Volume One: The Road Out
Chapter Four
Verse Three: The Kings of Old
Harley drove the Cricket to Linwich Crossing crossing over two antique wood bridges spanning two crossed rivers. The town was very old and was all faded cracked paint and exposed blackened wood that looked as though Linwich Crossing were somehow the origin of all dry rot. The bridges nearly rattled Harley's teeth loose and Maia giggled on the first bridge and sang vowels across the second bridge listening as the rattling played games with her voice.
"Feeling Better?" Harley asked.
"Kind of and not at all and all at the same time," Maia answered,"
I'm feeling a sorts of stuff and other stuff too. Is that okay?"
"That sounds pretty much exactly like I'd expect."
"Mr. Harley, what are those towers over there?" Maia asked, and Harley turned his head to look out past the edge of town to the metal towers in the distance that looked like a hipster had tried to knock off the Eiffel Tower. Harley stared for a moment, and then returned to watching the road.
"It's a shale oil drilling operation. Hydraulic Fracturing, fracking and that sort of thing. It's probably the only reason this town still exists. I bet this was farm country, probably pasture and cattle as far as the eye could see before the drought went from an event to state of being. I don't think this place has seen rain for decades. Have you seen any white vans yet? Any men in sun glasses and suits? Any horrifying black dogs?"
"No sir, Mr. Harley."
"That's good. What do you think our chances of being lucky are this time."
From the back seat Marion mumbled, "... the story never stops... "
"I don't need input from you, Mr. Jinx." Harley said with a smile. The town had not entirely given up hope or life and there was a small General store and gas station and launder mat that seemed to serve as a catch all commercial location for the whole town.
Harley was beginning to think that village would be a more appropriate term, maybe even Hamlet. He bought camping gear, tents and sleeping bags and filled up the gas tank and his jerry can. He bought a bunch of long lasting food and noted with some worry that they were running much lower on funds now that he gone on this much needed spending spree. He tucked away the remaining money for gas and emergencies and made a mental note to tell Marion once his friend woke up. Harley kept alert as he did his shopping, but no agents showed up and now white vans drove past.
"Mr. Harley, can I have a hamburger?" Maia asked as they finished loading the new gear into the Cricket. She pointed across the street to a small burger stand that looked like something from a different time named Big Mack's.
"They are asking to be sued aren't they?" Harley said to himself," Maybe they'll claim parody or fair use. They'll probably lose anyway though."
Harley opened his wallet and did some mental calculations, then finally decided that Maia could use the boost that a treat could give and nodded to her. Harley parked the Cricket directly in front of the picture window of Big Mack's so that Marion and Fitzroy would be visible at all times and stepped into the
building. A bell above the door jangled as they enter the restaurant. Behind the front counter stood a mammoth sized woman in a frilly apron bearing the embroidered name tag of Mackenzie. She had a few streaks of grey running through her hair and crow's feet around her eyes, but Harley guessed her age to be somewhere around the mid-thirties suffering from a case of hard living. She was built like the cybernetic synthesis of a lumberjack and a pro wrestler and Harley was reasonably sure that she could bench press both him and Marion at the same time. She nodded as they entered and waved a hand to the empty tables that lined the building.
"Sit yourselves wherever you want folks. I'll be right with you. My cook's sick, and by sick I'm pretty sure he meant hung over. It's not a problem for making the food. I taught the lazy featherweight to cook, but it means I'm doing everyone's job today, because my server just hasn't shown up at all- probably 'sick' too. Pretty much the whole town was at the opening party for the fracking site last night. Free booze and tiny sandwiches is a powerful draw in a small town like this."
Harley grinned, "I'm guessing you're Big Mack?"
"Yep," She grinned, "Retired Minor League Pro Wrestler. Big Mack: hundreds and hundreds served!"
"Why'd you quit? Get tired of of it?"
Big Mack shook her head, "Never. I love the kayfabe and the performance, the story, you know? But you know if you give your life to a fantasy, eventually it actually asks you to hand it over. And then you have to choose, live in the story or live in the real world. And you know, I couldn't make a living in the fantasy land, as much as I'd like to do so. So here I am. I'll get you menus, but I recommend my special: the Spinning Suplex Burger with curly frees. Can I get you coffee to start?"
Harley nodded, "Coffee sounds great." and they sat at a booth looking out at the Cricket while Big Mack dropped a pair of menus and bustled back behind the counter to pour coffee.
"Princess? You want coffee too?" She called from the counter.
Maia scrunched her face up, "I don't like coffee and it doesn't taste good."
