Chapter 8

The entire formula is a function of whether the square inch in question is skin or nylon, and if it is nylon, what then is the true texture of the square inch hidden beneath it?
—Steve Martin, “Shopgirl”

Somewhere, a small dog started barking. As is so often the case with small dogs, there was nothing that could be seen, heard, or sensed in any other way by man. It is a matter for debate whether or not there was something only within the dog’s range of senses setting it off or whether it is just the dog’s own overactive paranoia.

Whatever the cause, it is universally agreed that it is quite annoying.

Ryan woke up at the disturbance. He looked around, then touched his eyes to check that they were open. Or at least, he tried to. One arm seemed to be pinned by a weight; the other one was as well, but Ryan was able to identify it as his own body. He shifted slightly to allow himself to unearth it, and winced in the dark as blood began flowing to it again.

As he waited for the pins and needles to subside, some memories began creeping back. Ryan could remember being woken up another time, earlier, by Josie.

Ryan couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours before Josie had stumbled, in the dark, over to his chair and shook him awake.

“Whuizzit?” he asked sleepily.

“I had a bad dream,” Josie whispered.

Out of a sense for chivalry Ryan had done his best, in his sleep-deprived state of mind, to comfort her. He ended up on the bed with her in his arms. He realized two things just as he heard her start to snore again: first, that she was on his arm; second, that she was naked. Currently nothing could be done about either thing, so he had curled his body around hers for warmth in the cold desert night and had fallen asleep.

All of this came back to Ryan as, one of his arms having been restored to working order, he tried to determine what had woken him up. The movement disturbed Josie, and she mumbled something and snuggled closer. He glanced down at her at just the right moment; the light of the pale silver moon caught off her skin and, metaphorically, blinded Ryan, just for that second.

To him, though, that second lasted a lifetime.

Josie woke up the next morning to a bright and awful sun; it seemed to be hammering bricks into her eyes, which, inexplicably, felt like they were pinecones, set on fire by a vengeful god. She groaned and tried to sit up, instantly regretting it. She collapsed back on the bed. Ryan stirred, then his eyes slowly rose, one after the other.

Slowly, he pushed himself onto his hands, then into a sitting position. He swung his legs off the bed and stretched, then turned back to Josie, who was holding her head in her hands in an attempt to keep it from splitting end to end.

“Had a bit too much to drink last night, did we?” he asked jovially.

Josie paused from her task to glare at him, clearly sending the message, that, were circumstances different, he would now be looking for his teeth.

“C’fee,” she hissed between her teeth. “C’fee!”

“All right,” said Ryan, “but I shall expect something in return.”

“C’fee!”

“We can discuss it later.”

Ryan got up, stretched again, then grabbed his sword which he had set leaning against a wall. His eye was caught by something as he did so, a glint of red. He stared at it; he knew what it was.

It was a breastplate, well-crafted, with etchings in the steel. However, it looked like it had been neglected for a long, long time; it was almost a solid piece of rust. The odd thing was, though, that it gleamed in a way that no rust should.

Ryan picked it up slowly, then buckled it on over his tunic. He slung his sword over his shoulder and headed into the bar of the inn. He got some of the strongest, blackest coffee he could, then headed back to the room. When he came in he found that Josie had managed to move on from the horizontal position and was now sitting cross-legged on the bed. Her face brightened as he walked in.

“C’fee?” she asked, with as much eagerness as she could muster.

“Indeed.”

Josie took the mug out of his hands and drank a deep draft of it, despite that it was scalding hot. She lowered the mug from her face after she was done and, beginning to feel reinvigorated, focused on Ryan’s new piece of armor.

“Where’d that come from?”

Ryan glanced down.

“Oh… I had it delivered to the room yesterday,” he said, quite truthfully.

That was as much conversation as Josie could manage for now, and silence reigned again. Just to give himself something to do, Ryan began collecting the clothes Josie had shed the night before. He couldn’t imagine what she had been doing; some high spirit or another had gotten a piece of clothing wedged in a shutter[1].

After a few minutes or so Ryan had managed to collect the set, which he deposited in a pile in front of the bed. Josie gave him a look of gratitude.

“Pass me my shirt, would you?” she asked.

Ryan hesitated, simply on aesthetic grounds; however, he didn’t hesitate for long, and handed it over.

“Thanks.” Josie slipped it over her head and wriggled into it.

“Are we leaving today?”

“Yeah, we should try to leave soon,” replied Ryan.

In the next hour Josie had gotten dressed, the two breakfasted, stocked up on some supplies for the road, and began heading towards the town’s exit.

Before they began the journey, Ryan asked Josie if she felt up to it.

“Never felt better,” she responded.

They set off across the burning desert.

They walked for a few hours across the sand under the relentless sand.

Nothing happened.

A few hours later, nothing continued to happen.

Inevitably, they took a break.

