by M. T. Miller
The Nameless observed the landscape. Around this growth the lay of the land was chaotic. Hills were taller and more numerous, the crevices deeper and darker. It was as if the vines themselves had cut into the area a long time ago, then retreated back around the green flame.
“I do not see any beasts,” he said.
From the way Divine looked around, he could tell that she was thinking the same thing. “Yeah, this isn’t right. The place should be crawling with them.”
“Could it be possible that Contrast exterminated them?” the Nameless asked. “Or at the very least drove them out?”
“It is,” Divine nodded. “Game has become more plentiful out where I live. I never considered why.”
“Still, that seems unlikely,” the Nameless said. “Those things are vicious. One man, no matter how well-armed, would still have great difficulty.”
“Have a better explanation?”
“No,” the Nameless said, “so let us proceed. The sooner we get going, the sooner we will get some answers.”
Divine rose. “In about five minutes, we should be in further than I ever was.”
“And?”
“Just wanted to let you know,” she said. “My usefulness ends right about here.”
Is she provoking me? The Nameless pulled out the knife. He reasoned that it would be more useful than the bow once they reached either the crevices or more unstable ground. “Move.”
Divine proceeded downhill, her expression a mystery. Something was on her mind, but there was no way to know what.
Is she facing her own stupidity? Thinking of a way to attack me again? Both? The Nameless followed in her footsteps, ready for anything she or anyone else might try to pull.
It took a couple of hilltops for things to get strange. The ground turned blacker and flaked beneath their feet. Monsters’ bones started to appear, chaotically at first, then more structured and prominent. Tied together into various shapes and either hung or drilled into the surfaces, these effigies sent a clear message: they were entering someone’s territory.
“I see he was busy,” the Nameless said.
Divine remained quiet, but kept turning around at every clearing or crevice intersection.
The bones were a constant, but their arrangement wasn’t. Sometimes they were formed into a bunch of chaotic messes. Then, they were covered in beast-skins and tightened up into people-like shapes. The Nameless didn’t know what purpose the latter ones served. Several hide-shrouded shelters lay cobbled in dead ends they passed by, some completed, others abandoned or torn down.
The Nameless inspected every single one, but didn’t find a soul inside. As things seemed, he and Divine were alone.
The illusion didn’t last. Just as they were about a hundred yards from the brambles, something sharp cut the air from above. The Nameless reacted instantly, leaping back and managing to keep his footing. Divine did the same, albeit in a different direction. The rock between them split, cracking loudly as a six-foot bone spear embedded itself into it.
Above. The Nameless prepared to look up, but didn’t have to. Contrast had already leapt down and touched the ground some ten feet away.
His body was as black as coal, completely covered in the beasts’ blood. Disregarding his lips and eyes, his face was chalk-white. Several strips of ragged leather covered his feet, elbows and knees, caked in black muck. On his back was a small collection of spears, some designed for piercing, while others had extended points made for cutting.
Contrast’s abyss-like eyes focused on the Nameless. There was an intelligence there, but nothing resembling sanity. He reached back without turning and grabbed a cutting spear in each hand. The Nameless stepped back, took the one that had missed him, and pulled it out of the ground with a series of crunching sounds. He took a quick glance toward Divine, but to his disappointment noticed that she was nowhere in sight.
At least she isn’t working to my detriment. Or is she? he though as he turned his attention to the matter at hand. He didn’t know what Contrast was capable of now. If the woman presented a threat, he would deal with it when the time came.
Opening his mouth far wider than was normal for a human being, Contrast unleashed an ear-piercing shriek before he leapt forward. The Nameless stepped back, bracing his spear against the ground and aiming for the man’s heart.
Contrast swung twice before touching the ground. One of his weapons dug into the Nameless’ body, hitting his collarbone and shattering it. The other one cut the tip of the Nameless’ spear, sending it off its mark. The Nameless gritted his teeth from the pain as he forced his now-dull weapon to dig into his opponent’s stomach. He immediately started tugging his spear right and left, hoping to make a mess of the man’s innards.