Big Mack grinned, "I'll make you a latte macchiato. You'll like that. Are you lactose intolerant?"
Maia shook her head and Big Mack busied herself with the coffee and expresso machines. Harley and Maia opened their menus and began to look through at the available options. As they did, harley suddenly heard and elderly female voice from the front door.
"And there they are fresh from the Bonelands and still smelling of compliance and old sweat socks. How are you little critters doing?"
Harley looked up to see a group of somewhere around a dozen old woman standing behind him like the world's most progressive biker gang. Harley noted as he looked at the women, that he hadn't heard the bell on the door ring when they had, presumably, opened it to enter. Harley looked at Big Mack and noted that she looked suddenly very tense.
"I'm guessing one of you is Agnes Bladder," Harley said, to which the lead woman nodded, " Right then, let's start right away. What are the Bonelands? I know I've heard that before. But nobody seems to want to explain how this game is played."
The woman called Agnes Bladder smiled, raised and eyebrow and crossed her arms.
"That's because you four are the movers and shakers," She waved to indicated both Harley and Maia, but also Marion and Fitzroy in the Cricket, "Main characters with all the power and chances for horrible horrible tragedy that goes along with that. And the more you know the better you can play this game. The better you playing, the more you will disrupt the status quo, the more destruction you can wreck. So people are afraid of you. Even your friends."
"That is not a comforting answer. But again, what are the Bonelands?" Harley said.
"The Shadowlands are where the story is told, where the game is played. They are the world os symbol and myth. miss. The Bonelands are the other place. The world of flesh and bone. The world devoid of story."
"Then Marion, and probably Fitzroy are trapped in the Shadowlands. How do we free them?" Harley said.
"You're never truly free of the Shadowlands."
"How do I get him lucid in this world then?"
"That depends on what he's doing there. He may not be ready to leave." Agnes Bladder answered.
"Well he's a pain to haul around like this." Harley said, gazing out the window at the Cricket.
"Just be glad only two of you young critters are deep sea diving
at the same time." Agnes Bladder put her hands on hips as she said this.
Harley shook his head, "Don't go there. I don't want to hear that."
"Did you ladies want to find yourself some seats?" Big Mack said carefully as she brought harley's coffee and Maia's latte macchiato.
Agnes nodded and sat down beside Maia, who quickly scooted up against the window in alarm. Agnes waved vaguely at her pack of old ladies and they seated themselves at tables around the restaurant. Harley noted that the restaurant suddenly seemed very busy just based on the new number of occupied seats.
Harley stared at her, "So you're the witches that we are apparently supposed to find. I was told you'd find us, and I guess I should be grateful that you found us so quickly, but I can't help being suspicious."
"Then you aren't an idiot," Agnes Bladder said, "Which is good. It's alway a pain when main characters are idiots."
"Okay, but what does that mean? Main Characters? Apparently Marion can summon tomahawks and astral project himself into the Shadowlands and use it as a the world's weirdest cell phone. Can you guys that stuff too?"
Agnes Bladder shook her head, "Some of that yes, but you two are the children of the great ancients from outside time, the cosmic couple; Lady of Fire and her consort The Man of Void. You walk in their footsteps and draw upon their power and we cannot. That is why we seek your assistance. All the players have beings from which they draw power. The Locust King draws power from the Grey through bargains with the serpent Falsenight and the Locust Spirit itself. Witches draw from the Primal One. She is strong and ancient, but the Lady of Fire and her man are beyond time and not subject to the limitations upon beings bound by time."
Harley shook his head, "This is getting to feel like we're taking an alternate historic Mythology class and slept through the introductory chapters."
Agnes Bladder smiled again, "Well, you're going to need to play catch up if you want to survive. There are two sides to this battle and two stories warring for dominance. I suspect you know this much. The Locust King stands on one side. On the other side
stand the Last Princess and the Kudavbin King mentored by the Storytellers- at least in this chapter of the story. There are other chapters you know. And of course, the Locust King has his servants and his forces."
"We've had to deal with the hound and the men of black and white so far. Anything else we should be aware of in terms of nasties."
"They aren't servants of the Locust King, but Wendigo are an ongoing problem for all sides of the conflict, and they are always a problem in the wasteland. They have an affinity for the wasteland."
"What's the wasteland?"
"The Wasteland is one of the locations in the story, an archetypal location, in the same way the Storytellers are archetypal characters that you and your boyfriend are filling."
"he's not my boyfriend."
"Does he know that? In any case, the wasteland is the land that the Locust King's empire has used up and abandoned. This late in the story, the wasteland starts to become a common feature. Eventually the wasteland becomes almost the whole map. And the Wendigo are creatures of the wasteland."
