by P. G. Thomas
John quietly rose from his chair, headed to the basement, finding Fodu organizing the benches. Instead of the dust-covered, cobweb-infested, dank room that he left the previous night, he found a clean workspace ready for serious work. Handing the pan from the previous night to Fodu, he explained the drain-hole placement. Taking his large mug of bean juice to the machine, pulling up a wooden crate, he sat down looking at the broken machine. There were bent gears, burnt wires, and numerous components, which should have made the oversized circuit boards function, had exploded. Some of the damage appeared unusual, looking like somebody had taken a crowbar to it. As he recalled the long hours spent on it so many years ago, all of the failed attempts to merge technology with magic into one machine flooded his memory. Pulling out his Leatherman tool, he started to undo the crude dwarven bolts and screws, and piece by piece, he began to disassemble the machine, hoping that one day he could reverse the damage done. John guessed it was around mid-morning when Logan brought them a pot of hot bean juice to see how they were doing. However, before heading back to his room, Logan, unseen, visited the wine cellar.
After a short break, Fodu brought over the modified pan. John put it on the floor, retrieved the purse, tied a string to the closed end, and then set the root in the pan, securing the cheesecloth over the top. Handing Fodu a makeshift cloth mask, he advised him not to breathe until both the masks and purse were placed into a containment bag, which he would burn later. When everything was ready, he gently pulled on the string that extracted the purse through a small opening between the pan and cloth. When it was deposited into the pan, he quickly disposed of any potentially contaminated items. As they looked at the yellow root through the cheese cloth, John poured some water onto it, and then both turned back to stripping broken parts from the machine.
*******
Being obvious they were trying to come to terms with Mirtza’s worsening condition, Steve had avoided Eric, Ryan, and Lauren for most of the day. When the second sun began setting, he walked out onto the patio where Ryan and Lauren were sitting, asking to join them. When they nodded, he sat down, placing two bottles on the table, and poured them each a glass. “So what now?”
Lauren sipped from the drink, “There’s nothing we can do for Mirtza, other than try to make him comfortable and calm. As for the rest, this is a weird world. You’re either immersed in chaos or waiting for it to explode around you. There doesn’t seem to be a drunken psychic here.”
“A what?”
“A happy medium. The last time, when we arrived here, we didn’t know what the threat was or where to find it. When we finally did, we spent months threading our way through the lands they controlled. The capture, the army, the fort. Somehow, we managed to find our way to that huge pile of burnt charcoal called Alron, which we once loved. Then we found the traitors and enemies amongst us. We spent over a year trying to put a name and face to those who threatened these lands, and now, all we have to do is cross the Key River, asking for Zymse Darpac. In two weeks, we did what took us a year to do last time.” Finishing her drink, she reached for the bottle to refill it. Then her voice went quiet, “And then there are our daughters.”
Ryan squeezed her hand.
Lauren sighed, “As much as nobody has told me to my face, they’re now older than I am. Even though I may have joked at what little monsters they were a few weeks ago, I now find out what kind of monsters they have grown into. What now? That’s a good question, but I think this time it’s John’s game…”
“So we just wait?” asked Steve.
“From what Tranquil said, I can’t revoke my Earth Bond, telling these people to fight back. Because my daughter’s commanded them to worship Zymse, they no longer believe in Mother. We need a plan, but I don’t know what it is.”
Ryan reached over, touching Lauren’s hand, “You can’t be like this. You can’t lose hope.”
Pulling her hand back, her mood changed instantly, “We already did, and Samantha and Brooke as well.” Lauren, unable to look at Ryan, headed back into the house.
Being a cop for so long, Steve was accustomed to awkward situations. Fatal car accidents, senseless shootings, domestic disputes, and worse. Or so he thought, but as he had sat alone in his dark apartment, wondering why his emotions were as drained as the empty bottle in his hand, each time, he also felt a small piece of himself die. While his doctor called it liver damage, Steve called it doing his job. “Can’t we do anything for her?”
Ryan set his glass down, reached for the full bottle, and popped the cork, “Give her time. I don’t know what to say anymore because she’s so mad at everything. Last time, she made things happen…”
“I was thinking of making a beer run into town tomorrow. You and Eric want to join me. We’ll get one of those magic coaches or wagons from John. Then go into that thief’s trap they call a mall. Pick up some beer, maybe some fresh grub, and see if we can learn anything.”
“Do you think you can find your way back here?”
“I remember a few landmarks, and we can borrow John’s map. I wouldn’t mind seeing some more of this town, which reminds me of where I grew up. I also wouldn’t mind seeing this Key River and what’s on the other side of it.”
*******
When Steve finished his breakfast the next morning, John and Fodu were already in the basement. He asked if they were making any progress, but John’s answers required no words. Asking to borrow the map, a wagon, and a team of horses, John rifled through the backpack until he found the desired amulets. “The map is upstairs, and you have a ring to activate them. Just be careful.”
When Steve returned to the main floor, Ryan had just finished convincing Logan to keep an eye on Lauren, so he gave him the amulets and went to retrieve the map. Arriving in the stables, he found Ryan with Eric standing beside a buckboard wagon, including a team of horses, ready to go.
