How it Ends VOL 1. CHP 5. VERSE 8.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse eight: How it Ends

Harley stared at lady Purge as the tiny women stood with crossed arms, "What makes you think I'm going to trust you again, after the lies your coven told me last time?"

Lady Purge shook her head, "The story isn't giving us a lot of options. The Locust King has been living parasitically off every other story he could find and cannibalize. And now he's pushed everything to the breaking point. The Old Ones are taking a direct interest in the proceedings, ancient forces are walking openly through the story. There is no guarrantee any of us will survive. The story, our story, is doing what it can to push us all to the final act- in the hopes that we can make things work- but stories can, and do, die. Nobdoy tells the stories of Çatal Hüyük any more. Nonbody tellst he stories of Göbekli Tepe. Nobody knows the stories told at Stonehenge, no matter what the Neo-pagans pretend.  We don't know their stories. Their stories died."

"And?"

"And our story is next. The Witches and the Wizards have kept our story alive on life support by resisting the Locust King for generations. We have held the line until the Storyteller reappeared to teach the Kudavbin King and the Last Princess to true story, to summon First Mother to lead the tribe to freedom and find First Hero."

Harley shook his head, "I hear you, but that doesn't change the fact that what I heard from your and your coven earlier didn't match how you treated me and the kids. You tried to use us like pawns in your own game. And hearing you now, I hear the same oily attempts to manipulate me being tried all over again. You can do whatever you want, but I won't take your help."

Bridger looked back at the tiny woman and then to Harley, "You were willing to listen the Witchdoctor guy pretty easily, why is this different?"

"Track record," Harley answered, "I listened to her before."

"And you are still alive," Lady Purge said.

"No thanks to you." Harley answered.

"You think not?"

Bridger noticed Harley's shoulder's tense, and again the younger man closed his eyes and took several slow breaths.

"Agent Bridger," Harley said in a slow, carefully neutral voice, "We should keep going."

Bridger decided against arguing with the younger man, and turned up the hill. As he did, Bridger felt the earth rumble and shift beneath his feet. He looked up the trail and his eyes widened as the sun blotting form of the guardian spirit rose up out of the earth ahead of them. Bridger looked at Harley, who was staring acidly at Lady Purge. Harley didn't say anything, his giant flanged mace materialized in his hand and Harley leapt at the colossoal bear without a moment of hesistation. The Great Bear swung an massive earth and stone paw and batted Harley to the ground, sending him sprawling and the maceskittering away across a bank of shale.

"That was smooth." Bridger said.

"I'm aware." Harley managed to say through a gasping cough.

"I was serious," Bridger said, "You didn't falter at all in the summon or whatever you call it."

"Are you sure you don't want my help?" Lady Purge asked.

"I'm not even sure you left Amy alive now." Harley snapped, anger showing in his voice.

"I'll take your help," Bridger said, "Night can do things a person shouldn't be able to do, but it doesn't help against this thing, and my gun is useless. I could try my taser I guess."

"It won't work," Lady Purge chuckled, "But I need the word of the Storyteller, not the word of an untrained initiate. My help comes with a price. I will save you now, you must save me later."

Harley scrambled, shimmering from point to point on his hands and knees, clearly using the seven leagure walking technique to bellow crawl and the Bear Spirit brought monster limbs crashing down like falling boulders.

"That sounds even worse when you put it that way." Harley said as he reached Bridger and Lady Purge.

"Do you see another option? You still lack the necessary improvisational skill. You can't flow, you can't play jazz."

"I absolutely can play jazz."

"But not free jazz." Lady Purge said smugly.

"Nobody but the best can play free jazz."

"Marion can, and if you can't you aren't going to beat this thing."

The guardian flung itself at the group. Harley Grabbed Bridger and stepped about twenty feet down the hill, while Lady Purge stepped just a yard or so off to the left.

"We aren't going to beat this without help, Night." Bridger said as he reoriented himself.

"Her coven practically used us a ritual sacrifice, including Maia, a little girl!"

"I'm not telling you to trust her. I'm telling you to do what's necessary. I had to accept that choice in the diner! You have to accept it here!"

The stone Bear charged and harley again stepped about twenty feet further down the hill.

"I don't want her help!" Harley answered.


"Be reasonable Night! We're going backward here. We don't have another option."

Harley's shoulders slumped and he nodded, "Fine, Do your thing. You can screw us over later."

lady Purge stepped the forty five feet or so that separated them and stood in front of the two men. The enormous earthen bear towered above the team. It raised itself up on its hind legs and towered even more. Harley braced himself as Lady Purge stepped forward. The Colossus of earth and stone tilted a moss encrusted head to look at the tiny wizened old women, and then slowly dropped back to all fours.

"I see you remember me." Lady Purge said in her bird whistle voice, "I've come to call in my favor. Let them pass and your debt to me is paid."

The Bear spirit roared, sounding more like grinding stone than an animal, like a mountain falling down around them.

"I don't care." Lady Purge said.

The Bear snarled and snapped jaws filled with sharp shale fragment teeth.

"You've done your job and they've found a way to cross the threshold."

The bear roared.

"No, you are not abandoning a sacred duty. You know your ultimate duty is to the story.

This meets your obligation. Nobody will think less of you."

"Is she consoling it?" Bridger asked, shaking his head.

"That's what I'm hearing."

lady Purge continued to speak to the Mountain Guardian.

"Yes, we're all very impressed. Yes, It's a lovely avatar, intimidating and regal and ominous all in one. You're very good at your job. But now it's time for the next stage of the story. Look around, this chapter needs to end or the story could break. Yes, you've done your part. No, I know he still needs to learn a lot, but that will have to come later. Yes, I'll take responsibility. Yes, I make sure he gets there. thank-you. I appreciate the gesture."

The giant bear stood up on it's hind legs again and then dramatically took a step back and moved out of the group's path.

"There you go. Your path is clear," Lady Purge said, "Feel free to continue not trusting me."

"I will." Harley answered.

* * *

Henrietta loaded her last deer slug into the shotgun as Wendigo clawed at rips in the shield. The Witchdoctor pointed an open palm at one of the holes in the shield and closed his eyes. Henrietta watched as the shield resealed before her eyes. She glanced back at the two children and the young man resting in the booth near the back, all muttering arcance prophetic ramblings, creating a truly disquieting ambient noise. The young man, Henrietta thought his name was Marty or something similar seemed not to be entirely present, he was literally fading in and out of focus as she watched.

"Are we going to make it?" She asked as the Witchdoctor opened his eyes.

"It all depends. Things are falling apart, but that isn't the problem. Well, it is the problem, but only because the Locust King couldn't let things be."

"What do mean, 'couldn't let things be?'" Henrietta asked, chambering the final slug and watching for holes in the shield that might warrant using her last shot.

"The key is control of the story. It comes back to staying on message. Why did thechurch hate Martin Luther for translating the bible into German? Why do so many dictators print official books on how to think and act? Why do so many oppressive regimes ban books or music or words or films or puppet shows? Control of the message. The story is more important than reality. People who live in reality can be taught to kill in order to stay alive. People who live in the story can be taught to die in order to stay in the story."

"Because they're control freaks?"

"Because people won't willingly enact a story that gives them virtually no benefits unless they think they have no other option, unless they think that there is no other story. The Bonelands can hold a multitude of stories, a near infinite number of Shadowlands full of different peoples with different stories. But to run the story that the Locust King wants, people have to believe that no other story is possible. Otherwise they'll leave the Locust King's story in droves- because the Locust King's story only benefits the people on top."

"So it really is the Illuminati?"

"Aftera  fashion, although not at all really. But sort of, I guess, from a certain point of view."

"So how's that relate to us living or dying?"

"The Locust King made the shadowlands, and the bonelands really, so brittle that the stories are breaking apart. Everything is bleeding into each other, but it's all failing, dying before our eyes. Have you looked outside lately, at the holes in the sky?"

"I was trying not to. But, fine, what about them?"

"A story is just a layer of meaning spread over the world. A reason 'why' applied to the cold uncaring facts of the universe. A story, and the shadowlands it sustains, only survive as long as people believe in them. Whether we live or die, depends on whether enough people still believe in the story where we matter. Otherwise, we die along with the story. Although if I'm honest, the story might still kill us to increase dramatic tension before finale."

"You are not boosting my confidence a whole lot, you know that?"

"I know."

* * *

They stood in front of the last Torii Gate. Beyond the gate was a sheer cliff going straight up. The trail stopped.

