Ancient Temptation of the Zombie Butterfly 6

6

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Northern Badlands,  Second month of the Hot Winds, 314 APW (After the Precursor War) 

The hut had been built from sod cut out of the badlands and used as a kind of brickwork, layers of sod earth piled like flat breads in a market. The door had been by stretching a ox hide across a frame of driftwood that had likely been scavenged from the shores of the nearby brackish inland sea.

Cyri pushed open a door and stepped inside, "I have found your family's killer,"

The woman in brown did not turn to face Cyri, "I see. And what do you plan to do?"

"Well, I deal with parasites the same way every time," Cyri said as she drew her Tomahawk, "But this time, I do plan to make the last parasite suffer."

The woman nodded, "People do say that nothing can stop you."

Cyri continued, "She took lives from family after family. And she will do it again, to other families trying to heal the wastelands."

The woman put down apothecary jars she had been washing as Cyri approached.

"She will tear away at those doing the work of the Precursors, and destroy those little spots of hope again and again."

The woman turned slowly and looked at Cyri. The woman's eyes were cold, almost dull, perhaps bored.

"You will have your vengeance," Cyri said, "although I know that's a about the same comfort as a handful of salt for the thirsty."

The woman nodded, "Vengeance is a wagon wheel that rolls straight to the Blightlands."

Ancient Temptation of the Zombie Butterfly 5

5

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Camel Spine Mountains,  Second month of the Monsoon, 314 APW (After the Precursor War) 

Cinnamon wiped her index finger along the bowl and touched the dry film to her tongue, "Three primary component ingredients. There's a psychadelic ingredient here. I suspect its a cactus that your mother's interrogators also grow."

"Side effects?" Cyri asked, "Withdrawal effects?"

"Virtually none. But it tends induce a certain talkative nature that the interrogators find helpful to their purposes. Then there is the Yaupon black holly, a powerful stimulant. Withdrawal includes painful headaches and aggression issues. There is also something else. I suspect a coca derivative, although that would take quite the elaborate garden set up. Hyper aggression as a primary effect and painful and damaging withdrawal."

Cyri nodded, "The gardens they destroyed at the farm were impressive. I saw a number of buildings. I saw what might have even been the ruins of some glass gardens. More than enough to match what you're describing."

The Dragon Man grinned, "You speak of the person who sent you on this little mission of vengeance? Interesting. Where is she now?"

"I don't know. It's been months. I'm not tracker enough to find her trail when it's grown that cold."

Seraphim clucked his tongue, "You did not study with sufficient diligence."

"This is indeed interesting, "The Bone Man said, "But not relevant. Our duty is to return to you to Lady Vanora."

Cyri looked up from Cinnamon, and her eyes darted as she appraised each of the four in turn. None had let down their guard. All her exits remained blocked, and posture indicated to Cyri that all were ready to draw their weapons before she could breathe in aggression.  Cinnamon looked up, and all four returned her gaze, her former teachers turned opponents assessing her chances and her intent.

She nodded.

"I surrender."

"Oh?" The Dragon Man said, "Really? Just like that."

"Conditionally," Cyri said.

"Then state your conditions protege," Seraphim said.

"I cannot track this woman. I cannot find her after so long. I am not tracker enough. "

"But we are," The Bone Man said and slowly blinked his eyes.

"But you are."

"Are we to hunt this woman down and kill her then?" The Bone Man asked.

"No," Cyri said, "I made her a promise. I must keep it. My condition is that you track her and take me to her, enable me to keep my promise."

"And then? Cinnamon asked.

"I will surrender to you," Cyri said to the assembled hunters, "I will not attempt to escape or to flee on the return trip back to mother's fortress. This is my promise, if you do this thing for me now."

"And after you reach her fortress?" Seraphim asked.

"Well, then you'll have done your duty, and any failure will be the castle guards and not yours certainly." Cyri answered.

"And those are your conditions?" Cinnamon asked.

"And food," Cyri added, "I left the bazaar in somewhat of a hurry."

The hunters looked at each other, communications passed between them in some way that Cyri had never managed to decypher. They held a collective gaze, and Cyri waited.

Ancient Temptation of the Zombie Butterfly 4

4

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Camel Spine Mountains,  Second month of the Monsoon, 314 APW (After the Precursor War) 

Two men stood on a balcony that had listed to an awkward angle centuries ago. The men appeared to have listed to awkward angles themselves. They both held heads in hands and appeared to have minimal interest in keeping any sort of a watch. They wore red armor built of water hardened leather plates and leather sandals, but little else besides their loin clothes. Cyri slid the spear from her back and unhooked her banner, snapping the clasps of her banner to her belt. She crouched on the lip of a stone balcony just above the two men. She tensed and then uncoiled into a springing pounce that brought her slamming down upon the first man- spear point driving through his clavicle into his chest cavity. He spat blood as the spear found his lung. Cyri let go at that point leaving the man to flounder and drown as his lung filled up.

She turned her attention to the other man, who had turned and begun screaming an alarm call as he scurried into the safety of the cavern rather than face Cyri. She drew a forearm length throwing dart from a leg harness and flung it under hand into the man's back. The weight tip popped through the front of his torso between two ribs and he spun in a dainty little spiral before collapsing and sliding downward across the angled floor. Neither man had died yet, but neither would either be attacking her from behind, and so she left them.

She drew forth two more darts, holding one in each hand. Three more of the Forgotten Dead climbed through a title crumbling doorway into the room. Cyri dispatched two with her darts, thrown cleanly through each man's sternum. The third was just registering the demise of his comrades as Cyri slammed the blunt head of her tomahawk into his nose, collapsing the bones there and spraying blood and mucus across his leather tunic. The force of the blood tipped the man backward, and Cyri took a step back to gain range and then brought the tomahawk's head chopping down bury itself in the man's face- slipping the skull in middle and cleaving the already damaged nose into two ruined pieces as it passed through the nose to enter the skull and brain.

The body hit the ground and Cyri planted a foot on the body's shoulder and wrenched the tomahawk from the skull.

"The Cinder boy was right, withdrawal and animal instincts. Not like that makes a hunt harder though. Three done. Let's find a few more." She whispered to herself as she yanked darts from the cooling corpses. She noted a whisper of a smell, smoke on the wind: incense. The rain made detection difficult. The smell might indicate Seraphim, or it might indicate that the gangers used incense to make their drug use palatable. Cyri didn't hold much hope for the latter being relevant.

She found three more men sleeping in piles of filthy rags and killed them silently with her skinning knife before continuing on. In the kitchen she put a dart through the skull of a man who had apparently been attempting to drink away his withdrawal symptoms. The kitchen however, provided not food that wasn't spoiled or high proof home brewed alcohol. Cyri had no intention of trying to obtain nutrition from liquor on an empty stomach, and so she pressed on. She was slipping up behind a large over muscled man holding a bowl with some sort of powder when somebody coughed loudly behind her. The man spun around, chainmail jangling and Cyri swung her tomahawk in a hasty chopping strike.

"She sent you! Didn't she!" The man growled as he clumsily blocked Cyri blow with a handmade machete, "Not enough to cut us off, take her butterflies back. Not enough to leave us to suffer without the butterfly insight. No, no, no. She had to send an assassin for vengeance against our revenge."

Cyri kicked her shin into the man's nethers and he dropped to the ground with another growl, dropping the blade. The man pushed himself into a backward roll and came up on his feet in the back room of the cavern. The room had two entrances, the door the man had just used and a large window looking out into the grey sky and pouring rain.

"You're the last one, you know," Cyri said, blocking the door through which she'd entered, "You can deal with me, or you can go out the window. You might survive the fall, but I don't relish the idea of dying by exposure in the monsoon. But it's your choice.

"What do you want?" The man said, "You're going to kill me when you're done right?"

"I am, but it will be quick and it will end the pain." Cyri answered.

"That's a handful of salt for comfort." The man said.

"You can jump," Cyri answered, "If you think it's a better offer."

The man shook his head, "Ask your questions."

"The woman who sold you the zombie butterfly, you destroyed her farm. You did this in revenge, after she cut you off- wouldn't sell you the butterfly any longer. What happened?"

"We had an arrangement. We'd raid other farmsteads around her. She'd keep seeds and garden stuff. We'd get food and livestock. And she'd give us Zombie Butterfly. Some for us and some we'd sell. But people started putting the pieces together. Started figuring out hints that might tell them where the butterfly came from, or who cooked it. She didn't want that. So she cut us off, started rumors that sent people our way and kept her in the shadows. She was using us as altar goats, sacrifice us to keep her hands clean. So we said, fair's fair. If she weren't going to play fair, we weren't going to play fair either. So we took her down. She weren't there, I don't know how she knew, but she must have. Didn't warn nobody else though. She had three husbands, they died defending her five kids. Died well. They were warriors- like you, like me. So that's why. Now I've told you. Hand me my chopper, it's time you killed me."

Cyri chuckled quietly and kicked the machete to the man. He picked up the blade and, stumbling only a little, charged her with a wordless war cry. Cyri dodged his feinted first blow and rammed a knee into his gut, and then slammed the top of her tomahawk into his jaw. She dropped the tomahawk and the man struggled to reposition. She reached back and pulled a hooked dagger with a hollow pommel from her belt and rammed it into the man's torso puncturing the chainmail rings, curling the strange blade into a lung by driving it through the stomach and diaphram. Blood spilled out the hollow pommel, draining through a hole in the equally hollow blade. Cyri hated cleaning the blade, but it was a nasty end to any argument.

As she caught her breath, she heard clapping. Cyri turned and saw Seraphim and the Dragon Man blocking the door. Looking to the window she found Cinnamon coiling through the opening as the Bone Man stopped behind her crouching to block the way.

"What happened to the Cinder Scales?" She asked.

"We showed them your mother's gratitude," Cinnamon answered.

"You didn't kill my cassowary did you? I have to return it to its owner."

"Killing a beast of burden holds no interest to us, " the Dragon Man said.

"So young protege," Serpahim said, "What shall we do now?"

"Actually," Cyri said pointing at the discarded bowl containing the powdery residue, "I was hoping Cinnamon would give her her expert opinion on the contents of that dish."

