The Mountain Calls VOL 1. CHP 5. VERSE 4.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse four: The Mountain Calls

The Witch Doctor stared at Special Agent Bridger with a knowing smile. Bridger, for his part, looked like he'd being ten rounds with Muhammed Ali and was now being asked to play chess against Deep Blue. 

"So Special Agent Bridger? Do you feel like the same person who walked into this diner, or have you changed?"

"You've definitely added more than a few new ingredients to mix."   

"So you're help us?" Harley asked.

"Not yet I won't." Bridger answered, arms folded, "You've convinced me that the world is a weird place, weirder than I thought a few days ago. But You haven't convinced me that you're the good guys. I've seen this movie, just because you can give a few answers to what's happening doesn't make you automatically the good guys." 

The Witch Doctor shook his head, "The story was never going to make this easy. Right now, the world is starting to crumble, the world built by the Locust King's story is breaking. I need get Harley and Marion to a point where they can teach the story to Maia, in her heart, so that she can build a new story and a new world with it to take the place of the world that's starting to die around us. If we don't do that in time, then things get very bad. Without a story, humanity get's swept off the board by big scary supernatural forces. Humanity lives and dies by its stories and if we can't replace the Locust King's story with a new story, people are going to die trying to enact a dead story. I can't teach Harley on his own. The Dreamwalker is a duo, partnership and the story needs both. The Dreamer and the Walker need to be formally initiated into the story. If we can get Harley initiated, he can venture into the Shadowlands where Marion, along with Maia and Fitzroy, are trapped. He can bring the initiation to them, and he can help them free themselves. But Harley's having real trouble working his powers as Storyteller. He's too straight forward and too practical, it's making the process of letting go and flowing with the narrative difficult for him. Marion has the opposite problem, that's why he's trapped in dream land right now. I have to send Harley up the Mountain for his initiation quest. I don't want to send him alone."

"And where does this whole initiation nonsense come in?"

"Look at your stories, that's what this is all about. Luke Skywalker had to face the ghost of Darth Vader in that cave on Dagobah. King Arthur had to be trained by Merlin prior to drawing Excalibur. We need a formal crossing of the threshold in order to awaken Harley properly to his role as the Walker and as a storyteller."

"And I'm supposed to believe this on the basis of a song and dance from you and a demonstration of walking through walls from a guy who I've been chasing in connection to a kidnapping. For all I know, that little trick of Night's is how he kidnapped the children."

The Witchdoctor turned to Harley, "Marion and the kids are in no shape to go. So it has to be you and Bridger. As soon as he's convinced, you'll head out. You need to head for the only mountain visible for miles around here, due west. It's called Great bear Mountain, or Brave Mountain depending on which local tradition you prefer. The name the Locust King gave it is the name of some dead Admiral in some European Navy." 

"You're ignoring me." Bridger said.

"Not at all Agent Bridger. I'm multi-tasking. The End of the World, capital E and capital W, is a busy time for a person like me. So I have to keep all my plots in motions and all of my agents moving."

"What if I refuse and try to stop you?" Bridger asked, opening his suit jacket to show his gun in its holster nestled against his arm pit.

"Then you're going to force the story to address that. Something will occur to push the plot along. And it's unlikely to be something good. Remember that there are two stories in combat here. And one has terminal cancer and is determined to take everyone with it when it dies."

"What about me? What do I do?" Henrietta the waitress and owner of the diner asked. 

"I'll need to keep these three safe. And if you're willing, I could use your help."

Henrietta nodded.

"So what kind of initiation am I going to have to undergo?" Harley asked, "I can't say that I like the sound of what you described. This is a hero's journey thing, doesn't that involve a symbolic death of some kind?"

"That's later," the Witchdoctor said with a smile, "Don't worry, I'll warn you when that's coming. In this case, you need to cross the threshold and properly take up your role in the story. You'll need to head up the mountain and pass through a series of mystic gateways, represented by a series of Shinto Torii gates that were donated by Hatsukaichi City as a gesture of ecological solidarity or something similar. It's all very symbolic and stories like symbols. It is important that you don't miss any of the gateways."

"Why is that?" Bridger asked, not looking at the Witchdoctor- looking instead out the window and narrowing his eyes as he spoke.

"The gateways are the accepted entry point, and going through them triggers the initiation, by trying to go around, you will anger the guardian spirit. You can still get to the top, but you'll be travelling with the protection afforded by the gateways. It won't be an initiation, it will be a battle. I wouldn't recommend battling the Guardian." 

"Does anyone else feel that?" Henrietta asked.

Harley looked down at the glass of water in front of him and noticed that the water was rippling, and then Harley could her a distant rumbling, like thunder but continuous, "Am I hearing an army?" He asked, rising to his feet and walking to the window.

Bridger pointed down the highway, and Harley saw thousands of pale figures moving like a great stampede.

"I've seen those before." Harley muttered.

The Witch Doctor joined them at the window, "The Wendigo, you'd better go now, before they cut you off from your goal. I'll put up a protective ward around the dinner. It will either last just long enough or not quite long enough, depending on what kind of story this is right now. But either way, get going."

"But..." Bridger started to say, but the Witch Doctor cut him off.

"Special Agent Bridger, you have an arm coming from nearly all directions. You're either going to have to trust us for the moment, or deal with that army alone. I can protect the people inside this diner for a little while, but if you don't trust me and assist Harley, then however long I can protect this diner is not going to be long enough. We argue later, if we survive. Deal?" 

As the horizon filled with pale hungry figures, Bridger nodded, "I guess circumstances force me to agree with that. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth though."

Harley stared at the mountain far in the distance, "The Goblin is out of gas. Not that it matters since we'd have to go through the Wendigo to get to the mountain. So I guess Bridger gets to have a lesson in seven league walking."

"Oh no. I have a car." Bridger objected.

"Can it go through them?" Harley asked, pointing to the writhing horde of Wendigo still increasing in numbers in the distance.

"Doubtful." Bridger admitted.

"Exactly. So take me hand, and let me do my job. We have an appointment with a mountain and a guardian spirit."

A Time of War VOL1. CHP 5. VERSE 3.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse Three: A Time of War

"I must have misheard you," Harley said, "How is walking out to the Goblin and back going to convince Special Agent Bridger here of anything?"

"You named your van?" Bridger said with a raised eyebrow.

"It has been so long since I saw you this inexperienced," The Witch Doctor smiled, "Walking out to the Goblin will convince him, because I don't want you to use the door."

"He's going to climb out a window?" Bridger shook his head, "This isn't starting off very spicy.

"Get ready for a ghost pepper milkshake then Special Agent Saul Bridger," The Witch Doctor said, "Because you may have met Harley Night before today. But here on the road you're going to meet the Walker, and he's knock to knock you off your horse."

The witch Doctor then turned back to Harley and nodded, "Whenever you're ready." 

Henrietta raised a hand, "Don't you break my windows."

Harley felt a fluttering in his stomach. He knew what the Witch Doctor wanted, and he'd done it before, just not on a whim. But he nodded and tried to give a confident smile. Then he looked at Henrietta and said, "Your window is safe. I'll make my own." 

And with that Harley stepped forward and focused his mind on the Goblin and walked straight towards and, with only a slight involuntary flinch, through the wall of the diner. The strange part for Harley was that he never noticed the jump or whatever he ended up calling the moment of transition. He didn't hear a pop or a change in the sound. But after each successful seven league step, Harley simply found himself at his destination as though the departure point and the destination were actually side by side. 

