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."
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