The Wilds (Reign and Ruin 1)

by Jules Hedger

  He pushed aside the rag and felt gently at the old wood painted brightly like a circus tent in a border of shocking blues and sunshine yellows. A tearful clown looked up at him miserably from the lid of the box and Cirrus traced its face with the tip of his finger. He found the iron clasp on the side of the box and, with the help of the greasy rag, wrenched up the metal.

  The inside of the box was cracked and peeling and there was a hole in the side where a mouse has gnawed through and died. Cirrus picked up its tiny skeleton delicately. Each bone was as thin as tissue paper and the mouse's skull grinned in merriment, as if Cirrus had just said the most wonderful joke about cats at a dinner party with champagne and cheese. Cirrus couldn't help envisioning the mouse in little coat-and-tails, commenting on the horrible weather and his spacious new home in the red wooden box. Cirrus's hand jerked from fatigue and the mouse's bones dissolved into the air with a sigh.

  Further inside the box was a little toy train with a front car barely the length of one of his fingers. It was run on clockwork with wheels that actually rotated and a small chimney that sprouted steam. Cirrus picked up all its pieces and set about assembling them so that the train would run down a small line of tracks, ending at the red, wooden box. He polished it until the metal was as black as a beetle's back.

  He wound up the train and set it at the front of the tracks.

  In the house of Cirrus, night was day, day was night, and clocks ceased to tick. Time itself seemed reluctant to pass in this house of dreams gone awry. But things were changing.

  In only a little while, Cirrus thought, I will lead this nation to glory. A descendent of the Painter will join me and chase away the darkness. And I will sleep again. He breathed deeply once, but instead of the smell of cornflakes he smelled only dust and mothballs. And finally, letting go of one great breath, he pulled back the train and let it go . . .

  Chapter 7

  Drops of water fell on my nose from the canopy above. The sounds of early morning stirred the forest and as the burning sun of the Wilds shone through the trees out of the dark, the night was still ticking down slowly in the city of New York. But if time caught up with us, the new day would find a woman driving up to one of the smallest shining scrapers to fetch her daughter, only to find her whisked away to whereabouts unknown and her brother in no state to explain why. Only God knew if I'd get there in time.

  My eyes fluttered open hesitantly and blinked in the early morning sunlight. For a few moments I forgot about the night before, the glass marble, and the feel of Cirrus's lips brushing softly behind by ear. I was in my uncle's apartment and I needed to get up to clean the filth from the paint, food, and heroin. If my mother saw how her brother lived . . .

  But then I remembered everything. Like a searing jolt of electricity, the events of Marty and the Reign Walk shot through my body and I gasped violently with the surprise. My arms pushed off from the ground and I was suddenly on my feet, grasping desperately at the band around my neck and looking quickly in every direction.

  I wasn't in New York. I didn't need to look for needles.

  A wave of vulnerability coursed through me, along with a curious feeling of relief and, even more, excitement.

  It was all real.

  And if it was real, the stakes were real. The contract was real and this forest, this sunlight and these trees were real and I was set loose in it. And even more primal, somewhere else in this great expanse was Cirrus, looking for me. Hunting me. And I was hunting him.

  Just close your eyes and pick a direction . . .

  At first, walking through the forest reminded me of somewhere I would find back home: tall, regular looking trees and the smell of elm. I saw gnats hovering in clumps and in the distance I heard the tell-tale sounds of a woodpecker. I considered for a second that perhaps I had sleep-walked into Central Park and that I would eventually come across an early morning jogger or a disgruntled bag man.

  But as the sun reached higher in the sky, the hidden life of the forest revealed itself. Animals appeared out of the underbrush, creatures that had only graced the illustrations of story books.

  I watched in fascination as a hundred-legged centipede with red brush atop its head hummed melodies through its abdomen, curling up and up a tree trunk until disappearing amongst the leaves. There was a snake with such transparent skin that all its organs and veins were displayed like a lab professor's dream. A little heart was even visible pumping the blood through its journey to the head and around the body.

