Immortal Fear 5.3

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He took me to his car which wasn’t too far away. It was an old nineties Bronco the color, straight out of an O.J. Simpson car chase. “I didn’t peg you for the gas hog type, Father.”

“I’m not one to bathe in perfume, Joe. I just use the tools He finds appropriate to place in my hands.”

He helped me up into the cab and threw the wheelchair in the back. It was odd, I had already made my first escape today but I felt the pincers coming down on two more. I laid my head back trying to find some semblance of peace to concentrate on my next move.

“Where are we off to, then?”

“Chula Vista,” I said without opening my eyes.

I would have pushed him on the church but he had a point. Violence was always in my nature but I just needed to lay low for a little while. If I had time to plan, I’d be much more likely to come out of this ordeal alive. I would probably have to score some oxy on the street to manage my pain; I could handle that, it wouldn’t be the first time I doped up to survive but the last time had been in the Navy.

“Joe.”

My eyes snapped open, “Huh, Wha?” I must have fallen asleep.

“We’re here.”

I looked out the truck window and saw the façade of my hotel.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“This is the only motel in Chula Vista that caters to shady types,” he said without sounding condescending. “How was your nap?”

I eyed him cautiously.

“Fine,” I said.

“Good.”

I opened his car door and pulled the wheelchair out from the back, dragging it over to me until I could slip into it from the high seat of the Bronco. I landed with a quiet thud and my body was suddenly aching. I bared it with silent determination, gripping the wheels of the chair and spinning myself to face Williams.

“Well, thanks for the lift.”

“You need anything more from me?”

“The things you stole might be nice.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Williams began, “You bring me the forty dollars you owe me, I’ll see if I can find a gun for you.”

“You shouldn’t tease a man who knows his way around deadly weaponry,” I said.

“The Lord is my shepherd, but you are my flock.”

I rolled my eyes turned away from him, heading towards the motel. I raised a hand and called back to him, “I will be seeing you again, Father. You don’t just leave a gun like that laying around.”

“I’ll be waiting to hear your first confession,” he called back. I rolled my eyes and ignored the comment.

My motel room was a shady little complex plastered in purple paint I can only assume was stylish in 1981. The plaster was cracked in all the corners and the windows were painted shut after decades of poor maintenance. The parking lot was all but empty except for an old Volkswagon bus and a couple Mercedes’ that were likely paying the good Inn-keeper by the hour. It always surprises me how far cash would go, keeping people from asking questions. I mean, sure, it’s natural to stick your nose into someone else’s business, but after someone drops five grand on the counter and shows you their gun, you realize that it’s better to take the money and hold on to your tongue.

Problem though, if you lose your key, you may have to make the tough guy act.

In a wheelchair.

I pulled into the manager’s office feeling like an extra from West Side Story. The guy behind the counter was reading the paper and even when the bell jingled from the door he didn’t look up.

“I lost my key,” I said.

“Which room?”

“One, fifty-seven.”

There was a creak in the chair as he turned to the board. A white keychain flew over his paper and I grabbed it out of the air, turning to go.

Hey, you get what you pay for.

I pay for privacy.

Not security.

The room was on the other side of the lot from the office. The do-not-disturb sign was still on the door knob, which I took as something for my privacy. I opened the door and slipped inside. The room was a dank little pit that at one point had been beach themed. Pastel sea shells decorated the dresser. The two beds were sea foam green and the one closest to the door was unmade from where I’d slept in it. I walked to the bathroom sink and splashed water on my face. It wouldn’t be cold wake me up, but it was the first thing close to a bath I’d had. I remember splashing around the coast of Coronado, not a few miles away from here.

Get wet and sandy!

It woke me up a couple of times in Hell Week, but it sure wasn’t my idea of refreshing.

I wheeled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. With the door closed I let the steam accumulate. It was nice to be warm. It had been a long time since I was last in San Diego. More than a life time ago, as I thought about it. I left for the Navy right out of high school. I grew up in some shit town in California. Mom and Dad were addicts, but I survived. I don’t think they even came to my funeral, now that I think about it.

I had a kid sister who, by all accounts of her Facebook page, is a dope smoking burn-out. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done my share of junk but I’ve also a former Navy-fucking-SEAL. I’ve done something with my life. I guess you can’t really be mad when the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.

Life in a small town was fun. The girls were naïve and I had a lot of threesomes. It was a good time. Probably the best time I’ve ever had in my life, sixteen to eighteen. But the truth is when you’ve lived under someone else’s thumb your entire life the only thing to do is break free. That was the Navy for me.

I knew I wanted to be a SEAL. I hated being on ships and the thought of being on a sub for months at a time was enough to make me consider a career in film. But the SEALs were the elite few. The badass of the badass. I didn’t want to be anybody’s grunt. Which was unfortunate because even as a SEAL I had shit for rank, and ships and subs? All the time.

After about an hour of sweat I turned the water off. I grabbed a towel and scrubbed my face and neck where I noticed something hard. I moved to the vanity and looked myself over in the mirror. Burned deep into the flesh above my shoulder was a brand. The same brand that marked the headless corpses in my dream.

“What else did you expect?”

I looked up in the mirror to see a man sitting, legs crossed, in the desk chair by the door. A man with salt and pepper in his hair. A man with a feverish menace to his voice. A man with only one working eye.

Grimm.

I reached up underneath the vanity grabbing my .357 tapped beneath the sink and turned on Grimm and instinctively fired three shots: two in the chest, one in the head. Even with my left hand, I’m better than a fair shot. His head jerked back slightly, then shook it slowly.

He smiled and a bullet shown between his teeth.

My jaw dropped.

“Would you like to see a magic trick, Silas?” he said spitting the bullet into one of his hands before juggling it one handed.

“You see, nothing is as it seems,” he said revealing another bullet between his fingers. “Neither people or places or things. You, for example, seem like an average Silas, or is it Joe? All your aliases can be terribly confusing. Albeit average with very poor aim.” A second bullet appeared in between his fingers and he began to move his hand up and down in tandem with the rise and fall of the bullet.