The four exchanged surprised looks, and then Cinnamon stepped forward.

Ancient Temptation of the Zombie Butterfly 3

3

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Deep Southern Desert,  First month of the Monsoon, 314 APW (After the Precursor War) 

The rains hit the lands of the great salt wastes and the surrounding regions for only three months of the year. They drenched everything, and then disappeared- swallowed up by a hungry earth that did not give the moisture back. The desert was soaking, and the sands were treacherous, giving way whenever the water and the sand reached some mysterious agreement and become almost liquid. Swimming in such a mud puddle was nearly impossible. Cyri fully intended to return Ashton's cassowary and took her time, travelling very carefully. This could prove disastrous for her, she knew. Her mother's hunters would ride whatever mounts they commandeered into the ground to catch her, and walk here home across the desert if it came to that. Still, Ashton had lost nearly everything when he lost his position in the stables, and she wasn't about to make his generosity to her cost him further.

The rain pressed the usual smells of the land into the earth. All that Cyri could smell was rain. She would not know if the four hunters were there until they wished to her too know. The rain got into everything, leaving Cyri soaking and miserable from smooth round helm to soggy flapping moccasins. She could feel her body temperature dipping well into ranges where torpor lurked in the shadows. The Cassowary appeared unperturbed by the temperature as it nested beneath the chassis of the rickshaw between the wheels. Cyri still had trouble believing the beast could fit under the rickshaw, but it curled up beneath the rickshaw each night as Cyri made camp, so she had learned to accept it. Cyri herself had given up trying to bed with the bird for warmth, the beast would have none of that sort of cooperation. Instead, Cyri crossed her legs beneath her and made herself as compact as possible as she watched the Camel Spine Mountains from a distance of a quarter league or so away.

The Camel Spine Mountains weren't truly mountains. Though they had tilted considerably since the Precursor War, the Camel Spine Mountains could be immediately identified as ancient stone towers of the great golden age early four hundred years earlier. Erosion, wind and sand had filled in the structures. And although many balconies and rooms were still accessible, the structures were more landscape than architecture these days. The Camel Spine Mountains housed a maze of collapsed tunnels that could swallow the unwary. Cyri had no intention of poking her head in to have it lopped off. She needed to know where she was to hunt. And so she watched and had watched. Cyri had sat without food and only rain water for eight days. She focused her mind upon her patron spirit, the great wyrm, and her eyes upon the mountain range.  Her stomach ached, and she had plans to devour whatever food stores the Forgotten Dead had sequestered in their hideaway. She meditated when she could, keeping her eyes open in soft focus. She kept her efforts focused on slowing her body to minimise the need for food while she waited. 

She remained cold as she maintained her vigil, watching the whole of mountain range- looking for campfires. Evidently the Cinder Scale gangers had overestimated the carelessness of the Forgotten Dead gang. Or perhaps the Forgotten Dead had pulled through their withdrawal symptoms and had become more careful as the mysterious Zombie Butterfly had left their systems. Or perhaps they were dead, or had moved on to a new campsite.

Finally, on the twilight of the eighth day, Cyri saw a light on the north most spire of the Camel Spine Mountains. The flickering light of an open flame illuminated a room turned cavern about five stories up the tower turned mountain. Cyris stood, stretched out cramped and tired limbs, and shook the phantom biting of a thousand insects out of sleeping limbs. The cassowary noted Cyri standing and pulled itself out from under the rickshaw and shook a spray of rain and damp sand from its feathers, fluffing and shaking its plumage several times before presenting itself at the front of the Rickshaw. Cyri harnessed the bird to the rickshaw and set off with little preamble. The rickshaw was impractical, even dangerous in the damp sand. But cassowaries disliked being ridden, and had impressive talons with which to pass their displeasure on to the would be rider. The rickshaw wobbled into motion and Cyri and the cassowary headed to the base of the mountain.

They found the gang's war beasts easily, sleeping metal hulks resting in the lee of a series of eroded buildings. Cyri slipped in and took a knife to the beast's tires and twisted open their stomachs to let the rain and sand in to to clog their guts and stop them from going to war. Then she hid the cassowary and the rickshaw further in the lee of the building, out of easy viewing should any of the gangers wander back. Preparations complete, Cyri began to climb up the mountain of assembled straight lines and right angles, moving along roughly parallel as she aimed for some hypothetical perch overlooking the spot where she had marked the fire.

"Alright," Cyri said as to herself as she climbed, "Let's go remind the Forgotten Dead that dead men stay buried."

Ancient Temptation of the Zombie Butterfly 2

2

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Great Bazaar Inland Salt Sea, Third month of Grey Skies, 314 APW (After the Precursor War) 

The bazaar had organized itself like an organism. The bazaar had a mouth, through which it took in new meat. The bazaar had a stomach, the dark underbelly where new meat was digested. And the bazaar had an anus through which the waste was expelled.

The south side of the bazaar was the anus, and there parasitic scavenging gangs squatted, clinging to the bazaar and picking off meat from among the waste expelled. Here, the Cinder Scales had pitched their umber red tents and raised their serpent skull banners.

In walking through the bazaar, Cyri had turned down the offers of three roach mongers, two prostitutes, six junk merchants, three slave traders, and one skinny man painting portraits using charcoal made from human bones. During the walk through the center of the bazaar, Cyri had felt forced to divert through three food stalls when she smelled roasted cinnamon in the air. She had stepped into three sales booths when she heard the clack of a hand counting out a meditation on a knuckle bone set of rosary beads. Twice even she had briefly engaged in bidding at slave auctions, sliding into the crowds as she smelled the expensive scent of amber, frankincense and vanilla incense. And once she felt it necessary to pay for a rent boy's brief attention when she smelled the distinctive smell of dragon's oil pipe smoke, using the scantily clad young man to block her own silhouette as she leaned into the shadows between two yurts. She knew that there was a better than average chance that her mother's hunters had not been fooled and knew exactly where she now stood. She felt there was at least an even chance that they watched her now, as she stood before the umber red tents of this scavenger gang. She could do nothing about this, and so discounted it in large part as she listened to the sounds inside, which suggested that goats should not leave their drinks unattended in this part of the bazaar.

If she were watched by her mother's hunters, then she would make use of that.

She listened again to the tents, as great gasping and huffing sounds radiated out in waves from the tents from the tents, punctuated by cheers as regular as drum beats- regular that is if the drummers were very drunk. She counted at least seven different voices, all male, within the tents. Nodding to herself, Cyri reached into one of her hip bags and drew forth a flint and steel tied together on a cat gut thong. She dropped to one knee and removed a small ball wrapped in paper with a twisted wick protruding from one end. Pulling a small pile of lint impregnated with mealybug wax from the bag, she struck the flint and steel together, catching a spark in the lint. She dropped the flint and steel back into her pouch and gently held the burning lint to the wick until the wick caught and began to shriek and burn like a panicking city man in a siege. She stood, and lightly tossed the ball into the main tent. And then she waited.

"It's a dragon pie! Run!" somebody inside the tent yelled, the voice higher pitched that it probably would have sounded under ordinary circumstances.

Men in various states of undress scrambled from the tent, climbing and charging over each other, pushing and clawing and biting in frantic looking motions. The paper ball burst into streams of spiraling trails of light with an ear popping series of miniature thunder claps. Several of the streaking bits of light burnt holes in the tent. They launched skyward before fizzling to bits of nothing, leaving sulfurous smelling trails of smoke marking their passage. Cyri waited until everything was still. The men of the Cinder Scale gang lay in a surprised exhausted heap before her, and looked up at her in varying levels of comprehension.

"I'm looking for information again." Cyri said, "And this time, you're going to provide it for free. Or I'm going to tell the Butcher's hunters what information you provided me last time." She crossed her arms as she spoke and stared at the thin, muscular and entirely naked albino who lay sprawling at the top of the pile. He was handsome, and Cyri enjoyed the view briefly, not a touch of fat on him, and well-muscled without looking like an over packed mule bag. He had a slender face and long platinum blonde hair that flowed far too perfectly for the bazaar or for a ganger of any sort. She noted that he wore eye shadow as well. She waited, leaving her face as blank as possible as she did while they absorbed her words.

One of the gangers near the bottom of the pile found his voice, "We ain't never given you nothing. Cinder Scales ain't no snitches, ain't never selling no secrets."

Cyri snorted and then pointed at the albino, "Speak for yourself and not for pretty boy there. He sells secrets; he sells more if he's short of hair care products. I wasn't asking you for information. You don't have anything to offer. I'm doing repeat business with pretty little butt cheeks here."

The albino pulled himself upright, and snatched a cloth from inside the tent to wrap around his waist as he rose, "I've not sold you anything. I've never seen you before."

"Technically true," Cyri said, "You were bent forward in front of me when we spoke." She forced a smirk as she said it. The other gangers were staring at the albino in a kind of twisted fascination.

"That true Mel?" another ganger asked

"I've never turned no rent boy tricks." the albino named Mel insisted. Cyri observed that the expressions of his fellow gangers suggested that they did not believe him.

"It doesn't matter, you know." Cyri said," Do you know who you I am now?"

The gangers looked at Cyri, appraising her as they extracted themselves from the human pile they had formed. Cyri noted the recognition as it began to form in their collective gaze.

"You're the Raven. You're the daughter of the Butcher; the Butcher of Brinebarrow." One of the gangers whispered.

Cyri nodded, "And her four best Hunter Trackers are hunting the bazaar right now. And do you think they'll listen to your screams of denial, if they hear that you betrayed the Butcher to her own traitorous daughter? Do think they'll stop to consider that you might be telling the truth. You think Cinnamon Girl is going to give up a tasty little morsel like pretty little butt cheeks here, because he might claim he doesn't know anything?"

Slowly, she watched as the gangers began to add up the collected bits of information she had scattered before them. Slowly, she saw them lose color as blood drained from their faces. She watched dawning horror express itself upon albino Mel's face.

"Unless you've got some big bad magic sword, you aren't going to like how that adds up." Cyri said.

