by J M Guillen
JM Guillen
Wind Slinger
JM Guillen
Irrational Worlds
Random Encounter
September 13, 1997
Syracuse, New York
Earth
“Liz took her final steps away from the house she had lived in for six years,” I muttered under my breath, my dramatic words raspy. “Little did she know what lay ahead.”
Personal narration is cool; I don’t care what anyone says.
Hidden beneath a canopy of silent stars, I pulled my motorcycle out of my mother’s garage. I’d stowed a few changes of clothing in the saddlebags, along with a beat up road atlas, three core rulebooks I couldn’t bear to part with, some oddly shaped dice, and two thousand four hundred dollars.
And eighteen cents.
“Okay…” I swallowed and pushed a long strand of black hair out of my face. My heart felt like a thunderstorm in my chest.
Crickets chirped in the sable night, and moonlight trickled silver through the trees. Summer wind danced in my hair, warm and sweet. I couldn’t help but smile at its caress. The moment it touched my pale skin, some deep, slumbering part of my mind awoke.
Breathe. I heard Simon’s grumbling voice as if he were right there, directing me. You won’t feel nothin’ if your silly head is all tangled, Hasenpfeffer.
I closed my eyes.
Almost immediately, I felt uncanny power surge inside my blood. It ran cold and sharp, yet tasted sweet as honey mead. It capered and twirled through me.
Resting within my athletically modest chest lay a tempest, an echo of a maelstrom that sang and screamed and whispered. That Wind had coursed around the world since the dawn of time; its melody haunted my dreams. It had danced through the world before there were men to name it.
I quieted my mind and stood still for a long moment while I focused. Getting word to my father was proving almost impossible. My mentor, however…
Simon had arranged a certain method for keeping tabs on me.
As the Wind’s tumult built within me, I touched the hoop earring I wore in my right ear.
Azure brilliance burst from the tiny inscriptions upon it. Those sigils pulsed with Wind that sang and capered.
And burned.
“Simon,” I half whispered, half thought, and the Wind caught the word, carrying it away. “I’m leaving home. I was an idiot and did exactly what you told me not to do. Lorne will start chasing me soon, and he’ll be out for blood.”
A gust of nighttime warmth accompanied my final whisper, carrying my words to one Simon Girard. It wefted through my hair, the warmth like a gentle caress.
I toyed with the earring and sighed appreciatively, buoyed as I often got on the trilling Wind.
As always, it hummed, singing with unseen power.
My sigh settled into a frown.
“Simon’s going to kill me.” I blinked, refocusing, and took a deep breath.
Trembling just a bit, I pulled an envelope out of my pocket and placed it in the mailbox. The letter seemed idiotic, but I’d already tried calling my geek of a dad. He’d always told me, “Just give me a call if you ever need anything.”
He hadn’t picked up.
That irritated me. But I at least wanted him to know something about what happened here and how bad things had gotten with Mom.
That left me on my own.
I sighed.
Correspondence handled, I took off, pushing the bike over a half block before firing it up. From here, I knew neither Mom nor her caretaker would ever hear the motor start. Before the house slipped from sight, I took one final glance.
Mom hadn’t woken in weeks, but if she were ever going to stir, it would be while I fired up the Valkyrie, preparing to leave home.
“I wanted her to be well, you asshole,” I growled, thinking of the bargain I’d made. “A vegetative coma wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. If you think I’m living up to my end of this bullshit, you’ve got another think coming.”
No response.
Naturally.
Ass.
Somewhere in the wide world, Mister Lorne knew very well that he’d played me dirty. Sure, my mother lived…
She’d just never walk again, never laugh or sing.
This was not how things I’d meant for things to go.
I growled low under my breath and turned away. It might take a hundred days and a thousand miles, but I’d send a message to Mister Lorne. He’d be sorry—as soon as I got far enough away from my family.
