“What the hell are you playin’ at, man?” Kid spat venomously. He was already standing putting his shirt and pants back on. “I mean what in the Sam Hell? You take me for a faggot?”
“I– I thought you knew.”
“How the hell would I know!” Kid thundered.
“You knew,” Lotty restated with confidence. “Deep down you knew.”
“Everythin’ ‘bout you is girly, you have a perfect pair of tits for Christ’s sake, how the fuck would I– You know what, it doesn’t even matter! You lied to me! I should beat you half to death, bitch.”
“I didn’t lie,” she said calmly. “I told you before we went any further, but it was dumb to even bring you up here without– I don’t know, I'm usually more careful. I just thought you were feeling what I was feeling. I thought you liked me, that’s all.”
“I do– I did! I don’t fuckin’ know!” Kid got choked up and said, “You confused me. That’s all that was! Kid Black is many things, but Kid Black ain’t no fag!”
“Your boner says otherwise.”
Kid Black looked down to check. When he saw the coast was clear, he scoffed, and stormed from the room, buttoning his shirt as he went.
“You should have stopped her,” Noah remarked to Jake, tapping his finger on his leg. He was staring at the house Kid and Clementine had entered twenty, thirty minutes ago now? Unlike him to be so nervous. Why was he so nervous tonight? That was Clem’s role.
“She’s a big girl,” Jake replied, unphased. He was resting on the couch, whittling a piece of wood into some distorted animal with the knife he had stolen from his father before leaving home. Noah knew from the many stories that it was his father’s favorite knife, and he liked to tell everyone his father was damn lucky Jake hadn’t plunged it into his neck before he left. Noah believed these to be nothing more than empty threats. He always felt that Jake’s life was built on a fragile shelf with books that didn’t belong to him, and knowledge within he didn’t comprehend.
Noah looked at him, slightly revulsed. “I can’t tell if you have a lot of faith in her or if you just don’t care about anyone but yourself sometimes, man.”
Jake stopped whittling. “And what about you? Why didn’t you stop her?”
“Not my place.”
“And it’s still not. Besides, I don’t see you doing a damn thing. You let Kid walk his merry keister right in,” he said, lazily pointing the knife towards the house.
“The only thing Kid’s in danger of is getting his cock sucked.”
“You think? Rats. Shoulda asked for a glass of water, too.”
“I think I’ll go in to check on them,” Noah said, done with the fruitful conversations Jake grew so well. Jake went back to his whittling, letting Noah go without complaint.
Noah crossed the lawn and entered the grimey house where mysterious luminescent splatters coated the walls. There was a man so drunk he attempted pissing in the fish tank but fell in, and music so loud he couldn’t hear his own inner voice. He crept upstairs and found Kid Black charging toward him. “What happened?” Noah yelled over the noise.
“I smoked a bag!” Kid answered.
“You smoked a bag?”
“I AIN’T NO FAG!”
“Oh,” Noah replied, then he scratched his cheek. “Okay?”
Kid waved him away with exasperation and ran down the stairs. Noah didn’t have time for Kid. Something about him seemed off, too, but he could find that out later. Kid was safe. Now where was Clem? What if Polo was doing something to her? He shook his head, kept going forward, finding the room Kid came out of. The water-blader was in there, putting on her skates. Noah shut the door behind him so he could better hear.
“You good?” Noah asked.
“Yeah. Your friend’s a bit of a dick though.”
“No shit,” he said, unsurprised. “What happened?”
“He found out I’m transexual. Threatened to beat me up. He’s gay, you know.”
“Kid? Oh yeah, he’s gay as shit.” They both cracked a smile. “You sure you good? I apologize about him. His threats are as empty as his skull.”
“Nah, don’t apologize,” she said while finishing up lacing her skates. “Just another day for people like me.”
“That don’t make it right. I’ll beat some sense into him. He knows better– Should know better.” Considering all the discrimination we’ve faced, he should be a saint.
The water-blader shrugged. “If only it were that simple.”
“Well, shit.” He paused. “If Kid were to ever come to terms with himself, would you be into him? I can tell you were both smitten.”
“Look, no offense, I’ve done a lot of work to get where I’m at. I don’t need a force of nature like him to come tearing it down.”
He took notice of her skates in the quiet, could see they were made with a sleek steel trim, a small hole at the bottom where the water emitted from. He couldn’t help but smile. “Man, too cool! You make those yourself?”
“Sure did. With the help of my dad, actually.”
“What materials? How does it work?”