“You’ve seen things now you can’t, or won’t rather, un-see. Don’t look so puzzled, chum, I know you’re slow witted but try to keep up,” he said following my scowl. “The mortal world has always been so… tenuous! But with all the change in your world, there doesn’t seem to be much mystery.” He threw one of the bullets into his juggling hand and the two jumped after one another while his other hand continued moving up and down.

“Who the hell –”

“But what is a mystery but a secret? Everyone has them. You’re interested in secrets, aren’t you Silas? They’re puzzles you get to pull apart like wings off a fly.” I must have missed something because now he juggled all three bullets in one hand. Eerily his eyes never left mine, staring down the barrel of my gun. One by one he let them fall to the ground, bouncing perfectly to be caught in his other hand where he showed each time, they had disappeared.

“Life has plenty of mystery, but death…” he whistled, “I shudder to think of the mystery you’d find!” Grimm said.

I slowly lowered my gun wheeled myself over to him. He smiled wryly. I hadn’t noticed the black eye patch he wore covering the false eye but it left him looking distinguished. I pushed my hand passed him and reached into his pocket, pulling out three bullets. “It’s a stupid sleight of hand, I’m watching the bullets bounce while you’re pocketing –”

Three shots and I fell to my back. I hadn’t even seen the gun.

“Well you were right about one thing but I had you at the start. You assumed they were your bullets.”

Immortal Fear 5.2

< < Back to Immortal Fear 5.1

Image: http://pastelhospital.tumblr.com/

The hallways are always pretty wide in a hospital. Moving gurneys surrounded by hordes of people need lots of space to maneuver. The nurses' station was on our right, I gestured to the left and we rolled on.

“It's odd, usually they'll give you a wheelchair with an IV stand connected,” Father Williams said.

“They don't want us leaving the floor, so they're going to make it as inconvenient as possible,” I said, dragging the IV stand along with me. “We are leaving the floor, aren't we?”

Father Williams said nothing as we turned a corner to find the tell-tale stainless steel doors of an elevator.

“So where are we?” I asked, pushing the call button.

I could hear the smile in his voice. “You seem more lucid than that, we're in the United--”

“Don't give me that shit, Father. What hospital?

“Saint Mercy's”

“Down town? Huh.”

“Is that significant?”

“It just means you won't have to drive me that far.”

The elevator chimed and the door opened. Three people stood quietly inside as he wheeled me in.

“You think I'll drive you out of here, in your condition?”

It's awkward enough being suck in an elevator with people you don't know. It's almost like forced intimacy. I figured we could use some alone time anyway.

“My condition? My condition?” I asked incredulously. “I wouldn't be in here if you hadn't switched my meds!”

Father Williams stared down at me with a mixture of shock and bewilderment. As quiet as an elevator full of strangers usually is, this one seemed to have found the mute button.

“You know how Mother gets when I'm not lucid, we grew up in the same damn house! You knew she would take advantage of me!” The woman at the back of the elevator stepped around us and put an arm through the closing doors, opening them again, then stepped out in a hurry. One down.

“I mean, seriously, Michael. There's more than broken ribs here. There's a broken heart.” I put my head down into my hands and wept as the doors finally closed.

“I-- I uh...” Father Williams stuttered. I heard one of the other occupants reach forward and press a button.

“I... I didn't know you felt that way,” he said.

“Of course not! You spend all your time at that church helping the 'needy.' We'll I'm your family, Michael and I'm needy too. I'll never earn Mother's love now!” I continued wailing.

“Joseph, don't be ridiculous, Mother loves you,” he said finally getting into the act.

“She just beats me and beats me,” I said softly. “The sex isn't even that good anymore.”

The elevator stopped and the remaining occupants rushed out as I cried out at the top of my lungs. The doors closed and we began our descent again.

“Great Oedipus's ghost,” he said.

“So what’s the weather like?” I asked, tugging down on my hospital gown.

“You’re full of surprises, Joe.”

I craned my neck back to look at him. “How do you and the doctors know my name?”

“Your driver’s license,” he said, not looking at me.

Of course, “So they have my wallet?” I asked.

“No, I do.”

I reached up and hit the emergency stop button.

“You have my wallet?” I asked, flatly.

“It made since if I was going to be caring for you.”

“Who asked you to?” I said, frustrated.

“You’re in way over your head,” he said, his thick accent full of concern.

I eyed him cautiously. “According to whom?”

He just stared forward at the closed elevator doors. I gave it up and turned back restarting the elevator. We descended in silence for a while before he started talking again.

“It takes a troubled soul to recognize another,” he said finally. “I don’t know what it is you’ve gotten yourself into, but… The Lord has brought us together for some reason.”

We continued our descent in silence for a time.

“I’m just a normal guy who needs his wallet back,” I said raising my left hand to him.

I heard him rustle in his pockets and place the cool leather in my palm. It wasn’t a familiar object, just something to house my temporary identity. I opened it to see the California driver’s license in the windowed pocket. Joseph Smith it read. It was an odd feeling coming face to face with one of my aliases. I’d spent so much of my recent life avoiding personal interaction with people that having the priest call me by name, not even my real name, gave me an odd twinge of regret. We all make decisions that lead us down a path, there was little point in me regretting the one’s I’d already made. Every time I relived them, I made the same decision anyway so there couldn’t be that much to regret.

“Normal guys may not like who they are but they don’t create false identities to hide behind,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Joseph Smith? You’re not exactly the typical Mormon, Joe.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I had this guy pegged from the moment he found me on the road, obnoxious to the tee and he was having fun with it. I would be much better off ditching him but like it or not, he was my only way out of here. The elevator began to slow and I pulled the IV needle from my arm with a grunt and stashed it in the corner. Hopefully I didn’t need those drugs as much as the doctors thought I did.

The doors opened at the ground level and we moved out into a maze of hallways bypassing dirty people on their way to the cafeteria, obviously doing their best not to morn or worry. We walked out into a main lobby and the stench of anxiety wafted off every person in there. A hospital was a study in façades. Patients and visitors alike put on their brave faces, but cowered underneath. The pastel colors from my room continued through the entire hospital, it really completed the sad clown feel of the whole place.

