Linking Rings VOL 1. CHP 1. VERSE 5.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter One

Verse Five: Linking Rings

Marion trudged out the side entrance to Allons-Y Books, passing through the Comet Coffee Shop that was attached to each Allons-Y Bookstore. He would normally have grabbed a Green Tea Latte, but didn't feel comfortable spending money this time. Today could not have gone worse as far as Marion could tell. He ran back over his situation in his head, trying to get a handle on the scope to which his life had fallen apart and begun to split at the seams. Marion knew that he was not the most put together of people, his mind wandered and although he felt that he was smarter than most people he met, he was acutely aware that his thinking did not proceed in a manner that most people knew how to interact with easily. Marion had felt adrift in his life, isolated from social interaction by what seemed to be a translation barrier. People did not think his mental language and he did not think theirs. They shared a spoken language but somehow this did not translate into a common language of thought.

Even his best friend, Harley Night, did not think as Marion did. That was probably for the best, the two men were each others crutches. Harley was utterly predictable and loved rules and systems. He loved back up plans and redundancies. The fact that the got along would have been considered a miracle if there were not a much simpler answer available. The two had been friends since the first grade. They had known immediately that they needed to be friends. Their names being day and night, when the two boys met they had realized that they either needed to become best friends or arch-enemies, possibly both eventually. Family had argued that the two had become so different precisely because they were friends; offloading tasks to the other until the two friends were so specialized that they almost didn't count as two people anymore. Marion knew that if anyone could help him get through this rough patch, it was his best friend since the first grade: Harley Night.

Marion reached into his pocket and brought out his Samsung Ace to call Harley for advise.

Harley didn't answer on the first ring, which he normally did. Marion wondered if Harley was in a meeting. Harley worked for Pandora Data Storage Systems, a company that stored huge amounts of electronic data for companies that couldn't afford to maintain their own data. Harley was in the Data Coordination Department, although what that mean was beyond Marion's continued attempts at understanding. Harley's job seemed to Marion to be a cross between constantly cleaning one's room and doing far more math than any human should ever do when not involved in sending humans to Jupiter. On the third ring Harley answered.

"Harley Night speaking, I can hear you."

"Hi Harley, its Marion. How are feeling?"

"I'm fine Marion. What's up? I'm at work."

"I think I'm in trouble. They had me work really late last night and wanted me to come in early on top of that. And I was so tired I didn't wake up from my alarm, because I was having a really creepy dream that still won't go away. I mean, I'm had several flashes of the dream while I've been awake- and it's like prophetic future telling dream, so that's creepy. And Mrs. Trilby thinks I have a tumor like John Travolta in Phenomenon. And I forgot to put on my pants so I had to break into my place through the back window, and I broke it- the window not my place. And Mr. Grimly is yelling threats at me and I was late for work. But I didn't get caught, not for being late anyway I don't think. But I got in trouble for helping a delivery guy, which is a really dumb reason to yell at an employee, so I think he was just looking for an excuse. Which means I think Mr. Wheately wants to fire me and he's just looking for a reason.And the delivery guy was really spooky too, like he knew about my hallucinations. And then I won't be able to pay my rent and Mr. Grimly will evict me and I won't have a job or a place, and I'm really kind of freaking out. So, you know, I could really use some good rock solid Harley advice."

The silence on the line was not encouraging. Marion could hear Harley breathing through the phone line.

"Harley, man? I'm freaking out, I need to know what to do. You know you're all I got. Don't leave me hanging."

"Marion, you need to lie low, stay away from places where you can rock the boat. How's your finances?"

"I gave Mrs. Trilby that money to help her when she was short that money to pay for her cat's surgery. I haven't got a paycheque since then. I'm overdrawn on my bank account and I need the paycheck to pay my rent and make a payment on my VISA so that don't cancel my card."

"So, you're not just tight, you're over the limit. That doesn't give us any wiggle room to work with. My company isn't showing the positive growth numbers this quarter that people were predicting, and so nobody is likely to be getting any bonuses. I've heard rumors of people being offered early retirement packages, which never bodes well. The whispers have me a little nervous, they don't add up to anything good. So I don't know that I have room in the budget to help you much. You've got whatever I can offer, but it may not be much. So lay low, tone down the Marion meter from Marion to corporate drone and don't give anyone any reason to fire you. You're a customer service clerk in a book store, and you sell a lot of books. Just stop pissing people off and they'll ignore you for bigger problems. Do you hear what I'm saying Marion?"

"I'm trying to do that. But I'm not doing so great. I'm seeing stuff. I told you. I saw Men in Black guys watching me from the alley when I broke back into my apartment. And while I was in my apartment I had this hallucination of a phoenix like out of Harry Potter flying through all sorts of weird places and then landing in deep space and watching a little girl trapped in some kind of giant space spider's web. The whole thing creeped me out and Mrs. Trilby thinks it means that I have a brain tumor. I mean, I didn't tell her about the phoenix vision."

