Escana

by J. R. Karlsson

  34

  Jakob Sandberg

  'Where am I?' Jakob asked nobody in particular. He sat on what he assumed was a white floor and his head ached furiously, everything surrounding him was white save for a solitary figure.

  'Nowhere in particular,' the stranger from the bridge said. He was missing his characteristic grin this time.

  'You!' Jakob exclaimed, sitting up sharply and eyeing the man with suspicion.

  'Me,' the man intoned back at him. 'Feeling a bit more like yourself now?'

  He clenched and unclenched his hand, staring down at it. These weren't a worker's hands, they had the blunted fingertips of a man hammering on a keyboard. He waited for the surge of pain to hit his head for remembering that. Nothing happened.

  'Mr. Sandberg it has been a relatively interesting tale thus far, though I can't help but notice the limited exposition you have given your namesake. Was this a deliberate attempt to make him an Everyman? Is he your Mary-Sue to project over?'

  Jakob stood, attempting to approach the man with quickening footsteps, yet no matter how he tried the distance between them remained constant. Eventually he sat back on the floor and contemplated responding.

  'Yes,' he finally admitted with a sigh. 'He's the hero of the story, destined to restore order to the world.'

  The man laughed. 'You must be a fine poker player, Mr. Sandberg, but you're not fooling me. The world you've given us so far is fairly ordered, there are no monsters and war that you've spoken of rages far away. It isn't disorder that your hero is railing against, he's fleeing from the very order he chose to violate through his actions.' The man seemed to draw closer then, still out of Jakob's reach. 'What are you refusing to tell us about your lead character, Mr. Sandberg?'

  Jakob chuckled sourly. 'You're with them, aren't you? This is some fucked up experiment to get the ending of my book, isn't it?'

  The stranger remained silent.

  'Well you want a story, that's exactly what I'll give you then. Doesn't look like I have much of a choice anyway, does it?'

  The stranger shrugged. 'Your actions are being played out as they were written thus far without fail, when I cede control of your body you will have the choice to alter those events or remain on course and provide us with the ending we require.'

  He looked up at the stranger with distaste and suspicion, he didn't like being controlled by anyone. 'You mean to tell me that you'll just let me play out my own story with prior knowledge of everything that's going to happen?'

  The walls had started to darken, unconsciousness was beginning to take hold of him.

  'No my good author, you will be Jakob the hero throughout as your memory begins returning to you, when the time comes you will have gained enough control to exercise your decision. That choice is entirely yours, Mr. Sandberg.'

  35

  Jimmy

  Jimmy kept constant vigil over Jakob that night.

  The man who had finally introduced himself as Gadtor had brought him through a series of alleyways to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. The further they travelled the more alert he had become, it was a side of Urial that Jimmy had never seen, all dirt and grime and shanty housing propped up amongst warehouses that loomed large over the surroundings.

  At first he only spotted the odd body, he'd mistakenly written them off as a drunkard who had failed to find home. Eventually they started to come upon more of them, until everywhere he looked the streets were littered with people.

  Gadtor had explained to him that the homeless cast themselves wherever they could find space and hoped the night watch would be merciful. A dishevelled and hopeless looking group shivered as one in a vain attempt to gain heat in a corner, they didn't appear to have anything to steal but the rags on their backs.

  The warehouses were locked up tight and some of the larger ones were guarded mercilessly. Gadtor's monologue continued every step of the way, as if he were some morbid tour guide.

  The slum land surrounding the warehouses had been cheap property and incentives were given to businesses that chose to drive the beggars out of the area. Over a frenzied period of construction, the few thatch houses remaining had been demolished to make way for further storage facilities. Those who didn't have property to be bought out were driven out by force. Many perished in the streets initially, with nowhere left to go.

  He had been brought to what appeared to be a renovated warehouse, but all pretence of listening to Gadtor had vanished when he spotted Jakob amongst the bodies piled onto the floor.

  His brow was fevered and he twitched in his unconsciousness in between shallow breaths. The relief that had gripped Jimmy as he dashed over died a small death at the sight of such agony.

  He didn't know how long he sat there staring at Jakob. All thoughts of thanking his rescuer Gadtor or even asking of the well-being of Ella had vanished at the very real condition of Jakob's body strewn out before him.

  His subsequent anger at the inattentiveness of the aides had been brief and seemingly expected, they had to deal with all kinds of anger and complaints. Gradually the world around him returned, as did the reality of the situation they were forced into. There were far too few stretched too thin, coping with a multitude of maladies that had poured in through the door. Given the condition of the dungeons, Jimmy was under no illusions that many of these frail figures wouldn't see out the night. In spite of the size of the warehouse, the floorboards were cramped almost to the point of no movement. He briefly remembered nodding, as if dazed yet again. He couldn't remember anything about the aide but his leg had been tended to. That they did nothing for Jakob but make him more comfortable when they finally got to him did not go unnoticed.

