“I,” the wise, old elf said, “am Optar, the tribal advisor to Chief Megon.”
“Hooray for you,” Vincent said. “Will you let me down now?”
“No,” Optar said. “We have need of a human agent, someone to interact with your world in ways that we cannot. You shall be that agent.”
“What if I say no?” Vincent said, though he suspected he had very little choice in the matter.
“To ensure your compliance,” Optar said, “we shall administer an obyon.”
“A what?” Vincent asked. He could see that something sat in the palm of Optar’s hand. He couldn’t see what it was, but there was definitely something there.
“An obyon,” Grimbowl said, “is a magical creature that we put inside your body.”
“It monitors your thoughts,” Optar said, “and corrects you if you disobey us.”
“Corrects me?” Vincent said.
“Remember when I kicked your leg?” Grimbowl said. “This is worse. A lot worse.”
“With an obyon in your body, you cannot defy or betray us,” Optar said, walking forward and extending the something toward Vincent’s face. “Hold still, it won’t hurt going in.”
“No way!” Vincent said, swinging himself away from the elves. “You’re not sticking anything in me.”
“It’s either this,” Grimbowl said, “or we leave you here until you die.”
Vincent stopped struggling. This was a bad situation, and it was only going to get worse. However, if he didn’t let them do this, he most certainly would not make it home before his family did.
“Okay, get it over with,” he said, closing his eyes and waiting.
Vincent felt something attach to his cheek, then crawl over to his nose.
“It’s a bug?” he asked as it entered his left nostril.
“A ladybug,” Optar said, “treated to our magical specifications. Any insect can be used to create an obyon.”
“Except roaches,” Grimbowl said. “They lay their eggs up there, and then you get bugs crawling out of your nose all the time.”
Vincent thought he was going to be sick. The obyon climbed up his nasal passage, and settled itself far at the back.
“Why don’t we test it?” Optar suggested. “Give the lad a taste of what he’s in for if he disobeys us.”
“That’s okay!” Vincent said. “Really.”
“No, it’s a good idea,” Grimbowl said. “Go ahead, Vincent. Do something disobedient.”
“This really isn’t necessary … ”
“Yes it is, Vincent,” Grimbowl said. “I order you to disobey me.”
“No!” Vincent replied. “I won’t … aaagh!”
The pain was like a red-hot poker exploding behind his eyes. Vincent had never in his life felt so much agony, and he had no desire to feel it again. Not that he’d desired it the first time.
“That was a laugh,” Grimbowl said.
“No it was not,” Vincent replied, redoubling his efforts to break free. “I did my part; I let you stick that thing in me. Now let me go!”
“I order you not to struggle,” Optar said, and Vincent stopped instantly.
“Fast learner,” Grimbowl said. “Hey kid, I order you to struggle.”
“What?” Vincent cried. Then, “Ow!” when he didn’t immediately obey. He struggled, hoping the pain would stop, but it did not. The elves had given him conflicting orders; he couldn’t possibly comply with them both.
“I order you to stretch your arms out!” Optar said.
“I order you to do jumping jacks!” Grimbowl added.
“I order you to do the waltz! With me!”
Vincent tossed back and forth, screaming himself hoarse, wishing he were dead. The two elves continued to toss conflicting or impossible orders at him, and he thought his head would explode.
“That’s enough.”
The voice was deep and full of authority. Vincent looked in its direction, and saw an elf on the branch below him.
“Hello, Vincent,” the new elf said. “I am Chief Megon. I see that my fellow elves have successfully inserted an obyon into your nasal cavities. Do you understand what we want from you?”
“Yeah,” Vincent replied, the pain in his head waning. “You want me to be your slave.”
“I would prefer to think of you as an ally,” Chief Megon said. “Albeit one who cannot be otherwise.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Vincent asked.
“Grimbowl will contact you when we require your services,” Megon said. “Optar, release him.”
“Yes, chief,” Optar said, and he uttered some words that Vincent couldn’t understand.
Then, the grass ropes binding Vincent suddenly lost their magic. Devoid of their strength, they could no longer hold Vincent’s weight. With several snaps they gave, and Vincent plummeted to the ground below.
“Don’t hit the ground!” Grimbowl called after him.
Vincent Drear staggered home as fast as he could. One hand clutched at his head, the other at his sore rump.
Vincent supposed he should have considered himself lucky. He could have easily broken his neck after his headfirst fall from the elves’ tree. Instead, he’d dropped down into a hedge, then fell from that to a harsh landing on his bum. Then, because he hit the ground against Grimbowl’s wishes, the obyon up his nose had launched another massive dose of pain.
When he’d been able, Vincent had picked himself up and hobbled in the direction of home. The elves’ laughter followed him, and Vincent resisted the urge to throw a rock at their tree. Who knew how much pain he’d have to endure if he did that.
His number-one priority was to get home before his family, if that was still possible. Vincent walked as fast as he could, unable to run because of his sore bum.
While he walked, Vincent had time to consider the implications of what had been done to him. He had a magical bug living inside his nose, put there by a race Chanteuse had described as mischievous. As long as that bug was up there, the elves could make him do whatever they wanted.
