by Travis Smith
“As you wish, your highness.”
“Do not mock me, Bernard. I extend to you my assistance, but I won’t swindle the good people of our city for your debt. I will help you, but we’ll do it my way.”
5
Bernard led The Stranger farther and farther away from the torch-lit center of Krake. The streets grew darker as the houses grew smaller and more sparse. Eventually the pair was navigating wholly by moonlight and occasionally by the dim candlelight emanating from the windows of the cottages they passed.
The Stranger’s frustration continued to stew as Bernard led him deeper and deeper into the dark, lawless recesses of the city, the parts of Krake where peacekeepers often had to patrol and accept meals from kind strangers as repayment for the sense of security they brought with them. Bernard had lately been headed down a dark path, but The Stranger would never have guessed him this careless.
When the bodies of the living expire, their souls must find closure before finding peace for eternity. Lost souls roam the lands and search ineffectually for ways to impact the realm of the living once more. Good souls—protector souls—seek ways to indirectly aid their friends and loved ones and even strangers. They may do so by inhabiting plants and herbs used for medicinal purposes or by inhabiting homes targeted by the dark souls. The dark souls inhabit abandoned homes or the homes of those they wish to frighten and torment. They also inhabit poisonous plants and berries, enticing the naive to sample the bright, deadly fruits. Most often, however, these dark souls inhabit the ogras and subsequently the minds of men and women who grind up the ogras leaves and smoke them. Bernard would have never found himself in this predicament if he had chosen better friends.
“Why do you insist on associating with dregs like Antonio?”
“Likely for the same reasons you insist on associating with dregs like Arthur,” Bernard replied levelly.
“Arthur Carraway is an honest educator. He’s devoted his entire life to teaching basic skills to children and, more importantly, to being a model citizen and upholding the values of the king!”
Bernard stopped walking and spun on the man. “And what exactly does he do for you, pray tell? What is your reason for associating with men like Arthur?”
The Stranger stopped and considered. “I suppose there is no specific reason,” he replied. “Arthur is a good man, and his company brings me pleasure, Bernard, as once did yours.”
“As does the company of my associates,” Bernard snarled. He turned back and continued walking furiously.
The Stranger seized Bernard’s shoulder and spun him back around. “Look where your associates have got you! Look where we are, Bernard! See reason, and acknowledge this mess I’m here to get you out of!”
“Well I’m sorry I didn’t have an entire kingdom to rule in my future. I’m sorry I don’t have the blood of the king coursing through my body. I’m sorry,” Bernard snapped, spittle flying crazily from his lips, “that I don’t possess the white magic that will open the castle door at my mere touch!”
The Stranger allowed his hand to drop from Bernard’s shoulder. He knew not how to reply to Bernard’s jealousy. “Bernard, I was born with this destiny. This isn’t some play for power that I’ve strived to achieve. I’ve sworn to rule over and protect these lands during the final portion of my life. It is my duty. That doesn’t mean it is the fate I most desire.”
At this proclamation, Bernard’s upper lip pulled back in a sneer. “Well just remember, oh modest king, that not everyone has such a righteous and fortuitous birthright.”
The Stranger reached out to touch his friend again, but Bernard pulled away and began to turn. “You could have shared in all my fortune. But you’ve become a stranger.”
Bernard snapped around one final time, his eyes bulging dangerously in their sockets. “I’ve become a stranger?” he demanded. “It is you who spends each night in your luxurious manor on the hills with your lovely wife and your adoring parents. I am Bernard as I ever was. It is you who has become The Stranger!”
6
The pair finished their walk in silence. They finally reached a building much larger than all the other outlying cottages, larger even than many of the homes in the center of Krake. The craftsmanship, however, left quite a bit to be desired. The shoddy abode looked to be four or more of the smaller slum cottages simply connected during construction. No light shone from the outer windows.
