The Wilds (Reign and Ruin 1)

by Jules Hedger

Marty squinted up to see Cirrus stood before him. His face was crumpled like a used napkin, his ash blond hair in disarray. Dirty tracks of tears shone from his cheeks and on one side of his face was a glaring scratch, like a nail or claw had run down from the top to the bottom. He had either been attacked or had attacked himself. Marty snorted and flipped over another card.

  "Well, you look like someone who just found out they killed their best friend," Marty said. A spray of spit misted out the hole in his mouth and hit the floor wetly. Cirrus's men had let him keep the tooth in his pocket. Marty shook his head at the two of diamonds. "If you've come for the other teeth, you might want to ask your men. I believe they had dibs."

  Cirrus let loose a wail that echoed off the stark walls. Marty looked up in shock. He watched in horror as Cirrus seized his hair, letting his nails slide down his face again, pushing hard against the scratch, and clutched at the pocket watch. His fist thumped against his chest and he choked slightly.

  "Cirrus, what happened?" Marty asked. Cirrus drew up, pulling his breath in and looking across the room with slanted eyes ringed in red rage and sadness. He pointed a quivering finger at Marty and let the words drip out of his mouth like molasses.

  "You . . . let her go. You . . . saw her fall . . . brought her here and –" Cirrus choked up and clenched his trembling lips together. Marty scooted back as Cirrus started to stalk slowly across the basement. His back flattened against the wall, the chains that secured his ankles clanging loudly in the empty space. As Cirrus neared Marty saw his shirt was undone near the top and the inside pocket of his jacket was hanging heavier than usual. His breathed hitched in fright, whistling up through his teeth comically.

  "My girl is dead," Cirrus said simply, stopping a few feet away from Marty curled up on the floor.

  It didn't register with Marty for a second. Dead? Maggie? That's ridiculous. She escaped Lucky Creek. Last he heard she had meet Lucan. Rough, good-hearted Lucan. Dead? Impossible. But when Marty looked back up at Cirrus's face, the pallor of white plaster, and the grief etched so prominently in his brow, he knew he must at least believe it to be true.

  "Cirrus, that's impossible," Marty started to say slowly but Cirrus took a running kick towards his face. Agony exploded, like a firework had been lit between his teeth, and he saw black and red. Pain ricocheted around his head and out again through his jaw as the shiny, black brogue met his mouth a second time and a spray of blood lashed against the walls.

  "You killed her!" Cirrus snarled through a sob. "You failed both me and her by letting her fall, forcing me to do the only thing I knew." He stopped and wiped his nose, shuddering. Marty spat out blood and tried not to breathe through his nose. The iron crimson dripped down his shirt and he could taste it.

  "Cirrus, listen to me," he said through red-stained teeth. Cirrus glanced down, already shaking his head. "Maggie is with your brother, she is safe."

  "My brother?" Cirrus repeated loudly. His laugh was like a dog's bark as he drew his hands through his hair. "My fair brother was probably molesting her when it happened. I hope that bastard went down with her; I hope he felt his skin split and tasted his own blood on his forked tongue." Cirrus kneeled down and grabbed Marty's face. His long fingers held it tight, digging into his cheek and forcing his eyes upwards to meet his own. Marty quailed; what lay beneath those once sparkling green eyes was the beginning of something so deeply twisted, it scared him to face it. It bubbled up like a hot spring with no one to stop it from surging forth in a violent eruption. What was before a troubled but beautiful man was now dangerously toeing the line of madness.

  "But the symbol," Marty managed to say, keeping Cirrus's eyes locked on his. Gore dribbled over his chin. "It's still warm." Cirrus pushed his face back with a sniff and wiped his eyes on one sleeve. With the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of marbles. They spilled out over the tips of his fingers and dropped with tiny clinks to the floor. Marty looked on in disbelief as Cirrus pushed them into Marty's hand and then pulled out another handful.

  There must have been over ten in each fist. One was enough to get seriously high. Two would take you to another place, another time, and back. More than that and you were treading shaky ground. Cirrus picked one up and held it out to Marty, his face woven in grief and slightly manic determination.