“Titanium. Velcro. Any old inline skates. This propulsion nozzle here connects to my sleeve where I can direct my water’s flow. And a whole lot of patience and practice. Magia is no easy beast, especially for me.”
“Badass,” Noah said. She thanked him and stood, but before she left he said, “Hey, I’ve got to go check on my other friend but, could you write your number down? Maybe I’ll give it to him when he wisens up. Or maybe you can teach me more about the skates.”
There was a voice on Lotty’s walkie-talkie that frantically said, “Code ten! I repeat code ten!” She smiled and stood. “Little word of advice, stay clear of Polo. He’s no good.”
When Noah found Clementine, she was staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, hair dripping with puke. He was horrified. “Clem?” She did not respond.
It almost looked as if she was staring at what lay beyond the mirror. No matter what Noah did, she remained frozen in time. He snapped his fingers inches from her face, clapped near her ears. “Clemmy, you’re scaring me. What happened to you?” Her pupils were full moons. He tried closing her eyelids, but they slammed right back up like window shutters. Noah wrapped one of her arms around his shoulders and brought her over to the shower, where he leaned her forward and rinsed her hair. Luckily she doesn’t have thick hair like I do. Couldn’t imagine getting puke out of my curls. Out of the blue, Clementine started to sob. She held his arm with a frail grip. “Matty… that you?” Noah shut off the water, uncertain about denying or confirming the answer. “Does this mean you forgive me? Matty?”
He thought long about what to say, what would bring her most comfort. He felt saying his own name could spark in her whatever he sparked earlier. And saying it’s Matty might send her down an unpredictable path. “It’s Jacob,” he finally said. She smiled briefly, faded back to a mush brain. “Let’s get you out of here. You’ll be just fine, Clemmy. Promise.”
He began to carefully move her out of the house. The trickiest part was the stairs. He had to stand in front of her and guide her one foot at a time, but finally, she was down and from there it was smooth sailing all the way back to the yard. She was drugged, and if he found out that Pink Polo bastard did anything beyond that, well Noah wasn’t sure what he would do just yet. He guessed it depended on how far Franklin went. At first he felt guilty for allowing her to go; he could have put his foot down, could have saved her. Then he realized that any opposition from his part likely would have been met with intentional resistance. Once the guilt was gone it was replaced with a cold anger towards Jake, who used Clem’s agreeability to get what he wanted.
When Noah exited the house he was shocked to find a mostly deserted backyard party. The bowling pins were strewn across the yard, bowling balls haphazardly left here and there. The gate was idly swinging on its creaky hinges. Yet the surrounding parties were still raging. Jacob was hunched over on the couch with his hands on his face. Kid was screaming profanities, wriggling in the grass, hands zip-tied behind his back. And standing before them was a cop in civilian clothes.
By the man’s casual stance it was clear this was an ordinary occasion. The silver badge clipped on the belt of his jeans signified he was licensed to use arcana, though he still carried a gun. He’s a witch, Noah discerned, but what kind? The cop was smoking a cigarette, and as Noah tentatively approached with Clementine, whose vacant condition if anything looked to be worsening, he flicked the smoke in the grass and ambled over to them with Jacob not far behind.
“What did she take?” the cop asked. “And how much?”
Kid was still screaming at the top of his lungs. “Don’t know,” Noah said. “Nothing illegal.”
“I don’t care about that,” the cop replied, shining a light in her pupils, which did not reduce from saucer-size. “What did she take? Her life could depend on it. There’s strange drugs floating the market right now.”
Noah helplessly shrugged. If only you knew. “Found her with puke in her hair, sopping wet, sir. I think she fell face first in the toilet or something.”
Kid Black took one look at Clementine, scoffed.
“She’s a lightweight, is all!” Kid Black guffawed. “Honest to God she probably just drank a beer! You ‘member when she drank just one and spewed chunks all over the back of the van? Now let me out of here you zipper-eyed chink fuck!” Kid Black tried to spit at the deputy but it only ended up on his own chin. “You here to help drop another bomb on us?”
“I’m sorry about him,” Noah apologized to the deputy. “We usually keep him gagged–”
The deputy—the badge on his hip said Flowers—showed no reaction to any of Kid’s nonsense. While lighting another cigarette, Flowers said with lungs full of smoke, “Little shit tried to bite me. That’s the only reason he’s tied up.” The deputy tossed Kid’s three rings up into the air in a perfect arc and caught them before handing them to Noah. All Noah could do was stare at Kid’s weapons with disbelief. In what world would a cop be so lenient with a few shithead kids? Vessels like these without a permit would mean prison time back home, and he just handed them over as if they were toys. “A certain protestor was trying to press charges against the boy.” He looked at Kid. “Remember him? Handsome. Wandering eye. Arts and crafts connoisseur.”