"Why?"
"The Wendigo are the spawn of That Which Survives. I've heard it referred to as the Spirit of the Winter Wind, the Ghost of the Starving Wolf, and a dozen other charming names. But it all comes back to hunger and to survival. That Which Survives is the spirit of endurance, survival at all costs. It is the core of life really, the persistent desire to strive against the inevitability of heat death of the universe. It is the spark which convinces us to battle against entropy and the grave. Without it, we cease to live and new generations cease to come into existence. But That Which Survives is not a sane thing, it is the embodiment of an impulse, and if that impulse is not controlled it becomes a disease of the mind and the soul. The Wendigo have gone mad from hunger and have been possessed by the hunger which cannot be sated, they have become the hungry ghosts."
"Okay, I heard what you said, but the term Wendigo is Native American, and the term hungry ghost is from Asia, Japan I think."
"All cultures must craft stories to deal with the hunger, cannibalism, desperation, starvation and other problems that a tribe might encounter when times are bad. They must invoke gods and demons and monsters and spells and incantations to protect them from being destroyed by these things. The stories are the magick that holds the tribe together through such trying times."
"But what I want to know is whether the Algonquin people invented the Wendigo, told them into existence through the story, or whether they discovered or named them through their stories."
"Yes, exactly, but not these Wendigo. These are the product of syncretic myth-building by previous tellers of this story."
"You must have misheard me. It wasn't a yes or no question. It was and 'A' or 'B' question."
"You must not have understood what you asking."
"Okay, Okay. This is all obviously useful. but do I need to hear all of it now?" Harley asked, "This is starting get overwhelming."
"Not yet, maybe never." Agnes Bladder answered.
Big Mack slipped cautiously back to the table, "Was anyone ready to order?"
"Get my usual Mackenzie honey." Agnes said without breaking eye contact with Harley.
"I'll have your special. I sounded good when you told us about it." Harley said.
"Can I have the Little Wrestler Special?" Maia asked.
"Of course you can!" Big mack said with a smile. "I'll get those started and then check with the rest of your friends."
"Just get them coffee in the mean time then." Agnes said and waved a hand vaguely to dismiss Big Mack.
Harley watched as Big Mack snuck away to kitchen. He noticed that she watched Agnes as she left, glancing back several times on her way to the kitchen.
"So where do you witches stand in all of this?" Harley asked.
"Witches and Wizards are meddlers and mentors, shapers and subverters. We tweak the story. We are supporting characters."
"Are wizards just men witches?" Maia asked.
"No, little critter. Witches and Wizards are occupations, no gender is required. Men can be witches and women can be wizards. The difference is in the roles they play. Wizards are tricksters and mentors, the actively disrupt and commit acts of mythic sabotage. Very active, running about and doing things. Witches are advisors and midwives, supporters and subverters, corruptors and healers. We serve the Primal One, they serve The Sleeping Beast."
"Wait a minute, The Sleeping Beast?" Harley asked, "I've heard of the Sleeping Beast. It's a book, it's a movie monster. Some guy from New England wrote a bunch of horror stories about the Sleeping Beast back in the thirties before he died of tuberculosis or something. Seward Harris Lovelace, that was the name. The Sleeping Beast isn't a god or a demon. It isn't anything. It isn't even real!"
"It's fictional, that doesn't mean it isn't real. Especially in the Shadowlands."
"What does that mean?" Maia asked.
"We're being drawn into story worlds, so I'm assuming that things in the story worlds can affect us." Harley said,"So given that the Sleeping Beast is kind of like Godzilla meets Cthulhu on the set of Lord of the Rings, I kind of don't want to meet it- do you?"
"I guess not, but is that right?" Maia asked, turning to Agnes Bladder.
"Almost entirely wrong, but it will do until I have time to explain it better. For now, anything that convinces you to run should you see it is satisfactory. The Old Ones are ideas incarnate, they ARE what they mean and represent. They are metaphor as god and devil. Really, they are the essence of story, ideas as things. A handy memory device and teaching tool with pitchfork and horns."
"Also," Harley said, "I thought it was called the Sleeping Beast, not the Sleeping Priest?"
"Stories changes. Most gods and demons have dozens or thousands of names and roles the shift like sand dunes."
"So, I guess my next question is why you're so eager to help us. What do you get out of telling us how to navigate this supernatural mine field."
