No Man an Island

 

Reza dropped Jason onto the flat stone of the roof.  It was like a plateau cut into the tower just beneath the spire at the top.  The wind howled across it like a dragon, clawing at Reza’s clothes.  He stood against it, immovable, as if carved from stone himself.

            “Are you ready?” Lamb asked, standing nearby in black robes.  He was holding a wickedly sharp knife.

            “Are you kidding?  I was made for this!”  Donovan laughed.  He hauled Jason forward, to the centre of the platform.  He then forced the quivering prisoner to look into his eyes by pulling him by the hair.

            “It’s almost show-time, little Jason.  Let me walk you through what’s going to happen:  I’m going to use Simon’s knife to cut you open.  Then Simon is going to draw a diagram on the floor with your blood.  This won’t matter to you, but that picture will be a pentangle.  It’s really a door, and we’re going to use you as a key to unlock it.”

            “A door to what?”  Jason found the focus to ask, his voice distant and faded. 

            “You’re like a magnet, a touchstone.”  Lamb told him.  The two villains seemed to be enjoying this exposition, dragging out their victim’s death.  Torturing him with time.  “You possess a level of psychic sensitivity that draws forces to you.  We’ve been pushing you all along to attract our kinds of forces.  Dark forces.  When enough collects in one place, it becomes like a sinkhole, a weak spot in reality.  Now we’re going to punch through that soft spot.”

            “In other words, we’re going to use you to open the Gates of Hell.”  Donovan grinned with a malevolent joy.  “Doesn’t that sound fun?”

            Tears streamed down Jason’s face again.

            “Why are you telling me this?”

            “Because it makes you more afraid.  And, because we’re giving you a chance to stop us.”  Reza smiled.  “Now you can play the hero.  All you have to do is walk across the roof and throw yourself over the side.  All you have to do is find some guts and you’ll stop us, and our nefarious plans, for good.  Come on, Jay.  The Good Guys always win, don’t they?  All you have to do is try.”

            He dropped Jason again by nonchalantly letting go of his hair, knocking the wind out of him as he hit the stone.  Jason knelt there, feeling the wind tearing at his clothes with clawed, cold fingers.  He tried to crawl, certain that the gusting air would knock him over if he stood.

            “Naughty, naughty, that’s cheating!”  Reza giggled, but there was anger in that chuckle.  He kicked Jay in the ribs, rolling him over on his back.  “I said you had to walk, no crawling allowed, you little worm!  Now be a man!  Get up!”

            Jason struggled to catch his breath.  He was certain that something had snapped with that kick, and was equally certain that the Reaper could tear him in half with his bare hands.  That kick had been barely a love tap to this monster.  He held up his hands as if to ward off further blows, and then rolled onto his knees when no blow came.  The wind growled and pulled even harder as he rose upwards.  He wobbled as he found his feet, steeled himself to steadiness, and tried to take a step forward.

            Another big gust hit him, and he wavered.  For a moment, he was certain he could right himself.  Then he fell over, crumpling to his knees, frozen with fear.  He couldn’t do it.  Good Guys finish last.  The Bad Guys win.

            “I can’t do it.”  He whispered.

            Reza grabbed his hair again. 

            “That’s my boy.  I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

            Donovan Reza tore off Jason’s shirt and cut into his skin with the knife.

<<Previous

Neal leaned against the wall of the balcony with his arms, barely holding himself up as he looked over his burning city.  He took it all in and knew that it was his fault.  Everyone was dead and it was his fault.

            “Top of the world, ma,” He chuckled to himself, near hysteria.  “My fault.”

            He murmured this last and slumped to his knees, collapsing against the stone railing and held up only by his shoulder against the stone.  He felt his blood leaving his body.

            “I’m glad to hear you say that.  To finally hear that you accept some responsibility.”  A cloaked figure said from the doorway to the Hall.

            Neal moaned, startled by the unexpected voice.  He was even more startled when the figure removed his hood and stepped into the starlight.

            “Ethan?”  Neal asked, “Ethan…”  He started to laugh and cry at the same time.  Once he had seen the real thing, it was obvious that an impostor had been in their midst.  Neal wondered how he could have been so blind:  Ethan’s eyes were intensely alive, while his doppelganger’s eyes were void.

            His laughter turned into painful coughing, blood spitting off his lips.  Neal held his wound and knew that he was already dead.  Ethan knelt beside him to offer comfort to his friend.