“Fuck you,” Kid grunted. “You wand-suckin’ pig! You betray your own kind every day you flaunt that useless badge!”
Jacob walked over to Kid and pushed down on his back with his boot. As Kid squealed, Jake said through gritted teeth: “Do the world a favor and keep your opinions to yourself. You couldn’t discern a snakebite if your cock was rotting off!”
“Psh. Could too, and what does that mean anyhow?” Kid muffled into the grass as Jacob huffed away. He went to argue more when—
“That’s enough now Kid!” Noah bellowed. “Enough. Please, man.” Kid stared back with squinted eyes but simmered to a silence. Noah never yelled at Kid and meant it, but the idiot went way too far tonight. And he’s higher than a kite…
Jacob moved Clementine’s soaking black hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. Now he saw for himself how enlarged her pupils were, and they had a glazed effect like looking into two clouded marbles. I wonder if you truly care, Jake. I can’t tell for the life of me. The way you look at her, it’s almost plastic.
“You don’t want to book us,” Jake said. “We didn’t mean to harm anybody. Well, maybe Kid did, but–”
Deputy Flowers lifted his hand in an airy way. “Not what I’m here for. I was there, earlier. I saw the whole thing. I could have stopped it even. Point is, this isn’t even my jurisdiction. My partner dragged me here and then had the gall to get upset with me, can you believe that? I wanted to drink a cider, maybe throw some dice, gamble my paycheck away. And now I’m here dealing with runts like you.” He looked around to make sure his message was sinking in. Took a long drag. “You’re all lucky I liked the show you played.”
Despite himself, Noah smiled; the man had an undeniable charisma about him. “Thanks.”
“What I want to do is make sure she’s okay. I want to get her to a hospital.”
“How the hell you think we’re gonna pay for that?” Kid asked. “We didn’t even get paid for tonight's show and you came in and busted a deal of a lifet–”
“Shut the hell up, Kid,” Jake hissed.
“All I’m sayin’ is she doesn’t have insurance, and even if she–”
“It doesn’t matter,” Noah interrupted. “We’ll figure it out. Right, Jake?”
Jacob looked around somewhat sheepishly, averting his gaze from Noah’s.
Noah smacked his lips. “Man. You gotta–”
“I hear you,” Jacob said, trying to calm him. “All I’m saying is it isn’t exactly wise to take Clementine in without observing her first. Can you imagine the bill? I have, maybe, twenty bones to my name. How much you have?”
“Five hundred.”
“Exactl– Wait, really?” Jake stopped, squinted, analyzed Noah for the truth.
Yes, but I can’t tell you how I got it. Crazy bastard would kill me. “No. Not really.” If Clementine got worse he could use the money, explain himself after.
“Thought so. The last thing we need is an unnecessary medical bill slapped on top of our troubles. If she doesn’t start coming out of it within the next two hours then maybe we start worrying.”
“Look, this isn’t a choice,” Deputy Flowers said firmly, one hand on his hip. “I’m being lenient here already. I want her taken to the hospital. And if you guys won’t, then perhaps I should.”
Just then Flower’s walkie-talkie went off. It was a woman’s voice, she sounded out of breath. “Julian, the pigeon has flown the coop! The pigeon has flown the coop! 10-49 12th right now, crossing Main!”
“Everybody stay here.” He then spoke into his walkie: “Hang on, Strell. On my way.”
Once Flowers left everybody looked at each other—not Clementine, she was drooling on herself—with the same deer-in-headlights expression.
“That guy’s a moron,” Kid declared. Noah slapped the back of Kid’s head who winced and thrashed. He slipped the rings back onto Kid’s fingers, then using them, Kid effortlessly sliced through the zipties. It was a bit unguided so the slice continued up into the trees above them and down came a small branch and a shower of leaves.
Noah saw this sloppiness as a way to bring up what had been on his mind. “What the hell was all that back there, man? Why you speaking to a cop with such little respect? That’s how you get your ass locked up. You know better. You high? That it?”
“Hah. ‘Course I ain’t,” Kid grunted, rubbing his wrists. “It’s been two years, why would I start now? I'm just feelin’ a teensy stressed is all. I’ve told you I can’t shoot straight if I’m under stress.”
“How many situations do you see yourself using your rings that don’t involve stress?”
