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

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse eight: How it Ends

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

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

"And?"

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

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

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

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

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

"No thanks to you." Harley answered.

"You think not?"

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

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

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

"That was smooth." Bridger said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I absolutely can play jazz."

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

"Nobody but the best can play free jazz."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bear roared.

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

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

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

"That's what I'm hearing."

lady Purge continued to speak to the Mountain Guardian.

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

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

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

"I will." Harley answered.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

"Because they're control freaks?"

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

"So it really is the Illuminati?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

"What are those?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

"What about the bear guy?"

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

"So what would be equivalent?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"just give me a moment." Harley said.

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

* * *

Marion was not alone.

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

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

YOU ARE NOW

"I am now what?" Marion said.

YOU ARE HERE AND YOU ARE NOW

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

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

"What are you?"

YOU ARE

"Are you the firebird?"

WHAT YOU MAKE OF ME

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not going to kill you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You read comic books?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse seven: Dealing with Demons

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

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

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

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

features, and he spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

wendigo backwards.

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

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

least I hope we did."

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

to nobody in paricular.

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

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

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

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

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

came out of the mountain." Harley answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

multiplying."

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

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

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

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

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

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

after Harley.

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

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

rather not die fighting beside this old goat."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * 

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

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

began to retreat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

air ahead to the left.

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

does you no good."

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

each moment."

"Is this really the time to get poetic?"

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

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

The shield cracked again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

retained their strength.

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

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

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

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

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

blasting around them.

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

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

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

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

are the signs of the Pale Shepherd."

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

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

answered.

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

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

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

"She ditched us!" Amy said in shock.

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

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

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

us."

"I don't like those plans."

"When are you going to like my plans?"

"When you come up with better ones."

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

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

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

* * *

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

the trail behind them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

going to need my help."

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

the trail quite fine without you." Harley answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse six: Scat and the Lost Lake

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

form."

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

motionless, speaking again after a moment's silence.

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

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

die. Time will tell, change is inevitable."

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

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

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

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

after myself."

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

moment, and then began to ascend up the mountain.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the mountain and their goal.

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

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

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

bullets as they struck.

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

back to the gate?"

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

asked.

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

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

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

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

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

elements seems to invoke them."

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

upsetting expectations."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

working, I might have a chance."

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

meditation on!"

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

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

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

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

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

enraged mountain god.

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

flow in his mind, there was nothing to find.

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

everything."

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marion suddenly realized was a voice, speaking quietly.

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

so amusing in your time."

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

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

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

nightmares.

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

don't you?"

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

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

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

die. Time will tell, change is inevitable."

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

"You are not human."

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

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

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

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

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

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

concentration he recognized it.

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

* * *

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

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

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

them as the ran blindly away from the devouring monsters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

a hunger they never before knew they had within them.

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

the Gray had left him in isolation.

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

* * *

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

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

training and a badge I can wave around."

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

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

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

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

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

back in fear and eyed the enormous stone bear warily.

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

and I can't arrest a corpse!"

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

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

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

spiralling into the crowd of Wendigo.

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

Bridger is going cease to exist."

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

only a trail of frost.

The Hound was hungry and the city was a feast.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

up the mountain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pale Shepherd did not stop moving as it spoke.

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

A long silence.

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

the last page, close the book."

The Pale Shepherd kept walking.

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

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

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

not enemies."

* * *

"I am still hungry." Falsenight hissed.

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

form.

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

tiles.

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

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

you can't even rise up to strike."

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

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

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

"I will not let it end."

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his head.

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

expect to find you still conscious."

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

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

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

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

Harley's bicep.

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

ground in a snarling scrambling heap.

"I had to ask." Bridger said.

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

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

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

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

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

pulled himself to his feet.

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

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

quite stylish Amy as the wendigo retreated.

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

Amy answered.

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

sexy."

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

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

met." Bridger asked

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

other two.

Bridger watched Harley's face go cold.

"Who's she?" Bridger asked.

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

The Ptarmigan Trail VOL 1. CHP 5. VERSE 5.

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter Five

Verse five: The Ptarmigan Trail

Darius Salt strode across the black and white checkerboard tiles of the Inner Sanctum towards the massive body of Falsenight. The massive black serpent lay bloated and rotting like a beached whale, charcoal rib protruding through oil black skin melting like hot plastic in a kiln. The air around Falsenight was rank with the smell of propane gas and the beast was breathing in laboured gasps that sounded like metal fatigue in a skyscraper moments before collapse.

