An Ass Transformed VOL 1. CHP 1. VERSE 6

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter One

Verse Six: An Ass Transformed

The wendigo didn't so much run as it scrambled across the ground- Marion thought that thing was trying to run on all fours, but was being hampered by the proportions of its body which were still nominally human. The creature seemed bled dry, both of colour and of body fat. The Wendigo was so thin it might have passed for an Egyptian Mummy, save that it was very rapidly closing on Marion.

Marion took a moment before a thought occurred to him. Vision or not, tumour or not, he should probably be running right now. The wendigo was now close enough that Marion could count its teeth and smell its acid breath. That was enough of a preview for Marion.

Marion fled from the Wendigo.

The grey clay mud underneath Marion's feet didn't make flight easy and he scrambled along, not to unlike the Wendigo getting covered in grey as the paint like liquid clay sprayed up from his thrashing attempts to flee.

As he ran he heard bits and pieces of conversation.

"Is that a Wendigo?"

"The Knights of Purity will kill it."

"Who is that it's chasing?"

"Must be a savage, might turn into a Wendigo at any time."

"Maybe a spy for Blackhart?"

"Doesn't look like part of Blackhart's tribe."

"We should kill it just to be safe. Blackhart's raiding parties will starve us all."

"Maybe we should try to make peace?"

"Don't say such things, the King will send the Hound for you."

"He should send the Hound for Blackhart."

"The Hound can smell fear. It will cleanse the heathen and the infidel."

"I don't think Blackhart feels fear."

Most of the people's faces remained a blur as Marion ran through the muddy streets. Nobody got in Marion's way. But he did notice a woman dressed in considerably better than the undyed grey wool clothing of the other villagers. she was dressed in black with red bird-like patterns lining the sleeves and hemlines. Her appearance seemed ageless, she might have been thirty years old and might have been eighty. Her hair was raven black with a streak of grey running through it. Her eyes bore the hard expression of somebody who was used to being under attack and she used those eyes to stare Marion almost to a stop. She looked at Marion, and nodded with an expression that one might use for a business acquaintance or a distant relative.

The snarls of the Wendigo reminded Marion that he should be running. Beside the woman, three Soldiers turned and noticed the wendigo and the fleeing stranger. They were dressed in white tabbards with white leather plates visible underneath. On the tabbard in black was a sword engulfed in flame. One of the soldiers looked distinctly older, one was built like a large fat toad and looked unsettlingly familiar and the third was tall and thin as a paper cut and looked just like Percy Wheately.

"Lady Morrigan, we must destroy the monster." The eldest of the three soldiers said.

The woman nodded and the soldiers joined the pursuit without another word. Marion didn't look back to see how far behind the wendigo the soldiers were and simply ran on.

"Rule number one about horror movies: When running from the monster, don't look back and trip." Marion gasped to himself as he ran. But the grey mud under his feet was hard to get any traction on, and Marion found himself sliding and stumbling for more than he would like to be given the circumstances. He rounded a corner and found himself staring a stone well directly in his path. He tried to swerve and found he feet slipping free from the sloppy surface beneath him. His legs kicked skyward and his swung his arms wildly in a desperate attempt to first regain his balance and then, belatedly, to break his fall. His chin hit the ground first and he bit his tongue. His vision and his hearing faltered, and Marion found himself in a brief sea of white light and distant ringing bells, and then he was aware that he was lying in the liquid grey clay. As his hearing returned, Marion noticed the sounds of battle: the metal clang of swords, the the yells and grunts of physical exertion, the snarl of a cornered beast.

Marion pulled himself to his hands and knees, aware of the taste of blood in his mouth and feeling that blood trickling down his chin. Marion looked behind him to see the soldiers locked in combat with the wendigo, which they had back against the earthen wall of a nearby hut. The wendigo was unarmed, but even with just claws and fangs the monster was keeping both soldiers firmly on the defensive.

Marion tried to gather himself, and as he wobbled to his feet he noticed that a crowd had gathered. And again Marion became aware of bits of conversation from the crowd.

"Look at the savage. Look at the blood on his mouth. Who did he bite? He'll turn for sure."

"No, he has to actually eat them, otherwise every overactive lover would turn."

"It's not about eating, it's about the symbolic act of cannibalism. A person has to devour something of value, a betrayal of their people."

"That's rubbish, you watch. he'll turn any minute now."

A man screamed in pain, and Marion turn his attention back to the fight. The Wendigo had ripped out the throat of the fat soldier and taken his sword. The wendigo was not a skilled swordsman, but the extra ferocity of his attacks drove to two remaining soldiers back. The tide of the battled had clearly turned against the remaining two soldiers.

Marion shook his head. The soldier weren't winning. Marion wasn't sure they that they were going to survive. Marion glanced around and saw the crowd had dispersed. Now the villages cowered behind doors and peered over window frames. They weren't going to be helping any time soon, and Marion didn't see other soldiers nearby.