“Well,” he started, “that’s a fine point, but I ain’t high.”
“Your eyes are redder than the devil’s dick,” Jake said. “You’re high.”
Kid scoffed, then strutted away like a prideful turkey, muttering: “How would you know what the devil’s dick looks like anyway?”
“You need to start admitting some things about yourself, man!” Noah called out after him. Kid kept walking, pulled down his pants exposing two bare cheeks. Noah and Jake looked away in a series of groans and sighs.
The backyard parties were emptying, though they didn’t know why until they had grabbed their gear and headed back to the van. That’s when some commotion started ramping up the next block over. Murmurs of a police chase and something bigger. The group found themselves picking up pace, outrunning a fight between the protestors, witches, and some bands, beginning to break out. Someone yelled: “Fire! Fire!” There were a few gasps, and a loud whizzing, a streak of blinding light in the sky, finishing in a lackluster rainfall effect.
Noah couldn’t visually enjoy the display to its fullness due to his complete colorblindness, and as an effect of that, fireworks became a more visceral, physical experience that made his entire body cringe. Each one would scream through the air, piercing the sky with a violent flilt! and when they finally exploded, they pounded in his chest like an earthquake. It was a battlefield to him. His throat would become parched, his ears ringing out after each consecutive bang.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Noah heard cries for help a block away; another woman’s blood-curdling scream muffled by a stream of fireworks shooting into the murky night clouds. If he didn’t have Clemmy to worry about he likely would have seen about helping, he wished he could. Kid wanted to get a look just for the fun of it, but Noah and Jake saw this as a perfect opportunity to get away scot-free. Despite their wishes they had to physically drag Kid away more than once, jumping with an eager smile for an in at the action. Noah was appointed to stay with her in the van while the other two went back to grab the rest of their gear. The van was far enough down the block that he avoided most of the commotion besides the people running past in hysterics; leaving him alone with Clementine, and the guilt of not helping those fleeing around him. Come on Clemmy, he thought, snap out of it.
He watched the fireworks explode, flinching with every further bang.
His found family had told him that when he was a newborn he lost his ability to see colors because he was unable to take his eyes away from the looming mushroom cloud—in sacrament they said, but Noah knew despite their beliefs that newborns were merely that: new and ignorant and happy.
What would it have been like? When they looked up at the blinding light twenty years ago, what did they see? What did they feel in those final moments?
Clementine’s questions hadn’t escaped his mind and he wondered the answers himself while feeling powerless before one of mankind’s creations, and such a minor one at that in the grand scheme of things—fireworks. The refugees they had seen tonight really struck Noah and he hadn’t realized why till now; seeing them wander about, lost, perhaps without knowing who their real families were, and caused by the same horrific event nonetheless if not inadvertently, it brought Noah back to those days of inner quarreling. “Who am I?” he would ask. “Who is Noah?” He knew his skin was brown but he still never felt like he belonged without truly knowing his roots. No matter how loving his found family had been, they could never supply him with the answers, or fill that yawning hurt. Was he African-American? Brazilian? Was he Mexican? Or a curious mix? Who were his people, and just who was he?
He was born the day after the Z-bomb dropped two decades ago over Santa Cruz, California, and according to the stories told by his three mothers, Noah was plucked up by a group of survivors amidst the rubble, beginning a great migration of over a hundred thousand people caravaning to Texas. The Great Journey, it was named. He must have listened to the tale a million times from a million different mouths and never tired of its larger-than-life twists and turns, failures and triumphs. He listened to the fable told through missing teeth, through wrinkled, smiling eyes; through his many sisters and brothers of all shades, some the age he was now. Sometimes one of his three moms put on plays about the journey with sock puppets and intricate dolls they made from whatever they found around; and he learned early that a lack of resources creates ingenuity.
His people often said that Noah was a figure of holy importance, that they were sent by God to find the babe, and without him they would have died on that perilous journey. Sure there were aspects to the story that didn’t make much sense, and took on a mythological quality, but facts in this case didn’t matter to him. That wasn’t what made the story impactful. Still, despite it not being entirely believable it remained warm in his heart when he imagined them, trekking thousands of miles on tattered shoes to give him a fighting chance at life. It inspired him, and allowed him to put his life in a simple, pragmatic perspective.
Life is about finding a way to survive.