2
September 25, 1997
North Canaan, Connecticut
During the first two weeks of those hundred days, I rode wildly across the northeastern United States, my nerves jangling with anxiety. A confrontation was simply a matter of time. When I didn’t show at Mister Lorne’s shop, he’d realize I’d split. He took that kind of thing damned seriously and would eventually send some… thing to check up on me.
I counted on it, actually. The moment it happened, I wouldn’t be simply on the run.
I’d be sending a message.
Until then, though, I ran. When Lorne sent his goon, I wanted to be as far from the people I cared about as possible.
Fortunately, I’d spec’d my character for this very thing.
“Liz happened to be a master at running,” I rasped and fought to keep a goofy grin from my face. My father had done his best to mold me into a gaming geek, but athleticism mattered to me too. I’d been in gymnastics in middle school, track for most of high school, and discovered the odd joy of parkour a few years ago.
Of course, that was far from my complete resume. Simon’s training had been sporadic but couldn’t be overlooked. Without him, I never would have comprehended the eternity of Wind, nor how to shape it.
Due to my reclusive mentor, I had a… unique array of skills.
I glanced around the small, dirty motel room before I left. It seemed like I had all my stuff on the bike, but I could be a little paranoid about it.
I had a really great toothbrush.
“Time to go.” I pulled the door closed, dropped the key in a pocket, and stepped into the dank hallway. In more than one place, the thick green carpet sucked damply at my motorcycle boots, a singularly disgusting sensation.
The front lobby featured two plaid chairs, a television from 1977, and a desk where the pimply clerk sat. The greasy-skinned man had thus far never failed to ogle me. I wondered for the twenty-seventh time how he had come by this shit job.
As always, he watched some schlock on TV, the sound turned up way too loud.
“I’m serious, Blake,” a curvy blonde cooed on the screen. “You need to listen to Captain Stark or you’ll get us all killed.”
“You don’t know everything I do, Minerva,” Blake Runner growled. “Those things won’t wait for morning. Sometimes, a man’s gotta go with his balls.”
“Wow.” I raised one eyebrow as I stepped over to the desk-monkey. “That’s some high art right there.”
“Blake Runner is the coolest.” He grinned while attempting to peer down the front of my shirt. “Whoever writes this stuff is a genius.”
Somewhere between this idiot’s leer and cinematic praise, the tiniest quiver grew at the edge of my vision, a dark haze of movement.
My breath arrested in my throat. Bad news. Definitely bad news. I took an involuntary step back, my eyes wide.
Can’t a girl get a saving throw? I truly would have preferred to have my knives or at least my leather jacket, but I’d stowed everything on the Valkyrie.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I had expected the creature would come—even hoped for it.
But so soon?
The quiver at the edge of my vision echoed into other things around me, the walls, the desk. The quiver grew to a tremble, a shimmy. After a few moments, the entire motel lobby wobbled violently like a drunken cartoon.
Think, Liz! I placed one hand against the wall, even though I stood steadily. The episode didn’t actually affect my
balance. The entire building quaked in my eyes, rolling like the ocean, yet I stood within, still and stable. I took a step back as the lights flickered rapidly, every bulb scintillating like a strobe light.
“Perfect,” I muttered sarcasm, fighting down panic. “Yes. This is what I wanted.” I glanced wildly around as my pulse raced. Nothing had fallen over from the wild convulsions of the seedy hotel; the clerk at the desk didn’t even notice.
I needed to get outside. Trapped in here without my knives, I could only rely on my physical skills…
And the tricks Simon had taught me with the Wind, of course.
Dangerous. I knew better than to rely on my clever little knack for an encounter this serious. That could draw the wrong kind of attention, and it wasn’t as if Simon were here to back me up.
I probably had less than a minute.
“Another night or you checking out?” The clerk’s voice warbled from the bizarre agitation.
No time, Liz. I didn’t even bother to answer; I needed to move. If I could make it—
Reality ripped open with a resounding CRACK.
A storm of twilight and seeping madness screamed into the small room.