This time, he ended up standing at the rear bumper of the cricket van and theatrically tapped the rear window of the van for effect. Then he sighed in relief, before realizing that he had to do it again. 

"Small steps. This is a habit now, a skill I've already learned, a song I know how to play without sheet music."

Harley settled on Marion as a focus, and stepped away from the Goblin, and into the diner with no steps in between; nearly bumping into a slack jawed Henrietta as he finished. 

"Hi." He said to her, and she took a stumbling step back shaking her head. Harley looked over at Special Agent Bridger whose eyes had narrowed and was rubbing the bridge of his nose. Harley sat down at a booth beside the slumped form of Marion.

"So ladies and gentlemen," The Witch Doctor said, "Do we have your attention?"

* * *

Amy and Grub stood on a butte in Linwich Crossing looking down at the mining compound. Mung Bean whined and pawed the dirt.

"I agree with the mastiff," Amy said, "This is actually worse than Mrs. Trilby's house, I can feel the violence from here."

"You're picking up the magic quickly. Which bodes well for your ability to help your guy survive what's ahead." Grub said without turning to look at her, "So, were there any survivors?"

Amy stuck her tongue out at Grub and then leaned down to scratch behind Mung Bean's ear, wiping her hand with a handkerchief once she was done. She closed her eyes and reached out into the facility. Images of monstrous being with unravelled heads full of impossible and horrifying teeth and tendrils filled Amy's soul. Amy screamed and fell back into the dust. She tried to disengage, but the imagery was too strong and Amy found herself writhing on the ground as the coven was torn to pieces once more in her brain by the monstrosities with the impossible heads. In the aftermath, Amy watched as Lady Purge fled on foot, and watched as the Shepherd let her go.

Amy tried to right herself in her mind and pulled herself to her feet, and then froze, realizing that she had done so inside her vision. She turned to slowly face the Pale Shepherd as it loomed before her.

"You're going to kill me, and then I won't be around to keep Harley alive," She whispered, "And then the whole story's going to break."

The Pale Shepherd whispered to Amy with the voice of worms, "The story has an answer, and the story will go on. There is no death if you know the secret. Death is merely a change of clothes that one puts on as fashion changes. Death is change, and change kills death. And everything is new once more."

Amy wrenched herself out of the vision with all of the effort she could muster and found herself flat on her back in the arid sunshine, staring up at a cloudless sky. 

"That looked less than fun," Grub noted, "But you did well, I definitely picked the right apprentice. How are you doing?"

Amy's eyes felt wet and she could feel blood trickling across her face, and touching her hand to her nose confirmed that she was bleed from both nostrils, "is any part of being a Wizard sexy? Or am I doomed to be dirty, grubby and dusty forevermore? This is not the life I wanted, lying in the dirt bleeding our my nose and crying."

"Those aren't tears." Grub answered.

Amy touched her the edge of her eye with her other hand and it came away sticky red with blood. Part of her wanted to shriek in disgust, part of her was weirdly proud of that blood, "Definitely not sexy. I'm going to have to settle for badass. Michelle Rodriguez and not Marilyn Monroe."

"Neither is a bad option. You know, I met Monroe? So, what's the word?" Grub said.

Amy picked herself up and wiped her face with a handkerchief and then a second one, stuffing both into her tote bag before answering, "The Pale Shepherd is active, like you were afraid had happened. He's using Falsenight's power to build himself an army, scary nasty things he calls midwives. He killed the whole the coven except Lady Purge, but he let her go. I don't know if it was for purpose or because he didn't care. And the Wendigo are getting restless, their trying to creep over the wall between the worlds. the Shadowlands are ready to explode. On a more local note, I can feel a group of freaks in suits heading towards what I'm pretty sure is Harley and his pet freak. And on top of that, I can feel the Wendigo heading in the same direction."

"In other words, we're at endgame- and your boy is nowhere near ready."

"He'll get there," Amy said, "I've got his back."

* * * 

"And that's where these three are currently trapped, in the Shadowlands- inside the steaming guts of the story." the Witch Doctor continued, pointing to Marion, the Salt siblings. Bridger and Henrietta were staring in a kind of stunned awe at the Witch Doctor, occasionally looking at Harley as though he couldn't possibly exist. The Witch Doctor kept talking, "Stories are like fermentation. Hey. Have you ever had harkarl?" 

"Never heard of it." Harley said.

"It's Greenland shark," Bridger offered, finding his voice, "They eat it in Iceland. But you can't eat it. It's poisonous. You could go blind."

"So, then everyone in Iceland is blind?" Henrietta asked.

"No." The Witch Doctor said, "Because the bury the shark on the beach and let it ferment."

"It rots." Bridger said flatly.

"It rots good." The Witch Doctor corrected, "What did think happens when something ferment? Microbes my friends. We are collaboration with microbes. They and things we couldn't and turn poisonous Greenland shark into delicious harkarl. Although people might dispute the delicious part."

"I'm trying to understand how a lesson in Icelandic cookery is relevant here." Bridger said.

"Stories are what happens when history ferments. For most of us people unfiltered reality is poisonous. Look at what happened to these three, dropping into the story without proper initiation. We have ferment reality into stories in order to add meaning. Take this for example. Imagine little apocalyptic preacher in a back water town. He gathers a group of followers who flout accepted convention. And preaches that the current power structure is corrupt and that end times are coming. Those in power kill him. The end. Right now it's a news report or a paragraph in a history text book. But depending on how we ferment the facts to generate meaning we either get the story of David Koresh of Waco, Texas; or we get the story of Jesus of Nazareth. It's all in how we let the story ferment."

"That's not stories. That's religion." Harley objected.

"You say potato and I say pomme de terre."

"That was French for potato," Bridger said.

"That's right. Calling something the same word in a different language doesn't change the meaning. The point here is that a war between two stories is a war between different ways of understanding your place in the world, different ways of assigning meaning. And people base their lives on how they assign meaning. Change the meaning and the world changes too. That's what's at stake here, what the world means! Which brings us to the subject of your other agents: The Men of Black, and White and their monarch: The Locust King."

* * *

Amy and Grub stared out at the hoard of pale figures, starved and wild looking with matted hair and teeth too long to be human as they moved like an army of cannibals across the scrub grass plains. Mung Bean growled low in the back of his throat.

Grub nodded," You're getting good at this awfully fast. You've got the knack kid."

"I really wish I had been wrong about this one." Amy added. 

Grub pointed back towards the highway, and the three bone white vans sliding smoothly across the asphalt towards the decaying old diner where Amy could sense Harley was hiding, "We're going to play a little game of 'let's you and him fight'. Get these two groups to bump into each other and then sit back and watch the sparks fly."

"Why would they fight?" Amy asked, "The Wendigo are created by the Locust King, I thought?"

"No, they Wendigo are created by the Locust King's actions. They are not his creation, they're a by-product of his actions. And they're only concerned with sating their hunger, which is impossible. So they attack and devour everything."

"Just like the Locust King." Amy said.

"Oh yeah, the karma of the situation is pretty heavy. Either way, our best option is to drive them into each other and let them destroy and distract each other while we grab your guy and run."

"And if they spot us?"

"Then, to steal your phrase, things stop being sexy." 

"It sounds better when I say it."