"It's up that cliff isn't it?" Harley asked. lady Purge nodded.

"I'm rubbish at stepping to places I can't see. And I've never been there before. That's not fair. I've inherited Marion's luck."

"What about her? She can do the same move. Why can't she jump us?" Bridger asked.

"It is your inititation. In order for my actions to be part of your initiation, you would have to make an active sacrifice for me. There would need to be an exchange of equivalent value. That's why I couldn't help you with the guardian for free either." Bridger looked down at the enormous Bear Guardian, still visible from where the stood. Then Bridger saw something. He pointed.

"What are those?"

Behind the Bear Spirit, further down the hill something had emerged from the shadows of the forest, several large somethings- oil slick black with a gilded sheen and large arms and bellies and impossible heads with what resembled a peeled orange for a mouth.

"The Midwives." Lady Purge gasped like a broken flute.

The bear spirit turned to look at the Midwives and then without additional motion or ceremony collapsed back into the landscape.

"Am I insane, or did the Bear thing just run away?"

"They are dangerous. They devoured the rest of my coven." Lady Purge said.

"Well, they certainly don't look like they plan to serenade me." Harley said.

"Do you consider the sounds of digestion to be a serenade? Because if so then you might be right."

"This shouldn't be happening," Bridger shook his head, "Why can't we get away from these things? This shouldn't be happening."

"Of course not. But don't forget, the story cheats. To serve a drama, to serve its own narrative ends, the story will cheat. The story will manipulate you. The story will manipulate the plot and the reader to serve its goals. You will run out of gas after you fill the tank. Your gun will be empty when you're sure you loaded it. Your cell phone will lose signal. You will drop the knife. You will stumble on an empty street. Because the story is your only god and you can't escape it. The story will manipulate you by using structures and plot devices like the hero's journey, and based on the rhythms of life and the tribal structure. The story will you build up and then let you fall, because that keeps you reading. Pattern pattern pattern and then, wham! Curve ball! Cliffhanger! Shocking twist! Never trust the story."

* * *

Marion stood beneath the last Torii gate looking up the cliff. He looked down at the approaching creatures and their hooded master through a tear in the sky.

"Right, so he said the top, I guess I need to get right to the top. As far as I know, I can't fly. Maybe I can feel for a way. Trusting my gut seems to be what powers most of my super moves."

Marion closed his eyes and the darkness surrounded him in the landscape of his mind. He found himself back in the deep space of one of his earliest visions, the one that had come to him as he stood pantless in his former apartment kitchen. Marion was adrift in deep space and as he allowed the vision to gain traction, he found he could feel the frigid cold of deep space. Was he actually cold? Marion found himself wondering if he was experiencing deep space as it actually was, or as his mind felt that it must be.

Before him Marion saw a great spreading nebula, fiery tendrils of unborn and half born stars coiling in the darkness. The nebula mimicked the appearance of burning feathers, pink and orange and fucshia and deep crimson. Vaguely Marion became aware that the scene was moving, and as he focused he realized that the nebula was shifting ints shape, slowly morphing before his eyes into a symbol, a glyph that looked like great bird.

* * *

"Marty's gone, or whatever his name is!" Henrietta said as she slammed the butt of her shotgun repeatedly into the face and wendigo as it tried to clamor through the latest hole in the mystic shield.

"Did you see him go? What did it look like?" The Witchdoctor asked, his arms outstretched, sweat beading off his forehead as he tried to hold the shield in place.

"He just kind of faded out." Henrietta answered.

"Sounds like he's Dreamwalking. Let's hope he knows where he going."

* * *

"So you're telling me you won't step us up to the top of the mountain, even though we're all going to die if you don't?" Harley asked in disbelief, shaking his head.

"I'm saying it wouldn't do any good," Lady Purge answered.

"There needs to be and exchange or a sacrifice on your part. Otherwise it isn't your victory and it isn't your initiation."

"What about the bear guy?"

"You promised to save me, in exchange for me saving you- remember? Equivalence is key hear."

"So what would be equivalent?"

"This is something that only I can give you, something you can do for yourself. You need to offer up something of the same value."

"You're a full blown witch. Everything about this crazy world that I can do, you guys

taught me. There is nothing I can do that you can't do."

Lady Purge pursed her lips and looked down at the fast approaching midwives and the slow but unstoppable form of the Pale Shepherd just behind them. Then she snapped her fingers.

"There is one thing. One thing you can do that I can't. Boneshaker. Only the Walker can summon Boneshaker. Give me Boneshaker- It's equivalence in the extreme."

"That's my only defense in this world!" Harley objected, "You said yourself that we're heading for the final confrontation. You want me to do it without the only weapon that does anything?"

"If you have another idea, I am entirely willing to listen."

"just give me a moment." Harley said.

"Not to be a fly in the soup," Bridger said, "But a moment may be too long. What's it going to be Night? Do we play the game or do we dump everything down the sink and give up?"

* * *

Marion was not alone.

Something echoed in the darkness. Not words, but still a message nonetheless. Not

telepathy. A weird knowing, as though Marion were remembering a message sent long ago.

YOU ARE NOW

"I am now what?" Marion said.

YOU ARE HERE AND YOU ARE NOW

"I don't understand. What do you mean?" Marion asked.

I DO NOT MEAN
BUT YOU DO
AND SO YOU ARE HERE AND YOU ARE NOW

"What are you?"

YOU ARE

"Are you the firebird?"

WHAT YOU MAKE OF ME

Marion started at the light burning in the darkness trying to make sense of what he had heard. Staying in the vision was getting difficult and he suddenly had the sense that his time was supposed to be up, that his audience was over and he had overstayed his welcome.

Marion hung on, curious what might be seen after the curtain was to have dropped. The light stretched and widened into a circle of burning starlight. Marion could feel reality pulling him back, but he focused as best he could and watched as the ring of light split as though it were a bacteria undergoing cell division, splitting into two and then doing so again and again, the ring coiled into the distance until they had formed a great hoop themselves. Marion found himself being pulled back, despite his best efforts and so he watched as he was dragged away. And as he was pulled back he saw that circled continue to nest outward in a fractal pattern, each new circle was a small circle in a larger wheel. Circle within circles stretched from the microcosm to the macrocosm, and Marion had not sense of them ending, they seemed infinite. And yet as Marion was pulled further and further backwards he suddenly has the sense of a limit, some boundary that he was having trouble understanding. He had the sense of the boundary in a way the he felt might be not unlike how a fish might perceive the shore, the edge of reality, the edge of time maybe.

He stared at the infinite fractal circles and suddenly they cracked, each circle breaking open at a single point along their diameter.

The circles unfolded into an impossibly huge fractal tree of light. Marion was losing control and his vision was wavering, but he watched as the lines seperated from each other and formed a neat straight line with spaces between, not unlike morse code made of light. And as he struggled to keep watching, Marion felt something pushing or perhaps pulling him out of himself or perhaps back to himself- he couldn't tell, but he was losing the state that he had maintained earlier. And finally he found himself sitting on the dirt in front of Harley, a tiny old woman carrying a huge mace and a man dressed like a federal agent who looked familiar.

"I told you I could find him," the old woman said.

"Hi Harley, Hi ma'am, Hi scary agent guy, please don't kill me."

"I'm not going to kill you."

"It's good to hear you sounding lucid Marion."

Marion looked around, they were perched on top of large just of stone jutting out of the mountain. Looking down over the edge marion could see the last Torii Gate some fifty feet below, the horde of monsters and the Hooded Figure stood at the base of the rock looking up. Behind the big things, scrambling up the hill was an army of Wendigo.

"It's nice to see that things have gone more insane since I saw you last time." Marion said.

"You saw the Mystery didn't you?" The woman asked, "You saw the Firebird."

"Maybe. It was impressive and terrifying. But kind of useless."

Lady Purge shook her head, "It's always useful, but the old ones are hard to understand. Most don't experience time in the way we do. To some of them, time is like place is to us, something that they can move through. To them the past is like north, just another direction in which they can travel. Other old ones experience the universe without time, don't ask me to explain how that works, neither of our minds are built for that. Others experience time all at once. Some of them experience time in a compressed loop where all events are just variations on some original event and everything that's happening is an alternate version of the same story, like a comic book multi-verse."

"You read comic books?"

"Only if it's by Grant Morrison or Alan Moore, professional courtesy."

"So now what do we do?" Bridger asked.

Lady Purge shook her head, "The question is, what will you do. I have no more part to play in this."