            “No…” Neal whispered, and then he gathered the strength to yell.  “NO!!!”  He slapped Ethan’s hand away.  “Let me die.  I deserve it.”

            “No one deserves to die alone, Neal.  And maybe I can help.”  Ethan responded patiently.

            “I don’t want your help, or anyone else’s!  I destroyed the world, Ethan!”

            With that, Neal hauled himself to his feet and hurled himself over the balcony plummeting into darkness before Ethan could even reach out a halting hand.

            Ethan stood slowly, wiping a solitary tear from his cheek.  He looked out over the charred ruin of the city, and contemplated the ending of a world.

            “Even in death your pride got in the way, Neal.”  He said quietly, pitying his friend.  “You didn’t do this alone.  We all had a part in it.”

            He turned away from the cityscape and re-entered the black tower.  Neal’s part was over, but Ethan still had his part to play.

<<Previous   Next>>

 

They were an army with no one to fight.  Comprised of converted soldiers and bedraggled peasants, they had been gathered for days by the mysterious man in the worn cloak.  Led to no purpose, apparently, as the city had become a graveyard.  They had come to offer truth and healing, to fight for people’s souls, and found only corpses.

            “Now what?”  A farmer asked, looking around the charred ruins.

            “I suggest you all get out of town as fast as you can.”  Their leader said.  He did not look at them, his gaze was riveted on the Citadel.  He drew a glowing sword from within his robes.  “One way or another, it’s all going to be over soon.  And if I don’t get to the top of the tower in time, none of you are going to want to be here to see what happens next.”

            With that, he left them as quickly and silently as he’d come, the only sign of his passing the faint, white light of his blade.

 

***

 

Reza dumped Jason onto the floor of the Hall of Elders like he was an unimportant sack.  He didn’t even deign to look down at the cowering huddle by his feet.  He knew that the simpering coward wasn’t going anywhere.

            Donovan strode into the Hall grinning widely as he called for Neal.  A moment later, the richly robed, self-styled king of the world emerged from the balcony.

            “Ethan!”  Neal smiled.  “Have you been down among the troops?  Are they pleased with our victory?”

            Reza smiled back.  In Neal’s imagination, the silence of the necropolis below signified the triumphant ending of battle, with his loyal guards taking a well-deserved rest.

            “Yes, old friend, victory is good!”  Reza laughed.  Neal chuckled too, and moved to embrace the demon he perceived as a friend.  He seemed oblivious to the blood on the Reaper’s clothes.

            “Well done, well done!”  Neal clapped him on the back.  “I’m glad you’re here, Ethan.  Not like the others, the one’s who betrayed and abandoned us.  The ones who were weak, and broke under the pressure.  You and I, we’ve done well, haven’t we?”

            “Things couldn’t have turned out better in my wildest dreams,” agreed Donovan, embracing Neal again.

            This time, he slid his dagger between Neal’s ribs, twisting the blade with a grin of satisfaction and malice.  Neal stared at him for a moment, as if unable to believe what had just happened.  He was still lost in his fantasy.  But then cold reality hit him and he understood it all.  His eyes filled with horror, but the scream he tried to bellow came out as a gurgle, blood spilling from his mouth.  He reeled away dizzily, back towards the balcony, his blood trickling down to the floor where he left red footprints trailing.

            Reza was content to let him walk away.  Neal’s final moments would be terrifying enough now that he knew the truth:  blinded by his ambition, he had let the world around him crumble to dust.  He had tried to build an empire, and seeing it destroyed as easily as a wave destroys a child’s sandcastle did more damage than physical torture could ever do.

            The Reaper turned back to Jason and dragged him from the room.  They had urgent business on the roof.

<<Previous   Next>>

Jason had heard the shrieks of pain and suffering as Reza walked through the city, killing its denizens.  Through the slaughter, he began to hear the sound of breaking glass and smashing wood.  As the sounds grew closer to the tower, they grew in intensity.  Soon it sounded as if entire buildings were being toppled, as if some monster approached, growing in strength with every step, bringing devastation in its wake.

            Jason hid like a child in his chambers, cradling his head in his hands, cringing at every cry.  He began to shake when the army engaged with the killer, knowing that they stood no chance.  The Reaper was coming to get him, Jason knew, and he knew that no one could stop it.