  It would have been hard to describe the moment. It was a sensation of pure insignificance. I sat down on the bare ground and just stared. Was this Cirrus's work? I know I had never dreamt but this beauty could not have been from a nightmare. Whoever, or whatever, had made these was no monster. As a butterfly with wings of blue-spun silk landed gracefully on my arm, I could almost feel the earth stand still. This must be the Painter's work; my uncle's.

  Suddenly, the forest serenity was shattered into bits as a train whistle pierced it through. It shook leaves down from the tree tops and birds shrieked upwards from their branches. I clamped my hands over my ears and ducked down to the ground. Even as the screech ended I could hear it echo in my ears and feel the vibrations emanating through the arches of my feet.

  Crouching forward on my knees, I moved tentatively though the trees towards the sound. I brushed aside leaves and watery branches, following the chug of an unseen train that got louder and louder until finally, another whistle sounded into the air. It was frighteningly close.

  I straightened up to step forward out of the underbrush and found myself by the steps up to a train platform. There didn't seem to be any station building or even ticket kiosk, simply a slightly raised wooden area polished from hundreds of traveling feet. The little island shook as a steam train came into view, black metal and old fashioned. The smoke that rose up out of the pipes was black and thick and the wheels ripped up trees and bushes that had grown amongst the tracks over the years. It was like an angry rhinoceros as it charged towards the platform.

  I quickly crashed ungainly back into the trees. Hiding seemed the best first move, in case the train happened to carry Cirrus. I still hadn't thought about how to simultaneously avoid Cirrus and get close enough to take his watch. Hell, I didn't even have a weapon yet and this train had arrived before I had even gotten to grips with a plan. Play it safe. I must never forget the Walk is in motion.

  The train let out one last screech as it came to a halt, shivering sparks rising up around the brakes. It settled down next to the platform, heaving and smoking as the old silence of the forest once again enveloped the trees and the sky.

  I doubled over with coughing as the smoke found its way through my throat and into my lungs. I didn't even notice when the door of the train swung open to reveal the conductor. His mustache bristled annoyingly as he looked around the empty platform.

  "Come on then, I know you're out there. We've looked for you at every station and when we saw you run off the platform I was afraid we'd miss you again. It is going rather out of our way, you know," he said impatiently. He was dressed smartly in a fitting black suit with gold buttons. His tie was knotted a bit too tightly around his fat neck so that a few extra chins had freed themselves over the collar of his white shirt. His train conductor's hat was perched smartly on his dubious looking toupee and his shoes were polished to a shiny black.

  When I didn't emerge the conductor sighed and pulled out a small revolver. It was literally the most pathetic weapon I had ever seen, all the more for how proud he seemed to be of it. He aimed it a few feet from where I was and spoke again to the trees.

  "Right, so now I have a gun. Do you see my gun?" Silence. But yes, I did see his extremely small gun. "Come out and board the train. I have been told to use force."

  I heard a rustle behind me and my slight amusement at the conductor's bravado was cut short as I felt the cold metal of a knife being pushed up the back of my shirt. Before I could turn around a man's arm wrapped aro
und my waist and pushed the knife harder into my spine.

  "Move forward. You'll want to get on this train," a voice said quietly. I had no choice but to walk as calmly as I could out of the forest and into the open air. I looked down at the arm, which was covered in black coal and bulged with cord and muscle.

  The conductor saw us approach and shot a reproving look at the man behind me.

  "Well, nicely done, I guess. Bring her on board, if you please. And don't touch the necklace. The Walk is corrupt if you do."

  I was pushed up the steps and through a door held open by the conductor. He gave me a small smile as he slipped the gun back into his front coat pocket.

  "Welcome Maggie. I do apologize for the manner of your apprehending." The conductor followed us into the first compartment and nearly immediately I felt the rumble of the train's engine starting up again.