Harley looked up sharply, "I gave you Boneshaker, and now you're cutting and running? I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"Wow, what did you do to under Harley's skin?" Marion asked.

"You gave me Boneshaker and I used it as a power amplifier." Lady Purge said, "With a conduit to the power of the Storyteller, I cheated you to the top of the mountain and pulled your counterpart out of the briar patch inside which he was trapped. But that was not a simple act, that took a great deal of power. Even the enormous reserve of power that the Storyteller wields was not enough on it's own. I couldn't get away with just using your power. I had to use my own."

Marion suddenly noticed that the woman wasn't fully opaque, he could see through her.

"I had to use a lot of my own power. Maybe it was guilt. We did screw you over when we first met. Maybe it was cowardice. I really don't want to face the Pale Shepherd and his midwives. I saw them for what they were right away, and I can't beat them. I'll let you judge. But this is it. I burned myself out bringing you two here together. So now you're on your own. And you are right, this is the beginning of the end, so gird your loins children. Because now it gets dangerous."

"I promised to save you." Harley said, and Marion noticed guilt in his friend's voice.

"You'll have to remember that next time we meet then."

"You just sacrificed yourself. How will we meet again?"

"Have you not been paying attention? The story is a circle. We always meet again."

Lady Purge faded away, merging with the sky until nothing was left but a memory.

Marion looked back down. The Wendigo had surrounded the summit crawling up and over each other, climbing up the sheer cliff, ravenous and ready to attack. Marion looked down at the Wendigo and then back at Harley, "Maybe you should have asked for your mace back."

Dealing with Demons VOL 1. CHP 5. VERSE 7.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse seven: Dealing with Demons

Harley stared at his ex-girlfriend and her companions, unable to conceal his surprise.

His eyes moved, looking at Amy and then Lady Purge. Bridger watched, reading rising

anger in Harley's features as he stared at the two women. Then, Bridger watched Harley

close his eyes, and take three breathes. The anger drained from the young man's

features, and he spoke.

"You're keeping interesting company these days Amy. Who are your friends? I mean besides

Lady Purge, the witch who trained me and then led me straight into a trap." Bridger

noted that Harley managed to sound entirely without malice, his voice modulated to sound

perfectly reasonable as he spoke. Bridger found the whole thing a little creepy.

Amy planted her hands on her hips, "This is Grub and Mung Bean, they're wizards and part

of the Tenebrati. And you really shouldn't talk, you're hanging out with a government

agent who treated me really crappy. So we're both with people the other doesn't like,

but life is bigger than we thought. Isn't it? You're the Storyteller, you and the Freak,

and I'm a Wizard now- and somehow we have to save the world. And here I am, saving your

big butt by shear dint of my natural awesome even though I'm still mad at you and am so

not sure that you deserve it. So be grateful. Wait, where is the Freak?"

"Trapped in a diner with the Witchdoctor surrounded by Wendigo."

"We didn't do that. Did we do that? We didn't. Did we?" Amy said turning to Grub as he

and Lady Purge held their arms wide and pushed a mystical shield outward, forcing the

wendigo backwards.

"No, that's what the wendigo were doing when we sicced them on the Men of Black and

White, we just stopped the Men of Black and White from attacking the diner as well, at

least I hope we did."

"Does nobody besides me find this all a little stomache churningly weird?" Bridger asked

to nobody in paricular.

The mystic shield split and coiled backwards, forcing the wendigo down the hill and

clearing a path up the hill, towards the Guardian Spirit.

"I see you annoyed the Guardian Spirit," Grub said, "That wasn't the sharpest move you

could have done. I'm hoping you didn't have a choice on that."

"The Wendigo were a distraction, and we didn't know we'd missed a gate until the bear

came out of the mountain." Harley answered.

"To see what he could see?" Grub said with a smile.

Mung Bean gave a low matter of fact woof and then went hurtling at the Mountain

Guardian. The Great stone bear looked at the dog with visible amusement on its stony

face. The Great big dog looked like a pekinese as it charged the earthen monster.

"Your dog's in trouble." Bridger noted.

"He's more a wizard than you are right now kid, he'll handle himself." Grub said.

"What's that mean? And what's a Tenebrati for that matter? This mythology just keeps

multiplying."

"It means I'll tell you later. Right now you need to get to the top of that damned

mountain and get The Walker here initiated or this collapse is going to be just the

beginning. Mung Bean can't distract the big scary rock bear forever you know."

Harley nodded and started back up the mountain, veering to the right to avoid the

guardian spirit and the great big dog buzzing around the spirit like a tiny gnat.

"Nobody is asking me what I think about all this." Bridger muttered before starting

after Harley.

"Now what?" Amy asked as Harley and Bridger receded into the distance.

"Now we hold the line," Lady Purge noted bitterly, "And try not to die. I really would

rather not die fighting beside this old goat."

"How would you rather die? This is their story not ours." Grub asked.

lady Purge shook her head and said, "It's like Sir Terry Pratchett said, 'If you don’t

turn your life into a story, you just become a part of someone else’s story', and I am

bloody tired of being in other people's stories."

"Our story only survives if their story survives, so this kind of takes precedence if I

understand what Grub's been telling me. Right?" Amy said.

Lady Purge nodded grimly, "Just Because you're right doesn't mean I have to like it."

* * * 

The Pale Shepherd reached the crowds of Wendigo. As the Pale Shpherd's cloaked form

approached, The Wendigo noted the presence of the Pale Shepherd and the midwives and

began to retreat.

The Midwives began howling at the Pale Shepherd, who nodded a hooded head, "Go ahead,

they are nothing but a symptom of the changes. They are expendable. Eat your fill."

The Midwives charged into the rush of now fleeing Wendigo like Japanese Giant Hornets

into a bee hive, killing and devouring with impunity and without remorse or respite. The

ground began to stain red as blood began to spatter across the dusty earth.

The Pale Shepherd did not change pace, walking steadily up the hill, the ground always

clear as the Shepherd's rob reached it. Wendigo fled or were devoured ahead of the

advancing hooded figure. A pale reaper advancing up the mountain.

Occasionally the Pale Shepherd would glance up and to the left, as though watching

something none else could see. Occasionally, the Pale Shepherd would address the empty

air ahead to the left.

"You really should move faster, I'm going to be right beside you at this rate, and that

does you no good."

* * *

"Something has panicked the Wendigo." Amy noted, watching in concern as the mystic

shield cracked under the press of hundreds of frantic pale claws bodies.

"They're going to break the shield at this rate." Lady Purge noted, "We should

concentrate our focus on a smaller area, protect ourselves when the wall falls."

"Then the Wendigo will get through and be able to chase Harley." Amy objected.

"They're going to get through either way," Lady Purge answered, "This way they don't get

us when they get through, they'll flow around us like a river.

"How strange to contemplate a river." Grub said, almost to himself, "There is no such

thing as a river when one thinks about it clearly."

"What?" Amy asked, her gaze shifting from the cracking crimson shield to her deshevelled

mentor. She tried to meet Grub's eyes, but he was staring into the distance.

"A river is a multitude of water droplets carried first by the breezes and the air

itself. And then dropped where they collected into what we call a river poor downstream.

And they are brought by the air in such a number but the stream never wavers never

dries. a river is mind-bending when you think about the volume of droplets that travel

each moment."

"Is this really the time to get poetic?"

"He's lost in the process of reinforcing the shield, ignore him." Lady Purge said.

"He's the guy keeping us alive, I think paying attention to him is kind of important."

The shield cracked again.

"The story is overtaking us," Lady Purge noted, "The narrative is inevitable, we can't

stop it, help me shape the shield, Grub us in no position to adapt right now, he's put

too much of his energy into powering the shield. It's up to us to survive the story."

"I'm not really good at shields," Amy began to to object, when the cracking of the

shield became audible. Amy flinched and spread her arms out reaching out with her mystic

energies until she found grub's shield and began trying to shape the shield inwards

around them, back into a bubble that could protect them.

"Faster!" Lady Purge hissed with a voice like a tin whistle, "It's failing!"

The shield shattered, and the wendigo tried to surge forward. Amy focused, forcing

herself not to panic. She felt blood leaking from her nose again, and ignored her

revulsion, instead reaching out for the exploding bits of mystic shielding and pulled

them back in piecemeal- knitting them pieces back together into a smaller dome, just

large enough to hold the three humans. Grub cried out in pain as the shield shattered,

but although the old man stumbled, he didn't fall and the pieces Amy pulled together

retained their strength.

The Wendigo burst past like a dam released, and charged up the mountain, around the

Moutain Spirit and Mung Bean and up the path that Harley and Bridger had taken.