Agnes Bladder shook her head, "I'm a naturalist. I don't believe in anything supernatural and neither should any Shaman or Magician worth their salt. Magick has nothing to do with the supernatural and everything to do with the story. You will never see any supernatural occurrence, if you think you do, you're going mad."
"Then I'm definitely going mad."
"Don't mistake the workings of the story for an occurrence of the Supernatural."
"Are you saying that what we've seen is natural?"
"Not at all, we are in the story. None of this is supernatural or natural, it is narrative devices and nothing more."
"You're making my head hurt. I've seen Marion summon magic Tomahawks and I've fought a dog made of black holes. I don't know how you can hear that and not call it supernatural."
"Because you are misunderstanding what you are."
"Then tell me. I'm listening."
"There is no point. You aren't fluent in the language of the story yet. I could tell you, and you would not understand. You have to arrive there on your own or else your power will be destroyed and you will fall."
"That's convenient."
"Story logic tends to be."
Big Mack slipped up balancing three plates and quickly deposited them in front of Harley, Maia and Agnes.
"One Spinning Suplex Burger with Curly fries. One Little Wrestler Special. One Rakfisk Open Face Sandwich with sauerkraut and black sausage on the side. How's your machiatto honey?"
Maia looked up from her meal and its little cardboard championship belt, "It was really good. Thank you."
"I didn't hear an answer to my question." Harley said, "Why are you helping us? I want my best friend back. I want a handle on this game that I am playing. I've been told that a witch can help be get that, but everything I hear from you convinces my you have your own game you're playing. So why are you helping me?"
"I said you weren't an idiot, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did."
"Good. You four are far more powerful than my whole coven combined. Right now, you're running scared and with no direction. And that's because you don't know how to use your power and you don't know how to guide yourself. We can teach you much of what you need to know to do those things. In exchange, we want you to use your newly acquired abilities to help us. We'll unlock your power, and then you pay us back by using it on our behalf."
"I can hear the theme song to the Godfather playing in the background," Harley said, "What do you want us to do?"
"Nothing bad for you. I told you that we witches play a subversive role. And I told you that the Locust King derives his power from the Grey via the Locust Spirit and from the serpent spirit Falsenight He accesses Falsenight's power through an artifact, a reliquary if you like: Falsenight's Cup."
"You're sending us on a hunt for a MacGuffin?"
"Oh no, not a MacGuffin. MacGuffin's don't do anything. This is a plot device, it's actually useful."
"What's a MacGuffin. Mr. Harley?" Maia asked.
"A MacGuffin is the thing in the story that everyone wants. The plot centres around people trying to get it, but it never seems to do anything and doesn't serve a purpose except to motivate the plot. Basically it's something people want, because the plot says that they want it."
"And that is why this isn't a MacGuffin because the cup actually does something," Agnes said, "The cup allows the user to access the power of Falsenight, and that power is enormous. Falsenight has some tie to the Great Serpent, a traitorous child perhaps- the legends are unclear. But in either case, Falsenight is one of the great trump cards that empowers the Locust King's forces and his empire. cut off access to that power and you cripple the Locust King."
"How's the first few bites of food?" Big Mack asked as she darted past with food for the other member's of Agnes' coven.
"It's really good Mrs. Mack" Maia said as she swallowed a bite of hamburger.
Harley realized that he hadn't started eating.
"Let's find out," He said and quickly dug into his burger, "This is really good. Thank you for recommending it. There's some spice in this."
"My own secret spice mix." Big Mack said with a smile that Harley noticed, still seemed quite nervous. She retreated to the front desk and watched everyone.
"So, what I'm hearing is that what you want is big and dangerous and you're going to put us at risk rather than yourselves." Harley said.
"Not at all," Agnes said, a little too quickly for Harley's liking," You don't understand the difference between your power and our power levels. This is destroy us, but would be easy as cake for you.
"And what happens if we don't make it? What happens to the story if we fail and end up dead in a ditch somewhere?" Harley asked.
"That won't happen," Agnes said.
"But what is it does?" Harley insisted.
Agnes shrugged "The story has an answer, and the story will go on."
"Without us." Harley said, finishing the last bite of his burger.
"Are you refusing our assistance?" Agnes asked.
"No, you have us in a difficult position. We need to know how to play this game, so I guess we have to deal with you. But I don't like what I've heard. You say we're more powerful than you. So I want you to remember that. Because if you betray us, or sell us out; I will hold a grudge. I always try to be reasonable first. Don't ask what I do second."
Agnes smiled, "Now you're in the proper mindset to make deals in the Shadowlands." She extended a skeletal hand wrapped in parchment like skin and Harley reached across the table to shake it.
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