Contrast growled, his ammonia-scented breath practically burning the Nameless’ face. He leapt backward, bone cutting deeper into bone. He had tried to stab his opponent with his other weapon as he retreated, but the Nameless interposed what was left of his own spear. Had they collided, the force of impact would have spilled Contrast’s guts out through his side.
The Nameless flicked his broken spear to the side with his good arm, spilling more black blood onto the rocks. Seemingly unfazed by his own injury, Contrast prepped to attack again.
What do I do? The Nameless weighed his options as he focused on his opponent’s contracting legs. Within moments, he would pounce. The Nameless chose to beat him to it.
Preparing himself for the inevitable pain this would cause, the Nameless exploded forward. Not expecting this, Contrast tried bringing his blades close enough for an intercept but failed. The Nameless smashed into him at full force, taking him off his feet and causing both men to plummet to the ground. First from the initial contact, then from the collapse, Contrast’s intestines burst forth from his wound, spraying them both with a shower of black ink.
The Nameless growled from the pain in his collarbone, but nevertheless forced his left arm to work. He raised himself into a crouch, grabbed Contrast’s guts firmly, and leapt away. Another nauseating scream escaped the man’s blackened lips as his entrails left his body. The Nameless felt some resistance, but kept pulling once he was up. A series of thumps kept resonating from behind him, followed by shrieks.
He kept pulling and walking away, grabbing more and more. He swayed his body left, then right, then left again. The shrieks turned into growls. The growls became mewls. The Nameless encountered more resistance, followed closely with intensifying pain in his shoulder.
This is it. Spreading his strength around his body, he steadied himself, and pulled once more.
Other than wet thumps, Contrast didn’t make a sound.
The Nameless didn’t turn around. He knew that the man was dead. The invisible, warm mist that flowed into him was all the proof he needed. Soon his bones would reweave, he would find Divine, and they would be on their way.
But where? Did it matter? He would work it out. An exit had to exist. And even if it didn’t, there was a cloud of what he presumed to be magic at the center of the growth. With time and meditation, he might learn a way to use it.
Lost in his thoughts and dull from the fight, the Nameless almost didn’t hear the encroaching footsteps. By the time he reacted, a blade had nearly taken his head off.
I can’t believe it! The Nameless ducked underneath the swing, turning toward the aggressor. He didn’t need to guess who it was.
As if she knew what he would do, Divine’s knee flew toward his face. The Nameless noted the makeshift brace on that leg, and chose to punish her betrayal severely. His forearm collided with it, using both of their momentums to make the strike as potent as possible. Bones shattered, his and hers alike, and he took her knee to the face in full knowledge that she was done.
Head spinning, the Nameless managed to get his bearings straight just in time to see her stumble and fall alongside him, her gelatinous leg unable to support her weight. Still holding one of Contrast’s blade-spears, she attempted an awkward sideways swin
g, but he grabbed the weapon by the shaft.
“You little shit!” he shouted as the strength returned to his limbs and he began to overpower her. He rolled his body over hers, pressing the dull, long grip of her weapon against her neck as he sat on her chest.
“You ruined my life!” she shouted, tears rolling down both sides of her face. “Why won’t you die like the rest?”
The Nameless’ lips tightened. This was absurd. And if I let her live, it will keep getting more and more insane. He kept pressing down, and he did it slowly. There was no despair in Divine’s eyes, no soul-searing revelation of learning that she was to die. Nothing was there but fury, and a persistent desire that the tables were turned.
The sound of a loud shambling came from his right. Still pressing down, he turned toward it slowly, ready to crush the woman’s windpipe at a moment’s notice.
What the…? The thorny vines, close enough for him to see, were opening up. More and more, and faster and faster the growth separated, revealing a winding path up yet another tall hill. However, unlike the ones he had seen before, this one ended in a cloud of green.