Amy reached over and put a hand on Grub's filthy jacket, "Are you okay?"

"No. But this late. In the story. That makes sense." He managed between wheezing gasps.

"Let's hope that bought them enough time." Amy said watching the hurricane of wendigo

blasting around them.

"It's too late." Lady Purge whistled quietly.

Amy looked over at the old woman, "What's too late?"

Lady Purge's gaze was darting quickly from point to point on the landscape, "The fear of

the Wendigo, their panic. The change in the sky, in the soil. I know these things. These

are the signs of the Pale Shepherd."

"I've met that one, I think he may be on our side."

"The Pale Shepherd serves only change, and death is the ultimate change." Lady Purge

answered.

"It can't be the Shepherd, not yet. The Story." Grub answered.

"Then you wait around and prove me wrong!" Lady Purge answered abruptly before turning

and stepping, seven league style through the mystic shield and fleeing up the hill.

"She ditched us!" Amy said in shock.

"Now you see why are aren't dating anymore." Grub answered.

"And here I thought it was your bathing habits." Amy answered, "So what do we do?"

"Hold the line, and pray she's either wrong or that the Shepherd isn't interested in

us."

"I don't like those plans."

"When are you going to like my plans?"

"When you come up with better ones."

The shield cracked again, and Amy refocused on buttressing their protective dome.

"Fine," She muttered," I'll complain about your plans if we survive this. But I swear I

am going to teach you sexy if it kills me."

* * *

Harley looked down the mountain as they climbed and froze, the Wendigo were charging up

the trail behind them.

"We've got company." Harley said, putting a hand on Bridger's shoulder and pointing.

"Damn, they only gave us what, a five minute head start? That can't be good."

"I hear you. I hope Amy is alright. The last conversation we had before this wasn't a

pleasant one. I'd like a second chance to maybe hear her out and heal things."

"You may have a chance," Lady Purge said stepping into view from nowhere beside the two

men, "They were alive when I left them. The shield broke, but they mended it in time.

The problem is that the Pale Shepherd is coming, you remember him from the mine yes?

Somebody had to warn you, and if the Shepherd is here, the stakes have risen. You're

going to need my help."

"I don't want your help. Last time your help was pretty close to fatal. We can follow

the trail quite fine without you." Harley answered.

"You tried to go up the mountain by the trails?" Lady Purge asked, "But those are for

city folk. Those are traps and tourist traps at best. Designed to keep you from ever

going into the wild places, the magical places, the shrines and places of ancient power.

You'll never find enlightenment on the trail you must venture into the woods."

"You don't consider this venturing into the woods?" Bridger asked.

"I consider this tourism." Lady Purge answered, "And tourism is dangerous these days."

Scat and the Lost Lake VOL 1. CHP 5. VERSE 6.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse six: Scat and the Lost Lake

The Pale Shepherd stood at the base of Brave Mountain, the point at which the land

changed and began to consider itself to be a mountain, the point of change. The Pale

Shepherd looked up the hill, pausing to gaze at the spreading holes torn in the story.

Quietly The Pale Shepherd spoke, "This is where the old story ends. Little humanity, is

this your final chapter? You were so amusing in your time."

The Pale Shepherd swung a hooded head to the left sharply and then, after a moment of

silence, said, "This is bigger than Pompey, bigger than Rome. This is a change greater

than the Internet or the steam engine, greater than language. This is change on a scale

equal to fire, because this change will either kill you or resurrect you into your true

form."

The midwives clamoured anxiously around the pale Shepherd. The Pale Shepherd remained

motionless, speaking again after a moment's silence.

"No, I will not give you the odds of your survival. Such concepts are useless to spirits

such as you. You are immortal as long as humans survive, and less than a ghost if they

die. Time will tell, change is inevitable."

The Pale Shepherd was again silent for a moment, before speaking.

"You are not human. No, don't bother protesting. You never were. I know you are not

pleased to hear that, but it is the truth- as you will eventually learn. Now go. You are

needed at the summit. Your friend fights for his life, and he will die if you arrive

after myself."

The Pale Shepherd was silent again, standing motioneless and yet squirming for a long

moment, and then began to ascend up the mountain.

* * *

Harley and Bridger stood in the center of a snarling, shrieking circle of hundreds of

Wendigo, staring down the guardian of the mountain: a massive bear thing composed of the

mountain itself. They had tried to run, but the Wendigo had not retreated entirely. The

Wendigo were obviously afraid of the bear spirit and wouldn't approach, but they had

circled around in and surrounded Harley, Bridger, and the Guardian.

Harley doubted that the Wendigo had intended to cut them off from escape, but they had,

and as a result, the wendigo were forcing Harley and Bridger to deal with the bear

spirit. It loomed like an earthen shadow above them, blocking their view of the top of

the mountain and their goal.

"We can't get through that thing." Harley said.

Bridger drew his pistol and emptied several rounds into the thing, Harley though he

counted five rounds, but wasn't sure. The Guardian Spirit did not acknowledge the

bullets as they struck.

"Agreed," Bridger said in answer to Harley's earlier comment, "I guess we need to get

back to the gate?"

"Do you think that will calm it back down? Or have we permanently pissed it off?" Harley

asked.

"You're the Hero, I'm just the back up. I have the sneaking suspicion with all this

story talk that I'm the new partner who dies in every cop movie ever. You know, the guy

who gets a name and a sympathetic backstory just so the writer can make the viewers feel

sad when he gets gunned down at the end of act two?"

"Not that I'm disagreeing, but you probably shouldn't be saying that. Naming story

elements seems to invoke them."

"Maybe I'm hoping that naming it will subvert the whole process, make a better story but

upsetting expectations."

The Guardian lunged like an angry cliff face at the pair and brought a gargantuan stone

paw cascading through scraggly pine trees to detonate like a grenade made of earth and

stone and rage as Bridger and Harley flung themselves wildy out of the way. Two trees

creaked, moaned in protest and then crashed to the ground.

"You better hope that's the case!" Harley yelled as he pulled himself back to his feet

"We can't run! We can't fight!" Bridger called out in return, "What do we do?"

"Marion did this thing where he went all Zen Samurai super warrior on the monsters. The

witches who taught me to walk through walls called it 'the flow'. If I can get it

working, I might have a chance."

"I must be going crazy, because I almost understood that. I'll distract it, you get your

meditation on!"

With that Bridger unleashed another series of rounds from his pistol. Harley closed his

eyes and reached out for the story, the way that the witches had said he should. They'd

not actually walked him through finding the flow, only discussed it briefly. The sound

of metal racheting against itself startled Harley and he opened his eyes to see Bridger

ejecting a spent magazine from his pistol and load another as the man ran from the

enraged mountain god.

He closed his eyes again, but he didn't even know where to look. He couldn't hear the

flow in his mind, there was nothing to find.

"If I don't do this," Harley muttered to himself, "Then we've lost, and we've lost

everything."

* * *

Marion knew he was lost deep in the Shadowlands. He had stumbled away from an enemy

patrol and accidentally into a huge shimmering hole in the sky some time ago. On the

other side he had found himself in a wasteland of blighted crops and cracked earth,

blasting hot sunlight in cloudless skies. And Wendigo, everywhere, there were Wendigo.

Marion didn't have trouble handling the Wendigo. He was practically at home in this

weird dreamscape and was virtually unbeatable with his twin tomahawks- especially

against things that seemed to play the role of faceless monster in the story.

"I am a glorified Zombie Killer these days," Marion said to himself and he flowed

through a pack of Wendigo. There snarls turning to animalistic shrieks of pain as blood

sprayed out in chopping hacking arcs around Marion's line of passage.

Marion finished dispatching the last Wendigo and was catching his breath when he heard a

sound that initially sounded like the wet slithering of serpentine forms, but which

Marion suddenly realized was a voice, speaking quietly.

"This is where the old story ends. Little humanity, is this your final chapter? You were

so amusing in your time."

Marion looked to his left, and saw another massive hole in the world, and through it,

facing in the opposite direction- looking up the hill-, Marion saw a huge disquieting

figure in a faded robe standing flanked by things that gave Marion instant waking

nightmares.

Marion shook his head, "This is not the end. We are going to save day. But you know that

don't you?"

The thing turned a hooded head and spoke again with its voice like crawling worms.

"No, I will not give you the odds of your survival. Such concepts are useless to spirits

such as you. You are immortal as long as humans survive, and less than a ghost if they

die. Time will tell, change is inevitable."