He often wondered if they were still alive, or if they had been riddled with those malignant tumors because of their proximity to ground zero, and starved to death on some nameless street corner. If they were still alive, he wondered if they ever thought of him, if they would be disappointed in the direction his life had gone, if he had failed to live up to the messianic vision they had of him. He wouldn’t blame them, really. He wasn’t proud of the man he had become; he’d had little love for himself most of his life, even less now. He was no prophet, and it wasn’t where his powers derived from, either. Noah was just a man, and not a very good one at that.
Ten minutes passed when they returned with the drum set and Clem’s busted keyboard. With everybody inside the van, there was a collective sigh of relief. Now all that mattered was making sure Clementine was going to be okay, and getting back to Wild Wood unscathed.
Before they could figure what to do next, or get settled for that matter—there was a shift, a snap, a heaving metal. A fearful silence took over the group, waiting with bated breaths for the next noise, then a loud whizzing and a shift in altitude plugged his ears and left an intense ringing to bounce through his skull. And when they landed, because they were in the air, or at least weightless for some time, the van took it hard. The suspension bellowed under the weight with a crash and shook the contents of the van thoroughly, which of course included The Nomads themselves, but also their loosely-secured gear.
“What the fuck!” Jacob cried, scouring the darkness around them for any clue as to where they could be. Noah joined him in the search, but there was nothing to be discerned by looking out the side windows. Being colorblind had many disadvantages, but Noah had always enjoyed being able to see better at night as most things for him were either a shade of black or gray anyhow, but that advantage did not help him here; the black appeared to go on endlessly. When he stared long enough his mind began conjuring images of shadow people running past his blindspots, and when he looked up he could see the faint silhouette of swaying treetops, no stars behind them. It felt as if their van was resting upon a light-devouring beast that had been slumbering peacefully and now, for the first time in a millennium, was being disturbed.
“Can’t see shit,” said Jake, his eyes darting between all the blackness.
Noah did his best to calm his friends but to no avail. Clementine was slouched forward unconscious, the locked seatbelt holding her at an awkward angle. Noah tried pushing her back but she kept falling forward. Kid Black was groaning, holding his head (apparently on the way down he had slammed it against his bass drum. “My baby, no!” First the keyboard and now this. If Noah didn’t know any better he would have said that there was some otherworldly force that didn’t want them to play music. It seemed the night was doomed to keep turning for the worse despite how positively he’d believed it would go.
Once the dust settled, and The Nomads had counted their blessings and mourned their musical losses, Noah was the first to step outside, with Kid following closely behind. Jacob was last, yet in retrospection he would say he was the first. As they cautioned the trail ahead of them they noticed a campfire in the not-so-distant woods—the woods which were eerily still. Not a thing stirred in their vastness; not a frog, or a cricket, nor a murmur of a thing. And then they saw two suited figures, one massive, one small, sitting beyond the fire on a fallen log.
The man was beastly in size and image, taking up more than half the log. On the opposite spectrum the girl was mousy and pale with a head of bouncing curls that nearly covered her eyes unless she was gazing up, and only took up a sliver of the log. They loomed beyond the fire like two death harbingers, wordlessly striking fear in Noah’s heart, far surpassing any of Franklin’s theatrical attempts at the emotion.
“Join us,” the girl said. Her English was spoken with a toneless French diction. She had drowsy eyes which contrasted with her child-like demeanor, voice, and expressions, which were as passionless as cold glass or a mannequin. If she were a body of water it would be one that didn’t stir, didn’t bother to, because she knew the wind and moon would do it for her in time. Noah was fearful of this stillness because instinctively he understood it wouldn’t last forever; these people were not here for fun. They were sent to do a job. And most strange, in her hand was a white pillow. Like a pillow from a motel…
“Why should we?” Jacob asked confidently while standing behind Noah. “What’s stopping us from getting back into our van and leaving?”
In response to Jake’s question the man looked up from the paper he was scribbling on. He was black of skin, and salt and pepper-haired. His sense of fashion was elite, both the pair. Noah didn’t care for suits typically, but he could tell with a glance that theirs were expensive as all get out: everything was in order, pressed; a neat handkerchief peeking from the front of his jacket, a gold pocket watch he frequently pulled out and read as if there were other dire locations he needed to be—Noah believed there really were, too. He couldn’t fathom for a second that a few petty runts were worth this man’s time.
Unless those runts took something important that didn’t belong to them. And if that is the case, they’re going to bend us over backwards when they find out some is missing. Perhaps if I needed to I could… No, he scolded himself. You will not use that abomination. It will not come out of you by any means. You will ask for forgiveness, and accept whatever punishment may come.
There was also the man’s ox-like physique which was to be feared. He looked old, sure, but despite this Noah knew that he could split a log in half with his bare hands if he wanted, but by his lax posture that would be a rare want.
