by Enoch Enns
“And how can we? If you just throw him out there!”
“Enough!” Sherlin cut, taking in the extra breath so as to not wake the little girl. “My wife... tried helping him.”
What? “What do you mean tried helping him? Is he not different from all the other illusionate?”
The man's expression was solemn in recollection. “He is no illusionate,” he said calmly, the flicker in his eyes showing regret and pain. “He... came to us once before, back when Elpida was her normal, beautiful self. We were all weary of him. He just didn't fit the profile of what he knew out there, but my wife was determined to help him. This was, of course, when we were all still gun-hoe about reaching out and sheltering everyone we could. We all believed that we could make this into a better place. That there was a haven for us to live that all this would simply go away. We weren't stuck up. We knew everyone here deserved a chance to find protection. We felt it upon our shoulders to reach out as TAP secured us a home. My wife was the fueling rod that drove us to act with such helping hands. We used to count up into the two hundreds... we used to believe....
“Well, anyway. Elpida was determined that Narrl was to be no different. And so she began to help him. And that is when she first conducted his illness. I do not know how, exactly, only that whatever she did, it wasn't helping the strange case of our new arrival. He was always on edge, and always scared-- which is the most typical trait of an illusionate. The people began to worry as Elpida slowly picked up the unease. Then, one day, Narrl snapped. None of us had witnessed it before, so we were all too terrorized to react. In a split second he went from sipping a meal to... to...” Sherlin stoked the flames to steal the time away. His voice had weighed and throat clogged, but he continued nonetheless.
“It was with Jailer's family. In two swipes he had killed both Jailer's younger siblings, a sister and brother. He alone stood up against the mutating nightmare, buying the rest of us enough time to pack the necessities and flee. However, the delay cost more than any of us could possibly understand. Before we had even the chance to gather ourselves from the inside betrayal, over half the crew had been pounded senseless by the kid. We made it, barely, but enough to never forget the kid's face. Afterwards, the rest began thinking my wife had conducted the same illness, as she had become rather unstable by then. I refused to believe them, I knew she was a strong woman who would never let herself fall victim to such monstrosity. But she only got worse. Then she started becoming alone. The people saw this as for the better. They knew I couldn't let her go, but that if she wandered out herself... I would... she would just eventually disappear. So her visits back became less and less. I tried nourishing her and bringing her food, but her mind was weakening and soon it became harder and harder for me to look into her eyes and see... nothing. No longer Elpida, but I still loved her. I still clang to her, hoping she would turn around.
“She was beyond recognizing me, and I could only recognize her if I got close enough. My love grew hard and hope fainter. It became harder and harder to find her. Only the clanging of her pipe she had picked up kept me certain she was still alive. Until one day... she vanished. I tried pursuing her, but it was hopeless. Because of Narrl, I had to let her go.”
The embers sparked against his eyes. Carls leaned back against the pillar behind him-- running his hand through Joan's thin, brown hair. To think that she would come victim to such illness... to wander off so far...
“But thanks to you,” Sherlin added, “she has also made it back. As for Narrl, Jailer would lay his life down to keep him out of here. I reckon you can take me for my word having seen him earlier. And with what he did to Elpida, I cannot say I'd let him either. We're done taking chances, Locke, no more lives for a pointless charade.”
“What about TAP? You mentioned them and I've come across a lot. I thought you said they had a place to go.”
“TAP, psch. We've long since lost trust in them. It's been three months, you know. Everything we thought they stood for has come back to bite us. There is no haven, and we care not to wait for it. Might as well make the most of what we have and be satisfied in it than to become dependent on someone who constantly stabs you in the back.”
“So you're giving up?”
“Yes, Locke, we're giving up. Giving up on thinking there's anyone else out there that cares about the lives of those who are actually suffering in this the most. All we would get were requests, requests, requests-- and not once did they tell us how far along the plan was coming. We were puppets, and I could take no more of it. They said it was for the better that they kept so private. But who gives hope when there's no trust! No one. It was obvious TAP was using us as pawns to further their work.”