Bernard knocked thrice upon the wide front door and stepped backward uncomfortably, almost slinking behind The Stranger himself. Within a few moments, a dim glow grew in intensity in the windows beside the door. As the entire front room became illuminated by candlelight, someone began rattling what sounded like several manual locks on the front door. At last the door eased inward slightly and a louder clang issued from just inside. The Stranger looked at Bernard in the ensuing silence, and the uneasy man who had gotten them both into this silly mess nodded his head toward the door. The Stranger approached and slowly pushed it inward.
Inside the building was a strong steel cage surrounding the door. On the other side stood a gaunt man with crooked, yellow teeth and an under-bite so severe it had to be painful; his upper and lower lips never seemed to touch, and his mouth was drawn back in what The Stranger couldn’t decide to be a grin or a grimace. One eye stared sightlessly off to the right of the man’s emaciated face, while the other danced skittishly over the two visitors.
Now the man was certainly grinning, as he barked a single shrill laugh and hollered in a reedy, nearly unintelligible cackle, “’t’s ’im!”
Another man stepped instantly around the corner carrying something small in his hand. This man was obviously affected far less by the ogras than he who opened the door. His dark hair was pushed back on his head, and his frame was much fuller than the former man’s. Round face covered in stubble, he was dressed in a sharp, tight garb that was neither of commoners nor royalty, but of something in between. His calm eyes locked instantly on Bernard’s, and The Stranger thought he looked particularly unsurprised to see the two men at his door at this hour. Something unspoken seemed to pass between Bernard and his tormentor, and the man turned his gaze upon The Stranger and stood stock still on the other side of the steel cage, a contemptuous sneer on his face.
“I’m here—” The Stranger began, but the man interrupted him brusquely, a curved, black bit of metal in his hand pointed at the floor.
“I know why you’re here,” his voice was as slick as a table of ice on a cabbage patch, and equally deadly, “and I know who you are.”
“Magnificent,” The Stranger proclaimed as genially as he could pretend to be, “but I’m not here on behalf of the royalty.”
The drug dealer turned back to Bernard and advanced one calculated step, seeming to ignore The Stranger altogether. “You would bring him here?” he demanded. “You would involve royalty in your heinous affairs?”
Bernard’s mouth hung slack in a display of stupid speechlessness. He simply stared at the furious man on the other side of the cage.
“I say, I’m not here on behalf of my heritage. I come only as a friend to Bernard here to request a reconciliation.”
The man’s sneer intensified, and his haggard companion with one good eye took a step backwards and tittered excitedly. “You imbecile!” he screamed at Bernard, who winced and backed away despite the distance and the steel cage between them. The man continued to ignore The Stranger and intimidate Bernard. What exactly had he gotten himself into?
The Stranger’s concerns that Bernard had not been completely honest with him heightened. “Let us all relax and discourse like men.”
“You would bring the king-to-be to my step and mix me up in your toxic attempts to actualize your surreptitious aspirations?” His voice rose with every word until he was nearly shouting through the bars of his cage. His cadaverous companion continued to chew his black fingernails and shake with glee.
The Stranger spread his arms calmingly. “Perhaps we should take a step
back and lay everything out on the table once and for—”
“Perhaps you should take a step back from my property!” the man roared. A lock of his slick, black hair fell out of place and dangled in front of his face, which had transformed from deliberate and composed to deranged. He raised his arm and pointed the small black object at The Stranger’s face.
“What is that? A fire-starter?”
His ignorance served only to taunt and infuriate the man further. His arm began to shake, and his hand trembled as he simultaneously struggled to squeeze and to not squeeze the tiny trigger on the object. At last he seemed to force himself to swing his arm away, but only by a few inches. The small device, no larger than a fresh banana, exploded deafeningly and sent a white-hot bullet screaming into the dirt floor on the outside of the cage.
The Stranger winced and ducked in surprise as Bernard screamed and stumbled backwards onto his rump. The Stranger seized his companion by the shoulder and hoisted him upright to run off into the darkness.