His face was a different matter, and the deep shadows cast by the fire weren’t doing him any justice. His eyes, which were large and yellowed, looked to be weeping, and at intervals he would take out his handkerchief and dab them dry to no effect. His nose was fat like an overripe tomato and bellowed at strange angles, and his lips were like two slabs of raw meat.
“Is there something on my face?” he asked Noah, who squirmed slightly. The voice, though surprisingly soft, was as deep and suffocating as an ocean trench. He was in the middle of some kind of puzzle book. It sort of looked like a crossword with numbers, but Noah never saw anything like it. Occasionally the giant man with his tiny pencil would stop, push up his tiny wire reading-glasses, think, and nibble on the eraser, amplifying the feeling that they were insignificant non-threats to them.
“No,” Noah replied calmly. “Nothing.” The man looked up at him lazily, then back to his puzzle.
“Don’t be shy,” the mousy girl—and just how old was she, anyway?—said without emotion. “Sit down.”
“Why should we?” Jake said again, but quieter this time, without conviction.
The man silently pulled a steel canteen from his coat. He slowly unscrewed its top, but didn’t drink from it. His murky eyes looked up as he took in a focused breath. Then a silk thread appeared from the container wicked fast, glinted by the fire, followed by a series of thundering cracks that could be felt reverberated in their chests in a pound pound pound! The sound finalized with a final SNAP! like a cannon, and down, right behind this deathly duo, fell a massive tree. The gust of wind from the fall almost snuffed the fire, shooting sparks, and nearly took Kid’s hat.
The Nomads, wiping debris from their eyes, and sparks off their body, sat across from the duo as the fire crawled back to life.
Noah looked to the forest edge, but he knew that no matter how hard he ran, or how well he hid, these two would hunt him, find him, and kill him. He wasn’t much for exerting wasteful energy. The Nomads had no more questions. He looked back at the van lost in the darkness, at where Clementine remained, and he hoped for her safety.
Noah took a deep breath. “Like I said. We can work out this misunderstanding.”
The mousy girl rifled through her satchel. What next? She pulled out a troll doll with crazy neon hair in her left hand and a green plastic army man in her right. She began speaking through them, putting on a twisted puppet show of sorts. It reminded him of his mothers’ puppet shows where they would recount the Great Journey. Yet Noah understood this wasn’t to be an uplifting tale.
“Mr. General, sir,” the girl began in an authoritative voice barely different from her own. “It appears the lass and the cowboy are under the influence.” Surprisingly, the army man didn’t appear to be the general in this scenario.
The troll general spoke with a gruff voice, but again, with zero infliction or flavor, as with everything else she said. “Not good, Private. It is of the utmost importance that everybody is in tip-top shape for this conversation.” Why is she bringing up Clementine when she isn’t even here? And how does she know she’s high?
His gaze snapped back to the van then the girl, and just like that Clementine was resting on the log near the girl’s leg. Clementine was staring into her own lap with a glazed expression; she groaned a few times as if she was waking from a deep sleep, then returned to semi-consciousness. The Nomads all looked at each other in pure terror.
“Well, Mr. General sir,” the private started. “What are we to do.”
“The way I see it, Private Green, there are two ways we can approach this dilemma. The first method, however, is risky.”
“Risk. We don’t like risk.”
“You learn well, Private,” the troll general stated. “So then the second option–”
Kid erupted with: “Can you get to the punchline? You need somethin’ from us, cool, but quit wastin’ our damn time!” Jacob hit him in the chest. The man briefly looked up from his puzzle, coughed into the handkerchief, and neatly put it away. The girl lowered the dolls slowly, blinking at Kid.
Noah could now see her lifeless snake eyes peeking from the curls and across the fire. Heterochromia, the telltale mark of a nomad like Clementine. One of her eyes was completely white, the other black as ooze. But it wasn’t the heterochromia that made them lifeless; if anything, they were fighting to add life. There was just nothing beyond them. Bottomless wells.
She neatly put the dolls away into her satchel and pulled out a card. She put on some glasses and read: “Clementine Harding. Noah Jackson. Jacob Cantrell. Sterling Black, prefers to be addressed by the sobriquet, ‘Kid Black.’ Nice to finally meet you all.” It didn’t sound nice. “You may address me as Vertigo, like the feeling. His name is Jazz, like the music.”