“But, what is TAP, exactly?” Carls asked, etching closer to the warmth of flame and cradling his daughter's head.
Sherlin exhaled his short-winded breath. Carls felt childish for asking so many questions, but he was finally getting answers. Maybe not to everything, but at least something.
“If you are so interested in their work, then go and find them. I doubt they'd let you in on anything. They even stopped communicating with their own agent!”
“Agent?”
“Yes, Trip. You can find him around the Theatra. At least, that was his last whereabouts. The man's a fighter. A kind fellow, if you get to know him-- that is, if you can catch his attention enough to slow him down. He was our only link to TAP for the last little bit. But then his messages were becoming more vague and it was obvious even he wasn't getting informed much. But be careful out that way, Friedelock's patrols have doubled. We lost contact with everyone in the Delvore Sanctum.”
“Wait, there are other groups?”
“Yes, scouting and reconnaissance groups. I may not like TAP or the idea of welcoming everyone in anymore, but I haven't lost heart. Especially when it comes to fighting Friedelock....”
“Friedelock....” Carls muttered.
“Tell me, Carls, how is it you knew who I was? How did you come to find out about Mike Dyrdrik and yet know so little of everything else?”
He didn't like the thought of recalling everything. “Simply put,” he answered, “Friedelock took my daughter. She had ran off and I stumbled across a group that pointed me to Friedelock.”
“Hold on, this group, was their leader's name Chase?”
“Either I didn't catch it or can't remember, sorry, but I did find this map and recording on one of them.”
Sherlin immediately recognized it, and grief took to his face. He knew that if Carls had the map, they were dead. “That was one of our more recent teams,” he remorsed.
“Then I have them to thank for leading me to my daughter.”
“So,” Sherlin spoke, a new look as he gazed toward the girl asleep Carls' legs, “she has grown then.”
Carls took it he knew of what work Friedelock was undertaking. “Tell me,” he asked, “why is Friedelock doing this? Who is he? And what has come over this place?”
Sherlin laughed. “You truly are a stray dog!” he choked. “It has been quite some time since so many questions have been asked. Most people here don't care about what happened, they'd rather forget it all. In fact, some of them forced the memory out altogether! As seems the case for you. Only you seemed to have forgot that you even tried to forget what happened. Truth is, I also do not know. I only played in a single part, most of which dealt with Norwick. But I am not caring to reminiscence over the past. I promised Elpida that it was behind me, and I'll hold to that promise. But do not lose your curiosity. It may have killed the cat, but at least it gave it something to look for rather than become a simple drone of a monotonous life.
“Now, get some rest. If you are serious of finding more on TAP, then you must find Trip. His last whereabouts were sent by that team you retrieved this map from.” He waved the map and handed it back. “Rest well, we rise early to move camp out further for safety. I shall wake you then, and then we'll depart ways.”
The embers burned out slowly to
the narrow halls by which they clang. Carls was swift asleep with Joan gently in his arms. He missed the normal life of day-to-day work and harsh conditions of weather. He missed the smell of coffee in the morning that his wife would have prepared regardless of having to leave to work before him. He missed the sleet of pavement to sewage as he would trudge off of the tram and into his work station half an hour away from home. But for now, he slept-- his mind breaking way to an endless valley of thoughts, hopes, and dreams.
Life Is A Journey Better Kept Moving
“Hey,” a man bud in, his hand jabbing at Carls' side to wake him. “Sherlin told me to pack ya up a meal, come on.”
Carls rustled from his stiff position. Joan was still asleep. Pulling himself up he was able to stretch and pull her to his shoulders. She sheepishly adjusted and closed her eyes again. He turned around to see the man who had awakened him already on the move.