  "Take it," he said. Cirrus's voice cracked but otherwise it was the steadiest yet.

  Marty shook his head quickly and tried to push the marbles back on Cirrus, but he grabbed Marty's shoulder and pressed him firmly into the wall.

  "I need to forget," Cirrus said. Marty froze. I need to forget. Marty might have thought so before, but not like this. Not to oblivion. The glass ball that Cirrus held up was swirled with red and blue, but didn't shine in the overhead lights. It had a dull, scratched surface that lifted you up clumsily and smashed you back down like papier-mâché. Marty didn't even do this shit on his worst days.

  "Cirrus, you need to think carefully. If the symbol is still warm, the Walk is still on." Marty spoke slowly, carefully, watching Cirrus's mouth twitch and felt the grip on his shoulder loosen. "If the Walk is on, she is still alive. She is not dead." Cirrus's hand lowered slowly and Marty breathed deep. "Cirrus, she is not dead."

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Cirrus's eyes suddenly flared up and he cried out hoarsely, smashing Marty back into the wall and pulling out a small revolver. He pressed it hard against Marty's temple and forced out his words through the new onslaught of sobs.

  "You let her fall!" He twisted the metal into Marty's head and looked straight into his terrified eyes. "Take . . . it."

  Marty had no choice. His fingers shook as he accepted the marble and swallowed it quickly down.

  "Another," Cirrus breathed. Marty grimaced against the cold metal and swallowed the second marble. "Again." As Marty's vision began to blur, he eventually stopped feeling his hands. And he began to lose count of the marbles. But Cirrus watched Marty unwaveringly as he swallowed more and more of the drug. Soon he didn't move from the wall. His chest rose slowly up and down and his eyes fluttered closed.

  Cirrus let the weight in his heart settle down again to coil around his chest. He had been so angry. When Leof told him, he turned wild. He ran through his mansion tearing at the hangings with his fingernails and smearing his tears against the wall paper. He knocked over lamps and ceramic sculptures. He even stumbled into his workshop, screaming, and threw every experiment to the floor. A blast emitted as each piece broke apart, light flaring up as the half-finished dreams escaped and evaporated into the air. When the lights died down and there was nothing left for Cirrus to tear apart he remembered Marty and realized there was one more thing he had yet to break.

  He looked at his hand and counted out five marbles, swallowing one after another quickly and thoughtlessly. He didn't want any thoughts. He didn't want to consider that the woman he had so relied upon – had dreamed of – was in pieces. That strength and that beauty scattered to the winds. Perhaps he could find her again in this haze. And if not, at least his nightmares were no different than the present ripping despair. Much better to have only jet darkness and the unexplained visions of an addict. Maybe he would create some worlds of his own.

  As the marbles coated his skin in delicious needles, Cirrus let himself start to drift away. And with it, the despair. Before his eyes closed, he wrapped himself around Marty and cradled his cheek in the man's dirty hand. Together they lay huddled in the corner of his basement, amongst the drips and the blood and the discarded pack of cards. And he floated away from his mind and the warm, throbbing pocket watch at this side.

  Chapter 22

  I don't remember when I fell asleep. It must have been sometime in between when Lucan came back to the outpost, he and Cassandra breaking away to talk amongst themselves, and me sitting up against a tree and trying to eavesdrop. I heard them whispering, but I didn't pick up any concrete words. They must have been planning our next move. Mor
e secrets.

  When Lucan first appeared at the tree line, we stared at each other for a few moments. It didn't feel awkward, but it did feel sad. Sad because we knew we were never going to talk about it again and sad also because I could see he didn't want to. While I so desperately did.

  But whenever I did fall asleep, head squished uncomfortably on my bunched-up backpack, it couldn't have been long until a hand shook me softly awake. The light had turned to dusty gray, and I could still see the outlines of the trees and the dry fire pit. The sun must have set not long before.

  Lucan and Cassandra were both bundled in dark coats that hugged their bodies and blended well with the dark colors of the night forest. Heads down and staying still, they would have disappeared altogether. I pulled on my leather jacket and yawned, feeling my face stretch all the way to my ears. I couldn't remember the last time I had had a good night's sleep. Or food.