*******
Walking out to the patio, Logan saw Lauren sitting at the table with the strange staff with Amber standing about ten feet behind her. “Before we left,” he began, “the police arrested two kids I was working with. One was drinking battery acid, and the other was eating fireworks.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Yeah, they charged one and let the other off.”
“Well, at least you didn’t screw up the punch line this time. Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine. Do you’ve any ideas on what we can do, or are we just waiting for John to fix his machine? Or to figure out that root?”
“Last time—,” Lauren paused, shaking her head in frustration. “I think the short answer is yes. If John can do something with the machine, then none of this ever happens. As well, like Tranquil said; if we can heal Mother than she can probably help. If Mother has been to our world, she’s more powerful than I realized. I want to do something,—but what? I was thinking about making a dam on the Key River and turning it into a swamp. Then telling all of the bugs only to fly north to feed, but with so many from Calicon going over for work, it wouldn’t be fair to them. I just don’t know how to make the children talk to Mother.”
“In one of my classes, I learned a method to help free the mind of cluttered thoughts. Apparently, there are two sides to the brain: a creative side and one for thinking—or something like that. When you think about something too hard and for too long, it’s like one of those ancient VCR tapes that dad keeps, which gets jammed in that old machine. The idea is to distract the thinking side of the brain with something else, allowing the creative side to solve the problem in the background—or the other way around? Want to give it a try?”
“It can’t hurt, and I could use the diversion. How does it work?”
“We’ll keep it simple and use foods. I’ll say something like apples. Then you have to say a food that begins with the last letter of the word I said, like sandwich. Then you would say something like horseradish, and I would reply with humus. Simple enough.”
“Cheeseburger.”
“Ra
dish.”
“Hamburgers, but I forgot to mention that you can’t repeat any of the words.”
Lauren smiled, “Sandwich.”
As they continued to play the game, the burning sensation in Logan’s arms began to diminish.
*******
Ryan held the reins in hand, “Where to?”
With Eric sitting in the back, Steve sat up front. “I would like to work our way northeast, so we arrive at the east end of the Key River. There’s a road that follows beside it through most of the town, and when we’ve seen that, we’ll turn south and head to the mall.”
As they rode through the neglected streets, it was hard to put words to what they saw since the despair was appalling. Buildings, looking like they belonged in a post-war ghost town, had been ravaged by years of neglect and weather damage, which had collected a toll on each in different ways. However, the ghosts, who still walked the silent streets, had never left, and Lauren called them Mother’s children. While some sat frozen on their front steps, other citizens looked out of their windows. Even though some tried to approach the wagon to beg, the gaze from Steve turned them away. The three rode in quiet, feeling pity for those they looked upon but also wary of any possible threats. After an hour, they arrived at an intersection on the road, and in front of them was a huge, slow moving river, being almost a mile wide. On the far side was prosperity: sunlight gleaming off of well-maintained metal roofs with each building in perfect condition. The dissimilarity between the two sides of the river was remarkable; the north was fortune, the south was poverty.
Long ago, the road paralleling the Key River had been paved with stones, which had helped to weather the years of neglect. Numerous shops lined the south side of the street, but the buildings fared little better than the others they had seen. Some of the stores displayed foods, but riding by them, they could see rot on the breads or bruises on the fruit. While customers were few, beggars were plentiful, and an armed guard stood in front of each. The lack of a consistent appearance suggested they were self-employed, not a formal security force like a Town Watch. After traveling along the river for twenty minutes, they came to a massive bridge that spanned the river. On it, a long line of people trying to get to the other side. The reason for the congestion was simple; in the middle was a well-constructed guard station and gate. Black-clad soldiers were checking the passes of underpaid Calicon residents, who sought entrance to the north side to earn their meager pay.
“This is wrong on so many levels,” Eric mumbled from the back of the wagon. “Those bastards were defeated when we left but now they rule?”
Steve leaned back, whispered, “Keep quiet! The streets have ears.” Passing a second congested bridge, he advised, “Those are the only two across. The only other ways over are by boat, go upriver to find a spot to cross, or by sea.” As Steve looked ahead, he noticed two events happening simultaneously. In the distance, a black-clad guarded caravan was heading their way, and the few occupants on the street, even the beggars, were quickly disappearing.
Chapter 15
As the crowds continued to vanish, Steve grabbed the reins from Ryan’s hands, pulling hard to the right, sending the horses south at the intersection about to be passed.
“What the hell?” asked Ryan.
“Shut up,” replied Steve, “Get out of the wagon. Now!”
Eric and Ryan, uncertain of what was happening, sensing both the urgency and importance in Steve’s voice, did as commanded. The street they had turned onto was deserted, and just as quickly as the wagon turned, it stopped, and Steve told them to get rid of it. Ryan waved his hand at the team of horses and wagon, picked up the golden amulet, and just as he was about to ask what was happening, Steve pushed them both into a dark recess between two buildings.