A second CRACK immediately followed, and the darkness fell away. In that fraction of a moment, however…
Everything had changed.
The hotel had been dirty—the kind of no-tell motel that hadn’t asked for my name as long as I paid up front in cash. Yet the moment the second CRACK had sounded, the very building had transformed. The floor felt greasy underfoot. A single bare light bulb dangled from the lobby ceiling. The scent of rot and mildew sat heavy in the air, and jagged cracks laced the front window.
The lobby reminded me more of a sanitarium for shell-shocked Civil War amputees than a hotel on the outskirts of North Canaan.
Behind me, the former clerk’s breathing turned raspy. The desk separated us, but his inhalations sounded wet and grotesquely liquid.
“I didn’t even get time to warm up,” I complained turning slowly, knowing what I’d see.
The hotel clerk had been skinny before but now appeared positively emaciated. He stood there, shirtless and pale, his ribs poking out against milk-white flesh that glistened with sweat and oil. On his forehead, an unfamiliar rune coruscated in livid carmine.
I stared.
It leered back, eyes mirrored with gleaming silver. They reflected the room’s swaying light and shone with malevolent, inhuman desires.
Wordlessly, it lunged across the desk.
Liz rolls for initiative.
With my feet slipping on the greasy tile, I turned and sprinted back the way I’d come.
The deformed cretin gamboled behind me, scrabbling closer.
I pelted down the hallway, which listed to one side, as if the structure might collapse at any second. The solid metal doors of the motel had vanished, replaced by half-rotten wood slabs that barely clung to their hinges. They would be simple to kick in, but—
My surroundings scarcely resembled the crappy little motel I’d lived in for the past three days. All the floor tiles had cracked into a yellowed maze of mildew and brackish water stains. Only two ceiling lights functioned, though one of them flickered randomly.
This shifting, meandering hallway could in no way fit into the same building where I’d slept. The ghastly figure that chased me had transformed the world around him into a gruesome shadow of itself.
I’d expected no less.
Every time I’d dealt with Lorne, he’d drawn me into a nightmarish reflection of wherever I had just been to have a little chat.
Slipping a little, I slammed one hip into a doorway. I cursed and careened on.
Reflection or no, this in-between place held as much stark truth as the everyday world, only painted with the hues of darkling insanity.
Needless to say, no sleazy couples cozied up behind these doors,using this version of the pay-by-the-hour getaway for an afternoon delight. In their stead lurked reptilian half-men, loathsome beasts with grasping claws, or perhaps abhorrent children with only bloody sockets where their eyes should be.
As if in answer to that thought, a slow scratching noise came from behind the door I’d hit. Talons? I shuddered at the thought. A yowling purr gurgled from within, an unholy sound of hunger and inhuman desire.
I ignored the sound and redoubled my efforts.
Behind me, the emaciated figure hurtled nearer, its wet breath rattling in its lungs.
The emergency exit. The doorway had been at the end of the hall—
Head lowered, I hammered my way down the corridor, throwing everything I had into running for my life.
From behind, I heard wet breathing, along with incessant meaningless whispers.
“Any chance you’d like to chat?” I tossed over one shoulder.
“Come through.” A gurgling breath. “It’s too dark.”
“What the—?” I asked and pushed myself a bit harder. What the hell does that mean?
It never truly spoke; I didn’t know if it could say anything comprehensible. The loping creature only whispered wetly, occasionally rasping out words that made little semblance of sense.
The emaciated hotel key-master grunted, noncommittally.
“Got a message.” I glanced back to gauge my lead. Not enough. “For Mister Lorne,” I panted out.
The hallway ended in fifteen feet or so, with another wooden door. The emergency exit had stood there in the motel, but this unmarked door looked just like the others: plain, dark, corky wood.
If I could just get outside, I might gain enough distance to break my way out of looking-glass land. I’d done it before. It wouldn’t be far to my bike. And my knives.
Then we’d see how things went.