"Not a ghost. I'm human." Marion said.

"You are not human."

Marion opened his mouth to object, but the figure kept speaking.

"No, don't bother protesting. You never were. I know you are not pleased to hear that,

but it is the truth- as you will eventually learn. Now go. You are needed at the summit.

Your friend fights for his life, and he will die if you arrive after myself."

Marion turned away from the openning and looked up the hill towards the summit about

which the figure had spoken. Marion could feel something, and with a little

concentration he recognized it.

"Harley. Okay, I'm coming. Big Damn Hero time buddy. The Cavalry is coming."

* * *

The Wendigo swarmed through the city, a howling and screaming horde of predators let

loose in their prey's nest. Wendigo dragged people to the ground and began feasting as

others fled in panic, some running headlong into portals torn open right in front of

them as the ran blindly away from the devouring monsters.

The streets echoed with the screams of the hungry and the screams of the hunted.

The wendigo did not hunt at random however. Some people they ignored, passing those city

dwellers by in disinterest. Those ignored by the wendigo inevitably experienced a

change, skin drawing tight about their bones, teeth elongating impossibly, pallor

becoming pale and hungry. These new wendigo promptly joined the pact and began to hunt

with the rest, tearing into their former neighbors with newly grown claws and driven by

a hunger they never before knew they had within them.

In the office of Salt and Sons, Darius Salt watched the chaos in an empty office- even

the Gray had left him in isolation.

"What a waste of resources." He muttered to himself.

* * *

"We're wasting time, and we're wasting energy." Bridger said, 'I'm out of ammunition. I

don't have any other tricks up my sleeve, just a taser that I've never used outside of

training and a badge I can wave around."

Harley paused for a moment to listen to Bridger and try to formulate a new plan. He

couldn't find the flow. Boneshaker was doing no damage. Bullets did no damage. An

urisine shoulder made of sedementary rock and soil pounded into him like a collision

with a sixteen wheeler. Harley heard himself scream in pain, and watched in third person

as he flew like a rag doll through the air, landing hard amidst the Wendigo- who pulled

back in fear and eyed the enormous stone bear warily.

"Night! Don't you dare die on me!" Harley heard Bridger yell, "I may still arrest you,

and I can't arrest a corpse!"

Bridger dodged to the side as the bear spirit brought jaws like a dumptruck down where

Bridger had been. But the impact threw of huge chunks fo sandstone and shale, a piece of

which clipped Bridger, sending blood spraying out from his forehead and sendig the agent

spiralling into the crowd of Wendigo.

Harley tried to focus, "Move Harley," he mutter to himself, "Move Harley! Move! Or Agent

Bridger is going cease to exist."

* * *

The man tried to scream as the woman beside him pounded on the black dog like shape

before them with an umbrella she had been carrying. The scream disappeared into the

event horizon around the Hound as it moved slowly towards the screaming man.

The city was awash in fear. And the Hound was feasting. The woman made no impact on the

hound as it closed on its chosen prey. The man was terrified, paralyzed by his fear. The

Hound reached the man, touching the man with its event horizon.

And the man simply ceased to exist. The women screamed in horror and rage and continued

to strike the hound. The hound did not notice and loped out of the alley way leaving

only a trail of frost.

The Hound was hungry and the city was a feast.

* * *

The Pale Shepherd passed through the second Torii Gate, which splintered from dry rot

and fell to the ground in a heap as the Pale Shepherd passed through. Holes in reality

spawned like rabbits around the Shepherd has the robed figure undulated up the mountain.

The sky cracked in pain as the Pale Shepherd passed, portals opening like split lips.

The midwives lumbered and danced along beside as the Pal Shepherd continued inexorably

up the mountain.

The sounds of battle echoed down the mountain. The shrieks of the wendigo were on the

wind like ashes from an massive forest fire intent upon devouring the world. The Pale

Shepherd cocked what passed for it's head and turned to gaze off to the left.

"No. The wendigo aren't mine. Although on occasion they do my work. But if we are being

honest, everything does my work. I am inescapable. I am inevitable. Kings cannot bribe

me with all their gold. Empires cannot oppose me with all their armies. The Dinosaurs

failed to escape me. The trilobite ended on my decision. I brought the Permian to a

close, and the Ordovician, and the Devonian, and the Triassic and the Cretaceous, and

now I bring the Holocene to a close as well."

The Pale Shepherd did not stop moving as it spoke.

"No, you can't stop it. Why would you want to stop it? That is not your role."

A long silence.

"Your role is to enable the next story. This story is finished. And when one comes to

the last page, close the book."

The Pale Shepherd kept walking.

"You cannot sway me little figment. I am what I am. As are you. We play our appointed

roles. Yours require that you become lost, that you may again find your way. We oppose

each other to bring about the same thing. One day you will see. We are opponents, we are

not enemies."

* * *

"I am still hungry." Falsenight hissed.

"There's nothing left." Darius snarled as he walked passed the decaying black serpentine

form.

Falsenight attempted to rise, and failed, crumpling like collapsing crane back to the

tiles.

"There is you." Falsenight slurred out, wriggling heavily along the floor.

"Look at you," Darius countered, turned to face the serpent thing, "You can't devour me,

you can't even rise up to strike."

"We made a bargain, little meat. Where is my tribute? I hunger!"

"I'll get you your tribute you vile snake. Just you wait."

"Time is almost up little meat, the game is going to end."

"I will not let it end."

* * *

"This isn't the final countdown. It doesn't end like this." Harley managed, forcing

himself to his feet through means he couldn't rationally explain. He was standing again,

but wasn't sure how he had done it. He legs were jelly from the mountain guardian's last

hit, but he was standing, battering back the wendigo with Boneshaker. His technique

wasn't pretty but it was working, after a fashion. He pushed and shoved and jostled his

way violently through the Wendigo to the point where Bridger had fallen.

Swinging boneshaker is large crunching arcs, Harley drove back the wendigo to reveal

Bridger coiled up in a fetal position- arms covering his head protectively. Harley shook

his head.

"After the sound you made when that rock hit you, I though you were dead. I didn't

expect to find you still conscious."

"We're dead." Bridger said, taking advantage of the space Harley had created to pull

himself to his feet. "We are Christmas dinner and they're about to feast on us. This is

just postponing the inevitable. How long can you hold them back?"

As Bridger spoke, a wendigo ducked under boneshaker's arcing swing and sank fangs into

Harley's bicep.

Harley cried out and punched the wendigo, failing to dislodge and both crashed to the

ground in a snarling scrambling heap.

"I had to ask." Bridger said.

A Wendigo launched itself at Bridger, and he braced for impact when the thunderous bark

of dog deafened Bridger for a moment and a pressure wave knocked the wendigo sideways

out of the air. The Wendigo on top of Harley began to shiver violently, and then

abruptly the skin of its scalp ruptured, bursted outwards in a spray of blood of brain

juice and the Wendigo fell limp on top of Harley who heaved the still form off as he

pulled himself to his feet.

"I thought you said your boy was sexy?" A male voice said, and Bridger looked up to see

a dirty dishevelled man with a huge dog standing next to a bloody and battered but still

quite stylish Amy as the wendigo retreated.

"In case you haven't noticed, nothing stays sexy in this world you've brought me into."

Amy answered.

Harley shook his head and smiled, "You do Amy. You're always sexy. Even your voice is

sexy."

"Alright," The dishevelled man said with a smile," You can keep him."

"Is everyone you know secretly a super hero wizard space ninja, or just the one's I

met." Bridger asked

"You're going to make me sick," A tiny wizened woman said, emerging from behind the

other two.

Bridger watched Harley's face go cold.

"Who's she?" Bridger asked.

"She's a witch, and she tricked and betrayed us."

One Hundred Years Chapter 25

Chapter 25

" ...till Birnam wood do come to Dunsinane"

Most people quickly forgot that Dolf was thirteen years old in his presence. His language felt young, but he projected an older presence. He was nearly full grown at thirteen and muscular, and although he would never be huge- he was large enough. He was sitting cross-legged on top of the desk he had claimed from the former commander while the regular officers of the camp stared at him with a mixture of anger and discomfort. Ogre stood at the door- leaning against it and holding it closed. Ogre was ostensibly there to prevent interruptions, but the fact that he stood on their side of the door made the officers think he was there to intimidate.

"Al right my baboochkas let's talk freely here. A small banda led by my bratties- my half brothers- are dancing around us and shiving us every place we turn. The troops are creeped and workers are going missing- maybe kidnapped, maybe escaped. I want to blame somebody, and somebody wants to blame me. But when you cut this problem open and look at the keeshkas, you see that none of us get out of this clean. And worse, we all take the blame."

