Keeping Up with the Deadlanders

by J.R. Rodriguez

EPISODE FOUR:

  DEAD LIGHT

  Famine stepped out of the family mausoleum and examined the mist-enshrouded cemetery with narrowed eyes. A small cluster of bats flew from the branches of a twisted dead tree nearest the building and disappeared into the night. His face was a mask of concern and anxiety as he wrung his narrow hands in frustration. If he had a beating heart, it would be leaping out of his chest at the moment. The full moon tried in vain to penetrate the swirling low-lying fog in the graveyard. He wished the same light would break through his veil of apprehension and make him feel better.

  Morrigan suddenly appeared behind him and tapped his shoulder. He yelped in surprise.

  “Ye Gods!” he screamed

  Morrigan giggled as she pulled the large collar of her shimmering blue dress around her face. She floated a few inches above the crumbling stone steps of the mausoleum’s entryway near him. “Not anxious, are you?” she asked mockingly.

  Famine was dressed in a long ruffled white cloak, his hair sticking out in tangles from beneath the hood. He had matching trousers and a coat to go with it. This was not his usual attire. It was too hoity-toity, but he wanted to make a good impression on Morrigan’s folks. He, The Reaper, and Llorona would be meeting them in a restaurant later in the evening. He clutched his chest, displacing and flattening the frills of the cloak. Morrigan’s jest was ignored. “Please don’t sneak up on me like that! I still scare!”

  “Sorry about that. I thought you heard me coming.”

  Famine spun around to face her with a look of confusion. “How could I hear you? You don’t make any noise! You’re a ghost!”

  Morrigan floated towards a rickety wooden cart parked on the winding mud road in front of the building. She threw up a hand dismissively and called out over her shoulder. “Stop your yapping and let’s get going. That road test isn’t going to go away, you dramatic little boy.”

  Famine sighed and joined Morrigan as they took their seats in the cart. He gave the reins a quick yank and the skeletal gray horses snorted and began their trot down the dirt path. All around them, the creatures of the evening sang their songs. All manner of chirps, whistles, groans, and screams resonated in the air. The gnarled branches of the black trees looked as if they were directing Famine towards the Registry of Otherworldly Transport (ROT).

  Morrigan patted the elegant bun into which her green hair had been pulled. She had even wrapped it in a string of pearls she borrowed from her mother. While she hated extravagance as much as Famine did, it was nice to be different from time to time. She shot a glance at her friend. His silence was unnatural and annoying. He just hummed an unfamiliar tune as he kept his gaze fixed on the road. Morrigan loudly cleared her throat in protest to his self-absorbed funk.

  “Do you need a lozenge?” Famine asked flatly.

  “No, I don’t. I just hate all this quiet. It’s weird.”

  “It’s not quiet. I can hear the forest beasts.”

  Morrigan crossed her arms across her chest and gave Famine a stern look. He didn’t notice. Might as well be talking to a wall she thought. She cast her glance back ahead and softened her tone. “That’s not what I meant, sweetie. I know you’re nervous about the night but staying quiet won’t help. Talk and get your mind off things.”

  “I wish your mother would’ve taken The Reaper up on a nice home cooked meal instead of going out to eat. I’m worried about what’ll happen at that fancy restaurant. I don’t want anything to happen between our folks that’ll ruin our friendship.”

  Morrigan uncrossed her arms and nodded. “I know,” she said seriously, “She’s obsessed with these stupid things. She said that Friday nights are when the most important monsters come out. She’d never be seen someplace where she wasn’t the most important woman in the room.”

  Famine said nothing. The cart was approaching the wall of fog that separated The Deadlands, the realm of death and all things pertaining to it, from the Borderlands, the realm of the supernatural beings. He hated going through the portal because it was cold and disorienting. It felt as if his head were swimming and his body was being pulled in a million different directions. He sullied on and drove the cart through the wall. Within a few seconds, the passing was complete and they were in a world far different than the one they had just left.

  The countryside in the Borderlands was filled with towering oaks, winding cobblestone roads, and had a lighter, drier air. Death was always so dreary and cold. The supernaturals, on the other hand, were much more upbeat and liked things more lively. A small stone wall lined each side of the road. The moon illuminated everything in a stark white light. He could see so much more and enjoy the details of the world he barely ventured into.

  Famine pointed a gloved finger towards an upcoming fork in the road. “The ROT should be a few miles beyond that point.”

  “I hope you get a good examiner. I’ve heard that some of them are real scary.”

  “That’s just talk. I’m sure they’re all good. People just like making things worse than they really are. Wouldn’t be as interesting otherwise.”

  Morrigan made a face of disgust as she thought about what might be riding in the cart very soon. If she had learned anything from the Banshee, it was to hate the ugly. She didn’t like herself for having such a nasty attitude but at least it was only one inherited attribute. “I hope it’s not some zombie! Maybe it’ll be someone handsome and nice,” she said thoughtfully.

  The thought of that brought a slight smile to Famine’s face. “We’ll have to see what happens. It’ll probably be boring.”