His eyes drifted back to Divine. Did this happen because he was a god? Was this place telling him that it was pleased with his work? And if so, would it further reward her death, or punish it? Was he willing to take that chance? The only question he knew the answer to was the last one, and it was negative.
“Suffer, Divine,” he said as he released his pressure and rose, leaving her to fight for breath. “Learn to like this place, because from what I can see, you will be here a long, long time.”
The Nameless put the spear over his good shoulder and moved his other arm around to make sure it was healed. After looking at Divine for one last time, he turned away from her and set course toward the path.
She didn’t beg for mercy, at least from what he could hear.
***
The vines started to close as soon as he stepped on the path. With each additional step, the growth covered more and more road behind the Nameless, leaving him with one option: forward. In that way, this place was just like his life.
He kept ascending, and the vines kept thickening. Thin rays of light shot up from the outside at first, and then disappeared entirely. This wasn’t a problem. The formation of burning smoke at the top more than made up for it.
“Can you fucking move it?” someone shouted from above, in the voice of an elderly-yet-spry black man.
The Nameless did just the opposite, freezing in place. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the voice unnerved him deeply. It was just like the black priests, but far, far worse. This time, he couldn’t reassure himself that the fear was groundless.
“Who are you?” he shouted back.
“Shitty-mannered, aren’t we?” the voice said back. “If someone invades your home, do you tell them your name first?”
“I have no name.”
“Of course you don’t,” the voice said. “You’re Nameless, and I’m the fucking reason for that! Now come up here so you can bitch and moan to me about how bad your life is!”
The Nameless clenched both fists. His eyes widened and his heart rate accelerated. Could this be it? The reasons behind his death, rebirth, and lack of memory? Hillaire had promised answers. Anything the Nameless could get, he would latch on to. For a moment, he found it hard to keep moving. He knew why; he feared this knowledge as much as he yearned for it.
He forced himself to take another step up, then another. The following ones didn’t come any easier, but he forced himself into taking them regardless.
Once he got to the top, he wondered if he was on Rush’s drugs again. A small mansion was before him, but this wasn’t the strange part; it was the fact that its walls and roof were engulfed in green fire that extended up toward the sky. And to top it all off, near its open door stood a black-suited figure that was too thin to be anything but a walking skeleton.
“Are you moving this thing by some voodoo?” the Nameless asked. “I thought we were going to have a personal conversation.”
The skeleton disappeared, only to reappear just in front of his face. Its eyes were empty sockets, yet somehow, in their center they burned with a pair of sickly green embers. Just in case, the Nameless prepared for an attack that never came.
“You’re in my domain, Nameless,” the skeleton said without any real emotion. “I suggest you show some fucking respect.”
“So this is the real you, then,” the Nameless said. “Apologies. I have made a mistake.”
“Damn right you did!” the skeleton said. “I know I fucked you up, but didn’t expect you to turn out this stupid. I’m gonna have to control myself in the future. If there is one, anyway.”
The Nameless forced himself to relax somewhat. “I take it you are this Baron Samedi?”
“I’d like to say ‘in the flesh,’ but, you know…” the skeleton said, showing a hint of amusement.
“It is an honor,” the Nameless said. “I assume you were the one who commanded the vines to separate. I also assume that you did this because you wanted us to speak.”
“Ah, so I left a brain cell or two,” the Baron said. “That’s good. I can work with that.” He stepped aside, pointing his bony hand to the mansion. “Step inside, guest. We’ve got a whole lot of shit to cover, and I need me some rum to be able to go through with that.”
The Nameless stepped forward, and so did the Baron. Somehow, the burning house didn’t emit any heat, and this extended into its hallways. The Baron led the Nameless into a guest room of sorts, which significantly resembled of the one in Hillaire’s house. Either the style was similar or the Supreme Houngan was honoring his master.