The sliding double glass doors opened in front of us and we walked out into a small topiary and concrete forest. Small benches rose out of the sidewalk to surround the bushes and smokers littered the landscape twenty-five feet from the enterence. It was a busy place. Then again, most hospitals are.

He walked me in the opposite direction of what I had assumed was the parking garage until we stopped in a less populated area of the park. He reached into the pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out a brand new pack of Lucky Strikes cigarettes. Unwrapping them, he began to slap the box against his palm, packing them.

“Seriously?” I said as I pulled one from the pack.

He lit the cigarette and took a long deep drag. “The Lord forgives us of our sins, should we choose to seek his forgiveness,” he said, exhaling.

He stood there enjoying his smoke like he hadn’t had one in days. He finished it, extinguishing the embers on the bottom of his shoe. “There is the matter of your gun,” he said

I stared at him in surprise. In all the shit storm of the last couple days I’d forgotten about my Desert Eagle. I put on my best tough guy face, “You have my gun?”

I’ll give the guy credit, he didn’t back down. Not even a little. “Well of course,” he said, “didn’t you wonder why you weren’t handcuffed to the bed?”

I guess the strong man act didn’t work so well sitting in a wheelchair and the casts on my arm and leg didn’t do much for my usual intimidation factor. I hadn’t even considered the implications of an ER visit with a side arm. “When did you take it?”

“Before the paramedics arrived on the scene. I was trying my best to keep you conscious but when I realized you were out I pulled the bulge from under your jacket.”

I just stared at him. It’s very rare that I’m speechless.

“I mean, you’ve obviously got a fake name on your ID –”

“Let me get this straight. First you took my wallet, then you took my gun –”

“Your wallet first, actually.”

“Are you a priest or a mugger?”

He laughed. A genuine, head thrown back, tears in his eyes, belly laugh. All I could do was stare.

“They say the Lord works in mysterious ways. Well, so do his children,” he said. “I don’t know why I took it, I just knew you needed help.”

“Where is it?” I demanded, “give me my—” I looked to make sure no one had come to check on us yet, “gun.”

“Well I don’t have it here, lad,” he said when his laughter subsided. “I’m a man of God, and this is a hospital.”

I scowled at him from under a dumbfounded stare. He raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Saint Anne Cathedral,” he said. “Down by the docs. You shouldn’t have much trouble finding it.”

“Finding it?” I said, “You’re going to take me there right now!”

He grabbed the wheelchair and started heading back for the enterance to the hospital. “I don’t think so, Joe. I find a man in your position is far too likely to commit violence. You need some time to cool down.”

“You heard the doctor,” he said, “A few more days of observation and they’ll discharge you. Patience is one of God’s greatest virtues.”

I wasn’t about to go back upstairs. Someone had already tried to kill me, if they found out I’d lived through the attempt they’d make quick work of me trapped in this pastel prison. My usual threat of violence hadn’t gotten me anywhere and he seemed to have the upper hand on me in every way. I figured it was time to share the last influence I had at my disposal.

“How much is it going to cost me for you to take me to my hotel room?”

“Forty should cover it,” he said.

It was kind of a lowball number but he was a priest and I figured he was taking pity on me. I reached into my wallet to pull out a hundred dollar bill for him but it came back empty. I looked and the whole thing was cleaned out.

“What the hell? You stole my money!”

“Consider it a tithe to the church,” he said.

“How do you expect me to pay you if you’ve taken everything I own?”

“I’ll just put it on your tab, I suppose.”

Immortal Fear - 5.1

Image: http://pastelhospital.tumblr.com/page/2

< < Back to Immortal Fear - 4.2

I opened my eyes, sitting up with a gasp.  It wasn’t the first unexpected thing to happen to me today.

The most disorienting thing about being unconscious isn’t, Where am I? it’s, Why am I? I looked around and was overwhelmed by the musky smell of old people.  An assisted living community? No. A hospital.

That’s what they should call hospitals anyway, I didn’t think I’d be living without their assistance.  I took stock of my injuries.

My right arm was in a cast at my elbow, raised above me, while my left was strung with IV fluids and slung to my chest. Flexing my left hand, it worked alright, though a little numb from lack of use. I struggled to get my arm out of the sling then reached out to examine my body beneath the hospital blankets. I panicked briefly as I reached down between my legs at the unfamiliar object attached, then let out a sigh of relief.  There has got to be a better way to have an invalid man relieve himself than jamming a tube in his dick. I mean really, it wasn’t about the discomfort.  A man’s just gotta have some dignity.  I guess some guys are into that kind of stuff though. I gingerly removed the catheter. A cast covered my right leg.

Nothing to it, right?

I wiggled the fingers on my right hand. No pain there, I thought and tentatively raised it, relieving the weight from the sling holding it above my head. My wrist was fine it seemed, the doctors must have thought so too, as they hadn’t placed it in the cast. I tried to test the extension of my elbow. I remember very clearly where the break happened and there was no sign of lose bone as I felt my arm press against the cast. I looked up at the IV to be sure I wasn’t simply high. My meds were draped on a long metal poll with a box about halfway up. I was most likely doped up on narcotics.

Medical dramas like to paint a picture of a hospital that isn’t really fair.  Sure, a hospital is where you go if you’re sick or hurt and people will care for you.  I mean, they don’t even ask for payment upfront if you’re in as bad a shape as I must have been in, but on T.V. there’s always bright, crisp lighting. Glass doors so the doctors can keep an eye on all the patients at once.  They look clean and modern, like people are there to do science.

By contrast, pastel colored flower wallpaper adorned my room.  It was ancient; its color bleached out from the sun, which was odd in-and-of-itself because the only light entering the room was through windows to my right, high up toward the ceiling.  It felt more like a dungeon for 1950’s art than a place of healing.  A curtain hung from a track attached to the ceiling giving me, what I could only assume, was an administrators idea of privacy.