  “Just as long as we’re not late. My mother would be livid. The woman’s so uptight…she’s never in the mood to loosen up and have any fun.”

  The last half of her statement seemed to be a poignant afterthought in Famine’s mind. He hated that his dear new friend lived under such tight controls. True, he had been forced into exile for a long time, but at least he could be himself. Poor Morrigan had to live up to an image that she could never enjoy. “Someone should teach her then.”

  “People like her never learn anything, honey. She’s comfortable where she is and she’ll stay that way forever.”

  “Things have a weird way of changing before you know it. You never know when something unexpected will happen.”

  Morrigan shrugged. “Meh, I guess so.”

  Famine had just taken the left path at the fork and driven a few yards when the ROT appeared from behind a crop of enormous oaks. The building was a gigantic Gothic castle complete with towering spires, tiny elongated windows, gray stones, and a moat with a drawbridge. A tiny wooden booth stood at the end of the road that lead to the castle. A grumpy, ancient-looking hag with a shock of wild white hair and large crooked nose sat inside watching a small black and white television. As the cart approached, she angrily shut off the set and leaned out to speak. Her voice was stereotypically witch to the point of being offensive.

  “Tee-hee-hee! Welcome to the Borderlands Registry of Otherworldly Transportation! I’m Grizelda, how may I direct you today? Damn, I hate this job.”

  Famine gave Morrigan a perplexed look as if to say ‘did she really say that’? He took out a sheet of paper from beneath one of his ruffles. He started to hand it to Grizelda but she waved it away with a gnarled hand.

  “I don’t want to see that. What are you here for?”

  “Yeah, I’m here to take the road test. My name is…”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck who you are, kiddie. Just go in.”

  Grizelda pushed a button hidden somewhere near her television. A loud and piercing beeping noise tore apart the relatively silent night as the drawbridge lowered. Famine gave Grizelda a nervous smile, put the paper back, and picked up the reins. Morrigan leaned over and grinned at the old witch.

  “Thanks so much for your help, ma’am. You’ve been too nice!”

  Grizelda gave Morrigan a double take before she sneered and turned the television back on. Famine could hear that she was watching so
me news program about witches’ liberation and equal rights for older hags. The old thing didn’t seem the type who’d protest and wave signs but it took all kinds to make the Borderlands go around.

  Morrigan peered up at the castle’s towers with fascination. She had never seen such architecture. Her family resided in a more conservative castle. The Banshee would probably love calling this fortress home. The reason for being there suddenly pushed its way into her mind.

  “What time is your appointment?” she asked.

  Famine glanced down at his watch. “In about ten minutes. I hope we’re done quickly. The sooner we’re done here, the sooner it’ll all be over with. Maybe we can go out for some ice scream cones after.”

  Morrigan nodded in agreement as Famine parked the cart a few feet from the entrance of the ROT. Famine sighed one last time and the two went inside. The waiting room of the ROT was stark and utilitarian. It was a large rectangular shaped room with beaten-up plastic chairs, black tiled floors, and drably painted beige walls. Oil lanterns and torches lined the rough stone walls; they served as central light. There were a menagerie of monsters, demons, and spectral beings waiting their turn to be called for testing; they had blank and bored looks on their faces. Some read out-of-date magazines while others listened to music on their seventies-style headphones. Famine and Morrigan sat on a small wooden bench near the front entrance so they could get out as quickly as possible.

  “I hate these places,” said Famine, “They’re so dull and ugly.” A second later he added, “Speaking of ugly, how do I look? I’d hate to take a bad picture.

  Morrigan rummaged through a small clutch purse sitting on her lap and fished out a golden compact. She handed it to Famine with relish. “See for yourself, sweetie.”

  Famine let down the hood of his cloak, ran his fingers through his hair, and grimaced as he examined himself in the mirror. “Ugh, my hair looks awful!”

  “You have great hair! Look at mine,” Morrigan said pointing to her head. “It’s green!”

  “I guess so. Good hair must run in the family. Llorona’s is divine. I’m sure the Reaper’s would be if he had any.”

  He returned the compact to Morrigan and put the hood back up. He glanced at the front counter to see if anyone was coming their way. No one was. Everyone was still busy with their own doings. Morrigan saw Famine fidgeting with the ruffles of his sleeves and decided he needed some distracting conversation. That always got the mind off worrisome matters. He barely spoke of the times before he had come to The Deadlands. She was curious to know more and now seemed to be a good time.

  “Say, do you remember your family? I mean your real family?” she asked.

  “You mean my human family?”

  Morrigan nodded.

  “No, not really. The Reaper erased most of my memory of the time I was human. He said that it was better that I was kept in the dark about certain things. I still remember bits and pieces about the place I grew up. It was a swamp, I think. But that’s about it.” Famine answered.

  “That must be terrible, not knowing where you came from.”

  Famine said nothing for a bit; he stared out of the window at the swirling mists outside. “I do catch little glimpses of faces in dreams sometimes. They’re not really in focus and they come and go so quick that I can’t tell anything about them.”