She watched as Mel's face scrunched and contorted as he stared at Cyri silently. She said nothing, and watched as he flexed muscles through his back and shoulders, rolling his shoulders as though loosening them for a fight. She smiled and shook her head. When the albino finally lunged at her, Cyri had shifted her weight back to rest up her left leg. As he closed with her, she brought her right knee up sharply into the young man's pale chin. Crimson spit sprayed from his mouth like an exploding mosquito. He screamed a muffled humming sound without vowels as he bit down upon his tongue.

"Not as pleasant to have me at your front instead of your back, is it pretty boy?" Cyri asked.

"Never had you behind me," Mel muttered as he spat blood from chalk white lips.

Cyri smiled, "Doesn't matter. Does it? It only matters what my mother's hunters hear. I'll tell you a secret. I have such a fierce reputation. And yet I can't beat any of my mother's four hunters in single combat. But they're all here, and all looking- probably for me. And the longer we stand here talking, the more they will assume was said. And thus, the more they will feel obliged to beat, slice and carve out of your pretty little pearly skin."

"You're bluffing." Another of the Cinder Scale gangers said, pulling on a loin cloth made of at three dead raccoons.

"Maybe," Cyri shifted balance and pushed Mel the albino backwards to regain some distnace, "but that doesn't matter- because you can't handle me on my own. I could carve the information out of you myself."

She let a hand drift to side as though moving for a weapon, drawing attention to the fact that she hadn't needed one yet, "If I'm lying, then I have as much time as I want to beat the information that I want out of you at my leisure. But if I'm telling the truth, then I'm on a schedule. And if you don't talk soon enough, I'll have to flee to escape my mother's hunters. And I'll have to feed you to those hunters to make my escape. And if you haven't told me anything, you'll have nothing to tell them to make the pain stop. So what do you prefer? Either way, you staying silent means more pain for you."

The gangers shifted uncomfortably, and looked at each other with concern as Cyri continued.

"And a better question for the rest of you cinder boys, is whether you're willing to stake that much potential pain on Mel's modesty about how he earns his walking around money."

"I didn't do nothing with you!" Mel spat, "They know me! They trust me!"

"But do they trust you enough to endure unwarranted torture at the hands of the hunters, the hunters of the Butcher?" She looked at each other ganger in turn, "Well? Is he worth losing a few fingers over? Is he worth losing a testicle or two over? Is he worth losing chunks out of your eyelids? You better chose fast. Because I have to go, and then you'll have new guests to host."

A long pause hung in the air like a dandelion blossom on the breeze and then one ganger broke, "I ain't losing no balls for you Mel. What you want from us, you Raven?"

"You know where the Forgotten Dead roost. I want that information."

One ganger giggled, "You don't want nothing to do with Dead you know. They all in withdrawal. Run out of their zombie butterfly powder. You go there now, their minds ain't all good, they ain't all human. They all zombie brain and animal hunger.”

Cyri considered this, "Zombie butterfly is a drug? Or an apothecary's potion?"

Mel wiped blood from his lips, streaking rusty drying blood across his forearm, "It's both. You're going to die if you go up there now."

"Well then, doesn't that strike you as exactly what you want to happen to me?" She asked.

The gangers considered this and then nodded to each other. Mel pointed further south, "They camp in the Camel Spine mountains, on the north end up in the cliffs. They can't hide their fires at night, cause they're either tripping or in withdrawal. Easy to find if you know where to look."

A deep honeyed voice full of stingers spoke behind Cyri, "Then they share that trait with the daughter of my lady." Cyri sniffed, they were downwind of her, but she caught the faintest trace of dragon's oil pipe smoke and Seraphim's overly dramatic incense.

"Where's Cinnamon?" Cyri asked without turning around.

"Guarding your escape route." The dry crackling voice of the Bone man answered from the north, from the route she'd taken into this section of the Bazaar. She mentally calculated. Seraphim and Dragon stood behind her along the western walk. The Bone Man had positioned himself on the northern walk. Two other trails headed east and south. Which was the one that Cinnamon expected Cyri to use?

"You think you have this figured?" Cyri said, "Don't you?"

"I do, as it turns out." Dragon answered, "You have never beaten us, not one on one, not as a unit. How ever will you escape?"

"I could slit both wrists and then fall on my spear." She said without emotion.

The Dragon Man didn't respond, no smug reply.

"So mother wants me alive? And probably doesn't want you to deliver me in a pile of broken bones either. You need me alive and you need me at least mostly intact."

"You still cannot defeat us." The Bone Man said, clicking his knuckle bone beads in a steady rhythm.

"No, but I can make you lose." Cyri answered.

"You ran away," Seraphim said, his high register lyrical voice coming just to the left of the Dragon Man, "You didn't fall on your sword in honorable fashion when you objected to your mother's orders. You won't do it now. You'll run away again. And we know you. Everything you know, you learnt from us or old Myrddhin. We know you.  We know where you'll go."

"You didn't know I'd run away," Cyri countered, "You didn't know I'd have a problem with mother's orders. How will you know what I will do backed into a corner?"

Mel the albino tipped his chin up and called out in the direction of Seraphim and the Dragon Man, "There a reward for catching this broad for her mum?"

"Oh yes," Dragon answered, "The War lady Vanora will be disposed to shower such people with her gratitude."

A moment passed, and Cyri assessed her options. Then the moment was over, and the gangers charged at Cyri in a shrieking howling flailing mass of arms and legs. Cyri scrambled and struggled, trying to maintain a defensible position in the mob of limbs when she heard the unmistakable bass drum hissing thrum of a cassowary bird. She looked to the north and saw a great draft beast Cassowary with its blue feathers shimmering as it sprinted past the Bone Man. The beast was harnessed to Ashton's rickshaw, which clambered along empty behind the cassowary. And the whole assembly thundered past, Cyri reached out and grasped hold of the frame of the rickshaw and the weight and momentum of the nine foot tall bird and its cargo yanked Cyri free of the struggling mob of flesh. The bird and its cargo continued to blaze a trail due south and Cyri saw Cinnamon watching, mouth open and eyes wide as Cyri plowed by mere hand widths from her position. Cyri grinned as she was dragged out of the Bazaar in a cloud of churned up dust and sand lice. Chitin and silica flew in her wake both marking her trail and obscuring her personally. She climbed up from to sit in the rickshaw, and after a few moments spent retrieving the reins, Cyri took control of the rickshaw and steered the cassowary towards the Camel Spine Mountains.

Ancient Temptation of the Zombie Butterfly 1 (draft 2)

1

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Great Bazaar Inland Salt Sea, Third month of Grey Skies, 314 APW (After the Precursor War) 

The Bazaar stank of eight thousand smells from chlorine sting of mealybug wax to the sweet iron tang of a dozen types of coagulating blood to the stink of more than fifteen hundred bodies perspiring in the salt air. Two dozen languages burbled and jangled and scraped and grated against each other, whispering and yelling, cajoling and bargaining and bickering. The sound of negotiation rose above the sheep skin tents and yurts and took physical form, a kind of violent reverberation that echoed like a tornado above the dun brown pulsing architecture of the bazaar.

The lacquer black of Cyri's armor and the banner mounted above her shoulders stood in sharp relief against the multitude of tans and browns and umbers of the bazaar. She stood at the edge of the bazaar watching the merchants and slave traders and scavengers and rag pickers scuttle about and ravage the landscape in their mission to squeeze as much profit out of the blasted landscape as they possibly could manage before the land finally claimed their corpses.

The first scavenger approached, a young girl of maybe fifteen dressed in reds and blues caked mud brown and spattered with white crystals by the dust and sweat and salt. Discarded precursor coins had been re-purposed into beads and clattered with a soggy clanking sound against her skirt.

"Read your portents miss?" the girl asked, shaking a spruce root bag whose contents clacked heavily, "The slates know your future." she added when Cyri did not respond.

Cyri paused and looked at the girl. The girl shifted uncomfortably under the blank appraising gaze. Finally Cyri spoke, "When did you last eat? No lies."

There was pause, and then the girl said, "I think about three days ago, caught a peacock quail down by the good well- had it roasted in clay before any of the ganger boys could find and steal it from me."

"What do the slates say about when you will eat next?"

The girl grinned and dumps the rune carved slate disks out of the bag onto the salt, silt and sand at their feet. She looked down and her expression changed from a cheeky grin to confusion.

"Well?" Cyri asked.

"They say that a windfall comes, but not today. They say a windfall comes in the near future." The girl looked confused.

Cyri nodded, "They speak the truth then. If you can brave the salts, I have a treasure for you. To north, about two and a half days walk, probably a little longer for you as your legs are shorter than mine, is a wreck of a house with a silo and a blasted husk of a barn. Buried in the salt to the east of the barn is a pile of salted meats. It's still good, or was when I left it those few days ago. I took my share and ate my fill and then buried the rest out fifty paces to the east of the barn under a series of grave markers that I moved from beside the house. I'll give you exact directions in exchange for your reading of my portents."

"How can I know you speak true?" The girl asked.

"Ask the slate." Cyri answered.

She scooped up the slates and let them fall again in a smooth practiced motion. She stared for a while and then nodded, before scooping the slates and letting them fall a third time.

"You're looking for people," The girl said after a quick analysis of the slates, "They aren't here, but you know that. You're looking for somebody who knows where the dead men go when they aren't killing."

Cyri didn't say anything and, after staring briefly at Cyri, the girl continued speaking, "They have no friends. The slates tell me that some of their enemies are hiding in the Bazaar. Seek the Serpent Folk; seek the men of the Cinder Scales. Trust not their words, but you know that. Trust not their intent, but you know that. The albino is the weak link who tries to look strong."

The wooden clank and clatter of a rickshaw approached from Cyri's left, and she looked up to see an umber skinned man with a shaved skull and a braided beard thick with red clay marching up what passed for a path.

"It's old Ashton here lady, "The man announced, "You know me, and I know you. You be the Raven of the Wasteland. You be Myrtle Cyrus. You don't be liking your mother's name. You don't be calling yourself Myrtle Vanora. But that don't matter to me. I served your father, not your mother - when he was sane, begging your pardon. And so I serve you, now that you severed ties with her."

He paused, and Cyri nodded for him to continue. 