Everybody, but Clementine of course, was staring at the pair as if they were the end times themselves. They had shifted uncomfortably upon hearing their full names recited. The woman continued reading after affirming that this had quieted everybody. “Need I keep going.” Again no inquisitive inflection, but they understood it was a question because she looked up from the card and waited for an answer. When she found none, she continued.
“Jacob, your parents’ address is 1923 Willow Lane, Brownsville. You have a little sister named Jane. When you left home at fourteen, you were indoctrinated into a group of petty thieves led by the Diggery brothers. Who were, according to your old members I visited, killed sometime before you left. Tragic.” Vertigo reached down and steadied Clementine’s shoulder. “Clementine here was born on a farm in Nowhere, Texas. She has a little brother named Matthew Harding, age fifteen. Her mother’s bedridden with Huntington’s disease. She ran away from home not long after her father’s death, and Jacob’s arrival as a paid farmhand. Noah and Kid Black were raised inside Sister Mary’s home for gifted children, both due to an unfortunate upbringing, and at some point, all you little orphans found one another. A touching tale of found family. Inspirational.” He was suddenly thankful Clementine was out cold; hearing these things about her family would likely send her over whatever edge she seemed to be teetering on tonight.
“You have all that information on that little card?” Jake asked, seemingly impressed.
Vertigo flipped the card: blank. She put it away, and then her glasses, and continued in her monotone drawl. “We, over the course of a couple of weeks, have become keenly aware that something of ours has been stolen, and we have it on good account that that something has wound up in your hands. A silver briefcase, excellent shine. Mercurial liquid inside, four glass vials.”
Again, all fell deathly quiet. Jacob finally said with an uncommon shakiness in his voice, “All the information you have about us is true, but we don’t know about any vials. You can check us, check our van. We don’t have it.” It was inside the van, in the empty wheel well, underneath the carpet; Jake was taking a mighty hefty gamble lying to these two. There must be some way they tracked us, but if it was something in the briefcase, they would have grabbed it while we were in Whiteaker. Jake must know this, else why would he risk our lives on it?
“Yes. We did unfortunately run into some technical difficulties. And some of us looked harder than others.” Vertigo gave a look over at Jazz before she pulled the toys back out. Jazz returned the look, set down his puzzle on the log, and lit up a cigar.
“The second option is also unpleasant,” the troll General explained. “But that’s the thing about war you have to understand, sometimes blood needs to be shed for the greater good.”
“What if we could do this without shedding blood,” the Private asked without a question mark.
“That’s a naive outlook son, look at how thick-headed our enemies are. They’ve been taught from an early age to keep their mouths shut tight. I bet you couldn’t get them to talk even if you were to pull out their teeth. One. At. A. Time.”
The Private gasped. “You’d do that. You’d do something so cruel.”
The General harrumphed. “I am but an instrument, Private. A finely sculpted piece of art, intended to fulfill a specific, and I mean specific, purpose. I am Pompeii, son. Boiling lava. Receding darkness. I am what killed Icarus. A blinding sun–” Jazz wrapped his big hands over the dolls and took them from her. Coming across her face was an emotion akin to an annoyed cat. Yet it was only a brief ripple on a still lake. She looked more agitated by his cigar smoke wafting towards her. Waving it away, her focus returned to The Nomads.
“We don’t know about a briefcase,” Jake reiterated carefully. “And even if we did–” Vertigo shuffled through her satchel, and they waited with still breaths for what she was next to pull out her crooked bag of tricks. Finally out came pliers and Kid’s head sank.
“Just tell us where the briefcase is,” she finally said. “Teeth are a precious commodity and I’m going to start with your favorite ones.” She opened Clementine’s mouth, clamped the pliers on one of her front teeth. Noah was about to rush forward, explain how everything was his fault when Kid looked back up, his eyes filled with bane, his pupils puddles of hot tar.
“Who the fuck ya’ll think ya’ll are?” Kid said, rising to his feet. “Y’even know what I–”
Jacob gripped Kid’s wrist. “Shut the hell up you junkie shit-head!”
“Everyone take a breath,” Noah urged. Kid broke out of Jake’s hold.
There was a tension so thick in the air that Noah swore he saw it flicker before his eyes. He had never been in one location with so much surging arcana. It was palpable, muggy air like before a desert thunderstorm. Little particles gathering, clashing against one another, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Maybe only he could see them. Nobody took a breath. Kid did everything in his power not to break eye contact with Vertigo, knowing full well that if he did he would’ve lost the war he just started. Noah noticed the currents of air drifting up his arm, the tiny hairs undulating. It was Kid gathering the wind. The brewing storm flowed through Noah’s pores and out his lungs, thinning his breath. Even Jake, whose affinity to Zand was the faintest, carefully backed away.