He whispered, “Shut up right now.” Returning to the street, he peered around the corner of the building with his right hand behind him, signaling them to stay. The two waited about twenty minutes, and then he gestured them to join him. Once they were back on the road that paralleled the river, he let them step out onto the main street, pointing to the west.
The guarded caravan, having passed, had continued its journey on the quiet street. Suddenly, wagon drivers and escort riders on the horses started to fall off, arrows in their throats and eyes. As quick as the dead soldiers hit the ground, beggars stepped out of the shadows, their cloaks hiding their features, and they jumped into the wagon seats. With reins in hand, they smacked the horses that quickly bolted up side streets, disappearing into the poverty of the Bright Coast.
“How did you know?” asked Eric.
“Did a number of tours overseas, and you learned to read the signs quick. If you didn’t, you died. Get that wagon back as we need to get out of here before they come to investigate.”
Ryan stepped back onto the secluded street, tossed the gold amulets onto the ground, and waved his hand over them. The wagon and horses were back, and the three jumped in, heading east on the quiet road, hoping to be far away before it became busy.
“What just happened?” asked Ryan.
Steve glanced around them, checking for signs, making sure that what had just happened, would not happen again. “There must be a resistance group in town.”
“How can that be? The Earth Bond?” asked Eric.
“Not sure,” Steve was still watching the streets, “They’re holding the peace, but I think holding food is more important to them. Maybe not everybody heard the Earth Bond. I don’t know, or maybe it’s a group of deaf resistance fighters, but I don’t want to be here when others arrive to ask similar questions.”
Thirty minutes later, the distance traveled was sufficient that black-clad forces racing to the west never stopped to ask questions. Much to Eric’s relief because the thought of those dressed in black making repetitive inquiries rekindled a painful image. The excitement of the odd attack with the desire to flee, resulted in them passing the south turn to the mall, and arriving at the harbor front, they realized the mistake.
Long wooden docks stretched far out into the ocean, and moored to them, over a hundred ships. A sturdy wall twenty feet tall blocked access to the ships, and on the top of it, they could see black-clad guards looking down on the people of Calicon, who begged for food. The mass of people on the west side of the wall was immense, numbering in the thousands, and as they watched, they saw another caravan exit the gates with even more black-clad soldiers surrounding the wagons. Those desperate for food rushed them, trying to grab what they could, but soldiers on horses beat them back. When the last wagon had left the docks, the gates once again opened. Then a horseless wagon rolled through, and the crowds swarmed it, being like vultures finding a fresh corpse. The three watched as the poverty stricken citizens of Calicon fought against each other for moldy and rotten food, unfit for human consumption but enough to support hope for one more day.
In the back of the wagon, Ryan and Steve both heard Eric, “What the hell happened here?”
As Ryan turned the wagon around, heading back in the direction they had arrived from, Steve pulled out the map, trying to gain his bearings to provide directions. By counting the streets, he was able to steer them through the derelict neighborhoods until they arrived at the entrance to the west mall.
When the wagon pulled in front of the gate, a guard walked up and looked at the three. His voice dull, his sword sharp, “A guide ye needs.” He then pointed to a collection of shabbily dressed men scratching various parts of their bodies, who looked like they were preparing for auditions in a slasher film—in the starring role.
Jumping off the wagon, from upwind, Steve examined the crowd, pointing to the smallest who quickly climbed into the back. The guard at the gate held up three fingers, and after Ryan had given him three gold coins, the gates opened.
Once they had traveled a hundred feet down the street, Steve told Ryan to stop. Turning to the back where the unkempt little man sat, Steve tossed him a gold coin, “Get out, your job is done.” Before Steve had f
inished his sentence, the small man had plucked the coin from the air and was about to protest. However, the look from Steve quickly changed his mind, and he decided to take his arguments into the shadows—where they would not fight back with brass knuckles.
When they pulled in front of the dwarf eatery, they tied the wagon to a lamp post, taking a seat at one of the patio tables. After Ryan had ordered drinks, he scanned the crowd and then turned to Steve. “I still don’t understand how you spotted that?”
“On the outside, they were beggars, but their clothing underneath didn’t match. It was hard to see, but three inconsistently dressed beggars in a row, well, it was too obvious to miss. As well, there was fresh paint, like graffiti, on the walls, but the repetition was too frequent. It seemed like a warning to anybody that lived there that something was going to happen.” A dwarf waiter set down three large tankards of ale, and Steve took a long drink. “When I was on tours overseas, you had to watch everybody for everything. Sometimes you could see them adjusting a gun strap, other times it was an exposed wire, or an odd shape under their clothing. The smallest observation could save you from the biggest bang. As I said, you became really good at spotting something that looked out of place or real good at being dead, and I didn’t like the second option. Growing up, bringing knives to gun fights, you had to learn fast how to spot the biggest threats.”
“I like the fact that somebody is doing something.” Eric said, “You know resistance fighters? But those arrows? The shots were so accurate.”
“They had to be elf archers,” advised Ryan. “Probably shot from a high building about a half mile up the road. If we go back, we might be able to see where they fired from.”