"You don't have a tumor Marion."

"I don't think so either, but what I'm trying to say, is that it feels like I can't keep things under control, even as well as normal. I'm seeing things, and it's not like I'm very good at acting normal most times. How do I act normal when I'm going all possessed prophet on everyone? I walked out of the house without pants today Harley. That's weird even for me."

Harley was silent. Marion wanted to keep rambling, but restrained himself and waited.

"Have you seen anything weird since getting to work?" Harley asked at last.

"Not so far. Just a creepy dream. Forgetting my pants. Seeing an agent like in the Matrix. And a full blown hallucination of a Phoenix in deep space. But no, nothing since I got to work. But if it happens when I'm on the floor talking to a customer then I'm doomed."

"You could call in sick, explain that you're seeing things and think you might have a concussion."

"Wheately would find a way to fire me. He would say that I was lying."

"You could apologize and say you feel light headed as soon as a hallucination hits, then the customer would probably be sympathetic rather than angry."

"If I remember to say it. I sat like a moron for the Phoenix hallucination."

"Stop looking for reasons to fail Marion."

"I'm not looking for reasons to fail. I am afraid of what will happen in anything goes wrong. It feels like I could get fired at any moment. It feels like everything is hanging by a thread about to snap."

"You could always go back to school. Get a teaching degree."

"That's a long term plan. I don't have money to feed myself or put a roof over my head if I lose this job."

"I'm not letting you starve, you're my best friend."

"You just said you didn't have any wiggle room."

"I don't care. I won't let you starve unless we starve together."

"Amy would love to hear that."

"Amy would understand."

"No, she wouldn't. Amy has hated me since we met. She doesn't like the fact that you've known me longer than you will ever had known her. She thinks she needs to one up me or something. She doesn't like me at all."

"You're a good person and she's a good person, we can work things out if, and only if, it comes to that, but keep your head down and do your job in the most mediocre and boring way possible and it won't come to that. Can you do that for me.?"

"I can do that as long as I'm lucky and don't start going all Oracle of Delphi again."

Harley didn't answer. Initially Marion thought that this must be due to his friend trying to think of more strategies to manage the hallucinations, and then Marion became aware of his surroundings and realized that he wasn't in the Park courtyard beside Allons-Y Books anymore, but standing in a large vaguely Dark Ages looking village beside a Motte and Bailey Castle.

People wandered the streets of the village. Soldiers stood on wooden watchtowers that sat interspersed on the out wall of the village and a few walked with large spears through the village. The ground was a grey clay mud and the logs used everywhere in construction were painted with some kind of white paint. Pale straw thatch was the only real color visible. The soldiers dressed in black and white cloaks and surcoats.

As Marion was taking all of this, a human like figure in tattered grey rags with wide eyes and sharp teeth peered out from behind a building. Marion saw it and recognized it from his earlier dream as a Wendigo. Other people had seen the Wendigo as well and people began screaming.

Marion shook his head in frustration.

"Why can't I be lucky? Am I wearing the wrong underwear? Does the universe have something against Astro Boy?"

The Wendigo stared at Marion, and then charged.

Allons-Y and High Achievers VOL 1. CHP 1. VERSE 4.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter One

Verse Four: Allons-Y and High Achievers

Marion arrived at Allons-Y Books on foot, having missed every bus between his apartment and work. He was sweating a line of moisture down his spine and breathing through an open mouth. The sweat of the run had finally defeated his unruly hair, which now sat limp and wet against his skull. A mist of steam rose from his shoulders. Marion would have stopped and quietly died in an alleyway if he was not terrified that he might lose his job for this infraction. And he was definitely infracting at the moment, it was already well past six, closing on half past.

He was Late for work. But he know he still has a chance. The managers may not have seen him, but they didn't know that Marion wasn't there. People started and stopped their shifts at staggered irregular times, Mr. Wheately might only see Marion once or twice in a day- if it was a good day. So, Mr. Wheately might have already confirmed that Marion was late; but far more likely, Mr. Wheately didn't even realize Marion was late. Marion just had to look normal. At a quarter to eight the staff would convene for the Team Huddle where Mr. Wheately would make a vague buzzword laden speech that was apparently intended to inspire the employees to work hard for no extra reward to improve profits for the shareholders. He just has to be visible in the Team huddle, and avoid being seen arriving, and he might have a chance.