* * * 

"And so," The Witch Doctor said, "The Locust King fled from death by stealing life from others. Every species driven to extinction by humans in the last ten thousand years is the result of the Locust King and his story. Every war of expansion and aggression perpetrated by one culture upon another in the last ten thousand years is the work of the Locust King and his story. Social Inequity in civilizations ancient and modern is an inevitable feature of the Locust King's story, necessary to the functioning of that story. The Black Plague, Cholera and small pox amongst many other diseases that spread due to overcrowding and poor sanitation are the unintended by-product of the Locust King's story. Global Climate Change, the Chernobyl Disaster, the Exxon Valdez Spill, the Bhopal disaster, Colonialism and the Imperialist repression of local cultures; all these things happened as people attempted to enact the story of the Locust King."

"I don't buy it. What I'm hearing is that every bad thing that humans do is the Locust King's fault. How does that work? We were saints before his story?"

"No, of course not. The idea is ridiculous. Humans are humans and have behaved in predictable ways for millennia. The Locust King's story did several things. First, it forced all cultures who enacted that story into an unwinnable game where they had to expand their culture constantly or collapse if they failed to keep expanding, making our actions more desperate. Second, it taught us that only our story was acceptable and that all other stories were heresy, making us intolerant. Third, the Locust King's story was built to exploit human behaviour to fuel the ambitions of those in power, compared with previous stories which were designed to exploit human behaviour to keep the tribe alive through multiple generations. Before the Locust King's story people were just as petty and just as mean and just as lazy, but the culture generated by our stories used human behaviour in a manner that did not turn us into weapons of mass destruction. Enacting the Locust King's story we are a plague upon the earth; unstoppable and remorseless, ravenous and insatiable. We were not better before the Locust King, but our stories were better."

"So the Locust King's story is evil?"

"Not evil, but driven by fear. The story has, in its attempt to out run death, turned all who follow that story suicidal. The Locust King's story is an attempt to live forever or taken the whole world with him. He has drawn his lieutenants to him with promises of eternal life, and if his story ends so do all of their long over-extended lives. They have built an empire hungry for more, one that will collapse if it is not continually fed more than it was the previous year. Originally they were beholden only to the Grey, but as the empire stretched it became impossible to meet the quota every year. They sought out other methods of power and eventually made a deal with Falsenight: the corrupted spawn of the Great Serpent. He provided them with his power and dramatically multiplied the results of their work, making it possible to meet quotas easily and quickly for the first time in centuries, but Falsenight demanded his own tribute and also neglected to tell them that his power was finite. They have nearly used all of the power they purchased from Falsenight and then they will unable to provide Falsenight with his tribute and they will be unable to meet their quotas to the Grey by a huge margin without Falsenight's power."

"In other words, all fall down."

"Yes."

"So they're even more desperate than usual?"

"Yes. The Roman empire expanded by offering land in newly conquered regions and Roman citizenship to foreigners who joined the legion. When Roman was unable to continue conquering, it was unable to pay its legions. You can see where this is going?"

"I hear what you're saying, yeah."

"Now when Rome grew weak and was unable to continue expanding, the Franks and the Goths and the Vandals and so forth began to devour it from all sides, and Rome itself fractured into the Eastern and Western Roman Empires. But that was small potatoes compared to what will happen now that the Hungry Empire spans the whole globe in a vast interconnected interdependent series of nations and sub empires. There is nobody who can fill the void, no successor who can supply the Grey with his quota or who can give Falsenight his required tribute."

"All fall down?"

"All fall down. The Locust King's story was doomed from the first time is was told, our challenge as his opposition is whether we can keep our own story alive through the collapse of the Locust King's Story. The death of his story may be the death of all of us."

"Now, you keep switching between stuff that sounds like it's part of the world you're calling the Shadowlands and stuff that sounds like part of the real world. How does that work?"

"The Shadowlands is a world of symbolism, here the symbols are more than real. But of course they are symbols and they symbolize things occurring in the Bonelands."

"Listening to all of this is exhausting. Fine, so what's the alternative? What am I fighting for as the storyteller? What's our alternative. Grass huts and bongo drums? Hunting with spears and high infant mortality?"

"You're trying to provoke me?"

"Sort of. I want to hear your best answer. I've been running for my life with my comatose best friend and two kids who's father killed their mother. I've been framed for kidnapping and murder of federal officers. I've fought a demon dog and an ancient god. I've walked through walls and summoned a mythical super club. I'm fighting for my life in support of a cause that nobody has explained to me. I don't even know that I'm the good guy! I just know that the other side is really nasty, but then so were those witches who were supposed to help me. So maybe it's not good guys versus bad guys, but rather bad guys versus worse guys, or even just bad guy number one versus bad guy number two."

"We are not the bad guys and we are not suggesting that you would have to return to an age of spears and high infant mortality, although if we fail to change the story in time that may be where we end up, if we survive at all. You know, you are a paranoid person."

"I'm just cautious. I think that's reasonable given what people have been saying to me. So what are you suggesting? What is your story."

"In a nutshell, the story of the tribe and the circle is a way to live that does not encourage or require humanity to expand like a plague of locusts across the land devouring everything it's path. It is the slow and small way. And admittedly, without the Locust King's explosive growth, humanity would not have achieved the kind of scientific and technological progress that it did in anywhere near the time frame that it did. The process would have been much much slower if it took place within the time frame of the tribe and the circle. But having achieved those things, our story does not require that we abandon them, well, not all of them. Certain technologies have been exhausted by the Locust King and his story, others we cannot afford to exhaust, others we cannot use and still live the story of the Tribe and Circle. But many technological wonders and scientific marvels are well within the bounds of our story. What our story provides is a story where we are not the enemy of the whole of the rest of the world, a story where we are not required to devour the world in order to live in it. The Locust King's story offers a terrible choice: feast with me and starve tomorrow or fight against me and die today. We are the alternative, let us all live to see many tomorrows."

"And who are 'we'?" Bridger asked.

"We're a mess at the moment, but let me bring you up to the point that Harley's reached now: The last Princess and the Kudavbin King, the Dreamwalker and the Storyteller, and the Old Ones, the Witches and Wizards. I'll leave the other bits for later. So..."

* * *

Amy and Grub watched and waited as Mung Bean slithered on his belly into position beside a substantial sandstone boulder on the side of the highway. The caravan of three white van rumbled uniformly along the road towards Mung Bean's position.

"If he misses his mark, this isn't going to turn out sexy for any of us." Amy whispered.

"How long have we been doing this?" Grub answered, "That dog is older than your granddad and deadlier than Chuck Norris. He won't miss his mark." 

The front van drew even with Mung Bean's position and the huge dog opened its jaws and launched and deafening bark that rolled out like a pressure wave. The wave hit the lead van and spun it clockwise, blowing out three tires and leaving it perpendicular to the other two vans.

"Beauty!" Amy whispered.

"That'll stop them. Now we just let the Wendigo swarm over them." Grub said. Then he stopped and stared as the back doors of the middle van began emitting a thick oily black smoke. 

Amy could feel the magic leaking out from the back of the van and looked to Grub for confirmation on what she was feeling, "Is that a witch?" She asked.

Grub nodded slowly, "I think so. But what's happening? Ambush or conspiracy or..."

The doors of the middle van abruptly screamed with the protest of sudden metal fatigue and fell from the hinges. The rear van attempted to swerve and caught the doors on a angle. The rear van lifted into the air briefly and then the doors lodged under the chassis of the van and the vehicle skidded to a halt in a shower of sparks. 

A tiny woman leapt from the back of the middle van, her hands cuffed behind her. Huge black vulture wing composed of greasy smoke extended around the woman and lifted her over the mangled form of the rear van. The middle van plowed into the front van broad side style and the front van tilted and then tipped over in horrifying slow motion as the middle van hung, it's front axle suspended on front vehicle.