The great serpent stared into the distance, it's eyes milky white and shocking against the black of it's scales. 

"I hunger. Feeeed me." Falsenight slurred, it's words drawn out and desperate. 

"Does anyone have an explanation for this?" Darius said to the assembled crowd of agents and lieutenants standing nervously around the snake. 

Lady Cinnabar stood in front of the black monstrosity biting her lip. She wore clothing that seems to want to be red, but always caught the light wrong and continually looked ash gray instead- a kind of reverse iridescence. She walked barefoot and left bloody footprints that congealed into ugly black blood scabs marking the path she took through the story. She turned as Darius Salt approached, "The snake is dying my lord. The Pale Shepherd is almost certainly the cause. The poor creature is little more than a hollow shell now. When it dies, it's form will return to the Great Serpent and it will regain its lost power. Anything left of Falsenight's power will likely be devoured by the Shepherd to fuel his pretty little nightmare world. What shall we do?"

"Feed me!" Falsenight demanded with enough agonized effort that the crowd shuffled back several steps.

Darius Salt pointed at a random agent, "Eat him then! Where are my children?" As Darius finished speaking, Falsenight coiled painfully upwards, oily liquid coiling down black scales and seeping through spaces in the tiles. The agent indicated by Darius took a step back, as the crowd around him cleared. Falsenight opened its mouth so wide, the sound of a dislocating jaw echoed through the sanctum and then the huge serpent struck downwards, scooping up the agent and swallowing the suited figure whole. 

Cinnabar didn't look at the spectacle as she spoke, "The cadaver who walks like a man has failed to report in. It is so unlike him. I think the Bone Man has failed. And we have reports of portals opening to deeper layers of the Shadowlands."

"Portals? Who's opening them? None of our opponents have the power to open permanent portals. Are they using the cup to power this?"

"The cup was almost certainly absorbed by the Pale Shepherd. He turns our own power against us. I can't imagine any of the little gnats who oppose us having the power or the nerve to face the Shepherd. These portals do not appear created. I suppose it would be more accurate to call them rips in the fabric of the story. They are signs and portents. Our story is unable to support your empire and unless we can supply more tribute, this world will tear itself apart."

"Then we need to find my children."

"The hound has failed my King. The hound. We do not know why, but it has lost interest and no longer pursues the storytellers or your children. And the Bone Man has failed to report in. Your great monster lies dying. The old ones are walking the land and tearing your great works to pieces. Wendigo are being sighted by our agents in the field in larger numbers than we've ever seen here. The centre is not holding. Do you know how many people I had to kill look presentable this morning? We are running out of time my King. What other resources do we have?"

Darius did not answer. And after a moment Cinnabar continued speaking.

"What shall happen to us if the line breaks my lord? I was promised eternal youth. I do not fancy watching my debts come due all at once."

"The line will not break. I will not allow it." Darius answered.

"But our patron demands more every time. The sacrifice of your wife wasn't enough. A thousand years ago, that would have been more than sufficient. Even if we manage to pay tribute this time. What happens next time?" Lady Cinnabar pointed out the huge plate glass windows into the Bonelands and the city where the physical tower was anchored, the corporate headquarters of Salt and Sons. As she pointed, another shimmering tear in reality split the sky ragged and another world became visible beyond the edge of the tear. "The empire stumbles, the world begins to die. We will die. If not for this tribute, then on the next. We cannot sustain this. We are going to die."

Darius shook his head and then slapped Lady Cinnabar with a sweeping back hand and knocked her to the ground.

"I am never dying." He said through clenched teeth.

* * *

"I'm dying." Special Agent Saul Bridger announced as he dropped to his knees and coughed heavily before dropping his head to the ground and threw up heavily.

Brave Mountain didn't rise out of the terrain like a pillar or a wall of grey stone. The mountain crept up upon travellers The ground slowly turning towards the sky in a gentle slope that increased quickly, but no so quickly that an unwary traveler might not walk well up the mountain before realizing just how daunting the task of continuing had become. The mountain was not rock, not grey and white granite, but was mostly earth- rich brown and covered in trees and shrubs and moss and a layer of deep tan and burgundy ground cover composed of dead pine needles and leaves and cedar boughs. Salal and Kinninkinnick bushes grew abundantly and cedar trees stretched their branches across the old well worn trails.  Ptarmigan and grouse exploded out of the cover when startled and hustled off on foot or launched dramatically, if awkwardly into the air, brown speckled feathers beating against the sky.