Marion knew he couldn't walk in through the front door. He would need to slip in through the loading doors and appear to have been busy in the warehouse, sorting books and Oprah bait. The problem of course was that Mr. Wheately was not the only person at Allons-Y Books who didn't like Marion. Leo Hopper, the Warehouse Manager didn't like Marion either. Marion blamed the inflatable Moose, but that didn't help the fact that Leo would not let Marion get away with sneaking in tardy if the stock manager could prove that Marion had just that. So stealth was the name of the game.

The back door was locked and normally a person would need to press the buzzer to be let in. Marion had no intention of pressing the buzzer. Instead Marion slipped in the back, squeezing in through the opening left between the truck currently in the loading dock and the edge of the loading gate. There was just enough space to get in; and once inside, Marion immediately picked up a box from the loading bay and carried it further in, setting it down as though he had been there all along. Marion cautiously glanced around to see if he had been spotted and saw the heavy bulldog face of Leo Hopper staring at him.

Leo definitely saw Marion, but the question was when Leo had spotted him. If Leo had seen Marion enter through the loading door, Marion was doomed. Marion was confident that Leo could put two and two together and realize why Marion had been sneaking in through the shipping entrance.

Marion's plan had been to shuffle around the back, trying to clear space for the next shipment, and act like he had been in the back the whole time. But Leo had seen him and now that was at risk. If he had slipped in cleanly, the worst he would have been in trouble for was not helping set up the Mother's Day displays, but that would just be a lecture on prioritizing, not disciplinary action for being late. Now, he risked getting fired for being both late and trying to avoid getting caught. So the stakes were much higher now that Leo had seen him. But maybe Marion was lucky, and Leo hadn't realized that he had seen Marion attempting to avoid being caught arriving late.

"Please let me be lucky," Marion breathed his breath.

Leo was talking the the driver of the currently docked delivery truck, and Marion felt he had little choice but to continue with his plan. He began looking through the boxes, and sorting the good publishers into a pile where he could easily stock it to the shelves later. Marion knew from experience that if the book wasn't on a certain celebrity reading list or from the latest teen best selling series then it stood little chance of being shelves with any care or attention.

Marion took periodic looks at Leo while he worked, Leo remained busy with the driver- doing what Marion couldn't fathom. They seemed to be talking an awful lot for a simple pick up, but Leo never did seem to value the company beyond what it could give him. Marion understood that, he didn't value the company much either, but he did value the people who came to him looking for good books. Leo remained in conversation with the driver while Marion sequestered the boxes that had arrived from good publishers. But although Leo never approached Marion, the warehouse manager through several more unpleasant glares at Marion.

Finally there was a buzz on the intercom and a tin metallic voice said, "Alright high achievers, let's meet by the front displays for a team huddle." Marion recognized Mr. Wheately's voice and knew this was the moment of truth.

He turned to go, but as he moved to head down stairs he heard Leo say, "Oh I can't answer that, ask Marion he's the only guy who knows the Literature section well enough to give you an answer to that."

Marion turned back around to see the driver walking over. He was an older man dressed better than Marion would have expected a deliver driver to be dressed, in brown corduroy pants with a red shirt and a brown tweed jacket. The man's hair was an aged pale blond and hung long tied back into a ponytail. He offered a hand to Marion which Marion shook.

"Hi, Leo told me that you could help me tell where something belongs."

Marion nodded and then quickly shook his head, "Yes, I mean no. I don't mean to be rude, but that intercom announcement was for us. I need to swing down and get to that meeting."

The man kept smiling, "This will just take a moment."

"I'm sorry," Marion said, "Who are you?"

"I'm just somebody interesting in storytelling, like you." The man kept shaking Marion's hand, who suddenly had the feeling that the man wouldn't give Marion back his hand until Marion had agreed to help.

"What can I do for you?"

"I have this book that's not really a kids book, but reads like a fable or a fairy tale. It's big in scope, but keeps things simple. Think Jonathon Livingstone Seagull. The copy on the covers calls it a children's book, but if we put it in the children's section no adults are going to read it, and it's often scarier than little kids might be ready to handle."

"Kids can handle more than you think. And adults will totally read stuff in the kids section. Harry Potter is in both sections now, but the books didn't start there. The publisher went back and put out adult additions when they realized the market existed. But if you want a easy place to stuff the books so that both groups feel like they are allowed to read them and also will let parents feel like you didn't trick them into reading nightmare fuel to their precious little kids, then probably the Teen section. What is this book, you haven't even told me the title."

"The last princess. Have you read this story? It isn't new. It's about a princess who realizes that the presence of her kingdom live a much worse life than she does. You know, kind of like Buddha. But instead of just meditating or leaving like Buddha, she decides she has to fix things. The problem is at the abilities wealth comes from the workers working harder and harder every year. And if they stop the whole kingdom will fall apart. She looks and looks for a solution, and she can't find one. Just one that looks like everything is lost a pair of storytellers bring her a story of a new way to live. two story tellers, one cold like the void, one bright like fire. And they show her the way through the darkness. What do you think?"