  Lucan was staring off in the trees, looking even more like an animal on guard. Cassandra saw me watching him and quietly handed me a roll mixed with greens and some sort of dense, heavy meat.

  "He's thinking," she said. I tore my eyes away and tried to smile at her. Cassandra pulled me to my feet and started to pack my bag with supplies as I began to brush the tangles out of my hair with my dirty fingers. I concentrated on the sound her voice, the sharp ting of zippers closing and shoulder straps being tightened.

  "As we're now in the Middle Canvas, there is no telling who might be listening," Cassandra said. "We need to move quickly and quietly out of the forest and into the lands beyond which fringe the capital city. Sinthinian is one of the smaller border towns and there are many who are sympathetic to our cause. But we're not going to speak to anyone, do you understand?" She came around to my front and looked me directly in the eyes. "You will keep your head down and that necklace out of sight."

  I nodded, swallowing the rest of my food and letting it settle uncomfortably in the still gaping hole. Cassandra pushed another one into my hand and turned swiftly around to join Lucan at the tree line.

  He looked over his shoulder at Cassandra and nodded as she whispered quickly into his ear. He waited until I passed him before taking up the rear of the group, eyes flickering over mine as I trudged past. I shoved the roll into my pocket and hitched the pack higher on my back, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth and concentrating on the gradually darkening woodland.

  It took an hour, or perhaps two hours. It felt like a lot longer because hiking through the forest in the dark was a bit like walking through an empty carwash in the middle of the night up a hill. Every few moments something wet smacked me in the face. I definitely swallowed a bug. In my mind it was small and fuzzy, but it probably had around a hundred legs and pincers the size of my hand. Obviously, one is prone to over exaggeration while walking miles in the quiet dark. It's hard not to when you can hardly see the person moving in front.

  It was also hard to be quiet with every stray tree branch, vine or shrub tangling around my feet like a discarded hose. My companions certainly weren't making any noise, but I must have sounded like an elephant.

  A few times I slowed down, or took too much time picking my way through a dense bit of bush. At those moments, I often felt a hand on my back pushing me gently on, or guiding me safely through a particularly knotted bunch of hanging vines. I knew that Lucan was just doing his job, but whenever he touched me I still jumped. My heart still panicked just a little bit. It was as if I had forgotten he was there so that whenever his hand brushed my spine I remembered that something I really wanted was coming up behind. And even though it followed me, I couldn't turn about to meet it.

  The trees began to thin out above and soon it was easier to move on the ground. Not only could I see the vague shifting shape of Cassandra in front of me but also the path she was following and the wide sky just a stone's throw away. And when we stepped out of the forest into the open air it was like a veil dropped from my vision and a giant shone a flashlight from the heavens. The land stretched out like a soft blanket and the moonlight turned the grass into a waving sea of silver, flecked with sparkling rivers and quiet, empty roads.

  Lucan came up beside me and looked out into the land. All three of us stood still in awe, taking in the beauty of the perfect moonlit silence. It was what I thought a dream must feel like: airy and ethereal, otherworldly yet so familiar.

  Eventually, Cassandra put a finger to her lips and motioned us down the hill. Bending low at the waist they led me into the gently swaying grass. The field looked to extend forever and I began to feel overwhelmed at the expanse of the place. Palet just never seemed to end! Past the fields there were houses, and beyond that a horizon that stretched into infinite space. Looking up at the sky I tried to conceive that I had fallen from there, from the Wilds; the seemingly impossible, middle world of Palet.

  Cirrus had the right idea, floating between the two. He was always grounded. I, on the other hand, never seemed to be able to keep my feet on the ground.

  "How big is the Middle Canvas?" I whispered, coming up behind Cassandra so that we were almost head to head.

  "Palet is always becoming bigger," she replied, keeping her eyes fixed in front. "The mind is infinite, with infinite possibilities and ideas. The Painter was never bereft of any of that, so we just kept getting bigger. The cities were always expanding." She looked over at me and smiled. "Soon you will help us to grow."

  I smiled back, but I didn't say what I knew Lucan was thinking behind me. That I never dream. And this was a world wrought of dreams, from sleep or hypodermic needles. There would be no Palet without dreams. No growth. This was it. And breathing in the cool air, this was already more than I ever had.