The job had gone bad but I needed to decipher what was real and what was a product of my over stressed mind.  My body ached faintly but a ball of warmth swam in my stomach.  I thought back to the shape I was in coming into the operating room; these must have been some serious pain meds.  The truth, the real question that rocked my mind, fought to the surface.  I had just been in Hell fighting off demon dogs and the creature, Sigyn?  I lay back in bed, exasperated, trying to wrap my head around it all.

“Sweet merciful Maker,” I voice intoned.  I looked up to see a man no older than me. He wore a black windbreaker and carried a cup of coffee in one hand while crossing himself with another.  He looked at me, stunned.  If not for his priest collar, I’d have assumed he was just another beach bum. His combed red hair slicked to the side showed the respectability of his station but his shaggy beard left me wondering if it was just casual indifference.  He hurried over to my side and sat on a chair I hadn’t yet noticed, a warm smile lit his face.

“Well, Son, aren’t you the Lord’s miracle at work?” His voice was thick and Irish.

I squinted at the irony of his words, “I’m not sure I would put it that way.”

His laugh ambled forth from deep within, “When we left the ambulance you looked no better than haggis!” he had a glint of familiarity in his eye.  He looked as though trying not to embrace me due to my condition.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” I asked, beginning to feel annoyed.

“William.” He said, switching coffee from his right to left hand, extending it to shake. “Father William, I suppose.”

I eyed his outstretched hand then fell back onto my pillow ignoring it.

That apparently didn’t bother him because he went on in the same friendly tone, “We’ve all been calling you Joe, does that bother you?.” He waited expecting me to answer the unsaid question. I didn’t see any reason to answer it, “I suppose Joe will do, then.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Three days, actually.  It truly is the Lord’s will to see you up this soon.  Why, you’re lucky to be alive at all.  As a point of fact, I read you your last rights at the scene.”

“I remember the accident.” I started, remembering his words.  More specifically, I recalled my annoyance with his presence. “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

“Doctors say some memory loss is to be expected,” he said.  The smile, I was growing aware, was a permanent feature of his face. “Though who can be sure you were even conscious by the time I arrived.”

Three days. In three days, I had experienced some hellish nightmares.  I had to admit though, it was terribly unlikely that I could have recovered so quickly from that accident.  Seeing my body in the operating room, though for all I knew that could have been a dream as well – my mind trying to deal with the trauma to my body.  I’ve had some pretty lucid dreams but the nagging feeling that it stemmed from some sort of reality were hard to shake.

“It truly was the work of God,” Father Williams said, smiling down at me.  He had mistaken my troubled thoughts for reverence.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“Well,” he began, “your arm was broken as well as your hip. They took you off intubation last night. You had several broken ribs and a punctured lung. When I came in last night they seemed surprised you were able to breathe on your own. I should probably go let the doctors know you’re awake.” He started for the door.

I laid back and waited for the bad news.

A nurse was the first to enter; she didn’t really pay me much mind, just went straight for the monitors and checked my vitals and medication levels. A clean cut guy in a white over coat came in next, followed by Father Williams.

“With the speed of your recovery I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. He leaned over with his penlight and flashed it into my eyes.

I squinted back, “Easy, Doc.”

“Sorry,” he said absently, “I’m just checking for pupil response.”

He clicked his light off and moved on to the stethoscope pressing lightly onto my chest. “Does that hurt?” he asked.

“It’s a little cold.”

He looked over at the nurse.

“His dosage isn’t that high,” she said.

“His pupils are responsive as well.”

Father Williams sat back watching the whole scene, grinning from ear to ear.

“You guys want to let me in on your little secret?” I asked.

“You had three broken ribs on your left side. We couldn’t surgically repair them due to your loss of blood prior to surgery. You should be in a lot more pain than you are.”

“Well, the rib fairy came and left me a butt-load of medical bills, but missed one? I must be a total badass.”

“I suppose it does,” he said, looking at my chart. “I’d like to double check some test results, but it seems like we’ll be able to discharge you in a couple days, Mr. Adams.”

I wasn’t expecting them to have one of my aliases. I looked to Father Williams who gestured me to go with it. I looked back to the doctor just as he was setting down my chart. “Uhh… call me Joe.”

He nodded as if expecting that. “I’ll refer you to a physical therapist that you should speak with immediately. The sooner you get started on your recovery, the more likely you’ll regain full function of your extremities.”

“Well thanks, Doc, but if you don’t mind, I’m sure the good Father here is excited to get me home. The sooner I can be discharged, the better,” I said. Father Williams shot me a worried look.

“You do realize, recovery from injuries this severe takes an incredible amount of time,” the doctor said. “We want to keep you here for observation; to be sure there aren’t any of the usual complications.”

“I understand, Doc,” I said. “I’d really like to get some air though. Any chance we can take a stroll in a wheel chair?”

“I would prefer you didn’t. With your injuries, it’s not out of the question that you’re recovery is temporary and the trauma will return once you’ve been conscious for a few hours.”

I gave him a level look. I picked up my right arm, cast and all, and wiggled my fingers and wrist at the other end. “A short ride won’t do me any harm. Really, I feel pretty good.”

“I can help him out of the bed, doctor,” Father Williams chimed in. “He’s my brother, you see. I know that look in his eye: Joseph won’t give up until he’s had his way.” He managed to hold onto that grin even through the lie.

“Family is family. He should be fine to move, there’s no signs of continued internal bleeding. I just don’t want to see him worn out on his first day back in the waking world.” He turned to leave, then, as if remembering at the last minute: “You really have made a miraculous recovery, Mr. Adams. Your brother never left your side. I’ll likely be publishing a case study on your file.”

“Please, could you list me anonymously?” I asked. “I’m not really one to seek out attention.”

He smiled then nodded, turning to leave the room.

“I’ll bring in a wheelchair in just a couple minutes,” the nurse said. “Just make sure you hang on to your IV stand. You’re going to feel like you were hit by a truck once we start weaning you off of the pain medication.”

