything,” Poe said. “At this point.”

  “Right,” Sabre agreed. “I’ve got eyes on our backs.”

  “I’ve got them on the middle,” Valentine said.

  “And me up front.” Poe tossed a look over his shoulder and stopped.

  “What?” Valentine asked.

  Poe held up a hand, signaling to wait. They were only barely into the forest but the silence was deafening. “Too quiet.”

  Poe looked all around, not finding any kind of animals anywhere. He glanced over his shoulder and found Valentine suited up, his long red needle stick in hand. He eyed Sabre who looked exactly the same. Maybe he didn’t have special clothes that went with his abilities. Poe was kind of glad since he didn’t either. His black riding clothes was usually what his Scribbler had him in at all times in his story when he was in it.

  He focused again, lifting his head and taking in a slow sniff. He couldn’t smell anything off. But something wasn’t right. “I think we need to hurry,” Poe said.

  They jogged their way through the forest and finally exited. Poe studied the tree line where the Ancient Ones were and froze. “That’s it,” he pointed ahead catching his breath. “Something’s not right.” He took off running the short distance through the field. The closer he got, the more sick his stomach was. Too still. Way too still.

  At arriving, he stared at the tree line, shaking his head. “What in the realms?” He waved his hand. “Hello,” he called. The trees didn’t move. They appeared… frozen somehow.

  Poe hurried to one of them and put his palm on the trunk to read what happened to it. “Quarks!” he whispered, jerking his hand away. But it was too late. The simple touch caused the tree to disintegrate in that spot. He walked in slow reverse, watching as the erosion continued into the tree until it slowly fell. The slow horror grew as everywhere the falling tree touched, caused the same disintegration. The destruction happened like a domino effect, trees falling into each other, one after the other, after the other.