In between sparing sips of the precious water, both Ryan and Jose were very careful not to make eye contact. This meant, of course, that they made more eye contact then they would normally[2]. After each meeting, they would each glance away quickly, turning slightly red.

After this had gone on for about ten minutes, Ryan stood back up.

“Well, it’s not far now,” he said.

“What’re you talking about, mister? It’s another two days walking, at least!” Josie exclaimed.

“Oh, yes… Of course. Uh. Touch of the heat?” Ryan said, as If looking for an excuse.

“Yes, that must have been it,” said Josie, still suspicious.

Ryan coughed.

“We should keep going.”

Josie nodded.

They kept going.

In another few hours, the sun had begun sinking down beyond the distant mountains, now just sticking up over the heat haze of the horizon, which itself was starting to fade in the chill of the desert night.

The winds started to pick up, blowing the sand, stinging all exposed skin. They put whatever spare clothes they had with them on, both to protect their flesh and to keep themselves warm.

The winds blew harder, until eventually it was no longer possible to see more than a few feet ahead of them. The last rays of the setting sun glinted off the sand, turning the air into a moving river of red sand waves.

“Stay behind me!” shouted Ryan back to Josie.

Her eyes nearly closed, Josie was able to keep him in sight until, abruptly, he vanished.

She felt panic rising and half-ran, half-stumbled forward. She felt the sand under her feet begin to slip as she fell back and then forwards until she, too, had been swallowed by the desert.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Josie’s eyes snapped open. They saw nothing. She turned her head, and saw nothing. She turned her head once more, in the opposite direction, and saw the back of Ryan’s head, extremely close to hers.

So… There was some light, then, coming from gods-knew-where.

“That’s right.”

Josie flinched. While she had stopped paying attention, Ryan had propped his head up on his elbows.

“Wait… What’d you say?” she asked, now confused.

“Never mind,” he said affably.

Josie made the effort to sit up halfway.

“Where are we?” she asked, waving an arm around in the vague direction of “where.”

Ryan moved his lips as if rehearsing what to say.

“I think you might say… Home. Yes. This is my home.”

Josie’s mouth dropped open, but she shut it quickly and narrowed her eyes.

“Your home is a dark hole under the desert?”

“Not… Exactly.” Ryan stood up. “Follow me.”

Josie got to her feet and followed him. What other choice did she have?

[1] Never you mind which piece.
[2] It always works like this.

Read on!

Chapter 7

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
—Simon & Garfunkle, “The Sound of Silence”

The restaurant was dimly lit and the atmosphere was smothering. It was busy at this time, packed full of people and the sounds of busy mastication. There was also the babble of many people talking all at once, with the indistinction that comes from talking with your mouth full. There was a large sign on a near wall with that day’s menu on it. Ryan and Josie examined it.

After they had perused it[1] and selected their food, they want and found a seat. Before too long a man, the waiter apparently, came up and asked their orders. They told him; Ryan got the tumblo[2] steak and Josie had a desert salad[3]. After the waiter left, they made uneasy small talk until he returned with their meals.

After the initial rush to get as much food in their mouths as quickly as possible and they had settled into the rhythm of fork to plate to mouth, Ryan attempted conversation.

“How did you know I was heading to Calamity City?”

Josie stopped, fork halfway to her mouth.

“Deduction,” she said.

Ryan nodded. Of course.

“What are you heading there for?” asked Josie in between bites.

“I have some business there.”

She glanced up from her plate.

“Business? Mercenary business?”

Ryan smiled uneasily.

“I suppose you could say that. I have a job to do there.”

Josie gave him a hard look, the severity of which was only slightly detracted from by the fork sticking out of her mouth.

“And I suppose you aren’t going to tell me what?”

Ryan shook his head. “Sorry.”

They continued eating in silence.

“What are you going to be doing there?” he asked eventually.

Josie shrugged attractively.

“Whatever there is to do,” she said vaguely.

Silence descended again.

Eventually dinner reached the stage where each person is just poking the detritus of the meal around their plate, pondering whether they could eat another bite without exploding.

After a while Ryan realized Josie was staring at him.

“What,” he asked.

“What are you? You move like an assassin, but I know you aren’t one; you don’t have the style. You fight like a soldier, but you’ve been flashing too much money for one of them. You talk and think like you’ve been to taught how to, but you don’t look like one and you aren’t as snotty.” Josie leaned back in her seat, having said her piece.

Ryan was stunned.

“Er… Thank you. For most of that, anyway. I think. Really, though, it’s easiest just to think of me as a mercenary.”

Josie narrowed her eyes.

“You’re looking awfully shifty, mister.”

Ryan coughed.

“Well, the truth is more… Complicated. However, things may become clearer to you. And is that not the hope of mankind?”

“No,” said Josie flatly. “It’s not.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot tell you…everything. Not now.”

Josie sighed, and shifted in her seat.