"I got a message for you. It's a message from somebody who says they recruit for your mother. Say that you're to return home and take your place. Say that you can't run and you can't hide. You will take your place, they say. They say that you will know that consequences for continuing to run. I think maybe it's nothing you don't already know. But you must know what it means that they think they can catch you."

"Thank you Ashton. And yes, I remember you," Cyri said reaching into one of the goat skin bags belted to her hips and producing a small sheep's bladder purse and tossing it into the man's rickshaw, "Which of my mother's hounds is chasing me this time?"

"All of the big four, if the drunk I spoke to gots a brain in his skull: the Dragon Man, Cinnamon Girl, the Bone Man, and Seraphim. What you going to do with all of them here? You ain't beat any of them one on one. What you going to do with all of them here?"

Cyri looked back to the girl, "Do the slates say anything about where these serpents nest?"

"You going to ignore your mother's best hunter trackers? You going to act like they can't catch you?"

The girl considered carefully, "In the south of the bazaar I think. But I think your hunters are there as well. I think they know where you mean to be before you know."

"My mother never chases me. She gets ahead of me and waits. But I channel the power of the two headed Great Wyrm, and the dervishes say that I can do anything." Cyri said and then started her walk into the bazaar, "Thank you Ashton. And girl? You'd best start now. Word gets around."

Ancient Temptation of the Zombie Butterfly 0 (draft 2)

0

- = -

Western Coast of the Salt Sea, First month of Grey Skies, 314 APW (After the Precursor War) 

Eris Ella-Cyrus, The Raven of the Wasteland, stood at the top of the salt dune looking down at the remnants of the farming outpost as it smoldered like a pile of discarded pipe ash in the purple light of the fading day. The smell of bubbling man fat drifted up and mingled with the oppressive saline taste of the breeze. Cyri shook her head and spat to remove the taste of human barbecue from her mouth. She could not hear the fires. The whistling of the winds across the salt dunes sucked all sound away before the ear could catch it.

Behind Cyri, a woman wearing dun brown layers of overlapping cloaks and veils stood with an expectant posture.

"Will you do it?" Asked the woman, "People say you walk with the Great Wyrm of the Winter Sky. People say nothing can stop you."

Cyri didn't answer. The woman in brown watched the Raven closely. Eris Ella-Cyrus dressed in black with white and purple highlights, dyed leather and lacquered bamboo and precursor shell armour at the shoulders and helm. Her collar consisted of hundreds of black iridescent raven feathers. She had decorated her antique breastplate with ancient Raven motifs and with the actual skulls of ravens. The woman in brown shivered and looked away from the other woman.

"Please," the woman in brown continued, "My daughters, my sons, my husbands. Everything is gone. My tribe is dead. Our caravans stolen, and fields picked clean. They broke down the barriers, the fields are contaminated by the salt dunes now. Nothing will ever grow here again. Three generations of work reclaiming the soil and rebuilding the fertility of the land, all destroyed by a score of men and a handful of war beasts. They took the corn to feed their beasts. They took the dead to eat for themselves. I have nothing left. I will be a scavenger now, a wanderer in the salt wastes."

Cyri spoke.

"Then why are asking me to hunt them down? If there is nothing to recover, what will you gain?"

"I want them to suffer," The woman said.

"Oh?" Cyri responded.

"They took my life from me. And they will do it again, to other families trying to heal the wastelands. They will tear away at those doing the work of the Precursors. And they will destroy these little spots of hope again and again. And they will do it to feed their war beasts for just a few more days or weeks. I gain nothing, because they have destroyed my ability to gain. People neither of us will ever meet will be the ones who gain by your actions. I'm not asking for my own benefits. I'm asking for others. All I get is vengeance, and that's about the same comfort as a handful of salt for the thirsty."

Cyri nodded, "Vengeance is a wagon wheel that rolls straight to the Blightlands. If you'd only wanted vengeance, I wouldn't be helping you now."

"So you'll do it?"

"Scavengers are scavengers the world over," Cyri said, "Doesn't matter whether they call themselves raiders or junk dealers, warlords or high priests; they're all parasites. And you deal with parasites the same way every time, you scrape them off or burn them out. What was the name of the gang? What was their sigil? Their banner?"

"Their banner was a circle of Five skulls and a wheel of fire. Black on red and white. They called themselves the Forgotten Dead."

Cyri nodded, "I don't know them, but somebody will."

"There is one other thing," The woman in brown added as she stared at her feet, "They seemed to be looking for something. They kept talking about a butterfly, screaming in our faces, demanding to know where it was. I don't even know what they meant. There hasn't been a butterfly in a hundred years at least. Any butterfly still around would have to be a ghost, or a zombie."

The woman's voice cut off abruptly and Cyri noticed that the woman was now staring off into the distance. Cyri turned to look, but could see nothing of note.

"Whatever your zombie butterfly is, if it's important I'll discover its secret and if it isn't I'll find them all the same."

The woman lowered her eyes and refused to meet Cyri's gaze, "Yes, of course. Thank you."

When the woman in brown looked up she saw an empty space beside her, and in the distance the vanishing form of Eris Ella-Cyrus, the Raven of the Wasteland; Daughter of of the Mad King Cyrus the Apostate and of the Warlady Vanora the Stone Wolf, as known as the Butcher of Brinebarrow.

Gameplay Resolution and Basic Mechanics

Gameplay Resolution is done with a deck of cards rather than with dice. A Player's Avatar in the Shadowlands can do whatever the player themselves is physically capable of doing. Anything beyond the capacity of the Player requires the expenditure of cards to accomplish.

The Deck

A deck of 72 custom cards with values of 1 through 4 and two sigils: one for Action Type (6 possible types) and one for Style Type (5 possible dual types).

Card Values

• 12 cards with a value of 0
• 24 cards with a value of 1
• 18 cards with a value of 2
• 12 cards with a value of 3
• 6 cards with a value of 4 

Action Types are divided in two groups: Skill and Story.

Mechanics

Players can perform any tasks in game that they can perform in real life.  To perform an action beyond their real life ability, they must use VAJRA, COOL, or cards.

Tasks are assigned difficulty based on how far beyond the player's current ability the attempted task is. The difficulty is divided into 3 categories: possible, impossible, beyond the impossible. The storyteller does not tell the players the difficulty beyond those three descriptors. Difficulty levels 1 through 3 are POSSIBLE. Difficulty levels 4 through 7 are IMPOSSIBLE. Difficulty levels 8 through 12 are BEYOND THE IMPOSSIBLE. Nothing has a difficulty level higher than 12.

1. New. The task is unfamiliar to the player, but they have done similar and potentially harder things in the past.  
2. Untested. Beyond the player's current capabilities, but achievable in the near future, beginner's luck is entirely possible here.
3. Challenging. Beyond the player's current abilities and near future progress, but potentially achievable.
4. Unbelievable. This would be difficult even for somebody trained to do exactly that.
5. Ridiculous. This would be difficult for an expert in the field.
6. Epic. This would be nearly impossible for the best in the world.
7. Legendary. This would be the equivalent of the first trans Atlantic flight, the first 4 minute mile, etc... 
8. BEYOND THE IMPOSSIBLE. This is simply not physically possible and could only happen in the Shadowlands.
9. BEYOND THE IMPOSSIBLE. This is simply not physically possible and could only happen in the Shadowlands.
10. BEYOND THE IMPOSSIBLE. This is simply not physically possible and could only happen in the Shadowlands.
11. BEYOND THE IMPOSSIBLE. This is simply not physically possible and could only happen in the Shadowlands.
12. BEYOND THE IMPOSSIBLE. This is simply not physically possible and could only happen in the Shadowlands.

First Thoughts on Your Avatar

From Wiktionary

Etymology

1784, Borrowing from Hindi अवतार ‎(avtār) or from Urdu اوتار ‎(avatār), both borrowed from Tamil and Sanskrit अवतार ‎(ava-tāra, “descent of a deity from a heaven”), a compound of अव ‎(ava, “off, away, down”) and the vṛddhi-stem of the root तरति ‎(√tṝ, “to cross”).

In computing use, saw some use in 1980s videos games – 1985 online role-playing game Habitat by Lucasfilm Games (today LucasArts), by Chip Morningstar and Randy Farmer, later versions of the Ultima series (following religious use in 1985 Ultima IV: Quest of the Avatar), and 1989 pen and paper role-playing game Shadowrun. Popularized by 1992 novel Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson.

Noun

avatar ‎(plural avatars)

(Hinduism) the incarnation of a deity, particularly Vishnu.

The physical embodiment of an idea or concept; a personification.  

(computing or gaming) A digital representation or handle of a person or being; often, it can take on any of various forms, as a participant chooses. i.e. 3D, animated, photo, sketch of a person or a person's alter ego, sometimes used in a virtual world or virtual chat room.  

THE EARTHLY INCARNATION OF A DEITY, PARTICULARLY VISHNU

THE PHYSICAL EMBODIMENT OF AN IDEA OR CONCEPT; A PERSONIFICATION

A DIGITAL REPRESENTATION OF A PERSON OR BEING

---

Every role-playing game out there uses an avatar. Normally the avatar is described as being your 'character', like actors taking on a role. But this game uses the older form, more like performing Shaman and witch doctors taking on the essence of a god or demon or spirit. And also like astral projection, save that you are not projecting into the astral realm, but the fictional realm: the Mythic World- the Shadowlands.

And unlike most Role-playing games, you do not get to choose anywhere near as much about your avatar as you might like. You project yourself, dreaming, into the Shadowlands.

What the Shadowlands Are

The Dreamtime of the Australian Aboriginal mythology depicts the ideas that some things of spiritual dimension exist outside of regular time or 'everywhen', to steal from anthropologist William Edward Hanley Stanner. Traditional Australian spiritual practises include walking song lines and singing the necessary songs to hold the world together. The writer, Alan Moore, argues through much of his more esoteric writings that story itself is magic, quoting everything from the bible to hermetic writings of such occult figures as John Dee. Grant Morrison talks about his encounter with his own fictional creations that he invented to act as fiction suits for himself to transform his life by dragging the fictional version of himself into the 'real world'.