  Morrigan moved closer to Famine. “So you do dream. You’re the first person I’ve met that says that.”

  “You don’t dream?”

  “I have these off images pop into my mind every now and then. It’s not really dreaming because I don’t sleep. I don’t need to.”

  Famine pushed Morrigan gently off him and looked into her eyes. She wasn’t like any other being he had encountered in The Deadlands. She seemed deeper and more thoughtful than the soul collectors in his existence. Plus, she knew of his other nature and liked him just the same. Telling her had taken a huge load off his mind. He had been afraid she’d act with repulsion and leave. It was a shame he was so deceitful about procuring her friendship. All those white lies he had told her those few weeks ago had seemed to work. She didn’t care what he had done, but he felt guilty about it. He wanted to know as much about her as she did about him.

  “What about you? Do you ever wonder where you came from?”

  Morrigan sat back upright and straightened out her gown. “I don’t need to wonder, honey, I’ve always been here. I’ve always known the Banshee and my father, Azazel. I assume I was created for the same reason they were.”

  “That’s sort of grim.”

  “Yeah, but that’s how things are.”

  Famine was about to speak when a tall, strong looking woman in a sleek black business suit approached them. She was extremely pale with a full but attractive face, a headful of curly fire-red hair piled high in her head, and sparkling green eyes. Her voice was sharp as she read the papers attached to the clipboard she carried. “Famine? Are you Famine?”

  Famine nodded and rose from the bench. “Yes ma’am.”

  “It’s time for the road test, kindly follow me.”

  She looked up from her clipboard to see Famine. Her eyes widened and she let out and audible gasp as she took a step back. Famine didn’t think he looked that bad. Perhaps his hair did need some work he thought. The woman’s tone became sharper. “Do I know you? You look very familiar.”

  Famine shook his head. He had never seen this lady before tonight. He didn’t like her tone but she had asked a perfectly normal question. “No, I don’t think so.”

  The woman looked unsure. She eyed Famine suspiciously before returning her attention to the papers in her hand. She had softened her tone but still sounded curt. “You look just like someone I once knew. The resemblance is uncanny. It’s a little scary.”

  “I’m sorry. I must have one of those faces.”

  The woman nodded and stepped forward. “I apologize for my reaction. Your appearance just took me by surprise. I’m Angelique; I’ll be the examiner tonight. Where is your vehicle?”

  Famine pointed towards the front of the room. “It’s right out there.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  Famine followed Angelique as she started towards the front door. Morrigan got up right behind Famine. Angelique whipped around and pointed towards her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here, young woman. It’s against the rules for anyone other than the tester to be in the vehicle.”

  Famine turned to Morrigan. “Please, can’t she come? Morrigan’s like my good luck charm, she’ll help me feel less nervous.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s strictly against policy.”

  Morrigan decided it was time to play a card to convince Angelique likewise. It was the first time she had done it but it still felt weird. “My mother, The Banshee would have a problem with that. She’s not a policy type of woman.”

  Angelique sneered and sighed. “I see. Let’s not have the Banshee upset.”

  Morrigan smiled and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you! I’ll tell her you were nice!”

  Famine gave her a puzzled look. He whispered as Angelique went out the door. “What was that about? Does she really have that much pull?”

  “Her money does.”

  Famine turned and left. Angelique followed and was making her way across the parking lot. They scrambled to catch up to the fast moving woman. As they got nearer to her, Famine pointed to the cart parked near a decrepit dusty stagecoach. “It’s there,” he said.

  “A cart? A bit old fashioned for someone your age, isn’t it?” Angelique asked.

  “It’s my uncle’s. He let me use it for the test.”

  Angelique said nothing as she hopped into the passenger seat. Famine followed suit as Morrigan took a seat on a bench in the back of the cart. He was about to take the reins when Angelique stopped him. “Before we get started you need to show me a few things on this vehicle.”

  Famine let the reigns fall as Angelique consulted her clipboard. She took out a pen and star
ted writing. “Where are the brakes?” she asked.

  Famine picked up the reigns again and motioned upwards. “I use these and give the horses a command.”

  Angelique nodded and kept writing. “Are there any lights on the vehicle?”

  “No. My uncle doesn’t need them.”

  Angelique gave Famine a skeptical gaze. “Really? There are no emergency torches or any other flame or lighting device onboard?”

  “No.”

  Angelique finished writing and pointed towards the drawbridge. “Let’s go. I want you to pull out and take the road in front of this building. Once we’re out there, take a left. Oh, Miss Morrigan, please keep quiet. You’re here as an observer. Consider it a privilege.”

  Morrigan said nothing. She motioned across her mouth as if she were zipping it. Famine nervously yanked on the reigns and drove the cart over the drawbridge. Angelique gave Grizelda a wave as they passed her to get onto the main road. Famine stopped the cart, looked both ways down the road, and began driving towards The Deadlands. He wondered if Llorona was undergoing a similar trial by fire with The Banshee.