“I suppose I’ll have to settle for that.”

After dinner they made their way back to the inn. Inside, Ryan was told a man was waiting for him.

“Where is he?” he asked the messenger. The messenger pointed discreetly[4] to a shadowy shape in the corner. Ryan squinted at it, but it made no difference. The shadow was obviously (or inobviously, depending on how you approach it) an experienced lurker.

Ryan weaved through the various tables to the corner, taking a seemingly random path that coincidentally never left his back exposed. He sidled along the back wall until he came to the obscured table.

“Well?” he asked after a while.

There was a flare of light and a smell of sulfur. And there goes my nightvision, thought Ryan. He heard someone taking a pull on a cigarette, and then he heard a gravelly voice.

“It’s time.”

Ryan nodded.

“I’m ready.”

“You know what to do?”

Ryan smiled grimly.

“I was born knowing. In a manner of speaking.”

The figure inclined its head, then waved a hand in Josie’s direction; she was imbibing a drink at the bar.

“Who’s the dish?”

Ryan shrugged.

“Some girl I picked up.”

“She’s a looker.”

Ryan had to agree.

“I hope there won’t be any trouble, like last time. Right?” The shadow seemed to have something on its mind.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“All right.” The figure appeared to refocus. “I have something for you.”

“Really? That’s nice. I’m afraid I don’t have anything at all.”

“Don’t mess me about. I had it delivered to your room, it’ll be waiting for you.” With that the shadow stood up. It looked around, then dissolved into the other shadows. Ryan waited a second, then waved his hand where it had been. It met no other resistance than the cigarette smoke, even now dissipating in the air.

Ryan stood up and made his way to the bar counter. He tapped Josie on the shoulder and stepped back quickly, just in case. She swiveled slowly.

“I’m done,” he said.

“That’sh good. Bed now?” Josie had obviously joined the land of the amiably drunk.

“Yesh, I mean, yes. Time for bed. Looks like you’ll need to sleep this one off.”

Josie nodded, and then grabbed the counter to get her balance back.

“Okay, mishter. Jusht one more drink for the road, eh?” she laughed bubbly.

“I’m afraid not.” With that, Ryan grabbed Josie around the waist. The girl was slim enough that Ryan could get one arm completely around her. He grunted slightly and draped her over a shoulder. Josie started to protest, but apparently decided to start singing instead.

Nobody else even bothered to look. This sort of thing going on was obviously not an uncommon event.

Ryan managed to reach their room before Josie reached verse five of the epic poem[5]. He laid her out on the bed and she began snoring busily. He stared at her for minute, drinking her in with his eyes. Even drunk, sleeping, body sprawled haphazardly on the bed, he loved to just… Look at her.

Ryan sighed, and made himself comfortable in the chair. Before too long, a duet of snores was reverberating in the room.

[1] If the word can be used to describe reading something on a wall.
[2] A kind of lizard known for taking omnivorousness to the extremes. In the desert, of course, there are real extremes; when food was nonexistant, it was known to eat sand.
[3] Cactus, with assorted scrubs and snake chunks.
[4] In the inn at Scrod, it was never wise to extend any of your limbs too far from your body if you were, well, attached to them.
[5] After all, limericks are a form of poetry.

Read on!

Chapter 6

A woman has got to love a bad man once or twice in her life to be thankful for a good one.
—Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings

After wandering the streets, Ryan and Josie had come to a stop in front of a house. It was more of a ground-floor apartment, really.

“This is where my brother lives,” Josie said.

Ryan nodded. They stood around.

“I’ll just knock, shall I?” said Ryan.

He stepped up and knocked smartly on the door. There were some sounds of miscellaneous chaos[1] and then the door opened.

For a second Ryan couldn’t tell that it had. Then his eyes adjusted and he realized a great bear of a man was filling up the entranceway.

“Hello?” a booming voice asked.

“Hello,” Ryan responded. He decided the best thing to do would be to step aside, revealing the slender form of Josie.

“Hi, Boris,” she said.

The great man’s face lit up.

“Josie! It’s been so long! What made you stop by?”

Josie hesitated.

“Oh, I was…just passing through, and thought I’d say hello.”

“And who is this you’ve brought with you?” Boris asked, gesturing at Ryan.

“My name is Ryan,” said he, and stepped forward to shake Boris’ hand. The man had, unsurprisingly, a grip that would powder stone. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Just passing through, eh? Where are you on your way to? When do you plan on leaving?” Boris asked, turning back to Josie.

Again, Josie stopped to think.

“Oh, we’ll be pushing on to Calamity City. I expect we’ll be leaving pretty soon, probably tomorrow.”

“We? And who is this, that he should tag along with you in such a fashion!” One of Boris’ sausage-like fingers prodded Ryan in the chest.

“Ryan is… a…” Josie halted.

“A mercenary. I’m a mercenary,” Ryan chimed in. Josie gave him a look of gratitude.