  Having come out of the initial shock, Jimmy noticed a second set of boards had been laid across the wooden beams above and a crude staircase had been erected in the corner. He watched the slow and doddering descent of an old man and his cane, wincing at each step he took and realising that the man bore the same expression. He hobbled to each body, inspecting it with a shake of his head and consulting the aides as he passed them. Jimmy surmised that this was someone of importance but couldn't find it within himself to leave Jakob unattended. His pressing need for answers had been snuffed out as soon as he had seen the dire condition of his friend. Turning to face him once more, he settled back onto the floorboards and waited quietly for something to change.

  Heavy boots sounded in his direction and two men came to a stop at his feet. Jimmy looked up but refused to rise on their account.

  He recognised the first man from earlier in the night, the scarred face of Gadtor giving him what he thought must have been a positive smile. The second man remained hooded, which struck Jimmy as odd considering they were indoors.

  'How's your friend?' Gadtor asked, kneeling down beside him and looking genuinely concerned.

  Jimmy shook his head, a lump was forming in his throat and he couldn't get any more words out. He hadn't known Jakob as long as those around suspected, that didn't make seeing his plight any easier.

  A large gloved hand reached out and squeezed his shoulder. 'I know kid, he may yet recover. I've seen much worse in my time.'

  He looked up at the other man then, who still stood silently over them all. It wasn't just the absence of words, Jimmy couldn't even hear the man breathing.

  'What do you think, Hermit?'

  The man lowered his gaze to Jimmy's level, settling his eyes on him for an extended period of time. Jimmy waited for some comment or sign, anything to shake the strange feeling of trepidation in this man's presence. The man finally gave a slow nod, nothing more.

  Gadtor's smile widened, as if he'd discovered something once lost.

  'Son, what do you know about the Black Quail?'

  36

  Ella

  Ella was less baffled when she woke, a clear memory of this ceiling and what it portended flashed through her mind. She rose with less difficulty than before and started to scan around for any signs of change in the sma
ll room.

  An odd scuffling sound on the stairs was what she heard first, followed by a thud. They formed a precise rhythmic pattern as whoever it was made their way up the stairs, unseen.

  She decided not to draw the attentions of the new visitor and settled back down into the bed, waiting for further developments.

  The thudding ceased at the top of the stairs and changed into a gentler tapping sound as the figure wheezed his way around the beds. Occasionally it would stop for a brief period, possibly to check on the other beds, but it drew inexorably closer to the foot of her own with each passing tap.

  'I can tell when a young lady is feigning sleep you know, they tend to do it around the likes of me for some reason.'

  She tentatively opened her eyes, they were greeted by a crippled old man with a hump who stared at her through rheumy eyes as he gripped his cane.

  'I can't say I blame them, I'm not the prettiest sight you'll see when recovering.'

  Easing her way up on the bed she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the man. The room felt less safe than before. 'Who are you?'

  The man frowned slightly. 'You mean to say Mrs Newbury failed to inform you? That woman would forget what the staircase was for if she didn't see people walking up and down it every day.'

  Ella refused to be goaded by his playful nature. 'You still haven't told me who you are.'

  He shifted stiffly to the side of her bed and settled himself down, hanging the cane on the end. 'I am Falarus, owner of this house of rest and recovery. You were brought to us in dire need of help, no doubt the latest victim of the guards. We have laboured day and night to speed your unlikely recovery.'

  Much like her previous conversation, the words seemed well rehearsed, yet she couldn't help but notice the sincerity and concern behind them. It was then she realised the shocking claims of the man. 'I've been unconscious for days?' She stared around the room, the other beds were now empty. They were alone here.

  Falarus nodded at her sadly as he saw her take in the surroundings. 'The few that made it have long since left this place. We have seen others like you before but none of them were as strong in spirit. It took you a full week of recovery to have this discussion with me.'

  A slow pattering filled the silence that followed, rain striking something metallic high above them. She tilted her head upward and saw the faint ridges of the ceiling high above them in the darkness. They reminded her of her father's gate, and a strange pang of longing filled her chest.

  'A young man has been asking for a girl named Ella since you arrived here. He has been most belligerent in his efforts to get past Mrs Newbury, who has rebuked him at every attempt. Do you know of any such men that would seek you?'

  This snapped her attentions back to Falarus. 'There was only one man seeking me?'

  He nodded, stiffly rising from the bed. 'He goes by the name of Jimmy and has been regularly visiting his other sick friend down below. Do you know of him?'

  She was tentative in testing her legs as she slid them down onto the floorboards. Although she had no recollection of what had been done to her, she was able to guess. It had to have been pretty rough for her to not only forget it but take an entire week to recover. No doubt they had seen the previous signs of abuse too, though the man had not mentioned it. Perhaps such things were commonplace for the women that frequented this room.

  'If you could take me to his sick friend I will wait for him there,' she said.

  Falarus smiled, yellowing teeth poking out under withered lips. 'You know these two then? Luck is indeed with you.'

  Ella didn't feel lucky.

  37

  Gadtor

  He swept his gaze over the bodies of assorted men. They had been a rag tag bunch of fugitives, but trustworthy all the same.

  Then of course there was The Hermit.