I stared at here in disbelief. She looked at me, then at Father Williams, who I’m sure had a look similar to mine.

“Sorry,” she said. “I guess that’s how you should feel.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I’m pretty sure it was an SUV.”

She walked out of the room, abashed. A short time later, she wheeled a chair in and placed it at the foot of my bed. Once we were alone, I turned to Father Williams.

“You’ve got a pretty good poker face.”

“It’s not just choir boys that are called to the cloth, brother. You’re a gambling man yourself, though, expecting me to take you out of this place.”

I sat up, slowly putting my feet off the side of the bed.  Father Williams looked as though he were about to stop me, but in seeing the fluidity of my motion he let me continue on my own. I took in a deep breath, grabbed the IV rack and hoisted myself into a standing position. I was shaky, without a doubt, but I eased myself over and into the wheel chair that Williams brought to my side. He stood before me, arms outstretched ready to catch me if I were to fall.  I waved him off as I plopped myself into the chair with a sigh of relief.
To Immortal Fear 5.2 > >

Rise of the Order 5

< < Back to Rise of the Order 4.2

She had nothing left.

With the brutality of the fighting and the need for healing after the crash, she had used every bit of her energy.  She could either tend her wounds and fall irreparably unconscious from exhaustion or battle the remaining swordsmen and die slowly. Either way, hers wasn’t the only life to hang in the balance.

The ferocity must have remained in her eyes, the frustration of a trap successfully closed and the hunter knew it. Slowly she lowered her hands, taking in the stance of the remaining swordsman.  His guard remained steady but made no move to advance on her.  She slowly rested back on her haunches, still every bit the coiled snake, ready to pounce, but the swordsman backed away to the manacle hanging from the trees.  He gave it a sharp tug, never taking his eyes from her, and the long chain pulled free, spooling to the ground beside him.

He pulled it forward with him, sword still drawn, with the cuffs of the chain outstretched in his hand. Sweat beaded heavily upon his brow. The tension of the situation was not lost on this man; though the battle was hard fought and his opponent was all but defeated, he knew the look of desperation on her face and the dangers of being careless with cornered animals.

“Around the neck,” he said, tossing the manacle in the dust in front of her. His eyes never left her.  She glared at him, her body unmoving and her face stone determination.

“Tisk, tisk, my pet: you’re far more valuable to me than this wretch,” the silver-haired man said.  Her eyes darted back towards him, but she remained unmoving.  Once the chains were on her, there was nothing to stop him from killing the girl anyway.  Her only bargaining chip was time and that would soon be out.  With each passing second the look of fury grew on the silver-haired man’s face, his calm façade wearing away with his patience.

He raised his sword then, murder in his eyes.

“Mayris!” shouted a voice within the woods. The silver-haired man was struck in the shoulder by a long bladed knife. The force of the blow knocked him off balance and the blow that would have severed the girls head came down weakly striking the earth.

This was her chance.  With the swordsman off guard she surged forward with animalistic speed.  The swordsman was distracted but rounded quickly on her with his sword. She lifted the chains of the manacle up before her, deflecting his blow. He came at her again, but not before she spun the chains around her head, wiping with deadly force striking his head.  With him dazed, she pulled herself upright  into a limp. Batting the near useless sword from the stunned man’s hands she swung her clawed hands, ripping face and throat apart. When he fell, two forms stood face to face in the distance.

The silver-haired man stood perfectly still, his eyes pure malice, with the length of his sword sticking through a young boy.  He was petrified, hands grasping at the sword’s hilt trying to release it from the man’s grasp as though it would reconcile his fate. “This is no place for children,” the silver-haired man said. The boy could only cough, blood spraying lightly from his lips, as the silver-haired man pulled the sword from his stomach turning to face her. The bloodlust still burned in his eyes. He reached up and pulled the knife from his shoulder and tossed it carelessly to the ground. Though his left arm hung useless to his side, the slim double blade in his right hand struck out mercilessly.  He strode towards her.

Her mission had become an utter disaster.  Gallet was likely marching to her death; the children she had come to protect had fallen with her, hard, likely to great injury; now, a third faction that had come to her aid, lay dying.  Her heart gate throbbed with the pain of those around her – those she had planned so long to save. The empathy she felt for those she had failed and the vile hatred that writhed from the silver-haired man set off a spark in her heart.

With a concussion of sound, her heart-gate erupted with renewed strength.  Its green light spun before her like fire. Within moments the icy tingle of healing seeped into her muscles, closing her wounds and renewing her strength. 

As the sword blow fell upon her, the Matriarch’s wings snapped open and a gale of wind crashed against the silver-haired man, staggering him. Her strikes followed through so quickly with his guard down that he had little time to react. Her claws striking furiously at the air as he backed away dodging the blows. His sword swung upward in a moment of sure footing and the Matriarch’s wings pushed her backwards away from the blow that followed, his blade swinging with a berserker’s rage.  His strokes were wild but the her wings gave her a balance advantage that he could never hope for. The sweet, chilling hum of her wings wrapped the entire forest in anticipation as she danced between his strikes.

He raised his sword striking an overhanded blow.  With a bone shattering strike to his wrist and the full force of her elbow into his sternum, she made him pay for his overconfidence. Her air enchanted strike sent him flying, spinning backwards, his back hitting a tree with an audible crunch.

She stayed perfectly still for a moment; her guard on high alert should another threat appear from out in the forest.  Her wing song calmed as she dismissed the gale winds and the natural forest sounds began to reassert themselves.  After a count of thirty she ran to the boy who’s distraction had saved her life, her eyes never quite leaving the silver-haired assassin’s limp body.

The boys eyes were beginning to glaze with hypoxia; his lips and chest covered in spit and blood.  He breathed in raggedly but looked up towards the Matriarch as she lifted his head into her lap.

“You’re her, aren’t you?” he said, gasping.

“Don’t speak, there isn’t much—“

“She gave me this for you,” he said looking away towards the ground at his side.