What if they asked him to gnaw off his arms? Or told him to kill someone? He was totally under their control for as long as the obyon lived.
How long did obyons live? And what (gulp) did they eat?
“Steady on, Vincent,” he told himself as he hobbled. “There has to be a way out of this. Think!”
He thought. And while he did so, he followed the bike path out of the park and turned left. Now he only had a few blocks to go before he was safe and sound.
“I could blow it out!” Vincent thought, and he dug around in his pocket for a tissue. He had none, so he pulled up his shirt bottom and tried that.
Several blows later, he realized it was hopeless. The obyon was anchored too tightly to simply be blown out.
“Wait a minute,” Vincent snapped his fingers. “It’s an insect, right? I could squirt some bug spray up my nose!”
He walked a few more meters feeling very happy before he remembered that bug spray was poisonous.
“Darn!” he said, his spirits dropping again. It was a moot point, anyway; his parents believed in the sanctity of all life, and so there wasn’t any bug spray in the house.
“If I just took a small dose,” he wondered aloud. “I could go over to Big Tom’s place and use some there. I know they have some … ”
Big Tom’s home was practically an insect hive. Every time Vincent went over, he spent a good deal of his time helping the family spray roaches. They had boxes of big, black cans in their basement, each with large and foreboding symbols on the front. Breathing the stuff in was not recommended.
“Too big a risk,” he said as he turned the corner onto his street. “There must be something else I can do. Maybe if I stuck something up my nose … ”
“Who’s he talking to?”
“Himself, I think.”
Vincent couldn’t say for sure if he’d really heard the voices or not. They’d been so faint, just on the edge of his hearing. He looked up and saw the sign for his street above him, with two tiny people sitting upon it.
“What gives?” he said. “All of a sudden, there are weird critters everywhere!”
The two tiny people stood up, and golden wings unfolded behind their backs.
“He sees us!” one of them said.
“No, I didn’t!” Vincent said hastily, backing away quickly. “No need to stick a bug up my nose. I’m leaving!”
With that, he turned and ran. Fast.
• • •
Vincent had already slammed the front door behind him when he remembered he was supposed to be quiet. It had been his intention to sneak back into the house and re-seal himself in the chapel, just on the off chance his parents hadn’t checked up on him when they’d arrived home.
And they were home. In his flight from the tiny winged people, Vincent had nevertheless noticed the car was back in the driveway. If he was lucky, they might have gone straight to bed. If he was unlucky …
Vincent heard a commotion upstairs in his parents’ bedroom. They were coming to investigate! Vincent moved quickly, ignoring his pained bottom as he hurried to the basement. They were in their room, so they probably didn’t know he’d been out. If they did know, he reasoned, they would have stayed up and waited for him to come home. If he could get to the chapel before he was seen, he might just get away with it yet.
Vincent hopped off the last stair and made for the still-ajar chapel doors. Upstairs, he could hear his father’s footsteps coming down the stairs to the front door. Would he check the basement? Let’s not wait around to find out, Vincent told himself as he carefully opened the chapel door and slipped inside. Using extra care, Vincent set the door back on its hinge and backed away.
“Whew,” he whispered, sitting back down on the cold concrete floor.
He’d made it. Through pure good fortune, and perhaps a bit of divine help, Vincent had managed to escape his parents’ wrath. They hadn’t checked the basement when they’d gotten home, and if they did now they would find nothing out of the ordinary.
He was home free.
Suddenly, a bright light blazed into his eyes. Blinded, Vincent held a hand in front of his face. Through his fingers, he could just make out the form of his brother Max sitting before him, holding a flashlight. Max’s face was cold and hard, and full of Righteousness.
“You are in very big trouble,” Max said.
“Oh, no,” Vincent said, although “oh no” didn’t really cover it. All his brother had to do was yell, and their father would hear and come to investigate.
“You were told to remain here until morning,” Max said, “as Penance for your lack of Faith today. Instead you escaped, and were up to Triumvirate knows what!”
“Shh!” Vincent hissed, his mind racing. What could he possibly say to keep his brother quiet?
“Honor thy father and mother!” Max raged at him.
“Shh!” Vincent repeated. “What are you doing here?”
“I was waiting for you to return,” Max said, “so I could catch you, and see how you’d escaped. Now I know, I’ll make sure Mother and Father never let it happen again.”
“What if I told you,” Vincent said, thinking fast, “that I was on a mission for the Triumvirate?”
“I don’t believe you,” Max said. “You’re trying to save yourself from the consequences of your sin.”
“I am not!” Vincent lied, knowing full well that he was. “How do you think I got out of here?” He calmed himself, desperate to keep his voice down. “The Triumvirate told me the door was unhinged. I swear on my life!”
“Go on,” Max said, his face a fraction less severe.
He’s buying it, Vincent thought, and he went on.
“They told me to spend my penance time in Their service to make up for today,” he said, making sure to pronounce the capital “T” on “Their.” “They wanted me to go to the park and look for devil creatures.”
At that, Vincent felt a tiny pang of pain from the obyon. It was a warning; he’d been ordered not to talk about the elves.