The infuriated drug dealer fired two more shots and banged on his locked cage, screaming his frustration into the night.
7
The two men continued their flight back toward Krake through the darkness. A few more explosions resounded behind them in the distance, but in the end it seemed their pursuer was no longer on their trail. He never appeared to be too committed to killing them, as he’d willfully turned his arm away from The Stranger before pulling the trigger. The Stranger thought this was likely due to his status in Reprise, but something about the situation felt wrong.
He slowed and placed a hand on Bernard’s shoulder. The two came to a halt and doubled over, panting heavily.
“What is really going on here, Bernard?” The Stranger asked between breaths.
“It’s just as I’ve told you,” he replied stubbornly. “He just didn’t seem happy to find you there.” He glanced backward into the night, as if expecting to see the assailant walking calmly behind them. Was that expectation? Or hope?
“Well, it seems my status may have saved us from being killed, much as it may have infuriated him.”
“Yes. Seems so,” Bernard replied offhand. He continued glancing around, on edge.
“And what was that musket he held? I’ve never even heard of such!”
“Hmm …”
The Stranger watched Bernard fidget and fuss for a few moments before resigning to the fact that he likely may never get a straight answer from the man he once knew so well. “Do you reckon you’ve seen the last of him, at the least?”
“You know,” Bernard acknowledged him at last, “I truly doubt that I have.” The Stranger wasn’t sure whether it was contempt or resignation behind that tone.
In any case, Bernard straightened up and carried on along the road back to Krake without another word.
As the pair neared the city, The Stranger broke the silence by chuckling softly. Bernard glanced at him but remained sourly silent.
“I asked him if it was a fire-starter,” The Stranger laughed. At this, a hint of a smile lit Bernard’s face, but he struggled to remain sullen. “It certainly lit a fire under our asses.”
Bernard failed to maintain his dark persona and chortled at last. The snigger broke the dam to allow a flood of unadulterated laughter to flow forth, the likes of which Bernard had likely not experienced in the last half of his life. Soon the two were doubled over in gales of childlike laughter, and The Stranger was amiably clapping Bernard on his back as he had when they were younger.
“Walk home with me, Bernard,” he said. “I yearn to converse with you like old times.”
Bernard wiped a tear from his cheek and agreed, still smiling at their shared adventure that seemed so foolish in the light of the city.
On the short walk to the manor, The Stranger strayed from any talk of royalty or of what friends Bernard kept. They exchanged neutral memories and observations in a carefree manner that the two had not shared in ages. When they reached the stairs to The Stranger’s manor, however, Bernard glanced toward the door with some concern.
“I’d rather not come in right now,” he said plainly.
“Fair enough,” The Stranger replied. But at that moment, the door swung open and Laura stepped out. In the dim light, The Stranger could faintly make out tears streaming down her cheeks. “What’s wrong?” he asked, hastily stepping forward.
Laura threw her arms around his neck just as he was close enough to note a smile lighting up her lovely face. They were tears of joy.
“Darling,” she said, “I think I’m pregnant.”
The Stranger’s heart fluttered at the news. He embraced his wife and awaited a congratulatory clap on the back from Bernard. When he felt none, however, he kissed Laura on the cheek and turned back to look at his companion.
Bernard stood back away from the pair, alone in the darkness as he’d ever been, and though the news was joyous indeed, Bernard’s usually gloomy face was aglow with a smile that The Stranger found to be just a slight sight too genuine.
Chapter 5:
Rebirth
1
I have to find my son.
The Stranger awoke in an oddly comfortable nest made in the cool sand. The searing pain in his chest had subsided. He could still feel a dull ache, but nothing nearly so unbearable as before he’d lost consciousness. He remembered the man who’d watched him fall. The man who’d run out of the trees as if to attack.
“I have to find my son,” he muttered, struggling to lift his head and open his eyes. It was night, and a small fire burned beside him. He started and turned toward the sudden sound of someone approaching.