"Or it's an escape attempt." Amy finished, "That's Lady Purge isn't it?"

"Of course it's Lady Purge," Grub answered, "And we can't let the Wendigo get her. Of course it's Purge. It couldn't be somebody that I have a good relationship with could it?"

"You have a relationship with Lady Purge?" Amy asked.

"I have a relationship with Lady Purge the way Cuba has a relationship with the United States."

"Which one are you?"

"Depends on whose story you believe. How long do we have before the Wendigo arrive?" Grub asked.

Amy focused, "Maybe ten minutes, probably less."

"Fun fun fun. Let's go raise some hell."

"It's all glamour and paparazzi with you, isn't it?"

* * *

"There are four core laws intrinsic to the story of the Tribe and the Circle," The Witch Doctor said as he shoved a piece of peach cobbler into his mouth,, "No Kings, No Conquest, No One Right Way, Protect the Unborn Elders. No Kings means to accept no arbitrary authority in any form. No conquest means that you may not wipe out your enemy during a conflict. No one right way means that others may live in their own way as long as it is not destructive to the whole. Protect the unborn elders means to ensure that your actions do not damage the ability of future generations to live on the planet. These laws encourage diversity and sustainability which encourage that the story will survive to be retold generation after generation."

"There are no other laws?" Bridger asked with a raised eyebrow.

"There are many other laws, but these are all that is necessary to follow the path of the Tribe and the Circle. Different groups enacting our story can look so different culturally that you would not think we were connected, but that is the point. Difference creates diversity and diversity protects the story and the culture and the species."

"And what, the Locust King's story doesn't do any of that?" Harley asked.

"The Locust King's story is designed to protect one culture and one group, and as a result it devours everything that is not itself until it has eaten it's life support system. OUr story is designed to protect the the life support systems, sacrificing individuals and tribes and even species to protect the whole."

"This is sounding awfully hippie." Henrietta added.

"The hippies had no story, just vague ideals. They were utopian, and in fact Utopias are the mark of the Locust King. He's always trying to create a perfect system, and they just require humans to act like saints. That way, when they fail, because they're based on devouring the world to run from the inevitability of death, the Locust King can blame these flawed and corrupt people. His religions have practically turned cataloguing the sinful flawed nature of humanity into a sport. For a story to work, it cannot require people to be better than are normally. That's where hippies went wrong. Like battered wives hoping to make their husband better, they kept dreaming of a world where humans would suddenly transform into better higher beings. It doesn't work. The Locust King tried to turn himself into a god and it just made him into a monster."

* * * 

Amy could feel the Wendigo closing in on their position. She could tell without seeing them, that the creatures had nearly broken through the wall between the Shadowlands. The impending swarm of fangs and claws made it hard to focus on the task at hand, although the bullets striking the van they leaned against for cover and the hum of Grub's Mystic shielding did help keep her on task. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't get around to teaching you any combat magic!" Grub yelled back as he kept his hands up reinforcing a glowing red mystic shield and the Men of Black and White fired a relentless stream of bullets without ever bothering to reload their pistols.

"I think I can manage," Amy said raising a hand to point at one of the agents, "These freaks think in black and white, dichotomies you said. Absolutes, right? So let's teach them a little perspective!"

Amy closed her eyes reached out into the mind of on the men of black and white. She felt the connect and a wave of hate and fear washed over her as the connection formed. She held her focus and followed the waves of hate and fear back to the centre of the agent's consciousness, a world of high contrast memories and sharp angular ideologies that sat uncomfortably in the agent's self of identity. Floating inside the agents sense of self, Amy reach down and planted a seed, a connection to her own now expanded awareness of the many shades and nuances that the world held, infecting the agent with a broader perspective on the world. Amy then retreated back into herself and opened her eyes.

The agent she had connected to was writhing in his knees; clutching his head and clawing at his skull. In a state of obvious panic, the agent flung his sun glasses away and ripped out his ear piece. Amy noted blood spurting as the ear piece came out and wondered suddenly how it had been connected. The whole profile of the man began to shiver and then locusts began to crawl out from creases and cracks an out from under the folds of the suit. The locusts took flight and the suit began to crumple as the man inside began to wither away until there was nothing left but an empty mummified husk.

The other agents stared at their fallen comrade and pulled back as a unit behind the lead van, staying behind cover and not firing their pistols so often.

"You scared them with that move, kiddo." Grub remarked. 

"I didn't think it would work that well or that horribly." Amy answered. 

"Well you've bought us some time either way, and I have some questions for you." Grub said, turning to glare at Lady Purge as the witch's twisting smoke screen burned through her hand cuffs.

"I don't have anything to say to you." She answered.

"You'd better. What you and your coven tried to do demands an explanation. You were trying to steal Falsenight's cup!" Grub snarled, "That breaks the second law!"

"We didn't intend any conquest with the power from the cup!"

"It's impossible to use the cup without violating the second law. Drawing on the cup's power is an act of conquest, you can't use it safely, and you know it! What were you thinking?"

"Have you seen the signs? Are you blind Wizard? The Mother of Discord grows tired of our struggles. The Pale Shepherd marches on the land, and the Locust King is salting and burning the lands before him in an attempt to make one final tribute to the Grey. These are the end times! The story will break and we will not be included in the new story that Mystery gives to the Weaver! Desperate times and desperate measures!"

"Congratulations. You guys have done a great job thus far."

"Oh, and you've been blameless have you Caretaker? How many of the Tenebrati are left standing to hold the Mother back from her tantrum?"

"Two and a half and I've got another Apprentice lined up if we get out of this. So you really aught to be helping more."

"There are supposed to be seven!"

"Yes, there are. One turned traitor and the other four sacrificed themselves to stop the traitor, so that leaves me, the mastiff and my apprentice until I can recruit more."

"And you wonder why the other factions grow desperate, you old mongrel! I wish we'd never met."

"You always were a charmer Purge."

A scream of outrage and hunger erupted from a gentle hill above the combat zone. Amy looked up and saw some hundred or more Wendigo on the crest of the hill, fully through the wall between worlds.

"Things are about to get very ugly, drop your drama bombs some other time." She said as Grub and Purge continued to stare acidly at each other. 

"She's sharper than you," Lady Purge notes, "How did even manage to initiate her?"

"Baptism by fire. Baptism by fire. She still needs a title though. The story hasn't given her one."

"I hope she lives long enough." Lady Purge said as the Wendigo began to pour down the hill like an avalanche.

* * *

"And then we ran out of gas and rolled to a stop here," Harley concluded.  

"And out there, the world is breaking apart," The Witch Doctor said, "The illusion of normalcy is cracking and the symbols of the Shadowlands are pouring in. Book of revelations stuff, the end of days- because that's how the Locust King's story conceives of the end of its story. The King can't imagine a story beyond his own, and so as the endgame approaches, his world starts to crumble and shatter and look more and more apocalyptic. Of course, that makes it challenging for people who live in his world, which is most people these days."

Agent Bridger shook his head, "And it's up to these two guys and these kids to save the world?"

"Oh no, the world will end either way I think. I don't think the Locust King is going to manage to extend his story another generation. So it's up to these four to shepherd humanity into a new story so that humanity survives. But either way, this world dies."

Which Doctor? VOL 1. CHP 5. VERSE 2.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse Two: Which Doctor?