The sun cooked the land until leaves were hot to the touch. The shadows lay deep and black and impenetrable, sharp contrast carved by the sunlight and where it did not fall. The sky was crisp and arced away into infinity above the mountain and made the enormity of the climb ahead far too clear. The top of the mountain itself lay hidden by the unassuming angle of the mountain. One could march upward and be confident that one was making progress, but the mountain gave no hint of how much further its summit lay beyond any single footfall. And this made the climb difficult, as each step was uncertain and at no point could a hiker be clear in their progress.

Harley looked down at the man and put a hand on his shoulder, "You get used to things being constantly insane, unfortunately. It's kind of terrifying how fast this stuff became normal, now that I say it."

"That's normal to you?" Bridger said between gasps, pointing up the hill towards what Harley could only describe as a hole in reality. The sky had torn open in front of them and through the hole a blasted wasteland was visible where the only life was the occasional desperate looking Wendigo scrambling around a barren version of Brave Mountain looking for and eating anything even remotely edible. 

Harley had walked with Bridger right to the base of the mountain in big bounding steps. Harley had refrained from travelling further than he could see and effect had disoriented Bridger severely. Harley suspected that this had contributed to Bridger's collapse at the sight of the tear opening up in front of them. 

"Normal enough at this point," Harley said.

"What is it?" Bridger asked, wiping his mouth and pulling himself to his feet.

"If, I had to guess? This sounds like what the Witch Doctor was talking about. The World is breaking apart. This is another part of the story, or a competing story, or the world as it looks without a story. Something like that. You want a better answer, let's survive long enough to ask the Witch Doctor when we get back."

A Wendigo began to stare at Harley and Bridger through the shimmering tear that hung in the sky between the men and the monster. The creature tilted its head to the left and then to the right and sniffed the air experimentally.

"Let's get moving. I don't when to be around when Wendigo start coming through that opening." Harley said. Bridger nodded reluctantly and they walked quickly away from the tear in the sky before anything emerged. Harley looked back several times as they left, but say nothing emerge from the tear while he was looking. And eventually the trail curved and the tear was obscured from view.

The first Torii gate was at the base of the mountain trail and was easy to find. Bridger led the way, Harley imagined that the older man felt obligated to do so, both because of his age and because of his official authority as a federal agent.

  

Brave Mountain didn't rise out of the terrain like a pillar or a wall of grey stone. The mountain crept up upon travelers. The ground slowly turning towards the sky in a gentle slope that increased quickly, but no so quickly that an unwary traveler might not walk well up the mountain before realizing just how daunting the task of continuing had become. The mountain was not rock, not grey and white granite, but was mostly earth- rich brown and covered in trees and shrubs and moss and a layer of deep tan and burgundy ground cover composed of dead pine needles and leaves and cedar boughs.Salal and Kinninkinnick bushes grew abundantly and cedar trees stretched their branches across the old well worn trails.  Ptarmigan and grouse exploded out of the cover when startled and hustled off on foot or launched dramatically, if awkwardly into the air, brown speckled feathers beating against the sky.

The sun cooked the land until leaves were hot to the touch. The shadows lay deep and black and inpenetrable, sharp contrast carved by the sunlight and where it did not fall. The sky was crisp and arced away into infinity above the mountain and made the enormity of the climb ahead far too clear. The top of the mountain itself lay hidden by the unassuming angle of the mountain. One could march upward and be confident that one was making progress, but the mountain gave no hint of how much further its summit lay beyond any single footfall. And this made the climb difficult, as each step was uncertain and at no point could a hiker be clear in their progress.

"Have you noticed yourself losing or gaining time lately?" Bridger asked Harley as they walked.

"Constantly. If you want to hear my best guess on why, I'd say it's the story moving things around to put us where it needs us to be."

"I don't even know what that means. You and everyone else you're with keeps calling this a story, but what does that mean?"