Almost free…
Pain exploded in my scalp.
I cried out, my head jerked back, and I fell to the ground.
“Forlorn.” The desk clerk’s thin lips scarcely parted as it whispered the word. Its fingers were vice-like as it began to walk back the way we’d come, dragging me along the slick tile by a thick fistful of my dark hair.
“Ack!” I squirmed toward him, trying to get some slack. If I turned sideways, I could level a kick into its left knee. I didn’t have any skill points in brawling, but maybe—
The ghoulish freak stopped and turned as I twisted in its grip. Those silver eyes gleamed with inhuman glee as it balled up its other fist and slammed it into my face.
Something behind my nose crunched, and I cried out. Blinding brilliance burst in my vision.
I collapsed to the floor.
“Between the cries,” it whispered. “Nothing lay there.”
I brought my hand up to my face, where rivulets of crimson warmth ran from my nose. Broken? I couldn’t tell.
With a sudden jerk, it began to drag me again, pulling me back down the hallway.
I cried out, panic and adrenaline burning in my veins.
“Where are you taking me?” I cried, pointlessly. I knew the answer; I just couldn’t stop my frigging mouth. It would drag me through this little carnival of horror and eventually we would end up in Lorne’s stupid shop.
Once there, I wouldn’t go anywhere else. Ever.
The cretin dragged me down the hallway, despite the fact that I kicked and writhed like a snake on speed. Raw animal terror flushed through me, and I frantically tried to pull myself loose.
Spinning sideways, I twisted myself up, and landed on my right thigh. Something bulky in my pocket poked into the meat of my leg.
My pocketknife! I gasped at the realization. It wasn’t one of my throwing knives, but it would more than do.
Pushing with my legs, I threw myself in the same direction the cretin pulled, so the pressure would let up on my poor scalp. At the same time, I dug into my pocket and almost grinned when I gripped the knife handle.
It didn’t need to be huge to do some damage—I just needed to roll a crit.
The small knife had to be enough. If I drew on the Wind�
�on the things Simon had taught me—I could draw more of the wrong kind of attention to myself. That would stack problem on top of problem, making my plight even more dangerous.
The last thing I wanted was to give my position away to the wrong sort of people.
“Ah ha!” I lurched forward and buried the sharpness into its calf. It wasn’t a natural twenty or anything, but that blade cut deep. The moment I felt its greasy blood, I jerked away, knife in hand.
But the asshole held fast.
“Stark and sharp.” Those misbegotten eyes gleamed down upon me, its whispers soft and senseless. If the creature felt pain, it didn’t show it.
I twisted again, even as it yanked my head back, and stabbed at the creature’s face, only to miss wildly.
It slammed me back to the floor.
My breath knocked from me in a whoosh.
That’s a botched roll. Damn. I opened my eyes. Blood splatter covered the filthy tile floor and the nasty skater shoes the clerk had worn before my personal horror movie came along.
Lorne’s body-stealing goon grunted before continuing to drag me along the hallway.
I wriggled, still trying to keep the pressure off my hair, to no avail. The clerk’s thin form belied his strength, stronger than I would have guessed by far.
“They never come out.” Its nonsensical whispering rambled into the dimness of the room, aimed at no one in particular.
“Who?” My eyes widened in wild panic. Did it mean other people that Mister Lorne had taken?
I shook my head. The thing rambled nonsense. It couldn’t be talking about itself.
Except…
“Screw that.” Maybe the mutterings weren’t as random as I thought. Hadn’t I just considered how once Lorne had me, I’d be unlikely to squirm my way free?
What would happen if I were caught?
Horrible things, my imagination insisted. I didn’t know what the creepy, gaunt man wanted with me, not really. I’d been desperate when I went to his depraved little shop; I’d thought that he’d be able to help.
Even now, in the middle of my hair ripping out, some small gibbering part of my mind relived the moments I’d spent with him, as if trapped within some Mobius strip of time: