Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater

by Brent Michael Kelley

  A bonfire danced at the center of the clearing, surrounded by a ring of torches. The fire illuminated an entire army of the heavy scarecrows. Chuggie felt like he just stepped into a pool of quicksand. Hundreds of the savage-looking scarecrows all stomped their feet in eerie unison. Their arms waved about, knocking against each other.

  Most disturbing of all, each wore human clothing. If Non was right, these clothes were taken from the witch's torturgy victims. The garments had been stretched or torn to fit in any way they could. Some of the scarecrows wore tiny pants or little dresses, children's clothes, around their necks.

  Shola fluttered her arms in front of a raging fire. She was no longer youthful and lithe. She wore the same clothes as when he'd left her, but they hung off her withered body revealing the scaly and wrinkled flesh beneath. Torchlight flickered off her face as she croaked her ancient chants.

  Olin heaved heart-rending sobs. Pinned up to the blood maple, he hung much the same way he did when Chuggie first found him with Kale. This time, however, there were no ropes or chains. Four dead-eyed scarecrows held Olin's arms and feet. They took turns pulling him in different directions.

  Shola screamed torturgy magic in her hoarse witch's voice, waving the goat-face purse about as she did. Even to someone who didn't understand her words, her hatred was unmistakable.

  Chuggie saw all he needed to see. He broke from a jog into a sprint and streaked past the scarecrows.

  Shola turned as he approached.

  He dove through the air and slammed into her. They rolled together in a lopsided wrasslin' match. Using his own patented wrasslin' holds, Chuggie twisted around and got behind her, getting to his feet but keeping her on her knees. One hand clutched a thick knot of her hair. The other held the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu to her neck.

  "Tell 'em to back off," Chuggie snarled in her ear.

  With a wave of her hand, Shola commanded her scarecrows to back away.

  "Have 'em let the kid down, too. Nice an' easy, or I feed you your tits."

  Shola gestured at the scarecrows holding the boy. They dropped him roughly and lurched off to join the others.

  Olin curled up into a ball and trembled beneath the tree.

  "I thought for sure they'd have arrested you," she croaked.

  "What have you done?" As he rasped in her ear, it was all he could do not to bite it off.

  She gave a coughing chuckle. "All is pre-ordained."

  "No, we choose."

  "Even you murdered a man," Shola chortled. The sound was old and rancid. It crawled into Chuggie's ear and curled up like a maggot. "You have no choice when the evil enters you. How else can you explain it?"

  "Guess I can't, but that don't mean I didn't have a choice. Now make your guys lie down." He pressed the blade against Shola's neck hard enough to draw a trickle of blood.

  Shola raised her hands, and all the scarecrows dropped to the ground.

  "Stagwater is a cesspool," she said. "If the gods won't destroy it, I have to take matters into my own hands."

  Chuggie pulled Shola to her feet by her hair. "So you wanna play at bein' a god. Sure wish you'd told me that in the beginning."

  "Spare me your puppy love!" hissed the witch. "How can you be so old and so naïve at the same time?"

  "Maybe I am old." He yanked her over to where Olin huddled beneath the tree. "Maybe I'm naïve, too. I'm also lightning fast, deadly as drakana, and madder than the Hell of Screaming Teeth."

  She cackled. "You won't kill me in cold blood."

  "Why not?" He wrenched her face to point up at his. The blue eye he'd loved so much was replaced by a rheumy impostor.

  "Because you love me," pleaded the voice of young Shola.

  The sound of her youthful voice hit him like a three-ton hammer. It was all for her. What a puppet he'd been! He'd wanted it all to be true, so much so that he blinded his own damn self. He was Drought! How could he expect to hold anything close and have it live?

  "I loved you!" he hollered in the rising wind. "We were going to leave this place and take Olin with us. Instead, you're torturin' him?"

  "My power is growing." Her youthful voice tore through him. That voice clawed at his heart like a raven tearing at an eagle's nest. "Stagwater burns tonight. You can't stop it. Nobody can."

  "Never fuggin' loved me," he spat.

  "You're pathetic," she said. "Love is a whorehouse. It's a sick lie and a sad curse, shat down upon the world by laughing gods."