"I don't really know. I've listened, but they really haven't explained that part clearly. Either they're afraid to tell me the whole story, or they don't know the whole thing themselves. As far as I can tell, a story - in this context- is literally a story, but magical in some way that determines how the world behaves or looks or acts or I don't know. It feels like a Fisher King, Arthur and Holy Grail- the land is a representation of the king; only in this case the land is a respresentation of the story somehow."

"And that tear in the sky back there was a symptom of the story failing, so reality itself is failing?" Bridger asked.

"Maybe, kind of, but probably not exactly. Maybe this initiation thing will help me hear the story clearly and then I'll be able to explain it to you."

"This all tastes sour, you know that? We're operating on guesses and the advice of people who won't tell us the whole story. That Witch Doctor guy, you've never met him before today, right?"

"That's right."

Up ahead the trail became steeper and wooden beams had been added into the trail to prevent erosion and create natural earthen steps. A Few feet further up the hill was another bright red shinto shrine gate. Harley tapped the painted wood idly as they passed through and under the gate.

"I wonder how many of these there are. The Witch Doctor didn't say, did he? I don't remember hearing him mention how many. Do you?"

"No, and that's my point. Why do you trust him? He clearly knows more than he's telling. Why are you following his recipe? Why not let him taste his own soup?"

"This didn't start with me. It started with my best friend Marion getting prophetic dreams and visions. He tried to tell me about them and I didn't listen. And then karma or destiny or the story started kicking us. Marion got fired. I got laid off. My girlfriend broke up with me. The kids go missing and then call us. You guys start investigating us. By the time I started listening, things were so bad that we didn't have any good choices left. So let's just say that I'm more predisposed to listen to these mysterious figures than I was previously. The bad guys in this story have thus far twirled their moustaches pretty obviously, so I'm willing to trust the Witch Doctor for the moment. He hasn't tried to kill me, betray me or send a supernatural monster dog to hunt me. So that's something."

"Supernatural monster dog?"

"Don't ask. I think we've dealt with whatever it was. That's what dropped Fitzroy into his stupor. The kid was pretty impressive, but facing that thing down took a lot out of him. It seems like staying in this world takes effort and a certain amount of willpower, or similar. So stay on guard, because I don't know what triggers that shift, and I can't carry you and either fight or run as circumstance may demand."

They continued without much further conversation for about half an hour through the sparse boreal forest that lay upon the mountain like an island in a sea of scrub grass and arid plains all around the mountain. As they walked they passed through two more gateways.

"Well, that makes three." Bridger said as they walked under the arch of the gateway.

"Wait," Harley said, and both men stopped almost in unison, "Do you here that hum?"

Bridger nodded, the ground beneath them was vibrating, thrumming with like a speaker with its base set to maximum. The thrumming grew louder and the air began to shimmer around their ankles in all directions.

"Should we run?" Bridger asked.

"Run where? It goes in all directions. This is like that other tear only much bigger." Harley asnwered.

"Much bigger and on top of us!"

The land died before Bridger and Harley's gaze. The tear opened wider and as the shimmering edge passed over the it, the land emerged caked in dust the color of chalk with the consistency of salt.Tear spread and trees vanished, stumps remained and sometimes not even stumps. The vegetation withered away to dust and what remained was skeletal remains that looked as brittle as crystal.

The shimmering and the thrumming faded, and Harley suddenly noticed that the gateway's red paint was not faded to a pale pink and cracked and peeling to the point the wood's original color had almost resurfaced. The wood of the gateway itself was now splitting and cracking lengthwise. The shrine still stood, but looked impossibly ancient.

"This doesn't bode well," Harley noted, pointing at the gateway, "Do you hear any birds?"

"No, and I can taste the death. This is not a happy place." Bridger added.

"Remember that shift I was warning you about? With Fitzroy? I think it just caught us."

"Meaning what? We're caught in an alternate fantasy land or in the far future or similar?"

"I'm not sure. Marion always related the world he ended up in to a kind of Narnia world."

"We meet a talking lion and I am running."

 

* * *

Henrietta feed deer slugs into her shotgun's magazine as the Witch Doctor used a stick of chalk to draw a series of very witchy looking circles and runes onto the floor of her diner. The sign on her front door now read closed, and Henrietta and the Witch Doctor had put Harley's van into neutral and guided it behind the diner so that it wouldn't be visible from the highway. The front door and kitchen door were both locked and boxes from the store room had been piled in front of both doors as an added defense.