Boris paused in thought, his brow wrinkling in cogitation.

“Oh, well. If Josie likes you, that’s good enough for me!” he boomed.

“Well, this has been fun,” said Josie. “I’ll see you around, Boris.”

“Don’t be a stranger!” Boris called to their retreating figures.

Now Ryan and Josie walked along the street in silence.

“So… You used to live here, then?” asked Ryan, finally.

“Yes.”

“Right. Um.” Ryan was aware that all was not well. “What made you move?”

“I needed a change of scenery.”

“Ah, I know how that is.” Ryan gave up. “D’you want to get some dinner?”

“Yeah, why not.”

Family is always a touchy subject, thought Ryan. I know.

[1] This always happens when somebody’s coming to the door after somebody else has knocked. It could be an empty warehouse with the answerer standing a foot from the door, and you’d still hear it.

Read on!

Chapter 5

Some men are born mediocre, some men achieve mediocrity, and some men have mediocrity thrust upon them.
—Joseph Heller

Ryan awoke with a start. As most people do when they first wake, he experienced a moment of great existential uncertainty. Who am I? Where am I? Oh gods, where did this lampshade come from?

Luckily for Ryan, though, it was limited to wondering how this blanket had gotten on him.

It was then that he noticed Josie staring at him.

“Good… Morning?” he said, unsure if that was the right answer or not, not sure what the question even was.

“Morning,” said Josie curtly. Ryan got the impression that he had done something wrong, but he had no idea.

He yawned, and stretched. The blanket slid off him, and he noticed that his shirt was missing. “What-” he started to say. He was cut off by the observation that his shirt had, somehow, ended up on Josie.

It was by this time, somewhat later than would be ideal, that Ryan realized he could not remember much of what happened last night. Through the mental fog of morning he thought he could remember… Did he punch someone? And then they got their room… What happened after that? He thought he might be able to remember someone very rudely trying to gain access to their room and being forced to throw the intruder out a window, but he couldn’t be sure.

Ryan looked over at Josie again. Her mood didn’t seem to be improving.

“I think I’m going to get something to eat,” he said carefully. “Can I get you anything?” She nodded.

“I’ll be back soon,“ he said, and stood up. “Er… Could I have my…? Uh. Never mind, I can see you need it…” He wandered out of the room.

In the main tavern, Ryan surveyed the destruction apparently wrought last night. Stepping over a table that had somehow been cut in two, he approached the barkeep. This one looked almost human.

“What do you offer for breakfast?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“We have the best breakfast for miles around! We’ve got sausage, sausage pudding-” Ryan shuddered. “-egg, egg custard, double fried chips with ham, and cheese spools[1]. What’ll it be?”

Ryan considered his options.

“I’ll take, um, the double fried chips with ham and two eggs. Scrambled, please.”

“Coming right up,” the barkeep said. Ryan was beginning to like him; it’s easy to be appreciative of anyone willing to make things easier in the morning.

He decided to push his luck.

“Do you have any orange juice?”

The barkeep walked over from where he had been polishing a mug.

“Of course we do! What do you take us for?” the, and Ryan was willing to consider him one, man said.

“I’ll take a glass,” Ryan said. How bad could it be?[3]

It was orange, yes. But it could not be considered, by any stretch of Ryan’s imagination, juice. It glooped. He tipped it sideways, and after a couple of seconds the substance started to slide out. For the sake of curiosity, Ryan positioned the container[4] so that some of it slid into his mouth.

He chewed it for a second, then incautiously swallowed it. It tasted… Orange.

Really, it was actually kind of like a smoothie.

Ryan asked for another cupful, grabbed the plates of breakfast, and, balancing it all carefully, made his way back to the room.

When he came in he was glad to see that Josie had, in his absence, opened the shutters on the window and was sitting in a patch of sunlight. That had to be a good sign, right?

“I’ve got breakfast,” he said redundantly.

“You’d better,” she said, but there was a hint of approval.

Looking around, Ryan didn’t see a surface to put the dishes on, so he put them on the bed. From the looks of it, the worst had already happened to it.

Josie padded over and examined the food. Ryan watched nervously, but he didn’t need to; after checking to make sure that it wasn’t moving, the majority of it was recognizable, and it wasn’t producing light under its own power, Josie began devouring it. The way she ate was inspirational; she ate as if the food had insulted her personally.

After a couple busy minutes, she looked up. She gestured at Ryan with a double fried chip, a questioning expression on her face. Ryan waved her off. Josie shrugged, and turned back to the dish.

A couple more minutes passed before Josie, satiated, lay back on the bed, her arms behind her head. Wordlessly Ryan passed her the orange fluid. She took it gratefully and tipped it to her lips.

After she was done she let out a happy little sigh.

Ryan was entranced. He found Josie oddly hypnotizing. Usually, watching someone eat is a test of endurance, but he found everything she did held a strange attraction.