Marion shook his head, "Maybe I just read too much, but I'm sorry. It sounds like I've heard the story a thousand times before. Kind of lame."

"It's not lame, it's an archetype. Timeless."

"Okay, archetype. But that still doesn't mean the story is that well constructed. Where do the storytellers come from? And what are: they? Stephen King teaming up with Obi-Won Kenobi to teach her how to be a Jedi? Why are they in the story? It sounds like bad writing if somebody has to sweep in at the last moment to save her?"

"They're there from the beginning. But I guess it depends on whose story it is. And as for why; everyone has to choose what kind of story they want to join."

"Okay, I have no idea what you're talking about now."

"Marion. Everyone is living out a story. Everyone is writing their own story and participating in other people's stories. Years from now, some of those stories will be remembered and some will be forgotten. Who decides which ones? Centuries from now, some stories will still be around from this era. They will by myths and legends. People may be worshiping the great provider god who brings the harvest and appears as a clown under a sacred archway made of gold. How do you know what makes a story survive? Merlin as a character is older than the King Arthur story and grafted on to that mythology. Maid Marion was not part of the original Robin Hood legend. We tell stories about Gilgamesh and Noah, but if they were ever real people were they individuals or did the stories of a dozen different kings merge in the telling of the story through the centuries to give us the character of Gilgamesh?"

Marion widened his eyes, "Now see that is really interesting. Is that part of the book?"

"It's part of your book. Are you familiar with the Hero's Journey, the Joseph Campbell theory?"

"Yeah, it's the monomyth. The idea that most or all stories, at least a good number of the stories, I don't know how many, but a bunch of the old stories- plus everything that George Lucas seems to write- all follow the same structure."

"And it starts with the hero receiving a call. And sometimes the hero tries to refuse the call, and when that happens there are consequences. The hero suffers until they answer the call to adventure. This happens again and again. Do you know why? Because stories are circular. The hero goes out into the world but always returns home to share his story. When he does this he inspires a new generation of heroes. You stories don't die permanently. The are resurrected with each retelling. Stories are like the phoenix."

"Wait. What?"

"Stories are a firebird lighting the darkness for people without light. They are meaning in the void."

"Okay, back up. Back up. Who are you and what are you talking about?"

"Day! I should have known I'd find you back here!" Marion turned to see the obscenely tall and thin form of Percy Wheately walking like a determined paper cut towards them, "You missed the morning huddle. All of my true high achievers were out there. Where were you? You were hiding in the warehouse. It's almost seven, you know we open early on Mother's Day."

"Sorry Mr. Wheately. This rep, I'm sorry I didn't get your name, wanted help determining where to file their new book."

Mr. Wheately Shook his head, "Not only can't you prioritize, you can't do what you spend your time actually doing. You should have been out front facing and building the displays, instead you hid back here with your little hipster niche market books and your specialty publishers who don't bring in the revenue, and then you can't even stock the back room correctly."

"I haven't been stocking the back room, Mr. Wheately. I've been assisting a publisher's representative."

"I am getting tired of your antics Day. Get out on the floor. Don't you dare neglect your section. You may sell books, but that won't protect the rest of your short comings. I am out of patience and that means you have run out of second chances."

The Firebird, and Pants VOL 1. CHP 1. VERSE 3 (Draft 2)

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter One

Verse Three: The Firebird, and Pants

Marion peered through the metal metal grill work down five floors to the cracked and settled asphalt below. Water had filled in old pot holes. The alley was littered with garbage that consisted of a few more broken bottles than Marion had hoped to see.

"I don't know that I have a choice at all, "Marion said and swung a naked leg over the railing of the fire escape.

He swung his other leg over and then stretched a leg out to reach the other fire escape. His foot touched down and, as he attempted to shift his weight, Marion lost his balance and his feet slid further apart. His left leg snagged on the railing on his fire escape and left him stuck awkwardly balancing between the two fire escapes. Marion shifted his weight and tried to find a balance point where he could safely move his right foot over to his fire escape, while at the same time trying to not look down. Marion did not consider himself particularly afraid of heights, but balancing over a five story void had a way of introducing the concept that was new and surprisingly effective. As he struggled to free his left leg and also regain enough balance to move his right leg, Marion noticed movement from the alleyway below. Taking a moment to look, he saw a man in a dark suit and sunglasses watching him for the alley below. Marion tried to get a good look, but the fire escape creaked and Marion was forced to heave his right leg to his side to prevent himself from slipping further. He quickly swung one leg and then the other over the railing to safety before looking back. But when he looked again, he saw nothing but a poster for "Men in Black 5: K's Still Alive!"