Still, as the army of Wendigo quickly closed in, Henrietta was not feeling optimistic.

"You sure that your magic mumbo jumbo is going to protect us?"

"In the short term? Absolutely sure. In the mid term? Reasoanbly sure. In the Long term? The circle will break like glass."

"That's not reassuring." Henrietta noted.

"We're in the climax of this part of the story, I wouldn't expect anything to be reassuring. In fact I expect things will get worse. I hope you have some aces up your sleeve, because you can be sure the other side is palming cards and hiding aces of their own."

"I'll do my best." Henrietta said with a nod, as she strapped on an armored vest. "I'm a prepper after all."  

"You have a bulletproof vest?" The Witch Doctor said with a raised eyebrow.

"Bullet resistant, let's be clear here. None of what you can buy is really bullet proof. It just sounds good. It all depends on distance and size of the round going in."

"The Wendigo don't use guns. But at least it will give some protection against their claws."

* * *

"You can't get it back this time little king."

Darius Salt stared grimly out the huge plate glass window of Salt and Sons Corporate Headquarters. He could see the the huge gaping holes in the sky and the wasteland visible through the great tears in the story. He could feel the presence of the Grey beside him, floating above the ground like a little alien from a bad science fiction movie, but with an insect's mandibles and compound eyes.

Darius did not turn to look at the figure. He stared out at the Wendigo swarming out across city streets to loot and devour. Car alarms thundered a cacophony of dissonant music, the Rite of Spring played backwards by a deranged brass band. 

Darius Salt ground his teeth together until his jaw hurt.

"so much sacrifice and two stupid nobodies and my own traitorous children can unravel everything." He muttered. 

The Grey spoke.

"The line is fraying little king. The line will break, your people have let you down."

"The line will not break."

"Then how will you pay the sacrifice? Will you sacrifice your generals and your forces, those traitorous failures to pay the cost?"

"How will I rule without my forces?"

"You can rebuild."

"With what? You'll have taken my tools."

"What else can pay the tribute?" The Grey asked. 

Darius Salt looked out at the apocalypse unfolding in front him. The sight seemed a revelation to him, and unveiling of a horrible truth. 

His cell phone rang and answering it, Darius heard the voice of the Bone Man.

"The storytellers have assistance. I believe it is wizards, possibly the Tenebrati. The Wendigo have cut us off from access to the targets. What do you advise my lord?"

Darius Salt narrowed his eyes and paused, silent. Then, without answering, Darius snapped his phone shut- ending the call.

He turned to face the Grey, "Take them. Take all of them. stuff yourself."

The Grey's mandibles chattered in anticipation.

* * *

"we're lost." Harley whispered, "Can you tell which is north? Help us get our bearings, maybe?"

Bridger shook his head, "I don't know how to tell which way is north. Why don't you do it?"

"I can only do it with a compass; or at night when I can spot the little dipper and the north star."

They crouched behind a rock, now well off the trail as two packs of Wendigo fought over the right to devour the decaying corpse of a jack rabbit now swarming with maggots and blow flies. 

Bridger rubbed his nose, "You want me to tell the monsters to wait till nightfall? Because by nightfall we'll be desert!"

"I know. I hear you." Harley answered in a rushed whisper, "But that's all I've got. If you have any ideas, I guarantee that I'll listen." 

"Why are we doing this?" Bridger asked, "What is the point of trying to get initiated? The world is breaking open and we're following the dictates of crazy old man with vibe of cantaloupe left in the sun too long. Night, are you even listening to me?"

"I'm always listening." Harley answered, "And yes, you're precisely right. The world is breaking. And we're being hunted by mythical cannibal creatures from a world of which we aren't a part. I don't have any answers you'd want to hear right now. But the only way myself and Marion and the Kids have survived this long is by listening to the crazy all around us and embracing the crazy as a weapon. So if the crazy witch doctor tells me to climb the mountain through the arches to get initiated, then I am climbing a mountain."

Bridger was silent, and after a moment Harley decided to push ahead, and continued speaking. 

"Do have any better options? Because I'm listening. I have been fighting cannibal spirits, soulless fake federal agents, double crossing witches, a supernatural hunting dog, and a full blown eldritch abomination. And I'd really like a clear picture of why and how to stop all of this from literally breaking my world open. 