"Oh No, I'm not letting any Illuminati Lizard alien loving UN Puppet into my diner without a warrant." Henrietta announced, barring the way into the diner with both arms spread wide. 

Harley shook his head in dismay. He couldn't image that Henrietta's ultimatum was likely to reduce the agent's suspicions. Harley also assumed that the man had seen the Cricket parked out front, which would at least tell him that Harley and Marion were nearby- or had stopped here to change vehicles if nothing else. Harley suddenly regretted not having the nerve to try stealing a vehicle. 

Harley picked Maia up in a fireman's carry, not bothering to try to walk her to the back room. The little girl wasn't hard to carry save for the the fact that she have begun talking. 

"He's found us. Let him help." She whispered.

"I recognize this agent Maia. We didn't have the best interaction last time we spoke." harley said as he lugged his prophetic cargo through the kitchen into the store room. Setting Maia down gently, Harley ran back to the front room.

"I know the contingencies you've got in place to hand us over to a New World Order one world government and I'm not standing for it. Who do you think you are anyway?" Henrietta yelled at full volume as Harley grabbed Fitz and threw the boy into fireman carry position. Fitz was heavier, but Harley managed. As he began to carry Fitz to the back room, he noticed the figure in the back corner again, hidden in the shadows created by a dead fluorescent light above. Harley managed a weak wave, and the figure waved back and gave a thumbs up. Harley nodded and continued with his burden to the back room. With Fitzroy done, Harley finally went back for his best friend. He didn't like leaving Marion for last, but was confident Marion would agree with the prioritization. 

Harley pushed through the swinging doors back to the main room of the diner and crouched low as he jogged over to Marion.

"Don't think I don't know about how the World bank and the IMF are syphoning money away from independent nations towards those Annunaki alien corporate overlords." Harley heard Henrietta say and he slung Marion's arm over his own shoulder and began to assist walk Marion to the back room.

"She's creative to listen to, I've grant her that." Harley said as his tried to move Marion quickly without tripping his less than agile companion. 

"I am not interested in your conspiracy theories. I am interested in two children whose lives are in danger and getting to the bottom of a very unpleasant stew of a case. Now move aside before I decide to turn you into the next Lee Harvey Oswald." 

Harley pushed the door open with his shoulder and slipped into the back room. As the door swung behind him, Harley heard footsteps in the public area of the diner. Harley lowered Marion to the ground and crouched down beside him in the store room. He noted that the sound carried remarkably well from the dining area, which almost certainly meant the sound would carry the other way as well. 

"You happy? you've entered without a warrant. And now you're breaking your own fake laws."

"I could just be a customer." the agent answered.

"Then I could kick you off my private property and refuse to serve you." Henrietta said.

Maia was still talking, but her voice was rising. Harley tried to shush her, and when didn't work, he clamped a hand on her mouth.

"I could also be more dangerous to your livelihood than a rumour of salmonella and e. coli infection in your diner."

"Even for a corporate running dog of the world conspiracy, you are a piece of work, you know that?"

"Lives are being destroyed here. Children have lost a parent. Nothing makes sense. But you are right about me acting beyond my authority. But that makes me more dangerous to you, not less. I am going to solve this, even if it ruins my career. And that should make you very very scared of me."

Despite Harley's best efforts, Maia was now loudly calling, "He's found us. He's found us! Let him help!"

The agent's voice from the front room answered, "I think I'm needed in your back room."

A new voice spoke, a male voice with just enough weathering to suggest to Harley that the speaker was not young, "This isn't the time or the place for confrontation. Nobody is ready for confrontation right now."

"Ready or not, confrontation happens now!" the agent said and Harley heard the swinging door knock open and then the agent loomed as a black silhouette in the storeroom door way.

"Mr. Night, should I still go get a warrant?" Agent Bridger asked.

"I think this would sound like probable cause to a jury," Harley answered as evenly as he could, standing up to face the agent.

"I thought you didn't know these children?"

"I doubt you care, but I was telling the truth. We didn't meet them until your planted evidence in my desk forced us to run for our lives."

"I didn't plant any evidence."

"Somebody did."

"I know, but I can't track down who. This whole thing stinks. Every witness says you're innocent and yet here you are with the kids yelling for help. All the evidence tastes like an inside job, but I'm looking at a classic kidnapping. You tell me what this is Night, because I can't figure it out."

"I can't explain anything that would make sense to you, because I don't know enough myself. I'm caught in a web and a story that I don't understand. I'm just trying to keep myself, my friend and these kids alive long enough to figure it out. But I have no answers for you, nothing you'd want to hear at any rate."

"You're not making a good case for my not sending you straight to jail on a silver platter."

"If I thought I had an explanation you'd believe I'd have told you already. And I'm a lousy liar."

"I can explain things. If you're willing to listen, that is." the male voice from before said.

Harley and Bridger turned to look at the man standing behind them. From the outline, Harley recognized the man as the figure from the corner. He was - as Harley had guessed- an older man, dressed in brown corduroy pants with a red shirt and a brown tweed jacket. The man's hair was an aged pale blonde and hung long tied back into a ponytail. He smiled gently and continued speaking. 

"The other agents are following: the men of black and white who planted the evidence and send these four on the run," The man said, "You can wait for them, and then this will all go away Agent Bridger. But then you'll never get your answers, just a cover story and probably disciplinary action. But in the time it will take them to arrive, I  can convince you that these folks are the good guys and that you should be on our side- if you're willing to listen."

"Keep talking." Bridger answered slowly. 

"I promise that nobody will leave or try to run until we're done explaining. And, if you aren't convinced, I promise we will all surrender without a struggle."

"That's a generous offer," Bridger said, "How do I know Night and Day over there will honour your agreement?"

Harley quickly answered, "Marion isn't in any shape to do anything on his own. Look at him.

Bridger looked at the slumped form of Marion and then back to Harley, "What did you do to him? I thought he was your best friend?"

"He is my best friend and that's what your side did to him. We've been fighting for our lives here."

"None of this makes sense." Bridger pinched his nose.

"I can explain it." The man from the corner repeated.

"Look," Harley said, "I don't want to fight you, you're the first guy in a suit to talk like a human in days. And although I could run, I'd probably have to abandon Maia and Fitzroy and Marion, and I'm not doing that. So, whoever this guy is, "Harley gestured at the man from the corner, "I'm going to trust him, because I don't see another reasonable option here. I'm giving you my word I will honour that agreement if you do. "

Bridger looked at the man from the corner and then back at Harley, "Fine, your coworkers say that you're a stand up guy, so I'll trust your word. But if you break it, I will make your life the worst kind of hell imaginable. Now," Bridger turned back to the man in the corner, "I know who they are. Who in the heck are you?"

The man grinned and crossed him arms, "I'm the Witch Doctor."

Maia whispered, "He's found us." 

Peyote Diner VOL 1. CHP 5. VERSE 1.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse One: Peyote Diner

Harley tried to keep his gaze on the road, but found he kept looking at the gas gauge as the needle bobbed well below the 'E' on the dashboard. Harley knew from long experience that he had maybe a mile and half before the Cricket stopped moving. Harley had been driving non-stop using Maia's dreamy directions for the last seven hours straight. He was exhausted from the driving, the lack of sleep, and the managing of three comatose and occasionally prophetic companions who were more than a little difficult to manage. Maia had not recovered from her experience at the Spider Stones, but had managed to give directions in a similar way to Marion and Fitz, although both of them had fallen mostly silent- save for murmured bits of conversation that suggested that they were fighting for their lives in the Shadowlands. 