Shaking his head in the hopes of clearing his mind, Marion reached through the small opening left in his window and grasped the slim line of rope that would open the lock on his window. He pulled, and nothing happened. He pulled again, a little harder, and felt a strange resistance in the line. He gave the line a solid yank, hoping to pull loose whatever was snagging in his system, and hear a melodic jangle that Marion knew was the sound of three coat hangers falling to the floor and his system failing entirely.

Marion looked back the Men in Black poster and barred his teeth in a growl as though the poster and ghost CIA agent look alike were somehow to blame. He looked through the window and saw his pants laying in a crumpled pile in the hallway. Marion knew that he would now have to break the window if he wanted to get in.

Worries began to have a town council meeting in Marion's head. He worried that Mr. Grimly would hear the sound of breaking glass. He worried that Mr. Grimly might use the sound of breaking glass as an excuse to barge into his apartment. He worried that Mr. Grimly would use the whole event as an excuse to evict him and possibly even call the police. Mr. Grimly had never liked Marion as far as he could tell. They had never been friends. Marion didn't think Mr. Grimly liked friends. You couldn't charge friends rent.

"I don't think Mr. Grimly will ever forgive me for that inflatable Moose Incident," Marion said quietly to himself, "He won't forgive me for this either, but at least this one would be my fault. But, If I'm very lucky, Mr. Grimly will never know about this one."

Marion knew Mr. Grimly was a stranger to compassion, and that he would evict if no rent was forthcoming. And since Marion couldn't pay his rent if he got fired, options seemed to be a choice between bad option number one and bad option number two. So no point in hesitating now.

He looked around, but saw no tool that he could use to break the window. Marion examined the window. It was very old and consisted only of a single pane of glass. From experience, Marion knew that the window let in the cold without mercy. It couldn't be that strong. Marion looked at his hands and experimentally balled both hands into fists. Marion shook his head, unconvinced at this own display. He closed his eyes, and swung a clenched fist at the window.

The sound ofbBreaking glass erupted in Marion's ears and he was surprised that blow hadn't hurt. He opened his eyes to find his right hand red with blood and slowly became aware of a sharp sting in his knuckles.

"I'm never lucky." Marion said quietly as he pulled the last big glass shards of the window and began squeezing through the window. Half way through, Marion realized he could have opened the window now that it was broken and not risked cutting himself on the shatter glass still in the frame. He realized this as the glass cut his thighs in neat angular little grooves. The pain in his thighs was excruciating as he pulled himself through. When he finally stood inside his apartment again, he found himself wondering if Mrs. Trilby was right about that tumor and his attention to detail.

He walked to the sink and washed his knuckles and his thighs, delicately putting X-Men band-aids over the cuts, using a whole box of band-aids in the process, since he didn't have any larger bandages, his last box of band-aids in fact. He felt a bit woozy and wasn't too pleased with the day's current performance. Marion splashed water on his face to hopefully clear his head. But when he removed his hands and looked at the mirror, his reflection was gone.

In place of the mirror and the expected reflection, Marion was staring at a bird, much like a pheasant or a peacock with a long sweeping tail, but also impressively expansive wings. The bird was an iridescence of reds and golds that moved in waves over a black backing like fire over hot coals. Actual flames licked the air around the bird and it looked at Marion intently. Then it cocked it's head away into the distance and took flight, a nimbus of flame surrounding it. Marion debated following it, but found that it didn't matter. He was flying behind the firebird- coasting on its wake.

They flew out over a lonely highway, passing a worn down old diner out past the end of the highway into a vast wilderness and then on. They flew over a small village built of mud or clay with grass on the roofs and further on into a blasted landscape of burned fields and shattered homes. The land below took on the appearance of a war zone or the aftermath of a zombie outbreak, slowly becoming increasingly urban until the firebird's flight took them straight into the heart of a city under siege by its own people, with fires in the streets and upturned cars. The firebird aimed its path for a huge skyscraper in the center of the city and Marion held his breath as they aimed straight at the shimmering glass facade.

The scene shattered to sound of exploding glass and Marion found himself floating in darkness.

The firebird circled and then landed in the void and sat, quietly nesting in the darkness. Marion looked around and saw a vast spiderweb stretching across the darkness and a small girl with hair in dark braids stuck fast in the center of the web. To Marion's horror the web began to dance as something large and heavy began to move along the web, deep in the darkness. As Marion stared in horror a pounding drumbeat began in the distance. The Girl began to struggle and then seemed to notice Marion. She looked at him, and then seemed to look past him. Marion turned around to follow her gaze and found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom.

Marion stared at his reflection a moment, and then shook his head.