She noticed him staring and looked over.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said.

“You’re… Welcome.”

There was a pause.

“What mayhem do you have planned for today?” Josie asked, but Ryan could pick up an overtone of amusement.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sniffed.

“Hah.”

There was another pause.

Ryan attempted to break the silence.

“So you have family here?”

He got the impression that he had said the wrong thing.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, uh… Want to have a look around town? We might run into them.”

Josie shrugged.

“Not much else to do, is there?”

“I guess not,” said Ryan.

They got dressed and left the inn.

As they walked down Scrod’s main street, Ryan finally asked the question.

“…What happened last night?”

Josie stood very still.

“You mean you don’t remember?”

“Well, no.”

“Oh.” She paused. “…Neither do I.”

“I see.”

They stood in mutual embarrassment.

Ryan coughed.

“Well… Let’s keep going.”

“Right, right.”

They walked on.

[1] A regional dish. Cheese wrapped around whatever was left over from the stew[2].
[2] Which, in turn, consisted of yesterday’s leftovers.
[3] Never ask this question.
[4] He couldn’t bring himself to think that a substance like that would be put in a glass.

Read on!

Chapter 4

The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.
—Ursula K. LeGuin

Scrod came into view.

It wasn’t much to look at. The only reason Scrod existed was that there needs to be a point X between points A and B so people Y don’t have to go the long way around, by C.

It was twilight by the time Ryan and Josie plodded into town. They had been walking for two days, with nothing more to stare at than endless desert.

They looked for an inn, and lo, there it was.

It was utilitarian; it had few windows, and a lot of smell. The sign overhanging the door said: The Happy Flan. What in the hells? wondered Ryan.

Despite his misgivings, he pushed the door open and entered. It was far worse than the pub at Forque.

For starters, there were no cunning lights; there were no lights at all, besides a few lamps behind the bar and whatever the clientele was smoking that evening. Oh yes, the clientele was another bad thing. The few lights there were served only to gleam off the eyes, watching, and a wide assortment of metallic objects, waiting.

Ryan, calculating quickly, counted 27.333[1] eyes.

He sighed, and held the door open for Josie as she stumbled in. Raised in the desert or not, she was not in shape for miles of walking.

There was a change in the texture of the air when she came in. It practically said “Hur, hur, hur.”

Oh gods, thought Ryan. Well, let’s get this over with…

He walked over to the bar.

“Barkeep?”

A figure dissolved into vision behind the counter.

“Yur?” it communicated [2].

“Lodgings, please.”

“Hur, hur, hur.” The creature leered at Josie. “Youse can have room 5… The suite.”

Ryan ignored this.

“Thank you. We’ll check out tomorrow.”

Somewhere in the depths of the murk in the inn a voice said, “Yeh, right.”

Ryan had been expecting it, and had already planned what to do. He turned to the man next to him, sized him up (which was not easy to do; he appeared to have been sized up until he was the size of a door), and punched him in what was left of his ear.

As the man went over, he grabbed Josie, who appeared to have fallen asleep while standing up, and elbowed (as well as kneed, chinned, and foreheaded) his way through the crowd to their room.

He bolted the door and barricaded it. Normally he wouldn’t have bothered, but it looked like Josie needed some sleep; it would be best not to wake her up.

Ryan laid her out on the bed. She started to snore.

The sand and wind had essentially scrubbed their skin raw; all of the make-up caking her face had been sacrificed to the desert. She had swapped her, er, “professional” clothes for practical desert wear.

Ryan stared at her. She was… Beautiful.

He shook himself. By the sounds in the hall, the tavern brawl had just started to heat up. Ryan sighed, unsheathed his sword, and moved the lone chair to face the door.

[1] You'd rather not know.
[2] “Said” is too strong a word.

Read on!

Chapter 3

Pity the atheist, for it's so very hard to blaspheme against something you refuse to believe in.
——Anon.

After stopping to get supplies, Ryan and Josie hit the road.

The edge between Forque and the desert was well-defined. Here, a marketplace, life, civilization. A foot beyond, howling emptiness. Ryan stopped on the edge and stood. Nothing could be seen on the horizon, which itself was flickering and dancing in the heat.

Ryan stepped into the desert.

At least there was a path to follow. Had there not been, it didn't matter how good your sense of direction was: the desert would swallow you.

Josie, though, had grown up in the desert. She knew the stories of the men who would disappear into the desert, seeking answers, and wouldn't be seen until years later. They would stumble into town, filthy, unkempt. They wouldn't be able to speak, but, after being given some of the precious water that each town safeguarded, they would begin to talk.

At first nobody would be able to understand them. The words and sounds blended together[1] into a tapestry of incomprehensible sound.

Eventually, though, the men would regain control of their tongues. And the first thing they would do is vow to never, ever go back into the desert.