What does all this mean? Probably not much yet. But the short answer is: fiction is a place. 'Once upon a time' is an incantation to opena portal to a timeless land. When this book calls gods, or magick or demons and many other things fictional, do not for a second think that we mean something tricky or fancy. We do in indeed mean fiction in the classic sense of the word. But also do not imagine that just because something is fiction that means that it is not real.

Prelude

We cannot wait for a savior.

The story needs YOU, right now, to stand up and be a protagonist.

 

You must find the role that you can play and take up the mantle.

You must be First Mother or First Hero, the Witchdoctor or the Walker, perhaps the Dreamer.

You must be a Witch or a Wizard, join the Tenebrati or commune with the Primal One.

 

And you will likely fail. You may even die. But your efforts will not be in vain.

 

You will not be the whole of the story for the character whose role you played.

But together with hundreds or thousands of other First Mothers and First Heroes, Storytellers and more,

You will move mountains, you will turn pages, until the story is a circle and the world is whole once more.

Exodus The Epilogue

The Epilogue

We could hear the adults chasing us in their heavy leather boots and big black vests. They yelled back and forth to each other to keep contact and yelled at us to come back to the relocation center. We ignored them and ran, flinching or ducking as the spotlight beams of their flashlights wavered across us in the dark.

I could see Mildred Sanger's dead body laying on the table mind as we ran. I hated what the adults had become and hated most of all what my mother had allowed herself to become.

The air was cold and damp from the rain earlier, and the ground was slick- forcing us to be careful as we ran. If we slipped on a wet tree root, if we lost our footing on damp leaves, we would be caught and we would be going back.

As I stopped and crouched low under the bent trunk of a tree to catch my breath out of sight, Wolf stopped and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't stop. We can hurt later, when we're safe. You can do this bud."

I took several slow breathes and then nodded and took off again, Wolf keeping pace beside me. In the darkness I could see Owl in the lead, a swagger in his retreat I hadn't seen before. I could see Raven and Viper side by side, moving like ghosts through the forest.

But I could still hear the adults chasing. There were lots of kids in the woods tonight. We had made this as difficult as we could for the adults, but they still had most of the advantages. We had to run until they gave up, or we were going back to the relocation center, where we would almost certainly die the slow death of starvation and lack of hope.

And so we ran on in the black woods as the pillars of light from the adults flashlights danced above our heads and the shouts of adults accompanied us like a soundtrack.

I looked at Wolf, "We're family now, for real. Tribe against the world. Now, we are warriors. Win or lose, live or die- we are warriors."

* * *

So that's the start of our story. We were kids. We were just like any other kids that you know. If you are a kid, we were just like you.

Now we aren't. Now we are warriors. I wouldn't wish the events that we experienced on anyone, but it made us who we are. And I have to admit, that I like who I became.

Would I like us to get back everyone and everything we lost? I don't know. I would like to get back everyone I lost. But everything I lost can stay lost.

I didn't know it, but I didn't need all that junk then. And I don't need it now.

And I'll tell you what- neither do you. None of that stuff matters. What matters is what you can do and who you are.

I'm a warrior.

We are warriors.

Who are you?


"Beneath this mask there is more than flesh...
Beneath this mask, there is an idea, Mr. Creedy
...and ideas. Are. Bulletproof."
- V For Vendetta

Exodus Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty
So This is Good-Bye...


We ran through the streets. It was hard to avoid noticing that no lights were on, and very little had been cleaned. The Streets were slick with ice. Cars were buried in snow that, in many cases, had frozen solid on top of the vehicles. The windows of numerous storefronts and several homes had been broken.

We knew that the adults placed under house arrest weren't being kept in the Community Center. Since it had been turned into the Relocation Center we'd all spent too much time there, and it wasn't big enough to hide the more than one dozen adults who had been placed under 'house arrest'. Since only community center and town hall had heat, it was easy to conclude that they must be in Town Hall.

Now the funny part is that because everyone had been chasing us towards the edge of town, when we doubled back and headed to the business center, nobody was around to see us. We arrived at the Town Hall, and checked for a way in. The front door was unlocked, open in fact. Which made me nervous. Lights were on in several rooms, We fanned out and looked everywhere except the council chamber. We could hear a voice or voices in the council room and nobody wanted to draw us into a confrontation in the center of town. Once everywhere else had been searched however, and it was clear that no other room had any of the house arrest adults, we quietly decided to check the council room.

We walked in to see Professor Tuttle with a bottle labelled Vodka in his left hand and a highball glass in his right hand. He sat quietly in the Mayor's seat, looking into nowhere.

As we entered the room, he looked at us, “Seven Billion people with nothing original to say, singing the same self-centered apocalyptic song for the last ten thousand years. And we have the audacity to think that this is our story.”

“Then give it up.” I said.

“And do what? We've scribbled all over the storybook. There's nowhere left for any other stories. We've taken stories away from everybody for all time. We've broken the world, and all we can do is hang on. Maybe, when everything stops falling, there will be something left over.”

“So you're going to keep doing this? Keep helping them run this monstrosity? You turned us in. I'm pretty sure it was you who betrayed Bart as well. Is that what you call hanging on? I call it running from a bear and tripping your friends to feed the bear.”

“This is the only way, and even if it's broken there is nothing else. No other way.”

Viper stared at Professor Tuttle with a ferocious, venomous anger.

“So how do you know that? And even if you're right, what does that mean? And even if you're right, so what? Is there any value left in what you're trying?”

“Good questions.” He said with a bitter laugh.

“You tried to teach us how to think, but you stole what you taught from Raven’s dad, without ever understanding how to ask yourself three questions. Raven's Dad is locked in some dark room somewhere with Bart and they're being fed a weak stew made from Mrs. Giller's cats. And you helped make that, because you don't have the courage to ask yourself those three questions you tried to teach us.”

Professor Tuttle didn't say anything. He just sat there.

“Come on, he's never going to grow up.” Owl said to Viper, who shook her head disgustedly.

“I'm going to raise the alarm now.” Professor Tuttle said in a hollow shell shocked voice. “You'd best run.”

“Betrayer to the end?” Wolf asked.

“This is how it has to be. The good of the many. Survival of the culture. This is how it has to be.”

He pulled a sports whistle from his pocket and blew three long blasts, and then three short blasts on the whistle. We listened to bells ringing in the distance, echoing the alarm the Professor had raised. Owl stared at Professor Tuttle and shook his head. I don't know what I was expecting Owl to do to Professor Tuttle as Owl stepped toward him, but when Owl suddenly backhanded Professor Tuttle across the face I was so shocked I actually yelled in surprise.

Owl looked at me. He didn't say anything, he just looked for a moment and then turned back to face Professor Tuttle. The Professor's nose was bleeding and he looked at Owl with a weird look on his face, somewhere between anger and respect and despair. Owl looked back at Professor Tuttle with utter disgust.

“You have to do more than just talk a good game Professor. You have to get your hands dirty. And my hands are so dirty that they're red. You don't know me, or any of us anymore. Just remember we gave you a chance. This was your chance. We know what you are know, and if you are half a smart as we always thought you were, you know what we are know. Your side has the advantages right now, but it stay like that. We're retreating now, but don't mistake that for victory. We win. And next time we meet, you better be ready.”

Viper turned back to Raven.

“We don't have time to find your parents now, but we aren't abandoning them. We're coming back for them. I promise that we're coming back for them and for Bart and anyone else we can save.”

Raven nodded.

Exodus Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen
The School is on Fire
        
We could see the fire burning from across town. We kept to the shadows, and stayed out of sight. It was impossible to feel safe though, because across town we could hear the unmistakable sound of gun shots. The gun shots were sporadic and there were long pauses between them. But when they sounded, the gun shots sounded in little mobs of sound.

The gun shots were a mixed blessing. If Owl's dad was being fired on, then he was still alive and still acting as a solid distraction from the supply group that Viper was leading. But if he was being fired on, then he hadn't got away clean and was still in danger.

As we skirted from the shadows of one building to another, I started to feel uneasy. As I tried to put my finger on the cause, I realized that the gun shots had stopped. I listened. I could still hear men shouting back and forth, although I couldn't make out the words. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

"Do you think my dad is alright?" Owl asked as we watched the fire from across town.

I wanted to lie to him. But I couldn't bring myself to do it, not even to comfort a friend.

"I don't know. He's pretty cool. But there would've been lots of guards with guns and all."

"It's weird to hear people calling him cool. And weirder to not know if he's alive."

We don't see the setting of the fire, because of course it took place during the training sequence.

We could see the fire burning from across town. We kept to the shadows, and stayed out of sight. It was impossible to feel safe though, because across town we could hear the unmistakable sound of gun shots. The gun shots were sporadic and there were long pauses between them. But when they sounded, the gun shots sounded in little mobs of sound.

The gun shots were a mixed blessing. If Owl's dad was being fired on, then he was still alive and still acting as a solid distraction from the supply group that Viper was leading. But if he was being fired on, then he hadn't got away clean and was still in danger.

As we skirted from the shadows of one building to another, I started to feel uneasy. As I tried to put my finger on the cause, I realized that the gun shots had stopped. I listened. I could still hear men shouting back and forth, although I couldn't make out the words. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

We arrived at the meeting point. And we waited. Hidden in the shadows, minutes crept by as we watched flashlight beams move in the distance and listened to the shouts of adults.

We had heard gun shots earlier of course, but all in the direction of the school. Nothing in the direction of Viper's group. But that didn't mean that they hadn't escaped clean. That didn't mean they had escaped at all. And that certainly didn't mean that they were safe.

Finally a quiet whistle caused us to turn, further back in the alley, we could see Viper's group. We joined them and stared at our new tribe as they laid out the duffle bags and backpacks filled with everything from rice to tarpaulins.

As we took stock of the equipment and supplies, I noticed Wolf watching the lights from the fires. They were visible even from the alleyway.

"The fires are spreading. It's pretty impressive." Wolf said.

"It's a good thing that it's winter." I added.

"Yeah, but we've been hearing gun shots, so it wasn't completely successful." Hawk said.
 
"They have multiple stockpiles, this was never going to get rid of all their weapons. The idea was cripple their ability to use force, not remove it." Owl said

"Well, we've crippled an angry monster, but we're still within biting distance." I said.