“I'm Arnold,” the man said across his shoulder. “Sherlin has me as one of the main cooks for these people. I enjoy every bit of it, I must say. I also act on part as the head of supply distribution. So as you can tell, it's a little busy right now.” Arnold seemed proud of his feats, though he weren't the most built man Carls had laid eyes on. The man was just shy of six foot and his appearance resembled much of a fabric designer, though indeed he were not. His bushy orange hair turned toward Carls as they came up to a crammed tabletop.
“Here we are,” Arnold gestured, “you may have your pick up food, bandages, or whatever so long as it can fit into your sash. Sherlin said you were out to find one of TAP's men.”
Carls observed the items. He found a crate and set his daughter atop it while he ravaged through it all. She but rubbed her eyes and wondered as to where she was.
“You're not taking her with you, are ya?” Arnold inquired.
“I can't leave her. Not again,” Carls said, taking notice to vials of e-Links. “How did you get these? I thought they were—-”
Arnold raised a finger to his mouth as though for secrecy. “You can take those on me,” he said. “Not often do we come across a chance to get them, so Sherlin prefers us not to flippantly use them. Especially with their rep. Just be careful.”
Carls held them in his palms. He knew how much they helped, but also that they seemed just too good to be true. “I can't,” he said, and handed them back.
“Listen, I don't know why you're looking for TAP, or why you're even parting ways with us, but be careful. Trippers, illusionate, the Fallen-- there enough hassle as it is-- but with her, you'll have Friedelock to look out for as well.”
“Why is Friedelock so interested in children?”
“It's not just kids he's after, though those are the easiest for what he does. But really, I shouldn't be talking about this....”
Jailer approached the two, his arms full of miscellaneous armory items. “Hey Arnold, you give him that Hand-Pal yet?”
“Oh, that's right! Here, Carls.” The man reached into his apron and pulled out Carls' Hand-Pal. “Sherlin told me you needed your Hand-Pal updated. These things can actually be really cool.” He returned its ownership. Carls could tell Arnold had a knack for these devices. His expression immediately lightened and mouth rambled ninety to the nothing. “Before, you could only receive signals and input tapes. That was without a NV card. I just so happened to have a spare one for ya and put it in. It's a little older, but should do. Now it'll not only pick up signals, but also take calls, make calls, record messages-- pretty much anything with a Voice.”
“Voice? What do you mean?”
“The NV is a New Voice card. The New Voice was a whole ‘nother business funded by Lawrence himself. It’s what speaks to you and reads your messages. Granted, calls and recordings will still be in their sender’s voice, but the whole interface itself is held by the most current NV spotlight.”
“Enough rambling, Arnold,” Jailer interjected. “The meat and bone of it is this: singers sang and people paid. The one out top of the competition was declared the New Voice and hence everyone in support of her would go buy the latest NV card so they could have her voice on their devices. That's it. Bets were won, portions were lost. Just another business for Lawrence to rack in the doe.”
Jailer cleared a spot on the table and began stuffing the items into near crates.
“So what now?” Carls asked, still not sure of the whole Hand-Pal ordeal.
Arnold picked up the lecture: “It’s the pride of Mx3-- the Hand Pal. As their saying goes: 'Putting to memory what matters most.' You need anything, our station is 43. Sherlin is usually around to pick up, so it won’t be hard reaching someone.”
“Thanks,” Carls said, shoving it into his pocket. He'd already filled up his sash and now had Joan back atop his shoulders.
“Good luck, Carls,” Arnold said, quickly picking up a crate and moving it to the near cart.
Carls made his way across what was left of the camp and found Sherlin instructing Linda and the kids. He was grateful for Linda. She had watched over his daughter well while he'd been away. And Joan liked her. It was when Linda turned to leave that Sherlin noticed him there.
“Ah, you're awake, good. Did Arnold return your Hand-Pal?”
“Yes, he did. Thank you.”
“Good. Well, I hate to ask this of ya, but if you see anything out there, please give us the heads up. When you need refilling, we'll try to help you in exchange. Our scouting teams grow thin and we haven't heard from the area you're headed. If you come across anything, I'd like to know. And good luck, Mr. Locke. Especially with your daughter.”