Harley listened to the checklist of challenges and goals in his head, and knew that he and his companions had long ago run out of options and were now about to run out of gas. And he couldn't carry all of them. 

With a little less than a mile of road before cricket called it a day, Harley saw a sign for food and a rest stop, about a thousand yards down the road. Harley nodded to himself. He could make it. 

"We're close and he's looking for us. We're close." Maia slurred from the passenger seat.

"We are close," Harley agreed. The cricket coughed and rattled in a dangerously hollow manner, " No, no no. Don't let me hear the sound of an empty tank until I pull into the parking lot. You keep going. I only want to hear good sounds. Okay, I'll settle for not bad sounds. Not bad sounds are reasonable."

The cricket lipped over a gentle rise in the land and Harley saw the diner. an ugly aluminum sausage of a building, lay prone, crumpled on the side of the highway, looking very much like a oversized soda can dropped by some monster truck. The walls had been brown or orange at some point, but now were faded almost past taupe or eggshell, just this side of completely fading to white. The dinner had no glass left in any of its windows, instead bug screens kept out the insects, but let in the baking heat and the sand that blasted in courtesy of the winds.

Harley felt the acceleration go spotty and he realized that the cricket was officially running on fumes. He was briefly grateful for how empty this abandoned stretch of highway was as he coasted the cricket into the empty square of dirt that served as the parking lot for the diner. he wasn't going to be able to reposition and so parked by letting the the cricket roll to a stop at the very edge of the packed earth. Harley then set about walking each of his companions into the diner. 

Stepping into the diner, the smell hit Harley like a wet mop to the face. The diner stank of alcohol and old carbohydrates baked onto various surfaces by the arid climate. The diner smelled like the worst way imaginable to try and cure a hangover. Inside the diner, the sound of flies trying to breach the bug screens was deafening, an army of tiny hand drills pounding on aluminum walls.

The diner was nearly empty, one figure lay slumped in the shadows provided by the back corner stall near the fire exit, the figure's gender was anybody's guess. The only other figure in the diner when they entered was a waitress who looked as though the fifties had fossilized and left her with no knowledge that time had passed her by. Her face was buried under a layer cake of makeup that cracked in the least flattering places and even from the door way the smell of perfume that should have been given a decent burial was overpowering.

There was a poster visible on the wall by the slumped figure depicting a young Keanu Reeves and advertising “The Matrix Revolutions” as the paper clung to the wall in what was clearly a losing battle.

The figure in the shadows ignored Harley as he half walked and half carried Marion, Fitzroy and then Maia into the diner and sat them in a booth. The waitress however; watched him intently with the suspicious disapproving gaze of a third grade teacher watching children play inappropriately on the swings. Harley would have left them in the cricket, but he couldn't see the van clearly from within the diner, and Harley hadn't managed to feed any of his companions much more than an occasional mouthful of water since they each went catatonic. Once the three sleeping beauties were slumped over the table, Harley walked to the front counter. He opened his wallet and was left with a realization that he could eat or he could get gas, and  that was contingent upon a gas station being within walking distance. 

The waitress didn't say anything as Harley considered his options, instead just staring at him. He looked back at the table where he'd deposited the others and sighed to himself. 

"Can I get four waters, something soft like oatmeal, and your cheapest lunch meal?" He asked carefully.

"Why?" the waitress asked in an off key voice that dripped suspicion.

"The water and oatmeal, because it's easier to feed somebody else something soft. And the cheapest meal, because I'm also out of gas." Harley said trying to keep his voice as matter of fact as possible, as though travelling with four catatonic invalids was just what he did on a normal random day. 

"I've seen those kids before," The waitress said, "On the news."

Harley's mind raced. He knew what she meant. He really didn't want a confrontation. Reasonable options seemed to evaporate. She wasn't somebody he was comfortable using violence or coercion to silence. What could he do? Lie? Maybe. Lie big?

"No you haven't," Harley said as dismissively as he could manage, "And it's insulting to act like everyone with Down's Syndrome looks alike."

The waitress stared at Harley, her expression daring him to blink.

"They don't have Down Syndrome," she said at last, "They're drugged. You're those kidnappers. And you've drugged them."

Harley's stomach dropped to the floor.

* * *

Special Agent Bridger had followed the trail. Little snippets of information. People who had reported seeing the aging cricket van the boys were driving, strange reports of weird events that Bridger couldn't make match the flavour of the case. Everything led him out of the city and down through Linwich Crossing and onwards. Bridger had driven without stopping for any breaks besides investigation in the hopes of catching the kidnappers or whatever they really were. He knew that he was officially acting outside his authority. But Day's neighbour was now missing as well, and her apartment looked like bomb had hit it. Everything about the case tasted wrong and Bridger was going to find out what the missing ingredient was or die trying.

His gaze registered an aging cricket van parked or abandoned at the edge of a roadside diner parking lot. Bridger slowed and pulled in to the diner's parking lot. 

* * * 

Harley quickly tried to gather himself. He noted the waitress had a name tag and quickly addressed her by name, "Henrietta, this isn't anything like what it looks. You've seen the news, You've recognized the kids. That's obvious. But then you should also realize that both me and the other guy at the table are supposed to the kidnappers. So why would he be drugged too?"

"Maybe you got in a fight over who gets the ransom money." She said without changing expression as Harley scanned the room for inspiration. He suddenly noticed that in addition to the movie poster, the diner was also decorated by several posters for events, lectures starring Xander Smith: the conservative conspiracy blogger and Daniel Egger: the liberal conspiracy author. And Harley hit on an idea.

"Did you know from the news that I used to work for Salt's data company, the one under investigation right now? Did you notice all the weird things about the investigation? Didn't seem like it doesn't add up?" Harley was grasping, having not been able to watch the news reports himself, hoping the woman was as much as conspiracy nut as the posters on the wall suggested and hoping she could complete the picture in her own mind.

"You mean like how Darius Salt disappeared right after this started?" She asked.

"And don't they usually investigate the spouse when somebody is murdered?" Harley asked, his voice picking up speed, "Why didn't they do that?"

"Yeah," Henrietta said, her face softening, "That is weird."

"you want the truth?" Harley said, pushing his voice to sound authoritative, "My friend at the table stopped Salt from abusing his wife and kids at the bookstore where my friend worked. Salt got him fired. And less than three days later we are running for our lives from guys in suits and sunglasses, Salt's wife is dead, his kids are missing and we're accused of kidnapping them. We don't even find the kids until we bump into them on the run. And now, we're all they've got.  So we kind of are kidnapping the kids, but only because they told us that their dad killed their mom and wanted to use them in some kind of ritual sacrifice. What would you do?"

Henrietta's eyes widened as Harley finished speaking, "So what's wrong with them, then?" She asked quietly as she pointed at the table.

Harley mentally gauged what he could tell her, "I don't know. Maybe you're right and they're drugged. We've run into government agents enough times that we might have been hit with something. But they've been going out one at a time. I might even be next and then we're dead in the water. But I've got two kids on the run from their murderous father and I have to try to keep them safe and not run into them again."

Henrietta looked over to the table again and then gasped, "You've run into them right now!" She said in obvious horror.

Harley looked out the window and saw a man in a dark suit and sunglasses walking towards the diner. Harley recognized the man but couldn't remember the name, "That's the agent who questioned us when the kids first went missing, before we even bumped into them."

Henrietta looked at Harley and then back to Maia and Fitzroy and then out the agent approaching. She shook her head.