Later, Josie told Ryan some of the stories.

They walked along the path. Conversation was rare and brief, as both were conserving their strength, and, more importantly, keeping the wind from coating the insides of their mouths with sand.

Peering at the horizon, Ryan thought he could actually see something protruding from the heat haze. Another few minutes of travel brought it into actual view.

It was a giant rock.

Ryan stared at it.

“What is it?” he asked Josie.

She shrugged. “It's a big rock. It's always been there. So?”

Ryan just stared. After a couple of seconds, he shook his head and suggested a break. Josie, glad to be off her feet, readily agreed.

While she sat out of the biting wind, sheltered by the rock, Ryan started climbing up the face of it. It was easily forty feet tall, with few footholds; the constant wind and sandstorms had smoothed and polished it far beyond anything any artisan could do.

Josie, watching him, thought he must be part gecko. He miraculously made it all the way to the top, where he stood and surveyed the panorama of desert.

After a minute Ryan spotted something. He gave an indistinct shout, and Josie saw him start running down the nearly vertical side of the rock.

“No!” she shouted, as she watched him start to tumble. Somehow, though, Ryan managed to make it nearly halfway down before making a desperate jump, turning it into a roll in the air, and hitting the sand with his shoulder.

Josie ran up to him. From the way he was cursing, he couldn't be seriously injured. She prodded him with her toe.

“Bloody fool,” she muttered.

Then she saw what had made him descend with such haste.

As it has been mentioned, Josie grew up in the desert. She had desert eyes; resistant to sun, long-eyelashed to keep sand out, with vision better than a hawk's. And she saw, through the practiced eye of survival, a man on horseback.

Josie dived behind the rock. By her estimate, the man was still at least a thousand feet away. He couldn't have seen her, could he?

Suddenly it didn't matter anymore whether she had been seen; Ryan was struggling to his feet, spitting sand out and blaspheming in a language she didn't know[2]. Bloody idiot!

Josie peeked around the rock. It looked like the man, or the horse at least, was faced in the opposite direction. She ran from behind the rock, dived, and hit Ryan so their bodies were perfectly perpendicular, cutting him off in the middle of a curse that would have turned most of the sand dune near them into glass.

Ryan fell heavily, with Josie on top of him. She slapped a hand over his mouth and holding up the finger of her other hand up to her mouth in the universal signal to be quiet. Once she was sure he'd gotten the message, she threw herself sideways and lay alongside him, pressing herself into the sand.

“Can you see him?” she hissed.

She saw Ryan's head turn at the same time she saw the shadow fall over them.

“Yes, I can,” came the definite answer.

Josie heard the crunch of sand being compressed. The rider must have swung himself off.

“Need some help there?” came the unknown voice, deep and rich.

She felt Ryan start to stand, using his sword to push himself up. For a second Josie wondered if he actually had gotten hurt.

“I don't believe so,” she heard Ryan say weakly.

“Very good. Your money or your life, then, if you please,” said the mystery voice.

Turning her head, Josie was just in time to see Ryan, so feeble seconds before, grab the hilt of his sword and draw it out, while launching himself forward at the unknown man.

She scrambled to her feet as the sounds of metal meeting metal began. Josie turned to see Ryan locked in mortal combat with a man dressed in the traditional robes of the wale[3], the deep-desert men.

Disbelieving, she saw Ryan knock the curved sword out of the man's grip. She saw the sword start to come down; it looked like the man was going to be cut in half. At the last second, though, Ryan turned it a little so only the hilt came thundering down on the man's head.

It all happened in about 10 seconds.

After the man was tied up, relieved the more valuable of his possessions (or what were now his possessions), Josie and Ryan continued along the path.

Josie turned her head to ask Ryan something, and decided not to. She gave him a fierce glare, then concentrated on the path again.

Eventually, to the man trying to gnaw through the gag placed around his mouth, it looked like the shimmering horizon of the desert itself swallowed them.

[1] This blending effect is where the phrase “He's gone smoothie” comes from.
[2] One might wonder how Josie could tell Ryan was blaspheming when she didn't know the language. It's just one of those things. However, the forked lightning coinciding with his rhythmic, syllabic curse-chant was something of a tip-off.
[3] The name “wale” comes from the marks left on their skin from the sandstorms of the western deserts.

Read on!

Chapter 2

Now Zeus was a womanizer
Always on the make
But Hera usually punished her that Zeus was one to take
—Cake, “When You Sleep”

It was morning.

Ryan got out of bed, what was left of it, anyway. He walked over to the rough window, unbarred the heavy wooden shutters, and opened them. Light, red as a battlefield, streamed in from the bloody sunrise.

He narrowed his eyes in the glare. “What are you thinking, lady?” he asked under his breath, apparently to the morning sky. Surveying the street[1], Ryan plotted the day out in his mind.

Back on the bed, a lump stirred.