But you haven't been able to nail down who is good and evil. The cannibals seem eat everyone indiscriminately. It doesn't matter if they're people who think you're chopped liver or people who want to fill you with holes like Swiss cheese, the Wendigo will eat them all the same. How do know you're on the right side? You guess. 

I don't know. I'm guessing too." 

"Should we just guess on the direction to the next gate as well then?"

Harley was about to answer when he noticed that the sounds of battle had subsided. Harley snuck a glance around the rock and saw two dozen gaunt Wendigo faces staring at their hiding place. Harley suddenly noticed a swatch of red down the hill behind the Wendigo. Harley realized he was staring a one of the gates, and he was certain that they had not passed through that one. Harley shook his head.

"We've missed a gate, it's down past the Wendigo. So I'm going to suggest that a more reasonable option at this point would be to run for our lives in a direction generally up the hill."

"Wasn't that supposed to make the mountain god or guardian angry? You want to open that can of worms?"

"You want to deal with the mob of cannibal monsters hunting us right now?" harley said and took off running.

Bridger took off beside him and the Wendigo boiled across the landscape towards them, "Those are horrible options!" 

"Welcome to my world!" Harley answered.

* * *

The Bone Man stared at his phone. His expression did not change. The agents looked at the Bone Man in confusion.

"We have failed." The Bone Man said at last, "And I fear that this failure has cost us everything."

He looked out at the battered sky line as other worlds glared through the shattered sky. 

"Close your eyes, and think of the empire."

The Bone Man looked down at his feet and saw that his body vanishing in little bites, as though an invisible army of insects were devouring him from the ground up, crawling up his body to erase him from the story.

The Bone Man looked out at the shimmering rips in the sky growing around him. He shook his head. 

"This is how it ends. Centuries and centuries of work. For ten thousand years we held the world and the empire together. We killed the wolves of Europe and wiped out the Dodo and the passenger pigeon to power the empire and keep the world together. We scoured the world for coal and oil, for gold and diamonds to feed the Grey. We civilized the ignorant and killed those who would oppose our great work. We defeated tribe after tribe from the Picts to the Pawnee when they refused a place in our empire. We built cities and monuments to eternity, but it seems we could not meet our side of the bargain. And so here we fail, here we end. How disappointing."

The Bone Man closed his eyes.

* * *

Harley and Bridger had managed to stay ahead of the Wendigo only by dint of the fact that the Wendigo were distracted by the local wildlife and each other. Chasing grouse and field mice and jack rabbits with equal enthusiasm, the Wendigo would frequently stop their pursuit to fight over the right to eat a tiny rodent or a scrawny game bird.

The Wendigo were still in pursuit and still within sight even, but Harley and Bridger had maintained a consistent distance from the mob. Harley was in fact beginning to feel vaguely optimistic about their chances of reaching the top intact, when the earth began to make noises. The ground rumbled like an angry volcano god. The Wendigo stopped behind them as the ground began to shift under their feet. The tremors increased and harley toppled to the ground while Bridger crouched low to maintain his balance. The earth rose up ahead of them, shifting like a living being, and shaped itself into an enormous bear. 

"Is the guardian a stone bear?" Bridger asked. 

Harley said nothing, but shook his head. The thing before them was not a bear. The thing before them was every bear that had ever been, made of earth and roots and partridge bones and rage. A great mountain come to life to guard the way to the their goal. Claws made of quartz scarred the cedar tree between the earthen bear and the team. The mountainous thing before them towered nearly as tall as a two story house and the hollow black holes that served as its eyes offered no remorse or compassion.

The Wendigo pulled back to a distance, clearly afraid of the bear guardian thing. 

"So, I guess we shouldn't have missed that gate?" Bridger said, "We can't fight that. We need to run."

Harley ignored his partner and focused on summoning Boneshaker. The footsteps of the guardian shook the ground and screwed with his focus. On the third attempt, Harley felt Boneshaker in his hands and he opened his eyes to find himself starting at the bear guardian's knee caps. He swung Boneshaker and connected with the guardian's knee cap and felt the momentum of his swing die a painful death. The guardian did not give at all, and the vibrations returned to Harley in excruciating waves up his arms to his shoulders. He nearly dropped his weapon. The guardian looked down and roared like the sounds of an avalanche.

"And now we're back to the whole running thing. It's getting old." Harley said to nobody in particular."