"Maybe Mrs. Trilby is on to something," He said quietly.

Then Marion noticed that the drumbeat was still pounding in the background. And then Marion realized it was the sound of a meaty fist pounding on his apartment door.

"I know you're in there you little newt. I heard you banging around. If that glass was anything important its coming out of your damage deposit. Hell, I'll skin you and sell your skinny hide to make up my missing rent! Open this door before I break it in! Doors are expensive!"

"I'm not that far behind on my rent." Marion muttered to himself, "Maybe torture and then allow to live level of late. But no, Grimly goes straight to skinning and selling my hide."

Mr. Grimly kept banging on the door, demanding to be let in.

"Let me in! I'm your landlord! You've got no secrets from me you filthy little salamander!"

Marion realized that Mr. Grimly was counting on Marion opening the door so the landlord could pretend he had been invited in. But Grimly sounded really angry and might graduate from yelling to actually entering the apartment without permission, Tenancies Act be damned.

Marion ran out into his front hall and grabbed his pants.

Marion heard the sound of jangling metal from the hall, a key chain. Panicking, Marion jammed a chair under the door and flipped the three door-bolts into place. Marion had added the door-bolt two months ago after Mr. Grimly snuck into Marion's apartment to wait for Marion to return home. Mr. Grimly had tried to insinuate that he could have Marion killed and the body disposed of quite easily. The landlord had made references to alleged criminal friends and a dog breeder who wasn't picky on what she used to make her kibble. Marion hadn't really believed the landlord, but had no intention of testing his claims and had installed the door-bolts the next day, one at the top of the door about forehead level, one about chest level and one near the ankles. Marion didn't bother to put on his grey work pants. Instead, he went back to the broken window and, opening it this time, he slipped out and began climbing down the fire escape, pants in hand.

Marion heard the door open and then a metal thud as the door reached the limit allowed by the door-bolts

"How dare you install a door-bolt you little worm! I'm going to nail your skinny ass to the wall you little skink!"

Marion tried to pull on his pants as he ran, but the converse made that impossible. He paused and untied his laces, ignoring the passersby who were no doubt eyeing up his Astro Boy boxer briefs. As he pulled his pants on, Marion looked up to see the number eight Main street bus pulling into the stop. He grabbed his converse and ran in mismatched stocking feet towards the bus stop, but was still a block away when the bus pulled out from the curb and rounded the corner onto main street.

Marion staggered to a cursing and wheezing halt, watching his only hope coil out of sight round the corner. He sighed.

"I'm never lucky."

Dreamwalker Rises VOL 1. CHP 1. VERSE 1 (Draft 2)

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter One

Verse One: Dreamwalker Rises

"We are that with which stories are made. And our little lives are added to the story when at last we sleep forever. And so we become part of the dreams that others dream when stories are told around a council fire."

The darkness wreathed the council fire as the flames spit sparks and pitch into the night sky. Dreamer stood, looming before the fire to best cast a shadow across the younger members of the tribe as they watched the storyteller in wide eyed wonder. Walker stepped from behind Dreamer and continued speaking where Dreamer had left off.

"These are the stories of the tribe. These are your stories. They belong to you, but more important- you belong to them. You will pass them to the unborn elders of tomorrow. You will keep the Demons and Heroes of the tribe alive by keeping those stories alive, for there is nowhere else where Demons and Gods may live but within the stories that we tell each other."

The children murmured to each other. Virtually every child had heard this before, but every child began to understand the weight of the words in their own time. Some children required many tellings of the story before the lesson took hold. Amidst the sound of murmured voices, Dreamer rose like an ambushing warrior behind the children- now outside the circle- and several of the younger children shrieked.

"And so we will tell you the stories of the First Mother and her companion: First Hero. We will tell you of the Witch Doctor and the Locust King. We will tell of deals First Mother made with the Elder known as Weaver and the pact made between First Hero and the Great Serpent Elder. We will tell you how the Witch Doctor found the ancient laws of the Great Phoenix, that mystery of Void and Fire. And will tell you of the Wendigo and the Hunger that drives them, the fearsome Men of Black and White- that Evil Wyrm known as Falsenight. And we will tell you of what lies behind their hunger and the fear that drives them."

