by Jesse Jordan
It’ll be better this time. It will. Slowly, James opened his eyes.
It was not better.
The familiar landscape met him—the quality of light, the Moons coalescing and splitting, the mountain range of waves—and a terrible hopelessness overtook him. He was sure—there, in that moment—that he had gone as far as he could carry himself. All this time, fighting his own fears and disbelief, fighting Stone Grove and the dreams, and today—her house and the men in the Escalades and the bar and the blood and all of it—that was his limit. He’d had the strength to push through to Taloon, to chase Ezra this far, but standing here now, faced with the alien desolation of this place, with the prospect of more, despair fell from the sky and crushed him on the spot. His legs went and he plopped down on his ass like a clown doing a pratfall.
I can’t.
You can’t what?
I can’t do this.
Do what?
I can’t go on.
Not go on. You’re not here to go on. What are you here to do?
Dorian. I have to find her. I have to bring her back.
Okay. If you’re not gonna do that, then just say so.
James shut his eyes tight against the frustration tears building. Stopping now wasn’t an option. Turning away wasn’t an option. James knew he had to reach Dorian or die, but the idea of just standing left him awash in fatigue and self-pity. He reached into his pocket . . . but there was nothing there. He remembered Dink’s leap, and it hit him once more that he was utterly alone, and he wished that someone—anyone—would come and be with him.
Just like that, two men—or men-like things—stood before James. They’d appeared so suddenly that James was too surprised to be shocked. Or maybe he was just too tired. But he looked up at the two with his mouth hanging open and, while he had no way of knowing them or anything about them, he felt absolutely certain they meant him no harm. He had no way of articulating the feeling; to him it just sort of felt as if they radiated an energy of good-naturedness, the way that children sometimes do.
The one on the right was the taller of the two, though he was a few inches shorter than James. He was thin, a gangle of bones and sinew with barely any shoulders to speak of. His head was long and thin as well, and his eyes seemed to be connected by a single hooded brow that, on another face, could easily have given off the impression of malevolence. The other one was short and stocky, like a brick wall made animate, and he only came up to James’s chest. Two big, white eyes dominated his wide face, and a mess of black hair adorned him.
“Hello?”
“‘Hello,’ he says,” said the short one.
“What’s wrong with that?” said the tall one.
“Oh, nothing. One just expects more, I guess. He being who he is and all.”
“‘Hello’ is a perfectly acceptable way for anyone to begin, regardless of station.”
“I suppose,” said the short one, though he was clearly unconvinced.
“Think of it this way,” said the tall one. “His actual salutation was bringing us here, the stated ‘Hello’ was merely a follow-up.”
“Oh, that’s good,” said the short one. “Yes, that makes much more sense.”
The two of them turned once more to James and waited.
He looked up into the two smiling, expectant faces and felt the passing seconds fill up with their anticipation. I don’t know what . . . “Hello,” James said again.
“Oh, this is not a good sign at all,” said the short one.
“No,” said the tall one, “I should say not.”
“He seems a bit dull.”
“I hope he’s not defective.”
James found the effort of following the two of them cosmically tiring. As with Ezra, there was the urge to ask a thousand questions at once, all while feeling like a child, slow to grasp that which is clear to everyone else.
“Hello,” the short one shouted, leaning over him. “What can we do for you?”
“Well, Munk, I don’t think that’s going to help anything.”
“How do you know? Now that I think of it, no one ever said anything about the War Bringer other than that he would bring war, right?”
“Right.”
James put his hands up, hoping they would just stop, just be quiet for a moment, but they seemed to be settling into a regular rhythm now.
“Perhaps that’s all he can do. Perhaps he has the ability to begin the War but nothing else.”
“I doubt that highly,” said the tall one.
“But what do we know?”
“We know that he is the War Bringer.”
“And what else?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes, nothing.”
“Hm.”
“Yes, hm indeed.”
James was sure his head would split clear down the center if he heard any more from them. He covered his ears and registered only a dull report of their bickering, but when he looked down, the teeming soil offered no respite. So he looked up, and there—there again!—was the Moon, like an awful nauseating parlor trick, it slipped in and out of focus, trembling in the sky; James felt his bile rising once more.
Stop it!
And the Moon did just that. Just as the thought formed and burst in his mind, the Moon stopped and stuck, stark and strong and settled; it hung in the twilight sky just as perfect as the one he was used to, only larger.
The two man-like things turned slowly. They looked at the Moon for a very, very long time. Then they looked at each other. Then back to the Moon and finally to each other once more.
“Did he do that?” the short one asked.
“I’m fairly certain he did.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh,’ indeed.”
Slowly, they turned back to James.
“Hello,” the short one said.
James felt immeasurably better. The settling of the Moon had done extraordinary things for his internal machinations. Yes, the ground continued to move and the mountains in the distance remained a writhing snake in his periphery, but the stationary Moon seemed to root the world around him into some kind of order.