"Isn't that the truth." Owl said as he watched the lights from the fire flicker in the distance. He stared for a long time, until people began to shuffle awkwardly.

"Your dad's not coming my man. He's on the run and doesn't want to bring the heat back to us." Lion said.

Owl nodded, clearly unconvinced.

"Bud, your dad is the man. He pulled himself back together when every other adult went nuts. He'll make it."

"Maybe." Owl said.

"Maybe he let himself get caught to buy us more time." Sparrow offered.

"I hope not. My dad doesn't treat traitors well." Wolf said quietly

"He was never on your dad's side." Viper said.

"That's not how my dad will look at it." Wolf answered.

"That's if he even got caught." I said.

"That's if he even survived." Owl finished quietly.

I sat there thinking about how readily we talked about people not surviving. It wasn't a conversation that I would have guessed that I would have to have so frequently.

"This is it." Owl announced, "from here there is no turning back. We screwed up when we tried to hide in town. We screwed up when we tried to stay at cabin so close to town. From here we disappear. We leave town and we keep going. We don't look back and we don't stop until town more than a day's walk away at least. We don't live in safehopple bluff anymore. Nobody does. Safe hope bluff doesn't exist any longer. And it is time to leave."

We loaded up and began to head out. Everyone was out in force though, not just Them, and we had to move in the shadows and be very careful. Fortunately when I say everyone, I mean everyone who was still fit and healthy. And, the grim reality was that this reduced the number of people who could be seraching for us pretty considerably. Whenever we had to cross Main Street, I could see Mr. Wolf in the distance. He was coordinating the search, pointing where he wanted groups to go. He was limping, I noticed, but it didn't seem to be slowing him much.

"Does that man ever stop?" Owl asked in frustration.

Wolf looked at him.

"He might if he were dead, but I'm not sure. Remember buds,” Wolf added to the restof the group as we moved, “Owl's dad did a number on their guns and ammo situation. But we know they have more than one place that they use to keep that stuff. So that means we''re deep behind enemy lines. And they have guns. We don't." Wolf said.

And, as if on cue I heard an alarm cal go up. And suddenly we were all running to the cover of the next alley as shouts and commands echoed behind us. We were almost to the end of the alleyway when a gun shot rang out behind us.

They were shooting at us.

For a half moment, I almost froze. Several kids did.

“Move! Or you're an easier target! Go! Go!” I could hear Owl and Viper a little further to front yelling much the same things. I scrambled behind a steel dumpster as the gun shots echoed in the alley way. I was being shot at. We were being shot at. They were willing to shoot at children now. That was new.

"Well, I think we've conclusively rendered ourselves their enemies." Sparrow said. As he huddled beside me.

"We need to get some guns of our own," Lion said, "You know, even the odds."

"Do you know anything about gun safety? Or how to properly use a gun?" Owl said from behind a dumpster further down the alleyway.

"I play Grand Theft Auto and Call of Duty."

"Then any gun you hold is going to be more dangerous to yourself and us that it will be to any opponent." Owl said. Then Owl paused as the shooting stopped.

“He's reloading,” Owl said sharply, “Now, run!”

We ran and quickly out distanced Them. I don't think most of the adults knew the back alleys of town quite as well as the kids. They probably did when they were our ages, but things change- and adults don't cope with change very well. We were nearing the edge of town when we rounded a corner and came face to face with my mother, holding service revolver at her side and flashlight pointed right at our group.

Nobody said anything, and I pushed my way to the front. She gave me a disappointed look. And then she lowered her flashlight so that it wasn't pointing at me.

"This isn't the right way." She said quietly.

"Was brutalizing Bart the right way, mom?"

"We make the compromises we must to defend what we hold dear."

"You don't have anything left, mom. You've given it all away in compromise. Including me." I said.

"I can't let you leave." She said.

I thought about this. I knew my mother was an outstanding shot with her service pistol. But I didn't think she could bring herself to shoot a child. Still, I wasn't sure that I could take that chance.

"So what will you do mom? Will you shoot us? On your own, that's the only way you're preventing us from going. Will you call for others? We won't stop for them either, and then they'll have to shoot us. Can you live with either of those options?"

She didn't answer.

"Here's an easy answer. You never saw us. You told me before everything exploded that people end up doing far too many things they later regret. Well you've compromised your morals for people whose actions you hate before. You can do it again, once more, for me.  Or," I paused and took a breath, "Or you can shoot your son in the back."

We looped back around and took a detour to avoid my mother. The problem that I was noticing, was that we were faster than the adults in almost all cases, but there were too many of us to effectively hide, and so when we came around another corner and almost ran over Viper's parents, I can't say that I was surprised. It wasn't as though we were having great luck at this point.

Viper’s Mom stared acidly at us over a flashlight beam, “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“Yeah mom, I do. We’ve made it harder for Mrs. Winter to use force to scare everyone into submission.”

“You’ve destroyed what little semblance of order that was left. You’ve plunged Safehope Bluff into anarchy.”

“It was a dictatorship before we blew things up. If you want it to stay a dictatorship, I’m sure Mrs. Winter will be willing to keep ruling over you.”

“You’ve abandoned your family!” Her father said with crossed arms.

Viper scowled, "You abandoned me when you made me give most of my rations to the brats because they're crybabies. You abandoned me every time you put them ahead of me. I wasn't your family, I was your Cinderella. You can keep your family. I'll make my own."

"Let's get out of here," Owl said, "We're done here."

“No, we can’t leave town yet. We aren’t done.”

“Why not? What’s left?”

“Who’s left? THat's what I’m thinking. I want to see if we can find my parents, and Bart”

"We all want to save our parents." Hawk added," My moms are cool. They've never been jerks to us- but they won't come. I tried to convince them that we should leave, and they were just like 'where would we go?', so I don't see how we can help the adults. They're all kind of blind."

“Why bother? You saw my mom, adults are useless.”

“My mom and my dad opposed all of this until they were stopped. And Bart help them and us the whole way along. And my parents are smart, they could help us. And they might be only one’s besides Owl’s dad who understand, even a little, what we’ve learned.”

"Owl's dad was awesome, and he may have died to buy us time to get these supplies. My dad was one of the few adults who helped us realize what we needed to do. If he's alive, then he can help us and so can my mom. They wouldn't be useless- they would actually help our chances at survival. And let's be honest here. Even with our gear, it's going to be hard going for us too. We're gambling different than the adults, but we're gambling and we need all the resources we can get. And my parents are good resources.

Viper nodded, "You've got a point. I'll go with you."

"We aren't leaving anyone behind, buds." Wolf said.

"Never leave a man behind." Lion said.

"Why not, it's not like we haven't cheated death enough already." Sparrow added.

A murmur swept through the group and I realized everyone was going to back Raven on this. It was an odd feeling. But I guess, when you draw a line between your group and the rest of the world; your loyalty to that group gets really strong really fast.

Exodus Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen
Training Day
           
Mr. Wolf was red in the face as he stared at all of us. Finally his eyes stopped moving and he stared at Wolf. I could feel the bottom drop out of my stomach, and I knew what was coming next.

"I've tried, for years I've tried to make you a man, and you keep insisting on acting like a child. I am going to whip you into shape this time even if it kills me."

The space between Mr. Wolf and his son seemed to warp and absorb the sound like sponge- making everything deathly silent. Nobody moved for the longest time, and I kind of started to think that time had actually stopped.

And then Owl stepped between them.

"We are men." He said, arms crossed, "You told us that we needed to be men and not boys. Well we took you serious. And men make their own damn decisions, they don't let other people do it for them. You aren't mad that we're still children, you're mad that these men decided to oppose you anyway."

Mr. Wolf turned his head away, almost like he'd been punched in the face. And then he slowly turned back to Owl,  “You are a spoiled brat who has no idea what it takes to keep civilization together."

Owl moved his hands to his hips, "You think we're still kids. Then we'll prove it."

Owl looked at me then, and I nodded and stepped up to join him and Wolf.

Owl continued, "You want to whip Wolf into shape? I think you're a coward who likes to hit people smaller than yourself. But you want to be a bully, I say even the odds. We'll all take that whipping. If you can manage it. If you can take us."

Silence stretched like a monster growing between us. Owl had baited the giant, would he bite?

"You boys all want to share the whipping, that's just fine with me. You all need a lesson anyway."

I could hear Mr. Wolf's men whispering about the awful things that were about to be visited up us as Mr. Wolf marched us out of the school yard and back to Wolf's house, back to the Carport where Wolf spent more of his childhood that was probably far. The carport was cold enough that our fingers went numb almost immediately. Mr. Wolf seemed oblivious to the cold.

Mr. Wolf didn't say anything. I think he was too angry to speak. he just walked to the center of the ring and pointed to his son and ushered him with an open hand. Wolf nodded, and held up a fist for me to bump and then did the same to Owl. Then, without a word, Wolf stepped into the ring and hell broke loose. I had watched Wolf fight. And I had seen Mr. Wolf fight Lion and Owl. But this was brutal. Wolf was going harder and faster than I had ever seen, and Mr. Wolf was handling it. The traded blows so fast, I frequently couldn't follow it. Wolf was pressing his father, trying to force the man to respond and burn out. But in doing so, Wolf was being aggressive and it was leaving him open more than was probably safe. Mr. Wolf was not a fast as his son, although only by a narrow margin, but he clearly hit much harder than Wolf could, because every blow he landed, shook Wolf and forced him onto the defensive- least briefly.

I looked at Owl. The reality of challenging the man who had brutalized him before had clearly sunk in, and Owl looked like he was tied to the tracks of a railroad in an old movie. I looked back at Wolf. This was a war of attrition. We had to stall his father with our bodies. And We needed to pace ourselves and stay in the fight long enough for everyone else to do their jobs. But it was clear that Wolf was losing ground and taking hits that might prevent him from coming back in later on if it went that far.

I couldn't wait any longer. Wolf was landed solid blows consistently, but his father kept acting like they didn't matter, and countering with blows that staggered Wolf. Then Wolf telegraphed a punch a little too much, made a little to obvious before he threw the blow, and Mr. Wolf took advantage. He stepped around his son's punch and hammered Wolf hard in the ribcage and followed it up with a blow to Wolf's hip. Wolf dropped to his knees and stayed there. Mr. Wolf didn't pursuse, he stepped back and folded his arms and looked over at us.