"At least in the first dream like this one I had my Tomahawks. What were they called: Victor and Edgar? Weird names, okay- but that fits my brain. Either way it would be nice have them so I could help."

As he was speaking, Marion noticed that his hands had closed around two cylindrical objects. He looked down and discovered that he did in fact have the tomahawks in his hands.

"More proof that this is a hallucination. But maybe I can win the hallucination." Marion said to him.

He sized up the Wendigo, now spattered with the soldiers' blood. It didn't look friendly. But at least compared to his last hallucinated battle, the odds were good here. Marion clenched his teeth and joined the fight. He didn't know how to fight, but he made the most of his position. The wendigo had pushed the soldiers back and Marion was now behind the creature. He charged silently and swung both tomahawks down onto the Wendigo's shoulders, cleaving into the creature and causing both its arms to fall limply to its sides. The Wendigo spun around to face Marion, arms pinwheeling like sock puppets, and the Wendigo lunged teeth first and Marion, causing him to stumble back and fall hard to the ground. The impact of the fall drove the air from his lungs, and Marion looked up in terror at the advancing Wendigo as Marion struggled to force air back into his lungs.

The Wendigo now had it's back to the soldiers and they took advantage by thrusting swords through the back of the wendigo, metal triangles protruding from the creatures chest pinning it to the sky above Marion as it thrashed and frothed and slowly died.

Marion scrambled out from under the quivering wendigo, and the eldest soldier placed a booted foot on the creature's back and pushed it loose from the two swords to land in the liquid clay.

Marion started to thank the soldiers, but stopped short noting that they were staring at him with expressions that didn't scream gratitude. Marion suddenly noticed people whispering about his tomahawks.

"I saw him summon those weapons."

"A wizard."

"Those are the weapons of the savage."

"A witch."

"A wizard."

"He'd have slit our throat while we slept."

"Worse than a Wendigo. We're probably lucky the Wendigo flushed him out." The Mr. Wheately Guard muttered

Marion shook his head as the soldiers began to advance upon him with their swords pointed forward.

"I've got to get a rabbit's foot or something. This luck is going to kill me."

Marion spun his heel in the mud and grabbed the well for support and then bolted. Soldiers gave chase. Marion could hear them behind him. They were armoured, and Marion noticed that they hadn't caught him and the Wendigo until he had fallen. Maybe he could outrun them. Although where he would run, Marion was entirely unsure. He didn't know the layout of the town, and he expected that the soldiers did.

Marion couldn't see any street signs and the repeating collection of mud house, log house, sod house quickly blurred in Marion's mind and he found himself running wildly down slippery mud streaked gaps between buildings that all looked alike.

"I'm lost in a hostile dream town in the middle a hallucination, any minute now I'm going to find myself in my underwear." Marion gasped between ragged breaths.

Marion had been right about being faster than the soldiers, but he was starting to wear out. And to make matters worse, the Soldiers clearly knew the town well and had ambushed him several time by popping out in front of them. Marion had scrambled down a different alley each time, but he had the distinct sense that he was being funnelled and there was little he could do about it.

Marion's fears were confirmed when he scrambled out of an alley and found himself staring a vertical log walls on three sides, trapped against the wall outside the bailey of the castle.

"I see you're in danger Dreamer. Perhaps I can help." Marion turned to see the woman from earlier leaning over the wall to look down at him.

Marion shook his head, "Who are you? How do you know me? I mean besides this being my hallucination brought on by a brain tumour? Should I be doing this, having a discussion with my hallucination about the brain tumour causing that hallucination?"

"I am Morrigan. This is not a hallucination, this is a vision of the Shadowlands. This is story. That is how I know you, you are one of the Storytellers, and I need your help."

Marion heard the sounds of armoured bodies moving towards the corner where he stood, "What kind of help?"

"Aid my children. They need the help of the Storytellers. Dreamer and Walker are the ones that the story says will guide them to their destiny, and without the help of the storytellers, they will never be free. This is the price of my help. Decide quickly."

"I don't have much other option, unless I want to find out what it's like to die in a hallucination. I don't much like that option. In those dreams where you're falling, you always want to wake up before you hit bottom. So alright. If I ever meet your children, I will help them."

"You swear on your role in the story?" She asked.

"I hear him." One of the soldiers whispered," He's talking to somebody."

"Yes, fine. I swear."

She clasped her hands and drew a symbol in the air and then leaned down to tap Marion's forehead. Marion's vision went black for a moment and then he blinked and found himself standing where he had begun. He looked down, he clothes were unmarked by the mud.

"Yup," He said quietly, "Hallucination."

He grinned, and felt a slightly crackling on his lip and chin. He reached up and wiped cracked and drying blood from his lips.

"okay, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for that." He whispered.

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."