            Intent on the clamour of battle, it took a moment to comprehend the silence when the tumult ended.  The silence crept up on him the way night slowly creeps over the land as the sun sets and the shadows of the world lengthen.  It just crawled and lurched into his chamber, a silence that was loud in its significance.

            It meant that everyone else was dead.

            As that thought struck him, Jason’s trembling increased by an enormous degree.  He looked up from his hands like a trapped animal listening for the hunter, his eyes glazed with terror.  Panicked in the extreme, the trembling became a compulsion to move, and he fled from the solitude of his rooms in a mad dash for the door.  He was driven by the impulse to find someone, anyone, who was still alive in this tomb of a world.

            He screamed so loud that he lost his own voice to the quiet when he found, not the living, but Death standing on his doorstep instead.  Jason fell over, whimpering on the stone floor of the corridor, shaking at the feet of the dark figure looming over him.

            “Why, hello there, little Jason.  Aren’t you happy to see me?”  Reza asked, his grin that of a shark.  He reached down and gripped Jay by the neck, his hands clamping just under his jaw.  He effortlessly lifted Jay until his feet dangled six inches above the floor.  Jason was sobbing quietly, with tears running down his face and hocks of snot escaping his nose.  He stared into Reza’s eyes and finally saw them for what they were:  empty and soulless.  Unable to stop himself, Jason felt his bowels cut loose.

            “You’re such a child.”  Reza laughed.  “Let’s go see if your cousin is a real man or not.  There has to be one around here somewhere.”

<<Previous   Next>>

 

The world had turned to ashes around them, and the air was full of the stench of charred flesh.  Had they been an invading army they would have been glad to see their work done for them, as no resistance barred them from the city gates.  However, though their leader bore a sword, violence was the furthest thought from their minds.

            The cloaked figure at the head of the column knelt down in the dust and closed the eyes of a corpse lying bent around cracked rubble, a grimace of terror etched on its battered face.  His followers could see a brief flash of sorrow pass across his visage before the strong lines of determination returned.

            “It has already begun.”  He said, nodding to himself.  “We have to hurry.”

            With that, he led his prayer warriors into the city of the damned, intent on their mission of mercy.

 

***

 

Neal stood on the balcony of the Hall of Elders, looking out over his domain.  In his mind the sounds of battle signified his soldiers’ successful defence of the Citadel.  He smiled smugly to himself, convinced that his leadership had groomed them into an efficient, professional army.

            No matter how efficient, the Citadel’s defenders found themselves ineffective against their current opponent.  Their arrows missed the mark, sword slashes and spear jabs were evaded regularly, almost routinely, and with every moment that passed, they felt victory slipping further and further away.

            This was particularly frustrating, given that their opponent was only one man.

            “CHARGE!”  A captain of the guard shouted, and a platoon of soldiers ran forwards.  They swooped down on the lone figure in the street with their captain in the lead.  He swung at their target with his sword, only to chop through empty air as the figure stepped neatly to the side.  The captain hardly knew what happened, as their enemy moved with unbelievable speed, but afterwards he realized that their adversary must have dodged and then grabbed his arm, redirecting his aim.  A heartbeat later, and his sword was lodged in one of his men’s intestines.

            By the time he turned around, the captain saw that all ten of the men who had followed him into battle were dead.  He saw the last man die, his head torn from his body by their foe in a burst of blood.

            “No man can move that fast.”  The captain moaned, incredulous.

            “Who ever said I was a man?”  Donovan Reza laughed.  He shoved his thumbs into the captain’s eye sockets and pulled off his face.  “Men feel fear.  I feed off it.”

            Reza looked up at the black tower, his smile clean white in the scrim of red blood on his face.  His hands and clothes dripped with it, spattered by an entire city of the dead.

            “I feed on fear, and it’s almost time for the main course.”

<<Previous   Next>>

“That’s impossible!”  Neal all but screamed, tossing one of the chairs in the Hall across the room to break against the wall.  He beat his hands on the table and then slumped into another chair, running his hands through his beard and then his hair.

            “I’m afraid that’s what the man said.  A rebellion has begun to the east.  Already several of our outposts have fallen.”  Jason told him again, repeating the messenger’s words.