From inside the overlapping Capes that Walker wore, the storyteller produced a grapefruit sized wooden egg carved with designs depicting two figures walking a winding road. The Storyteller grasped the wooden egg at both ends and twisted, and the egg split at the middle with a hollow popping sound. Inside lay another egg, this one carved with depictions of the tribe's history. Dreamer reached in and delicately plucked the smaller egg and then wrenched it open, launching a still smaller egg within high into the air. Walker reach up and snatched the egg on its descent, revealing it in the fire light to be marked with Wendigo faces, and popped it open and tipped the egg within to fall towards the dirt. Dreamer knelt and caught the falling egg with cupped hands and showed the children the vast city walls carved into the egg's surface. Dreamer then gently opened it to reveal an egg again. Dreamer picked the egg from its resting place and handed it to Walker. This egg was smaller than a quail's egg and, as Walker displayed it to the children, the children could see a great tower depicted upon the egg. Walker grasped the egg with both hands, leaving it momentarily invisible. Walker's hands unclasped and in the space where the egg had been lay a black cloth. Dreamer reached up and snatched the black cloth without standing and unfolded it with a flourish and an unexpected flash of light exploded into the air above the storyteller.

Walker stood behind the council fire, cape spread and arms wide.

"And now, the story begins again."

But before either storyteller could speak again, the night was banished by a blast of shimmering snow that roared like a winter lion across the landscape and scoured the darkness away leaving everyone blinking in the sudden washed out light and shivering from the bitter cold. Snarling withered figures with wild hair and hollow eyes appears from out of the whirling clouds of snow. The creatures almost looked like people, and in fact they had been people once. They snapped jaws full of broken bottle teeth and advanced upon the council fire.

"The Wendigo are here." Walker said, flinging the capes aside and drawing his Flanged Mace: Boneshaker.

"Worse will be coming. Children, get behind us." Dreamer added and drew the twin tomahawks: Victor and Edgar.

The corrupted Knights of the Locust King marched out of the freezing mists, the Knights of Unity and the Knights of Purity. Behind them, the monstrous Harvester and the legions of Truthtellers and Confessors stood ready and waiting.

Behind Dreamer and Walker stood the children and the tribe. Between the Locust King's forces and the Tribe stood only these two Storytellers dressed in their crimson armor against a tide of white shrouded soldiers ready to do them harm. Slowly the ranks of Locust King begin marching forward, pikes and Gusarmes out and leveled at the two in blood red raiments. Troops with muskets and flintlocks march besides ones with Kalashnikov variations. The troops washed over and around the two warriors like an avalanche. The Tribe lands disappeared around the two, buried in snow and freezing mists. Tips of corn stalks poked out from the snow as they withered from the cold.

Dreamer and Walker stood back to back in the midst of the enemy, their weapons in constant motion. The army seemed disinterested in them, marching past to devastate the landscape and drown it in winter. Then, as though a signal had been given, the army parted like the red sea and a figure dressed in crimson war robes fringed with gold strode out from the army brandishing an enormous scythe: the Locust King.

Walker stood ready, a bulwark of defense with no gaps through which the enemy could enter. Dreamer shifted constantly, a puzzle no enemy could decipher. Dozens of Knight and Wendigo bodies lay in a gruesome circle around the two. The Locust King strode over the bodies and swung the great scythe one handed in an arc the cut the air in two as it went. The blade bit through Boneshaker without slowing and slit Walker's red armor cleanly, dropping the storyteller to the ground. Dreamer turned to face the Locust King, but the scythe kept swinging, completing a full circle and continuing around, slicing through Dreamer as though the storyteller were maybe of morning fog.

The Locust King stared down at the ruined forms of the storytellers, "What makes you all oppose me? I bring liberation. Through me you all are freed to tell your own stories. Why are you fools willing to die rather than embrace my offer?"

The army in white stormed across the landscape until the land lay like a blank canvas out to the horizon. The Locust Skin stood, leaning on his scythe, staring down at the bodies of Dreamer and Walker, three figures in red against a background painted white.

The wind whipped the Locust King's gilded robes like a scourge and tossed his twin feathered crests wildly.

"Why do you resist?"

And the wind replied, "A good story is like soil, it must be built up and nurtured. You nurture nothing. You get one harvest, and then the winter rains wash away the top soil and nothing grows for years after."

The Locust King turned, swinging his scythe wildly trying to find the source of the voice, "Where are you?"

"Here. We are of the story." The voice said, echoing as though it were two voices speaking as one.

"Who are you? I have defeated everything and everyone."

"Have you defeated the fear that drives you? What do you fear so much that you felt driven to burn and salt everything you love? What fear could drive you to this destruction?"

"I fear nothing! There is no fear!"

Before him, the broken pieces of the storyteller reassembled themselves into a single form, neither Dreamer nor Walker, but both.

"What are you?" The Locust King hissed.

"We are Dreamwalker. And we will test your claim. We are Dreamwalker and the Shadowlands of your mind and your dreams are open to us. We shall see if there is no fear within your story."

And Dreamwalker stepped forward and passed into the Locust King. And the Locust King shuddered as it happened.