  The pressure of the knife left my back and the arm guided me gently onto a plush, blue upholstered train seat. The man dropped down on the bench across from mine as the conductor kept walking through to the engine room.

  It wasn't just the man's arm that was covered in black coal. The rest of the skin was smeared with the stuff and his eyes shone through the dirt with a fierce brightness that was at once intelligent and menacing. His jumpsuit hung loosely on shoulders used to shoveling fuel and the flat cap was pushed right up to the edge of his hairline. He considered me causally, picking his nails with the edge of the knife only so recently held against my back.

  "So you're the girl everyone is so concerned with," he stated, looking me up and down. "Got Painter's blood in ya?" He snorted. "What a load of bullshit."

  "What's bullshit?" I asked defensively.

  He shrugged. "The Painter ain't got an heir. Because everyone knows that there isn't a Painter." He leaned across the compartment and hooked the edge of the necklace with the point of the knife.

  "Not the religious type?" I asked, watching him carefully as he stretched the dreamcatcher up from my chest.

  "Nah. We were born from the earth and to the earth we shall return." He let the necklace fall back and deftly slipped the knife into a side pocket. "You're an imposter."

  "More of an imposter than Cirrus?"

  "Cirrus is just a man, but as good a king as anyone else." The coal man shrugged again, as seemed to be his habit, and crossed his arms behind his head. The train rocked back and forth and the green hues of forest flashed by the window. "Plus he pays me." His teeth were as bright as his eyes when he grinned, white and wide through the dark mask of his face.

  I leaned my face against the cold glass and sighed. So this was it. The Walk was over before it has even fully begun. What a cheat.

  I bet if I had a train I could have kidnapped him, too.

  The coal man was staring off into space and eventually I felt my mind dozing off. The click clack of the train started to become a comforting repetition, like the ticking of a clock, and the small amount of rest I had the night before overcame me. But as I slipped away into sleep, I felt something slide into my jacket pocket and heard a whisper in my ear.

  "The Reign Walk is not lost. Riders are assembling and the storm is gathering speed."

  The train rocked me to blackness and it wasn't until much later that I remembered those warnings.

  The Riders are coming . . .

  Chapter 8

  Marty was sitting outside in the Council anteroom, waiting to be called in. He squeezed his hands together and looked over at the closed door of the assembly room.

  The Council was a bunch of old fools set on formalities and paperwork. They were taking a long time in discussing the "moral politics" the Walk. It would take days for them to process Maggie's fall and even longer to use any small influence they had to look for her. What would he do if this all resulted in death? What would keep Cirrus from going absolutely mental, as only Marty from firsthand experience knew he could?

  The Council made it clear to Marty in their letter that they didn't wish to take sides in the matter. Technically speaking, the government couldn't back a player in the Reign Walk. But as Marty was quickly finding out, they didn't actually seem to care much. Politics are politics, when all is said and done. Whoever ruled Palet wouldn't change things much. This was still a republic, don't you know?

  But they didn't know. No one knew Cirrus's history like Marty did. How long would they sit in their own sweat before realizing Cirrus had siphoned off their power and their republic had shriveled like a grape left out in the sun?

  Marty sighed and tried really hard to stop juggling his foot. It was hard. Even worse, he felt the cold sweats start creeping up at the edges of his hairline. How long had it been since he's had a hit? Two days? Only one? He wished he knew something, anything.

  The phone at the reception desk started to ring. The secretary picked it up and murmured into the receiver. There was a pause.

  "Is there a Mr. Kleizenberg here?" she asked. Marty looked up and the secretary held out the phone. "It's for you." Marty walked to the desk and took the phone from over the counter. He raised it tentatively to his ear.

  "Yes?"

  Cirrus's voice came from the other end of the receiver. "We've found her."