The particles were clashing now, leaves scattering, circling, the fire snuffed.
Clementine let out a blood-curdling shriek and fell to her side. The forest and the wind absorbed the sound. As Kid shot his hand towards them, his rings shimmered briefly in the dim firelight before he was slammed in the face with a horizontal waterfall. He tore through the camp, several feet of dirt, and thudded back against a tree, limp. The stream of water disappeared in a reflective mist and soaked back into the ground. Kid was out cold. The energy in the air died down to a typical lull. It was Jazz who had done it, and he never moved once. Until he started coughing afterwards.
This is what a trained witch looks like, Noah realized. Meanwhile, The Nomads had never had a day of formal training in their life. These two were so above them it would be easier to compare them to gods than to themselves, or anyone else who possessed arcana for that matter.
While Noah was impressed by the quick work they made of Kid, he was also sensibly fearful of what was to come from this exchange. He wanted to look up to God and pray for his friends’ safe passage, but with much contemplation decided against it. He wished he could face Him. Even the idea of speaking briefly with God brought a deep red shame to his face. Noah hated to think it, but he wondered if this was His way of punishing him for straying from His light. Clementine’s continuous hellish screams somehow confirmed that.
Now that Kid’s little show was done, Jake started to move for her. Vertigo put up a hand, he froze. She gave the pillow to Clem, who gripped it and screamed into it.
“Do you know what I think,” Vertigo said. “You people are in over your head. When I look upon each of you I don’t see hardened criminals. I see a group down on their luck, trying to beat circumstance. That’s something we can understand. Something we can sympathize with. In the right situation, it’s almost commendable. This is not one of those situations. You’ve taken without knowing what you’ve taken. This does not look good for you.”
Clem was now asleep, drooling on the pillow. Is that why Vertigo brought it? But how could she have…
Growing up with such a unique plethora of human beings Noah heard a wide variety of tall tales and myths surrounding arcana as a whole, but specifically about nomads; some called them Espers, others telepaths, though his people coined them “dream-eaters.” One specific myth about the dream-eaters was the source of their powers. To his people, each eye represented the different dimensions they pulled their abilities from, and each color represented a different element of existence. Blue was derived from the ocean. Green from the trees. Brown from the earth. That was how Noah remembered the names of the colors, and how he associated colors with the physical world. When he closed his eyes he could almost imagine them. He of course could never know the difference, but he knew that her eyes were a bleached white like desert bone and black as the night sky was now. To his people, nomads’ eye colors had an association for every color, but never for a lack of it. He wondered if his people’s myths spoke true, what would they associate these eyes with? The sun and moon? Heaven and Hell?
“We want to make this easy. You give us the briefcase and we won’t gut your families. All is fair.” Vertigo teleported into a crouched position looking over Black’s drooping, soaked face. She picked up his cowboy hat and placed it over her bouncy curls; it almost didn’t stay on, they were so thick. After warping back to the log, a pager went off on Vertigo’s hip. She read it with a frown. “Merde. What a shame. We must go,” she told Jazz. “The Niece says it’s urgent.”
He looked disappointed.
“No no,” Vertigo said, “if you remember I wanted to coerce them effective immediately, but you and your soft heart got in the way. Americans have no heart for war anymore.”
“Is that what you call that little puppet show?” he asked. “‘Effective immediately?’”
“Are you ready or no, big lug.”
“Slip ready,” he said as a way of answering, folding his puzzle book with an aggrieved expression.
“We will be in contact very soon. You folks are staying at Wild Wood Motel, no. Stay near the phone for instructions, and do be sure to return the pillow to avoid any additional charges.” It seemed she meant those to be her final words.
There’s a way out of this yet, Noah thought. We’ll figure something out. We always do. All we have to do is give them the vials. That’s all and we are even. Then we can go back home.
Vertigo pulled out a small, capped flask filled with various trinkets, flowers, and other organic material like dirt and shells. She popped it open, closed her eyes, and smelled its contents with zero savor. Then she stopped, opened her eyes in remembrance of something. “Souvenirs.” She looked down at Clementine and ripped her necklace off; her good luck charm, a token from home given to her by her father. She never went a day without it.
She’ll be crushed.
“Toodaloo,” was Vertigo’s real final word, as blanched and gloomy as all the rest, and then the duo vanished in complete silence, leaving Jake and Noah to contemplate, perhaps, the end of their lives.