The Shadowlands of the Locust King stretched far away, the horizon pulling up rather than down. Color was missing in these Shadowlands, everything was black or white and the contrast was jagged and painful when viewed too long. Dreamwalker stood in front of a great tower of crystal and steel, a door opened at the base of the tower. And Dreamwalker entered.

Inside the tower the floor was built of black and white squares in a chessboard pattern and a great staircase with no protective railing curled up to the top of the tower. Positioned like chessmen around the room, the Men of Black and White stood frozen in their black suits and black sunglasses, sharp against white shirts and white pocket squares. As one, the Men of Black and White turned to look at Dreamwalker. As one, the Men of Black and White raised their left hands to touch their left ears. As one, the Men of Black and White spoke.

"Target has arrived. Commencing operation. Target will be sanctioned."

Dreamwalker drew twin tomahawks and flanged mace and charged the Men of Black and White. The Men of Black and White moved between the blinking of Dreamwalker's eyes. They did not seem to move, but when Dreamwalker swung a weapon towards one of the men of black and white, that man was simply not in the same spot when the weapon arrived. Dreamwalker could not see them move, but that did not stop the storyteller from feeling the results of their movement. Fists like concrete cinder blocks struck from impossible angles, and gunshots rang out after Dreamwalker felt the exploding pain of bullets striking flesh.

"We can't beat them. They are too many, too fast."

"Target is injured."

"This is the Shadowlands, we live or die as the story demands."

"Target is vulnerable."

"This is not the Shadowlands. This is his Shadowlands. How do you think his stories end?"

"Proceeding with sanctions."

"It ends in the throne room. It has to. We can make it."

Dreamwalker moved, leaping straight up to grasp the spiral staircase. Dreamwalker pulled up onto the stairs and charged up the staircase with the Men of Black and White in hot pursuit. Dreamwalker took the stairs five at a time, almost flying up the stairs. Below on the stairs, the marching cadence of the Men of Black and White echoed like a drumbeat of a military band. Another sound added to the chorus, the rich syrupy sound of something very large sliding across a wet surface, black oily liquid dripped from the edges of the stairs as Dreamwalker ran. Coiling down from above was a great monster serpent with a head like a crocodile and a body wide enough to swallow Volkswagen.

"Hello little morsel." The Serpent said, "I am Falsenight, and it is time for you to learn your place. You are not the hero of this tale."

The Enormous black monster rolled and swirled around the staircase, a liquid cable the width of a sedan, a oily black tsunami in the form of a serpentine leviathan.

"You must remember your role, teller of tales. The chosen one must face our hunger and choose. You may only guide the chosen one, but the choice is not yours to make. The hunger is not yours to face."

"How can we guide the chosen one if we do not know what drives your hunger? How can we teach the chosen one if we do not know the choice that must be made."

Falsenight chuckled, a sound not unlike shaking a bag of razor blades dipped in bear grease.

"That is your challenge. Don't you like a challenge?"

"The Dreamwalker is the storyteller and the mentor. Knowledge is their portfolio." A cold monotone voice whispered, a sound so quiet the breeze tore it apart. "The unknown terrifies them, they cannot quantify it or explain it or weave it into song."

"Who's there?" Dreamwalker called.

Falsenight chuckled, "You have awakened The Grey. He smells your fear. You who sought the fear that drives our little Locust now must face your own."

"Show yourself!"

"If you wish."

Before Dreamwalker a shape gradually faded into view. Human-like, but absurdly thin with long insect-like fingers and a grotesquely large head, smooth like a carapace with mandibles rather than a mouth and compound eyes. The being hung in the air, silent and monochrome, as though superimposed on the the space and not fully occupying it.

"We know your fear. We can take it away: take control, walk our path, and the uncertainty will vanish. We promise certainty, stability, safety. Walk our path. Tell our story."

Dreamwalker took a step back. Falsenight chuckled a third time as the Men of Black and White marched through the serpents great coils and blocked the path down the stairs.

"There is no way out. We offer an answer."

"No, you offer lies." Dreamwalker stepped back again, but this time there was no stairway beneath, and the storyteller tumbled backwards into the unknown.

* * * *

Marion Day awoke gasping for air, and sat upright in bed. He looked around at the disgraceful mess that was the bedroom of his bachelor suite. The bed was a simply mattress laying on plastic on the floor of the room. Movie posters were mounted on the wall with rubber cement, 'The Day the Earth Stood Still', 'The Last Man on Earth', 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and 'The Day of the Triffids. Books were left in piles around the room, clothing left piled on books. A laptop lay in the otherwise unused closet. An alarm clock sat on its side next to the bed.

Marion looked around the room again, "It was a dream. Damn. What time is it?"

He looked at the alarm clock, tilting his head.

"Why's it on its side? It's five past five! I start work at six. Did I not wake up when I shut the alarm off? Damn, I'll be late for work!"