"Me, and my droogs are top notch hunters and raiders and everyone knows it. But this is our first command, and everyone is watching. You guys got to pick up the pieces either way when I'm gone. All of us have our asses out waiting to be shived, unless we turn this grazhny pile of crap into a victory."

Colonel Springbok was the former commanding officer of the base and now answered directly to Dolf. The Colonel was forty-five years old and wore a short moustache and a salt and pepper crew cut. He cleared his throat and began speaking.

"Everything you say is true. This simple question is how. The troops are as afraid of your men as the are of the raiders- and they are very afraid of the raiders. Not everyone gets trained at Fort Winterheart. These men are simple line soldiers. They are not up to the same standards, what do you want them to do?"

Ogre spoke, "They survived the pits. The tribes have no pits. Do they wish to bow to cowards and weaklings? Remind them who they are, make them angry, and then we may win."

The officers were silent at that. All of them had survived the combat pits of the Winter Wolves, it was a mark of superiority in the mind of any Winter Wolf. Other tribes allowed everyone to reach adulthood just by letting the years pass. The Winter Wolves had to fight for the right to reach adulthood.

"Your droogs aren't trained like my banda is trained. But my banda was weak when I found them. I shaped them from baboochkas with nothing, into killers who would shiv the devil himself. You baboochkas and your droogs can be made better, you've been through the pits, its just a matter of putting you all back in the pits to keep you motivated." Dolf was smiling now.

Colonel Springbok cleared his throat, "What does that mean precisely?"

"It means that I sent out a letter this morning. My father will receive it in about five days. It tells him to send a cleaner squad out in another five days if a secret signal isn't sent before then. Do you pony what I'm saying? If we do not solve this in less than ten days, this fort will not just be shived, it will be leveled and everyone on the duty roster will by hunted down and killed. My dad didn't want to send big troops here for a number of reasons. He won't be happy if he has to send them. He'll see see to it we all die- you, me, Ogre, these bratchnies we're fighting. He'll send napalm launchers and flame throwers and purify this place with fire."

The Colonel stared in horror, "That's insane!"

"Welcome back to the pits Colonel. Tell everyone what a crazy bratchny the commander is and what he's done to everyone if they don't kill these raiders. Tell the workers, their names and faces are on record too you know- the cleaners will find them too. Forget having them continue working, they scout for us now. We're all one big banda now, 'cause otherwise we all die. A viking funeral, you know."

One Hundred Years: Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Nugget

Nugget knew that Widow was behind him. he acknowledged her with a quick series of hand gestures that indicated he knew that she was there and indicated that she should stay back. Nugget liked to look at Widow and Widow knew it. Except for his experience with Dolf, Nugget had no sexual experiences- and he wished his first to be with Widow. This would of course be difficult. Widow hated Nugget and killed any man outside the banda that looked at her for longer than a moment.

Nugget had heard older men talk of smelling fear to scare the inexperienced. Nugget could not smell fear, but he could read it in people's posture. Widow was afraid of Nugget, but Widow was far more afraid of Dolf. 

Nugget's mind rolled back to the task in front of him. He had found where the prey left the clearing. He had found where the prey split up, and now he had to decide which prey to follow.
Nugget could follow the prey that walked with the big dog, or the prey that walked alone. Nugget weighed his options.

Both of the prey were heading back to the base, and as such both were likely after more prey of their own. These people were Nugget's prey, but they hunted pack wolves. Neither was to be underestimated. 

The prey who walked with the dog would have the advantage of the dog's sense of smell. This was a greater challenge, and appealed to Nugget. But Dolf would want to kill leader himself. Nugget knew this from experience, and the prey with the dog moved like the leader of the group. But the prey who walked alone was clearly older and stronger, perhaps the older prey was in fact the leader. Nugget wished to kill something, he just did not wish to have Dolf kill him afterward. 

Which was the leader? Was it the elder one, or the confident one with dog? Nugget decided to trust the tracks. The younger prey walked as thought he were in charge, so Nugget would assume that he was in charge. Nugget would kill the older man. The older man alone was now Nugget's prey. Nugget smiled. And any friends the older man encountered, they would be prey too- of course.

Nugget signaled Widow to follow the younger man and report his destination to the group. Nugget dropped into a crouch and moved along the older man's tracks, following his prey.

* * * 

Pike was exhausted. He had been putting Helen through the paces, to see what she knew. And he was both impressed and horrified. Helen was in good shape for thirteen, probably do to the labor was required. Helen had said that she hid when she could, but she could only hide so often without being caught. 

Pike was surprised to find that Helen was remarkably familiar with fire arms. She knew how to load and fire a weapon. She knew how to adjust the safety on most weapons, and how to carry them safely. She knew the proper way to hold a pistol and a rifle. She had no idea how to aim because she had learned everything that she knew about firearms from watching the guards. 

Helen was also quite good at stealth and hiding and use of cover. This again, she had developed while hiding from the work crews. She was better at hiding than she was at sneaking, able to practically turn into a rock or bush as needed, but she was still decently skilled at both.

Helen had no idea how to use a knife, and no idea how to use a bow, or a sword or a machete or any of the common hand weapons. Her knowledge of firearms was only good as long as Pike was asking about modern firearms. Helen knew nothing about older model firearms that were more common amongst the tribes. 

Helen did not know the first thing about building a shelter, or staying warm without a blanket around her and a roof over her head. She could not determine the cardinal directions with a compass or without and barely even seemed to have any idea what Pike meant when he talked about the north or the south, the east or the west. She could not make fire without matches. she had no idea how to cook without a pot and pan and decently stocked mess hall. 

Helen also had no idea how to fight unarmed, how to use her body with aggression and confidence. She moved like a deer, ready to take flight the moment a sharp noise startled her. She lacked all the instincts that a warrior needed. Pike decided to start there. He had far too much work to do, but this was the essential part. Helen was desperate to transform into the knights of her clan's stories, so Pike would need to provide that transformation. 

 He would need to provide some life changing event, something from which there was no going back, something after which she could never go back to who she was before this all began. Pike was mulling this over when he heard something moving about twenty feet into the brush. The thing was displacing enough of the undergrowth to be a wolf or a coyote, maybe even a black bear or a human. Pike drew his machete in his right hand and his straight razor in his left. Helen froze and was about to ask something when Pike shook his head and raised a finger to his lips to shush her.

Helen nodded. And then Pike heard a voice from the brush.

"The prey has spotted me. You're really horrorshow, prey never sees me."

The figure stood up revealing a thin short man wearing nothing but a kevlar vest and a loin cloth. His head was shaved and he carried a wire thin stiletto knife in each hand.

"I am Nugget. Your brattie sends his regards. I will shive you now and he will be happy. Die now."

And with that, as Pike was still trying to decipher Nugget's slang, Nugget broke into a sprint and burst through the bush straight at Pike.

One Hundred Years: Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Hero Worship

Five years ago...
July 15th, 2115   

Helen practically bounced beside Pike as the two waited back at the campsite that Pike, Cooper and Malika were using during their raids.

Pike had used all of his skill to cover Helen's tracks from their trek to the campsite. At thirteen, a child in the Redwing clan would have been ready to begin testing as a warrior. They would have been able to track and counter-track. They would have been able to move silently and blend in with the surroundings. They would be familiar with how to carry and use a knife and a machete and both a hunting bow and a war bow.

Helen was smart, very smart at thirteen. Pike could tell from what he had heard of her and from his conversations with her. She had the right attitude. She was in good shape. She was eager. Still, Pike was worried about her lack of practical experience.

That said, she had been the best choice, because she wanted to destroy the Winter Wolves as badly as Pike, Cooper and Malika wanted to destroy the Winter Wolves.

Now Pike's only immediate problem was how to convince his new student to be quiet.

"So why are you guys fighting the Wolves? You use their snowflake in you flag so I don't get it. Why are you guys fighting them?"

"Maxwell Winters is the father of myself and my half brother Cooper. You'll meet Cooper later."

"Wow, you're fighting your father. Why are doing that?"

"He raped and kidnapped my mother. She escaped with me and Cooper when were very young. We were raised by my great uncle at the Redwing tribe."

"That why you have red wings in your flag huh?"

"That's right."

"So are you married?"