            “But how?  We killed Alex, they were utterly destroyed, no one would dare…”

            “It appears that your benevolent rule has not quelled those seedier members of society that crave violence and revolution.  There are always rabble-rousers, Neal.  It is a king’s duty to ensure peace in his land.  We must gather our forces.”  Simon told him.

            Jason fought hard not to react to Simon’s description of Neal as a benevolent ruler of a peaceful community.  The sounds heard through his window put that to a lie.  If anyone craved violence it was no doubt Lamb.  Jay suspected that the rebellion was probably more trustworthy.  He guessed that they weren’t rebelling because they wanted to hurt people; he thought it much more likely that they believed in overthrowing tyranny.  That they remembered what liberty was like.

            “This is the report the messenger brought from the frontier.”  Jason said, holding out a scroll of paper, dusty and a little worn from the man’s panicked ride.  Simon took it, as Neal hung his head in his hands, obviously deeply perturbed by the news.  Jay reflected that the news did not sit too well with the idyllic picture in Neal’s head, the way he wanted the world to be.  When you’ve convinced yourself that you’re beloved by your people, open rebellion is something of a shock to the system.

            Simon read the scroll to them both:

 

To his lordship, Neal Osborne, from Outpost Fifteen, Captain Jasper commanding:

 

            Today at dawn we changed the guard as per routine.  Just as the new sentries reached the wall a man was spotted on the road, wearing a cloak and scraps of cloth to guard against the sandy winds of the Badlands.  We have had little snow of late, but it was still bitter cold.

            A warning was shouted as this lone figure approached, and still he came forward in silence.  A warning shot was fired, and by this time one of the sentries coming off duty had fetched me to the wall.  I saw the cloaked man come closer, ignoring the arrow that went past him.  Then he drew a sword from beneath his cloak and held it up to the sky.

            I know this sounds unbelievable, but all my men attest to the same thing:  that sword glowed white.  I remember light bulbs from my youth, and it was something like that.  The light shone from the blade.  From down the road suddenly many more men appeared.  Some were dressed like our soldiers, others were peasants.  We had not received word from Outpost Sixteen for two days, and I suspect he had been there first and the men in his outfit were deserters.

            They attacked the front gate, and I am writing this as they do so.  I fear that we will fall soon, and write to you so that you might know that there are those who oppose you.  Send your troops as quickly as possible - there is little hope that we will survive, but if you move swiftly you may be able to quell this rebellion before it gains strength.

 

            Neal was visibly enraged.  The cords of his neck stood out as he roared in anger, rising to his feet.  He called for servants to ready his horse and armour. 

            “Perhaps we should not act rashly, Neal.” Simon said, his voice flat.

            “Rashly?  We must ride down on them and take our vengeance swiftly!”  Neal roared.  He knocked over another chair.

            “No doubt they are following the messenger who brought this news.  They are coming here,” Lamb said.  “It’s the only thing that makes sense.  It may be a few more days, as they gather troops, but they will inevitably reach this fortress.  Since it is the seat of our power, it may be best to let them come.  They cannot challenge our strength here.”

            Simon’s voice was low, almost melodic, and as he spoke Neal began to calm.  As Simon finished talking, Neal slumped back down into his chair.  Jason watched in astonishment as his cousin was hypnotized.

            “Yes, you are right.”  Neal agreed, his voice monotone.  “We will wait for them to come to us.  They seek revolution, but all they will find is death.”

            He and Lamb both grinned, and their smiles were like Reza’s grim visage.  They grinned like madmen, like death’s heads, their eyes cold and empty.

<<Previous   Next>>

Neal stood on the balcony outside the Hall of Elders surveying his kingdom.  He held out his arms, reflecting that all he could see was his, from horizon to horizon and beyond.  In his mind it was a mighty empire, he was unable to see the abject poverty and vast suffering of his people.  He laughed, turning to Simon Lamb who stood in the shadows of the Hall behind him.

            “Look at what we have done!”  Neal laughed, grinning at his advisor.  “Look what we have made!  They said the world was ending, and we built a civilization!”

            Simon laughed along with Neal, nodding.  Look what we did.  Look at the world we have made.  He looked out at the muddy streets of their city, filled with slaves and serfs, butchering soldiers and festering evil.  He thought it was as wonderful as the world Neal saw in his mind.  For Simon Drake Lamb, the world was as it should be.