I could feel my legs shaking, literally shaking. Mr. Wolf had always been the scariest man I'd ever known, but Wolf wasn't getting up. And somebody needed to do something.

"My turn," I said, trying desperately to sound brave, "Wolf doesn't get all the fun."

I walked over, and Mr. Wolf grinned like a cat with a mouthful of canary. Wolf pulled himself to his feet and I fist bumped him, and then turned with my fists up to face his father as Wolf limped out of the ring.

"Tag," I said, and I could hear the waver in my voice, "I'm in."

I'm a decent fighter. It would be almost impossible not to be with Wolf as my best friend. But I'm no where near as good as Wolf or his father. I knew this as I stepped into the ring. I'm neither nor incredible strong or fast. But I also knew that I didn't have to win. I just needed to draw this out. Wolf had clearly been hoping to do some damage to protect us from the worst of his father's rage. But his dad didn't seem slowed much by the previous round with his son.

He also didn't unload on me like he had on Wolf. He let me come in and throw a few jabs, and then contented himself with pounding my forearms raw as I brought them up to block his lightning fast counter attacks. It was painfully clear that he was trying to take my arms away from me so that he could punish me at his leisure, and as I tried to stay mobile and keep throwing enough blows to keep things going, I could feel the pain in my arms slowly becoming unmanageable.

Finally I couldn't keep my hands up anymore. And I let them drop. Immediately he moved in and threw several fast jabs, I managed to dodge them with footwork, but found myself almost at the back wall, and with no good place to move. Mr. Wolf pressed forward, and the second round of jabs hit me in the face and I lost of second or two before I could tell what was happening. I dragged my arms back into guard position and tried my best to weather the incoming storm.

I was having trouble thinking, every time my head started to clear, something slammed into it again, shaking my concentration. I think it hurt too, but I couldn't tell anymore, because everything hurt. I was vaguely aware of the fact that I was being punched, but I couldn't find my hands to block with them.

And then the hitting stopped and my mind steadied. I become slowly aware of somebody standing between me and the hitting.

I looked up and was surprised to recognize Wolf standing there.

"You've hurt my friend enough dad. My turn again."

"You're in no shape to tag in, let the loud one do it."

"I'm your opponent dad, worry about me."

"Whatever you want. I'll get to him eventually."

I dragged myself to side and Father and son began again. This wasn't a fight anymore though, this was a beat down. Wolf was already hurt and tired and Mr. Wolf didn't seem to care. He was more vicious against Wolf than he had been against me. And in the state Wolf was in after the first round, his father was simply too much for his Wolf to handle. It was painful to watch. Mr. Wolf simply pounded his son, while Wofl struggled to remain standing. I wanted to tag back in, but hadn't recovered enough to step in.

I looked at Owl, and saw raw terror in his eyes. There was no way Owl was getting into that ring in the state he was in. And Wolf needed a break if he was going to walk out of here. I tapped Owl on the shoulder and he swun his head sharply to look at me with wide eyes, before calming back down.

“I can't do it.” He said, “I shouldn't have pretended I could. He'll just beat us all to death.”

I thought about that for a moment, and then I answered, “He hasn't killed anyone that I know of, but you know who has? You have. You beat Mr. Pinchen to death. Wolf's dad is a soldier, but you are a proven killer. What did you think about when you killed Pinchen?”

I could see Owl focusing, “I just kept thinking about what he had done to my mother. It was really easy with that in mind. I wasn't there to fight him. I just wanted him dead.”

“Well,” I said, “Who do you think was responsible for putting Mr. Pinchen in that position and giving him the equipment and the opportunity to kill your mother? Mr. Pinchen was a weapon that somebody else pointed at your mom. Who do you think did that?”

Owl nodded, suddenly in control of himself and stood up.

"Okay, that's enough. Tag. I'm in." I could here a waver in Owl's voice, but he stepped into the ring, and Mr. Wolf let him tag Wolf, who retreated gratefully to the sidelines.

"The loudmouth finally steps up to take his medicine. I figured you we too much of coward to go toe to toe with me. All talk, that was what I figured. So you managed to impress me a little by finally stepping into the ring, but you're going to regret it."

“I regret every time I pretended to agree with you or like you or not offend you. But I don't regret this. Game on old man.”

Mr. Wolf was tired by this point, but nowhere near tired enough. Owl had to know this, because he was playing a defensive game like I had. The biggest danger for Owl was making a mistake. We had to hold on, and neither Wolf or myself could manage to get back into the ring. Owl struggled, he was faster than any of us, but he was also the smallest and even when he blocked, Mr. Wolf's hits would often stagger him back several steps. Mr. Wolf was working Owl even slower than he had me though, drawing things out, I think, to teach a lesson. Of course with Wolf's father the lesson was simple- don't disobey or cross Mr. Wolf.

Then one of Owl's jabs hit low, below the belt, but only just and Mr. Wolf actually winced momentarily. I noticed a flicker on something Owl's eyes when it happened though and suddenly Owl was moving less defensively and using more footwork to try and stay mobile. Owl's next blow was a low blow as well, only this time there was no way it was an accident. Mr. Wolf actually staggered when Owl landed the blow to his groin.

"You're cheating, you little turd!" Mr. Wolf spat angrily at Owl.

Owl grinned.

"Cheating is what the big guy calls it when the little guy fights in a way that doesn't favour the big guy. You're a full grown man. You're a moose compared to me. And wolves don't bring down a Moose by challenging it to one on one combat and playing by nice rules. Wolves gang up and they use every advantage they can find."

Mr. Wolf looked over at me and Wolf. Recognition of our plan flickered over his face, and then Owl stomped onto his knee from the side. I heard a strange pop, and Mr. Wolf dropped to one knee with a roar of pain.

"What are you little boys playing at?" He said and he pulled himself back to his feet. Owl let him get back up, playing for time.

"We're tired of you taking out your anger on Wolf. He our friend. He's our tribe. We will stand by him, we will fight beside him- even if it means fighting against his dad."

Mr. Wolf righted himself and threw a series of sharp jabs that penetrated Owl's guard and knock him back, almost into the ropes. Owl wasn't looking so good. I didn't know how much longer we needed to hold out. And I didn't know how much longer we could hold out.

Then we heard the explosion.

Mr. Wolf looked up in shock and turned to face the school. I could see the horror written in the lines of his face and he saw the flames leaping from where we all knew the school should be.

It was in that moment, with Mr. Wolf staring away in shock, that the risk of what we were doing sank in. His gun was on the table and there was nobody here. I wasn't ready to kill Mr. Wolf. Call me stupid, but I couldn't do it and don't think Owl or Wolf could either. We looked at each other, and understood our mutual danger.

I don't remember if we nodded or made any movement, but we knew, and so we turned as one and ran. Really, we shouldn't have been able to run at this point. We were in awful shape, but we didn't have a choice did we? So we ran. It was several moments after we had cleared the garage that we heard Mr. Wolf yell after us.

"What did you do?"

Owl grinned beside me.

"We destroyed you." He answered quietly under his breath.

Exodus Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen
Returning What was Stolen

Owls dad wasn’t an imposing man. He was niether tall nor well muscled. He wasnt somebody you would expect to stare down anyone. But he surprised me by staring at Owl with a face full  of parental disapproval.

"Why were you trying to hunt in town boy? You ought to know better than that. What's eating your sense?"

Owl shifted uncomfortably.

"You going to answer me? Or you going to stare at the ground till you burn a hole through it? Weren’t you kids trying to get away from all of the bad stuff happening here in town?”

"I don't know okay! I mean, we’re planning on leaving town, but we just keep ending up back here. It’s like there’s no way to get away. I hate this place. It’s eating everything I love. But I guess it felt I was running away."

"And what's wrong with running away?"

"I don't know, but it felt bad!"

"That's your white boy showing. They been training you for so long to think that this whole city thing is normal. And they got so good at it, that even somebody like you still thinks this place ought to exist. And you hate this stuff so much I don't dare share my liquor with you. You got comfy with the idea of you not being part of the city, but you still believed them when they told you that the city ought to exist. And now that it's falling apart, you can't pretend that you running away doesn't mean leaving the city to fall apart on its own."

"Why do you think those people who think they're so smart called us indigenous? Its not just a fancy word. It means 'belonging to a place', and that's the thing. We used to belong to the place, the place didn't belong to us. Why are you trying to stay in a dead city? Do you think you're going to rebuild this? And then what? Wait until it falls again? You need to belong to the place you're in, and no city and no town ever belongs to a place, they try to make the place belong to them."

"So you're saying just leave, and let everyone else die?" Hawk said.

“Little girl, you know as much as any of us that people are going to die anyway. There ain’t enough of anything left in town to feed everyone who’s still here and people who try to stay here are either going to die or scavenge off the things that are dying. If you want a chance you got to do what I told my son to do way back before the avalanche. You got to run. Right now. the only place to run is to the woods.”

"Wolverine always found peace in the woods. Maybe we can too." Wolf Added.

"Some people are just bound and determined to go down with their stupid sinking ships boy. You can't make them save themselves. They can't imagine themselves without this big machine world behind them feeding them grapes and playing the TV for them whenever they want. My grandpa always said they made things too loud."

"You watch TV too dad."

"I also drink their alcohol. Whatever gets you through the day. That was the way thing ran in their world. No place you couldn't go that didn't have their claw marks. But you know what? I don't think they can reach so far anymore. I think you might actually be able to run for the hills."

"Me? What about you?"

"I'm a run down alcoholic boy. I'll run probably, but you have a chance to actually get somewhere and do something now that things are changing. But I'm touched. I think that's the first time I ever heard you worried about your old man."

"You're my dad, you’re the only family I have anymore."

"Not anymore, boy. I see what you're doing and I'm proud of you. You're building a tribe, and a tribe is family. It ain't blood, but it's still family- family by deed and not blood. And sometimes, that's more important."

"When did you start talking so much sense dad?"