"What? No, I'm twenty-two years old. I've been fighting the Winter Wolves for the last five years. When would I have time to find a partner... ...a wife? Cooper and Malika have been friends forever and have had crushes on each other since they were, well as long I can remember. They fight beside me and despite both of them being here- together- they still haven't managed to sort out their feelings for each other. How was I going to manage that?"

"Oh, well maybe with the right person?"

"I'll be honest Helen, I have my brother, and I have Malika- who is practically my sister. I am fighting for them and I am fighting for my family by in the Redwing tribe. The right person would have to walk right up and smack me in the face, and I would still probably have to make them wait until after this war was finished."

"Oh... ...What's Cooper like?"

"Cooper is very smart, and kind of spooky. He's a ghost dealer; and he and his wolfhound do tend to scare people. He has a learning disability called dyslexia, which means that he can't read because the letters seem to move on the page when he looks at them. Don't comment on that you're upset him. He's very sensitive about not being able to read."

"Oh that's okay, I can't read very well either. My elders tried to teach me, but how do you learn in a prison camp. But he's a ghost dealer, how did he learn that?"

"He doesn't talk about it much. I think he likes promoting the mystery. But you're welcome to try and get him to tell you."

"So you're going to teach my to be a knight?"

"I'm going to teach you to be a warrior. I know of the Wallace clan, but I don't know their specifications. I am going to teach you to be a warrior in the manner of a Redwing warrior, because that's what I am and what I can teach. If there are things you need to learn as a member of the Wallace clan, tell me. If I can teach them to you, I will."

"You know the Winter Wolves killed all of our knights. So I only know a little of what it means to be a knight. Maybe I should talk to the dreamspeakers, they might know. What do you think?"

"You will be speaking to your clansfolk. You will need to inspire them and help them rise up. Because we can't destroy this fortress without their support and your help. But before you do that, I need to teach you enough that you can actually help them."

"I'm ready. I promise you I'm ready."

"You better be, because if you're not this will awful. And even if you are, you're going to hate me by the end of this."

"Oh, I could never hate you."

One Hundred Years: Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Poisoning Young Minds

Five years ago...
July 15th, 2115  

Nugget approached the clearing and observed the ground, took everything the earth told him into his mind and assembled it into a complete picture. Nugget could see the prey carry the sleeping pack wolf into the clearing and tie the pack wolf to the chair. Nugget could see one of the prey walk back and forth between the restrained pack wolf and the table with the medicine several times, several times this action caused the restrained pack wolf's leg t spasm and kick up dirt. Nugget could see the other prey walking around to the hidden speakers each in turn. Nugget could see one of the prey sitting down in the tree chair. Nugget could see the tracks of the wolfhound that had been waiting in the clearing, patiently, the whole time.

Nugget could see the entry of the other pack wolf into the clearing and could see that pack wolf injuring himself on the caltrop. Nugget could see his increasingly erratic movements and his trips and falls and general loss of balance. Nugget could the dead bodies of both pack wolves lying where they should lie- at the end of their trails.

For Nugget everything was a trail leading to the end of a trail.

Nugget saw words on the body of the pack wolf. Nugget hated words. Words were a trail who's marking didn't go anywhere. But Nugget could track words if he had to. So Nugget read.

Nugget was not surprised that the caltrops were poisoned. The trails had told Nugget that much already. Nugget was surprised that the words claimed the ammunition shed was sabotaged. Nugget understood stealth. Prey and predator alike needed to move quietly and leave few tracks. Why would prey leave obvious tracks. The prey was not acting like prey. Predators leave false trails or use diversions to send prey where the predators wishes the prey to go. Prey do not do this. Nugget was worried, the things at the end of this trail were not prey- not his prey in any event. Many predators are themselves prey for predators higher up the food chain.

Nugget felt a shudder beneath his ribcage, and he scanned the clearing again. Nugget realized that his mind had shifted. Nugget had become prey in that instant and didn't know how to reverse it.

Nugget broke radio silence, "Droogs, Appypolly loggy. I screwed up. This is bad bad baddiwad. We ain't millicents or rozzguys no more. We're prey. They be hunting us. I pony everything the ground tell me. I pony what it all means. They're the hunters, we're the prey. They're going toskeeve us and we won't ever see it."

The radio was silent for a moment. And then the unmistakable voice of Ogre crackled in Nugget's ear, "Nugget, your orders have changed. Find them and kill them. Widow will arrive at your position shortly. The two of you will kill them. They day you cease to be hunter, the day you allow yourself to become prey, is the day your 'droogs' have no use for you. So kill them- or kill yourself."

Nugget was quiet, "I pony. Nugget out."

* * *

Helen was actually working when the explosion ripped through the encampment. She had been helping carry loads of cement up to the latest earth works project. Helen had been thinking about how this so-called 're-education camp' was actually a frontier fortress under construction.

But that was then, no Helen was crouched behind a half finished wall waiting to see if another blast would shake the camp.

The silence stretched on, and Helen stood up.

Most of the other members of the Wallace clan were still behind some sort of cover. There was a single guard trying to get the clan back to work, but the other guards had charged off in the direction of the explosion.

They still rush about like panicked chickens, Helen thought to herself. Winter Wolves were tough and not afraid of violence, but they seemed to like to charge right at the point of violence. And these attackers knew this and were using it to their advantage.

Helen realized that she had become lost in thought, when the guard grabbed her by the hair and yanked her almost off her feet.

"You do no ignore me! When I tell you to get you skinny ass over here, you do it!"

"Just because you're scared of them, doesn't mean we're scared of you!" Helen said, and immediately realized that it was a mistake. Simpson wasn't the only cruel guard in the camp.

"What did you say to me? You skinny little tribal whore! I will split you open from bottom to top if you aren't careful."

"Really brave of you to threaten a thirteen year old who's never been trained. I bet you mount my skull in you mess hall to commemorate my kill. I'm probably the most dangerous thing you've ever faced in person."

The guard hit her with a gauntlet, backhanding Helen to the ground. Helen was tangled in a mass of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, Helen was terrified. On the other hand, Helen was furious.

Helen kicked out at the guard's shin, which she discovered was armored as she bruised her moccasin bound foot. The guard kicked back and connected with Helen's shin. Helen screamed in pain. Her shin bone held, but the pain was excruciating.

"You dumb bitch! First you ignore me, then you insult me, and now you try to fight me. You tribals really are stupid aren't you?"

The guard stomped down hard on Helen's hip. Helen managed to spit out an insult despite the pain.

"If we're so stupid then why are so afraid of the tribals dancing around the camp killing your buddies?"

The guard kicked Helen in the face and she spat out a bloody tooth, noting somewhere in the back of her mind that none of her clan members were coming to her rescue.

"Those aren't your tribals though are they whore? And if they're so damn impressive, why don't we ever see them?"

A straight razor snaked across the guard's neck and then retracted, leaving a trail of red blossoming on the guard's throat. The guard clutched at his throat gasping.

And then Helen heard a voice from behind the guard.

"You don't see us coming, because we're better than you. You don't see us leaving, because you're dead. Simple enough mongrel?"

The guard keeled over, revealing the most gorgeous man Helen had ever seen. He was dressed in burgundy-brown leather armor and knee high moccasins. His face was deeply tanned and might have been chiseled from marble with high cheekbones and a jawline that belonged to an ancient god rather than a mortal. His hair was wild and thick and luxurious. He cleaned the bone handled straight razor was a confident hand and snapped it closed before reaching out a strong hand to Helen.

"My name is Pike, and very few people fight to the last breath like that. I can teach you how to fight effectively. I can help you free your people."

"Really?" Helen could barely breath. This handsome, and a knight, and he would teach her- Helen was certain now that she was unconscious. The guard had clearly knocked her unconscious and she was dreaming. The man, Pike, smiled a roguish smile.

"Come with me, if you want to be free."

Helen to the hand and let the man, Pike, pull her up as easily picking a flower. Helen was afraid that she was blushing. If this was a dream, so be it, she would dream.

Read the next chapter here

One Hundred Years: Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Man depicted...

"The Problem with Witch Doctors" 
From "Discourses by the Invisible"
By Sorinesti Jones.
Published by University of Toronto Press
copyright 2120

The problem with Witch Doctors is, that despite filling an important niche in a tribal culture, they normalize superstition. The Witch Doctor may act as doctor and therapist and apothecary all rolled into one with a slice of father knows best to boot, but the Witch Doctor also adds a big heaping portion of stage magician and carnival huckster. If there is a single easy reason for the the rest of the world's quick dismissal of North America, it is the wide spread prevalence of folk medicine, hedge magic and rampant superstition.