            “And so peaceful!”  Neal smiled, looking out over his kingdom once again.  “No one would ever dream of rebelling again, like my foolish cousin.  What better sign of our good works, than that our people live in peace and harmony?”

            “They love their king.”  Simon agreed.  Fear him, really, but what does it matter?  You believe you rule the globe, and I rule you, Simon thought.  Together we have made this world a charnel house.

            One of the world’s best butchers, a stalking shadow, strolled the streets of the city unimpeded.  Day or night, the peasants scattered if they saw him coming.  Or heard his footfalls.  They whispered about the black man, the reaper that walked.  Children heard bedtime stories that gave them nightmares and ran screaming if they saw his shadow.  If Neal Osborne was the king and Simon Drake Lamb the power behind the throne, than Donovan Reza was the sword that power wielded. 

            What the frightened citizenry failed to realize was that if they saw Reza coming then they were safe.  He hunted his prey from the darkness, came out of shadows like winds blowing up out of a still sky, something no one saw coming until it was upon them.  He walked the streets openly because he knew that it frightened them.  And he enjoyed their fear.  Relished it.

            It was late winter, but here on the west coast that did not mean as much as it did in other places.  It rained frequently, but rarely snowed.  It mattered not at all to Reza:  he could have walked through the Arctic now in his usual black pants and shirt and he would not have felt a chill.  His blood burned hot now, and fierce strength filled his sinews.  His hour was approaching again.  He could feel it.

            “Hail, good sir!”  Donovan called to an old man trying to scuttle off the street.  His voice was filled with good humour on the surface, but underneath there was something else entirely.  Something that made the aged peasant stop cold, pinpricks of frosty terror crawling up his back.

            “H-h-how m-m-might I be of service, sir?”  The cowering man asked.

            “Do you know what year it is?”  Reza asked, smiling.

            “I believe…” the old man paused, trying to remember, “In the old ways, it would be 2022.  No one much keeps a calendar anymore, but I’d say that would be right.”

            A young woman and her grandmother were trying to creep away down the same street, hoping to sneak past without being noticed while Reza held this conversation.  But when the old man said the year, the grandmother stopped short.  She stared at the back of the dark man, the night-stalker, and muttered something.

            “What was that?”  Donovan asked, whirling to stare right at the old woman.  Her granddaughter was trying to pull her away, but the crone kept repeating herself.

            “What is she saying?”  The old man asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

            “She only speaks Mandarin now,” the young woman explained.  “She understands things, but forgets how to speak in English.  She was never much good at it.  She says…”

            “She says it’s the year of the Tiger.”  Reza smiled.  “I like that.”

            “You understand her?”  The grizzled elder asked, genuinely surprised.

            “The curse of Babel does not apply to me,” Reza said, staring at the old man with blazing eyes.  The aged figure did not understand.  He only looked at the dark man in stupefaction.  He was once again genuinely surprised when he blinked, and found that Donovan was no longer standing there.  He understood why when the grandmother shrieked and the young woman screamed, pointing behind him.

            The old man turned as quickly as he could and felt the iron grip of a hand around his throat.  Single-handedly, Reza lifted him into the air.  He was still grinning, the smile of a skull or a spectre.  The old man could not believe how fast this demon moved.

            “I am the Tiger.  My time has come.”  Donovan smiled, the cruel grin of a predator, and then threw the old man across the street into a building, where he heard the snap of breaking bones.  The women continued shrieking as he stepped towards them.

            Jason heard the screams from his rooms in the Citadel.  He didn’t even bother to look out the window.  When he heard the gallop of a horse arriving below he hardly even pricked up his ears.  It was not until he heard the running footsteps and hands banging on doorways that he got curious.  He opened his door and saw a messenger, eyes glazed with panic, going from door to door in the hallway.

            The frenzied courier caught sight of Jay and ran forward eagerly, crying out.  He gripped the front of Jason’s rich robes and almost wept with relief.

            “Good lord, help me please!”

            “What is it?”  Jason asked, his heart beating too quickly in his chest for comfort.  The man’s obvious fear was almost contagious.

            “I bring a message from our outposts in the desert…  But I don’t dare tell them myself!  No, no, it’s bad luck to be the bearer of bad news.  I dare not!  But they’ll listen to you!”  The man seemed almost mad with terror, speaking hurriedly and glancing swiftly from side to side.

            “What news?”  Jason asked.

<<Previous   Next>>