“Whoa, now,” the man said, “you have to get rest. Ye almost died back there.”
It was the man from before. He hurried out of the jungle with a handful of dry twigs and sticks to feed the fire. The blood-dripping blade he’d carried before was no longer in his hands. If he wanted to kill The Stranger, he would have done it already. Or merely let him die.
The Stranger lay his head back down on the makeshift pillow of grass and thick leaves. “How bad is it?” he asked.
“Right bad,” the man replied, settling himself down on the ground beside the fire. “Some wonder yer not bleedin’ in yer lung. Slug went right between ’em. Prob’ly nicked the lung tree, though.”
The Stranger pulled in a slow, deep breath. Sure enough, the rales in his chest were audible. He coughed and found that a tiny bit of liquid came up into his mouth with each hack. He lifted one hand to gingerly inspect his chest.
“Don’t touch it!” the man said sharply. “I got some cloth folded up on it and tied a bit around ye to keep the pressure on.”
The Stranger winced and put his hand back by his side. “I need to find my son,” he repeated.
The man eyed The Stranger across the fire in uncertain silence. “Where is yer son?” he cautiously asked at last.
“They took him,” The Stranger whispered, tears of pain and helpless frustration stinging his throat and eyes.
“Who took him? The pirates?”
“No,” The Stranger said gruffly. He closed his eyes, resigned to his vulnerability and impotence. He could scarcely stand upright. To pursue his son at this stage would be an impossibility. He dismissed the careless notion and turned his head to the side to sleep.
“I’m John, sir,” the man announced abruptly. He stood, walked over to The Stranger, and crouched, extending his hand to be shaken. “John Tompkins.”
The Stranger opened his eyes wearily and took John’s hand dismissively, his irritation mounting. “I’m …” He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to offset the rise in blood pressure that would undoubtedly be detrimental to his current condition. He shook his head, eyes still closed. What sort of time was this for petty introductions? This man’s name didn’t make a day’s difference to The Stranger. His very own name didn’t mean anything anymore. His son was gone. Taken. That’s all that mattered. That’s the only thing that would ever matter.
> “I know who you are,” John said.
The Stranger opened his eyes and looked upon his protector with weary surprise.
“I thought I recognized ye at first. Then when I was taking that musket ball out of yer chest, I realized why. Near about everyone from Reprise knows that face.”
“You’re from Reprise?” The Stranger asked, shocked that he should come across a fellow native such a great distance away from the mainland.
“Born ’n’ bred,” John replied. “I was shipped out on a slave ship not long after t’ Baron killed yer da’.”
“’Twas my grandfather who’s the slain king.”
“Apologies, sir,” John said sincerely.
“Stay the sir nonsense, will you? Those days are far behind us. And it’s no matter. The king is dead, as am I.”
John nodded obligingly. “But yer not dead, sir. Forgive me my habit, if ye would. It’s my faithfulness to the throne ’t put me ’ere on this island. In any case, ye live. I saw to that. It’s the least I could do seeing as ye saved my own life in a sense. I lost my wife and child, too. Damned meself here on this island, ’n’ I was fit to hurl myself over yonder cliffs when I saw ye below, gettin’ strong-armed.”
The Stranger listened passively nodding his acknowledgment.
“In a way, yer my protector soul, ’n’ ’at made me yers.”
“Charming,” The Stranger replied dryly, “but my life is over. I was shot and left for dead upon a burning ship, and I may as well have never woken up.”
“I’ve thought that way too, sir. Been alone on this island fer a long time.”
“And you’ve found nothing to live for before this? You’ve not sought to reclaim your lost kin?”
John seemed to ponder this inquiry for a moment before replying matter-of-factly, “I don’t deserve to see my loved ones again.”
The Stranger scoffed and turned away. His wife and son were gone, and if he lived, he would live to see them again. Anything less would be unacceptable.