  ***

  When I opened my eyes I immediately saw that the train had left the forest far behind. We were flying along the bottom of a valley, ringed with gnarled hills tanned from the sun's glare. The fields spread out over the land to meet the hills like the patchwork on a giant quilt and there were men and women working, presumably sowing and cultivating different kinds of agriculture or whatever people grew out in the sticks. I blinked at the sunlight shining out over the land and looked quickly to the seat across from me. The coal man was gone.

  The farmers stood up as the train rushed past and raised their arms to shield the glare that ricocheted off the black metal in short bursts of brilliance. Their working clothes looked ragged and frequently patched. Some wore straw hats. They waved rather mechanically as we sped past. None of them cracked a smile or a frown. Their faces remained as tanned and smooth as the top of my mom's polished dining room table.

  I began to notice our speed decreasing, which I assumed meant we were at our destination. Which meant Cirrus. I strained my neck around the corner into the walkway, but there was no sign of anyone. The train car seemed deserted, which struck me as odd because . . . well, obviously.

  Well, screw this then, I'm getting off.

  As I made my way down the car, I could see the front train ahead pulling slowly into a station. The sides of the valley were much closer on either side and densely wooded with strong, dark green fir trees. But the station seemed civilized enough and I wagered that if I jumped off just before the train stopped moving, I could run fast enough to get lost again in the trees. As long as the coal man didn't see me.

  And that's when I suddenly remembered the feel of cold metal through fabric and the weight of something slip along the side of my jacket.

  My hands fumbled for my pocket and pulled out a short knife. It was a silver switch blade and shiny as a mirror. Had the coal man given me a weapon after nearly sticking me like a roast pig? Why would he do something like that?

  In my wonder of finding something so unexpected in my pocket, I didn't notice until it was too late that the train had stopped and the car door had been thrown open.

  "Are you Maggie?" I jumped and whipped the blade behind my back. I looked down to see a young man standing nonchalantly with his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, regarding me with a curious smile. His light brown hair was straggly and cut unevenly and his dress shirt was untucked. His skin was a healthy pink and he looked positively, utterly normal.

  "Yes, I am," I replied slowly. The man's smile broke into a grin that showed his crooked teeth. He strode the rest of the way across the platform and took my hand in both of his.

  "Well, thank goodness we got to you in time. This train was on its way to Cirrus, wasn't it?"

  "What do you know about Cir
rus?" The man tapped his nose and winked.

  "You two might be the main players but you didn't think Cirrus was the only one who could use pawns, did you?" He shook his head and laughed. Oh, he sounded so happy. It was infectious and there was a moment before I realized my face had relaxed into a cautious smile.

  "Where am I?"

  "Maggie, I have the distinct honor of welcoming you to Lucky Creek. And of introducing you to the Mayor." The man bowed and then shrugged awkwardly. "That's me. Fifth time elected."

  He took my hand and led me down onto the platform. His eyes lingered on the gold dreamcatcher, but when he saw me notice he looked quickly away. "My name is Tyler. At your service. Bless you, you're a long way from the Middle Canvas. But we can get you fed and rested and set you back on your way again, how does that sound? You must be exhausted . . ."

  Tyler kept talking as we walked out of station, leaving the now silent train abandoned on the tracks. I cautiously slipped the knife into my jacket pocket as he told me about Lucky Creek and the history of the mountain town. Something about lumber? But I swear on my life I remembered nearly nothing about it, because the walk through town was the most far out experience I had thus far. And if you're still with me at this point, you know that is saying a lot.

  The station led onto a common green cut down the middle with a paved road that rose up to the top of a small hill. All along the road were houses and convenience stores. People marched around like any normal day, attending to their errands and chores. Women picked out flowers for the dinner table as men sat outside the drug store and fanned themselves in the sun. A milk man sauntered past, his bottles clinking as he whistled an unfamiliar tune. It was so perfect it made me suspicious. It wasn't until I looked closer that I realized it wasn't all Leave it to Beaver.