Even in the UNR (the United North American Republic), superstition is heavy in the rural areas. In the Oil Baronies and the DRO (the Democratic Republic of Oregon) superstition is even more widespread. This makes the challenge of reintroducing progress and science to the wilder areas of North America.

This also puts the Witch Doctor in a strange position. On one hand, he is respected for his knowledge and abilities. On the other hand, he is feared for his mysterious powers. More than a few doctors on outreach work from the UNR have been executed by superstitious tribal groups after being accused of dark witchcraft.

The Witch Doctor must walk this line with delicacy, but we should dream of a day when the Witch Doctor can put away his bone rattle and his top hat and put on a lab coat and join the ranks of civilization.

* * *



Five years ago...
July 15th, 2115  

Devlin approached the clearing with the methodical caution of a bomb technician. He could see speakers- probably stolen from the fort's public address system mounted in trees with rope and duct tape around the edge of the clearing. Devlin couldn't imagine what purpose the speakers had served, but their presence alerted him to the fact that he had probably come to the end of his search.

Devlin listened at the edge of the clearing. He could hear a human voice, but only one, and that voice sounded scared. The scared voice was likely Simpson. Were the raiders still with Simpson? There were no other sounds from the clearing that told Devlin anything.

Devlin weighed his options. He could barge in with his gun up and hope to catch the attackers by surprise. But that plan assumed that the attackers were still there and that he actually had the element of surprise- something that Devlin didn't think that he could count on. He could try to sneak forward and get a better look first, and then devise a plan. But if the attackers were aware of his presence that would simply give them a clear shot.

Devlin nodded to himself. He was dead already, he had decided this before he began. He could hear Simpson's voice in the clearing- he was certain that the voice did belong to Simpson.

Devlin crouched down and then pushed off, launching himself through the wall of leaves. He hit the ground and rolled into a crouch with his Beretta up and ready. He scanned across the clearing. There was a chair with somebody sitting in it at the center of the clearing, the person was draped with a sheet of some sort and was shuddering as though in pain.

Behind the chair was a table and then a burned out black tree. Devlin ignored the tree and the table for the moment and focused on what he was fairly certain was an injured Simpson in the chair. He walked over to the chair, noting that there were bird bones scattered around the chair. And then he felt a stab of pain and looked down. As well as bird bones, there werecaltrops - nasty things made by hammering three nails through small bits of wood so that a point always faced up. Devlin had stepped on one, and although it hadn't gone in deep- it had definitely pierced his foot. He ripped thecaltrop out of his boot and examined it. The device looked relatively free of rust- which was the real danger with such things. He tossed thecaltrop onto the table and continued walking toward the chair, using low brushing steps that swept bone and caltrop both aside as he went.

He reached the chair and looked at the sheet, and then recognized it as a flag. The flag was mostly white with a large red snowflake in the center and red wings spreading on either side of the snowflake.

"It is the Red Snow Raiders." Devlin whispered to himself.

All the guards thought that this was the work of the raiders. Proof was not comforting to Devlin however. The Red Snow Raiders had been active for five years now and had never been caught, never been seen, never taken a casualty. The Red Snow Raiders were ghosts and bogeymen. They only attacked Winter Wolf holdings. And they didn't lose. There was no solid information about the raiders that the commanders were sharing with the troops, but rumors were plentiful. The double red wing design on their logo lent itself to obvious conclusions. But in the five years since the raiders had begun their attacks, they had never once launched an attack near theRedwing tribe holdings. Maxwell Winters had also never retaliated against the Redwing tribe. He had continued to send the usual raiding parties, but had not launched a large force against the Redwing tribe. The snowflake design was also an obvious element, but since the Raiders attacked the Winter Wolves it seemed unlikely that they were wolves themselves.

Still, rumors circulated. Some people thought that the raiders were Maxwell Winter's elite force, testing and disciplining troops. Others claimed that the raiders were the bastard children of both theRedwings and the Winter Wolves and had sided with the Red Wings. Others claimed that the raiders were the ghosts of Redwing members killed by the Winter Wolves. Devlin didn't know who the raiders were, but he knew how good they were. And that worried him.

"Don't leave me like this." the figure under the flag muttered, and Devlin snapped back to reality. The voice definitely belonged to Simpson.

"Don't leave me like this. Don't let me die as a zombie."

Devlin whipped the flag off Simpson and stared. Simpson was tied with wire to the chair. He was bleeding at the wrists and ankles from the wire. His eyes were vacant, staring into the distance. And duct taped to his chest was a cardboard note.

It read- 'The caltrops were poisoned."

Devlin felt the blood drain from his face. He looked down at his left foot in horror.

"Ghost Dealers, ghost dealers, ghost dealers." Simpson muttered to himself.

Devlin collected himself and noticed that the note kept going.

'We've sabotaged one of your ammo sheds'

"Wild man and wolfhound, wild man and wolfhound." Simpson muttered.

"Damn it!" Devlin swore.

Devlin turned away from Simpson and began to scan the table. It was filled with medical gear including a number of syringes filled with various liquids. Nothing that might help him tell with what he'd been poisoned. He looked to the burnt tree, which he now noticed had been carved into a chair, and approached it cautiously. There was a small headset microphone lying on the seat of the old tree- nothing else.

Then he noticed that Simpson had stopped muttering. Devlin ran back, stepping around the caltrops and checked Simpson's pulse. There was nothing, Simpson was dead.

"Crap."

Suddenly a wave of dizziness hit Devlin and he staggered, stepping on another caltrop. He fell onto his hands and knees. He was having trouble focusing his eyes, and was getting headaches.

"Damn, what did they put on those caltrops."

Blackness engulfed Devlin and he lost some time. Clearly he had been unconscious, because he was now flat on the ground. He probably was going to die and probably hallucinating like Simpson had done. He needed to pass whatever information he could manage on to command.

A wave of dizziness hit Devlin, but he managed to switch his radio back on.

"This is Devlin, I have an emergency. I think Simpson is dead- I found him- but I think he's dead. There are caltrops around our position, they are poisoned I am poisoned and hallucinating I think. I arrived before something important what was I going to say I think I'm losing it command do you copy?"

There was a silence that felt far too long and then Devlin heard.

"I repeat, Private Devlin we hear you. Do you copy? Over."

"I think I blacked out again command been poisoned it'll do that to you. Simpson was alive when I found him and he was talking about Ghost Dealers and Wild men and wolfhounds and that might be important and they have and they have and I what was I saying command?"

"Take it slow Private. What to the attackers have?"

"They stole our public address speakers. And I think that they used 'em to mess with Simpson and there are a lot of drugs on a table here but I don't think that any are my antidote and I was afraid to try and check and Oh yeah Simpson was talking about zombies too command."

"Did you say zombies Private? Please confirm."

"Yeah something about not wanting to die as a zombie which is kind of weird 'cause aren't zombies already dead I've seen the old movies you know and it's getting really hard to hold a decent conversation cause this jackass Simpson won't stop talking to me."

"Private, are you still lucid?"

"Don't think so command I think I'm on the way out and I know I need to say something else and ammunition and how we store it or maybe something about going to the store no that doesn't sound right and I'm pretty sure its about the ammunition and the raiders I think and you know they really are the red snow raiders and now I want to know why somebody using our snowflake would attack us and damn it the ammunition thing I don't know how much time we have on that and there may not be enough time if you have to send somebody else up here to read itthereself or is it themself that doesn't sound right either but I know I disobeyed order command but you don't leave a man behind."

"Private, take a breath and let's keep you lucid."

"You don't leave a man behind and I can't let Simpson go out ahead on his own so I'm going with him command."

"Private, You do not have clearance to go with Simpson."

"Sorry command he's my partner I figure I'll probably lose radio contact where I'm going so this's Private Devlin signing off 'n I did my best sir 'n I ain't letting Simpson go alone."

"Private you are not cleared to enter the afterlife! You will wait for debriefing, do you copy?"

"Sorry sir I got a higher authority I'm talking to on the other line and they say that I gotta go."

"Private, do you copy?"

"Private?"

"Preston you damn well better not be dead!"

"Preston?"

* * *

"Anyone still doubting my ghost certified plan?" Coop asked.

"What's your next trick- catch a star like Munin tried to do?" Malika said.

"I think I'll teach the people magic, like Martegas did." Coop answered.

"So, next move?" Pike asked.

Coop nodded, "Malie and I will detonate the ammo shed, you can start the insurrection. Pick carefully."

Pike Nodded, I'm on it.