With a grunt, James pushed himself back up to his feet. “I’m James.”
“Oh, yes,” said the tall one, “James the War Bringer.”
“Just James.”
“Yes, just James. Pleased to make your acquaintance, James. I am Nack, and this”—he made a grand flourish toward the short, fat one—“is Munk. We are very pleased to be making your acquaintance.”
“Yes, we are,” said the short one called Munk. “This is really quite something.”
“And—I’m sorry,” James said. “Who are you?”
“I . . . am . . . Munk. This . . .”
“No, no, I got that. You’re Munk; he’s Nack. Got it. But who are you? What are you doing here?”
“That is a difficult question,” said Nack.
“Two difficult questions,” added Munk.
“Yes, indeed,” Nack replied. “I suppose there are a few answers to those questions. Let’s go backward, shall we? We are here because this is where we belong. Munk and I are out and about, ranging, spying, plotting, and planning, as we do.”
“Not holed up like the others,” Munk said. “Out and about.”
“And we were doing as we do—if I may be honest, a bit more recreating and biding our time, as we usually do—waiting, waiting, always waiting, for you. We make do; we get by—but no longer. Here you are. And there is the second answer to your second question. We’d found a perfectly flat rock and had been flipping it, seeing which side it would land on and mapping the results, when we felt your presence and, more than that, your exquisite need for company.”
“And that was that,” Munk said.
“Yes, and then we were here.”
“You were just here?” James said.
“Yes,” the two said in unison.
James nodded, feeling slow again, but then a thought struck him. “Who are you spyi
ng for—or supposed to be spying for?”
“Ah,” Nack exhaled and cast his gaze up as if broaching a difficult subject, “I don’t know how familiar you are with the, shall we say, politics of the area.”
“Let’s say not very. All I’ve been told is there’re two sides and everyone’s waiting to go to war because it’s supposed to bring the Creator back. Or not.”
“Pretty much it,” Munk said.
“Yes, I’d say that about sums it up,” Nack said with a professorial nod. “Anyway, Munk and I were advisors to the higher-ups of these two factions. And so as hostilities built and as the followers of Morning Star were rounded up and incarcerated, leaving those remaining free members to lead a bit of a guerilla resistance, both sides felt it best to have, shall we say, resources in the field.”
“That’s us,” Munk said.
“We were sent out—one of us from Morning Star, one from Metatron—to be their eyes and ears out here in desolation, in the holes and hovels.”
“Which of you is with which?”
James’s question was met with silence. Munk and Nack looked at each other as two who’d been dreading this very question. They grimaced, then Munk shrugged and looked off toward the Moon, as if he’d just discovered it.
Nack turned up his hands to James. “I must admit, this is a bit embarrassing, but we can’t actually remember.”
“What?”
“Yes,” Nack continued, “you see, we’ve been out here for so long, and it’s just been the two of us. We found each other quickly; I do remember that.”
“As do I,” Munk said, returning to the conversation.
“And we’ve been over and over it, but neither of us can remember whose side we originally belonged to. Stories, memories, whose were whose originally. After a time it can be difficult to say. I know for a while we were keeping joint notes, figuring that whenever someone showed up we’d figure it out, and that way either of us would be able to give an accurate report on whichever side. Unfortunately, though, no one ever showed up and asked for a report. Not only that, but whoever is out there has been smart enough to steer clear of us, and so it became apparent that we would have nothing to report even if someone actually did show up.”
“That was a tough realization,” Munk added.
“Yes. Well, since then we’ve just sort of been biding our time.”
“Waiting for today.”
“Yes, waiting for today.”
They smiled at James, the kind of smile that pulls one out of the viewer by force. James sensed they were waiting, but for what? He was at an overwhelming loss. He found he had to take a deep, clearing breath and rewind, back to the beginning of this conversation, then earlier, earlier. This place felt like it was filling his mind, rearranging things. Why are you here? The Pit—No—the Name, the War—No, Dorian. Dorian, Dorian, Dorian . . . Ezra has Dorian.
“I’m looking for Ezra.”
“Hm,” Nack said, his face scrunching up into a question. “I don’t—”
“Think we know him,” Munk continued as they turned toward each other. “At least not by that name.”
“No, not by that name. Though we may know him by something else.”
What did Dink call him? Azmo? Azotis? Asmodis? Asmodis! “Asmodis! He, uh, he also goes by Asmodis.”
“That sounds . . .”
“Familiar.”
“Yes, familiar, but I can’t place it.”
“No, nor can I.”
“Still, he sounds important.”
“Must be important, if we know the name.”
“Yes, that’s a very good point.”
They turned back to James. “Asmodis sounds important,” Nack said, “and if he’s important, then they’ll know about him at Selliphais.”
“Exactly,” Munk added with a definitive nod.
“Selliphais?”