  "Olin!" Chuggie put the witch on her knees again. "Are you okay, little man? I need you to get up. We have to leave, boss!"

  The boy made no response.

  Shola's old crone voice returned. "Olukhia sagosmet thungrol gothraga!"

  Olin yelped and flopped on the ground.

  "What did you just do?" Chuggie yanked her hair back, exposing more of her throat.

  "Your young friend there now believes you're going to kill him!" Her laugh bubbled out of her, more a cough than a chuckle.

  Chuggie drew a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and smashed his anchor across the back of her head. He swore he felt her skull crack. She gave a bird-like squawk and thudded to the ground. He raised up the anchor, ready to bring it down on her brow to make certain she'd passed on. But he caught a hint of her autumn flower smell and couldn't drop the blow. He saw her in his mind, dancing naked under the autumn sun as red and gold leaves fluttered down around her.

  Only the wind and the crackling fire disturbed the silence of the night. The scarecrows remained as still as the witch, but Chuggie kept a wary eye on them as he rushed to Olin and gathered him up in his arms.

  "Say somethin', boss!" Chuggie shook the boy, but he got no response. "We're gettin' you outta here, kiddo."

  Chuggie, with Olin in his arms, rushed away from the witch and her horde. If he could get back to his goat, he could get Olin to safety. He didn't get far before he heard Shola groaning behind him. He should've killed her. He'd hoped she'd be unconscious until well after they'd made their escape.

  "Kill them!" Shola's lunatic voice rang out again at full force.

  Dashing through the dark, Chuggie felt Olin squirming against his chest.

  "No," the boy screamed.

  "It's alright. It's me, Chuggie."

  "Noooo!" shouted Olin.

  "What's the matter with you, kid? I'm tryin' to get you out of here."

  "You…," said Olin. "You brung me here. You brung me to this place."

  "I didn't know, I swear," said Chuggie, struggling to keep hold of the boy.

  Olin's response was only to scream and try even harder to kick free.

  With dagger-sight, Chuggie perceived Olin's heart beating heavy and fast. The boy's mouth foamed, and his eyes rolled around like a wounded warhorse. He breathed short, rapid breaths, each a desperate gasp. Olin was in shock, and Chuggie could offer no comfort.

  Chuggie understood that if he held onto Olin much longer, the boy would likely die in his arms. He might swallow his tongue or hyperventilate. His heart could simply give out. In any case, Chuggie had to let him go.

  He let the boy stand on his own and took a step back. It pained him greatly to do so, but he told Olin, "Run!"

  Olin took a nervous step backward. A flurry of leaves swirled around him.

  Chuggie pointed south, saying, "Run that way, and don't look back! You understand me? You have to get away from here!"

  Olin took three more backward steps. He pulled his old torturgy mask from inside his jacket and clutched it to his chest.

  "Run, damn you!" Chuggie hollered, stomping a foot at the boy.

  Olin jumped at the scolding, turned, and dashed off into the dark. As he ran, he pulled the mask over his head once more.

  Chuggie fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face, joining the blood trickling from his mouth. Rage and despair bubbled in his guts like lava.

  The scarecrows stampeded toward him, driven by the furious shrieks of the witch. Chuggie readied his anchor, swinging it overhead in broad
circles. One scarecrow raced past him, hot on Olin's trail. Chuggie blasted it in the back with the anchor, and it exploded into splinters.

  Another tackled him, but Chuggie rolled through the attack. He chopped it to pieces and swung the anchor through two others. The scarecrow mob seemed to forget about Olin as they chased Chuggie through Shola's garden.

  The goat, still tied where he left it, panicked at the sight of the oncoming horde. It bucked and jerked against its harness, kicking at the air.

  Shola's unintelligible wails cut through the howl of the wind. Chuggie ran to the goat. It struck out at his head with its front hooves and tried to ram him. He caught it by a horn and held tight, but it yanked away, nearly pulling his shoulder out of the socket.

  The Bleeding Jaws of Glughu fell to the dirt.

  As the goat tugged him this way and that, the old drunkenness spilled into his mind. The goat tossed him, and he toppled hard to the ground.