She leaned forward and saw the knife the assassin had pulled from his shoulder. Picking it up, she was struck by the familiarity of it.  With sudden panic she turned it over to see a small GV carved into the bottom of the hilt.

“Where did you get this?” she said, her eyes growing wider.  When he didn’t answer she shook him forcefully. “Where did you get this?!”

“Please, take care of my sister,” he said, his breath coming is short gasps.

She belted the knife; the knife that had protected her as a child; the knife that belonged to her friend; the knife that had never left her side; the knife that had come to her rescue one final time.

She opened her heart gate as wide as she could, her eyes filling with tears.  Healing her own body was one thing, but she was far more familiar with her gate’s combat capabilities than with its ability to heal others.  The energy from her gate communed with the boys spirit energy. It gave her guidance and she gave of herself the energy required to repair the damaged flesh.  Without knowing if it would be enough, she closed her eyes whispering an oath to the sprit flows around her:

“I am called the Matriarch; my name is Venara of the Raven clan. My friend and street sister, Gallet, has sent this boy to me. Give me the strength to protect his life and the life of those I have put in jeopardy for a chance at a better life.” Tears rolled from her cheeks now in silent sobs, “Give me the strength to use the gifts you’ve given me.”

The rolling heat of the fire of life roared through her and into the boy as she surrendered to the power of the spirit world; for the first time since her clan had whisked her away from Gallet and her life as a street urchin, her façade crumbled and she was Venara.

*

The fire raged on, licking the stone of the cliff side. The guards had formed a bucket brigade and the few water keepers in the town waged war on the inferno.  The keep would be nothing but rubble by morning.  A man stood on the otherwise abandoned battlements, watching.  His bald pate and golden eyes gave the smile on his face the look of satisfaction. His simple brown  robes belied the gold adorning his fingers. The Son of Order could be a modest man, but modesty was so… mundane.

“It’s always so… messy,” the Son of Order said.

There was a deep rumble of earth grinding on earth from deep within the stone mountain Kanton was forged upon.

“Oh yes, of course,” he said in response. “In order to build, one must destroy. I was simply fond of the keep.  Gorn was a garish man, but I did so enjoy his taste in décor.”

The rumbling again emanated from the mountain – though it’s vibrations weren’t felt by the people below.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Soon.” 

The earth roared again, this time shaking the city.  The voice alone of God could be vengeful.  Orak, the Son of Order, took one last look at the city before the swirling white light of his crown gate formed a singularity above his head. He slowly dematerialized, his cheshire  grin dissipating as each particle of his being was swept into the vortex. Kanton’s appointed leader, who had all but given the city to the Children of Order, had fallen.  With that, the city was cemented into the Order’s grasp.

End of Part 1

Rise of The Order is an epic fantasy world full of wonder, intrigue, and magic. I first came upon the idea with my friend Mike as we were talking about the Hindu Chakras. I thought it would be a really fun way to create a magic system for a universe. The end of part 1 is really a prelude to the bulk of the story, as we see the Son of Order himself appear to be pleased with the results of the night. 

I'm really excited to continue exploring these characters, and a lot of new ones, as the world of Ysilla begins to develop its own ecosystem, history, and culture. The battle for salvation is already underway and the characters don't even know it yet. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed Part 1 of Rise of the Order. Please comment, share and subscribe to see more content every Tuesday and Thursday.

Rise of the Order 4.2

< < Back to Rise of The Order 4.1

For the span of twenty heartbeats there was nothing.  The cry of birds had faded soon after her falling but wherever her attackers were, they would not easily let themselves be found.  She hesitantly opened her heart-gate, searching for some sign of emotion from her attackers but there was nothing but stillness.

The only warning she had was the dust stirring in the moonlight’s ribbons, then she snatched the arrow out of the air, spinning her body absorbing its momentum.  At the end of her spin she drove the arrow head home into the chest of a veiled figure that had been approaching from her left.  It left out a soft groan before toppling to the ground.  Stillness reigned again.  She waited twenty heartbeats, then another, then another. 

“I know you’ve found me, hunter” she said coolly. “Let us stop playing coy and have ourselves a dance.” Her gaze was focused, nearly unused, is if relying completely on her other senses.

There was a shuffling from the branches above and then, with a thump, a chain manacle hit the ground in front of her.

“I do not  give up on my quarries easily, Daeva. I mean to see you in those chains and back in Kanton by morning either by your will or mine,” the disembodied voice echoed from the trees. The manacle swung slightly with the breeze. Whoever this man was, he was no ordinary soldier; the most battle hardened men could be calm in the face of fear and adrenaline, but they still felt it and she would be able to feel it through them.  This man held no emotion that she could sense what so ever.  The chain dangling from the tree branch was held by a void.

“You are a powerful woman,” his voice said from her left.  She swung, talons lashing, to face it only to find emptiness where the man should have been. “I’d not heard of a Daevan Gatekeeper before you.” She swung about wildly looking for the source of the voice but it changed places with every new motion, “You would be a valuable asset to the Order, indeed.”

Whatever he was doing to throw his voice, she knew flailing about was no way to catch the man.  She closed her eyes to center herself around her heart-gate.  She couldn’t feel him now any more than she could a moment before but giving herself a focal point within would keep her from being pulled off balance.

“You waste your talents,” he said.  She had to keep him talking; the source seemed to be moving around her coming from multiple sources.  “What do you think you accomplish, taking children away in the night? Are fairy tales meant to scare children in the flesh?”  The voice seemed to be encircling her now.

“The children are not yours.  They have lives of their own that they will choose how to live them.  The Order cannot decide how before they’re off their mother’s apron strings,” she said.

“These children have no mothers; their apron strings are those of the Order,” he said. “Would you raise them yourself? What life could you possibly offer them with more choices than the world the Order can offer them?” he trailed off in laughter.

“There are those yet to be controlled by the Order,” she said. “You preach to the people you occupy that the world is a safe place within your embrace, yet fight on multiple fronts! Each one I bring across the border is another—“

“Is just another calf to be sent to slaughter,” he cut in. “More mouths to feed; more stain on a world overrun with narcissism.  It’s pitiful, really; people like you. The more you struggle to be free, the more you’re tied down by your own chains.  It’s nothing worth this much effort, I assure you.  The Order comes: what refuses to comply is always eliminated.”