“Yes,” Nack said, pointing off behind and to the right of James, where the mountains and shapes rose in the distance. “Selliphais is the great metropolis—”
“The last metropolis,” Munk said.
“Yes, well, great by virtue of being last.”
“And first.”
“Yes, and first, but now the last. There used to be many, many communities and groupings and what have you, but that was in a very different time. Now Selliphais is all that is left. But or, rather, because it is the last, if you are looking for someone, then that is where you want to go.”
James looked off in the direction Nack had pointed. The distant air seemed to quiver like heat off asphalt, and it was hard to judge distance or tell what rose from the ground that far away. Without looking back to them, James asked, “How long will it take to walk there?”
Munk and Nack looked at each other as if they’d been asked a trick question.
“A while,” Munk said.
“A great while,” Nack added.
Fear is the mind-killer. James made his hands into fists and then let them go, but the tension remained. He saw the Moon hanging majestically in the sky and blew out a deep breath. He pictured Dorian, saw her scared and waiting and begging to be saved, and the rage flooded in and drowned his uncertainty.
“Alright, then. Let’s get going.”
James began the walk to Selliphais. He didn’t know how far away it was or how long it would take him, but he put foot in front of foot and kept his eyes up. Munk and Nack hurried after him.
“Is this Asmodis integral to your war bringing?”
“By the way, great job with the Moon. I like this much better than the way it was.”
“Yes, not to pry, but how did you do that?”
James made no response. One foot in front of the other, he continued toward Selliphais, toward Dorian and Ezra.
The three of them walked for hours and hours, and as the time passed, the main thing that became apparent to James was that the time didn’t pass. The quality of light remained unchanged. Shadows did not move. The ground on which they were walking shifted slowly, becoming spotted with rocklike structures and large stretches that reminded James of forest floors covered in pine needles, though there were no trees. Off to their right were the mountains. James watched them roll, and it seemed as if they were egging the little band of travelers along. But still, the Moon did not move. It didn’t crest or decline; it simply hung just where James had left it.
One foot in front of the other. Over and over. Munk and Nack hung just behind and had not spoken since James failed to answer their first questions. The questions remained, though, and James could not deny, even to himself, that he had stopped the Moon and placed it where it now rested. James peeked up at it out of the corner of his eye. He remembered slowly coming to terms with his powers back in Stone Grove, but this was different. He could feel that. Back there, in his world, he felt the energy as it ran from him to others, from person to person. But here it was different. Here, James felt this power burning and extending like sunshine, like it could extend out and touch everyone and everything.
Before he could follow this path, though, something reached out and snatched his attention. In the distance he saw a dark shape with a flickering light inside it, like a fire in a pointy cave. He turned to Munk and Nack and pointed to the light.
“Is that Selliphais?”
They nodded in unison and James nodded back and kept walking. It appeared small and short. He’d expected so much more.
Some time later, the three happened upon a crudely paved road made of raw stones that rolled and pitched, set at different levels as if by a drunken craftsman. The stones were held together by what looked like dirty mortar. It appeared to be a sludge of sand and rocks and dead vegetation. The stones themselves were only a gathering of semiflat rocks, difficult to traverse, but still it felt good to have this assurance that he was heading in the right direction. They’d been walking for so, so long and his legs were so, so tired, his feet so, so sore, that this road coming when it did was like tangible encouragement.
There
is a way. Someone has done it before.
Twice, missteps sent James’s foot to its side, sent his weight off and down, but luckily neither resulted in injury. Still, the proximity of disaster set him on edge. What if he’d broken his ankle? What if he couldn’t walk? What then? He considered just walking along the side of the road, but this road seemed to have been built for a reason, as the ground along both sides reminded James of images he’d seen of the Moon: every other step a little hill, random holes and valleys everywhere, and still that ground like pine needles sliding underfoot. No. As bad as the road is, it’s definitely better than that.
After that, James was much more conscious of each step. He watched the ground as he walked, carefully placing each step. This had three major effects:
1) He did not suffer an injury.
2) His pace declined.
3) Boredom snuck in and left a window open, through which the exhaustion James had long kept at bay was able to enter.
In a very short time, James felt certain he would fall asleep. He wondered if they were working up an incline, as their pace appeared to be slowing even more. He became positive that the next step would be his last, that he would simply pitch over asleep the next time his foot touched down. Still, he walked. Sweat oiled his skin as his eyelids drooooooped.
“Hey,” James said, craning toward Munk, who was walking behind. Munk and Nack had not spoken a single word since their questions had gone unanswered at the beginning of their journey, but James couldn’t ignore his tired, bored mind another moment. “How do you think I did that with the Moon?”
Munk pointed to himself to verify that it was he who was being addressed, and when James nodded, he said, “Welllll . . .” He looked over to Nack like an unprepared student. “I, uh, I just assumed—”
“We. We assumed.”