"No New World Order is winning on my watch. Hide them in the back, I'll send him on a wild goose chase."

Harley ran for the table as the agent marched towards the front door. 

The Cave of the Weaver VOL 1. CHP 4 VERSE 8.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Four

Verse Eight: The Cave of the Weaver

Harley  leaned back into the cracked faux leather seat and stared across the steering wheel at Big Mack's front window and the closed sign on the front door. He sighed, "They never never taught us how to find the Witch Doctor. For all that trouble, we haven't heard anything new."

Maia looked up at him, "You can walk now and you can use that Boneshaker thing and stuff."

Harley listened and then nodded, "True, we have new skills. But we don't know how to find the Witch Doctor. We've lost our guides to their own treachery. And we have a new horrible nightmare creature that is apparently chasing us, or at least enjoying the process of tormenting us- I'm not sure yet. And Marion and Fitzroy are still out."

"Marion hasn't talked much lately, has he?" Maia asked. 

"You noticed that too, huh?" Harley said and Maia nodded.

"Yeah. Do you think he's okay?" Maia asked.

"If he's in anywhere near the same situation as we are, he's probably fighting for his life."

They sat silently for a long moment. Harley knew that nothing he'd said was likely to sound comforting to Maia, but he didn't know what else to say. He wasn't about to lie so that things would sound better, that never helped in the long run. So he sat silently, and Maia obliged by sitting silently as well.

A tap on the driver side window jolted them both back to attention and nearly gave Harley an aneurysm.  He looked out the window to see Big Mack grinning wildly at him. Harley muscled the window down.

"You're still alive! And you've got all your bits! Any unholy tattoos or curses I should know about?" She asked. 

"I can walk through walls and summon a mythical morning star. Does that count?" Harley asked.

Big Mack blinked and her mouth opened, then closed. Finally she said, "I'm not sure whether to laugh or ask if you're serious."

"Let's go with laugh." Harley said, "I don't know if I'm serious these days." 

"Generally when the Coven wants to talk to you it's serious all right. Serious trouble. I wasn't expecting to ever see you again. I figured for sure they'd take you out to the Spider Stones. And well, that would be it. Folk don't come back from the Spider Stones, at least not in one piece. Or normal and sane."

"You know that they're witches?" Maia asked, leaning across the seat to look at Big Mack.

"Everyone knows they're witches in this town and everyone is afraid of the witches. People go missing who cross them. That fracking set up was a scary thing to watch go up. Inspectors and lawyers and all sorts of outside folk would show up, and the coven didn't like it. And then somebody else would show up to find out what had happened to this lawyer or that inspector. I'm amazed that they got the thing built at all, for all the good it'll do them."

"What do you mean? I thought you said they just had a big grand opening party?"

"yeah, but the company that's financing the drilling, Salt and Sons, they just filed for bankruptcy  protection and there's a securities commission investigation on one of the other businesses, Pandora something or other."

"I've heard of it." Harley said slowly. 

"So yeah, the operation is officially open, but with the price of oil so unstable and the company providing the money falling apart at the seams, nobody is sure if the place will actually do anything. And we're all pretty sure that the coven did it. They're probably behind the missing kids too. That's why I was so worried when they took an interest in you guys."  

"People think that the coven is making children disappear?"

"That's the rumour, not like anybody will say it to their face though. hey, did you want breakfast? I assume that's why you're lurking outside my restaurant this early. I'll get you some food and tell you about it while I get the place ready to open."

Inside the Diner, Big mack busied herself setting up the free standing tables and laying down table clothes and turning on appliances and generally getting things ready. Harley noted the absence of any other employees, but decided not to mention it. Big Mack started on a trucker's breakfast of sausage and bacon and eggs for Harley and quickly had a scrambled egg and hash browns breakfast for Maia. 

"So," Harley said, sitting back into a booth where he could watch Marion and Fitzroy, "Missing Children?"

"Not like, little kids, you know?" Mack said as she bustled around, "More like teenagers, but some as young as twelve or so. They just don't come home generally. It think we're up to somewhere around two dozen. Nobody knows for sure, but the kids general got seen talking to a member of the coven before they disappeared into the ether."

"Did anyone go to the police?"

"Oh yeah, but nobody found anything. Like they just up and walked away."

"And you guys suspect the coven, because they're creepy and the kids were heard talking to them before they disappeared?"

"Well and one other thing. One kid always were a baseball cap that was found near the Spider Stones. That was enough for the Sheriff to bring in the whole coven for questioning, but nothing else surfaced and just because you know it was them, doesn't mean you can prove it."

"What are the Spider Stones?" Maia asked. 

Mack looked up from her work and her expression made Harley think Mack now regretted mentioning the stones, "They're a circle of eight standing stones outside town. They're called the Spider Stones because laid out to make them look like a spider constellation. Built on private land owned by some corporation, everything is anonymous. The Corporation isn't public, so the town couldn't find out who owns it. The company is called Weaver Public Works and Services. Seems designed to sound innocuous. I know a wolf in sheep's clothing when I see it."

Maia cautiously pointed off away from the fracking site to the other side of town, "Are the stones over there?"

Mack turned to look, and Harley could see her calculating from their expressions," That looks right, yeah. Did you see them earlier? I thought you folks came in from the other side of town?"

"Mr. Harley," Maia said softly, "I can feel them from here, and I think there's something there."

"You aren't seriously going out there?" Mack asked, "You just walked away from the coven untouched, and now you're going to the stones?"

"Oh, we're already touched," Harley said, "I think you're right Maia, this is our only lead. We should investigate."

"I'm going to tell you again that you shouldn't." Mack said, "That isn't a good idea."

"These days, nothing we do is a good idea." Harley answered. 

The Spider Stones, Mack had explained after being pressed, were behind a set of billboards on the side of the road. It took Harley less than five minutes to drive the Cricket out to the site in question. 

Harley and Maia stepped cautiously out of the Cricket and walked carefully around the three billboards mounted along the highway, apparently designed to hide the bizarre landmark behind them. behind the billboards they found eight standing stones, not a large as Stonehenge, but substantially taller and wider than Harley. They appeared to be cut from a black limestone and were erected radiating out from a central point that had been carved into a circular depression and partially filled with quartz pebbles that then radiated out into eight lines that circled around the stones and came back to conclude at the depression. The whole effect made the name: Spider Stones abundantly clear.   

Maia felt the ground open up around her and the void spread beneath. She felt herself falling and looked up to see the stones above her as she disappeared into the darkness. As she fell she could hear Harley's voice, "Oh come on. Not again. I can't carry all three of them by myself."

Maia felt herself settle into the cold of the void and in the void she felt the familiar strands of spider webs spreading into infinity in all directions.

"At last," The voice said, stretching the vowels like violin strings the darkness,"Little mother has arrived. I greet you little mother. You are finally all here and now your initiation into this new cycle begins. It have been a long time. We have missed you."

"You're the Weaver again." Maia said carefully.  

"I am still the Weaver and I am always the Weaver. Just as you are still and always First Mother, no matter how many times you are called upon to play that role."

"I'm not a mother. My mother is dead."

"The death of the old mother is a recurring part of the False King's story. He must destroy the mother to give dominance to the false father."

"Are you going to help me?"

"I am going to offer you a deal. The same deal that I always offer you. I will help you find your way in the story. I shall give you power. In exchange, you shall weave my stories for me, and weave me back across the cultures of the land. You shall resurrect me and give me new life."

"Is this like the stuff with the witches and how they got power from the thing they called the Primal one. That kind of stuff?"