Around her, the brush began to stir as men poured out of the thick foliage.  She was exhausted, but she knew there was no choice left.  As with all things with the Order: if the cog didn’t fit the machine, more force was required.

*

Kayne scrambled through the thick forest on foot.  With all the commotion in the inner city, it had been simple enough for him to slip away unseen.  The panic that fueled his flight had lessoned only slightly in the hours since Gallet’s assault.  It was odd, though he’d grown up on the streets of Kanton, the treacherous forest terrain  seemed like a second playground under his feet.  Just keep running, he thought, keep running.

He had abandoned his military issued armor in favor of the speed he had in his simple leather jerkin.  The only metal he carried was the rough iron of Gallet’s knife.

His training with the forces of Order had taught him about the power of adrenalin to affect one’s endurance but as the forced his way through the thick brush of the forest he realized he’d never run for so long in his life. When you’re running away from everything you ever knew, you’re fleeing from a boulder down a narrow corridor.  The thought irked him.  He could have easily marched with the gate patrol back into the city to see to Lord Kant’s estate but Gallet’s command echoed in his mind.

Reassert your life, or you’ll have made an enemy of me.

How could she be so hypocritical? He wasn’t the only one.  What about the rest of the children back in the Ministry? What about his sister?

With that thought, he came stumbling to a halt leaning heavily on the thick bark of pine wood.  He would have to go back for his sister. Life was hard within the Ministry; he had been old enough to look out for her, made sure no one would take advantage of her, but with him gone – hell, deserted – who could care for her?  He would provide for her, no matter the sacrifice.  He wanted more than anything a world where his family could create something for themselves.

He suddenly became aware of just how exhausted he was.  His breathing had been labored but it wasn’t until he stopped that the magnitude of his flight caught up to him.  He stood taller, panting with the tree supporting him, the chirp of insect and animal alike an ever-present soundscape. In his sudden calm he looked about; the trees grew tall, undisturbed this far into the wilderness.  The canopy was thick, but rivulets of light danced in the darkness.  The forest was alive, alive as Kanton, alive as the stone of Ysillia itself.  At the heart of all life there was struggle. Through the unfamiliar noise of wilderness he heard sounds of something he knew: the sound of fighting.

He crept forward, careful to leave all plant life undisturbed. The last thing he needed was to alert the party to his presence and join the fight without ever knowing what it was for.  He stopped behind a thick tree with a large clearing just beyond and saw a winged creature fighting desperately with three swordsmen. A daeva – he’d never actually seen one before. She was obviously wounded, though from the scattered bodies it seemed that she had dispatched several other men. Her wings held to her back limply with the aid of a belted cloak as though broken. She favored her right side but she moved as lithe as a serpent, striking blows and dodging sword.

Even with their superior numbers and wounded prey, it was obvious that the men were outmatched.  Her claws sliced through flesh followed by a hammer blow, knocking one of the men off his feet.  The two remaining circled, careful not to let the daeva inside the defensive range the swords provided them.  The swordsmen swung at her, trying to push her into the other – she danced gracefully around their blows trying to force them to one side of her, but the men had kept her far from the tree line and though she still danced nimbly around each blow it was clear that running was not an option.

The attackers worked in a pincer. She turned to face the man who’s sword swung at her in a downward arc; one hand caught the sword mid swing followed by the cracking of bone as she twisted and broke the man’s wrist.  She pivoted, her other hand around the attacker’s neck, using the momentum of his strike to follow through into the other man.  The second attacker took the opportunity to, instead of going for the killing blow which would have landed his head on a platter of earth, thrust his blade deep into the daeva’s thigh. The sword fell weakly from the first attackers now limp hands and the daeva let out a bestial cry, falling to the knee of her wounded leg.

She crouched in guarded position as the second attacker backed safely out of her reach. Even with her superior skill, this fight was nearly done.

“Enough!” came a voice to  the right of the melee. The moon shone brightly through the clearing on a huddled mass.  A figure rose from the shadow – a man; his silver hair shone brightly against his black cloak.  He threw the mass at his feet forward revealing a sobbing girl tied hands to knees, her golden pigtails were sodden in dirt and tears glistened in her eyes as they met Kayne’s.  They widened in a moment or recognition.

“Steady your hands or the child dies,” the silver-haired man said.

Kayne only had moments to act. If he chose poorly, it would mean the death of his sister.

To Rise of the Order 5 > >

Rise of the Order 4.1

< < Back to Rise of the Order 3.2

Kayne couldn’t be sure what the Head Mistress was up to; he’d never seen her dressed in anything but her simple house gown. Dealing with a raucous house full of children, he was accustomed to seeing her scowl from time to time but the scorn in her eyes had been a look totally foreign to the boy.  How could someone he had grown to love so much show him such venom?

The man who had been at his side patrolling the city tonight was a stranger.  They’d had little to talk about and the disgust in his voice when meeting Kayne was clear.  The man may have been a veteran of the patrol, but certainly not of combat for all the discipline he showed, or lack thereof.  Still, he couldn’t shake the feel of it all.  He’d thought combat to be a glorious sport all its own but seeing the raw brutality of it all, how quickly a man could go from standing to dead, he didn’t think that any man’s life would be worth the price of his own.

He forced his legs onward, still shocked by the randomness of it all, to the northern gates.  He had to get away from this place.  If he could escape all this death he certainly wanted to.  He felt the knife strapped to the side of his leg – Sunder’s Peak was days away, and desertion was punishable by death; he had to hope that whatever the Mistress was doing would keep the solders occupied until he could find safety.

The gates loomed ahead and though the officers outpost was just outside, Kayne saw no movement.  He was sure that the eerie hum was the reason for the additional company being called back from the outlying areas – one of the daevas, the winged devils the Mistress had told them all stories about.  He wasn’t sure they were even real – he certainly hoped he’d never meet one. The sound coming from above the forest was unmistakable from how Mistress Gallet had described it.  The guard had been expecting trouble at the gates and if it truly was a daeva it would be far over the city walls by now.  This revelation would have the captain in a foul mood.