  He had once planned and plotted and drawn out detailed strategies but ultimately the limited understanding of such a small group made the effort futile. These were not military men drilled into precision, instead of tactical warfare they simply followed The Hermit nowadays with an odd faith that appeared entirely justified given the results. It didn't seem to matter how perilous the situation was, following The Hermit offered the greatest chance of survival. The men who had caught on to this idea were the only ones that remained now.

  The past few days had been the most testing of all his time in Urial. Ever since the breakout his men had been found dead in a similar fashion as before. Whatever that creature was he couldn't fault its efficiency, the only protection left seemed to come from The Hermit. The confrontation and the powerlessness he felt kept running through the back of his mind constantly. There were far too many unanswered questions to risk his silent protector leading them outright, yet something about his continued presence stopped the creature from massacring his men. He didn't appear to have a choice.

  Until now.

  The young man he had saved a few days ago was raw and hard working. This didn't make up for his overly talkative nature. Gadtor didn't expect him to last much longer, his constant questioning and his emotive responses took prominence ahead of discipline. If he wasn't so hard pressed for men he wouldn't have taken him. The Hermit seemed to think he showed promise but Gadtor felt he could get a lot of men killed if he did the wrong thing at the wrong time.

  This was exactly the position he found himself in, stuck with a man he couldn't trust and a liability he couldn't keep his eyes off.

  Although he never could get used to the stench, the sewers were very familiar to him now. Many times he had dashed through them, divining a fast exit when all hope seemed lost. He prided himself on having rescued more men than he had lost each and every time. Now he was facing the stark reality of losing many and saving none.

  He continued to stare at the bodies of his finest men. The cuts were many and efficient. A scrape here and a slash there, all of them surface wounds with the express purpose of drawing blood rather than ending the conflict. The men had been bled to death for someone's amusement and he had no doubts as to who was behind it. The fury bubbling up inside was choking him. They were all dead, there really was nobody left. He had sent them all to their deaths after having saved each one.

  He started to drag the bodies, knowing in his heart that there were far too many to afford a fit burial. The Hermit's hand came down firmly but kindly upon his shoulder, forcing him up as he eventually caught hold of his senses. Although there were only three left now, there was little point in getting them all killed leaving Urial.

  The journey back toward the safe house was a blur in his mind. He kept trying to think about the old man's face and what he could possibly say to him of his failure.

  Jimmy let out a cry beside him, scattering his thoughts. Someone had spotted them as they had made their escape and had tracked them to this point, hoping to spring an ambush. He cursed himself for his foolishness and drew his sword, this wasn't going to be pretty.

  It was then he noticed that the huge claymore was sitting lightly in the palms of the man's hands, Gadtor had heard of this sword in legend and found that terror had struck him still. This was Skullcleaver, the immortal sword.

  The man dashed forward with a slight limp in his stride but the look in his piercing blue eyes was terrifying to behold.

  The Hermit stepped forward to meet the challenge, drawing his sword with a careful precision and holding the blade vertically between his eyes. The attacker slowed somewhat in confusion, then stopped completely as if realising the other man's stance.

  Gadtor felt his fear sweep away from him, replaced with something he hadn't felt in a long time, a reverential awe.

  The Hermit advanced one pace and the attacker gave ground. He then motioned at Gadtor to depart.

  The mistrust he felt at being discarded the last time was still there but Gadtor hadn't lived this long without knowing when discretion was the best course of action. He looked across to Jimmy but found that the boy was already sprinting toward the safe house, a wise c
hoice.

  They pounded on the door and realised that they'd probably be mistaken for the guards. They were let in by none other than Falarus himself, looking very concerned.

  'Why are there only two of you, what of the others?' the old man cried.

  Gadtor shook his head, having no time to explain. He slammed the door shut and bolted it without a second thought. Moments later the hammering on the door was unmistakeable.

  'Open the door in the name of Lord Kelgrimm' roared a voice outside, followed by a brief silence.

  Gadtor turned to face the door and held his ground. There was no other exit, they were trapped.

  The lack of sound drew tension further into the air, the only perceptible change being the wheezing of Falarus, which seemed more laboured than before.

  Gadtor had placed the wooden bar across the door knowing he was only delaying the inevitable but if they were going to take him they'd have to break their way in.

  It seemed an eternity to wait before he realised that they had neither started knocking the door down or brought a ram.

  He was on the verge of confused relief, cautiously moving forward to unbar the door when the old man clapped him on the shoulder.

  'Someone approaches, keep the door secure.'

  Gadtor didn't sense anything approaching, but stayed his hand for the moment.

  A cold chill went up his spine when he heard the laughter peeling off as if inside his head.

  'Come out, come out, the gatecrasher himself is upon you! Don't make me huff and puff!'

  Whilst he didn't understand the words, the cold mirth did nothing to conceal the deadly threat that the voice carried. A tiny voice of his own suggested that he probably wasn't going to live through this.

  'Alas, it is foolish to believe that a simple obstruction would prevent me from entering this abode. Especially one such as yourself who has witnessed my previous sport.'