"I ain't talking any different than I always did. You're just listening a wee bit closer than you used to. I can see what you're thinking and what you're planning to do. And I say good for you. But you've been raised in this world, and when you realize how bad it's lied to you. Then you'll learn what I learned. When you get it, when you understand, we'll talk. And if I've made it back out of this bottle, I might be able to help you."

"I don't understand."

"That's why I have to wait until you do. So why didn't you raid our cabin and then just head out?"

"A Bunch of jerks from Sumpter's ridge raided it, and almost hurt some of our group. A fire started in the fight and a propane tank exploded, There wasn't much usable after that."

"That's harsh."

"Yeah, so we thought we would raid the council's supplies, distract them by setting fire to their ammo, but we weren't able to get it to ignite."

“Sounds like a good idea. What went wrong?”

“We couldn't get the fire going fast enough.”

“That's it?” Owl's dad said, and he seemed to be thinking about something, “Then why don't you let your old man teach you the fine art of arson?”

“You'd help us do that?” Owl asked.

“Yeah, why not?” He asked.

“We haven't exactly had good luck with adults.” Hawk answered.

“Ask my boy. I have no loyalty to this thing. I have no reason to protect it. I will help you. I'll help you start a big distracting fire so you can get your supplies. We'll need to make it very hard for them to stop you from leaving. But you still need supplies to get started.”

“Yeah. We've learned that much from these last few days.”

“One group will wait for the signal and then raid their supplies- dried food and camp gear, that sort of thing. The other group will act as a distraction. I’ll help you start a proper fires. I taught you how to light a fire with a bow drill. I’ll teach you how to light a fire with gun powder.”

“Alright gang, how about it?” Owl asked, “Shall we take another crack at getting out of town away from all the crazy, or do we want to keep trying to hide here?”

The crowd of kids nodded and quickly the consensus was clear. Owl was back in charge and we back in the attempted arson game.

"Okay, so me and my boy are quiet like ninjas. So we go on the sabotage run. And Rabbit, I hunted with you- you're quiet enough too." Owl's father looked around, and then he looked back at Owl, "Hey, this is your show not mine. I should waiting on your decisions."

Owl nodded and looked around, "Mouse, Lion, Hawk. You guys can all fight and you're big enough, but you're too loud. I'll teach you that later. That means you're on guard duty for the supply run."

"You've never even seen me fight," Hawk said.

"No, but I've seen Lion fight, and I know Lion respects you for what you can do in a fight. Raven, your family gardens and you can cook. You need to be in the supply run side so we know what to grab."

"Viper should come with us too," Hawk said.

"Why?" Viper said looking over in surprise.

"You're the second in command aren't you?" Hawk asked, "We should keep our command team separated. You know, like the President and the Vice President never travel together. And you're the brain of the group. We need somebody to herd these cats. They don't know what to do on their own."

Viper bit her lip and furrowed her brow.

"Fine, I'm not very quiet anyway. I was the loudest on the hunt with Owl's dad."

"You'll get better," Owl's Dad said with a grin.

"I'm not super quiet, but you'll need some muscle- and all I do is muscle." Wolf said looking at Owl.

"I won't argue with that. You're quiet enough."

"I'm not quiet or good in a fight," Sparrow announced, "But I'm clever, and I bet I can help pick what we need and what we don't- so I volunteer to go with Raven and Viper's team."

"I won't argue with that." Owl answered, "Actually, I think the sabotage team should be a small as possible. Dad, do you want anyone else, or do we have enough already?"

"This is probably good, and the more folks you have on Viper's team, the more supplies you can haul out."

As we headed out, Owl began questioning his father.

"So what's the plan, Dad?"

"What we need is heat. If you want to cause a discharge of the ammunition with a fast cook-off you need a fire. And from what you told me last time, you didn't have the proper equipment to get the fire up and roaring last time. So you need to accelerate the fire. Like with alcohol or gasoline. You have to bring the casing up to the proper temperature first if you want to make the propellant discharge."

"Gas and alcohol. Those aren't exactly common commodities anymore Dad."

"you remember when you saw me drinking, and asked how I got it? And I said I had hidden it?"

"Yeah."

"I lied. I got given that alcohol. And then, after I got given it, I hid most of it. I mean, I drank some- but I promised you I'd try to quit and I thought I'd need it to help me get dry slower. Ease the crash, you know. But, if you need an accelerant, then that hard home brew liquor they gave me is just the thing."

"Who would give you alcohol in the center? Dad, that makes no sense."

"I guess somebody felt like they owed me something.I used to help a lot people when I was dry. Some people remember if you help them when they're down."

Wolf looked up sharply at the comment, and then looked away, but didn't say anything. I watched Wolf's face. He didn't say anything. Wolf didn't show huge amounts of emotion most of the time, but I could see conflicting emotions on his face. Finally, he spoke.

"You're talking about my dad, aren't you."

"I got deer for lots of people, why do think it's your dad?"

"I'm right aren't I? He hates alcohol, but he never talks badly about you. He still feels like he owes you, and so he got you your alcohol even if he disagreed. Didn't he?"

"It isn't my place to speak about why people do what they do."

Wolf shook his head and looked away.

"Are we doing the right thing here buds? I mean should we maybe try and work with them and reason with them or something?"

"That doesn't sound like the Wolf I know," Owl said.

"People are complicated you know. You can see somebody every day and think you know them, and think they're awful and cold and hard and just kind of jerks; and then it's easy to forget that they can do good things too." Wolf paused, clearly searching for words, "I mean, Ra's Al-Ghul loves his daughter, and he even goes easy on Batman because of that every now and then."

I looked at Wolf, "And he murders people left and right as eh tries to conquer the world and institute his brand of order. Just because you pet your dog and love your daughter, doesn't mean you don't lock up people who disagree, starve people who won't obey and beat up people who speak out. Darth Vader saved Luke Skywalker's life at the end of Return of the Jedi. He still Destroyed whole planets with the Death Star."

"He's a human being, but that's not enough." Owl said, "There are so many people on the planet. And because those supply lines are breaking and because of the systems are falling apart, most of them- I bet- have less food than we do here. A people all over the place are going to starve, and die in riots over food like my mom. And people who think it's okay to act like kings are people I don't think we need- do you? Do you have loyalty to a false king?"

"He scares me." Wolf said, "The avalanche didn't scare me. Having no food doesn't scare me. Most of the time, when people get scared I don't have any idea what they're feeling and I feel weird watching them be so afraid of things that don't bother me. But he scares me, and when people aren't afraid of them, I wonder what wrong with them."

"Fear isn't loyalty." I said.

"It is to him."

"And that's why he's wrong. So let's break his ability to make people afraid."

Owl's dad led us back to his trailer. He headed to his ill tended garden, and I noticed that the soil in the garden all looked freshly tilled, despite the snow everywhere else.

"You buried it in your garden?" Owl said in surprise.

"Gardens don't look suspicious if there's a pile of turned earth in them, now do they?"

"Yeah I guess not. I'm glad you didn't hide it in the cabin."

"Shame about that moonshine though," Owl's dad said as he dug into the frosty earth, "That was Joe Duck's best stuff."

"You don't need any more, Dad."

"I might."

"Dad, please. You don't need it, please."

Owl's father sighed.

"I spent a lot of time letting a bottle carry the weight for me. You know how exhausting it is to carry that weight alone again?"

"What makes you think you're carrying it alone?" Owl answered.

His dad didn't say anything in response. We loaded up the alcohol and headed out. As we got close, we noticed that there were more of Them around the school yard this time, almost double in fact.

"They've beefed up security." Owl said.

"Well, what did you expect. You guys got spotted last time, and they couldn't catch you. They'd be fools to think you wouldn't try again."

"There are no more deer around the school." I noted.

"I wouldn't think so." Owl answered.

"It's just weird. It's like we're in a different world." I said.

Owl's father tapped my forehead, "The world isn't the ground beneath your feet boys. It's the ideas that run things, make people get up in the morning, tell them how to act, what's right and what's wrong, and let's them make sense of the world."

"So it's not a new world yet," Owl said. "It the same old world- we're just watching it die."

"Let's just make sure we don't die with it." I said.

Owl's father watched Them from a distance, watching and pointing out their patterns, looking at what they noticed and what surprised them.

"They have guns and body armor." Owl's dad whispered, "But they ain't that alert."

“They're acting weird. Jumpy.” Wolf said as we watched Them patrol the school grounds.

“Well they ain't looking very hard for us.” Owl's dad said, “But you'r right about jumpy. And they're not thinking right. Look at them jumping at shadows. I don't like this. I can see them being cautious, but why would they be this edgy?”

Then we got close enough to two of Them to here them talking.

“There are people running through town, did you here?”

“Doing what?”

“No idea, they're keeping out of sight. But the spot patrols are hearing what sounds like a group. It's probably the same kids as last time.”

“It's Viper's group,” Owl whispered, “They've been spotted.”

“Then we need to set up our distraction or else their going to be screwed.” I said.

“Let's move then,” Owl whispered and took a step. There was a loud crackle from where Owl's foot landed, and we all looked down in horror to see a pine conepoking out from where it had lain hidden under the fallen leaves.

The guards swung back around and levelled their rifles at us.

“We know you’re in there! I don’t care if you are kids; you’re going to come out with your hands up or we're going to start shooting.”

“Well that’s kind of definitive.” I said.

“It’s also wrong. It’s not just us kids.” Owl said.

“What do you mean?” Wolf asked.

“I’m going to count to three!” The guard yelled.

“Dad, I need to trust you. Can I trust you?” Owl asked, looking his Dad in the eyes and not blinking.

“One!”

“Why? What are you thinking?” Owl's dad asked.

“No time. Dad, can I trust you?”

“Two!”

“Yeah, you can trust me.” He said.

“Good. I love you dad. Now light this place up. We’ll buy you time. Meet us where we bagged the deer on our hunt, okay?”

And then Owl stood up.

“I’m right here.” He said.

“You aren’t alone. You little monsters travel in packs.”

I looked at Wolf and he shrugged, and I nodded.

“You kids don’t have to do this.” Owl’s Dad whispered.

“He’s our bud, so yeah, we do. Take away their toys, sir.” And with that Wolf and I stood up.

“We’re here.” I said.