"Very much so. And though I do not wish to degrade the Primal One, my dear niece. I am much more than she and you are much more than her agents in the story. If we do this right, then you are one of the heroes of this tale, and heroes can bend a story like nothing else."

"What if we do it wrong?"

"Then the False King is the hero and things do not end well for you. And I scuttle back to my hole until the story finds you a new vessel."

"If I help you, will you help me find the Witch Doctor."

"I will indeed."

"If I help you, can I help save Fitz and Mr. Marion?"

"Right now? Yes. In the future, only the story knows."

"I don't like this plan. I want another."

"The story has been crippled, little mother. Good options have been torn from us like a lamb isolated from the flock by a pack of wolves. We have no good options. You can act or you can be a victim. Choose little mother."

"I don't like you."

"That is good."

"Is this what happened to the other children who disappeared? The ones who spoke with the coven and stuff?" 

“The coven fed me discontented souls, young folk like yourself who were frustrated that the story they lived in offered them only servitude and eventual death. I do not know what the witches hoped to accomplish by this. I think they thought that they were paying me tribute.”

“What did you do to them? Did you eat them or something?”

“I did something far worse. I told them about the old story and I taught them how to leave the False King's story behind. They are gone, because they left the False King's story behind, and most likely then entered the battlefield. I sense some of them out their still, fighting for a better story.”

“Just some of them?”

“I will not lie to you little mother. You are my most trusted ally throughout our many tellings of the story. I wish you to be this again, and so you will receive only the truth. The vast majority of people who fight against the False King's story are dead. Most do not die quickly. Most do not die well. Many others could have filled your role. They are dead. But now here you are, and you must make your choice.”

“I don't know. I'm just a kid.”

“Your mother has died in vain then.”

Maia's whole being shuddered, she could feel her hurt and her anger rippling out across the vast infinite web in the void around her.

“That wasn't far.”

“The story so very rarely is fair. The False King took your mother from you to preserve his story. Our story wove her death into a sacrifice to save you, the First Mother who will restore the old story. You can let your mother be a casualty that the False King leaves in his wake. That is one story. Or you can fight to make your mother's death a noble sacrifice. It is not fair. She deserves more, but it is what he gave to her. What will you make of her death: casualty of war, or sacrifice for her children's future?”

“Fine, you have a deal. But I hate you.”

"I understand, but it will do. Now let us be bound once more as we have always been and we will be again. Be my agent in the story, and bring the story back to the tribe. Arise First Mother and be whole again."

Maia felt something wrap around her, like threads or strands of spider web, but she could see nothing in the darkness. The strands bound her tightly, but did not restrain her, rather she felt them merge into her and become extensions of herself and of her awareness. She could project her awareness out into the vast darkness and feel other bits of the story. She could see other versions of what she recognized as herself. The moment and the awareness overwhelmed her and she tried to cry out, but found herself unable to do even that. She gasped for air, and found that she seemed no longer to have a body or form at all. She was the threads and was lost within her own expanded awareness. 

"You struggle little mother, but you will re-adjust, and then you will adapt and take back your tools." The Weaver paused,  "Can you hear me little mother?"

Maia could hear the Weaver, but had trouble focusing her attention just upon the Weaver's words. She struggled and finally found her voice, "Yes. I don't like you, now." She managed.

The darkness chuckled and Maia could feel the Weaver's amusement radiate throughout the story, "But you seek the Witch Doctor. And the witchdoctor is a storyteller. Like your friends. The link between your Dreamer and Walker and the Witchdoctor is unbreakable."

"But Mr. Marion is still asleep and Mr. Harley can't see the witch road. Fitz could see the Witch Road, but he's out too and I don't know how to do that."

"You did it just fine when you fled from my nephew. And now I have reawakened your awareness of the whole of the story. It is yours and the Storytellers will teach you how to navigate this new home that I have given you."

"Who's your nephew?"

"The Pale Shepherd, and you could sense him. Simply do what you did there, but do so with your guides. You will find a line of thread stretching from them to your Witch Doctor and you can follow it to him."

"Why do I have to do it?"

"Because chance has dropped you into that part in the story. And now you must take your place int he story or die. You are mortal, but your character is not. The story alone is eternal, because the story is not bound by reality. The story is not bound by its medium. The story is information and information is free. All a story requires is a pattern and it can survive. The story is the only thing that escapes death and the only thing that may be transmitted from the death of one world into it's newborn replacement. When Rome fell, stories survived. When Babylon fell, stories survived. No King or emperor from ancient times has survived to the modern era, but their stories have survived. Zeus and Odin and Isis and Aphrodite have found new worshipers in your modern era because their stories survived and they survived in stasis like divine water bears in the void that exists when a story is not told, and each burst forth like a newborn phoenix when some archaeologist or would be Neo-Pagan again read their story and breathed new life into them."

"So is that my job? And why do I have to do it?"

"It is your job. And it is your job because of who you are. They always say that evil only has to win once. That good has to remain vigilant and never waver. But you know the big secret? They are wrong. The conditions for life exist everywhere. Life evolved around pitch dark deep sea vents. Life evolved in the inhospitable Eoarchean Era of Earth's history. Life was. As soon as life was possible and in all places where life could find even the tiniest foothold, life began and life continued."

"But what about the False King? I thought and I don't know, but isn't he destroying everything and stuff?"

"What about him? The Mayans found the False King and were just about done with his teachings by the time the Europeans arrived. The Anasazi and the Hohokam both learned the error of the Locust Path and walked away from it. Life is a self-cleaning system. They say evil has to win once, but they are wrong, evil has to corrupt every generation to such an extent that no rebellion can occur. Evil must overwhelm again and again, because if any hope survives and grow then Evil will be overthrown."

"Then why does it seem so hard?"

"Because it is hard. Evil fights to completely dominate, and when it does win, it hides all evidence that there was ever another way. But it is lying. And more importantly. It is not even evil, it is just self-destructive and afraid. But there is another way, and that other way always wins eventually. If you lose here today, you only lose this round."

"What does it mean to lose this round?"

"It means nothing changes until somebody else learns that there is another way. And if you fail loudly enough, you may spawn new rebellions. And so even in defeat you may be confident that you have done some good for tomorrow. But, and this is important, although the Locust King can only win in the short term, that short term can be quite long to human minds. The damage that the path of the Locust can do to the ecosystem can persist for generations and even millennia and the people who find the old path the Free Path may be a very different people on a very different planet, a much quieter planet than before. Life recovered after the Permian Extinction, but for nine of every ten things alive at the time, the Permian Extinction was the end of the story. And each time the Locust King get to tell his story, the human song hangs in the balance and risks being silenced forever. The next people to walk the circle of the free path may not be human. So, the stakes are still very high, even if victory is inevitable."

"You're making people disappear and you're scaring parents and I lost my mom and I'm scared of my dad. Doesn't that make you a bad guy? And how can I trust you?"

"I'm not going to tell you why you should trust me. I don't want an agent who trusts me. We are beyond time and beyond your understanding. You breath life into us, but we are beyond what you make of us. You would be a fool to trust me. I have given you what you asked, and I have told you many secrets. Perhaps this makes you think you should trust me. And so, to keep you from becoming too comfortably in the presence of an ancient spider god, I will not let you go."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that I am not sending you back to your little ragtag group with your hard won information. I am leaving you here, in my web, to find your own way back. You are my agent, or at least you will become so if you prove yourself worthy to be so. Good luck little mortal. Good luck little mother."