Ryan turned.

“Rise and shine, darlin',” he said.

Josie yawned.

“What time is it?” she asked.

Ryan looked at the sky again.

“Looks like it’s around nine,” he replied.

Josie yawned again.

They breakfasted in the pub on a hearty[2] meal of what the morning barkeep called “sausage pudding.”

Thirty minutes later, Ryan stepped out of the pub into the smother of the desert. He heard the door open and shut behind him and heard footsteps padding up behind him.

He turned, and in the light of day saw that Josie, underneath the traditional costume of her profession, was actually decently attractive. She had long, sun-bleached blonde hair, penetrating green eyes, and the deep tan that all who live in the desert acquire.

For a second, Ryan was taken back. Then he recovered, smiled, and asked if, so long as she had no other plans, would Josie mind showing him around town?

Josie looked at him suspiciously. It was, after all, a town one could cross in about five minutes. If you ran and were unobstructed, you get from one side to another in maybe thirty seconds. Nevertheless, she agreed, although it would, of course, cost extra.

Ryan smiled again.

Josie noticed that, at some point, he had strapped a sword to his back.

“Where’d that come from?” she asked, pointing at the scabbard.

“What?” Ryan glanced where she was pointing. “I’ve… Always had this.”

Josie shrugged. Idiots who carried swords and didn’t know how to use them were soon… Cut down to size.

A minute later Josie had led him to the blacksmith.

“I’ll be right out,” he said, and stepped inside.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust. Once they had, he could see the dark shape laboring in front of an oven. Ryan could feel the heat on his face from where he stood.

He glanced around until he found a bell, with a sign stuck to it saying: “Ryng for Serviss.” Ryan rang it.

After a little bit the dark shape stopped whatever it was doing and sidled over to the counter.

“’Ello,” he said. “Can I help ye?”

“I certainly hope so. Do you have a grindstone around?”

“O’ course we do, lad. S’right over there, in the corner.”

Ryan glanced over. There was a dark shape that had a circular aspect to its shadow.

“Thank you, Mr., er…?”

“Serviss, lad, just like on the sign.” The figure, still cloaked in darkness, moved back to the oven.

Ryan pulled his sword out in an easy, practiced motion and strode over to the grindstone. He began turning the handle until it was going fast enough. Then he held the edge of his sword to the spinning stone.

After two seconds of the sparking, screeching sound the blacksmith ran up.

“What do ye think ye’re playing at!?” he shouted above the sound.

Ryan paused, and looked over.

“It’s all rust, lad, ye can’t sharpen it,” Serviss said kindly, now he thought he was dealing with someone simple.

Ryan stopped sharpening his sword, and turned around. Something in his eyes made Serviss stand back.

The blade swung around in a wide arc, nearly decapitating Serviss, but ending up safely sheathed, back on Ryan’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said solemnly. “How much will that be?”

“Er… Free?”

“That’s very kind of you,” Ryan said, and left the dark tent.

After he was gone, Serviss breathed a sigh of relief. He started to turn, but a small sound caught his ear.

As he watched, the top of one of the sturdy, foot-thick, hard-as-stone wooden pillars keeping the tent up started slipping sideways. He looked closer, and saw that there was a perfectly smooth cut going straight through it. And then, because even when astonished and enraged the human brain retains some instinct for self-preservation, he ran just as the tent started to collapse.

Back outside, Ryan rejoined Josie.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, and then asked, “Where to next?”

Ryan paused in thought. He looked up at the sky, then turned his head all around to take in everything around them. He glanced at the ground, then looked back at the sky. He appeared to reach a decision.

“I think it’s time for me to move on,” he said. “How much will that be?”

“Uh… That’ll be 37 flecks[3],” she said, sounding mildly surprised.

Ryan dug into one of his pockets and withdrew some coins.

“Here’s forty,” he said, “keep the change.”

“Thanks, mister.” Now Josie appeared to be making up her mind. “Er… Where are you headed?”

Ryan glanced along the road. “Next town over,” he said.

“Oh, you mean Scrod? Y’know… I got some fam’ly there. I could show you the way, if you like. It’ll cost you, of course.”

“Of course,” said Ryan. “I’d be very happy for you to come. Anything you want to get before we go?”

Josie shot a look at the pub. For just a second, a strange expression appeared on her face. Then it was gone.

“Nah,” she said. “Let’s go.”

[1] Forque, after all, was not a big town.
[2] In the manner of a true pub breakfast, it still had the ventricles.
[3] The local currency. Origins forgotten.

Read on!

Chapter 1

A man walks down the street
It's a street in a strange world
Maybe it's the Third World
Maybe it's his first time around
—Paul Simon, “You Can Call Me Al”

Here, a desert, shining in the moon; there, a figure, walking the trail, dust rising up at each step.