However, nobody had said anything about those tiny winged guys. They were fair game, and were about to get him out of trouble.
“I went to the park to investigate,” Vincent went on, “and I saw a bunch of little people,” his headache increased, “with tiny wings on their backs.” The headache subsided. “When they saw me, they attacked and held me prisoner in the trees.”
“No we didn’t!”
Vincent jumped, then spun around. Hovering in the air behind him were the two little people he’d seen on the street sign. Their wings buzzed like dragonflies and glowed like lightning bugs.
“He’s telling lies about us, Clara,” the male one said to the female. “Talking about us as if we were elves!”
“How did you get in here?” Vincent asked them.
“We followed you,” Clara said.
“You nearly squashed us when you slammed that door,” the male said. “And now you’re telling lies! I ought to rip your head off right now.”
“Calm down, Nod,” Clara said. “He probably doesn’t know what we are.” She looked up at Vincent. “You haven’t seen post-Epoch beings before, have you?”
“Post what?” Vincent asked.
“Who,” Max asked, “are you talking to?”
“These guys,” Vincent said, moving out of the way so that Clara and Nod would be in full view.
“What guys?” Max said.
“Come on, they’re glowing!” Vincent said, waving a hand at the tiny creatures. “You must see something.”
“I don’t see … anything,” Max said, but his eyes told a different story. He saw something, all right. He just didn’t know what to make of it. Vincent knew that Max, like his parents, believed in supernatural creatures. For a Triumvirite, it was something of a prerequisite. There were angels above and demons below; what would his mind end up deciding?
“All I see is your sin,” Max said, blinking and shaking his head. Clearly, he’d chosen to see nothing.
“Max ... ” Vincent began, while Nod and Clara sighed.
“You are making up stories about demonic creatures,” Max went on, “and daring to suggest that the Triumvirate sent you on a quest. You really think I’d believe you?”
“It was a long shot,” Vincent said.
“We don’t have time for this guy,” Nod said, and he flew at Max at high speed.
“Stop!” Vincent cried, lunging after him. His brother wasn’t his favorite person, but he didn’t want Max hurt.
“Hey!” said Nod as Vincent grabbed hold of his tiny legs.
“Woah!” said Vincent as the little man dragged him forward.
“What are you doing?” Max asked, his face awash in puzzlement.
“Let go of him!” Clara said. She flew above Vincent, then drove both her feet down into his back.
“Oof!” Vincent said as the wind was clobbered from his lungs.
“Woah!” cried Nod as Vincent’s hands suddenly released him, and he sped out of control into Max’s chest.
“Yunnng!” cried Max as he and Nod flew backward into the altar behind him, knocking it over with a loud crash.
“Nod!” Clara cried, leaping off of Vincent and flying after her companion.
“Oww … ” Vincent moaned, lying in a crumpled heap. He hurt all over, and didn’t want to move ever again. He’d been through enough today, and he prayed it wouldn’t get any worse.
“What is going on in here?” said Vincent’s father, throwing open the chapel door.
“Oh no,” Vincent muttered.
Things had just gotten worse.
“What on God’s green pastures?” Vincent’s father said, staring around the chapel. Light from the basement illuminated the scene of chaos before him, but all his attention was focused on the two tiny winged people.
He sees them, Vincent realized.
“Back, foul beasts of the Devil!” Mr. Drear roared, grabbing the cross around his neck and thrusting it as far as its chain would allow. “In the name of the Triumvirate, I command you … ”
“Shut up,” Nod said, and he flew right up to Mr. Drear and biffed him on the chin.
“Stop!” Vincent cried, leaping up and catching his father as he fell. He was out cold; Vincent laid him gently down on the floor of the chapel, then rounded on the flying figure.
“Stop hitting my family!” he said, poking a finger into Nod’s chest.
“Touch me again,” Nod said dangerously, “and you’ll lose that finger, buddy.”
“Oh really?” Vincent said, and he drove his other fist into the tiny man’s entire body. Nod flew back and bounced off the wall, then spiraled down to the floor.
“Nod!” Clara cried, then she flew at Vincent. “You’ll pay, human!”
Vincent was ready for her. He spun out of Clara’s way, and when she stopped to turn back he bopped her hard on her tiny head.
“Ow!” Clara said, then she grabbed Vincent’s hand and twisted. Vincent flipped through the air, then landed upside down on his unconscious brother.
“I’ll fix you up,” Clara said, grabbing Vincent by the leg and lifting him into the air. “I hope you like the wall, because you’re going to be a part of it!”
She swung Vincent around in an arc, but when she let go something grabbed him and set him down.
“Nod!” Clara cried. “What are you doing?”
“I kinda like this kid,” Nod said, landing in front of Vincent. “He’s tough, stands up for himself. Gotta respect that. Plus, he can see us.” Nod turned and looked up at Vincent. “People like you are in short supply, kid. Sorry about your family. No hard feelings?”
Vincent had some very hard feelings, but didn’t think he should push his luck. It had been stupid to pick a fight with these creatures, and the last thing he needed were more fantastical enemies.
Epoch Page 4