The people under Sherlin's protection had given him shelter, but even now he knew there was something more to be discovered. He was not satisfied with settling down and forgetting all that surrounded him and its cause. It did not wish to become as the people there had: content with just living. Sherlin himself had showed their loss in flame-- something every man needed for a drive to live. He wasn't about to just sit and watch the flames grow dimmer. The fire needed stoking. The heat needed a story to its burning. He wanted answers. TAP was a step in that direction for him. According to Sherlin, they had a key to fixing this problem.
Whatever the problem was.
Enlightened & Unaware
The halls were much more vast when walked alone. He knew he would have to yet again pass through dreaded territory to reach the Theatra of which Sherlin spoke. The stillness and shroud haunted him. He found himself thankful for once that the lights were dim, though why so he did not know. The place had been so alive, so filled, when he'd first arrived with his family. He remembered the crowded shops and restaurants-- his mind could even picture it vaguely as he walked. But it all lay in ruin. Deserted and wrecked as chaos stripped all it once held of order. What had happened here? What was this place?
He could feel Joan stirring and let her down. He remembered first hearing about it. The very day was still clear to him. Bill had told him it was the perfect vocational spot. Full of activities, scenery, and astounding feats. It sure was astounding. Everywhere he had read up on it said it was the attraction of the century. How this was possible, he did not know. They had been in such an economic crisis and devastation that it seemed impossible for such a place to emerge from the ashes. And yet it had. Amidst the depression and struggle of countries abroad as companies went bankrupt, governments crashed, and powers fell, somehow the Grand Attraction had been made. Then again, everyone was looking for an escape from the loss. All they needed was a hope of an illusion and they would flock to it. Carls had. Bill had. And everyone in this place had. Whatever the birth was of such an idea, it had worked.
Joan had slipped through his fingers and ran out before.
“Joan!” he called out for her to come back. But it was too late. She turned with innocence in her smile, her hand outstretched. His body froze and eyes shot open. Literally.
Elairah held her hand-- having suddenly appeared. All around him people hustled and noise sprang from every corner. What is happeni
ng?
He felt a panic purge through him. “Joanna!” he shouted, reaching for her. As his skin touched hers, everything vanished but as single thug coming from behind. He felt a touch to his back and spun with a fist.
It met nothing but a dodging figure as the man ducked and came from another angle. Carls swept up Joan by her waist and shoved his body between them. He tripped on the man's heel and hit with his back to the floor. “Get up!” the man yelled while swinging his foot. All Carls recalled was pushing his daughter to the side and taking the brunt of the blow-- his body skidding across the floor. Another man entered the scene as the first disappeared.
What?
Carls swung a fist at the opposer but it went straight through. What was this? Some hallucination? Or were these just trippers?
He took a boot to his rib cage and hit to the near support beam. There were more now and he was swinging in every which direction-- his knuckles meeting the concrete of the pillar where he'd thought one to reside. The blood trickling sent him reeling to his senses. From behind, a form emerged.
A Fallen One.
A trap. Joan stood lost at his aimless actions. Something about her... could she not see any of this? Was he just a maniac in her eyes?
But now wasn't the time. He turned to face the six-armed beast. Just the size of its body had made climbing to the second floor easy.
“Daddy, what's going on?” her little voice came. Just like Elairah's. He couldn't help his breathing, nor the firm grip on his little girl. He could not fight it with the illusions still spitting at him. He grabbed her and ran-- peeling the corner to yet another sterling surprise. Body dropping low, he barely managed to evade the pounding force of awe-striking masonic forearms of a Shem. Two?!
The downward momentum slid him out of reach as the Fallen One drove its weight into the Shem. The two met with force and temper-- the Shem somehow also lashing at Locke. But its efforts were hindered by the larger threat-- Carls wasted no time, instead crawling to his feet and making a break from it. Down the halls he ran with his daughter tight in his arms. One of the trippers was following him.