The figure reached the edge of town. By the light of the pub that dominated the entrance to the town, the figure became recognizable as a man. He had rusty red hair, and eyes that flickered and danced with fire in the lamplight. He blinked, and appeared to be thinking for a second. Then he went inside, pausing to glance at the sign over the door.

“Bidens in viā...” he muttered, then laughed.

Out in the desert the sand shifted and slid into the marks his feet had left, removing any trace of his path.

In the bar, the man ordered a drink and surveyed the room. Shadows covered most of the inhabitants by design; inspecting the lights, he noticed that some clever soul had designed a sort of swivel mechanism so that they could be tilted to throw shadow, rather than illuminate. Obviously the pub's owner had no illusions about the kind of clientele he got after sundown.

A girl squeezed through the press of people and leaned on the bar, making sure to enhance her... dividends. Despite the clothes and make-up she wore, all of which shouted “negotiable affection,” the man could see that she was younger than the women her profession usually attracted.

Not that it mattered much to him, of course.

After ordering her drink, she glanced over, looked away, then looked back. Her eyes narrowed as she calculated the size of his wallet.

Deciding that it was, yea, a good size, she broke into a smile.

“So mister, what brings you to our little town of Forque? Come to ravish our ladyfolk?” She giggled horribly.

“I was getting lodgings in your fine pub.”

“Fine pub? The Fork in the Road?” Her brow creased as she tried to fit both in one mental image. “'ere mister, what's your name?”

He stared. His lips moved as if working something out.

“You can call me... Ryan.” He laughed, and a smile flickered across his face like the last rays from a dying sun. “Yes, Ryan.”

“Well, Ryan, my name is Josie. Now am I mistaken or are you traveling all by your lonesome? I thought so. We-ell... We got a special... service for newcomers, 'specially the ones traveling by themselves. Interested?”

Ryan grinned. Finally they had gotten down to business.

“Certainly, my lady. But aren't you a little...” He stopped as Josie glared. “...uncomfortable? I believe my room is ready.”

“Oh sir, I do hope you aren't trying to take advantage of a young maiden!” she said, in face of all the evidence.

Ryan finished his drink, put it on the bartop, and tossed some coins down. One landed in a small puddle of spilt drink, where it began to fizz[1]. He stood up and headed towards the stairs leading to the rooms, checking to make sure Josie was following him.

See them walking along the dark hall; Ryan's step is confident, although he has never been to this place before. See him, without much thought, grab a pickpocket's wrist as he made a grab, then press a few tarnished coins into his palm. Watch as the duo step into the room, watch as the door closes softly, and listen for the sound of a lock sliding into place.

Make sure you watched and listened carefully, for there was nothing more to be seen or heard until the next morning.

[1] The drinks of Forque are well-known for being virulent, in as many ways as chemicals can be mixed to intoxicate the human system. The one Ryan was drinking, for instance, couldn't be served in a metal mug[2].
[2] Well, it could, just not for very long.

Read on!

Prologue

The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.
—H.P. Lovecraft

Where did the gods come from? Many men had tried to answer this question, and the only answer they really found was that it's not a question to ask in a building that doesn't have a grounded roof.

The current accepted theory, however, hypothesized by men who knew exactly when to duck is that belief... Acrues. Sloshes around, in the vernacular, the object which is believed in. And all that sort of anthropomorphizing can lead to quite some funny gods.

The first gods arose when man looked at the night sky, into infinity, and trembled. Gods were invented to put something between men and infinity, the great unknowable depths of the biverse[1].

Of course, throughout the course of evolution, the gods evolved alongside men.

Gods don't like it to be known, but they are not immortal.

As with men, perhaps more so, only the strong survive. Either adapt the dogma, or get hit by karma.

[1] The current belief in parallel universes went that there are only two of them: this one, and the one where you made the right decision.

Read on!

Dedication

I get by with a little help from my friends: Gus V, the ubiquitous Quiggy, Benner, and the rest of the crew.

And, of course, none of this would have been possible without my favorite u-tensil.

Read on!

Information

If you're interested in how I did the “Read more!” links, as I know at least one of you is, well, the answer lies in Blogger Help, specifically here: How can I create expandable post summaries?. There are some other extremely useful articles, like How do I post a book?. I definitely recommend Bloggers as intent on site design as I to spend a li'l time browsing. It's pretty cool.

Read on!

Functional

Okay, I think this blog is done for now. From this post on, that “Read more!” text will take you to the rest of the post. I figured that... since I'm going to have to be writing entire chapters, it would make the main page pretty much unnavigable. This shoud help.

I did some writing the other day, and I figure that to slap out 2000 words will take take me about three hours. That's a fairly large amount of my day, but I figure I can make up some of the work, and maybe even get ahead, during the weekends. I'm also going to ask my English teacher if she'll let me work on it during our creative writing times.

I really cannot wait for November now.

Read on!

Test

Testing something to make it cleaner... This will work, please?

Read on!