  But Cirrus was ambitious. He made things with his hands. What if Palet ultimately decided what America – hell, the entire Planet Earth decided long ago: that progress is progress, no matter what the implications? Palet would be, in not so many words, screwed.

  But as never-ending as the field seemed to be, we did eventually reach the end and start to tread softly through the quiet streets. No lights were on in the small houses, but it wasn't the type of town that was alive past sun down. The architecture was tidy and kitschy, a sleepy town of cobbled streets, terraced houses and 60s phone boxes. We encountered no one and near the outskirts of Sinthinian, Cassandra motioned for the three of us to come together.

  We all stopped by a low-built wall that fringed the town. I immediately sat down and started to rub my ankles. My sneakers were killing me and as tough as they were, they had withstood woodland and desert before finally succumbing a few miles out from the end.

  "In a few miles, we will be within the borders of the capital city, Grekegoria," she whispered fervently.

  "Sinthinian? Grekegoria?" I murmured. "My uncle must have been high the night he thought up those."

  Cassandra shot me an impatient look. Lacing up my shoes, I motioned for her to carry on.

  "Once we cross, it won't be long until we reach Cirrus's place. He'll be bound up there, leaving us more than enough time to get in, get the symbol and get out."

  "How do we know it will be there?" Lucan asked dubiously. "He could be floating on that cloud of his."

  "He's been grounded for some time in the same place, hoping Maggie would catch up." She looked at me briefly and continued. "Our source on the inside assured us of this before going black."

  "Going black?" Lucan growled darkly. Cassandra nodded and paused significantly.

  "Probably up on a pole somewhere," I heard myself say. Lucan's mask slipped for a moment and Cassandra put her hand gently on his arm. I had upset him. Thank God. Finally, I got a reaction out of Mr. Holier Than Thou. But if he had a retort, I never heard it because somewhere in the village a clock tower stuck midnight. We waited for each toll as it rang over the peaceful landscape. By the time it has finished, Lucan's face was back to its impassive original.

  The symbol at my neck flared up suddenly, harder than it ever had before, and the gasp that rus
hed from my lips tasted of soot. My limbs seized up as the bones in my knees and fingers and elbows exploded in fire. But I could barely whimper, barely scream before it was gone and I was blinking away shocked tears. In fact, it had happened so fast it was over before Cassandra and Lucan reached me from only a few feet away.

  They helped me up on the wall and let me breathe. They must have thought the necklace had just given an extra-strength throb. But to me it was obvious what had happened.

  It was a mark; a warning. I officially had one more day. 12 more hours until the necklace burned into my soul. And I had been given a little preview of what it would be like. I could still taste the smoke, as if I had been breathing it in through my nose, and the dreamcatcher pulsed rhythmically now to a warm steady beat. Feeling my skin, I realized it was burning.

  But it wouldn't help anyone to let on, at least not yet. We were so close. So I allowed them to pull me gently on my feet and I followed them past the wall into the open grass again. Cassandra put her hand to my forehead before taking up her place at the front. Her eyes were definitely worried. It looked like the fire was in me now, just waiting to flare up again and consume me to cinder.

  I relished the cool air and tried to slow down my heart, but it was impossible. Behind me was Lucan, on me the symbol and before me the borders of Grekegoria and Cirrus. Whichever way I looked, life seemed pretty grim. So I was glad of the darkness and the fact Lucan strode behind me, because it meant no one could see the few tears I allowed to slide down my face. And when I felt them dry up on my hot skin before even reaching the bottom of my cheeks, I stopped. What's the use of self-pity if you can't even enjoy it on your own?

  Chapter 23

  Cirrus was asleep. It didn't take but a moment for the marbles to seep into his blood and his marrow, rushing to his brain and chipping away at any semblance of consciousness he might have had left. His weeping had driven him to exhaustion anyway and as his heart broke into pieces, so had his strength. It left his body like a fleeing spirit. He didn't even try to fight as his body fell into his dreams. And at his side his pocket watch throbbed and filled his body with the fire of preparation.