“Sit wherever you like.” The Baron pointed to the five chairs that surrounded a small, round table. On it was a bucket of ice that contained a dark bottle, some five glasses, a pack of cigars, and an ashtray.
The Nameless took the closest seat.
The Baron sat opposite. “I take it you’re impatient so I’ll start this with a bang,” he said as he poured them a glass. “Yes, it was I who messed you up back in the day. This memory thing you have? The time you’ve lost? My doing, all of it.”
“Why?” the Nameless asked, his tone more that of caution than anger.
“Hmmm, let’s see…” the Baron stared out the window and into the fire. “Maybe because you were fucking nuts? That enough of a reason? How about because you were out to put my worshippers in shackles and forbid them from worshipping me? How does that sound?”
The Nameless considered taking a sip, but chose to delay it for now. He’d had enough trickery, even potential trickery. “Go on.”
“We were enemies. Plain and simple. This continent was going crazy, and you were the nuttiest of the whole stinking lot! So I did what I could, gathered what magic I had left…”
The Baron took a cigar, held it up to his face, and lit it with a green spark that flicked out of his wrist. “And I destroyed you! No, I didn’t kill you. I didn’t burn your body to dust. I completely extinguished your life, killing you on a conceptual level. You were as dead as one could be.”
“Yet somehow I am alive now, only with no memories?”
“I didn’t intend you to return to life, this year or any other, with or without any memories!” the Baron said, taking a whiff. “I wanted old Gerovit dead, and dead he was!”
The Nameless raised an eyebrow. “Gerovit?”
“Your old name,” the Baron said. “Though I don’t see why you’d want it back. You were a shitty god, Nameless. A shitty god of a nutty people, though I can’t say mine are much better. Humans are crazy, and that’s that. Too bad they’re so necessary, right?”
Gerovit. The Nameless had never heard of it before, but the name definitely resonated. “Where do… where did I hail from? What was I doing here? If you have destroyed me so completely, then how did I return?”
“You came from the old world. No idea which part; it’s not like we got a chance to
talk that much. What little I could learn was that you were a war god who couldn’t be killed. As for what you were doing here… what was everyone else doing here? America was a new continent, and we were all out to conquer it. You and I rank among the many who failed; you for dying, me for draining myself too much by killing you.
“How did you return, you ask? That, Nameless, would’ve made me lose a lot of sleep. If I needed to sleep, of course. But after taking a good, long look after Hillaire sent you here as my sacrifice, my doubts have been put to rest. Just like you back in the day. Heheh.”
“And?”
The Baron emptied a glass into his mouth, which somehow made it disappear. He poured another. “You’re no longer alive. Not in divine terms. In fact, it is your body that rose from the dead, just like it had so many times before. Over the course of almost two centuries, this empty fucking shell rewove itself from nothing, and clawed its way out of the grave.”
The Nameless’ gaze darkened. “I am not an empty shell, Baron. I have a lot of skills and knowledge, and I even had some values back when I rose. The urge to help the needy, it was with me from day one. Your assumption does not fit the facts.”
“It fits as snugly as I fit into the women Hillaire sends me,” the Baron said. “Where are the memories stored, Nameless?”
“The brain.”
“Exactly.” The Baron took another whiff. “And the brain is an organ. A part of the body. A necessary part, mind you, one a body needs to be able to function.”
“I still do not follow.”
“Your body recovers from injury, you imbecile!” the Baron shouted. He emptied another glass and refilled it. “Told you I’m gonna need another. I destroyed you! There was almost nothing left! Then, your body starts to rebuild itself, and the brain is something it needs. So it remakes it, and does it so it’s identical to the way it was before… except for the parts that were Gerovit!
“Your skills, your values, everything you knew, these weren’t things you came into being with as a god, Nameless. You’ve picked them up along the way, and engraved them into your brain along with what you started out with. And once what you were was no more, your body had you rebuilt to the best of its ability. Only you’re not a god anymore. You’re a reanimated body of one!”