He made his way forward.  The gates were closed of course – the Children of Order welcomed anyone to their cities. The light shown on those who loved order; chaos welcomes the embrace of darkness. Or so the saying went.  He made to knock at the guard’s entrance when a peep hole slide open revealing a beady set of eyes.  They looked at Kayne then around to make sure he was the only one present, their focus finally ending back on Kayne with an expectant look.

Kayne looked back, suddenly petrified.  There was a pass phrase that all messengers needed to speak with an officer.  The man’s eyes narrowed before Kayne blurted out: “I must speak with the captain!”

The sight hole slammed shut and the bar slid opened.  Any relief Kayne had felt in those brief moments vanished as the door opened and the man stood with his sword in hand and eyes filled with death. He took two steps forward, his sword raised in a guard position, and Kayne was taking steps backwards, hands raised up in deference.  “I-I-I d-d-don’t know the pass phrase.  I was s-s-stationed with the inner city guard.  There’s been an attack on the lord’s—” he was cut off as the guardsman took a vertical slash at him.  He jumped sideways, hands still raised in front of him, and continued: “fifty men! The entire inner city guard has fallen! We’ve got to…” he trailed off as the guardsman suddenly relaxed his posture looking back behind Kayne towards the keep.

Slowly, Kayne turned in the direction the guardsman was facing.  Black smoke rose into the night lit by popping embers from the heart of the city – from the keep itself.  Kayne’s jaw dropped and he looked back at the guardsman who met his eyes.  “Well don’t just stand there, boy, the captain must hear of this immediately!” he said, sheathing his sword and turning back to the gates. 

His heart thumped in his chest but he made his way to the door and stepped inside in front of the guardsman.  A man leaned over a table dimly lit by candle light, he didn’t stir as the two stepped into the room until the guardsman spoke up, “Captain, the keep is under attack!”  He looked up, sharply. “Tell him, boy, tell him!”

“Th-th-there’s a company or more, s-s-sir.  The guardsmen with me kept me hidden so I could get a message to you. “

“What nonsense is this, Jall? You have a boy come here with dribble about the keep being besieged with a full company of the Order’s finest at the gates? I’ve got enough to deal with tonight without…” he trailed off as Jall pointed out the door insistently.  The captain hurried out the door, followed by Jall and Kayne; the three of them stood there speechless as the fire flickered shadows against the sheer wall of the cliff making the entire city look like a cook fire.  The captain’s weathered face wrung with stress, “Chaos is abound this night,” his voice a reverent whisper.

The captain spun on Jall, “Call back the forest patrols.  Get the northern guard back immediately.  If an attack is already underway the best we can do is regroup and hope we can arrive before they’ve secured the gates.” Jall saluted running to the gates and barking orders to solders who stood beyond.  Soon the entire northern gate was a mess: mounted messangers running off into the night.  A horn called out into the night and men ran to their new post, responding to the command.

In all the commotion, no one noticed a boy slip around the gate and make his way east along the forest’s bank.

*

Her flight above the forest had been weaved with frustration as the Matriarch realized there was no way for her to know if she was being followed through the thick canopy beneath her.  The city was long behind her now, but the remaining distance on her journey was daunting.  She had to make it back by morning else the children wake from their drug induced sleep – if that happened she had no way of carrying them safely back while in flight.  She had to hope that luck was on her side, that Gallet’s sacrifice would be enough to see them all safely back to the roost. 

She flew low to the tree line, wanting to stay out of view as much as possible.  The canopy was thick, and it would be hard for anyone to locate her visually from under the trees – still her wings sang into the night and anyone within two miles could hear her on a night so clear as this one.

There was a rustle in the branches bellow her as the archer’s bow revealed his hiding place.  She did not have enough altitude to evade his attack and the arrow struck her abdomen.  It sunk deep into her left side, shuddering to a halt, and then she was falling.  Her wings, unable to hold themselves open, closed at her back loosely and she fell.  Limbs catching on branches from every direction, the arrow’s head shredding her insides as her body was jostled by the crash landing before the shaft finally broke as she slammed, head long onto the dirt below.

At some point she had lost the children, she didn’t know when and hoped for their safety.  If she couldn’t defend against her attackers however, their safety was irrelevant.  The forest was alive with the calls of wildlife she had startled in her crashing descent which would mask the sound of her attackers closing in on her.

Then there was always threat of the golems.

Her abdomen was constricted in a tight knot as she pushed herself off the ground to her knees.  With one taloned finger she cut away the square of leather where the arrow had struck to examine the wound.  On the surface it didn’t look bad, but she knew the internal damage was extensive, most of her organs would be bleeding and if something wasn’t done soon she would bleed to death.

She pulled the arrow out with a loud, defiant cry then slouched over weeping.  She had such little strength, a wound like that drained strength fast, but she righted herself as best she could channeling her heart-gate.  The green light swirled out from her chest and a warmth enveloped the wounds.  The exhaustion was fierce and her throat was dry but the organs and muscles knew the healing path, their fibers stitching back together until the bleeding had stopped.

She closed her gate and with the strength she had remaining she sat up and began to tie her belted cloak back over the wings.  They ached with every touch – they were badly damaged in the fall as well, but she was forced to only use her gate on the most pressing of injury.  She would have to find the children and, if necessary, fight for their survival.  Her wings ached, but tied to her back she knew the belted cloak would act as a sling to support their weight.

Looking up, she saw that the forest was dark; what little moonlight that did make it to the forest floor were tiny ribbons.  The dust from her fall stirred in the air giving the moonlight the appearance of dancing on air.  She gingerly rose to her feet, assuming a fighting stance.  Her taloned fingers spread wide in a high guard, her body ready to channel pure vengeance upon her attackers but she remained perfectly still.  Waiting.

To Rise of the Order 4.2 > >