  He tried to shake away the dizziness while his eyes fought to focus. He saw the whitish blur of his dagger and lunged for it.

  No sooner did he get a hand on it, than a team of scarecrows piled on his back. Their hands of sticks and straw clawed at him. Some used their plank arms to batter him. He pushed and shoved them away even as he strained to draw what moisture they possessed.

  They tore gashes in his chest and ripped his clothes as bits of pumpkin and gourd mashed into his face. They weren't living things… maybe they didn't have enough water to make a difference. Before he finished the thought, he noticed the mob on him had grown lighter. He snapped off an arm, then a leg. They grew lighter and more brittle, until the whole bunch of them crumbled on top of Chuggie. He grunted and rolled to his feet.

  Shola cackled as she rode into the yard on a strange and twisted scarecrow. Instead of a head, it had a seat. Its legs were reinforced, and its arms were long enough to reach the ground. On either side of her, scarecrows of the more traditional variety carried torches.

  "Now you!" Chuggie He held his hands out toward Shola and pulled at her moisture with all his might.

  She laughed. "Oh, my dear drunk idiot, you can't harm me. Now come and look inside my purse!"

  As she opened the purse and pointed it at him, Chuggie pulled harder. She remained unaffected.

  "That won't work on me, darling. Not anymore. I am protected from you."

  He saw it then, a webwork of invisible energy wrapping around her and spreading over her scarecrows. He sensed something of himself in the web. A deep moan escaped from him as he realized what it was: somehow, the witch had transformed his love for her into a barrier against him. Had the goat-face purse helped make that possible?

  She continued pointing the open purse at him. "I'm going to Stagwater, Chuggie. If you don't join me now, you die here." The torch light flickered across her wrinkled, skeletal face. Her eyes glinted madly as they reflected the light of the flames.

  "Come on, goat. It's time to go back to town." Chuggie turned toward his goat. The goat wouldn't be making the journey back to Stagwater. During his wrestling match, he hadn't only sucked the scarecrows dry. The goat had mummified. Its lips had pulled back, leaving a twisted goat-smile beneath nearly empty sockets. Its skin stretched tight over its ribs, splitting in places.

  Shola crowed hoarse laughter as Chuggie kicked the goat to pieces. He weighed his options and decided he had four.

  He could stand there and let the witch kill him. While that relieved him of responsibility, death held no appeal, and there'd be no one to warn the city.

  He could stand and try to fight her entire army with the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu and his boat anchor. That scenario seemed closely related to the first, and it would probably end the same way.

  He could fight his way through them and go after Olin. But being near Chuggie would kill Olin faster than the wilderness would. Leaving the boy alone gave him the best chance of survival.

  The fourth and best option was to get to Stagwater before she did. The Steel Jacks and city guard could repel her attack. Innocents could be saved. They had to be warned. Chuggie looped the chain around his chest and picked up the goat's dried head.

  The scarecrows formed an ever-growing crescent around him as Shola clapped her hands with glee. She hooted, rocking back and forth atop her creation.

  He held up the goat head like an offering. "You ever see those guys who wear animal skulls like helmets? Never made any sense to me. If you try to make one o' your own you find out there's all kinds o' pointy bone projections inside, an' the brainpan ain't shaped at all like a man's head. By the time you get it whittled down so it'll fit, it's too thin to give any protection." Chuggie narrowed his eyes at Shola.

  "If only I had time to nail you to my tree. I can only imagine what your torturgy would unlock!" Shola screeched. "Lucky for you, I have an appointment in town. Midnight has power!"

  "Then I'll see you there, you mother of whores!" Chuggie heaved the goat head at her. He didn't expect the projectile to pass through her web of protection, but it did. The skull smashed into her with the force of a puff cannon pellet. Her arm shattered with the impact, and she fell to the ground screaming. Chuggie spun and raced north, fast and alert thanks to his dagger.

  "Open the cave! Gather your brothers! Bring all of my children!" Shola's shrieks filled the night.

  Wind wailed through the trees as the downpour began. Flashes of lightning occasionally lit Chuggie's way, but he needed no light. The Bleeding Jaws of Glughu showed him all he needed to see.

  Thunder boomed like whole damn sky was collapsing.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Fey Voletta sat on top of a cabinet in the Steel Jacks' workshop, hidden among the shadows.

  "Please, relax, Mr. Haste. We have no intention of killing you. Now stop struggling. You're going to damage yourself." Non loomed over Haste, as did several other Steel Jacks.

  Haste wheezed and snorted like a hog. He coughed violently as a Steel Jack removed his gag.

  "This is illegal!" he shouted. "I command you to stand down and release me!"

  Non leaned down close. "You have no authority over us. Law does not exist in Stagwater. We Steel Jacks are leaving."

  Haste's voice cracked, "Then leave! We don't need you. We never did!"

  "I am afraid that is not true. There are forces that wish to attack this city. We could have protected the people here, and we tried to do so. Norchug Mot Losiat, the man you tried to have killed, is a powerful creature indeed. We sought to enlist him with the Steel Jacks. With his help, protecting Stagwater would have been easy. You and your people interfered, however, and now our man is gone." Non scraped a metal finger on the anvil next to Haste's ear. Haste winced.

  "You should have told us what you knew!" Haste quivered as if fear and anger overwhelmed him. "Made us aware of your plans."

  "No!" Non boomed. "You have known all, yet you chose to seek greater power. You never acted in service to this city."

  "It's Kale, isn't it?" said Haste. "He's been plotting against me for years, but I've known all along. Tell your new master Kale that —."

  "Kale is dead," Non said. "Killed in the forest by Mr. Mot Losiat. I assure you, no one is pulling Steel Jack strings in Stagwater."

  "My conjury protects Stagwater!" Haste shrieked. "My influence keeps this city from chaos! Without me, Stagwater will be a helpless child in the wilderness!"

  Non forced the gag into Haste's mouth once more.

  Haste resumed squirming and squealing.

  "I am not sure how much you really know of the Steel Jacks," said Non. His buzzing voice took a friendly tone. "You see, we have advanced technological knowledge. Sometimes we share that knowledge with mankind. Among our abilities is flesh-craft. The torturgy you use stems from our flesh-crafting techniques. But you humans are so backward. You find one way to use a tool, and you assume that is the only way that tool may be used. It is amusing and sad at the same time."

  The Steel Jacks surrounded Haste in a tight circle. The lights went do
wn, leaving only the glow of Steel Jack eyes.

  Fey Voletta leapt silently to the floor and crept over to get a better view.

  Non's eyes flickered brighter as he spoke. "Tonight you'll receive an advanced tutorial in Steel Jack flesh-craft. I hope the honor is not lost on you."

  Haste's pig noises reached a comical crescendo.

  "Oh, do not fear. You will be very much alive when we are through. You will be alive and free to live out the rest of your life however you see fit."

  The Steel Jacks began their frenzied surgery upon Haste in near silence. His wheezing and grunting was punctuated by the sound of metal tools clinking against porcelain. The smell of human waste and blood filled the room as the light of Steel Jack eyes shone down on Haste's quaking flesh.

  Fey Voletta covered her nose with her robe as she watched in giddy delight.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The creature that had been Dawes trudged through the darkness, a willing scout for his dark god. His re-creator had made him into a creature of grotesque beauty, and he had no more use for a name. Desecrated was the only name he needed.

  The little ones scurried about him as he pushed through the branches and brambles. Their devotion to the Gooch deserved bloody rewards.

  The man-city wasn't far now. A few short miles. All that waiting flesh.

  With a choked whisper, he spoke his prayer, "In death, I serve the Gooch."

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Midway through Haste's time on the table, Fey Voletta grew bored.

  "Non?" she asked. "Do you need me down here?"

  The leader of the Steel Jacks issued a vibratory chuckle. "Do you have other business to attend to?"

  "I don't know…" she smiled a coy smile. "Perhaps."

  "Please, kitten, do not let us keep you from your rats." Non shooed her away like a child. "We will summon you when we are ready for departure."

  Her heart sang as she bounded off. She felt free and joyous, lighter than air. When she stepped out onto the street, she felt like singing. Even the chill wind could have been summer's own breath as it whipped her robe around.